This is a book on sermon criticism-a book on how not to write a sermon. Although it does not tell how to write sermons, it should tell you how to improve sermons once you have written them. Also, it should help you avoid those mistakes most frequently made in writing sermons.

Within these few pages everything is aimed at the single purpose of helping you to criticize sermon content, whether the sermon is your own, or belongs to a fellow priest, or to a student.

[Note: The ordinary listener in church should, of course, be disposed to hear a sermon and desire, through the graces given him by the Holy Spirit, all the benefit he can. He should be docile, not critical. It is only the preacher himself, or one he asks to give him advice, who should pay attention to the natural weaknesses that may make his sermon a faulty instrument and thereby impede the workings of the Spirit.]

As far as I know, no book has been written on this particular problem of sermon criticism. There are excellent books on writing sermons and on the art of preaching, but, good as these books are, they do not concentrate on the separate problem of how to judge the finished product, of how to find out whether it is good or bad—and, most important, why.

You are undoubtedly familiar with the problem of writing (or hearing) a sermon that sounds well, but somehow misses the mark. You know it can be improved, yet you fail to spot the exact source of trouble. Where did the sermon go wrong? When you cannot pinpoint the weakness, you are unsure how to rework the sermon. Or, if you are a homiletics teacher, you are unable to help the student beyond giving him some vague, general advice.

Moreover, even when you discover one problem, how can you be sure there are not other, more basic problems that also need to be cleared up?

In these matters, general advice is of little help. It is not enough to decide that your sermon is “dull” and needs “more life.” What you need is specific, constructive criticism that puts the finger on the precise point of difficulty and shows why the sermon went wrong.

All this implies that we should rely upon more than hit-or-miss impressions in judging our sermon efforts. Somewhere in the back of our minds we must have a clear idea of what to look for in any sermon. Otherwise, we will continue to repeat the same old mistakes every time we speak, without gaining any wisdom from all our experience.

Without a clear idea of what to look for, those of us who are teachers will fail to give consistently valid and constructive advice to students who ask for help. In time, we may be in danger of operating by rule of thumb (for example, a story in every sermon). We will be tempted to oversimplify, and, perhaps, to cover up our ignorance by humorous remarks centering upon the destructive aspect of criticism.

Through long experience and study a preacher may develop a canny ability for (criticizing sermons, but for the beginner (and even for the experienced preacher who is a fine speaker himself but desires a frame of reference by which to teach others) a critical method is needed.

These pages, then, attempt to summarize every valuable item of information on sermon criticism that can be gathered from, (1) the teachings of the Church concerning the nature of preaching; (2) moral theology, in particular, the teachings of St. Thomas regarding the nature of manhis intellect, will and emotions; (3) the perennial rhetoric of Aristotle, Cicero and Quintilian, with its Christian interpretation by St. Augustine; and, (4) the methods of modern public speaking.

I have tried to include everything of importance and still make the book simple enough to help not only the homiletics professor, but every priest who is interested in improving his sermons—whether they are fully typed out or merely outlined on a file card.

Unfortunately, not enough help can be given us by our secular counterparts, the public speakers, who have concentrated on methods of writing and delivering speeches. Recently they have begun to realize the need for redeveloping the critical branch of public speaking, but except for a few excellent books, such as Thonssen and Baird’s Speech Criticism [NY, 1948], the field of criticism is still relatively underdeveloped. Small wonder, then, that, just as speech criticism has been neglected by public speaking, so sermon criticism has been neglected by homiletics.

To help the reader understand where a book on sermon criticism fits into the field of homiletics, it is well to remember that homiletics can be divided into three branches: (1) the general field of homiletic theory; (2) practical norms for writing and delivering sermons; and (3) practical norms for criticism.

These three branches are connected, but are more easily studied apart. They correspond to the division of English courses into (1) literature (history and theory); (2) composition (the art of writing); and (3) literary criticism.

The last two are arts dependent upon the principles set down in general theory. But they are different arts, not always found together in the same person. The best critic is not always the best preacher. To sharpen a knife, the hone need not itself be sharp.

Furthermore critical norms are wisely separated from general theory and composition, because, by selecting only those principles that help criticize a work, one gains a clearer, more unified picture of what to look for in a sermon. It saves one from searching through a three hundred page book on preaching to discover the one hundred scattered sections that have some bearing on criticism. Critical theory isolates this useful material and presents only what is valuable in evaluating the finished sermon.

Furthermore, a critical method rearranges the information found in books on preaching and presents it in a new order, more convenient for use in criticizing. Although much of the information contained here (not all of it, however) can be found in other books, this one tries to select, compress, and rearrange it for clarity and convenience.

For brevity’s sake footnotes are cut to a minimum. Rather than trying to prove anything, the present study merely asserts conclusions whose proof properly belongs to a book on general homiletic theory.

The purpose of criticism

The functions of criticism are two: (1) to find out what is good or bad in any sermon (when emphasis is placed on the bad, this becomes the destructive element in criticism); and (2) to find out why it is good or bad (this is the valuable part of criticism, its constructive function, that gives a clue as to how you may improve a sermon). Although critical analysis does not discuss methods of writing sermons, nevertheless, a knowledge of constructive criticism should always help you write more effective sermons.

To perform the first function, to see that something has gone wrong with a sermon-that it is dead or dyingrequires no great experience, but only an observant eye and a ready tongue. Criticism on this level is easy; it can be witty, sarcastic, even devastating. A teacher can humiliate his students at this level without giving them any real help (or hope) for the future.

But to find out why something has gone wrong is the true work of the critic who aims at improving his own sermons or giving advice to others.

Unfortunately, however, criticism is bound to be partly negative. Like an examination of conscience it lists everything that can possibly go wrong. The critic is a coroner who not only certifies the corpse is dead, but performs an autopsy to discover the hidden cause of the sermon’s demise. Realizing that he must think in somewhat negative fashion, the critic can compensate for this by making a special effort never to discourage those he criticizes. Every discouraging word can be balanced by encouraging advice or an honest compliment.

Every sermon should be unique, original—a product of creative imagination. Criticism, coming afterwards, is a different process: a hard, squinting scrutiny by the intellect. Very little of the imaginative efforts that went into the sermon’s creation can help in telling why it is (or is not) effective. Realizing that your spirit of critical judgment is likely to be severe, you should use its cold edge so gently that it will not interfere with your imagination when you are actually writing a sermon. Creative activity and negative criticism are potential enemies.

But they shouldn’t be. Let them work together, negative criticism chopping down the weeds, constructive imagination sowing new wheat.

The plan of this book

The plan of this book is simple: The first part will give the critical method-a checklist that can be applied to any sermon to criticize its content. The second part is a series of chapters explaining all the points covered in the checklist.

I have concentrated entirely on content and omitted delivery, not because delivery is unimportant but because it is sufficiently discussed in books on public speaking. Criticism of content, however, is a subject you are unlikely to find adequately treated in any other book.

You may wonder how so much critical analysis can be applied to a single sermon in a short time. Obviously, the plan is not that you should have to read through the entire checklist every time you search for ways in which to improve a sermon. Rather, the idea is that, by reading through this checklist several times, you will master its essentials. Once this knowledge becomes habitual, you should be able to glance at your sermon (or someone else’s) and immediately to spot what is wrong. In the begirming you may have to spend a little time; but, in the long run, you should save time by moving quickly out of the ranks of those who are only able to judge by vague first impressions and who give advice by oversimplified rules of thumb.

A critical method should help you analyze both speedily and accurately. Moreover, any advice you are asked to give to others will then be more pointed and useful.

In consequence, your own sermons (or -those of your students) should improve rapidly.

Speaking from a practical point of view, this checklist is the most important part of the book. Part Two is simply an explanation to help understand the following critical analysis.

Since this checklist is meant to be as complete as possible, it mentions the common sermon faults—the unimportant as well as the important. Some faults listed are so obvious that the proverbial washerwoman would notice them; others are hidden and, without a special check, might escape detection. Yet, these hidden faults are often the most deadly, escaping notice because they are general weaknesses that affect the entire sermon. Like cancer in the sermon’s bloodstream, they are everywhere but cannot be seen. In a moral sermon, for example, the lack of a strong motive for action can be fatal; and yet this lack may pass unnoticed. Allow a single word to be mispronounced, however, and every listener cocks a critical ear.

By using a checklist the critic makes sure he misses nothing important—he will do a thorough job of spotting basic weaknesses.

Since this checklist takes about twenty minutes to apply to a single sermon, a homiletics teacher might use it on one sermon out of every lot his students turn in. In a short time he should build up a habit of analyzing sermon faults with accuracy. As soon as the habit of quick critical judgment becomes second nature he can do without books and checklists.

Even if he cannot spend time using this checklist on individual sermons, reading through the following pages should be of help. A critic should know at least as much as is set down here and preferably a great deal more.

Some of the following criticisms apply to a sermon in its entirety (for example, lack of Focus) and can best be marked on the sermon’s last page (or on a separate criticism sheet). Other criticisms (for example, Digression) apply only to parts of a sermon and can be marked in the margins wherever the fault occurs.

Abbreviations are given for each fault to allow the critic to save time by marking down a single word, standing for an entire paragraph of criticism. A list of these abbreviations, arranged in alphabetical order, appears in an Appendix following Chapter VI, so that students can readily check back and see what the instructor means by the abbreviations.

Topic sentence

When setting out to make a thorough criticism of any sermon, you can help clarify the main issue by setting down, immediately after hearing (or reading) the sermon, in a single sentence, what you think the sermon is trying to say. By making the sermon’s main point explicit in your own mind you form a handy measure by which you can quickly spot a number of weaknesses, such as digression, disunity, and lack of focus.

If you are criticizing your own sermon, you should, of course, already know the precise point you are trying to make. Cardinal Newman recommended that the preacher always have such a topic sentence clearly in mind:

I would go to the length of recommending a preacher to place a distinct categorical proposition before him, such as he can write down in a form of words, and to guide and limit his preparation by it, and to aim in all he says to bring it out, and nothing else ... Nor will a preacher’s earnestness show itself in anything more unequivocally than in his rejecting, whatever be the temptation to admit it, every remark, however original, every period, however eloquent, which does not in some way or other, tend to bring out this one distinct proposition which he has chosen. [“University Preaching,” The Idea of a University (Longmans, Green & Co., 1912), p. 412]

Even more than the preacher, the critic finds a clear knowledge of the proposition invaluable, because everything else in the sermon is judged in relation to this central proposition.

If you are mistaken about another preacheris main proposition, and he objects that you have missed the point, he is still to blame because his exposition has been unclear. You can always say to yourself: No matter how dull I am to miss his point, it is the preacher’s job, not only to make his point clearly, but to make it so obvious that it is impossible for his listeners not to grasp it. If you fail to get the point, then, chances are, other listeners, who are not searching for it, will be far more mystified than you.

If you find a sermon easy to understand, but difficult to summarize in a single sentence, then it is probably too complicated—and may also lack unity or focus.

In short, as the first step in thoroughly analyzing any sermon, state in one sentence what the sermon is trying to say. Since everything else in the sermon is meant to drive home that central proposition, you can judge every paragraph, every sentence, on the basis of, whether it develops this central idea.

The three types of sermon

Once you have determined a sermon’s basic proposition, there is just one more step preliminary to criticism, and that is to decide whether the sermon’s main purpose is (1) to teach, (2) to inspire, or (3) to move to action. It is important to distinguish these three purposes, because the criteria for judging doctrinal, inspirational and moral sermons are different.

This book is not the place to go into a deep investigation of this traditional division-a book on general homiletic theory should cover such questions. Suffice it to say that this division (aside from being practical) has a long tradition behind it, including names such as St. Augustine (De Doctrina Christiana, IV, 12), and St. Thomas Aquinas (Summa, II-II, q. 177, a. 1), who derive their division from the rhetoric of Cicero (Orator, 21).

This threefold division is fundamental because it is based upon an appeal to man’s basic powers:

1. The doctrinal sermon instructs his intellect.
2. The inspirational sermon touches his emotions.
3. The moral sermon moves his will.

Every sermon fits into one of these three categories. However, they are not airtight compartments; there may be—and probably will be—elements of all three purposes in any given sermon. Nevertheless, one basic aim (to teach, to inspire, or to activate) will always predominate.

Chapter VI will analyze these three types in detail. At present we are only trying to decide in general the category to which a sermon belongs. The following are points that will help in seeing whether the sermon’s chief aim is to teach, to inspire, or to activate.

First, there are two subjects the people need to know: what they must believe and what they must do to save their souls. In a doctrinal sermon the preacher instructs the faithful in what they must believe; in a moral sermon he tells them what they must do, and also (since they probably know already what to do, but fail to do it) sways their wills to keep the commandments. (At this point, it may be well to anticipate and avoid confusion by saying that a doctrinal sermon is not the same as a classroom lecture but represents a rhetorical, that is, kerygnwtic, presentation of the sacred teachings.)

Since doctrinal and moral sermons are enough to fill man’s spiritual faculties of intellect and win, what need is there of a third type of sermon, the inspirational?

The need arises because man is not all intellect like an angel, and grows disheartened in trudging after a spiritual goal he cannot see or feel. Therefore he needs to be encouraged, especially through the emotions of hope and love, to keep up the struggle. Occasionally preachers need to inspire their listeners and lift them out of this world—a reaction seen in the following comment by a listener after hearing a sermon by Fr. Vincent McNabb, O.P., the famous London preacher:

March, 1931. 1 have twice heard Fr. Vincent preach. It was each time the most exquisite, intimate, unique experience. When he began in his halting and wandering way I was disappointed; but in five minutes time I had learnt to attune my ear, and my attention was closely held. I was entranced and hardly felt human when I came away—I felt so light—that is memorable, the lightness—the taking flight that had happened—something divine... He was so filled with remembering that the words meant nothing to him—but their meaning only. Now at last I have heard what I have always longed to hear—a man inspired. [Maurice Baring quoting anonymous listener, “To Father Vincent McNabb, O.P.,” Blackfriars, 24:284, August, 1943.]

Unfortunately, the word “inspirationar may suggest overemotional” to some, but here is meant inspirational in the true sense of the term—a sermon that renews the listener’s flagging spiritual energy and lifts him out of the discouragement that attacks many on the road to heaven and makes them captive to lukewarmness and sloth.

The feasts of Christmas and Easter are particularly appropriate times for inspirational sermons, as are feasts of our Lady and of other great saints. Special occasions, too, demand inspirational sermons, as on the occasion of a First Mass, jubilee, vestition—or even a funeral.

Why is it important to distinguish these sermon types? One reason is to prevent the forcing of doctrinal and inspirational sermons into formats suitable only for moral sermons. This may happen when a preacher borrows a formula from a course in public speaking and then applies it too rigidly to his sermons. Take, for example, Monroe’s “Motivated Sequence” [Alan Monroe, Principles and Types of Speech (3rd edition; Chicago: Scott, Foresman and Co., 1935), p. 308 ff.], an outline that is valuable for public speakers and advertisers trying to persuade an audience to act in a certain way. This sequence can easily be adapted for use in moral sermons. But it was never meant to serve as a formula for writing doctrinal or inspirational sermons.

Uncritical borrowing of these public speaking formulae may result, therefore, in forcing material into the wrong molds. A doctrinal sermon on the Trinity may be distorted by demanding that it conclude with an “action step” (although, many times, a doctrinal sermon concludes most effectively with a practical application of its teaching), while, at the end of an inspirational sermon, such a call to action may destroy the effect entirely. Formula writing is convenient, but when the critic finds a preacher relying so heavily upon a rigid scheme that the preacher tries to force his material into an unsuitable mold, then the critic must help him break the mold.

Another, and more important, reason for distinguishing the three types is to help the critic apply the different criteria (explained in Chapter VI) that determine how well a sermon will accomplish its purpose.

In deciding whether a given sermon is doctrinal, inspiration, or moral, the critic must always remember, however, that only rarely is a sermon an unmixed example of one of the three types. Usually it will be a mixture of two (sometimes of all three) types. Nevertheless, one main purpose-to teach, to inspire, or to instruct-will always predominate.

Many subjects admit of a doctrinal, inspirational, or moral approach. A sermon on the Eucharist, for instance, may either teach (“Why God has chosen bread and wine to change into himself”), inspire (“God’s desire to be joined to you in Communion shows how much he loves you”), or move to action (“Receive Communion as often as you can”). Any one of these sermons might end with a brief appeal to receive Communion, and, yet, that ending would not necessarily make it a moral sermon.

By referring to the Topic Sentence, containing the sermon’s gist, you should be able to judge whether a sermon is doctrinal, inspirational, or moral. If still in doubt pay no attention to the Conclusion, where the preacher may always make an appeal for some kind of action, but look at the Body:

1. If the sermon’s Body aims at explaining or proposing some truth, then it is doctrinal (even though the explanation may be inspiring, as well).
2. If it aims, not at explaining, but rather at inspiring the faithful through appeals to the imagination and emotions, then it is inspirational.
3. If it aims at persuading the faithful to act by proposing motives and practical methods of action, then it is moral.

The following table summarizes the information basic to the three sermon types.

This finishes the preliminary considerations the critic makes before beginning to criticize a sermon’s good and bad points. To summarize: he first must decide on the sermon’s principal aim, because everything else is judged in relation to this. Therefore, (1) he sets down in a single sentence what he thinks the preacher is trying to say; (2) then, on the basis of this Topic Sentence (and the sermon’s Body), he determines the sermon’s specific purpose: to teach, to inspire, or to move to action.

With these points clearly in mind he is now ready to begin evaluating the sermon.

The most important consideration in judging a sermon~s good and bad points, is the evaluation of how well the sermon answers the real spiritual needs of the people to whom it is spoken. If the preacher is free to choose his subject, then his choice must be based on his analysis of audience need. Ordinarily he will not preach about the vice of prodigality to old people, nor will. he inveigh against avarice to teen-agers. If his sermon topic has been assigned (for instance, by the diocesan sermon manual), then the preacher must adapt this assigned subject to suit his parishioners’ particular needs. His assigned sermon on “respect for authority,” as written for the children’s Mass, should differ greatly from his handling of the same topic at the 12:15 Mass. Therefore, you evaluate sermon content by judging whether it really answers the spiritual needs of an audience—a particular audience upon a particular occasion.

Spiritual need

The subject matter of every sermon is determined by the unique purpose of preaching, the satisfaction of the spiritual need of the people. This all-important purpose marks the outer edge of the preacher’s target. Any time he fails to answer the peoples real spiritual needs, he is not merely off center, he has missed the target altogether.

St. Charles Borromeo used to make sure his every sermon answered the people’s needs by picturing them as hobbling into church in a state of spiritual starvation-gaunt, hungry, in rags, and in imminent danger of death through sin. He considered his sermon as a piece of bread necessary to feed their souls and to save them from dying. Without a preacher to break this bread of nourishing doctrine for them, he felt certain they would perish.

Thus, the true starting point for every sermon comes from outside the preacher—it comes from the congregation. The best preacher is the priest in closest touch with the spiritual needs and hopes of the faithful.

The first step the preacher takes, then, in choosing a subject, is to ask himself: “What do these people need to know or do to improve their spiritual lives?”

The most important word in the above question is, “need.”

This principle of starting off with audience need is violated by the preacher who begins preparing his sermon by asking himself, “Now, what shall I talk about?” instead of, “What do these people need to know?” His point of departure should never be merely his own personal interest in a particular subject. A learned specialist, for instance, may be tempted to give the people, week after week, the fruits of his investigations. It may all be priceless information, but may not give the people what they really need. One author on the authority of the Church is said to have spent an entire year explaining the meaning of the Church’s authority to his people. What the preacher enjoys and knows best should certainly guide the preacher in choosing his topic, but they do not come first.

