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- Herausgeber: IVP Academic
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
"I felt my heart strangely warmed."That was how John Wesley described his transformational experience of God's grace at Aldersgate Street on May 24, 1738, an event that some mark as the beginning of the Methodist Church.Yet the story of Methodism, while clearly shaped by John Wesley's sermons and Charles Wesley's hymns, is much richer and more expansive. In this book, Methodist theologian Jeffrey W. Barbeau provides a brief and helpful introduction to the history of Methodism—from the time of the Wesleys, through developments in North America, to its diverse and global communion today—as well as its primary beliefs and practices.With Barbeau's guidance, both those who are already familiar with the Wesleyan tradition and those seeking to know more about this significant movement within the church's history will find their hearts warmed to Methodism.
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THESpiritOFMethodism
From the Wesleys to a Global Communion
In memory ofCarl W. Munson 1917–1999andFlorence E. Munson 1918–2012
Contents
Acknowledgments
THANKS ARE DUE TO MANY COLLEAGUES, students, and friends who contributed to this work. David Congdon helped to cast a vision for the shape of this project. David McNutt and the staff at IVP Academic provided wisdom, support, and encouragement throughout the process; Lisa Renninger facilitated the addition of images. Two anonymous readers of the manuscript provided helpful feedback and critique. Several current and former students assisted with research on this project, including Susanne Calhoun, Alicia Mundhenk, Alyssa Evans, Rhett Austin, Loren Dowdy, Timothy Chen, and Samuel Boateng. I am grateful for my friends, especially Beth and Brian Jones, as well as members of Grace United Methodist Church in Naperville, who have helped me to understand our heritage better.
Above all, my work on Methodism belongs not only to a deep love for the church but also to my commitment to family. My wife, Aimee, is among the most remarkable means of grace in my life. I also write with deep gratitude for my parents and brother, Darren. I hope that my own children will one day understand how the history of the church of their childhood has formed them in faith—even in most unexpected ways. I dedicate this work to the memory of my grandparents, Carl and Florence Munson, who exemplified the Christian life in their prayers and their presence, their gifts and their service, and, in so many ways, their witness.
Abbreviations
AME
African Methodist Episcopal Church
AMEZ
African Methodist Episcopal Zion
EUB
Evangelical United Brethren Church
JLFA
The Journals and Letters of Francis Asbury
MC
The Methodist Church
MEC
The Methodist Episcopal Church
MECS
The Methodist Episcopal Church, South
MPC
The Methodist Protestant Church
SPG
Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts
UMC
The United Methodist Church
WCC
World Council of Churches
WMC
World Methodist Council
PROLOGUE
Methodism in Crisis
ALMOST EVERYTHING I KNOW about Christianity, I learned as a child. At least that’s what I sometimes think. Each week my grandparents brought my brother and me to a cluster of brown brick buildings that stand alongside the main road in my hometown of Hyde Park, New York. Since my parents didn’t regularly attend church, the weekly ritual of gathering us for Sunday school was uncomplicated. My brother and I knew that a few minutes before the beginning of lessons, the phone would ring in our home. The two of us would push and shove each other to avoid being responsible for answering the call, standing dutifully close to the phone while simultaneously avoiding the obligation to pick it up. More than one ring of the phone meant trouble, and neither of us wanted to be responsible for waking our parents. Most weeks, my brother and I hatched a plan: we’d quickly explain that we simply weren’t ready or had overslept and wouldn’t be able to make it due to illness. If the task fell to me, I knew what had to be done. I swiftly lifted the receiver, but before I could get a word out, my grandfather would exclaim, “We’re on our way!” and abruptly hang up the phone. No matter how groggy or sickly we made our voices, our plan almost always failed. Within minutes, our grandparents would arrive in our driveway and shuttle us off to church.
