rumbling and shaking that lasted throughout the night. People who were

rumbling and shaking that lasted throughout the night. People who were

the "honor and respect" she deserved. He should "not act magisterial or lordly, but in a loving manner with due respect to his wife."196

Jonathan's sisters were raised to be independent thinkers; all attended finishing school, the women's equivalent of college in that day. Timothy Edwards made sure his daughters developed both intellectually and spiritually. One sister, Hannah, didn't marry until her thirties, not at all a common choice in those days. Pursued by two men, one of whom built her a house and engraved her initials on the mantel, she rejected both offers and eventually married a third man. This delay created quite a stir, but Hannah remarked that women who remained single were at a great advantage if they focused their attention on religion and knowledge.197

Earthquake Repentance

The year after Jonathan became assistant pastor at his grandfather's church in Northampton, all of New England experienced the Great Earthquake of 1727. According to some accounts, it began with a flash of light, followed by rumbling and shaking that lasted throughout the night. People who were awakened from their sleep crowded together in the streets, believing that judgment day had come. The next morning, churches across New England were filled with penitents. With aftershocks that continued for nine days, the earthquake caused sheer terror to reign in the hearts of all the residents of Northampton, driving them to seek assurance of their salvation. Fasts were called for throughout the land several times in the weeks following.198

The governor of Massachusetts called for a day of fasting and prayer on Thursday, December 21, and Jonathan was called upon to give a sermon that day. Would he blast the people for their role in bringing the anger of God upon them all? His grandfather surely would have. Although Jonathan observed sin in the lives of his people—he mentioned cheating, injustice, swearing, trusting in riches, and being insensitive to the things of religion—he instead chose to speak on Jonah and the Ninevites.

Jonathan, being an expert on natural phenomena, expressed the possibility that the earthquake could have merely happened—but he also wondered at the coincidence of it. Was God indeed warning His covenant people as He had warned the Ninevites through Jonah? Because the earthquake came on a Sunday night, was God showing His anger with the young people for their late-

night frolicking after sundown on the Sabbath? Jonathan described their practice this way:

It was their manner very frequently to get together in conventions of both sexes, for mirth and jollity, which they called frolics; and they would often spend the greater part of the night in them, without regard to any order in the families they belonged to.199

Jonathan reminded them that God was a God of mercy to the people of Nineveh because they repented. Perhaps it was time for the people of New England to do the same. As a result of the earthquake, churches throughout the colonies swelled in attendance. Some scholars mark this event as the first light of the Great Awakening.

A Spokesman for the Living God

When Solomon Stoddard died in February 1729, the church decided to make Jonathan the senior pastor of Northampton. It was a position he took as seriously as he did the rest of life. He wrote about climbing the steps to the podium to preach as becoming "the trumpet of God."200 Some said he turned into an entirely different person while preaching.

After Stoddard's death, Jonathan's health worsened. A brief trip away to rest was helpful, but within a few weeks he was ill again. Stress added to whatever physical ailments he had, and being a pastor certainly entailed stress. Salary was always an issue. Sarah was expected to do a great deal of costly entertaining, which stretched their budget to the limit. Gifts and handouts supplemented many pastors' salaries, including Jonathan's, but that usually required treating those with the most means with bigger gifts and special favor. Edwards wasn't in the habit of playing favorites.

Being fully responsible for more than one thousand parishioners who didn't measure up to his high spiritual standards no doubt caused Jonathan a great deal of anxiety. After Stoddard's death, the congregation seemed totally out of control, especially the young people. It was a time with many similarities to Jonathan's days at Yale, where he was asked to corral unruly youth and didn't feel he had the social skills to rein them in. Family government—the old Puritan structure of power—loosened as parents reacted to their own strict upbringings, swinging to the other extreme of no discipline at all.

Drunkenness among the younger generation was commonplace. Parents seemed surprised when premarital pregnancy rates skyrocketed to one in ten in New England. Jonathan pointed out that they should expect this statistic because they allowed their young sons and daughters to climb into bed together, partially dressed, and "enjoy each other." The practice, called "bundling," was supposed to allow them to "get acquainted," but much more took place than just friendly conversation. As long as any resulting pregnancy culminated in marriage, the attitude of the people was generally accepting. This bold, new mind-set was most frustrating to Jonathan.

A personal tragedy added to Jonathan's already heavy weight. His family had somehow escaped dying from a disease that had affected most families, but in December 1729, an epidemic of diphtheria took his youngest sister, Jerusha.

The First Tremors of the

Great Awakenings

In the early 1730s, the cultural climate of Northampton was beginning to change. The hostilities with the French and Indians during Dummer's War (another outbreak from a war in Europe which had ended in 1727) had forced more communal farming as people stayed closer together for better protection. That meant there was less land available for young men to safely strike out on their own. Marriage was postponed among young couples because there was less room to begin new families. Children lived under the authority of their parents into young adulthood. Jonathan decided to bring the parents together to have them agree to call for godly behavior in their own homes. The young men and women seemed to hear with new ears.

Jonathan's strong preaching against the sinful lifestyles of the young people in his town was balanced by a greater compassion for their souls. No doubt it was all covered with much prayer and the seeking of God's guidance for change. It should be no surprise, then, that the first Great Awakening began with the younger generation.

After the sudden death of a young man in April 1734, Jonathan preached a funeral message that encouraged those present to turn away from their sinful lifestyles and focus instead on their eternal rewards. He spoke from the text of Psalm 90:5–6, which talks about God's protection, rather than from other passages depicting an angry, wrathful God. If one was to die so young, what

would he have to show for his life? Jonathan preached,

How unreasonable is it for one who is so much like the grass and flower of the field…to spend away the prime of his opportunity in levity and vain mirth in inconsideration and pursuit of carnal and sensual delights and pleasures….

Consider. If you should die in youth how shocking would the thought of your having spent your youth in such a manner be to them that see it. When others stand by your bedside and see you gasping and breathing your last or come afterward and see you laid out dead by the wall and see you put into the coffin and behold the awful visage which death has given you, how shocking will it be to them to think this is the person that used to be so vain and frothy in conversation. This is he that was so lewd a companion. This is he that used to spend of his time in his leisure hours so much in frolicking.201

It wasn't long until the reports of changed lives began to pour in as young people began to "awaken" to their need for a Savior, just as people had after the Great Earthquake. Another death, along with another funeral message, continued the renewal of spiritual interest. Evenings of "frolicking" were traded for prayer meetings, and soon the great majority of the community— young and old alike—attended such meetings. It was an interesting parallel to Wesley's "United Societies," though it seems quite impossible that the Puritans of New England had ever heard of the Wesley brothers, especially since it would be another five years before the Wesleyan revival broke out in England.

During this time, only the Psalms were sung in corporate praise and worship. Jonathan encouraged the "new singing" of hymns by men such as Isaac Watts in these outside meetings. Watts didn't care for the church music of his day; he found it poorly written and difficult to sing, being simply the Psalms set to music. Although he thought hymns should be doctrinally sound, he didn't believe they needed to be exact renderings; rather, they could be paraphrases of Scripture or even simply based on a scriptural theme. Watts wrote many well-known hymns, such as "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross." Jonathan loved music and believed it was a way for the people to release the emotional enthusiasm they experienced. Written in three-part harmonies and accompanied by instruments, these hymns were something new; the traditional Psalms were usually sung according to however each person felt led and thus rarely sounded like a "joyful noise."

The revival grew further when a young woman known as "one of the greatest company-keepers in the whole town"202 came to Jonathan and told him the story of her conversion. Jonathan questioned her carefully but was quickly convinced that she was telling the truth. Her changed life was such an unlikely thing to happen that Jonathan worried the news might make people doubt the authenticity of her conversion, thinking the transformation was just for show. Rather than withholding what God had done, however, he spread the story, and it multiplied the number of converts. Within days, a handful of others showed up at his door with similar stories of conversion.

By April 1735, the evidence of a changed spiritual atmosphere in the community was undeniable. Jonathan himself described it this way:

A great and earnest Concern about the great Things of Religion, and the eternal World, became universal in all Parts of the Town, and among Persons of all Ages….All other Talk but about spiritual and eternal Things, was soon thrown by….The Minds of People were wonderfully taken off from the World; it was treated amongst us as a Thing of very little Consequence….The Temptation now seemed to lie on that Hand, to neglect worldly Affairs too much, and to spend too much Time in the immediate Exercise of Religion.203

Without being prompted, neighbors took up a collection for the owner of a general store after it burned to the ground. Backbiting and gossiping stopped. Taverns were reported to have emptied. Even church services were transformed:

Our Public assemblies were then beautiful; the congregation was alive in God's service, everyone intent on the public worship, every hearer eager to drink in the words of the minister as they came from his mouth; the assembly were [sic] in general from time to time in tears while the word was preached; some weeping with sorrow and distress, others with joy and love, others with pity and concern for the souls of their neighbours.204

Another notable occurrence during the revival was that illness nearly disappeared from the town. When Jonathan later detailed what occurred during the revival in his Faithful Narrative, he wrote that although he didn't see this disappearance of disease as evidence required to prove revival, he did feel that it was necessary to acknowledge it. His critics called all that he wrote about "fanaticism," especially the showing of emotions and stories of unlikely

people being converted. Some reports say that more than five hundred people —half of them men—joined the church as a result of the revival. Word began to spread in the surrounding areas and people came from other towns to see the excitement. The Edwards household overflowed with visitors. The revival continued to spread throughout the Connecticut River Valley as far as New Haven and the coastal settlements, even reaching outside of New England.

In Boston, a place untouched by the awakening, a minister by the name of Benjamin Colman asked Jonathan to send him a report of the happenings in Northampton. Jonathan's talent for recording details and interpreting them made it a job for which he was well suited. Jonathan's letter was then forwarded to friends of Colman in England.

The report turned into a complete how-to manual for conducting a revival from preparation to onset—the maintenance, regulation, dangers, and effects of revival. This guidebook was eventually published under the title A Faithful Narrative of the Surprising Work of God. Even though he penned the words, Jonathan was well aware that it was ultimately God who authored this work of conversion. This publication made Jonathan famous throughout New England, as well as in Scotland and England, where George Whitefield and John Wesley were eventually acquainted with it.

The excitement of revival didn't last, however. In 1735, Jonathan wrote that "Satan seemed to be more let loose, and raged in a dreadful manner."205 Satan is a destroyer, and he used his influence to cause fear and division. Several people were overcome with fear day and night; others were so afraid of the anger of God that they complained they couldn't sleep. There were even reports of an unnerving invasion of crows that filled the air with loud cawing and landed on the rooftops of homes. An epidemic raged through the valley, killing ninety-nine people in one town alone; eighty-one of them were children. Two people in another town went mad.

Jonathan's own family was affected, too. Joseph Hawley, the husband of Jonathan's Aunt Rebekah, was a respected man in the town. It was understandably quite shocking when he was found to have slit his own throat. When this incident happened, Jonathan had already written the formal report to Colman but had not yet mailed it. Feeling that the exclusion of such information would be deceitful, he broke open the seal and added the account, along with a

note saying that his uncle had been mentally unstable.

Jonathan reminded the people that they had a powerful enemy who was very real and was determined to destroy each of them. Finally, his health took a serious turn for the worse, and he left for an extended rest. The move of the Spirit in Northampton and the Connecticut Valley, which began in 1734, came to a close during the summer of 1735.

The Great Awakening Erupts

By March 1737, the spiritual condition of Jonathan's congregation was again cold. He described the people as having "eagerness after the possessions of this life"206 and noted that there had been a return of the heated party spirit. He began to pray again for revival.

The meetinghouse had been deteriorating for some time and the harsh winter had severely weakened the building's supports. As Jonathan began to deliver a sermon to a packed house, the balcony split from its supports and crashed on the people below, mostly women and children. There was screaming and crying, everyone believing that there would be great numbers of dead bodies under the debris. Yet when they cleared the rubble, they found none dead; though they suffered cuts and bruises, they were all alive. No one had even broken a bone.

Jonathan hoped that this "sign from God" would stir their hearts again toward spiritual things. He called the warning "one of the most amazing instances of divine preservation, that perhaps was ever known in the land."207 Unfortunately, the people failed to be moved by the event. In a letter to Rev. Colman in Boston, Jonathan shared his disappointment that although the people seemed grateful for God's mercy, "it has had in no wise the effect that ten times less things were wont to have two or three years ago."208 While people around the world rejoiced in reading about the blessings that had come to Northampton, Jonathan was embarrassed that this "city set on a hill" had fallen into decay.

In late winter of 1737, Jonathan began to preach three sermon series that he hoped would turn the hearts of the people back to God. Although little happened outwardly, he held on to a glimmer of hope that things were about to change. Jonathan turned to prayer, spending as many as eighteen hours in

prayer before preaching a single sermon.209 Encouragement finally came from across the Atlantic Ocean—from the Church of England, of all places.

By 1739, George Whitefield was already preaching to crowds of thousands in the streets and fields of England and was now coming to the colonies. Jonathan wrote to him in February 1740 and persuaded him to come to Northampton, warning him that his people might be more hardened of heart than others to whom he had preached. A major publicity campaign helped draw the crowds in the cities to hear Whitefield, and when he moved on to Northampton on October 17, 1740, the attention of the masses followed him.

Whitefield was a powerful speaker, and emotional responses to his speeches were not uncommon. Sarah Edwards described a captivating message she had heard him deliver:

It is wonderful to see what a spell he casts over an audience....I have seen upwards of a thousand people hang on his words with breathless silence, broken only by an occasional half-suppressed sob.210

When Whitefield reminded Jonathan's congregation of their closeness to Christ after the last awakening, many began to weep, including Jonathan himself, as he saw five years of prayer for revival fulfilled. He even reported that some of his own children were brought to Christ.

At the end of Whitefield's time in Northampton, Jonathan rode with him for the next two days and saw the spiritual hunger of thousands who came to hear him speak. The effects on the crowds were unprecedented. It was not uncommon for people to fall out under the power of the Holy Spirit— something Jonathan described as "faintings."

There were some instances of persons lying in a sort of trance, remaining perhaps for twenty-four hours motionless, and with their senses locked up; but in the mean time under strong imaginations, as though they went to heaven and had there visions of glorious and delightful objects.211

The revival continued, and Jonathan and Whitefield stayed in contact by letter. Edwards reported the results of the awakening in his area to be greater than the previous awakening of Northampton in 1734, knowing that he personally had participated little in making this one happen, except by prayer.

Jonathan wasted no time in furthering the progress gained by the revival. He pointed out that "Religion that arises only from superficial impressions is wont to wither away…when it comes to be tried by…difficulties."212 It would then be up to the pastors to take over from there, and raise the new converts up to maturity in Christ.

Jonathan had no intention of letting the people decline as they had before, so he wrote to some young itinerant preachers and asked them to come. By the time he wrote this letter, the young people of his town had begun holding their own meetings and sharing their experiences. Jonathan met with all the children less than sixteen years of age and talked with them about their souls. The young people cried, prayed, sang, and shared their experiences with one another. Later, Jonathan had a similar meeting with young people aged sixteen to twenty-six; again, they were greatly affected. Some meetings lasted all night because the youth were so overcome.

"Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God"

On Wednesday, July 8, 1741, Jonathan was among a team of preachers at Enfield (near the border of Massachusetts and Connecticut) to minister to large numbers of people who were inquiring about how to be saved. Revival was already brewing in the area; the nearby settlement of Suffield had seen ninetyfive people added to its membership the preceding Sunday, though it had not yet touched Enfield. Joseph Meacham, a pastor at Coventry, Connecticut, presided.

Several ministers, including Meacham, had been preaching at the ongoing revival services between Enfield and Suffield. On that Wednesday morning, it was decided that the other would rest and let Jonathan preach. Jonathan searched his saddlebags and found a sermon he had read shortly before to his congregation.They had sat stoic and unaffected when he had preached it. Few acknowledged it further with a "Fine word, pastor,"213 but it had moved them to nothing beyond that. The passage for the sermon was Deuteronomy 32:35, "Their foot shall slide [slip] in due time."

As they entered the church that morning, the congregation seemed more ready for a fashion show than revival. One minister later wrote of the scene, "When they went into the meeting house, the appearance of the assembly was thoughtless and vain. The people hardly conducted themselves with common

decency."214 Jonathan wore thick glasses to read his sermons, and he was purposely monotone as he read for fear of bringing fleshly enthusiasm into his preaching, as many accused George Whitefield of doing. People reported that his style of preaching that day was "easy, natural, and very solemn. He had not a strong, loud voice; but appeared with such gravity and solemnity, and spake with such distinctness, clearness and precision….He made little motion with his head or hands."215 Here is a brief excerpt of the words he spoke that day:

Your wickedness makes you as it were heavy as lead, and to tend downwards with great weight and pressure toward hell….There are the black clouds of God's wrath now hanging over your heads, full of the dreadful storm, and big with thunder….

The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect, over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; his wrath towards you burns like a fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times so abominable in his eyes as the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet 'tis nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment: 'tis to be ascribed to nothing else, that you did not go to hell the last night…but that God's hand has held you up: there is no other reason to be given why you haven't gone to hell since you have sat here in the house of God, provoking his pure eyes by your sinful wicked manner of attending his solemn worship: yea, there is nothing else that is to be given as a reason why you don't this very moment drop down into hell.

Oh sinner! Consider the fearful danger you are in….

And now you have an extraordinary opportunity, a day wherein Christ has flung the door of mercy wide open, and stands in the door calling and crying with a loud voice to poor sinners;…many that were very lately in the same miserable condition that you are in, are now in a happy state, with their hearts filled with love to him that has loved them and washed them from their sins in his own blood, and rejoicing in hope of the glory of God. How awful is it to be left behind at such a day!216

Before Jonathan could even finish his message, the people became agitated and began crying out. As one minister put it, "There was a great moaning and

crying out throughout the whole house. What shall I do to be saved. Oh I am going to Hell. Oh what shall I do for Christ."217 It was as if they believed the floor had opened and they were about to be swallowed up. Another minister wrote, "The assembly appeared deeply impressed, and bowed down with an awful conviction of their sin and danger. There was such a breathing of distress and weeping, that the preacher was obliged to speak to the people and desire silence, that he might be heard."218 Although he asked the congregation to be quiet, there was no way to be heard. He never finished the sermon.

