Chapter I: The Foundation—subject—object—text

We have thus far discussed the subject of preliminary training, and have endeavored to show what natural qualities the preacher must possess, and how these can be improved by diligent cultivation. The importance of a wide scope of knowledge, and especially of that which bears upon oratory; of understanding and having some command of the powers of language; of having a personal experience of Christ’s pardoning love, and a heart filled with desire for the salvation of our fellow men; of believing that God has called us to the work of the ministry; has already been pointed out. When a man finds himself in possession of these, and is still a diligent student, growing daily in grace, he is prepared to preach the Gospel in “demonstration of the spirit and of power.” He is then ready to consider the methods by which all his gifts and acquirements may be made available, and wielded with mightiest effect in the service of his Master.

Some of the directions given in this and succeeding chapters are of universal application, while others are to be regarded only as suggestions, to be modified and changed according to individual taste, or particular circumstances.

A plan is necessary to every sermon. A rude mass of brick, lumber, mortar and iron, thrown together as the materials chance to be furnished, does not constitute a house, and is worthless until each is built into its appropriate place, in obedience to some intelligent design. A sermon must be constructed in a similar manner. It may contain much that is good, or useful, or striking, and be replete with sparkling imagery, and full of ideas that will command the attention of the audience, and yet completely fail. The only safe method is to have a well-defined plan marked out from beginning to end, and to work according to it.

It is always better to have this plan previously constructed. Sometimes when we speak on a subject we have often thought over, its whole outline will flash upon us in a moment, and we will speak as well as if we had employed months in preparation. But such cases are rare exceptions. The man who attempts, on the spur of the moment, to arrange his facts, draw his inferences, and enforce his opinions, will find the task very difficult, even if his memory promptly furnishes all the necessary materials.

Every discourse, of whatever character, should have a subject and an object. A sermon requires a text also, and these three constitute the foundation upon which it is built. We will consider them separately.

A good plan cannot be constructed without an object in view. Why is it that at a particular time a congregation assembles, and sits silent while a man addresses them? What is his motive in standing up before them and asking their attention? Many of the people may have been drawn together by the lightest influences, but the minister, at least, should be actuated by a noble purpose. If he has a clear aim before him, it will tend powerfully to give unity and consistency to his discourse, and prevent him from falling into endless digressions. It will bind all detached parts together, and infuse a common life through the whole mass. We cannot be too careful in the selection of such a ruling object, for it will affect the whole superstructure.

Our purposes should not be too general. It is not enough that we should wish to do good. Probably no minister ever preaches without that general desire. But the important question is, “What special good do I hope to accomplish by this sermon?” When he has decided this, he will then be prepared to adapt his means to the end proposed, and the whole discourse will acquire a definiteness and precision that would never otherwise have belonged to it. The more we sub-divide our objects, the more will this precision be increased, although there is a limit beyond which it would be at the expense of other qualities. If we desire the salvation of souls, it is well, and most powerful sermons have been preached with that object in view. But if we narrow our immediate aim, and keep in view only one of the steps by which the soul advances to God, it will give our discourse a keener edge, and we can plead with those who have not yet taken that step with more prospect of immediate success, than if we at once placed the whole journey before them. For example, many sermons may be preached with “repentance” as the central object, and this duty enforced by various motives and innumerable arguments. We may show that it is a duty, that man is lost without it, that Jesus calls him to it, that God assists, that salvation follows it, etc.

Our objects usually have reference to the action of those who hear us, and the more fully that action is understood, and the more earnest our desire to produce it, the greater our persuasive power will be. If we do not exactly know what we wish to accomplish, there is very little probability that our audience will interpret our thoughts for us. We may, it is true, labor to convince the judgment of our hearers, and make them understand truth more clearly than before, but this is usually because of the influence thus exerted on their actions.

