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Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor and theologian most known for his book The Cost of Discipleship and his involvement in the plot to assassinate Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler, suffered a great deal at the hands of the Nazis, including his eventual execution. In the summer of 1937, just as the Gestapo was arresting Bonhoeffer’s friends, the pastor preached about God’s judgment in Psalm 58 — but he didn’t say what a modern American might expect.

“The wicked are perverse from the womb; liars go astray from their birth. … O God, break their teeth in their mouths; pull the fangs of the young lions, O LORD. Let them vanish like water that runs off; let the arrows they aim break in two. … The righteous will be glad when they see the vengeance; they will bathe their feet in the blood of the wicked. And they will say, ‘Surely, there is a reward for the righteous, surely, there is a God who rules in the earth'” (Psalm 58:3, 6-7, 10-11).

So how did Bonhoeffer, a Christian who lost his life trying to assassinate Hitler, apply this verse to his own life? Did he rail against Hitler’s evil? Not exactly. (For the full letter, read Meditating on the Word, a compilation of Bonhoeffer’s works compiled and translated by David McI. Gracie.)

“Is this fearful psalm of vengeance to be our prayer? May we pray in this way? Certainly not! We bear much guilt of our own for the action of any enemies who cause us suffering,” Bonhoeffer declared in a sermon on July 11, 1937

This message is powerful, given what had happened to Bonhoeffer in the months — and even days — before. In January 1936, he lost his grandmother — who defied a Nazi boycott of Jews by shoving through brownshirts to buy strawberries from a Jew. Throughout 1937, the Gestapo carried out interrogations, house searches, confiscations, and arrests against Bonhoeffer’s seminary students. Ten days before this sermon, they arrested his friend and fellow pastor Martin Niemöller (the man famous for the “first they came for the Jews …” poem).

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Nearly seven decades since his execution at the hands of the Nazis, Bonhoeffer’s influence lives on, largely because of his classic devotional writings (especially The Cost of Discipleshipand Life Together), his penetrating questions on what it means to live as a Christian in the modern world (found in his later writings Letter and Papers from Prison and Ethics), and his riveting and challenging biography. But at the center of Bonhoeffer’s engagement with the world was his understanding of the prominent and unique role of preaching. Bonhoeffer’s close friend Eberhard Bethge claimed that “Bonhoeffer acted and analyzed out of a responsibility for preaching . . . the Bonhoeffer who taught, the Bonhoeffer who was obedient to the Word, the Bonhoeffer who was involved, was governed by preaching and its majesty” (Fant 1975, 3). Further, Bethge explains, “Preaching was the great event in his life; the hard theologizing and all the critical love of his church were all for its sake, for in it the message of Christ, the bringer of peace, was proclaimed. To Bonhoeffer nothing in his calling competed in importance with preaching” (Fant 1975, 7-8). Similarly, John D. Godsey describes Bonhoeffer as “a man for whom preaching was an integral part of life” (Fant 1975, 6). Preaching played such an important role in the thought and life of Bonhoeffer that Victoria Barnett argues that we cannot “understand Bonhoeffer the resistance figure of Bonhoeffer the theologian without understanding Bonhoeffer the preacher” (Barnett 2012, x). Preaching stands as the central and unifying event that brings all of the facets of Bonhoeffer’s life into focus.

This emphasis on preaching is surprising given the fact that Bonhoeffer spent very little time in a regular pulpit ministry. Although he preached consistently throughout his adult life, he spent only two periods serving in a congregational pastoral position, both of which were outside of Germany. While awaiting ordination in 1928, Bonhoeffer served as a pastoral assistant to a German-speaking congregation in Barcelona, Spain. He then returned to Berlinfor further academic writing and teaching, before accepting a pastoral call to two German-speaking congregations in London, which he would serve from the fall of 1933 to the spring of 1935.

He left London to return to Germany in order to establish an underground seminary for the training of pastors for the Confessing Church. When the seminary was shut down by the Nazis in 1937, he continued training pastors through collective pastorates. Eventually, because of the threat of military conscription, Bonhoeffer accepted a position in the Abwehr, a German military intelligence organization that was a center of the Resistance movement, in which he served until his arrest on April 5, 1943. Over the next two years he would be imprisoned until his execution, on April 9, 1945.

