Preaching in Christian ministry involves proclaiming the gospel with clarity, compassion, and spiritual power to convict, transform, and nourish the hearts of listeners (Romans 10:14). Illustrations often use images of broken hearts, simple nourishment, and the preacher’s spiritual vitality to highlight the need for humility, prayer, and heartfelt study in delivering life-changing messages (2 Timothy 4:2).
A preacher's broken heart over sin shows true compassion and conviction in preaching.
I heard a story about a man who invited his neighbor to attend church with him. On the way home, the neighbor said, "I noticed you have a new preacher." "Yes," said his friend, "We fired the old one. He was always telling us unless we repented, we were going to hell." "But," the neighbor replied, "your new preacher said the very same thing this morning." "True," was the reply, "but our old preacher acted like he was happy about the situation. When our new preacher says this, it seems to break his heart."
Preachers use various note-taking methods that affect how their sermons are received.
Preachers fall into four categories:
Those who do not use any notes, so the audience has no idea how long they will speak.
Those who lay each page of their sermon down in front of them as they read it. These honest ones enable the audience to keep track of how much more is to come.
Those who cheat by putting each sheet of notes under the others in their hand.
And, worst of all, those who put down each sheet of notes as they read them and then horrify the audience by picking up the whole batch and reading off the other side.
A preacher's indecision about preaching shows failure to grasp the urgency of the message.
A young preacher fresh from seminary went to the front as a chaplain. He announced to the soldiers that he would let them choose whether they wanted him to preach a sermon or tell them funny stories. A tall, blunt-speaking fellow arose and said, "If you have come three thousand miles to talk to a bunch of soldiers, some of whom are going into eternity within three days, and you don't know whether to preach to them or tell them funny stories, I suspect you had just better go ahead and tell something funny."
Passionate preaching awakens listeners; weak preaching causes spiritual sleepiness.
"How can I get crowds to attend my services?" asked a young preacher of John Wesley. Replied Wesley, "Get on fire and people will come out to see you burn." It is pathetic that we have so many sleepy preachers and noiseless sermons. Henry Ward Beecher used to say, "If a man sleeps under my preaching, I do not send a boy to wake him up, but I feel that a boy had better come and wake me up." We need resounding preaching and testifying so everybody can hear and some by the grace of God may heed. The Humble Preacher
Dr. Westfield, the Bishop of Bristol in the reign of Charles I, was so excellent a preacher that he was called "a born orator." Yet he was so conscious of his own insufficiency that he never ascended the pulpit without trembling, even when he had been fifty years a preacher. Preaching once before the King at Oxford, he fainted away. His Majesty awaited his recovery, and then heard a sermon that powerfully moved him. The more conscious a preacher is of his own weakness, the more powerful and effective may be the message that he preaches.
An illiterate preacher claims God opened his mouth without learning, a rare occurrence.
One day a very learned preacher was met by an illiterate preacher who despised education. "Sir, you have been to college, I suppose?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "I am thankful," replied the illiterate preacher, "that the Lord opened my mouth without any learning." "A similar event," answered the learned clergyman, "took place in Balaam's time, when his ass spoke; but such things are of rare occurrence in the present day. Maybe you are one of the rarities."
Effective preaching is simple, clear, and spiritually nourishing like the Bread and Water of Life.
Some preachers have the instincts of aviators-they announce a text, taxi for a short distance, then take off from the earth and disappear into the clouds. After that, only the din of exploding gasoline is heard, signifying that they are flying high, very high, above the heads of their hearers. In other words, a sermon, rightly presented, should not be a meteor, but a sun. Its true test is "Can it make anything grow?"
George Fox, seeking spiritual guidance, walked seven miles to talk to a clergyman who had the reputation for being helpful. "But I found him but like an empty hollow cask," he reported sadly. The problem with our preaching is that too often people come seeking the Water of Life, only to find an empty cask. But sometimes they find water-when the preacher with simplicity and authority proclaims Jesus Christ.
Feed your people with the Bread of Life; cause them to drink deeply of the Water of Life. Be careful not to confuse simple, easy communication with superficial study and shallow preaching. You can dig deep, but you do not have to come up dry. Use your professional tools at home, but take the inspired Word alone into the pulpit. With God's help, your sermons can be profoundly simple and simply profound.
A preacher who neglects physical and spiritual preparation delivers an empty message.
