A New Fire
A New Fire
From the coach window George watched as they drove past the familiar streets and buildings of Gloucester, his boyhood home. His brother Richard, his sister Elizabeth and his boyhood friend, red haired Gabriel Harris stood at the coach stop waiting for him.
Gabriel looked taller, but wore the same old good-natured grin on his face.
George’s legs wobbled a bit when he stepped down from the coach. It had been a rough trip, and he was still not strong. “Steady there, old boy,” Gabriel said and grasped his arm. “George, you are staying with us, and we won’t take no for an answer. My father is still the mayor here, and I am Younger Sheriff, so you’ll just come with us.” Gabriel laughed. “Besides, Mother can’t wait to nurse you back to health and we’ve plenty of room.” George smiled and nodded. He could hardly refuse.
Mrs. Harris, round and cheerful rushed to embrace George. He was soon seated in a great high-backed chair with his feet on a stool, pillows at his back, and blankets tucked about him. The smell of pine logs blazing in the great fireplace, and its warmth, soothed George’s weary body. He didn’t notice when his eyes closed and he fell asleep. Hours later Elizabeth entered the room with a full supper tray and woke him.
“Mrs. Harris didn’t have the heart to wake you, but she insisted I stay and care for you this evening.” Carefully Elizabeth set the tray on a table by George’s chair. “I am longing to hear everything about Oxford, all that’s been going on,” she said. “Our mother is pleased you are home.” Elizabeth handed George a napkin. “But, she is not so pleased about what you’ve been writing in your letters. Neither of us knows what you mean by this ‘new birth’. Mother thinks you say these things because you have been working too hard, and become ill.”
George smiled at his only sister. She had grown into a young woman. “If you will wait until I finish this good supper, I will tell you of the best news you or anyone will ever hear.”
As she listened Elizabeth was astounded. “All my life I’ve heard that belonging to the church and doing good works means you are a Christian,” she said, “now I begin to see it is a gift from God through Jesus. But why have we never heard of this in church?” George looked tired, and Elizabeth quickly said, “Never mind. You’ve talked enough for tonight.” Picking up the supper tray she said, “You, little brother, need to go to bed.”
George longed to tell everyone he could the good news, but first he needed to get his strength back. While he rested he studied the Bible. It was easiest to spread out his Bible, his Greek New Testament, and his Matthew Henry Commentary before him on the floor and study on his knees. “How wonderful your word is, dear Lord,” he would whisper over a text that moved his heart.
One evening as George visited with his friend Gabriel he said, “Now that I have the truth to preach I can hardly wait to enter the ministry.”
Gabriel smiled. “You may have to wait just a bit. You are only twenty years old and you will first have to be ordained to Holy Orders.”
“Yes,” George said, “and after that more work at Oxford until I can be ordained a priest in the Church of England. If this is God’s will, he will make it possible.”
Mrs. Harris was at last persuaded that George was well enough to receive friends. The young man who followed Mrs. Harris into the parlor where George reclined in a great chair near the fire was an old school friend. He wore a fine suit with silk ruffles on his cuffs, embroidery on his hose, silver buckles on his shoes, and carried a hat with more sweeping feathers on it than some birds had. It was clothing George knew well from his own wild days, the unmistakable style of a rake. Rakes were known for their love of fashion and love of pleasure, much of it immoral. George held out his hand and smiled. “Harry, it’s been a long while since I’ve seen you. Sit down.”
Bowing slightly to Mrs. Harris, Harry sat down. Mrs. Harris left the two of them together. “Well, well, George, what’s this I hear about your new choice of sermon? I remember how you used to imitate old Dr. Clary’s sermons until the rest of us could scarcely breathe for laughing. You were good, George. I expect once you are a clergyman you will be quite the actor.” He smiled at George. “But, come now that is not why I’m here. The boys and I can’t wait to see you up and around. We plan a grand party for you: girls, wine, and perhaps a game or two of cards. So what can we do to hurry your recovery and have you back with us? Even a clergyman has a life when he’s not in church.” Harry chuckled.
George felt his heart sink. “No, Harry. I don’t have a new sermon; I have a new life.” As George told his old friend how his life had changed, and how he now considered his past ways sinful, he could see a dark shadow come over Harry’s face.
