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Open Air Preaching
I am persuaded that the more open-air
preaching there the better; if it becomes a nuisance to be a blessing to
others—if properly conducted. If the Gospel is spoken, and if the spirit of
the preacher is one of love and truth, the results cannot be doubted: The bread
cast upon the waters must be found after many days. (See Ecclesiastes 11:1.) At
the same time, it must be the Gospel, and it must be preached in a
manner worth the hearing, for mere noisemaking is an evil rather than a
benefit.
I know a family almost driven out of their
senses by the hideous shouting of monotonous exhortations and the howling of
"Safe in the arms of Jesus" near their door every Sabbath afternoon
for an entire year. I once saw a man preaching with no hearer but a dog, who
sat upon his tail and looked up very reverently while his master orated. There
were no people at the windows or passing by, but the brother and his dog were
at their post whether the people would hear or whether they would forbear. Once
also I passed an earnest orator whose hat was on the ground before him, filled
with papers, and there was not even a dog for an audience, or anyone within
hearing; yet he did "waste his sweetness on the desert air." I hope
it relieved his own mind. Really it must be viewed as
an essential part of a sermon that somebody should hear it: It cannot be a
great benefit to the world to have sermons preached in a vacuum.
As to style in preaching outdoors, it should
certainly be very different from much of what prevails within, and perhaps if a
speaker were to acquire a style fully adapted to a street audience, he would be
wise to bring it indoors with him. A great deal of sermonizing may be defined
as saying nothing at extreme length; but outdoors verbosity is not admired. You
must say something and have done with it and go on to say something more, or
your hearers will let you know.
"Now then," cries a street critic,
"let us have it, old fellow." Or maybe the observation is made,
"Now then, pitch it out!
You'd better go home and learn your
lesson." "Cut it short, old boy," is a very common admonition,
and I wish the presenters of this free advice could let it be heard inside
Bethel and Zoar and some other places
sacred to long-winded orations. Where these outspoken criticisms are not
employed, the hearers rebuke wordiness by quietly walking away. It is very
unpleasant to find your congregation dispersing, but it is also a very plain
suggestion that your ideas are also much dispersed.
In the street, a man must keep himself
lively, use many illustrations and anecdotes, and sprinkle a quaint remark here
and there. To dwell long on a point will never do. Reasoning must be brief,
clear, and soon done with. The discourse must not be labored or
involved, neither must the second point depend upon the first, for the audience
is a changing one, and each point must be complete in itself. The chain of
thought must be taken to pieces and each link melted down and turned into
bullets: You will not need Saladin's saber to cut through a muslin handkerchief
as much as Coeur de Lion's battle-ax to break a bar of iron. Come to the point
at once, and come there with all your might.
Short sentences of words and short passages
of thought are needed for the outdoors. Long paragraphs and long arguments had
better be reserved for other occasions. In quiet country crowds, there is much
force in an eloquent silence, now and then interjected; it gives people time to
breathe and to reflect.
Do not, however, attempt this in a London
street; you must go ahead, or someone else may run off with your congregation.
In a regular field sermon, pauses are very effective and are useful in several
ways, both to speaker and listeners, but to a passing company that is not
inclined for anything like worship, a quick, short, sharp address is most
appropriate.
In the streets, a man must be intense from
beginning to end and, for that very reason, he must be
condensed and concentrated in his thought and utterance. It would never do to
begin by saying, "My text, dear friends, is a passage from the inspired
Word, containing doctrines of the utmost importance and bringing before us in
the clearest manner the most valuable practical instruction. I invite your
careful attention and the exercise of your most candid judgment while we
consider it under various aspects and place it in different lights, in order
that we may be able to perceive its position in the analogy of the faith. In
its exegesis we shall find an arena for the cultured intellect and the refined
sensibilities. As the swirling brook meanders among the meadows and fertilizes
the pastures, so a stream of sacred truth flows through the remarkable words
that now lie before us. It will be well for us to divert the crystal current to
the reservoir of our meditation, that we may quaff the cup of wisdom with the
lips of satisfaction."
There, friends, is not that rather above the
average of word-spinning, and is not that art very generally in vogue in these
days? If you go out to the obelisk in Blackfriars
Road and talk in that fashion, you will be saluted with "Go on, old
buffer," or "Ain't he fine? My eye!" A very vulgar youth might cry, "What a
mouth for a later!" and another will shout in a tone of mock solemnity,
"Amen!" If you give them chaff, they will cheerfully return it into
your own bosom. Good measure, pressed down and running over, will they mete out
to you. (See Luke 6:38.) Shams and shows will haw no mi-ivy from a street gathering.
