THE condition of England when Methodism appeared has been described
by all writers in the most sombre colours. Southey says, “There
never was less religious feeling, either within the Establishment
or without, than when Wesley blew his trumpet, and awakened those
who slept.” In 1732 the Weekly Miscellany * states that
zeal for godliness looked as odd upon a man as the dress of his
great-grandfather. Freethinkers’ clubs flourished. In August,
1736, Dr. Byrom drank tea with Mr. Rivington, the bookseller,
Wesley’s friend and publisher. Rivington said that many
of the young men of his parish had left off all public service
and professed Deism, and that there was a visible decline in the
sale of good books.t Bishop Burnet found the Ember Weeks the burden
of his life. Candidates for ordination were scandalously ignorant
of the Bible. Dr. Watts called upon every one to use all efforts
“for the recovery of dying religion in the world.”
Archbishop Secker, then Bishop of Oxford, asserts “that
an open and professed disregard to religion is become, through
a variety of unhappy causes, the distinguishing character of the
present age; that this evil is grown to a great height in the
metropolis of the nation, and is daily spreading through every
part of it.” It had already brought in, he says, “such
dissoluteness and contempt of principle in the higher part of
the world, and such profligate intemperance and fearlessness of
committing crimes in the lower, as must, if this torrent of iniquity
stop not, become absolutely fatal.” This charge was delivered
in the very year the Wesleys were led into the light. in 1741
the Bishop mourns again over “this unhappy age of irreligion
and libertinism.” Isaac Taylor says that Methodism preserved
from extinction and reanimated the languishing Nonconformity of
the eighteenth century, “which, just at the time of the
Methodistic revival, was rapidly in course to be found nowhere
but in books.” * Besides the moral and religious reformation
wrought among the colhers of Kingswood and the north, as well
as among the Cornish miners, the Evangelical Revival leavened
the Church of England with its own spirit. The Church had grown
corrupt. Its best friends mourned that the clergy laboured under
more contempt than those of any other Church in Europe because
they were so remiss in their labours.? They would never regain
their influence, Burnet said, till they lived better and laboured
more. Their preaching seemed as if its sole aim was to fit men
for this world.~ The population had doubled since the settlement
of the Church under Elizabeth, towns and cities had far Outgrown
their old proportions, yet no endeavour had been made for any
adequate increase of religious instruction. The old religion,
Lecky says, seemed everywhere loosening around the minds of men;
and it had often no great influence even on its defenders. Montesquieu
affirmed that not more than four or five of the members of Parliament
were regular attendants at church.
In 1736 every
sixth house in London was a grogshop,f and the ginsellers hung
out boards announcing that they would make a man drunk for a
penny, dead-drunk for twopence, and find him straw to lie on
till he recovered from his carouse. Cellars strewn with straw
were actually provided for this purpose. Lecky gives some painful
pictures of the time4 In 1735 the quantity of British spirits
distilled was 5,394,000 gallons; twenty-one years before it
was only two million, and in 1684 little more than half a million
gallons. In 1742 it was more than seven millions. The London
medical men stated in 1750, when more than eleven million gallons
were consumed, that there were fourteen thousand cases of illness,
most of them beyond the reach of medicine, that were directly
attributable to the mania for gin-drinking. Parliament found
this gigantic evil tax its resources to the utmost. The Mohocks—a
club of young gentlemen, formed in 1712—committed the
most horrible outrages in the streets of the metropolis. Neither
men nor women were safe from these drunken fiends. It was a
favourite amusement with them to squeeze their victim’s
nose flat on his face and bore out his eyes with their fingers.
Their prisoners were pricked with swords or made to caper by
swords thrust into their legs. Women were rolled down Snow Hill
in barrels. Watchmen and constables were utterly inefficient.
Robbers often defied all attempts to seize them, and kept the
city in terror by day as well as by night.
