"Blessed Are the Debonair"

Preaching was once the beating heart of Protestantism. John Knox could hold a congregation rapt and on its feet for three hours, and Jonathan Edwards used to keep the attention of New England Congregationalists for a good two hours at a stretch. Today the model of a modern minister is expected to occupy the pulpit for a scant 20 minutes of a Sunday and put in hours on end as an amateur psychiatrist, sociologist and group-activities organizer. Yet there are still a few top-notch preachers around to keep the Protestant tradition alive.

One of them is Dr. James T. Cleland, professor of preaching at Duke University Divinity School and preacher to the university. Last year Dr. Cleland delivered the first Frederic Rogers Kellogg lectures at the Cambridge (Mass.) Episcopal Theological School. His subject: preaching. Last week the lectures were published under the title. The True and Lively Word (Scribner; $2.50). "They are offered." writes Cleland in his fore word, "as an ecumenical gesture, delivered to Episcopalians by a Presbyterian who works [at Duke] for Methodists."

"Na1 Gud Enough." Preacher Cleland, 50. is a rugged, grizzle-headed Scot whose deep-set eyes seem to be laughing most of the time. When it is announced that he will be preaching at the Duke chapel, students, faculty members and townsfolk get there 30 minutes early. They come to hear a man who uses his high-pitched voice like a musical instrument, whose rhythm, range and change of pace are far beyond the capabilities of mine-run preachers. But even more, they come to hear a man who uses his head and heart.

"It is when the minister sees the Christian world view penetrating an immediately relevant human situation," he writes, "that a sermon is born." Cleland finds his "relevant human situations" wherever he happens to be; his sermons to Duke students are likely to take off from yesterday's classroom, last night's fraternity dance or Saturday's basketball game. They are peppered with anecdotes, delivered with fine timing.

Cleland's wit often turns on himself.

He likes to tell of the time he was invited to pinch-hit for a speaker at a Lincoln Day celebration and offered $250 and expenses. He wired back: "I don't know that much about Lincoln." Then, he says: 'T studied up a bit on Lincoln hoping they'd ask me back, but they never did." A few years ago. when he was invited to be a summer guest preacher at famed Wellington Church in his home city of Glasgow, he jubilantly wrote his mother the news. "Dear Jamie." she replied, "accept the honor but decline the invitation. You are na' gud enough."

Graciousness & Charm. Dean James Cannon of the Duke Divinity School is sure "that no one anywhere is doing as good a job as is Professor Cleland in teaching the art of preaching to young ministers." But Cleland's ministry does not end there. His door is always open to everyone asking advice, and many do. And he is constantly sought after to speak to secular groups; he is booked up for commencement addresses for the next five years.

Cleland's success with laymen is rooted in his respect for them. He urges his students to remember Paul's words about Andronicus and Junia: "They were in Christ before me." When ministers find in their parishes "the old Christians of both sexes, who gave themselves to Christ and to his God before we did," he advises, "sit at their feet . . . ask them to pray with you and for you; give thanks to God that they are not only your flock but also your shepherds . . . Their name is legion, and they come from all classes and walks of life. Offhand, I can think of a Philadelphia lawyer, a school carpenter, a dining-room steward, a housewife, a paper hanger, a commercial traveler, a middle-aged widow, a surgeon and a schoolteacher who are of their number."

Preacher Cleland proves his power with a piece of advice to young preachers about their witness in the world: "The believer walks in the World as a sympathetic stranger in an alien land . . . But he knows that the world is not for him.

He is ready to help its inhabitants in love; he must, because of his new nature. He does not expect to effect much more than temporary amelioration or partial improvement. Thus he is not too disappointed when goals are not reached or ideals are compromised . . . For him, success and failure are byproducts; the real job is witness. In that he has his joy. He sows as well as he can; maybe God will give the increase; that is His responsibility. Thus he works with the strain off. It is sometimes wise to remember that there is such a thing as Christian nonchalance. Maybe there is room for a new beatitude: 'Blessed are the debonair,' in whom the Word of God sparkles with graciousness and charm."

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