episode was like an attack of pneumonia. The attack was sudden; the
crisis dangerous; the recovery swift; and the lesson wholesome. For some
years after this the Brethren continued to show some signs of weakness;
and even in the next edition of their Hymn-book they still made use of
some rather crude expressions. But on the whole they had learned some
useful lessons. On this subject the historians have mostly been in the
wrong. Some have suppressed the facts. This is dishonest. Others have
exaggerated, and spoken as if the excesses lasted for two or three
generations. This is wicked.[106] The sober truth is exactly as described
in these pages. The best judgment was passed by the godly Bishop
Spangenherg. "At that time," he said, "the spirit of Christ did not rule
in our hearts; and that was the real cause of all our foolery." Full
well the Brethren realized their mistake, and honestly they took its
lessons to heart. They learned to place more trust in the Bible, and
less in their own unbridled feelings. They learned afresh the value of
discipline, and of an organised system of government. They became more
guarded in their language, more Scriptural in their doctrine, and more
practical in their preaching. Nor was this all. Meanwhile the same
battle had been fought and won in England and North America.
CHAPTER IX. -- MORAVIANS AND METHODISTS, 1735-1742.
For the origin of the Moravian Church in England we turn our eyes to
a bookseller's shop in London. It was known as "The Bible and Sun"; it
stood a few yards west of Temple Bar; and James Hutton, the man behind
the counter, became in time the first English member of the Brethren's
Church. But James Hutton was a man of high importance for the whole
course of English history. He was the connecting link between Moravians
and Methodists; and thus he played a vital part, entirely ignored by our
great historians, in the whole Evangelical Revival.
He was born on September 14th, 1715. He was the son of a High-Church
clergyman. His father was a non-juror. He had refused, that is, to take
the oath of loyalty to the Hanoverian succession, had been compelled
to resign his living, and now kept a boarding-house in College Street,
Westminster, for boys attending the famous Westminster School. At that
school little James himself was educated; and one of his teachers was
Samuel Wesley, the elder brother of John and Charles. He had no idea to
what this would lead. As the lad grew up in his father's home he had, of
course, not the least suspicion that such a body as the Moravian Church
existed. He had never heard of Zinzendorf or of Herrnhut. He was brought
up a son of the Church of England; he loved her services and doctrine;
and all that he desired to see was a revival within her borders of true
spiritual life.
The revival was close at hand. For some years a number of pious
people--some clergy, and others laymen--had been endeavouring to rouse
the Church to new and vigorous life; and to this end they established
a number of "Religious Societies." There were thirty or forty of these
Societies in London. They consisted of members of the Church of
England. They met, once a week, in private houses to pray, to read
the Scriptures, and to edify each other. They drew up rules for their
spiritual guidance, had special days for fasting and prayer, and
attended early Communion once a month. At church they kept a sharp
look-out for others "religiously disposed," and invited such to join
their Societies. In the morning they would go to their own parish
church; in the afternoon they would go where they could hear a
"spiritual sermon." Of these Societies one met at the house of Hutton's
father. If James, however, is to be believed, the Societies had now lost
a good deal of their moral power. He was not content with the one in his
own home. He was not pleased with the members of it. They were, he
tells us, slumbering or dead souls; they cared for nothing but their own
comfort in this world; and all they did when they met on Sunday evenings
was to enjoy themselves at small expense, and fancy themselves more holy
than other people. He was soon to meet with men of greater zeal.
As James was now apprenticed to a bookseller he thought he could do a
good stroke of business by visiting some of his old school-mates at the
University of Oxford. He went to Oxford to see them; they introduced him
to John and Charles Wesley; and thus he formed an acquaintance that was
soon to change the current of his life. What had happened at Oxford is
famous in English history. For the last six years both John and Charles
had been conducting a noble work. They met, with others, on Sunday
evenings, to read the classics and the Greek Testament; they attended
Communion at St. Mary's every Sunday. They visited the poor and the
prisoners in the gaol. They fasted at regular intervals. For all this
they were openly laughed to scorn, and were considered mad fanatics.
They were called the Reforming Club, the Holy Club, the Godly Club,
the Sacramentarians, the Bible Moths, the Supererogation Men, the
Enthusiasts, and, finally, the Methodists.
But Hutton was stirred to the very depths of his soul. He was still
living in College Street with his father; next door lived Samuel Wesley,
his old schoolmaster; and Hutton, therefore, asked John and Charles to
call and see him when next they came up to town. The invitation led to
great results. At this time John Wesley received a request from
General Oglethorpe, Governor of Georgia, to go out to that colony as
a missionary. He accepted the offer with joy; his brother Charles was
appointed the Governor's Secretary; and the two young men came up
to London and spent a couple of days at Hutton's house. The plot was
thickening. Young James was more in love with the Wesleys than ever.
If he had not been a bound apprentice he would have sailed with them to
Georgia himself {1735.}. He went down with them to Gravesend; he spent
some time with them on board the ship; and there, on that sailing
vessel, the Simmonds, he saw, for the first time in his life, a number
of Moravian Brethren. They, too, were on their way to Georgia. For the
future history of religion in England that meeting on the Simmonds was
momentous. Among the passengers were General Oglethorpe, Bishop David
Nitschmann, and twenty-three other Brethren, and thus Moravians and
Methodists were brought together by their common interest in missionary
work.
James Hutton was thrilled. As soon as his apprenticeship was over he set
up in business for himself at the "Bible and Sun," founded a new
Society in his own back parlour, and made that parlour the centre of the
Evangelical Revival {1736.}. There he conducted weekly meetings; there
he established a Poor-box Society, the members paying in a penny a week;
there met the men who before long were to turn England upside down; and
there he and others were to hear still more of the life and work of the
Brethren.
For this he had to thank his friend John Wesley. As John Wesley set out
on his voyage to Georgia he began to keep that delightful Journal which
has now become an English classic; and before having his Journal printed
he sent private copies to Hutton, and Hutton read them out at his
weekly meetings. John Wesley had a stirring tale to tell. He admired the
Brethren from the first. They were, he wrote, the gentlest, bravest folk
he had ever met. They helped without pay in the working of the ship;
they could take a blow without losing their tempers; and when the ship
was tossed in the storm they were braver than the sailors themselves.
One Sunday the gale was terrific. The sea poured in between the decks.
The main sail was torn to tatters. The English passengers screamed with
terror. The Brethren calmly sang a hymn.
"Was not you afraid?" said Wesley.
"I thank God, no," replied the Brother.
"But were not your women and children afraid?"
"No; our women and children are not afraid to die."
John Wesley was deeply stirred. For all his piety he still lacked
something which these Brethren possessed. He lacked their triumphant
confidence in God. He was still afraid to die. "How is it thou hast no
faith?" he said to himself.
For the present his question remained unanswered; but before he had been
very long in Georgia he laid his spiritual troubles before the learned
Moravian teacher, Spangenberg. He could hardly have gone to a better
spiritual guide. Of all the Brethren this modest Spangenberg was in many
ways the best. He was the son of a Lutheran minister. He was Wesley's
equal in learning and practical piety. He had been assistant lecturer in
theology at Halle University. He was a man of deep spiritual experience;
he was only one year younger than Wesley himself; and, therefore, he
was thoroughly qualified to help the young English pilgrim over the
stile.[107]
"My brother," he said, "I must first ask you one or two questions. Have
you the witness within yourself? Does the Spirit of God bear witness
with your spirit that you are a child of God?"
John Wesley was so staggered that he could not answer.
"Do you know Jesus Christ?" continued Spangenberg.
"I know he is the Saviour of the world."
"True; but do you know he has saved you?"
"I hope," replied Wesley, "he has died to save me."
"Do you know yourself?"
"I do," said Wesley; but he only half meant what he said.
Again, three weeks later, Wesley was present at a Moravian ordination
service. For the moment he forgot the seventeen centuries that had
rolled by since the great days of the apostles; and almost thought that
Paul the tentmaker or Peter the fisherman was presiding at the ceremony.
"God," he said, "has opened me a door into a whole Church."
As James Hutton read these glowing reports to his little Society at
the "Bible and Sun" he began to take a still deeper interest in the
Brethren. He had made the acquaintance, not only of the Wesleys, but of
Benjamin Ingham, of William Delamotte, and of George Whitefield. He was
the first to welcome Whitefield to London. He found him openings in
the churches. He supplied him with money for the poor. He published his
sermons. He founded another Society in Aldersgate Street. He was now to
meet with Zinzendorf himself. Once more the connecting link was foreign
missionary work. For some years the Count had been making attempts to
obtain the goodwill of English Churchmen for the Brethren's labours in
North America. He had first sent three Brethren--Wenzel Neisser, John
Toeltschig, and David Nitschmann, the Syndic--to open up negotiations
with the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge; and very
disappointed he was when these negotiations came to nothing. He had then
sent Spangenberg to London to make arrangements for the first batch of
colonists for Georgia. He had then sent the second batch under Bishop
David Nitschmann. And now he came to London himself, took rooms at
Lindsey House {1737.}, Chelsea, and stayed about six weeks. He had two
purposes to serve. He wished first to talk with Archbishop Potter about
Moravian Episcopal Orders. He was just thinking of becoming a Bishop
himself. He wanted Potter's opinion on the subject. What position, he
asked, would a Moravian Bishop occupy in an English colony? Would it be
right for a Moravian Bishop to exercise his functions in Georgia? At the
same time, however, he wished to consult with the Board of Trustees
for Georgia. He had several talks with the Secretary. The Secretary was
Charles Wesley. Charles Wesley was lodging now at old John Hutton's in
College Street. He attended a service in Zinzendorf's rooms; he thought
himself in a choir of angels; he introduced James Hutton to the Count;
and thus another link in the chain was forged.
And now there arrived in England a man who was destined to give a
new tone to the rising revival {Jan. 27th, 1738.}. His name was Peter
Boehler; he had just been ordained by Zinzendorf; he was on his way to
South Carolina; and he happened to arrive in London five days before
John Wesley landed from his visit to America. We have come to a critical
point in English history. At the house of Weinantz, a Dutch merchant,
John Wesley and Peter Boehler met (Feb. 7th); John Wesley then found
Boehler lodgings, and introduced him to Hutton; and ten days later
Wesley and Boehler set out together for Oxford {Feb. 17th.}. The
immortal discourse began.
As John Wesley returned to England from his three years' stay in
America, he found himself in a sorrowful state of mind. He had gone
with all the ardour of youth; he returned a spiritual bankrupt. On this
subject the historians have differed. According to High-Church Anglican
writers, John Wesley was a Christian saint before he ever set eyes on
Boehler's face;[108] according to Methodists he had only a legal religion
and was lacking in genuine, saving faith in Christ. His own evidence on
the questions seems conflicting. At the time he was sure he was not yet
converted; in later years he inclined to think he was. At the time he
sadly wrote in his Journal, "I who went to America to convert others
was never myself converted to God"; and then, years later, he added the
footnote, "I am not sure of this." It is easy, however, to explain
this contradiction. The question turns on the meaning of the word
"converted." If a man is truly converted to God when his heart throbs
with love for his fellows, with a zeal for souls, and with a desire to
do God's holy will, then John Wesley, when he returned from America,
was just as truly a "converted" man as ever he was in later life. He was
devout in prayer; he loved the Scriptures; he longed to be holy; he was
pure in thought, in deed, and in speech; he was self-denying; he had
fed his soul on the noble teaching of Law's "Serious Call"; and thus, in
many ways, he was a beautiful model of what a Christian should be. And
yet, after all, he lacked one thing which Peter Boehler possessed. If
John Wesley was converted then he did not know it himself. He had no
firm, unflinching trust in God. He was not sure that his sins were
forgiven. He lacked what Methodists call "assurance," and what St. Paul
called "peace with God." He had the faith, to use his own distinction,
not of a son, but only of a servant. He was good but he was not happy;
he feared God, but he did not dare to love Him; he had not yet attained
the conviction that he himself had been redeemed by Christ; and if this
conviction is essential to conversion, then John Wesley, before he met
Boehler, was not yet a converted man. For practical purposes the matter
was of first importance. As long as Wesley was racked by doubts he could
never be a persuasive preacher of the Gospel. He was so distracted about
himself that he could not yet, with an easy mind, rush out to the rescue
of others. He had not "a heart at leisure from itself to soothe and
sympathize." The influence of Boehler was enormous. He saw where
Wesley's trouble lay, and led him into the calm waters of rest.
