The One understood that most glorious truth of all truths—that there is some good in each of us, and that if that good only could be recognized and encouraged it would overcome the bad in us. You will remember the saying: "A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump."
So don't be an orator of melancholy. There is enough sadness in the world without your adding to it by either visage, conduct, or sermon. Besides, it is not what you are directed to do. The people would be very glad if you could say with Isaiah that
"The Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; ... he hath sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord ... to comfort all that mourn ... to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."
That is the kind of talk that will cheer the people, and it is the kind of talk that will do the people good. There is nothing "blue" about that. And it is what the Book bids you tell the people. The people want it, too, and need it—they need "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."
Ah! yes, indeed, that is worth while. Your pews will never be empty if such be the fruit of your lips and the ripeness of your spirit. The people want to hear about something better than they know or have known.
"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings."
Nobody likes a scold. Of course, when it is necessary to scold, go ahead and scold. But don't make scolding a practise. Your congregation will not stand being abused; they will not stand it unless they actually need it, and then they will stand it. Unconsciously they will know that the stripes you lay upon them are medicine after all, and for their healing.
But ordinarily everybody has such a hard time that they would like to hear about "a good time coming." Ordinarily everybody is so tired that they would like to hear something like this: "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest."
The religion which you preach owes its vitality to the glorious hopefulness of it. The people want to know that if they do well here joy awaits them hereafter, and here, too, if possible. They want to hear about the "Father's house" that has "many mansions," and about Him who has "gone to prepare a place" for them.
They demand happiness in some form, if only in talk. If they do not get it in the assurances of religion, who can blame them if they say: "Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die." For sure enough they do die to-morrow, so far as their world goes.