Of the coming months, Edwards wrote to a fellow minister:

The months of August and September [1741] were the most remarkable of any this year, for appearances of conviction and conversion of sinners, and great revivings, quickenings, and comforts of professors, and for extraordinary external effects of these things. It was a very frequent thing to see a houseful of outcries, faintings, convulsions, and suchlike, both with distress and also with admiration and joy. It was not the manner here to hold meetings all night, as in some places, nor was it common to continue them until very late in the night; but it was pretty often so that there were some that were so affected, and their bodies so overcome, that they could not go home, but were obliged to stay all night at the house where they were. 219

Jonathan's Ministry Heart

It is unfortunate that despite this sermon's importance to the Great Awakening, taken on its own, it greatly distorts the true basis of the movement and the heart of Jonathan's ministry. While Edwards was always a serious man and wasn't afraid to take people to hell in the hope of enabling them to spend eternity in heaven, his tenderness should also be remembered. In a surprising contrast to his most famous sermon, most of the rest of Jonathan's sermons focus primarily on the love of God and on seeing His beauty. He truly desired for all people to know the sweetness of God and His saving power.

Jonathan's second most famous and most published work, Advice to Young Converts, though far less remembered, shows his true ministry heart. In it he wrote such things as these:

We advise persons under convictions to be extremely earnest for the kingdom of heaven, but when they have attained conversion they ought not to be

the less watchful, laborious, and earnest in the whole work of religion, but the more; for they are under infinitely greater obligations. For lack of this, many persons in a few months after their conversion have begun to lose the sweet and lively sense of spiritual things, and to grow cold and flat and dark….

Don't slack off seeking, striving, and praying for the very same things that we exhort unconverted persons to strive for, and a degree of which you have had in conversion. Thus pray that your eyes may be opened, that you may receive your sight, that you may know yourself and be brought to God's feet, and that you may see the glory of God and Christ, may be raised from the dead, and have the love of Christ shed abroad in your heart….

That you may pass a good judgment on your spiritual condition, always consider your best conversations and best experiences to be the ones that produce the following two effects:

first, those conversations and experiences that make you least, lowest, and most like a little child; and, second, those that do most engage and fix your heart in a full and firm disposition to deny yourself for God and to spend and be spent for him.220

We should also recognize that in this sermon, the sinners are still in God's hands, and though God is angry at their sin, his mercy is keeping them from falling into the pit. Though God's wrath is kindled, His lovingkindness will withhold judgment until the last possible second hoping the sinner will turn to Christ for the forgiveness won on the cross. This juxtaposition would have been just the type of intellectual gymnastics Jonathan would have loved, making "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" a perfect reflection of the God of love Jonathan was so obsessed with.

Jonathan went on to state that the Great Awakening produced a "remarkable and general alteration in the face of New England."221 At least 10 percent of the population claimed to be converted. It was not, however, without much opposition. His next few years were spent defending the revivals and conducting his own preaching campaign across the region.

The War of the Old Lights versus

the New Lights

As the Great Awakening spread across the colonies, camps divided over whether or not the move was of God or not. Those who clung to the traditional worship and religious practice of churches that excluded the spirit and emotion of the Awakening became know as "Old Lights," and those who embraced these manifestations as the move of God were called the "New Lights." Jonathan was somehow able to explain the awakening with the doctrinal bend and careful analysis that caught the attention of the Old Lights, but still embraced the fact the "surprising works" were truly of God.

God's ability to move in and through Jonathan Edwards's heart, mind, and church was largely due to Jonathan's humble heart; he was always willing to let truth confront his thinking, even if it meant changing his mind on certain issues he had held adamantly to before. His goal was to become more and more faithful to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

John Wesley had the same humble spirit. Writing about his own thinking on the New Testament, Wesley said of his notations, "I cannot flatter myself so far…as to imagine that I have fallen into no mistakes, in a work of so great difficulty. But my own conscience acquits me of having designedly misrepresented [anything]."222

Jonathan was open to understanding doctrinal differences of the Old and New Lights. He had great respect for those whose religious beliefs differed from his, including Wesley—who was not, as we have already discussed, a Calvinist—but he was not willing to accept anything without first studying it for himself.

When Jonathan was young, he read the works of John Locke, for example, like a "greedy miser when gathering up handfuls of silver and gold, from some newly discovered treasure."223 He didn't agree with everything Locke had to say, however. Locke was an Enlightenment thinker whose approach taught that humans are born with a blank slate, a tabula rasa, to fill with information gathered through our senses and interpreted by thoughtful reflection. To Locke, truth was derived from experience. Jonathan agreed with the importance of the senses and the necessity of reflecting on what they gathered, but to him, Truth was a person: Jesus Christ. As Jesus said in John 14:6, "I am the way, the truth, and the life."

Jonathan was able to look openly at the results of the two great revivals,

sorting out the good from the bad—the truth from what might have been exaggerated. Because of certain emotional excesses, there was strong opposition to the awakenings from preachers and lay people alike. The Old Lights disliked the show of emotion that audiences exhibited when they understood their true condition before God without Christ. Nor did they approve of the flamboyant preaching style of people like George Whitefield. Whitefield dramatized the Scriptures, used storytelling techniques, gestured expressively, and even dared to leave the pulpit to walk about while he preached. Before his visit to America, these practices were unheard of. One critic, Charles Chauncy, called the belief that a person could be directly inspired by God simply mad. Some say that Chauncy, a local reverend, tried becoming a revival preacher himself but failed, thus becoming a bitter detractor of others who succeeded.

In his characteristic style, Jonathan began to classify and analyze the perceptions, attitudes, and actions of those who claimed to be regenerated so that he could better divide fact from fiction in defense of the Awakeners. He agreed that there was some excess of emotional expression, but he was convinced that for the most part, the Spirit of God had truly moved on the people. He pointed the doubters to Scripture passages that referred to what he called "affections," noting that emotions such as hope, love, desire, joy, and sorrow were clearly sanctioned by biblical truth. On the other hand, he also said that a person must have more than just feelings: "Religion that arises only from superficial impressions is wont to wither away…when it comes to be tried by…difficulties."224

It is possible that Jonathan Edwards was somewhat frustrated when those who expressed overwhelming emotion did not translate that same energy into everyday life. He said that the sign of true conversion was an outward display of love. Christianity, for Jonathan, was more than just following a set of rules, more than a religion that applied at church. A real experience with God causes change to happen from the inside out and was for everyday living. He advised, "We should get into the way of appearing lively in religion, more by being lively in the service of God and our generation, than by the liveliness and forwardness of our tongues."225

Jonathan certainly believed what he taught; more importantly, though, he lived it. There are many stories of him giving charitably to people who needed

help, but he always made sure to send the gift to be delivered by a friend who promised not to disclose the giver's identity.

He was also willing to come alongside those who were suffering persecution for their personal beliefs. Jonathan considered one such person to be the young David Brainerd, a university student who was expelled from Yale for embracing the revival movement with excessive zeal. His expulsion didn't dampen his enthusiasm, however, and he became a dedicated missionary to the Indians. Although his health was poor, he traveled three thousand miles on horseback to bring genuine revival to the Native Americans.

Seeing Brainerd as an example of selfless Puritan virtue, Jonathan supported and mentored him. Brainerd was a frequent guest in the Edwards household and was engaged to marry Jonathan's daughter, Jerusha. Unfortunately, Brainerd contracted tuberculosis and died in the arms of his fiancée. Jerusha also contracted the disease and died from it only months later.

Jonathan took it upon himself to see that the diary Brainerd had kept of his missionary work was published. To this day, the Life and Diary of David Brainerd, with an introduction by Jonathan, has never gone out of publication. It has influenced many people throughout the centuries, including hundreds of men and women who have been inspired to become missionaries as a result of reading Brainerd's accounts. Here is an excerpt taken from an entry made November 20, 1745, when Brainerd was in Crossweeksung, New Jersey:

My public discourses did not then make up the one half of my work, while there were so many constantly coming to me with that important inquiry, "What must we do to be saved?" and opening to me the various exercises of their minds. Yet I can say, to the praise of rich grace, that the apparent success with which my labors were crowned, unspeakably more than compensated for the labor itself, and was likewise a great means of supporting and carrying me through the business and fatigues, which, it seems, my nature would have sunk under without such an encouraging prospect….May the Lord of the harvest send forth other labourers into this part of his harvest, that those who sit in darkness may see great light, and that the whole earth may be filled with the knowledge of himself! Amen.226

A few days before his death, missionary Jim Elliot (1927–1956), who was martyred by the Auca Indians of South America, entered in his diary,

"Confession of pride—suggested by David Brainerd's Diary yesterday—must become an hourly thing with me."227

When Dead Men Preach

Despite Jonathan's best efforts, by the spring of 1744 the revival fires had cooled significantly. The "emotionalism" of the meetings had taken their toll as churches began to split because the pastor was considered too dry or formal— unlike the new, flamboyant style of revivalists such as Whitefield—or else churches rejected the new, more emotional services as excessive and contrary to the will of God. Adding to this, most likely, were Whitefield's own comments about the state of American churches: "I am verily persuaded, the generality of preachers talk of an unknown, unfelt Christ. And the reason why congregations have been so dead is because dead men preach to them."228 Though Whitefield's comments were accurate they made him no friends among those that embraced a more High Church Christianity. Dividing lines become well drawn between the "Old Lights"—more traditional ministers—and the "New Lights"—those who embraced the demonstrativeness in these services as the work of God.

Jonathan's own analytical approach to documenting the revival didn't seem to help, either. While he defended the necessity of emotion as part of conversion, siding with the New Lights, he also seemed convinced that much of what happened was, in fact, too extreme and required restraint, as was being expressed by the Old Lights. However, how did one tell the difference between emotional extravagance that is of God, and someone acting out just to get attention? The move of the Spirit was thus quenched as extraordinary gifts of the Spirit, such as tongues, prophecy, healings, and working of miracles, were quite possibly "delusions" and were suppressed. Religion and men's traditions once again replaced God's will. As Jonathan commented, "The Spirit of God, not long after this time, appeared very sensibly withdrawing from all parts of the country."229

Yes, the Holy Spirit is always "sensibly" withdrawing from places He is unwelcome. Had He remained welcome, perhaps the United States would have been founded as a charismatic Christian nation that operated in the power of the first-century church. Instead, the Awakening would fizzle until others again fully opened their hearts to the workings of the Holy Spirit in the Kentucky

Camp Meetings that took place about the turn of the next century.

Fired from Northampton

The times in Northampton became difficult and would eventually work to change the course of Jonathan's career. King George's War broke out in 1744, and the colonists again found themselves in open conflict with the French and the Indians. Surrounding towns were being attacked and burned, and several residents of Northampton were killed in surprise attacks.

With people already on edge, Jonathan was prompted to take a stand regarding church policy on membership and observing the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. There were some issues about which he just could not remain flexible. He had long disagreed with his grandfather's still-standing tradition of allowing anyone to join the church or participate in Communion without a profession of faith, and he finally decided to end this policy. Jonathan demanded evidence of conversion.

To complicate matters, a situation arose that demanded disciplinary intervention by Jonathan. Several young men in the church obtained some books on midwifery and popular medicine, which they shared with their friends, and they proceeded to taunt young women about their menstruation. After investigating the situation, Edwards brought the confessions of three ringleaders before a committee of men who agreed to hear the case—the usual custom of the church in that day. Many thought that it was handled poorly.

This controversy, coupled with Jonathan's seemingly harsh policy regarding those he would allow to take Communion, led to severe opposition among the church leadership. He tried to calm their irritation, but to no avail. In 1750, Jonathan Edwards was fired from the position of pastor—a position he had held for twenty-three years and through two great revivals.

Ministering to the Native Americans

A small band from the church tried to persuade Jonathan to start another church in the same town. With a large family to support and little income to do so, Jonathan must have been tempted by the idea. Being more concerned about the kingdom of God than his own personal needs, however, Jonathan decided that such a decision might cause a bigger divide in the town, and he refused.

There is no evidence of bitterness surfacing in Jonathan's heart. He continued to show brotherly kindness and goodwill to all. A year after he was removed as pastor, he was offered a ministerial position at the Indian Mission at Stockbridge, sixty miles west of Northampton. Though it was a position rather below his station, he humbly accepted the opportunity to minister among the Native Americans.

His days at the Mission offered a simple lifestyle with plenty of quiet time to study. He spent long hours in a four-by-six-foot room next to the chimney of their house. These six years at Stockbridge turned out to be a gift from God, allowing him to do his best theological writing—work that would become famous throughout the coming centuries. The paper he needed to write upon was scarce, so he made notebooks from the scraps of paper he salvaged from anything he could find—the white edges of newsprint, the bottoms of letters received—which he stitched together.

Jonathan and Sarah cared deeply for the Indians, even though they came to church wearing bear grease to ward off insects. Jonathan created the type of worship service that he had wanted to have in Northampton, bringing in the Wesleyan hymns instead of the normal Psalm singing. He encouraged singing in harmony—a practice he loved—and advocated the use of storytelling as a way of teaching the Bible to children.

This was also a time of vindication for Jonathan. One of the men who had spearheaded the attack on him wrote an extensive apology, professing shame for all he had done. It's doubtful that Jonathan relished the eventual publication of that apology in the Boston newspaper, though. By then, the French and Indian War had begun, and the Edwards family was busy serving hundreds of meals to the many people who sought refuge in the fort that stood nearby. Yet another turn of events was preparing to propel Jonathan down an altogether different path.

In September 1757, Jonathan received the news that his son-in-law, Aaron Burr, had died of malaria at the age of forty-one. Burr had married the Edwards' third oldest daughter, Esther, on June 29, 1752, after only five days of courtship and an engagement that lasted less than a month. They had been living in New Jersey, where Burr was the president of the College of New Jersey, now called Princeton University.

News of Burr's sudden death was shocking enough, but the rest of the message was that Jonathan had been elected to take his place as the new president of the college. He tried—as Moses once did before the Lord—to convince those who elected him that he was an unworthy candidate. He said he was not in good health and was deficient in certain areas of learning, such as Greek and mathematics. But his strongest objection was that he felt "swallowed up" in his study and writing, desiring above all else to continue at Stockbridge.

The stress of running a college did not appeal to Jonathan. But after much thought, he agreed to seek counsel from some trusted friends. When his advisers expressed their belief that it was his duty and responsibility to accept the appointment, Jonathan broke down in tears before them. He would leave immediately to answer what they believed to be the call on his life.

Last Words: "Trust in God"

Sarah and the rest of the family stayed in Stockbridge, planning to follow Jonathan to New Jersey in the spring. Jonathan traveled with daughter Lucy and arrived in New Jersey in January 1758. To his surprise, he enjoyed preaching to the students and faculty at the university and was comforted by their warm reception. What's more, he actually had more time for study and writing than he had anticipated. Settling in Princeton looked promising.

However, at this time, smallpox had spread throughout New England and many were dying. Prepared as always, Jonathan had already thought through what he would do if the situation ever called for him to be inoculated. Being the scientific progressive that he was, he had decided years earlier that he would receive it. Even so, he consulted the trustees of the college, as there was much controversy over the probable success of the procedure. All agreed he should receive the inoculation. His recently widowed daughter, Esther, also made the choice to receive it, and they went for the treatment on February 13, 1758.

At first, Jonathan showed only some slight symptoms of the disease. But weeks later, a severe fever set in, and on March 22, 1758, at the age of fiftyfive, Jonathan died. Days before he died, knowing that eternity was near, he asked his daughter Lucy to record his last words. As expected, he gave his love to his dear wife and children, calling his relationship with Sarah "an

uncommon union." He requested that his funeral be simple, and that any designated funeral money would instead be used for the poor. When those standing around his deathbed thought he was no longer capable of hearing or speaking, Jonathan surprised them with these final words: "Trust in God, and ye need not fear."

The doctor who attended Jonathan noted that God had allowed him to pass into eternity with "perfect freedom of pain…he really fell asleep."230 Barely two months after he had taken up his position as the second president of the university, and just six months after Aaron Burr's death, Jonathan Edwards was buried alongside his predecessor on the grounds of Princeton.

And then, not two weeks later, Esther Edwards died. Some said it was of her inoculation, others of "the fever." She left two small children: four-yearold Sally and two-year-old Aaron Burr Jr. Aaron Jr. would later miss the presidency of the United States by a single vote of the House of Representatives. He went on to become vice president under Thomas Jefferson in 1800.

That fall, Sarah Edwards traveled to Philadelphia to retrieve Esther's children. Not long after her arrival there, she fell gravely ill from dysentery. On October 2, 1758, at the age of forty-eight, she joined her husband in glory, and her body was buried beside his in the cemetery at Princeton.

A Glorious Legacy

John Piper probably best summed up the contribution of Jonathan Edwards:

The great goal of all Edwards' work was the glory of God. And the greatest thing I have ever learned from Edwards, I think, is that God is glorified not most by being known, nor by being dutifully obeyed. He is glorified most by being enjoyed.231

The Great Awakening certainly resulted in a display of God's glory. New England is reported to have had as many as fifty thousand people converted to Christ. That is a phenomenal number when the total population at the time was only about three million. In addition to the number of converts, one hundred fifty new churches were established.232

Jonathan Edwards was also instrumental in inspiring generations of

missionaries by publishing the Life and Diary of David Brainerd. Though Brainerd's life was short, its ultimate impact reached further than even he could have imagined. His journals continue to influence countless numbers of people who, like him, are willing to make the greatest of sacrifices as missionaries to every tongue, tribe, and nation.

As for Jonathan himself, it could be said that more than any man in the history of Christianity, he loved God with all his mind, heart, soul, and strength. Ever an ardent intellectual, he was as much a man of the book as he was of the Spirit. He was disciplined to the point of being fanatical, methodical in his pursuit of truth to the point of obsession. His works of theology are still some of the deepest and most important in America today, and the awakening he helped bring about unified the colonies into what would become, soon after his death, the United States of America.

He also insured that America would be considered a Christian nation. Edwards set much of the groundwork for later revivals with his careful documentation of the Great Awakening and how it began. A revivalist of uncompromising integrity, Jonathan Edwards was a man with whose work every minister should be familiar today, especially those looking to stir revival in the twenty-first century.

163 A. E. Winship, Jukes-Edwards: A Study in Education and Heredity, Project Gutenberg, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/15623/15623-h/15623h.htm.

164 George M. Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003), 15–17.

165 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 23.

166 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 26.

167 A severe respiratory illness.

168 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 36.

