I was reading this morning and came accross this in a message preached by Spurgeon. I thought I would pass it along for your consideration. It is from a message entitled Enchanted Ground.
Where are the ministers that preach? We have men that read their manuscripts, and talk essays: but is that preaching? We have men that can amuse an audience for twenty minutes. Is that preaching? Where are the men that preach their hearts out, and say their soul in every sentence? Where are the men that make it, not a profession, but a vocation, the breath of their bodies, the marrow of their bones, the delight of their spirits? Where are the Whitefields and Wesleys now? Are they not gone, gone, gone? Where are the Rowland Hills now, who preached every day, and three times a day, and were not afraid of preaching everwhere the unsearchable riches of Christ? Brethren the church slumbers. It is not merely that the pulpit is a sentry-box with the sentinel fast asleep; but the pews are affected.