The great
awakening was now to begin. Isaac Taylor * says, “No such
harvest of souls is recorded to have been gathered by any body
of contemporary men since the first century;” and on the
ground of “expansive and adventurous Christian philanthropy,”
he holds that the founders of Methodism have no rivals. On December
11th, 1738, Wesley, who was then at Oxford, heard that Whitefield
had returned from Georgia. ‘He at once hastened to meet
him. Next day he says, “God gave us once more to take
sweet counsel together.” When Wesley returned from Hernhuth
he found that the little Society in Fetter Lane had increased
from ten to thirty-two members. Here, on New Year’s Day,
1739, the Wesleys, Whitefield, Ingham, Hall, Kinchin, Hutchins,
and some sixty others held a lovefeast. “About three in
the morning, as we were continuing instant in prayer, the power
of God came mightily upon us, insomuch that many cried out for
exceeding joy, and many fell to the ground. As soon as we recovered
a little from that awe and amazement at the presence of His
majesty, we broke out with one voice, ‘We praise Thee,
0 God; we acknowledge Thee to be the Lord.’”
In this way
the year which saw the dawn of the Revival was ushered in. Oxford
Methodism gave its name to the new movement, but it knew little
about the righteousness of faith which the friends had at last
attained. The preachers of the Evangelical Revival were able
to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord. Oxford Methodism
had no such message to deliver, and without such a message there
could have been no revival. Whitefield was the pioneer in field-preaching.
His popularity from the beginning of his ministry was unbounded.
The whole city of Bristol was stirred by his early sermons,
and when he came to London the people flocked to hear him with
the same eagerness. He sailed for Georgia in January, 1738,
with the view of assisting Wesley. On his return to England
his popularity was undiminished. He soon found, however, that
he would not be allowed to preach in churches. He had come to
England to collect money for his orphan-house in Georgia, but
all doors were closed. When he visited Bristol he was shut out
of the pulpits, and was not even allowed to preach to the inmates
of the prison. Two clergymen were bold enough to offer him their
churches, but the Chancellor of the diocese threatened that
Whitefield should be suspended and expelled if he continued
to preach in the diocese.
Whitefield
felt that he had a message to deliver thousands were eager to
hear it. He remembered that his Master taught by the lake or
on the mountain; and moved by this example, on February 17th,
1739, he ventured to preach to the colliers at Kingswood in
the open air. There were two hundred people in his first congregation,
but the second time he preached there were two thousand. Soon
ten or twenty thousand gathered to hear him. A gentleman lent
him a large bowling-green in the heart of Bristol, where he
preached to a vast congregation. For six weeks he had glorious
success. Then he wrote to Wesley, urging him to come and take
charge of the work in Bristol and Kingswood, whilst he visited
other places. Wesley was fully employed in London, where he
was invited to expound the Scriptures in many of the religious
Societies of the time as well as in the Society at Fetter Lane.
He describes one week’s work in a letter to Whitefield.
On Sunday, February 25th, he preached first at St. Katharine’s,
then at Islington, where the church was crowded and very hot.
“The fields, after service, were white with people praising
God.” At a later hour three hundred were present at a
Society in the Minories; thence he went to Mr. Bray’s
house, and after the Society meeting at Fetter Lane, to another
house, where also they “wanted room.” On Tuesday
evening he had meetings at four, six, and eight; on Wednesday
a women’s meeting; on Thursday two or three hundred met
at the Savoy; on Friday a friend’s parlour was more than
filled, and another room was twice filled by eager listeners.*
Wesley was
reluctant to leave such promising work, but Whitefield and his
friend Seward urged him in the most pressing manner to come
to Bristol without delay. At this time both the Wesleys were
accustomed to seek for direction, as a last resort, in any emergency
by opening the Bible and looking at the first text that met
their eye. This strange custom they and their friends had learned
from the Moravians. All the verses which Wesley thus found seemed
to threaten some great disaster. Charles Wesley would scarcely
suffer the journey to be mentioned, but when he opened his Bible
on those words, “Son of man, behold, I take from thee
the desire of thine eyes with a stroke; yet shalt thou not mourn
or weep, neither shall thy tears run down,” his opposition
was silenced. The Society at Fetter Lane was consulted about
the journey, but could reach no conclusion. At last it was decided
by lot that Wesley should go to Bristol.
On Saturday,
March 3 1st, he met Whitefield in that city. He stood in his
friend’s congregation next day with conIiicting feelings.
