DAUPHIN CIRCUIT, 1803-4.
This circuit was very large, and the people were mostly Germans. We had
thirty appointments, and at twenty of them we preached in German. Under
the first sermon I preached in German one was converted. After a time
it was as easy to preach in the one language as the other. Jacob Gruber
was my colleague, and we both preached in our vernacular. We held union,
or what were called “friendly meetings,” where the Methodists and the
“United Brethren in Christ” met in harmony, and the ministers took turns
in preaching. These were meetings of great interest to the Methodists. It
gave them access to many they could not otherwise have reached.
We held one of these meetings in Columbia in August. Multitudes were
present. James Thomas preached the first sermon;[8] then my father
preached in German from Gal. vi, 15, 16; then I preached in English from
Isa. liv, 13. Thus we had three sermons in the forenoon without any
intermission. In the afternoon three of the United Brethren held forth:
Smith, Hershy, and Shaefer.
To show how we worked at that day I will give an account of a few days
with Jacob Gruber. At Johnstown, on Sunday, August 28, Brother Gruber
preached at eight o’clock in German on Christ and him crucified. At
twelve he preached again on “the Lord openeth the eyes of the blind.”
I exhorted both times, and at four o’clock preached at Millerstown in
English from Acts x, 35. Brother Gruber exhorted in German. We lodged
at Henry Myers’s. On Monday evening Brother Gruber preached in German
on the way of life and the way of death, and I exhorted in English.
On Tuesday we went to Harrisburgh, but on our way there I preached at
Brother Neiding’s, one of the ministers of the United Brethren, in
German, from Psalm xix, 11: “And in keeping of them there is great
reward.” Brother Gruber exhorted. This was a melting time. At night
Brother Gruber preached in Harrisburgh on Felix trembling, a sermon full
of alarm to delayers. He preached in German, and I exhorted in English.
It was necessary that we should do so, for we had a mixed congregation.
I sometimes preached in German, and then interpreted it in English; at
other times I would preach in English, and then give the same sermon in
German.
On Monday, September 5, I wrote: “I begin to feel as if I should be
able to give the devil some heavy blows in my mother tongue before all
is over.” I was greatly encouraged among the Germans, as will be seen
by another extract. “September 14. The prospect is good in almost every
preaching place. I feel as if the Lord was about doing a great work among
the Germans. Glory to God, the fields are blossoming, and I begin to feel
more liberty in preaching in my mother tongue.”
In October I attended a meeting of the United Brethren at George
Zoeler’s, west of Reading. I heard some of their great preachers: Father
Tracksel, Newcomer, Kemp, and Gueting. I greatly profited by their
preaching; it was a fine school for me.
On October 22 the yearly meeting of the United Brethren was held at my
father’s. Quite a number were converted during the meeting, and others
were filled with the wine of the kingdom. Their meetings generally lasted
three days, and were seasons of great interest.
I had made an appointment to preach in the court-house at Reading, but
the commissioner refused to give up the key, so a large number who
had assembled were disappointed. There was in this town a deep-rooted
prejudice against the Methodists, which continued for years. When I
passed through Reading in 1810 with Bishop Asbury the boys laughed at us,
and said, “There go the Methodist preachers.” They knew us by our garb,
and perhaps thought it no harm to ridicule us. In 1822, when on Lancaster
Circuit, I succeeded in planting Methodism in Reading, and formed the
first class there, where I had been shut out a score of years before.
This I considered quite a triumph. We then put up at a public-house,
for there was no family to entertain us. Some young men rented the
school-house for us to preach in, but we still met with much opposition
and ridicule.
There was a shop in the neighborhood of the school-house where some
men used to meet together. One of the company, a young man, undertook
to mimic the Methodists. He went on to show how they acted in their
meetings. He shouted, clapped his hands, and then said he would show how
they fell down. (The Methodists in that day would sometimes fall and lose
their strength.) He then threw himself down on the floor, and lay there
as if asleep. His companions enjoyed the sport; but after he had lain for
some time they wondered why he did not get up. They shook him in order to
awake him. When they saw he did not breathe they turned pale, and sent
for a physician, who examined the man and pronounced him dead. This awful
incident did two things for us. 1. It stopped ridicule and persecution.
Sinners were afraid, and no marvel: “Behold, ye despisers, and wonder,
and perish,” etc. 2. It also gave us favor in the sight of the people.
They believed that God was for us, and if he would thus vindicate us we
must be the people of God.
Little do the present Methodists of Reading know of our early struggles
and difficulties. Now they have two churches, Ebenezer and St. Paul’s,
and Reading is the head of a district, which is not larger than my
circuit in 1803.