169 Ibid.

170 Ibid., 33.

171 Ibid., 39.

172 Ibid., 41.

173 Jonathan Edwards, "The Importance and Advantage of a Thorough Knowledge of Divine Truth" (sermon), Christian Classics Ethereal Library, http://www.ccel.org/ccel/edwards/sermons.divineTruth.html.

174 John Piper, "The Pastor as Theologian: Life and Ministry of Jonathan Edwards," paper presented at the Bethlehem Conference for Pastors, April 15, 1988), Desiring God, http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/ConferenceMessages/ByConferen

175 Ibid.

176 Ibid.

177 Norma Jean Lutz, Jonathan Edwards: Colonial Religious Leader (Philadelphia: Chelsea House Publishers, 2000), 13–14.

178 Ibid., 23.

179 Piper, "Pastor as Theologian."

180 Jonathan Edwards, "The Resolutions of Jonathan Edwards," Bible Bulletin Board, http://www.biblebb.com/files/edwards/resolutions.htm.

181 Ibid.

182 Sereno E. Dwight, The Life and Works of Jonathan Edwards, quoted in Piper, "Pastor as Theologian."

183 Jonathan Edwards, A Treatise Concerning Religious Affections, in Three Parts (Philadelphia: James Crissy, 1821), xxi, http://books.google.com/books? id=GC0LAAAAYAAJ&pg=PR21&lpg=PR21.

184 Steven Gertz and Chris Armstrong, "Did You Know?: Interesting and unusual facts about Jonathan Edwards," Christian History 22, no. 1 [Issue 77] (2003), http://www.ctlibrary.com/6341.

185 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 53.

186 Lutz, Jonathan Edwards: Colonial Religious Leader, 21.

187 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 59.

188 John Nichols, American Literature: An Historical Sketch, 1620–1888 (Edinburgh, Scotland: Adam and Charles Black, 1882), 54, http://books.google.com/books?id=GC0LAAAAYAAJ&pg=PR21&lpg=PR21.

189 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 13.

190 Ibid., 11.

191 Elisabeth S. Dodds, Marriage to a Difficult Man: The "Uncommon Union" of Jonathan and Sarah Edwards (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1971), 24.

192 Ibid., 26.

193 Ibid.

194 Gertz and Armstrong, "Did You Know?"

195 Lutz, Jonathan Edwards: Colonial Religious Leader, 34.

196 Timothy Edwards, sermon on Isaiah 54:5, June 28, 1730, quoted in Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 21.

197 Heidi Nichols, "Those Exceptional Edwards Women," Christian History 22, no. 1 [Issue 77] (2002): 24.

198 Harry S. Stout, "The Puritans and Edwards: The American Vision of a Covenant People," Christian History 4, no. 4 [Issue 8] (1985): 24.

199 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 122.

200 Helen Westra, The Minister's Task and Calling in the Sermons of Jonathan Edwards (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1986), 7, quoted in Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 132.

201 Jonathan Edwards, Sermon (April 1734), quoted in Marsden, Jonathan

Edwards: A Life, 154.

202 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 158.

203 Jonathan Edwards, The Christian History (1743), quoted in S. Mintz (2007), http://www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/documents_p2.cfm?doc=230. Digital History.

204 Jonathan Edwards, "A Narrative of Surprising Conversions," Jonathan Edwards on Revival (Carlisle, PA: Banner of Truth, 1984), 13, quoted in Hyatt, 2000 Years of Charismatic History, 114.

205 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 163.

206 Ibid., 184.

207 Ibid.

208 Ibid., 185.

209 Change the World School of Prayer (Studio City, CA: World Literature Crusade, 1976), D–38, quoted in Hyatt, 2000 Years of Charismatic History, 114–115.

210 Chris Armstrong, "The Trouble with George," Christian History 22, no. 1 [Issue 77] (2003), http://www.ctlibrary.com/7872.

211 Jonathan Edwards, "Revival of Religion in Northampton in 1740–1741," Jonathan Edwards on Revival (Carlisle, PA: Banner of Truth, 1984), 154, quoted in Hyatt, 2000 Years of Charismatic History, 116.

212 Armstrong, "Trouble with George."

213 Stephen R. Holmes, "A Mind on Fire," Christian History 22, no. 1 [Issue 77] (2003): 13.

214 Sereno E. Dwight, The Life of President Edwards (New York: G. and C. and H. Carvill, 1830), 605.

215 Marsden, Jonathan Edwards: A Life, 220.

216 Ibid., 223.

217 Ibid., 220.

218 Dwight, Life of President Edwards, 605.

219 Jonathan Edwards, letter to the Reverend Thomas Prince in Boston, 12 December 1743, http://www.nhumanities.org/ccs/docs/awaken.htm.

220 Jonathan Edwards, "Advice to Young Converts," http://www.dominiontheology.org/JE-Advice.htm.

221 Jonathan Edwards, Edwards on Revival: Containing a Faithful Narrative of the Surprising Work of God in the Conversion of Many Hundred Souls in Northampton, Massachusetts, ad 1735 (New York: Dunning and Spaulding, 1832), 154.

222 John Wesley, M.A., Explanatory Notes upon the New Testament (London: William Boyer, 1755), http://www.bible-researcher.com/wesley-nt.html.

223 Lutz, Jonathan Edwards: Colonial Religious Leader, 18.

224 Armstrong, "Trouble with George."

225 David W. Kling, "Testing the Spirits: The heart stirring revivalism of the Great Awakening led Edwards to develop a new religious psychology," Christian History 22, no. 1 [Issue 77] (2003): 34.

226 David Brainerd, Journal of David Brainerd, http://housechurch.org/spirituality/brainerd.html.

227 Piper, "Pastor as Theologian."

228 David A. Fisher, World History for Christian Schools (Greenville, SC: Bob Jones University Press, 1984), 392.

229 Jonathan Edwards, "A Narrative of Surprising Conversions," 71, quoted in Hyatt, 2000 Years of Charismatic History, 117.

230 Lutz, Jonathan Edwards: Colonial Religious Leader, 69.

231 Piper, "Pastor as Theologian."

232 Fisher, World History for Christian Schools, 392.

Chapter Four

Francis Asbury

"The Prophet of the Long Road"

We should so work as if we were to be saved by our works; and so rely on

Jesus Christ, as if we did no works.

—Francis Asbury

Following the First Great Awakening of the 1740s and the American Revolution (1775–1783), a wave of revival hit the newly born United States that looked like nothing that had ever happened before. The colonies, now states, were expanding westward into new territories as the promise of open spaces and free land beckoned settlers to the frontiers. In a time before the telegraph, when New York did not yet have a population of 20,000, American towns must have looked as scattered as the stars. While Edwards's awakening had started in a church in a fair-sized town and Whitefield's preaching had amassed thousands and ten of thousands to come from all around to hear the word of the Lord, this revival would take religion to the people wherever they lived.

On a frontier of scattered farms and small towns stretching from the coastal cities toward the Mississippi River, news was scarce; churches were even scarcer. Before the American Revolution, ministers were concentrated in large cities, but men such as Francis Asbury saw the importance of returning to the pattern set by the apostles when Jesus sent them out two by two. Rather than speaking to record-breaking crowds in city commons, the Methodist circuit riders—of which Francis Asbury was a chief model—took revival to the farthest reaches of the frontier and became the threads that wove together the American people as a nation. Methodism, with its strict disciplines of prayer meetings, Bible studies, and united societies, became the gravitational force that created communities among the independent-minded people of the Western frontier.

Just how important was this binding force? Asbury biographer Darius Salter wrote,

The National Historical Publications Commission of the United States Government listed sixty-six Americans whose works were considered essential to an understanding of the development of the American nation and its strategic place in world history. Asbury was listed as one of these.233

Though neither a political figure nor an American-born citizen, Asbury's name is listed alongside those of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and Abraham Lincoln as a crucial builder of the democratic republic that serves as a model for the world today. His contribution was so significant that a statue of him on horseback stands in Washington, D.C., looking south down 16th Street toward the White House. It bears the following inscriptions: "If you seek the results of his labor you will find them in our Christian civilization" and "His continuous journeying through cities, villages and settlements from 1771 to 1817 greatly promoted patriotism, education, morality and religion in the American Republic."

Instead of preaching from a stationary pulpit fixed in some large church of a particular city, Francis Asbury rode hundreds of thousands of miles on horseback, taking the Word of God to places it had never been before. Rather than addressing large crowds, he often spoke to a few families at a time who gathered in rustic homes, or to a lonely traveler he encountered along the way. All were equally fallen, as far as he was concerned, and all were in equal need of a Savior. Francis believed he had a divine calling to bring the gift of God's saving grace to anyone who would hear, and he was willing to do whatever it took to deliver the good news to each one—even if he had to do it one by one.

Early Years in England

Francis Asbury, or "Franky," as he was sometimes called, was born on August 20, 1745,234 in Hamstead Bridge, Staffordshire, England, not far from Birmingham. He was the only surviving child of Joseph and Elizabeth Asbury, who became committed Methodists after the loss of an infant daughter, Sarah, before Francis's birth. Elizabeth Asbury was a somber and dedicated believer. Her husband, according to a journal entry Francis Asbury wrote much later in life, was a gardener for some of the wealthy families in the area. This would not have been a position of influence in this rough community whose primary industry was manufacturing metal goods.

Being Methodists did not make them popular there. The people of Birmingham were resistant to any type of religion, and especially to the Wesley brothers' call for personal holiness. Once, when John and Charles Wesley tried to minister there, John was carried off by a mob; Charles was once showered with stones and turnips, and the cacophony of local church bells was often used to drown out his voice. Even the local government seemed opposed to the Methodist preachers. One magistrate offered to pay someone to drive them out. An associate of the Wesleys, John Nelson, was "pelted with eggs and stones, knocked down eight times…dragged through the stones by the hair of his head for twenty yards while he was being kicked in his sides. Nelson's pregnant wife was beaten to the extent that she miscarried her child."235 Even after the Wesley brothers moved on, the mobs continued to terrorize those who became Methodists, robbing and destroying their homes, as well as physically assaulting them.

Only one story remains from Asbury's—or "little Franky's"—early childhood. It was related by John Wesley Bond, Francis's last traveling companion:

The Bishop's father being a gardener by trade, used to put up his gardening tools, consisting of long shears, pruning saws, hoes, rakes, etc. in [a room attached to the house]….One day Francis was left in this room; nor was his danger thought of until his father, call[ing] to his mother said, "Where is the lad? I heard him cry." His mother ran into the room and found he had crawled into a hole in the floor and fallen through. But by the kind providence of God the gardening tools had been recently removed, and a larger boiler nearly filled with ashes put in their place, into which he fell; this broke his fall, or the world would most probably have been forever deprived of the labours of Bishop Asbury.236

Francis's early life was not one of material wealth, but he was blessed with parents who nurtured his character and spiritual growth from a young age. His formal education was nothing to speak of. Beaten often by his teacher and called the "vilest of the vile"237 by his schoolmates, Asbury made the decision at the age of ten, with no apparent input from his parents, to quit school and take up odd jobs at the wealthy manors. Having learned to read and write, he continued regular study of the Bible on his own.

The modest four-room house of Joseph and Elizabeth Asbury was kept open to preachers, Bible studies, and devotional meetings, so the young Asbury's religious education prospered. Francis himself had difficulty giving an exact date for his conversion, and he left virtually no journal writings about his early life after arriving in America. Yet, along the way, God used many people and mentors to draw him and prepare him for his calling. The Holy Spirit began to deal seriously with him around the age of twelve, but he was soon distracted by his peers. Francis also attributed his lack of sincere progress to the fact that most ministers who came across his path during those early days were themselves uneducated in spiritual matters.

When Francis was thirteen, a traveling shoemaker held prayer meetings in the area. Although the man was a Baptist, Elizabeth Asbury believed he was sincere, and she invited him to speak at the Methodist group meeting in her home. The man's words excited young Francis's heart about salvation. Not long afterward, Alexander Mather, a Methodist circuit rider, was assigned to the Birmingham area. When young Asbury heard Mather explain how a person could have freedom from sin, his heart was again moved to understand the necessity of holiness.

The Methodist society meetings had an indelible impact on Francis as he grew through his teenage years observing men and women who were sincere in their faith sing and praise God. He loved the hymns they sang but was especially impressed by the freedom with which the preachers prayed and spoke. The typical clergy of the day stimulated little thinking—they spoke in a dull monotone and read their prayers from books. Nothing was spontaneous; nothing seemed inspired. Mather, on the other hand, prayed as if God were standing in the room. He preached from his heart without relying on written sermon notes. This would become the model for the type of American Methodism Francis would spread everywhere he went.

During this time of growing and seeking God, Francis developed support systems to maintain his spiritual progress. He bonded with other boys his age who were serious in their faith; they attended four services together every Sunday at two different churches.

Francis attributed a great deal of his spiritual maturation to his mother, who established many of the disciplines he observed throughout his life. For

example, Elizabeth Asbury would wake her son at four o'clock every morning so he could perform his duties as a blacksmith's apprentice in order to be free later in the day to preach in the Methodist society groups or at his mother's devotional meetings.

Later in life, if Francis allowed himself to sleep even until six o'clock in the morning, he felt guilty and slothful. He said that he learned perseverance at an early age by observing his mother stand at a window for light as she studied the Bible; she was committed to understanding it when she had no one to teach her. It was from his mother that Francis also saw love in action, for she cared for fellow believers. No doubt her determination to do her part to spread the Gospel profoundly influenced her son.

Francis stayed in close contact with his parents throughout his life, sending them monthly support payments as well as update letters. His continued love and devotion to them is seen in a letter he wrote after hearing they were in financial need: "I have sold my watch and library, would sell my shirt before you should want."238

It is heartbreaking to know that when he left for America in 1771 he would never see them again. Years later, after her husband died, Elizabeth Asbury made some unwise financial decisions that put her in serious jeopardy. This tragedy only increased Francis's never-ending guilt for having left his parents behind, even though he knew he was called to give up everything for the sake of the Gospel.

The Making of a Preacher

Francis began preaching publicly when he was about fifteen—he simply read Scripture passages aloud and expounded upon them at his mother's society meetings. From there, he began branching out to the homes of other Methodists. Alexander Mather took notice of him and appointed him to be a local lay preacher and youth leader. Between the ages of seventeen and twenty, Francis traveled throughout the Birmingham area, preaching several times a week wherever he was asked. He recorded that he went "almost every place within my reach for the sake of precious souls; preaching generally, three, four, and five times a week, and the same time pursuing my calling."239

When Francis was twenty-two, the Methodist Conference in England gave

him a probationary license to preach; one year later, he was assigned his own circuit as a licensed minister. He didn't consider himself to be a great preacher, confessing, "I wonder sometimes, how anyone will sit to hear me, but the Lord covers my weakness with his power."240 Being a mediocre preacher wasn't necessarily a bad thing, since Wesley's style of evangelism wasn't as concerned with powerful preaching or establishing permanent churches as it was about reaching the people. Wesley wrote, "Give me one hundred preachers who fear nothing but sin and desire nothing but God, and I care not a straw whether they be clergy or laymen, such alone will shake the gates of hell and set up the Kingdom of Heaven upon earth."241 Francis's zeal to preach must have fit the qualifications for fearlessness.

For some time, the Wesley brothers had been receiving letters from American pastors calling for experienced men of wisdom to come over and help the new converts who had come to Christ during the revivals of George Whitefield and those who had followed in his wake. John Wesley was unsure of how to do this but prayed regularly about the matter. Among others, a Lutheran missionary had recently returned from the colonies and warned him that the new churches would soon die without adequate leadership. So, at the Bristol Conference in August of 1771, John Wesley decided to solicit volunteers to go to America. He said, "Our [American] brethren call aloud for help. Who are willing to go over and help them?"242 The call touched Francis's heart deeply, and he, along with Richard Wright, agreed to go. They set sail on September 4, 1771, taking two blankets for a bed, some clothes, and ten pounds that had been given to Francis by some friends. He distilled his own mission statement into these few words:

Whither am I going? To the New World. What to do? To gain honour? No, if I know my own heart. To get money? No: I am going to live to God and to bring others so to do.243

When I Saw the American Shore

The voyage was long for Francis, who was often seasick. But he held to his calling—he preached on deck every afternoon he could, even if it meant tying himself to a mast in order to resist the pitching of the ship caused by the wind. When the ship docked in Philadelphia on Sunday, October 27, 1771, Francis and Wright went to Saint George's Church, the city's Methodist headquarters,

that very night. A few lines from Francis's journal reveal how overwhelming and immense he considered his calling:

The people looked on us with pleasure, hardly knowing how to show their love sufficiently, bidding us welcome with fervent affection and receiving us as angels of God. O that we may always walk worthy of the vocation wherewith we are called! When I came near the American shore my very heart melted within me to think from whence I came, and where I was going, and what I was going about.244

After preaching for the first month in some of the largest churches in Philadelphia and New York, Francis unearthed a growing restlessness in his soul: "The preaching stops were enjoyable, but where was the evangelistic thrust to the countryside and to the more marginalized members of society?"245 His structured mind wrestled with his frustration that the people in charge had not established any plans to spread much evangelism outside of New York and Philadelphia, let alone given Francis an outlet for his zeal.

In England, Francis had been accused of usurping the authority of another itinerant preacher. Records indicate that a fellow preacher had asked Francis to take his place while he was sick, and although there are no specific details of exactly what Francis did to provoke the accusation, the preacher sent a letter to Francis in which he clearly stated his belief that Francis had tried to take over his district. One might think Francis would have hesitated to risk reaping a similar accusation in America, but he showed no tentativeness in expressing what he saw as the shortcomings of the American mission to date. It had failed to reach far beyond the two major cities of New York and Philadelphia and seemed little interested in ever doing so. In addition, Francis saw the work that had been done in these two cities as lax and undisciplined—hardly Methodism as he had learned it from the Wesleys. Unlike his English traveling companions, Francis's forceful personality would not allow him to be satisfied with lingering casually as others ran the Methodist mission with complacency. This dissatisfaction made him few friends among the Methodist leadership in America at the time, but his heart would not let him compromise on these issues.