"My brother, my brother," he said, "that philosophy of yours must be
purged away."[109]
John Wesley did not understand. For three weeks the two men discussed
the fateful question; and the more Wesley examined himself the more sure
he was he did not possess "the faith whereby we are saved." One day he
felt certain of his salvation; the next the doubts besieged his door
again.
"If what stands in the Bible is true," he said, "then I am saved"; but
that was as far as he could go.
"He knew," said Boehler in a letter to Zinzendorf, "that he did not
properly believe in the Saviour."
At last Boehler made a fine practical suggestion {March 5th.}. He urged
Wesley to preach the Gospel to others. John Wesley was thunderstruck. He
thought it rather his duty to leave off preaching. What right had he to
preach to others a faith he did not yet possess himself? Should he leave
off preaching or not?
"By no means," replied Boehler.
"But what can I preach?" asked Wesley.
"Preach faith till you have it," was the classic answer, "and then,
because you have it, you will preach faith."
Again he consulted Boehler on the point; and again Boehler, broad-minded
man, gave the same wholesome advice.
"No," he insisted, "do not hide in the earth the talent God has given
you."
The advice was sound. If John Wesley had left off preaching now, he
might never have preached again; and if Boehler had been a narrow-minded
bigot, he would certainly have informed his pupil that unless he
possessed full assurance of faith he was unfit to remain in holy orders.
But Boehler was a scholar and a gentleman, and acted throughout with
tact. For some weeks John Wesley continued to be puzzled by Boehler's
doctrine of the holiness and happiness which spring from living faith;
but at last he came to the firm conclusion that what Boehler said on the
subject was precisely what was taught in the Church of England. He had
read already in his own Church homilies that faith "is a sure trust and
confidence which a man hath in God that through the merits of Christ
his sins are forgiven, and he reconciled to the favour of God"; and
yet, clergyman though he was, he had not yet that trust and confidence
himself. Instead, therefore, of teaching Wesley new doctrine, Peter
Boehler simply informed him that some men, though of course not all,
were suddenly converted, that faith might be given in a moment, and that
thus a man might pass at once from darkness to light and from sin and
misery to righteousness and joy in the Holy Ghost. He had had that very
experience himself at Jena; he had known it as a solid fact in the case
of others; and, therefore, speaking from his own personal knowledge,
he informed Wesley that when a man obtained true faith he acquired
forthwith "dominion over sin and constant peace from a sense of
forgiveness."
At this Wesley was staggered. He called it a new Gospel. He would not
believe that the sense of forgiveness could be given in a moment.
For answer Boehler appealed to the New Testament; and Wesley, looking to
see for himself, found that nearly all the cases of conversion mentioned
there were instantaneous. He contended, however, that such miracles did
not happen in the eighteenth century. Boehler brought four friends to
prove that they did. Four examples, said Wesley, were not enough to
prove a principle. Boehler promised to bring eight more. For some days
Wesley continued to wander in the valley of indecision, and consulted
Boehler at every turn of the road. He persuaded Boehler to pray with
him; he joined him in singing Richter's hymn, "My soul before Thee
prostrate lies"; and finally, he preached a sermon to four thousand
hearers in London, enforcing that very faith in Christ which he himself
did not yet possess. But Boehler had now to leave for South Carolina.
From Southampton he wrote a farewell letter to Wesley. "Beware of the
sin of unbelief," he wrote, "and if you have not conquered it yet, see
that you conquer it this very day, through the blood of Jesus Christ."
The letter produced its effect. The turning-point in John Wesley's
career arrived. He was able to give, not only the day, but the hour,
and almost the minute. As he was still under the influence of Boehler's
teaching, many writers have here assumed that his conversion took place
in a Moravian society.[110] The assumption is false. "In the evening,"
says Wesley, "I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street
{May 24th.}, where one was reading Luther's preface to the Epistle to
the Romans." At that time the society in Aldersgate Street had no more
connection with the Moravian Church than any other religious society in
England. It was founded by James Hutton; it was an ordinary religious
society; it consisted entirely of members of the Anglican Church; and
there, in an Anglican religious society, Wesley's conversion took place.
"About a quarter to nine," he says, "while he was describing the change
which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart
strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for
salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins,
even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death."
From that moment, despite some recurring doubts, John Wesley was a
changed man. If he had not exactly learned any new doctrine, he had
certainly passed through a new experience. He had peace in his heart; he
was sure of his salvation; and henceforth, as all readers know, he was
able to forget himself, to leave his soul in the hands of God, and to
spend his life in the salvation of his fellow-men.
Meanwhile Peter Boehler had done another good work. If his influence
over John Wesley was great, his influence over Charles Wesley was
almost greater. For some weeks the two men appear to have been in daily
communication; Charles Wesley taught Boehler English; and when Wesley
was taken ill Boehler on several occasions, both at Oxford and at James
Hutton's house in London, sat up with him during the night, prayed for
his recovery, and impressed upon him the value of faith and prayer.
The faith of Boehler was amazing. As soon as he had prayed for Wesley's
recovery, he turned to the sufferer and calmly said, "You will not die
now." The patient felt he could not endure the pain much longer.
"Do you hope to be saved?" said Boehler.
"Yes."
"For what reason do you hope it?"
"Because I have used my best endeavours to serve God."
Boehler shook his head, and said no more. As soon as Charles was
restored to health, he passed through the same experience as his brother
John; and gladly ascribed both recovery and conversion to the faith and
prayer of Boehler.
But this was not the end of Boehler's influence. As soon as he was able
to speak English intelligibly, he began to give addresses on saving
faith to the good folk who met at James Hutton's house; and before long
he changed the whole character of the Society. It had been a society of
seekers; it became a society of believers. It had been a group of
High Churchmen; it became a group of Evangelicals. It had been a
free-and-easy gathering; it became a society with definite regulations.
For two years the Society was nothing less than the headquarters of the
growing evangelical revival; and the rules drawn up by Peter Boehler
(May 1st, 1738), just before he left for America, were the means of
making it a vital power. In these rules the members were introducing,
though they knew it not, a new principle into English Church life.
It was the principle of democratic government. The Society was now a
self-governing body; and all the members, lay and clerical, stood upon
the same footing. They met once a week to confess their faults to each
other and to pray for each other; they divided the Society into "bands,"
with a leader at the head of each; and they laid down the definite rule
that "every one, without distinction, submit to the determination of his
Brethren."[111] The Society increased; the room at Hutton's house became
too small; and Hutton therefore hired first a large room, and then a
Baptist Hall, known as the Great Meeting House, in Fetter Lane.[112]
From this time the Society was known as the Fetter Lane Society, and
the leading spirits were James Hutton and Charles Wesley. For a while
the hall was the home of happiness and peace. As the months rolled
on, various Moravians paid passing calls on their way to America; and
Hutton, the Wesleys, Delamotte and others became still more impressed
with the Brethren's teaching. Charles Wesley was delighted. As he walked
across the fields from his house at Islington to the Sunday evening
love-feast in Fetter Lane, he would sing for very joy. John Wesley was
equally charmed. He had visited the Brethren at Marienborn and Herrnhut
(August, 1738). He had listened with delight to the preaching of
Christian David. He had had long chats about spiritual matters with
Martin Linner, the Chief Elder, with David Nitschmann, with Albin Feder,
with Augustin Neisser, with Wenzel Neisser, with Hans Neisser, with
David Schneider, and with Arvid Gradin, the historian; he felt he would
like to spend his life at Herrnhut; and in his Journal he wrote the
words, "Oh, when shall this Christianity cover the earth as the waters
cover the sea." At a Watch-Night service in Fetter Lane (Dec. 31st,
1738) the fervour reached its height. At that service both the Wesleys,
George Whitefield, Benjamin Ingham, Kinchin and other Oxford Methodists
were present, and the meeting lasted till the small hours of the
morning. "About three in the morning," says John Wesley, "as we were
continuing instant in prayer, the power of God came mightily upon us,
insomuch that many cried out for exceeding joy, and many fell to the
ground."
And yet all the while there was a worm within the bud. John Wesley soon
found serious faults in the Brethren. As he journeyed to Herrnhut, he
had called at Marienborn, and there they had given him what seemed to
him an unnecessary snub. For some reason which has never been fully
explained, they refused to admit him to the Holy Communion; and the
only reason they gave him was that he was a "homo perturbatus," i.e., a
restless man.[113] For the life of him Wesley could not understand why
a "restless man" of good Christian character should not kneel at the
Lord's Table with the Brethren; and to make the insult more stinging
still, they actually admitted his companion, Benjamin Ingham. But the
real trouble lay at Fetter Lane. It is easy to put our finger on the
cause. As long as people hold true to the faith and practice of their
fathers they find it easy to live at peace with each other; but as soon
as they begin to think for themselves they are sure to differ sooner or
later. And that was exactly what happened at Fetter Lane. The members
came from various stations in life. Some, like the Wesleys, were
university men; some, like Hutton, were middle-class tradesmen, of
moderate education; some, like Bray, the brazier, were artizans; and
all stood on the same footing, and discussed theology with the zeal of
novices and the confidence of experts. John Wesley found himself in a
strange country. He had been brought up in the realm of authority; he
found himself in the realm of free discussion. Some said that saying
faith was one thing, and some said that it was another. Some said that
a man could receive the forgiveness of his sins without knowing it, and
some argued that if a man had any doubts he was not a true Christian
at all. As Wesley listened to these discussions he grew impatient and
disgusted. The whole tone of the Society was distasteful to his mind.
If ever a man was born to rule it was Wesley; and here, at Fetter Lane,
instead of being captain, he was merely one of the crew, and could not
even undertake a journey without the consent of the Society. The fetters
were beginning to gall.
At this point there arrived from Germany a strange young man on his way
to America, who soon added fuel to the fire {Oct. 18th, 1739.}. His
name was Philip Henry Molther. He was only twenty-five years old; he had
belonged to the Brethren's Church about a year; he had spent some months
as tutor in Zinzendorf's family; he had picked up only the weak side
of the Brethren's teaching; and now, with all the zeal of youth, he set
forth his views in extravagant language, which soon filled Wesley with
horror. His power in the Society was immense, and four times a week, in
broken English, he preached to growing crowds. At first he was utterly
shocked by what he saw. "The first time I entered the meeting," he says,
"I was alarmed and almost terror-stricken at hearing their sighing and
groaning, their whining and howling, which strange proceeding they call
the demonstration of the Spirit and of power." For these follies Molther
had a cure of his own. He called it "stillness." As long as men were
sinners, he said, they were not to try to obtain saving faith by any
efforts of their own. They were not to go to church. They were not to
communicate. They were not to fast. They were not to use so much private
prayer. They were not to read the Scriptures. They were not to do either
temporal or spiritual good. Instead of seeking Christ in these ways,
said Molther, the sinner should rather sit still and wait for Christ to
give him the Divine revelation. If this doctrine had no other merit
it had at least the charm of novelty. The dispute at Fetter Lane grew
keener than ever. On the one hand Hutton, James Bell, John Bray, and
other simple-minded men regarded Molther as a preacher of the
pure Gospel. He had, said Hutton, drawn men away from many a false
foundation, and had led them to the only true foundation, Christ. "No
soul," said another, "can be washed in the blood of Christ unless it
first be brought to one in whom Christ is fully formed. But there are
only two such men in London, Bell and Molther." John Bray, the brazier,
went further.
"It is impossible," he said, "for anyone to be a true Christian outside
the Moravian Church."
As the man was outside that Church himself, and remained outside it all
his life, his statement is rather bewildering.[114]
John Wesley was disgusted. He regarded Molther as a teacher of
dangerous errors. The two men were poles asunder. The one was a quietist
evangelical; the other a staunch High Churchman. According to Molther
the correct order was, through Christ to the ordinances of the Church;
according to Wesley, through the ordinances to Christ. According to
Molther, a man ought to be a believer in Christ before he reads the
Bible, or attends Communion, or even does good works; according to
Wesley, a man should read his Bible, go to Communion, and do good works
in order to become a believer. According to Molther the Sacrament was a
privilege, meant for believers only; according to Wesley it was a duty,
and a means of grace for all men. According to Molther, the only means
of grace was Christ; according to Wesley, there were many means of
grace, all leading the soul to Christ. According to Molther there were
no degrees in faith; according to Wesley there were. No longer was the
Fetter Lane Society a calm abode of peace. Instead of trying to help
each other the members would sometimes sit for an hour without speaking
a word; and sometimes they only reported themselves without having a
proper meeting at all. John Wesley spoke his mind. He declared that
Satan was beginning to rule in the Society. He heard that Molther was
taken ill, and regarded the illness as a judgment from heaven. At last
the wranglings came to an open rupture. At an evening meeting in Fetter
Lane {July 16th, 1740.}, John Wesley, resolved to clear the air, read
out from a book supposed to be prized by the Brethren the following
astounding doctrine: "The Scriptures are good; prayer is good;
communicating is good; relieving our neighbour is good; but to one who
is not born of God, none of these is good, but all very evil. For him to
read the Scriptures, or to pray, or to communicate, or to do any outward
work is deadly poison. First, let him be born of God. Till then, let him
not do any of these things. For if he does, he destroys himself."