Harrisburgh was another of our preaching places. I was in the
neighborhood of where Harrisburgh now is in 1793. It was then called
“Harris’s Ferry,” from John Harris, its founder, whose grave is there.
In 1803 it was a small place, and Lancaster was then the capital of
Pennsylvania. We had very hard work to get a foothold in Harrisburgh.
We preached mostly in German, and had only a small class in 1803. In my
journal I wrote most discouragingly, as will be seen by the following
extracts: “Friday, November 11, 1803, I preached to a few from Gal. vi,
9. Hard work in this town rowing against wind and tide; but I trust in
the Captain of my salvation.” Again: “Friday, April 6, I preached in
Harrisburgh. The people in this town are the next thing to inaccessible.”
Harrisburgh was then a small village; it did not become a borough till
five years after I was there. We did not then cross the Susquehanna on a
bridge that cost $150,000, but in an old scow. Horse-boats were not then
in existence. Most of the inhabitants were Germans.
We were kindly entertained at Friend Zollinger’s, a very fine family,
who afterward became Methodists. What has God wrought? Now we have in
Harrisburgh five hundred members and forty-eight probationers, and a
beautiful church edifice worth nineteen thousand dollars.
Columbia was another of our preaching places. I was at this spot in 1791,
when it was called “Wright’s Ferry,” from John Wright, a Quaker preacher,
who came from England, and was the original land proprietor. Methodism
was introduced here near the close of the last century. In 1803-4 we had
a small society of very lively members, among whom were John Mitchell,
brother of William and James Mitchell, traveling preachers, Brother
Gough, an Englishman, and others. In Columbia we have now a fine house of
worship worth $11,000, a parsonage worth $1,800, and a membership of two
hundred and fifty.
My presiding elder was James Smith, a native of Ireland, and a man of
large frame. There being several of that name in the conference, we used
to call him “Big Jimmy,” to distinguish him from “Baltimore James” and
“Delaware James.” In the days of his glory and strength he was quite a
preacher.
I took a tour with him for several days. He preached in English, and I
immediately translated his sermons into German. There was no other way
by which he could get access to the people or be understood by them,
for many of them had never heard a sermon in English. German was the
pioneer language, and prepared the way for the English. I could have
accomplished but little there if I had not been able to preach in German.
We were all the time breaking up new ground, entering new fields,
stretching ourselves beyond ourselves. It was pioneer work.
My colleague, Jacob Gruber, soon went to another field of labor, and I
was left alone on this large circuit. He was a fine intelligent looking
man, and his countenance often expressed a thing before his tongue
uttered it. He had a German face and a German tongue, and often looked
quizzical. He wore a drab hat, and a suit of gray cut in Quaker style.
With a rough exterior, but a kind heart, it was necessary to know him in
order to appreciate him. A more honest man never lived, a bolder soldier
of the cross never wielded “the sword of the spirit.” As a preacher he
was original and eccentric. His powers of irony, sarcasm, and ridicule
were tremendous, and woe to the poor fellow who got into his hands; he
would wish himself somewhere else. I heard him preach scores of times,
and always admired him; not only for his originality, but at all times
there was a marvelous unction attending his word. He had many spiritual
children, some of whom entered the ministry; among others, Alfred Brunson
of the Wisconsin Conference. I do not mean to justify his eccentricities;
but we should remember religion does not alter our natural constitution.
I might relate many anecdotes respecting him, but have not space.
The Philadelphia Conference of 1804 was held at Soudersburg, commencing
on May 28. At the adjournment of the General Conference, in Baltimore,
Bishop Asbury hastened on to my father’s, and on Sabbath preached in
Boehm’s Chapel. The place was called Soudersburg from Benjamin and Jacob
Souders, the proprietors. They were both Methodists, Benjamin being a
local preacher.
Methodism was introduced here in 1791, and a house of worship was built
in 1801. The conference was held in a private room, at the house of
Benjamin Souders, that the meeting-house might be used for preaching,
which was done three times a day, except on the first day. There were one
hundred and twenty preachers present, and the utmost order and harmony
prevailed. My soul exulted at the idea of a Methodist Conference in my
native county; it was an era in the history of Methodism in that region.
Bishop Asbury preached twice during the session. The influence of the
conference was beneficial in all that region. There were strong men at
the conference, and some very powerful preaching.
I was appointed to Dauphin Circuit. My colleague was Anning Owen, who
had charge of the circuit, greatly to my relief. William Colbert was my
presiding elder.
