Whitefield remained two months in London, and preached his first sermon there, on Sunday, August 8th, in Bishopsgate-street Church. "As I went up the pulpit stairs," says he, "almost all seemed to sneer at me on account of my youth; but they soon grew serious and exceedingly attentive, and, after I came down, shewed me great tokens of respect, blessed me as I passed along, and made great enquiry who I was."[66]
During his residence in the metropolis, Whitefield's work in the Tower was to read prayers twice a week, catechize and preach once, and visit the soldiers in the infirmary and barracks daily. But, besides this, he read prayers every evening at Wapping Chapel, and preached in Ludgate prison every Tuesday. The chapel in the Tower was crowded every Sunday, numbers of "religious friends," and "several young men," coming "from divers parts of London," to hear him "discourse about the new birth and the necessity of renouncing all in affection in order to follow Jesus Christ."
When he had been about a month in town, letters came from the Wesley brothers, and from Ingham, their fellow-labourer in Georgia. Whitefield's soul was fired, and he longed to join them. He consulted his friends; but they "all agreed that labourers were needed at home; that, as yet, he had no visible call to go abroad; and that it was his duty not to be rash, but to wait and see what Providence might point out to him." For the time being, this contented him; and, Mr. Broughton having returned to London, Whitefield went back to his charge at Oxford.[67]
Meanwhile, he wrote the following characteristic letter to Wesley, in Georgia, a letter which, though containing several of the facts already narrated, is too interesting to be omitted or abridged.
"London, September 2, 1736.
"Very Dear and Rev. Sir,—Being informed by Mr. Hutton that a ship would soon sail towards your coasts, I thought it would be unpardonable in me not to write to my spiritual father in Christ. But what shall I begin with first? How shall I have room or time to relate to you a thousandth part of those mercies which God, of His infinite goodness in Christ Jesus, hath conferred upon me since I wrote last?
"If I mistake not, my last was dated from Gloucester, whence, after the Lord Jesus had made me an instrument of forming a Society of some sincere souls, God called me to Oxford again. From thence, after a stay of three months, I returned to Gloucester. Directed by Divine Providence, accompanied with the earnest solicitations of my friends, I entered into holy orders. O pray, rev. sir, that I may be a faithful minister of Christ.
"You will naturally ask, 'Where hath it pleased God to settle you?' Hear, rev. sir, and admire the Divine goodness towards the worst of sinners. My friends had laid a plan, and the Bishop had united with them, to have me settled in Gloucester. But I made it my earnest prayer to Almighty God, through Christ, that I might either not go into orders, or continue at Oxford some time longer, to fit me for the work of the ministry. God was pleased to answer this prayer wonderfully; for, upon my return to Oxford, most of our friends being called away to other parts of the country, the Lord put it into the heart of our dear friend Mr. Morgan[68] to inform Sir John Philips of our affairs; who immediately sent me word that he would allow me £30 a year, if I would continue at Oxford, and superintend the affairs of the Methodists. Providence directed me to accept of his kind offer: accordingly, I preach every Sunday to the prisoners, and follow your steps as close as possible.
"I am now at London, supplying the place of dear Mr. Broughton, who is curate at the Tower; he being gone to Dummer, in Hampshire, to assist dear Mr. Hutchins,[69] who is gone to put his brother under the care of pious Mr. Clayton.[70]
"Sir John Philips is very much in our interest, and a blessed instrument of supplying our wants, and of encouraging us in our weak endeavours to promote the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. But few friends are left at Oxford; yet the Lord hath given me great encouragement out of His holy word, and I hope that some gownsmen will yet be added to our number. The greatest opposition comes from the laity at present. Yet, there is much good done. Our fellow-students are pretty quiet, though our names stink among them. The Lord make us humble and thankful!
"The stock for the prisoners is put into my hands. The Lord give me wisdom and grace to distribute it as I ought.
"Farewell, rev. and dear sir. God be with you, and prosper you in all your undertakings. May you be made a happy instrument of converting the Gentiles. And, after you have served your blessed Master the appointed time on earth, may you sit down with Him in eternal rest and glory in heaven.
"I am, etc.,
"George Whitefield."[71]
About the beginning of the month of October, 1736, Whitefield returned to his "poor prisoners" at Oxford. He writes:—
"Oh what a delightful life did I lead here! What communion did I daily enjoy with God! How sweetly did my hours in private glide away, in reading and praying over Mr. Henry's Comment upon the Scriptures! Nor was I alone happy; for several dear youths were quickened greatly, and met daily at my room to build up each other in their most holy faith."[72]
Who were the youths in question? They evidently were new converts, and therefore cannot be included among the Oxford Methodists raised up prior to Wesley's embarkation for Georgia. Whitefield has left us in the dark respecting their names and their future life; but is it not reasonable to infer that, as several of Wesley's friends ran an illustrious career, so Whitefield's collegiate converts were also honoured, by the great Head of the Church, in turning men from sin to holiness, and from the power of Satan unto God? We know something of the immense results of the influence exerted by Wesley upon young men at Oxford, but are entirely ignorant of the subsequent history of those whom Whitefield gathered together after Wesley left for Georgia. Some of them were poor, and were indebted for their maintenance, at least in part, to that woman of singular excellence, the Lady Betty Hastings,[73] sister of the ninth Earl of Huntingdon, whose remarkable dowager became Whitefield's chief friend and patroness. Whitefield writes concerning his young associates and himself:—
"God raised up friends for our temporal support. The late Honourable Betty Hastings, that elect lady, allowed some of them two or three small exhibitions. I also partook of her ladyship's bounty; and a gentleman, whose heart was in an especial manner knit to me when in London, was stirred up, without being solicited, to send me not only money for the poor, but also a sufficiency to discharge debts I had contracted for books before I took my degree. Upon his recommendation, also, I was chosen a corresponding member of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, which I rejoiced in, as it gave me an opportunity of procuring books at a cheap and easy rate for the poor people."
Whitefield's life at Oxford was useful and happy. He loved the place, and was as reluctant to leave it as his friend Wesley had been twelve months before; and yet his work here was now nearly ended. Six weeks after his return from London, he again took his departure, and henceforth lived the life of an evangelistic wanderer. He writes:—
"About the middle of November" (1736) "I was once more called from my beloved, though little, scene of action. The Rev. Mr. Kinchin, now with God,[74] had lately been awakened, and accordingly resolved to associate with the despised Methodists. He was then minister of Dummer, in Hampshire; and, being likely to be chosen Dean of Corpus Christi College, he desired me to come and officiate for him, till that affair should be decided. By the advice of friends I went, and he came to supply my place at Oxford. His parish consisting chiefly of poor and illiterate people,[75] my proud heart could not well brook it. I would have given all the world for one of my Oxford friends, and mourned for lack of them, as a dove that has lost her mate. But upon giving myself to prayer, and reading Mr. Law's excellent character of Ouranius, in his "Serious Call to a Devout Life," my mind was reconciled to such conversation as the place afforded me. Before I came to Dummer, Mr. Kinchin had used his people, according to the rubric, to have public prayers twice a day, namely, in the morning, it being winter season, before it was light; and in the evening after the people returned from their work. He also catechised the lambs of the flock daily, and visited from house to house. He loved his people, and was beloved by them. I prosecuted his plan, and generally divided the day into three parts—eight hours for study and retirement, eight hours for sleep and meals, and eight hours for reading prayers, catechising, and visiting the parish. The profit I reaped by these exercises, and conversing with the poor country people, was unspeakable. I frequently learnt as much by an afternoon's visit as in a week's study."