Above all, preachers must fear the confident suggestion to “just go out and say a few words to the people.” This is a distressing, but common, example of how a preacher may come, in time, to view his parishioners as a passive, captive audience to whom he can safely speak whatever comes into his mind.

The preachers mentioned above have all put the wrong emphasis upon the wrong person—upon themselves: upon what they know best, what they enjoy most, or, simply, what they happen to feel like talking about.

All this is self-evident and would hardly be worth mentioning, except that sermons often fail in this basic way. Since such failure is a general fault, pervading the entire sermon, it escapes notice more easily than a small, localized weakness. A single mispronounced word startles everyone into criticism, while more basic errors easily pass undetected.

It is surprising how many sermons fail to begin with audience need. Take, for example, retreat conferences; ask yourself (if asked for a criticism) as you listen: “Do I really need to know about this?” You may find that some of the conferences hit upon real spiritual needs, while others seem merely chosen to fill out a logical outline. The retreat then sounds like a series of lectures given in classroom order, rather than a series of sermons given in rhetorical order. In listening to such sermons, chosen to fit an a priori, textbook scheme, you soon are filled with the realization, “But I’ve heard all this before.” Provided the sermon gives you a deeper penetration and appreciation of a well-known truth, then it is worthwhile—it serves a real spiritual need. But the listener need must be there; the preacher must have more in mind in choosing his sermon topic than the mere filling out of a tidy outline.

Even sermons written with great care and labor can fail to correspond to audience need. Long hours of patient writing and painstaking memorization can never make up for a preacher’s failure to begin with audience need.

Consequently, it is not surprising to find that the laity, when asked for comments about the sermons they have heard, often come up with an observation reflecting on the preacher’s meeting-or failing to meet-their spiritual needs:

They say that they never, or hardly ever, heard a decent sermon at Sunday Mass. They are not looking for eloquence or elegance. What they are looking for—which is to say, thirsting for—is effort in the direction of realism,... realization that the Sunday sermon is one of the few occasions when the priest can formally and directly instruct and encourage the adult Catholic in his moral and spiritual life. [Donald McDonald, “Second Thoughts,” America, 103:658, September 17, 1960.]

Thus, the most important question you can ask about any sermon is: “Do the people really need to know-or to do-what is here proposed?”

This is doubly important since people are almost always interested in any subject that touches on their deepest spiritual needs. On the other hand, any time you hear a dull sermon and yet find it hard to find out why your mind wanders (since the preacher’s thought seems clear and his delivery adequate), then check to see whether the sermon is failing to answer your spiritual needs. If the preacher were answering some deeply felt need, and you were well-disposed spiritually, you would be sitting on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what comes next.

That is why a preacher with a foreign accent, with a weak voice, or even with a poor, halting delivery, can still manage to hold an audience-provided he speaks to their needs. Such preachers are often held up as examples of speakers who break all the rules of rhetoric and still manage to be great successes in the pulpit. This is not true. They break secondary rules, but they hold fast to the one thing necessary: they speak in terms of the people’s need to know God and to love him.

Furthermore, we must always remember that, in sermons, this audience need is supernatural-not natural. Occasionally a preacher may descend to worldly standards, rather than answer spiritual needs, but such a talk is a sermon in name only. just because a talk is given in church does not make it a worthy sermon; a true sermon always aims at filling the people’s spiritual needs.

A sermon on the foreign missions, for example, should not merely aim at taking up a large collection. A supernatural motive for supporting the missions should be stressed (“insofar as you have done it to one of these, the least of my brethren, you have done it to me’). The sermon’s purpose is never merely “to persuade these people to put money in the envelopes,” but is, rather, “to ask them to perform a supernatural act of mercy by making a sacrifice for the missions.” Observe, for example, how carefully Bishop Sheen emphasizes the spiritual aspect of sacrifice in his appeals for the Propagation of the Faith. Otherwise, such sermons give the appearance of differing only slightly from Community Chest appealsexcept for being delivered in church.

Since parishioners are keenly aware that sermons are supposed to give them the word of God, they become upset when bombarded with too many naturalistic appeals for money. They feel cheated-and rightly so.

Therefore, the first critical question asked about any sermon is modified to read as follows: “Does this sermon answer a spiritual need of the people?”

Speaking of the preachers’ failure to meet the people’s spiritual needs, St. Teresa of Avila had this to say:

How is it that there are not many who are led by sermons to forsake open sin? Do you know what I think? That it is because preachers have too much worldly wisdom. They are not like the Apostles, flinging it all aside and catching fire with love for God; and so their flame gives little heat. [The Complete Works of Saint Teresa of Jesus, translated and edited by E. Allison Peers from the critical edition of P. Silverio de Santa Teresa, O.C.D., published in three volumes (New York: Sheed & Ward, 1949), I, 100.

Relating the audience to the need

Once the preacher has decided upon a topic that the people need to know to attain salvation, there is a further step: he must make them realize their need by making it personal. The preacher may be telling them exactly what they most need to know, but, until they are made to feel that need themselves, they are likely to be bored with what he says.

Spiritual starvation has the peculiar feature of being painless, so that those dying spiritually may have no interest whatsoever in learning more about their disease. Before giving them remedies the preacher must make them aware of their terrible need. Before feeding them spiritual food, he must first make them hungry.

Take, for example, the subject of grace. Most people need to know more about what it is-the foundation of the whole spiritual life. In choosing grace as his subject the preacher is surely filling a great audience need. But the people sitting in front of him may feel no need whatsoever to know more about grace. Even though they may admit in the abstract that they ought to know more about it, they don’t feel that need deeply enough to make them interested. So, before he begins telling them about grace, the preacher must first make certain his listeners feel that they need to know more about grace. If the preacher simply begins by saying, “This morning I intend to talk to you about grace, because it is the foundation of the Christian life. It is a sharing in the life of God himself ...,” he will make little impression, because he fails to make the people feel their need. A good sermon makes the people feel the real need of hearing what the preacher has to say.

The way for the preacher to do this is by showing his listeners how this subject relates to their lives. By doing this he makes their abstract, unfelt need a personal, emotional need. He draws his subject down out of the clouds and makes it walk upon the earth of his listeners’ everyday needs and problems. The effective preacher shows that his subject is an answer to their questions, to their problems. If they fail to listen to him, it is their loss; if they do listen, it is their gain.

Making the need personal usually requires that the style be direct, referring to the audience as “you.” Impersonal terms and indirect discourse hinder the preacher in relating his audience to his subject. Notice how our Lord, in his talk with the woman at the well, kept bringing her abstract religious observations back to a direct, personal level where she would be forced to apply them to herself: “The woman said to him, ‘I know that Messias is coming (who is called Christ), and when he comes he will tell us all things.’ Jesus said to her, ‘I who speak with you am he’” (John 4:25, 26).

The following is an example of how a preacher can take the people’s need of setting good example as Christians and make them realize their need by making it personal:

Do you believe that the way you live your life has no great bearing on the moral life of your home, your city, or your country? Let’s go back over the last twenty-four hours of your life. Many people know you to be a Catholic; many more can surmise that you are. How did you look in the eyes of those with whom you work when your integrity may have been tested? How did you look into the eyes of the newsstand operator from whom you buy your magazines? What was the librariar~s judgment of your moral state as judged by the books you read? Can the theatre manager guess your state of soul by the type of entertainment you pay to see? Do you dress in a manner befitting a believer in Christ, or do you take your styles from pagans and degenerates? Is your language, deportment, or character such that it draws men to Christ or does it repel them? Only you can examine your own conscience... . Now is the time for you and for me to make the answers right, because all these questions will be heard again on the lips of Christ on the day of judgment. [Daniel Donovan, “Rays of Light from a Huckster,” Homiletic and Pastoral Review, 61:52,53, October, 1960.]

In some topics, of course, people are automatically interested (for example, marriage problems), but most spiritual topics seem remote from the needs of the listener’s everyday life. The preacher must make the people see that such subjects touch upon their deepest needs.

One way of making an audience feel its need is to show them that they are faced with a problem. In a doctrinal sermon, they are faced with an intellectual problem; in an action sermon, they are faced with a moral problem. If there were no problem, they wouldn~t need an answer, they wouldn’t need a sermon. But because there is a prob. lem, the preacher must speak out. If he can show them the problem, if he can make it real, then they will sit up and demand an answer. Only after the listeners become aware of their problem, their need, should he try giving them that answer.

In short, it is not enough if the preacher alone realizes the spiritual need of the people. They have to realize it, too.

See how the Curé of Ars makes his subject almost a matter of life and death importance:

Nor do I understand, brethren, by the lukewarm soul, that soul who would like to be worldly without ceasing to be a child of God. You will see such a one at one moment prostrate before God, his Savior and his Master, and the next moment similarly prostrate before the world, his idol. Poor blind creature, who gives one hand to God and the other to the world, so that be can call both to his aid, and promise his heart to each in turnl He loves God, or rather, he would like to love him, but he would also like to please the world. Then, weary of wanting to give his allegiance to both, he ends by giving it to the world alone. This is an extraordinary life and one which offers so strange a spectacle that it is hard to persuade oneself that it could be the life of one and the same person. I am going to show you this so clearly that perhaps many among you will be hurt by it. But that will matter little to me, for I am always going to tell you what I ought to tell you, and then you will do what you wish about it ... [The Sennons of the Curé of Ars, Una Morrissy, translator (Chicago: Henry Regnery Co., 1960), p. 1.]

In this sermon the Curé makes his parishioners feel their need to do something about lukewarmness by showing the desperate plight of a lukewarm individual, torn between God and the world, and then emphasizes its importance by saying he is willing to wound them, if necessary, in order to warn them about the danger of tepidity.

Therefore, the second critical question to ask of an sermon is: “Does the preacher relate his subject to the listeners’ lives and make it of personal importance for them?”

Universal appeal

An effective sermon has something in it for almost everyone in the audience to take home and think about. Since the crowd at Sunday Mass includes every imaginable type of person—saint and sinner, educated and illiterate—the preacher must try to reach as many of these people as he can. In preparing his sermon he must ask himself, “What do these people need to know?”

Contrary to this is the fault, to which intellectuals and specialists are especially liable, of delivering sermons of limited appeal.

Some sermon topics the preacher chooses because a few parishioners desperately need to hear them, but even here he must keep in mind the majority of his listeners. Suppose, for example, numbers of parishioners are losing their faith as a result of mixed marriages in which the promises have not been kept; so the pastor decides to give a sermon warning young people about the dangers of contracting mixed marriage. He aims his remarks primarily at those who are dating and thinking of getting married, but he must also adjust his remarks to persuade listening mothers and fathers to discourage their children from inter-faith dating. Above all, he should keep in mind that many of those listening are already partners in mixed marriages; he must avoid discouraging them by a tactless narration of evils that may result from a mixed marriage.

In suggesting improvements for a sermon that has too narrow an appeal, you can look to see whether the preacher might not divide his audience into natural groupings and then explicitly apply the sermon to each type. In giving a sermon on frequent confession, for instance, the preacher can divide his listeners into two basic groups: (1) practicing Catholics, who don’t mind going to confession, but see no reason for going frequently, and (2) those living in mortal sin, who don1 want to go to confession at all-much less, to go frequently. He will need totally different reasons to convince these two groups; if he keeps this division in mind he can devise convincing arguments for each group and can satisfy their particular needs more effectively.

One way for the preacher to limit the appeal of his sermon and lessen its effectiveness is by treating his listeners as a faceless crowd of mortal sinners. If he does this week after week, aside from alienating his listeners, he will be offering nothing to answer the needs of those who are sincerely trying to live as good Christians.

On the other hand, the preacher would be unrealistic in addressing his words only to those listeners striving for perfection. Always he should aim his remarks at the widest possible number of listeners.

Thus, the third question the critic asks about any sermon is: “Does the preacher touch the spiritual needs of as many of the audience as possible?”

Suiting the occasion

In preparing his sermon the preacher should always consider the occasion or feast upon which he intends delivering it. If possible, the sermon should harmonize with the liturgy of the day and have some reference to the Gospel preceding it.

A mild failing here consists in simply not making use of the occasion or feast in composing the sermon. Since the listeners’ minds are already fixed upon the occasion (for example, Mother’s Day) or feast (for example, the Assumption), the preacher is missing a chance to enhance his sermon. Not only that, the sermon, if delivered during Mass, ordinarily should have a close connection with the liturgy.

However, a serious violation of propriety occurs when a sermon runs directly counter to the spirit of a feast. Suppose, for example, a preacher were to give a sermon on birth control on Christmas, or upon the financial condition of the parish on Easter-such action would be as out of place as weeping at a banquet. These are extreme examples, but such things do happen. The subjects are all right, but are inappropriate for the feast. In short, “Does the sermon suit the occasion or feast?”

Unity

Since the preacher aims at filling a definite spiritual need, every sermon will necessarily have unified subject matter. One, and only one, subject should be discussed. The topic is limited by the peoples spiritual need, which forms the rim of the preacher’s target, while the target itself is the single subject which he covers:

As Cardinal Newman said:

Nothing is so fatal to the effect of a sermon as the habit of preaching on three or four subjects at once ... Even though we only preach on one at a time ... it ... is in a matter of fact nothing short of three sermons in succession without a break between them. [“University Preaching,”

When a preacher constantly strays from his subject, the whole sermon will lack unity. If he leaves his subject for only a short time, he is guilty of a digression.

It is surprising how often a preacher will fire his arguments at random (especially when he gets up merely “to say a few words to the people”). Guided only by a stream of consciousness be wanders through the wilderness of his imagination shooting at every target that crosses his mind. He may begin his sermon aiming to pursue a noble idea—suggested by the feast, but then, spying a monstrous evil lurking like a bear in the thickets off the beaten path, he leaves his original plan to attack the enemy. Meantime, distracted by several random thoughts that cross his path, he fires several remarks in their direction. By now, far from his original object, be realizes that his time is almost gone. He hurries back to the main path and gets off one last shot at his original ennobling subject. But it is too late, time has run out.

As he trudges from the scene he wistfully realizes that somewhere along the trail he abandoned the splendid quarry he set out to hit. He started on a big-game hunt, and hit nothing.

In every sermon there must be only one target, and every word must be aimed in that direction.

Thus we have the fifth critical question: “Does the preacher stick to his subject?” If not, his sermon will be marred by (1) lack of unity, or by (2) digression (if he wanders from the subject only in part).

Focus

Still, the preacher must do more than narrow his aim to one subject; he must limit it further, because most subjects are too vast to cover in one sermon. It would be folly, for instance, to take the Eucharist as the general topic for a sermon. The preacher should select a single aspect of the Eucharist and explain that.

In other words, the preacher must focus his efforts to produce a single effect. A sermon must not only be aimed at the target, it must be centered on the bullseye:

A logician would explain the difference between lack of unity and lack of focus by saying that a sermon with unity speaks about one subject (for example, the Eucharist) but that this is not enough to achieve focus. To make a complete thought you need to add a verb and predicate, thus forming a proposition (for example, Holy Communion should be received frequently). Not only must there be definite subject matter (unity), but something definite must be said about that subject to put it in focus. A Cardinal Newman wrote, criticizing the composition of an imaginary student named Robert:

Now look here... the subject is “Fortes fortuna adjuvat”; now this is a proposition; it states a general principle, and this is just what an ordinary boy would be sure to miss, and Robert does miss it. He goes off at once on the word “fortuna.”... He breaks loose, and runs off in his own fashion on the broad field and in wild chase of “fortune”...

It would have been cruel to have told a boy to write on “fortune”; it would have been like asking him his opinion “of things in general.” Fortune is good,” “bad,” “capricious,” “unexpected,” ten thousand things all at once... Ten thousand things may be said of it: give me one of them, and I will write upon it; I cannot write on more than one...

The thesis is “Fortune favors the brave”; Robert has gone off with the nominative without waiting for verb and accusative. [Ibid., “Elementary Studies,” p. 357 ff.]

An experienced preacher will stick to one subject, but, like Robert, be may find it easy to abandon the point he is trying to make; so easy, in fact, that the wandering is usually unconscious and unnoticed. It is all too easy for a preacher to introduce material which is on the subject but off the point. In preparing a sermon urging frequent Communion, for example, he may be tempted to use favorite stories and examples lifted from other sermons, but which are not to the point of this one. He should employ only that material that will help persuade the people to receive Communion frequently. Everything else—even about the Eucharist—he should leave out.

If a preacher meanders through his subject and makes too many points about it, his listeners will find it hard to remember what he has said. He has failed to concentrate his energies to drive home a single message. He can, of course, make several points related to a single basic proposition, but his central aim must always remain clear and in focus. To burn paper with a magnifying glass the rays of the sun must be kept focussed upon a single point until flame springs out. Similarly the preacher should keep his sermon fixed on a single proposition until it bums deep into his listeners’ memories. If, however, he keeps shifting focus, his sermon will lack intensity and power. Soon his listeners will forget everything he said.

In brief, not only must the preacher stick to a subject (unity), but he must focus on some particular aspect of that subject. If he speaks on the Eucharist he should focus attention on a single aspect, such as the explanation of why God chooses bread and wine for this sacrament. He can then make as many points as he wants, provided they remain focussed on the one proposition he has in mind.

Although it is easy for the critic to spot lack of unity, he, like the preacher, may never notice lack of focus unless he makes a special point of looking for it. This is where the Topic Sentence, mentioned in the previous chapter, is especially helpful in spotting a weakness that would otherwise go unchecked. Of all sermon faults lack of focus is perhaps the most common. Watch for it!

Thus, the sixth critical question is: “Does this sermon have something definite to say about its subject, or does it lack focus?”

To summarize what has been said in this chapter concerning subject matter:

1. The sermon must fulfill a real spiritual need of the people.
2. Where they fail to realize their need, it must relate the subject to their personal experience in order to awaken in them a keen realization of their need to know or do what is suggested.
3. It must have universal appeal and touch the needs of as many of the audience as possible.
4. It should suit the occasion or feast on which it is delivered.
5. It must have unity and stick to one subject.
6. It must have something definite to say about the subject and focus on that.

According to the traditional Rhetoric there are at least four parts to any speech:

1. an Introduction,
2. Proposition,
3. Body (or Proof), and
4. Conclusion.

Other speech writing formats include still more parts (such as, the refutation of possible objections).

Certainly, in writing speeches these divisions prove useful, but when you criticize, it must be on a basis that is broad enough to include the good points of any speech, no matter what plan the speaker used in putting it together. If an Indian chief once delivered a persuasive masterpiece to a Redcoat general, the critic must not find himself objecting simply because the chiefs oration doesn’t fit into a rigid scheme the critic copied from a text book on “how to prepare an effective speech.”

So, the critic looks only for essentials in sermon arrangement and burns all strait jackets that might enfold him in a fixed formula of speechmaking. He discovers that only two divisions are absolutely necessary: the posing of a question (Proposition) and its answer (Body). The Introduction can be more than a piece of human interest material distinct from the Body; it can be part of the Proposition or Body itself, the most interesting aspect of the subject, which then introduces itself without wasting time. Therefore, a critic never expects to find an Introduction easily identified as being different from the rest of the speech. Perhaps he will find a separate Introduction, perhaps not.

All he really looks for is an interesting beginning.

