And sometimes even this has been known to occur:  they have associations of these human tin-cups for self-admiration and other cultural purposes.  And they have highly satisfactory meetings.  But meanwhile, ah! look! hold still your heart, and look here.  There’s the crowd on the street, hot dusty street, exhausted, actually fainting for want of water, just good plain water of life.  But there’s none to be had; only tin-cups!  John was eager to have men get a good drink.  He was content as he watched them drink, and their eyes lighten.  He was discontent and restless with anything else or less.

Do you remember the greatest compliment ever paid John, John the Herald?  John was a great preacher.  He had great drawing power.  To-day we commonly go where people are hoping they’ll stay while we talk to them.  But John did otherwise.  He went down to the Jordan bottoms, where the spirit ventilation was better, and called the people to him.  And they came.  They came from all over the nation, of every class.  Literally thousands gathered to hear John.  He had great drawing power.

And then something happened.  Here is John to-day talking earnestly to great crowds down by the river-road.  And here he is again to-morrow; but where are the crowds?  John has lost his crowd.  Same pulpit out in the open air, same preacher, same simple intense message burning in his heart, but—­no congregation!  The crowd’s gone.  Poor John!  You must feel pretty bad.  It’s hard enough to fail, but how much harder after succeeding.  Poor John, I’m so sorry for you.

But if you get close enough to John to see into his eye you quit talking like that.  And if you get near enough to hear you find your sympathy is not needed.  For John’s eye is ablaze with a tender light, and the sound of an inner heart music reaches your ear as you get near him.  And if you follow, as you instinctively do, the line of the light in his eye you quickly look down the road.

Oh!  There’s John’s crowd. They’re listening to Jesus.John’s crowd has left him for his Master.  And the forgotten preacher is the finest evidence of the faithfulness of the preacher.  The crowd’s getting the water, sweet cool refreshing water of life, direct from the fountain.  They’ve clean forgotten the faithful common tin-cup.  And John’s so glad.  John came that he might bear witness of the light.  And he did.  And the crowd heard.  And they flocked to the light.

Here’s a man preaching.  And the people are listening.  The benediction is pronounced.  And they go out.  And as they move slowly out they’re talking, always talking.  We don’t seem yet to have demitted our privilege of talking after service.  Here are two.  Listen to them.  “Isn’t he a great preacher? so scholarly, so eloquent, so polished; and all those classical allusions.  I didn’t understand half he said; he certainly is a great preacher.  We’re very fortunate in such a man.”

And the preacher, whoever he be, may know this for a bit of the certainty that occasionally will sift in.  He may be a scholar.  I wouldn’t question it.  And a polished orator.  I wouldn’t question that.  But in the main thing, the one thing he’s for, as a Jesus-witness, he is a splendid scholarly polished failure.  Men are talking about him.