Ohio, 1990-something.
After generations of service, the pipe organ at First Baptist church finally broke down.
“How much will it cost to fix?” said the pastor.
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“Oh—” the technician said, “it’s beyond repair.”
The pastor looked down and nodded. “How much to replace it then?” he looked up.
The technician drew a rag from his back pocket. “An instrument like this,” he wiped his hands, “maybe eighty thousand?” he said.
The church appointed a committee to raise funds.
They called each member of the congregation, soliciting donations. After hundreds of calls, they raised fifty thousand dollars. Still short. To make up the difference, the committee hired a direct-response copywriter to write a sales letter.
His copy, but 115 words, drove forty thousand donation dollars.
Why did it work so well?
I can highlight a few reasons.
One: it went out to a warm, highly receptive list.
Two: the copy is technically sound, clear and concise, easy to read.
Three: it’s nostalgic, and poetic, compelling. The copywriter used rhetorical devices—anaphora; rule of three—to create a rhythmic cadence. The words flow, like a sermon.
Let’s read it:
Dear [Church Member], Nothing gives like a church organ. It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms. It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving. It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends. It gives to congregations of sons who follow fathers and then gives way to sons and sons again. It finally gives itself. For over five generations the present church organ at First Baptist has given, freely, generously, bounteously without stint. Think of an organ’s gifts, as you have received them; as your children will in days to come.Then give to a church organ, like a church organ… freely, generously, bounteously…without stint, [Pastor’s Signature]Now note the opening:
The nostalgia:
It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.
It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.
It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.
The copywriter connected these memories to the pipe organ and, in turn, to the church, the congregation, the community itself. He dimensionalized its true value. He put it in perspective. He gave it weight.
And he did so rhythmically, elegantly, like a poet. Note the anaphora:
It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.
It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.
It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.
And the rule of three:
It gives joy at weddings; strength at funerals; family greetings at baptisms.
It gives wings to worship; power to praise; humility to Thanksgiving.
It gives rest to the weary; welcome to strangers; binding ties to friends.
The copywriter tied the emotions of these life events to a pipe organ, this inanimate, lifeless thing. And in doing so, he gave it life—meaning and significance—because he made it about The Reader. He made it personal.
Amen.
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