16. Healing the Wounds and Completing the Work in America 141
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Healing the Wounds and Completing the Work in AmericaAfter a dangerous and storm-filled crossing of the Atlantic, Whitefield landed at York, New Hampshire. The date was October 26, 1744, and he was twenty-nine years old.
Nearly four years had elapsed since he had last been in America, and during that time important changes had taken place in the Great Awakening. When he had left America, a glorious spiritual work was being carried on, and it continued after his leaving. Gilbert Tennent had labored in Boston, and Thomas Prince of the Old South Church stated, "Within three months were three score joined to our communicants, the greater part of whom gave a more exact account of the work of the Spirit of God on their souls." Prince went on to describe the continuing alteration in the city and remarked,
And thus successfully did this divine work go on in town without any lisp of a separation, either in this town or province, for above a year and a half after Mr. Whitefield left us.1
Likewise Jonathan Parsons of Lyme, Connecticut declared,
I believe the people advanced more in their acquaintance with the Scriptures, and a true doctrinal understanding of the operations of the Holy Spirit in conviction, regeneration and sanctification, in six months' time than they had done in the whole of my ministry before, which was nine years.2
Several ministers spoke in a similar manner, telling of the spiritual work done in their own hearts, in their churches, and in their communities. Recognizing a manifest demand, the Rev. Thomas Prince began to publish a weekly paper, The Christian History, which largely reported these testimonies. It is evident that, as stated, the movement continued in power "for above a year and a half after Mr. Whitefield left America."
Nevertheless, other elements also entered. For example, the practice of creating noise and confusion in church services was developed. This arose from the fact that the Spirit of God had wrought an overwhelming conviction in many hearts, causing sinners to cry out. But certain persons, feeling these extreme experiences were a necessary element of revival, sought to imitate them, shouting and falling to the floor in the midst of the services.
Moreover, danger arose from the activities of a number of young men who were known as "exhorters." Most of them were basically earnest, but in general they lacked education, and some were coarse in their manners. They went forth without any authorization, and several made the denunciation of various pastors their chief function. Although the labors of some were beneficial, the activities of the exhorters, so largely undisciplined and ungoverned, were on the whole utterly detrimental to the work.
The confusion in many services and the activities of the exhorters began to bring the Awakening into disrepute. The chief difficulty arose, however, from the practices of a Rev. James Davenport.
Davenport had suffered a breakdown that affected both mind and body. But he entered the ministry and manifested such fervor that pastors and people in general knew him as "a most heavenly minded man." With the coming of the Awakening, he entered into its labors with great zeal; but it soon became evident that in his condition he could not cope with the new excitement.
Davenport's weakness was apparent first in his profession of being guided by direct revelations. He thought of himself as a great reformer and a special favorite of God, and he declared that God spoke to him in dreams and visions. His preaching frequently produced convulsions and faintings, and these phenomena he regarded as the working of the divine power. He had long suffered a fever, and his condition was aggravated by his spending whole nights in prayer and on one occasion by preaching for twenty-one hours. As he traveled, he called on ministers, demanding an account of their religious experience and publicly denouncing as unconverted all who failed to measure up to his requirements. He urged his followers to sustain the work, even if it meant defying the laws of the Colony. He was at one point arrested, and the militia was called out to protect those who examined him. In an attempt to "cure the people of their love of worldly things," he had them bring their "wigs, cloaks, breeches, hoods, gowns, rings and jewels," and these items, together with a number of evangelical books, he consumed in the fire.
Although Davenport later apologized for his foolish actions, the harm he had done was not easily removed. He had developed a considerable number of followers, and many of them likewise claimed that God spoke to them directly and that they needed no further authority for their behavior. Some were for, but more were againstDavenport, and divisions took place in homes, in churches, and in the community, and the Congregationalists, the Presbyterians, and the Baptists were each divided into two opposing factions.
