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#billy sunday
the-birth-of-art · 11 months
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On the occasion of Pat Robertson's death....
"To a Contemporary Bunkshooter" (aka "To Billy Sunday")
by Carl Sandburg, 1915
YOU come along … tearing your shirt … yelling about Jesus.    
Where do you get that stuff?    
What do you know about Jesus?
Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem everybody liked to have this Jesus around because he never made any fake passes and everything he said went and he helped the sick and gave the people hope.  
You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist and calling us all dam fools so fierce the froth slobbers over your lips… always blabbing we’re all going to hell straight off and you know all about it. 
I’ve read Jesus’ words. I know what he said. You don’t throw any scare into me. I’ve got your number. I know how much you know about Jesus.
He never came near clean people or dirty people but they felt cleaner because he came along. It was your crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out of the running.  
I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men now lined up with you paying your way.  
This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands wherever he passed along.
You slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who lived a clean life in Galilee. 
When are you going to quit making the carpenters build emergency hospitals for women and girls driven crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about Jesus—I put it to you again: Where do you get that stuff; what do you know about Jesus?  
Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want to. Smash a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance. Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your nutty head. If it wasn’t for the way you scare the women and kids I’d feel sorry for you and pass the hat.
I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when he starts people puking and calling for the doctors.
I like a man that’s got nerve and can pull off a great original performance, but you—you’re only a bug-house peddler of second-hand gospel—you’re only shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight.  
You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it up all right with them by giving them mansions in the skies after they’re dead and the worms have eaten ’em. 
You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross and he’ll be all right.
You tell poor people they don’t need any more money on pay day and even if it’s fierce to be out of a job, Jesus’ll fix that up all right, all right—all they gotta do is take Jesus the way you say.
I’m telling you Jesus wouldn’t stand for the stuff you’re handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus wouldn’t play their game. He didn’t sit in with the big thieves.  
I don’t want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion.
I won’t take my religion from any man who never works except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory except the face of the woman on the American silver dollar.
I ask you to come through and show me where you’re pouring out the blood of your life.  
I’ve been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha, where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is straight it was real blood ran from His hands and the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth.
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dance-world · 1 year
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Albert Popwell, Pauline Koner, and Bentley Stone in Billy Sunday - photo by Serge Lido, 1950
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hymnrevival · 23 days
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rodwhite · 5 months
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Is choice a spiritual problem?  (2010)
In 2010 our church was coming to its fullness in number and effectiveness. This speech reflects how we were forming a sense of “alternativity.” Serious people.  A little late in the game, I imagined someone asking me what this week’s final FAQ was. When I told them it was, “Is choice a spiritual problem?” They said, “Oh wow, you are going to tackle abortion this week! Interesting. But I don’t…
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BILLY SUNDAY
BILLY SUNDAY
1862-1935
Baseball player, Religious fanatic, anti-alcohol
            Billy Sunday was born into poverty in Iowa, US, his family later moved to Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. His father was enlisted in 1862 and died 4 months later at an army camp from pneumonia. Mother and children moved in with their grandmother, and when he was 10, his poverty stricken mother sent him and his brother to an Orphanage, where he gained an education and enjoyed sport. He moved to Marshalltown, working odd jobs and started playing for his local baseball team. He then played as an outfielder in baseball for the major league for 8 years. In 1886 he met Amelia ‘Nell’ Thompson, they were both smitten and married in 1888.
            Sunday is best known for being an influential evangelist who left his baseball career for the Christian ministry. He attracted large crowds with his sermons and was known to run from one end of the stage preaching. Sunday admitted that people could ‘be converted without any fuss’.
            Sunday was never a heavy drinker and became fanatical against alcohol and was a strong supporter of Prohibition, which helped win passage of the prohibition in 1919. He was also against swearing and gambling. He was against child labour, supported women’s suffrage and tried to build the bridge between races (which the Ku Klux Klan weren’t too happy about). He supported America participating in World War I and raised money for the troops. He opposed the teaching of evolution and criticized dancing, attending the theatre and reading novels. He was okay with people playing baseball as he believed it was healthy, as long as they didn’t play it on Sundays.
            Sunday was extremely wealthy and was welcomed into the social elite. He dined with President Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson as well as with Hollywood stars. He and his family dressed well in expensive clothing and jewellery. Even though he was wealthy, he gave most of it away and wasn’t an extravagant spender.
            At the end of his life, Sunday wasn’t as popular, his health declined and the couple had less staff to help them with the sermons. He suffered from a mild heart attack and continued working against doctor’s advice. Sunday died a week after preaching his last sermon, aged 72.
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#billysunday #religion #atheism #religiouspreachers
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sspacegodd · 8 months
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preacherman316 · 10 months
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3 Things You Must Give Up If You Want to Grow Up
“The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it,” once wrote Henry David Thoreau. In terms of being successful in life, John Maxwell refers to Thoreau’s thought as “the law of trade-offs.” In other words you have to give up to grow up. This principle rings true in the area of spiritual growth. Continue reading Untitled
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seagull-astrology · 10 months
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Working with Panacea
Panacea‘s Mythological Importance Panacea is the daughter of Asclepius and Epione. She is one of their four sisters each performing a facet of Apollo, Asclepius’s father’s art. They are also called the Asclepiads. She first appeared in the weekly chart for Jackson Mississippi. Our header image is Dr. Marcus Welby (played by Robert Young and shown with his assistant James Brolin) and his steady…
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brotherpreacher · 1 year
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Right and Acceptable
"He was for men doing right from a changed heart, not providing the perfect sacrifice from a wicked one."
Doing what is righteous and just is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice.  Prov 21:3 HCSB It’s interesting that the very thing instituted by God would by men become a hindrance and a stumbling block. It seems to have been that way from the beginning that’s repeated in every dispensation. Adam was tasked with maintaining the beautiful and lush garden of Eden. In his fellowship with God,…
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orderjackalope · 1 year
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In the early Twentieth Century Billy Sunday was America's foremost evangelist, whose admirers included young men, ex-presidents, and titans of industry. Today we're asking the hard questions about Billy -- like, was he any good at baseball?
https://order-of-the-jackalope.com/a-month-of-billys/
Key sources for this episode include Robert Bruns's Preacher: Billy Sunday & Big-Time American Evangelism; William G. McLoughlin Jr.'s Billy Sunday Was His Real Name; and baseball-reference.com.
Part of the That's Not Canon Productions podcast network.
This week we're co-promoting with fellow TNC podcast Broadway and Other Kiwi Dreams, a podcast hosted by James Shera exploring the lives and minds of theatre practitioners in and around the New Zealand performing arts industry.
Discord: https://discord.gg/Mbap3UQyCB Twitter: https://twitter.com/orderjackalope Tumblr: https://orderjackalope.tumblr.com Email: [email protected]
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old-deerstalker-hat · 4 months
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same vibe
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wutbju · 1 year
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There is a danger of our thinking of the gangster instead of the Savior who can save the gangster.
I don’t disagree, Bob. I really don’t. But how did you advertise yourself?
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hymnrevival · 1 month
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One reason sin flourishes is that it is treated like a cream puff instead of a rattlesnake.
-Billy Sunday
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friarmusings · 2 years
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It ain't over
It ain’t over
The early 20th century evangelist, Billy Sunday is reported to have said once that the best thing that could happen to any person would be to reach a moment of deep conversion, to be justified, to accept Jesus Christ as his personal Savior, walk out of the revival tent, be hit by a truck, and killed instantly. There would be backsliding, no withering under the scorching sun of modern life, and no…
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happyheidi · 7 months
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𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.
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