“I could scarce reconcile myself at first to this strange
way of preaching in the fields, of which he set me an example
on Sunday; having been all my life (till very lately) so tenacious
of every point relating to decency and order, that I should
have thought the saving of souls almost a sin if it had not
been done in a church.” The same day Whitefield left the
city. Wesley spent the evening with a little Society in Nicholas
Street, where he expounded the Sermon on the Mount—a pretty
remarkable precedent of field-preaching, as he calls it. In
this way he got ready for his first out-of-doors sermon. It
was four o’clock on Monday afternoon when he “submitted
to be more vile.” From a little eminence in a ground adjoining
the city he spoke to three thousand people from Luke iv. r8,
19: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He hath
anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor.” “Is
it possible,” he asks, “that any one should be ignorant
that it is fulfilled in every true minister of Christ?”
Wesley and his hearers little thought how gloriously it would
be fulfilled in himself for more than half a century.
He remained
in Bristol till June 11th 1739. He had reason to say, “Oh,
how has God renewed my strength, who used ten years ago to be
so faint and weary with preaching twice in one day!” He
read prayers every morning at Newgate, and expounded the Scripture
in one or more of the religious Societies every evening. On
Monday afternoon he preached out of doors near Bristol, on Tuesday
at Bath and Two Mile Hill alternately, on Wednesday at Baptist
Mills, every other Thursday near Pensford, every other Friday
in another part of Kingswood, on Saturday afternoon and Sunday
morning at the Bowling Green. On Sunday he also preached at
eleven near Hannam Mount, at two at Clifton, at five on Rose
Green. After this he sometimes visited one of the Societies,
and then held a lovefeast. His congregation at seven in the
morning often consisted of five or six thousand people. Services
like these taxed his strength to the utmost.
A few days
after he reached Bristol three women agreed to meet together
weekly in a little Society; four young men also met in the same
way. On the 9th of May a piece of ground was taken in the Horse
Fair, near St. James’ Church yard, where a room was to
be built large enough to contain the Societies at Nicholas Street
and Baldwin Street, with their friends. Three days later the
foundation stone of this first Methodist preaching-place was
laid, with great thanksgiving. Wesley had appointed eleven feoffees,
on whom he relied to provide funds and take charge of the work.
He soon found his mistake. The trustees did nothing to raise
money. The whole work was ready to stand still. Wesley took
upon himself the payment of the workmen. Before he knew where
he was he thus incurred a liability of more than a hundred and
fifty pounds. The subscriptions did not reach forty pounds.
Whitefield urged Wesley to take the building entirely into his
own hands, as the feoffees would have power under the deed to
turn him out if he did not preach as they wished. This was excellent
advice. Wesley therefore cancelled the deed, and took the whole
responsibility upon himself. Money he had not, nor any human
prospect or probability of procuring it. “But I knew,”
he says, “‘the earth is the Lord’s, and the
fulness thereof,’ and in His name set out, nothing doubting.”
Bristol witnessed
many strange scenes under Wesley’s ministry. These scenes
did not, however, begin in that city. On January 21st, 1739,
whilst he was expounding at Mr. Sims’, in the Minories,
all were surprised to hear a well-dressed, middle-aged woman
suddenly cry out as in the agonies of death. Her cries continued
some time, and she seemed in the sharpest anguish. Next day
she called on Wesley, at his special request. He learned that
she had been under strong conviction of sin three years before,
and had suffered such distress of mind that she had no comfort
or rest day or night. She consulted the clergy man of the parish,
who told her husband that she was stark mad, and advised him
to send for a physician. The doctor blistered and bled his patient,
but could discover no remedy. Under Wesley’s word she
found a faint hope that He who had wounded would undertake her
cause, and heal the soul which had sinned against Him. Such
scenes became frequent in Bristol, both in the Society rooms
and in the open air. Men and women cried out aloud under Wesley’s
word, as in the agonies of death. Prayer was then offered for
them, and before long they were generally able to rejoice in
God their Saviour. Sometimes a violent tTrembling seized the
hearers, and they sank to the ground. At one meeting in the
Baldwin Street room Wesley’s voice could scarcely be heard
for the groans and cries of the people. A Quaker, who was greatly
displeased at what he regarded as dissimulation, was biting
his lips and knitting his brows, when he dropped down in a moment.