Once we arrived, we sang songs, played games, and worked on Bible lessons with newsprint and flannel board figures, just like other children at Methodist churches all over the world. I received my first Bible in that local church, and it was inscribed with our pastor’s name. Somewhere along the way I heard the names of John and Charles Wesley. During the main church service following Sunday school, I went to the front of the sanctuary and listened to stories about the Wesley brothers and learned about how Methodism spread far and wide across the world. I may even have heard of Francis Asbury or sung along to a hymn by Fanny Crosby. To be sure, years passed before I could name a single other Methodist from Great Britain, North America, or the rest of the world. Yet no matter how little I knew, my participation meant that I belonged to a vast, global communion.
What holds this worldwide communion (often called a “connection”) together? The most common answer is grace. The heart of Methodism is not an abstract doctrine, however, but the active presence of the Spirit of Christ. For nearly three hundred years, preaching, teaching, and writing about the grace of the Holy Spirit has served as the glue holding Methodists together from different nations, cultures, classes, and experiences. We are brought to the love and knowledge of Jesus Christ by the Spirit, and Methodists love to talk about Jesus because we believe the Spirit is actively working all over the world to bring about renewal and change.
In this book, I offer a fresh look at Methodism by explaining the history of the movement, exploring the lives of laity and clergy, and providing a coherent vision of Methodism today. Methodists tend to oversimplify the movement. Some focus on evangelical beliefs attributed to John Wesley and neglect significant developments since the mid-1700s. Others ignore the origins of the movement in favor of progress, innovation, and new understandings of Christian faith in a pluralist world. The proliferation of competing narratives has resulted in confusion in both the pulpit and the pew alike. Methodism, many believe, is in a state of crisis.
This book provides a coherent account of Methodism through the global history of the movement, attention to influential Methodists through the centuries, and guidance for thinking about the challenges that threaten to further divide Methodist churches in this generation. Part history, part narrative, and part reflection, this book is my effort to help sort out why Methodism seems destined for division in a time of confusion. In short, I provide a historical and theological framework for understanding Methodism to help Methodists (and those who want to know them) think clearly about the meaning of one of the most influential and fruitful movements in Christian history.
Of course, even referring to “Methodists” creates a somewhat artificial boundary. I spent a lot of time thinking about the strengths and weaknesses of various labels as I prepared to write this book. For example, I could write broadly of the entire “Wesleyan” family that finds its origins in the teachings of the Wesley brothers. Such a capacious word captures a wide range of churches and believers through the last three centuries, including United Methodists, Nazarenes, Free Methodists, Salvation Army, and many other Holiness, Pentecostal, Methodist, and Wesleyan churches around the world. The use of “Methodist” or “Methodism,” by contrast, is seemingly narrower. In fact, a closer look at the composition of the World Methodist Council (WMC) reveals a wide body of Methodist and Wesleyan churches including more than eighty different denominations and more than eighty million people worldwide! Since the largest single communion within that body is The United Methodist Church (UMC)—a church that celebrated fifty years of global ministry in 2018, while simultaneously engaged in a heated struggle over the identity and future of the movement—I will refer to “Methodism” throughout this book to orient the conversation with the hope that Wesleyans of all varieties discover common resources for reflection.1
The terms Methodist and Wesleyan are often used interchangeably. More precisely, the terms Methodist or Methodism indicate various Christian denominations or forms of church polity. By contrast, the terms Wesleyan or Wesleyanism refer to particular theological traditions originating in the teachings of John and Charles Wesley. For both historical and theological reasons, not all Methodists are Wesleyans, and not all Wesleyans are Methodists.