Consider Bishop Sheen. He often begins his sermons by launching his Proposition immediately: “There is not the joy this Easter that there ought to be. The enemies of God are too optimistic, and the friends of God are too pessimistic.” [Easter Sermon delivered on the Catholic Hour, March 25, 1951.]

From this point on, Bishop Sheen simply develops what he has begun in the first paragraph. Is this opening paragraph the Introduction or the Proposition? Answer: it is both.

In such a close-knit sermon it is impossible to tell where the Introduction leaves off and the Body begins. Therefore, any critical method that attempts to judge all sermons, without forcing them into a single mold, is unwise to demand that the four (or more) traditional sermon divisions each be clearly marked off and separated.

With regard to Introductions, the preacher has more freedom than a public speaker who almost always needs one in order to sell both himself and his subject to the audience. This self-introduction, filled with anecdotes and jokes to warm. up the audience, is separate from the speech’s Body.

The preacher, however, often has no need to introduce himself; the faithful already know him. Nevertheless, even though the preacher need not sell himself, he still must interest the congregation in his subject. His listeners may be settling back in their pews expecting to be bored, afraid that the sermon will be dull. Therefore, the preacher’s main purpose as be begins is to interest the people in his subject-and to interest them immediately.

The simplest way of doing this is to begin with the most interesting aspect of the subject matter (then the Introduction may be part of the sermon’s Proposition or Body). On Sundays especially, due to the necessarily brief interval between Masses in many parishes, the preacher can save precious time by attacking the subject in his opening sentence.

If you compare a television talk of Bishop Sheen’s (here he is a public speaker rather than a preacher) with any of his bona fide sermons, you will observe the difference between the Introduction to a speech and to a sermon. In his television talks (see the Life is Worth Living series) the break between the humorous Introduction and serious Body is usually sharp and clearly defined. You can say, “Here the Introduction ends and the Body begins.” But in his true sermons, the Introduction often launches into the subject immediately, and you may never find the break between Introduction and Body.

In short, a critic can hardly demand a distinct Introduction, Proposition, Body and Conclusion. The more organic and less artificial a sermon’s arrangement, the harder it will be to find visible joints. Such a sermon will have a beginning, middle, and end, so intimately connected that you cannot tell where one begins and the other leaves off.

Introduction

       1. Must INTEREST the Audience

Like an arrow’s point, the preacher’s first words must strike home and penetrate. With the first sentence the audience should begin to lean forward, eager to hear more. If the preacher hasn’t interested them by the end of the first paragraph, he may have lost his listeners for good. His opening should be so interesting that the people forget all about getting back home for Sunday dinner, how they will spend the afternoon, or when the crying, baby in the front of church will quiet down.

The first question, then, to ask about the beginning of any sermon is: Is it interesting?

Compare a competent but dull Introduction with the way Bishop Sheen begins the same topic: Dull:

This morning I should like to speak to you about the reason why we honor our Lady more than all others who have ever walked our earth-except for her Son, of course. We do not worship her with the same adoration we pay to God, as some claim we do, but we pay her a special honor above all other saints, because she is the Mother of God.

Bishop Sheen:

No mother whose son has won distinction for himself, either in a profession or in the field of battle, believes that the respect paid her for being his mother detracts from the honor or dignity which is paid her son. Why, then, do some minds think that any reverence paid to the Mother of Jesus detracts from his Power and Divinity? We know the false rejoinder of those who say that Catholics “adore” Mary or make her a “goddess,” but that is a lie. [The Worlds First Love (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1952), p. 58.]

       2. Must Interest IN THE SUBJECT

Not only must the Introduction interest the listeners but it should be directed to the subject. You often hear an intriguing Introduction that belies its own name by introducing nothing. Like a publicity-seeking toastmaster it keeps the spotlight on itself. When the Body finally appears, it has to forge ahead on its own.

Sometimes there is reason to use a paradox as Introduction, but ordinarily the connection between Introduction and subject should be immediately evident—even without explanation.

A disconnected Introduction results when the preacher has trouble deciding how to open his sermon and finally clutches at any interesting anecdote that somehow touches on the subject. Take the following:

Have you heard the story about the little boy who used to say his prayers every night. One night his mother decided to listen to him. He got through the Hail Mary perfectly, but when he said the Our Father, his mother was surprised to hear him finish by saying, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from eagles.”

Now, this morning I would like to talk to you about prayer...

At first glance this example seems to be connected with the subject. The anecdote is about prayer all right, but the interest is in the joke—not in prayer. It will not interest the listeners in prayer itself.

Many sermons suffer from this fault; they begin with an interesting story that attracts interest to itself but not to the subject. When the Body finally appears the audience feels, ‘Well, now the story is over, and we have to get down to the serious part.”

Try covering the Introduction with your hand or a piece of paper. Could the sermon begin at the first sentence of the Body? If so, there is probably a weak connection between the two.

       3. Is of REASONABLE LENGTH

The Introduction should move the listeners into the topic as quickly as possible. If three minutes are spent introducing a ten-minute Sunday sermon, valuable time is being wasted. The length of an Introduction vanes, of course, in proportion to its contribution to the subject: lengthy is a relative term.

See how swiftly Bishop Sheen moves into a topic:

Because so many in our world suffer anxieties that grow like fire or a loneliness that spreads like a desert or else experience heartaches, disappointments, bereavements, and scorpion thrusts of pain, we thought it fitting to say something of the philosophy of suffering and evil. [Life is Worth Living (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1953), I, 20]

Body of the sermon

For lasting effect, a sermon, even as it sways emotions and bends wills, must convince minds. The main Body of a sermon consists in the word of God, the Truth. This is the skeleton, as it were, which is filled out by the flesh and blood amplifications that delight, terrify and inspire the listeners’ feelings. Without flesh and blood a sermon’s bony framework remains dry and dead; without a skeleton of firm truth the sermon is nothing but a boneless mass of sentiment.

The following are critical norms for judging a sermon’s progression of thought:

       1. Orderly Progression of Ideas

The preacher is trying to present an idea, so, holding to his subject, be moves smoothly from point to point. By refusing to jump or meander he makes it easy for his listeners to follow. There are landmarks in his talk-a path through the woods in sunlight, not a groping through fog at night.

Opposed to orderly progression of thought are three faults:

1) Digression. Here the preacher may wander off the subject completely, or, more commonly, may stay with the subject but depart from his proposition. If the entire sermon is filled with such digressions, it will also lack Unity and Focus.

2) Non-sequitur. This is a conclusion that does not follow from premises. For example: “In common justice you owe something to the support of your parish—to the upkeep of the church and school that are here to serve you and your children. Therefore, there is no excuse for those of you who do not contribute something each Sunday.”

3) Missing Transition. Here the ideas follow in order, but their connection is not clearly expressed (by “therefore” or “as a result,” etc.). This makes it hard for listeners to follow the ideas. The relation between paragraphs can often be improved by adding a transitional phrase.

       2. Rhetorical Order

Often overlooked, this is one basic fault that a critical checklist will help uncover.

A rhetorical order is contrasted to a static order. It is a psychological order based on the preacher’s desire to keep his audience interested and to present his topic to them in the order in which they themselves would probably think up points or objections. By analyzing his audience the preacher begins with what they know best—he starts on common ground, with common problems, and moves on from there to present his answers. A rhetorical order, furthermore, constantly builds towards a climax which ordinarily comes at the conclusion of the sermon.

A static order, on the other hand, presents the logical truth of a proposition without any attempt to accommodate or change the order to suit the audience. It presents a series of points that fail to build in interest towards a climax.

When a preacher goes to his old textbook and lifts ideas for his sermons directly from the book, he is in danger of giving dull sermons. Textbooks follow a strict logical order, but sermons should present the same truths in a psychologically effective order, beginning with what the people know and are interested in—not with what is in the book.

The truth must never be watered down, but neither is it to be presented in textbook order to a popular audience.

When the preacher marshalls his reasons in textbook order, his syllogisms troop by the people in rigid formation. They do not build, one upon the other, but are simply lined up and marched out. For example: “There are three reasons why you ought to offer up some sacrifice, some mortification for Lent. The first reason is...”

Used in a sermon, such logical, classroom order is always clear and sometimes useful. Ordinarily, however, a sermon will be strengthened if its points are reorganized in organic fashion so that one flows directly from another, steadily building to a climax. Better yet, the preacher can take one reason alone, can expand and amplify it, making it live by concrete exemplification. The intensity of a single vivid idea backed by example is more persuasive than the quantitative strength of ten reasons quickly paraded past the listeners—and as quickly forgotten.

A special variety of static order is episodic order, in which the preacher considers a series of points and arranges them, not according to logic, but according to some other order extrinsic to the sermon itself. Episodic order, then, is feasible when the preacher explains a passage from Scripture, sentence by sentence. For example, the advantages of explaining the Our Father compensate for the rhetorical weakness of using an episodic order. At times, especially when the preacher is unprepared, episodic order is the easiest for him to use, but usually it is not the most effective. If the preacher can reorganize his sermon to get across the same, points with internal, organic unity, then, let him reorganize!

A rhetorical order is both clear and interesting. A static, logical order is clear, but fails to build to a climax of interest. An episodic order is neither as clear as a logical order nor as interesting as a rhetorical order.

Thus, the critic can often suggest rearranging a sermon to present its contents in an organic, psychologically effective order-beginning with what the audience understands best (common ground) and leading them to a climax of interest at the sermon’s finish.

       3. Simplicity

A sermon should be so simple that the least educated listener can understand it. Preachers may be tempted, because of their theological training, (1) to expose their arguments with complicated reasoning, or (2) to say everything they know about the subject and overburden their listeners with too much material.

The first leads to confusion, the second to mental indigestion.

Once a sermon becomes so complicated that the janitor or housekeeper can no longer keep up, the preacher is missing his mark. The following is an example of complicated reasoning:

By natural law I mean that moral law which regulates man’s acts according to the demands of nature itself, which, in turn, depends upon the Author of nature. Each individual nature is given a purpose in life which it is meant to fulfill. Man, too, has his purpose, given him by nature, and when he intentionally performs acts contrary to their true purpose these acts are contrary to the moral law—that is to say, they are sins.

In the above example you will notice that the style is abstract. Wherever you find complicated reasoning, look for abstract style; the two usually go together.

The following is an example of too much material compressed into the confines of a short space:

Helpfulness in married life should extend to the spiritual, moral, economic, and domestic life of the other person. Spiritual help includes everything that would assist your partner in saving his or her soul. It implies encouragement by word or example in such things as family prayers, assistance at Mass, reception of the sacraments, keeping God’s commandments, the precepts of the Church, and making God the center of your family prayers. Moral help implies pointing out your husband’s or wife’s faults tenderly, humbly, and yet in a plain, direct way that will help him or her overcome them. Economic help means...

The reasoning in such a passage is not particularly difficult to follow, but the material comes at the listener so fast that none of it has time to sink in, and, after the sermon is over, he will find it hard to remember anything the preacher has said.

The solution for this weakness is for the preacher to select a few points and develop these at greater length.

       4. Amplification

A sermon can go to one of two extremes: it can present hard to grasp ideas in too complicated a way; or (as in the above example) it can present hard to grasp ideas in a skeletal way. Undeveloped ideas are just as hard to grasp as the complicated ones. Ideas need time to sink in. Flesh and blood amplification is needed to cover the skeleton of bare reasoning.

Even when an undeveloped idea is easy to understand, still it remains uninteresting until it is amplified. If the preacher tries to give a ten-minute sermon at Sunday Mass using as his theme the Seven Last Words, he will fail to impress any of them on his listeners’ minds and imaginations.

Far from suffering from a lack of ideas, most sermons suffer from a lack of idea development. Like raw food, undeveloped ideas need to be chopped up and cooked in easily digestible morsels. Otherwise, the listeners will be unable to assimilate them.

Compare the following undeveloped idea with its more amplified version (the same idea might even be made the theme for an entire sermon):

• Our Lord died to save sinners. The Gospels first mention that our Lord appeared to a converted sinner after his Resurrection.

• Every day on our altars he also dies for sinners...
  Who was the first person our Lord spoke to after rising from the tomb? Probably he first appeared to his Mother. But the Gospels fail to record this. They first mention someone else.
  Was it St. Peter, the first Pope?
  Was it St. John, his best friend?
  No, it was a woman famous to us because she was a converted sinner, Mary Magdalen—the woman who had seven devils driven out of,her—the woman who came uninvited to a banquet with ointment to anoint our Lord’s feet. When the Pharisees saw her they said, “If this man were a prophet, he would know what kind of a woman this is who is touching him, for she is a sinner.”
  Now (after his Blessed Mother), why should our Lord want to appear first of all to this woman, a converted sinner?
  Simply to show us that this was the reason he had come to earth and had died: to save us from our sins...

You should be on the watch for germinal ideas, such as the first example above, which can be developed with great effect—a sentence that can be developed into a paragraph, or a striking idea that can be developed into an entire sermon.

A single idea amplified is far stronger than ten ideas added together but undeveloped.

       5. True Arguments

A preacher is hardly likely to utter intentional falsehoods from the pulpit, but by mistake he may err in two ways:

1) Sweeping generalization. Here the preacher makes a universal statement which is untrue unless qualified:

• Modern scientists have returned to a belief in God.

• There is no excuse for anyone here not sending his children to Catholic grade school, high school, and college.

• Alcoholism is a moral problem-not a disease. Those of you who drink too much don’t need Alcoholics Anonymous or a hospital. All you need is will power.

2) Inaccurate statement. Here the preacher makes a mistake in his facts:

• Our Lord’s enemies, the Scribes, the Pharisees and the Publicans, conspired to put him to death.

• As St. Paul says, every perfect gift comes down from the Father of lights.

• God often uses weak instruments to achieve great things, as you realize from the life of St. Therese of Lisieux, and, even closer to our time, the saintly Curé of Ars.

       6. Supernatural Reasons Given (when feasible)

Since a sermon depends more on the people’s faith than upon the keenness of their minds, the basic proof the preacher ordinarily gives them is: because God said it. Because the preacher tries to fulfill his audience’s supernatural need, he differs from a public speaker. He operates on a higher level altogether and should speak with authority. Opposed to this supernatural outlook are two faults:

1) Naturalism. If the preacher uses only a natural argument when a reason based on faith would be more effective, he makes it appear that faith stands or falls upon the criteria of natural reason:

We are assured that Christ was divine and sent by God because he was the master psychologist. His miracles show us the perfection of a sympathetic human being, a man whose every thought was of his suffering neighbor. We know him to be divine, because the world has been infinitely better for his coming.

2) Sacred Scripture not sufficiently used. The preacher is foolish to use his own words when he can use God’s words. Since Scripture is formed by the word of God, keener than any two-edged sword and extending even to the division of soul and spirit (Heb. 4:12), it is the preacher’s most effective weapon. On the other hand, it is a mistake to slow down a sermon’s progress by burdening it with quotations proving the obvious. The number of scriptural quotations used depends entirely upon the sermon’s subject and the way of presenting it most persuasively. No general rule can be given: sometimes more Scripture would help, sometimes less. This is a question for the preacher’s—and critic’s—prudent judgment.

       7. Apt Quotations

Some preachers, understanding the value of Scripture, set down the first quotation that pops into their minds. Perhaps they use a dozen favorite quotations to prove almost everything. Such general quotations are weaker than those that bear specifically upon the point at issue. For example, in a sermon on avoiding the occasions of sin, the preacher has a stronger text in, “If your right eye is an occasion of sin to you, pluck it out and cast it from you,” than in the more general statement, “If you love me, keep my commandments.”

Furthermore, just as a preacher errs in failing to use Scripture at all, he may go to the other extreme by using so many quotations that they slow his sermon down and make it ponderous. He should prune the excess, leaving only the most compelling quotations.

Every quotation, scriptural or otherwise, that fails to further the sermon’s main point should be changed—or cut.

       8. All Problem Raised are Resolved

The effective preacher often begins by raising problems and questions to rouse his listeners’ curiosity. During the course of his sermon he should answer all these problems.

Yet, often the problem’s resolution turns out to be weaker than the problem itself, especially when a specific problem is raised and the answer given is too vague and general to satisfy a down-to-earth listener.

Take, for example, the problem of suffering. As be begins, the preacher may give specific instances of apparently useless suffering:

What are we to make of children who die before being baptized? What are we to make of starving pagans in lands like India who do not understand the real meaning of suffering? What do we make of the disease that strikes down our friends, good people, and leaves them bedridden for five, ten, or twenty years? What is the meaning behind all this? Why should the innocent suffer?

In such sermons the preacher raises a real problem—a problem that affects people deeply. By the end of the sermon that problem must be resolved as effectively as it has been raised: too often the preacher gives only a vague, and therefore emotionally weak, answer to a specific problem.

Also, be on the watch for problems that the preacher never intended to bring up, but which the listeners, nevertheless, see as real problems demanding an answer. In his Introduction, for instance, he may mention, in passing, a problem that is more important to the listeners than the one he intends speaking about. Yet, this side issue remains in the listeners’ minds, because it is interesting and vital to them. Consider the following Introduction:

You are promised that your prayers will always be answered. Even when you have prayed for someone dear to you, and they have apparently died in sin without the sacraments, still you should have faith in the power of prayer. You should always persevere in prayer, because...

The passing remark about the person who dies in sin—or seems to do so—raises a problem for an attentive parishioner: How can Father say that prayer is always answered when a good prayer like that doesn’t seem to help? The parishioner may continue mulling over this interesting problem for the next five minutes. If the preacher fails to answer it, the listeners will be disturbed —or, at least, disappointed.

Therefore, make sure that all problems raised are satisfactorily answered.

Conclusion

The purpose of the Conclusion is to drive home the sermon’s main point so deeply that the listeners cannot forget it. Therefore, the Conclusion must be:

       1. Strong

The Conclusion must not be weak, but strong. Otherwise, it will never be memorable. The listeners must come away remembering at least one thing the preacher has said. The better the Conclusion, the longer that point will be remembered.

Ideally the Conclusion should be a climax, stronger than anything that has gone before.

       2. Compact

A good Conclusion is compact and moves swiftly towards the closing line. If the Conclusion is diffuse and meandering, the listeners will find it hard to remember.

       3. Strong Closing Line

The sermon must end definitively-not just break off with the last sentence. The closing line must be unmistakably the finish—so much so, that another line cannot be added without spoiling the effect.

As an example of a Conclusion that is strong and memorable, none is better than the finish of our Lor&s Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 7: 24-27):

Everyone therefore who hears these my words and acts upon them, shall be likened to a wise man who built his house on rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, but it did not fall, because it was founded on rock. And everyone who hears these my words and does not act upon them, shall be likened to a foolish man who built his house on sand. And the rain fell, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and was utterly ruined.

Aristotle considered the character of the speaker the strongest confirmation-or refutation-of what he had to say. This still holds true: parishioners often open or shut their ears on the simple basis of whether or not they like the preacher as a person. Take, for example, this unfavorable reaction from the pews: “We are urged... not to keep Father waiting till the end of the week for confession because hah-hah! his temper grows shorter then, and to be sure and tell our friends what jolly fellows these missioners are. If you don’t like one, you’ll surely like his companion.” [April Oursler Annstrong, “A Hard Look at the Parish Mission,” The Priest, 15:473, June, 1959.] Such criticism is directed at the personal impression left by the preacher. Is it an emotional reaction? Perhaps. But even so, since people have emotions as well as minds, their response to what is said will certainly be colored by their emotional reaction to the man who says it.

Although the principal cause of the effectiveness of preaching is the Holy Spirit using the preacher as his living instrument, nevertheless, the keenness—or dullness—of that instrument determines whether the sermon penetrates to the soul or leaves it untouched.