Whitefield returned to Oxford on June 30, and purposed to spend "some years" in that sect of learning; but already he had been two months in London, and was now at Dummer, officiating for his friend Kinchin. During his six weeks' residence in this small Hampshire village, two events occurred, one or other of which was likely to affect the whole of his future life. First, he had the offer of "a very profitable curacy in London." Had he accepted this, he probably, instead of becoming one of the illustrious evangelists of the eighteenth century, would have settled down into an earnest and useful, but unknown, pastor of a parochial church and congregation. The offer, to a penniless young parson, was a tempting one; and the wonder is that it was not eagerly embraced. Whitefield was not only without means, but was actually in debt. On November 5, just before he went to Dummer, he wrote to his friend Harris, the Gloucester bookseller, "Herewith I have sent you £7, to pay for Mr. Henry's Commentary. Dear Squire Thorold lately made me a present of ten guineas; so that now (for ever blessed be the Divine goodness!) I can send you more than I thought I should be able to do. In time I hope to pay the apothecary's bill." The man was without purse and scrip; and yet, strangely enough, he declined the offer of the "very profitable curacy" which had been made to him.
The other event was the return of Charles Wesley from Georgia. Charles landed in England on December 3; and, on December 22, wrote in his journal: "I received a letter from Mr. Whitefield, offering himself to go to Georgia."[76] What happened during this brief interval of nineteen days? Whitefield shall relate his own story. He says:—
"About the middle of December, a letter came from Mr. Broughton informing me that Mr. Charles Wesley was arrived at London. Soon after came a letter from Mr. Charles himself, wherein he informed me that he was come over to procure labourers; but, added he, 'I dare not prevent God's nomination.' In a few days after this came another letter from Mr. John Wesley, wherein were these words—'Only Mr. Delamotte is with me, till God shall stir up the hearts of some of His servants, who, putting their lives in His hands, shall come over and help us, where the harvest is so great, and the labourers so few. What if thou art the man, Mr. Whitefield?' In another letter were these words—'Do you ask me what you shall have? Food to eat, and raiment to put on; a house to lay your head in, such as your Lord had not; and a crown of glory that fadeth not away.' Upon reading this, my heart leaped within me, and, as it were, echoed to the call. Many things concurred to make my way clear. Mr. Kinchin was now elected Dean of Corpus Christi College, and being thereby obliged to reside at Oxford, he willingly took upon him the charge of the prisoners. Mr. Hervey was ready to serve the cure at Dummer. Mr. Wesley was my dear friend, and I thought it would be a great advantage to be under his tuition. Georgia was an infant, and likely to be an increasing colony; and the Government seemed to have its welfare much at heart. I had heard many Indians were near it, and had thought it a matter of great importance that serious clergymen should be sent there. Retirement and privacy were what my soul delighted in. A voyage to sea would, in all probability, not do my constitution much hurt; nay, I had heard that the sea was sometimes beneficial to weakly people. And supposing the worst, as I must necessarily return to take priests' orders, it would then be left to my choice whether I would fix in my native country or go abroad any more. These things being thoroughly weighed, I at length resolved to embark for Georgia; and knowing that I should never put my resolution into practice, if I conferred with flesh and blood, I wrote to my relations to inform them of my design, and withal told them, 'if they would promise not to dissuade me from my intended voyage, I would come and take a personal leave of them; if otherwise, knowing my own weakness, I was determined to embark without visiting them at all.' A few days after, Mr. Kinchin came to Dummer, and introduced Mr. Hervey into the cure. They gave me some friendly counsel; and, having spent the beginning of Christmas sweetly together, and taken an affectionate leave of the Dummer people, I returned once more to Oxford, to bid adieu to my friends, who were as dear to me as my own soul. My resolution at first a little shocked them; but having reason to think, from my relation of circumstances, that I had a call from Providence, most of them said, 'The will of the Lord be done!'"[77]
The Rubicon was passed. Young Whitefield, at the age of twenty-two, resolved to be a missionary. In the quietude of a small country village, he had time to think and to pray about such a calling. Fortunately, there were no friends at hand, with more affection than self-denying zeal, ready to interfere with the yearnings of his big heart of mercy, and to set aside his purpose. True, he had only six months before resolved to live "some years" at Oxford, to complete his studies, and to tend his prisoners; but Wesley's characteristic letter had set his soul on fire, and now he was determined to join his friend in Georgia.
To Whitefield, the year (1736) had been a most eventful one. The first three months were spent in Gloucester, partly in forming and establishing a religious Society; partly in visiting the inmates of the county gaol; partly in reading authors like Burkitt, Henry, Baxter, and Alleine; and, to a great extent, in public and private prayer. There was no prospect of his being admitted into orders, for he was only twenty-one, and the bishop had publicly declared that he would ordain no one under twenty-three. Indeed, Whitefield himself shrank from immediate ordination, and prayed with all his might against it. In the month of March, he returned to Oxford, where his friends made him Wesley's successor in the unendowed chaplaincy of Oxford prison, and where, to his great surprise, he received from Sir John Philips the offer of a gratuity of £30 a year. In June, he was ordained by Bishop Benson. In July, his University made him a Bachelor of Arts. In August and September, the "Boy-Parson" was employed in preaching in London churches and in London prisons, and with such success that people from all parts of the vast city began to flock together to hear him. In November, the youthful preacher, who, to some extent, had startled London, became the temporary pastor of a pigmy parish of less than three hundred souls; and here, in the retirement he loved so much, he suddenly, but not without thought and prayer, determined that he would embark for Georgia. As soon as possible he hastened back to Oxford; his collegiate friends, at first, were "a little shocked," but afterwards acquiesced; and he himself wrote to Charles Wesley the following letter—a letter which will fitly close the present chapter:—
"Oxon, December 30, 1736.
"Dearest Sir,—Last night I returned from a weeping flock at Dummer, and met with a grateful, sweet reception from my Oxon friends. But, alas! how transient are our visits in this life! for to-morrow I purpose, God willing, to set out for Gloucester; or otherwise I shall hardly see the bishop, who, I hope, will contribute something towards assisting the Americans. Add to this, that friends promise not to dissuade me from my enterprise; and I have a brother, I believe, now there, that comes on purpose to see me; so that all here bid me hasten away. O may such speedy removes teach me to be every moment ready at my blessed Master's call; and remind me that I have here no continuing city, but seek one to come!
"I have great reason to bless God for sending me to Dummer. It has, I think, been an excellent preparation for Georgia. It has brought me to live alone, and much improved both my outward and inward man. I have written to Salmon, and will, God willing, shortly send to Hall.[78] No one but myself is ready to go from Oxford. Dear Mr. Hutchins will go hereafter, I believe; but his time, as yet, is not fully come. I trust God will give me strength to throw myself blindfold into His hands, and permit Him to do with me whatsoever seemeth good in His sight. All friends like the German Hymn admirably. Happy shall I be if my lot is cast amongst such pious souls;[79] but, I think, God calls me in a particular manner to assist your brother.
"My friend will not take it amiss, if I enquire why he chooses to be secretary to Mr. Oglethorpe, and not rather go where labourers are so much wanted, in the character of a missionary. Did the bishop ordain us, my dear friend, to write bonds, receipts, etc., or to preach the Gospel? Or dare we not trust God to provide for our relations, without endangering, or at least retarding, our spiritual improvement? But I go too far. Habe me excusatum. You know I was always heady and self-willed.
