The one advantage to soup—so runs the standard jest—is that it can be thinned down to serve any number of persons merely by the addition of that inexpensive commodity, water. But good cooks don't do this. They know that adding water to the soup reduces the food value, decreases the flavor, and makes otherwise unpalatable a standard article of diet. But what has this to do with the work of the ministry?
The other day I heard a sermon that reminded me of watered soup. The text was well chosen, the central thought was valuable, the sincerity of the preacher was evident, but all he said could have been said in half the time or less, and more effectively. For a few minutes he spoke in an interesting fashion, and then he began to "water the soup."
In the first place, he repeated. Over and over again I heard him say, "I must go on," but we didn't advance. Now there's no evil in repetition, when it is so managed as to drive home a point of great importance. In such a case repetition may be of positive value. But much unplanned repetition often tells the audience that the speaker is stalled on the hillside, and can't get up enough thought-power to go on. So he simply stays in the same old rut, reiterating ideas that are probably already trite in his hearers' ears. Let's' beware of the ruts of aimless repetition.
And he added. Tautology, redundancy, periphrasis, pleonasm, circumlocution—what high-sounding terms could be used to name his offense! But, to put it simply, his extempore (or was it impromptu?) discourse was padded with excess words till some of it became ridiculous. Many of his sentences could have been cut in half and been more cogent in meaning. Such phrases as "In his first sermon which he gave—," "I have had to stand beside the bedside—," "He lived in intense poverty until he died—," fell glibly from his lips. Now if he had been vitally thinking, instead of fishing for ideas, he would have sensed the ridiculousness of such expressions. But perhaps, like many other speakers, he did not realize the importance of a thoughtful pause.
A skillful pause in a sermon is like a rest in music, which, as one of the great composers said, is the most essential part. A pause allows the speaker to re-think his succeeding ideas. A pause permits the hearer not only to chew the intellectual food already provided, but also to prepare for the reception of the next thought. It is the pause that refreshes both speaker and hearer. Let's not pad. Let's cultivate the thoughtful pause.
And he promised. Now I shouldn't have minded if he had fulfilled his promise, but he didn't. "I want to tell you this morning—," or the like, frequently fell from his lips, but he never delivered the ideas that he asserted his great desire to deliver. He left me unsatisfied.
Why did he commit these offenses? Did he intend to? By no means. Probably he isn't even conscious of the atrocities. That's the pity of it. And unless his wife, or some other kind friend, tells him his error, he won't ever know.
But why did he? Simply because he is committed to the theory of "inspired" preaching, and doesn't realize that inspiration in delivering a sermon depends on inspiration in preparing it. If we would deliver sermons calculated to awaken our hearers, and to inspire them to vital living and deeper consciousness of the responsibilities of the times, we must spend more time in thoughtful, prayerful preparation of our sermons. The Holy Spirit, it is promised, will "bring all things to your remembrance." Note the phrasing: "bring to . . . remembrance." But we can't remember what we haven't already stored in our minds.
From the recesses of my early reading I recall a sentence that may explain some of the trite, thinned-down, uninspired sermons that we sometimes hear in our pulpits: "God does not inspire vacuity." No, He doesn't. If we want inspiration, we shall have to provide from the storehouse of the Bible, the Spirit of prophecy, and the accumulated history, experience, and observation of the world, the materials into which the Holy Spirit can breathe the breath of life. It is then that the word of the Lord in the preacher's mouth shall become "quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword."
Brethren, let's study. God calls for a consecrated, thoughtful ministry. This is no time to be repeating childish platitudes, or hemming and hawing in our lack of preparedness when men's souls hang on the decisions of the sermon hour.
Angwin, Calif.
