There is no topic on which I address my fellow ministers, whether young or old, with more reluctance and a sense of shame than this one. Yet, despite feeling compelled to fill my own heart with reproach—and knowing that each reflection will be deeply humbling—I cannot avoid sharing what I hope may be considered appropriate thoughts on a subject so vital to the power of the pulpit. The most discouraging, yet also the most motivating thought in taking up this task, is that nowhere else in this volume do I rebuke even the least of God’s servants as harshly as I feel I must rebuke myself.

It was a bold and presumptuous step on my part, when, as a young man just entering my third year in ministry, I dared to instruct others by publishing Essays on the Distinguishing Traits of Christian Character. Nearly forty years in the ministry have since taught me that youth and inexperience can address such a profound topic with far more ease and confidence than the perspective brought by age, deeper reflection, and the weight of a more varied—and often more humbling—experience.

It does not take much insight to recognize that, to be a truly effective preacher, one must be a pious person. A minister may indeed hold the position, do some good in the world, and yet lack true piety. God may keep him from falling into overt sins; his religious upbringing, a well-informed conscience, disciplined habits, and intellectual adherence to orthodoxy might partially compensate for a lack of genuine grace. His love for moral discussions may spark interest in his duties; his scholarly achievements and skill in engaging minds might make his work enjoyable. If he is a hypocrite, his pride might sustain him, and if self-deceived, his false hopes could buoy his spirit, allowing him to fulfill his ministry to the very end.

Yet, all the while, he may live and die an ungodly man. His church might mourn him when he is laid to rest; his fellow laborers in God’s work might gather around his grave, lamenting, “Alas, my brother!” and many sincere tributes may be spoken in praise of his dedication. Yet, he himself could be “lifting up his eyes in hell, being in torment.” He will have stood before his Judge, making one last desperate plea: “Have I not prophesied in Your name?”—only to hear the chilling final verdict: “I never knew you; depart from Me, you worker of iniquity!”

If we were to say that we weep as we write these words, perhaps some would not understand or share in our sorrow. But truly, who would not weep? Is there anyone more to be pitied than such a minister? He must drink from the bitter cup of agony, tasting all the anguish of death, with its “poison drop of scorn.” He saved others, yet he could not save himself!

Through the very ministry that blinded his mind, hardened his heart, and worsened his eternal fate, others were brought into the kingdom, while their own once-beloved pastor is cast out into outer darkness—where there is weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. The One who wept over Jerusalem, surely, if He were on earth, would weep over such a man. If angels could shed tears, they would flood the pulpit of such a minister with their sorrow. Only the most hardened of demons could be indifferent to such a fate.

Yet, there have been, and still are, such ministers. Oh, that we would be more faithful to our own souls! That we would be more faithful to one another, loving each other more and praying fervently for one another, lest we too find ourselves in that place of torment. The office of the ambassador of the cross is a sacred one, but there is nothing in it that will save a man from hell if his heart is not right with God.

The evidence of piety in ministers is the same as for other believers; they know these signs and only need the same self-examination they urge upon their listeners. Yet God does not always grant ministers the comforting assurance of a filial spirit or the hope that other Christians often enjoy. Ministers may find greater clarity in understanding doctrine, yet struggle with more spiritual darkness. At times, their love for Christ is clear, their path bright, and their steps sure. They walk confidently toward that “house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” In such strength of faith, they labor on, and even after the brightness fades, hope lingers, sometimes blending with the dawn of renewed faith. Still, it’s not unusual for ministers to experience deep doubts about their own faith. After even the most moving sermons, some may quietly confess that they only hope their souls are secure—or they may keep silent, retreating to a private place of prayer.

Despite this, they press on faithfully, sowing seeds and gathering the harvest, through days of work and nights of prayer, convinced of the truths of Scripture. They hold firm to the hope that God, in His mercy, will provide a way of salvation, fully aware of their own unworthiness. Ministers, like all believers, must often leave the outcome to God, resolving only to finish the work He has given them.

