ITINERANT BUT RESTFUL; OR, "ALL THE WORLD IS MY PARISH.”
“To distant lands the apostles need not roam,
Darkness, alas I and heathens are at home!”
“Who hath praise enough? Nay, who hath any?
None can express thy works but he that knows them.”
“GLORIOUS accounts of my son John. He is doing a wonderful work for God in Newcastle. Oh, it is marvelous-indeed it is The speaker was Wesley's mother; tall, comely, and winsome even in her old age. She was sitting with a relative in the drawing-room of her son's house, New City Road Chapel, London. Outside the room door stood a handsome clock, still preserved; just within the room a spacious bookcase occupied almost the whole side of the apartment. It was filled with choice volumes, the special favorites of John Wesley, “It is, let me see, three years since I have made my home here," said Susannah Wesley." I came here in 1739, and I thank God that John's doctrine, though several oppose it, is the teaching I heard from my dear husband's lips. My eldest son died that year, and angry indeed was he with me because I had gone to hear John preach in the open air.”
“But Mr. Wesley himself did not always believe in open-air preaching," remarked her friend.
“No; he believed that souls could not be saved except in a church. But prejudiced as he may be, John Wesley will always surrender his prejudices when he sees them to be wrong.”
“Have you heard from him lately?" asked her friend.
“Yes. I had a letter this morning, by a special messenger, who told me himself much that made my heart rejoice and feel proud too.”
“No wonder! it is indeed honorable to be the mother of such a man as John Wesley. They may love him elsewhere, but nowhere can they love him as we Methodists in London do.”
“He knows it, he knows it," replied Mrs. Wesley. "But would ye like to hear what he says?”
“I had rather you told me about him," answered her friend.
“I will pleasure you willingly. You know that soon after I came to him here, he began to reflect upon the awful state of England. He wrote to James Henry about the matter, and, said he, 'I look upon all Me world as my parish.' Yet he said again and again that he was loath to strike a blow that he could not follow up, But see how wonderfully God has led him step by step. He went into Leicestershire to visit his dying friend, Miss Cowper. Thence he went to Bristol, and on the 28th of last May he journeyed to Newcastle. Lady Huntingdon had begged that the colliers of the North might share the blessing so wonderfully given by John's preaching to the colliers of Bristol.”
“To me it is very remarkable that a man so learned and elegant as Mr. Wesley should be able to preach so that colliers can understand him. Why, my little children even can follow and remember his sermons.”
“Therein is his talent; but very few can be so plain as he can. When he reached Newcastle at seven o'clock on the Sunday morning, he and John Taylor his traveling companion went to the poorest part of the town and began to sing a hymn. Three or four people came out to see what the neat meant, and before the service had ended nearly fifteen hundred people were assembled to hear the word of God.”
“What was his text?”
“‘He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and by His stripes we are keeled.'”
“Just like him; one of his favorite texts.”
“True; and he spoke with such wonderful unction, that the people stood gaping at him thunderstruck. He said, ‘If you want to know who I am, my name is John Wesley. By God's help, at five o'clock this evening, I design to preach here again.' At five o'clock the hill was covered from top to bottom with people, all eager to hear the Word of God.
“So it was at each place on his journey until he returned to our old home at Epworth. Forty years long his father labored in the gospel there, and saw but little fruit; still I know that he did not live in vain.”
“He would not have done so had he only trained John Wesley; but no doubt your husband prepared the way for his son.”
“It was seven years ago since John had visited Epworth. He supposed now that few would care to know him again, for fear of the odium that the reception of the new doctrines involves. But he found friends, and spent a happy evening with them. The next day being Sunday, the church was thronged by people who had come hoping to hear him preach. But the drunken curate (who is not a little indebted to our family) not only refused John the pulpit, but preached against the son of his benefactor.”
“Shame upon him!" said the other; "and yet, poor man, it's no wonder. It is natural for an Unconverted man to hate the gospel”
“At six o'clock in the evening such a throng tame into the churchyard as had never been seen in our quiet little town before. Standing upon his father's tombstone, John preached the gospel to them. Glory to God for such a son! But the opposition was not stayed. In a neighboring town a wagon load of his new converts were carried off to the justice's.
