Toward A Strong Finish
“If there are two places in the sermon,” remarks the Archbishop of York, “which call for more care than others, they are the beginning and the ending.”
Agreed! After unanimous consent has been gained on this point, one other point too enjoys virtually complete support from students of the preaching task: the desirability of giving to both introductions and conclusions the spice of variety.
But now, granted that endings are crucially important and that the form of them should not be so repetitious as to lose all suspense or surprise, what are the possibilities from which the preacher can choose?
“There are four approved methods,” is the over-precise dictum of one author who normally speaks with fine discretion. With less stress on mathematical exactitude, let us think of some of the options at the preacher’s command:
1. There is the “built in” conclusion. It belongs to the sermon whose outline has been so carefully and convincingly developed that when the final point is presented, it rounds off the whole, creating a kind of natural climax.
2. There is the “recapitulation” conclusion. The word is not attractive, nor (too often) is the practice which it represents. Merely to go back over the main points in bare reiteration is hardly enough. This negative judgment, however, must not be too austere. It depends on who is doing it and how impressively it is done. What some men do with excellent taste and memorable finesse is to cast the “recap” in fresh language. When this is skillfully done, a latecomer, arriving for the final two or three minutes of the sermon, might easily catch the whole idea and burden of the message. Those who have been with the preacher from the start have the truth sharpened for them into what should be a compelling clarity.
3. The “illustration” conclusion is another option. If the sermon has had in it a minimum element of the pictorial and a maximum of the logical and the didactic, the “story” ending is particularly appropriate. It should, however, be made to pass three tests: (a) Is it in good taste? (b) Is it simple? (c) Is it convincing? If, for example, it is (in the preacher’s view) drawn from science, let him be sure that it will not be challenged by the knowledgeable man of science who may be sitting in his congregation.
4. There is, moreover, the “poetry” conclusion. It may be a verse or two of a hymn or something gleaned from the broader field of the muses. As a rule, it should be brief. It should be quoted well. Better not resort to verse in this solemn moment unless you are in love with poetry, have a sensitive regard for its rhythms and nuances, and can make it live in the understanding and emotions of your listeners. These requirements met, however, this can be a way of finishing that is not likely to be forgotten. More than 30 years have done little to fade the vividness of a ringing finale I once heard given by M. S. Rice of Detroit to a Holy Week sermon on the text, “Behold, the world is gone after him.” The unrestrainable triumph of Christ was sent hurtling home to all of us on the rhythmic chariot of Henry Milman’s hymn-poem, “Ride On, Ride On in Majesty!”
5. The “application” conclusion is yet another of the possibilities open to us. In any sermon, regardless of homiletical type, the relatedness of truth to life should never be far from the preacher’s mind. Nevertheless, there are times when the preacher’s message has duty for its target and action for its aim in a way so direct and demanding that it would be unforgivable not to show “wherein” and not to deal with “how to.” Give the steps. Reduce the general to the specific. Name the action (or actions) that should be taken, beginning now. Press the point in lovingly relentless thrust to the will. Your role as expositor and illustrator has given way to your role as exhorter.
6. We should not omit the “peroration” finish. This is the penchant of the oratorically inclined. Usually it is a combination of elevated voice, invigorated gesture, heightened drama, and cascading eloquence. Is it good or bad? Effective or offensive? If it is “worked up,” synthetic, over-strained, it is always objectionable, sometimes ridiculous. Urged the late and great Sangster of London: “Do not perorate. The custom must be dropped, not mainly because it is old-fashioned, but because the emotion is faked.” Grant the term of reference—“faked”—and Sangster’s conclusion is inescapable. But what if the emotion is not fictitious? If the preacher is “to the manor born,” if eloquence is his endowment and he has it under dedicated discipline, the crescendo style of ending may be his way of carrying out Philip Doddridge’s advice to ministers: “Be sure to close handsomely.”
Whatever the category may be into which the conclusion falls, the preacher who plies well his holy craft will want to keep in mind a few simple rules:
1. Rarely, if ever, announce your conclusion. Announcement is superfluous: move into it!
2. If you do announce it, don’t repeat it three minutes later since, as is now obvious, you were not really concluding when you said you were. It is this pulpit nonsense that has spawned the wag’s definition of an optimist: “A man who reaches for his hat when the preacher says, ‘Now in conclusion.’ ”
3. Avoid conclusions that appear ready-made, “tacked on,” or trite. There should be a living, organic connection between the “body” of the sermon and the manner in which we dismiss it to the trust of the people. A strong, carefully worded final sentence is worth a dozen vaguely trite references to “the Spirit of Christ.”