More than anything else the preacher needs to be holy. However, since holiness is a general term, it must be broken down into those more specific virtues needed by the preacher.

These virtues connect with the three basic elements f every sermon: the preacher (the marksman), his message (the arrow), and the congregation (the target). From the soul of the preacher comes the idea, which is carried through his words into the souls of his listeners.

The speaker’s character reveals itself to the audience through his attitude towards each of these three elements:

1) Towards himself:

1. he must have humility: this is opposed to every evidence of pride (aloofness), or vainglory (the, preacher who seeks praise directly or secretly through the “I’m a good guy” approach);
2. he must have simplicity: this is opposed to complicated personality, revealed in an artificial, overblown style, and by excessive nervousness an introspection during delivery.

2) Towards his message

1. he must have reverence: he will then maintain dignity and speak with authority;
2. he must have love: this will give him a strong desire to communicate his message to the audience (most important in delivery).

3) Towards the people

1. he must have mercy: as shown through his sympathetic approach;
2. he must show practical prudence: that is, he must understand the people’s problems and show practical tvisdom in showing them what to do.

Certain of these character traits will be seen most clearly in the sermon’s content (for example, practical wisdom), while others will be found only in delivery (for example, the desire to communicate).

Character in sermon content

The following points can be discovered by the silent reading of a sermon.

       1. Dignity

The preacher speaks with authority as an instrument of God. What he says the people accept as the word of God. His subject matter is holy. Moreover, he is vested with the authority of Christ himself who, through the bishop, gives him the power to preach. Therefore, the most persuasive argument in the preacher’s arsenal is his speaking as the herald of God himself.

But all this authority, given him by God, is thrown away by the preacher who treats his subject lightly, who views himself as a clownish entertainer, and who regards the people as similar to a theatre audience waiting to be amused.

On the other hand, the preacher’s authority does not entitle him to be fierce or pompous. The good preacher does not regard himself as the authority—a result of overbearing pride—but simply realizes that be has authority from Him who sent him. He is God’s mouthpiece, the modern equivalent of the ancient Jewish prophets. He communicates this sense of authority, not by taking himself seriously, but by taking his divine subject matter seriously.

The preacher may betray his authority in four ways:

1) Irreverence. When the preacher is speaking about a sublime subject he must treat it reverently. If humor is used (always in making a point), the light touch should be in good taste. Jokes that sound funny at the dinner table are usually out of place in the pulpit. Levity an sublimity, mixed together, often sound irreverent:

If you keep putting nickles in a slot machine long enough, you will finally hit the jackpot. Likewise, if you just keep praying long enough, you will eventually get an answer. So keep on plugging away with your little prayers.

2) An apologetic attitude. This calls attention away from the subject and places it on the speaker. With his own words the preacher destroys his authority by such phrases as:

I was only told yesterday that I was to give you this conference, but I hope you can gain a little inspiration from a few thoughts that happened to occur to me.

3) Negative suggestion. When the speaker suggests to his audience that he doesn’t really expect them to do what he tells them, then he plants in their minds a negative suggestion. He pleads with his listeners not to believe or do something; subconsciously they dwell upon the very notion the preacher is trying to root from their minds. He destroys his own authority by suggesting reasons for not believing him (which he never refutes). The following excerpt, for instance, written to strengthen faith, actually might sow seeds of doubt:

We have become so accustomed to hearing the account of Christ’s miracles, Sunday after Sunday, that we almost think of them as fairy tales. Why? Actually we dont believe they didn’t happen, but we just are not fully aware of their worth anymore. One of the main reasons we have come to take them so lightly is that

4) Improper use of the editorial we. When the preacher politely includes himself among certain types of sinners (for example, thieves) whose sins are utterly unbecoming the priesthood, he distracts his audience. To say “we sinners” is humble, but for the priest to exaggerate in order to identify himself with the congregation is false. By imprudently including himself among those who are tempted against the faith he will damage his authority, while for him to say, “For those of us who are constantly being tempted against purity...” will cause scandal.

A good preacher identifies himself with the problems of the people, but not with all their sins. His people want the pastor to be holy, strong enough to pull them out of the pit-not himself crawling at its bottom.

       2. Good Will

The preacher’s characteristic virtue, in which he must excel, is mercy. Through his preaching he relieves man’s deepest spiritual needs; therefore, his work is an act of mercy, the greatest virtue of all in relation to his neighbor. Like our Lord the preacher has “compassion upon the multitude.” When attacking sin he is not to act like a raging Gestapo officer threatening his prisoners, but like a father correcting his children. Towards people’s problems he is sympathetic—and shows it. By such publi evidence of his love for them, the people gain their’ surest estimate of the preacher’s holiness, because mercy is the visible sign of charity.

Furthermore, most preachers hear the confessions those who hear their sermons. A straying sheep, afraid to come to confession, may step into the confessional after hearing a preacher whom he feels will treat him with understanding and kindness. It is to the merciful man, the compassionate priest, he will most readily turn.

The following are faults against mercy:

1) Lack of identification. A key concept in rhetoric is that of identification. By identifying with his audience a speaker becomes their leader, their spokesman. A good preacher does not speak at his listeners, but for them, to them and with them.

Just as Christ became man and was identified with all our weaknesses save sin, so the preacher can identify with his listeners in all things except sin and temptations that are especially shameful. St. Paul became all things to all men to lead them to Christ; the preacher, likewise, should identify with the people in their problems and legitimate aspirations. By such identification his good will and compassion become evident and his listeners readily accept what he has to say.

By failing to identify with his audience the preacher sets up an invisible barrier between himself and his listeners. He does not commit a positive fault against mercy; he simply seems to lack it. When such a privation of sympathy pervades the entire sermon, the preacher is set apart from the people, and they are less inclined to follow his suggestions. He will seem aloof; his listeners, in turn, will feel cool towards him and his message.

Take the following instance:

...I had a dismaying encounter a short time ago. A distraught woman came to me and told me that her fourteen year old son was fast becoming a problem teenager. By this she meant that he is shiftless, irresponsible and undisciplined. When I asked her the reasons why she had this problem, the mother said it was because the boy’s school wasn’t giving him a proper education.

So you see, for some reason or other, this mother doesn’t realize that the school has more than enough to do without taking on the added burden of moral training. Besides, she doesn’t realize that because she is a parent, she already has the authority to do something about the child herself.

Let there be no mistake, parents—not the school—have the primary responsibility for the education of the children. Canon Law is explicit on this point: “Parents are under a grave obligation to see to the religious and moral education of their children, as well as their physical and civic training, as far as they can.

Certainly, everything the preacher says here is true. Yet you realize that he doesn’t have much sympathy for the woman’s problem—he treats her as an annoying caller with a rather stupid outlook. Implied throughout, there runs a line: on one side stands the common man, on the other stands the preacher-potential combatants. In the above selection the preacher could make the same points but handle the problem in a more sympathetic way.

Whenever possible the preacher should try to see the people’s problems from their standpoint, from within; then answer them. He should not be content with merely viewing them from his own point of view and then issuing a manifesto from afar. The problem is theirs and should be viewed from their point of view. The answer is the preacher’s; he must show them that it is the answer to their problem.

The following is a brief example of a preacher identifying with his listeners:

We are always so anxious, aren’t we, to get quick results? And God takes his time, and we get impatient, and take the business out of his hands—his own business of judging men and punishing them for the offenses which they commit against him; or against ourselves. We are not too keen on people committing offenses against ourselves... [Ronald Knox, The Gospel in Slow Motion (New York: Sheed Ward, 1950), p. 35-36.]

In short, the good preacher avoids putting unnecessary distance between himself and his listeners. Lack of identification usually passes unnoticed; yet it is a frequent fault. Perhaps half the sermons preached from our pulpits can be improved by closer identification between the point of view of the preacher and his listeners.

2) Anger directed personally at audience. At times the preacher must show anger, but he will always remember St. Augustine’s warning: Let your anger against sin always be joined with love for the sinner. The preacher should never become so enraged by sin that he seems also to despise his listeners:

You people who aren’t getting to confession as you should are lost souls—wretched, sniveling sinners who don’t have the courage to face the truth—cowards who can’t stand the sight of your own consciences. If you want to wallow in the mud like pigs, all right, stay there. That’s your own affair, but I’m warning you that...

Such statements have the ring of the Pharisee congratulating himself upon not being a depraved Publican. These blasts hurt the preacher’s cause by stirring feelings of rebellion among the listeners. Even a meek man resents anger directed personally at him, and the proud sinner, to whom these angry remarks are made, is sure to rebel.

The preacher hates sin, but you will never see him rejoicing in his ability to tell people off. In the depth of his heart you will find sorrow—because he loves people, even sinners; especially sinners.

3) Tactless statements. Thoughtless remarks unnecessarily hurt members of the congregation. “I’ve felt personally the impact of hearing a cavern-eyed Missioner describe macabre funerals only a few months after a death in my own family. I’ve heard him dwell ghoulishly on worms and graverot. This is thoughtless cruelty to the recently bereaved” [Ibid., p. 474].

Moreover, a preacher should not cast aspersions upon Protestants as persons, intimating that they are either stupid or in bad faith. Even a casual remark, a short phrase, can so wound a non-Catholic in the audience that he will be turned away from the true Church forever.

At times the preacher must offend in order to correct abuses, but the tactless statement offends without reason. Even without intending to do so, the preacher may wound: “Baptism is necessary for everyone—so necessary that a baby who has not received baptism will never see God...” At this point, the tactless preacher is surprised to see a woman in the third row bury her head in her hands.

4) Cynicism. A cynical attitude shows that the preacher has a low opinion of manldnd, and, hence, of himself as well. A preacher should especially beware of imputing bad motives to his audience; it is enough to scourge overt sins without rashly trying to judge interior motives. A cynic expects the worst, and never gets excited enough to be angry about sin. Nevertheless, the audience turns against the cynic, as calmly as he has turned agai mankind. Even the tiniest appearance of cynicism indicat to an audience that the speaker judges all men harshly even himself:

Apparently it does no good to ask you people to make sure your entire family comes to church—at least on Sundays. Like most of the modem world, Catholics are just too lazy to care. Sometimes I wonder whether it is any use my getting up here every week and talking to people who are too tired to make the effort it takes to be decent Christians.

5) Sarcasm. Sarcasm adds the sting of hatred to cynicism. The cynic is a tired judge who feels that there is little hope for mankind, while the sarcastic speaker not only judges but dislikes other men. Sarcastic statements ar quick wasp-stings, injections of hatred. They indicate that the preacher lacks the essential virtue: charity.

The casuist’s distinction, “I love you, but I don’t like you,” is a fatal attitude for any preacher to display in th pulpit—even for a second.

Somehow I was under the impression that you people were Catholics, because I happen to see you in church every Sunday. Sitting here now you look so pious, so demure. But how about the rest of the week?

In all these failings against good will—against charity—you immediately sense that something is basically wrong with the preacher’s attitude. The preacher is not for his audience, he is against them.

       3. Practicality

When a preacher is in touch with the problems of the people, he understands their needs, and his examples come down to the level of their experience. If a sermon seems abstract or impractical, the basic problem may lie in the preacher himself. He may be out of touch with common problems and interests.

Practical wisdom is opposed by two faults:

1. Being out of touch. If the preacher, throughout his sermon, seems to be remote from the people’s needs and experience, he is out of touch.

2. Being naive. The naive preacher assumes that all the people have the same pious interests and ideals that he has. The naive preacher is the reverse of the cynic and has probably led a sheltered life, far from the moral slums.

If you are ever tempted to steal, always think back upon the example of the saints, who realized that the possessions of this world are little more than trash when compared to the treasures of the spirit.

What effect would this have on the shoplifter, on the schoolboy who steals from the lockers of his classmates, or on the small-time burglar? Probably none; the hope that a burglar will be stopped by this appeal is naive.

Character, as revealed in delivery

       1. Preacher’s Attitude toward HIMSELF.

1) He will be humble: as opposed by any signs of arrogance or haughtiness; or any signs of vainglory, such as a popularity-seeking “I’m a good Joe” approach, or by talking too much about himself.

2) He will have self-confidence: as opposed by excessive nervousness; or, an apologetic, hang-dog attitude.

       2. His Attitude towards His MESSAGE.

1) He will show reverence towards it: as opposed by excessive levity in his manner.

2) He will have a strong desire to communicate it: as opposed by a lack of vitality flowing from a weak desire to communicate.

       3. His Attitude towards the PEOPLE.

He will manifest good will towards his listeners: as opposed by anger directed personally at his hearers; or a coldly unsympathetic attitude which would give a listener the impression, “He doesn’t seem to like me.”

In times of rhetorical decadence style has been regarded as a kind of garnish, a sprinkling of words and images over the thought to help the listeners swallow the doctrine—or simply to tickle their palates and please them. The very expression “ornament of style” reflects an artificial attitude towards style imposed by decadent schools of rhetoric.

Metaphors and other images, however, are no mere toys of the imagination, useful only for amusement; instead they are meant to make the thought clear. In fact, examples and comparisons might perhaps be included under content, rather than under style, because they are a simple type of argumentation; for most people they are convincing signs of truth.

Style is so closely connected with thought that it should be considered only as the clearest possible expression of the speaker’s thoughts and emotions—so clear that the listeners become absorbed in his ideas and fail to notice his style. If a speaker is interesting it is due mor to his original mind and imagination than to any tricks he may play with style. This is not to deprecate style; on the contrary, it is very difficult—and important—to say a thing well.

Communication of thought, therefore, is the first purpose of style. The first quality you should look for in style is clarity.

Clarity

Good rhetorical style is clear. Transparent as glass, allows the speaker’s complete thought to shine throug Never does it call attention to itself and away from th thought.

Clarity is opposed by the four following faults:

1) Obscurity. This fault may darken the entire sermon or may affect only a section that is too muddled to be understood at first hearing. Disorderly thinking, a more basic weakness, often underlies stylistic obscurity: the speaker himself isn’t sure of what he wants to say. To hide his insecurity he may speak in vague generalities that further obscure his message.

Thus, the following sounds pretentious, but what does it mean?

In all history, human and divine, there has never been a more important factor in the life of mankind than the sublime event of the Incarnation. This has resulted in a great spiritual revolution for all menfor you and for me. For all time, divinity has now entered into our lives.

In such a sample there are other faults—poor word choice, for example—but obscurity covers them all.

2) Ambiguity. Any word or phrase that a listener can interpret in different senses should be changed to one that clarifies the speakees meaning. In the following examples words are used in ways that the average listener may easily misunderstand:

• People should be reverent in church because of the awful ceremonies the priest is performing.

• St. John the Baptist had the peculiar privilege of being freed from sin before he was born.

The most distracting ambiguity is the double-entendre, in which the preacher intends the innocent meaning, only to discover by seeing their smiles that sophisticated listeners have detected an indelicate meaning:

To us it might seem queer that the sign of friendship between men in European countries is a kiss on the cheek.

3) Verbosity. A vigorous preaching style omits needless words. Padding a sermon with useless phrases becomes a habit with lazy preachers who gain time to think on their feet by saying in fifty words what they could easily say in twenty. A meaningless phrase is like a false alarm: a sound goes out, but it means nothing. Failing to find meaning in all the sounds they hear, the listeners soon grow bored and listless.

I should like to propose to you the question as to whether any one of you who would really like to become a saint, in the true sense of that word, has any chance of eventually becoming one (38 words).

This can be rewritten:

Can you become a saint, if you really want to? (10 words).

Not only does such shortening save time, but it adds vigor to the style. A sermon should be all muscle, moving vigorously towards its goal.

4) Telegraphic style. This is the opposite of verbosity. In a telegraphic style so many words are left out that the sermon becomes an outline. The sentences read like telegrams being sent at ten cents a word. jerkiness results, and the thoughts rush by so quickly that there is no time for the listeners to assimilate them.

The shepherds were in the fields. It was night. Then the angels came. They sang. They told the shepherds about the birth of the Messiah. Then the shepherds came to the stable. They saw the Christchild. They adored him. Then they went back and told their friends.

However, parts of a sermon written in such compressed style can be effective, especially at the conclusion. Such conciseness is far better than verbosity.

Correctness

Correctness of style is opposed by six principal faults that, fortunately, need little explanation:

1) Faulty grammar:

Each of the Apostles had their share of suffering.

2) Awkward phrasing or wording:

Not bound by the fast, young people under 21, are still, because they are Christians, urged to make during Lent some sacrifice.

3) Poor word choice. A word that does not correctly or clearly express the preacher’s meaning is a poor choice:

The news-stands are being flooded by dirty, pornographic, trite magazines.

4) Slang. In a praiseworthy effort to avoid pedantry and to speak a language understood by the people, som preachers lapse into slang. Slang consists of words an phrases that are never used by cultivated speakers, eve in informal conversation. A single slang expression in sermon annoys educated listeners, who may harshly jud that the preacher is ignorant. Even the uneducated are disappointed in a preacher who speaks the poor English they themselves habitually employ.

• It’s sure good to know that we have been given a chance to get rid of our sins by going to Confession.
• Even if you feel all beat out at the end of the day, try to say a prayer or two before you go to sleep.

5) Colloquialisms. Colloquialisms are accepted in ordinary conversation (slang is not), but not in formal speech. If in doubt about whether a phrase is colloquial, check the dictionary. (In their introductory sections dictionaries contain careful explanations of the difference between slang, colloquial speech and formal speech.) The use of slang and colloquialisms in sermons is a fault difficult to correct, because the preacher ordinarily is not aware that he is doing anything wrong. Even when his attention is called to slang or colloquial expressions, he has a hard time recognizing that they areout of place.

• The Apostles must have felt fagged out after a hard days work.
• If you intend to get anywhere in the spiritual life you have to give it all you have.

6) Spelling errors.

A Spoken style

A spoken style must differ from a written style because the speaker has only one chance to get his idea across. A writer can afford to be subtle because his readers can take the time to reread every difficult passage; but in a sermon there is no return—every sentence must be immediately clear. Therefore, the preacher must make his point in large strokes that no one can mistake.

Furthermore, the preacher is emotionally involved in what he is saying and does not have the calm detachment proper to the use of the typewriter. Even in typing out a sermon the preacher keeps in mind the way his words will sound when delivered to an audience. He must communicate directly and stir the listeners’ wills and emotions, as well as their minds. An excellent sermon may not read well on paper; because of its simplicity and reliance upon the obvious, it may look crude indeed by literary standards.

A spoken style is opposed by four types of faul style:

1) Academic. An academic style is loaded with technical Words and latin derivatives. These words are familiar to every priest, but they mean little to the average layman. Words such as “Incarnation,” “grace,” “supernatural,” and hundreds more, should be used only sparingly. Otherwise the listeners will fail to grasp what is being said. To the priest the vocabulary he learned in the seminary is deeply meaningful—it has become second-nature for him to think in these terms—but to the man in the pews, the technical word used by theologians is vague. Many sermons suffer from the fault of being—at least in part—academic.

It is only by growth in grace that we shall fulfill our providential destiny of becoming saints. This growth, of course, means that we must depend upon prayer, because grace transcends our nature. Being supernatural it comes from God and is infused into our souls.

2) Literary. A literary style is characterized by a complicated sentence structure, too subtle for most listeners to grasp, and an exact but esoteric choice of words, unfamiliar to the popular audience. “Esoteric,” for instance is a literary word you would not expect to find in a sermon. Speaking to an educated audience, an accomplished preacher can make an excellent impression with a literary style. But, because of its unfamiliar vocabulary and complicated structure, such a style fails before a popular audience. It is too subtle to make an immediate and deep impression.