Soon, Francis persuaded two local churchmen to go with him to Westchester, New York, where he convinced the local judge to let him use the

courthouse as his pulpit. It went so well that he returned two weeks later, and although the courthouse was not available, he simply set up church at the home of the tavern owner. Francis spent the night in the home of a local family who, when he invited them to pray after supper, became Methodists. Francis would repeat this pattern of evangelism for the next forty-some years—he would find a place to preach, stay with a local family, and pray with those present to accept Christ. And as he did this, a new Methodist society would be born.

Francis's first decade in America was marked by few such successes, however. He spent much of his time struggling with other Methodists over leadership of the mission. He was caught between three major, rivaling forces: the Anglican church government system, the democratic and independent mindsets of the Americans who wanted little or nothing of European church patterns in the way they ran their churches, and his own ego versus the egos of other leading Methodists.

The Methodist mission also suffered two principal hardships during this time. The first was that the Methodist movement was inherently English, and tension between America and England was growing exponentially. All the Methodist leaders were men sent from England, and the societies were patterned after those in England, with their members still part of the Church of England. To make matters worse, John Wesley made the unfortunate choice to get involved with politics and urged the colonies to seek reconciliation with the Crown.

The second setback was that Methodism had a hard time finding a home in the pluralistic Protestantism of the thirteen colonies. Why should one become a Methodist when the local Baptist or Congregational church had similar meetings on weeknights? In England, the formality of Anglicanism left a great deal of room during the rest of the week for the societies to meet. Churches in America, however, were much more open, with an emphasis on individual Bible study and prayer rather than the rituals of the sacraments. Methodists could not work in tandem with Congregationalists, Presbyterians, or Baptists as they had with Anglicans. Methodism would have to break new ground as its own denomination before it could gather speed.

Until the Revolutionary War, Francis would be just another one of a squabbling handful seeking to advance Methodism. His success as a revivalist

would not come until after he put all of that behind him and became accepted as an American.

"I Am Determined Not to Leave Them"

As the tension with Great Britain continued to grow, leading up to the Declaration of Independence, so did Francis's newfound allegiance to the colonies. The progression of his shifting allegiance is evident in his journal entries. In 1773, he wrote that the people were too disloyal to the mother country; in 1775, he penned, "Surely, the Lord will overrule and make all these things subservient to the spiritual welfare of his Church;"246 by July 1776 he boldly proclaimed that the British would have little prospect of winning; and finally, in 1779, he prayed that God would "mercifully interpose for the deliverance of our land."247 By spring of 1780, Francis was a recognized citizen of Delaware.

In August 1775, Francis received a letter from the man with whom he had shared leadership for a time, Thomas Rankin, saying the decision had been made that all English Methodist missionaries were to return to England because of the growing unrest. Francis's response was firm:

I can by no means agree to leave such a field for gathering souls to Christ, as we have in America. It would be an eternal dishonour to the Methodists, that we should all leave 3,000 souls, who desire to commit themselves to our care; neither is it the part of a good shepherd to leave his flock in time of danger: therefore, I am determined, by the grace of God, not to leave them, let the consequence be what it may.248

As tension escalated with England, people began taking sides. On December 9, British soldiers attacked a group of militiamen at Great Bridge, twelve miles southeast of Norfolk, Virginia. More than one hundred British soldiers were killed that day; the American militia suffered no casualties. Francis lived close by at the time, and he reported that he was keeping his distance from the conflict but maintaining his closeness to Jesus. In 1776, Francis was in Philadelphia when he received a letter from John Wesley trying to calm the Methodists' waning loyalty to England. Instead, his letter seemed to decrease their loyalty to Wesley. Though the number of Methodists continued to drop due to the stress of war, Francis continued his preaching efforts with little interference. He was vehemently determined to focus on spreading the work of

Christ and to ignore politics as much as possible. As a result, his journals say nothing about many of the great events and battles of the American Revolution.

But by July 1777, Francis was struggling with depression. It was becoming dangerous to be known as a Methodist, some of which was for good reason, according to the colonists. Francis heard Rankin preach what was promoted as his last speech in America before the English missionaries returned to their homeland. His nerves must have tightened when he heard Rankin preach that until the colonists submitted to the king of England, God wasn't going to bless them. Rankin was later discovered to have remained in the colonies, where he was helping the British. Another Methodist leader, Martin Rodda, was found passing out tracts in support of the British, and he took refuge on a British ship anchored in the Chesapeake Bay. Then, there was Chauncey Clowe, the Methodist who led a group of British sympathizers to crash through a company of militia trying to reach the king's army. Clowe was captured, tried in court, and executed. To be a Methodist was as good as admitting to being a spy for King George III.

By early spring of 1778, all the English Methodists in leadership had left except for Francis. He bid farewell to his peers when they set sail for England; some he was undoubtedly glad to let go of, but others he knew he would miss. This difficult time of parting, along with the dangerous atmosphere, would have challenged the faith of the strongest believer. Biographer Darius Salter described what an exceptionally difficult time this was in Francis's life, citing excerpts from his journal entries:

At first, Asbury transcended with a stiff upper lip. "However, I was easy, for the Lord was with me. And if he will be with me, and bring me to my Father's house in peace, he shall be my God forever." Four days later, however, he broke down, gripped by the stark loneliness of the moment. "I was under some heaviness of mind. But it was no wonder; three thousand miles from home—my friends have left me—I am considered by some as an enemy of the country—every day liable to be seized by violence, and abused."249

When residents of Maryland were required to pledge an oath of loyalty to the colony, Francis moved to Delaware, where he stayed in the home of Thomas White for the next eighteen months. He was isolated there and had ample space and time for solitude and study. Biographer Ezra Squier Tipple

wrote,

This period of retirement was as valuable to Asbury as the desert experience of John the Baptist or Paul's stay in Arabia, and it was as much in the order of Divine Providence. He himself seems to have had this belief: "I formerly thought it would be death to me to keep silence from declaring the word of God, but now I am in a measure contented. It appears to be the will of God that I should be silent for a season, to prepare me for further usefulness hereafter. Therefore my time shall be employed to the best advantage."250

On one occasion, Francis was forced to hide in a nearby swamp until dark; otherwise, he would have put his host in danger of being accused by the militia of being a British sympathizer. When White was arrested later, Francis left, staying where he could find shelter. He no longer recorded in his journal the names of people who took him in for fear that the records would fall into the wrong hands. He continued to preach when he could, but his body and mind were exhausted. By the end of 1778, he wrote in his journal about his feelings of inadequacy as a man called to preach: "I do the least good in the Church of Christ, of any that I know, and believe to be divinely moved to preach the Gospel. How am I displeased with myself!"251

These were difficult days for the American Methodist preachers as well. Some were cruelly whipped, beaten, or tarred and feathered. Joseph Hartley was jailed in Easton, Maryland, but refused to be silent. When he began preaching through the jail windows, he was quickly released because his persecutors feared that he would convert the entire town. Due to British occupation in the cities of New York and Philadelphia, most of the Methodist preachers had shifted to the South; Francis was thus disconnected geographically, and his influence in the organization diminished.

It must have been a surprise to everyone when he received a letter from Wesley, again appointing him over the Methodist work in the colonies. Many wondered why, in the midst of a war with England, Wesley would choose an Englishman to lead the Americans. But then, Francis wouldn't consider himself English for much longer—his heart now belonged to the colonies as well as to his Lord and Savior.

Freedom Comes to America

In February 1782, the British voted not to continue the war in America. The end of the conflict brought many changes for Francis and for Methodism. The traveling restrictions were minimized, but until a treaty was officially signed, Francis was still suspect and had to obtain a valid pass to move about. Such inconveniences were minor compared to more drastic ministry needs. For example, a currency collapse meant there were no finances to print the books and tracts the Methodists distributed and depended on to aid in believers' maturation, especially since their spiritual leaders came only once every few weeks. More importantly, though, there was a major shift in the hearts and minds of American Methodist leaders—the taste of freedom was sweet. In the newspaper the Baltimore Advertiser, one writer expressed the sentiment of those who rejoiced in throwing off the spiritual yoke of England: "Heaven be praised we live in a land of equal liberty, and are determined to exert the prerogative of rational beings, to think for ourselves and to pin our faith on no man's sleeve."252

While the attendance and ministry of most churches had diminished during the trials of war, Methodism had actually grown after its initial decline. In 1773, American Methodism had 24 preachers, 12 circuits, and 4,921 members; by the end of the war, there were 82 Methodist preachers, 39 circuits, and a membership of 13,740.253 Had the movement dwindled, perhaps the Wesleys would have let it go. Given the growth, however, John Wesley probably felt obliged to exercise his leadership again as the father of the movement.

When Wesley tried to regain control from England by sending Thomas Coke as co-superintendent with Francis, however, Coke got an earful about how the people now perceived themselves. The story goes that Coke interrupted American Methodist preacher Nelson Reed to say, "You must think you are my equal," to which Reed responded, "Yes, Sir, we do; and we are not only the equals of Dr. Coke, but of Dr. Coke's king."254

Francis leaned on this independent, democratic spirit to solidify—once and for all—his leadership of the Methodist movement in America by calling for a vote from the combined North and South conferences. This was in direct opposition to John Wesley's method of appointing leaders, who seemed to come and go on a whim. On December 27, 1784, at what would later be referred to as the Christmas Conference, the American leaders voted—they chose Francis to be superintendent of the newly formed Methodist Episcopal

Church. With Methodism now its own denomination and Francis Asbury its bishop to travel and appoint ministers as he felt led by God to do, Methodism would flourish in America as never before. Methodism was now American and refused to return to its roots.

American Methodism was also now an "episcopal" church—episcopal means "governed by bishops." In his dedication service, Thomas Coke referred to Francis not as "superintendent," but as "bishop." In spite of numerous complaints about the title, it stuck. Wesley attempted to counter it in a letter to Francis, emphasizing that although he "may be the elder brother of the American Methodists: (but) I am under God the father of the whole family."255 Subsequent letters expressed John Wesley's efforts to regain control, but these efforts were never fruitful. Francis supposedly told a peer, "Mr. Wesley and I are like Caesar and Pompey. He will bear no equal and I will bear no superior."256 By 1787, the American leadership had rejected Wesley's directions, effectively declaring American Methodism's independence. Francis was convinced that he was in the right; he did pay a personal price for his autonomy, however. He wrote of Wesley, "I esteem it as one of the greatest calamities of my life so highly to grieve him, and he has made me feel very sensibly by his letter, as fallen! fallen!"257

Francis seemed momentarily distracted by his new title, not quite knowing what to do with it. He disclosed his insecurities in the journal of his private thoughts, writing, "I am sometimes afraid of being led to think something more of myself in my new station than formerly."258 He even experimented with wearing the professional robes of an Anglican bishop but soon shed them when he was criticized for it. Hiding in his dry sense of humor and his unfamiliarity with such a position of prominence, he once remarked that it was an advantage to have a title as brief as "bishop," since he could "save two souls while he was saying, 'General Superintendent.'"259

Whatever his title, his focus now turned to spreading the Gospel in every corner of the new country of America, finally laying hold of the calling that had brought him to the shores of the New World in the first place:

The Revolutionary war being now closed, and a general peace established, we could go into all parts of the country without fear; and we soon began to enlarge our borders, and to preach in many places where we had not been

before….One thing in particular that opened the way for the spreading of the gospel by our preachers was this: during the war, which had continued seven or eight years, many of the members of our societies had, through fear, necessity, or choice, moved into the back settlements, and into new parts of the country; and as soon as the national peace was settled, and the way was open, they solicited us to come among them; and by their earnest and frequent petitions, both verbal and written, we were prevailed on, and encouraged to go among them; and they were ready to receive us with open hands and willing hearts, and to cry out, "Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord."260

"Live or Die I Must Ride"

Francis now occupied a powerful new role. His heart led him to travel the nation, spreading the Word of God. As Bishop, however, he was also a traveling ordination service. Whenever he came to a new area and found a young man worthy of ministry, he would ordain him as a Methodist clergyman and appoint him to a new circuit. Sometimes, he was called by Methodists who had moved westward to start a work in their area; other times, he just appointed circuit riders over new territories yet to be evangelized. Thus, Methodism grew as a web-like network across the new territories, from one corner of the nation to the other; with it, the Gospel again became the common language shared by most Americans, from the farthest reaches of Kentucky all the way to the original Plymouth settlement.

God certainly knew what He was doing when He prepared Francis Asbury at the blacksmith's anvil and fire rather than in the halls of England's universities, as He had done with Whitefield and the Wesleys. Where Francis was called to go, a college education would have been of little help. His writings, however, have given many historians a window into the hearts and lives of courageous men and women determined to stake their place on the frontier of the new country. Biographer Ezra Tipple described Francis's meticulous journaling in this way:

The picture which Asbury gives of America is as fine in its way as Wesley's of England, and as valuable. No man of that period traveled as much or as far as Asbury, and in no other book can there be found a more intimate knowledge of the home life of the colonists, especially on the frontiers, or the social and oral conditions which prevailed.261

It is from these journals that we learn what life was like for Francis and, undoubtedly, for most of the other circuit-riding preachers. The journals are also the personal window through which we watch a man wrestle with his calling and his relationship with God when things grow difficult. Travel at this time was anything but easy; however, rain, sleet, snow, or cold did nothing to slow his pace. In fact, a popular saying in those days regarding the harsh weather was, "There is nothing out today but crows and Methodist preachers."

It is not only Francis's journals, but his letters, too, that reveal so much about America at this time and the growing Methodist movement. Francis's ministry doubled as a traveling information center and news service; his correspondence connected the scattered settlements of the new nation. Through Francis, news traveled so efficiently and reliably that a letter addressed simply to "The Rev'd Bishop Asbury, North America" would find its way to him. If anything noteworthy was happening in America—and for Francis, "noteworthy" generally meant revival—he was sure to hear about it and spread it far and wide.

Francis learned the system for spreading Methodism from John Wesley while he was growing up in England, and he continued it in America. The system was based on a man's willingness to forgo all worldly comforts in order to gain a heavenly crown by spreading the Gospel wherever he traveled. "No family was too poor, no house too filthy, no town too remote, and no people too ignorant to receive the good news that life could be better."262

The life was so hard that half the men assigned to circuits died before reaching age thirty-three because of the toll all of that riding on horseback took on their bodies as well as the constant exposure to inclement weather.263 Peter Cartwright (1785–1872), who is featured in a later chapter, may well have set the record having itinerated for sixty-seven years.

Despite its stringent demands, however, the system was a brilliant structure that took preaching to the territorial extremes of the new nation—a nation expanding with incredible speed, attested by census figures. In 1770, the part of the country that would later become the states of Georgia, Kentucky, Ohio, and Tennessee had about forty thousand people of European or African descent. By 1810, immigration had increased the population of this same area to more than one million.264

It must have seemed impossible to the established churches to keep up with this kind of growth, but not to Francis. The old-line denominations simply could not establish new churches at the same speed as the population was expanding. Their institutions for training new clergy members couldn't prepare them quickly enough to be sent out, nor were they equipped to change their strategies. The Methodists, on the other hand, had inherent flexibility with a system that moved their preachers to a new area every six to twelve months in order to keep them fresh. Staying in the same place was the goal of regular churches—70 percent of mainline denominational clergy stayed in the same parish for the duration of their careers. College education was the primary avenue to success for mainline clergy, but Methodist preachers preferred to be without credentials so that they could better relate to the common people they encountered. Asbury certainly didn't discourage learning, but he didn't want anything to distract a man from speaking "the plain truth to plain people."265 It is said that only four questions were posed to evaluate prospective Methodist itinerant preachers:

1)Is this man truly converted?

2)Does he know and keep our rules?

3)Can he preach acceptably?

4)Has he a horse?266

Preaching "acceptably" was a fairly reasonable criterion, since most preachers used a basic set of Scripture passages and then added their own practical applications to everyday life stories. Francis frowned upon anyone who relied on notes when he spoke, a distaste no doubt influenced by the impact of extemporaneous speaking on him during his younger days. Some have said that he often chose his own text just before speaking, allowing himself to be directed by the Holy Spirit and the needs of a particular congregation. It wasn't sermon preparation that took up a Methodist preacher's time; it was the rest of his responsibilities.

Each Methodist preacher was responsible for a circuit that was between two hundred and five hundred miles in circumference. He was expected to visit each preaching site every two to six weeks. People were hungry to hear God's Word. One preacher, John Brooks, reported that during a particular

revival he was very sick, but the people still made him get out of bed to preach.

In addition to the hours it took him to ride between locations and preach every day of the week—starting at five o'clock in the morning during the summer and six o'clock in the morning during the winter—a circuit preacher was also responsible for meeting with small groups who convened to study the Bible together and practice the disciplined pursuit of God according to the Methodist system. Francis also insisted that visiting the sick and caring for them was part of each man's duty. The salary of a preacher provided little incentive for this job. Up until 1800, the preachers' pay was a mere $64 a year, compared to the pay of pastors in the mainline denominations, who had an annual income of $400. After 1800, circuit riders' annual salary increased to $80. Francis himself admitted that few of them ever received what they were due. Although part of the Methodist preacher's job was distributing books— Bibles, hymnbooks, and other religious literature—and although the sale of these books brought a small commission for the preachers, his minuscule salary was seldom enough to supply even the simplest of clothing. Many circuit riders traveled with mere rags on their backs.

Francis, as head of the organization, had scarcely more himself. Everything he owned fit into his two saddlebags. A friend once asked to borrow fifty dollars; he was surprised when Francis showed him that he had no more than twelve dollars. Francis gave him five dollars, commenting, "Strange that neither my friends nor my enemies will believe that I neither have nor seek bags of money."267

Francis had no family besides his parents, whom he left in England. He had resolved long before not to marry, saying that it would be unfair to ask any woman to live alone all year with the exception of one week. Although Francis did not demand celibacy from his fellow preachers, he strongly encouraged it and harbored compelling opinions on the topic. He wrote to one man, "Stand at all possible distance from the female sex, that you be not betrayed by them that will damage the young mind and sink the aspiring soul and blast the prospect of the future man."268 He also set aside time at the annual conferences to speak to the wives of the Methodist ministers, warning them not to behave badly and thereby ruin what their husbands had accomplished.

