of John Jasper it was my full purpose to omit from it all reference to
his very notorious sermon on “The Sun Do Move.” That was the one thing
in his life I most regretted--an episode that I was quite willing to
commit to oblivion. I felt that it was a distinct discredit to him.
But upon further reflection I have concluded that the omission might
hurt him far more than the facts in the case possibly could. Inasmuch
also as it was that very sermon which drew to him such wide-spread
attention, and since there are those who never heard him, nor heard of
him except in connection with that sermon, I have decided to give the
public the facts in the case and the sermon itself. In this chapter
I will give a history of the sermon, and in the next I will give the
substance of the sermon. It is due to my old friend and brother,
Jasper, to say that he really never intended to create a sensation
by preaching on an exciting or unusual topic. This he most solemnly
declared, and while he was several sensations himself in a single
bunch, and while almost every sermon that he preached produced wild
and thrilling sensations, he did not work for that. He started his
chief sensations by preaching the Gospel in such a hot, pungent, and
overmastering way that his people could not contain themselves. Jasper
tells us how it all came about. Two of his brethren, members of his
flock, fell into a friendly dispute as to whether the sun did revolve
around the earth or not. As they could not decide the question, and
neither would yield, they finally agreed to submit the question to
their old pastor, solemnly believing, I dare say, that there was no
mystery in earth, sea, or sky that he could not fathom.
When Jasper’s theme went abroad it called forth some very scornful
criticisms from one of his Baptist neighbours--one of the “eddicatid
preachers,” as Jasper delighted to call them, though in certain moods
he often finished his sentence by branding them as eddicatid fools.
When he heard of the strictures mentioned above, he let fly some shot
at white heat as a response to the attacks on him. When he got a
thing in his blood the amenities of controversy sometimes lost their
place in his memory. He would let fly flings of satire that would be
toothsome topics for street gossip for many summer Sundays. Things
for zestful chat rarely ran short when Jasper was about. He expressed
much regret that he had come in conflict with the “furlosofurs” of the
day, freely confessing his ignorance in the matter of “book-larnin’.”
His knowledge, he said, was limited to the Bible, and much of that he
did not feel that he could explain. But on the question about the sun
he was sure that he possessed the true light. “I knows de way uv de
sun, as de Wurd of Gord tells me,” he declared in his warlike manner,
“an’ ef I don’ pruv’ dat de sun moves den yer may pos’ me as er lier
on ev’ry street in Richmun’.” By this time his war paint was plainly
visible, and his noble defiance rang out like a battle call.
The occasion on which I heard his “astronomical sermon,” as one of his
opponents deridingly dubbed it, was not at its first presentation. He
had delivered it repeatedly before and knew his ground. The gleam of
confidence and victory shone clear and strong on his face.
The audience looked like a small nation. Long before the solemn
janitor, proud of his place, strict to the minute, swung open the front
doors, the adjacent streets swarmed with the eager throngs. Instantly
there was a rush, and in surged the people, each anxious to get a seat.
The spacious house was utterly inadequate to the exigencies of the
hour. Many crowded the aisles, disposed themselves around the pulpit,
sat on pew-arms, or in friendly laps.
Jasper’s entrance was quite picturesque. He appeared in the long aisle
wearing a cape overcoat, with a beaver in one hand, and his cane in the
other, and with a dignity not entirely unconscious. His officers rose
to welcome him, one removing his great coat, another his head piece,
and yet another his cane. As he ascended the pulpit he turned and
waved a happy greeting to his charge and it fairly set his emotional
constituents to shouting. Many loving words were said out in a rattling
chorus in token of their happiness at seeing him.
It is more than probable that some of Jasper’s young people had notions
of their own as to his views of the sun; but never a word would they
let slip that could mortify their beloved old pastor, or give a whisper
of comfort to his critics. They were for Jasper, and the sun might go
its way. They believed in their pastor, believed in his goodness, his
honesty, and his greatness.
In the opening exercises there occurred several characteristic
incidents. He requested his choir to open by singing, “The Heavens
Declare the Glory of God.” This was at once a proof of his seriousness
and of his sense of the fitting.
