You Must Cover your Ears
You Must Cover Your Ears
The Minerva docked safely and George and his companions stepped onto England’s shore. It was March, 1741 and George had been away from England for over a year. Marcus was waiting for him. George greeted him warmly, but Marcus was not his usual cheerful self and at once began to tell George of the troubles waiting for him. “You will find things much changed,” Marcus said. “Even in Moorfields some of the people believe that you are teaching wrong beliefs. John stood before them one night and tore the letter you wrote in your defense into shreds.” Marcus swallowed hard and went on, “He has forbidden them to listen to you, George. He warns them to cover their ears when they pass you preaching in the fields.”
George bowed his head. When he looked up he said, “Then we must begin to minister to our people again.” George was soon back preaching in the fields. At first the crowds who had not left to follow the Wesleys were small. God had given George a voice that carried powerfully, clearly, winningly, and others began to stop and listen. Many of those who had left returned. Now the people wanted a shelter where they could listen to George out of the cold and rain, and built a large wooden building. “Sadly, I fear it is a bit too close to the Foundry where John is preaching,” George said, “but it may be temporary. We’ll call it The Tabernacle.” Marcus, once again cheerful, smiled. Next they built a society-room at the Tabernacle with a school, a place to help the poor, and a workshop to employ some of them. After five weeks George was ready to go to Bristol and Gloucester.”
In Gloucester people were eager to hear him. As George preached it was clear to all that he did not teach the devil’s doctrine, but the Bible’s truth. In Bristol the people who now followed John came to tell George of a new belief John was teaching that one could be perfectly sinless. George listened carefully to those who said they no longer sinned at all. When one woman said “I have been perfect for twelve months,” George asked her if she had ever prayed for pardon for sins and she replied, “No, I have not committed any sin.” A gentleman told George, “For three months past, I have not sinned in thought, word, or deed. I am free from in-dwelling sin, and I believe it is impossible for me to sin.” George shook his head as he told these stories to Marcus and Syms. “They deceive themselves,” he said. “How often I have prayed for forgiveness of sin, and each time our Lord Jesus in his deep love and kindness has forgiven me.”
Marcus nodded, “It’s the same for me, and the rest of us I’m sure,” he said.
George held up his Bible. “This is the truth we teach, and pray God to make clear. We need to pray that God will heal the differences between John and us in time.” God did answer his prayer and healed their friendship. John no longer accused George of teaching the Devil’s doctrine, and though they didn’t agree on minor differences they agreed that the gospel must be preached to all people. When he could, George often helped with the work in John’s Societies, even enduring bed bugs on one trip.
Syms was sorting mail and George had just read one from Scotland. “Syms, it’s from Pastor Erskine of the Associate Presbytery in Scotland. Their churches are no longer part of the National Presbyterian Church of Scotland, and they would like me to come and preach. Since I’ve already planned a trip to Wales, I will take the invitation and go first to Scotland.”
George landed in Scotland and did not see any from the Presbytery waiting for him. Instead he was welcomed by a group of evangelical ministers who had not left the National Presbyterian Church of Scotland, but preached the good news of Jesus in their churches. “Come preach to us,” they begged. George promised he would, but first he needed to speak to the men of the Associate Presbytery who had invited him to Scotland.
The meeting did not go well. The men of the Associate Presbytery had their own church government and rules. They insisted George must preach only in their churches. When George asked why, they answered, “Because we are the Lord’s people.” George would also have to accept all of the Presbytery’s rules and ways, and they promised to help him see how right they were.
George was deeply saddened. “I cannot join you then. I have no interest in your church governing or rules, and I cannot preach only to your people. I am an itinerant preacher and must preach the gospel to all wherever the Lord leads me.” George left and the men of the Presbytery closed their doors to him.
George went to Edinburgh to preach. Many wanted to hear this famous young preacher and the crowds were large. In a note to Marcus he wrote,
Over three hundred people have come to the Lord Jesus here in Edinburgh. I am ready to leave here and preach as far as I can around the city for the rest of my time here in Scotland.
He continued preaching for three months more. His messages blazed with God’s fire, and people turned to the Lord in churches, in parks, at old people’s homes, in the slums, and in private houses.
At one meeting place George greeted a Quaker, a stout man wearing the tall black Quaker hat. As always George wore his black wool preaching robe. The man held out his hand and said, “Friend, George, I am as thou art. I am for bringing all to the life and power of the everlasting God. Therefore, if thou wilt not quarrel with me about my hat, I will not quarrel with thee about thy gown.”
“Friend,” George shook the man’s hand heartily. “I wish all of every denomination were thus minded.”
