27 December 1714 A.D. Mr. (Rev.) George Whitfield was
born. Mr. (Bp.) J.C. Ryle’s sketch of
George Whitfield.
A SKETCH OF THE LIFE AND LABORS OF GEORGE
WHITEFIELD
J.C. Ryle
There are some men in the pages of history,
whose greatness no person of common sense thinks of disputing. They tower above
the herd of mankind, like the Pyramids, the Parthenon, and the Colosseum, among
buildings. Such men were Luther and Augustine, Gustavus Adolphus and George
Washington, Columbus and Sir Isaac Newton. He who questions their
greatness must be content to be though very ignorant, very prejudiced, or very
eccentric. Public opinion has come to a conclusion about them - they were great
men.
But there are also great men whose reputation
lies buried under a heap of contemporary ill-will and misrepresentation. The
world does not appreciate them, because the world does not know their real
worth. Their characters have come down to us through poisoned channels. Their
portraits have been drawn by the ill-natured hand of enemies. Their faults have
been exaggerated. Their excellences have been maliciously kept back and
suppressed. Like the famous sculptures of Nineveh, they need the hand of some
literary Layard to clear away the rubbish that has accumulated round their
names, and show them to the world in their fair proportions. Such men were Vigilantius
and Wickliffe. Such men were Oliver Cromwell and many of the Puritans. And such
a man was George Whitefield.
There are few men whose characters have
suffered so much from ignorance and misrepresentation of the truth as
Whitefield's.
That he was a famous Methodist, and ally of
John Wesley, in the last century; that he was much run after by ignorant
people, for his preaching; that many thought him an enthusiast and fanatic; all
this is about as much as most Englishmen know.
But that he was one of the principal champions
of evangelical religion in the eighteenth century in our own country; that he
was one of the most powerful and effective preachers that ever lived; that he
was a man of extraordinary singleness of eye, and devotedness to the interests
of true religion; that he was a regularly ordained clergyman of the Church of
England, and would always have worked in the Church, if the Church had not,
most unwisely, shut him out; all these are things, of which few people seem
aware. And yet, after calm examination of his life and writings, I am satisfied
this is the true account that ought to be given of George Whitefield.
My chief desire is to assist in forming a just
estimate of Whitefield's worth. I wish to lend a helping hand towards raising
his name from the undeservedly low place which is commonly assigned to it. I
wish to place him before your eyes as a noble specimen of what the grace of God
can enable one man to do. I want you to treasure up his name in your memories,
as one of the brightest in that company of departed saints who were, in their
day, patterns of good works, and of whom the world was not worthy.
I propose, therefore, without further preface,
to give you a hasty sketch of Whitefield's times, Whitefield's life,
Whitefield's religion, Whitefield's preaching, and Whitefield's actual
work on earth.
1. The story of Whitefield's times is one that
should often be told. Without it, nobody is qualified to form an opinion either
as to the man or his acts. Conduct that in one kind of times may seem rash,
extravagant, and indiscreet, in another may be wise, prudent, and even
absolutely necessary. In forming your opinion of the comparative merits of
Christian men, never forget the old rule: "Distinguish between
times." Place yourself in each man's position. Do not judge what was a
right course of action in other times, by what seems a right course of action
in your own.
Now, the times when Whitefield lived were,
unquestionably, the worst times that have ever been known in this country,
since the Protestant Reformation. There never was a greater mistake than to
talk of "the good old times." The times of the eighteenth century, at
any rate, were "bad old times," unmistakably. Whitefield was born in
1714. He died in 1770. It is not saying too much to assert, that this was
precisely the darkest age that England has passed through in the last three
hundred years. Any thing more deplorable than the condition of the country, as
to religion, morality, and high principle, from 1700 to about the era of the French
Revolution, it is very difficult to conceive.
The state of religion in the Established Church
can only be compared to that of a frozen or palsied carcass. There were the
time-honored formularies which the wisdom of the Reformers had provided. There
were the services and lessons from Scripture, just in the same order as we have
them now. But, as to preaching the gospel in the Established Church, there was
almost none. The distinguishing doctrines of Christianity - the atonement, the
work and office of Christ and the Spirit - were comparatively lost sight of.
The vast majority of sermons were miserable moral essays, utterly devoid of any
thing calculated to awaken, convert, save, or sanctify souls. The curse of
black Bartholomew-day seemed to rest upon our Church. For at least a century
after casting out two thousand of the best ministers in England, our
Establishment never prospered.
There were some learned and conscientious
bishops at this era, beyond question. Such men were Secker, and Gibson, and
Lowth, and Warburton, and Butler, and Horne. But even the best of them sadly
misunderstood the requirements of the day they lived in. They spent their
strength in writing apologies for Christianity, and contending against
infidels. They could not see that, without the direct preaching of the
essential doctrines of Christ's gospel, their labors were all in vain. And, as
to the majority of the bishops, they were potent for negative evil, but
impotent for positive good; giants at stopping what they thought disorder, but
infants at devising any thing to promote real order; mighty to repress
overzealous attempts at evangelization, but weak to put in action any remedy
for the evils of the age; eagle-eyed at detecting any unhappy wight who trod on
the toes of a rubric or canon, but blind as bats to the flood of indolence and
false doctrine with which their dioceses were every where deluged.
That there were many well-read, respectable and
honorable men among the parochial clergy at this period, it would be wrong to
deny. But few, it is to be feared, out of the whole number, preached Christ
crucified in simplicity and sincerity. Many whose lives were decent and moral,
were notoriously Arians, if not Socinians. Many were totally engrossed in
secular pursuits; they neither did good themselves, nor liked any one else to
do it for them. They hunted; they shot; they drank; they swore; they fiddled;
they farmed; they toasted Church and King, and thought little or nothing about
saving souls. And as for the man who dared to preach the doctrine of the Bible,
the Articles, and the Homilies, he was sure to be set down as an enthusiast and
fanatic.
The state of religion among the Dissenters was
only a few degrees better than the state of the Church. The toleration which
they enjoyed from William the Third's time was certainly productive of a very
bad spiritual effect on them as a body. As soon as they ceased to be
persecuted, they appear to have gone to sleep. The Baptist and Independent
could still point to Gill, and Guyse, and Doddridge, and Watts, and a few more
like minded men. But the English Presbyterians were fast lapsing into
Socinianism. And as to the great majority of nonconformists, it is vain to deny
that they were very different men from Baxter, and Flavel, and Gurnall, and Traill.
A generation of preachers arose who were very orthodox, but painfully cold;
very conscientious, but very wanting in spirituality; very constant in their
objections to the Established Church, but very careless about spreading vital
Christianity.
I deeply feel the difficulty of conveying a
correct impression of the times when Whitefield lived. I dislike over-statement
as much as any one, but I am thoroughly persuaded it is not easy to make an
over-statement on this branch of my subject.
These were the times when the highest
personages in the realm lived openly in ways which were flatly contrary to the
law of God, and no man rebuked them. No courts, I suppose, can be imagined more
diametrically unlike than the, courts of George I. and George II., and the court
of Queen Victoria.
