Preaching

How Shall They Hear?

The church does not need a better stage. It needs preachers.

How shall they hear without a preacher?

A preacher, in Scripture, is a herald—a man who stands in the open and announces the King’s word with weight. He does not own the message. He publishes it. And “hear” means more than sitting under sound. It means to take the Word in until it can produce faith.

Without such men, transformation stays shallow. The revival we already taste cannot come into its full strength. The greatest need of this hour is not more methods or music, but men anointed by the Holy Spirit who will preach the whole counsel of God with fire and love.

Look at Acts. Their preaching brought conviction. Multitudes were added—not as casual attenders, but as people devoted to the apostles’ doctrine and to Christ. Even those chosen for daily care were men full of the Holy Ghost. This was not a program. It was the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and they risked their lives for His name. The same word that saved also stirred opposition, because truth exposes sin and demands an answer.

I know this personally. Listening to men preach the Word with power has marked me, changed me, and deepened my hunger for holiness.

God has not changed. “The Lord gave the word: great was the company of those that published it” (Psalm 68:11). From the throne the word is still given. He still looks for a company who will announce it with zeal.

What happens when that company is missing? Amos warned of a famine “not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD” (Amos 8:11). Buildings may fill with entertainment, yet God has chosen “the foolishness of preaching” to save them that believe (1 Corinthians 1:21). When performance crowds out proclamation, people starve and the church loses power to change a culture.

Paul said, “Woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!” Jesus said the harvest is plenteous and the labourers few—so pray the Lord of the harvest to send them. Tozer saw churches becoming poor theaters while few dared raise a voice. Some still think we have enough preaching and only need better programs. Jesus said the truth makes free. Can we still claim we are rich and have need of nothing?

This hour asks for a certain kind of man: one who hates sin with fire and loves the sinner with kindness. Brengle learned he must preach straight and keep his heart full of love—because withholding holiness is worse than withholding bread from starving children.

Will we settle for entertainment, or cry out for heralds—truth like an arrow, hearts full of love, lips filled by the Spirit—until mouths are stopped and many call on the name of the Lord?

Men of God, will we answer the call?

Will You Speak Truth?

When God looks at a preacher and asks for courage, not applause

A pastor friend once wrestled over a Sunday sermon. The word felt too strong. He kept seeing faces. Then he sensed the Lord press a simple question upon him: “You’re My man, aren’t you?” That settled it. He would not disappoint God.

That question still searches anyone called to speak.

It is an honor. The Lord of heaven could have chosen another, yet He looks at you. At the same time it is a charge. You are no longer free to say only what is welcome. A messenger does not invent the sentence. He delivers what he has been given.

Scripture has already shown us the scene. “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8). Most look away. The word will cut. Some will hate the one who carries it. Then the King turns to one servant: Will you go?

Jeremiah felt the same weight. “Ah, Lord GOD! behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.” God answered, “Say not, I am a child… whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak. Be not afraid of their faces: for I am with thee” (Jeremiah 1:6–8). Then He put His words in the prophet’s mouth.

That is still the call. Faithfulness is the assignment; results are not yours to manage.

In my early years after the Lord found me, I wrote a warning inside my Bible so I would see it whenever I opened the Book: our times do not need a cozy word. They need a word that disturbs. The Spirit will not anoint a preacher who is afraid to unsettle. You would not ask a surgeon to step aside for a man with sweet medicine. The Cross was not lovely to look at—wood, blood, and a bruised Savior—because Jesus was not treating a small wound. He was dealing with sin.

Preaching is not a performance. Better God’s smile than men’s clapping. You cannot leave people thinking you are clever and thinking Christ is wonderful at the same time. One impression drives out the other.

Look at Jesus. We love to speak of meekness, and He is meek. He also spoke with such authority that many disciples “went back, and walked no more with him” (John 6:66). He cleansed the temple. He told parables that the leaders knew were aimed at them. True preaching will often meet the same reaction.

Martyn Lloyd-Jones said the church’s most urgent need is true preaching. Wesley feared preachers had been more careful to please than to awaken. Chadwick said that without the Fire of God nothing else counts.

This generation does not need a smoother sound. It needs the preaching of the Cross—baptized in truth, aimed at God’s glory, willing to lose a crowd to save a soul. The psalm still asks, “Who will rise up for me against the evildoers?” (Psalm 94:16).

Will you be the man?

Aaron Beiler

You’re My Man, Aren’t You?
A Call to Courageous Preaching of the Cross

You’re My Man, Aren’t You?
A Call to Courageous Preaching of the Cross

I still remember my pastor friend telling me about a Sunday morning shortly after we had established a new church outreach in Lancaster County. As he prepared the sermon, he struggled before God with the strong word the Lord was placing on his heart. He kept thinking about how the people would respond. As he weighed whether he would speak what he believed was God’s heart, he felt the Lord ask him a simple yet intense question:

“You’re My man, aren’t you?”

