(2526)
PROFESSION
The lives of some who are estimated as men of holiness are like the bodies in certain ancient tombs, that retain the form and features they had when living, but which crumble at a touch. They are surrounded with all the ornaments of the living, and have the shape of men, but they are only dust. So a touch of temptation or any test of life applied to some men causes their apparent saintliness to crumble.
(2627)
Profession, Empty—See [Church, Deadness of the].
PROFESSION VERSUS CHARACTER
In a former pastorate there was a man in my congregation who could talk like Demosthenes or Cicero. He used excellent grammar, and seemed to know the Bible pretty well from Genesis to Revelation. He could quote Longfellow, and Tennyson, and Whittier, and a stranger would be charmed by his eloquent utterances. And yet when he rose to talk in a prayer-meeting, the crowd began to wither, and when his talk was over the prayer-meeting was like a sweet-potato patch on a frosty morning, flat and blue. The people knew that in his life there was something unsavory, that he would drink before the bar with worldly friends, and that he was not as honest as he might be. His good grammar and fluent utterances did not make amends for the unsavoriness of his character. There was another man in that congregation who would sometimes come to prayer-meeting with a circle of coal-dust around his hair. He was a coal-cart driver, and he was now and then so hurried to get to the prayer-meeting that he did not make his toilet with as much care as he ought. But the people leaned over to listen when he talked. And why? Because they knew that he lived every day for God. He would pick up a tramp on the road, and give him a mile ride on his cart, that he might talk with him about Jesus. His religion tasted good. Bad religion in good grammar does not taste good. I would rather have good religion in bad grammar, than good grammar in bad religion. (Text.)—C. A. Dixon.
(2528)
PROFESSIONALISM
The subtle casuistry of Johnson’s reply in this dialog from Boswell’s “Life of Johnson” would excuse any amount of lying, if it were only in the interest of one’s profession.