These were the times when profligacy and
irreligion were reputable and respectable things. Judging from the description
we have of men and manners in those days, a gentleman might have been defined
as a creature who got drunk, gambled, swore, fought duels, and broke the
seventh commandment incessantly. And for all this, no one thought the worse of
him.
These were the days when the men whom kings
delighted to honor were Bolingbroke, Chesterfield, Walpole, and Newcastle. To
be an infidel or a skeptic, to obtain power by intrigue, and to retain power by
the grossest and most notorious bribery, were considered no disqualifications
at this era. Such was the utter want of religion, morality, and high principle
in the land, that men such as these were not only tolerated, but praised.
These were the days when Hume, the historian,
put forth his work, became famous, and got a pension. He was notoriously an
infidel. These were the days when Sterne and Swift wrote their clever, but most
indecent productions. Both were clergymen, and high in the Church; but the
public saw no harm. These were the days when Fielding and Smollet were the
popular authors, and the literary taste of high and low was suited by Roderick
Random, Peregrine Pickle, Joseph Andrews, and Tom Jones.
These were the days when Knox says, in his
history of Christian Philosophy: "Some of the most learned men - the most
voluminous writers on theological subjects - were totally ignorant of
Christianity. They were ingenious heathen philosophers, assuming the name
of Christians, and forcibly paganizing Christianity, for the sake of pleasing
the world" These were the days when Archbishop Drummond (1760) could talk
of "intricate and senseless questions, about the influence of the Spirit
the power of grace, predestination, imputed righteousness, justification
without works, and other opinions which have from the beginning perplexed and
perverted, debased defiled, and wounded Christianity." These were the days
when Bishop Warburton considered the teaching office of the Holy Ghost to be
completed in the Holy Scriptures, and that his sanctifying and comforting
offices are chiefly confined to charity. Such were the leading ministers. What
must the mass of teachers have been! Such were the priests of
Whitefield's time. What must have been the people!
These were the days when there was an utter
dearth of sound theological writing. The doctrines of the Reformers were
trampled under foot by men who sat in their chairs. The bread of the Church was
eaten by men who flatly contradicted her Articles. The appetite of religious
people was satisfied with "Tillotson's Sermons," and the "Whole
Duty of Man." A pension of two hundred pounds a year was actually given to
Blair, of Edinburgh, for writing his most unchristian sermons. Ask any
theological bookseller, and he will tell you that, generally speaking, no
divinity is so worthless as that of the eighteenth century.
In fine, these were the days when there was no
Society for promoting the increase of true religion, but the Christian
Knowledge Society, and the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel. And even
their work was comparatively trifling. Nothing was done for the Jew. Nothing
was done for the heathen. Nothing, almost, was done for the colonies. Nothing was
done for the destitute parts of our own country. Nothing was done for
education. The Church slept. The dissenters slept. The pulpit slept. The
religious press slept. The gates were left wide open. The walls were left
unguarded. Infidelity stalked in. The Devil sowed tares broadcast, and walked
to and fro. The gentry gloried in their shame, and no man pointed out their
wickedness. The people sinned with a high hand, and no man taught them better.
Ignorance, profligacy, irreligion, and superstition, were to be seen
everywhere. Such were the times when Whitefield was raised up.
I know that this is a dreadful picture. I
marvel God did not sweep away the Church altogether. But I believe that the
picture is not one whit too highly colored. It is painful to expose such a
state of things. But, for Whitefield's sake, the truth ought to be known.
Justice has not been done to him, because the condition of the times he lived
in is not considered. The times he lived in were extraordinary times, and
required extraordinary means to be used. And whatever quiet men, sitting by
their fireside in our day, may say to the contrary, I am satisfied that
Whitefield was just the man for his times.
2. The story of Whitefield's life, which forms
the next part of our subject, is one that is soon told. The facts and incidents
of that life are few and simple, and I shall not dwell upon them at any
length.
Whitefield was born in 1714. Like many other
great men, he was of very humble origin. His father and mother kept the Bell
Inn, in the city of Gloucester. Whether there is such an inn now, I do not
know. But, judging from Whitefield's account of his circumstances, it must
formerly have been a very small concern.
Whitefield's early life seems to have been any
thing but religious, though he had occasional fits of devout feeling. He speaks
of himself as having been addicted to lying, filthy talking, and foolish
jesting. He confesses that he was a Sabbath-breaker, a theatre-goer, a card
player, and a romance-reader. All this went on till he was twelve or fifteen
years old.
At the age of twelve he was placed at a
grammar-school in Gloucester. Little is known of his progress there, excepting
the curious fact that even then he was remarkable for his good elocution and
memory, and was selected to make speeches before the corporation, at their
annual visitations.
At the age of fifteen he appears to have become
tired of Latin and Greek, and to have given up all hopes of ever becoming more
than a tradesman. He ceased to take lessons in anything but writing. He began
to assist his mother in the public-house that she kept. "At length,"
he says, "I put on my blue apron, washed mops, cleaned rooms, and, in one
word, became a professed common drawer for nigh a year and a half."
But God, who ordereth all things in heaven and
earth, and called David from keeping sheep to be a king, had provided some
better thing for Whitefield than the office of a pot-boy. Family disagreements
interfered with his prospects at the Bell Inn. An old schoolfellow stirred up
again within him the desire of going to the University. And at length, after
several providential circumstances had smoothed the way, he was launched, at
the age of eighteen, at Oxford, in a position at that time much more humbling
than it is now, as a servitor at Pembroke College.
Whitefield's Oxford career seems to have been
the turning-point in his life. According to his own journal, he had not been
without religious convictions for two or three years before he went to Oxford.
From the time of his entering Pembroke College, these convictions rapidly
ripened into decided Christianity. He became marked for his attendance on all
means of grace within his reach. He spent his leisure time in visiting the city
prisons and doing good. He formed an acquaintance with the famous John Wesley
and his brother Charles, which gave a color to the whole of his subsequent
life. At one time he seems to have had a narrow escape from becoming a
semi-papist, an ascetic, or a mystic. From this he seems to have been
delivered, partly by the advice of wiser and more experienced Christians, and
partly by reading such books as Scougal's "Life of God in the Soul of
Man," Law's "Serious Call," Baxter's "Call to the
Unconverted," and Alleine's "Alarm to Unconverted Sinners." At
length, in 1736, at the early age of twenty-two, he was ordained deacon by
Bishop Benson, of Gloucester, and began to run that ministerial race in which
he never drew breath till he was laid in the grave.
His first sermon was preached in St.
Mary-le-Crypt, Gloucester. It was said to have driven fifteen persons mad.
Bishop Benson remarked, that he only hoped the madness might continue. He next
accepted temporary duty at the Tower Chapel, London. While engaged there, he
preached continually, in many of the London churches, and among others, in the
parish churches of Islington, Bishopsgate, St. Dunstan's, St. Margaret,
Westminster, and Bow, Cheapside. From the very beginning he attained a degree
of popularity such as no preacher, probably, before or since, has ever reached.
To say that the churches were crowded when he preached, would be saying little.
They were literally crammed to suffocation. An eye-witness said, "You
might have walked on the people's heads."