Because of the limited time that Bonhoeffer spent in a weekly preaching ministry, his entire collected works contain only seventy-one complete sermons (Barnett 2012, xi). He almost never spoke to large crowds, the only possible exceptions being his addresses given at ecumenical gatherings outside of Germany. But as Bethge comments, preaching to large groups of people did not really appeal to him. “He preferred a small, easily defined congregation that could move with him as he developed his train of thought” (Bethge 2000, 389).

Bonhoeffer the Preacher

Bonhoeffer’s first attempts at preaching began in 1925 at the age of nineteen. He was excited by the opportunity because he realized the life-giving effect that a sermon can produce. His professor of practical theology, Friedrich Mahling, commended his effort, calling it very fine “in content and form, in its dashing masculine style and heartfelt goodness, pure truthfulness and conscientious seriousness” (Bethge 2000, 90). His examination sermon on Luke 9:51-56 contained the directness that would mark his preaching, as he declared, “the walls of the centuries separating us from this story have fallen away. We face Jesus eye to eye.” But his examiners judged that he needed more work in his transition from the academy to the church, determining that he “will have to discard some things and learn some things before he is able to write a really finished sermon. . . . He is lacking in clarity” and must “cultivate a simple and noble simplicity” (Bethge 2000, 91).

During Bonhoeffer’s time in Barcelona, he gained his first hands-on experience in congregational ministry. The pastor of the church, Fritz Olbricht, seemed grateful for the relief and gave Bonhoeffer frequent opportunities to preach. In addition to other responsibilities, he preached nineteen sermons. Bonhoeffer worked hard on his sermons, writing to his parents on November 27, 1928, “Writing sermons still takes up a great deal of my time. I work on them a whole week, devoting some time to them every day” (Fant 1975, 9). He struggled with his motivations when his preaching was well received, yet acknowledged, “But on the other hand, who wouldn’t be pleased about a full church, or that people who haven’t come for years” (Bethge 2000, 111). When Olbricht noticed that the number of worshippers would significantly increase on the Sundays when Bonhoeffer was scheduled to preach (regular attendance was only around 40 people), he stopped announcing the preaching schedule ahead of time (Bonhoeffer 2012, 7).

Bonhoeffer’s Barcelona sermons contained many of the themes that he would continue to develop throughout his life. He spoke of man’s absolute dependence upon God’s grace and the direct opposition between true faith and religion, several times using Karl Barth’s analogy of the Tower of Babel to describe the futility of religion. His preaching also evidences the demanding and serious nature of discipleship in this world. In a sermon preached on April 15, 1928, he said, “the world is full of God, this notion becomes threatening and frightening precisely because it demands responsibility. Our life and action are not to be meaningless. . . . Every moment of our life is related to God” (Bonhoeffer 2012, 5). In this sermon Bonhoeffer also emphasizes the centrality of the Bible by stating that there is “no moment in life when Jesus’ word does not have something to say to us. Our entire life stands under that word and is sanctified by that word” (Bonhoeffer 2012, 4).

During Bonhoeffer’s Barcelona ministry, his sermons were not as strongly biblical as they would increasingly become later in his ministry. For his texts he consistently selected brief, biblical phrases and topically developed the theme. Bethge says that in these sermons, Bonhoeffer’s language “borders on flowery, and he made sweeping assertions” (Bethge 2000, 112). He also made more frequent use of personal references and illustrations than he would in the later years. Even though some sections of his sermons were too difficult for his congregation to fully grasp, the warmth of his pastoral concern that they received during the week increased their reception.

Several years later, while teaching at the University of Berlin in 1931, Bonhoeffer experienced a shift that would significantly influence his subsequent preaching and ministry. Bonhoeffer did not like to speak about conversion because of what he saw as the overemphasis of personal testimonies among the pietists; he consistently thought that telling any personal story was a distraction from speaking about Christ. Yet even Bonhoeffer described this event as when he became a Christian. One contributing factor in this change was his friendship with Franz Hildebrandt, who pushed Bonhoeffer further in the direction of the Bible and Luther. Bonhoeffer rarely mentioned this transformation but did describe it in a letter to a friend several years later in 1936:

Then something happened, something that has changed and transformed my life to the present day. For the first time I discovered the Bible . . . I had often preached, I had seen a great deal of the church, spoken and preached about it—but I had not yet become a Christian. . . . Also I had never prayed, or prayed only very little. For in all my loneliness, I was quite pleased with myself. Then the Bible, and in particular the Sermon on the Mount, freed me from that. Since then everything has changed. I have felt this plainly, and so have other people about me. It was a great liberation. It became clear to me that the life of a servant of Jesus Christ must belong to the church, and step by step it became clearer to me how far that must go. . . . The revival of the church and the ministry became my supreme concern (Bethge 2000, 205).

