OPEN-AIR PREACHING IN ENGLAND AND WALES--ERECTION OF THE TABERNACLE
IN LONDON.
1738-1739.
Under the circumstances we have related in our last chapter,
Whitefield paid another visit to Bristol, and soon found that he had
to meet with new and very unexpected opposition. When he arrived in
the city, the chancellor of the diocese, while he did not approve
of what he considered his irregular conduct, told him that he would
not prohibit any clergyman from lending him his church; but in a
few days afterwards he sent for the evangelist, and announced his
entire opposition to his movements. Strangely enough, he now asked
Whitefield by what authority he preached in the diocese of Bristol
without a license. The reply of the intrepid minister was, that he
supposed such a custom had become obsolete, and asked the chancellor
in his turn, "And pray, sir, why did you not ask the clergyman who
preached for you last Thursday this question?" The chancellor then
read to him the canons which forbid any clergyman from preaching
in a private house; to which Whitefield replied, that he did not
suppose these canons referred to professed ministers of the church
of England; and when the chancellor told him he was mistaken, he
reminded his superior, "There is also a canon, sir, forbidding all
clergymen to frequent taverns and play at cards; why is not that
put in execution?" And he then added, that notwithstanding any
canons to the contrary, he could not but speak the things which
he knew, and that he was resolved to proceed as usual. His answer
was written down, and the chancellor closed the interview with the
words, "I am resolved, sir, if you preach or expound anywhere in
this diocese till you have a license, I will first suspend, and then
excommunicate you." The crisis was now come; the Rubicon had been
passed, and the inquiry might well be made, "What will Whitefield
now do?"
Already have we seen that he had earnestly desired, in London, to
preach in the open air, for want of room in the churches, and indeed
also from the opposition of the clergy, which had begun so strongly
to manifest itself; and during this journey to Bristol, he found it
necessary to preach in the open air or not at all. As this event was
of vast importance in its results, both in his own history and that
of Mr. Wesley, who also began to preach on the same spot within two
months after Whitefield had opened the way, we must stay a while to
narrate the facts.
[Illustration: TABERNACLE, p 89.]
[Illustration: HANHAM MOUNT]
At that time, the colliers of Kingswood, near the city of Bristol,
were a most depraved and reckless class of men. Inconceivably
barbarous and ignorant, they trampled on all laws, human and divine,
and hesitated not to set the magistrates at defiance. It was
dangerous to pass near the scene of their labors, even in open day,
for robberies and murders were of frequent occurrence; in a word, it
was truly "a seat of Satan." When Whitefield was at Bristol, making
collections for his projected orphan institution in Georgia, not a
few persons had said to him, "Why go abroad; have we not Indians
enough at home? If you have a mind to convert Indians, there are
colliers enough in Kingswood." "I thought," says he, "it might be
doing the service of my Creator, who had a mountain for his pulpit,
and the heavens for his sounding-board, and who, when his gospel
was refused by the Jews, sent his servants into the highways and
hedges." After much prayer and many inward struggles, he went one
day to a gentle elevation on the south side of Kingswood, called
Hanham Mount, and there, under an old sycamore-tree, he preached his
first sermon in the open air to about a hundred colliers. The scene
must have been very impressive. Before him stretched the rich and
beautiful valley of the Avon, through which the river was gently
winding, bordered in the distance by the undulating hills; while on
his right and left the cities of Bath and Bristol were within sight.
The fact of his preaching here soon and extensively spread, and at
meeting after meeting his audience increased, till he found himself
addressing _nearly twenty thousand persons_. His own account of the
effects produced is very striking. He says, "The first discovery of
their being affected, was in the white gutters made by their tears,
which plentifully fell down their black cheeks, as they came out of
their coal pits. Hundreds and hundreds of them were soon brought
under deep convictions, which happily ended in sound and thorough
conversion. As the scene was quite new, and I had just begun to
be an extempore preacher, I had often many inward conflicts.
Sometimes, when twenty thousand people were before me, I had not,
as I thought, a word to say; but I was never deserted; and I was
often so assisted as to understand what that meaneth, 'Out of his
belly shall flow rivers of living water.' The open firmament above;
the prospect of the adjacent fields; with the sight of thousands
and thousands, some in coaches, some on horseback, and some in the
trees, and all so affected as to be drenched in tears together, to
which sometimes was added the solemnity of the approaching night,
were almost too much for me; I was occasionally all but overcome."