He read the passage aloud two or three times. "My brethren," he asked,
"is this right, or is this wrong?"
"It is right," said Richard Bell, the watchcase maker, "it is all right.
It is the truth. To this we must all come, or we never can come to
Christ."
"I believe," broke in Bray, the brazier, "our brother Bell did not hear
what you read, or did not rightly understand."
"Yes! I heard every word," said Bell, "and I understand it well. I say
it is the truth; it is the very truth; it is the inward truth."
"I used the ordinances twenty years," said George Bowers, the Dissenter,
of George Yard, Little Britain, "yet I found not Christ. But I left them
off for only a few weeks and I found Him then. And I am now as close
united to Him as my arm is to my body."
The dispute was coming to a crisis. The discussion lasted till eleven
o'clock. Some said that Wesley might preach in Fetter Lane.
"No," said others, "this place is taken for the Germans."
Some argued that Wesley had often put an end to confusions in the
Society.
"Confusion!" snapped others, "What do you mean? We never were in any
confusion at all."
Next Sunday evening Wesley appeared again {July 20th, 1740.}. He was
resolved what to do.
"I find you," he said, "more and more confirmed in the error of your
ways. Nothing now remains but that I should give you up to God. You that
are of the same opinion follow me."
As some wicked joker had hidden his hat, he was not able to leave the
room with the dignity befitting the occasion; but eighteen supporters
answered to his call; and the face of John Wesley was seen in the Fetter
Lane Society no more. The breach was final; the wound remained open;
and Moravians and Methodists went their several ways. For some years the
dispute continued to rage with unabated fury. The causes were various.
The damage done by Molther was immense. The more Wesley studied the
writings of the Brethren the more convinced he became that in many ways
they were dangerous teachers. They thought, he said, too highly of their
own Church. They would never acknowledge themselves to be in the wrong.
They submitted too much to the authority of Zinzendorf, and actually
addressed him as Rabbi. They were dark and secret in their behaviour,
and practised guile and dissimulation. They taught the doctrine of
universal salvation. Above all, however, John Wesley held that the
Brethren, like Molther, laid a one-sided stress on the doctrine of
justification by faith alone. They were, he contended, Antinomians; they
followed too closely the teaching of Luther; they despised the law, the
commandments, good works, and all forms of self-denial.
"You have lost your first joy," said one, "therefore you pray: that is
the devil. You read the Bible: that is the devil. You communicate: that
is the devil."
In vain Count Zinzendorf, longing for peace, endeavoured to pour oil on
the raging waters. The two leaders met in Gray's Inn Gardens and made
an attempt to come to a common understanding {Sept. 3rd, 1741.}. The
attempt was useless. The more keenly they argued the question out the
further they drifted from each other. For Zinzendorf Wesley had never
much respect, and he certainly never managed to understand him. If
a poet and a botanist talk about roses they are hardly likely to
understand each other; and that was just how the matter stood between
Zinzendorf and Wesley. The Count was a poet, and used poetic, language.
John Wesley was a level-headed Briton, with a mind as exact as a
calculating machine.
"Why have you left the Church of England?"[115] began the Count.
"I was not aware that I had left the Church of England," replied Wesley.
And then the two men began to discuss theology.
"I acknowledge no inherent perfection in this life," said the Count.
"This is the error of errors. I pursue it through the world with fire
and sword. I trample it under foot. I exterminate it. Christ is our only
perfection. Whoever follows after inherent perfection denies Christ."
"But I believe," replied Wesley, "that the Spirit of Christ works
perfection in true Christians."
"Not at all," replied Zinzendorf, "All our perfection is in Christ. The
whole of Christian perfection is imputed, not inherent. We are perfect
in Christ--in ourselves, never."
"What," asked Wesley, in blank amazement, after Zinzendorf had hammered
out his point. "Does not a believer, while he increases in love,
increase equally in holiness?"
"By no means," said the Count; "the moment he is justified he is
sanctified wholly. From that time, even unto death, he is neither more
nor less holy. A babe in Christ is as pure in heart as a father in
Christ. There is no difference."
At the close of the discussion the Count spoke a sentence which seemed
to Wesley as bad as the teaching of Molther.
"We spurn all self-denial," he said, "we trample it under foot. Being
believers, we do whatever we will and nothing more. We ridicule all
mortification. No purification precedes perfect love."
And thus the Count, by extravagant language, drove Wesley further away
from the Brethren than ever.
Meanwhile, at Fetter Lane events were moving fast. As soon as Wesley
was out of the way, James Hutton came to the front; a good many
Moravians--Bishop Nitschmann, Anna Nitschmann, John Toeltschig,
Gussenbauer, and others--began to arrive on the scene; and step by step
the Society became more Moravian in character. For this Hutton himself
was chiefly responsible. He maintained a correspondence with Zinzendorf,
and was the first to introduce Moravian literature to English readers.
He published a collection of Moravian hymns, a Moravian Manual of
Doctrine, and a volume in English of Zinzendorf's Berlin discourses.
He was fond of the Moravian type of teaching, and asked for Moravian
teachers. His wish was speedily gratified. The foolish Molther departed.
The sober Spangenberg arrived. The whole movement now was raised to a
higher level. As soon as Spangenberg had hold of the reins the members,
instead of quarrelling with each other, began to apply themselves to the
spread of the Gospel; and to this end they now established the "Society
for the Furtherance of the Gospel." Its object was the support of
foreign missions {1741.}. At its head was a committee of four, of whom
James Hutton was one. For many years the "Society" supported the foreign
work of the Brethren in English colonies; and in later years it supplied
the funds for the work in Labrador. The next step was to license the
Chapel in Fetter Lane. The need was pressing. As long as the members met
without a licence they might be accused, at any time, of breaking the
Conventicle Act. They wished now to have the law on their side. Already
the windows had been broken by a mob. The services now were open to the
public. The chapel was becoming an evangelistic hall. The licence was
taken (Sept.). The members took upon themselves the name "Moravian
Brethren, formerly of the Anglican Communion." But the members at Fetter
Lane were not yet satisfied. For all their loyalty to the Church
of England, they longed for closer communion with the Church of the
Brethren; and William Holland openly asked the question, "Can a man join
the Moravian Church and yet remain a member of the Anglican Church?"
"Yes," was the answer, "for they are sister Churches."
For this reason, therefore, and without any desire to become Dissenters,
a number of the members of the Fetter Lane Society applied to
Spangenberg to establish a congregation of the Moravian Church in
England. The cautious Spangenberg paused. For the fourth time a
momentous question was put to the decision of the Lot. The Lot
sanctioned the move. The London congregation was established (November
10th, 1742). It consisted of seventy-two members of the Fetter Lane
Society. Of those members the greater number were Anglicans, and
considered themselves Anglicans still. And yet they were Brethren in the
fullest sense and at least half of them took office. The congregation
was organized on the Herrnhut model. It was divided into "Choirs."
At the head of each choir was an Elder; and further there were two
Congregation Elders, two Wardens, two Admonitors, two Censors,
five Servants, and eight Sick-Waiters. Thus was the first Moravian
congregation established in England. For many years this Church in
Fetter Lane was the headquarters of Moravian work in Great Britain.
Already a new campaign had been started in Yorkshire; and a few years
later Boehler declared that this one congregation alone had sent out two
hundred preachers of the Gospel.[116]
CHAPTER X. -- YORKSHIRE AND THE SETTLEMENT SYSTEM.
As we follow the strange and eventful story of the renewal of the
Brethren's Church, we can hardly fail to be struck by the fact that
wherever new congregations were planted the way was first prepared by
a man who did not originally belong to that Church himself. At Herrnhut
the leader was the Lutheran, Christian David; at Fetter Lane, James
Hutton, the Anglican clergyman's son; and in Yorkshire, the clergyman,
Benjamin Ingham, who never joined the Moravian Church at all. He had,
like the Wesleys and Whitefield, taken part in the Evangelical Revival.
He was one of the Oxford Methodists, and had belonged to the Holy Club.
He had sailed with John Wesley on his voyage to America, had met the
Brethren on board the Simmonds, and had learned to know them more
thoroughly in Georgia. He had been with John Wesley to Marienborn, had
been admitted to the Communion there, had then travelled on to Herrnhut,
and had been "exceedingly strengthened and comforted by the Christian
conversation of the Brethren." He had often been at James Hutton's
house, had attended services in Fetter Lane, was present at the famous
Watch-Night Love-feast, and had thus learned to know the Brethren as
thoroughly as Wesley himself. From first to last he held them in high
esteem. "They are," he wrote, "more like the Primitive Christians than
any other Church now in the world, for they retain both the faith,
practice and discipline delivered by the Apostles. They live together
in perfect love and peace. They are more ready to serve their neighbours
than themselves. In their business they are diligent and industrious, in
all their dealings strictly just and conscientious. In everything they
behave themselves with great meekness, sweetness and simplicity."
His good opinion stood the test of time. He contradicted Wesley's
evidence flatly. "I cannot but observe," he wrote to his friend Jacob
Rogers, curate at St. Paul's, Bedford, "what a slur you cast upon the
Moravians about stillness. Do you think, my brother, that they don't
pray? I wish you prayed as much, and as well. They do not neglect
prayers, either in public or in private; but they do not perform them
merely as things that must be done; they are inwardly moved to pray
by the Spirit. What they have said about stillness has either been
strangely misunderstood or strangely misrepresented. They mean by it
that we should endeavour to keep our minds calm, composed and collected,
free from hurry and dissipation. And is not this right? They are neither
despisers nor neglecters of ordinances."
The position of Ingham was peculiar. He was a clergyman without a
charge; he resided at Aberford, in Yorkshire; he appears to have been
a man of considerable means; and now he devoted all his powers to the
moral and spiritual upliftment of the working-classes in the West Riding
of Yorkshire. His sphere was the district between Leeds and Halifax. For
ignorance and brutality these Yorkshire people were then supposed to be
unmatched in England. The parish churches were few and far between. The
people were sunk in heathen darkness. Young Ingham began pure missionary
work. He visited the people in their homes; he formed societies for
Bible Reading and Prayer; he preached the doctrine of saving faith in
Christ; and before long he was able to say that he had fifty societies
under his care, two thousand hearers, three hundred inquirers, and a
hundred genuine converts. For numbers, however, Ingham cared but little.
His object was to bring men into personal touch with Christ. "I had
rather," he said, "see ten souls truly converted than ten thousand
only stirred up to follow." His work was opposed both by clergy and by
laymen. At Colne, in Lancashire, he was attacked by a raging mob. At the
head of the mob was the Vicar of Colne himself. The Vicar took Ingham
into a house and asked him to sign a paper promising not to preach
again. Ingham tore the paper in pieces.
"Bring him out and we'll make him," yelled the mob.
The Vicar went out; the mob pressed in; and clubs were flourished in the
air "as thick as a man's leg."
Some wanted to kill him on the spot; others wished to throw him into the
river.
"Nay, nay," said others, "we will heave him into the bog, then he will
be glad to go into the river and wash and sweeten himself."
A stone "as big as a man's fist," hit him in the hollow of the neck. His
coat-tails were bespattered with mud.
"See," said a wit, "he has got wings." At last the Vicar relented, took
him into the Vicarage, and thus saved him from an early death.
