George Whitefield: The Man Who Moved the Hearts of Millions
James Joseph Ellis
Table of Contents
The Life Story of George Whitefield.
CHAPTER 1
FROM THE TAVERN TO THE COLLEGE
“He, like His Master, was by some despised,
Like Him by many others lov'd and priz'd,
But theirs shall be the everlasting crown
Whom not the world but Jeans Christ shall own.”
WHY George, is it really you? We did not expect to see you in Bristol; have you given up the tavern business? Are you tired of waiting upon customers and running errands at the Bell Inn, eh?”
“No, it is not exactly that," George Whitefield replied to his brother;" but the fact is that ever since the time that mother retired from the tavern I have been very uncomfortable. As long as our brother who carried on the business remained single it was all very well, but ever since he has been married it has been most uncomfortable for me.”
“You did not quarrel, I trust; of course now and then things will go awry even in the best of houses, but no ill will, no quarreling, I say. It seems a terrible thing to think that some very good people are shocking companions to live or to work with. If you must differ, differ as good people should do, but don't bear malice or spite.”
“I am sure that I did not mean to do any harm, but for nearly a month together my sister-in-law and I have been without speaking to each other. I did not feel happy at the estrangement, and many a time I have gone up to my room and wept for hours together before the Lord, but I would not make the first advance towards reconciliation. I think it will be far better for us to part, and so I have come to stay with you for a time in Bristol.”
“And glad, indeed, we are to see you," replied his brother. "Bristol is a splendid place for a holiday, and you may be able to find something to do here.”
“I should like to be a clergyman; I really believe that I shall be one someday or other.”
“Well, if it is to be it will be, brother George; but I must say that I do not see how your wishes are to be accomplished.”
After two months' stay in Bristol George Whitefield went back to Gloucester. For a considerable time he lived at home with his mother, and all desire to become a clergyman quite passed away from his mind. But one day a youth who had been one of George's schoolfellows called upon them in Gloucester.
“I wish that my George could go to college," said Mrs. Whitefield to him. "We might have afforded it if his father had but lived, but now it is quite out of the question. His great-grandfather was a clergyman, and I have often thought that my dear husband would have preferred being one to learning the wine merchant's business. He meant George to be one, but he died in 1716, when George was only two years old, and now college is out of the question.”
“I have a servitor's place myself at Pembroke College, Oxford, and do you know, Mrs. Whitefield, that I paid all my expenses last quarter, and even saved a penny out of my earnings!" said the visitor.
“That kind of thing will do for my George," exclaimed Mrs. Whitefield, and turning to her son she asked him, "Will you go to Oxford, George!”
“With all my heart, mother," he answered. "I have three sermons ready and I should like to go, indeed I should.”
Mrs. Whitefield succeeded in borrowing ten pounds from a friend, and, as she also succeeded in obtaining a servitorship for him in Oxford, George started at once for that city in order to prepare for a ministerial life. But as yet he had no saving knowledge of the Gospel; religion to him was at that time only a monotonous succession of dreary duties by performing which he hoped to obtain heaven. One night, however, he had a dreadful dream in which he imagined that he saw Mount-Sinai and God there enthroned as his judge, and he was terrified at the awful doom to which, as an unpardoned sinner, he was exposed. "This is a call from God," said he, but it was a call that, alas! he did not heed. Nor when at the age of eighteen years he entered the University of Oxford, did he find much to help him even amongst those who professed to be the ministers of Christ. Indeed it seemed to be regarded by them as a thing proved beyond doubt that the Gospel was fable. Hence George Whitefield, because he would not join in the riotous excesses which skepticism almost invariably produces, became a common object of ridicule and scorn. He, however, was so diligent In the discharge of his duties as a servitor that a great many of the students employed him to wait upon them, by which means he earned so much money that during the three years of his college course he did not cost his friends more than twenty pounds.
But as God never leaves Himself without witnesses even in the worst times and places, there were then in Oxford a number of godly men who were called in derision the Holy club. Mr. John Wesley, who was the ruling spirit in this new society, had noticed George Whitefield, and, although the latter did his utmost to keep himself in the background, John Wesley invited him to his rooms to breakfast. The two earnest seekers after truth talked together chiefly upon the solemn concerns of the soul, and Mr. Wesley endeavored to discover what were the difficulties of his younger friend.
