_FROM HIS COMING TO ENGLAND TO HIS
ORDINATION._
1752 to 1757.
AFTER the frustration of his hopes in Flanders, Fletcher, accompanied by
other young gentlemen, embarked for England, for the purpose of
acquiring the English language. At the Custom House in London they were
treated with the utmost surliness. Of course their portmanteaus were
examined,—never a pleasant operation, but sometimes less politely done
than at others. In addition to this, their letters of recommendation
were taken from them, on the alleged ground that “all letters must be
sent by post.” They went to an inn, where they encountered another
difficulty. Unable to speak English, they were at a loss how to exchange
their foreign into English money. Fletcher, going to the door, heard a
well-dressed Jew talking French. The difficulty was explained; and the
Jew replied, “Give me your money, and I will get it changed.” Fletcher,
without the least suspicion, handed the gentleman his purse, containing
£90. Telling his friends what he had done, they exclaimed, “Your money’s
gone.” His friends were wrong. Before breakfast was ended the honest Jew
returned, and gave to Fletcher the full amount in English coin.
To assist him in the acquisition of the English language, Fletcher had
been recommended to a Mr. Burchell, who kept a boarding-school at South
Mimms, a village about four miles from Hatfield, in Hertfordshire. He
was admitted into this establishment. Soon after, it was removed to
Hatfield, whither he also went. Here he remained with Mr. Burchell about
eighteen months, and pursued his studies with great diligence. He
frequently visited some of the first families in Hatfield; and, by his
easy and genteel behaviour, and his sweetness of temper, he gained the
affectionate esteem of all who knew him.
On leaving Mr. Burchell’s academy, Fletcher was recommended by Mr.
Dechamps, a French minister, to Thomas Hill, Esq., of Tern Hall, in
Shropshire, as tutor to his two sons.[5] It was whilst in the service of
this gentleman that Fletcher was converted. The following is an extract
from one of his letters to his brother Henry, at Nyon:—
“The news of your promotion has given me great pleasure. I feel a
sincere satisfaction in the diligence with which you devote yourself
to the good of society, and that you prefer a life of labour to one of
indolent and useless inactivity. We may be instruments of some good in
any condition of human life, if we faithfully fulfil its duties; and
the more difficult our station may prove to be, the more of
satisfaction is likely to result from acquitting ourselves well in it.
The ambition which springs from this principle has nothing censurable
in it, provided that a view to the glory of God be its motive. I
delight to think that the advancement of the Divine glory is your
principal end; in which case, as your influence extends over the whole
city, the good you do may be very great. You will find a thousand
opportunities of glorifying God by your diligence, integrity, and
disinterestedness. Endeavour to find or make occasions of this sort;
seize on them eagerly, and shrink not from entering into the minutest
details, when the object is to do good to the bodies or souls of your
neighbours. Imitate, as far as circumstances will admit, the charity
of Christ; who went about doing good, and disdained not to converse
with the most wretched. I dwell on this the more particularly, because
the vanity and pride which reign in our native town appear to me
directly opposed to the spirit of charity. If you rise above these,
you will conduct yourself as a Christian, whose sole object is to
advance the glory of God; and who thinks little of the esteem of man,
except as it may place him in a position to do more good in the world.
“Your recreations, of which you have given me a brief sketch, are
doubtless innocent, especially if they occupy no more of your time
than a due attention to health, and the wants of our nature demand.
Although you have often reproached me with being too austere, I am far
from thinking that religion forbids the use of innocent recreations;
because, being indifferent in themselves, they become useful when they
are necessary for the relaxation of the body or the mind. I am not at
all shocked at the tradition which informs us that St. John sometimes
amused himself with a partridge which he had tamed. Happy are they
who, as far as they are able, endeavour to turn their own recreations
to the advantage of others, which may certainly, if not always, yet
sometimes, be done. I sometimes polish shells with Mr. Hill, out of
compliance with his wishes. This used formerly to put me in a bad
humour, on account of the loss of time it occasioned. But I begin to
find that pious thoughts may sanctify an occupation as insignificant
as even this, and that a renouncing of one’s own will from compliance
with that of others is not without its utility.
“I am now going to reply to that part of your letter in which you
testify your surprise at the change which has taken place in my manner
of thinking, a change which appears to have struck you in the last
letters which I wrote to my father. You cry out against the severity
of the principles which I have laid down; and add that, without being
a prophet, you boldly predict my giving way before long to enthusiasm
and all manner of bodily austerities, led on by the principles I have
assumed.
“I am the less astonished, my dear brother, that you should thus
speak, because it is the language of ninety-nine Christians of the
present day out of every hundred, and because I myself for a long time
thought like you on this point. In a certain sense, indeed, I always
thought highly of religion, though at the bottom no one perhaps had
less of it than I. My infancy was vicious, and my youth still more so.
At eighteen I fell into what may properly be termed ‘enthusiasm;’ for
though I lived in many habitual sins, yet because I was regularly
present at public worship, not only on the Sunday, but during the
week, I imagined myself religious. I made long prayers morning and
evening, as well as frequently during the day. I devoted to the study
of the prophecies, and to books of a religious character, all the time
I could spare from my other studies.