A minister visited a rural family for supper, and they ate just before church. The minister explained that he couldn't eat very much and preach a good message. After supper the wife asked the husband to go on to the service with the minister while she washed dishes.
When the husband returned, she asked him how the preaching was. "Oh, to tell the truth," was his reply, "he may as well et."
Powerful preaching that cuts hearts requires prayerful dependence like a workman on his knees.
Years ago in Atlanta, Georgia, some workmen were laying a sidewalk of stones. One Monday morning a preacher passed by. He watched these busy men with interest for a long time. How impressed he was that a workman could take a tool, strike a stone, and cut it as if it were warm butter.
The man cutting stones kept moving along on his knees cutting more stones and putting them in place.
Shortly the preacher interrupted: "Say, I wish I could cut the hearts of men with my sermons the way you are cutting those stones with that instrument."
The man laying the sidewalk looked up and said, "Did you ever try it like I am doing it-on your knees?"
True preaching transforms lives by correcting spiritual 'scales' to God's standard.
There was a butcher who ran a little shop on the edge of London. He decided one Sunday that he would go into town and hear the great preacher, Charles Spurgeon. His wife chose not to go with him. So the butcher went to town, went to church, and returned home. That afternoon his wife began to question him about the service.
"What songs did they sing?" He said, "I do not remember." "Well, what was his text?" Again he said, "I do not remember." Somewhat exasperated, his wife wanted to know: "What good did it do for you to go to church this morning?"
The butcher was quiet for a moment. And then he said, "What good? I will tell you what good. You know those scales out in the shop that really weigh just 14 ounces to the pound? Well, before we open for business in the morning, I am going to correct those scales to where they weight a full 16 ounces to the pound."
Effective preaching and study flow from heartfelt sorrow and compassion for the congregation.
A visitor to the manse was visiting with an old man who lived there with the family after Robert McCheyne's death. "Tell me, how did McCheyne study and preach?" the visitor inquired.
The old man took the visitor into Mr. McCheyne's study and said: "Sit down. Now put your hands over your face, and let the tears fall; that is the way my master studied."
Then the old man asked the visitor to follow him into the church and up the platform to the pulpit. "Lean over; lean way over, and stretch your hands toward the congregation," continued the old friend of McCheyne's, "and now let the tears fall. That is the way my master preached!"
A convicting sermon exposes sin and provokes varied responses from hearers.
The preacher had just concluded a hot and scathing sermon on the sin of swearing. He had stated several times that he knew that one of his hearers was guilty.
The service ended. The worshipers one by one filed out the door. The first to go was a woman never suspected of using foul language. With a red and angry face she exclaimed, "I will never darken this door again." Before the astonished preacher could recover from this blast, another said, "Well, brother, if I had known you were near last week, I would have been more careful of my language." A third said, "I think that you might at least have come to me privately about it, rather than telling it to the whole church." A fourth remarked angrily, "I was never so embarrassed in all of my life."
Then came the real culprit-the one at whom the preacher had aimed all his remarks. With a bland and innocent smile he grasped the hand of the preacher and said, "Brother, that was what I call a real sermon. You certainly did put it on them today!"
Preachers must believe in the gospel's power to truly engage and transform listeners.
A church that loved good fellowship always served coffee after the sermon. The pastor asked a little boy if he knew why they served the coffee. "I think," said the boy, "it is to get the people wide awake before they drive home." The Archbishop and the Actor
Said an archbishop to the manager of the acting group, "Tell me, how is it that you actors hold the attention of your audience so vividly that you cause them to think of things imaginary as if they were real, while we of the church speak of things that are real but our congregations take them as imaginary?" The reason is plain," answered the actor. "We actors speak of things imaginary as if they were real; while too many in the pulpit speak of things real as if they were imaginary." It was said of one famous old preacher, "He showed us the fires of hell, and then he swept our souls up to the gates of heaven." When you talk about Christ, you have to believe in the transforming power of the gospel if you expect to convince anyone of its power to save.
Preaching should confront sin and call for practical application in daily life.
