I must now tell you something about a young man who joined the Holy Club at Oxford a few years after John Wesley had returned there from Epworth. In the year 1714 the youngest child of the landlord of the “Bell” Inn, at Gloucester, was born. He was called George Whitefield. He had five brothers and one sister older than himself.
When he was two years old his father died, and his mother continued to keep the inn. She gave George a good education at the free grammar-school, at Gloucester. He was a clever boy, and fond of study; but much against his will, when he was fifteen, his mother desired him to leave school and come to help her at the inn. He did not like his employment there at all. He had to wear a blue apron, to wash the mops, clean the rooms, and draw countless pots of beer for the customers. When he had a little spare time, he would go to some quiet corner and read plays. When he was sixteen his mother gave up the “Bell” Inn to her eldest son, but George was still kept at work there as before. He disliked it now more than ever, for his brother’s wife and he, were by no means good friends.
Sometimes they passed three weeks without speaking to one another. George was very glad when one of his other brothers, who lived in Bristol, invited him to pay him a visit. Whilst he was there he heard a sermon in St. John’s Church, which struck him very much. He wished that he too could preach sermons and be a clergyman.
He returned to Gloucester to live with his mother, and now, instead of reading plays in his spare time, he wrote sermons. One day he met an old schoolfellow, who had become a servitor at one of the Oxford colleges. A servitor is a student who is partly employed in waiting upon the other students, and who, in return for his services, receives a payment which partly or entirely pays for the expenses of his education. George thought he, too, would like to be a servitor, and as the expense would be so small, his mother was quite willing that he should have his wish, if such a thing were possible. He was, therefore, allowed to go back to his old school, to learn all the Latin and Greek that would be required of him, before he could enter the University.
When he was eighteen, his mother succeeded in getting him chosen as servitor at Pembroke College, Oxford, and a friend lent her £10, to meet the needful expenses of new clothes and of the journey. George worked hard at his studies when he got to Oxford. He had not been there long when he heard of the Holy Club, to which ten or twelve students now belonged. George Whitefield wished very much that he might belong to it, but did not know any of the Methodists except by name.
When he had been about a year at Oxford, he met with a poor woman who had been trying to kill herself. George Whitefield did not know how to talk to her, and he thought that if Charles Wesley would come and try to do her good it would be much better than anything he himself could say. He therefore asked an old apple-woman, who happened to be at hand, to go to Mr. Wesley’s rooms and desire him to come; “but,” he added, “do not tell Mr. Wesley my name, only bring him to see the poor woman.” The apple-woman, however, did tell Mr. Wesley that it was George Whitefield who had sent for him; and Mr. Wesley said, “Go to Mr. Whitefield and ask him to come to breakfast with me tomorrow.”
Whitefield was very glad to have this invitation, for he had longed to have some friends who would speak to him about his soul. Charles Wesley lent him some books, from which he appears to have learned more than the Wesleys at that time knew themselves. He wrote to his relations, telling them he had found out that we must be born again. His relations thought he was fast becoming mad. He now joined the Methodists in all their plans, and kept their rules. He visited the sick and the prisoners and appears to have been really the means of bringing one young man, who already belonged to the Holy Club, to believe in the Lord Jesus. At the same time Whitefield still felt rather ashamed of his new friends, and did not like to be met in the streets walking with any of them; but this fear of man wore off in time. It was true he had something to fear, for being only a poor servitor the students did not treat him with much civility; and when they knew that he was a Methodist they threw dirt at him, and took away his pay. But he remembered the words of Christ—that no man who hath left father or mother, or wife, or children, or lands for His sake, but shall receive a hundredfold.
