And when past 83 Wesley started for a second journey to Holland. The traveling in Holland was chiefly in large boats, on canals. He would then get his companions to join in singing hymns, or he would preach to those on board. In addition to the preaching, he soon after began to write the life of Fletcher, his old friend at Madeley. “To this,” he says, “I gave all the time I could spare, from five in the morning till eight at night.” But he still continued to preach three times a day, beginning at five each morning. We find, too, that many of his nights were spent in mail coaches, and that upsets and breakdowns were common events. But all came alike to the cheerful old man, who felt sure at all times the Lord was caring for him. He remarks that, in all his fifty years of ceaseless traveling, he had never once fallen in with highwaymen. Those of you who know the state of England a hundred years ago, will understand how strange this seemed to all who knew not the loving care which the Lord has for His people who trust in Him. At the age of 84 a fresh scene was added to his preaching tours. He started in stormy weather for the Channel Islands, and was there weather-bound for a while. Not being able to return to Southampton, from contrary winds, he started in a French ship bound for Penzance. Great was the joy, and great the wonder of the many Cornish Methodists when he landed thus unexpectedly amongst them, and the “pit” of Gwennap was made to contain 1,000 more than ever before. Yet all could hear in the still, calm evening. Soon after this we hear, for the last time, of the two brothers preaching together. This was at Bristol. Charles’s work was nearly done. The following year, six months afterward, Charles Wesley slept in Jesus, at the age of 80. His life had, for some years, been a sorrowful one, and this partly through his own mistakes in the education of his two sons, Charles and Samuel. The two boys were remarkable for extraordinary musical talent. Such a talent is useful, when employed, as all talents should be, in the service of God. But the boys were allowed, or rather encouraged, to make a display of their musical genius before the world. This led them into ungodly company. Charles was steady, and well-behaved, but without any sign of love to God. Samuel became a Papist, and lived a life of sin. It was against the repeated warnings of John Wesley that his nephews had been thus brought up for the world, and Charles had to reap the bitter fruits. We find in one of his poems how deep was his sorrow and remorse. John Wesley, too, must have grieved deeply over his nephews. We find in his journal how fond he ever was of children. It was one of his great joys in traveling about to meet with children who loved God.
At Bolton we find in 1788, he met with 30 or 40 children, who were in the habit of meeting together to pray and sing hymns, and who would spend their play time in visiting the poor, who were sick, in the town. Children were always fond of the kind old man, with such a happy face, and pleasant ways. Sometimes they would crowd around him, at an open-air preaching, each anxious to shake him by the hand, till he says he could hardly get loose from them. One little girl sat up all night, and afterward walked two miles to see him. Great was her joy when her kind old friend took her into his carriage to have a talk with him as he drove along. We hear more than once, about this time, of the floors of the preaching-rooms giving way from the crowds who came.
But no one seems ever to have been seriously hurt, nor was the preaching stopped. Wesley would remove to some spot outside the house, some “shady grove” or pleasant orchard, and there have fresh crowds added to those who were already gathered. On his 84th birthday he writes that weariness is still unknown to him. But he has now, from time to time, a pain in his eye. “Whether,” he says, “this is sent to give me warning that I am shortly to quit this tabernacle, I do not know, but, be it one way or the other, I have only to say—
“My remnant of days
I spend to His praise,
Who died, the whole world to redeem.
Be they many or few
My days are His due,
And they all are devoted to Him.’”
At Raithby he says, “An earthly paradise! How gladly would I rest here a few days; but it is not my place! I am to be a wanderer upon earth. Only let me find rest in a better world!” He still often visited Epworth, where there was now a new clergyman, Mr. Gibson, of whom Wesley says “he is not a pious man, but rather an enemy to piety, who frequently preaches against the truth, and those that love and hold it.” Yet, strange to say, Wesley adds that he used all his efforts to persuade the Methodists to attend the church where Mr. Gibson thus preached, and was much grieved that they refused to do so. We see that Wesley was not in all matters a safe guide. He had prejudices which he never shook off. But it would be well if we all followed him in his untiring devotedness. We read, when he was past 85, “My friends, more kind than wise, would scarce suffer me to walk to Bristol. It seemed so sad a thing to walk five or six miles! I am ashamed that a Methodist preacher, in tolerable health, should make any difficulty of this.” Later on, we find him preaching at four in the morning on Christmas-day, and twice afterward, and still sometimes four times a day, and, in addition, spending a part of the night in singing hymns with his companions in the mail-coach. At this time his constant companion was a preacher, called Joseph Bradford, who was, generally speaking, devoted to Wesley, but, at the same time, he could be cross and sullen. Wesley told him once to take some letters to the post. Bradford said he would first hear Wesley preach, and would go afterward, and when Wesley would not consent to this, Bradford refused to go at all. “Then,” said Wesley, “you and I must part.”
