To the Rich and to the Poor
To the Rich and to the Poor
George breathed deeply of the fresh Atlantic breezes as he sat on deck writing letters.
“My dear Harris,” he wrote, “I am longing to see you, my friend. Your urgent letters have made it clear that I am needed in England. By now you have read my letter to the King which has been published throughout England. These are dangerous times with plots against His Majesty’s throne causing suspicion and unrest throughout England. Those who accused Methodists of disloyalty to His Majesty, hoped to see a price put on the head of every Methodist, but our enemies are now defeated. My defense of our loyalty to the King has been well received in England both by his Majesty and those near him. Those who oppose our preaching of the good news and spread hatred for us will have to find some other way to ban Methodists. We shall have much to tell when we meet, dear brother. G. W.
At the landing dock, George spotted Marcus smiling and waving at him. Marcus embraced George heartily. While they walked together, Marcus said, “You have come alive again, my friend. Only three months ago, The Gentleman’s Magazine published news of your supposed death. The good news that you are alive is shouted all over London. The people are waiting to welcome you to The Tabernacle.”
George laughed and patted Marcus’s shoulder. “I’m thankful I am still here, and after we have seen the family, we must look for the things that will make for peace among us.”
Marcus quickened his pace to keep up with George’s stride. “You will find your mother aging but longing to see you. She is cared for and grateful for the help you have sent her.”
All England knew the name of Whitefield and the wonder that he was not dead and had returned home, quickly brought invitations for George to preach. On this July day he was scheduled to speak in the Moorfields. People began gathering in the fields early and the crowds were growing. When George stood to preach he faced the largest number of people he had ever spoken to at one time. Thousands who came too late had to be turned away. As an old gentleman and his wife walked back to their waiting carriage, he patted his wife’s arm saying, “Never mind my dear. We shall arrive early enough tomorrow to hear that melodious voice speak God’s word to us.”
George’s followers began to urge him to stay in England. “You are the one the people will listen to and follow. They come from all over England to hear you. You are the leader we need to unite all. Stay with us. There is a great ministry for you here in England.” Even Marcus and those closest to him began to press him to take charge.
“No!” George said. “I cannot stay in England. We must not compete with each other, but work together in love. I came to make peace.” George looked at the friends and leaders around. “No, my brothers, I will go about preaching the gospel to every creature, and leave the Societies to others. I will resign all my positions as head of anything. Let my name be forgotten. I know my place is to be the servant of all so that Jesus Christ may be preached.”
One of George’s followers shook his head sadly. “If you will not take leadership, will you at least deny the lies told about you over and over by our enemies?”
George answered him gently. “I am content to wait till the judgment day for the clearing up of my character. You may write on my tombstone, ‘Here lays G. W. What sort of a man he was the great day will discover.’”
Eager to preach wherever he could, George paid a visit to Scotland. The opposition to him from the men of the Associate Presbytery was still strong, but for seven weeks he preached to large congregations in Glasgow and Edinburgh. The weather had turned cold and windy while George was preaching outdoors, chilling him to the bone. The following day his voice was hoarse. “I must try to keep my promises to those who are waiting for me to come,” he told his host. In the morning he traveled on to his next meeting, and then to the next. His struggle to make his voice heard was now painful.
“At times I cannot breathe easily,” George said to the Scottish doctor who had come to examine him at a friend’s house. “And I often have bleeding in my throat when I finish preaching.” Scotland’s doctors were known for their fine medical practices.
The doctor had finished his exam. “I will give you medicine to help with the breathing, but you must rest your voice. You may have burst a blood vessel in your throat,” he said, “and you cannot continue this way.”
Forced to rest, George stayed with his friends, took walks in the Scottish countryside, and wrote letters. To Marcus he wrote, “Your prayers, and the prayers of many dear friends have brought much relief to me. I am breathing the fresh Scottish air freely now, and my throat has quite healed. I believe it is time to continue my preaching here.”
As always when George stood to preach he forgot all else and spoke with all his heart. He did not feel the strain as he spoke, but afterwards the bleeding did come back. “It seems to come and go,” George said. “I’m thankful for the strength I am given to go on preaching, and will trust the Lord whatever comes.” He finished his tour not knowing when the strain of preaching would be too much for his throat.
George returned home to England while Elizabeth was still in America. He was glad Elizabeth was not yet back, and went right to work on a secret plan he’d hoped to finish before she arrived. At last the work was done and George wrote a letter to Elizabeth. “My dear, I can hardly wait for your return. It’s been almost a year since I have been back. I miss you, but I have a wonderful surprise waiting, so hurry, my dear.” George smiled to think of how Elizabeth would look when at last she came and he led her, not to a rented lodging, but to the new house that he had built for her near the Tabernacle.
In June Elizabeth’s ship arrived. George took her straight to the little brick house with its garden and led her like a bride through it. “I’ve called it Tabernacle House, my dear,” he said. Elizabeth was speechless at first, overwhelmed with joy at the very first house they now owned in England.
“I shall not have to live in Wales, while you preach in England,” she whispered while tears of joy ran down both their faces.
“Yes, whether I am here or in America, as God calls me to preach, you will have this home, my dear.” There was a feeling of joy in his heart, or was it pride? George smiled. Maybe a bit of pride this time was okay. The house was not grand but it was all it needed to be, and it was his first real gift to Elizabeth.
