The Power of a Good Illustration

Why people remember your stories long after they’ve forgotten your points

There was one thing about preaching that captivated me as a child. I remember eagerly awaiting the story I knew would pop up at some point in the sermon. The premise of the message was often completely over my head. There were terms I didn’t understand. There were theological statements beyond my maturity level. But I could understand the story. And the story is what grabbed me.

I don’t think I was unusual. I think that’s how most people — not just children — experience a sermon. The points may fade. The outline disappears. But the illustration? That sticks.

And if it sticks, so does the truth it was carrying.

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Why Illustrations Are Non-Negotiable

For a message to be effective, you need more than theological statements and well-crafted big ideas. Every sermon needs stories and illustrations. Not as decoration. As necessity.

There are two reasons for this, and they work together.

First, people need them. No matter how well you word your argument or main point, not everyone is going to see it the way you do. An effective illustration takes the abstract and makes it concrete. It pulls the idea out of the clouds and puts it in someone’s living room. Jesus taught in parables for this very reason — not because His audience was unintelligent, but because spiritual principles are understood more clearly when they are illustrated. Our minds connect with stories far more easily than they do with abstract principles.

Second, truth needs to be illustrated. It is not hearing the truth that sets us free — it is knowing the truth. And you cannot know anything you do not understand. For truth to be understood, it almost always needs to be communicated through illustration, at least to some degree.

If they can’t see it, they can’t live it. Illustrations are how your people see it.

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What a Good Illustration Actually Does

Illustrations aren’t filler. They’re functional. And when you understand what they can do, you start using them with far more precision.

A good illustration makes abstract truth concrete. It takes a theological concept and gives it skin — a face, a name, a situation your audience can picture. It makes truth interesting, turning what could feel like a lecture into something people lean forward to hear. It makes truth persuasive — it’s one thing to tell someone their salvation matters; it’s another to close with the story of someone who wasted their life and never found repentance. And it makes truth memorable. I once watched a preacher pace the platform with a blanket draped over his shoulder like a mantle, telling the story of Elijah and Elisha. I can’t tell you much of what he said. But the image of that mantle and what it represented has stayed with me to this day.

Good illustrations also serve as transitions. They smooth the movement between points and give the sermon rhythm — that natural rise and fall that keeps people engaged without jarring them from one idea to the next.

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The Woodpecker Problem

I talked with Scott Graham about the art of illustration, and he told me a story that every preacher needs to hear.

He was preaching at a Men’s Conference about Noah, and he used a line about how the greatest advice God gave Noah was to keep the woodpeckers above the water line. It got a huge laugh. The problem? That’s all anyone remembered. After the service, fifteen guys were talking about woodpeckers. They were tweeting pictures of woodpeckers. They were sending each other quotes about woodpeckers. But nobody remembered the point.

That’s the danger: an illustration so entertaining that it overshadows the truth it was supposed to carry. The story ate the sermon.

Scott’s advice? You won’t always know in advance whether an illustration will work. But you’ll get better at it over time. And one of the most important disciplines is patience — not forcing a great story into the wrong sermon just because you’re eager to use it.

Finding the right illustration is like finding the right pair of shoes. You wouldn’t walk into a store with one pair and force them to fit.

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Back-Dooring the Story

One of the most practical things Scott shared was a technique he learned from Allan Oggs called “back-dooring a story.” Instead of setting up the illustration with a predictable introduction, you jump into the middle of it with a line the audience can’t place.

Instead of: “When I was six years old, I got in trouble and my dad had to discipline me…”

Try: “I didn’t think he could jump that high. I mean, I really didn’t.”

Nobody knows what you’re talking about. Who jumped? Why? And suddenly every person in the room is locked in, trying to figure out where this is going. You’ve grabbed their attention before they even know what the story is about. Then you flesh it out, work backward, and connect it to your point.

It’s a small technique, but it transforms the way an illustration lands. The audience isn’t just listening to a story — they’re pulled into it.

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Putting Lenses On

Scott used a metaphor that stuck with me. He said a good illustration is like a doorway — it opens into someone’s mind so you can get them thinking. Then you slide up beside them and put lenses on. “Now do you see that point more clearly?”

David killing a lion and a bear to rescue a sheep is hard for most people to relate to. We’d probably say, “Enjoy the sheep. I’ll buy a new one.” But tell a story about someone running into a burning house to save their dog, and suddenly your audience feels something. They understand sacrifice. They understand instinct. And when you say, “That’s how David felt about that sheep — and that’s how our Great Shepherd feels about His sheep,” the Scripture snaps into focus.

That’s what a great illustration does. It doesn’t replace the truth. It gives people eyes to see it.

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Five Marks of a Great Illustration

As I’ve studied and practiced the craft of illustration, I’ve landed on five things that separate the illustrations that work from the ones that don’t.

It serves the point. An illustration is not a stand-alone performance. It exists to shed light on an idea. If the audience remembers the story but not the truth, something went wrong.

It’s about people, not things. We relate to people far more easily than to concepts or objects. Stories with characters, conflict, and resolution connect at a level that data and images simply can’t.

It’s true when possible. A hypothetical illustration can work in a pinch. But a true story lands harder because the audience realizes this actually happened — which means the truth it carries is not theoretical.

It appeals to both heart and head. A great illustration makes the truth feel right and make sense. It reaches for the emotions while giving the intellect something to stand on.

It’s developed, not alluded to. Don’t rush through a story assuming your audience knows it. Walk them through it. Let them feel the tension. Give them enough detail to be moved by it.

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Your people may not remember your outline. They may not remember your three points. But they will remember the story that made them see something they couldn’t see before. That’s not a weakness of preaching. That’s how God designed us to learn.

So don’t treat illustrations as optional. Treat them as one of the most powerful tools in your hands.

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Keep building.

Illustrations are just one part of the sermon’s construction. The Clear Preaching email course walks you through the full process — from finding your sermon idea to crafting an introduction, building a structure, and landing a conclusion that moves people to respond.

Start the free course at clearpreaching.com.