From London he removed for a few months to
Dummer, a little rural pariah in Hampshire, near Basingstoke. From Dummer he
sailed for the colony of Georgia, in North America, after visiting Gloucester
and Bristol, and preaching in crowded churches in each place. The object of his
voyage was to assist the Wesleys in the care of an Orphan House which they had
established in Georgia for the children of colonists who died there. The
management of this Orphan House ultimately devolved entirely on Whitefield, and
entailed on him a world of responsibility and anxiety all his life long. Though
well meant, it seems to have been a design of very questionable wisdom.1
Whitefield returned from Georgia after about
two years' absence, partly to obtain priest's orders, which were conferred on
him by Bishop Benson, and partly on business connected with the Orphan House.
And now we reach the era in his life when he was obliged, by circumstances, to
take up a line of conduct as a minister which he probably at one time never
contemplated, but which was made absolutely necessary by the treatment he
received.
It appears that, on arriving in London after
his first visit to Georgia, he found the countenances of many of the clergy no
longer towards him as they were before. They had taken fright at some
expressions in his published letters, and some reports of his conduct in
America. They were scandalized at his preaching the doctrine of regeneration in
the way that he did, as a thing which many of their parishioners needed. The
pulpits of many churches were flatly refused to him. Churchwardens, who had no
eyes for heresy and drunkenness, were filled with virtuous indignation about
what they called breaches of order. Bishops who could tolerate Arianism and
Socinianism, got into a state of excitement about a man who simply preached the
gospel, and put forth warnings against fanaticism and enthusiasm. In short,
Whitefield's field of usefulness within the Church was rapidly narrowed on
every side.
The step which seems to have decided
Whitefield's course of action at this period of his life, was his adoption of
open-air preaching. He had gone to Islington, on a Sunday in April, 1739, to
preach for the vicar, his friend, Mr. Stonehouse. In the midst of the prayers,
the churchwarden came to him, and demanded his license for preaching in the
London diocese. This Whitefield, of course, had not got, any more than any
clergyman not regularly officiating in the diocese has at this day. The upshot
of the matter was, that being forbidden to preach in the pulpit, he went,
outside, after the service, and preached in the churchyard. From that day, he
regularly took up the practice of open-air preaching. Wherever there were large
open fields around London; wherever there were large bands of idle,
church-despising, Sabbath-breaking people gathered together - there went
Whitefield and lifted up his voice. The gospel so proclaimed was listened to,
and greedily received by hundreds who had never dreamed of visiting a place of
worship. In Moorfields, in Hackney Fields, in Mary-le-bone Fields, in May Fair,
in Smithfield, on Bennington Common, on Blackheath, Sunday after Sunday,
Whitefield preached to admiring masses. Ten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty
thousand, thirty thousand, were computed sometimes to have heard him at once.
The cause of pure religion, beyond doubt, was advanced. Souls were plucked from
the hand of Satan, as brands from the burning. But it was going much too fast
for the Church of those days. The clergy, with very few exceptions, would have
no thing to do with this strange preacher. In short, the ministrations of
Whitefield in the pulpits of the Establishment, with an occasional exception,
from this time ceased. He loved the Church. He gloried in her Articles and
Formularies. He used her Prayer Book with delight. But the Church did not love
him, and so lost the use of his services. The plain truth is, the Church of
England of that day was not ready for a man like Whitefield. The Church was too
much asleep to understand him.
From this date to the day of his death, a
period of thirty-one years, Whitefield's life was one uniform employment. From
Sunday morning to Saturday night - from the 1st of January to the 31st of
December - excepting when laid aside by illness, he was almost incessantly
preaching. There was hardly a considerable town in England, Scotland, and
Wales, that he did not visit. When churches were opened to him, he gladly
preached in churches. When chapels only were offered, he cheerfully preached in
chapels. When church and chapel alike were closed, he was ready and willing to
preach in the open sir. For thirty-four years he labored in this way, always
proclaiming the same glorious gospel, and always, as far as a man's eye can
judge, with immense effect. In one single Whitsuntide week, after he had been
preaching in Moorfields, he received one thousand letters from people under
spiritual concern, and admitted to the Lord's table three hundred and fifty
persons. In the thirty-four years of his ministry, it is reckoned that he
preached publicly eighteen thousand times.
His journeyings were prodigious, when
the roads and conveyances of his times are considered. Fourteen times did he
visit Scotland. Seven times did he cross the Atlantic, backward and forward.
Twice he went over to Ireland. As to England and Wales, he traversed every
county in them, from the Isle of Wight to Berwick-on-Tweed, and from the Land's
End to the North Foreland.
His regular ministerial work in London,
when he was not journeying, was prodigious. His weekly engagements at the
Tabernacle in Tottenham-court Road, which was built for him when the pulpits of
the Established Church were closed, were as follows: - Every Sunday morning he
administered the Lord's Supper to several hundred communicants, at half-past
six. After this he read prayers, and preached, both morning and afternoon;
preached again in the evening at half-past five; and concluded, by addressing a
large society of widows, married people, young men and spinsters, all sitting separately
in the area of the Tabernacle, with exhortations suitable to their respective
stations. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings, he preached
regularly at six. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday
evenings, he delivered lectures. This you will observe made thirteen sermons a
week. And all this time he was carrying on a correspondence with people in
almost every part of the world.
That any human frame could so long endure the
labor he went through, does indeed seem wonderful. That his life was not
shortened by violence, is no less wonderful. Once he was nearly stoned to death
by a Popish mob in Dublin. Once he was nearly murdered in bed by an angry
lieutenant of the navy at Plymouth. Once he narrowly escaped being stabbed by
the sword of a rakish young gentleman in Moorfields; but he was immortal till
his work was done. He died at last at Newburyport, in North America, from a fit
of asthma, at the age of fifty-six. His last sermon was preached only
twenty-four hours before his death. It was an open-air discourse two hours
long. Like Bishop Jewell, he almost died preaching. He left no children. He was
once married, and the marriage does not seem to have contributed much to his
happiness. But he left a name far better than that of sons and daughters.
Never, I believe, was there a man of whom it could be so truly said, that he
spent and was spent for God.
3. The story of Whitefield's religion is
the neat part of the subject that I proposed to take up, and unquestionably it
is one of no little interest.
What sort of doctrine did this wonderful man
preach? an inquirer may reasonably ask. What were the standards of faith to
which he adhered under the Bible? What were the peculiar essentials of this
religious teaching of his, which was so universally spoken against in his day?
The answer to all these questions is short and
simple. Whitefield was a real, genuine son of the Church of England. As such he
was brought up in early youth. As such he was educated at Oxford. As such he
preached as long as he was allowed to preach within the Establishment. As such
he preached when he was outside. References to the Prayer Book, Articles, and
Homilies, abound in all his writings and sermons. His constant reply to his
numerous opponents was, that HE at any rate was consistent with the formularies
of his own Church, and that THEY were not. It is not at all too much to say,
that when practically cast out of the Establishment, Whitefield was an
infinitely better churchman than ten thousand of the men who received the
tithes of the Church of England, and remained comfortably behind.