4. End on a high note! Solemn as eternity or radiant as the Resurrection, never mind: finish high up against the heart of God!
PAUL S. REES
Lord, it is good for us to be here; if thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles (Matt. 17:4b).
The topic comes from a well-known English book, which shows that the thoughts of the cloister become corrupt unless they are corrected by the experience of life amid the crowd. The structure follows the little-used order of thesis—antithesis—synthesis. Try it, if only for a change.
I. The Blessing of the Cloister Hour. It is good to be in Christ’s presence and to see his glory. To be under his influence and be able to live at the highest and best. To be moved by holy thought and stirred by pure desire. What an ideal for every hour of worship! With others to behold the transfigured Christ!
II. The Curse of the Cloister Life. This curse lies heavy on the history of Christendom. Today, also, devout folk keep attending conferences for the deepening of the spiritual life, with no opportunity to face human need, or to use their spiritual muscles. As before the Reformation, we need to beware lest we tarry in the cloister and keep away from the crowd.
III. The Spirit of the Cloister amid the Crowd. To be healthful, sane, and pure, a Christian life is to be lived not in the cloister but in the crowd. We follow the One who knew the cloister hour, but whose heart loved the crowd. His years on earth were a constant keeping of the cloister spirit in the midst of the crowd.
For Christ Peter would have built a tabernacle on a secluded hill. But our Lord soon came down from his time of transfiguration to the crowd around the demoniac lad, to the crowd that later went up to Calvary on the way of weeping, to the crowd in the midst of whom he died. From the Mount of Transfiguration he came down to the crowd and to the cross.
Who follows in his train, both to the cloister and to the cross?—From The Secret of the Lord, n.d., pp. 216–28.
SERMONS ABRIDGED BY DR. ANDREW W. BLACKWOOD
WILLIAM M. CLOW,With Christ in Cloister and Crowd; MARIANO DI GANGI,A Christian Crusade in Our City; FRANK E. GABELEIN,The Christian Dynamic; and DR. BLACKWOOD’SThe Cost of Being a Christian.
… The hand of the Lord was with them: and a great number believed, and turned unto the Lord (Acts 11:21; read vv. 19–21).
Sometimes we wonder at the failure of the early Church to evangelize the whole earth. If so, we condemn ourselves. Many a congregation has no missionary vision. Even when we show concern about missions overseas, we do little as witnesses in the area around the home church. But today, as in Antioch of old, there are exceptions. Let us look at a Christian crusade, one described for us on the biblical page.
I. The Proclamation of Christ. After the martyrdom of Stephen, believers who had to leave Jerusalem took with them their Christianity. In Antioch those Jewish Christians broke through the walls of nationalism and preached Christ to Gentiles. Today in our city we should do the same. Here we have but one message: the Lord Jesus. This Jesus is the merciful Saviour; let no one despair! Jesus is likewise the sovereign Lord; let no one presume!
II. The Response of Faith. Those Christian refugees in Antioch met with a response of faith. As in our city today, many had given themselves over to the pursuit of pleasure, much of it sinful. But the Gospel proved to be the power of God unto salvation. For these new Christians in Antioch, conversion meant a revolutionary change of direction. The citizens were noted for scurrility. Their religion was influenced by superstition, and degraded by orgiastic worship of the river-god. But once again the Gospel proved to be the power of God unto salvation. So must we feel persuaded that the believing reception of the Word here can turn many from self to the Saviour and Lord.
III. The Secret of Effectiveness. What brought the people of Antioch to faith and obedience? Not only the clergy, but the whole people of God as witnesses for Christ. Ever working through them was “the hand of the Lord.” This truth may crucify our pride, and thus increase our zeal. So let us preach the Gospel from the pulpit, and commend it to others by our daily example, in the lively hope that the Lord will bless our witness and make it fruitful, because “our sufficiency is of God.” Thus saith the Lord: (here quote Matt. 28:18–20).—Pastor, Tenth Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia.
“… I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power [literally, “the dynamic”] of God unto salvation to every one that believeth …” (Rom. 1:16).
Our subject brings us to the center of Christianity, and confronts us with the power that makes it go. What is the power that the Apostle proclaims as the dynamic of God unto salvation? About this dynamic of God no one needs to be in any doubt. The Bible makes perfectly plain that the dynamic of God is the Gospel. We stand, therefore, on ground that is familiar to many of us. And yet is it not strange that people these days are willing to try every solution for the problems of life except plain, downright Christianity? What then is the Gospel?
