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Pen Picture of John Jasper the Noted Negro Preacher
Everybody has heard of John Jasper, of “The
sun-do-move” fame. For years before the war he
was 11 a freeman in Christ Jesus,” preaching in
Richmond the only saving Gospel to his race.
He was loved and honored by white and black
alike, and until his death a few years ago, he was a
tower of strength for God and righteousness. John
Jasper was a natural orator —uneducated, ’tis true,
and crude in speech and figures, but moving the
multitudes toward God. Perhaps the best living
interpreter of this rare old negro patriarch is Dr.
Wm. E. Hatcher, who was the “beloved pastor” of
Grace Church, Richmond, for a quarter of a century,
and who knew and loved John Jasper all those years.
Because of its unique place in the study of a re
markable character, we give to our readers the fol
lowing extracts from a striking article by Dr.
Hatcher in the Baptist Argus.
It bears the caption, “John Jasper on Heaven,”
and will be read, wc feel sure, with absorbing inter
est and find place in many a scrap-book.-—Editor.
John Jasper on Heaven.
“I never heard Jasper preach a sermon on heaven
nor did I ever hear of his doing so,” says Dr.
Hatcher. “So far as my observation goes, sermons
on heaven have failed to edify the thoughtful—
sometimes proving distinctly disappointing. It was
not to Jasper’s taste to argue on heaven as a doc
trine. With him it was as if he were camping out
side of a beautiful city, knowing much of its history
and inhabitants, and in joyous expectation of soon
moving into it. The immediate things of the king
dom chiefly occupied his attention, but when his
sermons took him into the neighborhood of heaven,
he took fire at once and the glory of the Celestial
City lit his face and cheered his soul. This paper
deals only with one of his sermons which, while
not on heaven, reveals his heart-belief in it, and its
vital effect upon his character.
“Imagine a Sunday afternoon at his church —a
fair, inspiring day. His house was thronged to
overflow. It was the funeral of two persons—" Wi
lliam Ellyson and Mary Barnes. The text is for
gotten, but the sermon is vividly recalled. From
the start Jasper showed a burden and a boldness
that promised rich things for his people.
“At the beginning he betrayed some hesitation—
unusual for him. ‘Lemme say,’ he said, ‘a word
about dis William Ellersin. I say it at de fust an’
git it ors mer min’. William Ellersin was no good
man —he didn’t say he wus; he didn’t try to be
good, and de tell me he die as he live, ’out Gord an’
’out hope in de worl. It’s a bad tale to tell on ’im,
but he fix de story hisses. As de tree falls dar
mus’ it lay. Es you wants folks who live wrong to
be preached and sung to glory, don’ bring to Jasper.
Gord comfut de monur and warn de onruly.’ ”
“But, my brutherin,” he brightened as he spoke,
“Mary Barnes wus difurnt. She wer wash’d in de
blood of de Lam’ and walked in white; her r’ligion
was of Gord. Yer could trust Mary any whar; nuv’r
cotch ’er in dem playhouses ner friskin’ in dem
dances; she wan’ no street-walk’r trapsing ronn’ at
night. She love de house of de Lord: her feet clung
to de strait and narrer path; I know’d her. I seen
her at de prarmeetin’ —seed her at de supper—seed
her at de preachin’ and seed her tendin’ de sick
an’ helpin’ the moanin’ sinners. Our Sister Mary,
good-bye. Yer race is run but yer chown is sho’.”
From this Jasper shot quite apart. He was full
of fire, humor gleamed in his eye, and freedom was
the bread of his soul. By degrees he approached the
realms of death, and he went as an invader. A note
of defiant challenge rang in his voice and almost
blazed on his lips.
He escorted the Christian to the court of death,
and demanded of the monster king to exhibit his
power to hurt. It was wonderful to see how he
pictured the high courage of the child of God, march
ing up to the very face of the king of terrors and
demanding that he come forth and do his worst.
