25 Sermon Illustrations on Character in Ministry

A minister's character is the lock of his strength; and, if once this is sacrificed, he is, like Samson shorn of his hair, a poor, feeble, faltering creature, the pity of his friends, and the derision of his enemies. I. A. James.

The salaries of the clergy of the United States do not average five hundred dollars a year, and yet, as a class, they are the best educated, the most influential, the most active, refined, and elevated of the nation. With less culture, with less character, with less mental power, there are men, all over the land, who earn from one to five thousand dollars a year. But look at the results. Taking them as they come, the biographies of a hundred clergymen who have families show, that, of their sons, one hundred and ten became ministers; and, of the remainder of the sons, by far the larger number rose to eminence as professional men, merchants, and scholars. As to the daughters, their names are merged into others; but there is a significant fact, which we do not remember to have seen noticed in that connection, that not only here, but in England, where titles are so highly prized, and the possession of "gentle blood" is a passport to high places, it is very often referred to as a matter of note, as indicating safety and respectability. "His mother was a daughter of a clergyman." We will venture the opinion, that three-fourths of the great men of this nation are not over two degrees removed from clergymen's families, or from families strictly religious. When it can be said of a man or woman, that their father or grandfather was a clergyman, there is a feeling within us of a certain elevation of character, a kind of guaranty of respectability of blood, of purity, and integrity. Dr. Hoven.

Two intelligent working men, each looking for a chance to better himself, were overheard in the following conversation:—"I don't much care," said one, "whether I get it or not; the only thing is that it will mean a rise of two shillings a week for me, and where a man has a wife and family that's a consideration." "It is indeed," said the other, "and that's why I am here, but no doubt more money will bring more work." "It is sure to do that," was the reply. "I consider this a very hard-working age. I do quite as much as I ought, what with my Chapel, and Band of Hope, and Sunday-school, besides my ten or twelve hours a day at my regular business; but I suppose I am not the hardest worked man of the age." "No, you may be pretty sure of that. I wonder who is? It is certain that many of the public men we read of don't have a very easy time of it. There's Gladstone, for instance, a splendid worker he is." "Yes; but my man works harder than Gladstone." "Who is your man?" "Spurgeon." "Oh! you don't catch parsons hurting themselves with work, I know." "Don't you, though; I believe that Spurgeon is really killing himself with overwork. Look here, I cut this out of The Sword and the Trowel. It is a bit of Spurgeon's own. It won't take a minute. This is what he says:—"'The pastorate of a church of four thousand members, the direction of all its agencies, the care of many churches, arising from the College work, the selection, education, and guidance in their settlements of the students, the oversight of the Orphanage, the editing of a Magazine, the production of numerous volumes, the publication of a weekly sermon, an immense correspondence, a fair share in public and denominational action, and many other labours, besides the incessant preaching of the Word, give me a right to ask of our friends that we be not allowed to have an anxious thought about the funds needed for our enterprises.'" "Yes, your parson certainly does work," acknowledged the man. "He doesn't get his bread and cheese for nothing. We will call him one of ourselves—one of the working men of Old England." "You are right! I don't believe there is any man in the world to beat him at work." The man was right. Mr. Spurgeon was all the time working at high pressure, and the terrible pain he so often suffered made the work doubly onerous.

In a church in Verona stands, or rather sits, a wooden image of St. Zeno, an ancient bishop, with knees so ludicrously short that there is no lap on which a babe could be dandled. He was not the first nor the last ecclesiastic who has been utterly incapable of being a nursing father to the church. It were well if all ministers had a Heavenly instinct for the nourishing and bringing up of the Lord's little ones. Is there not much lack in this?

George Eliot is said to have worked harder on “Romola” than on any of her other books. In her own words: “I began it a young woman--I finished it an old woman.” And yet but about seventeen months were consumed in the work. Some authors have lived long. Alexander von Humboldt lived to be over eighty. Goethe was over eighty-one when he died. Kant lived his quiet life for just eighty years, the quietest and most uneventful life known to a man of genius. Titian died at the age of ninety-nine. Michelangelo lived to be more than eighty. Among the royal persons who have become known as authors are Queen Victoria, King Oscar II, of Sweden; Dom Louis, of Portugal; the Shar Nasr-ed Deen, of Persia; Queen Elizabeth, of Rumania; Prince Nicholas, of Montenegro; Dom Pedro II, of Brazil; King Louis II, of Bavaria, and several others. The novelists are at present dominant among us, so far as popular acceptation and remuneration go. It has been lately ascertained that Mr. Tennyson made four thousand pounds a year by his poetry. Walter Besant, who was seduced from the career of a college don by the fascinations of the novelist’s art, earns more for any one of his romances than Carlyle earned in the first ten years of his literary career. Charles Reade averaged, we believe, five pounds per page for his writings. Herbert Spencer’s remuneration scarcely exceeded five shillings per page. Matthew Arnold’s imaginative powers earned him an income at least four times smaller than Wilkie Collins’ imagination could command. A shoemaker’s son, a few years ago, wrote a short comic story which tickled the public taste; his success was so immediate that the public--represented by the publishers--afterward paid him one thousand pounds a year for whatever he chose to write.--_Christian At Work._

The Rev. Charles Stelzle writes this lesson from the experience of the yard engineer:

“Go ahead; that’ll do; back up; a little more. That’ll do.” A yard crowded full of freight-cars that needed to be shifted and shunted--this is the work and the vision that daily greet the “driver” of the switch-engine. He is shut off from the scenery and the romance which the engineer of the lightning express is supposed to enjoy. He sees little besides the waving arms or the swinging lantern of the switchman. He hears little besides the screaming of slipping wheels, the bumping of freight-cars, the hissing of the escaping steam and the monotonous voice of his fireman repeating the orders signaled from his side of the cab.