"I hear you are to be in Gloucester next week. Will dear Mr. Charles take a bed with me at Mr. Harris's? I believe he will be welcome. You will write next post, if convenient, and direct for me to Mr. Harris's, junior, bookseller, in Gloucester. All friends here kindly salute and long to see you. Mr. Kinchin is all heart. Dear Mr. Charles, adieu!—Let us wrestle in prayer for each other; and believe me to be, dearest sir,
"Your affectionate brother in Christ,
"George Whitefield."P.S.—Is it expedient to go into priest's orders? Tell me, that I may acquaint the bishop."[80]
Whitefield wished and expected to embark for Georgia without delay; but, by a series of unforeseen occurrences, he was detained in England during the whole of the year 1737. In some respects this was the most important period of his life. He had transferred the care of the prisoners at Oxford to Dean Kinchin. James Hervey had succeeded him in the curacy at Dummer. He had no parochial charge, and probably he wished for none. At the early age of twenty-two, he was an episcopally ordained evangelist, ready and eager to preach whenever and wherever an opportunity of doing so was presented. The year was spent in a continued succession of public services, which literally startled the nation. He was a new phenomenon in the Church of England. All eyes were fixed upon him. His popularity in Bristol, London, and other places was enormous. His preaching became the subject of public remark; his name, hitherto almost entirely unknown, became a household word. Thousands and tens of thousands were making enquiries concerning him. His position was perilous. Popular favour might have ruined him; but the grace of God preserved him. This year's evangelistic labours in England gave a bias to the whole of his future life. Never afterwards did he desire church preferment. As an ordained clergyman, the whole of his subsequent career was irregular. He was a gospel rover. No power on earth could confine him to a single parish or a single church. He prepared the way for Methodist itinerancy. His marvellous preaching brought Methodism into a notoriety far greater than it had hitherto attained. Though Wesley, in learning and in mental acquirements generally, was much superior to young Whitefield, and though he was his equal in self-denying and laborious piety, it may be fairly doubted whether Wesley's preaching in 1739 would have attracted the attention which it did, if Whitefield had not preceded him in 1737. Whitefield's appearance, voice, elocution, and pulpit eloquence, drew around him thousands who, in the first instance, cared but little about his doctrines. They came to see and hear the orator; they returned more impressed with what he said, than how he said it. The doctrines of the man soon excited as much attention as the man himself; and when, in the two years following, his more sober-minded friends, the Wesley brothers, came preaching the same great truths, the people—friends and foes—were as eager to hear them as they previously had been to hear him.
That England needed such a ministry as that of Whitefield and the Wesleys, no one doubts. It would be the height of bigoted absurdity to say or to imagine that, when they commenced their marvellous career, England had no converted ministers except themselves.[81] The episcopal charges, the sermons, and other publications of the period, afford ample proof that, in the pulpits of the Church of England especially, there were a considerable number of not only able and learned, but thoroughly earnest and godly men. The reader must not forget that, at this very time, the see of London was filled by a man (Edmund Gibson), who, in a conscientious discharge of duty, had offended George the Second, not only by inveighing from the pulpit against masquerades, to which that monarch was much attached, but by procuring the signatures of several bishops to an address to the throne, "praying for the entire abolition of such pernicious diversions." It is true, that this selfsame bishop, in 1739, warned the people of his diocese against the enthusiasm of the Methodists; and, at a later period, published a pamphlet, in which he animadverted somewhat strongly on "the conduct and behaviour" of the members of this rising sect; but there is nothing, in either of the publications just mentioned, contrary to the fact that Dr. Gibson was an able, earnest, godly man. Besides Gibson, there was Sherlock, successively bishop of Bangor, Salisbury, and London, a man of great ability, whose sermons contain fine specimens of pulpit eloquence, and who was even more eminent for his piety than his learning. There was the celebrated Dr. Waterland, than whom orthodoxy never had a more valiant defender, a man of immense learning, who was once offered a bishopric, but modestly declined it. There was Bishop Butler, who, while rector of Stanhope, in 1736, published his great work, "The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature." There was Archbishop Secker, the intimate friend of Bishop Butler, and who, for nearly three years, under an assumed name, carried on with Wesley a friendly correspondence on some of the most vital truths of the Christian religion. There was the well-known Dr. Jortin, an able and voluminous author, and a sincere and devout Christian. Many others might be mentioned, all learned and deeply pious, though, perhaps, not preaching with clearness the characteristic doctrines of the Methodists. Ever since the days of Dr. Horneck and Bishop Beveridge, there had been in the pulpits of the Established Church a considerable number of earnest preachers, resembling in spirit, fidelity, and sentiment, the men who, in 1677, had been the means of instituting the Religious, or, as they might be termed, the Pre-Methodist Societies, which had existed and multiplied, in various parts of the kingdom, during the last sixty years.
The Dissenters, also, were not without talented and useful ministers. At the very time, when Whitefield commenced his illustrious career, Dr. Isaac Watts was still rendering important service to the Church of Christ; Dr. Philip Doddridge was at the height of his Christian usefulness; Dr. Nathaniel Lardner, the learned author of the "Credibility of the Gospel History," was preaching at Crutched Friars; Dr. Samuel Chandler, another able writer, was lecturer at the Old Jewry Chapel; Daniel Neal, the historian of the Puritans, was pastor of a congregation in Jewin Street; and Dr. John Gill, the ultra-Calvinist, was now minister at Horsley Down, and writing his ponderous commentary on the sacred Scriptures.
All these were pious, able, useful men. Their service to the cause of Christ was great. Their names and memories can never perish. But, notwithstanding all that has just been said, and all that might be added, there cannot be doubt that England, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland,—the Established Church, the Presbyterians, and the Dissenters,—all greatly needed a ministry like that of Whitefield and his friends, the Oxford Methodists. Speaking generally, to the churches of the land might have been appropriately applied the language once addressed to the church in Sardis: "I know thy works, that thou hast a name that thou livest, and art dead." The country was filled with abounding wickedness, in its most flagrant forms; and Christian men were at their wits' end how to stem the disastrous deluge. The secular press of the period—newspapers and magazines—contain abundant evidence of this. Extracts and summaries, to this effect, have already been published in "The Life and Times of Wesley," and it would be wearisome to repeat them here; but there is another class of evidence which, without any repetition, may be fitly introduced.
Almost from the beginning of his career, Whitefield was practically a Dissenter; and there can hardly be a doubt, that, directly and indirectly, he was immensely useful in reviving the religious life of Dissenting churches. What was their condition when he commenced his ministry? Dr. Watts was now sixty-three years of age. He had long been the sweet singer of, at least, one branch of the Dissenting community, and, for forty years, had been pastor of a congregation in Mark Lane, London, occupying, as their successor, the pulpit of the Rev. Joseph Caryl, Dr. John Owen, the Rev. David Clarkson, and Dr. Isaac Chauncey. No man was better qualified to form a correct estimate of the religious state of the Dissenters generally than himself. What is his testimony on this grave and momentous subject? In the year 1731, he published his "Humble Attempt towards the Revival of Practical Religion among Christians, by a Serious Address to Ministers and People." The following remarkable extracts are taken from that publication:—
"Is this a day when we should leave the peculiar articles of the religion of Christ out of our ministrations, when the truth of them is boldly called in question and denied by such multitudes who dwell among us? Is this a proper time for us to forget the name of Christ in our public labours, when the witty talents and reasonings of men join together, and labour hard to cast out His sacred name with contempt and scorn? Is it so seasonable a practice in this age to neglect these evangelic themes, and to preach up virtue, without the special principles and motives with which Christ has furnished us, when there are such numbers amongst us who are fond of heathenism, who are endeavouring to introduce it again into a Christian country, and to spread the poison of infidelity through a nation called by His name? If this be our practice, our hearers will begin to think that infidels may have some reason on their side, and that the glorious doctrines of the gospel of Christ are not so necessary as our fathers thought them. Will this be our glory, to imitate the heathen philosophers, and to drop the gospel of the Son of God? to be complimented by unbelievers as men of superior sense and as deep reasoners, while we abandon the faith of Jesus, and starve the souls of our hearers by neglecting to distribute to them this bread of life which came down from heaven?" (p. 20.)
"The world has been so long imposed upon by shameful additions of men to the gospel of Christ, that they seem now to be resolved to bear them no longer. Because so many irrational notions and follies have been mixed up with the Christian scheme, it is now a modish humour of the age to renounce almost everything that reason doth not discover, and to reduce Christianity itself to little more than the light of nature and the dictates of reason. Under this sort of influence, there are some who are believers of the Bible and of the Divine mission of Christ, and who dare not renounce the gospel itself; and yet they interpret some of the peculiar and express doctrines of it, into so poor, so narrow, and so jejune a meaning, that they suffer but little to remain, beyond the articles of natural religion" (p. 25).