The effect of this event produced a remarkable change in the direction of Bonhoeffer’s life. Prior to this his intention was to pursue an academic career, but now he began to move in the direction of parish ministry (a move that was at first resisted by his father, a university professor in neurology and psychiatry). Throughout his early life, he had not regularly attended church, but now he became an active churchgoer and longed for preaching and the sacraments. His own preaching became focused on the Bible, and he began to preach on longer passages rather than brief phrases. This experience also significantly impacted his writing, which moved away from discussing others’ ideas to expounding the message of the Bible. According to James Woelfel, “his early interest was in the formal problems of dogmatic theology,” but he began “increasingly to devote himself simply to the material dogmatic task of interpreting the Holy Scriptures.” Woelfel further observes that in contrast to his earlier writings (The Communion of the Saints and Act and Being), “Bonhoeffer’s writings after 1932 consist largely of theological exegesis and homiletics” (Woelfel 1970, 208). This is reflected in Klass Runia’s assessment of The Cost of Discipleship as “one of the most penetrating expositions of the Sermon on the Mount” (Runia 1964, 16). Bonhoeffer’s connection to the Christian faith had been as an intellectual studying theology; now he became a deeply committed Christian. Now his preaching had a newfound “urgency which had not been characteristic of them before, an urgency that insisted upon a single-minded devotion to Christ” (Fant 1975, 14).

In April 1936 Bonhoeffer further described these convictions in a letter to his brother-in-law, Rüdiger Schleicher, who, in contrast to Bonhoeffer, continued in the path of liberal theology:

Is it . . . intelligible to you if I say I am not at any point willing to sacrifice the Bible as the strange word of God, that on the contrary, I ask with all my strength what God is trying to say to us through it? Every other place outside the Bible has become too uncertain for me. I fear that there I will only bump into my own divine Doppelgänger. . . .

And I want to say something to you personally: since I learned to read the Bible this way—which has not been long at all—it becomes more wonderful to me with each day. . . .

You wouldn’t believe how happy one is to find the way back from the wrong track of some theologies to this elemental thing (Bethge 2000, 206).

These deepening convictions led to an increased sense of the primacy of preaching since preaching is the way that God speaks his word to his people. In his first sermon in London on October 22, 1933, upon accepting the pastorate of the St. Paul’s and Sydenham Churches, he described the criterion by which a congregation should assess a pastor’s ministry: “There is really only one question for a congregation to ask of its pastor: Are you offering us the eternal world of God, the word of life, wherever you can, in the pulpit and in daily life? Or are you giving us stones instead of bread?” (Bonhoeffer 2012, 89). He then described the miraculous nature of preaching:

This is what makes a sermon something unique in all the world, so completely different from any other kind of speech. When a preacher opens the Bible and interprets the word of God, a mystery takes place, a miracle: the grace of God, who comes down from heaven into our midst and speaks to us, knocks on our door, asks questions, warns us, puts pressure on us, alarms us, threatens us, and makes us joyful again and free and sure. When the Holy Scriptures are brought to life in a church, the Holy Spirit comes down from the eternal throne, into our hearts, while the busy world outside sees nothing and knows nothing about it—that God could actually be found here. Out there they are all running after the latest sensations, the excitements of evening in the big city, never knowing that the real sensation, something infinitely more exciting, is happening in here: here, where eternity and time meet where the immortal God receives mortal human beings, through the holy Word, and cares for them, where human souls can taste the starkest terrors of despair and the ultimate depths of God’s eternity (Bonhoeffer 2012, 90).