Paul’s spiritual confidence was different; his faith and hope were more steadfast. Yet, many ministers need a similar discipline to keep them humble before God and others.

True Piety is Obvious

True piety testifies of itself. When a person loves Jesus more than father, mother, spouse, children, possessions, or even life itself, this transformation is evident. The reason this assurance sometimes wavers is the remaining sin that clouds our vision. When we feel the bondage of sin and our frequent failings, it’s easy to wonder if we have truly given Christ first place in our hearts. While we may know that sin does not nullify grace, it can obscure our perception of it, making our confidence weak and our hope dim.

Scripture teaches that a single act of true faith in Christ marks a person as a Christian. Yet what is true in principle may be harder to perceive in personal experience. The “inward witness” can be confused, overwhelmed by inner struggles, so that comfort is rare, and hope flickers in darkness. Still, it is a precious truth: one act of supreme love for Jesus, one true act of saving faith, confirms a Christian. But such faith is living and productive—it does not remain a barren seed. Except for the thief on the cross, no example in Scripture suggests that true faith exists alone. It is a fruit-bearing tree, adorned with every Christian virtue.

On this tree hang repentance, weighted with the awareness of sin and adorned with the “dew-drops” of godly sorrow. Humility and meekness, those gentle fruits of the Spirit, grow alongside charity, “the bond of perfectness,” as beautiful as the rose of Sharon or the lily of the valleys, spreading its fragrance over a thirsty world. This tree, planted by streams of water, bears fruit and leaves that do not wither. It is ever-growing; though not uniform, it is a consistent sign of perseverance in holiness. As Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is as if a man should cast seed into the ground, and should sleep and rise night and day, and the seed should spring up and grow, he knows not how.” Therefore, we do not seek a single grace as proof of piety but look for the full array of Christian virtues.

“Be holy in all you do, for it is written: ‘Be holy, because I am holy.'” Ministers, deeply engaged in the study and preaching of holiness, should strive to cultivate more of it within their own hearts. Their unique position grants them special opportunities for spiritual growth, as they encounter God’s truth with clarity and conviction. Their calling constantly presents them with powerful motives for godliness and compelling reminders of their duty to live in harmony with the truth they teach. Ministers dwell in spiritual light, like those on mountain summits bathed in sunshine, even as shadows linger in the valleys below.

God expects holiness from His ministers. “Be ye clean that bear the vessels of the Lord!” Just as “Holiness to the Lord” was engraved on Aaron’s forehead, ministers must embody this purity. Both the Church and the world expect to see in ministers a true, visible piety.

Given their closeness to holy teachings, ministers’ piety should often surpass that of others. Living near the source of spiritual truth, they are expected to drink deeply and ask, “Does my soul thirst for God?” A life devoted to the unseen and eternal will inevitably produce either deep devotion or moral ruin; one who contemplates such things without a response of reverence risks becoming a man to be shunned rather than admired.

What Is True Piety?

In considering the true essence of piety, I have but one remark to offer to my fellow ministers, who hardly need instruction on this topic. The longer I live, the more convinced I become that the heart and substance of true religion lie in obedience to the commandments of God. “This is the love of God: that we keep His commandments, and His commandments are not burdensome.”

Oh, how vital it is, both in heart and in life, to avoid those things God has forbidden and to do what He has commanded. The significance of this truth is not diminished by the fact that such righteousness is not what justifies a sinner—it is, however, the essence of his faith.

Impulses of imagination, emotional excitement, and vague sentimentalism may intertwine with the intellectual tendencies and habits of even godly men, adding various lights and shadows to their piety; but these do not constitute true piety. The only fervor that truly matters is that which burns to obey, and the only impulses worth trusting are those that drive a person to do and to endure the will of God.

People are spiritually dead because they do not obey God; devils are what they are because they live in perpetual disobedience.