“My feelings were easily excited, but my heart was rarely affected,
and I was destitute of a sincere love to God, and consequently to my
neighbour. All my hopes of salvation rested on my prayers, devotions,
and a certain habit of saying, ‘Lord, I am a great sinner; pardon me
for the sake of Jesus Christ.’ In the meantime I was ignorant of the
fall and ruin in which every man is involved, the necessity of a
Redeemer, and the way by which we may be rescued from the fall by
receiving Christ with a living faith. I should have been quite
confounded if any one had asked me the following questions: ‘Do you
know that you are dead in Adam? Do you live to yourself? Do you live
in Christ and for Christ? Does God rule in your heart? Do you
experience that peace of God which passeth all understanding? Is the
love of God shed abroad in your heart by the Holy Spirit?’ I repeat
it, my dear brother, these questions would have astonished and
confounded me, as they must every one who relies on the form of
religion, and neglects its power and influence.
“My religion, alas! having a different foundation from that which is
in Christ, was built merely on the sand; and no sooner did the winds
and floods arise, than it tottered and fell to ruins. I formed an
acquaintance with some Deists, at first with the design of converting
them, and afterwards with the pretence of thoroughly examining their
sentiments. But my heart, like that of Balaam, was not right with God.
He abandoned me, and I enrolled myself in their party. A considerable
change took place in my deportment. _Before_ I had a form of religion,
and _now_ I lost it; but as to the state of my heart, it was precisely
the same. I did not remain many weeks in this state; the Good Shepherd
sought after me, a wandering sheep. Again I became professedly a
Christian; that is, I resumed a regular attendance at church and the
communion, and offered up frequent prayers in the name of Jesus
Christ. There were also in my heart some sparks of true love to God,
and some germs of genuine faith; but a connection with worldly
characters, and an undue anxiety to promote my secular interests,
prevented the growth of these Christian graces. Had I now been asked
on what I founded my hopes of salvation, I should have replied, that I
was not without some religion; that, so far from doing harm to any
one, I wished well to all the world; that I resisted my passions; that
I abstained from pleasures in which I had once indulged; and that if I
was not so religious as some others, it was because such a degree of
religion was unnecessary; that heaven might be obtained on easier
terms; and that if I perished, the destruction of the generality of
Christians was inevitable, which I could not believe was consistent
with the mercy of God.
“I was in this state of mind when a dream, which I could not but
consider as a warning from God, aroused me from my security.”
Footnote 5:
The elder of these sons died on coming of age; the younger became M.P.
for Shrewsbury, and afterwards for Shropshire. In 1784, he took his
seat in the House of Lords, as Baron Berwick. The title still exists.
The old Tern Hall has long been called Attingham House.—Debrett’s
“Peerage” and Wesley’s and Benson’s “Lives” of Fletcher.
At great length Fletcher here relates his dream respecting the final
judgment, and then continues:—
“For some days, I was so dejected and harassed in mind as to be unable
to apply myself to anything. While in this state, I attempted to copy
some music, when a servant entered my chamber. Having noticed my
employment, he said, ‘I am surprised, Sir, that you, who know so many
things, should forget what day this is, and that you should not be
aware that the Lord’s day should be sanctified in a very different
manner.’
“The sterling character of the man, his deep humility, his zeal for
the glory of God, his love to his neighbours, and especially his
patience, which enabled him to receive with joy the insults he met
with from the whole family for Christ’s sake, and, above all, the
secret energy which accompanied his words, deeply affected me, and
convinced me more than ever of my real state. I was convinced, as it
had been told me in my dream, that I was not renewed in the spirit of
my mind, that I was not conformed to the image of God, and that
without this the death of Christ would be of no avail for my
salvation.”[6]
Footnote 6:
The long letter from which the foregoing is extracted was first
published in 1826, in a “Life of Fletcher” in the French language, and
printed at Lausanne. In the same year, Mr. Benson printed it as an
appendix to the ninth edition of his “Life of Fletcher.” In 1839, it
was inserted in the _Wesleyan Methodist Magazine_. The extract is
partly taken from Benson’s translation and partly from that in the
magazine.
About this period of his history, Fletcher seems to have become
acquainted with the Methodists. Wesley says:—
“I have heard two very different accounts of the manner wherein he had
the first notice of the people called Methodists; but I think it
reasonable to prefer to any other that which I received from his own
mouth. This was as follows:—
“When Mr. Hill went up to London to attend the Parliament, he took his
family and Mr. Fletcher with him. While they stopped at St. Albans, he
walked out into the town, and did not return till they were set out
for London. A horse being left for him, he rode after, and overtook
them in the evening. Mr. Hill asking him why he stayed behind, he
said, ‘As I was walking, I met with a poor old woman, who talked so
sweetly of Jesus Christ that I knew not how the time passed away.’ ‘I
shall wonder,’ said Mrs. Hill, ‘if our tutor does not turn Methodist
by-and-by.’ ‘Methodist, Madame!’ said he, ‘pray, what is that?’ She
replied, ‘Why, the Methodists are a people that do nothing but pray;
they are praying all day and all night.’ ‘Are they?’ said he; ‘then,
by the help of God, I will find them out.’ He did find them out not
long after, and was admitted into the society; and from this time,
whenever he was in town, he met in Mr. Richard Edwards’s class. This
he found so profitable to his soul that he lost no opportunity of
meeting; and he retained a peculiar regard for Mr. Edwards till the
day of his death.”[7]
Footnote 7:
Wesley’s “Life of Fletcher,” p. 17.
