As we go around we are made confident more and more that the favorite pulpit and platform Occupant and Adorner in the eye, mind and heart of
High Steeple Cathedral and the recognized Sanhedrins of the land, is the
individual who can say with a fine presence and an eloquent roll of words,
We are all doing nicely indeed, and Everything is quiet, Bishop.
If in addition to this he can pay a glowing tribute to the Old Flag, speak of
the brave boys in blue at the front, compliment the lodges, brotherhoods
and sisterhoods in the land, and conclude tearfully with the moonlight
falling on his mothers grave, then his name is made, his salary and liberal
remuneration secure, his popularity unbounded, and he becomes a star of
the first magnitude in what we call the Terrestrial Heavens.
Taking rank with this kind of preaching, if not out-ranking it in some
quarters, is what we would term the Bunsby style.
This famous pen creation of Dickens had a way of expressing himself that
left the hearer much impressed, but also mystified, and really just where
he was before Mr. Bunsby had delivered himself of one of his sapient
utterances.
Being asked whether he thought a certain person would return who had
been reported drowned, Mr. Bunsby said:
If so be he is dead, my opinion is he wont come back no more. If so be he
is alive my opinion is he will. Do I say he will? No! Why not? Because
the bearings of this observation lays in the application on it.
Oh! the Bunsbys all of us have heard in the pulpit and on the platform.
And how deeply impressed some people were with them! And how
certain little shallow heads went away saying, How profound! How deep!
How scholarly! When really one of Bunsbys descendants had been
standing before us, and had been paraphrasing if not repeating the words
of the original head of the tribe: For why? Which way? If so, why not?
Therefore!!
When a pastor in the South we once attended the widely known sea shore
camp ground located between New Orleans and Mobile, great preaching
by true men of God had been delivered and without much visible results
at the altar in the way of penitents and seekers. And still not only good
men had preached, but men who had given us new and strong thought, as
well as Gospel food.
One night a preacher was put up who for fifty minutes kept a goodly
company of us wondering what he was saying. He had an imposing
presence, and a ringing voice and appeared to be delivering mighty
thoughts when he was really saying nothing.
On self-evident propositions that not even a boy would think of
disputing and that were equivalent to saying that two and two are four he
would redden in the face and fairly foam at the mouth, and hit the pulpit
board with his fist, and thunder forth that he asserted without fear of
successful contradiction and disputation that such and such was so! In
other words that two and two were four!
Then wiping his heated brow after this great victory, he would sweep
forth in a flood of words, sonorous, high sounding and multitudinous
when we could not conceive what he meant and at what he was aiming or
driving. But the people listened breathlessly, and when the call was made
for penitents, the long altar was crowded!
Christian, the eldest son of Bishop Keener, a keen-eyed observer, fine
reasoner and splendid preacher was sitting by us. He had never taken his
eyes off the preacher, and throughout had only indulged in a slow,
thoughtful downward stroke of his moustache and short chin beard.
Turning to him in amazement we whispered under our breath: What on
earth brought the people to the altar?
Just then a large yellow dog came trotting up the aisle regardless of
parasols, umbrellas and walking sticks that were pointed at or thrust
towards him. But just as he was drawing near us, Christian Keener
stooped down quickly and scooping up a handful of sawdust from the
aisle, threw the light, harmless stuff at the saffron colored canine.
To this day we can never forget the panic that seemed to possess the dog.
To say he fled would be to place the occurrence entirely too mildly and
tamely before the eyes. If ever a four-footed beast flew, the aforesaid
quadruped took an aerial excursion. He seemed to land only a few times
on the earth in his frantic effort to escape, and looked like not only the
Adversary but the whole universe was after him.
As the confused and frightened animal disappeared in the distance,
Christian Keener turning to me with a peculiar smile, said: You have my
answer in allegory form. Like the dog, the people did not know what was
thrown at them. They thought it was something when it was nothing.
They went down before sawdust.
Living Illustrations By B. Carradine.
![[GospelWeb.net Globe]](../graphics/GW90logo.gif)