The objects that should govern our sermons are comparatively few, and ought to be selected with great care. Much of our success depends on having the right one of these before us at the right time; for if we aim at that which is unattainable, we lose our effort. If we preach sanctification to a congregation of unawakened sinners, no power of treatment can redeem the sermon from the cardinal defect of inappropriateness. If we preach against errors which no one of our hearers entertains, our logic is lost, even if the very errors we battle against are not suggested. Let us carefully note the state of our audience, and select for our object that which ought to be accomplished.

There is a difference between the subject of a discourse and its object; the latter is the motive that impels us to speak, while the former is what we speak about. It is not uncommon for ministers to have a subject without any very distinct object. Their engagements require them to speak, and a subject is a necessity. That which can be treated most easily is taken, and all the ideas they possess, or can collect about it, are given forth, and the matter left. Until such persons grow in earnest, and really desire to accomplish something, they cannot advance the cause of God.

The object of a sermon is the soul, while the subject is only the body; or, we may say, the one is the end, and the other the means by which it is accomplished. After the object is fixed the subject can be chosen to much better advantage; for instance, if it be our object to lead the penitent to the Cross, we may select any of the themes connected with the crucifixion and dying love of Christ; we may show the sinner his inability to fulfill the requirements of the law, and that he needs an atoning sacrifice to save him from its penalty; we may show that the salvation purchased is full and free. Many other branches of the same great topic will be found suitable for the purpose in view.

This order of selection may sometimes be reversed to good advantage. When a minister is stationed with a certain congregation, there are many objects he wishes to accomplish, and often no strong reason for preferring one in the order of time to another. It will then be well for him to take that subject which may impress him, and bend his mind toward an object he can enforce most powerfully through it.

On other occasions there is a particular end to be attained, which is for the time all-important, and which thus furnishes the proper object. Nothing then remains but for the preacher to choose a subject through which he can work to the best advantage.

This is one great advantage the Methodists have in protracted meetings. An object is always in view, and the congregation expect it to be pressed home with power. No plea of general instruction will then save a sermon from being thought worthless, if it does not produce an immediate result. And even the much calumniated “mourners’ bench” contributes most powerfully to the same result. There is something proposed which the congregation can see, and through it judge of the preacher’s success or failure. An outward act is urged upon the unbelieving portion of the audience, by which they signify that they yield to the power of the Gospel; and the very fact of having that before him as an immediate, though not an ultimate aim, will stimulate the preacher’s zeal, and cause him to put forth every possible exertion.

After all, the order in which subject and object are selected is not very material. It is enough that the preacher has a subject that he understands, and an object that warms his heart and enlists all his powers. Then he can preach, not as if dealing with abstractions, but as one who has a living mission to perform.

Every subject we treat should be complete in itself, and rounded off from everything else. Its boundaries should be run with such precision as not to include anything but what properly belongs to it. It is a common but grievous fault to have the same cast of ideas flowing round every text that may be preached from. There are few things in the universe that have not some relation to everything else, and if our topics are not very strictly bounded, we will fall into the vice of perpetual repetition. Thus, in a book of sermon sketches we have examined, nearly every one begins by proving that man is a fallen creature, and needs the helps or is liable to the ills mentioned afterward. No other thought is introduced until that primal point is settled. This doctrine is of great importance, and does affect all man’s relations, but we can sometimes take it for granted, without endangering the edifice we build upon it, and occasional silence will be far more impressive than that continual iteration, which may even induce a doubt of what seems to need so much proof.

Ministers sometime acquire such a stereotyped form of thought and expression that what they say in one sermon will be sure to recur, perhaps in a modified form, in all others. This kind of preaching is intolerable. There is an end to the patience of man. He tires of the same old ideas, and wishes when a text is taken that it may bring with it a new sermon. The remedy against this evil is to give each sermon its own territory, and then guard rigidly against trespass. It is not a sufficient excuse for the minister who preaches continually in one place, that what he says has a natural connection with the subject in hand, but it must have a closer connection with it, than with any other he may use. By observing this rule, we make each theme the solar centre around which may cluster a great number of secondary ideas, all of which naturally belong to it, and are undisturbed by satellites from other systems.