“I have lain awake whole nights groaning under the weight of sorrow that I felt for sin. I have spent whole days and weeks lying upon the ground begging for deliverance from the evil thoughts that crowded upon me," said Whitefield.
“And yet you did not obtain deliverance?”
“By no means, and I supposed therefore that my mortification were not severe enough. So I began to fast twice a week; I wore dirty shoes, a patched gown, and woolen gloves, because it seemed to me to be unbecoming in a penitent to be otherwise clad; but, alas! I have not been able to find the peace that I so much want. Oh, Mr. Wesley, I do so much long to feel safe and to know that all my sins are forgiven. I don't feel as I desire.”
“I hear that you have been ill in body owing to the sorrow through which you have passed," observed Wesley.
“Yes, indeed, I have," replied Whitefield, "but by God's grace I have been restored to health once more. But I long to be useful; and how can I do anything that is worth doing in life unless God saves my soul!”
“That is true," said Mr. Wesley.
After nearly twelve months of darkness, Whitefield, by the advice of his friends, left Oxford for a time, and paid a visit to his relations who were much surprised to find him so cheerful and happy; judging, from their point of view, that his religion would be tinctured with that moroseness which is usually considered an accompaniment. The society he now met with was not such as he sought for or desired, being of a very different character from that of those dear friends he had left behind at the university. To live without spiritual companions he found impossible. "I will endeavor either to find or make a friend," he said: "so one day I went to Mrs. W—, to whom I formerly read plays, hoping the alteration she would see in me might, under God, influence her soul. God was pleased to bless the visit." Not long after he was again made instrumental in awakening several young persons, and a little society was formed after the model of the one in Oxford, "where," said he, "we soon had the honor of being as despised at Gloucester as we had been before at Oxford.”
During this period of retirement he commenced a diligent study of the Scriptures, and he devoted to them all his powers. He laid aside every other book and gave himself to a regular and minute study of the Bible. Only thus can the hidden beauties of the sacred page be detected, and only so can the heart hope to find peace and satisfaction in Christ.
‘I get more true knowledge and solid satisfaction from reading the Book of God," he said to his mother," than ever I had from all the works that ever I read. Oh, mother, this book is well worthy of your study; do read it for yourself.”
“I don't find time for all that I have to do as it is, and then I'm not going to die yet awhile," replied Mrs. Whitefield "Bless the boy, we can't be reading the Bible and saying prayers all the day long.”
But, mother, do reflect—that you are not too busy to die, and surely you wish to be saved.”
“Of course, child, of course, we all hope to get to heaven at last. You have your way, and I have my way, but we shall all get to the same place at last.”
“But, mother dear, suppose that we don't all get to the same place at last? What if we should some of us find that we have been wrong and are then shut out? There is only one way by which we can enter heaven, and that is through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, our only Savior and Redeemer.”
“Ah, child, to hear you talk one would fancy that I was a sinner. Thy people have always been decent, well-to-pass folk, that paid their rent and what not! No, I'm not a sinner; why, when I kept the Bell Inn in Gloucester, I never allowed a drunken man to have more than was good for him, and I'm sure I've done my duty to my husband and children as well as I could.”
“All that is true, mother, but for all that God regards you as a sinner. Even those of us who have done no very great crimes are sinners in His sight. When I was a boy—”
“Don't talk like that, for you were no worse than any other boy.”
“I was accustomed to lie and curse and swear, and many foolish and filthy things came out of my mouth. And I did not love God nor strive to serve Him, and my not doing so was sin in His sight, and all sin deserves the just punishment of God.”
“But all these things are trifles. God is not hard nor stern.”
“He is just, and He will not pass by iniquity. Mother, we must be lost forever unless we are pardoned by the free mercy of God. These shall go away into everlasting punishment," the Bible says.”
“Well, I can't compass all these things; I only hope God will he kind to me.”
“He is indeed kind to us, mother dear, and so He has provided a Savior for us—even Jesus. Jesus died for our sins, and if we accept Him for our Savior, and put all our trust in Him, we shall be saved.”
Chapter 2
WHITE LINES ON BLACK FACES.
“Suffice that for the season past
Hell's horrid language filled our tongues,
We all Thy words behind us cast,
And loudly sang the drunkard's songs.
“But oh the power of grace divine!
In hymns we now our voices raise,
Loudly in strange hosannas join,
While blasphemies are turned to praise.