Writing to Mr. Wesley a few weeks afterwards, he says, "Yesterday I
began to play the madman in Gloucestershire, by preaching on a table
in Thornbury-street. To-day I have exhorted twice, and by and by
I shall begin a third time; nothing like doing good by the way. I
suppose you have heard of my proceedings in Kingswood."
We scarcely need to remark here, that Kingswood has ever since been
regarded as a sacred spot in ecclesiastical history. Here houses
for Wesleyan Methodists and Independents were soon erected, and in
them thousands have been converted to God. Here was placed the first
school for the sons of Methodist preachers, and on Hanham Mount,
besides the voice of Whitefield, those of the Wesleys, Coke and
Mather, Pawson and Benson, and Bradburn, accomplished some of the
mightiest effects which attended their powerful preaching. There are
yet some living in the neighborhood who were awakened under their
ministry, and whose eyes glisten as they tell of the blessed days
that are past.
Besides the colliers, and thousands from the neighboring villages,
persons of all ranks daily flocked out of Bristol. And he was
soon invited by many of the most respectable people to preach
on a large bowling-green in the city itself. Many of the people
indeed sneered to see a stripling with a gown mount a table on
unconsecrated ground; this even excited once or twice the laugh of
some of the higher ranks, who had admired him in the churches. But
he was unmoved, and his preaching was so blessed, that many were
awakened. Sometimes he was employed almost from morning till night
answering those who, in distress of soul, cried out, "What shall I
do to be saved?" He now sought the help of Mr. John Wesley, who,
after much reasoning with himself on the subject, complied with
the invitation, and followed Whitefield's example, who immediately
committed the work to him. Before leaving the neighborhood, however,
Whitefield had the satisfaction of laying the foundation of a school
for Kingswood; for the support of which the colliers liberally and
cheerfully subscribed.
Taking an affectionate leave of his Bristol friends, Whitefield made
an excursion into Wales, where a revival of religion had commenced
several years before, under the ministry of the Rev. Griffith Jones,
and was now carried on by the ministry of Mr. Howel Harris, a man
of strong mental powers, great Christian zeal, and considerable
learning. They met at Cardiff. Whitefield's heart was then glowing
with the fire he had himself kindled at Bristol and Kingswood. On
his way from Bristol to Cardiff, he was delayed at the New Passage
by contrary winds. He says, "At the inn there was an unhappy
clergyman who would not go over in the passage-boat, because I was
in it. Alas, thought I, this very temper would make heaven itself
unpleasant to that man, if he saw me there. I was told that he
charged me with being a dissenter. I saw him, soon after, shaking
his elbows over a gaming-table. I heartily wish those who charge
me causelessly with schism and being righteous overmuch, would
consider that the canons of our church forbid the clergy to frequent
taverns, or to play at cards or dice, or any other unlawful games.
Their indulging themselves in these things is a stumbling-block to
thousands."
We have said that Whitefield first met Howel Harris at Cardiff.
After preaching in the town-hall, from the judges' seat, he says, "I
was much refreshed with the sight of Mr. Howel Harris; whom, though
I knew not in person, I have long loved, and have often felt my
soul drawn out in prayer in his behalf.... When I first saw him, my
heart was knit closely to him. I wanted to catch some of his fire,
and gave him the right hand of fellowship with my whole heart. After
I had saluted him, and given an exhortation to a great number of
people, who followed me to the inn, we spent the remainder of the
evening in taking sweet counsel together, and telling one another
what God had done for our souls. A divine and strong sympathy
seemed to be between us, and I was resolved to promote his interest
with all my might. Accordingly we took an account of the several
societies, and agreed on such measures as seemed most conducive to
promote the common interest of our Lord. Blessed be God, there seems
a noble spirit gone out into Wales; and I believe that, ere long,
there will be more visible fruits of it. What inclines me strongly
to think so is, that the partition wall of bigotry and party spirit
is broken down, and ministers and teachers of different communions
join, with one heart and one mind, to carry on the kingdom of
Jesus Christ. The Lord make all the Christian world thus minded;
for, until this is done, we must, I fear, despair of any great
reformation in the church of God."
