Preachers, Perfect Your Voice

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Current revision as of 19:14, 24 October 2025

Pastors, many of you have spent years in training, decades studying the Bible, the original languages, and books of theology, countless hours on your knees in prayer and in your people’s homes. But how much time have you given to that instrument that brings forth our learning, our affection, our glimpses of glory, God’s very words, and in a sense our very selves? How much have we considered our voices?

Sure, we consider when they are raspy from a cold or in need of water during a sermon — but do we give them any more attention? We are on a mission to disperse soul-food to the masses, but do we mind the main road we must travel on? We have bread in our carriages but holes in our streets. Too often, a halting, faltering, feeble, and monotonous delivery tips over the wagon of a good outline and solid exposition.

More than a few of us suffer from bad vocal habits that hinder our effectiveness, but how many of us can say we have done anything about those bad habits?

Some mumble. Some start sentences but don’t finish. Some preachers only bellow loudly and intensely. Others, only softly and sedately. Some paint a world with only one color. The fault is not with God’s giving — he gave us a glorious instrument, capable of many notes and sounds. Yet we sit at that grand piano and strike the few notes we are comfortable with. We have lost the tune, droning on unmusically that message which angels strain to hear.

Some, neglecting to practice, simply expect the microphone to turn on, Bibles to open, and our voices to soar or fall, build or decline, resonate or crescendo in perfect harmony with what we feel and see and have to say. This is like the Christian saxophonist who expects to get up and play flawless jazz because he has the Spirit and a saxophone and plays once a week. Is it possible that our people are not fed as well as they could be because we are not as capable as we should be?

What Does the Babbler Wish to Say?

It is no virtue to be ignorant of the voice’s secrets. Some of us suspect the pulpit deserves more than the vocal clothing we wear the rest of the week. Yet often, when the moment comes that demands more than ordinary speech, we try to dress up our sound but end up with the notorious preacher’s voice, marked by unnatural inflection and amateur drama. What a tragedy: God’s spokesman — equipped with the Spirit of God and given the glorious gospel to proclaim — known for the poor quality of his voice. The preacher’s voice.

Few of us study eloquence or oratory — perhaps with good concerns. You don’t want to come across as artificial or studied. You don’t care for that professional tone where the man beneath seems polished away. You’d be embarrassed to have an awkward cadence or distracting dialect. And ultimately, you don’t want to be seduced into believing the power lies in how you speak over what you speak. You know the best oratory on earth or in heaven cannot wake the dead.

Still further, you read about Paul’s trembling speech in Corinth and his refusal to preach the gospel with “words of eloquent wisdom” — though “eloquent” is not in the original — “lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power” (1 Corinthians 1:17). You would rather never preach again than, in preaching, empty the cross of Christ of its power. So, you continue in your righteous mumbling, unctionless unclarity, or half-heard heralding because you fear the alternatives.

Whether Paul was refusing a manner of delivery or the philosophic message itself in Corinth is debated. But the point is that how we speak affects how the message is received. How we speak is not decisive, nor does the gospel’s power depend on man’s vocal skill. But this does not render the voice unimportant (just as the Spirit does not need our planning, preparation, prayer, or practice — yet we give ourselves to each).

No man should be ashamed to be a loud voice in the wilderness like John the Baptist or to be known as an “eloquent man” like Apollos (Acts 18:24) or to persuade with rhetorical skill as Paul does throughout 1 Corinthians. And most of us can give ourselves seriously to the improvement of the voice and sermon-craft without being tempted to the vanity of celebrity. Let us consider our calling — not many of us are naturally or especially well-expressed. And sitting for hours, slumped over a desk, alone and without speaking, does not help.

Master Your Steed

So, while the world rings with voices, professional and alluring, God’s men too often present vocals honed merely by (somewhat) regular use. We can imagine ourselves as blissful amateurs, uncorrupted by heathen tricks of the trade, and stand half as tall in the pulpit as we might. We need to heed the call of the Prince of Preachers:

We are bound to use every possible means to perfect the voice by which we are to tell forth the glorious gospel of the blessed God. Take great care of the consonants, enunciate every one of them clearly; they are the features and expression of the words. Practice indefatigably till you give every one of the consonants its due; the vowels have a voice of their own, and therefore they can speak for themselves. In all other matters exercise a rigid discipline until you have mastered your voice, and have it in hand like a well-trained steed. (Lectures to My Students, 110)

“In hand like a well-trained steed” — is this your voice? A “rigid discipline” to master your instrument — is this your practice? Or is the following observation more often accurate?

The greater part of preachers are slaves to their voice; it controls them instead of them controlling it. The voice possesses wonderful capabilities, but it is a rebellious instrument. (Adolphe Monod, quoted in William Blaikie’s For the Work of the Ministry, 155)

While the voice is not everything in our work, neither is it nothing. It holds great consequence for many. Our goal is to train the voice in its work — to add some thunder to its steps, some brilliance to its colors, some reliability to its service, so that you can forget about its sound and welcome all into the vision of Christ crucified and risen from the dead.

The goal — unapologetically — is excellence. He who sets out to be meager achieves it, but he who aims at excellence will at least be better than he started. Too much is at stake for us to remain stagnant. Heralds of the king are not men who speak more slovenly, weakly, and flatly than the men who hear them. We are jars of clay into which great treasure has been entrusted — but oh, that our voices would be tuned to bring out that gold. To do this, we must unlearn bad habits, develop good disciplines, and prayerfully experiment — to the glory of God and the good of his church.

O Voice, Where Art Thou?

Brothers, we are called to immerse ourselves in such things, to practice that all may see our progress (1 Timothy 4:15). And so, we give attention to our delivery, especially to our voices. It takes work to speak as God created us to speak. Your natural voice is likely unnatural to you now. Some of our lawns have more weeds than grass.

Yet the aim is to speak like you — not like Chrysostom, Whitefield, Spurgeon, or your favorite preacher, though we learn from them. God made you to sound like you. The aim is to uncover what has been buried, rediscover what has been lost — a certain sound, a quality, a range, a flash and a flame that has been dulled and domesticated by carelessness, thoughtlessness, and want of knowledge and practice. Some of us need to start again with the basics. Lawyers, politicians, celebrities, actors, podcasters, YouTubers all train to improve their voices — why not those who speak the very oracles of God?