But how typical of life it all is. There is no one entirely free from the humdrum and the monotone. And this seems to be well, for drudgery is one of life’s greatest teachers. The humdrum duties of life develop character. It is because we have certain duties to perform every day, in spite of headache, heartache and weariness, that we lay the foundation of character.

I am reminded of a remark made to me recently by a gentleman in middle life, a very excellent carpenter, whom I saw watching my boys, twenty-four of them, at work making their first weld in the forging shop. He seemed intensely interested as he watched one of the young men at his work. I said: “You seem to like to see the boys work. Do you understand what they are doing?” “Yes,” said he, “I worked a year once in a blacksmith shop.” “Well,” said I, “then I suppose this operation of welding is a very simple matter to you.” “Not at all,” said he; “I never made a weld in my life. I never got a chance. I kindled the fire and blew the bellows, and I did some striking for other men; but they never let me try to make a weld.” Then he added, with a good deal of feeling, “These boys learn more in one week about the really essential art of forging than I learned in half a year.” And the secret of it is they have a thoroughly skilled workman who is competent both to teach and to demonstrate every principle involved.--CALVIN M. WOODWARD, “Journal of the National Education Association,” 1905.

Foster, the State news paragrapher of the Cleveland _Press_, published a paragraph to this effect: “A Marion girl started her graduating essay as follows: ‘I am fairly worried out with the incessant pratings of the lords of creation on the duties and sphere of woman.’” The paragraph closed with the somewhat dangerous assertion that the editor would bet a new spring hat that the author of that discourse on woman’s sphere could not bake a loaf of bread. Two days later Mr. Foster received from Marion a large box. It contained sundry light loaves of bread and cake marvelously toothsome. An accompanying affidavit bore the solemn oath of the sweet girl graduate (who possesses the pretty name of May Williams) that she had, unaided, made the wheat-bread marked “Exhibit A,” the two specimens of cornbread marked “Exhibit B,” and the chocolate, “Exhibit C.” The notary’s seal of office was affixt to the affidavit, and it was settled beyond a doubt in Mr. Foster’s mind that his wager had been accepted. He therefore went out and lavished his week’s salary on a new spring hat.

An instance of a work published not because of its merit, but “from a cold and calculating publisher’s point of view of very doubtful sale,” is McMaster’s “History of the United States.”

The manuscript of the first volume was sent to the house by the author without introduction or comment of any kind. The author was a young tutor in mathematics at Princeton, had published nothing on any historical subject, and as far as any one knew at Princeton, had made no special historical study. It appeared that one very prominent New York house had declined to risk the publication of the work, and the historical expert of the house could not bring himself to recommend it as a reasonable publishing venture. Finally, the senior member of the firm read the manuscript himself, and decided to undertake the venture, believing in its probable success. The author was written to, he presented himself for the first time, being personally unknown in the office, and arrangements for the publication of this most popular and successful work were concluded within ten minutes.--_Appleton’s Magazine._

Precocity is not always a cerebral disease, certainly, tho where it is pronounced the presumption is not in its favor. Slower growths are the surer and attain the greater heights. Usually precocity wants a depth which is not supplied to the subject in more mature years. With the comparatively few exceptions that can be noted, it lacks staying power. The most remarkable case of collapsed precocity that occurs to us is that of the Englishman Betty, the “young Roscius.” He went on the stage at the age of twelve years in 1803, played _Hamlet_ and other prominent characters, and in four years amassed a fortune of over $150,000, at a time when money was worth twice its present face value. For twenty-eight nights in Drury Lane he earned over $3,000 a night. He left the stage to go to school, and on his return, three years later, made an utter failure and never amounted to anything as an actor thereafter.--New York _World_.

A little girl one day, whose mother had entrusted her with a penny for some small purchase, was crusht in the streets. She did not drop the penny. Recovering from a fainting fit, dying, she opened her firmly-closed fist, and handed her mother the humble penny, whose small value she did not realize, saying to her: “I have not lost it.” (Text.)

Continuous repeated acts of kindness breaking down the pride of an enemy, repeated annoyances that shape the temper; these or similar experiences may be illustrated by this extract:

A stalwart young man at Leavenworth, Kan., recently accepted a wager that he could stand a quart of water dropt into his open hand, drop by drop, from a height of three feet. Before 500 drops had fallen into his hand he almost cried with pain and said he had enough. After a little water had fallen each drop seemed to crush his hand, and a blister in the center of it was the result.--Boston _Journal_.

Foster, the distinguished essayist, said to a friend one day, “There is a want of continuity in your social character. You seem broken into fragments.” To this plain dealing the gentleman replied good-naturedly, “Well, I sparkle in fragments.” “But,” rejoined Foster, “how much better to shine whole, like a mirror.”

As the glory of gems is realized best when shown in a splendid necklace, so virtues impress most when many are combined in unity in the one character.