2 Corinthians 5:17  Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. 

JASPER HAS A THRILLING CONVERSION

        ‘LET us bear in mind that at the time of his conversion John Jasper was a slave, illiterate and working in a tobacco factory in Richmond. It need hardly be said that he shared the superstitions and indulged in the extravagances of his race, and these in many cases have been so blatant and unreasonable that they have caused some to doubt the negro’s capacity for true religion. But from the beginning Jasper’s religious experiences showed forth the Lord Jesus as their source and centre. His thoughts went to the Cross. His hope was founded on the sacrificial blood, and his noisy and rhapsodic demonstrations sounded a distinct note in honour of his Redeemer.

        Jasper’s conviction as to his call to the ministry was clear-cut and intense. He believed that his call came straight from God. His boast and glory was that he was a God-made preacher. In his fierce warfares with the educated preachers of his race,–“the new issue,” as he contemptuously called them–he rested his claim on the ground that God had put him into the ministry; and so reverential, so full of noble assertion and so irresistibly eloquent was he in setting forth his ministerial authority that even his most sceptical critics were constrained to admit that, like John the Baptist, he was “a man sent from God.”

        And yet Jasper knew the human side of his call. It was a part of his greatness that he could see truth in its relations and completeness, and while often he presented one side of a truth, as if it were all of it, he also saw the other side. With him a paradox was not a contradiction. He gratefully recognized the human influences which helped him to enter the ministry. While preaching one Sunday afternoon Jasper suddenly stopped, his face lighted as with a vision, a rich laugh rippled from his lips while his eyes flashed with soulful fire. He then said, in a manner never to be reported: “Mars Sam Hargrove called me to preach de Gospel–he was my old marster, and he started me out wid my message.” Instantly the audience quivered with quickened attention, for they knew at once that the man in the pulpit had something great to tell.

        “I was seekin’ God six long weeks–jes’ ’cause I was sich a fool I couldn’t see de way De Lord struck me fus’ on Cap’tal Squar’, an’ I left thar badly crippled. One July mornin’ somethin’ happen’d. I was a tobarker-stemmer–dat is, I took de tobarker leaf, an’ tor’d de stem out, an’ dey won’t no one in dat fac’ry could beat me at dat work. But dat mornin’ de stems wouldn’t come out to save me, an’ I tor’d up tobarker by de poun’ an’ flung it under de table. Fac’ is, bruthr’n, de darkness of death was in my soul dat mornin’. My sins was piled on me like mount’ns; my feet was sinkin’ down to de reguns of despar, an’ I felt dat of all sinners I was de wust. I tho’t dat I would die right den, an’ wid what I supposed was my lars breath I flung up to heav’n a cry for mercy. ‘Fore I kno’d it, de light broke; I was light as a feather; my feet was on de mount’n; salvation rol’d like a flood thru my soul, an’ I felt as if I could ‘nock off de fact’ry roof wid my shouts.

        “But I sez to mysef, I gwine to hol’ still till dinner, an’ so I cried, an’ laffed, an’ tore up de tobarker. Pres’ntly I looked up de table, an’ dar was a old man–he luv me, an’ tried hard to lead me out de darkness, an’ I slip roun’ to whar he was, an’ I sez in his ear as low as I could: ‘Hallelujah; my soul is redeemed!’ Den I jump back quick to my work, but after I once open my mouf it was hard to keep it shet any mo’. ‘Twan’ long ‘fore I looked up de line agin, an’ dar was a good ol’ woman dar dat knew all my sorrers, an’ had been prayin’ fur me all de time. Der was no use er talkin’; I had to tell her, an’ so I skip along up quiet as a breeze, an’ start’d to whisper in her ear, but just den de holin-back straps of Jasper’s breachin’ broke, an’ what I tho’t would be a whisper was loud enuf to be hearn clean ‘cross Jeems River to Manchester. One man sed he tho’t de factory was fallin’ down; all I know’d I had raise my fust shout to de glory of my Redeemer.

        “But for one thing thar would er been a jin’ral revival in de fact’ry dat mornin’. Dat one thing was de overseer. He bulg’d into de room, an’ wid a voice dat sounded like he had his breakfus dat mornin’ on rasps an’ files, bellowed out: ‘What’s all dis row ’bout?’ Somebody shouted out dat John Jasper dun got religun, but dat didn’t wurk ‘tall wid de boss. He tell me to git back to my table, an’ as he had sumpthin’ in his hand dat looked ugly, it was no time fur makin’ fine pints, so I sed: ‘Yes, sir, I will; I ain’t meant no harm; de fus taste of salvation got de better un me, but I’ll git back to my work.’ An’ I tell you I got back quick.