That settled it. He purposed in his heart that he would not disappoint God.

If God would ask you the same question—“You’re My man, aren’t you?”—how does that affect you?

It brings a deep sense of honor. The Almighty, the Lord of heaven and earth, turns His gaze upon you and entrusts you with a specific work that others are not willing to do. He could have chosen anyone, yet He looks to you. That is no small thing. It is a great honor—an honor that humbles the heart and lifts the head at the same time.

And with that honor comes a great sense of responsibility. You realize you are no longer free to speak what is popular or easy. You are commissioned by God and under a specific assignment. A messenger does not create the message; he delivers a message given by another. The words are not yours to soften or withhold. The outcome is not yours to control. You simply must be faithful. The weight of it settles deep in the soul: If I refuse, who will speak? If I draw back, what will become of those who need to hear?

Consider a parable.

A great King once stood before His servants with a heavy heart. The city He loved was in deep rebellion. Darkness covered it. Souls were perishing. The need was urgent and great. With longing in His voice He asked, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?”

Most of the servants looked away. The message would be hard. It would cut deep. Many would hate the one who carried it. One by one they declined.

Then the King turned to a single servant and said, “I have a message that must be delivered. The words will not be easy. Will you go? Will you be My man?”

The servant felt the weight of the request. To be chosen by the King for a task others refused was an honor beyond measure. Yet the responsibility was equally heavy—he must speak exactly what the King commanded, without softening a single word. The longing in the King’s voice revealed the greatness of the need.

That is the place every true preacher stands when God asks, “You’re My man, aren’t you?”

Jeremiah felt the same weight. When the word of the Lord came to him, he answered, “Ah, Lord God! Behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.” Yet God replied, “Say not, I am a child: for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak. Be not afraid of their faces: for I am with thee to deliver thee.” Then the Lord put forth His hand and touched Jeremiah’s mouth, saying, “Behold, I have put my words in thy mouth.”

That same call still comes. God still looks for men who will stand with Him and speak what He puts in their mouths, no matter the cost.

In the first years after the Lord brought me to Himself, He put something in my heart with such weight that I wrote it on the inside front cover of my Bible. I wanted it before my eyes every time I opened the Book.

What our times really need isn’t a smooth, comforting message that makes people feel warm and cozy inside. We need a message that deeply unsettles them. We’ve been far too afraid of upsetting people. But the Holy Spirit will have nothing to do with any message—or any preacher—who is scared to disturb. You might as well expect a real surgeon to step aside for a fake doctor who claims he can fix everything with some sweet-tasting medicine, as expect the Holy Spirit to agree that soft, easy words can deal with the tragic condition of human souls today. The cross at Calvary was anything but pleasant to look at—blood-soaked wooden beams and a bruised, bleeding body. Not a pretty sight. But Jesus wasn’t dealing with something nice; He was dealing with the sin of the world. And that’s exactly what we’re called to deal with today. Soft words and sugar-coating will never meet the need.—

Rev. Robert Barr, in Duncan Campbell’s The Price and Power of Revival

As the years went on, God kept bringing the same clarity again and again. Preaching is not a performance meant to impress people. It is better to have God’s approval than the world’s applause. Preaching is a divine gift given for His glory alone—to advance His kingdom and make His Name great.

In preaching you cannot produce at the same time both the impression that you are clever and that Christ is wonderful.
—Author unknown

Perhaps God would ask every preacher: Do you want to impress these people or do you want to help them?

Don’t strive to preach “good impressive messages”. Rather strive to minister life and truth to the people.

If we are going to see the fullness of revival and a reformation, this generation desperately needs men who will stand courageously with God. The Lord still asks the question found in the Psalms: “Who will stand with Me against the workers of iniquity?”

The question remains the same today—will you be the man?

Look at Jesus. We often speak of being Christlike and think only of meek and lowly. Yet He spoke with such authority that many of His own disciples turned back and walked no more with Him. Twice He entered the temple in holy anger and overturned the whole place. The religious leaders sought to lay hold on Him, because they knew that He had spoken the parable against them.

True preaching will often provoke the same reaction Jesus faced.

Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones said:
“I would say without any hesitation that the most urgent need in the Christian Church today is true preaching.”

Howard Spring wrote:
“When a preacher is called from God, his sermon will be like a baptism of truth.”

Samuel Chadwick put it simply:
“Destitute of the Fire of God, nothing else counts; possessing Fire, nothing else matters.”

