Whitefield is Coming!
Whitefield is Coming!
The newspaper headlines read, “The city of Philadelphia welcomes the young Reverend Whitefield whose preaching has stirred all England!” On Sunday George preached to a full congregation at a Church of England church. Crowds came again on Tuesday, and by Thursday the people cried out for an open air meeting to allow the great numbers to hear. George agreed, and though it was a cold November evening, he stood on the Court House steps with his Bible held high before a sea of nearly 6,000 people. For the next three nights 8,000 stood outdoors to listen. On the last night he wrote in his journal:
Before I came all was hushed, exceedingly quiet. The night was clear but not cold. Lights were in most of the windows all around us for a considerable distance. The people did not seem weary of standing, nor was I weary of speaking … the Lord gave me strength … My heart was filled with his love ... I thought I could have continued speaking all night.
He put away his journal, thankful there had been time to write in it. Most nights there was barely time to eat before people came to the house to hear more, and sometimes stayed far into the night.
George had been in Philadelphia for nine days preaching, when the clergy of the Church of England churches who welcomed him at first turned against his preaching. “George Whitefield will not call anyone a Christian who does not hold to the new birth he preaches,” they said. One minister, who met George on the street, spoke for many of them when he said, “I am sorry to see you here, Sir.”
George replied, “And so is the Devil, Sir.” George was about to leave for New York, and added, “We go to New York tomorrow, but perhaps we shall meet again when we return to Philadelphia.” Without a word the man strode away.
As George and William walked on, William said, “That gentleman will not be happy to see you again, but it’s clear from the good Mr. Thomas Noble’s last letter that you will be welcomed in New York. Mr. Noble has written begging us to stay at his house. And he has already put aside a good offering for the orphanage.”
They were on their way to the shop of Benjamin Franklin the printer. Mr. Franklin had published two volumes of George’s sermons and two of his Journals.
Though no one could know it yet, the name of Benjamin Franklin would one day become famous as one of the great Americans of his time. When Franklin first heard George preach he wrote, “The multitudes that attend his sermons are enormous … He has a loud and clear voice, and … may be heard and understood at a great distance, especially as his audiences, however numerous, observe the most exact silence.” Franklin was amazed at the effect of Whitefield’s preaching on people, and the changes that followed in the life of the town around him. “I cannot take the words Mr. Whitefield speaks into my own heart,” he wrote, “but I do love hearing him preach. It is like listening to great music, truly remarkable.”
Franklin, who was always curious, decided to find out how large a crowd could actually hear Whitefield preach. Franklin had been standing in an enormous crowd, and began walking backwards as far as he could still hear George. Then imagining his distance the radius of a semi-circle filled with listeners, allowing each two feet square, he computed that George could be heard by more than thirty thousand. The newspaper accounts of twenty-five thousand people in the fields listening to George were possible. “This young preacher is truly a good man, a gifted man,” Franklin said. The two became lifelong friends.
In New York George went at once to the Commissary of the Church of England to ask for the use of the church. He never had the chance to ask. The Commissary strode from his office to meet George in the church hall. “I know who you are, and what trouble and division you are making, Sir, wherever you go!” he said. “You shall not use this church or any other under my authority. I bid you good day, Sir.”
“I’ll gladly preach in your fields, Lord, or anywhere you lead,” George whispered as he left. That afternoon he spoke to hushed crowds in an open field, and that evening at a Presbyterian Church filled to overflowing. George preached wherever he could until time came for the return to Philadelphia.
The kindly Mr. Noble, their host, was sorry to see them go. “You are twenty-four years old, and God has already blessed you with a great gift. I hoped you could make a visit to the Reverend Jonathan Edwards in Northampton. He is the man God so greatly used to awaken people’s hearts there, a true revival. They have heard of you, Reverend Whitefield, and pray that you may come and help them.”
“I must go back to Philadelphia,” George said, “but you are right that I need to go see Jonathan Edwards, and soon. I hope to learn much from that godly man.”
