Good books she recognised among the mercies of her childhood. No doubt they related mainly to experimental and practical religion, and were written by such men as John Bunyan, Jeremy Taylor, and the early puritans. Socinianism was not uncommon in those times, and Susanna Annesley’s faith in the leading doctrines of the gospel was shaken. Happily, Samuel Wesley, most likely her affianced husband, was an adept in that controversy, and he came to her rescue. Her theological views became thoroughly established, and her writings contain admirable defences of the Holy Trinity, the Godhead and atonement of the Lord Jesus, and the Divine personality and work of the Eternal Spirit. Discussions on Church government ran high. Conformity and nonconformity were pitted against each other, and championed by the ablest of their sons. The din of controversy reached her father’s house, and she began to examine the question of State churches before she was thirteen. The result was, that she renounced her ecclesiastical creed, and attached herself to the communion of the established Church. Samuel Wesley’s attention was directed to that subject at the same time, and the change in their opinions seems to have been contemporaneous.
Behold her now, at the age of nineteen, “a zealous Church-woman, yet rich in the dowry of nonconforming virtues;” and over all, as her brightest adorning, the “beauty of holiness,” clothing her with salvation as with a garment.
“Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants;
No angel, but a dearer being, all dipt
In angel instincts, breathing paradise.”
She was a maiden worthy of the most princely spirit that might woo her hand and win her heart; and such Providence had in store for her, in the noble-hearted and intelligent Samuel Wesley. Probably late in 1689, or early in 1690, accompanied by “the virgins, her companions,” she went forth out of Spital Yard, decked in bridal attire, and was united in holy matrimony to the Rev. Samuel Wesley, according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England.
Her husband was a curate, on only £30 a year. They “boarded” in London and the neighbourhood, “without going into debt.” In the course of a few months, Mr. Wesley received his first preferment in the Church. Upon £50 a year, and one child additional per annum, his thrifty wife managed to make the ends meet. After existing seven long years in the miserable rectory of South Ormsby, the rectorship of Epworth, valued at £200 per annum, was conferred upon the Rev. Samuel Wesley. The town is a place of deep interest to two religious denominations. There the founder of Methodism and the planter of its earliest offshoot were born, and in the old parish church they were both dedicated to God. One would almost imagine that devouring fire was the rector of Epworth’s adverse element. Scarcely had he and his noble wife taken possession of the new home, when a third of the building was burnt to the ground. Within twelve months after, the entire growth of flax, intended to satisfy hungry creditors, was consumed in the field; and in 1709 the rectory was utterly destroyed by fire. If the number and bitterness of a man’s foes be any gauge of his real influence, then the Rector of Epworth must have been the greatest power in the isle. The consequences of carrying out his sincere convictions regarding things secular and sacred were terrible. The conflagration, involving all but the temporal ruin of the Wesley family, was the work of some malicious person or persons unknown. Instead of appreciating his eminent abilities and scholarly attainments, his brutal parishioners insulted him in every possible way. His friends advised him to leave, but he resolutely disregarded their counsel. “I confess I am not of that mind,” he writes to the Archbishop of York, “because I may do some good there: and ’tis like a coward to desert my post because the enemy fire thick upon me.” Two of his most violent enemies were cut off in the midst of their sins, and in these events Mrs. Wesley saw the avenging hand of Him who hath said, “Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.”
For nearly forty years the Rector of Epworth sowed with unfaltering hand, and saw no fruit. But ere he departed, the autumn came. He saw “the full corn in the ear,” and a few patches of the golden harvest ready for the reaper’s sickle. A new generation widely different from their fathers, had grown up around him, and in the midst of their tenderest sympathy he passed the quiet evening of life. Memorable sentences were ever and anon dropping from his ready pen, indicating that he was looking for the coming crisis. On the 25th of April, 1735, just as the golden beams of that day shot their last glances upon the old parsonage, so eventful in domestic vicissitudes, the sun of the rector completed its circuit, and sank behind the western hills of old age to shine in a brighter sky for evermore.
When all was over, Mrs. Wesley was less shocked than her children expected. “Now I am heard,” said she, calmly, “in his having so easy a death, and my being strengthened so to bear it.” She, nevertheless, felt deeply her lone and lorn situation. Epworth had been no paradise of unmixed delight to her. The serpent had often lurked among its flowers; poverty, like an armed man, had frequently stood at the gate, and sometimes crossed the threshold, and death had many a time entered the dwelling; but, as in widow’s weeds and sable dress, she left the dear old spot, never more to return,
“Some natural tears she dropped, but dried them soon.”