Our word ‘preach’ represents several words in the Greek New Testament, two of the main ones signifying ‘to proclaim as a herald’ and ‘to tell good news.’ What, then, has led to the timid announcements about the ‘speaker’ for next Sunday–a word so full of insignificance–instead of the use of the robust and scriptural ‘preacher’?
Can it be that our conception of what is involved has fallen far below the scriptural standard? Would it occur to us to describe the preaching of the Word, in the phrase of a modern theologian, as ‘an encounter with God’? Yet, what modern men and women need above all else is to be confronted with God Himself: His power, His glory, and His authority. But if there is to be an encounter between God and the congregation, there must of necessity be a prior encounter between God and the preacher.
A member of Alexander Whyte’s congregation, thanking him at the conclusion of a solemn service, said: “It went to my heart as if you had come straight from the Audience Chamber.”
“And perhaps I did,” solemnly replied that godly preacher.
The true preacher must certainly know the Word of God; but just as certainly he must know the God of the Word. The one who is well-versed in the Scriptures will probably be able to present an unanswerable case for his message. But the springs of action and the real motive power of decision lie at a deeper level than the intellect, and one’s hearers may be tantalizingly content to leave the unanswerable case unanswered! In fact, is not this precisely what so often happens?
What, then, will move them? It will be the impact not only of mind on mind but of spirit on spirit, as the earthbound listener becomes aware that here is someone with a novel quality, someone who is in touch with God, who speaks out of the compulsion of his vision of God. Stephen’s hearers might have resisted the wisdom with which he spoke, but we read that they could not resist “the wisdom and the Spirit by which he spake” (Acts 6:10).
There will never be any substitute for the personal vision of God on the part of the preacher: it has been the secret of every true servant of God. Abraham heard the voice of God in Ur, and later, after long vigil, he saw the smoking lamp, symbol of God’s presence (Gen. 15). Moses, deeply concerned to know and do God’s will, and brooding long in solitude over his failure, heard the voice and received the unpalatable message. Isaiah had his special revelation of the glory and holiness of the God whom he would serve. Jeremiah was conscious of a call he dare not resist. Ezekiel, struggling in exile with the mystery of God’s way with his nation, saw the vision of a God omniscient and omnipotent.
Abraham, Moses, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Peter, Paul–all became aware of God in a special way. They had a clear and compelling conviction of His will in relation both to themselves and to the times and circumstances in which He had set them. They knew that God had chosen them for a particular purpose, and they knew also the particular message that was now theirs. “The God of glory appeared to Abraham,” said Stephen–and his hearers noted that his own face shone like the face of an angel. Stephen had seen–surely was seeing–the God of glory for himself.
How is this close consciousness of God to be attained and maintained? Stephen is commonly regarded as one of the seven deacons chosen in Acts 6. But he is the only one to be described as “full of faith and of the Holy Spirit,” and it is his activity as a preacher that is emphasized in the record. We read that he was “full of grace and power,” and we must conclude that he, too, gave himself “to prayer and to the ministry of the Word,” along with the apostles, who realized the overriding importance of their waiting on God without the distraction of even the other proper activities of the church (Acts 6:4).
God gives His gifts for special purposes (Eph. 4:11), but those who receive them must give themselves to the development and exercise of the gifts. There is an interesting example of this in the work of constructing the Tabernacle in the wilderness, where we observe not only that the Lord put wisdom and understanding in the hearts of His servants, but also that they stirred up their hearts for the work (Ex. 36:2).
Have we depreciated the preacher and his responsibilities below the scriptural standard until we expect little of him beyond the giving of an ‘address’ covering familiar ground? It is often assumed that nearly all can preach and should be encouraged to do so, in spite of the plain indications of such passages as Ephesians 4:11, 1 Corinthians 12:28-30, and Romans 12:4-8, all of which emphasize that God gives His various gifts, not wholesale, but in a selective way.
If this principle is ignored, and even contradicted, it can lead only to the serious lowering of our conception of what is to be expected from the ministry of the Word. Without the conviction of a clear calling to a particular service, no one can give himself to it, concentrating on it all the energy of his prayers, studies, time, and strength.
But when, in the awe of God’s presence, a man has realized that he is being called on to be a preacher, that he is being appointed an ambassador for Christ–then there will he have that something extra both in his word and in his demeanor. He will carry with him to his audience what we may well call an attitude of worship. ‘There is nothing like worship, when it is real, for destroying every shred and atom of a man’s self-importance. There is one thing, and one thing only which can rescue the preacher from the immense besetting dangers of his position, and that is to have his own spirit bathed in the atmosphere of worship, awed and subdued and thrilled that Christ should come so near. (Preaching by James S. Stewart: English Universities Press).
A genuine drawing near to God always has this unsuspected effect–it takes us nearer to men: not further away from reality, but closer to it. “We have just been to hear Spurgeon,” wrote Principal Tulloch, describing a visit paid by Professor Ferrier the metaphysician and himself to the Surrey Gardens Music Hall one Sunday morning in 1858. “We have been both so much impressed that I wish to give you my impressions while they are fresh. As we came out, we both confessed, ‘There is no doubt about that,’ and I was struck with Ferrier’s remarkable expression, ‘I feel it would do me good to hear the like of that; it sat so close to reality.’ The sermon is about the most real thing I have come in contact with for a long time.”