As you would expect, writers tend to use a literary style in their sermons, because they are accustomed to avoiding the stark simplicity and obviousness characteristic of a popular spoken style. Whether such a literary sermon is effective depends upon the educational background of the audience to whom it is given. Cardinal Newman’s sermons, for example, written in a literary style, moved his educated 19^th century congregations, but might fail to move a popular audience today:

Or take, what is again a very different instance, the case of persons of little intellect, and no education, who perhaps have seen much of foreign countries, and who receive in a passive, otiose, unfruitful way, the various facts that are forced upon them. Seafaring men, for example, range from one end of the earth to the other; but the multiplicity of phenomena which they have encountered, forms no harmonious and consistent picture upon their imagination: they see, as it were, the tapestry of human life on the wrong side of it. They sleep, and they rise up, and they find themselves now in Europe, now in Asia; they see visions of great cities and wild regions; they are in the marts of commerce, or amid the islands of the ocean... [Oxford University Sermons, XIV (London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1918), pp. 288-89.]

Ideal for the audience before which it was delivered, such a sermon is written in a style that is too literary for a popular audience. The difficult sentence structure coupled with words like “otiose and “marts” would hinder rather than help understanding.

Thus, literary can be a virtue or a fault, depending upon the audience and occasion. Always remember the rhetorical adage (see Aristotle, Rhetoric, III, 1413b) that a sermon that sounds well before an audience is likely to look amateurish on paper, while a talk that reads well on paper is likely to prove poor when delivered before a live congregation.

3) Impersonal. A strong spoken style reflects the speaker’s desire to communicate directly with his audience. This causes the speaker to address his listeners directly a “you.” On the other hand, if the preacher is emotionally detached or aloof, his style will be impersonal. Certain subjects require such detachment, but usually a sermon’s vitality is increased by making the style more personal and by directly addressing the listeners as “you.”

In the Sermon on the Mount, Our Lord speaks directly to his audience:

For if you love those who love you, what reward shall you have? Do not even the publicans do that? And if you salute your brethren only, what are you doing more than others? Do not even the Gentiles do that?

You therefore are to be perfect, even as your heavenly Father is perfect (Matt. 5:46-48).

How much such a section loses by making it impersonal!

For if a man loves those who love him, he deserves no reward. Even the publicans do that. And if he salutes his brethren only, he is doing no more than others. Even the Gentiles do that.

Therefore he is to be perfect, even as his heavenly Father is perfect.

Too much use of the passive voice. A preference for the active voice marks forceful style. The passive voice has its place, but, when used excessively, it robs a sermon of force and directness. A tame sermon, then, can often be improved by turning passive constructions into active ones.

It is evident that the more frequently a sin is committed, the deeper its appetite becomes rooted, until it is discovered that its ravenous demands have become harder to refuse.

This can be changed to:

The more you sin, the deeper you root its appetite, and the harder you will find it to refuse its ravenous demands.

Concreteness

Imagery—that is, the use of examples, comparisons, and descriptions—is the chief element of originality to be found in any sermon. The preacher presents a doctrine that is 2000 years old; the new element is the vivid way in which he explains these ancient truths through concrete comparisons and examples. As stated by an Arabian proverb, “a great orator turns his listeners’ ears into eyes.”

Finding these concrete images is the hardest part of the preacher's work, and the lack of apt examples or comparisons is one field-mark of the ill-prepared sermon. Whether drawn from the preacher's study of the Bible and the writings of the saints or taken from his own experience, such comparisons, examples and stories are what give life to a sermon.

Since man naturally delights in what appeals to his imagination—especially when it is surprising—imagery stimulates audience attention. Untrained minds find it liard to pay attention to abstract reasoning for more than a short time. According to psychologists the average man's span of attention is about 14 seconds. After that he loses concentration. If he is interested in the subject, his attention will return to it; otherwise, it drifts on to something lie is worried about or something more pleasant. The husband worries about finances and his work, the wife thinks about getting Sunday dinner ready, the daughter daydreams about the junior prom, and the boy dreams, about scoring a touchdown in next Saturday’s football, game.

Moreover, man must use his imagination, along with his mind, in order to think, for the intellect derives its ideas from the images presented to it by the imagination. A feeble imagination causes sluggish thinking. When a person first learns something it is usually through the help of a comparison or example. Even educated minds are held back when the preacher fails to help their imaginations, while the uneducated become hopelessly lost trying to follow an abstract sermon (except in rare instances where great interest in the subject—such as the problem of disciplining children at home—keeps them paying close attention). Such appeals are not pandering to the imagination; they are simply a realistic recognition that man is not an angel, but is made of body and soul.

Compare, for example, the following two passages (which both concern the same point):

• Irrational animals participate in the eternal law in their own way, just as rational creatures participate in their way. But, since the rational creature participates in it intellectually and rationally, the participation of the rational creature in the eternal law is properly called law; for the law is something of reason, as has been said above. In the irrational creature, however, law is not participated in a rational manner; hence it cannot be called law, except by analogy (Summa, I-II, q. 91, a. 2 ad 3).

• Everyone appeals to a standard of conduct, even though he denies it. Half man’s life is spent telling himself what he “ought” to do or his neighbor what he “ought” to do. Ants never say, “Get in line”; pigs at a trough never say, “Wait your turn”; bears never growl at other bears, “You would not want me to do that to you.” Only humans use the argument, “Yes, but I saw it first.” There is no sense in saying anything is wrong, unless we know what is right. No referee could call a foul in basketball games unless there were rules. This “oughtness” in us, which is not mechanical, or biological or instinctive, but rational, implies a standard. [Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, Life is Worth Living (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1953), 1, 86.]

The first text, from St. Thomas, is in the language of the scienific teacher. Packed with meaning, this abstract passage is a model of lucidity to the trained theologian. But the untrained thinker, finding no concrete image on which to rest his wandering imagination, grows weary trying to follow it.

The second text, from Bishop Sheen, gives the listeners five short images through which they can see the application of the abstract idea he is trying to get across.

Without this happy faculty of concretizing ideas, the preacher is almost sure of loving his audience.

Furthermore, it is easier to remember a concrete image that embodies a point than to remember the bare idea itself. If you think back over past retreats, for example, and try to remember something the retreat-master said, chances are, you will recall a story or some vivid example. Therefore, to make sure a sermon will be remembered, the preacher should imbed its main point in a concrete image the listeners can never forget.

For all the above reasons—to hold attention, to help the mind grasp an abstract idea, and to make it easy to remember—a sermon needs a vivid, concrete style.

For most sermons the critic can recommend more concreteness, more imagination. Compare the following example of ordinary sermon style with our Lord’s concre presentation of the same subject:

• You should not give alms to please men, for this is nothing less than the sin of vainglory, which is most displeasing to God. But, if you give alms with a pure intention, God himself will reward you.

• Therefore when you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synogogues and streets, in order that they may be honored by men. Amen I say to you, they have their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be given in secret; and your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you (Matt. 6:2-4).

The weakness of the first text is that it is too abstract. A concrete style uses examples (including stories), descriptions and comparisons: all these come under the general term of imagery.

The previous section dealt with the fault of altogether failing to use imagery. Yet, supposing that a preacher does use numerous examples and comparisons, it is still another matter for him to handle this imagery well. The following are criteria for the intelligent choice of individual images:

1) They must make a point. Nothing should appear in a sermon unless it contributes to the preachees main purpose. If he enlivens his talk with irrelevant stories he becomes a storyteller, a mere entertainer.

There is a special temptation to insert favorite stories into sermons, just because they are interesting and are certain to keep the audience awake. Unless the story furthers the preacher’s main purpose (at least, this is true of short sermons when the audience is alert), it should be ruthlessly cut. “Murder your darlings.”

The Introduction is a favorite Place for irrelevant stories to lurk.

2) They must not be farfetched. Whereas the irrelevant story fails to make a point at all, the farfetched example or comparison has to stretch too far to make one. If you should hear a farfetched example without its explanation, you would never guess what point it is supposed to drive home. Such a disconnected example may result when the preacher, failing to find a pertinent example, decides to settle on some old standby. He drags it into the sermon and ties it to his subject by a mere thread. Such examples fail to convince, because the connection looks artificially contrived:

Five mountain climbers roped themselves together to try to ascend a peak that had never before been conquered. For two days they climbed and picked their way upwards. Then, on the third day, the clouds broke, and the sun shone on the peak, only 500 yards beyond them. Then, as they shouted and pushed forward, the last man in line slipped. His hands lost their grip, and he started to slide down towards the edge of the ice. Next, the fourth man lost his hold and began sliding—the third man—the second. Only the first man was left holding firm. He said a prayer that he might hold fast to save his comrades. He did. All five were saved and are alive today.

Just as those men were engaged in a dangerous undertaking for which they needed the help of prayer, so we, too, trying to pick our way heavenwards on the mountain of the Ten Commandments, are in desperate need of prayer.

3) They must be better known than what they illustrate. If imagery is not better known to the listeners than what it is supposed to illustrate, the imagery itself needs explanation. An obscure example is added to an obscure idea.

Preachers may use examples, familiar to themselves, but unfamiliar to the congregation. Certain allusions to the liturgy or to the Old Testament, for instance, are obscure to the average parishioner:

• Like a true priest according to the order of Melchisedek, he will offer the pure oblation prophesied by Malachi.

• Mary is the new ark of the Covenant, who bore not only the Law, but the Giver of that Law.

Liturgical and biblical images are, of course, excellent, but they often need to be fully explained and visualized in order to make sense to the listeners. (In general, however, too little use is made of the Old Testament as a source of metaphor and example.)

Aside from biblical allusions needing more development, there are many other learned comparisons that are obscure such as:

Just as the Arian heresy once threatened to overcome the Church, so, today, Christianity is endangered by the worldwide menace of Communism.

All such obscure images fail, because they are less familiar to the audience than the point they illustrate.

4) They must be of reasonable length. Just as the introduction must be reasonable in length, so a story (or any other image) must be proportioned to how much strength it contributes to the sermon as a whole. Judgment upon a story’s length depends on circumstances: a single image may form the framework for an entire sermon (for example the Prodigal Son). On the other hand, a short, but unimportant story may waste valuable time, even if it is only ten lines long.

A good example of a lengthy story is the example already given (under Farfetched) of the mountain climbers. It is filled with too many useless details.

5) They must not be too mundane. Because of the subject matter—divine truth—images must not be mundane. This does not exclude everyday, even lowly, examples; but mundane here means the kind of earthly quality that clashes with the dignity of a spiritual subject. For instance, to compare a sin-filled soul to a piece of Kleenex that has been dipped in ink is to make a graphic, but trivial, analogy. Because it destroys the impression of sublimity a mundane image especially weakens an inspirational sermon. A moral sermon, however, demands more down-to-earth images.

Mundane images often result from the preacher’s praiseworthy desire of drawing his comparisons from everyday life. In doing so, he may occasionally step beyond the bounds of good taste.

• The vision of heaven is better than watching the greatest possible television show—with the best script money can buy, acted by Academy Award winners.

• Grace is like gas that is pumped into your soul by the sacraments. Make sure your tank is always full.

• Illumination in prayer will not strike you as clearly as when you win in pinball and see all the lights flashing.

The above examples make it clear that mundane images can leave the listener with a strong suspicion that the preacher is worldly.

6) They must carry the right emotional connotations. Every image has its intellectual meaning (its denotation), but, beyond this, it also bears emotional overtones (its connotations). By subconsciously touching the hearers’ emotions these overtones may secretly destroy the effect the preacher wants to create.

The following comparison makes its point all right, but bears hidden authoritarian overtones (recalling a police-state) that will repel most listeners:

The Church gives authority to its priests, just as the state gives authority to its judges and police. If you break a law you are arrested, judged and thrown into prison. Likewise, if you break the moral law, you deserve to be judged in confession and then forced to do penance. This is only just.

And the following has overtones that may suggest to a listener that he be complacent about living in sin:

Don’t worry too much about the sins of others, Never gossip. For sin is inevitable. Like death and taxes there will always be sin. You should no more be surprised by people sinning than by cloudy days or falling rain.

Hidden in this image is the implication that, since death, cloudy days, and falling rain are inevitable and natural, there is no sense in fighting against them—or against sin. What is said directly in such passages can be rightly understood, but what is suggested through connotation may harm souls greatly.

The unwitting use of images that bear humorous or sexually suggestive connotations is distracting to an audience.

7) They must not be overly flowery. Flowery or ornate images call attention to themselves and seem artificial (Many nineteenth century sermons would offend the modern ear in this regard.) Certain devotional expressions borrowed from continental spiritual writers sound strained and sentimental to Americans.

The preacher should speak in the everyday idiom good American usage—not in a devotional style derived from an earlier age (and natural to that age).

With tear-filled eyes she ever implored an increase of burning devotion. Watered by the sweet dew of prayer the tender flower of her soul unfolded its petals and grew daily in beauty and strength, spreading around her the fragrant aroma of her virtues.

8) Metaphors should not be mixed. A mixed metaphor is a metaphor combining two or more incongruous figures. Its absurdity appears as soon as you clearly visualize the image; the imagination rebels at seeing the imag&s contradictions.

• How to stop Communism is a burning question that puts a chill into the heart of the free world.

• Beware of wolves that are out to destroy the flock! The wolf in our day is the Russian bear, who roams the world swinging a hammer and sickle.

9) They must not be trite. Examples and images should be fresh, not trite. At some time in the past every trite expression was a very good image-so good, in fact, that it was overused until it ceased to move men’s imaginations. Take, for example, “warp and woof.” Few people today have any idea what a warp or woof look like. This image still has an abstract meaning, but it fails to touch the popular imagination. Many expressions that are excellent images, no longer retain their original force, because they have been overused. If such images are used, they should be rephrased to regain their old vigor. When a sermon sounds familiar—as though, somewhere, it has all been said before-it is probably filled with overused phrases.

Sermons prepared in haste often suffer from clichés, because they are composed of scattered recollections of what other people have said upon the subject, presented with the first words and images that come to mind. An audience soon grows bored with such a style; they have heard it all before—not only the thoughts (which is to be expected, since the preacher explains no new doctrine), but even the very words and images. An occasional trite phrase can hardly be avoided, but an entire sermon freighted with them is bound to destroy audience interest.

The following are just a few of the numerous phrases that are overused:

Inflamed with burning zeal; heresy ravaged the land; prisoner of love; odor of sanctity; leprosy of sin; pious and devout; abyss of love; spotless victim; a true pillar of the Church; took upon his shoulders the burdens of.....; the very fabric of his being; innocence of a child; hiding his light under a bushel; straight as an arrow; snatched from the jaws of Satan.

As was seen in Chapters I and II, the general purpose of every sermon is to fill the people’s spiritual needs, which are three:

1. the need of the mind to know revealed truth—filled through a doctrinal sermon;
2. the need of the emotions to be encouraged in pursuing the spiritual life—filled through an inspirational sermon; and
3. the need of the will to repent of sin or to remain firm in leading a virtuous life—filled through a moral sermon.

Although many sermons combine doctrinal, inspirational and moral elements, nevertheless, one of these three purposes will always predominate.

Since each of the three types aim at a different power (intellect, emotions, or will) and at a different effect (knowledge, exaltation, or desire for action), the criteria used for judging their success are different. This chapter will try to show you how to criticize each of the three types in detail.

Doctrinal sermons

Since teaching truth is the purpose of a doctrinal sermon it must appeal primarily to the intellect. Nevertheless, a sermon must appeal to the heart as well; it is a mistake to appeal to the intellect alone. The special danger run by doctrinal sermons is of being cold and lecture-like. Teachers are especially prone to give sermons that sound like classroom lectures—except for an added introduction and conclusion.

Divine truth, penetrated through contemplation, is like fire that not only gives light but warmth as well. The preacher should communicate love for truth along with the truth itself. This is the kerygmatic—or rhetorical—approach, which teaches the “good news” in such a way that people come to love, to contemplate, and to apply it their lives.

Although a doctrinal sermon should, therefore, contain a large element of the inspirational, its main purpose still to teach, and thus it differs from an inspirational sermon.

Clarity has already been mentioned, but its importance in a doctrinal sermon must be doubly stressed. When the audience becomes confused by a sermon whose whose whole purpose is to explain some truth, such as grace, that sermon has failed. Clarity is also important in moral and inspirational sermons; but here, without it, all is lost. Obscurity is like black paint spread over a light bulb: within the preacher’s mind the light may be shining brightly, but, outside, all remains in darkness.

Lack of clarity (complicated by abstract and academic words) is exemplified in the following passage:

Grace is an added supernatural life given or infused into the soul. Through grace our actions become pleasing to God, and we also become children of God. Grace perfects nature. Nature in itself is good, but through the Fall came sin, so we need grace to restore nature to its former state. Without grace, therefore, we cannot be pleasing to God, because of the original sin that we inherit from Adam. Thus, to return to God we need grace. Now let us turn to the problem of bow to grow in it.

Such a passage may be perfectly clear to the one who wrote it, but what a muddle it becomes in the ear of a listener. The preacher can never rest satisfied with understanding what is in his own mind; that clarity must be transmitted to the minds of his hearers. In a doctrinal sermon truth is of no value unless it can be communicated.

The following are the critical points that apply specially to doctrinal sermons in their attempt at conveying a clear and loving understanding of God’s truth.

       1. Topic Sentence

Since clarity is the main quality necessary in a doctrinal sermon, the preacher should pinpoint his proposition, his message, in a topic sentence (for example, “The family that prays together stays together “). Because people are slow to grasp even the most obvious points and tend to remember such accidental factors as stories, the preacher should make his main point explicit. A writer can afford to be subtle, but a speaker must spell out his message in large, unmistakable letters. “Tell them you are going to say it, say it, and, when you have finished, tell them you have said it.” Repetition of the basic proposition throughout the sermon (so long as it does not grow tiresome) helps the audience remember. But, whether or not it is repeated, the sermon’s pont should be stated at least once in a topic sentence.

Usually, the sooner the topic is stated, the better (this holds true for doctrinal sermons only). Occasionally the preacher can begin by stating his proposition immediately, without previous introduction:

Marriage is meant to be a bond breakable only by death, because love, by its nature, cannot be measured by space or time. [Bishop Sheen; first sentence of Catholic Hour address, February 19, 1933.]

The traditional practice of opening sermons with a Scripture quotation is a good way of focussing on the topic. Whatever method is used, the critic should make sure that, at least once, the preacher has made his main point explicit.

       2. Interest

Dull and doctrinal; too often these two qualities appear together. The good reputation of Doctrinal has been hurt by this unfortunate companionship with Dull. One writer, for instance, complains about the sermons of the “dry and thorny scholastics.” The critic should be on the watch to see that a doctrinal sermon is not accompanied by dullness—a companionship that is by no means necessary.

Since the faithful desire more substance to the sermons they hear, more basic truths into which to sink their minds, it is a great pity that preachers are sometimes afraid to do more than give moral sermons. For fear of being dull, such preachers avoid telling the people about the great st truths that God has revealed to us. Nevertheless, the people need to know these doctrines.

At the same time, the preacher must not be dull. The listeners must be interested in what he says; otherwise, they lose attention. Minds go daydreaming, while eyes grow vacant. In the theatrical world there is a saying that the playwright should never tell his audience anything they have not first asked to know. He must rouse their curiosity before daring to give them an answer.