But Ingham had soon more irons in the fire than he could conveniently
manage. If these Yorkshire folk whom he had formed into societies were
to make true progress in the spiritual life they must, he held, be
placed under the care of evangelical teachers. He could not look
after them himself; he was beginning new work further north, in the
neighbourhood of Settle; and the best men he knew for his purpose were
the Moravians whom he had learned to admire in Georgia, London and
Herrnhut. For one Brother, John Toeltschig, Ingham had a special
affection, and while he was on his visit to Herrnhut he begged that
Toeltschig might be allowed to come with him to England. "B. Ingham,"
he wrote, "sends greeting, and bids grace and peace to the most Reverend
Bishops, Lord Count Zinzendorf and David Nitschmann, and to the other
esteemed Brethren in Christ. I shall be greatly pleased if, with your
consent, my beloved brother, John Toeltschig, be permitted to stay with
me in England as long as our Lord and Saviour shall so approve. I am
heartily united with you all in the bonds of love. Farewell. Herrnhut,
Sept. 29, 1738."[117] For our purpose this letter is surely of the deepest
interest. It proves beyond all reasonable doubt that the Moravians
started their evangelistic campaign in England, not from sectarian
motives, but because they were invited by English Churchmen who valued
the Gospel message they had to deliver. As Hutton had begged for
Boehler, so Ingham begged for Toeltschig; and Toeltschig paid a brief
visit to Yorkshire (November, 1739), helped Ingham in his work, and so
delighted the simple people that they begged that he might come to them
again. For a while the request was refused. At last Ingham took resolute
action himself, called a mass meeting of Society members, and put to
them the critical question: "Will you have the Moravians to work among
you?" Loud shouts of approval rang out from every part of the building.
As Spangenberg was now in London the request was forwarded to him;
he laid it before the Fetter Lane Society; the members organized the
"Yorkshire Congregation"; and the "Yorkshire Congregation" set out to
commence evangelistic work in earnest {May 26th, 1742.}. At the head of
the band was Spangenberg himself. As soon as he arrived in Yorkshire he
had a business interview with Ingham. For Spangenberg shouts of approval
were not enough. He wanted everything down in black and white. A
document was prepared; the Societies were summoned again; the document
was laid before them; and twelve hundred Yorkshire Britons signed their
names to a request that the Brethren should work among them. From that
moment Moravian work in Yorkshire began. At one stroke--by a written
agreement--the Societies founded by Benjamin Ingham were handed over to
the care of the Moravian Church. The Brethren entered upon the task with
zeal. For some months, with Spangenberg as general manager, they made
their head-quarters at Smith House, a farm building near Halifax {July,
1742.}; and there, on Saturday afternoons, they met for united prayer,
and had their meals together in one large room. At first they had a
mixed reception. On the one hand a mob smashed the windows of Smith
House; on the other, the serious Society members "flocked to Smith House
like hungry bees." The whole neighbourhood was soon mapped out, and the
workers stationed at their posts. At Pudsey were Gussenbauer and his
wife; at Great Horton, near Bradford, Toeltschig and Piesch; at Holbeck,
near Leeds, the Browns; and other workers were busy soon at Lightcliffe,
Wyke, Halifax, Mirfield, Hightown, Dewsbury, Wakefield, Leeds, Wortley,
Farnley, Cleckheaton, Great Gomersal, and Baildon. The Moravian
system of discipline was introduced. At the head of the men were John
Toeltschig and Richard Viney; at the head of the women Mrs. Pietch
and Mrs. Gussenbauer; and Monitors, Servants, and Sick Waiters were
appointed just as in Herrnhut. Here was a glorious field of labour; here
was a chance of Church extension; and the interesting question was, what
use the Brethren would make of it.
At this point Count Zinzendorf arrived in Yorkshire {Feb., 1743.}, went
to see Ingham at Aberford, and soon organized the work in a way of
his own which effectually prevented it from spreading. His method was
centralization. At that time he held firmly to his pet idea that the
Brethren, instead of forming new congregations, should rather be content
with "diaspora" work, and at the same time, whenever possible, build a
settlement on the Herrnhut or Herrnhaag model, for the cultivation
of social religious life. At this time it so happened that the
Gussenbauers, stationed at Pudsey, were in trouble; their child was
seriously ill; the Count rode over to see them; and while there he
noticed the splendid site on which Fulneck stands to-day. If the visitor
goes to Fulneck now he can hardly fail to be struck by its beauty. He is
sure to admire its long gravel terrace, its neat parterres, its orchards
and gardens, and, above all, its long line of plain stately buildings
facing the southern sun. But then the slope was wild and unkempt,
covered over with briars and brambles. Along the crown were a few small
cottages. At one end, called Bankhouse, resided the Gussenbauers. From
there the view across the valley was splendid. The estate was known as
Falneck. The idea of a settlement rose before Zinzendorf's mind. The
spirit of prophecy came upon him, and he named the place "Lamb's Hill."
For the next few days the Count and his friends enjoyed the hospitality
of Ingham at Aberford; and a few months later Ingham heard that the
land and houses at Falneck were on the market. He showed himself a true
friend of the Brethren. He bought the estate, gave them part of it for
building, let out the cottages to them as tenants, and thus paved the
way for the introduction of the Moravian settlement system into England.
For good or for evil that settlement system was soon the leading feature
of the English work. The building of Fulneck began. First the Brethren
called the place Lamb's Hill, then Gracehall, and then Fulneck, in
memory of Fulneck in Moravia. From friends in Germany they received
gifts in money, from friends in Norway a load of timber. The Single
Brethren were all aglow with zeal; and on one occasion they spent the
whole night in saying prayers and singing hymns upon the chosen sites.
First rose the Chapel (1746), then the Minister's House and the rooms
beneath and just to the east of the Chapel (1748), then the Brethren's
and Sisters' Houses (1752), then the Widows' House (1763), then the
Shop and Inn (1771), then the Cupola (1779), and then the Boys' Boarding
School (1784-5). Thus, step by step, the long line of buildings arose, a
sight unlike any other in the United Kingdom.
As the Brethren settled down in that rough Yorkshire country, they had
a noble purpose, which was a rebuke to the godless and cynical spirit
of the age. "Is a Christian republic possible?" asked the French
philosopher, Bayle. According to the world it was not; according to the
Brethren it was; and here at Fulneck they bravely resolved to put the
matter to the proof. As long as that settlement existed, said they,
there would be a kingdom where the law of Christ would reign supreme,
where Single Brethren, Single Sisters, and Widows, would be screened
from the temptations of the wicked world, where candidates would
be trained for the service of the Church and her Master, where
missionaries, on their way to British Colonies, could rest awhile, and
learn the English language, where children, in an age when schools were
scarce, could be brought up in the fear of God, and where trade would
be conducted, not for private profit, but for the benefit of all. At
Fulneck, in a word, the principles of Christ would be applied to the
whole round of Moravian life. There dishonesty would be unknown; cruel
oppression would be impossible; doubtful amusements would be forbidden;
and thus, like their German Brethren in Herrnhut, these keen and hardy
Yorkshire folk were to learn by practical experience that it is more
blessed to give than to receive, and more delightful to work for a
common cause than for a private balance at the bank.
For this purpose the Brethren established what were then known as
diaconies; and a diacony was simply an ordinary business conducted,
not by a private individual for his own personal profit, but by some
official of the congregation for the benefit of the congregation as a
whole. For example, James Charlesworth, a Single Brother, was appointed
manager of a cloth-weaving factory, which for some years did a splendid
trade with Portugal and Russia, kept the Single Brethren in regular
employment, and supplied funds for general Church objects. As the
years rolled on, the Brethren established a whole series of
congregation-diaconies: a congregation general dealer's shop, a
congregation farm, a congregation bakery, a congregation glove factory,
and, finally, a congregation boarding-house or inn. At each diacony the
manager and his assistants received a fixed salary, and the profits of
the business helped to swell the congregation funds. The ideal was
as noble as possible. At Fulneck daily labour was sanctified, and men
toiled in the sweat of their brows, not because they wanted to line
their pockets, but because they wanted to help the cause of Christ. For
the sake of the Church the baker kneaded, the weaver plied his shuttle,
the Single Sisters did needlework of marvellous beauty and manufactured
their famous marble-paper. For many years, too, these Brethren
at Fulneck employed a congregation doctor; and the object of this
gentleman's existence was not to build up a flourishing practice, but to
preserve the good health of his beloved Brethren and Sisters.
We must not, however, regard the Brethren as communists. James Hutton
was questioned on this by the Earl of Shelburne.
"Does everything which is earned among you," said the Earl, "belong to
the community?"
"No," replied Hutton, "but people contribute occasionally out of what
they earn."
And yet this system, so beautiful to look at, was beset by serious
dangers. It required more skill than the Brethren possessed, and more
supervision than was humanly possible. As long as a business flourished
and paid the congregation reaped the benefit; but if, on the other hand,
the business failed, the congregation suffered, not only in money, but
in reputation. At one time James Charlesworth, in an excess of zeal,
mortgaged the manufacturing business, speculated with the money, and
lost it; and thus caused others to accuse the Brethren of wholesale
robbery and fraud. Again, the system was opposed in a measure to the
English spirit of self-help and independence. As long as a man was
engaged in a diacony, he was in the service of the Church; he did not
receive a sufficient salary to enable him to provide for old age; he
looked to the Church to provide his pension and to take care of him when
he was ill; and thus he lost that self-reliance which is said to be the
backbone of English character. But the most disastrous effect of
these diaconies was on the settlement as a whole. They interfered with
voluntary giving; they came to be regarded as Church endowments; and
the people, instead of opening their purses, relied on the diaconies
to supply a large proportion of the funds for the current expenses of
congregation life. And here we cannot help but notice the difference
between the Moravian diacony system and the well-known system of
free-will offerings enforced by John Wesley in his Methodist societies.
At first sight, the Moravian system might look more Christian; at
bottom, Wesley's system proved the sounder; and thus, while Methodism
spread, the Moravian river was choked at the fountain head.
Another feature of settlement life was its tendency to encourage
isolation. For many years the rule was enforced at Fulneck that none but
Moravians should be allowed to live in that sacred spot; and the laws
were so strict that the wonder is that Britons submitted at all. For
example, there was actually a rule that no member should spend a night
outside the settlement without the consent of the Elders' Conference.
If this rule had been confined to young men and maidens, there would
not have been very much to say against it; but when it was enforced on
business men, who might often want to travel at a moment's notice, it
became an absurdity, and occasioned some vehement kicking against the
pricks. The Choir-houses, too, were homes of the strictest discipline.
At the west end stood the Single Brethren's House, where the young men
lived together. They all slept in one large dormitory; they all rose
at the same hour, and met for prayers before breakfast; they were all
expected to attend certain services, designed for their special benefit;
and they had all to turn in at a comparatively early hour. At the east
end--two hundred yards away--stood the Single Sisters' House; and there
similar rules were in full force. For all Sisters there were dress
regulations, which many must have felt as a grievous burden. At Fulneck
there was nothing in the ladies' dress to show who was rich and who was
poor. They all wore the same kind of material; they had all to submit
to black, grey, or brown; they all wore the same kind of three-cornered
white shawl; and the only dress distinction was the ribbon in the cap,
which showed to which estate in life the wearer belonged. For married
women the colour was blue; for widows, white; for young women, pink; and
for girls under eighteen, red. At the services in church the audience
sat in Choirs, the women and girls on one side, the men and boys on the
other. The relations between the sexes were strictly guarded. If a young
man desired to marry, he was not even allowed to speak to his choice
without the consent of the Elders' Conference; the Conference generally
submitted the question to the Lot; and if the Lot gave a stern refusal,
he was told that his choice was disapproved by God, and enjoined to fix
his affections on someone else. The system had a twofold effect. It led,
on the one hand, to purity and peace; on the other, to spiritual pride.
Another feature of this settlement life was the presence of officials.
At Fulneck the number of Church officials was enormous. The place of
honour was held by the Elders' Conference. It consisted of all the
ministers of the Yorkshire District, the Fulneck Single Brethren's
Labourer, the Single Sisters' Labouress, and the Widows' Labouress. It
met at Fulneck once a month, had the general oversight of the Yorkshire
work, and was supposed to watch the personal conduct of every individual
member. Next came the Choir Elders' Conference. It consisted of a number
of lay assistants, called Choir Helpers, had no independent powers of
action, and acted as advisory board to the Elders' Conference. Next came
the Congregation Committee. It was elected by the voting members of the
congregation, had charge of the premises and finances, and acted as
a board of arbitration in cases of legal dispute. Next came the
Large Helpers' Conference. It consisted of the Committee, the Elders'
Conference, and certain others elected by the congregation. Next
came the Congregation Council, a still larger body elected by the
Congregation. At first sight these institutions look democratic enough.
In reality, they were not democratic at all. The mode of election was
peculiar. As soon as the votes had been collected the names of those at
the top of the poll were submitted to the Lot; and only those confirmed
by the Lot were held to be duly elected. The real power lay in the hands
of the Elders' Conference. They were the supreme court of appeal; they
were members, by virtue of their office, of the Committee; and they
alone had the final decision as to who should be received as members
and who should not. The whole system was German rather than English
in conception. It was the system, not of popular control, but of
ecclesiastical official authority.