But have something to say, look them in the face,
say what you mean, put it plainly, boldly, earnestly, courteously, and they
will hear you. Never speak against time or for the sake of hearing your own
voice, or you will obtain some information about your personal appearance or
manner of oratory that will probably be more true than pleasing. "Crikey," says one, "wouldn't he do for an
undertaker! He'd make 'em weep." This was a compliment
paid to a melancholy brother whose tone is especially funereal. "There,
old fellow," said a critic on another occasion, "you go and wet your
whistle. You must feel awfully dry after jawing away at that rate about nothing
at all." This also was specially appropriate to a very solemn brother of
whom we had often remarked that he would make a good martyr, for there was no
doubt of his burning well, he was so dry.
It is sad, very sad, that such rude remarks
would be made, but there is a wicked vein in some of us that makes us take note
that the vulgar observations are often very true, and "hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature." As a caricature often
gives you a more vivid idea of a man than a photograph would afford you, so
these rough mob critics strike an orator to life by their exaggerated censures.
The very best speaker must be prepared to take his share of street wit, and to
return it if need be; but primness, demureness, formality, sanctimonious
long-windedness, and the affectation of superiority actually invite offensive pleasantries—and to a
considerable extent deserve them. The less you are like a parson, the more
likely you are to be heard; and if you are known to be a minister, the more you
show yourself to be a man, the better. "What do you get for that,
governor?" is sure to be asked if you appear to be a cleric; it will be
well to tell them at once that this is extra, that you are doing overtime, and
that there is to be no collection. "You'd do more good if you gave us some
bread or a drop of beer instead of those tracts," is constantly remarked;
but a manly manner and the outspoken declaration that you seek no wages but
their good will silence that stale objection.
The action of the street preacher
should be of the very best. It should be purely natural and unconstrained. No
speaker should stand up in the street in a grotesque manner, or he will weaken
himself and invite attack. The street preacher should not imitate his own
minister, or the crowd will spy out the imitation very speedily if the brother
is anywhere near home. Neither should he strike an attitude as little boys do
who say, "My name is Norval." The stiff
straight posture with the regular up-and-down motion of arm and hand is too
commonly adopted, but it is not worthy of imitation. And I would even more
condemn the wild raving maniac posture that some are so fond of, which seems to
be a cross between Whitefield with both his arms in the air and Saint George
with both his feet violently engaged in trampling on the dragon. Some good men
are grotesque by nature, and others take great pains to make themselves so.
Clumsy, heavy, jerky, and cranky legs and arms appear to be liberally
dispensed. Many speakers don't know what
upon earth to do with these limbs, and so they stick them out, or make them
revolve in the queerest manner. The wicked Londoners say, "What a
cure!" I only wish I knew of a cure for the evil.
All mannerisms should be avoided. Just now I
observe that nothing can be done without a very large Bagster's
Bible with a limp cover. There seems to be some special charm about the large
size, though it almost needs a little baby buggy in which to push it about.
With such a Bible, full of ribbons, select a standing near Seven Dials, after
the pattern of a divine so graphically described by Mr. McCree.
Take off your hat, put your Bible in it, and place it on the ground. Let the
kind friend who approaches you on the right hold your umbrella. See how eager
the dear man is to do so! Is it not pleasing? He assures you he is never as
happy as when he is helping good men to preach to the poor sinners in these
wicked places. Now close your eyes in prayer. When your devotions are over, somebody
will have profited by the occasion. Where is your affectionate friend who
held your umbrella and your hymnbook? Where are that well-brushed hat and that
orthodox Bagster? Where? Oh, where? Echo answers,
"Where?"
The catastrophe that I have thus described
suggests that a brother had better attend you in your earlier ministries that
one may watch while the other prays. If a number of friends will go with you
and make a ring around you it will be a great acquisition; and if these can
sing it will be still further helpful. The friendly company will attract
others, will help to secure order, and will do good service by sounding forth
sermons in song.
It will be very desirable to speak so as to
be heard, but there is no use in incessant yelling. The best street preaching
is not what is done at the top of your voice, for it is impossible to lay the
proper emphasis upon key passages when you are shouting with all your might the
entire time. When there are no hearers near you but people standing on the
other side of the road to listen, would it not be well to cross over and so
save a little of the strength that is now wasted?
A quiet, penetrating, conversational style
would seem to be the most effective. Men do not bawl and holler when they are
pleading in deepest earnestness; they have generally at such times less wind
and a little more rain, less rant and a few more tears. On, on, on with one
monotonous shout and you will weary everybody and wear out yourself. Therefore,
be wise now, you who would succeed in declaring your Master's message among the
multitude, and use your voices as common sense would dictate.
Related Articles:
Definite Directions for Open
Air preaching
Open-Air
Preaching A Sketch of its history and remarks thereon
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