On a certain occasion Gladstone said: "One thing I have against the clergy ... I think they are not severe enough on congregations. They do not sufficiently lay upon the souls and consciences of their hearts and bring up their whole lives and actions to the bar of conscience. The class of sermons which I think are most needed are of the class which once offended Lord Melbourne. He was seen coming from church in the country in great anger. Finding a friend, he exclaimed, 'It is too bad; I have always been a supporter of the church, and I have always upheld the clergy, but it is really too bad to have to listen to a sermon like that we have heard this morning. Why, the preacher actually insisted upon applying religion to a man's private life!' But that is the kind of preaching which I like best, the kind of preaching which men need most, but it is also the kind of which they get the least."
Simple, clear preaching reaches all audiences without losing dignity or depth.
John Wesley's preaching was marked by his constant use of the plainest, simplest words our language affords. Writing to one whose style was very high-sounding he said, "When I had been a member of the university about ten years I wrote and talked much as you do now, but when I talked to plain people, I observed that they gaped and stared. This quickly obliged me to alter my style and adopt the language of those I spoke to; and yet there is a dignity in this simplicity which is not disagreeable to those of the highest rank." Another preacher said, "If you preach so that the simplest person in the audience can understand you, the most educated is also sure to get the message." The Simple Message
A minister felt that the words he spoke from Sunday to Sunday were not bearing the fruit they should. One Saturday morning after he had finished writing his sermon, the thought occurred to him, "Perhaps I shoot too high. I will go down and see if Betty can understand it." Betty was a trusted kitchen helper. He went to the kitchen and called her to come and hear his sermon. She hesitated but came when he insisted. After he had read a few sentences he asked, "Do you understand that?" "No," she replied. He repeated the idea in simpler language and then asked her if she saw it. "I see it a little," she said. Again he simplified it. She saw it more clearly and showed deep interest but said to him, "Plane it down a little more." And once again he simplified it. Then she exclaimed with ecstasy, "Now I see it! Now I understand it!" He returned to his study and rewrote his sermon in the simple style that Betty could understand. On Sunday morning he went to church in fear and trembling lest his people should be contemptuous of his sermon but he fully resolved to try the experiment. To his surprise, he found he received better attention than ever before, and there were tears in the eyes of many of his congregation. From that time on, he changed his style of language and had no further cause to feel that his work was unsuccessful. Clarity of thought and expression do not rob our testimony of its depth and significance. A witness for Christ need never fear oversimplification. The Old Time Gospel
A critic told a renowned evangelist, "Your preaching has put Christianity back one hundred years." The evangelist replied, "That's not back far enough. We must go back to the cross of Christ and to the 'faith which was once delivered to the saints.' "
Preach to broken hearts to truly address people's deepest needs and remain relevant.
That forthright English clergyman, Dr. R. W. Dale, made this response to a young preacher who insisted that ministers must preach relevantly, to the times. "Young man, don't preach to the times. Go and preach to broken hearts and you will preach relevantly."
Sermons must distinctly proclaim Christ to differ from other religious teachings.
At the close of a service, a preacher was stopped by a gentleman who, after conceding that the sermon possessed certain commendable features, added, "But it had one noticeable defect!" The startled minister, on inquiring what this defect was, received the following reply: "I am a Jew. I have only recently been born again. Up to that time I attended the synagogue. But there was really nothing in your sermon that I could not have heard in the synagogue, nothing that a Jewish rabbi might not have preached." "That," said the preacher in later years, "was the greatest lesson in homiletics I was ever taught."
Preachers should use clear, understandable language to truly benefit their listeners.
Once that great Puritan preacher, Thomas Manton, had to speak before the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of London. He chose a subject in which he had an opportunity of displaying his learning and judgment. He was heard with admiration by the intelligent part of his audience, but as he was returning from dinner with the Lord Mayor, a poor man pulled him by the sleeve and asked if he were the gentleman that preached the sermon. He replied that he was. "Sir," said the man, "I came with the hopes of getting some good to my soul, but I was greatly disappointed, for I could not get a great deal of what you said; you were quite above my understanding." "Friend," said Dr. Manton, "if I have not given you a sermon, you have given me one. By the grace of God, I will not play the fool in such a manner again."
The preacher's role is to correct the spirit of the age, not conform to it.
Someone told G. Campbell Morgan that the preacher must catch the spirit of the age. Immediately this great preacher answered, "God forgive the preacher who does that. The preacher's business is to correct the spirit of the age." May we add that a witness for Christ must endeavor thoroughly to understand the spirit of the age-without conforming to it-in order to know what to correct.