It was not, however, in Mr. Edwards’s class that Fletcher found peace
with God. A few months after his decease, a 12 mo. pamphlet of
sixty-four pages was published by his widow, entitled “A Letter to Mons.
H. L. de la Fléchère, Assessor Ballival of Nyon, in the Canton of Berne,
Switzerland, on the Death of his Brother, the Reverend John William de
la Fléchère, Twenty-five Years Vicar of Madeley, Shropshire.” In that
letter it is stated, that, “from the time he heard the Methodists, he
became more and more conscious that some inward change was necessary to
make him happy. He now began to ‘strive with the utmost diligence
according to his light, hoping by _much doing_ to render himself
acceptable to God.’ But, one day, hearing a sermon preached by a
clergyman, whose name was Green, he was convinced he did not understand
the nature of _saving faith_. ‘Is it possible,’ said he, ‘that I who
have always been accounted so religious, who have made divinity my
study, and received the premium of piety (so called) from the university
for my writings on divine subjects,—is it possible that I am yet so
ignorant as not to know what faith is?’ But the more he examined, the
more he was convinced of the momentous truth. He now became sensible of
inbred sin, and sought, by the most rigorous austerities, to conquer an
evil nature; but the more he strove, the more he saw and felt that all
his soul was sin.”
Mrs. Fletcher continues the narrative of his conversion by giving the
following extract from his diary:—
“1755. January 12.—I received the sacrament, though my heart was as
hard as a flint. The following day, I felt the tyranny of sin more
than ever, and an uncommon coldness in my religious duties. I felt the
burden of my corruptions heavier than ever. The more I prayed for
conquest over sin, the more I was conquered. The thoughts which
engrossed my mind were generally these: I am undone. I have wandered
from God. I have trampled under foot the frequent convictions God has
been pleased to work upon my heart. Instead of going straight to
Christ, I have lost my time in fighting against sin with the dim light
of reason, and the use of the means of grace. I fear my notions of
Christ are only speculative, and do not reach the heart. I _never had
faith_, and without faith it is impossible to please God. Then every
thought, word, and work of mine have only been sin and wickedness
before God, though ever so specious before men. All my righteousness
is as filthy rags. I am a very devil, though of an inferior sort, and
if I am not renewed before I go hence, hell will be my portion to all
eternity.
“When I saw that all my endeavours availed nothing towards my
conquering sin, I almost resolved to sin on, and to go at last to
hell. But, I remember, there was a sort of sweetness even in the midst
of this abominable thought. If I go to hell, said I, I will still love
God there; and since I cannot be an instance of His mercy in heaven, I
will be an instance of His justice among the devils; and if I put
forth His glory one way or the other, I am content.
“But I soon recovered the ground I had lost. Christ died for _all_,
thought I; then He died for _me_; and, as I sincerely desire to be
His, He will surely take me to Himself. He will surely let me know
before I die that He died for me. But then, I thought, this may only
be in my dying hour, and that is a long time to wait. But I answered
thus: My Saviour was above thirty-three years working out my
salvation; let me wait for Him as long, and then I may talk of
impatience. Does God owe me anything? Is He bound to time and place?
Do I deserve anything at His hands but damnation?
“So I went on, sinning and repenting, and sinning again; but still
calling on God’s mercy through Christ. I was now beat out of all my
strongholds of pride. I felt my helplessness, and lay at the foot of
the throne of grace. I cried, though _coldly_, yet I believe
_sincerely_, ‘Lord, save me! Give me justifying faith in Thy blood!
Cleanse me from my sins!’ I seldom went to private prayer, but I
thought, ‘Perhaps this is the happy hour when I shall prevail with
God;’ but still I was disappointed.
“On Sunday, January 19, 1755, I heard an excellent sermon on, ‘Being
justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus
Christ.’ I heard it attentively, but my heart was not moved. I was
only more convinced that I was an unbeliever—that I was not justified
by faith—and that I should never till then have peace with God. The
hymn after the sermon suited the subject that had been treated of, but
I could not join in singing it. I sat mourning, whilst others rejoiced
in the Lord their Saviour.
“The following day, I begged of God to show me all the wickedness of
my heart, and to fit me for His mercy. I besought Him to increase my
convictions, for I was afraid I did not _mourn_ enough for my sins.
But I found relief in Mr. Wesley’s Journal, where I learned that we
should not build on what we feel; but that we should go to Christ with
all our sins and all our hardness of heart.
“On January 21, I began to write a confession of my sins, misery, and
helplessness, together with a resolution to seek Christ even unto
death; but, my business calling me away, I had no heart to go on with
it. In the evening, I read the Scriptures, and found a sort of
pleasure in seeing a picture of my wickedness so exactly drawn in the
third chapter of the Epistle to the Romans, and that of my condition
in the seventh; and now I felt some hope that God would finish in me
the work He had begun.
