Figures, Parables, and Anecdotes
It is easy to tell a preacher to adopt a figarative style of preaching; but what if he have no figmes? This difficulty is not provided for by the rhetoricians who lay down rules and illustrate them by borrowed examples. Most unquestionably the use of figures is to be highly commendedj and it is because of a strong belief that a good deal can be done to improve what I may (for want of a better name) call the metaphorical faculty, that I urgeyou to insist upon your mind giving you something in the way of illustration. Look for figures; work for them; take them in their rudest outline, and improve them. It is hardly necessary to remind you that figures are not to be expected to meet all the points of a subject; let it suffice to have one main line of application, and to shed light on one particular point. I may confess to you in this confidential correspondence, that I cannot do much in the way of metaphor; yet this confession, coupled with the fact that I use all diligence to turn my fraction of talent to account, does not deter me from urging you to glean even where you cannot reap. To provoke your criticism, to encourage the feeblest of your efi”orts, and to awaken your emulation, I venture to send you a sample of figures and illustrations which my poor fancy has yielded with infinite reluctance.
What do you do when, in reading the massive folios of ancient English authors, you meet passages written in an unknown tongue? Paragraph after paragraph you read with all possible fluency, instantly apprehending the authors purpose; but suddenly the writer throws before you a handful of Latin or a handful of Greek: what then? If you are absorbed by the interest of the book, you eagerly look out for the next paragraph in English, and continue your pursuit of the leading thought. Do likewise with Gods wondrous providence-book. Much of it is written in your own tongue — in large lettered English, so to speak: read that; master its deep significance, and leave the passages of unknown language until you are farther advanced in the rugged literature of life, until you are older and better scholars in God’s probationary school. The day of interpretation will assuredly come.
You have seen an old man tottering with the gathered infirmities of a weary lifetime, and wandering in darkness on which no summer sun could shed the light of morning: blind! blind from his birth! never saw God’s outer robe of many colours; never saw God’s shadowed outline — his own mother’s face! You have seen such a man, led along the thronged highway by a little child, to whose young bright eyes he committed himself in hope and faith. I am that poor blind wanderer through the way of God’s mysteries, and that little guide represents the benevolence, the mercy, the tenderness, with which God leads me from horizon to horizon, until I stand amid the encircling glories of the perfect revelation. The commonest mercy of the daytime flames up into a fireguide, that lights men through the gloom and trouble of the night.
I am afraid that many of us are defective in moral symmetry. Some men are great Christians upon one point, and some are great Christians upon another. One man is a great Christian in the matter of Sabbath-school teaching, and another a stupendous Christian in the matter of total abstinence from all strong drink. We may be too much in the habit of singling out special virtues, to feed them up to a high pitch, in order to carry off the prize at the ecclesiastical show. This would give but a poor idea of the roundness, the completeness,, and the inclusiveness of the Christian life. Suppose that next summer should grow little but sunflowers, and the following mainly abound in roses, and the third be chiefly distinguished for violets: however rich might be the product of each, the summer, as a whole, would be accounted poor and ill clad. Summer develops all the growing power of the soil, and so moral summer does not bring forth an isolated excellency, but clothes the human tree with” all manner of fruit.^’
Mysteries! What are they but as the earth at night-time, speeding on with swift wing to the all-revealing brightness of morning!
We say of some men: “They are not altogether bad; every now and then they come pretty right; so much so that it is hard to distinguish between them and Christians.’’^ It is much the same as if we should say of a clock that is not going: ‘^ Really that clock is not so bad after all; every now and then, twice in the twenty- four hours, it is perfectly right; it may be right all day by-and-by.-” No; not until the mechanism is put in order, and the pendulum is started. So with man: the heart must be riorht before the life can be true.
Every man must bear his testimony in his own way. Standing in a watchmaker’s shop near noonday, I was surprised to find how many different ways there are of announcino- twelve o’clock. One bell tolled it out in most solemn tones, leaving a considerable space between the resounding notes; another rattled off the hour in a most flippant manner, and seemed to say to the first, ^’ Get on with you; put some spirit into your work, dont stand droning there!” One clock spoke with a silvery voice; another gave its message with a shivering clang; a third repeated the hours as if burdened with the effort; a fourth, having struck twelve very cheerfully, began to chime most sweetly. Every man, like every clock, has his own way; the one important thing is to keep true time, and not to be ashamed to tell it.
Some clocks don’t strike. You must looh at them if you would know the time. Some men don’t talk their Christianity; you must look at their lives if you would know what the gospel can do for human nature. A clock need not be incorrect because it strikes; a man need not be inconsistent because he speaks as well as acta.