When he arose to read the Scriptures, he glanced around at his
audience, and bowing in pleased recognition of the many white people
present, he said with unaffected modesty that he hoped that the “kin’
frens who’d come ter hur me would ’scuse my urrors in readin’. My eyes
is gitting weak an’ dim, and I’se slow in making out de hard wurds.”
Then he proceeded with utmost reverence to read the passage selected
for the service. He was not a good reader, but there was a sobriety and
humility in his manner of reading the Scriptures that made one always
feel a peculiar respect for him.
There may be place here for a passing word about this most original
and picturesque representative of his race. Jasper had a respect for
himself that was simply tremendous. Unconsciously he carried a lofty
crest, and yet you knew there was no silly conceit in it. His walk
along the street was not that of a little man who thought all eyes were
upon him, but of a giant who would hide from himself and from others
the evidences of his power. His conversation carried an assertion of
seriousness--his tones were full of dignity--his bearing seemed to
forbid any unseemly freedom--and in public you saw at once that he
was holding himself up to a high standard. Of course, when he was in
the high frenzy of public speech and towering to his finest heights
he lost the sense of himself, but he was then riding the wind and
cleaving the sky and no rules made by men could apply to him. But along
with self-appreciation,--always one of his attractions to me,--was a
noble and delicate respect for others. He loved his own people, and
they lived in the pride of it, but he had a peculiarly hospitable and
winsome attitude towards strangers. He was quite free in his cordiality
towards men, and I delighted to see how my coming to hear him pleased
him. In his off-hand way, he said to me one Sunday afternoon as he
welcomed me to the pulpit: “Glad to see you; it does me good to have
folks around whar got sense; it heps me ter preach better. Mighty tough
to talk to folks whar ain’ got no brains in de head.”
He had a double consciousness that was always interesting to me. He was
always full of solicitude about his sermon. It lay a burden on him, and
it required no expert to discover it. He had so much sincerity that
his heart told its secrets through his face. But think not that this
made him oblivious to his surroundings. His heart was up towards the
throne, and his soul was crying for strength, but his eye was open to
the scene before him. The sight of the audience intoxicated him; the
presence of notable people caught his gaze and gladdened him; tokens of
appreciation cheered him, and he paid good price in the way of smiles
and glances to those who showed that he was doing them good. It made a
rare combination--his concern for his message, and his happy pride in
his constituents. It gave a depth to his feeling and a height to his
exultation. He swung between two great emotions and felt the enrichment
of both.
The text for his sermon was a long cry from his topic. It was: “The
Lord God is a man of war; The Lord is His name.” He was too good a
sermon-maker to announce a text and abandon it entirely, and so he
roamed the Old Testament to gather illustrations of the all-conquering
power of God. This took him over a half hour to develop, and as it took
even much longer to formulate his argument as to the rotation of the
sun it made his sermon not only incongruous, but intolerably long--far
longer than any other sermon that I ever knew him to preach. The two
parts of the discourse had no special kinship, while the first part
tired the people before he reached the thing they came for. It was an
error in judgment, but his power to entertain an audience went far to
save him from the consequences of his mistake.
The intelligent reader will readily understand the drift of his
contention about the sun. What he said, of course, was based on the
literal statements of the Old Testament, written many centuries ago,
not as a treatise on astronomy, but in language fitted to express ideas
from the standpoint of the times in which it was used. Jasper knew
of no later discoveries in the natural world, and, therefore, very
sincerely believed with religious sincerity, and all the dogmatism of
ignorance, that the declarations of the old Scriptures were true in
very jot and tittle. It is apparent enough that to the enlightened
people who went to hear the address merely for amusement there was
rare fun in the whole performance. To them, Jasper was an ignorant old
simpleton, a buffoon of the pulpit, a weakling to be laughed at. And
yet hardly that. He was so dead in earnest, and withal so shrewd in
stating his case, so quick in turning a point, and brimming with such
choice humour and sometimes flashing out such keen, telling strokes of
sarcasm, that he compelled the admiration of his coldest critics. To
the untutored people before him Jasper was the apostle of light. They
believed every syllable that fell from his lips--he was the truth to
them--they stood where other honest and godly people stood for ages and
saw things just as they saw them. Their opinion as to the sun did not
in the least affect their piety, for, as a fact, they believed just
exactly as the grandfathers of Jasper’s critics believed sixty years
before.
