“PLAIN IT A LITTLE MORE.”
A GOOD minister had long preached to a congregation of average culture and character with little apparent good result—to his deep grief. Thinking the matter over, one Saturday morning, after he had finished writing his weekly sermon, the thought occurred to him to go down stairs and read it to his pious, simple-hearted domestic. “Perhaps,” said he, “I shoot too high.” Calling her from her work, he read a few sentences, selected as containing the clearest announcement of the truth which the sermon was intended to convey, and asked her: “Do you understand that?” “No, sir,” was her reply. He then extemporized the same idea in simpler language, and asked her again: “Do you understand that?” “A little,” was her answer—kindling with an interest which proved the truth of her words—“but please, sir, plain it a little more.” Once more he expounded his original thought in the most lucid manner and with the shortest words he could think of, when she exclaimed, with great delight: “I see it all now, sir, and I like it very much.”7He went up stairs, re-wrote his discourse, as nearly as possible into the same style which he had used in his experiment; and went to church next morning, almost trembling, lest his people would be disgusted with his preaching, but fully resolved to try the experiment. To his amazement, the very first sentences seemed to awaken a listening, such as he had never before been able to secure. And as he went on, he could see one eye after another moistening, till almost his whole congregation were visibly touched as he had never seen them before; and as the result of that service, more than one came to him to inquire: “What must I do?” The effect upon his own mind was such that he changed his style of preaching, from that time, thoroughly; declaring that as for him—let others do what they may—he would speak so as to be understood by all whom it was his duty to address.—Congregationalist.