Editorial, THE ALABAMA BAPTIST

     Just before the Christmas holidays (this is written in the first personal pronoun) I was sitting at my desk, holding the ‘phone receiver to my ear. In walked a rather distinguished old gentleman and, holding the receiver in my left hand, I pointed to a chair and motioned to him to be seated and he sat down.

     Upon hanging up the receiver the gentleman stood and he said, “Brother Gwaltney, my name is Gibson. I am 80 years old. I have been hearing of you for many years and I have been reading the Alabama Baptist for a long time. But I have never seen you until now and I came into your office just to see what you look like.”

     I said, “I thank you, Brother Gibson, and now that you have seen me what do I look like?” He replied, “Well, you will do.”

     He said, “Brother Gwaltney, did you ever hear of T. Baron Gibson?” I said, “The preacher?” “Yes,” he replied. “Why,” I said, “Yes, he was at one time pastor of the church at Andalusia and a fine man he is.” “Well,” said Brother Gibson, “he is my son but I want you to know that he didn’t get any of his preaching business from me. He took all of that from his mother. Oh, his mother was the most wonderful woman in the world.”

      “Brother Gwaltney,” said my visitor, “After I have been talking to a man for two minutes I can tell whether he has more sense than I have, or I have more sense than he has.” “Well,” I said, “Brother Gibson, you have been talking to me about two minutes. Now, in an intelligence contest, how do you think we would stack up?” He said, “I think I have a considerable edge on you.” (There was hearty laughter).

     He said, “Brother Gwaltney, I never joined the church until I was old – forty-six years old – and you know I was waiting to see a burning bush like Moses saw or to hear a great voice speaking to me, and I came to believe that all I needed to do was to repent of sin and turn to the Lord for salvation and if I kept on waiting to see a burning bush, insofar as I am concerned, all the churches would close up and the world go to the devil.” “So,” he said, “I stopped waiting for the burning bush and have been happy in my religion.”  He said, “Brother Gwaltney, one evidence I have that I have religion is that I like to be with religious people. I am never quite so happy as when I am with religious folk and I like to associate with them. Do you think that is an evidence of one’s religion?” I said, “I certainly do, Brother Gibson, and I don’t know any better evidence than that.”

     He said, “Brother Gwaltney, I am no preacher but sometimes I preach and I want to tell you about a sermon I preached on liquor many years ago.” He said, “I was weighing cotton in a warehouse and a man came up to me with a quart of good liquor and asked me to have a drink. I told him no, that I did not want any of his liquor. But I told him to go back in the warehouse and drink all he wanted for himself.” He continued, “I told that man there were two reasons why I didn’t drink liquor. One was that I have four boys and wanted to set them a good example. And the other reason was that I loved liquor myself too well to drink it.”  He said, “I never thought of that conversation until about four years after and I saw that man again and he asked me if I remembered what I told him. After he had explained the circumstances I did remember it and the man told me that he never drank another drop of liquor after that day. Now,” said my guest, “Brother Gwaltney, don’t you think that was good preaching?” I said, “I certainly do and I wish that all men who drink could hear your sermon on the subject of liquor.”

     He said, “Brother Gwaltney, I have only had seven months’ schooling in my life but I have been through all the colleges in Alabama.” I said, “Why, Brother Gibson, that is very queer how you have only seven months’ schooling and yet have been through all the colleges in Alabama.” “Yes,” said he, “I have been through the University and Auburn, Alabama College for Women, Howard College, Judson College and the Southern Baptist Seminary.” “How is that?” I asked. “Well,” he said, “I have sent my children through all the colleges in Alabama and while they were going through I went along with them and paid their bills for them. Now wasn’t that going through college?” “Well,” I said, “Bless your heart, Brother Gibson, that is a good way to go through college and it is commendable beyond expression that a man who never had but seven months’ schooling should go through so many colleges as you have done.”

     He said to me, “Brother Gwaltney, I am no preacher but if I were I would try to adapt my sermon to the needs of the people and if my congregation was composed of Christian people I should try to build them up in faith and hope and love. I should try to comfort and encourage them and strengthen them, and I would not preach a sermon every time on the new birth to those who had already been born again and needed spiritual strength and encouragement to carry on.”   He said, “What do you think of that, Brother Gwaltney?” I said, “I think you are exactly right and I am inclined to believe that one reason why many of our churches have so few people to attend them at night is because many of the preachers feel called upon to preach only evangelistic sermons at night and that whether any sinners are present or not.”

     Well, an hour and a half soon passed and when my guest got up to go I said to him, “You have been a blessing to me for you have made me laugh heartily and your commonsense and your wit are thoroughly exhilarating. Please be kind enough to come to see me again.”  He said, “Thank you and I shall.” And so we parted.