George Whitefield
(Part 4)

The characteristic theme of the preaching of George Whitefield was that of the “new birth,” while the text that came to be almost continuously associated with him was that which unmistakably declared that “Except a man be born again, he shall in no wise enter the kingdom of heaven.” Whitefield was a staunch upholder of the doctrines of God's free and sovereign grace to sinners, and those doctrines had first begun to distil themselves into his heart and mind through the pens of Ralph and Ebenezer Erskine, with whom Whitefield had begun a correspondence.

It was in the year 1741 that Whitefield first visited Scotland at the invitation of the two Secession brothers, and the work of the great evangelist in Scotland sets before us another, and sometimes very neglected side of blessing, that is – the ground-work of the harvest. Who can say exactly “when” the Lord begins to gather together those elements and circumstances that ultimately result in a time of refreshing from the hand of the Lord. Yet, surely, He does very often grant us glimpses of the workings that we might learn to not grow weary in well-doing. As far back as the year 1678 we can see “the Lord of the harvest” already at work. At that time, there was a young Professor of Divinity in the University of Aberdeen. He died at the tender age of 28, and by the standards of University Professors never “accomplished” much in the way of literary attainments, for he produced only one book. Yet, what a book that was to prove to be. The young man's name was Henry Scougal, and the book was, of course, “The Life of God in the Soul of Man” That book that was to make such an impression in the life of the young George Whitefield at Oxford – “that excellent treatise,” as he called it, and which enabled him to see “what true religion was.” So that, Whitefield, although coming to Scotland for the first time, was, in one respect, returning to the land that had given him spiritual birth under the hand of the Lord.

Other factors had also been at work in Scotland, preparing the ground from which he, with many others, began to reap the ripe sheaves to the glory of God. Old John Bonar had laboured away at Torphican from 1692, seeing only the occasional soul brought into true saving faith. James Robe had begun his ministry at Kilsyth in 1713, but had to wait twenty-seven lean years before the garners began to be filled with new corn. But, one of the greatest factors in the religious life of Scotland that was about to emerge and to enter into such blessings during the times of Whitefield, was inaugurated by the Lord through His servant, Thomas Boston of Ettrick.

Boston was inducted to the ministry in 1700, and settled at Simprin, a parish of only eighty-three souls. Yet, out of that situation, the Lord was to produce yet another harvest tool. In the home of one of the members of the congregation, Boston discovered an old Puritan volume, long out of print and circulation. It was Edward Fisher's “Marrow of Modern Divinity.” Boston was immediately impressed with the thrust of the book with regards to the call of the gospel for men to repent and be converted, and very soon had the work republished and widely distributed. The response was not at all what Boston had anticipated, and instead of the principles set forth in the book being widely embraced, they were, almost totally, rejected. The General Assembly of the Church of Scotland condemned the book, and the number of “Marrow Men”, as they came to be known, stood at only twelve. Some of these remained within the Established Church, but, the Erskines, with whom Whitefield was to have the correspondence, withdrew, forming the Associate Presbytery – The Secession Church. We must remember that this happened in the year 1733, two years before Whitefield was even converted. So that, although there was the “winter afore harvest,” there were diligent labourers in God's husbandry doing the necessary works of winter that the harvest, might be reaped in its own season. “If the King of Zion hath already begun His circuit,” preached old John Willison at Dundee, “and if He designed to ride in triumph through His churches, can we think He will pass by Scotland, where He hath a waiting and wrestling remnant, looking out and ready to stop Him with their cry?” His anticipation was well-rewarded, and among those who were best employed in the gathering of souls when Christ began his “ride in triumph through His churches” in Scotland, was the man, George Whitefield, first enlightened in the gospel by a book from a young Scots Professor's hand, and led on into the mighty doctrines of that gospel by two worthy elect brothers of Scotland's realm.

We turn now, in concluding, to see something of the last few days of this faithful soldier upon the earth. The last time that he preached was in Exeter in the U.S.A. It was on the 29th September, 1770, and was a sermon delivered in the open air, under much physical hardship. “Sir,” said one of his friends to him, “you are more fit to go to bed than to preach.” “True, sir,” he said, and then began a short, but telling prayer: “Lord Jesus,” he prayed, “I am weary in Thy work, but not of Thy work. If I have not yet finished my course, let me go on and speak for Thee once more in the fields, seal Thy truth, then go home and die.” We are told something of his valiant attempts to preach that day. “The subject of his remarks was 'Faith and Works.' He rose up sluggishly and wearily, as if worn down and exhausted by His stupendous labours … sentence after sentence was thrown of in rough, disjointed portions, with out much regard to point or beauty. At length his mind kindled over a single idea, and an explosion of his lion-like voice roared to the extremities of the audience. He was speaking of the inefficiency of works to merit salvation, and he suddenly cried out in a tone of thunder, 'Works! Works! A man get to heaven by works! I would as soon think of climbing up to the moon on a rope of sand!' But the thunder of that fearful voice could not long be sustained …” Yet, the great statement of that day's preaching was not to come in this whirlwind, but in the still, small voice which he concluded; “I go,” he said, “to my everlasting rest. My sun has risen, shone, and is setting – nay, it is about to rise and shine for ever. I have not lived in vain. And though I could live to preach Christ a thousand years, I die to be with Him, which is far better.”

He returned to Newburyport, for which the Lord would call him early the next morning to be with Himself.

It was a Saturday evening, and he hoped to preach there the next day. Many people met at the house where he was staying, and as he turned to retire for the evening, he paused on the stairway, candle in hand, and spoke the words of life once more in their hearing. It was a precious word, we are told, and before he had finished, the candle that he had been holding had burned away in its socket. Very soon, one of his heart's desires was going to be realised, for he had often said “O that I may one day be lifted from the pulpit to the throne.” Within a few hours George Whitefield was no more, for the Lord had taken him. The thoughts and sentiments of many, it has been said, were expressed in the words of prayer offered at the funeral by Daniel Rogers, one of Whitefield's spiritual children, when he suddenly burst into tears and exclaimed, “My father! My father! The chariots of Israel, and the horsemen thereof.”

Some lines, written on an old, favourite chair of Whitefield's still in existence, seem appropriate to close with as a word to our hearts.

(conclusion)