Life on the trail was brutal. Great portions of Francis's journals contain daily comments about what he encountered. Wolves stalked him, hailstones pelted him, chiggers and ticks preyed on his flesh, and the summer sun and winter winds were unmerciful. His food supply was simple—often, all he ate was bread—but he wrote that he would ride along all the same, enjoying fellowship with God and trusting Him completely to keep him alive. His nightly lodgings never compared to even a moderately comfortable inn. Francis resented having to spend his money on lodging and meals, and he would sleep in any place that agreed to accommodate him. He frequently traveled with a companion, which necessitated finding a room for two. He described bats flying into the holes in the roof as he slept; sharing rooms with dogs, cats, and pigs; and getting a bed for the night that he had to share with two total strangers. He also depicted the deplorable conditions of one particular house where the filth on the floor could have been scooped with a shovel. Francis often rested on flea-infested deerskins on the floor. Once, he barely escaped a burning bed he had placed too close to the fire. Francis sometimes had food for himself and for his horse only if he had money to pay or his host had anything to spare.

Circuit riders depended greatly on their horses, and the Methodist progression would have been impossible without these creatures. Their significance is reflected in the fact that the American Minutes, the list of Methodist rules for preachers, records rule number one as "Be merciful to your Beast. Not only ride moderately, but see with your own eyes that your horse be rubbed and fed." Francis could have been driven around in a fancy carriage, but he declared, "The pomp of a wagon is too great for me, and the danger; perhaps no one in five hundred could drive to please me…besides, I can better turn aside to visit the poor; I can get along more difficult and intricate roads; I shall save money to give away to the needy; and lastly, I can be more tender to my poor, faithful beast."269

Francis had to concern himself with finding food, water, shelter, and rest not only for himself, but also for his horse. His experience as a blacksmith's apprentice came in handy when he had to fashion an improvised fix for a lost shoe. Francis seemed to have great concern for his equine traveling companions, which was vital, considering that he often put twenty-five thousand miles on one horse in its lifetime (this would have meant he owned more than ten different horses). There were times when there simply wasn't

enough food for both Francis and his horse, but they would press on together. He told of one instance when his horse, weak from lack of food and drenched by pouring rain, fell down twice with Francis on its back. This horse's suffering pained Francis more than many other circumstances he encountered. One of his horses, Sparky, had to be left behind because he went lame. Known for his rough exterior, Francis unmasked his tender heart as he wrote that when he left Sparky, his faithful companion "whickered (neighed softly) after us: it went to my heart."270

Francis and the other circuit riders were not part of some romantic image of frontier life, but rather part of the realities of life and death, pain and misery, played out on the sometimes hidden trails and roads to nowhere. He described one road as being as steep as the roof of a house; for nearly a mile, he rode his horse, then got off and walked, sweating and trembling until his knees failed him. But he and his horse trudged on. Some accounts describe Francis's horses bolting into the trees, with Francis still riding them; others describe his horses falling on ice and pinning his leg beneath them; still others depict his horses swimming raging rivers. One humorous account tells of Francis's obtaining a horse that had been used for racing. When he rode past the familiar racing grounds, the horse suddenly took off toward the track and gave the preacher quite a ride.

Francis traveled virtually everywhere. He visited practically every state and traveled between four thousand and six thousand miles each year. He wrote in his journal, "I seldom mount my horse for a ride of less than twenty miles on ordinary occasions; and frequently have forty or fifty in moving from one circuit to another. In traveling thus I suffer much from hunger and cold."271

Sadly, by the time he reached the end of his life, Francis had spent so much time in the saddle that his body was in worse condition than the body of a man decades older. His feet were inflamed from the iron stirrups, and he could seldom wear shoes, walking instead with crutches. At one point, a traveling companion used soft leather and wool to pad Francis's stirrups in order to protect his bruised and hurting feet. Seldom, though, did he let any kind of sickness stop him, even if it required him to be tied upright in the saddle. He traveled with fevers, boils, terrible headaches, influenza, sore throats, and badly infected teeth. At times, people were sure he was close to death;

sometimes, death likely would have been a welcome relief. Francis became his own doctor and frequently gave medical advice to others who were equally distanced from proper medical care. A poor diet, combined with inadequate rest and frequent interaction with disease-carrying people and creatures, ate away at his once strong constitution.

"My Heart Pitied the People"

Why would anyone endure such a life? Francis's heart beat for the people he ministered to because he knew God loved them without measure. There were no guarantees of who would be in his audience when he arrived at his preaching locations, but this mattered little to him. Once, Francis had to break ice to cross a stream. He rode with much pain to reach his destination, only to find that no more than nine people had showed up. Another time, he tried to persuade a woman to be baptized, but she refused. Later, she changed her mind and sent her son to fetch Francis, asking him to come back. Even though both he and his horse were exhausted, he returned for this audience of one, calling the time "solemn."

As Methodism spread in the South, Francis made his first trip to Tennessee. He was tempted to complain about the bad roads but instead was drawn to focus on the people traveling the same road with him:

A man who is well mounted will scorn to complain of the roads when he sees men, women, and children, almost naked, paddling barefoot and barelegged along, or laboring up the rocky hills, while those who are best off have only a horse for two or three children to ride at once. If these adventurers have little or nothing to eat, it is no extraordinary circumstance, and not uncommon, to encamp in the wet woods after night—in the mountains it does not rain, but pours.272

Francis's heart was touched when people came out to hear him speak, even in freezing cold weather. He wrote in his journal of a time when he preached in Baltimore in a house with just openings where the windows and doors would normally be. He finished one sermon and then took a one-hour intermission; the people didn't leave, but waited for him to return and speak again. He said that his "heart pitied the people when I saw them so exposed."273

There were plenty of other places where he was not received as eagerly.

One night, as he was preaching, Francis was struck by a stone someone had thrown through an open window; nevertheless, he continued to speak. Various types of speaking venues brought different types of responses. Taverns, for example, included drunkards in the audience, along with drinking and swearing. In the South, Francis was grieved to see how lost were those whom he encountered along the way; he described them as tattered and dirty, starving, and cruel to one another. He cared about children especially, making sure his preachers made an effort to talk with and pray for them wherever they met them.

As his watchful eyes observed the people, he feared that the same expansion of freedom that brought opportunities for enlarging the footprint of Methodism could also keep the hearts of people from focusing on God. As new land brought new prospects for success, new distractions threatened to diminish people's focus on the importance of the Gospel. Francis was determined to help make sure the Gospel never lost its place of priority. As frontier boundaries expanded, new circuit riders were put in place to care for the new homesteads. In 1796, when the Northwest Territory made new land accessible to farmers, preachers were not far behind.

One rider followed the wagon tracks to a new settler's location and was greeted by a man and his family who had come from Virginia. Unfortunately, when the farmer saw the preacher's clerical garb, he informed him that he and his family had left Virginia to get away from preachers; lo and behold, before they could even unload their wagon, they had found preachers again. The wise preacher admonished him, saying, "My friend, if you go to heaven you will find Methodist preachers there, and if to hell, I am afraid you will find some there; and you see how it is in the world, so that you had better make terms with us and be at peace."274

New areas for preachers meant new territory for Francis to travel to as well. Going to the new West necessitated adding more people to his traveling party for protection from the threat of Indians. Yet worries about warriors didn't seem to bother him nearly as much as the obligation to ride with men who swore and drank excessively.

The Holy Spirit Explosion on the Western Frontier

Around the turn of the century, a new phenomenon appeared: the camp

meeting. The West was now growing populated enough that instead of merely waiting for circuit riders to pass through, settlers could gather in central locations to hear the best preachers, sing new hymns, and take Communion from an ordained clergyman.

In June 1800, James McGready, the pastor of three small congregations at Red River, Gasper River, and Muddy River, invited the local ministers to join him at the annual Communion gathering at the Red River Church. The event would take place over a weekend with Communion to be taken on Monday. The initial days were quiet, but when one of the local preachers spoke on Monday, the Spirit of God fell on a woman and she began shouting and singing. Presbyterian minister John McGee, who was sitting in the congregation as the minister brought his message to a close, began weeping; soon, the rest of the congregation was weeping as well, crying out for salvation.

Then, McGee spoke and exhorted the crowd to let "the Lord God Omnipotent reign in [your] hearts, and to submit to Him." He later recalled, "I turned to go back and was near falling; the power of God was so strong upon me. I turned again and, losing sight of the fear of man, I went through the house shouting and exhorting with all possible ecstasy and energy, and the floor was soon covered with the slain."275 The power of God was falling on the people and pulling them to the ground.

The ministers at this meeting then made arrangements for a similar gathering at the Gasper River Church the next month. Many people came after hearing what had happened at Red River—so many, in fact, that the church was not big enough to hold them all. Therefore, the meetings were moved outside. The camp meeting was born.

In the following months, similar meetings would be organized and reach a height at the Cane Ridge camp meeting in August 1801. It was a literal Pentecost of revival, with spiritual manifestations that would sweep the camp meeting into popularity for many decades to come. Under the power of the Spirit, people fell into apparent trances, shook with the presence of the Holy Spirit, danced exuberantly, fell into convulsive Holy Spirit laughter, ran like Elijah (see 1 Kings 16:46) around the outskirts of the gatherings, sang inspired songs, and even barked out incomprehensibly under the influence of the Spirit —"The people report they bark and snatch, and make strange noises."276

It didn't take long for many mainline ministers to condemn this emotionalism, as their predecessors had during the Great Awakening. Francis, however, saw God rather than excess, and he embraced the camp meeting movement to the point that he even urged Methodists in the East to imitate the format for themselves and their districts, hoping for the same movement of God to revival souls.

Such excitement had never concerned the Wesleys in England, so it did not concern Francis, either. As L. C. Rudolph, one of Asbury's biographers, put it,

Wesley did not want noisy physical manifestations, but if there was noise it was only the devil resisting and so no grounds for let up….Asbury was intoxicated by the full-bodied form of American revival; from now on he would always want more noise than Wesley or Coke.277

Francis wrote of what he heard:

The work of God is running like fire in Kentucky. It is reported that near fifteen if not twenty thousand were present at one Sacramental occasion of the Presbyterians [this was at Cane Ridge]; and one thousand if not fifteen hundred fell and felt the power of grace.278

Though the meetings were Presbyterian, the Presbyterians seemed to be dropping the ball on ministering to the numbers coming out of these revivals. They had the attitude that if God was moving to save these people, He was also able to take care of what He had started. Francis felt otherwise. These people needed to be shepherded, and if the Presbyterians and the Baptists weren't going to do it, then the Methodists certainly would. Francis was not one to limit the power of God. "God hath given us hundreds in 1800, why not thousands in 1801, yea, why not a million if we had faith. 'Lord increase our faith.'"279 Methodism thus continued to grow by leaps and bounds throughout the rest of his life.

Always Out Among Them

When Francis came to the American colonies in 1771, "there were four Methodist preachers in the thirteen colonies caring for about three hundred people. By 1813, three years before Francis's death, official Methodist records reported 171,448 white and 42,850 African-American members 'in

full society'"280 His administrative mind was the key to managing such a huge organization. He was convinced that Methodism was God's cause—above even other denominations—and that it would not flourish without strict controls.

He intended to make sure those controls were implemented in bringing up the next generation, especially children educated in the Methodist schools that Francis is credited with having started. For example, the students were to "be indulged with nothing which the World calls Play. Let this Rule be observed with the strictest Nicety; for those who play when they are young, will play when they are old." 281 Francis later realized the severity of this policy. "That matter might have been managed better. We were to have the boys to become all angels."282

Biographer Ezra Tipple told about one man, Nicholas Snethen, who categorized Francis as controlling, among other things. Snethen was a traveling companion to Francis, and he wrote, "It cannot be concealed that he was not incapable of the exercise of that awful attribute of power, hard-heartedness, to those individuals, feelings, and interests which seemed to oppose the execution of public plans." Tipple then questioned whether Snethen was justified in his description, preferring to say that Francis was "fixed in his purposes, immovable in his resolves."283

Whatever words one uses to describe Francis, he got the job done. He insisted on being the one to decide each year at the Methodist Annual Conference where the itinerant preachers would be assigned next. That decision in itself was no small task—by 1812, there were 678 ministers to be placed. Making the decision required that Asbury know each man, or at least make inquiries from someone who did know each man, and be acquainted with the particulars about each preaching location. Matching an itinerant with a circuit was far from a random process. Early on, Francis wrote to Wesley that he found it impossible that anyone could rightly assign the men unless he knew them and their gifts, which, in his estimation, required his always being out among them.

Needless to say, his decisions were not always popular. He once commented, "One preacher wishes to go where another dreads to be sent, and smiles at the fears of his more timid brother."284 His usual way of handling

the grumbling was to announce the assignments at the end of the conference, then mount his horse immediately and ride off. But he would never ask his men to go anywhere that he was not willing to go or to endure anything he was not ready to endure. "Comfort" was not a word in his vocabulary.

It wasn't just the circuit-rider assignments that Francis controlled. He insisted on signing every document, overseeing every financial transaction, and approving the plans for most of the buildings the organization constructed to make sufficient space for people to hear and learn. After more than forty years of this commanding position, he seemed to tire of it and long for some freedom and retirement. He wrote, "I wish that a trinity of superintendents might be in operation—that after forty years, I might be at liberty to travel into any part of the New or Old World, if called."285

One wonders if it was a longing for home; however, Francis had no home this side of heaven. When asked by a stranger in Ohio where he was from, he answered, "From Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, or almost any place you please." A biographer summed up Asbury's life in this way: "When he came to America he rented no house, he hired no lodgings, he made no arrangements to board anywhere, but simply set out upon the Long Road, and was still traveling forty-five years later when Death finally caught up with him."286

With nothing to tie him to this earth, it was easy for Francis to have tunnel vision, which brought accusations of insensitivity to the desires and feelings of others. His longing for unity often clashed with his desire for authority. When a particular vote at a leadership conference didn't go the way he wanted it to, Francis told the men they were all out of the union, and then took his papers and left. A few days later he asked for their forgiveness. There is no doubt that his negotiating skills were one of the major factors that kept the fledgling organization together and allowed it to develop. Darius Salter said, "No one mastered the art of simultaneously exercising inclusive participation and exclusive authority better than Asbury."287

Two issues required more of this ability than any other issue with which Francis dealt. The first had to do with whether Methodist preachers could administer the sacraments of Communion (this was while Methodism was still a mission and not yet a denomination); the second was the issue of slavery.

Both threatened at different times to divide American Methodism.

In the early years, according to Wesley, lay preachers were not ordained; they were to establish societies, not recognized churches. Thus, the lay preachers had no authority to serve the sacraments. People were to go to an ordained minister for that purpose. The leadership in the South took exception with that rule since there were few ordained ministers available, leading Francis to write that he would rather accept the sacraments from an "unconverted" minister than from an unordained Methodist—something with which John Wesley would likely have concurred. A division of the Northern Societies—which adhered to true Wesleyanism—from the Southern Conference seemed imminent. A meeting of the minds took place in the South, and although Francis presented the perspective of Wesley, the Southern leadership would not budge. They intended to continue ordaining ministers with full authority to administer the sacraments.

Feeling rejected, Francis planned to leave the next morning; but when he returned to say his good-byes, he discovered that the men had changed their minds. They would abide with Francis's ruling and continue to seek direction, focusing on the bigger picture of spreading Methodism. It would not be the last time this subject was hotly debated.

Dinner with President Washington

Slavery was a troubling subject for Francis and for the Methodist organization in general. Francis could not understand how a country that fought for freedom could make slaves of other human beings. He made sure that the slaves felt welcomed by every preacher and were always included with their masters in the preaching times. Asbury even traveled with Harry Hosier, the first African-American Methodist evangelist, to the state of Virginia. Many Methodists considered Hosier to be one of the best preachers in the world.

Francis showed kindness and concern to all he encountered, regardless of their skin color. Once, while he was riding in South Carolina, he greeted a slave as he rode by. Feeling the tug of the Holy Spirit to speak to the man about his soul, Francis turned his horse around and went back. When he asked the man his name, he found that the man didn't know it; because of his affinity for fighting, people called him Punch. As he did with every soul he met, Francis prayed, sang, and read Scriptures to Punch; then, he departed. Twenty years

later, when Asbury returned to the same area, he providentially encountered Punch again. Punch told him about the change in his life and of the many other slaves he had influenced, and Francis wrote in response, "Better to witness to one slave than to rule on the highest throne on the face of the earth."288

Francis's personal opinions did not always translate into Methodist regulations, a gap that history has not always looked upon favorably. Darius Salter explained it this way: "Methodism simply mirrored the inconsistency of a nation that declared that all men are 'created equal' and at the same time held slaves."289 There were times when Francis did attempt to influence official legislation on the issue of slavery. After the Revolutionary War, he and Thomas Coke made an attempt to get President George Washington to sign a petition to emancipate the slaves. Visiting him at Mount Vernon, Francis felt uncomfortable having black servants wait on them at dinner. Afterward, Washington said that although he agreed with the principle, he would not sign the petition. He explained that the slaves needed to be educated so that they would understand their obligation of freedom; otherwise, freedom would not be a gift. Washington himself owned several hundred slaves, who worked his plantation, but a few months before he died, he changed the specifications of his will so that they would all be set free when his wife died. The degree to which Francis influenced that decision is uncertain.

Many Methodist conferences debated establishing firm rulings on slavery but never passed anything in Francis's lifetime. Francis undoubtedly had much to do with that. Believing that anything that got in the way of evangelizing for eternal purposes was not in anyone's best interest, he rationalized that God's directive to them was saving souls, not liberating bodies. He believed that he was "called upon to suffer for Christ's sake not for slavery."290

It would seem that his myopic vision blinded him to the fact that evangelism has to do with more than where one will spend eternity. Only God knows whether Francis's concern over taking a stand on slavery was based on this rationalization or its potential impact on the growth of Methodism. He wrote that taking an inflexible position against slavery would cripple Methodism's attempt to reach both blacks and whites and that, given what he and others like him had endured, a few years of the physical torture of slavery would be exchanged for "an eternity of spiritual bliss."291 What brought about this change of heart is difficult to determine, but it is clearly seen in February 1807

when he preached the love of God to the whites and obedient servitude to the blacks.

"What Shall I Do When I Am Old?"

There were times when Francis allowed himself to think about the implications of having neither family nor home. In one of these human moments for a seemingly superhuman man, he wrote a letter to his mother, his confidant: "I am here in a strange land, nothing to depend on but the kindness of friends, am spending the best of my days, what shall I do when I am old?"292 By age sixty-eight, his body was giving out. He realized that death was imminent. But he would not need to worry about going home to heaven; the God who had called him to this place made sure he was cared for until the very end.