“Bring your harps and bring your odors'
Sweep the harp and pour the lay!
View His works! behold His wonders!
Let hosannas crown the day!”
IN the year 1734 Whitefield was ordained by Bishop Benson. "I have thrown myself blindfold and I trust without reserve into God's almighty hands," said Whitefield; "only I would have you observe that till you hear of my dying for or in my work you will not be apprised of all the preferment that I expect. For I would willingly go to prison or to death so that I could bring but one soul from the devil's stronghold unto the salvation which is in Christ Jesus.”
In this spirit he left England on the 28th of December, 1737, in the 23rd year of his age, in order to visit the English colony of Georgia in North America. He took with him a sum of three hundred pounds which he had collected for the poor of that colony. The captain and crew of the vessel in which he sailed were at first very hostile, but Whitefield prudently endeavored to disarm their hostility.
“I will not force them to hear doctrines that they intensely dislike," he said. "Let me first win their love, and then they will readily hear my message.”
Accordingly he went about from cabin to forecastle nursing the sick and rendering little offices of kindness to one and another, who thereby became intensely attached to him. After a time the captain said to Whitefield—
“Well you are a singular parson; I never saw one before who would go among the sailors, nursing them as you do. You are not paid for doing such work as this.”
“I am called upon to do anything and everything that lies within my power in order to make men happier.”
“I am not a man generally to go from my word, but you can preach to the sailors if you like. It may do the poor fellows some good and they will be glad enough to hear you, I daresay.”
“I will be thankful to avail myself of your kind permission, but if I preach to the servants in the forecastle, why shouldn't I preach also to the masters in their cabin?”
“I wish you hadn't asked me that, but if it will please you to do so, why by all means preach in the cabin also.”
Thus all the voyage through George Whitefield labored to win the love of his fellow-passengers and thereby to guide them to Christ. And when he landed in Georgia he continued to employ the same methods, although by so doing he very much vexed some of his friends.
“It is not dignified," they said. "Why he goes from house to house expounding the Scriptures. It is irregular and shocking. The man must be enthusiastic or else he is mad.”
“If he be mad, I wish that he would bite some of the other ministers, and infect them with his madness," said another. "For my part, I think the man is soberly in earnest, and even when I do not agree with him, he fills my soul with fervent love to Christ.”
“And now he is thinking of founding an orphan house. What right has he to meddle with other people's business I should like to know? He is paid to preach, not to bother us about a lot of children who have no sort of claim whatever upon us.”
“Except the claim that George Whitefield cannot resist—that is the claim of want and helplessness. I think that his care for the orphans is a very noble thing.”
“Well, when he goes home to England, he will perhaps regret having made himself so obnoxious here, in preaching such doctrines as he has done. We can reach him over the sea, and we will make him smart for what he has done.”
And the man was as good as his word, for when Whitefield returned home to England he found that not a clergyman would allow him to preach in his pulpit. Even in Bristol, where he had been extremely popular, the clergymen preached against Whitefield, and some of the preachers threatened their parishioners with legal proceedings if they permitted the innovator to pray and expound in their houses. The chancellor of the diocese endorsed this infamous persecution.
“How dare you preach here?" he asked Whitefield.
"You have not a license, sir.”
“I did not know that I required to have one.”
“The canons say that you must not pray in a private house.”
“And the same canons also require that a clergyman should not play at cards nor frequent taverns, and yet both are permitted in this diocese. If you allow the one, why not permit the other? I can do no harm by exhorting a few poor people to mend their ways and believe in Jesus Christ, surely.”
“I am resolved, sir," said the chancellor angrily, "if you dare to preach or expound anywhere within my jurisdiction, I will first suspend you, and then I will excommunicate you.”
Whitefield went to his brother, who also resided in Bristol, and related to him what the chancellor had said.
“Why heed him?" asked his brother. “If you are forbidden to preach in the churches, the fields are open to you. They cannot prevent you preaching in the open-air. And for a congregation you have not much need to look far for them. And first, see how great their needs are! Talk of the heathen! the poor colliers in Kingswood are as bad as any Indians can be. George, go and preach to them.”
George Whitefield acted upon this wise advice, and he preached to about two hundred of the neglected miners. He was so delighted with his success upon this occasion, that he went again, once more accompanied by his brother.
The trees and hedges were soon crowded with the poor fellows, many of them of the most lawless and abandoned type. There were upwards of ten thousand present, soiled and dirty, just as they had flung down their picks and left the coal heaps.