His agony was terrible to witness. Prayer was made; and he soon
cried out, “Now I know thou art a prophet of the Lord.”
One of the
most remarkable cases was that of John Haydon, a weaver. He
was a stout Churchman, regular in all his life and habits. He
heard that people fell into strange fits at the meetings, and
came to see for himself. At Baldwin Street, on the night when
the indignant Quaker was struck down, Haydon had his wish. After
the meeting he went about among his friends till one o’clock
in the morning, labouring to persuade them that it was all a
delusion of the wicked one. He sat down to dinner on the day
after this meeting, but wished to finish “a sermon which
he bad borrowed on ‘Salvation by Faith.” As he read
the last page he changed colour, fell from his chair, and began
screaming terribly and beating himself against the ground. The
neighbours flocked about the house. Between one and two Wesley,
who was often called to visit people in such circumstances,
was told in the street of this occurrence, and came into the
house. The room was full of people. Haydon’s wife would
have kept them outside, but he said, “No; let them all
come; let all the world see the just judgment of God.”
He was lying on the floor, held by two or three men, when Wesley
entered, but at once fixed his eye on him. Stretching out his
hand, he cried, “Ay, this is he who, I said, was a deceiver
of the people. But God has overtaken me. I said it was all a
delusion; but this is no delusion.” He then roared out,
“0 thou devil! Thou cursed devil! Yea, thou legion of
devils! Thou canst not stay. Christ will cast thee out. I know
His work is begun. Tear me to pieces, if thou wilt; but thou
canst not hurt me.” No sooner had he spoken than he began
to beat himself on the ground. His breast heaved, and great
drops of sweat rolled down his face. Wesley and his friends
prayed earnestly till the sufferer’s pangs ceased; both
body and soul were then set at liberty. In the evening Wesley
visited him again. The man’s voice was gone, and he was
as weak as a child, but he was full of peace and joy.
Similar convulsions
seized some of Wesley’s hearers in London and in Newcastle.
It is a striking fact that they Occurred chiefly under John
Wesley’s ministry. Charles Wesley was more impassioned
as a preacher, Whitefield Was more vehement and exciting, but
Wesley’s calm and measured argument, in which every word
went home to the hearts and consciences of his hearers, was
most frequently attended by these convulsions of body and mind.
There is no doubt that some cases were impostures. In August,
1740, Charles Wesley had to talk sharply to a girl of twelve,
who now confessed that she had cried out or pretended to be
seized with fits about thirty times, in order that Wesley might
take notice of her. In June, 1743, at Newcastle, Charles Wesley
ordered one girl to be carried out. She was violent enough in
her cries till she got outside, but when she was laid outside
the door she found her legs and walked off. Another night he
gave notice that whoever cried so as to drown his voice should
be quietly carried to the end of the room. This timely warning
produced such a good effect that his “porters” had
no employment the whole service.
Charles Wesley
gives a judicious account of these convulsions. “Many,
no doubt, were, at our first preaching, struck down, both soul
and body, into the depth of distress. Their outward affections
were easy to be imitated.” At Newcastle, where he declared
that he thought no better of any one for crying out or interrupting
his work, all listened quietly. There is no doubt that he acted
wisely. He regarded “the fits” as a device of Satan
to stop the work, and found that “many more of the gentry”
came when quiet was restored. People who hoped to attract attention
by their convulsions soon found that it was not worth while
to distress themselves. But when all deductions have been made,
many of the earlier cases are still unaccounted for. No explanation
meets these cases save that which ascribes them to intense conviction
of sin. This has often been known to throw body and mind into
an agony of distress. When the Bechuanas began to embrace Christianity,
after Robert Moffat had laboured for nine years without success,
the chapel at Kuruman was filled with a storm of sobs and cries
which made it almost impossible to continue the service. Before
the rise of Methodism similar scenes had been witnessed in New
England, and even in Scotland. A physician who suspected that
fraud had much to do with these manifestations was present
at a meeting in Bristol. One woman whom he had known many years
broke out “into strong cries and tears.” He could
hardly believe his own eyes. He stood close to her, observing
every symptom, till great drops of perspiration ran down her
face, and all her bones shook. He was puzzled, because he saw
at once that this was neither fraud nor any natural disorder.