It was worth while being there. Jasper was in his most flexible,
masterful mood, and he stormed the heights with his forces in full
array. At times, the negroes would be sending forth peals of laughter
and shouting in wildest response, “Yas, Lord; dat’s so, Brer Jasper;
hit ’em ergin, bless God! Glory, glory, tell us more, ole man!” Then he
would fly beyond the sun and give them a glimpse of the New Jerusalem,
and they would be crying and bursting forth with snatches of song until
you would think the end had come. But not so by ever so much. A word
from Jasper would bring the stillness of death, and he would be the
master again and ready for new flights.
When the excitement about the sermon was at its full blow, human greed,
ever keen-scented, sensed money in Jasper and his sermon, and laid a
scheme to trade on the old man and his message. A syndicate was formed
to send him out as a lecturer, hoping that the Northern love for the
negro, and the catchiness of the subject, would fill vast halls with
crowds to hear the old man, and turn in rich revenues, of which they
would reap the larger part.
Jasper, for reasons by no means mercenary, was tickled by this new turn
in fortune. He was not wanting in the pride of successful ambition, and
this new proof of his growing distinction naturally pleased him. Fame
was pinning her medals fast upon him, and he liked it. Not that he was
infatuated with the notion of filling his private pocket. As a fact, he
never uttered in my hearing one sentence that showed his love of money,
or his eagerness to get it. But he was much wedded to the idea of a new
house of worship for his people, and any proper method that would aid
in bringing this happy consummation was joy to his generous old soul.
His heart dwelt with his flock, and to honour and cheer them was life
to him.
Of course, his church fell in with the idea. Anything to please
“Brother Jasper” was the song of their lives. It looked wonderfully
grand to them to see glory crowning their pastor and gold pouring in to
build them a temple. It was with pomp and glee they sent him away. The
day of his departure was celebrated with general excitement and with
cheering groups at the train.
But in some way providence did not get identified with the new
enterprise. The first half of his sermon was a trial to people set
on sensation. The Lord in his military character did not appeal.
Some actually retired after the first part, and an eclipse to hopes
uncounted fell over the scene. Jasper, as a show, proved a failure, for
which the devout may well give thanks. He got as far as Philadelphia,
and even that historically languid city found life too brief and
brisk to spend in listening for ninety-odd minutes to two uncongenial
discourses loosely bundled into one. The old man had left the sweet
inspiration of his demonstrative church in Richmond, and felt a chill
of desolation when he set foot on alien soil. The tides of invisible
seas fought against him, empty benches grinned at him, and he got
homesick. The caravan collapsed, the outfit tumbled into anarchy, the
syndicate picked up the stage clothes and stole out in the night-gloom,
the undaunted but chagrined Jasper made a straight shoot for Richmond;
ever after the Jasper Lecture Bureau was a myth, without ancestry or
posterity.
Think not that there was chill in the air when Jasper struck Richmond
on his return. No word of censure awaited him. His steadfast adherents
hailed him as a conqueror and his work went on. His enemies--an envious
crop ever being on hand--tossed a few stones over the back fence, but
Jasper had a keen relish for battle, and was finest when his foes were
the fiercest. Antagonism gave zest to his dramatic career.
Permit the writer to slip in here a word as to Jasper’s devotion to
his old master, Mr. Samuel Hargrove. I knew Mr. Hargrove well. He
was a man with a heart. I knew him as an old man while I was young.
He had a suburban home near Manchester, his business and church were
in Richmond. I often saw him in my congregation at the Bainbridge
Street Baptist church, Manchester, and thus often met him. Shrinking,
without public gifts, full of kindliness, and high in his life, he
commanded the heart of his servant who to the last delighted to honour
his memory. Their relations did not prevent their mutual respect and
affection. The hideous dogma of social equality never thrust itself
into their life. They had good-will and esteem one for the other,
and lived together in peace. Jasper was a lover and admirer of white
people, and delighted to serve and honour them, and in return the
white people were fond of him and glad to help him.
