Back in the day when orators were highly esteemed, a banquet was held for such a man. Following the banquet, he was asked to recite something for the pleasure of the guests. He agreed to do so and asked if anyone in the audience had a specific request. An elderly preacher spoke up and said, “Sir, could you recite the 23rd Psalm?”
After a moment’s pause, the orator said, “I can and I will, but after I have recited it I want you to do the same.” Surprised, the preacher said, “Well, I’m not much of an orator, but I will oblige if you wish.”
Then the orator began his recitation. He held the audience spellbound as he worked his way through the majestic lines of the beautiful Psalm. When he finished, the audience burst into a great round of applause.
When the applause finally died down, the old preacher arose and began his turn. His style was vastly different from the orator’s, much more simple and humble. But there was a strange, undeniable, uncommon power to it. When he finished, no applause broke from the audience. Instead there was a holy silence, marked only by a few tears that streamed from some faces.
At that point the orator walked over to the old preacher, put his hand on his shoulder, and summed up the scene perfectly. He said, “My friends, I reached your eyes and ears, but this man reached your hearts. I know the 23rd Psalm, but this man knows the Shepherd.”