In such tense and terrible times as these, every sincere minister of Christ who takes seriously the prophetic function of his vocation, must readily recognize the cogent relevancy of this theme and the importance of dealing with it practically and realistically. To that end I have raised with myself four obvious questions: Why? What? When? How?

Why preach unpopular truth? Why not be adroit, skillful, wise, enough to avoid issues that are controversial, disturbing, and inevitably provocative of trouble? There are certainly many matters of importance that may be preached about without creating antagonism and dissension. In tragic hours like the present, when compassion, comfort, and courage to endure are so essential, why not speak the word that blesses rather than the one that burns? "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God." Surely that divine command has never been rescinded, and is as imperative today as in that ancient yesteryear.

Besides, there is a war on right now and "we’ve got a job to do." Is there anything more important than winning the victory for freedom? To talk about loving your enemies, returning good for evil, and doing unto others as you would have them do to you sounds pious enough, but when so much is at stake, isn’t it almost subversive to express such sentiments? Won’t it weaken morale, slow up production, and cause disunity? Granted war is evil. Whether we will or no, we are all involved. We might as well make the best of it. And what is to be gained by defying the will of the majority? We shall only get ourselves soundly disliked, and the result will be such loss of influence as will destroy our effectiveness altogether.

I frankly confess that I feel the appeal of this argument. It is an altogether legitimate, normal, and valuable instinct to desire to be popular. In fact, I believe it is our duty to be popular. For only as we are liked, admired, held in esteem do we have the positive influence over others that we ought to have. For any one to say he does not care what people think of him is, I think, to mark that person as something of a fool or a liar, or both.

But there are two kinds of popularity: the ephemeral and the permanent - and often one must be sacrificed for the other. Lafcadio Hearn tells a story of an Oriental hero who owned and worked a highly valuable rice field that covered a hill-top overlooking the sea. One day during an earthquake, from his high vantage point, he saw the ocean swiftly withdrawing from the familiar shore. It looked like some prodigious animal crouching for a deadly, destructive leap, and he knew that leap would be the tidal wave. He also saw that his neighbors working in the low fields must be speedily gathered to his hill or swept away. Without a second thought, he set fire to his cherished rice-ricks and then furiously rang the temple bell. His neighbors thought his farm was on fire and rushed to help him, only to discover that he had deliberately started the blaze himself. They were very angry and berated him roundly, saying that he was insane thus to jeopardize the common possessions of the community. But he only smiled and pointed to the sea. From that safe hill, they saw the swirl of waters over fields just forsaken - and knew the cost of their salvation. Then they realized the worth of him who risked their wrath to gain their lasting gratitude.

Contrast this with the willingness to remain silent of those who claim the right to live on the lofty hills of God, and who see the sea of sane human relationships withdraw from its accustomed shores in the menacing crouch of war. Yet they give no realistic word of warning lest they jeopardize their present popularity and prized possessions. What do you think will be their influence in the long tomorrows?

Why preach unpopular truth? Because when life is organized on assumptions that are utterly at variance with the abiding principles propounded by One who had the long look, principles that are as enduring as the laws of the universe, nothing is more superlatively imperative than that those truths of the living God be proclaimed. To utter smooth and comforting sentiments when the tidal wave of global war is upon us, instead of challenging those who live in the low valleys of their immediate concern to climb the heights of sacrificial good will, is to forget and to forfeit one of the prime prerogatives of the preacher’s profession.

But popular or unpopular, what is truth? How can we be sure that what we preach is truth? Pilate’s famed phrase has doubtless been repeated by every man who has been confronted with what to do with Christ when he inevitably challenges Caesar and his mighty empire. Imagine, though, the appalling ineptitude of the question! Here was Pilate face to face with fullest Incarnation of the Truth humanity has ever known - and he does not, or will not let himself, recognize it. It was as if one were to stand in the full glory of the unclouded sun and ask, what is light? Small wonder Christ was silent. He understood what Pilate was trying to do. He was trying to avoid the unpleasant necessity of doing his duty lest it jeopardize his alliance with Caesar. He wanted to wash his hands of the whole matter - because kowtowing to Caesar was much more practical, popular, pleasant, and well-paying than championing Christ. But raising academic questions and much hand-washing will not do. Faced with the truth we must accept it - or thereafter live with lies. Confronted with Christ the world must accept him - or be dammed with conflict and chaos.

The Truth we preach is not a philosophy; it is a Person. It is not an abstraction; it is an Incarnation. It is not a lot of words; It is the word made flesh. It is not a theory; it is Christ.