Christian men and ministers are truly Christian only to the extent that they are obedient to God. Faith is as obedient as it is trusting; love is as dutiful as it is affectionate; humility is as submissive as it is lowly; repentance fears sinning just as much as it mourns over past sins; joy is as eager to do God’s will, listening attentively to His Word, as it is uplifting and exultant; and zeal is as unwavering in battling against what is wrong as it is fervent in its spiritual intensity.

A dry doctrine, a lifeless orthodoxy, resembles true piety no more than a marble statue resembles a living person if it does not express itself through obedience. There is profound truth in Samuel’s rebuke to Saul: “To obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.” Fasting, fervent prayers, devout meditations, eloquent sermons, edifying conversations, and outward displays of sanctity are nothing more than sounding brass or a clanging cymbal when compared with the joyful obedience to God’s will.

In saying this, we do not forget that “the Lord looks on the heart” and desires a spiritual religion. A religion that is entirely internal, or one that is solely external, is equally flawed. The former is full of fleeting emotions, alternating between rapture and grief, and is empty imagination; the latter is mere formality without true spiritual power.

What is piety, if not a state of mind and heart that acknowledges God as God, loves Him as God, obeys Him as God, and honors Him as our Lawgiver and Redeemer? What is piety, if not the response of a creature’s love to the Creator’s love—so fervent that, in the face of every inward corruption, every external temptation, and every competing allegiance, it declares the Redeeming Savior as its Lord, striving to perfect holiness in His love and fear?

Piety is that profound, life-altering principle that, while it serves as the main driving force in the heart, has the strength and effectiveness to influence every aspect of a person’s moral being. Strong spiritual exercises, grounded in the powerful truths of Scripture, are signs of a healthy moral state only when they are potent enough to lead us to love and carry out the will of our Father in heaven.

This is the kind of piety that the pulpit urgently seeks in order to gain true power. It is not only goodness and loveliness, but also a deep, unwavering energy of purpose that springs from a compelling conviction of duty. It embodies the humility that makes the minister “as one who serves,” the self-denial and public spirit that sets him apart from those who are “lovers of their own selves.”

This is the love of God, expressed through obedience to His commandments; the love of others that shows compassion for the fallen and pursues the lost sheep. It is a faith that firmly grasps the promises of God and a conscious dependence on His all-sufficient grace.

Every aspect of a minister’s work is strengthened by his personal piety. His goals, his abilities, his perseverance, his steadfast faith, and his endurance through trials—all are fortified by his reverence for God and love for Christ. His calling is one of love. Like Peter, who was tested with the question, “Lovest thou Me?”—a devoted minister can answer, “Lord, thou knowest that I love thee.” Reading the lives of Whitefield, Payson, and McCheyne shows that the true power behind their success was their deep, personal devotion to God. The Earl of Bath remarked of Whitefield, “Mocked and reviled as Mr. Whitefield is, I contend the day will come when England will recognize his greatness as a Reformer and his goodness as a minister of God.”

Whitefield died in 1770, leaving a legacy of both his sermons and his remarkable piety. The churches in Newburyport, where he preached to large outdoor crowds, remember him not only for his words but for his life. Speaking of one outdoor evening service, he wrote, “All was hushed and exceedingly solemn. The stars shone bright; and then, if ever, by an eye of faith, I saw Him who called them all by their names. My soul was filled with a holy ambition, and I longed to be one of those who shall shine as the stars forever and ever.” Imagine a man with even a modest gift for speaking, holding forth the word of life with a heart and mind so wholly dedicated to God!

At one time, he might say, “I lead a pilgrim life; pray that I may have a pilgrim heart. Soon, I hope my Heavenly Father will take me home. I am ambitious: I long to sit upon a throne. Jesus has purchased and prepared a throne in heaven for me.”