Preaching must focus on Christ, not self or theology, to have true impact.
James Inglis was a graduate of Edinburgh University, learned and eloquent. He became the most popular preacher in Detroit, Michigan. Eager listeners filled his church to overflowing. One day, when he was preparing sermons for the following Sunday, it seemed as though a voice said to him, "James Inglis, whom are you preaching?" Startled, he answered, "I am preaching good theology." "I did not ask what you are preaching, but whom you are preaching." Inglis answered, "I am preaching the gospel." Again the voice said, "I did not ask you what you are preaching; I asked whom you are preaching." Silent, with bowed head, the preacher sat for a long time. Then rousing himself he cried, "O my God, I am preaching James Inglis, but henceforth I will preach Christ and Him crucified." Inglis went to a chest of drawers in his study, took his eloquent sermons from the files and burned them one by one. From that day he turned his back upon popularity and gave himself wholly to God's service by lifting Christ before men. God honored his consecration by giving him ever-widening influence. A Sermon Lived
A minister preached a powerful sermon on the surrendered life. As he made an appeal to his hearers to make the surrender, a woman sitting near another woman said, "That is excellent preaching, but I wonder if such a life is possible?" The other woman smiled back at her and said, "Well, I know the preacher lives such a life because I happen to be his wife." A Preacher's First Concern
Two young men broke into a photo studio one Sunday night. They murdered the aged owner and robbed the cash drawer. Headlines of the crime appeared on the front page of Monday morning's papers. The two youths had been apprehended and charged with murder. Because their names seemed familiar to the secretary of a local church, she looked them up in the visitor's book. Sure enough, they had attended the church on Sunday morning and that night they committed murder! The pastor's subject that morning had been "An Educated Ministry." Only God knows what the end result might have been if the minister had preached on Christ's power to save and to change sinful hearts.
Preachers should repeat essential messages until lives show real change.
A minister, on taking a new church, was highly complimented on his first sermon. A number of people told him it was just what the congregation needed. The next Sunday he preached well again, but the congregation was greatly puzzled because he preached the same sermon as before. The third Sunday, when the same sermon was preached again, the session waited on the preacher for an explanation. He said, "Why, yes it is the same sermon. You told me the first Sunday how much you needed just that, and I watched all week for some change in your lives, but there was none, so I preached it again. I watched all next week; still no change; and I don't see any yet. Don't you think I'd better prepare to preach it again next Sunday?" Not Deep-But Muddy
"Isn't Rev. So-and-so a deep preacher?" asked a friend. "Well," replied the other smiling. "I'll tell you a story. When I was a boy I was amusing myself with some other boys in a pool. Some of them were going farther out than I was disposed to go, and I was frightened. To a man who was passing by I called out, 'Is the pool deep?' 'No, son,' he replied, 'it's only muddy.' "
Sermons must include a clear call to action, inviting response from hearers.
A layman visited a great city church in Ohio during a business trip. After the service he congratulated the minister on his service and sermon. "But," said the manufacturer, "if you were my salesman, I'd discharge you. You got my attention by your appearance, voice, and manner; your prayer, reading, and logical discourse aroused my interest; you warmed my heart with a desire for what you preached; then you stopped without asking me to do something about it. In business, the important thing is to get people to sign on the dotted line." Should Sermons Offend?
"I always write my sermons," said one preacher to another, "and then carefully revise them, so that if anything is written that might offend any of my hearers, I may at once erase it." The older preacher friend replied, "Do you mean that forcible statements, either of your own or from Scripture, concerning sin, the cross, and the judgment to come, are either toned down or avoided?" "Yes," replied the young novice clergyman. "If I think they will offend anyone, I do so."
Using overly complex language in sermons hinders understanding and spiritual growth.
A woman who went to hear a visiting preacher took along her Bible so that she might refer to any Scripture passages he happened to mention. On coming away from the service she said to a friend, "I should have left my Bible home today and brought my dictionary. The doctor does not deal in Scripture but in such learned words and phrases that you need the help of an interpreter to render them intelligible."
A sermon is only complete when its message is lived out in the hearers' lives.
"Is the sermon done?" asked one member of the congregation of another. "No, the preacher is done, but the sermon has to be worked out in our lives," replied the practical listener. No Rain!