“On Thursday, January 23, my fast-day, Satan beset me hard. I sinned
grievously, and almost gave up all hope; I mourned deeply, but with a
heart as hard as ever. I was on the brink of despair, and yet
continued to fall into sin. In the evening, I went to my friend, Mr.
B——, and told him something of my state. He strove to administer
comfort, but it did not suit my light. When we parted, he gave me some
advice which suited me better. ‘God,’ said he, ‘loves you, and if He
denies you anything, it is for your good. You deserve nothing at His
hands; wait then patiently for Him, and never give up your hope.’ I
went home resolved to follow this advice, though I should stay till
death.
“I had proposed to meet the Lord the following Sunday at His table,
and therefore looked out a sacramental hymn. I learned it by heart,
and prayed it over many times, and then went to bed, commending myself
to God with rather more hope and peace than I had felt for some time.
But Satan waked while I slept. I thought I committed that night in my
sleep grievous and abominable sins. I awoke amazed and confounded, and
rising with a detestation of the corruption of my senses and
imagination, I fell upon my knees, and prayed with more faith and less
wanderings than usual, and afterwards set about my business with an
uncommon cheerfulness. It was not long before I was tempted to fall
into my besetting sin, but I found myself a new creature. My soul was
not even ruffled. Having withstood two or three temptations, and
feeling peace in my soul through the whole of them, I began to think
it was the Lord’s doing. Afterwards it was suggested to me that it was
great presumption for such a sinner to hope for such a mercy. I prayed
I might not be permitted to fall into a delusion; but the more I
prayed, the more I saw it was real; for though sin stirred all the day
long, I always overcame it in the name of the Lord.
“In the evening I read some of the experiences of God’s children, and
found my case agreed with theirs, and suited the sermon I had heard on
Justifying Faith. I called on the Lord for perseverance and an
increase of faith, for still I felt some fear lest this should be all
delusion. Having continued my supplication till near one in the
morning, I then opened my Bible, and fell on these words, ‘Cast thy
burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain thee. He will not suffer the
righteous to be moved.’ Filled with joy, I fell again on my knees to
beg of God that I might always cast my burden upon Him. I took up my
Bible again, and fell on these words, ‘I will be with thee; I will not
fail thee, neither forsake thee; fear not, neither be dismayed.’ My
hope was now greatly increased, and I thought I saw myself conqueror
over sin, hell, and all manner of affliction.
“With this beautiful promise I shut my Bible, and as I shut it I cast
my eye on the words, ‘Whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, I will do
it.’ So having asked perseverance and grace to serve God till death, I
went cheerfully to take my rest.”
Such is Fletcher’s own account of his conversion. His widow added the
following:—
“I subjoin what I have heard him speak concerning this time. He still
pleaded with the Lord to take a fuller possession of his heart, and to
give a fuller manifestation of His love, till one day, when in earnest
prayer, and lying prostrate on his face, he saw, with the eye of
faith, our Saviour on the cross, and at the same time these words were
spoken with power to his heart:—
“‘Seiz’d by the rage of sinful men,
I see Christ bound and bruis’d and slain;
’Tis done, the Martyr dies!
His life to ransom ours is given,
And lo! the fiercest fire of heaven
Consumes the sacrifice.
“‘He suffers both from men and God;
He bears the universal load
Of guilt and misery!
_He suffers to reverse our doom,
And lo! my Lord is here become
The bread of life to me._’
“Now all his bonds were broken. His freed soul began to breathe a
purer air. Sin was beneath his feet. He could triumph in the Lord.
From this time, he walked in the ways of God, and, thinking he had not
leisure enough in the day, he made it a constant rule to sit up two
whole nights in the week for reading, prayer, and meditation. At the
same time, he lived on nothing but vegetables, and on bread with milk
and water. One end of his doing this was to avoid dining in company.
Besides sitting up two entire nights every week, his custom was never
to sleep so long as he could keep awake, and he always took a candle
and book with him to bed. One night, being overcome with sleep before
he had put out his candle, he dreamed that his curtain, pillow, and
cap were on fire, but went out without doing him any harm. And truly
so it was, for in the morning his curtain was found burnt, also a
corner of his pillow, and a part of his cap, but not a hair of his
head was singed.
“Some time after this, he was favoured with a further manifestation of
the love of God, so powerful, that, he said, it appeared to him as if
his body and soul would be separated. Now all his desires centred in
one, that of devoting himself to the service of his precious Master,
which he thought he could best do by entering into holy orders.”[8]
Footnote 8:
Letter to Mons. H. L. de la Fléchère, 1786, p. 13.