I dream: far out on the waste of waters there moves a pirate vessel; day by day it preys upon the lawful commerce of all countries; its decks are wet with human blood, and its coffers laden with plundered gold. It is the terror of all navigators. Its every pursuit is destruction to the pursued. It fights no losing battles; the mightiest quail, the stoutest surrender.
I dream still: over the yielding billows there rides in proud majesty another vessel, — vaster, stronger, quicker; on board is a captain surpassing all in genius, in courage, in resources. Against his assaults all artillery is but as the rattle of a childs toy against the eternal granite. He strikes the pirate ark once, and again he strikes, and once more; until the timbers rend, and the enemy is engulfed in the great deep.
What is the interpretation of my vision? What but that death is the great enemy coursing ever on the seas of human life, slaying the strong, blighting the beautiful, plucking away the young, and striking dread everywhere? And that great counteracting force, what is that but Christ, who came to “abolish death,” and give His saints full triumph? And ages upon ages hence, if men should inquire “Where is death?” they shall be answered as with the voice of many waters — swallowed up in victoey!
Preachers and teachers of all degrees may know the way to heaven, yet never walk in it, just as a man may know every detail of the railway timetable and yet never take a journey. Men who spend their lives in preparing other people for heaven, but never advance themselves towards it, may be likened to the inspectors, porters, and other railway servants, who are occupied in setting out travellers, but who themselves never see the ocean or the landscape.
It is right for you, young men, to enrich yourselves with the spoils of all pure literature; but lie who would make a favourite of a bad book, simply because it contained a few beautiful passages, might as well caress the hand of an assassin because of the jewellery which sparkles on its fingers.
A great deal of misery would be prevented, if ministers would endeavour to form an honest estimate of their qualifications, and, as a consequence, seek appointments for which they are specially qualified. If one might teach unpleasant doctrines through the medium of a figure, one can imagine how inconvenient it would be in the event of a great cathedral clock wearing out, for a neat Geneva watch to put itself forward as a candidate for the vacancy. The Geneva might be a beautiful little thing, and might keep the most exact time, and might be called endearing names by ladies and little children; yet, to speak the language of charity, it might hardly be adapted to be set a hundred and fifty feet above the ground, in a circular vacancy at least ten feet in diameter. In such a case its very elevation would become its obscurity. On the other hand, it would be quite as inconvenient if a great cathedral clock, weary of city work, should ask to be carried about as a private timekeeper. There is a moral in the figure. That moral points towards the law of proportion and adaptation. One can imagine the petted Geneva looking up from a lady’s hand, and calling the cathedral clock a great, coarse thing, with a loud and vulgar voice, which indicated the most offensive presumption; and we can imagine the cathedral clock looking down, with somewhat of disdain, upon the little timekeeping toy. Oh that
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some sensible chronometer would say to the rivals — “Cease your contention; you are both useful in your places,” The one as a private chaplain, the other as a city orator, may tell the world to redeem its flying time.
Though mysteries culminate in the Cross, yet there is enough revealed in the Cross for man’s present pardon, and his final enfranchisement in heavenly immortality. The secret things are not ours, — the revealed things are. We have not so much to do with the top of the ladder, which is lost in the efiulgence of the heavens, as with the foot of it, which rests on the earth; nor have we so much to do with the bright angel ministrants who throng it, as with the messages of mercy and hymns of hope which escape their tuneful lips. Fool is he who, in running from a town in flames, will not cross the river until he speculates concerning the architecture of the bridge, and makes inquiry into the origin and the date of its building. “Speed away from the pursuing flame,’’ say you; “tarry not until you are far beyond its range, and afterwards, if you please, discuss your speculations concerning the bridge.” The illustration may be applied to the sinner who wishes to escape from his sin. His first business is to reduce to practice all that he does understand, to manifest a disposition to accept all the arrangements of Divine wisdom, and in childlike trust to give himself up to God. The Cross has a side that is “secret,” and a side that is “revealed” — a side that shines towards God, and a side that shines towards a sinning world. It lights the heavens as well as the earth, but man’s whole business now is to accept the beam which falls upon himself, and in its light to penetrate his way to the higher and better spheres. ... Do not anticipate the course of study. The volumes will be given by the great Librarian, one by one. Understand what you can, and in doing it you will increase in knowledge; understand that in all the wastes of folly there can be no greater fool than he who will not believe his Father’s telegram because he cannot understand the mystery of the telegraph.