An Indian had attended services one Sunday morning. The sermon which contained very little in the way of spiritual food had been rather loud in spots. The Indian, a good Christian, was not impressed. When asked how he liked the sermon, he said, "High wind, big thunder, no rain."
Simple preaching focused on Christ is more powerful than eloquence alone.
Vincent Ferrier, an eloquent preacher of the fifteenth century, was called to preach before a high dignitary of state. He took care to prepare his sermon according to the rules of oratory, but it was a notable failure. Next day he preached in his usual style, without pretentiousness, and electrified his hearers. The dignitary, who had heard him on both occasions, asked him how he could account for so great a difference in his sermons. He answered, "Yesterday Vincent Ferrier preached; today Jesus Christ."
What seems foolish in one world may be wise in God's kingdom.
A student of ancient Greek in an English university surprised his teacher by his rapid grasp of the subject. When asked if someone were helping him, he mentioned his uncle. The professor said he'd like to meet him, and a date was set. The teacher was astounded with the uncle's knowledge of Greek. "What work do you do?" he asked. "I'm an itinerant preacher. I preach God's Word." Dismayed that such a gifted man should waste his time preaching, the professor blurted out, "Man, you're a fool!" The wise preacher retorted, "In which world, Professor?"
True ministry requires sincere, Spirit-inspired preaching, not mere eloquent words.
"A ministry that stayeth in the paint of words will beget but painted grace." If it is not a real, hearty ministry of grace, inspired by the Holy Spirit, it will end in nothing. Fine words neither wound nor heal. Oratory may amuse, but it cannot convert; and rhetoric may astonish, but it will never save. We must have more than mere words, however striking,—paint will not do; we want living preaching, by men in downright earnest, attended by the living Spirit, or else life will never be created or sustained by it. What is the use of colouring the cheek of the dead? The hue of life is a mockery while death reigns within. That is evil preaching which creates the semblance of piety, but never imparts the substance. Lord, save me from being the imitation of a Christian, the produce of a mimic gospel. Give me thoroughness and sincerity, and let not my religion be a painted pageantry for me to go to hell in. Create in me a clean heart, O God!
ILLUSTRATIONS AND MEDITATIONS, 131
Fixing a person's attention can lead to their conversion and changed life.
A party of clergymen were one day in conversation, pleasantly talking of their success in preaching. One of them said, "Gentlemen, I once converted a man with my eyes." When requested to explain, he added, "A straggler once entered my church, and, casting his looks towards me, he thought I was staring him in the face. To avoid my observation, he removed from door to door; but to no purpose. At last, he resolved to stare me out of countenance: his attention was thus fixed upon what was said, and his sentiments and conduct from that day underwent a complete change."
Securing a child's attention is crucial to capturing their interest in a portrait.
When the photographer tries to take the portrait of a child, his first effort is to fix its attention. His skill in this measures his success as an artist. If the hand or foot or head moves, the picture is spoiled.
Dr. Chalmers exemplified earnest, prepared preaching even to the poorest, in harsh conditions.
When Dr. Chalmers occupied the chair of philosophy in the College of St. Andrews, he used to gather into his own house each sabbath evening, the poorest and most ignorant of the vagrant children of the neighborhood; and his biography states, that, for that audience, he prepared himself as carefully, with his pen in his hand, as for his class in the university. So, on a winter day, through frost, and in the face of a driving snow-storm, you might have seen him walking five miles to fulfil an appointment of religious worship with a little company of rustic people at Kilimany; and there, amid some illiterate, shivering cottagers, too few for a church or chapel, met in a damp room,—an audience that many men would have thought it expedient to dismiss at once "on account of the weather," and many more would have put off with some crude, unpremeditated talk,—he preached as labored and as eloquent a sermon as would have moved to rapture and wonder the learning and fashion of Glasgow or of London.
Le Père Bourdaloue's preaching drew crowds, unlike a later preacher who failed to attract attention.
Attraction of. When Le Père Bourdaloue preached at Rouen, the tradesmen forsook their shops, lawyers their clients, physicians their sick, and tavern-keepers their bars; but, when I preached the following year, I set all things to rights, — every man minded his own business. Père Arrius.
Mr. Whitefield's preaching moved listeners emotionally, even making a previously unaffected man weep.
