“London, November 12, 1776.
“My Dear Brethren,—I thank you for your kind letters and invitations to visit you, and the brethren about you. I have often found an attraction in Yorkshire. My desire was indeed a little selfish; I wanted to improve by the conversation of my unknown brethren. If God bids me be strong again, I shall be glad to try if He will be pleased to comfort us by the mutual faith both of you and me. My desire is, that Christ may be glorified both in my life and death. If I have any desire to live at any time, it is principally to be a witness, in word and deed, of the dispensation of power from on high; and to point out that kingdom which does not consist in word, but in power, even in righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost, the Spirit of power. I am writing an Essay upon that important part of the Christian doctrine.
“Should I be spared to visit you, the keep of a horse, and the poor rider, will be all the burden I should lay on you; and that will be more than my Heavenly Master indulged Himself in. I am just setting out for Norwich with Mr. Wesley, whose renewed strength and immense labours astonish me. What a pattern for preachers! His redeeming the time is, if I mistake not, matchless.
“Should I never have the pleasure of thanking you in person for your brotherly regard, I beg you will endeavour to meet me in the kingdom of our Father, where distance of time and place is lost in the fulness of Him who is all in all. The way ye know,—the penitential way of a heart-felt faith working by obedient love.”[[383]]
Early in the month of December, Fletcher visited Mr. Gorham, at St. Neots. One of his inducements to undertake this journey was to have an opportunity of conversing with Berridge, Vicar of Everton, and with Henry Venn, who, a few years before, had left Huddersfield, and settled in a small country village, as Rector of Yelling. Mr. Gorham’s son accompanied Fletcher to Everton. Sixteen years had elapsed since Fletcher’s former visit there; and, during that interval, Berridge had published his “Christian World Unmasked;” and Fletcher had severely handled its Calvinian doctrines in his “Fifth Check to Antinomianism;” but there was no room for malice in Christian hearts like theirs. The instant Fletcher entered the parsonage at Everton, Berridge rose up, ran to meet him, embraced him with folded arms, and cried, “My dear brother, how could we write against each other, when we both aim at the same thing—the glory of God, and the good of souls! My book lies quietly on the shelf,—and there let it lie.” For two hours, the loving polemics had an unbroken conversation; when Berridge said, “We must not part without praying.” Down they fell upon their knees. Full of the great truth then occupying his mind, and which probably had been the chief subject of conversation with his friend, Fletcher began to pray for an effusion of the Spirit, and for greater degrees of sanctification and usefulness. Berridge followed, with a prayer full of love and faith. The two seemed as if it were impossible to separate; and Fletcher had to be torn away, to keep an appointment, at St. Neots, with the Rector of Yelling. Venn was charmed with Fletcher, and became so absorbed in the conversation, that Fletcher had to remind him, playfully, of the meal before him. A year afterwards, they met again, at Bristol, lodged together for six weeks in the same house, and Venn, on his return to Yelling, declared, from his pulpit, that Fletcher was “like an angel on earth.”
Notwithstanding considerable opposition, Fletcher was permitted to preach once in St. Neots Church, and took, as his text, “We love Him, because He first loved us.” Many hung upon the lips of the preacher; but three or four of his hearers, in great dudgeon, left before his sermon was ended. “I will not be tedious,” cried Fletcher, as the discontented were retreating, “but oh that I might persuade you to love Him, who first loved us!” About thirty of his congregation followed him to his lodgings, where, at their request, he preached again, most of those that were present being powerfully affected.
Considering the state of his health, this preaching exercise was hardly prudent; but Fletcher had less regard for his health than for what he conceived to be his duty. The season was the depth of winter; but he maintained his accustomed early rising. One morning, before four o’clock, Mr. Gorham stole gently into his chamber, and kindled his fire. The crackling of the wood awoke him; and, instantly, showing the frame of mind in which he habitually lived, whether awake or asleep, he cried, “Is it you, my kind host, with your candle and fire? May the Lord light the candle of faith and the fire of love in our hearts!” When nearly fifty years had elapsed, Mr. Gorham said, “I have never forgotten this salutation; and often do I step into the room, and look at the spot where I received the dear saint’s thanks, and heard his prayer.”[[384]]
At this time, there resided at the suburban village of Stoke Newington a gentleman who must have a brief notice. His father, James Greenwood, was one of the earliest members of the Methodist Society, at the Foundery, London; and he himself was one of the first trustees of Wesley’s chapel, in City Road. He had a lucrative business, as an upholsterer, in Rood Lane and Fenchurch Street; and died, at the age of fifty-six, in 1783, his remains being put into one of the early-dug graves in the burial ground of City Road Chapel.[[385]] Wesley’s mention of his death is worth quoting:—
“1783, February 21.—To-day Charles Greenwood went to rest. He had been a melancholy man all his days, full of doubts and fears, and continually writing bitter things against himself. When he was first taken ill, he said he should die, and was miserable through fear of death; but, two days before he died, the clouds dispersed, and he was unspeakably happy, telling his friends, ‘God has revealed to me things which it is impossible for man to utter.’ Just when he died, such glory filled the room, that it seemed to be a little heaven; none could grieve or shed a tear, but all present appeared to be partakers of his joy.”[[386]]
In the necrology of the Methodists, there are but few brighter death-bed scenes than that of Charles Greenwood, of Stoke Newington.[[387]]