The pastor of stern countenance began his sermon by saying solemnly, “I am not here to entertain you with a lot of interesting stories; I am here to preach the Word of God.”
He proved to be prophetic. He was neither entertaining nor interesting. As a matter of fact, he was quite dull. Like so many who lack the imagination to use good illustrations, he condemned their use as a vice, their nonuse as a virtue.
In vilifying the use of stories in preaching, he was unwittingly criticizing a style used most frequently by a well-known itinerate of the first century. Evidently no one ever warned that former carpenter it was a sin to be entertaining and that solemnity was a sign of sanctity. Having never been to seminary, he never mastered alliteration either.
So he resorted to the only style he knew, which was to relate homey, human-interest stories-what we call parables. He told stories about families, farmers, fishermen, and financiers. Some of his stories were quite humorous. There was the one about the fellow who tried to patch his trousers with an unSanforized piece of cloth. The first rain shower proved embarrassing when the patch shrunk and pulled away from the trousers, leaving him exposed to public view. That story must have produced a thoughtful chuckle or two.
On the other hand, some of his stories were rather sad. Did you hear the one about the wealthy farmer whose plans for an early retirement were interrupted by an early funeral?
From that Galilean preacher we learn that telling stories from the pulpit is not a sin to be condemned but an art to be copied. The most effective preachers are those who can communicate truth with a well-chosen illustration.
However, having said this, there needs to be a word of caution. Probably nothing suffers from more abuse than the pulpit story. Certain kinds of stories should be avoided like a hymn with eight verses.
The embellished story. Here the speaker wastes precious minutes giving a lot of irrelevant details. The Master Storyteller never was guilty of this. Every detail of his story had some bearing upon the point he was illustrating. For example, he told about a housewife who had misplaced some money. He described her panic as she turned the house upside-down trying to find it. She carefully swept every nook and cranny, and even lit a candle to illuminate the room. When she finally found it, she was so elated she invited in her neighbors to help celebrate her good fortune.
From some pulpits that same story might have sounded like this: “A woman of my acquaintance, who lived next door to the parsonage, was forever misplacing things. My wife and I got to know her quite well. In fact, our families used to take vacations together. Her children were about the same age as ours, so they got along splendidly. Later this woman became widowed. Her husband died very suddenly of a heart attack. He had been ill for only a short time and had just had a checkup the previous week. Anyway, everyone always laughed at this widow because she was forever misplacing her purse. Well, one day after returning from the grocery store . . .”
The speaker who embellishes a story never seems to get to the point. And if he does, it is lost in the maze of unrelated details. He is usually one who complains about not having enough time to preach.
The superfluous story. This usually occurs when the preacher has just heard a really good story and can’t wait to spring it on his congregation. So somewhere during the message, he manages to work it in. It is a good story but adds nothing. Nevertheless, to ease his conscience, he makes a herculean effort to apply it.
I heard one pastor deliver an excellent discourse on prayer. At the conclusion of his message he exhorted his flock to “get on the ball and start praying.” Then he paused. I had a sinking feeling he was about to tell a joke I had heard making the rounds. He was, and he did.
He went on to say, “That reminds me of a story,” and proceeded to tell about two ants on a golf course, standing idly beside the first tee. A duffer teed up the ball and took three vicious swipes at it, missing the ball entirely but coming perilously close to the ants. Nervously the one ant said to the other, “If we want to get out of this alive, we’d better get on the ball!”
The pastor closed his message by saying weakly, “Like those ants, we need to get on the ball and start praying if we want to survive.” It was an anemic ending to an otherwise excellent message. The story was superfluous.
The egocentric story. Here the preacher, like Narcissus, sees himself in his spiritual pond as a spiritual superstar. His illustrations are usually first-person accounts about his many spiritual triumphs. Like Perry Mason, he never loses. His snappy answers silence doubters. Every person he witnesses to enters the kingdom. Everything he prays about comes to pass. It would be refreshing to hear about the times he was depressed and his faith failed him, or when someone he was trying to lead to Christ got away, or the family he was trying to help fell apart.
It is not wrong to use first-person incidents as illustrations. Indeed, these can be quite helpful. But the speaker must resist the temptation to become the hero of every story.
The specious story. There is nothing wrong with fictitious stories-so long as they are not presented as actual experiences. I heard one pastor tell about an encounter with a member of his church who was inebriated. “Don’t you recognize me, Reverend?” the drunk said. “I’m one of your converts.”
“Of course you are,” the pastor replied. “If you’d been one of the Lord’s converts, you wouldn’t be in that condition.”
It was a clever story. Unfortunately, it can be found in almost any book of sermon illustrations published since the turn of the century. I have heard it told on various occasions about D. L. Moody, Charles Spurgeon, William Biederwolf, and several others. Nothing will destroy confidence in a minister so quickly as hearing fiction presented as fact.
The manipulative story. This is where the speaker manipulates the emotions of the audience to obtain certain results. Sometimes referred to as “tear jerkers,” the tales can be used for such diverse purposes as obtaining decisions for Christ or raising funds.
One radio minister is fond of telling about people who are down to their last penny, but in response to his appeal, they send a sacrificial gift. Miraculously, the next day the giver receives a job promotion and a large raise. Coincidentally, the raise is just large enough to cover the gift.
This kind of emotional manipulation destroys the confidence of a perceptive audience. A moving story is not always an indication of the moving of the Spirit.
Here is a suggested checklist for the pulpit storyteller:
1. Is the story relevant to the point?
2. Does the story contain unnecessary details?
3. Will the story contribute to the overall quality and clarity of the message?
4. What is my motive in telling the story? We need to think twice before saying, “That reminds me of a story.”
-LeRoy Patterson
Stuart, Florida
Retired chaplain, Wheaton College
78 LEADERSHIP Fall 1983
Copyright © 1983 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