Still, Whitefield was not happy, for he did not know what it is to be forgiven, and to be saved forever by the blood of Christ. Had he known it, his Methodist friends might, perhaps, have thought, as they had thought of the young man who wrote to John Wesley, that he had lost his reason. Whitefield told Charles Wesley that he was not happy. Sometimes, he said, he believed that God loved him; at other times he thought he was so wicked that God must be forever displeased with him. People who are ignorant of the fact that God is pleased with us on account of what Christ has done, must be always uncertain as to whether they are saved, for if it depended in the smallest degree upon what we are and do, the case is utterly hopeless. Charles lent his friend “Thomas à Kempis,” which had the effect of making poor Whitefield more miserable than before. He spent days and weeks lying prostrate on the ground, praying that his heart might grow better. He only found out, more and more, how bad it was. One day he read in a Roman Catholic book this sentence, “He who is employed in mortifying his will is as well employed as though he were converting Indians.” “Yes,” he thought, “it is my will which stands in the way. If I could conquer my will I might be saved!” He therefore shut himself up in his study, and resolved to stay there till he could do everything only for God’s glory and not to please himself. To learn how to do this, he studied his Roman Catholic book, and all that he was there directed to do he not only did, but did more. For instance, the book told him not to talk much, he resolved not to talk at all; he even left off praying aloud and speaking to people about God.
For nearly six weeks he remained shut up in this manner; but he found that staying in his room was no use. He left this off, and tried other plans; but he felt still he had not done enough. If he was to be saved or even improved by his doings, of course he had not done enough, it was only a pity he did not know that he never could do enough, were he to live 10,000 years. But at all events he thought he might do more. He already fasted twice a week, now he ate nothing during Lent but coarse bread and sage tea, except on Saturdays and Sundays. He left off powdering his hair; he wore woolen gloves, a patched gown, and dirty shoes. He prayed under the trees at night till he shook with the cold. All this he did because he thought that what was painful to himself must be pleasing to God, and would at last make him holy.
He was only one of many thousands who have thought the same. Men, otherwise reasonable and acting in a sensible way with regard to the things of this life, no sooner act upon their own thoughts with regard to God, than they show how true are those words in Romans “There is none that understandeth.” But still he felt all was not enough. What more could he do? He would give up the only things which still gave him pleasure, and which till now he had enjoyed. He would give up his Methodist friends, and his visits to the sick and the prisoners. He would cease to go to any public worship, but pray alone in the fields. Next day he was engaged to breakfast with Charles Wesley, but he did not go. Charles came to ask why, and when he knew the reason, he got John to talk to his friend, and they persuaded him to leave off his new plan of life. He had, however, become so weak and ill by this time, that he was obliged to stay in his room whether he would or no. He was very ill for seven weeks, and after a year of great unhappiness, he began to see and understand the blessed truth that Christ had done all the work for him, and that believing in Him he had forgiveness and everlasting life. He was now filled with joy, and might perhaps have been useful to his Methodist friends had he remained at Oxford, but in order to recover his health he was advised to go and stay for a time with his relations at Gloucester. There he seems to have been very happy, and to have learned much in reading-not his Roman Catholic book, or “Thomas à Kempis,” but the blessed Word of God: “I got more true knowledge,” he said, “from reading the Book of God in one month, than I could ever have acquired from all the writings of men. Oh what sweet communion had I daily! how often have I been carried out beyond myself, when meditating in the fields!” It was indeed a blessed thing for him no longer to spend the long days in thinking of his miserable self, and how he could make himself better, but in looking at Christ who had loved and saved him. “But was he not to try to get better?” you will ask. The best answer to that question is to be found in the last verse of the 3rd chapter of the 2nd of Corinthians. There you read (I will put it for you in words which are a more correct translation than those of the English Bible), “But we all, looking on the glory of the Lord with unveiled face” (that is Christ’s face is unveiled to us) “are transformed according to the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Lord the Spirit.” That is to say, whilst we look at Christ, we become changed into His likeness! What do we want, what does God want, more than that we should become like His blessed Son in glory?
As long as Whitefield had been looking at himself no change came, except that of becoming more miserable each day—now he was looking at Christ—and when we meet with him again we shall see how true are the words of God in the verse of which I have just spoken.