But the most striking feature of the settlement system is still to
be mentioned. It was the road, not to Church extension, but to Church
extinction. If the chief object which the Brethren set before them was
to keep that Church as small as possible, they could hardly have adopted
a more successful method. We may express that method in the one word
"centralization." For years the centre of the Yorkshire work was
Fulneck. At Fulneck met the Elders' Conference. At Fulneck all Choir
Festivals were held; at these Festivals the members from the other
congregations were expected to be present; and when John de Watteville
arrived upon the scene (1754) he laid down the regulation that although
in future there were to be "as many congregations as chapels in
Yorkshire," yet all were still to be one body, and all members must
appear at Fulneck at least once a quarter! At Fulneck alone--in these
earlier years--did the Brethren lay out a cemetery; and in that cemetery
all funerals were to be conducted. The result was inevitable. As long as
the other congregations were tied to the apron strings of Fulneck they
could never attain to independent growth. I give one instance to show
how the system worked. At Mirfield a young Moravian couple lost a child
by death. As the season was winter, and the snow lay two feet deep, they
could not possibly convey the coffin to Fulneck; and therefore they had
the funeral conducted by the Vicar at Mirfield. For this sin they were
both expelled from the Moravian Church. At heart, in fact, these early
Brethren had no desire for Moravian Church extension whatever. They
never asked anyone to attend their meetings, and never asked anyone to
join their ranks. If any person expressed a desire to become a member
of the Moravian Church, he was generally told in the first instance "to
abide in the Church of England"; and only when he persisted and begged
was his application even considered. And even then they threw obstacles
in his way. They first submitted his application to the Lot. If the Lot
said "No," he was rejected, and informed that the Lord did not wish him
to join the Brethren's Church. If the Lot said "Yes," he had still a
deep river to cross. The "Yes" did not mean that he was admitted; it
only meant that his case would be considered. He was now presented with
a document called a "testimonial," informing him that his application
was receiving attention. He had then to wait two years; his name was
submitted to the Elders' Conference; the Conference inquired into all
his motives, and put him through a searching examination; and at the end
of the two years he was as likely to be rejected as accepted. For these
rules the Brethren had one powerful reason of their own. They had no
desire to steal sheep from the Church of England. At the very outset
of their campaign they did their best to make their position clear. "We
wish for nothing more," they declared, in a public notice in the Daily
Advertiser, August 2nd, 1745, "than that some time or other there might
be some bishop or parish minister found of the English Church, to whom,
with convenience and to the good liking of all sides, we could
deliver the care of those persons of the English Church who have given
themselves to our care."
Thus did the Brethren, with Fulneck as a centre, commence their work in
Yorkshire. At three other villages--Wyke, Gomersal, and Mirfield--they
established so-called "country congregations" with chapel and minister's
house. The work caused a great sensation. At one time a mob came out
from Leeds threatening to burn Fulneck to the ground. At another time a
neighbouring landlord sent his men to destroy all the linen hung out
to dry. At the first Easter Morning Service in Fulneck four thousand
spectators assembled to witness the solemn service. And the result of
the Brethren's labours was that while their own numbers were always
small they contributed richly to the revival of evangelical piety in the
West Riding of Yorkshire.
In the Midlands the system had just the same results. At the village of
Ockbrook, five miles from Derby, the Brethren built another beautiful
settlement. For some years, with Ockbrook as a centre, they had a clear
field for work in the surrounding district; they had preaching places
at Eaton, Belper, Codnor, Matlock, Wolverhampton, Sheffield, Dale, and
other towns and villages; and yet not a single one of these places ever
developed into a congregation.
In Bedfordshire the result was equally fatal. At first the Brethren
had a golden chance in Bedford. There, in 1738, there was a terrible
epidemic of small-pox; in one week sixty or seventy persons died; nearly
all the clergy had fled from the town in terror; and then Jacob Rogers,
the curate of St. Paul's, sent for Ingham and Delamotte to come to the
rescue. The two clergymen came; some Moravians followed; a Moravian
congregation at Bedford was organized; and before long the Brethren had
twenty societies round Bunyan's charming home. And yet not one of these
societies became a new congregation. As Fulneck was the centre for
Yorkshire, so Bedford was the centre for Bedfordshire; and the system
that checked expansion in the North strangled it at its birth in the
South.
CHAPTER XI. -- THE LABOURS OF JOHN CENNICK, 1739-1755.
Once more an Anglican paved the way for the Brethren. At the terrible
period of the Day of Blood one Brother, named Cennick, fled from Bohemia
to England; and now, about a hundred years later, his descendant, John
Cennick, was to play a great part in the revival of the Brethren's
Church. For all that, John Cennick, in the days of his youth, does not
appear to have known very much about his ecclesiastical descent. He was
born (1718) and brought up at Reading, and was nursed from first to last
in the Anglican fold. He was baptized at St. Lawrence Church; attended
service twice a day with his mother; was confirmed and took the
Communion; and, finally, at a service in the Church, while the psalms
were being read, he passed through that critical experience in life to
which we commonly give the name "conversion." For us, therefore, the
point to notice is that John Cennick was truly converted to God, and was
fully assured of his own salvation before he had met either Moravians
or Methodists, and before he even knew, in all probability, that such
people as the Moravians existed. We must not ascribe his conversion to
Moravian influence. If we seek for human influence at all let us give
the honour to his mother; but the real truth appears to be that what
John Wesley learned from Boehler, John Cennick learned by direct
communion with God. His spiritual experience was as deep and true as
Wesley's. He had been, like Wesley, in the castle of Giant Despair, and
had sought, like Wesley, to attain salvation by attending the ordinances
of the Church. He had knelt in prayer nine times a day; he had watched;
he had fasted; he had given money to the poor; he had almost gone mad in
his terror of death and of the judgment day; and, finally, without any
human aid, in his pew at St. Lawrence Church, he heard, he tells us,
the voice of Jesus saying, "I am thy salvation," and there and then his
heart danced for joy and his dying soul revived.
At that time, as far as I can discover, he had not even heard of the
Oxford Methodists; but a few months later he heard strange news of
Wesley's Oxford comrade, Charles Kinchin. The occasion was a private
card party at Reading. John Cennick was asked to take a hand, and
refused. For this he was regarded as a prig, and a young fellow in
the company remarked, "There is just such a stupid religious fellow
at Oxford, one Kinchin." Forthwith, at the earliest opportunity, John
Cennick set off on foot for Oxford, to seek out the "stupid religious
fellow"; found him sallying out of his room to breakfast; was introduced
by Kinchin to the Wesleys; ran up to London, called at James Hutton's,
and there met George Whitefield; fell on the great preacher's neck
and kissed him; and was thus drawn into the stream of the Evangelical
Revival at the very period in English history when Wesley and Whitefield
first began preaching in the open air. He was soon a Methodist preacher
himself {1739.}. At Kingswood, near Bristol, John Wesley opened a
charity school for the children of colliers; and now he gave Cennick the
post of head master, and authorized him also to visit the sick and to
expound the Scriptures in public. The preacher's mantle soon fell
on Cennick's shoulders. At a service held under a sycamore tree, the
appointed preacher, Sammy Wather, was late; the crowd asked Cennick
to take his place; and Cennick, after consulting the Lot, preached his
first sermon in the open air. For the next eighteen months he now acted,
like Maxfield and Humphreys, as one of Wesley's first lay assistant
preachers; and as long as he was under Wesley's influence he preached
in Wesley's sensational style, with strange sensational results. At the
services the people conducted themselves like maniacs. Some foamed at
the mouth and tore themselves in hellish agonies. Some suffered from
swollen tongues and swollen necks. Some sweated enormously, and broke
out in blasphemous language. At one service, held in the Kingswood
schoolroom, the place became a pandemonium; and Cennick himself
confessed with horror that the room was like the habitation of lost
spirits. Outside a thunderstorm was raging; inside a storm of yells
and roars. One woman declared that her name was Satan; another was
Beelzebub; and a third was Legion. And certainly they were all behaving
now like folk possessed with demons. From end to end of the room they
raced, bawling and roaring at the top of their voices.
"The devil will have me," shrieked one. "I am his servant. I am damned."
"My sins can never be pardoned," said another. "I am gone, gone for
ever."
"That fearful thunder," moaned a third, "is raised by the devil; in this
storm he will bear me to hell."
A young man, named Sommers, roared like a dragon, and seven strong men
could hardly hold him down.
"Ten thousand devils," he roared, "millions, millions of devils are
about me."
"Bring Mr. Cennick! Bring Mr. Cennick!" was heard on every side; and
when Mr. Cennick was brought they wanted to tear him in pieces.
At this early stage in the great Revival exhibitions of this frantic
nature were fairly common in England; and John Wesley, so far from being
shocked, regarded the kicks and groans of the people as signs that
the Holy Spirit was convicting sinners of their sin. At first Cennick
himself had the same opinion; but before very long his common sense came
to his rescue. He differed with Wesley on the point; he differed with
him also on the doctrine of predestination; he differed with him,
thirdly, on the doctrine of Christian perfection; and the upshot of the
quarrel that Wesley dismissed John Cennick from his service.
As soon, however, as Cennick was free, he joined forces, first
with Howell Harris, and then with Whitefield; and entered on that
evangelistic campaign which was soon to bring him into close touch
with the Brethren. For five years he was now engaged in preaching
in Gloucestershire and Wiltshire {1740-5.}; and wherever he went he
addressed great crowds and was attacked by furious mobs. At Upton-Cheyny
the villagers armed themselves with a horn, a drum, and a few brass
pans, made the echoes ring with their horrible din, and knocked the
preachers on the head with the pans; a genius put a cat in a cage, and
brought some dogs to bark at it; and others hit Cennick on the nose
and hurled dead dogs at his head. At Swindon--where Cennick and Harris
preached in a place called the Grove--some rascals fired muskets over
their heads, held the muzzles close up to their faces, and made them as
black as tinkers; and others brought the local fire-engine and drenched
them with dirty water from the ditches. At Exeter a huge mob stormed
the building, stripped some of the women of their clothing, stamped upon
them in the open street, and rolled them naked in the gutters.[118] At
Stratton, a village not far from Swindon, the mob--an army two miles in
length--hacked at the horses' legs, trampled the Cennickers under their
feet, and battered Cennick till his shoulders were black and blue. At
Langley the farmers ducked him in the village pond. At Foxham, Farmer
Lee opposed him; and immediately, so the story ran, a mad dog bit all
the farmer's pigs. At Broadstock Abbey an ingenious shepherd dressed
up his dog as a preacher, called it Cennick, and speedily sickened and
died; and the Squire of Broadstock, who had sworn in his wrath to cut
off the legs of all Cennickers who walked through his fields of green
peas, fell down and broke his neck. If these vulgar incidents did not
teach a lesson they would hardly be worth recording; but the real lesson
they teach us is that in those days the people of Wiltshire were in a
benighted condition, and that Cennick was the man who led the revival
there. As he rode on his mission from village to village, and from town
to town, he was acting, not as a wild free-lance, but as the assistant
of George Whitefield; and if it is fair to judge of his style by the
sermons that have been preserved, he never said a word in those sermons
that would not pass muster in most evangelical pulpits to-day. He never
attacked the doctrines of the Church of England; he spoke of the Church
as "our Church"; and he constantly backed up his arguments by appeals
to passages in the Book of Common Prayer. In spite of his lack of
University training he was no illiterate ignoramus. The more he knew
of the Wiltshire villagers the more convinced he became that what they
required was religious education. For their benefit, therefore, he now
prepared some simple manuals of instruction: a "Treatise on the Holy
Ghost," an "Exhortation to Steadfastness," a "Short Catechism for the
Instruction of Youth," a volume of hymns entitled "A New Hymnbook,"
a second entitled "Sacred Hymns for the Children of God in the Day of
their Pilgrimage," and a third entitled "Sacred Hymns for the Use of
Religious Societies." What sort of manuals, it may be asked, did Cennick
provide? I have read them carefully; and have come to the conclusion
that though Cennick was neither a learned theologian nor an original
religious thinker, he was fairly well up in his subject. For example,
in his "Short Catechism" he shows a ready knowledge of the Bible and a
clear understanding of the evangelical position; and in his "Treatise
on the Holy Ghost" he quotes at length, not only from the Scriptures
and the Prayer-book, but also from Augustine, Athanasius, Tertullian,
Chrysostom, Calvin, Luther, Ridley, Hooper, and other Church Fathers
and Protestant Divines. He was more than a popular preacher. He was a
thorough and competent teacher. He made his head-quarters at the
village of Tytherton, near Chippenham (Oct. 25, 1742); there, along with
Whitefield, Howell Harris and others, he met his exhorters and stewards
in conference; and meanwhile he established also religious societies at
Bath, Brinkworth, Foxham, Malmesbury, and many other villages.