“Oh! brother," said Whitefield afterward, "it made my heart melt with tenderness when I looked upon these poor outcasts. I felt that for their hardness and impenitence Christian people had been largely responsible, and I pitied them so greatly that the tears ran down my cheeks. And there was an awful hush as I felt the might of God come down upon my soul. I spoke for nearly an hour and so loudly that all of them heard me. They had no righteousness of their own to renounce, and the poor things melted at the news that Jesus is a friend of publicans and sinners. Then it was wonderful to see how the tears ran down their faces, and made white gutters on their black cheeks. Hundreds and hundreds of them were melted down by the love of God and brought under deep conviction of sin. Thank God for such a sight! Oh! what a Savior He is to be able to redeem even Kingswood colliers!”
The success of this (as it was then) extraordinary experiment led to Whitefield's attempting a similar method of Christian service in London. The news of his intention startled all the city, and it amazed people to hear that he intended to preach at Moor-fields as much as it would have done if he had announced his intention to fly through the air. Many attempted to dissuade him from the dangerous undertaking; indeed, not a few of his friends supposed that he would certainly be killed by the mob. But although the roughs broke his table to pieces they permitted him to preach from the wall that then divided Moorfields into two parts.
He wrote to his brother an account of the surprising day thus:—
“I began to be yet more vile yesterday than ever I was before, for I ventured on the last Sunday in April, 1739, to preach to an exceeding great multitude in Moorfields. They hooted and yelled and some of them flung stones and other missiles at me, but I remained calm for I felt that I was in the path of duty and that therefore I could not be harmed. They calmed down after a time a little, and then they heard me with some attention. In the evening of that day I went to Kennington Common and preached to upwards of twenty thousand people. I never saw such a sight in all my life; there was an awful silence in the crowd and for the space of an hour-and-a-half I uttered the counsel of God. Oh! brother, but it was good to see how the people hung upon the word of life! Pray God that some of them may be saved. Oh! brother, a true faith in Christ Jesus will never suffer us to be idle while souls are perishing. Faith is an active restless principle; it fills the heart so that it cannot be easy until it is doing something for Jesus Christ. How I do pity those who complain that time hangs upon their hands! Let them but love Christ and spend their whole time in His service and they will find comparatively few melancholy hours. I am myself only beginning to be Christian in this respect. Oh to be found faithful! I am a little child and a blind one too; I know nothing and I can do nothing except by the help of God my Savior. Lord, prepare me for all events and enable me to resemble Thee, who, in the days of Thy flesh wheresoever Thou didst go talked of nothing but the one thing needful.”
In this spirit Whitefield lived and preached, and although many mocked and many opposed him, God gave His blessing to the faithful preaching of the Gospel. Hundreds were converted, and many who were professing Christians were quickened in their love to Christ. The full measure of his success in work will only be known in the great day of results, when the Master shall reward His servants, every one according to their deeds. What will be thy reward then I Wilt thou be able to render an account without shame, or wilt thou be one who shall be saved so as by fire, and be crownless and ashamed I Our Lord speaks of some who shall be saved but of whom He shall be ashamed! Will it not then darken heaven to hear Him say, "You did nothing, bore little, reflected little glory: you may enter heaven, but I am ashamed of you?”
God deliver us from the ignominy of such a fate!
Chapter 3
NEW LIGHTS OR NEW LANTERNS
“For this let men revile my name,
I'd shun no cross, I'd fear no shame,
All hail reproach, and welcome pain,
Only Thy terrors, Lord, restrain.”
“If, on my head for Thy dear name,
Shame and disgrace shall be,
Welcome disgrace and welcome shame,
If Thou remember me!”
ON the 14th day of August, 1739, George Whitefield started again for America. In the course' of his life he visited the American continent seven times, and accomplished as great a work for Christ there as he did in the land of his birth. He took with him a number of persons who were intended to be the nucleus of his projected Orphan House During the voyage Whitefield occupied himself in diligent study of various books, which he hoped would be useful to him. In the month of October he reached land, and then he began in his own phase, "to hunt the woods of America for Christ.”
He could not rest content in his home with the discharge of a chaplain's duties, for a strong impulse urged him on to increasing labor. He commenced a tour through the American provinces, in the course of which he came to Brunswick. There he made the acquaintance of Gilbert Tennent, who became one of his warmest friends.