Before leaving Cardiff, Whitefield preached again in the town-hall,
to a large assembly. He says, "My dear brother Harris sat close by
me. I did not observe any scoffers within; but without, some were
pleased to honor me so far as to trail a dead fox, and hunt it
about the hall. But, blessed be God, my voice prevailed. This being
done, I went, with many of my hearers, among whom were two worthy
dissenting ministers, to public worship; and in the second lesson
were these remarkable words: 'The high-priests, and the scribes,
and the chief of the people sought to destroy him; but they could
not find what they might do to him; for all the people were very
attentive to hear him.'
"In the afternoon I preached again, without any disturbance or
scoffing. In the evening, I talked for above an hour and a half
with the religious society, and never did I see a congregation more
melted down. The love of Jesus touched them to the quick. Most
of them were dissolved in tears. They came to me after, weeping,
bidding me farewell, and wishing I could continue with them longer.
Thanks be to God, for such an entrance into Wales. I wrestled with
God for them in prayer, and blessed be His holy name for sending me
into Wales. I hope these are the first-fruits of a greater harvest,
if ever it should please God to bring me back from Georgia. 'Father,
thy will be done.'"
Whitefield returned from this short excursion, to Bristol, baptized
with Welsh fire, and renewed his labors among the Kingswood colliers
with more than his usual power and success. He could not, however,
forget the tears which had entreated him to stay longer in Wales,
and in three or four weeks he visited Usk and Pontypool, where he
was again met by Howel Harris. At Usk, "the pulpit being denied, I
preached upon a table, under a large tree, to some hundreds, and God
was with us of a truth. On my way to Pontypool, I was informed by
a man who heard it, that Counsellor H---- did me the honor to make
a public motion to Judge P---- to stop me and brother Howel Harris
from going about teaching the people. Poor man, he put me in mind of
Tertullus, in the Acts; but my hour is not yet come. I have scarcely
begun my testimony. For my finishing it, my enemies must have power
over me from above. Lord, prepare me for that hour."
The report to which we have just referred did not prevent the curate
of Pontypool from cordially inviting Whitefield into his pulpit. He
also read prayers for him. After the sermon, it was found that so
many had come to hear who could not find room in the church, that
another sermon was loudly called for. He says, "I went and preached
to all the people in the field. I always find I have most power
when I preach in the open air; a proof to me that God is pleased
with this way of preaching. I betook myself to rest, full of such
unutterable peace as no one can conceive of but those who feel it."
In several other places did our evangelist, during this excursion,
unfurl the banner of the cross; and at its close he writes, "Oh how
swiftly this week has glided away. To me it has been but as one day.
How do I pity those who complain that time hangs on their hands! Let
them but love Christ, and spend their whole time in his service,
and they will find but few melancholy hours." Nor will any wonder
that he should thus speak, who consider the spirit which animated
his soul. What he some time afterwards wrote to Howel Harris,
from Philadelphia, indicated the spirit he himself cherished:
"Intersperse prayers with your exhortations, and thereby call down
fire from heaven, even the fire of the Holy Ghost,
"'To soften, sweeten, and refine,
And melt them into love.'
Speak every time, my dear brother, as if it were your last; _weep
out_, if possible, every argument, and compel them to cry, 'Behold
how he loveth us.'"
From Wales, Whitefield went to visit his native city, Gloucester;
and after one or two sermons, he found himself here also excluded
from the parochial pulpits. But notwithstanding his persecutions,
and the infirm state of his health at that time, his labors in
Gloucester and its vicinity were constant and eminently successful.
Bowling-greens, market-crosses, highways, and other such places,
bore witness to his faithful and tearful labors.
At Gloucester lived at that time the Rev. Mr. Cole, an old
dissenting minister, who often heard Whitefield preach, and used to
say, "These are the days of the Son of man indeed!" Whitefield, when
a boy, had been taught to ridicule this Mr. Cole; and when he was
once asked what profession he would engage in, replied, "I will be a
minister, but I will take care never to tell stories in the pulpit
like old Cole." Twelve years afterwards, the old minister heard the
young one preach, and tell some story to illustrate his subject,
when the venerable servant of Christ remarked, "I find young
Whitefield can tell stories now as well as old Cole." The good man
was much affected with the preaching of his young friend, and was so
humble, that he used to subscribe himself his curate, and went about
in the country preaching after him. One evening, while preaching, he
was struck with death, and asked for a chair to lean on till he had
finished his sermon. Having done this, he was carried up stairs and
died. When the fact was told to Whitefield, he said, "O blessed God,
if it be thy holy will, may my exit be like his!" How striking is
this fact when looked at in connection with the circumstances of his
own removal from earth.