Whitefield, however, was being blamed for the extreme actions and for the divisions, and his accusers were not without grounds for their claims. During his previous visit Whitefield had spoken of impressions made on his mind, and this was used as a basis for the assertions of direct revelation. He had urged every Christian to be busy making the gospel known and had influenced the ministers to preach every day of the week, and this the exhorters declared was the authorization for their activity. He had rejoiced to see sinners brought into deep conviction and had denounced the presence of unconverted men in the ministry, and this, his opposers claimed, had given rise to the confusion and the separations.
Regarding these charges Whitefield stated, ".. . many good souls, both among the clergy and the laity, for a while mistaking fancy for faith and imagination for revelation, were guilty of great imprudence. Now all is laid to me as being the primum mobile, though there was not so much as the appearance of anything of this nature when I left New England last."
This, then, was the situation that Whitefield set about to correct. Although very unwell, he immediately accepted many invitations to preach. Soon, however, he was confined to bed. Yet here he said, "God dealt so bountifully with me that I felt a divine life distinct from my animal life, which made me, as it were, to laugh at pain. . . ." He rose from his bed, went and preached, and came home, seemingly a dying man. He lay in a semiconscious state, and a black woman came and, looking him earnestly in the face, stated, "Master, you just go to Heaven's gate. But Jesus said, 'Get you down, you must not come here yet, but go first and call some more poor Negroes!'" He gradually recovered, but he remained physically weak as he began the important work before him.
When he reached Boston, Whitefield discovered that the rumors that he was to blame for the fanaticism had caused questionings in the minds of several former supporters. Four prominent ministers—Dr. Sewall, Dr. Colman, Thomas Foxcroft, and Thomas Prince—called on him, and he reported,
I found by what they said, that the work of God had gone on in the most glorious manner for near two years after my departure.. . .
They were apprehensive that I would promote separations and that some had been encouraged to separate by my saying that I found the generality of preachers preached an unknown Christ, that Colleges had darkness in them, and that, speaking of the danger of an unconverted ministry, I said, How can a dead man beget a living child?
I said I was sorry if anything I had said had been a means of promoting separations, for I was of no separating principles, but came to New England to preach the Gospel of peace and promote charity among all.
We talked freely and friendly about several things, by which the jealousies they had entertained seemed in a great measure ended, and Dr Colman asked me to preach in his Meeting House.3
After this discussion and after hearing him preach, the confidence of these Boston pastors was restored. They realized that during his previous visit Whitefield had been a youth of merely twenty-four, and they saw that he was now more mature and possessed a wisdom which they believed would guard him from excessive expressions.
Thus accepted, Whitefield entered into a ministry in New England as extensive as that of his former days. He preached in Boston in church after church, and everywhere the buildings were crowded. In response to public demand, he began to hold a service at 6 in the morning and another at 7, and he spoke of his delight in "seeing those who had been used to lie in bed till 8 or 9, running to hear the Word in a cold winter season at break of day."
As Whitefield performed this ministry, the populace gradually realized he had no desire to perpetuate the Davenport practices, and prejudice noticeably melted away. "My conduct and my preaching," he declared, "breathed nothing but love."
Whitefield's return to Boston drew forth a host of pamphlets against him. One of these, however, was from a most prestigious source: A Testimony from the President and Professors, Tutor, and Hebrew Instructor of Harvard College against the Reverend George Whitefield. The Testimony asserted that Whitefield was "an enthusiast, a censorious, uncharitable person, and a deluder of the people," and in proof of these charges the authors stated that he depended on dreams and impressions, and they cited his assertions of "spiritual darkness" in Harvard and Yale. They also claimed he had deluded the public by his incomplete financial statements concerning his Orphan House.