Now we are ready to ask the third question. When shall we preach Christ and his Way? Obviously the unequivocal answer is now. It cannot be postponed to some future date when the times are more propitious, the situation more safe. The assumption that the teaching of Jesus, the application of his principles and the acceptance of his Way was not intended for immediate adoption, seems to me to be preposterous. Where in the Gospels is there the slightest justification for any delayed-action discipleship? Jesus’ most characteristic call was for immediate and complete obedience. No excuses were acceptable - not even the urgent need of looking after newly-purchased property, expiring parents, or a newlywed wife. The Gospel of the Kingdom is not only an ideal, but a method of attaining that ideal. The very fact that he insisted upon unhesitating experimentation in the use of his method was what made his teaching unpopular. As long as he merely quoted the prophets and talked about the coming of the Kingdom no one objected to his message. It was when he declared that the long-looked-for day had arrived; that the future had become the "now;" that the perennially postponed "some day" had become "today;" that his popularity waned with a vengeance - rioting arose and murder was planned. Paul Gliddon says, "If Jesus had glossed over the time element, if he had been content, like a political ecclesiastic, to let his teaching be definite about the ‘how’ of the good life, but vague about the ‘now,’ then he would certainly have escaped both dying on Calvary and living in history." For every preacher, as for every sinner, the only time there is, is now!

We come now to the most important question of how to preach unpopular truth and "get away with it." Frankly, I do not know. The Master alienated the crowd, irritated the intelligentsia and the influencial, and at 33 was crucified by the combined cruelty of all. It is by no means a minister’s prime concern, therefore, whether he can "get away with it" or not. His major fear should always be that he get away from such preaching. For the gospel must be preached quand Meme - in spite of everything - and with such fearlessness that what happens to the preacher himself as a result is a matter of secondary importance. People may be hostile because the preaching is so true that it is unendurable to those who live with lies; in which event the ancient road to some form of crucifixion simply has to be taken. But then again people may be justifiably hostile, for the preaching may impress them as being of men rather than of God, as being a biased or partisan interpretation of events rather than the power of Christ; in which event the ancient road of repentance and prayer for forgiveness has to be taken both readily and rigorously.

Much of the difficulty incident to preaching unpopular truth, however, derives not from the nature of the truth itself, but from the way it is preached. A disgruntled temperament, a subtly soured spirit, and antagonistic attitude, a gratuitous belligerency, a spiritual insensitiveness, an arrogant dogmatism, a condescending omniscience, and egregious egotism - any of these unfortunate characteristics may so distort and twist the meaning of the truth that is uttered as to alienate the hearer altogether. It always takes two techniques to tell the truth. The easiest part is saying your say; the hardest part is preparing the mind of your auditor to hear what you actually say rather than what he thinks you say when he sees your manner, senses your attitude, or divines your spirit. To be sure, therefore, that one’s spirit is right when he enters the pulpit is quite as important as his intellectual clarity and conviction concerning what he is going to say.

Doubtless every minister has his own devotional disciplines whereby he seeks to prepare his heart as well as his head for his prophetic office. I have a very searching but simple procedure that is indispensable to me. Primary and supreme in importance is deliberate immersion of oneself in the spirit of Christ. By prayer, by the most inspiring devotional reading, by disciplined meditation, I must practice the presence of the Master. To make him so real, so alluring, so fully in command of my life is my objective. To paraphrase a famous statement, I say to myself, "This above all: to Him I must be true, and it must follow as the night the day that I cannot be false to any other."

Secondly, I must unhesitatingly immerse myself in the love of people. I move from a conscious feeling of love for all people to a feeling of particular love for the people of my church. I try to think of them as individuals, as a group, associated in various organizations, with their loyalties, their problems, their joys, their frustrations, their hurts, their needs, and most of all their infinite value, their matchless worth in the sight of God. Then I try to love them with compassion and consecrated concern. To the degree that I cleanse my spirit with such a flood of affection for my people, I find them almost invariably-willingly receptive. Not that they always agree - they don’t. But they listen attentively, appreciatively, creatively - and whether they agree or not, they show me in a thousand ways that they want me to preach whatever I believe to be true without fear or compromise. If a preacher really loves his people hard enough, they will know it - and they will not only allow him to utter his deepest convictions, they will virtually compel him to do so by the urgency of their expectation.

Lastly, I deliberately immerse myself in the spirit of my own earthly father, who has been my ideal of all that a minister should be. Very seldom do I enter the pulpit without standing a brief while before his picture in my study. He died when I was only a lad, but I remember him as though he were with me now - as he surely is. I revel in the richness of this heritage, but I’m awed at the responsibility it imposes. And so I pray hard for help and start for the pulpit.