Finally Harry rose and picked up his hat. “You have become a fanatic, George. I did not think the rumors about you were true, but I see that they are indeed so. Well, I must be going.” With a half-bow Harry turned and left the room.
“If only I could have reached him, Lord,” George prayed. “Young men like him need you. Help me bring your gift of hope to them, Lord.”
In the months that followed, George did lead a group of young people to the Lord. The group met for prayer and Bible reading together at Elizabeth’s home. She was now a married woman and opened her house gladly to the youths. George had also begun to do more of the things he loved to do like visiting the poor, and reading to the sick. One old woman came to trust in Jesus as her Savior only days before her death. George went to her funeral thinking how glad she must be now, in heaven with Jesus. He still kept a daily journal to record how he spent each day, but there were no more words of fear and gloom. “Ah, Lord, it is so good to tell you everything. You forgive me, you help me, and you never stop loving us” he wrote in his diary.
In the town of Gloucester where he had been born and raised, people were now saying things like, “He’s a different lad than he used to be.” Storekeepers, merchants, his old teacher, and pastor, friends he’d read plays with, everyone who knew him wondered at the change. “He goes to church more than any young man I’ve ever seen. Takes the sacrament weekly,” the baker told his customers.
“I know he’s been a-visitin’ sick folk, and a-helpin’ the poor too,” the apple woman said. George surprised some people even more when he returned the books he had taken without their permission.
Lady Selwyn, a wealthy woman of Gloucester, was also impressed by Whitefield. She was a great friend of the Bishop of Gloucester, and while having tea in his parlor declared, “Now, dear Bishop, I know this extraordinary young man has just turned twenty one, but truly he is a remarkable young man and ought to be ordained. I for one, and there are many who agree with me, wish to see him here in a parish in Gloucester. What do you think, Bishop?”
“Indeed, your ladyship. I have been hearing much about this Whitefield,” the Bishop replied, “and I believe your ladyship is quite right. I shall have a word with him, madam.”
George wondered why the Bishop wanted to see him. By the time the meeting was over, he had kindly offered to ordain George as soon as he felt ready. Suddenly George felt too young, too small, too unworthy to take on such a task.
“You must trust God for the future, young man,” the Bishop said, “and take the first step, my son.”
On the day of his ordination George walked slowly up the steps of the great Gloucester Cathedral with its soaring towers and massive stone work. He could feel his heart thumping. As he opened the massive door of the church and entered, he breathed in the rich smell of incense and candles burning. Bishop Benson stood ready to begin the ceremony that would bring him into Holy Orders. As the congregation of witnesses watched George was ordained.
On Sunday he was to preach his first sermon at St. Mary’s de Crypt, the church he’d gone to as a boy. The people were waiting; the same people who had known him all his life. As he walked to the pulpit he heard someone say, “He’s terrible young, isn’t he? Don’t believe he’ll have much to say to us, will he now?”
As George began to preach he no longer thought of anything but the message God had laid on his heart. By the end of the service a hush hung over the church. As he made his way down from the pulpit someone said, “Twas surely like the voice of an angel we heard.” “And him so young,” another said.
“Will you go back to Oxford and finish your studies?” Elizabeth asked George as the two walked from the church. “You will make a fine preacher, brother, and you will also make our old mother the proudest, happiest mother in Gloucester.” She laughed lightly as George chuckled.
“I’ve already told God that if he wants me to go back to school I’m ready,” he said opening the gate to the house.
Mrs. Harris beamed as she added still another letter to the pile in George’s hands. “Now I confess I know what is inside some of these,” she said. “I’m thinking you will be leaving us soon. And when you come back it will be to a church of your own.” The letters contained money for George to return to Oxford, gifts from family, friends, and even the Bishop of Gloucester!
The last letter in George’s hand was from a wealthy man in London, Sir John Phelps. “He is willing to provide a stipend for me to head the Holy Club Society work while I continue my studies at Oxford.” George waved the letter. “This is more than I could have asked. I must make arrangements right away.” Later that night George thought about what waited for him at Oxford. The Master of the College had been glad to see him go, and would not be glad to see him returning.