Bonhoeffer practiced and advocated the use of a simple and direct style in preaching so as not to distract from the word of God. In his homiletics lectures at the underground seminary for the Confessing Church at Finkenwalde, he passed this focused style on to his students. He warned that the “movement of the word to the congregation should not be hindered by the preacher, but rather he should acknowledge it. He should not let his own efforts to get in its way” (Fant 1975, 128). He further emphasized a strict restraint in preaching:

I must refuse to indulge in tricks and techniques, both the emotional ones and the rhetorical ones. I must not become pedantic and schoolmasterish, nor begging, entreating, urging. I do not try to make the sermon into a work of art. I do not become unctuous and self-centered or loud and boastful. By forsaking my personal ambitions I accompany the text along its own way into the congregation and thus remain natural, balanced, compassionate, and factual. This permits the Word’s almost magnetic relationship to its congregation. I do not give life to it, but it gives life to me and to the congregation (Fant 1975, 138).

He advised his students to be well prepared before stepping into the pulpit because this “allows the greatest amount of factual, direct preaching from the pulpit. Only the unprepared preacher has to use the techniques of emotionalism, shouting, or exercising influences through pressure. These techniques betray his insecurity” (Fant 1975, 149). He again warned against the use of excessive expression because of the nature of the preaching task: “Truthfulness and factuality suggest simple methods. They discourage senseless shouting and emotional excitement in preaching and worship. We are witnesses, not the trumpets of the Last Judgment” (Fant 1975, 172).

Even though Bonhoeffer advocated a strict simplicity in preaching, that does not mean that he did not believe in using vivid language. Reflecting on his own sermons, he “noticed that the most effective sermons were those in which I spoke enticingly of the Gospel, like someone telling children a story of a strange country” (Fant 1975, 12). His Finkenwalde students recounted that he encouraged them “to speak colorfully” (Fant 1875, 38). He understood that the greatness of the message required that the preacher attempt to convey the greatness of that about which he spoke. In a sermon preached in Berlin in May 1932, he began:

One cannot understand and preach the gospel concretely enough. A real evangelical sermon must be like holding a pretty red apple in front of a child or a glass of cool water in front of a thirsty person and then asking: do you want it? We should be able to talk about matters of our faith in such a way that the hands reach out for it faster than we can fill them. People should run and not be able to rest when the gospel is talked about (Bonhoeffer 2012, 34).

An excellent example of the affection-stirring use of language can be found in the concluding sermon in a four week series on 1 Corinthians 13, which he preached to his congregations in London. When expounding the phrase “the greatest of these is love”, he climaxes by asking a string of nine questions, all of which begin with the words “What can be greater than . . . ?”

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One of the most common questions I hear related to preaching is, “How long should a good sermon be?”

The best answer I’ve heard is from John MacArthur who said, “As long as it takes to cover the passage adequately. If you have nothing worthwhile to say, even twenty minutes will seem like an eternity to your people. ”

We did a little research of our own to discover just how long the most watched preachers in America preach. You might be surprised by the results. We certainly were.

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by Timothy George

Editors’ note: Come celebrate the 500th anniversary of the Reformation with us at our 2017 National Conference, April 3 to 5 in Indianapolis. The theme is “No Other Gospel: Reformation 500 and Beyond.” Timothy George will be speaking on “Reformation Before the Reformers” and “Early Reformers: Why Didn’t They Unite?” in workshops. Space is filling up fast, so register soon. The following article originally appeared in First Things.

The preaching of the gospel as a sacramental event is at the heart of Reformation theology. Preaching is also at the heart of Reformation faith—preaching as an indispensable means of grace and a sure sign of the true church. Where is the church? According to Article VII of the Augsburg Confession (1530), the church is that place where the Word is purely preached and the sacraments are duly administered. The Second Helvetic Confession (1566) went even further when it declared that “the preaching of the Word of God is the Word of God.”

Of course, preaching—unlike the printing press—was not a new invention of the Reformation era. Far from it. Think of Augustine and Chrysostom in the early church, Bernard of Clairvaux, John Hus, and the many mendicant friars who fanned out across Europe in the Middle Ages.

St. Francis preached the gospel to a Muslim sultan, and Savonarola declared God’s judgment on the sinful leaders of Florence. Bernardino of Siena, the great Franciscan herald, preached to throngs in the 15th century, calling on his listeners to repent, confess their sins, and go to Mass. The Protestant reformers knew this tradition and built on it, but they also transformed it in two important respects.