The two foregoing extracts were addressed to ministers, and are lamentably appropriate at the present day. The following were addressed to the people; and, though mostly put in the form of queries, they are so put as to be equivalent to plain and positive assertions:—
"The persons whom I would, at this time, compare together, are the common professors of religion in the Church of England, and the common professors among Dissenters, the bulk of the people both on the one side and on the other; and I would fain excite you, who call yourselves Protestant Dissenters, to bethink yourselves concerning the sensible decay of real goodness that is found amongst you, in order to awaken you to the warmest zeal and utmost endeavours to revive languishing and dying religion" (p. 56).
"O let it never be said by those who differ from us, and especially by those who hate us, 'These are the persons who profess purity in worship, but see how vicious they live! They are as much given to luxury in diet, to extravagance and vanity in dress, to everything that is sensual and voluptuous, or gay and vain, as any of us who do not make such pretences to religion; they are as loose, as frothy, as unsavoury, in their discourse, as any of their neighbours; they have no more inclination, or at least no more courage, to speak one word for God and religion than we have; they are as ready to over-reach those who deal with them, and to cheat and defraud in matters of trade, as any amongst us'" (p. 79).
"Shall I address myself with freedom to the parents and governors of families? Are you as solicitous to keep up the seasons of worship in your households as your fathers were? Are there not too many among you, who scarce ever call upon God in their families at all, unless it be perhaps on a Lord's-day evening? Have you learned to change the course of nature, to turn night into day, and day into night? Can the seasons of family worship be well maintained, or can the master perform it with a clear head and a pious heart, if he indulges his amusements in public drinking-houses till the hour of midnight approaches?" (p. 87.)
"Is not bankruptcy reckoned too small a crime amongst the Dissenters, as well as amongst their neighbours? and that where there can be found no other reason for it, but that they have lived too fast; they have affected the luxuries of life in their dress and furniture, food, equipage, and attendance, and would vie with their neighbours in splendour, grandeur, and expense, where the circumstances of their estate or trade have not been able to afford it? Or, perhaps they have frequented taverns early and late; they have habituated themselves to a morning whet, to prepare for some luxurious dish at noon; they have indulged their pleasures, and neglected their shop. Or, it may be they have sought to grow rich at once by plunging into trade and debt beyond all proportion of their estate, or possibility of payment, if they should meet with any disappointing accident. They have too often assumed the character of the wicked, who borrows when he knows not how to pay again. They have supplied their shops with goods, their tables with costly provisions, their houses with rich furniture, and their families with shining apparel, out of the purses of their credulous neighbours. A man who should have been found in the practice of half these vices would never have been called a Dissenter in the days of our fathers; and it is a heavy shame, and an in supportable disgrace, that there should be any such characters in our day that should wear the name of a Nonconformist" (p. 89).
"I proceed to the sixth and last thing wherein the Protestant Dissenters were wont eminently to distinguish themselves, and that is in their abstaining from those gayer vanities and dangerous diversions of their age, which border so near vice and irreligion, that sometimes it is pretty hard to separate them. Such are many of our midnight assemblies, midnight balls, lewd and profane comedies, masquerades, public gaming tables, and deep play. In this respect, shall I put the question, 'What do you more than others?' It was a constant and known mark of a Protestant Dissenter in former days, to refuse attendance upon any of these kinds of diversions. I hope we have not utterly lost this piece of Puritanism amongst us. I am bold to say, that if our fathers were in any degree too rigid and austere in pronouncing these things absolutely sinful, and in their utter prohibition of themselves and their households from ever once attending upon them; it is certain that we their children are much more criminal in giving too great a loose to many of these diversions. Can you not name the Dissenters who waste that time at a play-house, or a vain assembly of merriment, at a public gaming table, or a dancing room,—that time, I say, which belongs to God or their families? who spend those seasons in late visits and private balls, or at cards, whereby evening devotion is utterly excluded? who can wear out whole hours in these foolish and perilous recreations, and complain they have no time for prayer? Can you point to no persons, who are members of Dissenting churches, who entice their acquaintance to these vanities? Do you know no mothers who lead their little daughters thither, nor fathers who permit their sons to go without control? And do they know, or will they not believe, that the road to lewdness and impiety, to ruin and beggary, lies through these scenes of dangerous diversion?
"To sum up all in general, your fathers had an honourable character, and a very great reputation, even among the looser parts of the nation, for strict virtue, for exemplary and sincere godliness, beyond the common multitude of those who called themselves the Established Church; for if any person appeared to be strictly religious, and fearful of indulging any sin,—if he was scrupulous of any doubtful practice, or attempted to give an admonition to the sons of vice, he was presently called a Puritan, or a Fanatic, or Presbyterian, by way of reproach. This honour was a frequent tribute paid by the ungodly world to the superior virtue and merit of your ancestors and their profession of nonconformity. What is become of this your reputation? Have you lost your good name? Have you sold your glory for the indulgence of the follies and vanities of life? Have you fallen into such a neglect of strict religion as leaves no other distinction between you and your neighbours, besides your worship once a week in a different place and manner? It is time, my friends, when religion is sunk into such a universal decay in the nation, to enquire whether we have not suffered it to decay amongst us also, and whether we are not sharers in the common degeneracy. If the bulk of the nation be gone far in the neglect of virtue and godliness, let us not dare to follow the multitude, and make our profession of separation an empty name, and our pretence to purer worship a mere badge of hypocrisy" (p. 91).
Such was the significant language of the most notable Dissenting minister of the age, when Methodism was taking its rise in the Oxford University. Dr. Watts saw the retrogression of the Nonconformists, and had fidelity enough to speak of it.
Further testimony respecting the need of a ministry like that of Whitefield and his friends is hardly needed; but the following, from another class of witnesses, may not be unacceptable.
In a sermon preached before the House of Lords, at the Abbey Church in Westminster, on Friday, December 8, 1721, by the Bishop of Norwich, the following paragraph occurs:—
"Notwithstanding the dismal calamities we have already felt, wickedness still overflows the nation like a mighty deluge, so as to overspread all ranks and orders of men amongst us. Do not our eyes behold it continually, in the open atheism, profaneness, and impiety; in the hypocrisy and dissimulation; in the contempt of God and His holy worship; in the profanation of His holy day; in the bold infidelity, and denying the Lord that bought us; in the dreadful abuse of God's great and glorious name, by the horrid oaths, curses, and imprecations, which are heard continually in our streets, and in the places of concourse and conversation; in the practice of the most filthy and abominable lusts; in the lewdness and luxury; in the oppression and injustice; in the implacable malice and hatred of one towards another; and in our senseless divisions and animosities, without cause and without end, which reign everywhere?"
This was strong language to be used in such a place, and before such an audience; and the following, respecting the literature of the day, by another dignitary of the Church of England, Dr. Stanhope, Dean of Canterbury, and Chaplain to his Majesty, is quite as strong. In a sermon, preached in the parish church of St. Pancras, in 1723, Dean Stanhope speaks of many of the productions of the press, as "those monsters of irreligion and profaneness, of heresy and schism, of sedition and scandal, of malice and detraction, of obscenity and ribaldry, which mercenary wretches, void of shame, published for the sake of a paltry present gain, thereby, not only debauching the principles of the age, but, if such detestable compositions can survive so long, propagating the poison to posterity, and furnishing the devil with nets and snares, for drawing in, and sinking down to hell, numbers of unwary souls, which are yet unborn."
In a sermon, preached in Salisbury Cathedral, in 1745, and published at the request of the mayor and corporation, Bishop Sherlock remarked:—
"Let not me be the accuser of my nation, but let every man recollect what he has heard, and read, and seen within the compass of a few years. Surely the gospel of Christ Jesus was never treated with greater malice and contempt, by Jews or heathens, than it has been in this Christian country. Think not that I am condemning a sober enquiry into the truth of religion; but what shall we say for the undisguised profaneness and blasphemy that have swarmed from the press? Many instances might be given; but one can never be forgotten, where the noblest and most exalted hymn of Christian devotion[82] in the world has been perverted to the highest impiety and blasphemy, that the wickedness or malice of man's heart can conceive. This and other crimes are indeed chargeable on the authors; but how deplorable must the state of the nation be, when men find encouragement to provide such entertainment for the public!