Circumstances have much to do with the formation of opinions. I overlook from my window a field which in April looks like a desert; it is flat, sterile, and most dreary in aspect, not a green thing visible in all the breadth of its twenty acres; it looks like a plague spot on the landscape, and the eye turns from it as from a repulsive spectacle. In August that same field is the richest, the grandest in the whole prospect, for then it is laden with golden wheat. It is the same field, yet how different the appearance! So I have observed that young men who modestly begin life with little or no demonstrativeness, often have a very luxuriant and substantial maturity. It is well to defer our judgments until August.
The gospel of Christ may be either the savour of life unto life to a hearer, or a savour of death unto death. How so? All depends upon the man himself. The sun brings life to some branches, and death to others. If a branch is on the tree, and the tree is properly rooted in the soil, the sun will bring life to it; but if the branch be amputated, the sun will wither it to death. It is the same sun, and the branches have grown in the same forest, or even on the same tree; and yet the shining of the sun
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means life to the one and death to the other. It is precisely so with, the gospel: if a man will not put himself in a right relation to it it will be his utter destruction.
All men cannot work in the same way:” there are diversities of operation/^ Upon the face of a watch you may see an illustration of my meaning. On that small space you have three workers: there is the secondpointer performing rapid revolutions; there is the minute-pointer, goig t a greatly reduced speed; and there is the hour-pointer, tardier still. Now any one unacquainted with the mechanism of a watch would conclude that the busy little second -pointer was doing all the work, — it is clicking away at sixty times the speed of the minute-pointer; and as for the hour-hand, that seems to be doing no work at all. You can see in a moment that the first is busy, and in a short time you will see the second stir j but you must wait still longer to assure yourself of the motion of the third. So is it in the church. There are active, fussy men, who appear to be doing the work of the whole community, and others who are slower. But can we do without the minute and the hour pointers? The noisy second-hand might go round its little circle for ever without telling the world the true time. We should be thankful for all kinds of workers. The silent, steady hour-hand need not envy its noisy little colleague. Each man must fill the measure of his capacity. Your business is to do your allotted work so as to meet the approbation of the Master.
I saw a man watering the roads this morning. He was very careful where he began and where he ended. Three
T 2 hours afterwards a heavy shower of rain fell and it blessed the whole neighbourhood with its impartial benediction. Thus it is with law and grace; and thus too it is with people who work from the point of duty and the nobler people who work from the point of love.
From figure to parable is not a difficult transition. I have found in the course of my own ministry that parabolical representations of truth have excited a most healthful and profitable interest. All men have somewhat of the dramatic element in them; hence they watch with eagerness the development and consummation of a plot or a plan if you like that word better in this connection. How will it end? is the anxious inquiry. If you keep your eyes open you will see the working of this dramatic element in many of the common concerns of daily life. Dispute with a cabman about his fare; and the baker, the milkman and the lamplighter will soon gather round you to see how the controversy will end: ofi”er to put a hundred pieces of curiously shaped wood together, so as to make a complete figure of them, and all the children in the house will give up their lessons, and press upon you to see how the mystery is solved: tell a chilH that it is his duty to be honest, and he will infallibly pronounce you a bore; but give him a hint that you can tell a wonderful story about the hairbreadth escapes of a thief, and he will tease you to relate the tale, and will perhaps beg you to go over parts of it again and again. What of it — and especially what of it in relation to the ministry? We must seek the readiest entrance to the human mind, and tlirougli that entrance must convey Christian instruction. I know that you will ask, whether this that or the other is legitimate, or is in keeping with the dignity of the pulpit. Enough for me to know that Jesus Christ dramatised truth: all the elements of a most exciting romance are to be found in the parable of the prodigal son; why therefore should we hesitate to follow, with such power as God may give us, the example of the Master? Everywhere there is keen interest in life, character, destiny; little children feel it, and old men are not superior to it. This interest has undoubtedly been debased by vicious novels and corrupt dramas, but this is no argument whatever against novels and dramas that are good. You can convey just as much solid truth through the medium of a drama as through the medium of an exposition or exhortation, with this most valuable advantage, — you carry the attention of your hearers with you from beginning to end, and are likely to give the subject an abiding place in their recollection. Of course, if you construct a clumsy or inconsistent parable, you must bear the mockery which you deserve. I am speaking of parables that recommend themselves by a basis of strong common sense and a fair share of fancy and eloquence; such parables, delivered with a simplicity which is at the farthest possible distance from theatrical affectation, will never fail to secure the best results.
