THE BEGINNING OF THE GREAT AWAKENING

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”