To complete the accounts of Fletcher’s conversion, in 1755, an extract
from another letter must be added. In that year, writing to his brother,
he insisted on the vanity of earthly pursuits, and then gave the
following description of the change that had taken place in himself:—
“I speak from experience. I have been successively deluded by all
those desires, and sometimes I have been the sport of them all at
once. This will appear incredible, except to those who have discovered
that the heart of unregenerate man is nothing more than a chaos of
obscurity and a mass of contradictions. If you have any acquaintance
with yourself, you will readily subscribe to this description of the
human heart. Every unconverted man must necessarily be either a
_voluptuary_, a _worldly-minded person_, or a _pharisaical
philosopher_: or, perhaps, like myself, he may be all of these at the
same time; and, what is still more extraordinary, he may be so not
only without _believing_, but even without once _suspecting_ it;
indeed, nothing is more common among men than an entire blindness to
their own real characters. How often have I placed my happiness in
mere chimeras! How often have I grounded my vain hope upon imaginary
foundations! I have been constantly employed in framing designs for my
own felicity; but my disappointments have been as frequent and various
as my projects.
“If, hitherto, my dear brother, you have beguiled yourself with
prospects of the same visionary nature, never expect to be more
successful in your future pursuits. One labour will only succeed
another, making way for continual discontent and chagrin. Open your
heart, and there you will discover the source of that painful
inquietude to which, by your own confession, you have been long a
prey. Examine its secret recesses, and you will discover there
sufficient proof of the following truths: ‘_The heart is deceitful
above all things, and desperately wicked_;’ ‘_All have sinned, and
come short of the glory of God_;’ ‘_The thoughts of man’s heart are
only evil, and that continually_;’ ‘_The natural man understandeth not
the things of the Spirit of God_.’ On the discovery of these and other
important truths, you will be convinced that man is an apostate being,
composed of a sensual, rebellious body, and a soul immersed in pride,
self-love, and ignorance; nay more, you will perceive it a physical
impossibility that man should ever become truly happy till he is cast,
as it were, into a new mould, and created a second time.
“For my own part, when I first began to know myself, I saw, I _felt_
that man is an undefinable animal, partly of a bestial and partly of
an infernal nature. The discovery shocked my self-love, and filled me
with the utmost horror. I endeavoured for some time to throw a
palliating disguise over the wretchedness of my condition, but the
impression it had already made upon my heart was too deep to be
erased. It was to no purpose that I reminded myself of the morality of
my conduct; it was in vain that I recollected the many encomiums that
had been passed upon my early piety and virtue; and it was to little
avail that I sought to cast a mist before my eyes by reasonings like
these: ‘If conversion implies a total change, who has been converted
in these days? Why dost thou imagine thyself worse than thou really
art? Thou art a believer in God and in Christ; thou art a Christian;
thou hast injured no person; thou art neither a drunkard nor an
adulterer; thou hast discharged thy duties not only in a general way,
but with more than ordinary exactness; thou art a strict attendant at
church; thou art accustomed to pray more regularly than others, and
frequently with a good degree of fervour; make thyself perfectly easy;
moreover, Jesus Christ has suffered for thy sins, and His merit will
supply everything lacking on thy part.’
“It was by reasonings of this nature that I endeavoured to conceal
from myself the deplorable state of my heart; and I am ashamed, my
dear brother, that I suffered myself so long to be deluded by the
artifices of Satan. God Himself has invited me; a cloud of apostles,
prophets, and martyrs have exhorted me; and my own conscience,
animated by those sparks of grace which are latent in every heart, has
urged me to enter in at the strait gate; but, notwithstanding all
this, a subtle temper, a deluding world, and a deceived heart have
constantly turned the balance, for above these twenty years, in favour
of the broad way. I have passed the most lovely part of my life in the
service of these tyrannical masters, and am ready to declare in the
face of the universe that all my reward has consisted in disquietude
and remorse. Happy had I listened to the earliest invitations of
grace, and broken the iron yoke from off my neck.”[9]
Footnote 9:
Gilpin’s Translation of “The Portrait of St. Paul.”
These extracts are long, but they are important. They contain all the
known facts connected with Fletcher’s conversion.
In writing to his brother, Fletcher remarked,—“At eighteen years of age,
I devoted as much time as I could spare to read the prophecies of the
Holy Bible;” and it is a curious fact that, in the year of his
conversion, he wrote a long letter to Wesley, in which he gave a
synopsis of the writings of “a great divine abroad,” who had “spent
fifty years in making himself perfectly master of the Oriental
languages, and in comparing and explaining the various predictions
scattered in the Old and New Testaments.” Fletcher was well acquainted
with this gentleman, and had many times conversed with him on the
subjects of his lifelong study. Substantially, the young man had adopted
the aged man’s views; and now, in a condensed form (filling, however,
nineteen octavo printed pages), he presented them to Wesley. At the
time, terrific wars were being waged, and, a month before the date of
Fletcher’s letter, the great earthquake at Lisbon had occurred. At such
seasons, devout men almost instinctively begin to study prophecies, and
hence no wonder that Fletcher now felt more than ordinarily interested
in what, “for some years, had often been the subject of his
meditations.” He believed that “the grand catastrophe of God’s drama
drew near apace,” and gave his reasons for such belief by referring
first to Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, “which is a rough sketch of the world’s
four universal revolutions;” secondly, to Daniel’s vision of the four
beasts; and thirdly, to Daniel’s vision of the ram and he-goat, and the
two thousand and three hundred days, at the end of which the “sanctuary”
was to “be cleansed.” Fletcher, by elaborate calculations, shows that
this cleansing was to take place between the years 1750 and 1770, and
the following extract will indicate what, in his opinion, the cleansing
meant:—
“God is now working such a work as has not been seen since the
Apostles’ days. He has sent some chosen servants of His, both in these
kingdoms and abroad, who, by the manifest assistance of the Holy
Spirit, have removed the filthy doctrine of justification by works,
and the outward Christless performance of moral duties, which pollute
the sanctuary and make it an abomination to the Lord. The Holy Ghost
is given, and the love of God is shed abroad in the hearts of
believers as in the days of old. I own that the cleansing is but
begun; but this revolution[10] may, in all probability, be the
forerunner of a greater. God has called; a few have obeyed His call.