Natural. It has been said that Mr. Whitefield could produce every emotion of the human heart by pronouncing the name, "Mesopotamia." Dr. Lathrop related a scene which he had witnessed, without any feeling, to Mr. Whitefield. The same day, Dr. Lathrop listened to the same story, by Mr. Whitefield, and found himself bathed in tears.
True pulpit eloquence balances honoring Christ highly while maintaining humility about oneself.
In pulpit-eloquence the grand difficulty lies here, — to give the subject all the dignity it so fully deserves, without attaching any importance to ourselves. The Christian messenger cannot think too highly of his Prince, nor too humbly of himself. This is that secret art which captivates and improves an audience, and which all who see will fancy they could imitate; while most who try will fail. C. Cotton.
Simple, scriptural preaching with personal stories appeals even to intellectual listeners.
I have generally found that the most intellectual auditors prefer to hear a simple scriptural and spiritual preaching. The late Judge McLean of the United States Supreme Court (a good Methodist too) once said to me, "I was glad to hear you give that solemn personal incident in your discourse last night. Ministers now-a-days are getting above telling a story in a sermon; but I like it." T. L. Cuyler.
Illustrations clarify truth better than abstract teaching for ordinary minds.
There can be no doubt, that, for the purpose of teaching, one illustration is worth a thousand abstractions. They are the windows of speech: through them truth shines; and ordinary minds fail to perceive truth clearly, unless it is presented to them through this medium.
— E. P. Hood
Christ’s teaching used comparisons to effectively communicate spiritual truths.
"You have no 'likes' in your sermons. Christ taught that the kingdom of heaven was 'like' to leave a hid in meal; 'like' to a grain of mustard, &c. You tell us what things are, but 'ever what they are like.' Such was a criticism of Robert Hall on a brother minister. In every age of the Church's history, the most effective preachers have been those who have initiated the manner of Christ's teaching. Ibid.
A godly person's dream symbolized zealous preaching as a pillar of fire.
A godly person, greatly desiring to see a certain preacher, saw in a dream a pillar of fire with this inscription, "Such is —"
A Quaker boldly confronted a thief, illustrating decisive action in preaching.
A Quaker once discovered a thief in his house; and, taking down his grandfather's old fowling-piece, he quietly said, "Friend, thee had better get out of the way; for I intend to fire this gun right where thee stands."
A preacher and king agreed mutual spiritual improvement requires grace and patience.
Dr. Hickington, chaplain to Charles II., used to preach at the king's vices. This the king took to himself; and so, one day, he said, "Doctor, you and I ought to be better friends; give up being so sharp on me, and see if I don't mend on your hand."—"Well, well," quoth the doctor, "I'll make it up with your Majesty on these terms: as you mend, I'll mend."
Preaching without the Spirit's power is lifeless despite outward form and truth.
Absence of power is sometimes so clear, that the soul that has come to the house of God seeking bread, painfully feels that it is getting but a stone; and never is that feeling so painful as when all that ought to attend upon spiritual power is there,—the truth well understood and well stated, all the lineaments and outward forms that would lead us to expect life,—but, when we draw near, there is no breath in it. Sometimes one may see that this soulless thing is not a wax figure which never breathed, but a corpse from which the life is gone. The truths now uttered with such impotence once thrilled through men as they fell from those lips; the appeals which now grate like a chime of cracked bells once carried multitudes before them. In days gone by, many rose up to bless this man as a messenger of God; to-day, his words are as a tale twice told. Perhaps, conscious of the loss of the real power, he endeavors to compensate for it by a greater force of physical oratory, spurring himself to impetuosity, or swelling to lotty and solemn impressiveness; but it is only as when a ship in a calm makes her sails bulge by rolling: they flap and rustle; but there is no strength in them, as when, filled by the silent wind, they bore the vessel onward. W. Arthur.
Luther overcame his fear of preaching to become a powerful servant of God.
Luther, of whom Richter has said his words are half-battles, when he first began to preach, suffered unheard agony. "O Dr. Staupitz, Dr. Staupitz!" said he to the vicar-general of his order, "I cannot do it: I shall die in three months. Indeed, I cannot do it." Dr. Staupitz said upon this, "Well, Sir Martin, if you must die, you must; but remember that they need good heads up yonder too. So preach, man, preach, and then live or die, as it happens." So Luther preached and lived; and he became, indeed, one great whirlwind of energy to work without resting in this world.