Similarly, the preacher should never give a doctrinal explanation, unless he is first sure his audience is curious to know the answer. He is not faced with a classroom situation in which students are forced to pay attention or run the risk of failing. In opening a sermon on justice he must do more than say:

What is justice?
Justice is that virtue by which we give every man his due.
This morning I should like to begin by explaining just what the different terms of this definition mean...

He should have begun by rousing some interest in justice. On a topic like justice, a single rhetorical question, “What is justice?” is surely not enough to accomplish the trick.

Fortunately, there are many topics in which the congregation is automatically interested (for example, family problems). When dealing with such topics the preacher, without wasting time on preliminaries, can move immediately to the heart of his subject, as does Bishop Sheen when opening with a topic sentence. Inthose other topics, however, that seem dull to an ordinary congregation (including such all-important subjects as grace), the preacher must first rouse their interest, then hold it.

If you suspect that your sermon is dull, you can rework the subject and present it as the answer to a vital problem. If you begin by stating a real problem in vivid language, the listeners’ curiosity will be aroused. Since the preacher must always choose his subject as an answer to a spiritual need, there must be a problem; otherwise, you would never have chosen this subject. If you can make your audience realize that there is a problem, that it affects them personally, then you will capture their attention, Their curiosity will demand an answer.

That weak sermon on justice quoted three paragraphs back can be improved if the preacher begins by showing his listeners that there is a real problem faced by our society in not knowing the meaning of justice. Not only are there perjurers, bribe-givers, dishonest merchants—there have always been these—but the basis of our society is threatened by those who corrupt the very idea of justice by substituting enlightened self-interest as the norm for dealing with their fellow men. By showing the baleful results of false notions of justice, he can make his audience understand that even so dull a thing as the definition of justice is the answer to a real problem, a real need. If he handles this subject well, the people will be sitting on the edge of their seats waiting to hear what justice really is.

Two trusty stylistic methods for stirring up problems are the ancient devices of (1) giving forceful objections and answering them (especially effective when handled as an imaginary dialogue between preacher and objector); and (2) asking the audience rhetorical questions.

The following example of heightening an intellectual problem by asking rhetorical questions is taken from Catholic Hour address of Bishop Sheen (Jan. 15, 1933):

If God is Power, Love and justice, then why did he create this kind of world? If he is powerful, why does he permit evil? If he is Love, why does he tolerate hate? If he is justice, why does he allow unrighteousness? These questions have, I suppose, been asked by everyone whose eyes have ever seen and whose minds have ever known the terrible contrast between the sin of the world and the goodness of God.

If the preacher understands the intellectual problems faced by his listeners, if he can set them down, he has the basis for an interesting sermon that will grip audience attention. When a doctrinal sermon is dull, it is a sign the preacher has failed to consider the intellectual needs of his audience. He lacks an insight into their problems.

A detailed discussion on how to gain and hold audience interest belongs in a book on how to write sermons. The critic merely judges that a sermon is uninteresting, and then, by way of constructive advice, suggests making the subject interesting:

1. by presenting it as the answer to a problem, which he makes real through such devices as raising objections or asking rhetorical questions; or
2. by showing the importance of the subject as it relates to the lives of the audience; or
3. by rousing their curiosity in the subject through interesting examples and stories leading into the subject.

Inspirational and moral sermons, it should be noted, must likewise be interesting, but if they live up to all the other requirements demanded of them, they will never be dull. Only in a doctrinal sermon is the question of being interesting a separate problem, because such a sermon can easily be clear, intelligible—and dull.

       3. Convincing Arguments

To the average listener an essential theological reason may mean nothing. Therefore, the preacher should always choose-not the argument that is in itself the strongestbut the one that will best help the listeners understand.

Moreover, the preachees main work is usually just to present a doctrine as clearly as he can; not to argue and prove it. Truths of faith are revealed, not proved. In consequence, the preacher should appeal more often to his listeners’ faith than to their reason. Because of their training, seminarians are likely to overstress the role of argument in a sermon, while undervaluing Scripture and the simple presentation of the revealed truths.

When reason is used, however, the proof must be understandable to the particular audience addressed by the preacher.

It must also be convincing. Some arguments can be understood, but carry no weight for the average listener. Such arguments as the following (if unamplified) cause merely notional assent:

We need grace, because, on our own, we are unable to perform actions capable of meriting heaven. Such goals are beyond man’s natural grasp, so he truly needs the help of grace.

Although absolutely true, this argument is unconvincing as it stands, because the average listener doesn’t fully understand why the supernatural should be beyond man’s natural powers. To a certain degree he understands what the preacher is saying, but he is not really touched. The argument fails to root itself in the listener’s deepest convictions—convictions deep enough to compel assent.

Arguments, therefore, must not only be true, but cogent.

       4. Sufficient Comparisons

The last chapter stressed the importance of concrete style. Applied to doctrinal sermons this means that the preacher must use comparisons (analogies) to help his listeners understand the abstract points he makes. Such was our Lord’s method of teaching: in a single chapter (13) of St. Matthew, he clarifies his teaching with no less than eight comparisons.

The two basic types of visualization are:

1. Comparison: “A is like B”;
2. Example: “A is an instance of B.”

(Vivid description is also a kind of visualization, but, in a sermon, it is used only in a subordinate capacity to amplify an example or comparison.)

Comparisons are more useful than examples in doctrinal sermons, because we can know supernatural truth only through analogy. Knowing revealed truth by faith alone, we cannot see such things as the Trinity, the Indwelling, and grace. To make these mysteries real to his listeners the preacher must compare them to things the listeners see and understand in everyday life.

It is not enough for the preacher to give his hearers a bare intellectual concept, a doctrinal skeleton. He must give the skeleton flesh and blood by filling it out with telling comparisons drawn from the visible world. Through visible creation man is led to understand the invisible world of the spirit. There is no other way. By inventing with his imagination and borrowing from his spiritual reading (especially of Scripture) the preacher will discover images to make his sermon pulse with vigor and life.

The following are basic types of comparison:

1) Analogy: a straightforward comparison in which one thing is compared to another (simile). It may be short-for example:

Behold, I am sending you forth like sheep in the midst of wolves (Matt. 10:16).

Or it may be extended—for example:

Everyone therefore who hears these my words and acts upon them shall be likened to a wise man who built his house on rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, but it did not fall, because it was founded on rock (Matt. 8:24-25).

2) Metaphor: a hidden comparison stating that “A is B” instead of “A is like B” for purposes of compression and dramatic effect:

You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its strength, what shall it be salted with? (Matt. 5:13).

3) Parable: a comparison in the form of a short, fictitious story of human action from which a spiritual truth can be drawn. Since stories contain action combined with human interest, they are the strongest, most interesting form of comparison. They have the further advantage of being easy to remember. Parables were our Lord’s favorite way of teaching:

The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls. When he finds a single pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it (Matt. 13.45-46).

4) Allegory: an extended metaphor whose details are in themselves metaphors symbolic of other actions or things.

I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine dresser. Every branch in me that bears no fruit he will take away; and every branch that bears fruit he will cleanse, that it may bear more fruit (Jn. 15:1 ff.—this allegory continues for six more lines).

Every story used in sermons, provided it makes a is either a comparison or an example.

Examples are stronger than comparisons, because it is more convincing to say, “This is an instance of what I saying—it’s exactly what I mean,” than to have to say, “What I’m trying to say is something like this—there are differences, but you see what I mean.” Therefore, the preacher gains effectiveness by making his points with examples rather than comparisons. Yet, because supernatural truth can be known only by analogy, he is forced in doctrinal sermons to take the second best, comparisons. He cannot say, “The Trinity consists of three persons in one nature; for example...”

Since concrete examples of virtue and vice are easy to find or invent, moral sermons are much easier to write than doctrinal ones. Consequently the lazy preacher is tempted to give nothing but moral sermons. Furthermore, since vice is easier to portray than virtue (compare how much simpler it is to picture the foul condition of a drunkard than the praiseworthy life of a temperate man), the unprepared preacher is tempted to launch into picturesque tirades against some lurid vice rather than to emphasize the positive aspects of Christian life. (“Whenever you don’t know what else to do, drag out Judas and punch him around for a while.”) Constructive criticism will help the preacher guard against this double danger of overemphasizing morals at the expense of doctrine, and of exploding against vice without also giving encouragement towards spiritual growth. These preacher temptations may help explain the common complaint of the laity: that they would like to hear more sermons encouraging them to become holy.

A sermon should not be laden with so many comparisons that the comparisons call attention to themselves and become mere ornaments of display. When a subject is easy to understand and interesting (for example, the relationship and duties between parents and children), it will hold their attention with few appeals to the imagination. However, when a doctrinal sermon is hard to understand or is dull and uninteresting, it can usually be improved by the preacher’s clarifying each major point with a comparison or two. Aside from making a sermon more understandable, comparisons give it life. Looking through the Gospels we find that, ordinarily, Our Lord reinforced every point by at least three comparisons or examples.

It might be mentioned here that many sermons can be improved by using a single basic comparison throughout: one subject, one proposition, and one image. Not only does this add to a sermon’s unity, but it embodies the main point in such concrete terms that it is hard for the audience ever to forget.

This method of developing a sermon around a basic image was used effectively by Msgr. Ronald Knox in many of his retreat conferences:

In this retreat, I am going to do something which is I suppose unusual, but which will not, I hope, seem unduly farfetched. I mean to take as my text for each meditation, or rather the subject which acts as a jumping-off point for each meditation, a story from the Old Testament.... I... want to use the Old Testament stories, more or less in their order, as a thread on which we can hang our meditations, as a rough outline, which will allow us to fill in the details in correspondence with our own needs. And, in most cases, I shall choose also some incident in the New Testament, and put it side by side with the other, as type and anti-type; between the two, we ought by God’s help to be able to see what warning it was, or what encouragement, that the Holy Ghost meant us to draw, when he inspired the sacred authors to write as they did.

And in this meditation I am using as my startingpoint the Creation of man... [Retreat for Priests (New York: Sheed & Ward, 1946), p. 1.]

The constructive critic can, then, often suggest improving a sermon by developing a single basic image that shows interesting possibilities. In this way an imaginative unity of imagery will reinforce the intelligible unity of ideas.

To sum up, the criteria for a doctrinal sermon are:

1. The preacher should make his proposition clear by pinpointing it in a topic sentence.

2. Throughout he must hold audience interest.

3. His arguments must be convincing to this particular audience.

4. He should use sufficient comparisons to clarify his teaching and interest the audience.

Inspirational sermons

       How they differ from Doctrinal Sermons

Inspirational sermons differ from doctrinal sermons not in subject matter—they both deal with the truth—but in emphasis. Whereas the aim of a doctrinal sermon is to teach the people new truth or to help them penetrate more deeply into truth they already know, an inspirational sermon has for its primary aim the stirring up of the will and emotions so that the hearers are inspired by love for the truth.

Most doctrinal sermons, however, contain—and must contain—a strong element of the inspirational, because the preacher wants to gain more than the mere agreement of his hearers—he desires their joyful, willing assent, as well. He speaks to the heart as well as to the mind.

The perfect example of such an inspiring but predominantly doctrinal talk was our Lord’s discourse to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. His talk was doctrinal (“He interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things referring to himself”), but, after he had finished, “They said to each other, ‘Was not our heart burning within us while he was speaking on the road and explaining to us the Scriptures?’” (Luke 24:32).

All the great revealed truths about God and the Christian life, the most sublime of all subjects, offer a magnificent opportunity for the preacher to inspire his congregation with love for the truth he preaches. Shortly before he died, Msgr. Ronald Knox wrote, in the preface to a book he left unfinished, a penetrating description of the inspirational, kerygmatic approach to doctrinal topics:

The hardest part of the author’s task, as I see it, will be to introduce some human element into natural theology; to prove that God is, and what God is, not merely with the effect of intellectual satisfaction, but with a glow of assent that springs from the whole being; “did not our hearts burn within us when he talked to us by the way?” ... He will prove the divineness of our Lord’s mission, not by presenting us with a series of logical dilemmas, but by trying to reconstruct the picture of our Lord himself, what it was that met the gaze of the Apostles, and the touch of their hands. He will read the New Testament, not as a series of “passages” which must somehow be reconciled with one another, but as the breathless confidences of living men, reacting to human situations, and inflamed with zeal for their Master. He will portray the teaching Church, not as a harassed official “handing out” information at a series of press conferences, but as a patient pioneer washing out the gold from the turbid stream of her own memories. Everything will come alive at his touch; be will not merely know what he is talking about, but feel what he is talking about. [Evelyn Waugh, Ronald Knox (Boston: Little, Brown & Co., 1959), p. 325.]

Nevertheless, no matter how deeply it involves the feelings, a sermon is still doctrinal provided its main purpose is to propose the truth of revelation.

The inspirational sermon, on the other hand, is no primarily concerned with explaining the truth, but rather, in rousing feelings of devotion, gratitude, hope and lo towards God. The exalted emotions then lead the min to a contented, peaceful contemplation of the truth. (The doctrinal sermon appeals more to the active, discursive work of the intellect.) Such sermons are somewhat poetic in style. They appeal to man’s sense of the beautiful and leave the soul with a sense of awe or exaltation appropriate to a loving contemplation. The famous sermon of St. Bernard on the Holy Name creates such an effect, as do many of the sermons of the Fathers, especially those written for the great feasts of Easter and Christmas.

Marking the difference between inspirational and doctrinal sermons is important because the preacher must be sure where he is going and must stick to his purpose. If his sermon is inspirational (for example, “The Dignity of Motherhood” for Mother’s Day), he will ruin the effect by too much reasoning, since abstract reasoning, by its very nature, dissipates emotion. Likewise, an appeal to action will destroy the effect of an inspirational sermon; its contemplative vision, accompanied by feelings of awe or exaltation, is broken by the jarring effect of a call to action. Whereas a moral sermon brings the audience down to earth with concrete recommendations, an inspirational sermon allows their minds to remain in the heavens. Such contemplative vision will eventually change their everyday lives for the better. Here and now, though, a practical appeal for action would come as an anti-climax and break the spell. How jarring an ending if a preacher should conclude a Mother’s Day sermon on the “Dignity of Motherhood” with the suggestion that the mothers in the congregation go home and live up to the duties of their state!

Therefore, the preacher needs to understand the nature of an inspirational sermon so as not to destroy its effectiveness by inserting too many doctrinal or moral elements; excessive reasoning or appeals to action will only result in dissipating the feeling of exaltation he is trying to create.

       Focus

It is harder to discover the central proposition of an inspirational sermon than that of a doctrinal sermon, because its structure is looser and more episodic. Unity is found in the subject—a sermon on the Holy Name sticks to that subject—but it is hard to find the entire proposition, and set it down in a topic sentence. Even when found and set down, the proposition of an inspirational sermon often sounds insipid: “The Holy Name is to be Honored,” or “Motherhood is a Noble Christian Calling.”

You should not, then, be surprised if a listener has trouble discovering the unifying proposition that underlies an inspirational sermon, for its single subject is praised or described under various different aspects held together in a loose unity. Writing such a sermon is like taking a diamond and turning it from one side to the other, to show all its brilliance. The facets are distinct, but produce a unified effect—a combined emotional and contemplative effect, a unity of mood as in poetry, without the strict logical unity that marches from one reason to the next.

Occasions on which Inspirational Sermons are Preached

Such sermons are particularly effective on the great feasts of the year, such as Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, feasts of our Lady and of the saints—also, on special occasions such as Jubilees, First Masses, graduations, funerals, Thanksgiving Day, and many others upon which expressions of joy, hope, or love of God are especially fitting. A sermon at a First Mass, for instance, would ordinarily not end with an appeal for action nor would it simply instruct the people about the nature of the priesthood: it is an occasion of joy and celebration, and the sermon shoul inspire the people with these sentiments.

Furthermore, many—perhaps most—retreat conferences, fit into the category of inspirational. The retreat-master knows he will be telling his listeners nothing startlingly new (if the retreatants are priests or religious), and so his conferences cannot all be doctrinal. Nor is it fitting that he make every talk a call to action, for his listeners already know what they should be doing. Perhaps they are not practicing all of it, but they are hardly likely to submit to three or four talks a day aimed at stirring them to action. Consequently, the retreat-master is certain that few of his talks will be directly moral.

Of necessity, then, a large number of his conferences will be inspirational—in the best sense of that term-renewing the flagging spirits of the retreatants, so that they will be inspired to love and esteem the religious life more deeply. In the long run this will affect their lives and actions, since, by reviving their devotion, he will help them combat spiritual sloth.

Too often, retreat conferences seem to aim at teaching the retreatants what they already know (which is quite different from reviving their love for what they already know), thus failing to fill the basic need of the retreatants, the renewal of their spiritual energies.

       Criteria

Just as it is harder to define the inspirational sermon and to capture its unity than to define and capture the unity of a doctrinal or moral sermon, so it is harder to find exact criteria for judging it. Since its structure is looser and its approach more poetic, it is foolish to establish rigid standards that will only act as a strait jacket. Nevertheless, the three following criteria are generally valid and can be applied to any inspirational sermon without fear of choking originality.

1. Does the Sermon Actually Inspire?

Will the sermon awake feelings of hope, of joy, or of awe in the listener? If it fails to lift the spirit, if it is a tedious exercise in uninspired poetic fancy, then the inspirational sermon has failed to achieve the only purpose for which it was written.

A good inspirational sermon has a tremendous effect upon the people, but a poor one leaves them with nothing. No matter how poor it is, a doctrinal sermon always teaches some particle of truth, but a weak inspirational sermon, leaves behind only an impression of confused twaddle.

Your job as critic is to find out why it failed. Somehow the preacher has missed showing the sublimity, the nobility, of his subject. This failure usually results from his poor handling of imagery. Consequently, all those faults mentioned in the last chapter in connection with the appropriate use of images are especially important in trying to discover why an inspirational sermon is a success or failure.

2. Does It Show by Example?

To inspire an audience the preacher must do more than rely on general statements; since feelings are stirred only through imagery, he must show by example what he is praising.

In a sermon, for instance, which extols our Blessed Lady’s humility, he should show instances from her life—the more descriptive the better—rather than merely quote: “Be it, done unto me...” St. Bernard, in his most famous inspirational sermon, compares the Holy Name to oil poured out, to light, food, and medicine. Each of these comparison he develops at length to stir his hearers’ emotions: What food so fills the heart as the Holy Name fills the soul of the man who meditates upon it? The soul’s food is dry, when not dipped in this oil; tasteless when unseasoned by this salt:

If you write anything, what you write is tasteless to me, unless I savor there the name of Jesus ... Jesus is sweetness on the tongue, melody to the ear, and joy within the heart. [St. Bernard, On the Canticles, PL, 183:843.]

Without such concrete appeals to the imagination the congregation will remain cold, will feel no devotion, no love, no exaltation or awe. Abstract ideas cannot touch the emotions, which are only moved by concrete objects and their images. Critical judgment here depends upon an analysis of imagery; everything depends upon that.

In an inspirational sermon, the great danger is that the preacher will be content to state, rather than to describe; to tell the people what emotions they are supposed to be feeling without taking the trouble to appeal to their imaginations and really evoke those emotions. Such statements often begin with “Oh” or “What” or “How great!” These telltale exclamations may well be an unimaginative substitute for imagery. Close scrutiny of devotional sermons that leave listeners unmoved often reveals that the preacher has been content to dot his sermon with exclamation points telling his audience what they ought to feel:

How deeply we should reverence this mystery! What feelings of devotion should move our hearts as we contemplate it! Oh, the riches of meaning it would yield if we only dwelt upon it more often!