Whitefield no doubt was not a churchman of the
stamp of Archbishop Laud and his school. He was not the man to put a Romish
interpretation on our excellent Formularies, and to place Church and sacraments
before Christ. He was not a churchman of the stamp of Tillotson and the school
that followed him. He did not lay aside justification by faith, and the need of
grace, for semi-heathen disquisitions about morality and duty, virtue and vice.
And he was quite right. Laud and his followers went infinitely beyond the
doctrines of our Church. Tillotson and his school fell infinitely below.
But if a churchman is a man who reads the
Articles, and Liturgy, and Homilies, in the sense of the men who compiled them
- if a churchman is a man who sympathizes with Cranmer, and Latimer, and
Hooper, and Jewell - if a churchman is a man who honors doctrines and
ordinances in the order and proportion that the Thirty-nine Articles honor them
- if this be the true definition of a churchman, then Whitefield was the
highest style of churchman - as true a churchman as ever breathed. And as for
Whitefield's adversaries, they were little better than shams and impostors.
They had place and power on their side, but they scarcely deserve to be called
churchmen at all.
Perhaps no better test of Whitefield's
religious opinions can be supplied, than the list of authors in divinity which
he wrote out for the use of a college connected with his Orphan House in Georgia.
Of churchmen, this list includes the names of Archbishop Leighton, Bishop Hall,
and Burkitt; of Puritans, Pool, Owen, and Bunyan; of Dissenters, Matthew Henry
and Doddridge; of Scotch Presbyterians, Wilson and Boston. All these are men
whose praise is even now in all the churches. These, let us understand, were
the kind of men with whom he was of one mind in doctrine.
As to the substance of Whitefield's theological
teaching, the simplest account I can give of it is, that it was purely evangelical.
There were four main things that he never lost sight of in his sermons. These
four were: man's complete ruin by sin, and consequent natural corruption of
heart; man's complete redemption by Christ, and complete justification before
God by faith in Christ; man's need of regeneration by the Spirit, and entire
renewal of heart and life; and man's utter want of any title to be considered a
living Christian, unless he is dead to sin and lives a holy life.
Whitefield had no notion of flattering men, and
speaking smooth things to them, merely because they were baptized and called
Christians, and sometimes came to church. He only looked at one prominent
feature in the thousands he saw around him; and that was, the general character
of their lives. He saw the lives of these multitudes were utterly contradictory
to the Bible, and utterly at variance with the principles of the Church to
which they professed to belong. He waited for nothing more. He looked for no
further evidence. He judged of trees by their fruits. He told these thousands
at once that they were in danger of being lost for ever - that they were in the
broad way that leads to destruction - that they were dead, and must be made
alive again - that they were lost, and must be found. He told them that if they
loved life, they must immediately repent - they must become new creatures -
they must be converted, they must be born again. And I believe the
apostles would have done just the same.
But Whitefield was just as full and explicit in
setting forth the way to heaven as he was in setting forth the way to hell.
When he saw that men's consciences were pricked and their fears aroused, he
would open the treasure-house of gospel mercy, and spread forth before a
congregation its unsearchable stores. He would unfold to them the amazing love
of God the Father to a fallen world - that love from which he gave his
only-begotten Son, and on account of which, while we were yet sinners, Christ
died for us. He would show them the amazing love of God the Son in taking our
nature on him, and suffering for us, the just for the unjust. He would tell
them of Jesus able to save to the uttermost all that would come to God by him -
Jesus and his everlasting righteousness, in which the vilest sinners might
stand complete and perfect before the throne of God - Jesus and the blood of
sprinkling, which could wash the blackest sins away - Jesus, the High Priest,
waiting to receive all who would come to him, and not only mighty, but ready to
save. And all this glorious salvation, he would tell men, was close to them. It
was not far above them, like heaven. It was not deep beneath them, like hell.
It was near at hand. It was within their reach. He would urge them at once to
accept it. The man that felt his sins and desired deliverance had only to believe
and be saved, to ask and receive, to wash and be clean. And was he not right to
say so? I believe the apostles would have said much the same.
But while Whitefield addressed the careless and
ungodly masses, in this style, he never failed to urge on those who made a high
profession of religion their responsibility, and to stir them up to walk worthy
of their high calling. He never tolerated men who talked well about religion,
but lived inconsistent lives. Such men, no doubt, there were about him, but it
is pretty certain they got no quarter from him. On the contrary, one of his
biographers tells us that he was especially careful to impress on all the
members of his congregation the absolute necessity of adorning the doctrine of
God in all the relations of life. Masters and servants, rich people and poor,
old and young, married and single, each and all were plainly exhorted to
glorify God in their respective positions. One day he would tell the young men
of his congregation to beware of being like one he heard of, whose uncle
described him as such a jumble of religion and business, that he was fit for
neither. Another day he would hold up the example of a widow, remarkable for
her confidence in God. Another day he would say to them, "God convert you
more and more every hour of the day; God convert you from lying in bed in the
morning; God convert you from lukewarmness; God convert you from conformity to
the world!" Another day he would warn young men against leaving their
religion behind them as they rose in the world. "Beware," he would
say, "of being golden apprentices, silver journeymen; and copper
masters." In short, there never was a greater mistake than to suppose
there was any thing Antinomian or licentious in Whitefield's teaching. It was
discriminating, unquestionably. Sinners had their portion; but saints had their
portion too. And what was this but walking in the very steps of the apostle
Paul?
The crowning excellence of Whitefield's
teaching was that he just spoke of men, things, and doctrines, in the way that
the Bible speaks of them, and the place that the Bible assigns to them. God,
Christ, and the Spirit - sin, justification, conversion, and sanctification -
impenitent sinners the most miserable of people - believing saints the most
privileged of people - the world a vain and empty thing - heaven the only rest
for an immortal soul - the Devil a tremendous and ever-watchful foe - holiness
the only true happiness - hell a real and certain portion for the unconverted;
these were the kind of subjects which filled Whitefield's mind, and formed the
staple of his ministry. To say that he undervalued the sacraments would be
simply false. His weekly communions at the Tabernacle are an answer that speaks
for itself. But he never put the first things in Christianity second, and the
second first. He never put doctrine below sacraments, and sacraments above
doctrine. And who shall dare to blame him for this? He only followed the
proportion of the Bible.
It is only fair to add, that Whitefield
exemplified in his practice the religion that he preached. He had faults,
unquestionably. I have not come here to make him out a perfect being. He often
erred in judgment, He was often hasty, both with his tongue and with his pen.
He had no business to say that Archbishop Tillotson knew no more of religion
than Mahomet. He was wrong to set down some people as the Lord's enemies, and
others as the Lord's friends, so precipitately as he sometimes did. He was to
blame for styling many of the clergy letter-learned Pharisees, because they
could not receive the doctrine of the new birth. But still, after all this has
been said, there can be no doubt that, in the main, he was a holy,
self-denying, and consistent man. Even his worst enemies can say nothing to the
contrary.
He was, to the very end, a man of eminent
self-denial. His style of living was most simple. He refused money when it
was pressed upon him, and once to the amount of £7000. He amassed no fortune.
He founded no wealthy family. The little money he left behind him at his death
was entirely from the legacies of friends.
