A great deal of otherwise good preaching fails of its purpose. It may be that no flaw can be found in it from the purely homiletic viewpoint, yet it fails to get the verdict for God and righteousness. Often this happens because the sermon has been considered as an end within itself. The preacher has failed to take into account the human values involved in his work. He has prepared his sermon with the one idea of making a perfect product. His more successful brother has gone at the task in quite another way. He has worked no less earnestly and persistently, but he has seen more than the paper before him. He has looked past his study table and beyond his book shelves out into the busy world where his people live. He has seen them toiling, hoping, struggling, and suffering. He has thought of their heartaches and problems, of their aspirations and difficulties, of the drag that sordid situations and drab years put upon their souls. He has felt their temptations, their discouragements, and their limitations. His heart has gone out and felt the weight of their burden with them. Then he has searched Scripture, history, science, literature, and life for something that will help them in their fight. In some instances, at least, he has found it. No wonder his work catches on and succeeds. He has sensed the human side, and seen what it is that makes the need for preaching. If there were no human problems along the road that leads to God, then the pulpit might as well be abolished. To such a man the sermon he has prepared is not a fetish, but a message. He delivers it not merely that it may be admired, but that it may be minted into a blessing for the people before him. He knows what is in the hearts behind the Sunday clothes down in the pews, and he is trying to answer their questions and meet their needs. The Great Compulsion (1928) What do we mean when we speak of the call to the ministry? Some mean a wonderful dream, some an angel visitation, some a strange ecstasy, and some merely the notion that they can speak well. These things may all have their places, but they are uncertain. The one sure and enduring sign is the great compulsion. The Book of Exodus relates how Moses as a young man went out one day and looked upon his people’s burdens. That was one of the great determining hours in his life. It was so because when he saw his people’s burdens their weight rolled onto his own heart. That was the last peaceful day he ever saw, for our peace is the price we pay for greatness. Thereafter, his days and nights were troubled with that strange mingling of hope and despair that comes to a leader. He was under the great compulsion.