Intent on the advancement of his orphan-house in Georgia, Whitefield
soon went to London, passing on his way through Oxford. At both
places he found opposition, and in London was shut out of the
churches. He preached to thousands in Islington churchyard, and now
resolved to give himself to the work in the open air.
From the conflict with the enemies who a few years before had
threatened her existence, the polemics of the church of England now
turned to resist the unwelcome ally who menaced her repose. Bishop
Warburton led the van, and behind him many a mitred front scowled
on the audacious innovator. Divested of the logomachies which
chiefly engaged the attention of the disputants, the controversy
between Whitefield and the bishops lay in a narrow compass. It
being mutually conceded that the virtues of the Christian life can
result only from certain divine impulses, and that to lay a claim
to this holy inspiration when its legitimate fruits are wanting,
is a fatal delusion, he maintained, and they denied, that the
person who is the subject of this sacred influence has within his
own bosom an independent attestation of its reality. So abstruse a
debate required the zest of some more pungent ingredients, and the
polemics with whom Whitefield had to do were not such sciolists in
their calling as to be ignorant of the necessity of riveting upon
him some epithet at once opprobrious and vague. While therefore
milder spirits arraigned him as an _enthusiast_, Warburton, with
constitutional energy of invective, denounced him as a _fanatic_. In
vain Whitefield demanded a definition of these reproachful terms. To
have fixed their meaning would have been to blunt their edge. They
afforded a solution, at once compendious, obscure, and repulsive, of
whatever was remarkable in his character, and have been associated
with his name from that time to the present.
The spots on which Whitefield now began, in his own language,
"to take the field," and publicly to erect the standard of the
Redeemer's cross, are well known. Moorfields, then a place of
general rendezvous and recreation from the crowded city, Kennington
Common then about two, and Blackheath about five miles from London,
were the favorite sites to which he loved to resort, and "open his
mouth boldly" to listening thousands, in honor of his crucified and
glorified Lord. Recording his first engagement of this kind in his
diary of Sabbath evening, April 29, 1739, he writes, "Begun to be
yet more vile this day, for I preached at Moorfields to an exceeding
great multitude; and at five in the evening went and preached at
Kennington Common, where upwards of twenty thousand were supposed
to be present. The wind being for me, it carried my voice to the
extreme part of my audience. All stood attentive, and joined in
the psalm and the Lord's prayer so regularly, that I scarce ever
preached with more quietness in a church. Many were much affected.
"'For this let men revile my name,
I'll shun no cross, I'll fear no shame;
All hail, reproach, and welcome pain,
Only thy terrors, Lord, restrain.'"
For several successive months, the places we have named were his
chief scenes of action. At a moderate computation, the audience
frequently consisted of twenty thousand. It is said that the singing
could be heard two miles, and the voice of the preacher nearly
one. Sometimes there were upwards of a hundred coaches, besides
wagons, scaffolds, and other contrivances by which a sight of him
could be obtained. The rising ground on Blackheath, from which
Whitefield preached, is still known as "Whitefield's mount," and
after his death, Lord Dartmouth planted it with fir-trees. It will
ever be a grateful recollection to the author of this volume, that
during the summer of 1839 he prevailed on some of the most eminent
ministers of England to preach on every successive Monday evening
on this hallowed spot; and that here many thousands then heard
the way of salvation, and not a few were brought to the cross of
Christ. In that immediate neighborhood too, now densely populated,
he organized, and for some years preached to a Christian church.
Memorable times! Many were the manifestations of the Redeemer's
favor.
An anecdote which we heard many years ago from one of Whitefield's
Blackheath hearers, may here be related. While one day preaching on
"the heath," there passed along the road at some distance, an old
man and "Mary" his wife, with their ass and his loaded panniers,
returning from London to their home in Kent. Attracted alike by the
crowd and the preacher's voice, the old man and his wife turned a
little out of their way to hear "what the man was talking about."