The subjects from which a preacher may choose are innumerable. The Bible is an inexhaustible storehouse. Its histories, precepts, prophecies, promises and threatenings, are almost endless. Then all the duties of human life, and especially those born of the Christian character; the best methods of making our way to the end of our journey; the hopes after which we follow; the dangers that beset our path; the mighty destinies of time and eternity, are a few of the themes that suggest themselves, and afford room enough for the loftiest talent, during all the time that man is allowed to preach on earth. If we would search carefully for the best subjects, and, when found, isolate them from all others, we would never need to weary the people by the repetition of thoughts and ideas.

While, as a rule, we ought to shun controversial points, we should not be afraid to lay hold of the most important subjects that are revealed to man. These will always command attention; heaven and hell, judgment, redemption, faith, the fall, and all those great doctrines upon which the Christian religion rests, need to be frequently impressed on the people. It is also profitable to preach serial sermons on great subjects. The rise of the Jewish nation and economy would afford a fine field for instruction. The life and work of Jesus Christ would be still better. This latter series might consist of discourses on His birth, baptism, temptation, first sermon, His teaching in general, some miracle as a type of all others, transfiguration, last coming to Jerusalem, Gethsemane, betrayal and arrest, trial, crucifixion, resurrection, ascension and second advent. Many other subdivisions might be made. Such linked sermons, covering a wide scope, instruct the people better than isolated ones could, and afford equal opportunities for enforcing all Christian lessons. Yet it would not be well to employ them exclusively, or even generally, as such a practice would tend to wearisome sameness.

The subject must be well defined. It may be of a general nature, but our conception of it should be so clear that we always know just what we are speaking about. This is more necessary in an extempore speech than in a written one, although the want of it will be felt severely even in the latter. A strong, vividly defined subject will give unity and life to a whole discourse, and often leave a permanent impression on the mind. To aid in securing this, it will be well for the preacher, when he has chosen a subject, to reduce it to its simplest form, and then by writing it as a phrase or sentence, stamp it on the mind, and let it ring in every word that is spoken; that is, let each word aid in carrying out the great idea, or in leading to the desired object, and be valued only so far as it does this. Those interminable discourses, that seem to commence anywhere and end nowhere, may be called sermons by courtesy, but they are not such in reality. The word “sermon” signifies “a thrust,” which well expresses the concentrativeness and aggressiveness that should distinguish it, and which nothing but a well-defined theme can give. It ought not to glitter with detached beauties, like the starry heavens, but shine with the single, all-pervading radiance of the sun.

This unity of theme and treatment is not easily preserved. It is hard to see in the mind’s eye what we know would please and delight those who listen, and turn away and leave it, but it is often necessary to exercise this more than Spartan self-denial, if we would not reduce our sermons to mere random harangues. Not that illustration should be discarded, for the whole realm of nature may be pressed into this service, and a good illustration in the right place is often better than an argument. But nothing, whatever its nature, should be drawn in, unless it so perfectly coalesces with the parent idea, that a common vitality flows through them. If this is the case, the unity will be unbroken, though even then it often happens that the idea would produce a better effect in connection with another theme, and should be reserved for it.

Usage has established the practice of employing a passage of Scripture as the basis of a sermon. This is of great advantage to the minister, for it gives the discourse something of divine sanction, and makes it more than a popular address. Opinion is divided as to whether it is best to select the text, and arrange the discourse to correspond with it, or reversing this order, to compose the sermon first, and thus secure the harmony that arises from having no disturbing idea, and at the last moment choose a text of Scripture that will fit it as nearly as possible.