“Very good,” said Bradford coolly. Next morning, Wesley asked him if he had thought over the matter. “Yes,” said Bradford, in a sullen manner.
“And must we part?” asked Wesley.
“Please yourself,” said the provoking Bradford.
“Will you beg my pardon?” said Wesley.
“No,” replied Bradford.
“You won’t?”
“No,” repeated Bradford.
“Then I will beg yours,” said Wesley. Poor Bradford now cried like a child, so much was he ashamed of himself.
I should be glad if, in this matter, you would follow the example of Wesley, whenever it happens that a “Bradford” comes in the way.
We hear, when nearly 86, that Wesley had “a day of rest,” by which he meant that he only preached twice, and did nothing beside. But his journeys were neither shorter nor fewer; 70 or 80 miles a day was no uncommon distance. But he owns, when 86, that he now grows old, and can only trust in the Lord to keep him from growing “stubborn” or “peevish.” But 70 miles one day, and 80 the next, preaching besides, soon follow in his journal, and preachings in Cornwall to multitudes larger than ever, on the smooth hill-tops, in the pit at Gwennap, in the market-places and the streets. At the end of this year, when past 86, he begins to think he must cease from preaching more than twice a day, but resolves to begin again the morning preachings at five, which, for some weeks, he had made over to other preachers. At last, January 1st, 1790, he writes, “I am now an old man, decayed from head to foot. My eyes are dim, my right hand shakes much, my mouth is hot and dry every morning, my motion is weak and slow. However, blessed be God, I do not slack my labor.” Nor did he. We find him soon in Scotland, and preaching three times a day, and later in the summer, after endless wanderings, at Epworth. It was his last visit to the place which, “above all others,” he says, “he loved.”
Nor had his labors there been lost. Even in the spinning and weaving factories, where the boys and girls were employed, and where wicked and profane talk had been heard from morning to night, there was now scarce an idle word to be heard at all, but the praises of God and holy conversation. Soon after we find Wesley well soaked from head to foot in an open boat, in which he crossed from the Isle of Wight to Portsmouth. This was in the autumn of 1790. A few days afterward, under a large tree at Winchelsea, he preached his last out-of-door sermon. But the in-door sermons continued, twice a day, as before; and on October 24th, 1790, after journeying through Norfolk, we find the last entry in his strange journal. Such a journal as no one else could ever have written. But though the journal ends, the preaching continues as before. Early in the spring of 1791 he caught a cold, but though ill and feverish, he set off for a preaching journey. On Wednesday, February 23rd, he preached at Leatherhead the last of his 42,400 sermons (counting only those that he had preached since returning from Georgia). He preached upon the text. “Seek ye the Lord while He may be found, call ye upon Him while He is near.” And then the voice, which had sounded the good news so far and wide for 53 years, was heard no more. When Sunday came, he got up, but could not leave his room. He repeated the words—
“’Till glad I lay this body down,
Thy servant, Lord, attend;
And O, my life of mercy crown
With a triumphant end.”
He tried to talk to his friends, but was too weak. As he lay on his bed they prayed around him. He then said, “There is no need for more than what I said at Bristol, my words then were—
“I, the chief of sinners am,
But Jesus died for me.”