If we take a step back from debates over terminology, a larger problem comes into view. Reading the latest headlines will lead even the most optimistic Christians to think the future looks bleak: “Mainline Protestants make up shrinking number of US adults.”2 News reports shout reminders of impending doom whenever Methodists gather together. What’s worse, a closer look at the data doesn’t give a very encouraging outlook either. While the US population expanded between 2007 and 2014, the number of mainline Protestants sharply declined. United Methodists, once the single largest religious group in the nation, have witnessed significant losses in membership for decades. In recent years, some United Methodist conferences reported that more than half of their churches failed to record even a single new profession of faith.3 Members of churches in the majority world—especially the often-thriving churches in Africa and parts of Asia—obversely worry that the growth of churches will be stymied by confusion in the West as apparent departures from historic Christian teaching in matters of doctrine and practice threaten to sever longstanding ties. Members of local churches everywhere may rightly ask, “What’s so united about the United Methodists anyway?”
While Methodism has a presence throughout the world, some may find it difficult to believe that Methodism once constituted the single largest church denomination in the United States. The movement began in England with just a few individuals in the early 1700s. By the time of John Wesley’s death in 1791, however, there were more than 57,000 Methodists in Britain and, shockingly, far more across the Atlantic. By 1900 Methodists in the United States rose to more than 4.5 million members, and at the time of the merger of The Methodist Church (MC) and the Evangelical United Brethren (EUB) in 1968, there were more than 10.5 million Methodists in the United States alone.4 When one accounts for the close relationship between the Methodism and the emergence of American Pentecostalism in the early twentieth century, Wesleyans form a significant proportion of Christians in the United States today. In light of their diverse national, racial, and social history, Methodists should not be surprised that portraits of the movement vary widely. News reports of controversy may shock even lifelong members of the church. Confusion, anxiety, and anger abound.
For some, The United Methodist Church appears to drift in an ever more liberal direction. Questions surround the topic of human sexuality. Contrary to The Book of Discipline, ordained ministers have presided over same-sex marriages, and ministers in same-sex marriages have been ordained as clergy and elevated to the episcopacy. No controversy has rocked American Methodism so powerfully since the question of slavery. Some bishops have refused to enforce the disciplinary guidelines of the church, and jurisdictions of the denomination have rebuffed calls for action. More than a few parishes have taken a stand on social issues: they welcome interreligious dialogue, encourage solidarity with minorities against political injustice, and invite members of the LGBTQI community to openly worship and join the membership rosters of the church. These churches, in the eyes of some, have openly departed from historic Christian faith and practice.
For others, Methodism remains strangely trapped in the insular thinking of an earlier age. Pastors have denied membership to some who differ on disputed social and ethical stances of the church. Some churches seem to focus all their energies on winning converts while offering little to counter the status quo. While poverty and injustice plague the land, the laity refuse to stand up for the marginalized. The outlook of these churches, some say, looks more like a conservative political party than the body of Christ. Global Methodists from the majority world, for their part, are sometimes perceived as intractable and even antiquated in their beliefs. Yet these churches focus on evangelism, encourage a missional outlook that challenges cultural norms, and proclaim an ancient faith in a society increasingly skeptical of truth claims. Still, these churches, say critics, refuse to modernize in matters of doctrine and practice, setting roadblocks to institutional change for the West in the process.
One doesn’t have to travel across the globe to recognize the diversity of Methodist churches. A decade ago, I took a new job and moved with my family to a different area of the country. Like others looking to settle in a new place, I found myself searching for a local congregation to join. The United Methodist churches I visited were all under the authority of the same bishop (and monitored by the same district superintendent), but each congregation was marked by differences that even the most uninitiated visitor could see. Some churches were large and bustling with activity. Visitors could come and go without ever being noticed. Others were small, intimate congregations where everyone seemed to know everyone else—and no newcomer could be missed. Beyond the size of these churches, each congregation varied widely in its personality, mood, and attitude. Some felt very formal with sanctuaries characterized by high, arched ceilings, elevated pulpits, and stained glass that bellowed institutional authority and the church’s enduring connection to the establishment. To look around, one might imagine that the congregation had originally been Anglican or even Roman Catholic. Other churches, however, were marked by a rather different atmosphere that could be seen in the aesthetics of the sanctuary no less than the composition of the congregation. Some seemed quite content to break formalities by gathering in small groups facilitated by movable chairs. Still others allowed members of the congregation to share announcements and prayer requests audibly from the pews, revealing a distinctly democratic vibe. Some congregations included young families, while others maintained a predominantly elderly membership. Racial, cultural, and economic differences added layers of personality to each congregation I attended. In many cities, Methodist churches can be found within blocks of one another, tracing their heritage—not to mention subtle differences in belief and worship—to alternately MC and EUB roots. These various practices are built into The Book of Discipline (the standard of church law and belief for the UMC) and can be complicated even further when one looks closer at differences between predominantly Native American, Hispanic, or African American congregations. All embrace the name of United Methodist (no less the wider Methodist or Wesleyan designations).