No doubt the comparative advantages of these methods will be to a great degree determined by the occasions on which they are used. When a subject is of great importance, and we wish to be precise in explaining it, we may adopt the latter method, but the former is more generally useful. There are so many valuable ideas and important suggestions in the words of Scripture, that we can ill afford to deprive ourselves of this help. For the Bible, with all its ideas, is common property. No minister need fear the charge of plagiarism, when he borrows, either in word or thought from its inspired pages. He is God’s ambassador, with the Bible for his letter of instruction, and the more freely he avails himself of it, if it be done skillfully, the better for the authority of his mission. We may often select a subject that appears dark and confused, but when we have found a passage of Scripture embracing the same idea, there may be something in it that will solve every doubt, and indicate the very thoughts we wish to enforce. For this reason we believe that under ordinary circumstances, the practice of first constructing the sermon and only at the last moment before delivery, tacking on a text, is not the best.

Another reason in favor of previously selecting the text is worth consideration. The people, who are not supposed to know anything of the subject, expect, when we read a passage of Scripture, as the foundation of our remarks, that it will be something more than a mere point of departure. They anticipate that it will be kept always in view, and furnish the key-note to the whole sermon. This is but reasonable, and if disappointed, they will not so well appreciate what is really good in the discourse. We would not sacrifice unity to a mere rambling commentary on the words of the text. Let the subject be first in the mind and bend everything to itself. But let the text be next in importance, and the whole subject be unfolded with it always in view. It may be feared that the work of sermonizing will be rendered more difficult by observing this double guidance, but if a proper text be chosen—one that, in its literal meaning, will embrace the subject—the labor will be much lightened.

It is a common fault to take a passage of Scripture consisting of a few words only, and put our own meaning upon it, without reference to the intention of the inspired writer who penned it. This borders very closely on irreverence. If we cannot use God’s words in the sense he uses them, we had better speak without a text at all, and then our sin will only be a negative one. The taking of a few words divorced from their connection, and appending them to a discourse or essay, that has no relation to their true meaning, is not less a profanation than it would be to prefix the motto, “Perfect love casteth out fear,” to a fashionable novel. But when, on the other hand, we take a text that contains our subject, and expresses it clearly, we are prepared to compose a sermon to the best advantage. The subject present in our own mind runs through every part of the discourse, making it a living unity, instead of a collection of loose and disordered fragments; while the text, being always kept in view by the hearers as well as by the speaker, leads all minds in the same direction, and gives divine sanction to every word that is spoken. It is not without reason that the people, whose tastes are nearly always right, though they may not be able to give a philosophical explanation of them, complain of their preacher when he does not “stick to his text.” It is right that he should so adhere.

A man of genius may neglect this precaution, and still succeed, as he would do, by mere intellectual force, were he to adopt any other course. But ordinary men cannot, with safety, follow the example of Sydney Smith. His vestry complained that he did not talk about the text he took, and, that he might the more easily reform, they advised him to divide his sermons as other preachers did. He promised to comply with their request, and the next Sabbath began, “We will divide our discourse this morning into three parts; in the first place we will go _up_ to our text, in the second we will go _through_ it, and in the third we will go FROM it.” It was generally allowed that he succeeded best on the last division, but preachers who have not his genius had better omit it.

These rules in relation to the absolute sway of object, subject and text, may appear harsh and rigid, but cannot be neglected with impunity. A true discourse of any kind is the orderly development of some one thought, with so much clearness, that it may ever afterward live as a point of light in the memory; other ideas may cluster around it, but one must reign supreme. If it fails in this particular, nothing else will redeem it. Brilliancy of thought and illustration will be wasted, as a sculptor’s art would be on a block of clay.

A man of profound genius once arose to preach before a great assemblage, and every breath was hushed to listen. He spoke with power, and some of his passages were full of thrilling eloquence. He poured forth beautiful images and deep solemn thoughts, with the utmost profusion. Yet when he took his seat a sense of utter disappointment filled the hearts of all present. The sermon was confused. No subject could be traced that bound it together, and made a point of union to which the memory might cling. Had he not read his text no one could have guessed it. It was a most impressive warning of the necessity of laying a foundation before erecting a magnificent structure. Had he adhered to the thoughts expressed in his text, which was one of the richest in the Scriptures, his eloquence and power would not have been thrown away.