        “Bout dat time Mars Sam he come out’n his orfis, an’ he say: ‘What’s de matter out here?’ An’ I hear de overseer tellin’ him: ‘John Jasper kick up a fuss, an’ say he dun got religun, but I dun fix him, an’ he got back to his table.’ De devil tol’ me to hate de overseer dat mornin’, but de luv of God was rollin’ thru my soul, an’ somehow I didn’t mind what he sed.

        “Little aft’r I hear Mars Sam tell de overseer he want to see Jasper. Mars Sam was a good man; he was a Baptis’, an’ one of de hed men of de old Fust Church down here, an’ I was glad when I hear Mars Sam say he want to see me. When I git in his orfis, he say: ‘John, what was de matter out dar jes’ now?’–and his voice was sof’ like, an’ it seem’d to have a little song in it which play’d into my soul like an angel’s harp. I sez to him: ‘Mars Sam, ever sence de fourth of July I ben cryin’ after de Lord, six long weeks, an’ jes’ now out dar at de table God tuk my sins away, an’ set my feet on a rock. I didn’t mean to make no noise, Mars Sam, but ‘fore I know’d it de fires broke out in my soul, an’ I jes’ let go one shout to de glory of my Saviour.’

        “Mars Sam was settin’ wid his eyes a little down to de flo’, an’ wid a pritty quiv’r in his voice he say very slo’: ‘John, I b’leve dat way myself. I luv de Saviour dat you have jes’ foun’, an’ I wan’ to tell you dat I do’n complain ’cause you made de noise jes’ now as you did.’ Den Mars Sam did er thing dat nearly made me drop to de flo’. He git out of his chair, an’ walk over to me and giv’ me his han’, and he say: ‘John, I wish you mighty well. Your Saviour is mine, an’ we are bruthers in de Lord.’ When he say dat, I turn ’round an’ put my arm agin de wall, an’ held my mouf to keep from shoutin’. Mars Sam well know de good he dun me.

        “Art’r awhile he say: ‘John, did you tell eny of ’em in thar ’bout your conversion?’ And I say: ‘Yes, Mars Sam, I tell ’em fore I kno’d it, an’ I feel like tellin’ eberybody in de worl’ about it.’ Den he say: ‘John, you may tell it. Go back in dar an’ go up an’ down de tables, an’ tell all of ’em. An’ den if you wan’ to, go up-stars an’ tell ’em all ’bout it, an’ den down-stars an’ tell de hogshed men an’ de drivers an’ everybody what de Lord has dun for yor.’

        “By dis time Mars Sam’s face was rainin’ tears, an’ he say: ‘John, you needn’ work no mo’ today. I giv’ you holiday. Aft’r you git thru tellin’ it here at de fact’ry, go up to de house, an’ tell your folks; go roun’ to your neighbours, an’ tell dem; go enywhere you wan’ to, an’ tell de good news. It’ll do you good, do dem good, an’ help to hon’r your Lord an’ Saviour.’

        “Oh, dat happy day! Can I ever forgit it? Dat was my conversion mornin’, an’ dat day de Lord sent me out wid de good news of de kingdom. For mo’ den forty years I’ve ben tellin’ de story. My step is gittin’ ruther slo’, my voice breaks down, an’ sometimes I am awful tired, but still I’m tellin’ it. My lips shall proclaim de dyin’ luv of de Lam’ wid my las’ expirin’ breath.

        “Ah, my dear ol’ marster! He sleeps out yonder in de ol’ cemetery, an’ in dis worl’ I shall see his face no mo’, but I don’t forgit him. He give me a holiday, an’ sent me out to tell my friends what great things God had dun for my soul. Oft’n as I preach I feel that I’m doin’ what my ol’ marster tol’ me to do. If he was here now, I think he would lif’ up dem kin’ black eyes of his, an’ say: ‘Dat’s right, John; still tellin’ it; fly like de angel, an’ wherever you go carry de Gospel to de people.’ Farewell, my ol’ marster, when I lan’ in de heav’nly city, I’ll call at your mansion dat de Lord had ready for you when you got dar, an’ I shall say: ‘Mars Sam, I did what you tol’ me, an’ many of ’em is comin’ up here wid da robes wash’d in de blood of de Lam’ dat was led into de way by my preachin’, an’ as you started me I want you to shar’ in de glory of da salvation. ‘An’ I tell you what I reek’n, dat when Mars Sam sees me, he’ll say: ‘John, call me marster no mo’; we’re bruthers now, an’ we’ll live forever roun’ de throne of God.’ “