A certain number of such statements can be effective, but, when used as a substitute for imagery, they are weak. Therefore, the critic makes sure the preacher really offers images that stir the emotions and is not simply content to talk in platitudinous exclamations.

Examples are best, but, here again, comparisons are sometimes the only imagery at hand. The following, taken from a lenten course given by Fr. Bede Jarrett, illustrates the use of imagery—showing, rather than stating—in an inspirational sermon:

...In the valley, in the valley are the houses and the laughter and the children and human love; in the valley the noise of that traffic, of that commerce. But if you climb, you must go above their roofs, above the little smoke that comes curling up, you must get above that, and lose all the beauty of the world~that is, if beauty for you means colour or scent. Down below are the flowers, their beauty, their fragrance; you must come up out of these if you would dare the hills. Come up, climb up, out of this colour and fragrance and all that men call beauty. Below you are the living things. A few sparse flowers may still, follow your footsteps, and go for a while ahead of you, and then at last you come to the pines. They are the outposts of life on the hillside. Where they end, all life ends. Below you the birds, the clouds even. You are now above the clouds. If you look to the valley, you long for the valley and your heart is torn. If you look to the hills, you step out fresh again. That is where you want to be, on the peaks of the hills. You get up out of movement and colour, and you stand up high... . Life, you feel life, the live air just lifting you, as though it were life itself.... [The House of Gold (Westminster, Md.: The Newman Press, 1945), p. 266.]

This mountain climbing image is used throughout sermon, whose main purpose is inspirational rather th moral, and shows the close relationship that sometim. exists between poetic imagery and that used by the, preacher in an inspirational sermon.

3. Is the Imagery in Good Taste?

Another danger is that an inspirational sermon become; sentimental, that it melt and turn to slush. Since it is composed in a more poetic mode than other sermon types, thoy inspirational attracts preachers who tend to be overemotional. Such preachers may be extravagantly praised by few sentimental women and never come to realize that they leave the majority of the congregation unmoved. Such preaching offers the men of the parish an excuse for leaving novenas and other special devotions to their womenfolk.

The praise, then, of saints and virtues, and the quality of imagery must be restrained and in good taste. judgment as to what does, or does not, constitute good taste depends partly on individual likes and dislikes. Here is an area where listeners are likely to disagree on a sermon’s merits. Consequently, you, too, as critic, must realize that your taste is also partly subjective, and, occasionally, you are likely to make mistakes in evaluating imagery. Despite this danger, you must judge honestly what you think the sermon’s effect will be upon the majority of its intended audience.

The following, for instance, would doubtless impress many listeners as overdone (although a few will always moved by such sentimentality):

Raise up your eyes in mute wonder and take a close look at the life of this holy woman, whose virtues you can strive to imitate. See how she was always eager to help with a kindly word of consolation anyone who came to her in sorrow, whether friend or stranger. It was her gentle hand that was always ready to brush away the bitter tear. When poor persons came to her in distress, unable to pay their debts, that same dear hand was ready to busy itself in hard work to relieve their poverty. Like a tender shepherdess she guided her younger brothers and sisters on the thorny road of virtue.

Compare the above effusion with the moving simplicity and restraint of the following excerpt from an inspiring address given by Doctor Nagai, the “Saint of the Atom Bomb,” as a memorial to the Japanese killed when the atom bomb was dropped on Nagasaki:

On August 9, 1945, there was a council of war in the imperial headquarters... discussing capitulation... at 1202 the bomb burst down upon Urakami ... 8000 Catholics... in one second called before God’s judgment throne. August 15 is set aside as the day of peace for the entire world... the Feast of the Assumption, the anniversary of our cathedral... Is that fate or the fatherly will of God?... Nagasaki was an alternate city, not the primary target for the pilots... It was Providence that guided the bomb there... through unfavorable and yet favorable winds... Catholic and consecrated Urakami was chosen and privileged to burn on the altar of expiation for the war-time crimes of the Second World War... Other cities were destroyed... but they were not acceptable before God... Urakami with the church that kept pure the faith for 400 years... and always prayed for peace in every war... pleased him as a victim, and he was appeased. How grand and wondrous, how beautiful and noble! Her 8000 Catholics ... how fortunate, how spotless they stand before their Lord! And our lot, how terrible it is!... Why are we still alive? Because there has been too much sin, and too little reparation... Here, this time, this is our day of propitiation and penance... in hunger and thirst, in sweat and sorrow... and he will help us, he who carried his cross to Calvary, Christ Jesus our Lord. [Adapted from J. Schilliger, The Saint of the Atom Bomb (Westminster, Md.: The Newman Press, 1955), p. 123 f.]

The basic image in this inspiring talk is, of course, the, dropping of the atom bomb. In spite of the tragedy inherent, in the pitiful death of the victims, the speaker does not dissolve into bathos but produces a feeling of awe and exaltation by showing, with moving simplicity, the nobility, of the city’s sacrifices in the sight of God.

In summary, the simple criteria for judging an inspirational sermon are:

1. that it actually inspire;
2. that it show by example, rather than state; and,
3. that its imagery be in good taste and avoid sentimentality.

In spite of the disaster that threatens a poor inspirational sermon, a good one is eagerly received by the people. One of the common complaints heard from the pews is that sermons are too cold, too negative. Our listeners are eager for more inspiring sermons, for burning words that will inflame them with love for God.

Moral sermons

Of the three sermon types, the moral is perhaps the most common. The Council of Trent laid particular emphasis on the preacher’s duty of exhorting the faithful to live according to the Commandments, and today’s diocesan sermon manuals lay heavy stress upon moral sermons. Moreover, some diocesan manuals employ, as an outline for all sermons, a format specially suited for moral sermons. The moral sermon is, therefore, better known and understood by most preachers than the doctrinal or inspirational.

The whole purpose of a moral sermon is, of course, to move the listeners to action. This does not mean, however, that a doctrinal sermon may not conclude with a mild recommendation for action. A sermon explaining some aspect of the Eucharist may well conclude with a recommendation that the listeners receive Communion frequently, showing in this way, a full appreciation for the doctrine that has just been explained.

Therefore, do not judge that a sermon is moral simply because it ends with a practical application. judge the sermon, rather, by its Body. Whereas the Body of a doctrinal sermon is mainly explanatory, the entire Body of a moral sermon aims at moving the faithful to perform some action by showing them motives and means. In every good sermon one purpose—to teach, to inspire, or to move—will predominate, in spite of a mingling of two or even three of these elements. The predominant element will be seen most clearly in the sermon’s Body.

A moral sermon may either have as its goal immediate action (for example, a mission appeal aims at receiving a response within the next five minutes), or it may be remotely ordered to action (for example, a sermon encouraging sick people not to put off receiving extreme unction until the last moment will affect action at some indeterminate future date). This distinction is important, because a sermon demanding immediate action will end with an application or action step, whereas one directed towards a more remote result will stress motivation, not action (for example, a sermon on extreme unction will stress reasons why it is best to receive the sacrament while still conscious), and does not necessarily need an application or action step.

Following are the criteria useful in criticizing a moralsermon:

       1. Motive

Every moral sermon appeals to the will, whose object is not truth, but goodness. Therefore, the preacher must offer a desirable motive for acting—some reason why the listener should change his mediocre, or evil, way of life and begin to act in a different way. A cogent motive must be given to the listener or he will refuse to change his time-worn habits of sin.

Again, this goes back to the question of audience need; if the preacher can really show the listener why he needs to change his ways, why this is absolutely necessary, then he may sit up and take notice.

This motive for action will either be a good the listen can gain by acting (pleasing God and going to heaven are the most universal—but not always the most rhetoric effective—of all these goods), or it may be an evil he can avoid (displeasing God and going to hell are the most universal of these evils). The more particular the good evil, the more strongly it appeals to the emotions.

Positive motivation, the offering of a good (for example, imitating Christ more perfectly) will move well-disposed listeners, while negative motivation (for example, the avoidance of hell) may have greater effect on hardened sinners. A combination of the two-advantages to be gained plus dangers to be escaped—offers the strongest, surest motivation. Notice the combined positive-negative motivation in this excerpt from Bishop Sheen’s Mission magazine (March-April, 1959):

Disadvantages of being rich: The rich do not give:

a) Because the rich can give much, they may prefer to keep their money at home where they can see a library, or a science building, or a gymnasium dedicated in their name, or where the recipient of their money is able to meet them from time to time and invite them to dinner.

b) Because the poor who have to rely upon the Providence of God have more faith than those who rely upon the Providence of God plus a good bank account ...

c) A man’s generosity does not increase in proportion as he grows rich. Rather the reverse happens, because he multiplies his desires. What was in the beginning a luxury, later on becomes a necessity. So in the end, he gives proportionately less than he did previously. He multiplies the things he believes he cannot do without. As one of the early Fathers of the Church said: “No matter how many hairs we have on our head, it hurts to have one pulled out.”

Advantages of being rich: ...Most important of all, Our Blessed Lord said that thanks to our money, the rich could win for themselves intercessors for their salvation. Just as we use people of influence to plead our cases, so too, Our Lord suggested that the poor whom we aid, will on the last day intercede for our soul. The rich who have built seminaries for the native clergy of Vietnam or Korea, or who have helped support the mission schools for the Bantu in South Africa... will have a mighty chorus of grateful souls pleading God to have mercy on their souls.

Resolution: ...Our Lord said it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Never give up trying to pass through the eye of the needle. Just send your sacrifice to the Society for the Propagation of the Faith.

Always, in a moral sermon, there must be a motive for action, whether it be stated or merely implied. At times the preacher can presuppose that his listeners already desire some good (for example, most religious would like to pray better), in which case he need only show them how to achieve the goal. But on some moral problems he knows audience motivation is weak and needs to be bolstered (for example, reasons for the laity to practice mortification and deny themselves superfluous pleasures). The amount of stress he places upon building motivation depends upon: his analysis of the audience. Ordinarily, a preacher is safe, no matter what his subject, in amplifying and expanding to their limit the strongest motives for action he can find.

The following, taken from a retreat conference given by Msgr. Ronald Knox, is an illustration of positive motivation (with some negative motivation used as contrast):

I sometimes think it would be a good thing if every priest who goes out into a mission kept a dairy for his first five years, kept it under lock and key, and did not look at it again until be was a rector with curates of his own, who come to him fresh from the enthusiasms of the seminary. Then, turning over those old pages, he might remember that he, too, was young once.

What is it that makes the difference? What will save you from turning into a man like old Father So-and-so? Why, the spirit in which you take your disappointments. If you understand mission work with the idea of making this show a success, to flatter your vanity or from love of interference, you will go the same way. It will be otherwise if you are working for your Master because of the greatness of your love. We must learn to unite the work which we do for love of Jesus Christ with the work he did for us; to work out of love, not of the work itself, but of him who has loved us and become a drudge for us, long ago. It has got to be done, this work of ours; and we may do it, simply because we are under obedience, like a man serving an unreasonable taskmaster. Or we may do it because we love Jesus Christ, and then the burden will be light to us, and the days all too short, because of the greatness of our love. [Op. cit., p. 50 f.]

And the following is an example of negative motivation, in which the Curé of Ars shows his listeners the evil of envy in order to make them hate and avoid this sin:

Envy certainly causes a great deal of misery in the world, but it produces the greatest havoc in that man who fosters it, and who is controlled by it. No vice punishes itself so severely as envy does. For this reason the holy fathers called envy a just vice, not because it was just in itself, but because it is itself its own punishment... . As the worm eats the wood, to which it owes its existence, so envy gnaws at the heart of the man who admits it. And when it has taken up its abode in our hearts, it soon shows itself in our outward bearing, for it takes the glow of health from the cheek of the envious, and reveals its presence in our interior, by sickly pale cheeks and hollow eyes. Envy gnaws at the heart as the rust does at the iron, it enfeebles the body like a lingering fever, tortures the soul, destroys the peace of our mind, and fills man with dejection and sadness, and banishes all peace and gladness from the soul. [Sermons of the Curé of Ars (New York: Wagner, 1901), p. 96.]

In every moral sermon the listeners must have either positive or negative motivation, a reason why they should or should not act. If they are not already strongly motivated before the sermon begins, the preacher must give them the motivation they lack. Otherwise they will never follow his recommendations and his sermon will be a failure.

Such a sermon fails either because the preacher provides:

1) Weak motivation. Without strong motivation no maw can be expected to act. Yet, it is by no means uncommon for a preacher to exhort the people to act without giving them a really persuasive reason why they should. Furthermore, a motive may be in itself strong (for example, order to imitate Christ more perfectly), but may not appeal to certain listeners (for example, hardened sinners). An ounce of motivation is worth a pound of exhortation.

2) Remote motivation. When a preacher urges a specific action, the most proximate motive for such action usually is far stronger than a remote motive. For instance, the more general and remote motive for all our actions is to fulfill God’s will: we should love our neighbor because God wills it; we should be chaste because God wills it; we should patiently endure suffering because God wills it. But the preacher can find more specific and proximate motives for performing these actions: we love our neighbor because Christ regards what we do to our fellow man as if it were done to him personally; we are chaste because our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit; we endure suffering because it is the truest test of the unselfishness of our love for God.

A remote motive used frequently is “because the Church says so.” Merely telling people, for instance, to keep the fast bcause it is the law of the Church is to give the listeners a general motive that fails to show them the specific reason for keeping the fast—the spirit that lies behind the letter of the law.

Whenever possible a remote motive for action should, be reinforced—or even replaced—by a proximate motive.

       2. Means

When the preacher recommends action involving practical difficulties, he should also show his listeners means of carrying out his suggestions. If he urges them to pray more often, he can profitably show them how to pray. In giving them a motive, he shows them why they should act; in giving them a means, he shows them how they can go about it.

In giving a sermon on the necessity of avoiding the occasions of sin, he can take typical sinful occasions the people are likely to meet and show how they can face and overcome them. What should they do when tempted? —not only in general (for example, “Pray”), but also in particular. In giving a sermon on the rosary, he will gain effectiveness by showing how families can choose the best time for saying the rosary, in order to enable the entire family to be present.

An entire moral sermon, on a topic such as “How to Pray” or “How to Make a Good Confession,” can be devoted to this single problem of showing a practical method of performing a good act.

The failure to show means is a weakness likely to injure the sermons of young seminarians, because of their lack of practical experience in dealing with the problems of the laity. On the other hand, an experienced pastor’s sermons should be strong in their demonstration of workable methods of action, because be understands his parishioners and their practical problems.

When a sermon is only remotely ordered to action (as in a sermon encouraging baptism as soon as possible after an infant’s birth), or if the means are obvious (as in a sermon urging the people to make their Easter Duty), the preacher has no need to show the people how to carry out his suggestions. Many sermons, however, are weak precisely in this: that they urge action without showing the faithful how to carry it out.

The Curé of Ars was particularlly careful to offer his parishioners practical applications of his teachings on virtue and vice, as in the following:

We do now, you will say, at least know in what way we can commit an injustice. But how and to whom must we make restitution? You wish to make reparation? Well, then, listen to me a moment and I will show you how. You must not be satisfied to return the half or three-quarters, but the whole, when it is possible, otherwise you might be lost. There are some who, without trying to find out how many persons they have injured, give alms and have Masses said, and then they think their conscience is all right. Alms and Masses are very good things, but the offering must be out of your own money and not with that of your neighbor. This money doesn’t belong to you; return it to the rightful owner and then give your own if you wish to... You will ask, when one whom we have cheated is dead, to whom shall we make restitution? Can we not then keep it or give it to the poor? My friends, this is what you must do: if there are any children you must give it to them; if not, then to the relations or heirs; if there are no heirs you must go to your confessor, who will tell you what you had better do... [Ibid., p. 5 f.].

The following, taken from a sermon of Msgr. Ronald Knox, speaking to an entirely different type of audience, is a proposal of means for testing whether certain recreations are necessary:

Most of us, I think, would be far worse-tempered and less useful people than we are if we gave up all our relaxations, unless at the same time we managed to become very much holier people.

Let us content ourselves, then, with one very simple principle by which we can test the position in our lives of any unnecessary gratification which seems to figure rather prominently. Let lus simply ask, Does it get in the way of my prayers? We have, of course, certain prayers and times of prayer which bind us by obligation; but we have, all of us, extra time which we like to spend over our own devotions—a visit to the Blessed Sacrament, certain pieties before we go to bed, and so on. Our relaxations may interfere with such devotions in four ways; by leaving us too little time, too little strength, too little attention, or too little relish for them. Let us use these devotions, then, as our Plimsoll line. Does this game, this bobby, this form of self-cultivation cut down, often, the time I mean to give to God? Does this little indulgence lower my general state of health, so that when I pray I am too weak to pray properly? Does this strong interest in my life, this harmless ambition, constantly recur to my thoughts, so as to make me habitually distracted in my prayer? Does this friendship, this taste which I cultivate, diminish my love of prayer, make me want to be doing something else all the time? If so, watch it. [Op. cit., p. 20 f.]

These two quotations show that when a preacher gives his audience practical means for doing what he suggests, he immediately indicates to them that he is realistic, practical, and in touch with their needs. These are those qualities of Character, mentioned in Chapter IV, needed to persuade the listeners that the preacher knows what he is talking about. When people praise a priest for giving practical, down-to-earth sermons, it is because he is successful in offering them practical ways of doing what he suggests. He answers his listeners’ question: “How do we go about doing what you advise?”

Here are the three faults you may discover in this regard:

1. No means or application are shown (provided, of course, that such a suggestion of means will help the sermon).
2. Impractical means are suggested by the preacher who is naive or unrealistic.
3. Means of limited application. The means suggested are good, but only a few among the congregation can hope to put them into practice.

       3. Exemplification

In a moral sermon the preacher should exemplify the points he makes. Fortunately, in a moral sermon, this is easy: since he speaks about human actions, he can always find or invent an example to illustrate what he is saying.

Examples always help clarify the various points, but, more important still, they stir the emotions. In order to persuade people to change their lives, to repent or to strive courageously after perfection, cold reason alone is often a feeble, insufficient force. Emotion must help the will set out for a new good or flee an old evil.

As was mentioned in the chapter on Style, emotion is roused by visualization and concretization. In doctrinal sermons this is accomplished by comparisons, but here, in moral sermons, the preacher has at hand the more effective visualizing power of examples.

Among examples the most interesting and effective is the illustrative story. Along with having the advantages of action, suspense and human interest, a story can describe a person actually attaining possession of the proposed goal—or moving towards it—and thus inspire the listeners with a holy envy, creating in them a desire for imitation. Thomas Merton’s Seven Storey Mountain inspired young men to give up the world and enter monasteries, because its example filled them with a spirit of emulation; it was far more effective than any number of abstract essays describing the excellence of a Trappist vocation.

In moral sermons the preacher can visualize:

1. the motive he offers;
2. the nature of the virtue or vice he is describing; or
3. the means of acting.

The following are illustrations of how a sermon can be strengthened through concrete exemplification:

1) Exemplifying the motive:

Weak:

In order to imitate Christ in his humility, you should willingly perform your humble tasks (positive motivation).