I rejoice that this old minister, the quaint and stern veteran, came
in God’s time to a righteous fame. Public opinion is an eccentric and
mysterious judge. It has an unarticulated code for fixing the rank and
fate of mortals. It is a large and ill-sorted jury, and its decisions
often bring surprise at the time, but they never get reversed. The
jurymen may wrangle during the trial, but when it emerges from the
council room and renders the verdict, no higher court ever reverses its
final word.
Hard and adverse was the life of Jasper! For years many hostile forces
sought to unhorse and cripple him. It would require books to hold the
slanders and scandals laid to his charge. The archers used poisoned
arrows, and often tore his flesh and fancied that they had him, but
his bow abode in strength. Meanwhile, the public, that jury of the
many, sat still and watched, weighing the evidence, listening to the
prosecutors, unravelling conflicting testimony, and feeling the way to
justice. In the midst of it all, the brave old chieftain died, while
the trial was yet going on. The jury was long silent, but it has spoken
at last, and the verdict is, that the name of this veteran of the cross
shall be enrolled among the fearless, the faithful, and the immortal.
He endured as seeing the invisible and now he sees.
XIII
THE SUN DO MOVE
In presenting John Jasper’s celebrated sermon on “De Sun Do Move,” I
beg to introduce it with several explanatory words. As intimated in
a former chapter it is of a dual character. It includes an extended
discussion, after his peculiar fashion, of the text, “The Lord God is
a man of war; the Lord is His name.” Much that he said in that part of
his sermon is omitted, only so much being retained as indicates his
view of the rotation of the sun. It was really when he came into this
part of his sermon that he showed to such great advantage, even though
so manifestly in error as to the position which he tried so manfully to
antagonize. It was of that combative type of public speech which always
put him before the people at his best. I never heard this sermon but
once, but I have been amply aided in reproducing it by an elaborate
and altogether friendly report of the sermon published at the time by
_The Richmond Dispatch_. Jasper opened his discourse with a tender
reminiscence and quite an ingenious exordium.
“Low me ter say,” he spoke with an outward composure which revealed an
inward but mastered swell of emotion, “dat when I wuz a young man and
a slave, I knowed nuthin’ wuth talkin’ ’bout consarnin’ books. Dey wuz
sealed mysteries ter me, but I tell yer I longed ter break de seal. I
thusted fer de bread uv learnin’. When I seen books I ached ter git
in ter um, fur I knowed dat dey had de stuff fer me, an’ I wanted ter
taste dere contents, but most of de time dey wuz bar’d aginst me.
“By de mursy of de Lord a thing happened. I got er room-feller--he wuz
a slave, too, an’ he had learn’d ter read. In de dead uv de night he
giv me lessons outen de New York Spellin’ book. It wuz hard pullin’, I
tell yer; harder on him, fur he know’d jes’ a leetle, an’ it made him
sweat ter try ter beat sumthin’ inter my hard haid. It wuz wuss wid me.
Up de hill ev’ry step, but when I got de light uv de less’n into my
noodle I farly shouted, but I kno’d I wuz not a scholur. De consequens
wuz I crep ’long mighty tejus, gittin’ a crum here an’ dar untel I cud
read de Bible by skippin’ de long words, tolerable well. Dat wuz de
start uv my eddicashun--dat is, wat little I got. I mek menshun uv dat
young man. De years hev fled erway sense den, but I ain’t furgot my
teachur, an’ nevur shall. I thank mer Lord fur him, an’ I carries his
mem’ry in my heart.
“’Bout seben months after my gittin’ ter readin’, Gord cunverted my
soul, an’ I reckin ’bout de fust an’ main thing dat I begged de Lord
ter give me wuz de power ter und’stan’ His Word. I ain’ braggin’, an’ I
hates self-praise, but I boun’ ter speak de thankful word. I b’lieves
in mer heart dat mer pra’r ter und’stand de Scripshur wuz heard. Sence
dat time I ain’t keer’d ’bout nuthin’ ’cept ter study an’ preach de
Word uv God.