This, as has been seen, was a large and laborious circuit; it included
Boehm’s Chapel and Lancaster, as well as many other places. We had hard
work to get a foothold in Lancaster, and met with powerful opposition.
Having no church there, we preached in the market, and those of the
baser sort annoyed my colleague and myself exceedingly. Once while I was
preaching, and there was some disturbance, I saw a man coming toward me
from the tavern. He seemed to be full of wrath, and pressed through the
crowd toward my pulpit, which was a butcher’s block, as if he intended
violence. I kept on preaching, throwing out some hot shots, when suddenly
he stopped, his countenance changed, and the lion became a lamb, and I
was preserved from the harm he no doubt intended I should suffer.
Brother Owen had tried to preach there several times, and once they so
interrupted him, and even threatened him, that he bade them farewell,
after telling them his skirts were clear from their blood, and he
literally shook off the dust of his feet as a testimony against them.
Then we abandoned the place, and for three years after no Methodist
preachers visited it. It was not till 1807 I formed a class there, as
will be seen in a following chapter. There was a small class earlier, but
it soon died away.
One of our preaching places was David Musselmen’s. He lived about seven
miles from Lancaster, between that and Marietta. It was a fine family,
and their house one of the choice homes the early ministers loved to
find. There was something very peculiar about his conversion. He was a
Pharisee; thought himself good enough, a little better than most men,
and looked on experimental religion as fanaticism. One day he was in his
field at work, in the summer of 1800, when a storm suddenly gathered,
and the clouds were dark and lowering. His little boy was with him. He
saw they would not have time to reach the house before the rain fell, so
they went under a large walnut tree that stood by the roadside. The rain
fell in torrents; there was a flash of lightning, and quick as thought a
loud peal of thunder followed. The tree was struck, and father and son
fell to the ground, both senseless. When the father recovered he heard
louder thunder—the thunder of Mount Sinai; all his sins were set in order
before him; his guilty soul trembled. He had hoped that his darling boy
was, like himself, only stunned; but, alas! he found he was dead. His
self-righteousness was now all gone, and he cried out, “O Lord, I thank
thee that thou hast taken the innocent and spared the guilty.” There
under the tree, beside his dead son, he knelt down and sought the Lord
with prayer and tears, and the Lord heard and answered. He united with
the Methodist Church, and was a most excellent member. His house was the
pilgrim’s rest, indeed it was a sanctuary, “for there the Lord commanded
the blessing, even life for evermore.” My father, Thomas Burch, myself,
and many others, have preached under his roof “the glorious Gospel of the
blessed God.” He lived faithful many years, and then died happy in the
Lord.
THOMAS and ROBERT BURCH were among my early associates in the Church.
Their mother lived in the neighborhood of my father’s, and belonged to
the society at Boehm’s Chapel, and so did her sons. She had a daughter
who married a preacher. The mother was a woman of intelligence and
decision of character. Years after she lived in Columbia, and I used to
put up with her with Bishop Asbury when I traveled with him. It affords
me pleasure, now she and her sons sleep in the grave, to make a record of
her virtues. They were from Ireland; emigrated to this country in June,
1800, and settled in the neighborhood of my father’s. She was a widow,
having lost her husband several years before. They had been converted
under the ministry of Ireland’s great missionary, Gideon Ouseley, of
whom they often spoke in the most exalted terms. Thomas, the oldest son,
was my father’s and mother’s class-leader. The class met at my father’s
house; it was an old class, formed before I was born. I heard some of his
earliest efforts at exhortation and at preaching. I encouraged him and
his brother Robert to enter the ministry. Robert joined the Philadelphia
Conference in 1804, and Thomas in 1805. I have rode hundreds of miles
with them, attended a great many meetings, and heard them preach scores
of times. They soon occupied some of our most important stations with
honor to themselves and usefulness to the Church. Thomas had a voice
remarkably soft and musical, yet strong. He was one of the most eloquent
and popular preachers of the day. In 1810, when he had been only four
years in the ministry, he was stationed in Philadelphia. His mother at
that time resided with him, and she was delighted with her clerical sons.
To a person who was eulogizing the preaching of Thomas she inquired, “Do
you think that is great? wait till you hear my Robert.” Thomas Burch died
in Brooklyn on August 22, 1849, aged seventy, having been forty-four
years in the ministry. He left a son, Thomas H. Burch, who is a member of
the New York East Conference. Robert Burch was a member of Philadelphia,
Baltimore, and Genesee Conferences. He traveled for a while with Bishop
Asbury. He was a man of fine talent, great simplicity of character, and
honest integrity. He died July 1, 1855, aged seventy-seven.