At last, exactly like Ingham in Yorkshire, he found that he had too many
irons in the fire, and determined to hand his societies over to the
care of the Moravian Church. He had met James Hutton, Zinzendorf,
Spangenberg, Boehler, and other Moravians in London, and the more he
knew of these men the more profoundly convinced he became that the
picture of the Brethren painted by John Wesley in his Journal was no
better than a malicious falsehood. At every point in his evidence, which
lies before me in his private diary and letters, John Cennick, to
put the matter bluntly, gives John Wesley the lie. He denied that the
Brethren practised guile; he found them uncommonly open and sincere.
He denied that they were Antinomians, who despised good works; he
found them excellent characters. He denied that they were narrow-minded
bigots, who would never acknowledge themselves to be in the wrong; he
found them remarkably tolerant and broad-minded. At this period, in
fact, he had so high an opinion of the Brethren that he thought they
alone were fitted to reconcile Wesley and Whitefield; and on one
occasion he persuaded some Moravians, Wesleyans and Calvinists to join
in a united love-feast at Whitefield's Tabernacle, and sing a common
confession of faith {Nov. 4th, 1744.}.[119] John Cennick was a man of the
Moravian type. The very qualities in the Brethren that offended Wesley
won the love of Cennick. He loved the way they spoke of Christ; he loved
their "Blood and Wounds Theology"; and when he read the "Litany of the
Wounds of Jesus," he actually, instead of being disgusted, shed tears of
joy. For these reasons, therefore, Cennick went to London, consulted the
Brethren in Fetter Lane, and besought them to undertake the care of his
Wiltshire societies. The result was the same as in Yorkshire. As long as
the request came from Cennick alone the Brethren turned a deaf ear. But
the need in Wiltshire was increasing. The spirit of disorder was growing
rampant. At Bath and Bristol his converts were quarrelling; at Swindon a
young woman went into fits and described them as signs of the New Birth;
and a young man named Jonathan Wildboar, who had been burned in the hand
for stealing linen, paraded the country showing his wound as a proof of
his devotion to Christ. For these follies Cennick knew only one cure;
and that cure was the "apostolic discipline" of the Brethren. He called
his stewards together to a conference at Tytherton; the stewards drew
up a petition; the Brethren yielded; some workers came down {Dec. 18th,
1745.}; and thus, at the request of the people themselves, the Moravians
began their work in the West of England.
If the Brethren had now been desirous of Church extension, they would,
of course, have turned Cennick's societies into Moravian congregations.
But the policy they now pursued in the West was a repetition of their
suicidal policy in Yorkshire. Instead of forming a number of independent
congregations, they centralized the work at Tytherton, and compelled the
other societies to wait in patience. At Bristol, then the second town in
the kingdom, the good people had to wait ten years (1755); at Kingswood,
twelve years (1757); at Bath, twenty years (1765); at Malmesbury,
twenty-five years (1770); at Devonport, twenty-six years (1771); and
the other societies had to wait so long that finally they lost their
patience, and died of exhaustion and neglect.
As soon as Cennick, however, had left his societies in the care of the
Brethren {1746.}, he set off on a tour to Germany, spent three months
at Herrnhaag, was received as a member, returned a Moravian, and then
entered on his great campaign in Ireland. He began in Dublin, and took
the city by storm. For a year or so some pious people, led by Benjamin
La Trobe, a Baptist student, had been in the habit of meeting for
singing and prayer; and now, with these as a nucleus, Cennick began
preaching in a Baptist Hall at Skinner's Alley. It was John Cennick, and
not John Wesley, who began the Evangelical Revival in Ireland. He was
working in Dublin for more than a year before Wesley arrived on the
scene. The city was the hunting ground for many sects; the Bradilonians
and Muggletonians were in full force; the Unitarians exerted a
widespread influence; and the bold way in which Cennick exalted the
Divinity of Christ was welcomed like a pulse of fresh air. The first
Sunday the people were turned away in hundreds. The hall in Skinner's
Alley was crowded out. The majority of his hearers were Catholics. The
windows of the hall had to be removed, and the people were in their
places day after day three hours before the time. On Sundays the roofs
of the surrounding houses were black with the waiting throng; every
window and wall became a sitting; and Cennick himself had to climb
through a window and crawl on the heads of the people to the pulpit. "If
you make any stay in this town," wrote a Carmelite priest, in his Irish
zeal, "you will make as many conversions as St. Francis Xavier among the
wild Pagans. God preserve you!" At Christmas Cennick forgot his manners,
attacked the Church of Rome in offensive language, and aroused the just
indignation of the Catholic priests.
"I curse and blaspheme," he said, "all the gods in heaven, but the Babe
that lay in Mary's lap, the Babe that lay in swaddling clothes."
The quick-witted Irish jumped with joy at the phrase. From that moment
Cennick was known as "Swaddling John";[120] and his name was introduced
into comic songs at the music-halls. As he walked through the streets
he had now to be guarded by an escort of friendly soldiers; and the
mob, ten or fifteen thousand in number, pelted him with dirt, stones and
bricks. At one service, says the local diary, "near 2,000 stones were
thrown against Brothers Cennick and La Trobe, of which, however, not one
did hit them." Father Duggan denounced him in a pamphlet entitled "The
Lady's Letter to Mr. Cennick"; Father Lyons assured his flock that
Cennick was the devil in human form; and others passed from hand to
hand a pamphlet, written by Gilbert Tennent, denouncing the Moravians as
dangerous and immoral teachers.
At this interesting point, when Cennick's name was on every lip, John
Wesley paid his first visit to Dublin {August, 1747.}. For Cennick
Wesley entertained a thorough contempt. He called him in his Journal
"that weak man, John Cennick"; he accused him of having ruined the
society at Kingswood; he was disgusted when he heard that he had become
a Moravian; and now he turned him out of Skinner's Alley by the simple
process of negotiating privately with the owner of the property, and
buying the building over Cennick's head. At one stroke the cause in
Skinner's Alley passed over into Methodist hands; and the pulpit in
which Cennick had preached to thousands was now occupied by John Wesley
and his assistants. From that blow the Brethren's cause in Dublin
never fully recovered. For a long time they were unable to find another
building, and had to content themselves with meetings in private houses;
but at last they hired a smaller building in Big Booter Lane,[121] near
St. Patrick's Cathedral; two German Brethren, John Toeltschig and
Bryzelius, came over to organize the work; Peter Boehler, two years
later, "settled" the congregation; and thus was established, in a modest
way, that small community of Moravians whose descendants worship there
to the present day.
Meanwhile John Cennick was ploughing another field. For some years he
was busily engaged--first as an authorized lay evangelist and then as
an ordained Moravian minister--in preaching and founding religious
societies in Cos. Antrim, Down, Derry, Armagh, Tyrone, Cavan, Monaghan,
and Donegal {1748-55.}; and his influence in Ulster was just as great as
the influence of Whitefield in England. He opened his Ulster campaign
at Ballymena. At first he was fiercely opposed. As the rebellion of the
young Pretender had been only recently quashed, the people were rather
suspicious of new comers. The Pretender himself was supposed to be
still at large, and the orthodox Presbyterians denounced Cennick as a
Covenanter, a rebel, a spy, a rogue, a Jesuit, a plotter, a supporter
of the Pretender, and a paid agent of the Pope. Again and again he was
accused of Popery; and one Doffin, "a vagabond and wicked fellow," swore
before the Ballymena magistrates that, seven years before, he had seen
Cennick in the Isle of Man, and that there the preacher had fled from
the arm of the law. As Cennick was pronouncing the benediction at the
close of a service in the market-place at Ballymena, he was publicly
assaulted by Captain Adair, the Lord of the Manor; and the Captain,
whose blood was inflamed with whisky, struck the preacher with his whip,
attempted to run him through with his sword, and then instructed
his footman to knock him down. At another service, in a field near
Ballymena, two captains of militia had provided a band of drummers,
and the drummers drummed as only Irishmen can. The young preacher was
summoned to take the oath of allegiance and abjuration. But Cennick,
like many Moravians, objected to taking an oath. The scene was the
bar-parlour of a Ballymena hotel. There sat the justices, Captain Adair
and O'Neil of Shane's Castle; and there sat Cennick, the meek Moravian,
with a few friends to support him. The more punch the two gentlemen put
away the more pious and patriotic they became. For the second time
Adair lost his self-control. He called Cennick a rascal, a rogue, and
a Jesuit; he drank damnation to all his principles; he asked him why
he would not swear and then get absolution from the Pope; and both
gentlemen informed our hero that if he refused to take the oath they
would clap him in Carrickfergus Gaol that very night. As Cennick,
however, still held to his point, they were compelled at last to let
him out on bail; and Cennick soon after appealed for protection to Dr.
Rider, Bishop of Down and Connor. The good Bishop was a broad-minded
man.
"Mr. Cennick," he said, "you shall have fair play in my diocese."
In vain the clergy complained to the Bishop that Cennick was emptying
their pulpits. The Bishop had a stinging answer ready.
"Preach what Cennick preaches," he said, "preach Christ crucified, and
then the people will not have to go to Cennick to hear the Gospel."
The good Bishop's words are instructive. At that time the Gospel which
Cennick preached was still a strange thing in Ulster; and Cennick
was welcomed as a true revival preacher. At Ballee and Ballynahone he
addressed a crowd of ten thousand. At Moneymore the Presbyterians begged
him to be their minister. At Ballynahone the Catholics promised that if
he would only pitch his tent there they would never go to Mass again. At
Lisnamara, the rector invited him to preach in the parish church. At New
Mills the people rushed out from their cabins, barred his way, offered
him milk, and besought him, saying, "If you cannot stop to preach, at
least come into our houses to pray." At Glenavy the road was lined with
a cheering multitude for full two miles. At Castle Dawson, Mr. Justice
Downey, the local clergyman, and some other gentry, kissed him in public
in the barrack yard. As he galloped along the country roads, the farm
labourers in the fields would call out after him, "There goes Swaddling
Jack"; he was known all over Ulster as "the preacher"; his fame ran on
before him like a herald; Count Zinzendorf called him "Paul Revived";
and his memory lingers down to the present day.
For Cennick, of course, was more than a popular orator. As he was now a
minister of the Brethren's Church, he considered it his duty, wherever
possible, to build chapels, to organize congregations, and to introduce
Moravian books and customs; and in this work he had the assistance of
La Trobe, Symms, Caries, Cooke, Wade, Knight, Brampton, Pugh, Brown,
Thorne, Hill, Watson, and a host of other Brethren whose names need not
be mentioned. I have not mentioned the foregoing list for nothing. It
shows that most of Cennick's assistants were not Germans, but Englishmen
or Irishmen; and the people could not raise the objection that the
Brethren were suspicious foreigners. At this time, in fact, the strength
of the Brethren was enormous. At the close of his work, John Cennick
himself had built ten chapels, and established two hundred and twenty
religious societies. Around Lough Neagh the Brethren lay like locusts;
and the work here was divided into four districts. At the north-east
corner they had four societies, with chapels at Ballymena, Gloonen,
and Grogan, and a growing cause at Doagh; at the north-west corner, a
society at Lisnamara, established later as a congregation at Gracefield;
at the south-west corner, in Co. Armagh, three chapels were being built;
and at the south-east corner, they had several societies, and had built,
or were building, chapels at Ballinderry, Glenavy, and Kilwarlin.
At this distance of time the Brethren's work in Ulster has about it a
certain glamour of romance. But in reality the conditions were far from
attractive. It is hard for us to realize now how poor those Irish people
were. They lived in hovels made of loose sods, with no chimneys; they
shared their wretched rooms with hens and pigs; and toiling all day in
a damp atmosphere, they earned their bread by weaving and spinning. The
Brethren themselves were little better off. At Gloonen, a small village
near Gracehill, the Brethren of the first Lough Neagh district made
their headquarters in a cottage consisting of two rooms and two
small "closets"; and this modest abode of one story was known in the
neighbourhood as "The Great House at Gloonen." Again, at a Conference
held in Gracehill, the Brethren, being pinched for money, solemnly
passed a resolution never to drink tea more than once a day.