Despite his continuing sickness, Whitefield wrote a reply to the Testimony. In this he admitted that certain elements in his earlier actions were immature and apologized for them. But he also quoted from a sermon preached by Dr. Edward Holyoke, Harvard's president, which contained statements of the existence of the same errors as the statements for which the Testimony accused him. His manner was not a compromising one; he stood his ground, yet his style was quiet and peace-making. Remarkably, the men who wrote the Testimony did not realize that they themselves were "censorious and uncharitable" in their attitude towards Whitefield.
The fact that "Harvard published against him" has been repeated times without number, but the document that Harvard later produced thanking him for his benefactions to the College has been little-known.
Moreover, while he was at Boston the people clamored for him to remain, and as an incentive they offered to build for his use the largest church anywhere in America at that time.
Whitefield remained in New England for nine months, and during that period he lived down the charge that he intended to promote fanatical practices. He set an example of a ministry which, though still characterized by constant zeal, was also governed by prudent restraint.
Upon leaving New England, Whitefield set out on a journey that was to take him, preaching as he traveled, to the Orphan House in Georgia. At New York, despite statements both for and against him in the newspapers, his congregations were as large as ever. At Philadelphia, the people declared their desire to pay him an annual salary of £800 if he would preach to them merely six months of the year. But this offer, like that in Boston, he graciously refused.
In Virginia, Whitefield received striking evidence of the effectiveness of his printed sermons. Samuel Morris, a bricklayer, had begun the practice of reading Whitefield's sermons to people who gathered in his house. The house was soon crowded, and a new building for this purpose was built. This too became crowded, and a second, a third, and a fourth such "Reading House" was constructed, and all were immediately filled. As a result of hearing these sermons, several were moved to severe weeping, and many were soundly converted. Whitefield visited Morris and his people and remained with them five days. This was the beginning of the Presbyterian body in Virginia. Any attempt to estimate the value of Whitefield's printed sermons must take into account Samuel Morris and his Reading Houses.
Upon reaching Bethesda, Whitefield found that during his absence notable progress had been made. The buildings and grounds were a delight to behold; only a few details of construction remained to be completed, and both the Orphan House and the plantation were in excellent order.
But since arriving in America, because of the opposition Whitefield had received no offerings, and the financial need had now become acute. Accordingly he enlisted the aid of several men in England and America—some were ministers and others business-men—who agreed to contribute regularly to Bethesda.
Benjamin Franklin, however, sympathizing with Whitefield in the burden that he carried, wrote an appeal that he intended to insert in his own paper and also in other papers on both continents. But this offer Whitefield refused, feeling that advertising the institution's need seemed like suggesting that God had failed it. Thereupon Franklin made a personal gift, the sum of £75.4
Whitefield did, however, send copies of Franklin's appeal to several friends to be used in a private way. But that plan proved to be of little value, since it depended on the mail. England was then at war, and trans-Atlantic letters were often lost. And even mail from America to so distant a point as Savannah was notably unreliable. Likewise Thomas Noble, who had declared his desire to help and had already lent Whitefield money for Bethesda, passed away, leaving his entire estate to the Moravians. The executor of the will wrote wanting repayment of the loan within six months, and a weary Whitefield replied, "I am afraid it will be out of my power, but as we are Brethren of the same Lord and as the debt was contracted for Him I hope you will be patient with me."
In the midst of these circumstances, Whitefield was informed of a distressing circumstance in England: John Cennick had left him and his work.
Cennick, whom he had made pastor of the Tabernacle and the overseer of Whitefieldian Methodism throughout England, had not been able to handle the immense task. He possessed unusual ability as a preacher and was characterized by a holy life, undaunted courage, and unflagging zeal; but the many responsibilities proved too heavy for him. He felt the need of strong company and knew not when Whitefield would return, and since he had long found happy fellowship with the Moravian Brethren, he finally entered their movement.
Cennick wrote to Whitefield, informing him of his change of allegiance. Whitefield, whose cause suffered grievously from the loss, was disappointed, but he replied,
Dear John:
Though I am quite sick and weak in body, yet the love I owe thee for Jesu's sake constrains me to answer your last kind letter. . . .