Whitefield spoke of somewhat which occurred eighteen hundred years
ago, and the old man said, "Mary, come along, it is only something
which happened a long while ago;" but Mary's attention had been
arrested, and she wished to stay a minute or two longer. They were
both soon in tears, and the inquiry was excited in their hearts,
"What shall we do to be saved?" On their way home, while "talking
of all these things," the old man recollected his neglected Bible,
and asked, "Why, Mary, does not our old book at home say somewhat
about these things?" They went home, and examined the old book with
new light. "Why, Mary," asked the old man, "is this indeed our old
book? why, every thing in it seems quite new." So true is it, that
the teaching of the Spirit gives new discernment as to the truths of
divine revelation.
A fact strikingly illustrating the children's love to our evangelist
may be here mentioned. In his open-air preachings, especially in and
about London, he was usually attended by many of them, who sat round
him, in and about the pulpit, and handed to him the notes of those
who desired his counsels and prayers. These children were exposed to
the missiles with which he was often assailed, but however terrified
they might be, or even hurt, they seldom shrunk; "but," says he, "on
the contrary, every time I was struck, they turned up their little
weeping eyes, and seemed to wish they could receive the blows for
me."
Speaking of his open-air labors, the devoted preacher says, "Words
cannot express the displays of divine grace which we saw, and heard
of, and felt. Lord, not unto me, but unto thy name be all the
glory." On a subsequent occasion he writes, "We have had a glorious
season, a true Easter. Jesus Christ is risen indeed. I have been
preaching in Moorfields, and our Saviour carries all before us.
Nothing can resist his conquering blood. It would have delighted you
to see poor sinners flock from the booths to see Jesus lifted up on
the pole of the gospel." The climax of his success there, is one of
the most remarkable letters that ever came from a mortal's pen. He
records at its close, "We then retired to the Tabernacle, with my
pockets full of notes from persons brought under concern, and read
them amidst the praises and spiritual acclamations of thousands, who
joined with the holy angels in rejoicing that so many sinners were
snatched, in such an unexpected, unlikely place and manner, out of
the very jaws of the devil. This was the beginning of the Tabernacle
society. Three hundred and fifty awakened souls were received in
one day; and I believe the number of notes exceeded a thousand. But
I must have done, believing you want to retire, to join in mutual
praise with me in thanksgiving to God and the Lamb."
Having thus introduced the name of the Tabernacle, it is important
that the reader should be acquainted with the origin of the
buildings which have borne that name. From the very first of what
may be called his irregular labors, Whitefield always declared that
he "would never be the founder of a sect." He kept his word; yet
two London churches remain as his memorial--the Tabernacle, and
Tottenham Court-road chapel, the one in the north, and the other
in the western part of the metropolis. The Tabernacle, which was
first erected, was his more especial and favorite field of labor,
and he dwelt in the house adjoining it, which is still the pastoral
residence.
Moorfields, just without the limits of the old north city wall of
London, was, a few years before Whitefield first knew it, a marsh,
and during the greater part of the year, was absolutely impassable.
Having been partially drained, a brick kiln was erected, and the
first bricks used in London are said to have been manufactured
there. Afterwards it was a field for the practice of archery,
when it was laid out in walks, and called the City Mall. Though
improved in name and appearance, it became the rallying ground for
the rabble of London; wrestlers, boxers, and mountebanks, the idle,
the dissolute, and the profane, held here their daily and nightly
revels. It appeared, in fact, to be one of the strong-holds of
Satan, and therefore became a most tempting and important point
of attack for the daring eloquence of Whitefield. All London rang
one day with the announcement that Whitefield would preach the day
following at Moorfields.
This was in January, 1739. Gillies says, "The thing being strange
and new, he found, on coming out of the coach, an incredible number
of people assembled. Many told him that he would never come out of
that place alive. He went in, however, between two friends, who by
the pressure of the crowd were soon parted from him entirely, and
obliged to leave him to the mercy of the rabble. But these, instead
of hurting him, formed a lane for him, and carried him along to the
middle of the fields, where a table had been placed. This, however,
having been broken by the crowd, he mounted a wall, and preached to
an exceeding great multitude in tones so melting, that his words
drew tears and groans from the most abandoned of his hearers.
Moorfields became henceforth one of the principal scenes of his
triumphs. Thirty thousand people sometimes gathered together to hear
him, and generous contributions here poured in for his orphan-house
at Bethesda. On one occasion twenty pounds--about one hundred
dollars--were received in half-pennies, more than one person was
able to carry away, and enough to put one out of conceit with a
specie currency."