And yet there is little to show to-day for these heroic labours. If
the visitor goes to Ulster now and endeavours to trace the footsteps
of Cennick, he will find it almost impossible to realize how great
the power of the Brethren was in those palmy days. At Gracehill, near
Ballymena, he will find the remains of a settlement. At Ballymena
itself, now a growing town, he will find to his surprise that the
Brethren's cause has ceased to exist. At Gracefield, Ballinderry, and
Kilwarlin--where once Cennick preached to thousands--he will find but
feeble, struggling congregations. At Gloonen the people will show him
"Cennick's Well"; at Kilwarlin he may stand under "Cennick's Tree"; and
at Portmore, near Lough Beg, he will see the ruins of the old church,
where Jeremy Taylor wrote his "Holy Living and Holy Dying," and where
Cennick slept many a night. At Drumargan (Armagh), he will find a barn
that was once a Moravian Chapel, and a small farmhouse that was once
a Sisters' House; and at Arva (Co. Cavan), he may stand on a hillock,
still called "Mount Waugh," in memory of Joseph Waugh, a Moravian
minister. For the rest, however, the work has collapsed; and Cennick's
two hundred and twenty societies have left not a rack behind.
For this decline there were three causes. The first was financial. At
the very time when the Brethren in Ulster had obtained a firm hold upon
the affections of the people the Moravian Church was passing through
a financial crisis; and thus, when money would have been most useful,
money was not to be had. The second was the bad system of management.
Again, as in Yorkshire and Wiltshire, the Brethren pursued the system
of centralization; built a settlement at Gracehill, and made the
other congregations dependent on Gracehill, just as the Yorkshire
congregations were dependent on Fulneck. The third cause was the early
death of Cennick himself. At the height of his powers he broke down in
body and in mind; and, worn out with many labours, he became the victim
of mental depression. For some time the conviction had been stealing
upon him that his work in this world was over; and in a letter to John
de Watteville, who had twice inspected the Irish work, he said, "I think
I have finished with the North of Ireland. If I stay here much longer
I fear I shall damage His work." At length, as he rode from Holyhead
to London, he was taken seriously ill; and arrived at Fetter Lane in
a state of high fever and exhaustion. For a week he lay delirious and
rambling, in the room which is now used as the Vestry of the Moravian
Chapel; and there, at the early age of thirty-six, he died {July 4th,
1755.}. If the true success is to labour, Cennick was successful; but if
success is measured by visible results, he ended his brief and brilliant
career in tragedy, failure and gloom. Of all the great preachers of the
eighteenth century, not one was superior to him in beauty of character.
By the poor in Ireland he was almost worshipped. He was often attacked
and unjustly accused; but he never attacked in return. We search his
diary and letters in vain for one single trace of bitter feeling. He was
inferior to John Wesley in organizing skill, and inferior to Whitefield
in dramatic power; but in devotion, in simplicity, and in command over
his audience he was equal to either. At the present time he is chiefly
known in this country as the author of the well-known grace before
meat, "Be present at our table, Lord"; and some of his hymns, such as
"Children of the Heavenly King," and "Ere I sleep, for every favour,"
are now regarded as classics. His position in the Moravian Church was
peculiar. Of all the English Brethren he did the most to extend the
cause of the Moravian Church in the United Kingdom, and no fewer than
fifteen congregations owed their existence, directly or indirectly, to
his efforts; and yet, despite his shining gifts, he was never promoted
to any position of special responsibility or honour. He was never placed
in sole charge of a congregation; and he was not made superintendent of
the work in Ireland. As a soldier in the ranks he began; as a soldier in
the ranks he died. He had one blemish in his character. He was far too
fond, like most of the Brethren, of overdrawn sentimental language. If
a man could read Zinzendorf's "Litany of the Wounds of Jesus," and then
shed tears of joy, as Cennick tells us he did himself, there must have
been an unhealthy taint in his blood. He was present at Herrnhaag at
the Sifting-Time, and does not appear to have been shocked. In time
his sentimentalism made him morbid. As he had a wife and two children
dependent on him, he had no right to long for an early death; and yet he
wrote the words in his pocket-book:--
Now, Lord, at peace with Thee and all below,
Let me depart, and to Thy Kingdom go.
For this blemish, however, he was more to be pitied than blamed. It was
partly the result of ill-health and overwork; and, on the whole, it was
merely a trifle when set beside that winsome grace, that unselfish zeal,
that modest devotion, and that sunny piety, which charmed alike the
Wiltshire peasants, the Papist boys of Dublin, and the humble weavers
and spinners of the North of Ireland.[122]
CHAPTER XII. -- THE APPEAL TO PARLIAMENT, 1742-1749.
Meanwhile, however, the Brethren in England had been bitterly opposed.
For this there were several reasons. First, the leading Brethren in
England were Germans; and that fact alone was quite enough to prejudice
the multitude against them {1742-3.}. For Germans our fathers had then
but little liking; they had a German King on the throne, and they did
not love him; and the general feeling in the country was that if a man
was a foreigner he was almost sure to be a conspirator or a traitor. Who
were these mysterious foreigners? asked the patriotic Briton. Who were
these "Moravians," these "Herrnhuters," these "Germans," these "Quiet in
the Land," these "Antinomians"? The very names of the Brethren aroused
the popular suspicion. If a man could prove that his name was John
Smith, the presumption was that John Smith was a loyal citizen; but if
he was known as Gussenbauer or Ockershausen, he was probably another Guy
Fawkes, and was forming a plot to blow up the House of Commons. At
the outset therefore the Brethren were accused of treachery. At Pudsey
Gussenbauer was arrested, tried at Wakefield, and imprisoned in York
Castle. At Broadoaks, in Essex, the Brethren had opened a school, and
were soon accused of being agents of the Young Pretender. They had, it
was said, stored up barrels of gunpowder; they had undermined the whole
neighbourhood, and intended to set the town of Thaxted on fire. At three
o'clock one afternoon a mob surrounded the building, and tried in vain
to force their way in. Among them were a sergeant and a corporal. The
warden, Metcalfe, admitted the officers, showed them round the house,
and finally led them to a room where a Bible and Prayer-book were lying
on the table. At this sight the officers collapsed in amazement.
"Aye," said the corporal, "this is proof enough that you are no Papists;
if you were, this book would not have lain here."
Another cause of opposition was the Brethren's quiet mode of work. In
North America lived a certain Gilbert Tennent; he had met Zinzendorf at
New Brunswick; he had read his Berlin discourses; and now, in order to
show the public what a dangerous teacher Zinzendorf was, he published
a book, entitled, "Some Account of the Principles of the Moravians."
{1743.} As this book was published at Boston, it did not at first do
much harm to the English Brethren; but, after a time, a copy found
its way to England; an English edition was published; and the English
editor, in a preface, accused the Brethren of many marvellous crimes.
They persistently refused, he declared, to reveal their real opinions.
They crept into houses and led captive silly women. They claimed that
all Moravians were perfect, and taught that the Moravian Church was
infallible. They practised an adventurous use of the Lot, had a curious
method of discovering and purging out the accursed thing, pledged each
other in liquor at their love-feasts, and had an "artful regulation
of their convents." Above all, said this writer, the Moravians were
tyrannical. As soon as any person joined the Moravian Church, he was
compelled to place himself, his family, and his estates entirely at the
Church's disposal; he was bound to believe what the Church believed,
and to do what the Church commanded; he handed his children over to the
Church's care; he could not enter into any civil contract without the
Church's consent; and his sons and daughters were given in marriage just
as the Church decreed.[123] Gilbert Tennent himself was equally severe.
He began by criticizing Zinzendorf's theology; and after remarking that
Zinzendorf was a liar, he said that the Brethren kept their disgusting
principles secret, that they despised good books, that they slighted
learning and reason, that they spoke lightly of Confessions of Faith,
that they insinuated themselves into people's affections by smiles and
soft discourses about the love of Christ, that they took special care to
apply to young persons, females and ignorant people. From all this the
conclusion was obvious. At heart the Brethren were Roman Catholics. "The
Moravians," said Gilbert, "by this method of proceeding, are propagating
another damnable doctrine of the Church of Rome, namely, that Ignorance
is the Mother of Devotion." We can imagine the effect of this in
Protestant England. At one time Zinzendorf was openly accused in
the columns of the Universal Spectator of kidnapping young women for
Moravian convents; and the alarming rumour spread on all sides that the
Brethren were Papists in disguise.
Another cause of trouble was the Moravian religious language. If the
Brethren did not preach novel doctrines they certainly preached old
doctrines in a novel way. They called Jesus the Man of Smart; talked a
great deal about Blood and Wounds; spoke of themselves as Poor Sinners;
and described their own condition as Sinnership and Sinnerlikeness. To
the orthodox Churchman this language seemed absurd. He did not know what
it meant; he did not find it in the Bible; and, therefore, he concluded
that the Brethren's doctrine was unscriptural and unsound.
Another cause of trouble was the Brethren's doctrine of justification
by faith alone. Of all the charges brought against them the most serious
and the most persistent was the charge that they despised good works.
They were denounced as Antinomians. Again and again, by the best of men,
this insulting term was thrown at their heads. They taught, it was said,
the immoral doctrine that Christ had done everything for the salvation
of mankind; that the believer had only to believe; that he need not
obey the commandments; and that such things as duties did not exist.
At Windsor lived a gentleman named Sir John Thorold. He was one of the
earliest friends of the Moravians; he had often attended meetings at
Hutton's house; he was an upright, conscientious, intelligent Christian;
and yet he accused the Brethren of teaching "that there were no duties
in the New Testament." Gilbert Tennent brought the very same accusation.
"The Moravian notion about the law," he said, "is a mystery of
detestable iniquity; and, indeed, this seems to be the mainspring of
their unreasonable, anti-evangelical, and licentious religion." But the
severest critic of the Brethren was John Wesley. He attacked them in
a "Letter to the Moravian Church," and had that letter printed in his
Journal. He attacked them again in his "Short View of the Difference
between the Moravian Brethren, lately in England, and the Rev. Mr. John
and Charles Wesley." He attacked them again in his "A Dialogue between
an Antinomian and his Friend"; and in each of these clever and
biting productions his chief charge against them was that they taught
Antinomian principles, despised good works, and taught that Christians
had nothing to do but believe.
"Do you coolly affirm," he asked, "that this is only imputed to a
Believer, and that he has none at all of this holiness in him? Is
temperance imputed only to him that is a drunkard still? or chastity to
her that goes on in whoredom?"
He accused the Brethren of carrying out their principles; he attacked
their personal character; and, boiling with righteous indignation, he
denounced them as "licentious spirits and men of careless lives."
As the Brethren, therefore, were now being fiercely attacked, the
question arose, what measures, if any, they should take in self-defence.
At first they contented themselves with gentle protests. As they had
been accused of disloyalty to the throne, James Hutton, Benjamin Ingham,
and William Bell, in the name of all the English societies connected
with the Brethren's Church, drew up an address to the King, went to see
him in person, and assured him that they were loyal subjects and hated
Popery and popish pretenders {April 27th, 1744.}. As they had been
accused of attacking the Anglican Church, two Brethren called on Gibson,
Bishop of London, and assured him that they had committed no such crime.
For the rest, however, the Brethren held their tongues. At a Conference
in London they consulted the Lot; and the Lot decided that they should
not reply to Gilbert Tennent. For the same reason, probably, they also
decided to give no reply to John Wesley.
Meanwhile, however, an event occurred which roused the Brethren to
action. At Shekomeko, in Dutchess County, New York, they had established
a flourishing Indian congregation; and now, the Assembly of New York,
stirred up by some liquor sellers who were losing their business, passed
an insulting Act, declaring that "all vagrant preachers, Moravians,
and disguised Papists," should not be allowed to preach to the Indians
unless they first took the oaths of allegiance and abjuration {1744.}.
James Hutton was boiling with fury. If this Act had applied to all
preachers of the Gospel he would not have minded so much; but the
other denominations--Presbyterians, Independents, Anabaptists and
Quakers--were all specially exempted; and the loyal Moravians were
bracketed together with vagrant preachers and Papists in disguise. He
regarded the Act as an insult. He wrote to Zinzendorf on the subject.
"This," he said, "is the work of Presbyterian firebrands." If an Act
like this could be passed in America, who knew what might not happen
soon in England? "We ought," he continued, "to utilize this or some
other favourable opportunity for bringing our cause publicly before
Parliament."
Now was the time, thought the fiery Hutton, to define the position
of the Brethren's Church in England. He went to Marienborn to see the
Count; a Synod met {1745.}; his proposal was discussed; and the Synod
appointed Abraham von Gersdorf, the official "Delegate to Kings," to
appeal to Lord Granville, and the Board of Trade and Plantations, for
protection in the Colonies. Lord Granville was gracious. He informed the
deputation that though the Act could not be repealed at once the Board
of Trade would recommend the repeal as soon as legally possible; and the
upshot of the matter was that the Act became a dead letter.