He was a man of remarkable disinterestedness
and singleness of eye. He seemed to live for only two objects - the glory of
God, and the salvation of immortal souls. He raised no party of followers who
took his name. He established no system, like Wesley, of which his own writings
should be cardinal elements. A frequent expression of his is most
characteristic of the man: "Let the name of George Whitefield perish, so
long as Christ only is exalted."
Last, but not least, he was a man of extraordinary
catholicity and liberality in his religion. He knew nothing of that
narrow-minded policy which prompts a man to fancy that every thing must be
barren outside his own camp, and that his party has got a monopoly of truth and
heaven. He loved all who loved the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. He measured
all by the measure which the angels of God use - "did they possess
repentance towards God, faith towards the Lord Jeans Christ, holiness of
conversation!" If they did, they were as his brethren. His soul was with
such men, by whatever name they were called. Minor differences were wood, hay,
and stubble to him. The marks of the Lord Jesus were the only marks he cared
for. This catholicity is the more remarkable, when the spirit of the times he
lived in is considered. Even the Erskines, in Scotland, wanted him to preach
for no other denomination but their own, viz, the Secession Church. He asked
them, why only for them; and received the notable answer, that they were the Lord's
people. This was more than Whitefield could stand. He asked if there were no
other Lord's people but themselves. He told them, if all others were the
Devil's people, they certainly had more need to be preached to. And he wound up
by informing them, that if the Pope himself would lend him his pulpit, he would
gladly proclaim the righteousness of Christ in it. To this catholicity of
spirit he adhered all his days. And nothing could be a more weighty testimony
against all narrowness of spirit among believers, than his request shortly
before his death, that when he did die, John Wesley might be asked to preach
his funeral sermon. Wesley and he had long ceased to see eye to eye on
Calvinistic points. But as Calvin said of Luther, so Whitefield was
resolved to think of Wesley. He was determined to sink minor
differences, and to know him only as a good servant of Jesus Christ.
Such was George Whitefield's religion. Comment,
I hope, is needless upon it. Time, at any rate, forbids me to dwell on it a
moment longer. But surely I think I have shown enough to justify me in
expressing a wish that we had many living ministers in the Church of England
like George Whitefield.
4. The next part of the subject is one which I
fed some difficulty in handling, - I allude to Whitefield's preaching.
I find that this point is one on which much
difference of opinion prevails. I find many are disposed to think that part of
Whitefield's success is attributable to the novelty of gospel doctrines at the
time when he preached, and part to the extraordinary gifts of voice and
delivery with which he was endowed, and that the matter and style of his
sermons were in no wise remarkable. From this opinion I am inclined to dissent
altogether. After calm examination, I have come to the conclusion that
Whitefield was one of the most powerful and extraordinary preachers the world
has ever seen. My belief is, that hitherto he has never been too highly
estimated, and that, on the contrary, he does not receive the credit he
deserves.
One thing is abundantly clear and beyond
dispute, and that is, that his sermons were wonderfully effective. No preacher
has ever succeeded in arresting the attention of such enormous crowds of people
as those he addressed continually in the neighborhood of London. No preacher
has ever been so universally popular in every country he visited, England,
Scotland and America, as he was. No preacher has ever retained his hold on his
bearers so entirely as he did for thirty-four years. His popularity never
waned. It was as great at the end of his days as it was at the beginning. This
of itself is a great fact. To command the ear of people for thirty-four long
years, and be preaching incessantly the whole time. is something that the
novelty of the gospel alone will not account for. The theory that his preaching
was popular, because new, to my mind is utterly unsatisfactory.
Another thing is no less indisputable about his
preaching, and that is, that it produced a powerful effect on people in every
rank of life. He won the suffrages of high as well as low, of rich as well as
poor, of learned as well as unlearned. If his preaching had been popular with
none but the uneducated masses, we might have thought it possible there was
little in it except a striking delivery and a loud voice. But facts are,
unfortunately, against this theory too; and, under the pressure of these facts,
it will be found to break down.
It is a fact, that numbers of the nobility and
gentry of Whitefield's day were warm admirers of his preaching. The Marquis of
Lothian, the Earl of Levon, the Earl of Buchan, Lord Rae, Lord Dartmouth, Lord
James A. Gordon, might be named, among others, besides Lady Huntingdon and a
host of ladies.
It is a fact, that eminent statesmen, like
Bolingbroke and Chesterfield, were frequently his delighted hearers. Even the
artificial Chesterfield was known to warm under Whitefield's eloquence.
Bolingbroke has placed on record his opinion, and said, "He is the most
extraordinary man in our times. He has the most commanding eloquence I ever heard
in any person."
It is a fact, that cool-headed men, like Hume
the historian, and Franklin the philosopher, spoke in no measured terms of his
preaching powers. Franklin has written a long account of the effect his sermons
produced at Philadelphia. Hume declared that it was worth going twenty miles to
hear him.
Now these are facts-simple, historical, and
well-authenticated facts. What shall we say to them? I say that these facts are
quite enough to prove that Whitefield's effectiveness was not owing entirely to
delivery and voice, as some men would have us believe. Bolingbroke and
Chesterfield, and Hume and Franklin, were not such weak men as to allow their
judgments to be biased by any mere external endowments. They were no mean
judges of eloquence. They were, probably, among the best qualified critics of
the day. And I say confidently, that their opinion can only be explained by the
fact, that Whitefield was indeed a most powerful and extraordinary preacher.
But still, after all, the question remains to be
answered, What was the secret of Whitefield's unparalleled success as a
preacher? How are we to account for his sermons producing effects which no
sermons, before or after his time, have ever yet done? These are questions you
have a right to ask. But they are questions I find it very hard to answer. That
his sermons were not mere voice and rant, I think we have pretty clearly
proved. That he was a man of commanding intellect and grasp of mind, no one has
ever pretended to say. How then are we to account for the effectiveness of his
preaching?
The reader who turns for a solution of this
question to the seventy-five sermons published under his name, will probably be
much disappointed. He will not find in them many striking thoughts. He will not
discover in them any new exhibitions of gospel doctrine. The plain truth is,
that by far the greater part of them were taken down in short-hand by
reporters, without Whitefield's knowledge, and published without correction. No
intelligent reader, I think, can help discovering that these reporters were,
most unhappily, ignorant alike of stopping and paragraphing, of grammar and of
gospel. The consequence is, that many passages in these sermons are what
Latimer would call a "mingle-mangle," or what we should call in this day
"a complete mess."
Nevertheless, I am bold to say, that with all
their faults, Whitefield's printed sermons will repay a candid perusal. Let the
reader only remember what I have just said, that most of them are miserably
reported, paragraphed and stopped, and make allowance accordingly. Let him
remember also, that English for speaking and English for reading are two
different languages; and that sermons which preach well, always read ill.
Remember these two things, I say, and I do believe you will find very much to
admire in some of Whitefield's sermons. For myself, I can only say, I believe I
have learned much from them, and, however great a heresy against taste it may
appear, I should be ungrateful if I did not praise them.
And now let me try to point out to you what
seem to me to have been the characteristic features of Whitefield's sermons. I
may be wrong, but they appear to me to present just such a combination of
excellences as is most likely to make an effective preacher.