“He is a son of thunder, whose preaching must either convert or enrage multitudes," said Whitefield of his friend. "I never heard such preaching as his before. He went to the very bottom of the matter and he cleared away the rubbish without mercy, and convinced me more and more that we can preach the Gospel of Christ no further than we have experienced the power of it in our hearts. I find now what a babe and a novice I am in the things of Christ.”
“O Gilbert!" he said to his friend one evening as they sat before the fire after an evening service, "it is indeed a blessed thing to be a true Christian, and the first step to it is to have a broken heart; a heart that is melted down with the love of Christ toward us. Gilbert, if I had a hundred tongues and lives, they should all be employed for my dear Lord Jesus! I have not yet forgotten the reproof that your father gave me one day.”
“What did he say to you? Nothing unkind, of that I am quite certain," said Mr. Tennent.
“On, no! nothing unkind, but he gave me a very seasonable reproof," replied Whitefield." It was thus. One evening I lay down on a sofa quite worn out with the toil of the day. O Mr. Tennent! ' I said to him, I do wish that my work were done, and that I were at home in heaven. Do you not weary for heaven?'
‘Weary for heaven! ‘he asked, of course not! I was born to work, and saved in order to work for Jesus, and why should I weary for heaven? Suppose that I were to send toy man Tom into the field to plow, and instead of working he were to sit under the tree and to complain of the heat! I should not sympathize with him, of course nit; but I should call him an idle, worthless fellow! Brother Whitefield, you do your work with all your might and leave God to fix your time of rest”
“Well, that is true of course, and, Whitefield, there is abundant need for earnest service. The land is dark and sinful; it almost appears as if sincere gospel preaching had quite died out of the churches. We need a faithful setting forth of the rousing doctrines that are always efficacious in soul saving. Preach the total depravity of man and his utter helplessness without Christ; the all sufficiency of Christ and the virtue of His blood: these are the doctrines that America requires and that God will bless.”
“O that we were all flames of fire in the service of God! Alas, how quickly I become indifferent, and bow much I require the continual care of Christ!”
“Suppose you get married, George; do as I have often advised you. Marry some godly woman and I am sure you will be enabled thereby to live nearer to God, ay, and work far better for Him.”
“Well, I have been thinking of doing so; indeed, ever since you advised me to do so I have resolved to follow your advice, and, to confess the truth, I have fixed upon a lady to whom I intend paying my addresses.”
“Capital! capital! of course you will wait upon her parents and if they are agreeable you will speak to her at once.”
“Well, no, not exactly. I have written to her parents and I think that I shall do better by writing to her herself.”
“You know best; but have you written then?”
“No, and if you will not laugh at me I will read to you the letter that I intend to send to her. If you think that I can improve it, please be kind enough to point out what may be improved.”
“Of course, of course!”
“Here it is," and Whitefield read aloud as follows:—" Be not surprised at the contents of this letter, but I desire to make you an offer of marriage. Can you bear to leave father and mother and trust yourself entirely to God for support 'I Can you undertake to help a husband in the charge of a family which may consist of a hundred persons! Can you when you have a husband be as though you have none and willingly part with him even for a long season? If, after seeking God for direction, and searching your heart you can boldly answer yes, what do you say if you and I were to be joined together in the Lord, and you come to me as a helpmeet in the management of my orphan house I I think that I can call God to witness that I desire to take you, my sister, to wife. But if you think that marrying me will be in any way prejudicial to your best interests, please be so good as to send me a denial. Indeed I would not be a snare to you for the world, and you need not be afraid to speak your mind to me. I trust that I love you only by the command of Christ and for His sake.”
“Hem," said Gilbert Tennent," I hope you may succeed.”
“I want a truly gracious woman who shall be dead to everything but to Christ and who will not mind the worry and labor of the orphan house," said Whitefield." If Miss Donald is the right person and worthy of the responsibility she will say yes at once.”
Miss Donald, however, said "No" to this singular proposal of marriage; but although Mr. Tennent anticipated this result he said nothing at the time to his friend. George Whitefield folded up the letter and then after a silence his friend resumed:—
“Friend Whitefield, I hear that they intend prohibiting you from preaching in any of their churches here “Then the fields are open in America as they were in England; and, brother, I do not believe that the Gospel will ever win its way among the people until there is a renewal of out-door preaching. We should never have attempted it in England had we not been compelled to do so, but directly that we began in the open-air God poured out His blessing. The command is, Go. We must really have an itinerant ministry.”
