Sermon Tone Analysis
Overall tone of the sermon
This automated analysis scores the text on the likely presence of emotional, language, and social tones. There are no right or wrong scores; this is just an indication of tones readers or listeners may pick up from the text.
A score of 0.5 or higher indicates the tone is likely present.
Emotion Tone
Anger
0.5UNLIKELY
Disgust
0.13UNLIKELY
Fear
0.67LIKELY
Joy
0.44UNLIKELY
Sadness
0.49UNLIKELY
Language Tone
Analytical
0.67LIKELY
Confident
0UNLIKELY
Tentative
0.6LIKELY
Social Tone
Openness
0.75LIKELY
Conscientiousness
0.81LIKELY
Extraversion
0.06UNLIKELY
Agreeableness
0.84LIKELY
Emotional Range
0.62LIKELY
Tone of specific sentences
Tones
Emotion
Language
Social Tendencies
Anger
< .5
.5 - .6
.6 - .7
.7 - .8
.8 - .9
> .9
ATTENTION
DON’T YOU LOVE TO READ BUMPER STICKERS?
SOMETIMES I JUST CAN’T RESIST THE TEMPTATION TO TAILGATE SOMEONE JUST TO SEE WHAT’S WRITTEN ON THAT PLASTIC COATED PAPER STRIP GLUED ON THE BACK OF THEIR CARS.
I LIKE TO READ THEM BECAUSE OFTEN THEY ARE HILARIOUSLY FUNNY.
I THINK THEY ARE SO FUNNY, THOUGH BECAUSE THEY CONTAIN A RING OF TRUTH AND SOMETIMES THEY EVEN CRYSTALLIZE FEELINGS WE ALL HAVE ABOUT LIFE.
HERE ARE SOME CLASSICS:
KEEP HONKING!
I’M RELOADING
ENERGIZER BUNNY ARRESTED, CHARGED WITH BATTERY
OUT OF MY MIND, BACK IN 5 MINUTES
43.3% OF STATISTICS ARE MEANINGLESS
IF YOU TRY TO FAIL, AND SUCCEED, WHICH HAVE YOU DONE?
EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO MY OPINION
A WAIST IS A TERRIBLE THING TO MIND
I USED TO HAVE A HANDLE ON LIFE, BUT IT BROKE.
IT MAY BE THAT LAST MINIATURIZATION OF LIFE PHILOSOPHY WITH WHICH MOST OF US IDENTIFY.
WE THINK THAT WE HAVE IT ALL TOGETHER.
WE BELIEVE THAT OUR LIVES ARE ON AUTO PILOT AND THAT GOD IS OUR PERSONAL FRIEND, BUT TRAGEDY ENTERS AND SHATTERS OUR WORLD AND THE “HANDLE” WE THOUGHT WE HAD ON LIFE BREAKS WITHOUT ANY HOPE OF REPAIR.
IT MAY BE A SICKNESS THAT HITS US WITHOUT WARNING: THE TESTS COME BACK WITH NUMBERS THAT AREN’T GOOD AND WE FIND OURSELVES WORRIED AND FEARFUL.
IT MAY BE A SUDDEN JOB LOSS THAT ISN’T OUR FAULT AND WHICH CAUGHT US COMPLETELY OFF-GUARD.
IT MAY BE A MATE WHO, THROUGH WEAKNESS AND SIN, IGNITES A “DIRTY BOMB” OF ADULTEROUS RADIATION THAT SPREADS A CLOUD OF DESTRUCTION OVER OUR FAMILY THAT YOU, THE INNOCENT PARTY, IS LEFT TO CLEAN UP.
AND YOU ARE LEFT WITH ANGER, RESENTMENT, AND A PARALYZING FEAR OF WHAT THE FUTURE HOLDS.
AND LIVING IN THAT KIND OF FEAR CAN BECOME A SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY THAT PARALYZES ANY HOPE FOR THE FUTURE.
