HOW YE HEAR by Rusticus

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Feb 25, 1889

HOW YE HEAR.

By Rusticus

It would be interesting, perhaps mournfully so, to be able to interview an average congregation emerging from church some Sabbath morning. Here is Miss A, an educated young lady, who moves in the best society, and is a member of the church. I ask her, "How did you like the new preacher?"

"I didn't like him at all. He wore a horrid necktie; his hair stuck up like bristles, and he swung his arms as if he were a windmill."

"So you heard with your eyes instead of your ears. You gauged the message by the looks, dress, and manner of the messenger." I fear there are a good many like Miss A. in all our congregations.

I accost Mr. B. He prides himself on his culture. I said, "How did you like the sermon this morning?" "Not at all," was the reply. "Why, the man's style is as old-fashioned as—" "As that of the Bible," I suggested, "for he quoted a great deal of scripture." "Yes, and anybody could do that. He evidently is not familiar with the best literature of the day. I watched closely for those forms of expression and allusions which show that a man's reading is abreast of the times, but I failed to find any, and therefore I set him down as an old fogy. We want a progressive preacher in this church."

I asked Mrs. C, "Didn't you enjoy that good sermon?" And she answered: "O dear me, no! Why, how could I? There was Miss Jonas just before me with that horrid bonnet, and on the other aisle sat the two Misses Stiles, who have just come out in the very newest style of hats,—I must get one for Clara,—and I couldn't help wondering how much they cost. And then there was a strange lady in the pew with Mrs. Smith, who of course attracted my attention. And just opposite me is the Johnson pew. There was a young gentleman in it with Bella, and I watched them, for they carried on a brisk flirtation all through the service. I declare it is too bad for folks to act so in church." Poor Mrs. C. She could see others' faults, but not her own.

I next approached Father D, as he slowly hobbled homeward. When I asked him about the sermon he stopped, and, leaning on his staff, said: "O Brother Rusticus, that sermon was manna to my soul! How sweetly he explained the promises of God! How ably he compared scripture with scripture! How clearly he presented faith—faith in the Lord Jesus, as the only condition of salvation. I tell you, brother, I shall go in the strength of that sermon for many days. It was a message from God to me."

I might multiply these imaginary interviews. It is sad to be compelled to believe that much of the good seed falls on stony places, or amid briers and thorns. In every gospel sermon, no matter how poor the style or awkward the delivery, there is truth that ought to arrest the attention of every hearer. Let him realize that the preacher comes with a message from God, and he cannot listen carelessly or critically. The appeal of the gospel is to all that is best and noblest within us. The preacher is sent to confer with us in regard to our highest duties and interests. We ought to listen as we would to the voice of an angel, for that is Christ's own idea. He calls the pastors of the churches their angels. (See Rev. 1: 20.)

I think that people pay their preachers as well or better now than in former times, but I don't think that they pray for them as much. I can remember when in the Sabbath-morning worship there was earnest and fervent supplication for the blessing of God upon the services of the sanctuary. If more of us would go from our closets and family altars in the spirit of prayer, our ministers would preach with greater unction and power, and their sermons would be more profitable, "being mixed with faith in them that hear." —Rusticus, in Occident.