"Look into common life, and see what is become of that sense of religion which once animated the people. When popery was breaking in upon us, our churches were crowded. Is it so now? Is not Sunday become a day of diversion to the great ones, and a day of laziness to the little ones? And has not this been manifestly followed by a great increase of great wickedness and violence among the lower people? Theft and robbery, which used to be secret crimes, now appear armed in our streets; and are supported by numbers strong enough to defy the power of the magistrates."
These are melancholy statements; but, coming from such men, it is impossible to doubt their truthfulness. Speaking generally, the churches of the land were sunk into apathy and worldliness, and the people, with few exceptions, were not only regardless of religion, but saturated with infidelity and wickedness. No wonder that the souls of men like Whitefield were stirred to their deepest depths. The country needed a religious agency which it possessed not; and God, in infinite mercy, supplied the want.
It is time to return to Whitefield. As usual, he shall relate his own story. He was eager to embark for Georgia. He had consulted his friends at Oxford, and had secured their approval. He wished, however, to have the judgment of Dr. Benson, who had ordained him; and, hence, writes as follows:—
"On New Year's Day, 1737, I went to Gloucester, to hear the bishop's opinion, and to take leave of my mother and other relations. His lordship received me, as he always did, like a father, approved of my design, and wished me much success. My own relations, at first, were not so passive. My aged mother wept sore; and others urged what pretty preferment I might have, if I would stay at home. But, at length, they grew more quiet, and, finding me so fixed, gainsayed no longer.
"During my stay here, I began to grow a little popular. God gave me honour for a while, even in my own country. I preached twice on the Sabbaths. Congregations were very large, and the power of God attended the word; and some, I have reason to believe, were truly converted.
"In about three weeks, I went to Bristol, to take leave of some of my relations there. As it was my constant practice, go where I would, to attend on the daily public offices of the Church, I went, the Thursday after my coming, to hear a sermon at St. John's Church. Whilst the psalm was singing, after the prayers, the minister came to my seat, and asked me to give the congregation a sermon. Having my notes about me, I complied. The hearers seemed startled, and, after sermon, enquiry was made, who I was? The next day there was another lecture at St. Stephen's. Many crowded thither in expectation of hearing me again. The lecturer asked me to preach. I again complied; and the alarm given here was so general, that, on the following Lord's-day, many of all denominations were obliged to return from the churches, where I preached, for want of room. Afterwards, I was called by the mayor to preach before him and the corporation. For some time following, I preached all the lectures on week-days, and twice on Sundays, besides visiting the Religious Societies. The word, through the mighty power of God, was sharper than a two-edged sword. The doctrine of the new birth and justification by faith in Jesus Christ (though I was not so clear in it as afterwards) made its way like lightning into the hearers' consciences. The arrows of conviction stuck fast; and my whole time, between one lecture and another, except what was spent in necessary refreshment, was wholly occupied in talking with people under religious concern. Large offers were made me, if I would stay at Bristol. All wondered that I would go to Georgia; and some urged that, if I had a mind to convert Indians, I might go among the Kingswood colliers, and find Indians enough there. But none of these things moved me. Having put my hand to the plough, I was determined, through Divine grace, not to look back.
"During my stay at Bristol, I made a little elopement to Bath, where I was kindly received by a dear friend, the Rev. Mr. Chapman,[83] and some elect and honourable women who befriended the Oxford Methodists. I preached at the Abbey Church twice. The late Dr. Cockman was pleased to thank me for my sermon; and application was made to me by several to print both my discourses."
These facts, so ingenuously and simply related, are marvellous. Here was a young man, fresh from college, recently ordained, without patronage, and belonging to the despised Methodists, literally agitating, what was then, in point of population, the second city in the nation; while, at Bath, England's most fashionable resort, with "Beau" Nash, the accomplished rake, at the head of it, the Methodist stripling was gladly welcomed to the cathedral pulpit! This crisis in Whitefield's history was a dangerous one. The adulations of the multitude might easily have disturbed the religious equilibrium of the young preacher, and, thereby, damaged him for life. He felt his peril, and prayed to be preserved from it. The following, written at the time to his friend Harris, at Gloucester, is worth quoting:—
"Bristol, February 10, 1737.
"Dear Sir,—What shall I say? I cannot be with you this week. Methinks it would be almost sinful to leave Bristol at this critical juncture, there being now a prospect of making a very considerable collection for the poor Americans. The whole city seems to be alarmed. Churches are as full on week-days as they used to be on Sundays, and on Sundays are so full, that many, very many, are obliged to go away, because they cannot come in. Oh pray, dear Mr. Harris, that God would always keep me humble, and fully convinced that I am nothing without Him, and that all the good which is done upon earth, God doeth it Himself. Quakers, Baptists, Presbyterians, all come to hear the word preached. Sanctify it, Holy Father, to Thy own glory and Thy people's good!"
From Bristol, Whitefield proceeded to Gloucester, Oxford, and London. He writes:—
"It was now about the middle of February. Lent was at hand, and I was obliged to be at Oxford to perform the remainder of my college exercise, which they call Determining. I went through Gloucester, and abode there a week, visiting the prisoners, and encouraging the awakened souls. Having stayed about ten days at the University, I took, as I thought, my last farewell of my dear friends, and came to London in the beginning of March, in order to wait upon James Oglethorp, Esq., and the honourable trustees.[84] The former introduced me to his Grace the present Archbishop of Canterbury;[85] and the Rev. Mr. Arthur Bedford,[86] at the desire of the latter, went with me to the present Bishop of London.[87] Both approved of my going abroad; the former was pleased to say, 'He would take particular notice of such as went to Georgia, if they did not go out of any sinister view.' This put me upon enquiry what were my motives in going? And, after the strictest examination, my conscience answered, 'Not to please any man living upon earth, nor out of any sinister view, but simply to comply with what I believe to be Thy will, O God, and to promote Thy glory, thou great Shepherd and Bishop of souls.'"
Whitefield expected to sail for Georgia at once; but in this he was disappointed. The following letter, addressed "To the Rev. Mr. John Wesley, minister at Savannah," has not before been published:—
"London, March 17, 1737.
"Reverend Sir,—Though I have had thoughts of going to Georgia for above these seven months, yet I never resolved till I received your kind letter.
"I am now in London. My intention in coming hither was to wait on the trustees and the bishop; and both, I believe, will approve of my going. We are not likely to set sail till July. Your brother intends returning with me; and I hope God will sanctify our voyage. I hear of no one yet like-minded, though there is some hope, I believe, of your seeing Mr. Hall. God direct him for the best!'[88]
"Next week, or the week after, I go to Bath, in order to preach a public sermon for the poor Americans. God has inclined the hearts of His people to give me above £200 already, in private charities, and more, I hope, will still be collected.
"Innumerable are the blessings our God has poured on me since I saw you last, and remarkably has He set His blessed seal to my ministry in England; which encourages me to hope He will likewise do so in Georgia.
"I suppose your brother has informed you, rev. sir, how matters stand at Oxon; and, therefore, I need only add, that I believe there will be a remnant of pious students left in the University, who will take root downwards, and bear fruit upwards.
"I could say a great deal more, and would also write dear Mr. Ingham;[89] but I knew not that the ship was to sail to-morrow; and the trustees[90] have engaged me to dine with them; so I must beg leave to subscribe myself, with earnest prayers for your success in every undertaking,
"Rev. sir, your dutiful son and servant,
"George Whitefield."P.S.—I salute dear Mr. Ingham and Mr. Delamotte, whom I desire to love in the bowels of Jesus Christ."
