A House of Mercy
A House of Mercy
George stepped back farther into the shade of a great oak on the edge of the new clearing for the orphanage. William had already moved back into the shade as they watched the men digging out stumps. “We’re a good distance from town, and there’s swamp land around us,” George said, “but our grounds will be a safe place for the orphanage away from town and with plenty of room to grow. Can you picture it, William?” George pointed to the half-cleared land. “The main building will stand two stories high, with rooms upstairs for the children, staff rooms, and down below kitchen, offices, an infirmary and a school. Barns will be in back with the gardens.”
William wiped his forehead. The day was hot and humid. “I’m sure it will be grand, truly,” he said.
George leaned back against the tree. “It should be, and best of all it will be a place of refuge for children here in the poorest, most isolated of the colonies. The colony of Georgia is far too poor to support an orphanage. God has touched the hearts of many to give to the work, and I trust he will open the hearts of others like you, William. Your generous gifts have given us what was needed to begin building.”
William shooed away a fly with his hat and said, “He is blessing his work everywhere you minister, George. Surely he will bless this place of Mercy. I’m pleased with the house we’ve rented in Savannah, just knowing that more than twenty orphans are sleeping well tonight, safe until we can move them here.”
“Safe at last,” George said. “I have never seen children so pitiable as the three young boys who came to us yesterday. Their masters put them to hard labor beyond their strength, and treated them worse than their animals. If all the money given for this work was spent in freeing just those children from slavery, it would be well used.”
“Well said,” Williams agreed, “It makes me sick to see children so thin and weak, filthy and lice infested, and their arms and legs black and blue from beatings. Who could mistreat them so brutally? The rags they wore had to be burned, and I don’t think one of them has slept on a proper bed before.”
“The youngest children remember little before they were orphans and placed out. Others come with memories of living on the streets, or in the poorest of homes,” George said, “but here they will be loved and cared for.” He opened his arms wide, “This will be a house of welcome for every orphan in Georgia. We will call it Bethesda, the House of Mercy.”
“It’s a fine name,” William said, “and I say it cannot come too soon for the orphans of Georgia.”
“Come with me to the village, William, and meet the widow who will teach our girls to spin and card. We can talk on the way.” As they walked George laid out his plans. The children would go to school five hours of the day, and spend part of the day learning skills they could one day use to earn their living. “I have plans for more land, barns for cattle, a dock at the river front, and a ten mile long cart road from Savannah.” George felt a flicker of pride as he said, “It will be the biggest road construction ever done in this colony, and the Trustees have agreed to help with the cost.” William smiled as George began again to list things they needed.
The work was going well when word came that George’s brother James, now Captain of a ship, had docked in Charleston, South Carolina. George left at once to meet him.
When George arrived, James was standing on deck and saw him come. “Ahoy, brother,” he shouted. “come aboard.”
The two embraced, and when George stepped back he studied his brother’s face a moment. “You have the wholesome tanned look of a true sea captain, now,” he said.
“It’s the life for me, George, just as preaching is for you,” James said. “You must tell me all about your work here, brother.”
“I will, but first come tell me of your adventures and how the family does at home. I miss them all.” They visited long into the night, and said goodbye the following morning. Before he could leave Charleston, George was asked to preach. Afterward, many who knew of the orphanage work in Georgia gave money for it. George had never received so much for the orphanage before at one time. As he left many begged him to visit them when he next passed through Charleston.
By the end of March there were a hundred mouths to feed as the number of orphans grew larger. According to his license, George had the right to bring any orphan in the state of Georgia to the orphanage, and George did his job well, but his troubles were growing.
With a slow step and a heavy heart George came to speak to his gathered friends and staff in the meeting room at Bethesda. He had just returned from a long meeting with the Trustees of the colony, and must now tell them all what had happened. The room was quiet as George began. “The Trustees no longer approve of me as they once did,” he said. “Since I have become an itinerant preacher, and not the minister in residence here they see me differently. I am now seen as outside the Church of England, and worse as someone who preaches in fields and fellowships with Dissenters, not a thing pleasing to them. Most grievous to them is that I do not hold to salvation by works, a thing that has greatly angered the Commissary over the Church of England in Charleston and others.” George waited until his friends’ comments died down before telling them the worst news. “The trustees have decided to place Bethesda under the rule of the local Magistrates.”
Stunned by his words no one spoke except Mrs. Dent who simply said, “Oh my.”
“There is more,” George said. “All funds collected for the work are to be accounted for to the Magistrates. All expenses now and in the future are to be mine alone. And I am to pay a yearly rent for the orphanage. These things may be managed, but the rest of their demands go far deeper. The magistrates will now be the ones to choose which needy orphan children shall come to the orphanage. And sadly, they will also have power to remove children from Bethesda when they are old enough to go in to service.” George waited as William and others protested, and then added, “There are to be no looms at the orphanage to teach spinning, and the Magistrates may visit and inspect when they like.” The silence turned to more protests and groans over the things George had said were now in place.
George held up his hand, “I know how this news has seemed to change our plans for a house of mercy for all, a place to educate and nurture all the colony’s orphans. The magistrates have no interest in such things, but I am determined we shall go on doing these things for every orphan God allows us to care for in his name.” George led them in prayer, and ended with the plea, “May this always be a place where those who come may find your love, Lord.” It was to be a constant struggle and a heavy financial burden for George, but his love for the children, and the ministry at Bethesda would remain unchanged. They would be well educated, taught good skills to earn their living, and taught the Bible and Jesus’ love for them. He was already planning to bring someone to Bethesda who would be a mother to the children and see to the good order of their home.
George was hoping for a letter from England that would bring him good news, but when it came his heart sank. He had written to his friends, the Delamots,back in England to ask for the hand of their daughter in marriage. It did not help his case that he had told them in his letter about the deaths of three of the women who staffed the orphanage. The Delamots refused. “We do not feel that Georgia is the right place for our daughter,” they wrote. “It is still a frontier with all its hardships, including the terrible heat of summer, Indians, and threats from the Spanish.” George felt this new loss keenly, but put it aside as he prepared to leave on a spring preaching tour to New York and Philadelphia. His plan for the tour was to preach once in each place and then once again on the return trip. Spring was the best time to head north. The night before the journey, he slept little and prayed much. “Lord, you have called me to preach your truth here in America, but I cannot do it without your help.” In the morning George, Syms, and William boarded the sloop for the first part of the journey.
Their boat arrived in the colony of Delaware, and word ran from place to place that Mr. Whitefield had come. People left what they were doing and hurried to hear him. That morning as George preached with all his heart to a large crowd, many wept. People had come far to hear him, and George agreed to speak again that afternoon.
The air was warm and the sky above a brilliant blue as George arrived at the open field where people already waited for him. He stood on a wooden platform and was about to speak when the sound of thundering hoof beats filled the air and clouds of dust rose in the distance. George watched as the horses and their riders drew nearer. The lone rider who led them motioned the others to stop, and slowly walked his horse close to George’s platform. “Reverend Tennent,” George cried out. It was an old friend, an elderly Presbyterian minister George knew from an earlier visit.
“Yes,” the old man shouted, “and behind me are two hundred of my congregation come to hear you. So give us time to settle our horses so we can hear what the Lord has given you to tell us this day.” George waited smiling right down to his heart to see his friend and so many others with him.
The following morning George and his friends arrived at their next stop to find nearly three thousand waiting for them. There was little time even to eat. George was eager now to reach Philadelphia. “I am longing,” he said, “to see how it is with those who came to the Lord on our last visit there. We must press on.”