Strengthened through exemplification:

There are few things in the world simpler to do, few things more monotonous to do, than sawing wood. When God came to earth, he spent more than half his life doing that. just think of it—our Lord with that tremendous sense of mission—my meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work; I have a baptism, wherewith I must be baptized, and now I am straitened until it be accomplishedand there he is, put down at Nazareth, making chair-legs. You remember the larne man at the pool of Bethesda, who had been suffering thirty-eight years from his infirmity before our Lord came and healed him? Well, during thirty out of those thirty-eight years our Lord had been on earth, and had been going up with his parents every year to Jerusalem, but it was not until he was thirty that he met the palsied man be was to cure. Why did our Lord stay at Nazareth all that time, first learning to make, and then making, chairs and tables? No doubt there may have been several reasons, but one reason was surely this-he wanted to hallow for us the experience of drudgery. No Christian should ever be able to complain, “Here am I set down to do work that is unworthy of my talents; Jesus Christ never did that.” [Ibid., p. 45 f.]

Weak:

If you act unjustly, you will be punished by God, in this life or in the next (negative motivation).

Strengthened through exemplification (although too strong, perhaps, for a contemporary audience):

I say to you that goods obtained by fraud or trickery will not only bring you no advantage, but will also be the cause of your losing all you have obtained in a rightful way, and that they will shorten your days. If you doubt it, listen to me for a moment and I will convince you.

We read in Holy Scripture that King Achab, who wished to enlarge his gardens, went to a man named Naboth and told him that he wished to buy his vineyard. “No,” said Naboth, “it is the inheritance of my forefathers and I wish to keep it.” The King was so excited over this refusal that he became quite ill. The Queen came to him and asked him what was the cause of his sickness. The King said that he was sick because he wanted to enlarge his gardens and Naboth had refused to sell him his vineyard.

“Well,” said the Queen, “where is thy power? Do not trouble. I will get you the vineyard.”

She procured at once several persons, who, paid and bribed by her, testified that Naboth had blasphemed the name of God and also of Moses. The poor man defended himself ... It was no usethey would not believe him; they dragged him away and stoned him to death. When the Queen saw him stricken down she hurried to the King to tell him that he could have the coveted vineyard. Upon hearing this, the King, who had recovered, rushed like a madman to take possession of the vineyard. The unfortunate man did not think that God was there to punish him. The Lord called his prophet Elias and commanded him to tell the King that on the same spot where the dogs had licked up the blood of Naboth they would lick up his own blood.... The Lord sent his prophet also to Queen Jezabel to announce to her that as a punishment for her crime she would be devoured by dogs. It came to pass as the prophet had predicted. The King was killed in battle and the dogs licked up his blood. When the new King, jehu by name, entered the city, he saw a woman sitting at a window of the palace. She had arrayed herself in her royal robes, hoping to make an impression and gain the heart of the new King. They told him it was Queen Jezabel. Upon hearing this he commanded that she be at once thrown out of the window, and horses and men trampled upon her. When night came and they went to bury her, they found only a few pieces of her body; the dogs had eaten the rest.

“Thus,” exclaimed Jehu, “has the word of the prophet been fulfilled.” [Curé of Ars, op. cit., p. 2 f.]

2) Exemplifying the nature of a virtue or vice:

Weak:

You practice meekness by restraining your desire to get even with others.

Strengthened through exemplification:

You have heard it was said, “An eye for an eye, and, “A tooth for a tooth.” But I say to you not to resist the evil-doer; on the contrary, if someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also; and if anyone would go to law with you and take your tunic, let him take your cloak as well; and whoever forces you to go for one mile, go with him two (Matt. 5:38-41).

Weak:

Generosity means a willingness to part with material things to help others. It is related to mercy and liberality.

Strengthened through exemplification:

I remember a family of children whom I knew well when they were quite little. Their mother was a valiant woman. She was herself utterly unselfish, and she would have the children go her way. So she insisted that when anyone visited the children, these should make a present to their guest. It diddt matter what it was, something of their own, some toy, some trinket, given to whoever came. One day, after I had come into the nursery and played with the children and was going away, one of the little boys gave me an uncouth lump of wood that was lying there. His mother said to him, “Do you want it?” and he said, “No.” “Don’t give it then,” she answered. “Never give as a present something you dodt want. What do you love best in your nursery?” And he looked slowly around at all his treasures. “I think,” he said, “I love the elephant best.” A beautiful elephant it was; its trunk and legs all moved. She said, “Give that,” and he gave it to me. As I went out of the house I left it behind the door. It seemed cruel to take it. But it was sent round to me next morning to give to any poor child. That mother was a most perfect example of unselfishness. The children are now grown up and are wonderfully generous. The whole family has been inspired by what their mother taught them when they were quite young. She gave willingly to all her children. There was nothing too good for them, nothing too much for them, but she, asked from them also as much as she gave. On their part, there was nothing too good for them to give to their mother. They gave her whatever they had. Out of their pocket money they would give extravagantly to their mother, or to anyone ... From those memories they shall never be exempt. All through life they will be haunted by the early lessons of their childhood. They will be joyous because generous. They will be happy because they will always give. The mark that she made on their characters they will carry surely to the end [Jarrett, op. cit., p. 211-213].

Notice, moreover, that such an example, aside from its illustrative power, contains a strong accompanying note of motivation, and illustrates, moreover, the virtue of giving good example.

3) Exemplifying the means of acting:

Weak:

The best way a priest can practice affability is by dealing gently with his parishioners in his everyday contacts with them.

Strengthened through exemplification:

May I say this quite bluntly? And we will qualify the statement ... afterwards. I do sometimes think that we priests are sometimes definitely too brusque, definitely too harsh, in our way of dealing with souls. Not so much, perhaps, in the confessional, where the tradition of gentleness prevails. But in our other personal dealings, whether it is a question of turning away a beggar from the door, or of reprimanding an altar server, or of dealing with the parish bore, or of telling parents that their children ought to go to a Catholic school, we are often a little more gruff, a little more peremptory ... than the occasion demands. We say the right thing, but we say it with an ungraciousness which adds an unnecessary sting to disappointment, and gives rise to unnecessary ill-feeling... . You are in the pulpit. You are appealing for some laudable object; say, the building of the parish schools, which are badly needed. You remember last Sunday’s collection, the miserable thing it was; how the pennies, once they were separated from the silver, made the silver look a tiny pile by comparison. And then your eye lights on the congregation, and you see So-and-so, who drives his own car; So-and-so, who to your own knowledge has improved his business by fifty per cent during the past year. And you can contain yourself no longer; you burst out into a diatribe against the stinginess of the people who can do themselves so well and at the same time make so poor a response to the appeals of the parish ... . The sacristan says to you afterwards, “My word, Father, you gave it to them straight this morning.” Yes, you gave it to them straight; but there was perhaps, in the congregation, some Protestant husband who bad been persuaded by his Catholic wife, after enormous effort to come to Church with her just this once; and that was the sermon he got [Knox, op. cit., p. 141-43].

Weak:

If you have injured others by your words, you must make reparation for the harm you have done.

Strengthened through exemplification:

If we have had the misfortune to offend him by our abusive talk, we must ask his pardon and become reconciled with him. If you have assailed the honor of your neighbor, for instance, by speaking ill of him you are obliged to speak of his good qualities, as you have spoken about his bad ones. If you have calumniated him, you must seek out all those persons in whose presence you have spoken falsely about him, and tell them that all you said about your neighbor was not true; that you are very sorry about it, and that you beg them not to believe it [Curé of Ars, op. cit., p. 65].

Weak:

To pray our office well we must do our best to drive distractions from our minds.

Strengthened through exemplification:

I think we shall probably make a mistake if we go out of our way to take any notice of distractions as they occur; if we try to turn around and face up to them. The only thing to do, when you become conscious after an interval that your mind had been wandering, is to put your nose down into the book again; to return, by a voluntary effort, to the sense and substance of your prayer, without even stopping to elicit contrition for your inattentiveness...

And in order that the Divine Office itself may from time to time recall us from our distractions, distract us from our distractions, by forcing itself, as it were, on the attention, let us learn to know and to love the Psalms of David. Get the English sense of them if you are not very sure of your Latin, meditate on them if possible, use phrases from them by way of ejaculatory prayer. Fix onto a passage here and there, and make a sign-post of it, to drag your attention back when it is wandering [Knox, op. cit., p. 134 f.]

The above examples show that any part of a moral sermon can be strengthened through exemplification, whether they be used to reinforce motivation, to illustrate the nature of a virtue or vice, or to add practicality to proposed means of action.

Some of the examples were taken from popular sermons, others from erudite retreat conferences; no matter what the educational level of the listener, he will profit by cogent examples.

For the sake of illustration, the above examples are fairly long. Ordinarily, of course, especially in brief sermons, examples are much shorter. Often an example can be given in a single phrase or sentence: “But I say to you not to resist the evil-doer; on the contrary, if someone strike thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”

Some of these examples describe historical characters (for example, Jezabel) while others appeal directly to the experiences of the listeners themselves. All things being equal, those that appeal directly to the listeners’ experience are the most interesting and persuasive (as in Msgr. Knox’s application of the virtue of gentleness to the life of a priest).

You notice, too, that (as was mentioned in the chapter on Style) every good example makes a point. It is not merely thrown in for its human interest value.

This accent on the need for exemplification in moral sermons is not meant to rule out the lively use of comparisons. The preacher may often use them, as did Our Lord in his Sermon on the Mount when he told his hearers not to be overly anxious, since God watches over them as he cares for the lilies of the field and the birds of the air. And you will remember that the Curé of Ars, in his description of jealousy, said that it “gnaws at the heart as the rust does at iron, it enfeebles the body like a lingering fever.” The only point being made here is that, just as comparison is the ordinary form of visualization in a doctrinal sermon, so exemplification is the common—and usually more effective—form in a moral sermon.

In short, the critic looks to see whether, in a moral sermon, the preacher reinforces his main points through example.

       4. Action Step

When a preacher desires his listeners to take immediate action, he should inject an element of urgency towards the end of the sermon. He wants his hearers to take action right now, the sooner the better. This, in modern rhetoric, is the action step.

The impression left by a sermon quickly fades, and if the listeners fail to resolve to act before leaving church, they are not likely to act at all. For this reason a sermon that urges action should also, if possible, urge immediate action. The preacher, then, stresses the danger in delaying; in a mission sermon urging confession, he will emphasize the danger of putting off confession when the soul is stained with mortal sin.

In the following excerpt the Curé of Ars urges his parishioners to take action and help the poor souls in purgatory:

Let us... come to the rescue of those poor souls. Are they not our parents, our brothers, our sisters, our relatives and friends who are perhaps still suffering beyond? They are our parents, Our relations; our father to whom we owe our existence; our mother who has borne us under her heart; Our brother, our sister, who loved us so dearly; our friends who were so dear to our hearts. Ohl do not let us be hard against our own flesh and blood. Do not let us forget them who call to us every day: “Have pity on us, have pity on us, at least you our friends.”

Let us pray for them every day; let us go to the altar for them and receive the most holy sacrament; let us give alms to the poor for them, so that God in his mercy may soon receive them into his eternal peace and heavenly joys. Amen! [Op. cit., p. 16].

Consequently the two suggestions the critic can make in regard to the action step are:

1. the addition of an action step, when one is lacking (provided, of course, the preacher speaks on a subject that aims at immediate practical action); and

2. the strengthening of an appeal for action by adding a note of urgency stressing the danger in delay.

       5. Summary

The following table will help sum up what has been said about moral sermons:

Despite the fact that persuasive moral sermons contain these three main elements—motive, means and action—not every moral sermon needs to have all three steps. Some propose only strong motivation (“Why you Need to Practice Mortification”), others stress means (“How to Follow the Lenten Fast Regulations”), while still others urge immediate action (“For Lent Choose for Yourself-Before Leaving Church This Morning-Some Special Mortification”). Those urging immediate action, however, always contain a powerful motive as well. Therefore, in making constructive suggestions, you must first judge what the preacher is trying to accomplish by his moral sermon: whether he is attempting to provide his hearers with motivation that will affect their lives in the indefinite future; whether he wants to show them a method of practicing virtue or avoiding vice; or whether he is trying to persuade them to take immediate action.

The nature of the virtue or vice discussed (the answer to the question: “What should I do?”) is a doctrinal element that can form an important part of a moral sermon. When it does figure prominently in a moral sermon, it should be illustrated by example—as should every important point the preacher wants to emphasize.

Furthermore, you should not expect to find that every sermon contains (1) motive, (2) means, and (3) action steps in that particular order. Many sermons conclude by reiterating the motive or by making a practical application of means, rather than with an action step.

In short, when you criticize a moral sermon, refuse to be rigidly bound by rules the preacher can legitimately break, but recognize that:

1. All moral sermons must contain a motive for action—stated or implied.
2. Most moral sermons also need an application step showing means of achieving the goal.
3. Some, for greatest effect, need an appeal for action at their conclusion.
4. Whatever elements are stressed also need exemplification.

The Appendix both lists the abbreviations of faults with their meaning, and indicates page numbers of the text where a full treatment of these faults will be found.

ABSTRACT: This sermon (or this section) remains too long on the abstract level. Specify; use comparisons and examples.

ACAD.: Too academic a style (or word); it may be simple enough for you, but not for the congregation; your terms are too technical or scholastic.

ACTION: This sermon (or this conclusion) is unlikely to induce listeners to act in the way you recommend. An 11 action step” would improve your sermon.

AMBIG.: This word (or sentence) is ambiguous or has a double meaning.

AMPLIFY: A good idea here, but it has further potentialities which you can strengthen by further development.

ANGER: Your anger, rather than being directed at sin, seems to be directed personally at your listeners.

APOL.: Too apologetic an attitude; it hurts your authority.

AWK: Awkward phrasing.

COLLOQ.: Too colloquial a phrase for public address.

COMPAR.: Use comparison and analogy to help clarify this point.

COMPLIC.: Your reasoning (or style) is too complicated for easy comprehension of average listener.

CONNOT.: This image carries an emotional connotation (overtone) that lessens its effectiveness.

CUT.: This paragraph (sentence or word) can be cut. Every word must count or your sermon loses vigor.

CYN.: This sounds cynical and may alienate your audience.

D: Abbreviation for Doctrinal Sermon.

DIFFUSE: Conclusion takes too long to sum things up. Tighten it up; make it more compact.

DIGN.: Lack of dignity appropriate to handling of a spiritual subject; levity.

DIGR.: Digression.

DISCON.: Introduction does not lead into the subject but appears disconnected.

EDIT. WE.: Improper or weak use of the “editorial we.”

EPISODIC: The order is episodic, based on a scheme extrinsic to the sermon. Use an order that is organic and intrinsic to the material.

E.G.: Add an example(s) to clarify your meaning and to stir the emotions of your hearers.

FAR-F.: Farfetched example or image; you stretch too far to make your point.

FOCUS: You try to say too much about your subject; narrow your view to a single proposition by selecting one aspect of your topic and sticking to that.

GRAM.: Grammatical error.

I.: Abbreviation for inspirational sermon.

IDENTIF.: Identify more with the peoples’ problems, viewing their difficulties as they view them. By treating your subject solely from your own point of view, you, as a person, seem aloof-even unsympathetic.

IMPERSONAL: Make more direct references to your audience (“You”).

IMPRACT.: The audience. may find it hard to apply the means you here propose; there are practical difficulties that will stand in their way.

INAC.: This statement is not entirely accurate.

INSPIR.: This inspirational sermon needs more warmth and fire to inspire an audience.

INT.: You must interest your audience in knowing what you say; this section drags.

IRREL.: Irrelevant; this image (example, story) is not to the point.

IRREV.: Lack of reverence in handling a sublime subject.

LENGTHY: The length of this introduction (or image) is disproportionate to its value.

LIM. APPEAL: What you say does not appeal to as many of your listeners as it could; broaden the appeal.

LIM. APPLIC.: The action you suggest will only be followed by a few of your listeners; suggest something that more of your congregation can put into action.

LITERARY: Style is good for writing, but is too formal or too subtle for a strong spoken style.

M.: Abbreviation for moral sermon.

MEANS: Show audience a means of putting what you suggest into effect; show them how to overcome the practical obstacles they may face in carrying out your suggested Plan of action.

MIXED M.: Mixed metaphor.

MUNDANE: This image is too mundane, and jars with the sublimity of the point it illustrates.

NAIVE: The motive you propose seems nalve; it might work for pious listeners, but would fail to move the indifferent and sinners.

NAT.: Relies purely on natural reasons when a supernatural motive or reason can easily be given.

NEED: Do the people really need to know (or do) what is here proposed? Other aspects of the same subject could be chosen which answer a more vital spiritual need of the audience.

NEG. SUG.: Here there are traces of “negative suggestion,” by which you suggest to your audience that they will not believe or do what you say. This puts you at a psychological disadvantage, by making it easy for your audience to disagree with you.

NON-SEQ.: Non-sequitur; reasoning does not follow but jumps from one point to the next.

OBSCURE:

OCC.: You can use the occasion or feast to better advantage; your topic should not clash with the mood generated by the feast on which the sermon is preached.

OUT OF TOUCH: Seems out of touch with the real needs and problems of the people you are addressing.

OVERDONE: Imagery too poetic; calls attention to itself.

PASSIVE V.: Your style shows too much preference for the passive voice. By using the active voice you can add power and directness to your sermon.

P.W.: Poor word choice.

QUOTE: This quotation fails to help the sermon. Choose another or simply omit this one.

REL.: Relate your audience to the subject and make them realize that it fills their spiritual need emotionally as well as intellectually. Show them how your subject applies to them—their gain, their loss.

REMOTE MOTIVE: The motive you suggest is too general; reinforce it with (or replace it by) a more proximate, specific motive.

RHET. ORDER: Employ a more rhetorical, psychological approach, leading up to a climax at the sermon’s conclusion.

SARC.: Sarcasm; this will alienate audience.

SENTIM.: Too sentimental in tone.

SLANG: Everyday speech, yes; slang, no.

SP.: Spelling error.

S.S.: You lose an opportunity to use Sacred Scripture to good effect.

STATIC: The order is static rather than dynamic. One point follows another, but they do not build on each other.

STRONGER EX. (STORY OR COMP.); This is a fair example (story or comparison), but you can find a stronger one to make your point. (Examples are usually better than comparisons.)

SW. GEN.: Sweeping generalization.

TACT: Lack of tact: you will needlessly offend some of your listeners by this remark.

TELEGR.: Telegraphic style: too many short sentences of the same construction.

T. M. MAT.: There is too much material here; it will give your listeners mental indigestion. Select a few points and develop them.

TMTM: Too many typing mistakes.

TOPIC SENTENCE: You need to pinpoint your main proposition in a topic sentence. This will clarify your main point and help your listeners remember it.

TRANSIT: Transition unclear or abrupt.

TRITE: This image is used so often by speakers that it has lost its original force. Find a fresh, original image.

UNCONVINCING: This reasoning is not likely to convince this particular audience. The reason, which is in itself the strongest, is not always the one that will convince the popular audience.

UNITY: Lacks material unity. Pick a single subject and stick to it.

UNRESOLVED PROBLEM: You raise a problem (perhaps unintentionally) which interests your audience in knowing the answer. But you either fail to answer the problem; or else, your answer is not nearly so convincing as the problem itself.

URGENCY: You will have a greater chance of persuading your listeners to act if you magnify the danger of delay and get them to act as soon as possible (“right now).

VERBOSE: You use too many words; say it in fewer words and your sermon will gain in force. Cf. p. 73.

WEAK CLOSING L.: Your closing line should end the sermon with more power and definiteness. Cf. pp. 56-57.

WEAK CONCLU.: Conclusion is weak. Ideally, the conclusion should be the most powerful part of a sermon. Cf. P. 56.

WEAK MOTIVE: The motive you give (or imply) is too weak to cause your listeners to want to do what you say. Answer forcefully the question, “Why should these people want to do this?”