On the ride back to Philadelphia George preached. Word spread that he was coming, and crowds arrived before he did. “How can so many come together in the middle of nowhere on such short notice?” he said to William. “It looks as though nearly a thousand have come on horseback.”
When they returned to Philadelphia, only one Anglican Church was still open to George. The weather was bitterly cold, and he was glad to preach inside several times, but soon the large church became far too small. Once again the open fields became his pulpit.
George had purchased supplies for the Orphan House while William arranged a sloop, or sailing vessel, to transport the family to Georgia. Captain Gladman was eager to sail the sloop, while George and William and his secretary, Syms, rode horseback the 800 miles to Georgia. They would learn about the colonies and George would preach where he could. As they left Philadelphia two hundred horsemen rode with George and his friends to escort them for a while and wave them farewell.
Now there were no proper roads. In Maryland with its few towns and large plantations George found very little Bible knowledge. “They seem surprised that I speak to them about God and Christ,” he said. At times between settlements they could not find even an inn to buy food for themselves or their horses. A planter sold them a little milk and ale, and a bit of provender for their horses, and an old woman gave them bread. George encouraged his friends, “Thank God for what he sees fit to give us, take heart and press on.”
On December 10, a snowy, windy evening, they tried to cross the Potomac River into Virginia. They nearly lost both their lives and the horses. “We must turn back,” Syms cried as his frantic horse lost its footing.
“We will go back,” George shouted above the wind. “It’s hopeless to try to cross this night.” Wet and cold they turned the horses back and finally reached the ferryman’s house. He had little to share with them, but the next morning they crossed the river safely. They still found no place to buy food. George wrote in his journal:
December 12: rode eighteen miles with little food, witnessed to a ferryman in Piscadaway, but could not find even bread or milk there.
Late that day they reached a tavern and were given food and a bed in the kitchen. The kindly woman who owned the tavern kept her drinking patrons away from George and his small group that night.
In the colony of Virginia the commissary and the governor welcomed them kindly, and gave them food, and lodging. Along the way George wrote, “In North Carolina we have found scarcely any form of religion, and in South Carolina many of the ministers are like dry bones.” Underneath their politeness, George thought the southern colonies seemed dead to God.
They traveled on bad roads, wet, swampy ground, and often saw no one for miles. At night they often slept in the woods listening to wolves nearby. Once when they were lost God sent an unexpected guide who led them to a small house for the night. And wherever they came to small towns George preached.
One night when lost in the woods William spotted a cabin and hurried towards it. As they drew nearer he beckoned to George and Syms to stay back. “They are Negroes and may be runaway slaves,” he whispered coming alongside George’s mount. “If the hunters are after them we mustn’t be found here.” George and Syms nodded and the three silently withdrew. After a twelve-mile ride they saw at last a great plantation and found shelter for the night. George asked to visit the slaves belonging to the house. Their cabins were windowless, hot, bare rooms. An old man was laying on the floor and several children sitting nearby. George spoke gently to the old man and told him of Jesus’ love. The children listened eagerly. He did the same for the slaves who gathered to hear him outside the other cabins. That night George wrote in his journal:
These young Negro children are equal to any white children. My hope is to see a school of young Negroes singing the praises of Him who made them.”
Each time George visited the slave quarters on a plantation, he preached in words they could understand, that the Lord Jesus loved them, and the new birth was for them too.
Slavery was legal in all the southern states except Georgia. Only the Negroes seemed able to stand the heat as they worked in the fields. When the colony of Georgia called for the right to own slaves George believed there was a true need for their labor. He did not know that he would one day own a plantation to help fund the orphanage, and that every slave in the South would long to be on his plantation.
From the colony of South Carolina there were no roads at all, not even a trail to get them to Savannah, Georgia. To reach Savannah they traveled by canoe, a two-day trip along the coast. When they arrived, Syms held up his slate. “Friends, we have been forty-three days since leaving Philadelphia. We have been in the Colonies for two months all told, and traveled from New York to Savanna,” he said. He grinned, then added, “Before we left, I was told many times that only a handful of adventurers had ever made the journey we were about to begin, and certainly not a single preacher!”