“They denounce you bitterly and say that you are preaching a new gospel and therefore that you must be resisted.”
“Ah! brother, they do not see that the old truth requires new methods and new modes of presentation It is the old light in new lanterns, but the light was kindled at the brazen altar. There is no light but that which comes from the Atonement of Christ.”
“That is so, but what was it that you said to the children the other day? My friend, Jonathan Edwards, asked me what you really said, for he had heard such singular rumors about you. I wish that you knew Jonathan Edwards; I am sure that you would love him.”
“I should do so if he loves Jesus Christ and strives to serve Him.”
“Ay, that he does; that he does; and though he is a little reserved at times, he is really a gracious soul. The great revival in America, you know, began tinder his preaching, and no wonder.”
“Wherever Christ is faithfully preached, saving results must follow; only, friend Tennent, sometimes the success is delayed. But what I saw was at Boston where I was preaching at Well's chapel. A dying boy who had heard me preach the day before, said, I want to go to Mr. Whitefield's God; ' and immediately after saying so he expired. When I looked round upon the congregation, I noticed how many children were present, and my heart warmed towards them. I felt encouraged to speak to the children, but oh, how the old people were affected when I said, Little children, if your parents will not come to Christ, do you come now, and go to heaven without them!’ The children burst into a great sob, and then it seemed as if the whole mass of people were swayed like corn in the breeze. Oh, it is sweet to think that our children may come to Christ! I think that we do not sufficiently realize what powerful helpers children may be in the service of Christ.”
And he was right; for He who once took a little child, and set it in the midst, that He might instruct His disciples by means of the child's simple trust, still employs devout children in order to teach Christians, and to touch those who are obdurate to other religious agencies. Win the children for Christ, and then use them in order to win others also.
Chapter 4
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.
Chapter 5
RANGING, BUT PERSISTENT
“The butt of slander and the blot
For every dart that malice ever shot,
The man that mentioned him at once dismissed
All mercy from his lips, and sneered and hissed.”
“He offered what he did himself receive,
A greater gift not God Himself can give,
He urged the need of it to everyone,
It was no less than God's co-equal Son.
Ye thirsty, come to this life-giving stream;
Ye preachers, take Him for your theme.”
SHORTLY after his great success at Moorfields, Whitefield again visited Scotland. This time he was accompanied by his wife. During the voyage he was much occupied in writing letters to various friends who continued and consolidated his work. To a friend in Wales he wrote, "To stir up the gift of God within is an apostolic injunction, and if we do not keep on our watch, we shall fall into a false stillness. Nature loves ease, and we readily yield to the temptation to be still, and our lukewarmness keeps us very often silent when we might speak out with profit.”
He began his work in Scotland at this time at Cambuslang, a suburb of Glasgow. The pastor of the church in Cambuslang was the Rev. William M'Culloch, a man of fervent piety. For some months previous to this time both Mr. M'Culloch and his people had been earnestly wrestling for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the church and neighborhood.
“I am persuaded that I shall have more power here than in any place," said George Whitefield to the pastor.
He was not disappointed, for the outburst of hatred which assailed Whitefield's preaching at this time was followed by surprising success. On the first day of the mission, Whitefield preached three times to immense congregations, which gathered from all the neighboring villages. The last service concluded at eleven o'clock at night, but the people would not retire, and then Mr. M'Culloch continued the service until past one o'clock in the morning.
“Did you ever see such a thing?" asked Whitefield. "Thousands and thousands upon a bleak hillside upon a cold February night. For nearly an hour and a half there was such weeping, and so many falling into deep distress, and the people seemed to be slain by scores. They were carried off, and came into the house like wounded soldiers who had been carried off the field of battle. Why you could scarcely walk a yard without treading upon people who were either praising God for mercies received, or who were crying to God for more grace.”
“I am sure that they will make mischief out of the excitement of this revival," said M'Culloch. "You little know how deep is the hatred that some truly godly persons feel towards any gracious work that at all departs from their ideas.”
“Never mind so long as we have new access to the Father of Mercies," said Whitefield. "If only I attain a passive, tender, truly broken heart, and am kept leaning upon Christ, I shall walk in the comfort of the Holy Ghost, and not heed them at all.”