The generality still shut their eyes and ears against the tender
invitations of their Lord, and continue to pollute the sanctuary and
to look on the blood of the Lamb as an unholy thing. Shall not God
carry on His work? Shall the creature still resist the Creator? and
the arm of flesh be stronger than the living God? Not so. He will not
always strive with obdurate hearts. What the gentle breathings of His
Spirit cannot perform, He will do by war, sword and fire, plague and
famine, tribulation and anguish. He is going to gird on His sword, and
His right hand shall teach Him terrible things. Nations refuse the
sceptre of His mercy; what remains, then, but to rule them with an
iron sceptre, and break them in pieces like a potter’s vessel?”
Footnote 10:
Meaning the war then raging.
Fletcher concludes by arguing in favour of the doctrine, that, long
before the general judgment Christ will appear on earth a second time to
work out His great redeeming purposes.
“Give me leave, Rev. Sir,” says he, “to propose to you a thing that
many will look upon as a great paradox, but has yet sufficient ground
in Scripture to raise the expectation of every Christian who sincerely
looks for the coming of our Lord; I mean the great probability that,
in the midst of this grand revolution, our Lord Jesus will suddenly
come down from heaven, and go Himself conquering and to conquer; for
what but the greatest prejudice can induce Christians to think that
the coming of our Lord, spoken of in so plain terms by three
evangelists, is His last coming before the universal judgment and the
end of the world?”[11]
Footnote 11:
_Arminian Magazine_, 1793, p. 411.
There cannot be a doubt that, at this period of his life, Fletcher was
what is commonly called a Millenarian. Whether his views were right or
wrong, the reader must determine for himself.
When resident at Tern Hall, Fletcher attended the parish church at
Atcham, a small village about five miles from Shrewsbury. Here the Rev.
Mr. Cartwright was the officiating minister,[12] and was accustomed to
catechise in public the children of his parishioners. On one occasion,
he invited the adults who needed instruction to appear in the ranks of
the catechumens, and told them that to do so would be no disgrace to
them. All, however, except Fletcher, either thought that to stand among
the young people would disgrace them, or that further instruction in
their case was not needed. The accomplished young scholar from
Switzerland, the tutor of the two sons of their county member, had a
lower opinion of his excellences than the village peasants had of
theirs; for, leaving his seat with an air of unaffected modesty, he took
his place among the children, and became a catechumen of the village
pastor.[13]
Footnote 12:
Benson’s “Life of Fletcher,” 2nd edit., p. 366.
Footnote 13:
Gilpin’s note, in “Portrait of St. Paul.”
At Atcham, Fletcher became acquainted with Mr. Vaughan, an excise
officer, who gave to Wesley the following account of his deeply-revered
friend:—
“It was our ordinary custom, when the church service was over, to
retire into the most lonely fields or meadows, where we frequently
either kneeled down, or prostrated ourselves on the ground. At those
happy seasons, I was a witness of such pleadings and wrestlings with
God, such exercises of faith and love, as I have not known in any one
ever since. The consolations, which we then received from God, induced
us to appoint two or three nights in a week, when we duly met, after
his pupils were asleep. We met also constantly on Sunday, between four
and five in the morning. Sometimes I stepped into his study on other
days. I rarely saw any book before him, besides the _Bible_ and the
_Christian Pattern_.”
“Our interviews for singing and conversation were seldom concluded
without prayer, in which we were frequently joined by her who is now
my wife (then a servant in the family), and by a poor widow in the
village, who had known the power of God unto salvation, and who died
some years ago, praising God with her latest breath. These were the
only persons in the village whom he chose for his familiar friends;
but he sometimes walked to Shrewsbury, to see Mrs. Glynne or Mr.
Appleton. He also visited the poor in the neighbourhood who were sick;
and, when no other person could be procured, performed even the
meanest offices for them.”
Besides the godly friends mentioned in this interesting statement,
Fletcher had another acquaintance at Atcham, whom he visited to be
instructed in singing. This gentleman supplied Wesley with what
follows:—
“I remember but little of that man of God, Mr. Fletcher, it being
above nine-and-twenty years since I last saw him; but this I well
remember, his conversation with me was always sweet and savoury. He
was too wise to suffer any of his precious moments to be trifled away.
