ONE OF CHRIST'S BEES; OR, NO NESTLING
“Must I be carried to the skies
On flowery beds of ease,
While others fought to win the prize,
And sailed through bloody seas?”
“IN A MINISTRY OF THIRTY-FOUR YEARS, HE CROSSED THE ATLANTIC THIRTEEN TIMES, AND PREACHED MORE THAN EIGHTEEN THOUSAND SERMONS. AS A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS, HUMBLE, DEVOUT, ARDENT, HE PUT ON THE WHOLE ARMOR OF GOD.'
Inscription on Whitefield's Monument.
IN the year 1749, George Whitefield made the acquaintance of Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, by whose persuasion many of the nobility were induced to attend his preaching.
“I would often have nestled," said Whitefield; "but God would not permit me to do so, for He has always put a thorn in my nest. Ranging seems to be my province, and I am prepared to hunt for souls until all England is converted.”
Accordingly Whitefield once more betook himself to the fields, and there he met with many singular instances of gracious success.
“Oh that I may drop and die in my Master's work," said Whitefield. "I think it is worth dying for. Had I a thousand bodies they should all be itinerants for Jesus. Welcome shame and weariness for Jesus, if so be we may but see one of the days of the Son of man once again!”
Upon one occasion Whitefield noticed a young man who had climbed up into a tree in order that he might both see and mock.
Whitefield fixed his eyes upon him, and said, "Ah, poor Zaccheus, art thou there? Take courage, for Christ can see thee! The leaves of the tree cannot hide thee from His gaze. Be comforted, be comforted Come down, Zaccheus, come down from the tree, and receive the Lord Jesus Christ for the salvation of thy soul.” The young man came down from the tree, believed, and became a follower of Jesus.
Another time Whitefield observed Shuter the actor (who was performing as Ramble) among the congregation. The great preacher fixed his eyes upon the actor, and said, "And thou too, poor Ramble, who halt long rambled from Christ, come thou also, and find a welcome in Jesus thy Savior. What host thou obtained for all thy rambling but wounds and sorrows, grief and disappointment! Come, and end all thy ramblings now; yea, come at once to Jesus.”
Shuter was exceedingly struck by the appeal, and he came afterward to see Mr. Whitefield.
“Oh sir, I feel that I have been called to-night," he said; "I thought that I should have fainted when you picked me out, but it was the voice of God to my soul.”
“Then do not disobey the heavenly invitation come at once to Jesus.”
“Oh the caresses of the great are ensnaring! Poor things, they are unhappy with all their folly and wealth, and they must have Shuter in order to make them laugh. Oh the service of the devil is a hard one. If I were to die, what should I be able to show as a result of all my work and suffering?”
“Then give it up; break with the theater, and give thyself to Christ.”
“I feel that it must he either one or the other, but oh, it is hard to give up the theater I It demoralizes, and it prepares the soul for worse evils, but I cannot break away from it now. Mr. Whitefield, beg the young never to step inside a theater; let them shun it as they would a fever-stricken house. Would to God that I had never seen it; but now I cannot begin life again!”
“Why not? It is never too late to call upon Jesus He can save unto the uttermost.”
“You don't know, Mr. Whitefield, how needful applause has become to me. I can't live without it. It is part of my very life.”
“You surely will not give up Christ for the vain plaudits of a crowd of sinners like yourself? Blessed be God He has enabled me to feel that I care nothing for human praises. When I die the only epitaph that I desire to be engraved upon my tombstone is:" Here lies George Whitefield; what sort of man he was the great day will discover.”
“You are different from me, for you have been a Christian for a long time. If a man refuses to yield to the Spirit's influence, after a time sin becomes a sort of second nature to him.”
It was all in vain, Whitefield could not induce Shuter to abandon his profession, and therefore he remained in the far country into which he had strayed. It is to be wished that Christians would be more careful with regard to anything approaching theatrical representations, for no more subtle device of Satan has been ever invented than the theater.
The growing popularity of Whitefield now compelled the erection of the Tabernacle in Tottenham Court Road (which was his cathedral), and other buildings which were neither Dissent nor Church. Someone called the Tabernacle Whitefield's "soul trap," and in it the great preacher delivered some of his famous discourses.