In writing thus, a great fear comes upon me lest you should be indiscreet enough to ask me to show you how such parables may be written. Perhaps I do you injustice in supposing that you would condescend to ask such a question; yet I feel some relief in being permitted to indulge a supposition so dishonouring to your proud powers. It would display sound judgment on my part, were I to try to bring the requisite fancy, wit, and wisdom, to bear upon the (Outline and execution of your task; but I am afraid the advice would not be of much service to you. Frankly then, I own that the power of writing parables is not so freely distributed a the power of reading them. If you have not the power, dont waste your time in parable grinding. A poor sermon is bad enough, but a poor parable is intolerable. A parable that is cumbrous, mechanical, laboured, will offend and weary the unhappy victims on whose patience it is inflicted and their maledictions will be the fit reward of the foolish speaker. There must be no display of mere cleverness in the construction of the parable; the moment the hearers are so far released from the grasp of the thought as to think anything about the forms, the highest object of teaching is lost. This being so, the Christian parabolist cannot allow himself to dally over points on which the mere artist may lawfully linger; the preacher is more than an artist, and is therefore bound to watch himself jealously lest art become a temptation to him. The preacher is an architect, it is true; but he is specially a 6zi/?c?er. His plans may be good, what if he build nothing? He must build, and he must build completely. Each parable must have its own distinct lesson; if it be fragmentary it will be distracting and useless, and truth will be dishonoured. The execution may not be polished, but the conception must be complete. The parable of the prodigal son is complete, though there is no attempt at literary embellishment. You must have an object, and towards that you must move steadily and fervently. Before beginning your parable, put to yourself the question — What end
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have I in view? Suppose the answer be, to prove that the way of transgressors is hard; or to show that the paths of wisdom are pleasant; or, to point out what maybe done by faith, — you have then to outline a narrative which will most graphically illustrate your meaning: you have the main point, and it remains to gather around it elucidatory material. This is perhaps an infelicitous way of insisting that your teaching must be distinct; it must not be simply allusive; people must not be thrown upon their skill in drawing inferences; the doctrine must be clear, the lesson must be emphatic.
I confess to some difficulty in giving advice about the use of anecdotes, as, in my opinion, nearly everything depends upon the taste and skill of the relator. The same anecdote told by two different men may produce two contrary effects, — it may disgust, and it may please. When there is drawling over unimportant points, or heaviness in the expression, or a long preamble before the story, the effect is sure to be bad. As soon as I hear a preacher say, —” My beloved brethren, let us illustrate this by one of the most beautiful and affecting anecdotes which it was ever my privilege to hear,’’ I make up my mind to endure a dreary recital of very painful nonsense. Anecdotes should not be prefaced. Anecdotes should not be long. Anecdotes should be true. I have heard of a preacher who in one discourse related twenty- seven anecdotes, yet they were so skilfully introduced and so pithily told as to be quite enjoyed by educated and critical hearers. This is an exceptional case: don’t set it up as a model, or I shall never hear a good account of you. If you can now and again put a simple and telling anecdote into your sermon, do so; but be very careful not to go anecdote mad. People will believe in parables when they will distrust anecdotes. They know that a parable is imaginative, but they expect an anecdote to be literal; and if once they catch the relater tripping, there is an end to their confidence, not only in the speech but in the speaker.
In all our ministry we have to magnify Jesus Christ as the Saviour of the world; and whether it be by figure and parable, or by the plain statement of doctrine, let ns be sure that we reach the highest point of our vocation. At the base of your ministry let there be sound, enlightened, fearless, and reVerent exposition of the Divine word; without that your ministry will be a failure, you will never train men; you may please giddy and shallow listeners, but no manly host will prove the vigour of your teaching. Having laid your foundations, you may call up all your powers and attainments to give scope, massiveness, and beauty to the building. Dont lay an interdict upon your fancy; dontbe afraid of the occasional service of humour; dont always put a seal upon your wit; let your whole nature preach; let fancy, humour, wit, sarcasm, contribute their share of help to your ministry; they will be of use as allies, if you be careful to have something stronger on the main line. If you honour Christ in your ministry, you will be honoured by Him in return. When the fisherman goes to the river, it is that he may attempt to take fish; are not you a fisher of men? Why not then go to every sermon with the one set purpose of bringing men to the Saviour? That is the one object of the true ministry. We have to bring men to Christ as a Saviour, and we have also to bring men to Christ as a Teacher, Repentance and faith are not the
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end, they are but the beginniDg of Christian life. We seek conversion first, then we aim at edification, Tlirougliout the process we are the agents, the servants, the ambassadors of Christ, — He will honour those who wait upon Him, if they forget themselves in the glory of His blessed name.