When company dined at Mr. Hill’s, he frequently retired into the
garden, and contentedly dined on a piece of bread and a few bunches of
currants. Indeed, in his whole manner of living he was a pattern of
abstemiousness. Meantime, how great was his sweetness of temper and
heavenly-mindedness! I never saw it equalled in any one. How often,
when I parted with him at Tern Hall, have his eyes and hands been
lifted up to heaven, to implore a blessing upon me, with fervour and
devoutness unequalled by any I ever witnessed. I firmly believe he has
not left in this land, or perhaps in any other, one luminary like
himself.”[14]
Footnote 14:
Wesley’s “Life of Fletcher.”
These glimpses of Fletcher, at this early period of his life, are too
valuable and important to be omitted.
It is impossible to determine the exact date when he joined the
Methodist Society in London, but there can be no doubt that it was as
early as the year 1756, and probably a year or two earlier. Hence the
following extract from a letter addressed to Mr. Richard Edwards, the
leader of the London class in which Fletcher had been enrolled a
member:—
“TERN, _October 19, 1756_.
“DEAREST BROTHER,—This is to let you know that I am very well in body
and pretty well in soul; but I have very few friends here, and God has
been pleased to take away the chief of those few by a most comfortable
death. My aged father also is gone the way of all flesh. For some
years, I have written to him with as much freedom as I could have done
to a son, though not with so much effect as I wished. But, last
spring, God visited him with a severe illness, which brought him to a
sense of himself; and, after a deep repentance, he died about a month
ago, in the full assurance of faith.”[15]
Footnote 15:
Benson’s “Life of Fletcher.”
Fletcher, at Geneva, had refused to enter the Christian ministry; now he
entertained the most serious thoughts of devoting himself to it; but
before doing so he wrote to Wesley, with whom he had become acquainted.
“TERN, _November 24, 1756_.
“REV. SIR,—As I look on you as my spiritual guide, and cannot doubt of
your patience to hear, and your experience to answer, a serious
question proposed by any of your people, I freely lay my case before
you.
“Since the first time I began to feel the love of God shed abroad in
my heart, which was, I think, when seven years of age, I resolved to
give myself up to Him and the service of His Church, if ever I was fit
for it; but the corruption which is in the world, and that which was
in my heart, soon weakened, if not erased, those first characters that
grace had wrote upon it. However, I went through my studies with a
design of going into Orders; but afterwards, upon serious reflection,
feeling I was unequal for so great a burden, and disgusted by the
necessity I should be under to subscribe to the doctrine of
predestination, I yielded to the desire of my friends, who would have
me go into the army. But just before I was quite engaged in a military
employment, I met with such disappointments as occasioned my coming to
England. Here I was called outwardly three times to go into Orders;
but, upon praying to God that if those calls were not from Him they
might come to nothing, something always blasted the designs of my
friends; and in this I have often admired the goodness of God, who
prevented me rushing into that important employment, as the horse does
into the battle. I never was more thankful for this favour than since
I heard the Gospel preached in its purity. Before, I had been afraid;
but then I trembled to meddle with holy things, and resolved to work
out my salvation privately, without engaging in a way of life which
required so much more grace and gifts than I possessed. Yet, from time
to time, I felt warm and strong desires to cast myself and all my
inability upon the Lord, if I should be called again, knowing that He
could help me, and show His strength in my weakness; and these desires
were increased by some little success that attended my exhortations
and letters to my friends.
“I think it necessary to let you know, Sir, that my patron often
desired me to take Orders, and said he would soon help me to a living;
to which I coldly answered, I was not fit, and that besides I did not
know how to get a title. The thing was in that state when, about six
weeks ago, a gentleman I hardly knew offered me a living, which, in
all probability, will be vacant very soon; and a clergyman, that I
never spoke to, gave me, of his own accord, the title of curate to one
of his livings. Now, Sir, the question which I beg you to decide is,
whether I must and can make use of that title to get into Orders? For
with respect to the living, were it vacant, I have no mind to it,
because I think I could preach with more fruit in my own country and
in my own tongue.
“I am in suspense; on one side, my heart tells me I must try, and it
tells me so whenever I feel any degree of the love of God and man;
but, on the other, when I examine whether I am fit for it, I so
plainly see my want of gifts, and especially of that _soul_ of all the
labours of a minister of the Gospel—_love_, _continual, universal,
flaming love_, that my confidence disappears; I accuse myself of pride
to dare to entertain the desire of supporting the ark of the Lord, and
conclude that an extraordinary punishment will sooner or later
overtake my rashness. As I am in both these frames successively, I
must own, Sir, I do not see plainly which of the two ways before me I
can take with safety, and I shall be glad to be ruled by you, because
I trust God will direct you in giving me the advice you think will
best conduce to His glory, the _only_ thing I would have in view in
this affair. I know how precious is your time; I desire no long
answer;—_persist_ or _forbear_ will satisfy and influence, Sir, your
unworthy servant,
“J. FLETCHER.”[16]
Footnote 16:
“Thirteen Original Letters, written by the late Rev. John Fletcher.
Bath, 1791,” 12mo, p. 3.