“Not, my bruthrin, dat I’z de fool ter think I knows it all. Oh, mer
Father, no! Fur frum it. I don’ hardly und’stan myse’f, nor ha’f uv de
things roun’ me, an’ dar is milyuns uv things in de Bible too deep fur
Jasper, an’ sum uv ’em too deep fur ev’rybody. I doan’t cerry de keys
ter de Lord’s closet, an’ He ain’ tell me ter peep in, an’ ef I did I’m
so stupid I wouldn’t know it when I see it. No, frens, I knows my place
at de feet uv my Marster, an’ dar I stays.
“But I kin read de Bible and git de things whar lay on de top uv de
soil. Out’n de Bible I knows nuthin’ extry ’bout de sun. I sees ’is
courses as he rides up dar so gran’ an’ mighty in de sky, but dar is
heaps ’bout dat flamin’ orb dat is too much fer me. I know dat de sun
shines powerfly an’ po’s down its light in floods, an’ yet dat is
nuthin’ compared wid de light dat flashes in my min’ frum de pages of
Gord’s book. But you knows all dat. I knows dat de sun burns--oh, how
it did burn in dem July days. I tell yer he cooked de skin on my back
many er day when I wuz hoein’ in de corn feil’. But you knows all dat,
an’ yet dat is nuthin’ der to de divine fire dat burns in der souls uv
Gord’s chil’n. Can’t yer feel it, bruthrin?
“But ’bout de courses uv de sun, I have got dat. I hev dun rang’d thru
de whole blessed book an’ scode down de las’ thing de Bible has ter say
’bout de movements uv de sun. I got all dat pat an’ safe. An’ lemme say
dat if I doan’t giv it ter you straight, if I gits one word crooked or
wrong, you jes’ holler out, ‘Hol’ on dar, Jasper, yer ain’t got dat
straight,’ an’ I’ll beg pardon. If I doan’t tell de truf, march up on
dese steps here an’ tell me I’z a liar, an’ I’ll take it. I fears I do
lie sometimes--I’m so sinful, I find it hard ter do right; but my Gord
doan’t lie an’ He ain’ put no lie in de Book uv eternal truf, an’ if I
giv you wat de Bible say, den I boun’ ter tell de truf.
“I got ter take yer all dis arternoon on er skershun ter a great bat’l
feil’. Mos’ folks like ter see fights--some is mighty fon’ er gittin’
inter fights, an’ some is mighty quick ter run down de back alley when
dar is a bat’l goin’ on, fer de right. Dis time I’ll ’scort yer ter a
scene whar you shall witness a curus bat’l. It tuk place soon arter
Isrel got in de Promus Lan’. Yer ’member de people uv Gibyun mak frens
wid Gord’s people when dey fust entered Canum an’ dey wuz monsus smart
ter do it. But, jes’ de same, it got ’em in ter an orful fuss. De
cities roun’ ’bout dar flar’d up at dat, an’ dey all jined dere forces
and say dey gwine ter mop de Gibyun people orf uv de groun’, an’ dey
bunched all dar armies tergedder an’ went up fer ter do it. Wen dey
kum up so bol’ an’ brave de Giby’nites wuz skeer’d out’n dere senses,
an’ dey saunt word ter Joshwer dat dey wuz in troubl’ an’ he mus’ run
up dar an’ git ’em out. Joshwer had de heart uv a lion an’ he wuz up
dar d’reckly. Dey had an orful fight, sharp an’ bitter, but yer might
know dat Ginr’l Joshwer wuz not up dar ter git whip’t. He prayed an’ he
fought, an’ de hours got erway too peart fer him, an’ so he ask’d de
Lord ter issure a speshul ordur dat de sun hol’ up erwhile an’ dat de
moon furnish plenty uv moonshine down on de lowes’ part uv de fightin’
groun’s. As a fac’, Joshwer wuz so drunk wid de bat’l, so thursty fer
de blood uv de en’mies uv de Lord, an’ so wild wid de vict’ry dat he
tell de sun ter stan’ still tel he cud finish his job. Wat did de sun
do? Did he glar down in fi’ry wrath an’ say, ’ What you talkin’ ’bout
my stoppin’ for, Joshwer; I ain’t navur startid yit. Bin here all de
time, an’ it wud smash up ev’rything if I wuz ter start’? Naw, he ain’
say dat. But wat de Bible say? Dat’s wat I ax ter know. It say dat
it wuz at de voice uv Joshwer dat it stopped. I don’ say it stopt;
tain’t fer Jasper ter say dat, but de Bible, de Book uv Gord, say so.