JUST CONSIDER J.H. ZORTHIAN: IT HAPPENED OVER FIFTY YEARS AGO.
THE IRONY OF IT, HOWEVER, AMAZES ME TO THIS DAY.
A MURAL ARTIST NAMED J. H. ZORTHIAN READ ABOUT A TINY BOY WHO HAD BEEN KILLED IN TRAFFIC.
HIS STOMACH CHURNED AS HE THOUGHT OF THAT EVER HAPPENING TO ONE OF HIS THREE CHILDREN.
HIS WORRY BECAME AN INESCAPABLE ANXIETY.
THE MORE HE IMAGINED SUCH A TRAGEDY, THE MORE FEARFUL HE BECAME.
HIS EFFECTIVENESS AS AN ARTIST WAS PUT ON HOLD ONCE HE BEGAN RUNNING SCARED.
AT LAST HE SURRENDERED TO HIS OBSESSION.
CANCELING HIS NEGOTIATIONS TO PURCHASE A LARGE HOUSE IN BUSY PASADENA, CALIFORNIA, HE BEGAN TO SEEK A PLACE WHERE HIS CHILDREN WOULD BE SAFE.
HIS PURSUIT BECAME SO INTENSE THAT HE SET ASIDE ALL HIS WORK WHILE SCHEMING AND PLANNING EVERY POSSIBLE MEANS TO PROTECT HIS CHILDREN FROM HARM.
HE TRIED TO IMAGINE THE PRESENCE OF DANGER IN EVERYTHING.
THE LOCATION OF THE RESIDENCE WAS CRITICAL.
IT MUST BE SIZABLE AND REMOTE, SO HE BOUGHT TWELVE ACRES PERCHED ON A MOUNTAIN AT THE END OF A LONG, WINDING, NARROW ROAD.
AT THE TURN ALONG THE ROAD HE POSTED SIGNS, “CHILDREN AT PLAY.”
BEFORE STARTING CONSTRUCTION ON THE HOUSE ITSELF, ZORTHIAN PERSONALLY BUILT AND FENCED A PLAYGROUND FOR HIS THREE CHILDREN.
HE BUILT IT IN SUCH A WAY THAT IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE FOR A CAR TO GET WITHIN FIFTY FEET OF IT.
NEXT, THE HOUSE.
WITH METICULOUS CARE HE BLENDED BEAUTY AND SAFETY INTO THE PLACE.
HE PUT INTO IT VARIOUS SHADES OF THE DESIGNS HE HAD CONCENTRATED IN THE MURALS HE HAD HANGING IN FORTY-TWO PUBLIC BUILDINGS IN EASTERN CITIES.
ONLY THIS TIME HIS OBJECTIVE WAS MORE THAN COLORFUL ART—MOST OF ALL, IT HAD TO BE SAFE AND SECURE.
HE MADE SURE OF THAT.
FINALLY, THE GARAGE WAS TO BE BUILT.
ONLY ONE AUTOMOBILE EVER DROVE INTO THAT GARAGE—ZORTHIAN’S.
HE STOOD BACK AND SURVEYED EVERY POSSIBILITY OF DANGER TO HIS CHILDREN.
HE COULD ONLY THINK OF ONE REMAINING HAZARD.
HE HAD TO BACK OUT OF THE GARAGE.
HE MIGHT, IN SOME HURRIED MOMENT, BACK OVER ONE OF THE CHILDREN.
HE IMMEDIATELY MADE PLANS FOR A PROTECTED TURNAROUND.
THE CONTRACTOR RETURNED AND SET THE FORMS FOR THAT ADDITIONAL AREA, BUT BEFORE THE CEMENT COULD BE POURED, A DOWNPOUR STOPPED THE PROJECT.
IT WAS THE FIRST RAINFALL IN MANY WEEKS OF A LONG WEST COAST DROUGHT.
