He was exceedingly methodical and perspicuous. His arrangement was never loose and vague; his thoughts never confused and mingled together. He was a “wise master-builder,” who took care to lay a broad and firm foundation, and then “built thereon gold, silver, and precious stones.” The several parts of his discourse bore a mutual relation of dependence, and each would have been incomplete without the others. His order was so natural, that it was very easy to follow him; and his manner so impressive, that it was nearly impossible to forget him.
He never spoke on a subject that he did not understand. Before entering the pulpit, he invariably measured his text in all its extent, and considered it in every possible aspect. “He had a wonderful method,” says one, “of making the most abstruse passages appear easy and plain. He interpreted scripture by scripture, and exhibited the component parts of his subject in a clear and beautiful manner, and illustrated them by the most appropriate and striking metaphors; and forging link by link, united them together, and bound the whole up in one glorious chain. His talents were such as to enable him to cast a ray of light upon the darkest points of the Christian system.”
Mr. Evans’ descriptive powers were altogether unique. He abounded in allegories of the most forcible character. In this respect, he was equaled by none of his contemporaries; transcended by none of his predecessors. Passages of this kind will be so frequently met with in the following selection from his sermons, that it is not necessary to point them out to the reader.
His happy art of description is attributable chiefly to a very remarkable imagination. This is one of the primary qualities of an orator. When it is lacking, no depth of learning, no graces of delivery, can compensate for its lack. True, argument is important. There is no eloquence without argument. Argument must constitute the bone and the sinew of every good discourse. But the bone and the sinew constitute only the skeleton. Imagination must supply the muscle and the nerve. Imagination must clothe it with beauty, and inspire it with life; give expression to the features, animation to the eye, and to the tongue motion and melody articulate. Argument is the John Baptist of eloquence, after whom there cometh a mightier, baptizing with fire!
“Logic,” says Carlyle, “is good, but not the best. The irrefragable doctor, with his chain of inductions, his corollaries, dilemmas, and other cunning logical diagrams and apparatus, will cast you a beautiful horoscope, and speak you reasonable things; nevertheless, the stolen jewel which you wanted him to find you is not forthcoming. Often, by some winged word, winged as the thunderbolt is, of a Luther, Napoleon, Goethe, shall we see the difficulty split asunder, and its secret laid bare; while the irrefragable, with all his logical roots, hews at it, and hovers round it, and finds it on all sides too hard for him.”
Mr. Evans had feeling as well as fancy. This in a preacher is even more important than the other. Here, we conceive, lies the principal distinction between the orator and the poet. Poetry is the language of fancy; eloquence, the language of feeling. The preacher who operates only on the judgment and the fancy may instruct and please, and thus prepare the way for persuasion. Persuasion itself requires a warm and glowing heart. Eloquence has been defined, “the power of imparting one’s feelings to others.” “If you want me to weep,” said Horace, “you must weep yourself.” The preacher who is himself unmoved, will toil in vain to move his hearers. His sermon may be as beautiful as the moon-beams on the snow; but it will be as powerless and as cold. As saith Longinus:—“The orator must have a vehement and enthusiastic passion, a certain madness, or divine phrensy, breathing into his thoughts, and inspiring his speech.” To use the language of another:—“Truth must be planted in the hot-bed of feeling, if we would witness its flowery development, and enjoy its fruit. The orator must be roused and inflamed by the majesty of his theme; not wrought up into an unmeaning fury, like a tempest in a tea-pot; but influenced and agitated by solemn considerations of truth, duty, interest, and moral grandeur.”
If this description of eloquence was ever realized in the pulpit, it was in the preaching of Christmas Evans. He spoke what he felt, and because he felt. The fountain was in his own soul, and it flowed out upon his audience in streams of living water. He was always full of his subject, and his ordinary manner was exceedingly ardent and pathetic. Sometimes he seemed quite overwhelmed with the magnitude and grandeur of his theme, and then he spoke with such impassioned earnestness as to storm the hearts of his hearers. Thus inspired, it was scarcely possible that any man of ordinary sensibilities should be otherwise than eloquent. But Mr. Evans’ talents were of a superior order; and when kindling with the enthusiasm of his message, he became peculiarly energetic and impressive. “His words came out,” as Longinus says, “as if discharged from an engine,” and their influence rested like a spell upon the ear and the heart. He transported his hearers beyond the region of argument, and leaving all their cavils and prejudices immeasurably behind, rapt them away to the third heaven of ecstasy!
The secret of all this power is found in the preacher’s piety. He was a man of eminent faith and holiness. The “things new and old” for the edification of his hearers, he “brought forth out of the treasure of his own heart.” The love of God within him imparted to his preaching a wonderful unction. His splendid mental creations were instinct with the inspiration of sanctified feeling. This divine anointing often rendered him superior to himself, clothed him with a superhuman energy, till he seemed a messenger from the other world. The man was lost in his theme. Art was swallowed up in the whirlpool of excited feeling. The audience were swept irresistibly along by the current of the discourse; acknowledging, by tears and groans, the preacher’s hold upon their hearts; and sometimes losing all self-control, and bursting into the most extravagant expressions of wonder and delight. On this subject take the language of one, who, from personal acquaintance with Mr. Evans, was qualified to form a correct estimate of his character as a Christian minister:—
“He was also an experimental preacher. That a preacher feel his subject, constitutes one of his excellencies; but that his sermon be deeply imbued with the spiritual experience of the preacher, is the Crowning point of his excellency. It is true, a person may speak well of the distress of other people, but he will speak more powerfully of his own distress. Persons may expatiate very eloquently on the pleasant fragrance of the herbs and flowers of foreign lands, but those who have themselves participated in the fragrant odors, in the soft breezes of those countries, can describe them in an infinitely superior manner, and to much greater advantage. Many may speak fluently of the mercies of God, in providence and grace—protecting, preserving, pardoning sinners, &c., but those who have experienced a sense of the divine mercy in their own souls can speak much better of it. Mr. Evans had an experience of the things of God. Not only had he heard of Calvary, but in Calvary he lived; not only had he heard of the bread of angels and of the corn of heaven, but this bread and this corn were his daily food; not only had he heard of the river of life, the streams whereof make glad the city of our God, but the crystal waters of this river were his constant drink; not only had he heard of the renewing influences of the grace of God, but he himself had been made the subject of these influences. He had experienced the operations of the Spirit renovating his own heart, and therefore he could speak of them, not as a matter of hearsay, but with the apostle—‘And what our hands have handled of the Word of life, declare we unto you.’” [71]
Mr. Evans’ preaching was highly evangelical. “Jesus Christ and him crucified,” was the alpha and omega of his ministry. The character of the following sermons fully justifies that remarkable saying upon his death-bed: “I have never labored without blood in the basin.” Every one of them is illustrative of some important point in the economy of salvation. Every one of them tends to humble the sinner, and exalt the grace of God. Every one of them abounds with lofty views of the Divine Justice and Mercy.