“But while I am deeply grateful to God for this wonderful revival, I must say that I myself wish that there were more quiet and less noise," said M'Culloch. "Their outcries and convulsions a little disturb me, and they are not exactly my idea of what a work of grace should be. The fruit of the Spirit is peace, and He gently leads the contrite soul through repentance into faith in Christ.”
“We cannot limit the Divine Spirit," replied Whitefield, " or prescribe to Him as to how He shall act upon the soul. He who framed the soul best understands its needs and its wants, and He is able to adapt His methods as He shall please. The fact that He has been pleased to employ certain agencies in the conversion of the soul, does not bind Him never to vary His methods. He leads some by gracious and gentle influences, and others He drives by terror into grace. What matter so long as they are saved!”
“But surely you admit that there is a regular progress by which souls are awakened, led to repentance, and then saved by faith in Christ.”
“I don't know that there is any process that is always binding, or is laid down in the Scriptures; all that is essential is that the soul shall be convinced of sin, and led to trust in Christ for entire salvation. This is the work of the Divine Spirit alone, and He sovereignly varies His operations according to His pleasure.”
“Of course, you Englishmen don't understand how we logical Scotch are shocked by such excitement.”
“You don't object to excitement in political matters, and if a man is keenly sensitive to business matters, you praise him. Why then should not the important concerns of the soul be equally interesting? Is it not almost incredible that men can speak calmly about the loss of the immortal soul, or be placid all the time that the wrath of God is resting upon them. I must say that I think that contentment requires an apology for more than lawful excitement in religious matters.”
And so will the reader think if he will but reflect upon the solemn interests that are involved in the salvation of the soul. Therefore break thine heart and never be contented until thou art quite discontented with thyself, and as a helpless sinner hast trusted in Christ Jesus for salvation.
Sometimes the plain appeals of Whitefield aroused such bitter hostility on the part of unbelievers that they attempted to take his life. After he left Scotland, for instance, he went upon a preaching tour through England and came in due course to Plymouth. While resting over night, after the fatigues of a day of preaching, Whitefield was told that a well-dressed gentleman wished to speak to him.
“He is perhaps some Nicodemus," said Whitefield, who was always ready to think the very best of every one. “I am tired indeed, but how delighted I shall be to see him! Please to show him upstairs at once.
The man came into the room, and walking up to the bed-side he sat down.
“Who are you, dear friend?" asked Whitefield. "I am delighted to see you. Have we ever met before?”
“I am a lieutenant on board of a man-of-war, and my name is Cadogan; do you know me?”
“I knew a Mr. Cadogan, who was an officer in Georgia; I met with him almost a fortnight since at Bristol.”
“You must make a fine thing out of the preaching; about what salary do you get?”
“The reward of having done my duty, and the joy of seeing lost souls brought to Christ. Beyond the plainest food and raiment, I obtain no more.”
“I am sorry that I have not yet been able to hear you preach; some day perhaps I may be more fortunate.”
“The chief thing, dear friend, is not to be anxious about me, so much as to be earnest in seeking Christ and peace through Him. Dear friend, Jesus loves you, and died in order that He might save your soul.”
“You dog! you rogue! you villain!" yelled Cadogan, rising from his seat, "I will kill you. How dare you frighten people by calling them sinners and talking about hell? Take that! and that! and that!”
And he beat Mr. Whitefield most unmercifully with his cane.
“Please don't kill me. I never harmed you!" pleaded Whitefield, but his entreaties were in vain.
At this time the hostess and her daughter rushed into the room and seized the would-be murderer by the collar. But he soon freed himself from them, and recommenced his blows upon Whitefield. The women shrieked "Murder," which somewhat alarmed the ruffian, and he made towards the door. The women pushed him down-stairs; but an accomplice of his hurried up the stairs, and would certainly have killed Whitefield outright had not the neighbors rushed in. The two ruffians managed to escape, and Whitefield refused to have them prosecuted.
“No, I have something else to do," he said. "This is my private quarrel, and that I can leave in God's hands. My business is to preach the Gospel, and if my blood will be the conversion of any soul, I will die most cheerfully. God forgive him as readily as I do.”
This forgiving spirit Whitefield manifested upon many other similar occasions. For while all who will live godly must suffer persecution, all who are bold for Christ must expect especial enmity on the part of those who are opposed to the gospel. The servant is not greater than his lord. The Lord Jesus, "when He was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered, He threatened not; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth righteously.”