Wesley’s answer to this important letter has not been preserved. Perhaps
no letter was written. Wesley was now in London. Parliament met eight
days after Fletcher wrote to him. Public affairs were in a critical
condition, and, no doubt, Mr. Hill would feel it a duty to be present at
the opening of the session. When he came to London to fulfil his
parliamentary duties, it was his custom to bring his sons and their
tutor with him. That Fletcher was now in London is evident from the
following letter, addressed to Wesley within three weeks after the date
of his former one. Of course, he would have an interview with Wesley as
early as possible, and in all likelihood Wesley, at this interview, not
only advised him to be ordained, but likewise dissuaded him from his
purpose to return to Switzerland. There is no reference in the letter to
Fletcher’s proposed ordination, for, doubtless, that was a matter
already settled. Fletcher had been attending sacramental services in
Wesley’s London chapels; and it had occurred to him that these services
might be much improved, and Wesley himself considerably relieved. To say
the least, the letter is full of interest, and contains a hint which, in
large societies, might be profitably adopted.
“_December 13, 1756._
“SIR,—When I have received the sacrament in your chapels, though I
admired the order and decency with which that awful part of the divine
worship was performed, I thought there was something wanting, which
might make it still more profitable and solemn.
“As the number of communicants is generally very great, the time spent
in receiving is long enough for many, I am afraid, to feel their
devotion languish, and their desires grow cold, for want of outward
fuel. In order to prevent this, you interrupt, from time to time, the
service of the table, to put up a short prayer, or to sing a verse or
two of a hymn; and I do not doubt but many have found the benefit of
that method. But, as you can spare very little time, you are obliged
to be satisfied with scattering those few drops, instead of a
continual rain. Would not that want be easily supplied, Sir, if you
were to appoint the preachers who may be present to do what you cannot
possibly do yourself, to pray and sing without interruption, as at a
watchnight?
“This would have several good effects: 1. Experience, as well as the
nature of the thing itself, shows every sincere seeker that, as it is
the fittest time to ask, and the most ordinary to receive grace, every
moment ought to be improved to the best advantage. 2. Continual
praying and singing would prevent the wanderings of many, who are not
convinced of sin deeply enough, or influenced by grace strongly
enough, to mourn and pray without interruption, if they are left to
themselves. 3. It would increase the earnestness of believers; for
though every one wrestles probably in his own heart both for himself
and the congregation, yet their prayers would certainly have more
power if united, and the general fire would increase the warmth of
their affections. 4. In praying frequently for universal love, as the
remembrance of Christ’s bleeding love naturally directs us to do, you
would add for many the benefit and comfort of a lovefeast to the
advantages that attend the Holy Eucharist. 5. If the prayers were
especially calculated for those that receive, is it not probable, Sir,
that they would be extremely encouraged to act faith, to touch the hem
of Christ’s garment, to cast their burden upon Him, and to lay hold of
eternal life, if they heard their weak petitions supported by the
fervent prayers of their brethren, at the same time that they feed, or
are going to feed, on the blessed signs of Christ’s body and blood?
“It may be objected:—1. That some may prefer to pour out their souls
before God according to their different frames, whether it be
deadness, desertion, joy, overflowings of humility, repentance, love,
etc. And so they might; but I do not see how general prayer and
singing would rob them of that liberty, if they thought it more
acceptable to God and beneficial to themselves; and their praying in
private would not hinder the bulk of the congregation from uniting
with joy in the public service. 2. That this method might bring in a
confusion greater than the advantages it seems to be attended with.
But could not prudence obviate this? I am sure it could; for I have
seen that, or something like it, performed in a congregation of a
thousand communicants without the least confusion, and to the great
edification and comfort of many.
“But you are the best judge, Sir; and if I take the liberty of giving
you this hint, to make of it what use you think fit, it is because you
said lately in the Society that you heard willingly the observations
of your people, and were ready to follow or improve them if they were
just and reasonable.
“I am, Sir, your unworthy servant,
“JOHN FLETCHER.”[17]
Footnote 17:
_Methodist Magazine_, 1798, p. 93.
Within three months after this, Fletcher was ordained. On Sunday, March
6, 1757, he received deacon’s orders from the Bishop of Hereford; and
priest’s orders on the Sunday following from the Bishop of Bangor, in
the Chapel Royal at St. James’s.[18]
Footnote 18:
Gilpin’s “Portrait of St. Paul.”
On the day he was ordained priest, he hastened to Snowsfields Chapel, to
assist Wesley in one of those heavy sacramental services referred to in
the foregoing letter. Wesley writes:—
“1757, Sunday, March 13. Finding myself weak at Snowsfields, I prayed
(if He saw good) that God would send me help at the chapel, and I had
it. As soon as I had done preaching, Mr. Fletcher came, who had just
been ordained priest, and hastened to the chapel on purpose to assist
me in the administration of the Lord’s supper, as he supposed me to be
alone.
“Sunday, March 20. Mr. Fletcher helped me again. How wonderful are the
ways of God! When my bodily strength failed, and none in England were
able and willing to assist me, He sent me help from the mountains of
Switzerland, and an helpmeet for me in every respect; where could I
have found such another?”[19]
Footnote 19:
Wesley’s “Works,” vol. ii., p. 376; and vol. vii., p. 415.
Thus did Fletcher begin his remarkable ministerial life in a Methodist
meeting-house.