At supper George told Elizabeth all the news. “I have given up all leadership positions, but the one that will not give me up: The Tabernacle. I am to stay as the minister but may go freely on my itinerant preaching tours part of the time. I may even return to the Colonies, and others will preach in my absence.”
Elizabeth listened and smiled as he finished. “God blesses your ministry wherever it may be. I am pleased with this good plan, and a little more than pleased that you will be at The Tabernacle close to our home at times.”
But soon another appointment was put upon him. The Countess, Lady Huntingdon, had decided to make George one of her chaplains. London was full of the English nobility, who displayed their wealth, their love for pleasure, and their social position often with contempt for those beneath them. Many went to church because it was part of English life, but many who went had little place in their lives for God. Lady Huntingdon, loved and believed in the Lord Jesus and did all she could to bring others to him. Her mansions in the city and in the country were grand estates, and she moved in high society. After her husband’s death she had decided to use all her wealth and position to serve God. She began to invite small groups of people from among the nobility and wealthy to study the Bible in her home. As chaplain, George was to come twice a week to her house and preach during the winter and other times when he was in London. For George it was one of the hardest things he had to do.
He could not help telling Elizabeth. “Each time I go to the Countess’s house, I go with fear and trembling, knowing how difficult it is to speak to the great so as to win them to Jesus Christ. Sometimes, I want to say, Lord, please have me excused and send someone else. And then I hear the words, ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’ Ah, Elizabeth, maybe I will always tremble, but I must trust him to do his work in me. The Lord alone can open the eyes of rich or poor.”
It was time for him to leave for the Countess’s house, and Elizabeth held out his gloves. “I will be praying, dear husband,” she said.
George arrived to find forty of England’s rich and noble gathered at the Countess’s house. Only a great room with wide arches like Lady Huntingdon’s grand room could accommodate the wide hoop skirts of the women. Their hair piled high with added curls and puffs held all sorts of adornments, and their jewels sparkled. George marveled at the silks and brocades of both the men and women. Like all ministers of the Church of England he wore a black wool robe and the usual powdered wig. The other men wore wigs too as they did help protect against lice.
The room was full of lords and ladies, countesses and earls, all invited by Lady Huntingdon from among the rich and noble of England. As always when George began to speak he thought of nothing but the truth he saw so powerfully before his own eyes. He was telling the story of a blind man at the edge of a precipice who lost his dog’s leash, dropped his cane, and lurched forward to retrieve it when Lord Chesterfield leapt from his chair and cried, “By heavens he’s gone.” He had listened so intently that the danger seemed real. Lord Chesterfield did not call himself a true follower of the Lord Jesus like Lady Huntingdon, but he liked to listen to George, and had often said “He is a good man.”
Some who came to the Chapel did come to believe the gospel. Already the Earl of Bath, Lady Chesterfield, a close relative of the King’s father George I, Lord St. John, and others had come to true faith through George’s ministry. At each meeting George welcomed questions and promised to answer the letters of any who would write to him.
Late that night, George wrote to Marcus, “I do not know all that the Lord is doing in hearts at these gatherings at Lady Huntingdon’s, but what I do see brings me great joy. Mr. David Hume, who writes that he doubts there is a God, has come. May the Lord make his word reach the man’s heart.”
To a wealthy businessman, George wrote,
I fear what is keeping you from the Lord Jesus is the Silver Dust that has blinded your eyes to the riches of Christ.
To another he wrote,
You, dear Sir, are in a dangerous place ...
It was often late at night before George finished the pile of letters waiting for him to write or answer. Tonight Elizabeth sat next to him helping with the letters. When she began to yawn not once but several times, George patted her hand. “We will stop for the night,” he said. “There will always be letters to write, and you, my dear wife, have been like my right arm helping me.”
“Tomorrow then,” Elizabeth said between a yawn and a smile. “There are letters to arrange preaching times and places and some letters on the affairs of the orphanage,” she added. George nodded.
During the winter George had preached at The Tabernacle and nearby places when he could. He ministered to condemned prisoners at Newbury Gate, visited the sick and poor, and along the way found orphans who needed his help. He soon collected a number of orphans, dirty, hungry, unwanted street children who tugged at his heart. His plan was to take the children to Bethesda as soon as spring arrived.
Spring came bringing early flowers to English gardens and it was time again for George to leave. “I am eager to go to places still unreached in the Colonies of the Carolinas and Virginia,” he said. Elizabeth would stay in England, and had come with Marcus to see him off.
“Go with God, dear husband,” she said as she and Marcus watched his ship leave the dock. Standing beside him were twenty-two needy children and the staff hired to care for them. George was taking them to the orphanage at Bethesda.
Marcus waved farewell to the passengers lining the ship’s rail. “God has called your husband to preach and given him the true heart of an itinerant preacher. And I think he has given him another heart, one for the homeless, the widows, the poor, the prisoners, and needy children everywhere.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly. “Yes, and once he sees to the orphanage, he will preach many times and travel many miles before we see him again. When he returns I think he will be glad to give up his horseback riding for a small pony chaise and an indoor pulpit at The Tabernacle. I will be truly thankful for the winter days when I have him near for awhile.” She smiled as they walked together back to the waiting coach.