First and foremost, you must remember,
Whitefield preached a singularly pure gospel. Few men ever gave their
hearers so much wheat and so little chaff. He did not get into his pulpit to
talk about his party, his cause, his interest, or his office. He was
perpetually telling you about your sins, your heart, and Jesus Christ, in the
way that the Bible speaks of them. "Oh! the righteousness of Jesus
Christ!" he would frequently say: "I must be excused if I mention it
in almost all my sermons." This you may be sure, is the corner-stone of
all preaching that God honors. It must be preeminently a manifestation of
truth.
For another thing, Whitefield's preaching was singularly
lucid and simple. You might not like his doctrine, perhaps, but at any rate
you could not fail to understand what he meant. His style was easy, plain, and
conversational. He seemed to abhor long and involved sentences. He always saw
his mark, and went direct at it. He seldom or never troubled his hearers with
long arguments and intricate reasonings. Simple Bible statements, pertinent
anecdotes, and apt illustrations, were the more common weapons that he used.
The consequence was that his hearers always understood him. He never shot above
their heads. Never did man seem to enter so thoroughly into the wisdom of
Archbishop Usher's saying, "To make easy things seem hard is easy, but to
make hard things easy is the office of a great preacher."
For another thing, Whitefield was a singularly
bold and direct preacher. He never used that indefinite expression,
"we," which seem so peculiar to English pulpit oratory, and which
leaves a hearer's mind in a state of misty confusion as to the preacher's
meaning. He met men face to face, like one who had a message from God to them
like an ambassador with tidings from heaven; "I have come here to speak to
you about your soul." He never minced matters, and beat about the bush in
attacking prevailing sins. His great object seemed to be to discover the
dangers his hearers were most liable to, and then fire right at their hearts.
The result was that hundreds of his hearers used always to think that the
sermons were specially addressed to themselves. He was not content, like many,
with sticking on a tailpiece of application at the end of a long
discourse. A constant vein of application run through all his sermons.
"This is for you: this is for you: and this is for you." His hearers
were never let alone. Nothing, however, was more striking than his direct
appeals to all classes of his congregation as he drew towards a conclusion. With
all the fault of his printed sermons, the conclusions of some of them
are, to my mind, the most stirring and heart-searching addresses to souls
that are to be found in the English language.
Another striking feature in Whitefield's
preaching was his thundering earnestness. One poor, uneducated man said
of him that he "preached like a lion." Never, perhaps, did any
preacher so thoroughly succeed in showing people that he, at least, believed
all he was saying, and that his whole heart, and soul, and strength, were bent on
making them believe it too. No man could say that his sermons were like the
morning and evening gun at Portsmouth, a formal discharge, fired off as a
matter of course that disturbs no body. They were all life. They were all fire.
There was no getting away from under them. Sleep was next to impossible. You
must listen, whether you liked it or not. There was a holy violence about him.
Your attention was taken by storm. You were fairly carried off your legs by his
energy, before you had time to consider what you would do. An American
gentleman once went to hear him, for the first time, in consequence of the
report he heard of his preaching powers. The day was rainy, the congregation
comparatively thin, and the beginning of the sermon rather heavy. Our American
friend began to say to himself, "This man is no great wonder, after
all." He looked round, and saw the congregation as little interested as
himself. One old man, in front of the pulpit, had fallen asleep. But all at
once Whitefield stopped short. His countenance changed. And then he suddenly
broke forth in an altered tone: "If I had come to speak to you in my own
name, you might well rest your elbows on your knees, and your heads on your
hands, and sleep; and once in a while look up and say, What is this babbler
talking of? But I have not come to you in my own name. No! I have come to you
in the name of the Lord of Hosts," (here he brought down his hand and foot
with a force that made the building ring,) "and I must and will be
heard." The congregation started. The old man woke up at once. "Ay,
ay!" cried Whitefield, fixing his eyes on him, "I have waked you up,
have I? I meant to do it. I am not come here to preach to stocks and stones: I
have come to you in the name of the Lord God of Hosts, and I must and will have
an audience." The hearers were stripped of their apathy at once. Every
word of the sermon was attended to. And the American gentleman never forgot it.
Another striking feature in Whitefield's
preaching was his singular power of description. The Arabians have a
proverb which says, "He is the best orator who can turn men's ears into
eyes." If ever there was a speaker who succeeded in doing this, it was
Whitefield. He drew such vivid pictures of the things he was dwelling upon,
that his hearers could believe they actually saw them all with their own eyes,
and heard them with their own ears. "On one occasion," says one of
his biographers, "Lord Chesterfield was among his hearers. The preacher,
in describing the miserable condition of a poor, benighted sinner, illustrated
the subject by describing a blind beggar. The night was dark; the road
dangerous and fall of snares. The poor sightless mendicant is deserted by his
dog near the edge of a precipice, and has nothing to grope his way with but his
staff. But Whitefield so warmed with his subject, and unfolded it with such
graphic power, that the whole auditory was kept in breathless silence over the
movements of the poor old man;" and, at length, when the beggar was about
to take that fatal stop which would have hurled him down the precipice to
certain destruction, Lord Chesterfield actually made a rush forward to save
him, exclaiming aloud, "He is gone! he is gone!" The noble lord had
been so entirely carried away by the preacher, that he forgot the whole was a
picture.
One more feature in Whitefield's preaching
deserves especial notice, and that is, the immense amount of pathos and
feeling which it always contained. It was no uncommon thing with him to
weep profusely in the pulpit. Cornelius Winter goes so far as to say that he
hardly ever knew him get through a sermon without tears. There seems to have
been nothing whatever of affectation in this. He felt intensely for the souls
before him, and his feeling found a vent in tears. Of all the ingredients of
his preaching, nothing, I suspect, was so powerful as this. It awakened
sympathies, and touched secret springs in men, which no amount of intellect
could have moved. It melted down the prejudices which many had conceived
against him. They could not hate the man who wept so much over their souls.
They were often so affected as to shed floods of tears themselves. "I came
to hear you," said one man, "intending to break your head; but your
sermon got the better of me - it broke my heart." Once become satisfied
that a man loves you, and you will listen gladly to any thing he has got to
say. And this was just one grand secret of Whitefield's success.
And now I will only ask you to add to
this feeble sketch, that Whitefield's action was perfect - so perfect
that Garrick, the famous actor, gave it unqualified praise - that his voice
was as wonderful as his action - so powerful, that he could make thirty
thousand people hear him at once; so musical and well-attuned, that men said he
could raise tears by his pronunciation of the word "Mesopotamia:"
that his fluency and command of extemporaneous language were of the
highest order, prompting him always to use the right word and to put it in the
right place. Add, I say, these gifts to those already mentioned, and then judge
for yourselves whether there is not sufficient, and more than sufficient, in
our hands, to account for his power as a preacher.