There are compensating joys that fidelity to Christ imparts to them, which also shall be thine if thou too wilt dare to be faithful unto death.
Chapter 6
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.
“Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish" (Luke 13:3).
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!'”
Chapter 7
THE MAN WHO DIED FIGHTING; OR, GOING OFF AS A SNUFF
“Live while you live,' the man of pleasure cries,
‘Live while you live,' the heart of man replies.
I am determined to die fighting, though it be on my stumps.”
“Pray for me as a dying man;
but oh pray that I may not go off as a snuff.
I WOULD FAIN DIE BLAZING—
NOT WITH HUMAN GLORY,
BUT WITH THE LOVE OF JESUS.”
IN September, 1769, Whitefield visited America for the seventh and last time. “I am brave as to my bodily health," he said, just before he started, "and I am persuaded that this voyage will be for the Redeemer's Glory, and for the welfare of precious and immortal souls. Oh to be a Christian and a minister of Jesus!”
Immediately after his arrival in America., he commenced a tour through the cities which he had formerly visited. It was fitting that his life should almost end in field preaching which had been his most successful form of service.
“He rose from his seat," said one who was present at this his last service, "and, stood erect. His appearance alone was a powerful sermon. The thinness of his visage, the paleness of his countenance, and the evident struggling of the heavenly truth in a decayed body for utterance, were all deeply interesting. He remained several minutes unable to speak, then he said, 'I will wait for the gracious assistance of God, for He will I am certain assist me once more to speak in His name.'
“Then he preached thus: I go, I go to a rest prepared; my sun has arisen, and by-and-bye from heaven it will give light to many; now it is about to set-no, it is to rise to the zenith of immortal glory. I have outlived many on earth, but they cannot outlive me in heaven. My body fails but my spirit expands. How willingly would I live forever to preach Christ! But I die to be with Him! How brief, comparatively brief, has been my life compared with the vast labors which I see before me yet to be accomplished; but if I leave now, while so few care about heavenly things, the God of peace will surely visit you. '”
“Sir, you are more fit to go to bed than to preach," said one friend to him.
“True." replied Whitefield, and he clasped his hands and said, "Lord Jesus, I am weary in Thy work. but not of Thy work. If I have not yet finished my course, let me go and speak for Thee once more in the fields, seal Thy truth, and then go home to die.”
That night he ate but little supper, and then retired to rest very early. In the night-time he awoke his man-servant and told him, "My asthma is coming on me again must have two or three days' rest." Then after a pause, he said, "It is now Sunday morning, put the window a little higher up for I cannot breathe. I hope that I shall be better by-and-bye, a good pulpit sweat will give me relief, I shall be better after preaching.”
“I wish that you would not preach so often.”
“It is better to wear out than to rust out," he replied.
Then he dropped off to sleep again, and about four o'clock in the morning he awoke again.
“I am almost suffocated," he said. "I can scarcely breathe; my asthma quite chokes me.”
Then he got out of bed, and went to the open window for air.
“Smith," he said, "I am dying! I am dying!" These were the last words he uttered upon the earth.
There was no need for such a man to give a dying testimony to the truth which he had preached. He had been a living witness of the truth of the Gospels and nothing more was required to make his testimony complete. Thus on the 30th of September, 1770, at the early age of fifty-six, George Whitefield closed one of the most remarkable careers that have ever blessed and benefited the Church and the world.
A funeral procession nearly a mile in length followed his body to its last resting place; but no outward expressions of sorrow could gauge the loss that the Church had sustained from his departure.
He had distinctly inaugurated a new era in Christian service, or rather he had revived the primitive practice of our Lord and His apostles, who were open-air and itinerant preachers.
The spirit of Christ in Whitefield was evidently in him an incessant earnestness, and a loving temper which all admired.
No adequate memorial or portrait of him exists, but he left the lineaments of his Redeemer deeply impressed in many immortal souls who are now his crown and rejoicing in the Lord.
It will not be permitted to all to enjoy Whitefield's success, but all servants of Whitefield's God should be no less earnest than he was, and no less delighted to live and to die for the love of Christ. This age requires work, and by work the Church of God will attain to the blessing which it longs for. Do thou accept Christ as thine own sufficient complete Savior, and then in season and out of season preach the word, rebuke, and console, but only in and by the gospel of Christ.