It was not till his fifth visit to London, in March, 1741, that
Whitefield ventured to preach in Moorfields on _a week-day_; the day
selected for this bold action being Good-Friday. His chief, if not
his only friends on this occasion, he tells us, were a few "orthodox
dissenters." These people perceiving the inconvenience to which
he was subjected by the weather, during the morning and evening
services in Moorfields, procured the loan of a piece of ground, and
employed a carpenter to build a large temporary shed, to screen the
auditory from the cold and rain. This building Whitefield called
a "tabernacle," as it was only intended to be used a few months
during his stay in his native country, previous to his return to
America. Providence, however, had otherwise determined, and this
proved the commencement of a permanent establishment of the means of
grace. A great spiritual awakening took place; congregations became
very large, acquiring at the same time considerable cohesion, and
assuming a stationary character. This original fabric of wood was a
place of large dimensions; and notwithstanding its rude aspect and
temporary design, it sufficed for the accommodation of Whitefield
and his flock, during the twelve succeeding years--a period the most
brilliant and useful of his extraordinary career.
Some of Whitefield's friends, however, did not approve of the
original wooden structure; and anticipating or desiring the
formation of a Christian church, they called for the immediate
erection of a substantial brick building, a point which was debated
with a warmth approaching to violence, of which Whitefield makes
pathetic mention seven years afterwards. Here then several important
facts are established: that the original tabernacle sprang not from
Whitefield, but from a voluntary movement among his adherents,
composed chiefly, if not wholly, of Protestant dissenters; that the
expense was borne not by him, but by them; that much debate and
dissension attended the measure, proving the thoroughly free and
popular character of the original movement; and that, as the edifice
originated with the people alone, so did the institution of regular
worship. It is certain that fears existed in the mind of Whitefield
as to the success of such an organization; but the results most
happily disappointed his expectations.
The subject of the erection of a more spacious edifice in the place
of the tabernacle of wood, was first discussed at the mansion
of Lady Huntingdon, in Leicestershire, when Drs. Doddridge and
Stonehouse, and the Rev. Messrs. Hervey and Whitefield happened to
meet together, in the summer of 1751. During the following winter,
Whitefield began to make collections for the object, and on almost
its first presentation in London, nine hundred pounds, or four
thousand five hundred dollars, were subscribed. "But," he says, "on
the principle that burned children dread the fire, I do not mean
to begin until I get one thousand in hand, and then to contract at
a certain sum for the whole." The fact was, that Whitefield had
often been in great straits for the support of his orphan-house
in Georgia, "for I forgot," he says, "that Professor Francke built
in Glaucha, in a populous country, and that I was building at the
very tail of the world." In March, 1753, he wrote to Mr. Charles
Wesley, "On Tuesday morning the first brick of our new Tabernacle
was laid with awful solemnity. I preached from Exodus 20:24, 'In all
places where I record my name, I will come unto thee, and I will
bless thee.' The wall is now about a yard high. The building is to
be eighty feet square. It is on the old spot. We have bought the
house, and if we finish what we have begun, shall be rent free for
forty-six years." In June the dedicatory services took place, when
the Tabernacle, though capable, with its capacious galleries, of
holding _four thousand_ people, was crowded almost to suffocation.
Often have we seen this vast building crowded with worshippers, with
delight have we occupied its pulpit, and with devout gratitude do we
record, that never for a moment has the frown of heaven rested upon
it. Thousands will ever bless God for its erection.
Not unfrequently has the question been discussed, to what
denomination of Christians does the Tabernacle really belong? In
answer to this question, we give a legal document which may also
show what is done in reference to houses of worship in England,
under the laws for the maintenance of religious toleration.
"These are to certifie whom it may Concern, that a Certificate
bearing date the Eighteenth Day of June, in the year of Our Lord
One Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-four, under the Hands of
Starkey Myddleton Minister, Robert Keen, Thomas Cox, Samuel Grace,
Robert Hodgson, James Smith, Thomas Robinson, Benjamin Coles,
Thomas Brooks, and Samuel Lockhart, for appropriating and setting
apart a Certain Building for that purpose erected, situate near the
Barking Dogs in the Parish of Saint Luke in the County of Middlesex,
and intended for the meeting place of a certain Congregation of
Protestant Dissenters from the Church of England, calling themselves
Independents, was Registered in the Registry of the Dean and Chapter
of the Cathedral Church of Saint Paul, London, This Twenty-first
Day of June in the year of Our Lord One Thousand Seven Hundred and
Sixty-four.
