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A Good Sermon
A good sermon should be like
A miniskirt:
Short enough to arouse interest
But long enough to cover the essentials.
Okay, seal my lips
Since silence is the only statement
That has zero misquote
Please this is not blasphemy
Forgive I if it is
Am I lost?
This's a message to
Him or her who hold
A position to address
Hear me say
A GIANT SERMON
Doesn't raise more converts
Neither does it make you a saint
Stick to this:
A GOOD SERMON!
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The best sermon is preached by the minister who has a sermon to preach and not by the man who has to preach a sermon.
quote by William Feather
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I had only one sermon to preach it would be a sermon against pride.
quote by Gilbert K. Chesterton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The secret of a good sermon is to have a good beginning anf a good ending; and have the two as close together as possible.
quote by George Burns
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The secret of a good sermon is to have a good beginning and a good ending, then having the two as close together as possible.
quote by George Burns
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A good ad should be like a good sermon: It must not only comfort the afflicted, it also must afflict the comfortable.
quote by Bernice Fitz-Gibbon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Little Christmas Basket
De win' is hollahin' 'Daih you' to de shuttahs an' de fiah,
De snow's a-sayin' 'Got you' to de groun',
Fu' de wintah weathah 's come widout a-askin' ouah desiah,
An' he 's laughin' in his sleeve at whut he foun';
Fu' dey ain't nobody ready wid dey fuel er dey food,
An' de money bag look timid lak, fu' sho',
So we want ouah Chrismus sermon, but we 'd lak it ef you could
Leave a little Chrismus basket at de do'.
Wha 's de use o' tellin' chillen 'bout a Santy er a Nick,
An' de sto'ies dat a body allus tol'?
When de harf is gray wid ashes an' you has n't got a stick
Fu' to warm dem when dey little toes is col'?
Wha 's de use o' preachin' 'ligion to a man dat's sta'ved to def,
An' a-tellin' him de Mastah will pu'vide?
Ef you want to tech his feelin's, save yo' sermons an' yo' bref,
Tek a little Chrismus basket by yo' side.
'T ain't de time to open Bibles an' to lock yo' cellah do',
'T ain't de time to talk o' bein' good to men;
Ef you want to preach a sermon ez you nevah preached befo',
Preach dat sermon wid a shoat er wid er hen;
Bein' good is heap sight bettah den a-dallyin' wid sin,
An' dey ain't nobody roun' dat knows it mo',
But I t'ink dat 'ligion 's sweeter w'en it kind o' mixes in
Wid a little Chrismus basket at de do'.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A good sermon should be like a woman's skirt: short enough to arouse interest but long enough to cover the essentials.
quote by Ronald Knox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Never preach a sermon without a text from the Bible, a text containing the theme which you can elaborate. The text is the best proof in support of your argument. A sermon without a text is an argument without a proof.
quote by Isaac Mayer Wise
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Experience, The Best Teacher
When I was a student,
Many a teacher preached a sermon.
A sermon of, surprisingly, same subject.
This tedious theme could be thus summarized:
‘ if I could my student life re-live,
Very differently would I behave'.
A discourse denoting a dirge
A communication connoting a caution
If not a counselling to student who have ears
Students who would not shed tears,
Because they have ears to hear
And wise enough to understand,
Words of wisdom, even few.
But why to us their sermon relate?
Why to us their stories declare?
It is because about our future they care.
Careful, concerned and committed teachers,
Eager their experience to share,
Aware of the facts, glaring,
Facts preserved in an axiom,
The often quoted and tested maxim,
That experience is the best teacher.
Experience is the best teacher,
To those without any experience,
The best teacher is experience shared.
Shared by fair and frank fellows,
Who When good opportunities
Came beggarly begging,
Refused to these opportunities utilise,
Reaping the result of their recklessness, fully
Learning first-hand from their folly,
That opportunity knocks but once,
And once unutilised is lost forever.
But shared experiences meticulously applied,
Will save one the superfluous suffering,
Subsequent from the silly slip-up,
Of turning deaf ears to sermons.
