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

by Joseph Belcher

Speaking on the authority of his tutor, the Rev. Cornelius Winter, the late excellent Mr. Jay says that Whitefield's voice was incomparable: not only distinct and loud, but abounding with every kind of inflection, and perfectly under his power; so that he could render every thing he expressed, however common or insignificant in itself, striking and affecting.

This distinguished man had a peculiar talent for making the narration of facts tell in the pulpit. Nothing occurred among even his own family connections, but he would make it contribute to the edification of his auditors. One Lord's day morning, with his usual fervor he exhorted his hearers to give up the use of means for the spiritual good of their relatives and friends only with their lives. He told them he had a brother, for whose spiritual welfare he had very long used every possible means. He had warned him, and prayed for him, but all apparently to no purpose, till a few weeks previous; when that brother, to his astonishment and joy, came to his house, and with many tears declared that he had come up from the country to testify to him the great change which divine grace had wrought in his heart, and to acknowledge with gratitude his obligation to the man by whom God had wrought. Mr. Whitefield added, that he had that morning received information, that on his brother's return to Gloucestershire, where he resided, he dropped down dead as he was getting out of a stagecoach. "Let us pray always," said he, "for ourselves, and for those who are dear to us, and never faint."

This habit of making every occurrence bear on his ministry, Mr. Winter, who knew him more intimately, and has told us more of his private life and conduct than any other man, tells us was "perfectly in character with Mr. Whitefield. He turned every thing into gold; he improved every thing for good. Passing occurrences determined the matter of his sermons, and, in some degree, the manner of his address. Thus, if he had read on astronomy in the course of the week, you would be sure to discover it. He knew how to convert the centripetal motion of the planets to the disposition of the Christian towards Christ; and the fatal attraction of the world was very properly represented by a reference to the centrifugal. If he attended any extraordinary trial, he would avail himself of the formality of the judge in pronouncing sentence. It would only be by hearing him, and by beholding his attitude and tears, that a person could well conceive the effect; for it was impossible but that solemnity must surround him who, under God, became the means of making all solemn."

He sometimes made use of an incident of history in the reign of Henry VIII. The apprentices of London appeared before that monarch, pleading his pardon for their insurrections, manifesting intense feeling on the matter, and praying for "mercy, mercy." "Take them away, take them away," was the monarch's request, moved by the sight and the cries of these youths, "I cannot bear it." The application, as will be readily supposed, was, that if an earthly monarch of Henry's character could be so moved, how prevalent must be the plea of the sinner in the ears of infinite Love.

The case of two Scotchmen in the convulsion of the state at the time of Charles II. served him on more than one occasion. These men, having to pass some of the troops, were thinking of their danger, and meditating the best way of escape, when one of them proposed wearing a skullcap; but the other, thinking that would imply distrust of the providence of God, determined to proceed bareheaded. The last was the first laid hold of, and being asked, "Are you for the covenant?" replied, "Yes;" and being further asked, "What covenant?" answered, "The covenant of grace;" by which reply, eluding farther inquiry, he was allowed to pass; but the other, not answering satisfactorily, received a blow from the sabre, which penetrating through the cap, struck him dead. In the application, Mr. Whitefield, warning against vain confidence, exclaimed, "Beware of your skullcaps."

An American clergyman has told us that he once related to Whitefield an affecting occurrence, but did it with the ordinary brevity and feeling of common conversation. Afterwards he heard Mr. Whitefield preach, and tell this same story with such nature, pathos, and power, that the clergyman found himself weeping like a child. It has been well said, that he spoke with the tones of the soul; and that his gestures were impelled by the same spontaneous magical influence which made them, as well as his words, seem part of his soul. Indeed, he threw his soul into every thing he did and said.

It is said that Whitefield would sometimes rise in the sacred desk, and for a minute or two looking in silence around his vast audience, as if salvation or perdition teemed in every cast of his eye, would burst into tears, while the swift contagion, before he uttered a word, had reached every heart that could feel, and dimmed every eye that could weep.[2]

While his path to the sinner's heart was thus met with tears, he was never without strength or aim. He struck everywhere. He swung his glittering weapon, "the sword of the Spirit," in every direction, the same whether he preached in the cushioned and carpeted pulpit to lords, ladies, and gentlemen, or encountered a mob of stage-players and merry-andrews in the open field. He insisted on instant, visible, decisive action in his hearers. All was commotion where he moved. The very earth would seem to be shaken with the thunder of his eloquence; the heavens seemed, in the bold metaphor of Isaiah, to "drop down from above, and the skies to pour down righteousness," when he set the trumpet of the gospel to his lips, and made the notes of salvation or perdition ring in the ears of dying men. Such unwonted sounds startled the multitude into life, rousing energies that were forthwith enlisted either for or against the mighty cause which he advocated, with the boldness and fervor of one who had received immediate commission from heaven. His sacred ambition was content with nothing short of the conquest of thousands.

It has been well said by a living American writer, that "Whitefield was, in sacred eloquence, what Handel was in sacred music. There was an air, a soul, and a movement in his oratory, which created indescribable emotion in his vast assemblies, and if Handel, with a thousand auxiliary voices and instruments, astonished the multitude in Westminster Abbey, even to raising them on their feet, by the performance of his Messiah, Whitefield did greater wonders in his single person by preaching the Messiah to the immense crowds in Tottenham Court-road and Moorfields."

The same writer has said elsewhere, "The influence of Whitefield and Edwards on theology and pulpit eloquence were immense. There was in those two men indeed 'a diversity of gifts, but the same spirit,' The intellect prevailed in Edwards, the impassioned in Whitefield. Pure truth came forth from the mind of the one as nakedly demonstrated as it ever was on the pages of Newton and Locke; for Edwards, when but a child, read Locke with enthusiasm. From the soul of Whitefield it came forth arrayed in the gorgeous robes of his own many-colored imagination, baptized in the tenderness of his own sympathetic spirit. At times, indeed, the thunders of Sinai seemed to shake the sacred desk, but the softer music of the harp of Zion was more congenial with his compassionate spirit, though he was always bold for God, and braved danger in every form for the salvation of sinners. It is not strange that American preachers venerate, even to enthusiasm, the memory of such a man, and visit his dust, enshrined as it is in the bosom of New England, with feelings of indescribable interest. His labors were for us; his rest is with us; his example is before us. The first were indefatigable; the second is peaceful; the last is glorious."