As members of local Methodist or Wesleyan congregations (of whatever sort), we may tend to forget or even ignore such differences, if we ever knew about them in the first place. Occasionally we are reminded of the diversity of the body on days associated with special offerings, when prayers are offered for far-flung congregations facing catastrophic circumstances, or during times of mission. However, as with members of other denominations, United Methodists hear reports of the imminent collapse of the church and wonder how things could have gotten so bad. Over time, though, we settle into routine and forget the experience of bewilderment that comes with moving to a new city, state, or country. We hear mention of Methodism and recognize the common bond—even if we are unaware of the strong affinities between members of United Methodist, African Methodist Episcopal (AME), and so many other churches today.
Consider two different scenarios. First, imagine you are elderly and have been a member of the same church your entire life. It’s a United Methodist church today, but over the course of several decades, you’ve witnessed considerable change. When you were born, the church still identified as a Methodist Episcopal Church. Or perhaps you were too young to remember life in the church before the formation of The Methodist Church in 1939, but your parents often recalled the merger and you certainly remember the formation of the UMC in 1968. Or perhaps the UMC congregation you’ve attended all your life originally belonged to the EUB, so the union with The Methodist Church was met with some degree of skepticism. You find yourself repeating the constant refrain that the “United” in the UMC isn’t simply a call to Christian harmony. In such a light, the hymns of faith, the decades of worship and preaching, and the many times of fellowship and sacrifice to raise funds for church camps and mission trips all belong to a common repository of “Methodist” (or “United Methodist”) identity. You don’t love the new contemporary service the pastor introduced, but you are happy if the service attracts younger members, particularly as signs of declining attendance and the possibility of schism hits closer and closer to home. After a lifetime of devotion to the church, the prospect of division is scary and frankly upsetting.
Now imagine you are a young person who is weighing the possibility of membership through confirmation, or perhaps you’ve recently joined a church that is United Methodist. Maybe the decision to find a church came as a compromise with a partner or spouse from another tradition or in the search for a place to educate children in a religious community where you’ve taken a job after high school or college. Soon you discover that the minister whose sermons you enjoy is moving, and a new pastor will be named by the bishop. You’re confused by the prospect of change (and talk of “itineracy”) and uncertain if this is the place for you. Perhaps you’ve been visiting a Sunday school class, and recently you’ve questioned the possibility of a denominational split. Maybe you heard that the beliefs of your local church are directly tied to the beliefs required of Methodists living halfway around the world. As a newcomer to the community, you think to yourself, What have I gotten myself into?
This book can’t resolve divisions, answer every question, or promise resolution in times of uncertainty. No one is more aware of stories left out and events unmentioned than me. I haven’t written this book to advocate for a church plan or model of administration either—though I do believe this story can inform how Methodists evaluate such decisions. Rather, I’ve written this book to provide a framework and coherent vision of the varieties of Methodism in the world today. Not only local “United Methodist” churches but many other congregations and even denominations belong to a broad heritage of Christians who maintain intrinsic and extrinsic connections to the earliest Methodists. It’s strange to say, but even within a single denomination (such as the UMC), there is actually a wide range of Methodisms rather than a single Methodism. Broad Church Methodism, as I call this plural form, signifies the large family of churches in the Wesleyan tradition with its unique range of doctrine, forms of prayers and worship, and patterns of moral and social behavior. So, while it’s not unreasonable to ask what difference the beliefs of John Wesley or any other Methodist should have for Christians today, recognizing the complexity of Broad Church Methodism can go a long way towards ending confusion and encouraging mutual understanding both within and between denominations.