Effective preaching comes from heartfelt passion and earnestness.
Richard Sheridan used to say, "I often go to hear Rowland Hill, because his ideas come red-hot from the heart." Dr. John M. Mason was asked what he thought was the forte of Dr. Chalmers. After a moment's consideration, Dr. Mason replied, "His blood-carnestness." A Chinese convert once remarked, in a conversation with a missionary, "We want men with hot hearts to tell us of the love of Christ."
A sermon exposed hypocrisy by showing all penitents' hands dropped at God's judgment.
Fra Rocco, a Dominican, preached a celebrated penitential sermon on one occasion; when all the audience were in terror, and fell on their knees, showing every sign of contrition. Then he cried, "All who are truly pertinent, hold up your hands!" Every man in the vast multitude held up his hand. Then he said, "Holy Archangel Michael, thou who standest with adamantine sword at the judgment-seat of God, cut me off every hand which has been held up hypocritically." Every hand dropped.
— E. P. Hood
Preaching from the heart and mind is better than relying on prepared manuscripts.
Dr. Alexander took up four or five huge packages of sermons, tied up in brown paper with whipcord; and, kicking them all playfully over into a corner, he said to me, "There, Mr. Cuyler, goes the labor of my life. And now, after twenty years of experience, I declare to you candidly, that, if I could live my life over again, I never would take one of those manuscripts with me into my pulpit. I would take them in my head and heart, and not on paper."
Distractions in preaching divert attention from Christ, the true focus.
A Spanish artist was employed to paint the Last Supper. It was his object to throw all the sublimity of his art into the figure and countenance of the Lord Jesus; but he put on the table in the foreground some ornamental cups, the workmanship of which was exceedingly beautiful. When his friends came to see the picture on the easel, every one said, "What beautiful cups!"—"Ah!" said he, "I have made a mistake: these cups divert the eyes of the spectator from the Lord, to whom I wished to direct the attention of the observer." And he took up his brush, and blotted them from the canvas, that the figure of Christ might be the chief object of attraction.
Focusing on superficial things in preaching causes the true message to be lost.
I am like a child, who, walking forth some sunny summer's morning, sees grass and flowers all shining with drops of dew. "Oh!" he cries, "I'll carry these beautiful things to my mother." And, eagerly plucking them, the dew drops into his little palm, and all the charm is gone. There is but grass in his hand, and no longer pearls. Beecher.
A preacher's final sermon can be powerful and a farewell to his congregation.
Dr. Peckwell, a London clergyman, received infection from a dead body, and knew that he must soon die. He preached on the following Friday evening a touching and powerful sermon, told the people it was his last, and bade them farewell. So it proved; and on the Sunday a stranger filled his place.
Preaching should be plain and earnest, not flowery or vainly ornate.
To my ear, it should be any thing but commendation, should it be said to me, "You have given us a pretty sermon." If I were put upon trial for my life, and my advocate should amuse the jury with tropes and figures, or bury his arguments beneath a profusion of flowers of his rhetoric, I would say to him, "Tut, man! you care more for your vanity than for my hanging. Put yourself in my place, speak in view of the gallows; and you will tell your story plainly and earnestly." I have no objections to a lady winding a sword with ribbons, and studding it with roses as she presents it to her hero-lover; but, in the day of battle, he will tear away the ornaments, and use the naked edge on the enemy.
Preach Christ clearly so He alone is seen, not the preacher.
Paint Jesus Christ upon your canvas, and then hold him up to the people; but so hold him up, that not even your little finger can be seen. Dr. Payson.
A glimpse of eternity inspires a desire to preach with greater passion.
The seraphic Sumerfield, just before his death, speaking of his recovery, said, "Oh, if I might be raised again! How I could preach! I could preach as I never preached before. I have taken a look into eternity!"
Effective preaching must be clear and understandable to the hearers.
"The very essence of truth," says Milton, "is plainness and brightness: the darkness and crookedness are our own." "Better the grammarian should reprehend," says Jenkyn, "than the people not understand. Pithy plainness is the beauty of preaching. What good doth a golden key that opens not?" An old lady once walked a great way to hear the celebrated Adam Clarke preach. She had heard he was "such a scholar!" as indeed he was. But she was bitterly disappointed, "because," she said, "I understood every thing he said." Dr. Hoge.