"THOMAS COLLINS, Deputy Registrar."
While the new Tabernacle was in the course of erection, Whitefield
visited Norwich, where his ministry was largely attended, and
notwithstanding much opposition, was followed with considerable
success. Writing to his friend Keen, he says, "How does God delight
to exceed even the hopes, and to disappoint the fears of his weak,
though honest-hearted people. In spite of all opposition, he hath
caused us to triumph even in Norwich. Thousands attend twice every
day, and hear with the greatest eagerness. I hope it will appear
yet more and more that God hath much people here." Compelled by
alarming illness, the result of his too much preaching, he suddenly
returned to London, from whence he thus wrote to one of the converts
at Norwich: "I shall little regard the weakness and indisposition of
my body, if I can but have the pleasure of hearing, if not before,
yet at the great day, that good was done to one precious soul at
Norwich. Blessed be God for the seed sown there. I doubt not but
it will be watered with the dew of his heavenly blessing, and bring
forth a divine increase."
Truly the gospel did triumph, not only in the erection of the
Tabernacle in that city, but in preparing sinners to be pillars in
the temple of God, and to win others to his service.
Among other converts won at Norwich, was the afterwards popular and
useful minister of Christ, the Rev. Robert Robinson, of Cambridge,
England. When a young man, about eighteen, he resided in that city,
and was engaged in the business of a barber. When he was walking
one morning with several companions who had agreed that day to take
their pleasure, the first object which attracted their attention
was an old woman who pretended to tell fortunes. They immediately
employed her to tell theirs, and that they might qualify her for the
undertaking, first made her thoroughly intoxicated. Robinson was
informed, among other things, that he would live to a very old age,
and see his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren growing
up around him. Though he had assisted in intoxicating the old
woman, he had credulity enough to be struck with those parts of the
prediction which related to himself. "And so," said he when alone,
"I am to see children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. At
that age I must be a burden to the young people. What shall I do?
There is no way for an old man to render himself more agreeable to
youth, than by sitting and telling them pleasant and profitable
stories. I will then," thought he, "during my youth, endeavor
to store my mind with all kinds of knowledge. I will see and
hear, and note down every thing that is rare and wonderful, that
I may sit, when incapable of other employments, and entertain my
descendants. Thus shall my company be rendered pleasant, and I shall
be respected, rather than neglected, in old age. Let me see, what
can I acquire first? Oh, here is the famous Methodist preacher,
Whitefield; he is to preach here, they say, to-night; I will go and
hear him."
From these strange motives, as he told the celebrated Rev. Andrew
Fuller, he went to hear Whitefield preach. That evening his text
was, "But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees come
to his baptism, he said unto them, O generation of vipers, who
hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?" Matt. 3:7. "Mr.
Whitefield," said Robinson, "described the Sadducees' character;
this did not touch me; I thought myself as good a Christian as any
man in England. From this he went to that of the Pharisees. He
described their exterior decency, but observed, that the poison of
the viper rankled in their hearts. This rather shook me. At length,
in the course of his sermon, he abruptly broke off; paused for a
few moments; then burst into a flood of tears, lifted up his hands
and eyes, and exclaimed, 'Oh, my hearers, _the wrath's to come! the
wrath's to come!_' These words sunk into my heart like lead in the
water; I wept, and when the sermon was ended retired alone. For days
and weeks I could think of little else. Those awful words would
follow me wherever I went: 'The wrath's to come! The wrath's to
come!'"
Scarcely had Whitefield completed the Tabernacle in London, before
he was earnestly solicited to hold public services at the west
end of the city, and Long-Acre chapel, then under the charge of a
dissenter, was offered for his use. An unruly rabble endeavored to
drive the preacher from his post; but a running fire of brickbats,
broken glass, bells, drums, and clappers, neither annoyed nor
frightened the intrepid evangelist; nor did an interference on the
part of the hierarchy, which followed soon after, prohibiting his
preaching in an incorporated chapel. "I hope you will not look on
it as contumacy," said Whitefield to the bishop, "if I persist in
prosecuting my design until I am more particularly apprized wherein
I have erred. I trust the irregularity I am charged with will appear
justifiable to every lover of English liberty, and what is all to
me, be approved at the awful and impartial tribunal of the great
Bishop and Shepherd of souls." Writing to Lady Huntingdon, he says,
"My greatest distress is so to act as to avoid rashness on the
one hand and timidity on the other;" and this shows, what indeed
was proved in his whole life, an entire absence of that malignant
element of fanaticism which courts opposition and revels in it.