This he repeated again in the evening. And the next day he said, when in a half slumber, “There is no way into the holiest but by the blood of Jesus.” This he repeated again and again as he aroused himself. “We have boldness to enter,” he said, “boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus.” When Tuesday came, he was fast sinking, but happy as ever—no doubt happier than ever; he began the day by singing hymns, amongst others one of his brother Charles’s. Finding he could speak no longer without difficulty, he asked for a pen and ink, but he could not write. A friend said he would write for him—what did he want to say? “Nothing,” said Wesley, “but that God is with us.” And after a while he began to sing again—
“I’ll praise my Maker while I’ve breath,
And when my voice is lost in death,
Praise shall employ my nobler powers;
My days of praise shall ne’er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures!”
After this, he shook hands with the friends who said they had come to rejoice with him, saying, “Farewell—the best of all is, God is with us. He causeth His servants to lie down in peace. The clouds drop fatness.” And again he tried to sing. The next morning, as Joseph Bradford was praying with him, he said, “Farewell,” and departed to be with the Lord.
He had often prayed that his work and his life might close together, and so it was. One who was with him that last day, says, “The solemnity of the dying hour of that great and good man, will be ever written on my heart. A cloud of the Divine presence rested on all, and while he could hardly be said to be an inhabitant of earth, being now speechless, and his eyes fixed, victory and glory were written on his countenance, and quivering, as it were, on his dying lips. No language can paint what appeared in that face. The more we gazed upon it, the more we saw of heaven unspeakable.”
He was buried in the City Road Chapel about five in the morning. How soon will the day come when his body shall rise in glory, and be caught up to meet the Lord in the air, and to be forever with Him! Thus ended this life of long and devoted service. No doubt when the Lord comes from heaven with a shout, and the voice of the archangel, and the trumpet of God, multitudes will arise from the towns and the villages of England, who learned the blessed gospel from the lips of John Wesley. When first he went forth to preach, England was lying in thick darkness. The darkness of Popery was gone, but those who had ceased to be Papists had not cared to be Christians. If they went to church, it was to talk to their friends, to sleep, or even to play cards. It is hard to say whether it would have been sadder to look behind the curtains of the high pews, or to endeavor to listen to the dull, heathenish sermon, which was about everything, or anything, except Christ. It had been as life from the dead, on the days when first Whitefield, then Wesley and the army of Methodist preachers, so suddenly raised up, had preached Christ, and Him crucified, to the baptized heathens around them. And now, when Wesley’s labor ended, there was not a corner left in the three kingdoms in which the name of Christ was not made known; on hill-tops, by road-sides, in market-places, in meeting houses, in barns and meadows, in streets and lanes. The Methodists were everywhere—still a despised people. All the better for them that so it was. But the word of the Lord had free course and was glorified. It was thus that God had mercy upon England, and it is thus that the gospel of God is still made known, in many a place where otherwise it would not be heard.
But, alas, it is needful to add that this blessed work would have been far deeper, and far more to the glory of God, had Wesley been more careful as to the belief of those whom he taught. In the first place he needed to know the way of God more perfectly himself, but, besides this, he seems to have been strangely indifferent as to whether the Methodists really believed what God has said on every point. We find him writing, in praise of the Methodists, “They alone, of all societies, do not insist on your holding this or that opinion; but they think, and let think. Neither do they impose any particular mode of worship, but you may continue to worship in your former manner, be it what it may. Now I do not know any other religious society, either ancient or modern, wherein such liberty of conscience is now allowed, or has been allowed since the age of the apostles. Here is our glorying and a glorying peculiar to us.” And again, “I have never read or heard of, either in ancient or modern history, any other church which builds on so broad a foundation as the Methodists do; which requires of its members no conformity, either in opinions or modes of worship, but barely this one thing, to fear God, and work righteousness.”
It seems wonderful that a man who really did preach salvation more or less clearly through the precious blood of Christ, could speak thus approvingly of the great sin of setting up man’s opinion, instead of insisting that every imagination should be cast down, and every thought brought into captivity to the obedience of Christ. The gospel is not a set of opinions, but a history of facts, told to us by God Himself, and to have an opinion at all about it is simply unbelief. Look at the account given by the Holy Ghost of the gospel preached by Paul in 1 Corinthians 15, you will find it at the beginning of the chapter. Paul did not preach his opinions, nor anybody’s opinions, he simply told of Christ, His death, and His resurrection. He told of what God had done, and of what God will do. And it was not a matter of indifference whether people believed it or not. Had our forefathers, 350 years ago, been content to leave men to their own opinions, and to worship God according to the devices and desires of their own hearts, Wesley would, as far as man can see, have had no gospel to preach, and no Bible to preach from. And though it is not on record that any man or woman was converted through the preaching of Ridley or of Latimer, we see now that they did a greater work for God as they stood in the fire in the Broad Street at Oxford, than Wesley did in the fifty-three years of his ceaseless preaching.
