George Whitefield: A Biography, with special reference to his labors in America

by Joseph Belcher

Very soon after this, he set out for his northern circuit; and wonderfully indeed did the Lord grant him success. One thing, however, on this journey grieved him. His friends at Leeds, without his knowledge, had built a large church edifice. He saw at once, that this circumstance would create an "awful separation among the societies" formed by the Messrs. Wesley and his own friends; and lost no time in writing to those ministers, that they might endeavor to prevent a breach. Both the plan and the spirit of this undertaking so grieved him, that he exclaimed, "Oh this self-love, this self-will, is the devil of devils." This he wrote to Lady Huntingdon, a proof that party was not their object; and it is pleasant to add, that Whitefield's fears were groundless. Leeds, even then, contained population sufficient to fill both houses, and the whole movement "fell out rather to the furtherance of the gospel." During two months he preached twice, and some days three times, to greater numbers than ever before, inviting them to Christ, and "exhorting them to pray for King George, and the dear friends in America." He heard at this time, that the American ladies were making the soldiers' coats; and he immediately wrote to urge his own female friends in the new world to be "some of the most active in this labor of love."

Though Mr. Whitefield stood very high in the esteem of that class of ministers who embraced his views of evangelical truth, and who approved the plans he pursued for the evangelization of the world, they never considered him perfect, nor were some of them backward, when they deemed it needful, to reprove him. In a sermon he once preached in Haworth church, Yorkshire, of which his friend Grimshaw was the minister, having spoken severely of those professors of the gospel who, by their loose and evil conduct, caused the ways of truth to be evil spoken of, he intimated his hope, that it was not necessary to enlarge much on that topic to the congregation before him, who had so long enjoyed the labors of an able and faithful preacher; and he was willing to believe that their profiting appeared to all men. This latter expression roused Mr. Grimshaw's spirit, and notwithstanding his great regard for the preacher, he stood up and interrupted him, saying, with a loud voice, "O sir, for God's sake, do not speak so; I pray you, do not flatter. I fear the greater part of them are going to hell with their eyes open."

Notwithstanding the astonishing labors of Whitefield on this tour, he returned to London apparently in full flesh, and was congratulated by his friends on his improved appearance. Alas, all this, as he well knew, was disease, which indeed very soon became apparent. He was seized with inflammatory sore throat, that was followed by quinsy, assuming an almost fatal aspect. One physician prescribed silence and warmth, and the preacher "promised to be very obedient," but a few days afterwards, another recommended a perpetual blister: this proposal roused him, and he determined to try his own remedy—perpetual preaching. The remedy itself was painful, but he said, "When this grand catholicon fails, it is all over with me." At this time the sad news of the earthquake at Lisbon arrived in London; he was unable to preach on the subject, but when told of it he said, "Blessed be God, I am ready; I know that my Redeemer liveth. Oh that all in Portugal had known this! Then an earthquake would only be a rumbling chariot to carry the soul to God. Poor Lisbon, how soon are thy riches and superstitious pageantry swallowed up!"

In the winter of 1755-6, he was applied to to preach in the vicinity of the two great theatres, which he began to do in Long Acre chapel. Disturbances took place, and the Bishop of London interposed to stop him. In the end he erected Tottenham Court-road chapel, as already detailed in our third chapter.

Mr. Whitefield's ministry in London at this time was still successful. Thousands hung on his lips with delight, not a few of whom were won to the service of Christ. He tells us, among many similar facts, of the conversion of a Mr. Crane, who was afterwards appointed steward of the orphan-house in Georgia. This gentleman had one evening determined to visit the theatre, and set out for Drury-lane; that house being crowded, he resolved to go to Covent-garden; that also being so full that he could not obtain admittance, he changed his plan, and resolved on being entertained with one of Whitefield's sermons, and hastened to Tottenham Court-road chapel. It pleased God to impress the word on his heart, and he became an eminent Christian. So truly is the prediction verified, "I am found of them who sought me not."

During this year he published "A Short Address to Persons of all Denominations, occasioned by an Alarm of an intended Invasion." We have examined it, and not without pleasure. It is a faithful exposure of Popery and its bitter fruits.

It is a charge often preferred against the faithful ministers of Christ, by those whose consciences testify to their own guilt, that they are personal in their remarks, and mean to censure particular individuals. It is certain that this was often done by Mr. Whitefield, and sometimes with very happy effect. He once drew, from the conduct of his female servant, the picture of a Christian failing in his duty, which painfully distressed her, till he gave her an assurance of his entire forgiveness.

Nor was this the only time when his hearers were compelled to feel, "he means me." The celebrated comedian, Shuter, had a great personal regard for Mr. Whitefield, and not unfrequently attended his ministry. At one period of his popularity he was acting in a drama under the character of Ramble. During the run of the performance, he attended service at Tottenham Court chapel, and was seated in a pew exactly opposite the pulpit. Mr. Whitefield on that occasion gave full vent to his feelings, and in his own energetic manner invited sinners to the Saviour. While doing this, fixing his eye full on Shuter, he added, "And thou, poor Ramble, who hast long rambled from him, come also. Oh, end your rambling by coming to Jesus." Shuter was exceedingly struck, and going afterwards to Whitefield, he said, "I thought I should have fainted; how could you serve me so?"

In the early part of 1756, Whitefield was engaged in London, preaching and collecting for the poor not only at Bethesda, but also for the French Protestants. At the Tabernacle, a man came up to him in the pulpit, threatening his life, and handing him three anonymous letters denouncing sudden and certain death, unless he ceased to preach and to pursue the offenders by law. One of these letters Whitefield sent to the government, who at once offered a reward, and his majesty's pardon, to any one who would discover the writer. While this fact gratified, it also embarrassed him. He wrote to Lady Huntingdon, "My greatest distress is to act so as to avoid rashness on the one hand, and timidity on the other." For his own sake, he would not have cared about the matter; but looking at it as connected with the cause of civil and religious freedom, he wisely allowed the law to take its course at the hazard of his own life by assassination. Agreeably with the advice of the government, he carried the whole affair into the court of the King's Bench; this alarmed the offenders, and the annoyance ceased.