Next year Zinzendorf came to England, and began to do the best he could
to destroy the separate Moravian Church in this country {1746.}. If the
Count could only have had his way, he would now have made every Moravian
in England return to the Anglican Church. He was full of his "Tropus"
idea. He wished to work his idea out in England; he called the English
Brethren to a Synod (Sept. 13-16), and persuaded them to pass a scheme
whereby the English branch of the Brethren's Church would be taken
over entirely by the Church of England. It was one of the most
curious schemes he ever devised. At their Sunday services the Brethren
henceforward were to use the Book of Common Prayer; their ministers were
to be ordained by Anglican and Moravian Bishops conjointly; he himself
was to be the head of this Anglican-Moravian Church; and thus the
English Moravians would be grafted on to the Church of England. For the
second time, therefore, the Count was trying to destroy the Moravian
Church. But here, to his surprise, he met an unexpected obstacle. He had
forgotten that it takes two to make a marriage. He proposed the union in
form to Archbishop Potter; he pleaded the case with all the skill at
his command; and the Archbishop promptly rejected the proposal, and the
marriage never came off.
As Zinzendorf, therefore, was baffled in this endeavour, he had now to
come down from his pedestal and try a more practical plan {1747.}; and,
acting on the sage advice of Thomas Penn, proprietor of Pennsylvania,
and General Oglethorpe, Governor of Georgia, he resolved to appeal
direct to Parliament for protection in the Colonies. As Oglethorpe
himself was a member of the House of Commons, he was able to render the
Brethren signal service. He had no objection to fighting himself, and
even defended duelling,[124] but he championed the cause of the Brethren.
Already, by an Act in 1740, the Quakers had been freed from taking the
oath in all our American Colonies; already, further, by another Act
(1743), the privilege of affirming had been granted in Pennsylvania,
not only to Quakers, but to all foreign Protestants; and now Oglethorpe
moved in the House of Commons that the rule existing in Pennsylvania
should henceforth apply to all American Colonies. If the Moravians, he
argued, were only given a little more encouragement, instead of being
worried about oaths and military service, they would settle in larger
numbers in America and increase the prosperity of the colonies. He wrote
to the Board of Trade and Plantations; his friend, Thomas Penn, endorsed
his statements; and the result was that the new clause was passed,
and all foreign Protestants in American Colonies--the Moravians being
specially mentioned--were free to affirm instead of taking the oath.
But this Act was of no use to the English Brethren. The great question
at issue was, what standing were the Brethren to hold in England? On the
one hand, as members of a foreign Protestant Church they were entitled
to religious liberty; and yet, on the other hand, they were practically
treated as Dissenters, and had been compelled to have all their
buildings licensed. As they were still accused of holding secret
dangerous principles, they now drew up another "Declaration," had it
printed, sent it to the offices of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the
Lord Chancellor, and the Master of the Rolls, and inserted it in the
leading newspapers. At all costs, pleaded the Brethren, let us have a
public inquiry. "If any man of undoubted sense and candour," they said,
"will take the pains upon himself to fix the accusations against us
in their real point of view, hitherto unattainable by the Brethren and
perhaps the public too, then we will answer to the expectations of the
public, as free and directly as may be expected from honest subjects of
the constitution of these realms." The appeal led to nothing; the man
of sense and candour never appeared; and still the suffering Brethren
groaned under all sorts of vague accusation.
At last, however, Zinzendorf himself came to the rescue of his Brethren,
rented Northampton House in Bloomsbury Square,[125] and brought the whole
matter to a head. For the second time he took the advice of Oglethorpe
and Thomas Penn; and a deputation was now appointed to frame a petition
to Parliament that the Brethren in America be exempted, not merely from
the oath, but also from military service.
As General Oglethorpe was now in England, he gladly championed the
Brethren's cause, presented the petition in the House of Commons, and
opened the campaign by giving an account of the past history of the
Brethren {Feb. 20th, 1749.}. For practical purposes this information
was important. If the House knew nothing else about the Brethren it knew
that they were no sect of mushroom growth. And then Oglethorpe informed
the House how the Brethren, already, in bygone days had been kindly
treated by England; how Amos Comenius had appealed to the Anglican
Church; how Archbishop Sancroft and Bishop Compton had published a
pathetic account of their sufferings; and how George I., by the advice
of Archbishop Wake, had issued letters patent for their relief. But the
most effective part of his speech was the part in which he spoke from
personal knowledge. "In the year 1735," he said "they were disquieted
in Germany, and about twenty families went over with me to Georgia. They
were industrious, patient under the difficulties of a new settlement,
laborious beyond what could have been expected. They gave much of their
time to prayer, but that hindered not their industry. Prayer was to them
a diversion after labour. I mention this because a vulgar notion has
prevailed that they neglected labour for prayer." They had spent, he
said, £100,000 in various industries; they had withdrawn already in
large numbers from Georgia because they were compelled to bear arms; and
if that colony was to prosper again the Brethren should be granted the
privilege they requested, and thus be encouraged to return. For what
privilege, after all, did the Brethren ask? For the noble privilege of
paying money instead of fighting in battle. The more these Brethren were
encouraged, said he, the more the Colonies would prosper; he proposed
that the petition be referred to a Committee, and Velters Cornwall,
member for Herefordshire, seconded the motion.
As Zinzendorf listened to this speech, some curious feelings must have
surged in his bosom. At the Synod of Hirschberg, only six years
before, he had lectured the Brethren for making business bargains with
Governments; and now he was consenting to such a bargain himself.
The debate in the Commons was conducted on business lines; the whole
question at issue was, not whether the Moravians were orthodox, but
whether it would pay the Government to encourage them; and the British
Government took exactly the same attitude towards the Brethren that
Frederick the Great had done seven years before. The next speaker made
this point clearer than ever. We are not quite sure who it was. It was
probably Henry Pelham, the Prime Minister. At any rate, whoever it was,
he objected to the petition on practical grounds. He declared that the
Moravians were a very dangerous body; that they were really a new sect;
that, like the Papists, they had a Pope, and submitted to their Pope in
all things; that they made their Church supreme in temporal matters; and
that thus they destroyed the power of the civil magistrate. He suspected
that the Brethren were Papists in disguise.
"I am at a loss," he said, "whether I shall style the petitioners
Jesuits, Papists, or Moravians."
He intended, he declared, to move an amendment that the Moravians be
restrained from making converts, and that all who joined their ranks be
punished. The fate of England was at stake. If the Moravians converted
the whole nation to their superstition, and everyone objected to bearing
arms, what then would become of our Army and Navy, and how could we
resist invasion? The next speakers, however, soon toned down the alarm.
If Pelham's objections applied to the Moravians, they would apply, it
was argued, equally to the Quakers; and yet it was a notorious fact that
the Colonies where the Quakers settled were the most prosperous places
in the Empire. "What place," asked one, "is more flourishing than
Pennsylvania?" And if the Moravians objected to bearing arms, what did
that matter, so long as they were willing to pay?
For these practical reasons, therefore, the motion was easily carried;
a Parliamentary Committee was formed; General Oglethorpe was elected
chairman; and the whole history, doctrine and practice of the Brethren
were submitted to a thorough investigation. For this purpose Zinzendorf
had prepared a number of documents; the documents were laid before the
Committee; and, on the evidence of those documents, the Committee based
its report. From that evidence three conclusions followed.
In the first place, the Brethren were able to show, by documents of
incontestable authenticity, that they really were the true descendants
of the old Church of the Brethren. They could prove that Daniel Ernest
Jablonsky had been consecrated a Bishop at the Synod of Lissa (March
10th, 1699), that Jablonsky in turn had consecrated Zinzendorf a Bishop,
and that thus the Brethren had preserved the old Moravian episcopal
succession. They could prove, further, and prove they did, that
Archbishops Wake and Potter had both declared that the Moravian
episcopacy was genuine; that Potter had described the Moravian Brethren
as apostolical and episcopal; and that when Zinzendorf was made a
Bishop, Potter himself had written him a letter of congratulation.
With such evidence, therefore, as this before them, the Committee were
convinced of the genuineness of the Moravian episcopal succession; and
when they issued their report they gave due weight to the point.
In the second place, the Brethren were able to show that they had
no sectarian motives, and that though they believed in their own
episcopacy, they had no desire to compete with the Church of England.
"There are," they said, "no more than two episcopal Churches among
Protestants: the one known through all the world under the name of
Ecclesia Anglicana; the other characterised for at least three ages as
the Unitas Fratrum, comprehending generally all other Protestants who
choose episcopal constitution. The first is the only one which may
justly claim the title of a national church, because she has at her
head a Christian King of the same rite, which circumstance is absolutely
required to constitute a national church. The other episcopal one, known
by the name of Unitas Fratrum, is far from pretending to that title." In
that manifesto the Brethren assumed that their episcopal orders were
on a par with those of the Church of England; and that assumption was
accepted, without the slightest demur, not only by the Parliamentary
Committee, but by the bench of Bishops.
In the third place--and this was the crucial point--the Brethren were
able to show, by the written evidence of local residents, that wherever
they went they made honest, industrious citizens. They had settled
down in Pennsylvania; they had done good work at Bethlehem, Nazareth,
Gnadenhütten, Frederick's Town, German Town and Oley; they had won the
warm approval of Thomas Penn; and, so far from being traitors, they had
done their best to teach the Indians to be loyal to the British throne.
They had doubled the value of an estate in Lusatia, and had built two
flourishing settlements in Silesia; they had taught the negroes in the
West Indies to be sober, industrious and law-abiding; they had tried to
uplift the poor Hottentots in South Africa; they had begun a mission in
Ceylon, had toiled in plague-stricken Algiers, and had built settlements
for the Eskimos in Greenland. If these statements had been made by
Moravians, the Committee might have doubted their truth, but in every
instance the evidence came, not from Brethren themselves, but from
governors, kings and trading officials. The proof was overwhelming.
Wherever the Brethren went, they did good work. They promoted trade;
they enriched the soul; they taught the people to be both good and
loyal; and, therefore, the sooner they were encouraged in America, the
better for the British Empire.
As the Committee, therefore, were compelled by the evidence to bring
in a good report, the desired leave was granted to bring in a bill
"for encouraging the people known by the name of the Unitas Fratrum, or
United Brethren, to settle in His Majesty's Colonies in America." Its
real purpose, however, was to recognize the Brethren's Church as an
ancient Protestant Episcopal Church, not only in the American Colonies,
but also in the United Kingdom; and its provisions were to be in force
wherever the British flag might fly. The provisions were generous.
First, in the preamble, the Brethren were described as "an ancient
Protestant Episcopal Church and a sober and quiet industrious people,"
and, being such, were hereby encouraged to settle in the American
Colonies. Next, in response to their own request, they were allowed
to affirm instead of taking the oath. The form of affirmation was as
follows: "I, A. B., do declare in the presence of Almighty God the
witness of the truth of what I say." Next, they were allowed to pay a
fixed sum instead of rendering military service, and were also exempted
from serving on juries in criminal cases. Next, all members of the
Brethren's Church were to prove their claims by producing a certificate,
signed by a Moravian Bishop or pastor. Next, the advocate of the
Brethren was to supply the Commissioners for Trade and Plantations with
a complete list of Moravian bishops and pastors, together with their
handwriting and seal; and, finally, anyone who falsely claimed to belong
to the Brethren's Church was to be punished as a wilful perjurer.
The first reading was on March 28th, and the passage through the House
of Commons was smooth. At the second reading, on April 1st, General
Oglethorpe was asked to explain why the privilege of affirming should be
extended to Moravians in Great Britain and Ireland. Why not confine it
to the American colonies? His answer was convincing. If the privilege,
he said, were confined to America, it would be no privilege at all. At
that time all cases tried in America could be referred to an English
Court of Appeal. If the privilege, therefore, were confined to America,
the Brethren would be constantly hampered by vexatious appeals to
England; and an English Court might at any moment upset the decision of
an American Court. The explanation was accepted; the third reading came
on; and the Bill passed the House of Commons unaltered.
In the House of Lords there was a little more opposition. As the
Brethren were described as an "Episcopal Church," it was feared that the
Bishops might raise an objection; but the Bishops met at Lambeth Palace,
and resolved not to oppose. At first Dr. Sherlock, Bishop of London,
objected; but even he gave way in the end, and when the Bill came before
the Lords not a single Bishop raised his voice against it. The only
Bishop who spoke was Maddox, of Worcester, and he spoke in the name of
the rest.