For my part, I say, unhesitatingly, that I
believe no living preacher ever possessed such a combination of excellences as
Whitefield. Some, no doubt, have surpassed him in some of his gifts; others,
perhaps, have been his equals in others. But, for a combination of pure
doctrine, simple and lucid style, boldness and directness, earnestness and
fervor, descriptiveness and picture-drawing, pathos and feeling - united with a
perfect voice. perfect delivery, and perfect command of words, Whitefield, I
repeat, stands alone. No man, dead or alive, I believe, ever came alongside of
him. And I believe you will always find, that just in proportion as preachers
have approached that curious combination of excellences which Whitefield
possessed, just in that very proportion have they attained what Clarendon
defines true eloquence to be, viz, "a strange power of making themselves
believed."
5. And now, there only remains one more point
connected with Whitefield to which I wish to advert. I fear that I shall have
exhausted your attention already. But, the point is one of such importance,
that it cannot be passed over in silence. The point I mean is, the actual amount
of real good that Whitefield did.
You will, I hope, understand me, when I say,
that the materials for forming an opinion on this point in a history like his,
must necessarily be scanty. He founded no denomination among whom his name was
embalmed, and his every act recorded, as did John Wesley. He headed no mighty
movement against a Church which openly professed false doctrines, as Luther did
against Rome. He wrote no books which were to be the religious classics of the
million, like John Bunyan. He was a simple, guileless man, who lived for one
thing only, and that was to preach Christ. If he succeeded in doing that
effectually, he cared for nothing else. He did nothing to preserve the memory
of his usefulness. He left his work with the Lord.
Of course, there are many people who can see in
Whitefield nothing but a fanatic and enthusiast. There is a generation that
loathes every thing like zeal in religion. There are never wanting men of a
cautions, cold-blooded, Erasmus-like temper, who pass through the world doing
no good, because they are so dreadfully afraid of doing harm. I do not expect
such men to admire Whitefield or allow he did any good. I fear, if they had
lived eighteen hundred years ago, they would have had no sympathy with St.
Paul.
Again, there are other people who count schism
a far greater crime than either heresy or false doctrine. There is a generation
of men who under no circumstances will worship God out of their own parish: and
as to separation from the Church, they seem to think that nothing whatever can
justify it. I do not, of course, expect such men to admire Whitefield or his
work. His principle evidently was that it was far better for man to be
uncanonically saved than canonically damned.
Whether by any other line of action Whitefield
could have remained in the Church, and retained his usefulness, is a question
which, at this distance of time, we are very incompetent to answer. That he
erred in temper and judgment in his dealings with the bishops and clergy, in many
instances, I have no doubt. That he raised up fresh bodies of separatists from
the Church of England, and made breaches which probably will never be repaired,
I have no doubt also. But still it must never be forgotten, that the state of
the Church was bad enough to provoke a holy indignation. The old principle is
most true, that "he is the schismatic who causes the separation, and not
he who separates." If Whitefield did harm, the harm ought to be
laid on the Church which compelled him to act as he did quite as much as on
him. And when we come to strike the balance, I believe the harm he may have
done is outweighed by the good a thousand-fold.
The truth, I believe, is that the direct good
Whitefield did to immortal souls was enormous. I will go farther. I believe it
is incalculable. In Scotland, in England, in America, credible witnesses have
recorded their testimony that he was the means of converting thousands of
souls.
Franklin, the philosopher, was a cold,
calculating man, and not likely to speak too highly of any minister's work. Yet
even he confessed that it "was wonderful to see the change soon made by
his preaching in the manners of the inhabitants of Philadelphia. From being
thoughtless or indifferent about religion, it seemed as if all the world were
growing religious."
Maclaurin and Willison were Scotch ministers,
whose names are well-known to theological readers, and stand deservedly high.
Both of them have testified that Whitefield did an amazing work in Scotland.
Willison, in particular, says: "That God honored him with surprising
success among sinners of all ranks and persuasions."
Old Venn, in our own Church, was a man of
strong common sense, as well as great grace. His opinion was, that "if the
greatness, extent, success, and disinterestedness of a man's labors can give
him distinction among the children of Christ, then we are warranted to affirm,
that scarce any one has equalled Mr. Whitefield." Again, he says, "It
is a well-known fact, that the conversion of men's souls has been the fruit of
a single sermon from his lips, so eminently was he made a fisher of men."
And again, "Though we are allowed to sorrow that we shall never see or
hear him again, we must still rejoice that millions have heard him so long, so
often, and to such good effect; and that out of this mass of people, multitudes
are gone before him to hail his entrance into the world of glory."
John Newton was a shrewd man, as well as an
eminent minister of the gospel. His testimony is, "I am not backward to
say, that I have not read or heard of any person, since the apostles' days, of
whom it may more emphatically be said, he was a burning and a shining light,
than the late Mr. Whitefield, whether we consider the warmth of his seal, the
greatness of his ministerial talents, or the extensive usefulness with which
the Lord honored him."
Thus are not solitary testimonies. I might add
many more if time permitted. Romaine did not agree with him in many things, yet
what does he say of him? "We have none left to succeed him; none, of his gifts;
none, any thing like him in usefulness." Toplady was a tremendously high
Calvinist, and not disposed to over-estimate the number of saved souls. Yet he
says, Whitefield's ministry was "attended with spiritual benefit to tens
of thousands;" and he styles him "the apostle of the British empire,
and the prince of preachers." Hervey was a quiet, literary man, whose
health seldom allowed him to quit the retirement of Weston Favell. But he says
of Whitefield; "I never beheld so fair a copy of our Lord, such a living
image of the Saviour. I cannot forbear applying the wise man's encomiums of an
illustrious woman to this eminent minister of the everlasting gospel: 'Many
sons have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all."'
But if the amount of direct good that
Whitefield did in the world was great who shall tell us the amount of good
that he did indirectly? I believe it never can be reckoned up. I
suspect it will never be fully known until the last day.
Whitefield was among the first who stirred
up a zeal for the pure gospel among the clergy and laity of our own Church.
His constant assertion of pure Reformation principles - his repeated references
to the Articles, Prayer Book, and Homilies - his never-answered challenges to
his opponents to confute him out of the Formularies of their own communion -
all this must have produced an effect, and set many thinking. I have no
doubt whatever, that many a faithful minister, who became a shining light in
those days within the Church of England, first lighted his candle at the lamp
of a man outside.
Whitefield, again, was among the first to show
tee right way to meet infidels and skeptics. He saw clearly that the most
powerful weapon against such men is not metaphysical reasoning and critical
disquisition; but preaching the whole gospel, living the whole gospel, and
spreading the whole gospel. It was not the writings of Leland, and the younger
Sherlock, and Waterland, and Leslie, that rolled back the flood of infidelity
one half so much as the preaching of Whitefield, and Wesley, and Fletcher, and
Romaine, and Berridge, and Venn. Had it not been for them, I firmly believe we
might have had a counterpart of the French Revolution in our own land. They
were the men who were the true champions of Christianity. Infidels are seldom
shaken by mere abstract reasoning. The surest arguments against them are gospel
truth and gospel life.
To crown all, Whitefield was the very first who
seems thoroughly to have understood what Chalmers has called the aggressive
system. He did not wait for souls to come to him, but he went after souls.