Francis had rheumatoid arthritis; toward the end of his life, the ailment was so severe that he needed to be transported by carriage. But nothing could stop his preacher's heart from wanting to proclaim the good news with his dying breath. Francis and a traveling companion were on their way to Fredericksburg, pushing as hard as they could in hopes of making it to the General Conference, but it was not to be. When Francis could go no farther, they took shelter at the home of an old friend, George Arnold. Francis realized the next morning that it was the Sabbath, and he asked that the family gather around him for worship. His lungs had filled with fluid, so he had to be propped up in a chair. At the end of the singing and preaching by his traveling partner, Francis did as he always did—he called for the plate to be passed so a collection could be taken for the needs of his fellow preachers. He was told that there was only the one family present. In a final act of praise, he raised his hands in triumph when asked if he felt the Lord Jesus was precious.

Francis Asbury passed away at four o'clock in the afternoon on Sunday, March 31, 1816. Since the Arnolds lived so far from any town, they decided to bury him in their family plot. Later, the Methodist organization had his body exhumed and moved to Baltimore, where a proper funeral was performed. Asbury's body remains buried in Baltimore beneath a ten-foot pillar whose shape resembles the Washington Monument.

Francis wrote in his will that he didn't want anyone to write a biography about his life, and he even asked that his executor do everything in his power to make sure that didn't happen. He also asked that, at his death, Bibles be

given to all the children who had been named after him, and it is said that thousands were handed out.

Many have written about the duty-bound Francis Asbury, who seemed to have a spirit of restlessness, a need to be always on the road. But Ezra Tipple best described the heart of Francis Asbury, saying that it wasn't the love of the road that kept him going, "but love of the man who lived by the side of the Road."293

No matter how one views Francis Asbury and his religious doctrine, Methodism endorsed the equality of all believers in America as taught by Jesus Christ. The Good News that salvation could change any life, now and for eternity, shattered divisions between classes and confirmed all the more the reality of the American Dream of rising out of one's class and building a better future for one's family. Asbury's life is a testimony to how God takes simple people and leads them on great journeys with Him. History records that Asbury "rode more than a quarter of a million miles on horseback and crossed the Allegheny Mountains some sixty times.…Asbury stayed in 10,000 households and preached 17,000 sermons."294

There are roughly thirteen million Methodists in the United States today, second only to the Baptists who have roughly twenty-seven million members.

According to Tipple, Methodism distinguished itself from other denominations, with

its system of church government, its ardent, effective evangelism, its rational, scriptural, and preachable theology, its aggressive missionary spirit, its teaching concerning experimental salvation, and the freedom and warmth of its services, especially of its preaching and singing….[It] was more nearly a renewal of primitive Christianity than any movement of the centuries since the apostles.295

233 Darius L. Salter, America's Bishop: The Life of Francis Asbury (Nappanee, IN: Francis Asbury Press, 2003), 9.

234 The exact date of Francis Asbury's birth is actually uncertain. Sources

state that it could have been a day earlier (August 19) or later (August 21), but for the sake of simplicity, I have used the most central and commonly cited date here.

235 Salter, America's Bishop, 19.

236 Robert J. Bull, "John Wesley Bond's Reminiscences of Francis Asbury," quoted in Methodist History 4 (October 1965), 10, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 21.

237 Francis Asbury, The Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, eds. Elmer T. Clark, J. Manning Potts, and Jacob S. Payton, vol. 1 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1958), 720, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 22.

238 Ezra Squier Tipple, Francis Asbury: The Prophet of the Long Road (New York: The Methodist Book Concern, 1916), 56.

239 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 722, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 28.

240 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 3, 4, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 30.

241 John Wesley, The Letters of the Rev. John Wesley, A.M., vol. 6, ed. John Telford (London: Epworth Press, 1931), 271, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 23.

242 Salter, America's Bishop, 36.

243 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 4, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 36.

244 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 111–112.

245 Salter, America's Bishop, 38.

246 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 120.

247 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 294, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 71. Emphasis added.

248 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 161, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 55–56.

249 Ibid., 263–264, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 65.

250 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 129.

251 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 287, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 68.

252 "To the Editors of the Maryland Journal and Baltimore Advertiser," Maryland Journal and Baltimore Advisor, 12 (February 15, 1785), 698:1, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 94.

253 Minutes of the Annual Conferences of the Methodist Episcopal Church, 1773–1828 (New York: Mason and Lane, 1840), 7, 17–18, quoted in L. C. Rudolph, Francis Asbury (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1966), 42.

254 John Vickers, Thomas Coke: Apostle of Methodism (New York: Abingdon Press, 1969), 119, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 87.

255 Wesley, Letters, vol. 8, 91, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 97.

256 Wesley, Letters, vol. 3, 183, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 100.

257 John Vickers, "Francis Asbury in the Wiltshire Circuit," Methodist History 16 (April 1978), 3:187, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 101.

258 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 480, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 103.

259 Salter, America's Bishop, 96.

260 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 132–133.

261 Ibid., 82.

262 Salter, America's Bishop, 167.

263 Timothy K. Beougher, "Did You Know?" Christian History 14, no. 1 [Issue 45] (1995): 3.

264 Mark Galli, "Revival at Cane Ridge," Christian History 14, no. 1 [Issue 45] (1995): 10.

265 "A Grassroots Movement," The Methodist Church Web site, http://www.methodist.org.uk/index.cfm? fuseaction=opentogod.content&cmid=1498.

266 Beougher, "Did You Know?" 3.

267 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 179.

268 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 3, 19, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 174.

269 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 2, 652, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 110.

270 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 186.

271 Francis Asbury, The Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, ed. Elmer T. Clark, J. Manning Potts, and Jacob S. Payton (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1958), 561, quoted in Rudolph, Francis Asbury, 72.

272 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 167–168.

273 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 1, 56, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 44.

274 Emory Stevens Bucke, D. D., ed., The History of American Methodism, vol. 1 (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1964), 502, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 161–162.

275 Galli, "Revival at Cane Ridge," 11.

276 Francis Asbury, "Letter to George Roberts," 18 August 1803, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury 3: 269, quoted in Rudolph, Francis Asbury, 118.

277 Rudolph, Francis Asbury, 113, 116.

278 Francis Asbury, "Letter to Mrs. John Dickens," 12 September 1801, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury 3: 226, quoted in Rudolph, Francis

Asbury, 117. Insert added.

279 Francis Asbury, "Letter to Stith Mead," 20 January 1801, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury 3: 196, quoted in Rudolph, Francis Asbury, 118.

280 Salter, America's Bishop, 9.

281 Asbury, "An Address to the Annual Subscribers for the Support of Cokesbury College," Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury 3: 58–59, quoted in Rudolph, Francis Asbury, 126.

282 Asbury, "November 1, 1804," Journals and Letters of Francis Asbury 2: 445, quoted in Rudolph, Francis Asbury, 126.

283 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 324.

284 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 2, 342, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 126.

285 "Unpublished Letters of Francis Asbury," Methodist History 16 (April 1978), 3:49, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 291.

286 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 158–159.

287 Salter, America's Bishop, 123.

288 Salter, America's Bishop, 324.

289 Ibid., 314.

290 Ibid.

291 Salter, America's Bishop, 317.

292 Asbury, Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury, vol. 3, 16, quoted in Salter, America's Bishop, 46.

293 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 160.

294 John H. Wigger, "Holy, 'Knock-'em-down' Preachers," Christian History 14, no. 1 [Issue 45] (1995), 25.

295 Tipple, Francis Asbury: Prophet of the Long Road, 13, 15.

Chapter Five

The First Camp Meetings

"America's Pentecost"

I wish you would also hold campmeetings; they have never been tried without

success. To collect such a number of God's people together to pray, and the ministers to preach, and the longer they stay, generally, the better—this is field

fishing, this is fishing with a large net.296 —Francis Asbury, to the presiding elder of the Pittsburgh District

By the mid 1700s, those wanting more elbow room in the increasingly populous colonies began pushing through the Cumberland Gap out of Virginia to form the first settlements west of the Allegheny Mountains. This wild countryside stocked full of wild turkeys and deer was used mainly as hunting grounds for various Native American tribes. Thick forests, full of excellent timber of many varieties, ran from horizon to horizon. The trees were watered by numerous springs and streams, and the forests held game for settlers and trappers alike. The soil was also marvelously rich for farming, especially around an area that Daniel Boone had dubbed "Cane Ridge" because of a variety of bamboo that flourished there.

Much of this territory was purchased from the Native Americans—by Britain in the Treaty of Fort Stanwix (1768) and by a private company from North Carolina in the Treaty of Sycamore Shoals (1775). The influx of settlers, however, displeased a few of the tribes to the extent that they sided with the British against the colonists in the Revolutionary War. One of the war's final battles—the Battle of Blue Licks—was even fought in this region, on August 19, 1782. This territory was racked by violence for more than a decade after the war ended. Meetinghouses that weathered this violence are still standing today, their walls bearing rifle slits for colonists to use to protect themselves in case of an attack by Native Americans.

In 1792, this territory became Kentucky, the first state outside of the original thirteen, and the fifteenth state in the Union. (Vermont was the fourteenth state, comprising an area that had been disputed between the states of New York and New Hampshire.) Kentuckians were a rough breed—most were either outlaws

on the run, homesteading families, or explorers, of whom Daniel Boone was the most famous. Kentucky was not a place for the faint of heart. Nor did the Kentuckians settle here for the same reasons as those who settled in Plymouth; these were not Pilgrims seeking religious freedom. Kentuckians considered spiritual matters secondary—if they considered them at all. As Francis Asbury put it in 1794, "When I reflect that not one in a hundred came here for religion, but rather to get plenty of good land, I think it will be well if some or many do not eventually lose their souls."297

Yet wherever there was a settlement, there was a call for ministers. In many cases, several communities would share a pastor because the early populations were so small. So it was that James McGready, a Presbyterian minister, took charge of the congregations on the Gasper, Red, and Muddy Rivers in Logan County. In 1796 he covenanted with these congregations to pray every Saturday evening, and to pray and fast from sunrise to sunset on the third Saturday of every month. The main focus of these prayer times was to ask God to bring revival.

A Revivalist Comes from the East

Descended from Scots-Irish ancestors, James McGready was born in 1763 in Pennsylvania. When he was a young child, his parents moved to Guilford County, North Carolina, where he grew up and attended David Caldwell's academy. He returned to Pennsylvania for ministerial preparation studies at Jefferson College, an institution in Canonsburg that would go on to be part of Washington and Jefferson College in nearby Washington, Pennsylvania (near Pittsburgh). It was there that he would hear Dr. John Blair Smith's detailed account of a powerful revival he had experienced in Virginia. James was immediately fascinated by the subject of revival.

James was licensed as a minister by the Presbytery of Redstone on August 13, 1788, and married sometime around 1790. For awhile, James pastored a congregation in Orange County, North Carolina, not far from Guilford. He quickly gained notoriety in the area "for his effective preaching...and for his intense moral seriousness. He touched people by his prayers and sermons, and at the same time troubled them by his denunciation of anything less than perfect holiness in conduct."298 From time to time, he would minister at Dr. David Caldwell's academy, where he had been educated. There, he touched the lives

of future revivalists: William Hodge would become a protégé of James, while Barton Stone, who was pastor at Cane Ridge during the 1801 camp meeting there, would cofound the Churches of Christ denomination. Stone would later say of James,

Such earnestness—such zeal—such powerful persuasion, enforced by the joys of heaven and miseries of hell, I had never witnessed before. My mind was chained by him, and followed him closely in his rounds of heaven, earth, and hell, with feelings indescribable. His concluding remarks were addressed to the sinner to flee the wrath to come without delay. Never before had I comparatively felt the force of truth. Such was my excitement, that had I been standing, I should have probably sunk to the floor under the impression.299

James McGready did not speak with the same emotional charge and drama as George Whitefield or with the calm power of John Wesley, but in the summers of 1800 and 1801, his ministry left an indelible mark on the history of revivalism. Tall and almost ungainly, James read from carefully written sermons, just as Jonathan Edwards had, though he lacked Edwards's intellectual clout. He exhorted with the authority of an Old Testament prophet —with a voice like thunder—and the careful, logical argument of the apostle Paul. As the Reverend John Andrews, a fellow minister, put it,

The style of his sermons was not polished, but perspicuous and pointed; and his manner of address was unusually solemn and impressive. As a preacher, he was highly esteemed by the humble followers of the Lamb, who relished the precious truths which he clearly exhibited to their view; but he was hated, and sometimes bitterly reproached and persecuted, not only by the openly vicious and profane, but by many nominal Christians, or formal professors, who could not bear his heart-searching and penetrating addresses, and the indignation of the Almighty against the ungodly, which, as a son on thunder, he clearly presented to the view of their guilty minds from the awful denunciations of the World of Truth.300

His zeal provoked a good deal of controversy and opposition. Some said he was causing his parishioners undue anxiety about their souls. James even received a letter written in blood that demanded he leave the county or risk his life, and a band of brigands tore out some of the seats in his church and set fire to his pulpit, burning it to ashes. The following Sunday, he defied them by

delivering a sermon based on Matthew 23:37–38:

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold your house is left unto you desolate.301

In 1796, James left North Carolina for Kentucky and the three Logan County congregations mentioned earlier. There, in one of the roughest parts of Kentucky, he continued to call for moral excellence. The region was known as "Rogue's Harbor" because of those who had fled there to escape the long arm of the law east of the Alleghenies. It was an area rampant with vice and alcoholism, land grabbing, and homesteaders trying to bring civilization to an untamed—and sometimes seemingly untamable—land. Christianity also appeared to be on the ropes as Universalism and Deism were on the rise.

As Methodist minister James Smith put it in 1795, "The Universalists, joining with the Deists, had given Christianity a deadly stab hereabouts."302 The 1790s were actually seeing a decline in church attendance in Kentucky and Tennessee (which became the sixteenth state in 1796). In 1798, the Presbyterian General Assembly decreed a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer to call for the redemption of the frontier from "Egyptian darkness."303 With them, James continued praying.

In May 1797, James saw the first visit of the Holy Spirit as he preached. A woman who had been a faithful church member "was struck with deep conviction," sought salvation anew, "and in a few days was filled with joy and peace in believing."304 In a letter to a friend on October 23, 1801, he described what happened next:

She immediately visited her friends and relatives, from house to house, and warned them of their danger in a most solemn, faithful manner, and plead with them to repent and seek religion. This...was accompanied with the divine blessing [manifestations of the Holy Spirit] to the awakening of many. About this time the ears of all in that congregation seemed to be open to receive the word preached, and almost every sermon was accompanied with the power of God, to the awakening of sinners. During the summer about ten persons in the congregation were brought to Christ.305

The seeds of revival were starting to sprout.

The Annual Communions

Ever looking for opportunities to spur renewal in the hearts of his congregation, James adapted a formula that had sparked revivals in Ulster (Northern Ireland) and Scotland. The greatest of these was in 1742 in Cambuslang, where George Whitefield spoke with a number of other ministers. The Reverend McGready called for an annual, multiday Communion service that allowed everyone from the area to come together, hear the Word preached, and then take the sacrament together on the last day. Families from the surrounding area would come to stay with other families in town, and meetings would start on Friday evenings. Services would continue through Saturday and Sunday, followed by a Monday morning service, with Communion observed around noontime. This schedule proved an effective formula for the sparsely populated Logan County. Scattered settlers were able to come together as a community to receive the sacrament, which was impractical on a weekly, or even monthly, basis, because of the time required for travel.

Though these were annual events in James's churches—they probably had been in North Carolina, as well—they were anything but routine after the services at Gasper River in July 1798. Again, in James's own words,

On Monday the Lord graciously poured out his Spirit; a very general awakening took place—perhaps but few families in the congregation could be found who, less or more, were not struck with an awful sense of their lost estate. During the week following but few persons attended to worldly business, their attention to the business of their souls was so great. On the first Sabbath of September, the sacrament was administered at Muddy River (one of my congregations). At this meeting the Lord graciously poured forth his spirit, to the awakening of many careless sinners. Through these two congregations already mentioned, and through Red River, my other congregation, awakening work went on with power under every sermon. The people seemed to hear, as for eternity. In every house, and almost in every company, the whole conversation with people, was about the state of their souls. 306

There seemed to be a growing excitement about religion in all of Rev. McGready's congregations.

The first Communion service of summer 1799 took place in July at Red River. Following the formula Whitefield had used at Cambuslang, James welcomed other ministers, including Presbyterians John Rankin, William Hodge, William McGee, and McGee's Methodist brother, John. James described what happened in the same letter to a friend:

On Monday the power of God seemed to fill the congregation; the boldest, daring sinners in the country covered their faces and wept bitterly. After the congregation was dismissed, a large number of people stayed about the doors, unwilling to go away. Some of the ministers proposed to me to collect the people in the meetinghouse again, and perform prayer with them; accordingly we went in, and joined in prayer and exhortation. The mighty power of God came amongst us like a shower from the everlasting hills—God's people were quickened and comforted; yea, some of them were filled with joy unspeakable, and full of glory. Sinners were powerfully alarmed, and some precious souls were brought to feel the pardoning love of Jesus.307

Again, growing revival was seen in the Gasper and Muddy River congregations—but God was far from finished.

The following summer, James called for the Red River Communion to take place even earlier in the summer, on the weekend of Saturday, June 21, to Monday, June 23, 1800. Roughly five hundred people attended. He invited the same group of ministers as he had the year before, but this time, his expectations were exceeded when the Holy Spirit showed up with great power. As James reflected that summer,

In June the sacrament was administered at Red River. This was the greatest time we had ever seen before. On Monday multitudes were struck down under awful conviction; the cries of the distressed filled the whole house. There you might see profane swearers, and sabbath breakers pricked to the heart, and crying out, "what shall we do to be saved?" There frolickers and dancers crying for mercy. There you might see little children of 10, 11, and 12 years of age, praying and crying for redemption, in the blood of Jesus, in agonies of distress. During this sacrament, and until the Tuesday following, ten persons, we believe, were savingly brought home to Christ.308

The eruption at Red River was truly unexpected from the outset; the first three days had passed with few remarkable happenings. The services had been

reverent and orderly.

During the service on Monday morning, however, as William Hodge preached a moving message on Job 22:21—"Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace: thereby good shall come unto thee"—a woman who had been seeking assurance of her salvation for some time began to shout and sing.