It has been thy meat and drink to preach among poor sinners the unsearchable riches of Christ. May'st thou continue in this plan, and whether I see thee or not.. . I shall always pray that the work of God shall prosper in thy hands.... Go where thou wilt, though thou shouldst be in the purest society under heaven, thou wilt find that the best of men are men at best. . . ,5
Because of the loss of John Cennick, Whitefield was repeatedly urged by the officials of the Tabernacle and by Howell Harris to set sail for England. But in view of the spiritual need in America, he determined he could not yet leave.
Bethesda's financial need, however, was burdening him. Accordingly, certain friends put into action a plan which they were sure would help. "God has put it into the hearts of my South Carolina friends," he said, "to contribute liberally towards purchasing a plantation and slaves in this province, which I propose to devote to the support of Bethesda. .. . I have called it Providence."
Thus Whitefield became an owner of slaves!
Although we utterly deplore the practice, we must at least attempt to understand it as Whitefield viewed it. Until that time, virtually only the voices of a few leading Quakers had declared against slavery. The empires of history had been built upon it, and it was still practiced in virtually every country on earth. Christians in general favored it, and in the home of almost every minister in America the bulk of the manual labor was done by a slave. For some few years after his conversion, John Newton was captain of a vessel that brought slaves from Africa to their bondage in America.
The blacks at Providence, we may be sure, were treated with kindness, and many a black from neighboring plantations would undoubtedly have shouted for joy had he been informed he was being transferred there. Nevertheless, we must face the grim fact that Whitefield did not oppose slavery. He agreed with the conditions of his times, and this mark is the one dark blot upon an otherwise unspotted career.
Whitefield continued his incessant ministry, especially in the Southern and Middle Colonies. Despite constant weariness, he found the deepest joy of his life in preaching the gospel, and in the face of appeals by friends that he slacken his pace, he drove on. Here are some excerpts from his letters at that time:
I have been ranging the woods in the service of the best of Masters, who makes his work more pleasant to me every day. Everywhere almost, the door is opened for preaching. Great numbers flock to hear, and the power of an ascended Saviour attends the Word.
It is surprising how the Lord causes prejudices to subside and makes my formerly most bitter enemies to be at peace with me.
My preaching is blessed to poor souls. Amazing love! Maryland is yielding converts to the blessed Jesus.
A large living was offered me ... if I would accept of it. But I have no thoughts of setthng till I settle in glory.
The heat is trying to me. But the Lord Jesus ... enables me to ride many miles and preach twice a day.
O that I could do more for Him! O that I was a flame of pure and holy fire, & had a thousand lives to spend in the dear Redeemer's Service.... The sight of so many perishing souls affects me much, & makes me long to go if possible from pole to pole, to proclaim redeeming love.6
Whitefield was warned, however, by his doctor, Dr. Edward Shippen, America's foremost physician (an earnest Christian and a personal friend), that he must allow himself a period of rest. So although he had stated, "I intend going on till I drop," after being unable to rise from his bed for some days he agreed to a time of change. Josiah Smith suggested he could relax best in Bermuda, and thus he agreed to spend a short time in that isle. Since Mrs. Whitefield did not particularly enjoy ocean travel, she chose to remain in Philadelphia. He intended to return for her so they could sail to England together.
Throughout these days in America, Whitefield had walked a difficult pathway. His ministry had combined fervor with prudence, and though laboring to remove unnecessary strife he had made not the least compromise of his doctrinal convictions. He had exercised zeal with wisdom, and under his example the fanaticism that had previously marred the Awakening was largely dispersed.
Early in March 1748, exhausted and unwell, Whitefield embarked for Bermuda. Thousands in America undoubtedly shared the feelings of Benjamin Franklin, who declared,
Mr Whitefield was never so generally well esteemed by persons of all ranks among us; nor did he ever leave with so many ardent wishes for his happy journey and a safe return to this place.