Latimer was right when he said, in the midst of the fire, “Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man, we shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.” And thus the Bible was won for England, and the way was cleared for those who should afterward go forth to preach the gospel, which had been brought to light again by the work of these faithful men. And I would have you remark that the work of Ridley, of Latimer, and of the other Reformers, was a higher and a deeper work than that of the Methodists, for one simple reason, the Reformers put the truth of God in the first place, the blessing of man in the second; but the blessing to man was all the greater for that very reason. The Methodists were too apt to consider the blessing of man the chief object, and to be less anxious as to the truth of God. At the same time, we see how the great work of the Reformers seemed to have all but perished two hundred years later, for want of faithful men to preach the blessed tidings. It would have been but of little service that the Reformers had, so to speak, filled the barns with plenty, had there been no willing hands and feet to take the bread from house to house. Therefore, let us fervently thank God for that great work of the Spirit done in our land in the century that is past, and let us also take warning by the mistakes of Wesley. Let us learn to put God’s truth first, and having done that, be diligent in making it known to perishing souls around.
Before I finish this history, I will add that little more than three months after the death of John Wesley, good Lady Huntingdon was called away. She died at the age of 84, on the 17th of June, saying, “My work is done; I have nothing to do but to go to my Father.” She, too, had traveled about from one end of the land to the other, for many years, taking with her preachers who were much used by God. Two only of our old friends remained, though, as you know there were many, very many, Methodist preachers of whom I have not given you the history. Our two old friends were good Mr. Berridge, and Rowland Hill. Mr. Berridge lived nearly two years after the death of John Wesley. He died at Everton. A friend who was with him, said to him, “Jesus will soon call you up higher.” He replied, “Ay, ay, ay, higher, higher, higher. Yes, and my children too will shout and sing, ‘Here comes our father!’” With these words, John Berridge fell asleep. He meant, as you know, by his children, those who had been saved by his preaching.
There was a part of the churchyard where only people were buried, who had been hanged or had killed themselves. For this reason nobody liked to bury their friends there. Mr. Berridge thought this was a pity, and therefore desired to be buried there himself, that he might “consecrate” it, as he said. I will tell you his epitaph, written by himself, for it is worth your attention.
“Here lie the earthly remains of John Berridge, late Vicar of Everton, and an itinerant servant of Jesus Christ; who loved his Master and His work, and after running on His errands many years, was called up to wait on Him above.
“Reader, Art thou born again?”
“No salvation without a new birth!
“I was born in sin, Feb. 1716.
“Remained ignorant of my fallen state till 1730.
“Lived proudly on Faith and Works for Salvation till 1754.
“Admitted to Everton Vicarage, 1755.
“Fled to Jesus alone for refuge, 1756.
“Fell asleep in Christ, Jan. 22, 1793.”
Do not forget the epitaph of John Berridge.
Rowland Hill lived to be nearly 90. He died in 1833. It would indeed be a blessed thing if all who read this little history of the Methodists would, like the good men of whom I have told you, “flee to Jesus,” as John Berridge said, to be saved by him alone; and being saved, seek earnestly to learn the whole revealed will of God, to learn His truth, and to know Christ. This can only be by the teaching of the Spirit out of God’s written Word. And lastly, having learned from the Word, and being guided by the Spirit, would that all such would then make Christ known as God gives them the ability and the opportunity, remembering that as Christ was sent into the world to reveal the Father, so is every servant of God now sent into the world that Christ, by the Spirit, may shine forth through him, and that he may show forth Christ by word and work all day and every day. Our time, and all that we are and have, is just as much the Lord’s as were the time and the talents of John Wesley. Our work may be different, but let us see to it that it is no less done in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by Him.
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