Signifying that total respect to advice,
Plays a crucial role in molding us,
And goes to lend credence
To the usually used saw, that
Experience is the best teacher.
poem by Emmanuel Oduro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Viewing From a Wiser Angle
Why lead a group of people most corrupt?
Do they deserve a righteous man as boss?
Why sermon audience that can interrupt?
Unheeding to advice good is their loss!
Why waste one’s precious time on deafened ears?
Why waste one’s life reforming ‘criminals’?
Why live as alien, eating food with fears?
Some want the road-side and not urinals!
Why talk to men with tongues smoothened by lies?
Why guide the evil minds to do good deeds?
Why talk of God to foolish atheist guys?
Good fruits appear in plants grown from good seeds!
Sometimes, ’tis good to stay a rung lower!
Corrupt can’t stay for long in much power!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-23-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's
As neat as wax, as good as new,
As true as steel, as truth is true,
Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
Full as a tick, and fixed as fate--
Brief as a dream, long as the day,
Sweet as the rosy morn in May,
Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,
Broad as barn doors, and new as sight--
Useful as daylight, firm as stone,
Wet as a fish, dry as a bone,
Heavy as lead, light as a breeze--
Frank Wilstach's book of similies.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Preacher Needs More Ram
I took the modem off the podium...
Just before the preacher sneezed!
I asked a doctor in a pew...
If the sneeze would spread disease?
And Doctor Blye looked in my eyes,
As if I was there for church.
I looked him up and down and said,
'I am here doing research! '
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
I came to hook the preacher up,
To a new connection!
He wanted all his emails sent...
And downloaded to the chatrooms.
I came to hook the PC up for online sessions!
But the preacher is displeased...
'Cause the modem seems to need,
More ram!
oh Oh OHHH....
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet...
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Ahhhhaaaayyy
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
I hear the people pat their feet,
When the preacher's sermon's heated!
I'm in the house of the Lord,
And the preacher needs more ram!
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
Oh Lord...
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
What do I do with the modem?
'Reverand Heath?
I recommend a live video hookup as well!
I think you will touch a lot of people.
I found myself 'slightly' involved.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunday Morning
Sunday morning silence, curtain stay closed late
No one thinks of kitchens mornings in a filthy state
Dishes cups and beer stains, ashtrays on the floor
Sunday morning papers are left outside the front door
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
(sunday, bloody sunday rest)
Glass of fizzy water helps to start the day
Sit and listen to sunday silence, problems fade away
Sunday cars and drivers break the morning air
Uncollected milk outside reveals theres no one there
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Bathrobes hang in waiting, windows steaming up
Somewhere in the sink downstairs lies an unwashed cup
Tea and toast for breakfast clear away the plates
Wash-up prepare for cooking sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sermon of the Birds
I was clearing thirty or forty acres once
Out in the western range near Nightcap Mountain.
And as I was working, I heard a gathering of the crows
Singing out in a jungle gully. Their clamorous cries
Drawed the attention of all the other birds.
Jackass and butcher-bird, soldier-bird, sparrow-bird,
Scrub-robin, magpie, and the black and white cockatoo,
They all flew down to the crows in the jungle-gully.
And I followed after their clamour, and in the midst
Of all the splendid excitement of the birds
I heard one feller was singing above them all.
It was the lyre-bird, the mimic of all the scrub,
And they held this beautiful sermon or half an hour.
The birds would stop and listen a while but still
That beautiful voice, the lyre-bird, would keep on singing
And draw then and join them all to a chorus again.
And as I stood there and listened, the Scriptures was
Hitting me all the time. The sermon seemed
Like the prophecy when Christ shall come and summon
The birds, the valleys, the hills, the mountains and the ocean
To sing in praise of the grace and the reckoning day,
And the beauty of earth in the splendour that He crated.
And I went back and told my people of what I had seen,
And the sermon of praise I heard in the mountain range.
poem by Roland Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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