Also that beloved man of God, Henry Martyn, exemplified such personal piety. He would often exclaim, “Let me praise God! Oh, how great is His excellence! My heart aches for lack of words to praise Him according to His excellent greatness. I look forward to complete conformity to Him as the great goal of my existence, and my assurance is full.” He would also declare, “Nothing seems desirable but to glorify Him; all creatures are as nothing.” And again, “Oh my God, it is enough. Hasten, hasten the day when I shall leave this world and come to You; when I shall no longer be grieved, shocked, and pained by the widespread wickedness of this lost earth. Yet here, I will wait for Your timing, spending and being spent for the salvation of any poor soul. I would gladly lie at the feet of sinners and beg them not to plunge into an eternity of torment.”

There is a power in such a state of mind that brings to the pulpit what nothing else can. For the pulpit to be truly effective, its ministers must live close to God, be filled with His fullness, and reflect His glory. People must be able to recognize that they have been with Jesus, that it is not they who live, but Christ who lives in them.

A person who knew Archbishop Leighton once remarked, “If none shall go to heaven but so holy a man as this, what will become of me?” It is clear that the life of such a preacher is, in itself, the most powerful form of preaching.

As poet William Cowper expressed:

When one that holds communion with the skies,

Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise,

And once commingles with us meaner things,

‘Tis e’en as if an angel shook his wings;

Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,

And tells us whence his treasures are supplied.

This is what makes a preacher truly able and powerful. Such a man will always capture the attention of his listeners and prove himself to be a commanding, authoritative messenger of the Master who sent him. The spirit of his calling rests upon him, enabling him to leave a deep impression on the conscience and heart, even if he does not inspire admiration or applause.

Even if he is not considered great by worldly standards, he will still be greatly useful. His fervent piety adds a compelling power to his preaching that surpasses even the most polished orator who lacks such devotion. It is this ardent piety that gives his words a unique charm, one that draws souls to God, regardless of his rhetorical skill.

While the character of the American ministry can stand up to that of any other part of the Christian world, it is clear that today is not an era of outstanding piety. The deep devotion of our forefathers puts us to shame. The church now shares not only in the world’s prosperity but also its spirit. And because ministers have not been diligent in speaking against this problem, they too have been influenced by it.

We are not as we once were, in “the kindness of our youth, in the love of our first devotion.” Our hearts are no longer softened by God’s love. We do not live as the holy men of old did—“as pilgrims and strangers on the earth,” clearly showing that we are seeking a heavenly city, whose builder is God. Instead, God often feels distant, like a wilderness, while the world feels too much like home. How we should grieve over this with tears!

We find ourselves stumbling in darkness and losing our passion for our calling because we are too caught up in worldly things. The Gospel we preach doesn’t fully match how we live. We teach others lessons that we have not truly learned ourselves. While our outward bodies grow weaker, our inner spirit is not being renewed daily as it should be; our spiritual life is not growing fresher as we continue on our journey.

How sad it is to live and preach in this way, with the weight of our own sins pulling us down! It is unworthy of the Master we serve and the mission we represent. It is unworthy of us. This inconsistent piety is the real problem in the pulpit—it spreads like a harmful disease. It makes the preacher ashamed to look his congregation in the eye. His conscience troubles him, his heart trembles, and he may feel that he can no longer speak because of his shame. His energy becomes weak, his courage fades, and his compassion disappears because the words he speaks do not truly reflect the state of his own heart.

It should not, and must not, be this way with the ministers of Christ. God will test us and shape us into holier men—or, if we fail, He may set us aside. If He has truly chosen and appointed us, it is so that we might go out, bear fruit, and that our fruit would last. If we truly belong to Him, He will give us not only more to do, but also more to endure, until we can say with Paul, “I do not count my life as valuable to myself, if only I may finish my course with joy and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the Gospel of God’s grace.”

The preacher’s life and message must be one and the same. His heart should reflect his sermons, and only then will he be a chosen vessel to carry the name of the Crucified One to lost souls. When the lives of ministers align with the message they preach, it will serve as a powerful testimony to the truth and transformative power of Christianity.