Several things are noticeable in this short letter. Except a general allusion to his ministerial success, there is not a word respecting his marvellous popularity in the city of Bristol. He was already collecting money for the needy inhabitants of Georgia, though his autobiography does not mention this. He addresses Wesley scarcely as a familiar friend, but in language strikingly deferential. He expresses his intention to proceed to Bath, an intention which, for the present, had to be abandoned. Hence the following continuation of his autobiography:—
"I continued in London about three weeks, waiting for Mr. Oglethorpe, who expected to sail every day. In this season, I preached more frequently than when there before. Many more came to hear me; and the last Sunday I was in town I read prayers twice, and preached four times. But, finding Mr. Oglethorpe was not likely to go for some time, and having lain under particular obligation to the Rev. Mr. Sampson Harris,[91] minister of Stonehouse, in Gloucestershire, I went down thither, at his request, to supply his place, whilst he came up to dispatch some affairs in town.
"Here was a little sweet Society, who had heard me preach at an adjacent town, and had wrestled with God, if it was His will, to send me amongst them. They received me with joy, and most of the parishioners were very civil, when I came to visit them from house to house. I found them more knowing than I expected. Their pastor had catechized the little ones in the summer season, and expounded the four lessons every Lord's-day in the church. I followed his good example, and found great freedom and assistance given me both in my public and private administrations. Having the use of the parsonage house, I expounded every night. Many that were not parishioners came to hear, and were edified. On Sundays, besides expounding the lessons, catechising and preaching, I repeated my sermons to the Society. Neither church nor house could contain the people that came. I found uncommon manifestations granted me from above. Early in the morning, at noonday, evening, and midnight, nay, all the day long, did the blessed Jesus visit and refresh my heart. Could the trees of a certain wood near Stonehouse speak, they would tell what sweet communion I and some others enjoyed there with the ever blessed God. Sometimes, as I was walking, my soul would make such sallies as though it would go out of the body. At other times, I was so overpowered with a sense of God's infinite majesty, that I was constrained to throw myself prostrate on the ground. One night, when I had been expounding to many people, it happened to lighten exceedingly, and some being afraid to go home, I thought it my duty to accompany them, and improve the occasion, to stir them up to prepare for the coming of the Son of man. In my return to the parsonage, whilst others were rising from their beds, frightened almost to death, I and a poor, but pious, countryman were in the field exulting in our God, and longing for the time when Jesus shall be revealed from heaven in a flame of fire. Every week the congregations increased; and on Ascension-day, when I took my leave, their sighs and tears almost broke my heart."[92]
Such was the active and happy life of Whitefield during the two months that he spent at Stonehouse. In letters to the brother of the clergyman for whom he was officiating, he wrote:—"Be pleased to send me the 'Poor Country Curate,' and Flavel's 'Husbandry Spiritualized.' I know not what to do for want of a clock in the house.[93] The country now looks like a second paradise. This seems the pleasantest place I ever was in. Surely I can never be thankful enough for being sent hither. People flock to hear the word of God from the neighbouring villages, as well as our own. They gladly receive me into their houses. I have no let or hindrance to my ministerial business. Stonehouse people and I agree better and better. I believe we shall part weeping. Your observations on the weather were pertinent and spiritual. Honest James and I were out in the midst of the lightning, and never were more delighted in our lives. May we be as well pleased when the Son of God cometh to judgment!"
On leaving Stonehouse, exultant Whitefield went to Bristol. He writes:—
"The incumbent of Stonehouse being returned from London, and the people of Bristol having given me repeated invitations, since the time of my embarking was deferred, I paid them a second visit on May 23rd. Multitudes came on foot, and many in coaches, a mile without the city, to meet me; and almost all saluted and blessed me as I went along the street.
"Upon my coming here, I received letters from London, informing me that Mr. Oglethorpe would not embark these two months. This gladdened many hearts, though I cannot say that it did mine; for I counted the hours, as it were, till I went abroad. I preached, as usual, about five times a week; but the congregations grew, if possible, larger and larger. It was wonderful to see how the people hung upon the rails of the organ loft, climbed upon the leads of the church, and made the church itself so hot with their breath, that the steam would fall from the pillars like drops of rain. Sometimes, almost as many would go away, for want of room, as came in; and it was with great difficulty that I got into the desk, to read prayers or preach. Persons of all denominations flocked to hear. Persons of all ranks, not only publicly attended my ministry, but gave me private invitations to their houses. A private Society or two were erected. I preached and collected for the poor prisoners in Newgate twice or thrice a week; and many made me large offers if I would not go abroad.
"During my stay here, I paid another visit to Bath, and preached three times in the Abbey Church, and once in Queen's Chapel. People crowded, and were affected as at Bristol; and God stirred up some elect ladies to give upwards of £160 for the poor of Georgia."
At this distance of time, it is impossible to ascertain who were the "elect ladies" here mentioned. Bath was the resort of all kinds of ladies, titled and untitled, converted and unconverted, moral and immoral. How many of Bath's distinguished female visitors flocked to the Abbey Church to hear the young Christian orator, there is no evidence to show; and it is equally difficult to determine whether any of these casual acquaintances became lasting friends. It is said, that the witty and eccentric Lady Townshend, the mother of the first Marquess Townshend and of the famous Charles Townshend, was the first titled lady who extolled Whitefield's preaching;[94] and it is certain that, within a few years after this visit to the city of Bath, his aristocratic hearers and admirers included the Countess of Huntingdon, the Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Cobham, the Duchess of Buckingham, the Duchess of Queensbury, Lady Lisburne, Lady Hinchinbroke, and others, some of whom will be further noticed in succeeding pages.
This second preaching visit to Bristol lasted for a month. His entrance was a spectacle seldom seen; and his departure was quite as marvellous. The youthful evangelist, in continuation of his artlessly told narrative, remarks:—
"June 21st, I took my last farewell at Bristol; but when I came to tell the people, it might be that they would 'see my face no more,' high and low, young and old, burst into such a flood of tears, as I had never seen before. Multitudes, after sermon, followed me home weeping; and, the next day, I was employed from seven in the morning till midnight, in talking and giving spiritual advice to awakened souls.
"About three the next morning, having thrown myself on the bed for an hour or two, I set out for Gloucester, because I heard that a great company on horseback, and in coaches, intended to see me out of town. Some, finding themselves disappointed, followed me thither, where I stayed a few days, and preached to a very crowded auditory. Then I went on to Oxford, where we had, as it were, a general rendezvous of the Methodists; and, finding their interests flourishing, and being impatient to go abroad, I hastened away, and came to London about the end of August."
Thus passed two months more of this strange and eventful year. Meanwhile, Whitefield had issued his first publication. The following advertisement appeared in the Weekly Miscellany, July 22, 1737:—"Speedily will be published (price sixpence, or two guineas per hundred, to those who give them away), The Nature and Necessity of our New Birth in Christ Jesus, in order to Salvation—a Sermon preached in the Church of St. Mary's Redcliffe, in Bristol, by George Whitefield, A.B., of Pembroke College, Oxford. Published at the request of several of the hearers. Printed by C. Rivington, in St. Paul's Churchyard; and sold by Messrs. Harris, Senior and Junior, in Gloucester; Mr. Wilson, in Bristol; and Mr. Leake, in Bath."[95]
The sermon, thus announced, was published on August 5th, 8vo, 28 pp. The text was, "If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature." The four divisions were, 1. What is meant by being in Christ. 2. What we are to understand by being a new creature. 3. Produce arguments to prove why we must be new creatures before we can be in Christ. 4. Draw some inferences from the whole. At the present day, there is nothing in the sermon likely to arrest attention; but, a hundred and thirty years ago, things were different. Then, Whitefield's doctrine, if not new, was startling. It was seldom preached, was hardly understood, and rarely felt. As Whitefield himself observes, "though one of the most fundamental doctrines of our holy religion," "it was so seldom considered, and so little experimentally understood by the generality of professors," that when told "they must be born again, they were ready to cry out, 'How can these things be?'"
The sermon is not remarkable either for its eloquence or depth of thought. It is simply plain, earnest, practical. Two or three extracts, to illustrate Whitefield's style, may be welcome.