IF IT HAD NOT RAINED THAT WEEK, THE CONCRETE TURNAROUND WOULD HAVE BEEN COMPLETED AND BEEN IN USE BY SUNDAY.
THAT WAS FEBRUARY 9, 1947—THE DAY HIS EIGHTEEN-MONTH OLD SON, TIRAN, SQUIRMED AWAY FROM HIS SISTER’S GRASP AND RAN IN BACK OF HIS CAR AS HE BACKED OUT OF THE GARAGE.
HE WAS KILLED INSTANTLY.
NEED
WHAT A TRAGEDY! HE LIVED IN THE AWFUL FEAR OF WHAT FINALLY BECAME REALITY IN HIS LIFE.
SOME OF US CAN IDENTIFY WITH HIM.
WE ARE FACING THE VERY THING THAT HAS HAUNTED US FOR YEARS AND QUITE FRANKLY, WE DON’T KNOW WHERE TO TURN AND WE FEEL LIKE THROWING UP OUR HANDS AND THROWING IN THE TOWEL.
WELL, YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO FEEL THIS SENSE OF FEAR LOSS AND ANGER.
IN THE FIFTH CENTURY B.C.
A GROUP OF ISRAELITES EXPERIENCED A TRAGEDY OF THEIR OWN.
BECAUSE OF SIN, GOD WAS JUDGING THEIR COUNTRY AND THIS UNFORTUNATE GROUP OF JEWS WERE AMONG THE FIRST TO BE CAPTURED AND TAKEN AS SLAVES TO BABYLON.
THEY WERE DEVASTATED AND EVEN FELT SINGLED OUT BY GOD BECAUSE, WHILE THEIR COUNTRYMEN STILL ENJOYED THE COMFORTS OF HOME, THEY WERE SENT TO A FOREIGN LAND.
ONE OF MEMBER OF THE GROUP DESCRIBED HOW THEY ALL FELT BY WRITING WHAT WE KNOW AS PSALM 137.
EUGENE PETERSON RENDERS THAT PSALM THIS WAY IN HIS PARAPHRASE:
Alongside Babylon’s rivers
we sat on the banks; we cried and cried,
remembering the good old days in Zion.
Alongside the quaking aspens
we stacked our unplayed harps;
That’s where our captors demanded songs,
sarcastic and mocking:
“Sing us a happy Zion song!”
Oh, how could we ever sing God’s song
in this wasteland?
If I ever forget you, Jerusalem,
let my fingers wither and fall off like leaves.
Let my tongue swell and turn black
if I fail to remember you,
If I fail, oh dear Jerusalem,
to honor you as my greatest.
God, remember those Edomites,
and remember the ruin of Jerusalem,
That day they yelled out,
“Wreck it, smash it to bits!”
And you, Babylonians—ravagers!
A reward to whoever gets back at you
for all you’ve done to us;
Yes, a reward to the one who grabs your babies
and smashes their heads on the rocks!
CAN YOU HEAR THE DESPAIR IN THEIR VOICES?
CAN YOU SENSE THE INTENSITY OF THEIR ANGER AT WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THEM?
CAN YOU FEEL THE FEAR THAT GRIPS THEIR HEARTS AS THEY ANTICIPATE A FUTURE WITH NO PROMISE AND WONDER WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO THEM?
MOST OF ALL CAN YOU HEAR THE UNSPOKEN QUESTION THAT HOUNDS THEIR HEART?
YOU KNOW THE QUESTION BECAUSE IT IS THE QUESTION THAT ALWAYS RISES FROM THE PAINFUL SOIL OF TRAGEDY: WHERE IS GOD IN ALL OF THIS?
WHY HAS HE LET THIS HAPPEN?
HOW CAN I TRUST GOD IN THE MIDDLE OF ALL OF THIS TROUBLE?
WELL, GOD HEARD THEIR CRY AND HE ANSWERED THEIR QUESTION.
< .5
.5 - .6
.6 - .7
.7 - .8
.8 - .9
> .9