"Determined," as Mrs. Knight says, in her beautiful volume, "_Lady
Huntingdon and her Friends_," "not to be beaten from his ground,
yet hoping to escape some of its annoyances, Whitefield resolved to
build a chapel of his own. Hence arose Tottenham Court-road chapel,
which went by the name of 'Whitefield's soul-trap.'" Admirably
does he say, "I pray the Friend of sinners to make it a soul-trap
indeed to many wandering creatures. My constant work is preaching
fifteen times a week. Conviction and conversion go on here, for God
hath met us in our new building." It was completed and dedicated in
November, 1756. Though not equal in its triumphs to the Tabernacle,
the congregation has always been large, and its preachers--always
the same as those at the Tabernacle--have not labored in vain. In
1829, '30, improvements were made in the building, which still,
however, contains Whitefield's pulpit. A vast area in the centre was
originally filled with plain seats, where the masses of the people
were accommodated free of all pew rent.
Let not infidels tell us, that the religion of these men and of
those times was mere enthusiasm, and that the temporal interests
of men were neglected in professions of high regard for those of
a spiritual character. Let such men know that within two years
of the opening of Tottenham Court-road chapel, not only did the
congregation build a parsonage-house for their minister, but twelve
almshouses for as many poor widows. The Tabernacle has always
acted with equal generosity. In proportion to their means, few
congregations in the world have exceeded these two in works of
benevolence.
Assuredly what has sometimes been charged on evangelical
ministers--that they attend to the spiritual interests of mankind,
but neglect their temporal sufferings--would never apply to Mr.
Whitefield. No sooner had he completed these large edifices, where
vast congregations assembled, than he was heard frequently to plead
for those laboring under oppression or distress in foreign lands.
He preached in both these houses in behalf of the poor French
Protestants in Prussia, who had suffered much from the cruelty of
the Russians, when great numbers of the nobility, and some of the
highest officers of the crown went to hear him. The collections for
this object amounted to upwards of fifteen hundred pounds, or seven
thousand five hundred dollars; and for this disinterested act of
benevolence Whitefield received the thanks of his Prussian Majesty.
Again, on the day recommended by the government for a general fast,
Mr. Whitefield preached both at the Tabernacle and at Tottenham
Court-road chapel, after which he collected five hundred and sixty
pounds for the relief of the German Protestants, and the sufferers
by fire at Boston, for which he received the unanimous thanks of
the inhabitants of that town. Lady Huntingdon wrote to one of her
friends, "It would delight you to have seen what crowds of the
mighty and noble flocked to hear him. The collection was for the
relief of the poor German Protestants. I invited several to come
who probably would not attend his ministry on other occasions."
Few places at that time could boast of such a constellation of
transcendent genius and senatorial talent, such a brilliant
assemblage of wisdom, magnanimity, and oratorical powers, as were
then found within these houses of the living God.
One word may be allowed here on the plain architecture of these
buildings. "We are," says the excellent Mr. James, "in many things
improved, and I rejoice in the improvement; but the occasion of my
joy is at the same time the occasion of my fear and my jealousy
also. Our ecclesiastical architecture is just now a special
object of our attention. Whitefield, it may be confessed, paid
too little attention to this; we, perhaps, are paying too much.
His only solicitude was to save souls, careless altogether of the
tastefulness of the building within which that work, which has
no relation to styles of architecture, was carried on. His only
calculation in the construction of a building was, how many immortal
souls could be crowded within four square walls, and under a roof,
to hear 'the joyful sound.' Hence the somewhat uncouth buildings
which he erected. Ah, but when I consider that every stone in those
unsightly walls has echoed to the sound of salvation and the hymns
of redeemed spirits, and that almost every spot on the floor has
been moistened by the tears of penitence, then, in a feeling of
sanctity I seem to lose the sense of deformity, and there comes over
me an awe and solemnity which no modern gothic structure with its
lofty arches and painted windows can inspire. But still, as religion
is not only the most holy, but the most beautiful thing in God's
universe, there is no reason why taste and devotion should not be
united. It is the ministry of the word, however, upon which the
church must be chiefly intent."