Death, on the other hand, was subdued, slow of
speech, admitted his defeat, and proclaimed his
readiness to serve the children of Immanuel. Then
he affected to put his mouth to the mouth of the
grave and cried aloud: “Grave! Grave! Oh,
Grave!” he cried as if addressing a real person,
The Golden Age for February 28, 1207.
“Whar’s yer vict’ry? I hur you got a mighty ban
ner down dar, an’ you turrurizes ev’rybody wat
comes ’long dis way. Bring out your armies and
furl forth your banner’s of vict’ry. Show your han’
an’ let ’em see wat you kin do.’,’ Then he made
the grave reply, “Ain’t got no vict’ry now; had
vict’ry but King Jesus pars’d through dis country
and tore my banners down. He say his peopl’
shan’t be troubled no mo’ forev’r; an’ he tell me
ter op’n de gates and let ’urn pass on dar way to
glory. ’ ’
“Oh, my Gord,” Jasper exclaimed in thrilling
voice, “did yer hur dat? My Master Jesus done
jerk’d de sting of death, done broke de scept’r of
de king of turr’rs, and he dun gone inter the grave
and rob it uv its victorious banner’s, an’ fix’d nice
and smooth for his people ter pass through. Mo’en
dat, he has writ a song, a shoutin’ anthim for us to
sing when we go through, passin’ suns an’ stars,
an’ singin’ dat song, ‘Thanks be onter Gord —be
outer Gord who give us de vict’ry thru de Lord
Jesus Christ.’ ” Too well I know that I do
scant justice to the greatness of Jasper by this in
adequate outline of his transcendent eloquence. The
whole scene, distinct in every detail, was before
the audience, and his responsive hearers were stirred
into uncontrollable excitement.
“My brutherin,” Jasper resumed, very soberly,
“I oft’n ax myse’f how I’d behave mersef es I was
ter git to heav’n. I tell you I would tremble de
consequinces. Eben now, when I gits er glimpse—
jist a peep into de palis ob de King it farly runs
me ravin’ ’stracted. What will I do es I gits thar?
I ’spect I’ll make er fool of mysef, ’cause I ain’t
got de pritty ways and nice manners my ole mars’
Sam Hargrove used to have, but es I git thar they
ain’t goin’ ter put me out. Mars’ Sam’ll speak fur
me an’ tell dem to teach me how ter do. I some
times thinks es T’s ’lowed to go free —I specs ter
be free dar, I tell you, I b’lieve I’ll jest do de town
—walkin’ an’ runnin’ all roun’ ter see de home
which Jesus dun built for his people.
“Fust of all I’d go down an’ see de River of
Life. I lov’s to go down now to de ole muddy Jernes
—mighty red an’ muddy, but it goes ’long so gran’
an’ quiet like t’was tendin’ to business, but dat
ain’t nothin’ to the river which flows by de throne.
I longs fer its christal waves, an’ de trees on de
banks, an’ de all mann’rs of fruits.
“Aft’r dat,” Jasper continued with a quickened
note, “I’d turn out an’ view de beauties of de City
—de home of my Father. I’d stroll up dem abe
nues where de chillun of Gord dwells an’ view dar
mansions. Father Abraham, I’m sure he got a
grate palis, an’ Moses what ’scorted de chillun of
Israel out of bondage, thu de wilderness an’ to de
adge of de promised lan’, he must be pow’rful set
up being sich ar man as he is; an’ David, de king
dat made de prutty songs, I’d like to see ’is home,
and Paul, de mighty scholar who got struck down
out in de ’Mascus road. I want to see his mansion,
an’ all of ’em. Den I would cut round to de back
streets an’ look for the little home whar my Savior
set my mother up to house-keepin’ when she got
thar. I ’spec to know de house by de roses in de
yawd. an’ de vine on de no’ch.”