John Wesley wrote in his journal:
“I fear the Preachers have been more studious to please than to awaken, or there would have been a deeper work.”

This generation does not need smoother words or more impressive delivery. It needs true, prophetic preaching—the preaching of the Cross—after the pattern of Jesus Himself, who spoke with authority and never softened the truth to keep a crowd. Preaching given solely for the glory of God, baptized in truth, and marked by the Fire of God. Only then can the Spirit do His deeper work.

—Aaron Jay Beiler

The Parable
When the Herald Did Not Come

A story of a hungry city, a silent square, and the word that was never announced

A city waits for the king’s herald while stages fill with lesser voices. A parable on why anointed preaching still matters.

…………

The King had a city He loved. He also had a word for that city—clear, weighty, and meant to be heard. In former days He sent heralds: men who stood in the open square, not to entertain, but to announce what the throne had spoken. When they cried out, people stopped. Some believed. Some raged. None could pretend they had not heard.

Then the company of heralds grew thin.

The square did not stay empty. Other voices rushed in. A stage was built. Songs were polished. Skits made the people laugh. Programs filled the hours. A comedian could gather a crowd faster than a prophet. The buildings were busy. The people were not fed.

A young man walked the streets looking for bread that was not bread. He heard many sounds and little Word. He did not need another performance. He needed a voice that carried heaven’s authority—someone who would speak so that hearing became more than noise: listening, understanding, faith.

In a side street an old servant still remembered the King’s charge. “How shall they hear without a preacher?” A preacher is a herald. He does not invent the sentence. He publishes it. He does not ask first whether the city will applaud. He asks whether the throne has spoken.

The old servant prayed that the Lord of the harvest would send laborers. He knew a famine worse than empty barns: “not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but of hearing the words of the LORD.”

One night the King looked over the crowded square and the quiet pulpits. He still gave the word from His throne. He still looked for a company willing to publish it with boldness and love. The harvest was plenteous. The laborers were few.

A man finally stepped into the square. He did not come with a better program. He came with the King’s message—straight as an arrow, heart full of compassion, mouth full of fire. Some were cut to the heart. Some tried to silence him. A few were added, not as casual watchers, but as people who embraced the truth and turned their world the right way up for Christ.

The city learned again what it had forgotten: entertainment can fill a room; only the foolishness of preaching, anointed by the Spirit, can raise the dead.

The question left hanging over every generation is the same: when the world needs heralds most, will the company rise—or will the square stay loud and the people stay hungry?

The Parable
The Messenger Who Almost Looked Away

A king seeks one servant willing to carry a hard message into a rebellious city. The parable asks every preacher: will you go?

In a city that had once known the King’s name, the streets grew loud with other voices. Markets stayed open. Temples still stood. Songs were still sung. Yet rebellion had settled in like fog. People perished while smiling. Darkness did not always look like darkness. Sometimes it looked like comfort.

The King gathered His servants. His face was not angry first. It was grieved. He asked what He has always asked: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?”

Most did not refuse with words. They refused with silence. One thought of the cost to his name. Another thought of the faces that would harden. Another thought of how much easier a kinder sentence would sound. One by one they looked down.

Then the King turned to a single servant. He did not shout. He asked a question that felt like a hand on the chest: “I have a message that must be delivered. The words will not be easy. Will you go? Will you be My man?”

The servant felt two things at once. Honor—because the King had looked at him. Weight—because the message was not his to reshape. A messenger does not own the words. He carries them.

He almost asked for a gentler version. He almost said, “Let me first see how they will receive it.” He almost offered to keep the truth and remove the sting. Then he remembered: if he drew back, who would speak? If he softened the blade, what would become of the wounded who needed a true surgeon?

So he went.

He did not go as a performer. He went as a sent man. In the city some leaned in. Some turned away. Some hated the sound of the King’s sentence more than they hated the darkness itself. A few trembled and lived. The servant could not control the outcome. He could only refuse to disappoint the One who sent him.

When he returned, the King did not first ask how many applauded. He asked whether the words had been delivered as given.

That is still the question beneath every pulpit and every quiet assignment: not “Did they like it?” but “Were you My man?”

The Cross was never a pretty sight. Blood-soaked wood is not a decoration. Yet that is where the King dealt with sin. Soft medicine cannot do a surgeon’s work. Pleasant sentences cannot raise the dead. The city still needs a messenger who will not look away.

If the King turned to you tonight—not to the crowd, not to the gifted, but to you—and asked, “You’re My man, aren’t you?” what would settle in your soul first: the honor, or the fear of faces?

Honor is real. Responsibility is heavier. The words are still His. The faces are still many. The need is still urgent. And the King is still looking for one who will go.