Having propounded the doctrine, that being a new creature does not mean "a physical change made in us," but rather an alteration of "the qualities and tempers of our minds," the preacher proceeds,—"As it may be said of a piece of gold that was in the ore, after it has been cleansed, purified, and polished, that it is a new piece of gold; as it may be said of a bright glass that has been covered over with filth, when it is wiped, and so become transparent and clear, that it is a new glass; or, as it might be said of Naaman, when he recovered of his leprosy, and his flesh returned unto him like the flesh of a young child, that he was a new man; so our souls, though still the same as to essence, yet are so purged, purified, and cleansed from their natural dross, filth, and leprosy, by the influences of the Holy Spirit, that they may properly be said to be made anew!'
One of Whitefield's arguments to prove the necessity of the new birth was founded on a consideration of the nature of future happiness. That happiness being spiritual, "unless our carnal minds are changed, and become spiritualized, we cannot be made meet to be partakers of it."
"It is true," he says, "we may flatter ourselves, that, supposing we continue in our natural corrupt estate, and carry all our lusts along with us, we should notwithstanding relish heaven, were God to admit us therein. And so we might, were it a Mahometan paradise, wherein we were to take our full swing in sensual delights. But since its joys are only spiritual, and no unclean thing can possibly enter those blessed mansions, there is an absolute necessity of our being changed, and undergoing a total renovation of our depraved natures, before we can have any taste or relish of those heavenly pleasures. In the very nature of things, unless we have dispositions answerable to the objects that are to entertain us, we can take no manner of complacency in them. For instance, what delight can the most harmonious music afford a deaf man; or what pleasure the most excellent picture give a blind one? Can a tasteless palate relish the richest dainties? or a filthy swine be pleased with a garden of flowers? No! And what reason can be assigned for it? An answer is ready: Because they have no tempers of mind correspondent to what they are to be diverted with. And thus it is with the soul hereafter. For death makes no more alteration in the soul, than as it enlarges its faculties, and makes it capable of receiving deeper impressions either of pleasure or pain. If it delighted to converse with God here, it will be transported with the sight of His glorious majesty hereafter. If it was pleased with the communion of saints on earth, it will be infinitely more so with the communion and society of holy angels, and of the spirits of just men, made perfect, in heaven. But, if the opposite of all this be true, it could not be happy, were God Himself to admit it into the regions of the blessed."
One more extract must suffice. It is taken from the preface to the sermon, and was hardly adapted to gain the young preacher favour among the clergy whom it censures.
"The importunity of friends, the aspersions of enemies, the great scarcity of sermons on this subject, among the divines of our own Church, and not any overweening conceit of the worth of the performance, were, amongst divers others, the reasons that induced me to permit the publication of this very plain discourse. If it be made instrumental towards the convicting of any one sinner, or confirming any one saint, I shall not be solicitous about the censures that may be passed, either on the simplicity of the style, or on the youth of the author.
"I hope it will be permitted me to add my hearty wishes, that my reverend brethren, the ministers of the Church of England, (if such an one as I may be worthy to call them brethren,) would more frequently entertain their people with discourses of this nature, than they commonly do; and that they would not, out of a servile fear of displeasing some particular persons, fail to declare the whole will of God to their respective congregations, nor suffer their people to rest satisfied with the shell and shadow of religion, without acquainting them with the nature and necessity of that inward holiness and vital purity of heart, which their profession obliges them to aspire after, and without which no man living can comfortably see the Lord."
The first sermon which Wesley published, after his conversion, was on the text, "By grace are ye saved, through faith;" its principal subject being "salvation, or justification, by faith only." Whitefield's first sermon is entirely on the new birth. Both the doctrines are of paramount importance; and the preaching of the two combined, created, under God, the Methodism that now exists.
It may be added, that Whitefield's sermon passed through at least three editions before the year of its publication was ended.[96] Other sermons will be mentioned shortly; but, in the meantime, Whitefield's narrative must be resumed. Having come to London "about the end of August," expecting to set sail for Georgia, he says:—
"Every hour now seemed a week, and every week a year, till I was embarked. I knew there was no minister at Frederica, for which place I was appointed, and I did not care to be absent longer from my proper charge. Mr. Oglethorpe's going was still retarded, and I had thought it my duty to go immediately without him, had not he and my other friends urged that the soldiers would shortly embark, and that I had best go over with them. This somewhat pacified me; and, having now taken a final farewell of my friends in the country, I was resolved to abide in London, and give myself wholly to prayer, the study of the Scriptures, and my own heart, till the soldiers should embark.
"The house I lodged at was good old Mr. Hutton's,[97] in College Street, Westminster, where I had the pleasure of seeing my dear friend, Mr. Ingham, lately returned from Georgia; and perceiving him, as I thought, remarkably grown in grace, I longed still more to be sent to the same school, hoping to catch some of that holy flame with which his soul was fired. We freely and solemnly conversed together about my call abroad; and it seemed to both quite clear. Our hearts were knit to each other, like the hearts of David and Jonathan. At midnight, we would rise to sing praises to God, and to intercede for the whole state of Christ's militant Church here on earth.
"With this dear friend, I, one day, paid a visit to a worthy doctor of divinity, near London, who introduced us to some honourable ladies, who delighted in doing good. It being my constant practice to improve my acquaintance with the rich for the benefit of the poor, I recommended two poor clergymen, and another pious person, to their charity. They said little, but, between them, gave, I think, thirty-six guineas. The doctor said,' If you had not spoken for others, you would have had a good deal of that yourself.' God gave me to rejoice that I had nothing, and the poor all. The next day, upon my return to London, in the first letter that I opened, was a bank-note of £10, sent from an unexpected hand as a present to myself.
"About this time, I was prevailed upon to print my sermon on 'The Nature and Necessity of our New Birth in Christ Jesus,' which, under God, began the awakening in London, Bristol, Gloucester, and Gloucestershire. This sermon sold well to persons of all denominations, and was dispersed very much both at home and abroad. Finding another of my sermons was printed, without my leave, and in a very incorrect manner, at Bristol, I was obliged to publish in my own defence; and, afterwards, thought I had a clear call to print any other discourses, though in themselves mean, that I found blessed to the good of souls.
"But to return to my public administrations. Being determined to abide in London till the time of my departure, I followed my usual practice of reading and praying over the word of God upon my knees. Sweet was this retirement, but it was not of long continuance. I was invited to preach at Cripplegate, St. Ann's, and Forster Lane churches, at six on the Lord's-day morning, and to assist in administering the holy sacrament. I embraced the invitations, and so many came, that sometimes we were obliged to consecrate fresh elements two or three times. I also preached at Wapping Chapel, the Tower, Ludgate, Newgate, and many of the churches where weekly lectures were kept up. The congregations continually increased, and generally, on a Lord's-day, I used to preach four times to very large and very affected auditories, besides reading prayers twice or thrice, and walking, perhaps, twelve miles in going backwards and forwards from one church to the other.
"About the latter end of August, finding there were many young men belonging to the" (Religious) "Societies that attended my administrations, I entered into one of their singing societies, hoping to have greater opportunities of doing them good. It answered my design. Our Lord gave me to spiritualize their singing. After they had taught me the gamut, they would gladly hear me teach them some of the mysteries of the new birth. Many sweet nights we spent together in this way; and many of these youths, afterwards, to all appearance, walked with God.