* * «
In a moment he had us out on the celestial plains
with the saints in line. There they were —countless
and glorious. We walked the whole line and had a
sort of universal handshake in which no note of time
was taken. “Hur’s Brer’ Abul, de fust man whar
got hur; hur’s Brer’ Enoch what too ker stroll an’
straggled into glory; hur’s ole Ligie what had er
carriage sont fur ’im an’ corn’d a nigher way to
de city.” Thus he went on greeting patriarchs,
prophets, apostles, martyrs, his brethren and loved
ones gone before, until suddenly he sprang back and
raised a shout that fairly shook the roof. “Here
she is; I know’d sh’d get hur; why, Mary
Barnes, yer got home, did yer?” A great handshake
he gave her and for a moment it looked as if the
newly glorified Mary Barnes was the center of Jas
per’s thoughts, but as if by magic, things changed
and he was singing at the top of his voice the chorus
which died away amid the shrieks and shouts of his
crowd with his plaintive note: “Oh. wat mus’ it
be to bp thar?”
A Great Revival in Greenville.
By Ben S. Thompson, Business Manager of The Golden Age.
It has just been my great privilege to spend a
few days in Greenville, S. C., and look into the
situation following the Broughton meetings there.
I found Greenville people all on fire with a holy
zeal for evangelism and especially the Broughton
meeting's. Dr. Broughton went to Greenville a
stranger in person but from the very first service
both day and night services packed to overflow
ing the First Baptist Church, which is the laigest
building in the city. The whole city and county
round about took hold of the meeting and such
a shakeup as they got!
I tried to find out how many professed faith in
Christ but it was impossible. Certainly the num
ber was up into the hundreds. About 100 joined
the Baptist churches of the city immediately after
the meeting and many joined the other churches,
besides scores who are still joining and to join in
the future. Dr. Broughton was in Greenville only
nine days but he preached three and four times
every day.
In the afternoons he preached at Furman Univer
sity, Dr. E. M. Poteat, president, and a great one
he is too. Dr. Poteat told me that the meeting at
the university was one of rare power. Practically
the whole student body was reached by it. He was
specially warm in his praise of Dr. Broughton and
his methods of evangelism. During my stay i. this
city I was shown special favors by many of the good
people. Dr. Cody, pastor of the First Baptist
Church, was very kind to me. He said, when I
met him, “Just tell these people that you repre
sent a paper that prints Broughton’s sermons every
week and that is enough.” And for a fact I found
it so. I never saw people so eager to subscribe to
our paper and that is saying a great deal. Here
after Greenville will be right in line with that great
army of readers that are week by week getting the
good thing's we offer.
I found Dr. Cody a man of great intellectual force
and power as well as a man of great piety. Wher
ever I went they were speaking kindly of him.
I was also given special attention by Prof. Steel,
patstor of the Peudleton street church. He is also
a professor in Furman University. He has a
splendid church and they are making things go,
as we say here in Atlanta.
1 also had the pleasure of meeting Dr. E. C.
James, who is at the head of Greenville Female
College. He has over 300 young ladies at this in
stitution and is doing a great work for God and
the right. I found out of this great throng practi
cally all of them were confessed Christians and
the meetings had been a great help to *hem.
I was sorry not to get around to Dr. Brown’s
church, but. I heard great things of them. Then
there are the Methodists and Presbyterians. They
were just as good to me as they could be. I said
to them, “My paper is non-denominational and
gives the red hot evangelistic news of the world.”
They seemed at once to appreciate the fact be
cause they all had followed Dr. Broughton in his
meeting and knew that he could not give himself
to anything that was not broad in Christian fel
lowship.
Altogether my visit to Greenville will live with
me. It was good to be there. If nothing else had
been seen but Furman University and Greenville
Female College, it would have paid me to make the
trip. My! what a blessing to have such schools!
But these are not all. There is the Presbyterian
Female College that ranks right along with the
best the country affords. No wonder Greenville is
such a cultured community.
“You are young and I am old,” Tolstoi is quot
ed as saying to an interviewer, “but as you grow
older you will find, as I have found, that day
follows day, and there does not seem much change
in you, till suddenly you hear people speaking of
you as an old man. It is the same with an age
in history; day follows day, and there does not
seem to be much change, till suddenly it is found
that the age is becoming old. It is finished; it
is out of date. The present movement in Russia
is not a riot; it is not even a revolution—it is the
end of an age.”
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