But I say dis; nuthin’ kin stop untel it hez fust startid. So I knows
wat I’m talkin’ ’bout. De sun wuz travlin’ long dar thru de sky wen
de order come. He hitched his red ponies and made quite a call on de
lan’ uv Gibyun. He purch up dar in de skies jes’ as frenly as a naibur
whar comes ter borrer sumthin’, an’ he stan’ up dar an’ he look lak he
enjoyed de way Joshwer waxes dem wicked armies. An’ de moon, she wait
down in de low groun’s dar, an’ pours out her light and look jes’ as
ca’m an’ happy as if she wuz waitin’ fer her ’scort. Dey nevur budg’d,
neither uv ’em, long as de Lord’s army needed er light to kerry on de
bat’l.
“I doan’t read when it wuz dat Joshwer hitch up an’ drove on, but I
’spose it wuz when de Lord tol’ him ter go. Ennybody knows dat de sun
didn’ stay dar all de time. It stopt fur bizniz, an’ went on when it
got thru. Dis is ’bout all dat I has ter do wid dis perticl’r case.
I dun show’d yer dat dis part uv de Lord’s word teaches yer dat de
sun stopt, which show dat he wuz movin’ befo’ dat, an’ dat he went on
art’rwuds. I toll yer dat I wud prove dis an’ I’s dun it, an’ I derfies
ennybody to say dat my p’int ain’t made.
“I tol’ yer in de fust part uv dis discose dat de Lord Gord is a man uv
war. I ’spec by now yer begin ter see it is so. Doan’t yer admit it?
When de Lord cum ter see Joshwer in de day uv his feers an’ warfar,
an’ actu’ly mek de sun stop stone still in de heavuns, so de fight kin
rage on tel all de foes is slain, yer bleeged ter und’rstan’ dat de
Gord uv peace is also de man uv war. He kin use bofe peace an’ war ter
hep de reichus, an’ ter scattur de host uv de ailyuns. A man talked ter
me las’ week ’bout de laws uv nature, an’ he say dey carn’t poss’bly
be upsot, an’ I had ter laugh right in his face. As if de laws uv
ennythin’ wuz greater dan my Gord who is de lawgiver fer ev’rything. My
Lord is great; He rules in de heavuns, in de earth, an’ doun und’r de
groun’. He is great, an’ greatly ter be praised. Let all de people bow
doun an’ wurship befo’ Him!
“But let us git erlong, for dar is quite a big lot mo’ comin’ on. Let
us take nex’ de case of Hezekier. He wuz one of dem kings of Juder--er
mighty sorry lot I mus’ say dem kings wuz, fur de mos’ part. I inclines
ter think Hezekier wuz ’bout de highes’ in de gin’ral avrig, an’ he
war no mighty man hisse’f. Well, Hezekier he got sick. I dar say dat a
king when he gits his crown an’ fin’ry off, an’ when he is posterated
wid mortal sickness, he gits ’bout es commun lookin’ an’ grunts an’
rolls, an’ is ’bout es skeery as de res’ of us po’ mortals. We know dat
Hezekier wuz in er low state uv min’; full uv fears, an’ in a tur’ble
trub’le. De fac’ is, de Lord strip him uv all his glory an’ landed him
in de dust. He tol’ him dat his hour had come, an’ dat he had bettur
squar up his affaars, fur death wuz at de do’. Den it wuz dat de king
fell low befo’ Gord; he turn his face ter de wall; he cry, he moan, he
beg’d de Lord not ter take him out’n de worl’ yit. Oh, how good is our
Gord! De cry uv de king moved his heart, an’ he tell him he gwine ter
give him anudder show. Tain’t only de kings dat de Lord hears. De cry
uv de pris’nur, de wail uv de bondsman, de tears uv de dyin’ robber, de
prars uv de backslider, de sobs uv de womun dat wuz a sinner, mighty
apt to tech de heart uv de Lord. It look lik it’s hard fer de sinner
ter git so fur orf or so fur down in de pit dat his cry can’t reach de
yere uv de mussiful Saviour.