        This is Jasper’s story, but largely in his own broken words. When he told it, it swept over the great crowd like a celestial gale. The people seemed fascinated and transfigured. His homely way of putting the Gospel came home to them. Let me add that his allusions to his old master were in keeping with his kindly and conciliatory tone in all that he had to say about the white people after the emancipation of the slaves. He loved the white people, and among them his friends and lovers were counted by the thousand.’ https://docsouth.unc.edu/church/hatcher/hatcher.html

JASPER PRESENTED

       ‘JOHN JASPER, the negro preacher of Richmond, Virginia, stands preëminent among the preachers of the negro race in the South. He was for fifty years a slave, and a preacher during twenty-five years of his slavery, and distinctly of the old plantation type. Freedom came full-handed to him, but it did not in any notable degree change him in his style, language, or manner of preaching. He was the ante bellum preacher until eighty-nine years of age, when he preached his last sermon on “Regeneration,” and with quiet dignity laid off his mortal coil and entered the world invisible. He was the last of his type, and we shall not look upon his like again. It has been my cherished purpose for some time to embalm the memory of this extraordinary genius in some form that would preserve it from oblivion. I would give to the American people a picture of the God-made preacher who was great in his bondage and became immortal in his freedom.

        This is not to be done in biographic form, but rather in vagrant articles which find their kinship only in the fact that they present some distinct view of a man, hampered by early limitations, denied the graces of culture, and cut off even from the advantages of a common education, but who was munificently endowed by nature, filled with vigour and self-reliance, and who achieved greatness in spite of almost limitless adversities. I account him genuinely great among the sons of men, but I am quite sure that the public can never apprehend the force and gist of his rare manhood without first being made acquainted with certain facts appertaining to his early life.

        Jasper was born a slave. He grew up on a plantation and was a toiler in the fields up to his manhood. When he came to Richmond, now grown to a man, he was untutored, full of dangerous energies, almost gigantic in his muscle, set on pleasure, and without the fear of God before his eyes. From his own account of himself, he was fond of display, a gay coxcomb among the women of his race, a fun-maker by nature, with a self-assertion that made him a leader within the circles of his freedom.

        We meet him first as one of the “hands” in the tobacco factory of Mr. Samuel Hargrove, an enterprising and prosperous manufacturer in the city of Richmond. Jasper occupied the obscure position of “a stemmer,”–which means that his part was to take the well-cured tobacco leaf and eliminate the stem, with a view to preparing what was left to be worked into “the plug” which is the glory of the tobacco-chewer. This position had one advantage for this quick-witted and alert young slave. It threw him into contact with a multitude of his own race, and as nature had made him a lover of his kind his social qualities found ample scope for exercise. In his early days he went at a perilous pace and found in the path of the sinful many fountains of common joy. Indeed, he made evil things fearfully fascinating by the zestful and remorseless way in which he indulged them.

        It was always a joy renewed for him to tell the story of his conversion. As described by him, his initial religious experiences, while awfully mystical and solemn to him, were grotesque and ludicrous enough. They partook of the extravagances of the times, yet were so honest in their nature, and so soundly Scriptural in their doctrines, and so reverential in their tone, that not even the most captious sceptic could hear him tell of them, in his moments of exalted inspiration, without feeling profoundly moved by them.

        It ought to be borne in mind that this odd and forcible man was a preacher in Richmond for a half century, and that during all that time, whether in slavery or in freedom, he lived up to his religion, maintaining his integrity, defying the unscrupulous efforts of jealous foes to destroy him, and walking the high path of spotless and incorruptible honour. Not that he was always popular among his race. He was too decided, too aggressive, too intolerant towards meanness, and too unpitying in his castigation of vice, to be popular. His life, in the nature of the case, had to be a warfare, and it may be truly said that he slept with his sword buckled on.

        Emancipation did not turn his head. He was the same high-minded, isolated, thoughtful Jasper. His way of preaching became an offense to the “edicated” preachers of the new order, and with their new sense of power these double-breasted, Prince-Albert-coated, high hat and kid-gloved clergymen needed telescopes to look as far down as Jasper was, to get a sight of him. They verily thought that it would be a simple process to transfix him with their sneers, and flaunt their new grandeurs before him, in order to annihilate him. Many of these new-fledged preachers, who came from the schools to be pastors in Richmond, resented Jasper’s prominence and fame. They felt that he was a reproach to the race, and they did not fail to fling at him their flippant sneers.