Then, after a short intermission, John McGee rose to speak and came to the pulpit, singing,

Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove, With all Thy quick'ning pow'rs; Kindle a flame of sacred love In these cold hearts of ours.309

At the sound of this hymn, at least one more woman cried out, probably also coming into a sudden knowledge of saving grace. McGee descended to congratulate these women, and as he did, the glory of God seemed to break out over the people. Some fell to the ground; others were screaming for mercy; some prayed, and others began praising God at the top of their lungs. William McGee, who was sitting nearby, rose to go to the pulpit, but he fell on the floor, apparently under the power of the Holy Spirit. As John McGee turned to him, he felt the power of God fall so heavily on him that he nearly crumbled beside his brother. John later recalled,

I turned to go back and was near falling; the power of God was strong upon me. I turned again, and, losing sight of the fear of man, I went through the house shouting and exhorting with all possible ecstasy and energy, and the floor was soon covered with the slain.310

McGready, Hodge, and Rankin wondered if they should intervene. Never before had their preaching caused people to collapse, and they were unsure how to interpret and deal with what was happening. But John McGee, a "shouting Methodist" himself, assured them that this was the work of God, so they decided to let the service run its course. Rev. Rankin later reported,

On seeing and feeling his confidence, that it was the work of God, and a mighty effusion of his spirit, and having heard that he was acquainted with such scenes in another country, we acquiesced and stood in astonishment, admiring

the wonderful works of God. When this alarming occurrence subsided in outward show, the united congregation returned to their respective abodes, in contemplation of what they had seen, heard, and felt on this most oppressive occasion.311

James then decided to have another Communion the following month at the Gasper River Meetinghouse. That summer, the McGee brothers spoke at various locations almost every weekend, and such meetings caught on like wildfire. The word spread quickly, and momentum gathered toward the Gasper River Communion. As Rankin remarked,

The news of the strange operations which had transpired at the previous meeting had run throughout the country in every direction, carrying a high degree of excitement to the minds of almost every character. The curious came to gratify their curiosity. The seriously convicted, presented themselves that they might receive some special and salutary benefit to their souls, and promote the cause of God, at home and abroad.312

In his "Narrative of the Commencement and Progress of the Revival of 1800," James described how the Kentucky revival truly took hold in Gasper, drawing people from far and wide:

In July the sacrament was administered in Gasper River Congregation. Here multitudes crowded from all parts of the country to see a strange work, from the distance of forty, fifty, and even a hundred miles; whole families came in their wagons; between twenty and thirty wagons were brought to the place, loaded with people, and their provisions, in order to encamp at the meetinghouse. On Friday nothing more appeared, during the day, than a decent solemnity. On Saturday matters continued in the same way, until in the evening. Two pious women were sitting together, conversing about their exercises; which conversation seemed to affect some of the by-standers; instantly the divine flame spread through the whole multitude. Presently you might have seen sinners lying powerless in every part of the house, praying and crying for mercy. Ministers and private Christians were kept busy during the night conversing with the distressed. This night a goodly number of awakened souls were delivered by sweet believing views of the glory, fulness, and sufficiency of Christ, to save to the uttermost. Amongst these were some little children—a striking proof of the religion of Jesus. Of many instances to which I have been

an eyewitness, I shall only mention one, viz. a little girl. I stood by her whilst she lay across her mother's lap almost in despair. I was conversing with her when the first gleam of light broke in upon her mind—she started to her feet, and in an ecstacy of joy, she cried out, "O he is willing, he is willing—he is come, he is come—O what a sweet Christ he is—O what a precious Christ he is—O what a fulness I see in him—O what a beauty I see in him—O why was it that I never could believe! That I never could come to Christ before, when Christ was so willing to save me?" Then turning round, she addressed sinners, and told them of the glory, willingness, and preciousness of Christ, and plead with them to repent; and all this in language so heavenly, and, at the same time, so rational and scriptural, that I was filled with astonishment. But were I to write you every particular of this kind that I have been an eye and ear witness to, during the two past years, it would fill many sheets of paper.313

The Gasper River meetinghouse proved too small to accommodate the large crowds, so areas were cleared to hold meetings in the open air. A makeshift preaching stand was constructed, and logs were converted into pews. Services lasted throughout the first night, and the cries of the penitent threatened to drown out the voice of John McGee as he spoke on Sunday. The same signs of the move of the Spirit that had been at Red River were at Gasper River: many people fell under the power of God, cried out and prayed under the conviction of the Spirit, and gave loud shouts of joy and praise when they had found the peace with God they had come hoping to receive.

Most historians consider Gasper River to be the first camp meeting ever held, but the term "camp meeting" was not coined for another year or two afterward. This term came about because the Communion services began to draw crowds larger than the local families could accommodate in their homes, and soon, the crowds would outgrow even the capacities of the meetinghouses.

The conviction of the Spirit operated without limits, as believers, Universalists, Deists, and even atheists were all struck down. Revival fire was spreading from Logan County throughout Kentucky and Tennessee. A frenzy of the Holy Spirit continued to take the frontier, and Communion services were held almost every weekend for the rest of the summer.

At this sacrament a great many people from Cumberland, particularly from Shiloh Congregation, came with great curiosity to see the work, yet

prepossessed with strong prejudices against it; about five of whom, I trust, were savingly and powerfully converted before they left the place. A circumstance worthy of observation, they were sober professors in full communion. It was truly affecting to see them lying powerless, crying for mercy, and speaking to their friends and relations, in such language as this: "O, we despised the work that we heard of in Logan; but, O, we were deceived—I have no religion; I know now there is a reality in these things: three days ago I would have despised any person that would have behaved as I am doing now; but, O, I feel the very pains of hell in my soul." This was the language of a precious soul, just before the hour of deliverance came. When they went home, their conversation to their friends and neighbors, was the means of commencing a glorious work that has overspread all the Cumberland settlements to the conversion of hundreds of precious souls. The work continued night and day at this sacrament, whilst the vast multitude continued upon the ground until Tuesday morning. According to the best computation, we believe that forty-five souls were brought to Christ on this occasion.

Muddy River Sacrament, in all its circumstances, was equal, and in some respects superior, to that at Gasper River. This sacrament was in August. We believe about fifty persons, at this time, obtained religion.

At [Cane] Ridge Sacrament, in Cumberland, the second Sabbath in September [1800], about forty-five souls, we believe, obtained religion. At Shiloh Sacrament, the third Sabbath in September, about seventy persons. At Mr. Craighead's Sacrament, in October, about forty persons. At the Clay-Lick Sacrament congregation, in Logan County, in October, eight persons. At Little Muddy-Creek Sacrament, in November, about twelve. At Montgomery's Meeting-house, in Cumberland, about forty. At Hopewell Sacrament, in Cumberland, in November, about twenty persons. To mention the circumstances of more private occasions, common-days preaching, and societies, would swell a letter to a volume.314

John McGee reported that at Desha's Creek,

many thousands of people attended. The mighty power and mercy of God was manifested. The people fell before the Word, like corn before a storm of wind, and many rose from the dust with divine glory shining on their countences, and gave glory to God in such strains as made the hearts of

stubborn sinners to tremble; and after the first gust of praise they would break forth in vollies of exhortation.315

One of Rev. McGready's sermons, entitled "A Sacramental Meditation," was based upon Genesis 28:17—"How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." This sermon can perhaps begin to give us an understanding of the intensity that led to such extreme reactions. The points of this sermon resemble some that Edwards made in his famous sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God":

1)A sacramental table is a dreadful place; for God is there.

2)A sacramental table is a dreadful place, because it is a striking exhibition of the most important transaction ever witnessed by men or angels, vis. the redemption of guilty sinners by the bitter agonies, bloody sufferings and dying groans of the incarnate God.

3)A sacramental table is a dreadful place; for the Holy One of Israel here confers and sups with pardoned rebels.

4)A sacramental table is a dreadful place; for here heaven is brought down to earth.316

As 1800 drew to a close, God's presence surely seemed to be falling on Kentucky and Tennessee. But these states had seen nothing yet—a fresh dose of Pentecost was just around the corner. The next year, 1801, would see roughly fifty different congregations plan four-day Communions in Kentucky between May and November, the largest and most explosive of all occurring at Cane Ridge. It would be the climax of the revival taking place west of the Alleghenies.

The Holy Spirit Falls on Cane Ridge

When Barton Stone heard that God was moving at James's Communions, he decided to attend in spring of 1801. The scene that greeted him was revolutionary. By this time, the crowds had grown too large to have a service with everyone present, so various areas of ministry would go on concurrently in separate locations. In his autobiography, Stone described what he experienced:

There, on the edge of a prairie in Logan County, Kentucky, the multitudes came together, and continued a number of days and nights encamped on the ground; during which time worship was carried on in some part of the encampment. The scene to me was new, and passing strange. It baffled description. Many, very many fell down, as men slain in battle, and continued for hours together in an apparently breathless and motionless state—sometimes for a few moments reviving, and exhibiting symptoms of life by a deep groan, or piercing shriek, or by a prayer for mercy most fervently uttered. After lying thus for hours, they obtained deliverance. The gloomy cloud, which had covered their faces, seemed gradually and visibly to disappear, and hope in smiles brightened into joy—they would rise shouting deliverance, and then would address the surrounding multitude in language truly eloquent and impressive. With astonishment did I hear men, women, and children declaring the wonderful works of God, and the glorious mysteries of the gospel. Their appeals were solemn, heart-penetrating, bold and free. Under such addresses many others would fall down into the same state from which the speakers had just been delivered.

Two or three of my particular acquaintances from a distance were struck down. I sat patiently by one of them, whom I knew to be a careless sinner, for hours, and observed with critical attention every thing that passed from the beginning to the end. I noticed the momentary revivings as from death—the humble confession of sins—the fervent prayer, and the ultimate deliverance— then the solemn thanks and praise to God—the affectionate exhortation to companions and to the people around, to repent and come to Jesus. I was astonished at the knowledge of gospel truth displayed in the address. The effect was, that several sunk down into the same appearance of death. After attending to many such cases, my conviction was complete that it was a good work—the work of God; nor has my mind wavered since on the subject. Much did I then see, and much have I since seen, that I considered to be fanaticism; but this should not condemn the work. The Devil has always tried to ape the works of God, to bring them into disrepute. But that cannot be a Satanic work, which brings men to humble confession and forsaking of sin—to solemn prayer— fervent praise and thanksgiving, and to sincere and affectionate exhortations to sinners to repent and go to Jesus the Saviour.317

When Stone returned to his congregations at Cane Ridge and Concord and shared some of what he had seen, his parishioners were struck to the heart. At

Cane Ridge, "the congregation was affected with awful solemnity, and many returned home weeping."318 At Concord, "two little girls were struck down under the preaching of the word, and in every respect were exercised as those were in the south of Kentucky, as already described. Their addresses made deep impressions on the congregation."319 Upon returning to Cane Ridge, he found many who were seeking salvation with new vigor. A good friend, Nathaniel Rogers, greeted him by praising the Lord, for he had just gained the assurance of his salvation in his heart. Then, an even more interesting scene transpired:

As soon as he saw me, he shouted aloud the praises of God. We hurried into each others' embrace, he still praising the Lord aloud. The crowd [that had been seeking the Lord while awaiting Rev. Stone's return] left the house, and hurried to this novel scene. In less than twenty minutes, scores had fallen to the ground—paleness, trembling, and anxiety appeared in all—some attempted to fly from the scene panic stricken, but they either fell, or returned immediately to the crowd, as unable to get away. In the midst of this exercise, an intelligent deist in the neighborhood, stepped up to me, and said, "Mr. Stone, I always thought before that you were an honest man; but now I am convinced you are deceiving the people." I viewed him with pity, and mildly spoke a few words to him—immediately he fell as a dead man, and rose no more till he confessed the Saviour. The meeting continued on that spot in the open air, till late at night, and many found peace in the Lord.

The effects of this meeting through the country were like fire in dry stubble driven by a strong wind. All felt its influence more or less. Soon after, we had a protracted meeting at Concord. The whole country appeared to be in motion to the place, and multitudes of all denominations attended. All seemed heartily to unite in the work, and in Christian love. Party spirit, abashed, shrunk away. To give a true description of this meeting cannot be done; it would border on the marvellous. It continued five days and nights without ceasing. Many, very many will through eternity remember it with thanksgiving and praise.320

After these events, Stone scheduled a Communion in Cane Ridge for the first weekend of August, only a month after his marriage on July 2. Expecting large crowds, and knowing that the meetinghouse could seat 350 comfortably (500 at maximum), Stone arranged for areas to be cleared so that a large tent could be erected as a secondary place of ministry.

On Friday, August 6, families began arriving on wagons. Hundreds soon turned into thousands, and the houses of local families hosting the attendees— even the more affluent ones, who might have housed three or four families— were soon overflowing. With so many people coming with the same purpose— to seek the Lord with all of their hearts—the scene passed somewhere between the absolute chaos of a refugee camp outside of a war zone and the Christian equivalent of the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles. In his autobiography, Rev. Stone tried to describe the scene, which quickly spread to fill several acres:

The roads were literally crowded with wagons, carriages, horsemen, and footmen, moving to the solemn camp. The sight was affecting. It was judged, by military men on the ground, that there were between twenty and thirty thousand collected. Four or five preachers were frequently speaking at the same time, in different parts of the encampment, without confusion. The Methodist and Baptist preachers aided in the work, and all appeared cordially united in it— of one mind and one soul, and the salvation of sinners seemed to be the great object of all. We all engaged in singing the same songs of praise—all united in prayer—all preached the same things—free salvation urged upon all by faith and repentance. A particular description of this meeting would fill a large volume, and then the half would not be told. The numbers converted will be known only in eternity. Many things transpired there, which were so much like miracles, that if they were not, they had the same effects as miracles on infidels and unbelievers; for many of them by these were convinced that Jesus was the Christ, and bowed in submission to him. This meeting continued six or seven days and nights, and would have continued longer, but provisions for such a multitude failed in the neighborhood.321

The first Friday evening, rain caused fewer people to come, but the meetinghouse was still filled to capacity. After Rev. Stone's opening address, Matthew Houston delivered the first sermon to an expectant audience. Nothing remarkable happened that evening, though some remained in prayer throughout the night.

Saturday morning was still quiet as the services continued, but by noon, more families were arriving—and by the thousands, despite the intermittent downpours of rain. It was easiest for single men to travel on horseback— during the events, they stayed in taverns or slept in barns as far away as

Lexington, a distance of some twenty-five miles. The center could no longer hold; there were simply too many bodies for one area to contain. By the afternoon, both the meetinghouse and tent were filled to overflowing, and preaching continued without interruption.

It wasn't long, however, before preaching began breaking out wherever a crowd had gathered. It was said that during the weekend, there were times when as many as seven preachers were preaching to large crowds simultaneously. Attendance swelled to tens of thousands in the subsequent hours, and when it peaked, one tally counted 1,143 wagons and similar vehicles that had set up camp in the area. These were extraordinary numbers, considering that Lexington's population was a mere 1,795 at the time, and that Kentucky had fewer than 250,000 residents.322 Another witness said of Saturday morning, "I first proceeded to count the waggons containing families, with their provisions, camp equipage, &c. to the number of 147: at 11 o'clock the quantity of ground occupied by horses, waggons, &c. was about the same size as the square between Market, Chesnut, Second and Third-streets, of Philadelphia."323 (About four city blocks.)

In one of the gatherings, a young minister named Richard Nemar proclaimed that he had found a "true new gospel," and it was as if electricity had shot through the crowd. Though no one knew exactly what he meant by this—some were even shocked and offended—the presence of the Holy Spirit fell into the midst of the congregation and was manifest in various ways, some of which no one present had experienced before.

Rev. Stone kept a careful record of every manifestation during the weekend, and the following account essentially composes one chapter of his autobiography:

The bodily agitations or exercises, attending the excitement in the beginning of this century, were various, and called by various names—as, the falling exercise—the jerks—the dancing exercise—the barking exercise—the laughing and singing exercise, etc. The falling exercise was very common among all classes, the saints and sinners of every age and of every grace, from the philosopher to the clown. The subject of this exercise would, generally, with a piercing scream, fall like a log on the floor, earth, or mud, and appear as dead. Of thousands of similar cases, I will mention one. At a meeting, two gay

young ladies, sisters, were standing together attending to the exercises and preaching at the time. Instantly they both fell, with a shriek of distress, and lay for more than an hour apparently in a lifeless state. Their mother, a pious Baptist, was in great distress, fearing they would not revive. At length they began to exhibit symptoms of life, by crying fervently for mercy, and then relapsed into the same death-like state, with an awful gloom on their countenances. After awhile, the gloom on the face of one was succeeded by a heavenly smile, and she cried out, "Precious Jesus," and rose up and spoke of the love of God—the preciousness of Jesus, and of the glory of the gospel, to the surrounding crowd, in language almost superhuman, and pathetically exhorted all to repentance. In a little while after, the other sister was similarly exercised. From that time they became remarkably pious members of the church.

I have seen very many pious persons fall in the same way, from a sense of the danger of their unconverted children, brothers, or sisters—from a sense of the danger of their neighbors, and of the sinful world. I have heard them agonizing in tears and strong crying for mercy to be shown to sinners, and speaking like angels to all around.

The jerks cannot be so easily described. Sometimes the subject of the jerks would be affected in some one member of the body, and sometimes in the whole system. When the head alone was affected, it would be jerked backward and forward, or from side to side, so quickly that the features of the face could not be distinguished. When the whole system was affected, I have seen the person stand in one place, and jerk backward and forward in quick succession, their head nearly touching the floor behind and before. All classes, saints and sinners, the strong as well as the weak, were thus affected. I have inquired of those thus affected. They could not account for it; but some have told me that those were among the happiest seasons of their lives. I have seen some wicked persons thus affected, and all the time cursing the jerks, while they were thrown to the earth with violence. Though so awful to behold, I do not remember that any one of the thousands I have seen ever sustained an injury in body. This was as strange as the exercise itself.

The dancing exercise. This generally began with the jerks, and was peculiar to professors of religion. The subject, after jerking awhile, began to dance, and then the jerks would cease. Such dancing was indeed heavenly to the

spectators; there was nothing in it like levity, nor calculated to excite levity in the beholders. The smile of heaven shone on the countenance of the subject, and assimilated to angels appeared the whole person. Sometimes the motion was quick and sometimes slow. Thus they continued to move forward and backward in the same track or alley till nature seemed exhausted, and they would fall prostrate on the floor or earth, unless caught by those standing by. While thus exercised, I have heard their solemn praises and prayers ascending to God.

