Mr Whitefield saith any man that will may have his sins forgiven, and
may know it. I have heard Mr Bagnall speak of this doctrine, which he
said was shocking and wicked, for it gave men licence to live in sin.
Mr Whitefield named this very thing (whereby I saw it had been brought
as a charge against him), and showed plainly that it did not tend to
destroy good works, but only built them up on a safer and surer
foundation. We work, saith he, not for that we would be saved by our
works, but out of gratitude that we have been saved by Christ, who
commands these works to such as would follow Him. And he quoted an
Article of the Church, [Note 4] saying that he desired men to see that
he was no schismatic preaching his own fancies, but that the Church
whereof he was a minister held the same doctrine. I wonder if Mr
Bagnall knows that, and if he ever reads the Articles.
He spoke much, also, of the new birth, or conversion. I never heard any
other preacher, except Uncle, mention that at all. I know Mr Digby
thought it a fanatical notion only fit for enthusiasts. But certainly
there are texts in the Bible that speak plainly of it. And Mr
Whitefield saith that we do not truly believe in Christ, unless we so
believe as to have Him dwelling in us, and to receive life and
nourishment from Him as the branch does from the vine. And Saint John
says the same thing. How can it be enthusiasm to say what the Bible
says?
People seem so dreadfully frightened of what they call enthusiasm [Note
1]. Grandmamma used to say there was nothing more vulgar. But the
queer thing is that many of these very people will let you get as
enthusiastic as ever you like about a game of cards, or one horse coming
in before another in a race, or about politics, or poaching, and things
of that sort that have to do with this world. It is about the things of
real consequence--things which have to do with your soul and the next
world--that you must not get enthusiastic!
May one not have too little enthusiasm, I wonder, as well as too much?
Would it not be reasonable to be enthusiastic about things that really
signify, and cool about the things that do not?
I want to write down a few sentences which Mr Whitefield said, that I
may not forget them. I do not know how they came in among the rest.
They stuck to me just as they are. [Note 2]. He says:--
"Our senses are the landing-ports of our spiritual enemies."
"We must take care of healing before we see sinners wounded."
"The King of the Church has all its adversaries in a chain."
"If other sins have slain their thousands of professing Christians,
worldly-mindedness has slain its ten thousands."
"How can any say, `Lead us not into temptation,' in the morning, when
they are resolved to run into it at night?"
"How many are kept from seeing Christ in glory, by reason of the press!"
(That is, he explained, that people are ashamed of being singularly
good [Note 3], unless their acquaintances are on the same side.)
"Christ will thank you for coming to His feast."
When Mr Whitefield came near the end of his sermon, I thought I could
see why people said he made them cry so much. His voice sank into a
soft, pleading, tender accent, as if he yearned over the souls before
him. His hands were held out as if he were just holding out Jesus
Christ to us, and we must take Him or turn away and be lost. And he
begged us all so pitifully not to turn away. I saw tears running down
the cheeks of many hard-looking men and women. Flora cried, and so did
I. But Angus did not. He did not look as though he felt at all
inclined to do it.
This is one of the last sermons, we hear, that Mr Whitefield will
preach on this side the sea. He sails for the American colonies next
month. He is said to be very fond of his American friends, and very
much liked by them. [Note 5].
As we were coming away, we came upon our friends from Monksburn, whom we
had not seen before.
"This is preaching!" said Annas, as she clasped our hands.
"Eh, puir laddie, he'll just wear himself out," said the Laird. "I hope
he has a gude wife, for sic men are rare, and they should be well taken
care of while they are here."
"He has a wife, Sir," observed Angus, "and the men of his own kidney
think he would be rather better off if he had none."
"Hoots, but I'm sorry to hear it," said the Laird. "What ails her, ken
ye, laddie?"
"As I understood, Sir, she had three grave drawbacks. In the first
place, she is a widow with a rich jointure."
"That's a queer thing to call a drawback!" said the Laird.
"In the second place, she is a widow with a temper, and a good deal of
it."
"Dinna name it!" cried the Laird, lifting up his hands. "Dinna name it!
Eh, puir laddie, but I'm wae for him, gin he's fashed wi' ane o' that
sort."
"And in the third place," continued Angus, "I have been told that he may
well preach against worldly-mindedness, for he gets enough of it at
home. Mrs Whitefield knows what are trumps, considerably better than
she knows where to look in the Bible for her husband's text."
"Dear, dear!" cried Lady Monksburn in her soft voice. "What could the
good man be thinking of, to bind such a burden as that upon his life?"
"He thought he had converted her, I believe," said Angus, "but she came
undone."
"I should think," remarked Mr Keith, "that he acted as Joshua did with
the Gibeonites."
"How was that?" said Angus.
"It won't hurt you to look for it," was the answer.
I don't know whether Angus looked for it, but I did as soon as I got in,
and I saw that Mr Keith thought there had been too much hastiness, and
perhaps a little worldly-mindedness in Mr Whitefield himself. That may
be why he preaches so earnestly against it. We know so well where the
slippery places are, when we have been down ourselves. And when we have
been down once, we are generally very, very careful to keep off that
slide for the future.
Mr Whitefield said last night that it was not true to say, as some do,
"that a man may be in Christ to-day, and go to the Devil to-morrow."
Then if anybody is converted, how can he, as Angus said, "come undone"?