        But Jasper’s mountain stood strong. He looked this new tribe of his adversaries over and marked them as a calcimined and fictitious type of culture. To him they were shop-made and unworthy of respect. They called forth the storm of his indignant wrath. He opened his batteries upon them, and, for quite a while, the thunder of his guns fairly shook the steeples on the other negro churches of Richmond. And yet it will never do to think of him as the incarnation of a vindictive and malevolent spirit. He dealt terrific blows, and it is hardly too much to say that many of his adversaries found it necessary to get out of the range of his guns. But, after all, there was a predominant good nature about him. His humour was inexhaustible, and irresistible as well. If by his fiery denunciations he made his people ready to “fight Philip,” he was quite apt before he finished to let fly some of his odd comparisons, his laughable stories, or his humorous mimicries. He could laugh off his own grievances, and could make his own people “take the same medicine.”

        Jasper was something of a hermit, given to seclusion, imperturbably calm in his manner, quite ascetic in his tastes, and a cormorant in his devouring study of the Bible. Naturally, Jasper was as proud as Lucifer,–too proud to be egotistic and too candid and self-assertive to affect a humility which he did not feel. He walked heights where company was scarce, and seemed to love his solitude. Jasper was as brave as a lion and possibly not a little proud of his bravery. He fought in the open and set no traps for his adversaries. He believed in himself,–felt the dignity of his position, and never let himself down to what was little or unseemly.

        The most remarkable fact in Jasper’s history is connected with his extraordinary performances in connection with his tersely expressed theory,–THE SUN DO MOVE! We would think in advance that any man who would come forward to champion that view would be hooted out of court. It was not so with Jasper. His bearing through all that excitement was so dignified, so sincere, so consistent and heroic, that he actually did win the rank of a true philosopher. This result, so surprising, is possibly the most handsome tribute to his inherent excellence and nobility of character. One could not fail to see that his fight on a technical question was so manifestly devout, so filled with zeal for the honour of religion, and so courageous in the presence of overwhelming odds, that those who did not agree with him learned to love and honour him.

        The sensation which he awakened fairly flew around the country. It is said that he preached the sermon 250 times, and it would be hard to estimate how many thousands of people heard him. The papers, religious and secular, had much to say about him. Many of them published his sermons, some of them at first plying him with derision, but about all of them rounding up with the admission of a good deal of faith in Jasper. So vast was his popularity that a mercenary syndicate once undertook to traffic on his popularity by sending him forth as a public lecturer. The movement proved weak on its feet, and after a little travel he hobbled back richer in experience than in purse.

        As seen in the pulpit or in the street Jasper was an odd picture to look upon. His figure was uncouth; he was rather loosely put together; his limbs were fearfully long and his body strikingly short,–a sort of nexus to hold his head and limbs in place. He was black, but his face saved him. It was open, luminous, thoughtful, and in moments of animation it glowed with a radiance and exultation that was most attractive.

        Jasper’s career as a preacher after the war was a poem. The story is found later on and marks him as a man of rare originality, and of patience born of a better world. He left a church almost entirely the creation of his own productive life, that holds a high rank in Richmond and that time will find it hard to estrange from his spirit and influence. For quite a while he was hardly on coöperative terms with the neighbouring churches, and it is possible that he ought to share somewhat in the responsibility for the estrangement which so long existed;–though it might be safely said that if they had left Jasper alone he would not have bothered them. Let it be said that the animosities of those days gradually gave away to the gracious and softening influence of time, and, when his end came, all the churches and ministers of the city most cordially and lovingly united in honouring his memory.

        It may betoken the regard in which Jasper was held by the white people if I should be frank enough to say that I was the pastor of the Grace Street Baptist Church, one of the largest ecclesiastical bodies in the city at the time of Jasper’s death, and the simple announcement in the morning papers that I would deliver an address in honour of this negro preacher who had been carried to his grave during the previous week brought together a representative and deeply sympathetic audience which overflowed the largest church auditorium in the city. With the utmost affection and warmth I put forth my lofty appreciation of this wonderful prince of his tribe, and so far as known there was never an adverse criticism offered as to the propriety or justice of the tribute which was paid him.

        It is of this unusual man, this prodigy of his race, and this eminent type of the Christian negro, that the somewhat random articles of this volume are to treat. His life jumped the common grooves and ran on heights not often trod. His life went by bounds and gave surprises with each succeeding leap.’ https://docsouth.unc.edu/church/hatcher/hatcher.html