When both body and soul were healed in a moment the doctor acknowledged
the finger of God.
One of Wesley’s
visits to Bath, in June, 1739, is memorable for his encounter
with Beau Nash. There was great excitement in the city when
it was known that Nash would come to interrupt the service.
Wesley was entreated not to preach, but he would not yield to
such an unworthy suggestion. The event showed that he was right.
Bath was at that time the most fashionable watering-place in
England. More than eight thousand families are said to have
visited it every year. James Hervey, who stayed there four years
after his friend Wesley’s encounter with Nash,t says,
“Every one seems studious of making a gay and grand appearance.
It is, I think, one of the most glittering places I ever beheld.
‘Anointed with oil, crowned with rose-buds, and decked
with purple and fine linen,’ they sport away their days,
chanting to the sound of the viol, drinking wine in bowls, and
stretching themselves on couches of ivory." Nash was king
of the revels. He was an adventurer and a gamester, but all
Bath acknow. ledged his rule and carefully observed the regulations
which he posted in the pump-room. Ball-dresses and dances were
all fixed by the Beau. His equipage was sumptuous. He usually
travelled from Bath to Tunbridge in a post chariot and six greys,
with outriders, footmen,~, French horns, and every other appendage
of expensive parade. He always wore a white hat, and, to apologise
for this singularity, said he did it purely to secure it from
being stolen; his whole dress was tawdry.
Wesley had
a much larger audience than usual. The rich and great came with
the crowd to witness the expected discomfiture of the Methodist
preacher. They were “sinking apace into seriousness,”
whilst Wesley showed that the Scripture had concluded all under
sin, when Nash appeared, and coming close to the preacher, asked
by what authority he did these things. All the people waited
for the answer. The King of Bath must have presented a strange
contrast to the Methodist clergyman. Wesley quietly replied
that he preached; “by the authority of Jesus Christ, conveyed
to me by the (now) Archbishop of Canterbury, when he laid hands
upon me, and said, ‘Take thou authority to preach the
Gospel.” Nash then said that the meeting was a conventide;
but Wesley quietly told him that it was not a seditious meeting,
and was, therefore, not a conventide, nor contrary to the Act
of Parliament. Foiled here, Nash simply repeated his assertion,
and turned to a more promising accusation. “I say it
is. And, besides, your preaching frightens people out of their
wits.” “Sir,” said Wesley, “did you
ever hear me preach ?“ “No,” was the answer.
“How then can you judge of what you never heard?”
“Sir, by common report,” said Nash. “Common
report is not enough. Give me leave, sir, to ask, Is your name
Nash?” The Beau answered, “My name is Nash.”
Wesley replied, “Sir, I dare not judge of you by common
report: I think it is not enough to judge by.” Nash had
had enough on that head. He paused a while to recover himself,
then said, “I desire to know what this people comes here
for.” Wesley had no need to speak. A woman in the company
broke out, “Sir, leave him to me; let an old woman answer
him. You, Mr. Nash, take care of your body; we take care of
our souls; and for the food of our souls we come here.”
Nash slunk away without uttering another word. Wesley had come
off with flying colours. His quiet answers may have shown the
fashionable gamester his folly in meddling with a man who was
such a thorough master of fence, and the poor woman’s
happy sally completely turned the tables on him. James Hervey,
during his visit in 1743, also wrote Nash a faithful letter,
in which he called on him to repent before the books should
be opened at last, so that the King of Bath was not left without
reprovers.
As Wesley
returned to his friend’s house the street was full of
people who hurried to and fro, “speaking great words.”
When, however, Wesley answered their inquiries by saying, “I
am he,” they were silent at once. Several ladies followed
him to Mr. Merchant’s. He went into the room where he
was told that they were waiting to speak to him. “I believe,
ladies, the maid mistook, you only Wanted to look at me. I do
not expect that the rich and great should want either to speak
with me, or hear me, for I speak the plain truth—a thing
you hear little of and do not desire to hear.” A few words
passed between them; then Wesley retired.