I only see one explanation, and it is rather a terrible one: namely,
that the conversion was not real, but only looked like it. And I am
afraid that must be the truth. But what a pity it is that Mr
Whitefield did not find it out sooner!
"Well, Helen, and how did you like the great English preacher?" I said
to Flora's nurse.
"Atweel, Miss Cary, the discourse was no that ill for a Prelatist," was
the answer.
And that was as much admiration as I could get from Helen.
There was more talk about Mr Whitefield this morning at breakfast. I
cannot tell what has come to Angus. Going to hear Mr Whitefield preach
at Monks' Brae seems to have made him worse instead of better. Flora
and I both liked it so much; but Angus talks of it with a kind of bitter
hardness in his voice, and as if it pleased him to let us know all the
bad things which had been said about the preacher. He told us that they
said--(I wish they would give over saying!)--that Mr Whitefield had got
his money matters into some tangle, in the business of building his
Orphan House in Georgia; and "they said" he had acted fraudulently in
the matter. My Uncle Drummond put this down at once, with--
"My son, never repeat a calumny against a good man. You may not know
it, but you do Satan's very work for him."
Angus made a grimace behind his hand, which I fancy he did not mean his
father to see. Then, he went on, "`They say' that Mr Whitefield is so
fanatical and extravagant in preaching against worldliness, that he
counts it sinful to smell to a rose, or to eat anything relishing."
"Did he say so?" asked my Uncle: "or did `they' say it for him?"
"Well, Sir," answered Angus with a laugh, "I heard Mr Whitefield had
said that he would give his people leave to smell to a rose and a pink
also, so long as they would avoid the appearance of sin: and, quoth he,
`if you can find any diversion which you would be willing to be found at
by our Lord in His coming, I give you free licence to go to it and
welcome.'"
"Then we have disposed of that charge," saith my Uncle. "What next?"
"Well, they say he hath given infinite displeasure to the English gentry
by one of his favourite sayings--that `Man is half a beast and half a
devil.' He will not allow them to talk of `passing the time'--how dare
they waste the time, saith he, when they have the devil and the beast to
get out of their souls? Folks don't like, you see, to be painted in
those colours."
"No, we rarely admire a portrait that is exactly like us," saith my
Uncle Drummond.
"Pray, Sir, think you that is a likeness?" said Angus.
"More like, my son, than you and I think. Some of us have more of the
one, and some of the other: but in truth I cannot contradict Mr
Whitefield. 'Tis a just portrait of what man is by nature."
"But, Sir!" cried Angus, "do you allow nothing for a man's natural
virtues?"
"What are they?" asked my Uncle. "I allow that `there is none that
doeth good, no, not one.' You were not taught, Angus, that a man had
virtues natural to him, except as the Spirit of God implanted them in
him."
"No, Sir; but when I go forth into the world, I cannot help seeing that
it is so."
"I wish I could see it!" said my Uncle. "It would be a much more
agreeable sight than many things I do see."
"Well, Sir, take generosity and good temper," urged Angus. "Do you not
see much of these in men who, as Mr Whitefield would say, are worldly
and ungodly?"
"I often see the Lord's restraining grace," answered my Uncle, quietly;
"but am I to give the credit of it to those whom He restrains?"
"But think you, Sir, that it is wise--" Angus paused.
"Go on, my boy," said my Uncle. "I like you to speak out, like an
honest man. By all means have courage to own your convictions. If they
be right ones, you may so have them confirmed; and if they be wrong, you
stand in better case to have them put right."
I did not think Angus looked quite comfortable. He hesitated a moment,
and then, I suppose, came out with what he had meant to say.
"Think you not, Sir, that it is wise to leave unsaid such things as
offend people, and make them turn away from preaching? Should we not be
careful to avoid offence?"
"Unnecessary offence," saith my Uncle. "But the offence of the cross is
precisely that which we are warned not to avoid. `Not with wisdom of
words,' saith the Apostle, `lest the cross of Christ should be made of
none effect.' In his eyes, `then is the offence of the cross ceased,'
was sufficient to condemn the preaching whereof he spoke. And that
policy of keeping back truth is the Devil's policy; 'tis Jesuitical.
`Will ye speak wickedly for God, and talk deceitfully for Him?' `Shall
the throne of iniquity have fellowship with _Thee_?' Never, Angus:
never!"
"But our Lord Himself seems to have kept things back from His
disciples," pleaded Angus, uneasily.
"Yes, what they were not ready for and could not yet understand. But
never that which offended them. He offended them terribly when He told
them that the Son of Man was about to be crucified. So did the Jesuits
to the Chinese: and when they found the offence, they altered their
policy, and said the story of the crucifixion was an invention of
Christ's enemies. Did He?"
Angus made no answer: and breakfast being over, we separated to our
several work.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. "Enthusiasm" was the term then usually applied to the doctrines
of grace, when the word was used in a religious sense.
Note 2. These sentences are not taken from any one of Whitefield's
sermons exclusively, but are gathered from the gems of thought scattered
through his works.
Note 3. Singular still meant alone in Whitefield's day.
Note 4. Articles twelve and thirteen. All the members of the Church of
England ought to be perfectly familiar with the Articles and Homilies,
as the Reformers intended them to be. How else can they know what they
profess to hold, when they call themselves members of the Church? If
they do not share her opinions, they have no right to use her name.
Note 5. He died at Newbury Port, in New England, in September 1770.
America has no nobler possession than the grave of George Whitefield.