The Sermon as an Intellectual Product
IT has been said that sermons are either “born, or made, or given.” If so, we shall now treat the sermon as made, as the product of the preacher’s mind and heart, the creation of his fine art, and from the human side.
To all sermon-makers one great maxim may be given: cultivate the homiletic habit; accustom yourself to the construction of sermon outlines; study analysis and synthesis; learn by patient study and practice to find out what is in a text, to mark every suggestion which it contains, and to arrange these suggestions in symmetrical and effective order. We add a second maxim scarcely less important, namely: cultivate the practical habit. Have a practical end in view always, and let everything bend to that result. Dr. Candlish said of a sermon which was submitted to his criticism: “This discourse consists of an introduction which might have been spared, a second part which docs not deal with the text; and a conclusion which concludes nothing” — except, we suppose, the discourse. Contrast with this the solemn testimony of Robertson of Irvine, who wrote: “On looking back on my ministry I cannot charge myself with ever having uttered in the pulpit one word I did not believe; and I never spoke frivolously. If I were to express in one word what has been the great aim of my ministry it would be this: to lead all the human race to cry, “O Lamb of God, have mercy upon us!”
Still a third maxim belongs with the other two, and on this we now expand somewhat: cultivate the methodical habit. There are manifest advantages of method in all work that is to be thoroughly done, and sermon preparation is certainly no exception.
Paul says, in I Cor. xiv. 40: “Let all things be done decentl)’ and in order.”
The word “decently” has reference to a good appearance, what is pleasing to look upon, comely, decorous; and the word translated “order” means arrangement, regular disposition, as in a series or succession. As will be seen, one of these words naturally suggests the aesthetical element, and the other the methodical element.
The great principle of sermon preparations, as of all other works for Christ, is, do your best. Nothing should be done in slovenly fashion that is done for the Master. We should take care even of our personal appearance, that it should be cleanly and seemly, while avoiding the finical extreme of undue punctiliousness and ceremoniousness. An unkempt person, finger nails that are in mourning, uncombed hair, unbrushed garments, soiled linen — none of these things are to be overlooked as hindrances to usefulness and service. We should train not only our morals but our manners, for, as the Latin mores suggests, there is an intimate connection between the two. We may venture perhaps to disregard some of the arbitrary regulations of a formal etiquette, but we should never disregard principles of equity and courtesy.
So, in our handiwork, even our penmanship should be legible, clean, free from interlineations and corrections, blots and blotches. An illegible hand is oftentimes the occasion of much provocation and annoyance to those who are compelled to read our letters. With regard to composition, we should frame a sentence in our mind substantially before we put it upon paper, and habituate ourselves to writing in the first instance as we desire a sentence to stand. If a carpenter is making a joint he cannot venture to cut carelessly into the wood, thinking that, if at the first the joint does not fit closely, he can more perfectly adjust it afterward. If the tenon is too small for the mortise, how can the joint be subsequently made perfect? The sculptor cannot afford to chip the marble carelessly. He may cut too deep for the symmetry of his statue, and the marble is more easily chipped off than replaced. Think as well as you can, and then express as perfectly what you think. Write as you want the writing to stand, leaving no room for subsequent corrections; if you leave room for them on 3’our paper you will leave room for them in your mind. It is always therefore best to work up to power, in everything that you do. Let the fullness of your mental, moral, and spiritual manhood enter into all your work.
Never overlook quality in quantity. It is not how much work you do, but how good work you do, which is the all-important matter. A little well done rather than a great deal ill done should be the law of life. Any first-class piece of work lasts. One such piece of work has oftentimes made one’s reputation. It was an eminent artist. Sir Joshua Reynolds, that said to a student: “Finish one picture, and you are a painter.” A good quality of work has a permanent effect upon the workman. There is something elevating to the man himself in an exalted product of his own hand and brain. His success stimulates him to still more successful effort, and something well done encourages him to attempt something that shall be even better done; whereas the effect of careless work is to habituate one to carelessness and to make one satisfied with an inferior product.
Again, a first-class piece of work is of course of larger value to others. It helps them to a better ideal and to a more exalted real, in their own character, life, and career. The world is in need of the best that we can do, but poor work is a damage alike to the workman and to the world.
It may be well to apply these principles in two directions mainU-. First, to the reading of books, and secondly, to the composing of sermons.