Why is it that the messages of one worker at a camp meeting are the chief source of conversation and discussion among the brethren in attendance, while those of some other worker, just as sincere, just as profound in the enunciation of principles, are received with little comment or even an apparent lack of appreciation? I have observed this difference with a great deal of interest, and have tried to analyze the contributing factors of success and failure in attracting the attention of an audience.
There are, of course, minor factors of personality, fervency, pulpit conduct, and reputation that help to explain why some audiences stay and keep awake on a warm afternoon, while the same group under another speaker slip away under the tent flaps on various and sundry pretexts. But other things being equal, I am firmly convinced that the fundamental difference in appeal is to be found in the contrast between concrete and abstract presentation of truth.
The average man or woman, as well as boy or girl, is "picture-minded." Our clearest ideas come to us set in a frame with foreground and background and definite relationships. That is why the parable method of preaching is always successful. Jesus recognized this principle. One worker takes a text, strings together a series of stories aptly illustrating its underlying truth, and becomes popular as an expositor. Another chooses the same text, labors to make it cogent as a theological disquisition, and the effect upon his hearers is vague and disappointing. We must not dismiss our audience with a wave of the hand and a gesture of impatience at their obtuseness or indifference.The problem is that of the ministerial laborer, and not one chargeable to the audience.
As far as sermonic structure is concerned, the "pullman" type of homiletic exegesis, in which the body of argument consists of a connected series of stories, lacks much of the proper architecture to come under the classification of "a sermon." But there is nothing in the rules for the homily which precludes the use of concreteness and vividness in appeal. When an evangelist generalizes on sin in the abstract, his hearers apply the ugly epithet to neighbor Blank; but when he talks about temper and how to overcome it, about unfaithfulness in specific responsibilities in the home, the church, the school, and its effect upon the character, he makes his hearers feel that sin is a concrete thing, a tangible reality, to be dealt with seriously.
The Bible is still the best seller because its spiritual appeal, indited by the Holy Spirit, is graphic and concrete. Its picture of God is anthropomorphic—a Being who sees, hears, speaks, creates, and appears to men in bodily form. Its symbols are comprehended as visible objects—"four beasts," "seven lamps," "ten virgins," etc. It is such concreteness for which the preacher must strive. Few minds are so constituted as to follow a close line of abstract reasoning for very long; hence the relief when the evangelist breaks out in graphic illustration, even though it be but a pencil held in his band.
An exhortation to be good, is excellent; but to make it clear how to translate goodness into daily conduct, is far better. The first is abstract; the second is concrete. Peter was abstract when he said: "Thou knowest that I love Thee;" Jesus was concrete when He replied: "Feed My Sheep." New-man's labored "Apologia" is familiar only to scholars; his simple "Lead, Kindly Light," has blessed all Christendom. Milton's theological disputations are largely forgotten; the famous line, "They also serve who only stand and wait," from his sonnet on his blindness, is a homiletic gem, quoted from many lips.
These principles are constantly being stressed in the composition classroom. Should they not have greater emphasis in the pulpit presentation of truth? There was once a famous general who kept on his staff an unlettered, intellectually subnormal aide to whom he repeated all his orders. If this poor man understood them clearly, the orders were passed on to the other officers in the belief that they could hardly be misconstrued. Should not every sermon, generally speaking, be designed to appeal to the least in understanding? In such a case, the result will be to govern ineffective oratorical flights, and to reach the minds of men and women with the vitality of the truth. Concreteness is a good pulpit watchword.
Berrien Springs, Mich.