I. The Gospel Centers in Christ, the most important Person who has ever lived. Not only because of what he did 1900 years ago, but because of what he is doing now, with his life-changing, transforming power. Today he still has power to transform; whether in the slums of our cities or among respectable, educated sinners, he is changing the weak and the erring into strong children of God to whom he gives life more abundant.
II. The Gospel Centers in the Cross, and in the Resurrection. There alone is rock-bottom Christian truth. No one who has experienced the joy of release from the bondage of sin and guilt can ever think of these events as other than all-powerful, life-changing facts. Thousands of men have died as martyrs; only Christ has ever claimed to die for the sins of others, and today he is not dead. He alone has brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel.
“And now,” writes Arnold Toynbee, “as we stand and gaze with our eyes fixed upon the farther shore, a single Figure fills the whole horizon. There is the Saviour. ‘The pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand; he shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied.’ ” At the center of the New Testament, as at the center of the whole Bible, and of the entire Christian faith, is this fact of the crucified and risen, living and transforming Christ.
Now I close with a simple invitation to acceptance of this Saviour. After all, Christian preaching is proclaiming the Gospel for a personal decision. Believe me, Christ is still effective to meet the deepest needs of human life. But there is a condition. The dynamic of God operates through only one channel. In the words of our text, the Gospel is “the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.” The only channel is belief, trust, personal commitment to Jesus Christ.
John G. Paton, pioneer missionary to the New Hebrides in the Pacific, was hard put to find a word for “believe,” in the sense of trust, in the language of the South Sea Islanders, for whom he was translating the New Testament. Finally he found the solution, by thus translating the answer of Paul and Silas to the question of the Philippian jailer, “What must I do to be saved?”: “Lean your whole weight upon the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved.” That is all, but that is enough, and vastly more.—A college baccalaureate sermon.
… If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me (Luke 9:23).
The cost of being a Christian! That sounds strange! “Jesus paid it all; all to him I owe.” Herein lies the heart of all that we believe. But still it costs for a man to live as a Christian. Much as our Lord wishes everyone here to accept him as Saviour, he would have no person make such a decision without first counting the cost. Being a Christian—
I. Begins with an Act of Decision, a decision often hard to make. In the Greek the word translated “will” stands out strongly. It points to a decision that goes far to determine a man’s character here and his destiny. The “will” means the entire personality in action. Whenever the future pilgrim hears the voice of Jesus, it calls for the response, “I will!”
Sometimes we think of being a Christian in terms of knowing, or else feeling. Surely both factors enter largely into Christian experience. But knowledge and emotion should lead to the sort of action we call “will.” For the noblest example on the human level, think of a marriage ceremony. In the light of what she knows, in the joy of what she feels, the maiden whispers to the minister, “I will.” By faith lift all of this up to the highest level (Eph. 5:25) and see how much it costs to become a Christian.
II. A Spirit of Unselfishness. Deny yourself, not merely shreds and patches of things that money can secure. Why do we whittle down what the Lord requires? In “self-denial” we often give up pennies, and snatches of time. Here, as often elsewhere, our Lord wishes you to give up yourself, having your own way. “Not my will, but thine, be done.” Herein lies much of the difficulty, as well as the fascination, in being a Christian. For a series of examples, read Schweitzer’s Out of My Life and Thought.
III. A Habit of Sacrifice. In Africa David Livingstone used to declare that he never had made a sacrifice. He used the term only about his Lord. Another Scotsman, W. M. Clow, insists that many a church member confuses his cross with a burden, or a thorn in the flesh. A burden, perhaps a debt honestly incurred, you bear until you can pay it off. A thorn in the flesh you accept if no surgeon can remove it. But, on the human level, a cross means something hard, perhaps loathsome, apparently impossible, which you accept every morning, and then bear all the day, for Christ’s dear sake. Often the cross of the believer has to do with some cantankerous person in the home. Could that person, perchance, be you? Being such a Christian issues in—
IV. A Life of Service. This may seem anti-climactic, but so is most of life. Read the text. Christian warfare leads to a battle once in a while, but for many a God-like warrior life consists of a succession of pale gray days, and dull drab nights, with seldom a vision from the sky. This is why the devil most often gets a good man down.
In view of all these facts, my friend, are you a Christian? “Yes,” you reply, “but not much of a Christian.” If so, take this text as a sort of a guiding star. Follow the Lord, and let Him transform you into one who pays the full price and so becomes more and more like his Lord.
