Chapter V

AFTER CONSIDERATIONS—SUCCESS—REST—IMPROVEMENT.

When we have concluded a fervent discourse, especially if successful, there comes a feeling of inexpressible relief. For the burden of a speech accumulates on the mind, from the time the subject is chosen, until it grows almost intolerable. When we begin to speak all our powers are called into play, and exerted to the limit of their capacity. The excitement of the conflict hurries us on, and although we may not realize the gigantic exertions we put forth, yet when we pause, with the victory won, the sense of relief and security is exceedingly delightful. Yet we must not indulge too deeply in the self-gratulation so natural at such a moment. If we have conquered, it has been in God’s name, not our own, and the first thing to be done is to offer him thanks for our preservation. This is but the complement of the prayers made at the beginning of the service, for if we ask help with fear and trembling, before the real perils of speech begin, it would be very wrong, in the hour of triumph, to cease to remember the arm upon which we leaned. But by pouring out our thankfulness to God, we are at the same time preserved from pride and undue exaltation, and encouraged to depend upon Him more fully the next time we speak.

If the effort has been an earnest one, both mind and body need rest. There are speakers who profess to feel no fatigue after an hour’s labor, but these seldom occupy a place in the first class. If the soul has really been engaged, and all the powers of mind and body bent to the accomplishment of a great object, relaxation must follow, and often a sense of utter prostration. It is well, if possible, to abandon ones-self to the luxury of rest—that utter repose so sweet after severe labor. Even social intercourse should be avoided. A short sleep, even if only for a few minutes, will afford great relief, and it is much to be regretted that circumstances so often interfere with the enjoyment of such a luxury. After the morning service, especially if the minister has to preach again in the evening, all labor, even in the Sabbath-school, should be avoided, although, before preaching, such toil will only form a grateful introduction to the duties of the day. No practice is more pernicious than that of inviting the minister to meet company, at dinner-parties or elsewhere, immediately after service. This is objectionable for two reasons; the conversation at such parties seldom accords with the sanctity of the Sabbath, and if unexceptionable in this respect, a continued tax is made upon the already exhausted brain—a tax greater during such a state of relaxation and languor, than ten-fold the labor would be at another period. Let the preacher, when he can, retire to the privacy of his own home, and there enjoy the freedom of untrammelled rest.

It is well to ponder closely the lessons derived from each new experience in speaking. The minister can never exactly measure his own success, and may often lament as a failure that effort which has accomplished great good. He has in his mind an ideal of excellence by which he estimates his sermons. If this be placed very low, he may succeed in coming up to it, or even pass beyond it, without accomplishing anything worthy of praise. But in such a case he is apt to be well satisfied with the result. And often the sermons with which we are least pleased, are really the best. For in the mightiest efforts of mind the standard is placed very high—sometimes beyond the limit of possible attainment, and the speaker works with his eye fixed upon the summit, and often, after all his exertions, sees it shining above him still, and closes with the conviction that his ideas are but half expressed. He feels mortified that there should be such difference between conception and execution. But his hearers, who have been led over untrodden fields of thought, know nothing of the heights still above the orator’s head, and are filled with enthusiasm, or have received new impulses to good. This is the reason why we are least able to judge of the success of sermons that have been long meditated, and are thoroughly prepared. The subject expands as we study it, and its outlines become grander and vaster, until they pass beyond our power of representation. And each separate thought that is mastered also becomes familiar, and is not valued at its full worth by the speaker. If he had begun to speak without thought, intending to give only the easy and common views of his subject, all would have been fresh to him, and if a striking idea presented itself, its novelty would have enhanced its appreciation. This is no reason against diligent preparation, but rather a strong argument in favor of it. It should only stimulate us to improve our powers of expression as well as of conception.

But with all these sources of uncertainty in our judgment of our own productions, we should not be indifferent to our perceptions of success or failure. In the greater number of instances will be correct, and we can very frequently discover the cause of either, and use this knowledge to future profit.

Even if we imagine our failure to be extreme, we have no need to feel unduly discouraged. God can, and does, often work with the feeblest instruments, and the sermon we despise may accomplish its purpose. The writer preached one evening when very weary, and almost unprepared. From first to last a painful effort was required to find anything to say, and to prevent utter failure the intended plan had to be abandoned, and new, detached thoughts thrown in as they could be found. And yet that discourse, which was scarcely worthy of the name, elicited warmer approval, and apparently accomplished more good, than any one from the same preacher ever given at that point. But such instances should never lead us to neglect all the preparation in our power, for usually when failure springs from a real defect, the verdict of the people will coincide with our own.

However we may judge of our success it is not wise to ask any of our hearers for their opinion. We may observe any indications of the effect produced, and, if the criticisms of others are offered spontaneously, it is not necessary to repulse them, especially if they are marked by a spirit of candor and good will; but all seeking for commendation is debasing. It is sweet to hear our sermons praised, and most of men can endure an amount of flattery addressed to themselves, that would be disgusting if applied to others; but if we indulge this disposition it will become ungovernable, and expose us to well-deserved ridicule. It is pitiable to see a man who is mighty in word and thought, who wields the vast powers of eloquence, stooping to beg crusts of indiscriminate praise from his hearers. Nothing contributes more to destroy our influence, and make our audience believe that we are merely actors, unaffected by the sublime truths we declare.

It is well to think over our sermons after they have been preached, and if any defect appear, amend it in the plan, and add all the new ideas that may have been suggested during speech. This prepares us to preach still better when we have occasion to use the same plan a second time.

Some ministers are accustomed to write their sermons after delivery. This may do well, especially when the theme is of great importance, but in general, it is questionable whether the advantage is great enough to warrant the expenditure of so much time.

But to review and correct a verbatim report of our sermons would be far more profitable. If some short-hand writer—a member of our family, or any other who is willing to take so much trouble—will preserve our words for us, a revisal of them on Monday would be of immense benefit. The offensiveness of pet phrases, which we might otherwise be unconscious of for years, would be detected at once. Faults of expression, and especially the profuseness of words, in which extempore speakers are apt to indulge, would be forced upon our notice; and if any really valuable ideas occurred, they could be preserved. There would be little use in writing the sermon over in full, for we would commonly find that it might be reduced to one-third or one-fourth its bulk without material injury. The habitual condensation of our sermons after delivery, would teach us to express our thoughts compactly even in speech.

The only difficulty in applying this capital means of improvement, is the small number of persons who can write short-hand with sufficient rapidity—a difficulty that may be less in the future than it has been in the past, and can now be obviated by the minister’s wife or daughters, who may have sufficient perseverance and devotion to master the laborious, but precious art for his sake.