Central Act of Worship

First, they made the sermon the centerpiece of the church’s regular worship. Prior to the Reformation, the sermon was mostly an ad hoc event reserved for special occasions or seasons of the liturgical cycle, especially Christmas and Eastertide. Most sermons were preached in town squares or open fields. The reformers brought the sermon back inside the church and gave it an honored place in the public worship of the gathered community. The central role of preaching in Protestant worship can be seen in the way pulpits were raised to a higher elevation as families gathered with their children to hear the Word proclaimed.

Second, the reformers introduced a new theology of preaching. They were concerned that the Bible take deep root in the lives of the people. The Word of God was meant not only to be read, studied, translated, memorized, and meditated on; it was also to be embodied in the life and worship of the church. What might be called the practicing of the Bible—its embodiment—was most clearly expressed in the ministry of preaching. Martin Luther believed that a call to the preaching office was a sacred trust and shouldn’t be used for selfish purposes. “Christ did not establish the ministry of proclamation to provide us with money, property, popularity, honor, or friendship,” he said.

Luther

Preachers should be wary of listeners who are too complimentary, for flattery can have a sinister outcome. Puffed-up preachers are likely to think, This you have done; this is your work; you are a first-rate man, the real master. Such conceit is not even worth throwing to the dogs, Luther said. Faithful preachers should teach only God’s Word and seek only his praise. “Likewise, the hearers should also say: ‘I do not believe in my pastor, but he tells me of another Lord whose name is Christ; him he shows me.’”

Zwingli

Preaching was no less important in the Reformed tradition. When one visits the Great Minster Church in Zurich today, the following inscription can be read over the portal: “The Reformation of Huldrych Zwingli began here on January 1, 1519.” That date, no less than October 31, 1517, can answer the question, “When did the Reformation begin?”

For on that first day of January, which happened to be Zwingli’s birthday, the new pastor began his pulpit ministry by announcing his intention to dispense with the prescribed texts of the traditional lectionary. He would follow a new paradigm: preaching expositional sermons, chapter by chapter, starting with the Gospel of Matthew. After completing Matthew, Zwingli resumed the same lectio continua method by taking up Acts, then the letters to Timothy, Galatians, 1 and 2 Peter, Hebrews, the Gospel of John, and the other Pauline letters. He then turned to the Old Testament, beginning with the Psalms, then the Pentateuch and the historical books.

Bullinger

Heinrich Bullinger, who succeeded Zwingli as the Reformation leader in Zurich, reported “a rush of all sorts of people, in particular the common man, to these evangelical sermons of Zwingli’s, in which he praised God the Father, and taught all people to place their trust in God’s Son, Jesus Christ, as the single Savior.” One of those common people who rushed to hear Zwingli in the 1520s was a young student named Thomas Platter. He tells of hearing a sermon by Zwingli that was “expounded so powerfully that I felt as if someone was pulling me up by my hair.”

Calvin

From the pulpit of St. Pierre in Geneva, John Calvin followed the preaching pattern established by Zwingli. His pulpit work was marked by sequential, text-driven preaching. In the course of his ministry at Geneva, Calvin delivered more than 4,000 sermons, and many have survived for us to study.

What was the secret of Calvin’s preaching? Hughes Oliphant Old gave this answer:

Calvin drew out of the Scriptures aspects of Christian teaching which the church had not heard for centuries. This was above all the case for the doctrine of grace. The promise of salvation was presented to all who would believe it. Calvin preached justification by faith, as all the reformers did. More than some, perhaps, he also preached sanctification by faith. The lives of those who believed the Word of God would be transformed by that Word. Holiness was the fruit of faith. To believe the Word was to live by the Word, and that life lived according to the Word of God was blessed, both in this world and in the world to come.

Three Marks of Reformation Preaching

In an important essay published in Theology Today in 1961, Heiko A. Oberman set forth the distinctive marks of Reformation preaching in terms of three interrelated aspects.

1. The sermon is an apocalyptic event.

Not quite in the sense of Savonarola’s preaching of impending doom to the people of Florence, but in the sense that the sermon unveils and makes present the last judgment here and now. Without demythologizing Christ’s future coming, gospel preaching existentializes the final will of God for every hearer by calling for a decisive response here and now. “In the sermon,” Oberman observed, “Christ and the Devil are revealed, Creator and creature, love and wrath, essence and existence, ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’”

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by

The screen printer standing in my living room was trying to sell me on a new four-color process for the kids Bible club shirts my church needed. One problem: he came to the door asking for “Mike,” not “Mark” because I kind of forgot to tell him the truth… (I used to use a pseudonymous email address out of overblown security concerns.)