He was recalled
to London in the middle of June, 1739, by letters which reported
that great confusion had arisen in the Society at Fetter Lane
for want of his presence and counsel. He reached the metropolis
on June 13th. After receiving the Sacrament at Islington Church,
Wesley met his mother, whom he had not seen for a year. He had
then read her an account of the work of grace in his own heart,
which she greatly approved. She heartily blessed God, who had
brought her son to so just a way of thinking. Whilst Wesley
was in Germany some one forwarded a copy of that paper to one
of his relations, who sent an account of it to Mrs. Wesley.
Wesley found her under strange fears that he had erred from
the faith. The true facts had been so utterly disguised that
his mother did not recognise the paper which she had heard from
end to end. This matter was happily cleared up; and the mother
of the Wesleys spent her last years at the Foundery, rejoicing
in the spread of Methodism, and rendering no small service to
her son by her wise counsels.
The evening
of his arrival Wesley met the Society at Fetter Lane. A French
prophetess had strangely imposed on the simple-minded people.
She professed to be immediately inspired, and roared outrageously
when Charles Wesley prayed. He had wrung a confession from one
man that clearly showed she was a woman of immoral life, but
Bray was vehement in her defence. When John Wesley met the Society
her champions were much humbled, and all agreed to disown her.
He was able to report that it pleased God to remove many misunderstandings
and offences that had crept in, and to restore in good measure
the spirit of love and of a sound mind.” Two members of
the Society who had renounced all connection with the Church
of England were left off the roll. On the Saturday all met together
to humble themselves before God for their unfaithfulness. A
great blessing rested upon them. No such time had been known
since the memorable New Year’s outpouring.
Wesley stayed
five days in London. He had not only succeeded in restoring
peace at Fetter Lane, but had taken his place as a field-preacher
in London. The day after his arrival he went with Whitefield
to Blackheath. Twelve or fourteen thousand people had assembled.
Whitefield surprised him by asking him to preach in his stead,
“which I did,” he says, “though nature recoiled,
on my favourite subject, ‘Jesus Christ, who of God is
made unto us wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.’
I was greatly moved with compassion for the rich that were there,
to whom I made a particular application. Some of them seemed
to attend, while others drove away their coaches from so uncouth
a preacher.” He preached on Sunday morning at seven, in
Upper Moorfields, to six or seven thousand people (Charles Wesley
says, “above ten thousand people, as was supposed”),
and at five in the evening on Kennington Common to about fifteen
thousand. The following Sunday Charles Wesley ventured to follow
his brother’s example. He had been driven from his curacy
at Islington by the action of the churchwardens, and had gone
with Whitefield to his open-air services, but as yet he had
not ventured to preach out of doors in London. The three friends
were now enlisted in this work.
Wesley made
four journeys from London to Bristol in 1739. He visited Oxford
four times, made a short stay in Wales, and went to Tiverton
with Charles Wesley, when they heard of their eldest brother’s
death. The first three months of the year were mainly spent
in London; then Wesley was in Bristol for five months, so that
he was only able to devote about two months more that year to
London.
Samuel Wesley,
the eldest son of the Rector of Epworth, died at Tiverton on
November 6th, 1739, in his fiftieth year. He had anxiously followed
the later course of his brothers, and was greatly opposed to
their field-preaching. Only seventeen days before his death
he remonstrated with his mother for countenancing “a spreading
delusion, so far as to be one of Jack’s congregation.”
“For my own part,” he says, “I had much rather
have them picking straws within the walls than preaching in
the area of Moorfields.” * Samuel Wesley was a good Christian,
though his Church principles were so stiff. In the seclusion
of his school life, he was quite unable to understand the constraint
which led his younger brothers to go into the highways to declare
the Gospel to the perishing. They were quite as loyal Churchmen
as he, and had been as ardent in their support of order, but
necessity was laid upon them to preach the Gospel. Samuel Wesley
died in faith. “My poor sister,” says John Wesley,
“was sorrowing almost as one without hope. Yet we could
not but rejoice at hearing, from one who had attended my brother
in all his weakness, that, several days before he went hence,
God had given him a calm and full assurance of his interest
in Christ. Oh, may every one who opposes it be thus convinced
that this doctrine is of God I”
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