“Whitefield," said one, "described the Sadducean character, but that did not touch me. The Pharisees, that shook me a little. At length he abruptly broke off and burst into a flood of tears; then lifting up his hands he cried with a loud voice: ' Oh my hearers! the wrath is to come / the wrath is to come! ‘These words sunk into my, heart like lead in the waters. I wept, I went out alone. These words followed me wherever I went. For days and weeks I could think of but little else than the awful words: The wrath is to come—is to come!'
“And I remember another passage," he continued. "I shall never forget when Mr. Whitefield preached about Peter.
“Spiritual sloth, he said, as well as spiritual pride helped to throw this apostle down. The Sun—that glorious Sun of Righteousness—was now about to enter into His last eclipse. Satan who had left Him for a season, until the season of His passion, is now to be permitted to bruise His heel again. This is his hour, and now the powers of darkness, summoned, exert their strongest efforts. From the communion table the Savior retires to the garden. See how He falters! See how His hands hang down, and His knees wax feeble under the amazing pressure! See, see, oh my soul, how He sweats! But what is that which I see? BLOOD—drops of blood—great drops of blood falling to the ground!
Alas! was ever sorrow like unto this sorrow? HARK! what is that I hear? Oh dolorous complaint! Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from Me' HARK, He speaks again! Amazing! The Creator complains to the creature! Behold how His agony increases! Hark, how He prays! and where is Peter all the while I Surely he will not leave his Lord in such deep distress What is he doing? I blush to answer. Alas! he is sleeping. Nay though awakened once by His agonizing Lord with a Simon Peter, sleepest thou?' yet his eyes, notwithstanding his profession of constancy and care, are heavy with sleep. O Lord, what is man?”
The singular success with which Whitefield overcame opposition must also be noticed.
A Mr. Thorpe once went to hear Whitefield preach, and after the sermon was over he went into a public-house with some gay companions. One after another they commenced mimicking the preacher's manner, amidst the ribald laughter of the inebriated company. At length it came to Thorpe's turn, and he jumped upon the table.
“Give me a Bible," he said; "I will beat you all. Now for Dr. Squintem.”
He opened the Bible, and read aloud the first verse upon which his eyes fell.
Immediately that he did so, his conscience was touched, and he experienced keen pangs of remorse.
“God forgive me, I have committed an awful sin," he cried; and at once he closed the book and cried out, "Oh, that perishing! That perishing! How can I repent?”
“Come, don't be a coward," said one of the company; "be a man and never whine. Preach away, Thorpe.”
“I dare not; oh my sins, my awful sins! I have grieved the Holy Ghost, and perhaps He has for taken me. I cannot rest until I am forgiven. I must go to Mr. Whitefield.”
One Sunday evening, Lord Chesterfield, the infidel, sat in Lady Huntingdon's pew listening, by her invitation, to the great preacher. Then God spoke to the nobleman's heart, and he was compelled to listen.
“Oh, poor sinner," said Whitefield, "thou art in the earth like a poor blind beggar who is walking along a dangerous road. Look at him! He hears one and another fall over the precipice! Crash Oh the wail of the lost! But the blind man feels that he is at any rate not in so great danger whilst his little dog remains with him. See how he clutches the string. Now he must be careful, for he is near the edge of the precipice. Oh look, the dog has got away, and the blind man has to feel his way with his ironshod staff. He puts it forward and he gropes cautiously along! There! The staff has slipped through his fingers! It has gone away into the abyss! The old man stoops to pick it up. ‘Be careful, old man—be careful—the edge of the cliff is crumbling away beneath your tread.' He stumbles forward, he cannot save himself.”
“He is over! he is over!" shouted Chesterfield, springing from his seat as if he would help the old beggar. Alas! he himself like that blind 'man tried to grope his way by the help of wealth, politeness. and reason, which alone can never lead to God.
Friend and brother, thou wilt certainly fall into the bottomless pit, unless thou art led and kept by Jesus Christ. Thou canst not grope thy way safe through the many perils of life unless He be thy Guide.
“If I ask Him to receive me,
Will He say me nay?
'Not till earth, and not till heaven,
Pass away!'”