We still joke about that. He’s now one of my best friends. But back then I had no idea of the wonderful story of God’s grace in his life. He and his wife were brand new to the area, and my wife and I invited them over and started a friendship. We found out that this clean-cut young man had, not too many years back, been a drug addict. As a last resort his non-Christian family had sent him to a Christian program in a rural area. Most guys go there to get clean, and they’re willing to use the God stuff temporarily if it will help them get their lives back from drugs and alcohol.

But my friend’s experience was different: God wouldn’t let him be temporary. He got hold of this young drug addict’s heart. After graduating from the program, he immediately went on staff, then married the daughter of another graduate. The screen-printing gig was his first venture into “the real world” since coming clean and turning to Christ. He was full of faith, hope, love, and zeal. He and his wife found a church that was known for engaging (ahem, read: wild) worship services, not so much for theological depth.

Pins and needles

So I was surprised when, one Sunday, he called me and asked if he could come to my church, where the proportion of wildness to theological depth was rather different. “Of course!” I said; I was thrilled. But I immediately became afraid, too. My pastor was going through Isaiah. We had just made it to chapter 21, a somewhat recondite passage full of judgments on people such as the Dedanites, Temanites, and Kedarites. I had to listen to a lengthy expository message through the ears of a guy sitting next to me who, as best I knew, had never heard an expository sermon.

To make matters worse, the title of the message that evening was “Shuddering Over a Harsh Vision.” That was me: I envisioned my friendship with this guy ending. In my vision, he was looking at me like I was an alien, and he was heading back to a church where he could be sure he’d never have to hear about the Dedanites again.

My pastor, an experienced expositor who also taught preaching, said something at the beginning of the message that I’d never heard him say before: “This is one of those obscure passages of Scripture that, if it went missing, no one would notice.” Oh no, I thought. The pins and needles under my pew cushion grew longer, and I was required to sit on them throughout the detailed explanations required to get us all through Isaiah 21.

When the service was over, I couldn’t bear to ask my friend what he thought. I didn’t want to put him in the awkward position of having to tell me with a glazed expression, “Church is not supposed to feel like a sentence-diagramming party.” So I changed the subject of our conversation to something else, maybe football.

He changed it right back. With deep feeling he said, “Wow. . . Now there’s one part of the Bible”—and here he held up his hands to indicate the space of about a chapter—“that I understand.”

Shortly thereafter my friend and his wife were eating up the kind of in-depth Bible teaching I was afraid to introduce him to that Sunday; they listened with the zest of someone who has just discovered that meat exists.

Exposition

Expository preaching is sometimes criticized (and sometimes rightly so) for being all about understanding and not about feeling. All head, no heart. But you had to be there to see my friend’s eyes. Few people get excited about hour-long expositions of Scripture. He did, because he had the new heart of the New Covenant. He hungered to know God’s words.

John Piper advocates preaching that is what he calls “expository exultation”—head and heart. And in my experience there’s nothing quite like it. The capacity for deep feeling is itself made deeper by a greater depth of exposition. I’ll never forget singing “The Church’s One Foundation” with my fellow church members after we’d been treated to an exposition of that foundation in Ephesians 2.

As is nearly always the case, Piper’s “expository exultation” is only an encapsulation of Jonathan Edwards, who said in Some Thoughts Concerning the Present Revival of Religion in New England,

I don’t think ministers are to be blamed for raising the affections of their hearers too high, if that which they are affected with be only that which is worthy of affection, and their affections are not raised beyond a proportion to their importance, or worthiness of affection. I should think myself in the way of my duty to raise the affections of my hearers as high as possibly I can, provided that they are affected with nothing but truth, and with affections that are not disagreeable to the nature of what they are affected with. (387)

After hearing a message on a harsh prophetic vision, a congregation is supposed to shudder—as Isaiah himself did in this portion of his book (“My heart staggers; horror has appalled me”). The Bible, rightly preached and rightly understood, creates negative feelings as well as positive in hearts made soft to God’s words. The Lord evidently thinks we need to hear passages of comfort as well as of warning. The Bible clearly instructs us both to love the Lord and to fear him. A New Testament preacher must bring in gospel comfort, too, but not by removing the teeth from God’s warnings.

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