On his way to preach in Aberdeen, George and a companion stopped at the house of a poor widow in desperate need. When they entered the bare cottage George saw several children huddled near their mother. The poor widow looked worn and frail. The children’s faces were thin and pale, their clothes small protection against the cold. His heart was touched, and quickly George searched his pockets and gave five guineas to the widow. After they left, it was not long before his traveling companion said, “How could you afford to give her such a sum?”
George answered, “God brought her need before us so that we could help.”
They had ridden a good way more when suddenly a highwayman rode out from behind a clump of trees, and demanded their money. They gave him all they had, and the robber fled away. George turned to his friend and said, “How much better it was for the poor widow to have the five guineas than that thief.” They rode on thankful to be unharmed, but scarcely any time passed before the highwayman was back. This time he demanded George’s wool coat. George gave him the coat. With a loud guffaw, the robber tossed his own thin ragged coat to George. “It is better than none,” George said as he put it on.
Glad to see the last of their highwayman, George said, “Since he has taken my coat and all the money we had between us, I do not think we will see him again.” When they saw the man returning again, George cried out “This time we must out race him to the next village, or I fear for our lives.”
George and his companion rode at a gallop with the sound of the robber’s horse far too close behind them. To their joy as they neared cottages they saw help already coming. The man was caught, and after the excitement had calmed George took off the robber’s ragged coat, feeling as he did so a small bundle inside the pocket and drew it out. George’s laughter rang out in the cottage as he opened the packet and found one hundred guineas. When he could finally stop he said, “The Lord has given me far more than I gave the widow. It is no wonder the fellow was after me. This gift will fill many a need, and what a story we shall have to tell.”
George often spoke about the orphanage. By the time he left for Wales, the Scottish people had given enough for the orphanage to pay all he owed but 200 pounds!
Among those who heard George and became a friend was Lord Leven, his Majesty’s Commissioner to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland. When George announced that he must go on to visit Wales, Lord Leven insisted, “Well then, you must take one of my horses for the journey.” The horse was a fine animal, but it was not the horse that set George to singing as he left for Wales. He was on his way to Wales to get married to the widow Elizabeth James who lived in Abergavenny. His friend Harris Howell had said of her, “In Abergavenny there is a good woman that if I were a marrying man I would marry her. She is a woman of strength of character, good sense, and she is devoted to the Lord. She would be a good wife for you, George, a gift from God.” When George had been in Wales earlier he had met with her and found himself deeply attracted to her.
Elizabeth James was small and plain, but she was a woman whose faith showed in her quiet confident manner. They had written to each other, the widow had finally agreed to marry George.
The marriage took place at Caerphilly, and Howell was best man. The couple spent a week at the cottage in Abergavenny. Both knew that not even marriage must stand in the way of George’s ministry. “One day, my dear, I hope we will work together at the orphanage, but now I must return to London and Bristol. All too soon it was time for George to leave. I will find lodgings for us in London as soon as possible,” George promised. Elizabeth stood at the cottage door to watch as he rode away. George was back for Christmas, but left again soon after. It was three months before Elizabeth could join him in lodgings in London.
At last Elizabeth was becoming used to George’s habits of rising at four in the morning. He was never late, he was neat and clean, and very self disciplined, and he loved a simple meal of pig knuckles. He was also meek and quick to sacrifice himself for others.
“Elizabeth, you are such a help to me,” George said. She had just copied a pile of letters he’d asked for.
“And you, dear husband, to me,” Elizabeth said. “I have grown so much in the things of the Lord. I loved the book you gave me to read last week, and I am so grateful for a husband that wants me to learn all I can.”
“At least this winter I am to preach indoors at The Tabernacle, and you shall see too much of me I fear,” George said.
“That, my dear, can never be. It will comfort me come spring and you are gone to the fields to preach,” she said. Elizabeth was a devoted wife, and George a concerned, gracious husband. “I know that God is using you to awaken people to himself all over England, Scotland, Wales, and America,” Elizabeth said. The opposition to his ministry saddened her. In a letter to a friend in Wales she wrote,
My dear husband is ridiculed in plays, denounced for his powerful preaching, refused pulpits in the Church of England, and preached against in dead churches. He longs for them all to hear God’s message …
When George returned from preaching in an amusement park with mud and stains on his robe, Elizabeth patiently cleaned them. This day someone had thrown rotten eggs. “My dear,” he said, “the merrymakers who threw those eggs quieted down soon after. I have no doubt some of them went away with the Lord’s word ringing in their ears.”
Elizabeth looked up, her dark eyes bright. “All over England and America God is bringing a great awakening. Those who do not want such a thing will do their worst.”
“God has blessed his word and brought many to himself today. For such blessing I would willingly give my life,” George replied.