Preaching, indeed, is a sorry trade. The preacher studies and meditates on his subject, composes his sermon, and then commits it to memory. What a task! He then goes into the pulpit, and is grieved to perceive that the minds of his audience are abstracted—that they look like persons who are being bored; so much so, that he is glad if even by a nod of assent they do not prove that they have been doing anything else rather than listening to him. For the sermon is undoubtedly regarded in the light of an infliction; a species of forced labor. When the faithful learn that there is to be no sermon, they hail the announcement with pleasure, and seem to say with great glee: "Another sermon got over!" Hence one frequently hears the remark:—"I shall not go to such a mass because there is preaching there." Truly, all this is sad, very sad, as regards the preaching of the Divine word.
But who is to blame, ourselves or the faithful? In the first place, it is quite certain that in France there is a decided distaste for any thing serious, or that requires attention and mental effort. Nothing is cared for nowadays but what is amusing; hence the most highly remunerated people amongst us are those who cater for the amusement of others, some of whom make fabulous incomes. How to be amused is, in fact, the great question of the day, insomuch that you hear the remark on all sides:—"I will not go there again, for the entertainment did not amuse me."
The malady of ennui pervades the social atmosphere and all who move in it, while any thing serious suggests wearisomeness and disgust. This state of mind is the result of excessive selfishness. For three-fourths of their time, men are bored about themselves personally. They then feel the want of some excitement to get rid of the incubus, and generally resort to whatever is romantic in search of it.
Again, there is scarcely any prevailing love of the truth; on the contrary, it is rather dreaded, and men manifest a strange pusillanimity when confronted with it. Whenever a stern truth is addressed to others, they readily applaud, and think it quite right that this and that vice should be strongly reprehended; but when it is brought home to themselves, they frown, question the propriety of the censure, and can see no harm in their own delinquencies. Besides which, there is a universal tendency to pass judgment on every thing sacred and profane, and a sermon is criticised as if it were nothing more than an ordinary literary production. …
These are shortcomings on the part of the congregation, but are they wholly responsible for them? The blame is sometimes cast on the world, on the absorbing passion for frivolity, and on the literature of the day; but may there not be a little fault elsewhere? It is our duty to look into this subject; and as we are called upon to proclaim the truth to others, it behoves us to administer it in the first place to ourselves. This will be a real charity; the more so, because if we are not told it to our faces, we may rest assured that it will be repeated with additions behind our backs.
I hasten, then, to state it. There is a large amount of talent in Paris, and no lack of clergymen who know how to draw, to interest, and to direct an audience. In the provinces, too, how many preachers are there, who, though little known, do a vast amount of good! Christian eloquence is still one of the glories, one of the purest and most indisputable glories of France. As a witty writer has said:—"God has evidently made France His spoilt child. The misfortune is that the child does not always profit by the parent's indulgence." Unquestionably, there are still apostolic preachers amongst us, whose words are effectual in stirring up and saving the souls of men; nevertheless, is it not equally sure, that our usual style of preaching is deficient in interest and perspicuity, is too monotonous and didactic, is made up of a misuse of reasoning and rhetorical phraseology, is wanting in heart and soul, and, above all, in that tone of conviction which lends to speech its paramount power? …
In the first place, we must interest our hearers; for that is an indispensable condition of benefiting them. … People generally require to be interested. They may be rather exacting on that point: it may be a weakness on their part; but what is to be done? Must we not become all things to all men? Must we not take them as they are? It is constantly being repeated that society is unsound; then, should we not overlook some things in those who are ailing? After all, the question is not to discover whether they are right or wrong. The vital question is to save them, and how to get them to listen to us, and to cause Gospel truth to reach their ears, their minds, and their hearts to that end. Why should we take so much trouble in preparing sermons if they are not to be listened to? In that case, it becomes nothing more than a disheartening, profitless labor. As somebody once remarked:—"They teach me to compose magnificent sermons. I only wish they would also teach me how to make people come and hear them."
Our aim then should be to secure a hearing. To attain that, we must first excite interest. …