POOR, YET VERY RICH.
“He loved the world that hated him, the tear
That dropped upon his Bible was sincere;
Assailed by scandal and the tongue of strife,
His only answer was—a blameless life:
He followed Paul—his zeal, a kindred flame,
His apostolic charity, the same;
Like him he labour'd, and, like him content
To bear it, suffered shame where'er he went.”
IN March, 1741, George Whitefield returned once more to England. He found that his enemies were still bitterly bent upon embarrassing him, and to add to his troubles he also discovered that his orphan houses were more than a thousand pounds in debt; yet he did not for a moment hesitate as to his duty. He determined to use his utmost efforts in collecting the requisite money to free his orphan houses from debt.
“Troubles never come alone," he wrote to his friend Tennent, "but in the midst of all my trials I am enabled to trust myself wholly in the hands of God. My troubles drove me to my knees, and God gave me power to wrestle with strong crying and tears before and also after I went to rest. And I felt that God would provide for me and for my orphans, and off to sleep I went. The next morning I knew that I was liable to arrest, but I felt no tremor at all about the matter. To my surprise a friend of mine came in to see me, and he inquired where he could usefully place several hundreds of pounds. As soon as he heard of my needs he willingly lent them to me. Thus though I am poor I have a rich God and all things are mine in Christ Jesus. To me there is no happiness like lying down as a poor sinner at the feet of the Crucified One. How I delight to be dependent only upon Christ!”
Whitefield's faith was not disappointed, for the money that he required was in due time provided for him and he was enabled to continue his good work. All the freewill offerings that were pressed upon him by those who had derived benefit from his sermons were freely given up to the orphans, so that beyond the plainest diet and ordinary raiment he had no worldly possessions at all.
In his restless activity George Whitefield went on to Scotland, and there he was remarkably successful in rousing the churches to earnest Christian efforts.
“Ah! they are brave people," he said, "and of the nobility of heaven. It is delightful to hear the leaves of their Bibles rustling in service; they will not accept any statement upon trust, hut they require Scripture proof for everything.”
“Yea, that is so," said a Quaker who was a guest with him. "And, friend George, though thou art a man-made minister and one that hath been accustomed to preach in steeple houses, I am as thou art in the matters of the Gospel of Jesus. I love not the pomp of the men who stand in thy pulpits, and I prefer godly drab or sober gray, but I am for bringing all men to the life and power of the Everlasting God even as thou art. If thou wilt not quarrel with my gray suit and hat, I will not quarrel with thee about thy gown and bands.”
“That is the spirit of Christ truly," said Mr. Whitefield. "Would that all other Christians were like minded with thee I If we differ in opinion we may be one in heart, and, after all, we ought to love one another when Christ loves us all so graciously. Oh! I would not change my Master nor my employment for ten thousand worlds if I had them to give.”
“Friend George, dust thou know that they intend making thee a money present? I hear that they are subscribing in Edinburgh for this purpose.”
“I will not accept the money then, sir.’ Poor but making many rich' shall be my motto still. I make no purse and I do not desire to be rich or great. What I have I give away; but if they like to give towards the support of my orphans they may do so and welcome.”
After a career of surprising usefulness which makes one wonder how his bodily strength could endure such a long continued strain, in November, 1741, George Whitefield visited Wales, and there he met with the lady whom he married. She was a widow, thirty-six years of age, Whitefield himself being twenty-nine years of age at the time.
“She is neither rich nor beautiful," he wrote to his friend Tennent, "but she is a true child of God, which is of far more importance to me. She has been a housekeeper for many years, and was at one time very fond of the world and its pleasures, but for upwards of three years past she has been one of the despised people of God. Jesus was called to—Jesus was present at—our marriage. I married in the Lord, so I trust that I shall not be hindered thereby, but shall be rather forwarded in my work for God. Oh, for that blessed time when we shall neither marry nor be given in marriage, but be as the angels of God! My soul longs for that glorious season. Perhaps, sometimes I am too impatient, but who that has tasted of Jesus' love can forbear longing to be with Him?”
In spite of the remarks in this letter which might suggest the contrary to anyone who was not acquainted with Whitefield's character, his married life was a very happy one. It is true that he was but very little at home, but when not out preaching, he was very happy for he was tenderly attached to his wife.