He did not sit tamely by his fireside, mourning over the wickedness of the
land. He went forth to beard the Devil in his high places. He attacked sin and
wickedness face to face, and gave them no peace. He dived into holes and
corners after sinners. He hunted up ignorance and vice, wherever it could be
found. He showed that he thoroughly realized the nature of the ministerial
office. Like a fisherman, he did not wait for the fish to come to him. Like a fisherman,
he used every kind of means to catch souls. Men know a little more of this now
than they did formerly. City Missions and District Visiting Societies are
evidences of clearer views. But let us remember this was all comparatively new
in Whitefield's time, and let us give him the credit he deserves.
In short, I come to the conclusion that no man
has ever done more good in his day and generation than the man who is the
subject of this lecture. He was a true hero and that in its highest and best
sense. He did a work that will stand the fire, and glorify God, when many other
works are forgotten. And for that work I believe that England owes a debt to
his character which England has never yet paid.
And now, I hasten to a conclusion. I have set
before you, to the best of my ability, Whitefield's time, and life, and
religion, and preaching, and actual work. I have not extenuated his faults, to
the best of my knowledge. I have not exaggerated his good qualities, so far as
I am aware. It only remains for me to point out to you two great practical
lessons which the subject appears to me to teach.
Learn then, I beseech you, for one lesson, the amazing
power that one single man possesses, when he is determined to work for God,
and has got truth on his side.
Here is a man who starts in life with
everything, to all appearance, against him. He has neither family, nor place,
nor money, nor high connections on his side. His views are flatly opposed to
the customs and prejudices of his time. He stands in direct opposition to the
stream of public taste, and the religion of the vast bulk of ministers around
him. He is as much isolated and alone, to all appearance, as Martin Luther
opposing the Pope, as Athanasius resisting the Arians, as Paul on Mars' Hill.
And yet this man stands his ground. He arrests public attention. He gathers
crowds around him who receive his teaching. He is made a blessing to tens of
thousands. He turns the world upside down. How striking these facts are!
Here is your encouragement, if you,
stand alone. You have no reason to be cast down and faint-hearted. You are not
weak, though few, if God is with you. There is nothing too great to be done by
a little company, if only they have Christ on their side. Away, with the idea
that numbers alone have power! Cast away the old vulgar error that majorities
alone have strength. Get firm hold of the great truth that minorities always
move the world. Think of the little flock that our Lord left behind him, and
the one hundred and twenty names in that upper chamber in Jerusalem, who went
forth to assault the heathen world! Think of George Whitefield assailing boldly
the ungodliness which deluged all around him, and winning victory alter
victory! Think of all this. Cast fear away. Lay out your talents heartily and confidently
for God.
Here also is your example, if you desire
to do good to souls. Whether you become ministers or missionaries or teachers,
never forget yon must fight with Whitefield's weapons, if you wish to have any
portion of Whitefield's success. Never forget what John Wesley said was
Whitefield's theology- "Give God all the glory of whatever is good in man:
set Christ as high and man as low as possible, in the business of salvation.
All merit is in the blood of Christ, and all power is from the Spirit of
Christ."
Think not for a moment that earnestness alone
will insure success. This is a huge delusion. It will do nothing of the kind.
All the earnestness in the world will never enable a teacher of German
theology to show you one Tinnevelly, or a teacher of semi-Popery one
Sierra Leone. Oh no! It must be the simple, pure, unadulterated gospel that you
must carry with you, if you are to do good. You must sow as Whitefield sowed,
or you will never reap as he reaped.
Learn, in the last place, what abundant reasons
we have for thankfulness in the present condition of the Church of England.
We are far too apt to look at the gloomy side
of things around us and at that only. We we all prone to dwell on the faults of
our condition and to forget to bless God for our mercies. There are many things
we could wish otherwise in our beloved Church, beyond all question. There are
defects we could wish to see remedied, and wounds we should gladly see healed.
But still, let us look behind us, and compare the Church of our day with the
Church of Whitefield's times. Look on this picture, and on that, and I am sure,
if you do so honestly and fairly, you will agree with me that we have reason to
be thankful.
We have bishops on the bench now, who love the
simple truth as it is in Jesus, and are ready to help forward good works -
bishops who are not ashamed to come forward in Exeter Hall, and lend their aid
to the extension of Christ's gospel - bishops who would have welcomed a man
like Whitefield, and found full occupation for his marvellous gifts. Let us
thank God for this. It was not so a hundred years ago.
We have hundreds of clergymen in our
parishes now, who preach as full a gospel as Whitefield did, though they may
not do it with the same power - clergymen who are not ashamed of the doctrine
of regeneration, and do not pronounce a minister a heretic, because he says to
ungodly people, "Ye must be born again." Let us thank God for
this. A man need not travel many miles now in order to find parishes where the
gospel is preached. When driven out of one parish church, he can find truth in
another. It was not so a hundred years ago.
We have thousands of laymen now, who are
fully alive to the duties and responsibilities of members of a Protestant
Church - laymen who rejoice in holding up the hands of evangelical ministers,
and are righteously jealous for the maintenance and extension of evangelical
truth. Let us thank God for this. It was not so a hundred years ago.
We have societies and agencies for
evangelizing every dark corner of the earth in connection with our Church. We
have wide and effectual doors of usefulness for all who are willing to labor in
the Lord's vineyard. The difficulty now is, not so much to find openings for
doing good, as to find men. Let us thank God for this. It was not so a hundred
years ago.
Young men of the Church of England, I ask you
to gather up these facts, and treasure them in your memories. They are facts.
They cannot be gainsaid. Treasure them up, I repeat. Look back a century, and
then look around you, and then judge for yourselves whether you ought not to be
thankful.
Beware, I beseech you, of that tribe of men who
would fain persuade you to forsake the Church of England, and separate from her
communion. There is a generation of murmurers and complainers in the present
day, who seem to revel in picking holes- a generation that seems to forget that
fault-finding is the easiest task in all the world - a generation that has no
eyes to see the healthy parts in our body ecclesiastic, but has a wonderfully quick
and morbid scent for detecting its sores - a generation that is mighty to
scatter, but impotent to build - a generation that would persuade churchmen to
strain at gnats, but finds no difficulty itself in swallowing camels - a
generation that would have you pull the old house down, but cannot offer you so
much as a tent in its place: of all such men, I say solemnly and affectionately
- of all such men, I warn you to beware. Listen not to them. Have no friendship
with them. Avoid them. Turn from them. Pass away.
Let us not leave the good old ship, the CHURCH
OF ENGLAND, until we have some better reason than can at present be seen. What
though she be old and weather beaten! What though, in some respects, she may
want repair! What though some of the crew be not to be depended on! Still, with
all her faults, the old ship is in far better trim thin she was a century ago.
Let us acknowledge her faults, and hope they may yet be amended. But still,
with all her faults, let us stick by the ship!
When the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of
England are repealed, and the Prayer Book and Homilies so altered as to be
unprotestantized - when regeneration and justification by faith are forbidden
to be preached in her pulpits - when the Queen, Lords and Commons, and laity,
have assented to these changes - in short, when the Gospel is driven out of the
Establishment - then, and not till then, it will be time for you and me to go
out; but, till then, I say, LET US STICK BY THE CHURCH!
Endnotes:
1.
This
Orphan House at Savannah is now in a flourishing condition, and of great
usefulness.
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