"About the middle of September, my name was first put into the public newspapers. The Sunday before, I was prevailed upon to preach a charity sermon in Wapping Chapel.[98] The congregation was very large, and more was collected than had been for many years upon a like occasion. My friends entreated me to preach another charity sermon, at Sir George Wheeler's Chapel; and, through the importunity of Mr. Habersham (since my faithful assistant in the Orphan House), I agreed to do it. I discoursed upon the widow's giving her two mites. God bowed the hearts of the hearers as the heart of one man. Almost all, as I was told by the collectors, offered most willingly. This still drew on fresh applications. The Sunday following, I preached, in the evening, at St. Swithin's, where £8 was collected, instead of ten shillings. The next morning, I read in one of the newspapers, 'that there was a young gentleman going volunteer to Georgia; that he had preached at St. Swithin's, and collected £8, instead of ten shillings, £3 of which were in halfpence; and that he was to preach next Wednesday before the Societies, at their general quarterly meeting.' This advertisement chagrined me. I immediately sent to the printer, desiring he would put me in his paper no more. His answer was, that 'he was paid for doing it, and that he would not lose two shillings for anybody.' By this means, people's curiosity was stirred up more and more. On the Wednesday evening, Bow Church, in Cheapside, was crowded exceedingly. I preached my sermon on 'Early Piety,' and, at the request of the Societies, printed it.
"Henceforwards, for near three months successively, there was no end of the people flocking to hear the word of God. The churchwardens and managers of charity schools were constantly applying to me to preach for the benefit of the children; and, as I was to embark shortly, they procured the liberty of the churches on the week-days,—a thing never known before. I sometimes had more than a dozen names of different churches, at which I had promised to preach, upon my slate-book at once; and, when I preached, constables were obliged to be placed at the door, to keep the people in order. The sight of the congregations was awful. One might, as it were, walk upon the people's heads; and thousands went away from the largest churches for want of room. They were all attention, and heard like people hearing for eternity.
"I now preached generally nine times a week. The early sacraments were exceeding awful. At Cripplegate, St. Ann's, and Forster Lane, how often have we seen Jesus Christ crucified, and evidently set forth before us! On Sunday mornings, long before day, you might see streets filled with people going to church, with their lanterns in their hands, and hear them conversing about the things of God. Other lecture churches near at hand would be filled with persons who could not come where I was preaching; and those who did come were like persons struck with pointed arrows, or mourning for a firstborn child. People gave so liberally to the charity schools, that this season near,£1000 was collected at the several churches, besides many private contributions and subscriptions sent in afterwards. I always preached gratis, and gave myself.
"The blue-coat boys and girls looked upon me as their great benefactor; and, I believe, frequently sent up their infant cries on my behalf. Worthy Mr. Seward, afterwards my dear fellow-traveller, was their hearty friend and advocate. He was concerned in above twenty charity schools, and, as I found afterwards, inserted the paragraph that so chagrined me.
"The tide of popularity now began to run very high. In a short time, I could no longer walk on foot as usual, but was constrained to go in a coach, from place to place, to avoid the hosannas of the multitude. They grew quite extravagant in their applauses; and, had it not been for my compassionate High Priest, popularity would have destroyed me. I used to plead with Him to take me by the hand, and lead me unhurt through this fiery furnace. He heard my request, and gave me to see the vanity of all commendations but His own.
"Not that all spoke well of me. No; as my popularity increased, opposition increased also. At first, many of the clergy were my hearers and admirers; but some soon grew angry, and complaints were made that the churches were so crowded that there was no room for the parishioners, and that the pews were spoiled. Some called me a spiritual pickpocket, and others thought I made use of a kind of charm to get the people's money. A report was spread that the Bishop of London, upon the complaint of the clergy, intended to silence me. I immediately waited upon his lordship, and enquired whether any complaint of this nature had been lodged against me? He answered, 'No.' I asked his lordship whether any objection could be made against my doctrine? He said, 'No; for he knew a clergyman who had heard me preach a plain scriptural sermon.' I asked his lordship whether he would grant me a license? He said, 'I needed none, since I was going to Georgia.' I replied, 'Then your lordship will not forbid me?' He gave me a satisfactory answer, and I took my leave. Soon after this, two clergymen sent for me, and told me they would not let me preach in their pulpits any more, unless I renounced that part of my sermon on regeneration, wherein I wished 'that my brethren would entertain their auditories oftener with discourses upon the new birth.' This I had no freedom to do, and so they continued my opposers.
"What, I believe, irritated some of my enemies the more, was my free conversation with many of the serious Dissenters, who invited me to their houses, and repeatedly told me 'that, if the doctrine of the new birth and justification by faith was preached powerfully in the Church, there would be but few Dissenters in England.' My practice in visiting and associating with them, I thought, was quite agreeable to the word of God. Their conversation was savoury, and I imagined the best way to bring them over was not by bigotry and railing, but by moderation, and love, and undissembled holiness of life. But these reasons were of no avail. One minister called me a pragmatical rascal, and vehemently inveighed against the whole body of Dissenters. This stirred up the people's corruptions; and, having an overweening fondness for me, whenever they came to church and found that I did not preach, some of them would go out again. This spirit I always endeavoured to quell, and made a sermon on purpose from these words, 'Take heed how ye hear.' One time, upon hearing that a churchwarden intended to take £8 a year from his parish minister, because he refused to let me preach his lecture, I composed a sermon upon 'Love your enemies,' and delivered it where I knew the churchwarden would be. It had its desired effect. He came after sermon, and told me he should not resent the injury the doctor had done me, and then thanked me for my care.
"Nor was I without opposition from my friends, who were jealous over me with a godly jealousy. Thousands and thousands came to hear. My sermons were everywhere called for. News came, from time to time, of the springing-up and increase of the seed sown in Bristol, Gloucester, and elsewhere. Large offers were made me, if I would stay in England. And all the opposition I met with, joined with the consciousness of my daily infirmities, was but ballast little enough to keep me from oversetting.
"I had a sweet knot of religious friends, with whom I first attempted to pray extempore. Some time, I think in October, we began to set apart an hour every evening to intercede with the Great Head of the Church to carry on the work begun, and for the circle of our acquaintance, according as we knew their circumstances required. I was their mouth unto God, and He only knows what enlargement I felt in that Divine employ. Once we spent a whole night in prayer and praise; and many a time, at midnight and at one in the morning, after I had been wearied almost to death in preaching, writing, and conversation, and going from place to place, God imparted new life to my soul, and enabled me to intercede with Him for an hour and a half and two hours together. The sweetness of this exercise made me compose my sermon upon Intercession, and I cannot think it presumption to suppose that partly, at least, in answer to prayers then put up by His dear children, the Word, for some years past, has run and been glorified, not only in England, but in many other parts of the world.
"It was now, I think, that I was prevailed on to sit for my picture. The occasion was this. Some ill-minded persons had painted me leaning on a cushion, with a bishop looking very enviously over my shoulder. At the bottom were six lines, in one of which the bishops were styled 'Mitred Drones.' The same person published in the papers that I had sat for it. This I looked upon as a snare of the devil to incense the clergy against me. I consulted friends what to do. They told me I must sit for my picture in my own defence. At the same time, my aged mother laid her commands upon me to do so, urging 'that if I would not let her have the substance, I would leave her at least the shadow.' She also mentioned the painter, and, meeting with him one night, accidentally, I, with great reluctance, complied, and endeavoured, whilst the painter was drawing my face, to employ my time in beseeching the great God, by His Holy Spirit, to paint His blessed image upon my heart.
"Christmas now drew near. Notice was given me that the soldiers were almost ready to embark for Georgia, and I resolved to go with them. The nearer the time of my departure approached, the more affectionate the people grew. At the beginning of Christmas week, I took my leave; but, oh, what groans and sighs were heard when I said, 'Finally, brethren, farewell!' At Great St. Helen's, the cry was amazing. I was nearly half an hour going out to the door. All ranks gave vent to their passions. Thousands and thousands of prayers were put up for me. They would run and stop me in the alleys, hug me in their arms, and follow me with wishful looks. Once in the Christmas before my departure, with many others, I spent a night in prayer and praise, and, in the morning, helped to administer the sacrament at St. Dunstan's, as I used to do on Saints' Days. But such a sacrament I never saw before. The tears of the communicants mingled with the cup, and had not Jesus comforted our hearts, our parting would have almost been unsupportable.
"At length, on December 28, I left London and went on board the Whitaker, after having preached in a good part of the London churches, collected about £1000 for the charity schools, and got upwards of £300 for the poor of Georgia among my friends."[99]