It was not given to him to remain long at home; his temperament required a roving life such as he pursued.
Soon after his marriage he went to London, and here he decided upon the hazardous step of preaching in Moorfields during Whitsuntide, "The season," he says, "of all others, when, if ever, Satan's children keep their rendezvous.”
His friends earnestly urged him not to incur the terrible risk to which they felt certain that he would expose himself if he went to Moorfields at that season.
“My dear sir," said one, "the place is given up to mountebanks, puppet shows, jugglers, and all kinds of dreadful debauchery and riot. Why, they will let some of the wild beasts loose upon you, and I do not think that Christ requires you to throw away your life.”
“I desire to see the Redeemer's stately steps in the presence of His enemies. Dear friend, help me to entreat the Savior to make me a little, a very little child, and then Christ will put forth His power on my behalf.”
“Still, my dear sir, you cannot but believe that God knows better than we do. If He wished to convert them would He not have done so before now? I do not wish to be wiser than God is.”
“Oh, but if they die as they are, they are lost forever!" replied Whitefield, as the tears sprang into his eyes. “Did not Jesus weep over guilty Jerusalem, and can He desire these poor creatures to perish unwarned! If they die, their blood will be upon their own heads, but, God helping me, I will not be answerable for their loss. I must go and preach Christ to them.”
“Well, if you must go, you shall not go alone, for I will go with you; but it will be of no use your preaching to such a rabble as you will encounter at Moorfields.”
“That is not my business," replied Whitefield. "I cannot refrain from uttering what I believe to be the whole counsel of God.”
On Whitsunday, 1742, therefore, Whitefield went down to the fair at Moorfields. Although it was only six o'clock in the morning, there were upwards of ten thousand persons assembled in the fields.
They crowded around the pulpit and listened with solemn awe while Whitefield preached to them from the words, "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.”
But when in the evening Whitefield once more attempted to preach to even a greater crowd, the stage-players did their utmost to defeat his purpose. One man mounted upon the shoulders of another, and came near to the pulpit. He attempted to slash Mr. Whitefield with a heavy whip, but each time that he tried to do so, he fell to the ground.
“Never mind, I will spoil you yet," he cried, and he ran off. In a few moments he returned with a recruiting sergeant who was attended by a drummer boy.
“Beat up, my brave fellow," cried the player, "and march right through the throng. They are all traitors at heart. Break up the mob.”
But Whitefield was not to be taken unawares, and he cried aloud, "Open, good people, open your ranks, and make way for the king's officer. March on, my brave soldier; we also are enlisted to fight for Christ against wrong and sin. God bless you, sergeant, and make you a true soldier of Jesus Christ.”
“Bless you for a civil gentleman," said the sergeant. "I will not disturb the meeting." But the player was not to be baffled, for he continued to hurl stones and dust at the preacher. Whitefield preached on without heeding the missiles that were flung at him. A band of little children sat upon the pulpit steps, and every time that a stone struck Mr. Whitefield they gave vent to floods of sorrowful tears.
Upwards of 350 persons were said to be converted by the sermon of that night, and amongst the number was the player who had persecuted Whitefield.
“O sir, God has found me out," he said. "I was a child of Christian parents, and the subject of religious influences at one time. I resisted the Spirit of God, I quenched His strivings; is there any mercy for me? I am the very chief of sinners, the vilest and the worst of men. Can I be forgiven?”
“Without a doubt God is able to save unto the uttermost. He can save the devil's castaways.”
“I am such then, a devil's castaway indeed! Oh what shall I do to be saved? If I only had repented and believed while I was young.”
“Repent then now, my dear friend; do not add to the guilt of the past by continued unbelief. Now, while I am pleading with you, repent and cast yourself upon the covenant mercy of Christ.”
“God forgive me!" moaned the man;" but can I ever forgive myself? To have sinned against such love and such light! Oh what a sinner I have been!”
For the love of Christ when it is accepted always breaks the heart of the recipient, who is always most worthy when he realizes his unworthiness. For God will not forgive or bless any man who does not accept salvation as a free gift, to which he has no claim except that which is given in the promise of God. And we require no other; therefore, come thou, and welcome to Jesus Christ.