The barking exercise, (as opposers contemptuously called it,) was nothing but the jerks. A person affected with the jerks, especially in his head, would often make a grunt, or bark, if you please, from the suddenness of the jerk. This name of barking seems to have had its origin from an old Presbyterian preacher of East Tennessee. He had gone into the woods for private devotion, and was seized with the jerks. Standing near a sapling, he caught hold of it, to prevent his falling, and as his head jerked back, he uttered a grunt or kind of noise similar to a bark, his face being turned upwards. Some wag discovered him in this position, and reported that he found him barking up a tree.

The laughing exercise was frequent, confined solely with the religious. It was a loud, hearty laughter, but one sui generis ["of its own kind"]; it excited laughter in none else. The subject appeared rapturously solemn, and his laughter excited solemnity in saints and sinners. It is truly indescribable.

The running exercise was nothing more than, that persons feeling something of these bodily agitations, through fear, attempted to run away, and thus escape from them; but it commonly happened that they ran not far, before they fell, or became so greatly agitated that they could proceed no farther. I knew a young physician of a celebrated family, who came some distance to a big meeting to see the strange things he had heard of. He and a young lady had sportively agreed to watch over, and take care of each other, if either should fall. At length the physician felt something very uncommon, and started from the congregation to run into the woods; he was discovered running as for life, but did not proceed far till he fell down, and there lay till he submitted to the Lord, and afterwards became a zealous member of the church. Such cases were common.

I shall close this chapter with the singing exercise. This is more

unaccountable than any thing else I ever saw. The subject in a very happy state of mind would sing most melodiously, not from the mouth or nose, but entirely in the breast, the sounds issuing thence. Such music silenced every thing, and attracted the attention of all. It was most heavenly. None could ever be tired of hearing it. Doctor J. P. Campbell and myself were together at a meeting, and were attending to a pious lady thus exercised, and concluded it to be something surpassing any thing we had known in nature.

Thus have I given a brief account of the wonderful things that happened in the great excitement in the beginning of this century. That there were many eccentricities, and much fanaticism in this excitement, was acknowledged by its warmest advocates; indeed it would have been a wonder, if such things had not appeared, in the circumstances of that time.324

Estimates of those touched by the Holy Spirit ranged from five hundred to a thousand at a time.

Among those in the audience were some detractors, of whom Robert W. Finley was one, even though he was the son of the builder of the Cane Ridge Meetinghouse, the Reverend James B. Finley. (Finley was also a successful circuit rider who had a powerful ministry among the Wyandot Indians of Ohio.) This is what he had to say of the events:

On the way to the meeting I said to my companions, "If I fall, it must be by physical power, and not by singing and praying," and as I prided myself upon my manhood and courage, I had no fear of being overcome by any nervous excitability or being frightened into religion. We arrived upon the ground, and here a scene presented itself to my mind not only novel and unaccountable, but awful beyond description. A vast crowd, supposed by some to have amounted to twenty-five thousand, was collected together. The noise was like the roar of Niagara.

The vast sea of human beings seemed to be agitated as if by a storm. I counted seven ministers, all preaching at one time; some on stumps, others in wagons, and one—the Reverend William Burke, now of Cincinnati—was standing on a tree which had in falling lodged against another. Some of the people were singing, others praying, some crying for mercy in the most piteous accents, while others were shouting most vociferously.

While witnessing these scenes a peculiarly strange sensation, such as I had never before felt, came over me. My heart beat tumultuously, my knees trembled, my lips quivered, and I felt as though I must fall to the ground. A strange supernatural power seemed to pervade the entire mass of mind there collected. I became so weak and powerless that I found it necessary to sit down.

Soon after I left and went into the woods, and there I strove to rally and man up my courage. I tried to philosophize in regard to these wonderful exhibitions, resolving them into mere sympathetic excitement, a kind of religious enthusiasm, inspired by songs and eloquent harangues. My pride was wounded, for I had supposed that my mental and physical strength and vigor could most successfully resist these influences.

After some time I returned to the scene of excitement, the waves of which, if possible, had risen still higher. The same awfulness of feeling came over me. I stepped upon a log, where I could have a better view of the surging sea of humanity. The scene that then presented itself to my mind was indescribable. At one time I saw at least five hundred swept down in a moment, as if a battery of a thousand guns had been opened upon them, and then immediately followed shrieks and shouts that rent the very heavens. My hair rose up on my head, my whole frame trembled, the blood ran cold in my veins, and I fled for the woods a second time, and wished I had stayed at home.

While I remained here my feelings became intense and insupportable. A sense of suffocation and blindness seemed to come over me, and I thought I was going to die. There being a tavern about half a mile off, I concluded to go and get some brandy and see if it would not strengthen my nerves.

After some time I got to the bar and took a dram and left, feeling that I was as near hell as I wished to be, either in this or the world to come. The brandy had no effect in allaying my feelings, but, if anything, made me worse.

Night at lengths came on and I was afraid to see any of my companions. I cautiously avoided them, fearing lest they should discover something the matter with me. In this state I wandered about from place to place, in and around the encampment. At times it seemed as if all the sins I had ever committed in my life were vividly brought up in array before my terrified imagination, and under their awful pressure I felt as if I must die if I did not get relief. My heart

was so proud and hard that I would not have fallen to the ground for the whole State of Kentucky. I felt that such an event would have been an everlasting disgrace and put a final quietus on my boasted manhood and courage.

At night I went to a barn in the neighborhood, and, creeping under the hay, spent a most dismal night. I resolved in the morning to start for home, for I felt that I was a ruined man. Finding one of the friends who came over with me, I said: "Captain, let us be off; I will stay no longer." He assented, and, getting our horses, we started for home.

We said but little on the way, though many a deep, long-drawn sigh told the emotions of my heart. When we arrived at the Blue Lick knobs, I broke the silence, which reigned mutually between us. Like long-pent-up waters seeking for an avenue in the rock, the fountains of my soul were broken up, and I exclaimed: "Captain, if you and I don't stop our wickedness, the devil will get us both." Then came from my streaming eyes the bitter tears, and I could scarcely refrain from screaming aloud. Night approaching, we put up near Mayslick, the whole of which was spent by me in weeping and promising God if he would spare me till morning I would pray and try to mend my life and abandon my wicked courses....

Men of the most depraved hearts and vicious habits were made new creatures, and a whole life of virtue subsequently confirmed the conversion.325

Robert Finley went on to become a lifelong minister of some importance in the Methodist Church.

Each evening as night fell, campfires were lit, and candles, lamps, and torches provided light for services that continued into the night. Reflected off the trees, this light must have created a wondrous atmosphere and inspired renewed reverence. Another witness gave the following testimony about what the evenings were like:

The spectacle presented at night was one of the wildest grandeur. The glare of the blazing camp-fires falling on a dense assemblage of heads simultaneously bowed in adoration, and reflected back from the long ranges of tents upon every side; hundreds of lamps and candles suspended among the trees, together with numerous torches flashing to and fro, throwing an uncertain

light upon the tremulous foliage, and giving an appearance of dim and indefinite extent to the depth of the forest; the solemn chanting of hymns swelling and falling on the night wind; the impassioned exhortations; the earnest prayers; the sobs, shrieks, or shouts, bursting from persons under intense agitation of mind; the sudden spasms which seized upon scores, and unexpectedly dashed them to the ground;—all conspired to invest the scene with terrific interest, and to work up the feelings to the highest pitch of excitement.326

At Cane Ridge, the Communion service had been planned for Sunday instead of Monday, and came off as planned. The tables for this were set up in the meetinghouse in the shape of a cross and could serve as many as a hundred people at a time. Estimates of those who actually participated range from 800 to 1,100, for only those recognized as converts were allowed—in other words, primarily Presbyterians and Methodists. People from these two groups had been the chief organizers of the event. But because only the Presbyterians presided over Communion, the Methodists began to hold meetings outside, and they soon drew large crowds. A separate African-American service also began nearby. The attendees were likely members of the African Baptist Church.

Small prayer groups also developed during the meetings, and although they were not part of the schedule, they had a similar feel because of the organized agenda by which they operated. Hundreds of people began spontaneously exhorting anyone within earshot as the Spirit of God fell on them. This was the most remarkable manifestation of Cane Ridge, as these exhorters could be anyone—men or women, literate or illiterate, Caucasian or African-American, adults or children—and of any disposition, outgoing or timid. Because of such sights, camp meetings would soon earn the title "carnival of preachers," as one could walk among them and hear preachers from all sides.

In one instance, a seven-year-old girl named Barbara climbed up on a man's shoulder and began to speak with words far beyond her years, and when she was exhausted, she settled down to rest her head on the man's head as if to sleep. When a tenderhearted man nearby remarked, "Poor thing, she had better be laid down," she revived immediately to proclaim, "Don't call me poor, for Christ is my brother, God my father, and I have a kingdom to inherit, therefore

do not call me poor, for I am rich in the blood of the Lamb."327

As more and more people were touched to exhort, even more were touched and convicted of their sins, which caused a low moaning to arise in the camp. Hymn singing became more pronounced, and all of the manifestations Rev. Stone had documented from the day before began occurring again. The Reverend Moses Hoge tried to describe such a scene in a letter to a friend:

In time of preaching, if care is taken, there is but little confusion: and when that is over, and the singing, and praying, and exhorting begins, the audience is thrown into what I call real disorder. The careless fall down, cry out, tremble, and not infrequently are affected with convulsive twitchings. Among these the pious are very busy, singing, praying, conversing, falling down in extacies, fainting with joy, exhorting sinners, combating opposers, &c. Those who fall, lie some a longer, some a shorter time. Some get comfort, some do not when first down, when one gets through (it is their own phrase,) that is, obtains relief, the shout is raised glory to God for a new born soul. And the holy embrace follows. Whole nights are spent in this way, and that part of the day which is not employed in divine service. For they stayed upon the ground in both places all the days of the solemnity. Nothing that imagination can paint, can make a stronger impression on the mind, than one of those scenes. Sinners dropping down on every hand, shrieking, groaning, crying for mercy, convulsed; professors praying, agonizing, falling down in distress, for sinners or in raptures of joy! Some singing, some shouting, clapping their hands, hugging and even kissing, laughing; others talking to the distressed, to one another, or to opposers of the work, and all this at once.—No spectacle can excite a stronger sensation. And with what is doing, the darkness of the night, the solemnity of the place, and of the occasions, and conscious guilt, all conspire to make terror thrill through every power of the soul, and rouse it to awful attention.—As to the work in general there can be no question but it is of God.328

As people packed their belongings before the journey home on Monday, others were just beginning to show up to experience the outpouring for themselves. Prayer, preaching, exhorting, singing, and manifestations of the Holy Spirit would continue until Thursday of that week. Estimates of those who were touched with "exercises of the Spirit" range from one thousand to three thousand—the same numbers that quantify the estimated number of

converts.

Peter Cartwright was among those converted at a Communion service that summer, and he said of Cane Ridge,

At a memorable place called "Cane Ridge," there was appointed a sacramental meeting by some of the Presbyterian ministers, at which meeting, seemingly unexpected by ministers or people, the mighty power of God was displayed in a very extraordinary manner; many were moved to tears, and bitter and loud crying for mercy. The meeting was protracted for weeks. Ministers of almost all denominations flocked in from far and near. The meeting was kept up by night and day. Thousands heard of the mighty work, and came on foot, on horseback, in carriages and wagons. It was supposed that there were in attendance at times during the meeting from twelve to twenty-five thousand people. Hundreds fell prostrate under the mighty power of God, as men slain in battle. Stands were erected in the woods from which preachers of different Churches proclaimed repentance toward God and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, and it was supposed, by eye and ear witnesses, that between one and two thousand souls were happily and powerfully converted to God during the meeting. It was not unusual for one, two, three, and four to seven preachers to be addressing the listening thousands at the same time from the different stands erected for the purpose. The heavenly fire spread in almost every direction. It was said, by truthful witnesses, that at times more than one thousand persons broke into loud shouting all at once, and that the shouts could be heard for miles around.

From this camp-meeting, for so it ought to be called, the news spread through all the Churches, and through all the land, and it excited great wonder and surprise; but it kindled a religious flame that spread all over Kentucky and through many other states.329

Cane Ridge was the high point of the Kentucky revival, but it was far from exclusive. The year 1801 was one of "boiling-hot religion." Such manifestations of the Holy Spirit would continue through the rest of the Communion season of 1801, with the addition of speaking in unknown languages later that year, as described by a witness:

They swooned away and lay for hours in the straw prepared for those "smitten of the Lord," or they started suddenly to flee away and fell prostrate

as if shot by a sniper, or they took suddenly to jerking with apparently every muscle in their body until it seemed they would be torn to pieces or converted into marble, or they shouted and talked in unknown tongues.330

Kentucky and the young United States would be forever changed. The camp meeting set the precedent for America's being seen as an "evangelical nation."

The Aftermath

From Kentucky, the revival spread throughout the South and east over the mountains. As powerful a move of God as it was, however, it ended more quickly than it began. It seemed that most of the ministers involved had no idea how to react to the Holy Spirit's manifestations, which literally took over their meetings. While some groups, such as the Methodists, welcomed the format of the camp meetings and the "chaos" of God's Spirit falling on saints and sinners alike, other denominations embraced the camp meeting only as a way of gathering people together annually.

While the camp meetings continued over the years, by the end of the Civil War, they would vary in focus from the Holiness movement, which was a precursor to the Azusa Street Revival, to the Chautauqua meetings, which quickly concentrated more on intellectual pursuits than on spiritual matters. Many camp meetings were also tightly structured, with rules as strict as "No giggling after ten o'clock" and "No chopping wood before six."331

Though the abolition movement quickly became associated with most camp meetings—Christians being the most ardent supporters of abolition, temperance, and women's suffrage—African-Americans and Native Americans rarely mixed with others in these camp meetings. They generally had separate gatherings nearby. Revival struck again in the years preceding the Civil War, but racial lines were crossed rarely, if ever, until many years after the war. In spite of this fact, African-American pastors, such as Richard Allen of the Philadelphia African Methodist Episcopal Church, saw their church memberships swell to as many as 7,500. A few years prior to the events in Kentucky, Francis Asbury had dedicated Allen's building, and he later ordained him as a deacon in 1799.

Anyone who tried to fit the works of God witnessed during the summer of 1801 into some kind of man-made, doctrinal box would see no more of such

manifestations. Other groups would leave their denominations to form new ones in order to continue pursuing these "exercises of the Spirit." Because of the events that transpired at Cane Ridge, the Cumberland Valley congregations would break away from mainline Presbyterianism to become the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, and Barton Stone would join Alexander Campbell to embrace a "Bible-only" Christianity. They formed a new group, which they called the "Disciples of Christ" or the "Churches of Christ." James McGready, however, was a notable figure who refused to leave the other Presbyterians; he would never become part of the Cumberland group. The Shakers, or "Shaking Quakers," as they were later called, also emerged from meetings similar to the camp meetings of that summer. They would try to start radically new cultures whose aims were serving and seeking God above all else. During the five decades leading up to the Civil War, roughly 120 similar social communities were built to experiment with communities based on the Word of God. Few of these experiments, however, celebrated even temporary success.

Peter Cartwright described these results in his Autobiography:

As Presbyterian, Methodist, and Baptist ministers all united in the blessed work at this meeting, when they returned home to their different congregations, and carried the news of this mighty work, the revival spread rapidly throughout the land; but many of the ministers and members of the synod of Kentucky thought it all disorder, and tried to stop the work. They called their preachers who were engaged in the revival to account, and censured and silenced them. These ministers then rose up and unitedly renounced the jurisdiction of the Presbyterian Church, organized a Church of their own, and dubbed it with the name of Christian. Here was the origin of what was called the New Lights. They renounced the Westminster Confession of Faith, and all Church discipline, and professed to take the New Testament for their Church discipline. They established no standard of doctrine; every one was to take the New Testament, read it, and abide his own construction of it. Marshall, M'Namar, Dunlevy, Stone, Huston, and others, were the chief leaders in this trash trap. Soon a diversity of opinion sprang up, and they got into a Babel confusion. Some preached Arian, some Socinian, and some Universalist doctrines; so that in a few years you could not tell what was harped or what was danced. They adopted the mode of immersion, the water-god of all exclusive errorists; and directly there was a mighty controversy about the way to heaven, whether it was by water or by dry land....

This Christian, or New Light Church, is a feeble and scattered people, though there are some good Christians among them. I suppose since the day of Pentecost, there was hardly ever a greater revival of religion than at Cane Ridge; and if there had been steady, Christian ministers, settled in Gospel doctrine and Church discipline, thousands might have been saved to the Church that wandered off in the mazes of vain, speculative divinity, and finally made shipwreck of the faith, fell back, turned infidel, and lost their religion and their souls forever. But evidently a new impetus was given to the work of God, and many, very many, will have cause to bless God forever for this revival of religion throughout the length and breadth of our Zion.332

Though the summer of 1802 would be nothing like the previous summer, it would be the first year that the term "camp meeting" was used in everyday vocabulary. The term endures today; for example, organizations such as Kenneth Hagin Ministries sponsor "camp meetings" every summer. For decades following 1802, Methodists would see their own camp meetings spread to every state, as Francis Asbury became a strong proponent of this revival format. Nothing like Cane Ridge would happen again, however, until the Pentecostal Revival at the turn of the next century.

Many people acknowledged that the hand of God was behind what happened in Kentucky in 1801, but glowing reports came only from those who had experienced the Communions of that season. As Paul Conklin, author of Cane Ridge: America's Pentecost, put it,

By the fall of 1801 evangelical visitors to the central counties of Kentucky marveled at a near utopia. The Spirit of God had burned and cleansed the whole area. Practically everyone had been somehow affected by the revival. George Baxter, when he arrived from the Shenandoah Valley, thought he breathed a special, cleansed air in Kentucky. He found "the most moral place I had ever been in," for he heard no profane expressions, everyone was amiable and benevolent, no private quarrels remained, and "a religious awe seemed to pervade the country."333

Baxter summed up his impressions with these words:

I think the revival in Kentucky among the most extraordinary that have ever visited the church of Christ, and all things considered, peculiarly adapted to the circumstances of that country. Infidelity was triumphant and religion at the

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