“What evil have they done?' asked the magistrate.
“Oh!' said an old man, please, your worship, they pretend to be better than other people, and they pray from morning to night.'
“'But have they done nothing else?' inquired the judge.
“Yes, sir,' replied the speaker; but please, your worship, they've converted my wife. Till she went among them, she had such a tongue! Now she is quiet as a lamb!'
“Cart them all back! cart them all back!' said the magistrate, and let them convert all the old scolds in the town.'”
“Thank God for that escape from persecution then," remarked her friend." I remember once my husband was in great distress. While walking with Mr. Wesley he told him about his griefs. I cannot see my way through them all,' he said. 'Oh, what a dark future!' Mr. Wesley made no answer, bin stopped, and pointing to a field near, he asked, Do you see that cow?'
“The cow?' said my husband, 'looking over the wall.
'" Yes.'
“' I see her.'
“'Now, friend, why does that cow look over the wall?'
"I don't know.'
“Because she can't look through it.'
"My husband got to look above his troubles; and what a happy life he lived after that lesson!”
“John tells me about one man who was in great distress of mind.
“'Are you a sinner?' John asked. 'Sinner enough.' the man replied, with a deep groan. Now he is rejoicing in a sense of sins forgiven.”
A few weeks after this conversation, John Wesley returned from the North, just in time to see his revered mother die.
“Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God," were her last words; and they did as she requested.
The three months following her death Wesley spent between London and Bristol. Afterward he went down again to Newcastle.
In June, 1743, he was at Wednesbury, when he encountered his worst danger from a mob.
He was writing quietly in his house, when a raging mob gathered round the door, shouting wildly, "Bring out the minister. We want the minister.”
“They want my life," said Wesley. "Bring their leader in to see me.”
They did so, and in a few moments Wesley's gentle speech disarmed the angry savage.
“Bring one or two of the worst men in also," said Wesley. They were in like manner subdued.
Taking a chair with him, Wesley now went out to face the mob.
“What do you want with me?" he asked.
“Come to the magistrate," they yelled.
“With all my heart," said Wesley. "But, friends, remember that you must stand before another judge, and give an account of the deeds done in the body. Oh, my friends, flee from the wrath to comet”
"The gentleman is honest enough," cried a voice in the crowd. "We will shed our blood in his defense.”
“Let no blood be shed for me," said Wesley. "I will go to the magistrate.”
Through the darkness and the rain the rioters dragged him to the magistrate's house, more than a mile distant.
“What has he done?" asked the magistrate's son. "Why, an't please you, these Methodists sing psalms all day: ay, and make folks rise at five o'clock in the morning!”
“It shall be seen to, good people. The king will not have honest folk served so," replied the dignitary. "Go home! go home! and wait until we are able to do what is fitting.”
But upon their return journey a fresh mob assaulted the company. A fierce encounter now ensued, in which Wesley was pulled about and roughly handled.
“Knock his brains out! Down with him! Kill him at once!" cried some.
At length he found shelter; after being for five hours in the hands of the unruly savages who raged for his blood like wild beasts.
Several times a man struck at him with a large oaken stick; but without harming him. Another lifted his hand to give Wesley a blow, but for some, to him, inexplicable reason altered his mind, and stroked Wesley's head saying, "What soft hair he has!”
“What looked you for?" asked Wesley of one of his companions, when speaking of their recent ill-treatment.
“To die for Him who died for us," replied the other.
“So did I," answered Wesley. "But God has spared us. Let us seek the salvation of the men who are raging for our blood I Let us pray!”
Upon the floor of the house in which they had taken refuge the two knelt and prayed Stephen like for those who sinned ignorantly, not knowing what they did.
Like scenes were enacted in every place; for the devil, before he went out, did all the injury possible.
Yet, through all opposition and suffering, Wesley preserved his gentle, calm demeanor, and often, by his tact and tenderness, disarmed his enemies. A great love for sinners inspired and sustained him, and, to the glory of God, he found that the world had become his parish.