I first began thinking about this book more than a decade ago. I was on staff at a new United Methodist church in the Bible belt of the United States that drew on early Wesleyan practices of small groups, weekly communion, and evangelistic preaching. My experience serving in that congregation contrasted with the United Methodist congregation of my childhood, where the appointment of the first female pastor occasioned confusion and threatened discord over the strong social emphasis she gave to the gospel. What had made these congregations so different? But also, what held them together? I’m doubtful that a mutual love for the hymns of Charles Wesley alone establishes the common bond (in fact, with the decline of hymns in many contemporary services, I doubt many Methodists could name more than one or two of Charles Wesley’s more than eight thousand compositions today).
The coinage Broad Church Methodism indicates the breadth of the movement from the earliest days of Methodist ministry in Britain to the worldwide expansion of Wesleyan churches today. Against the tendency to locate true Methodism in any one branch, movement, or perceived center, the term Broad Church Methodism underscores an inherent diversity within the movement that springs from the practical orientation of Wesleyan theology.
When I turned to histories of Methodism to find the basis of unity, I was surprised and disappointed. The wealth of scholarship on Methodism is immense, but there are few studies that both capture the development of Methodism from its early beginnings to the global movement and target interested laypeople or seminarians preparing for ministry in the local church. Scholars have plumbed the depths of controversies, doctrine, and fascinating movements in times and places around the world.5 There are excellent surveys of the history of Methodism or of essential Wesleyan beliefs. Biographies of major Methodist clergy and laity continue to find audiences and break new ground. But the more I read, the more I discovered the need for a coherent account of how the parts form a whole. As I looked at the history of belief and practice—from the earliest days of the movement right up to present day congregations around the world—I found again and again that Methodists appeal to the work of God not only in their conversion or growth as believers but also in many other unexpected dimensions of life. Methodists belong to a long, rich, and diverse tradition of belief, but they weren’t innovating or fashioning something entirely new either. Instead they developed ancient ideas in a new context that struck a chord with people of different backgrounds and ways of life.
Methodist commitment to the love of God, the gracious work of Jesus Christ, and the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit brought something fresh and vibrant and alive in each of the “waves” I trace in the three parts of this book, revealing the shifts in place, time, and thought that shaped Methodism over the course of nearly three hundred years of faith and ministry. In part one, I trace the emergence of the movement in Britain—its first wave, so to speak—through the tension between the establishment religion of the Church of England and the enthusiasm associated with the Wesleys, George Whitefield, and lay preachers who spread good news of God’s work of assurance in the heart. I intentionally begin with one of the most well-worn stories in Wesleyan lore: the account of a young John Wesley, providentially plucked from the burning parsonage. While the persistence of this story has been criticized by some scholars, I hope to show how reports about the event indicate something at the heart of Methodist belief that contributed to the shape of the global communion today. Subsequent chapters reveal how others contributed to the movement, and eventually Methodism in Britain formed a network of churches that would spread faith throughout the world.
In part two, I turn to the second wave of Methodism in North America. This movement, which begins in the middle of the 1700s, was larger than the first, mirroring the rapid expansion of the United States. Early revival in the colonies under the leadership of Francis Asbury led to the foundation of a new church in the days of revolution. Just as the nation faced difficult questions over race and morality, so too did the Methodists. The church divided over slavery, and calls for moral reform further complicated the tenuous unity of the churches. While many Methodists managed to resolve their differences, old tensions between revival and respectability soon re-emerged and even continue to the present day as Methodists deliberate the future of the movement.
Finally, in part three, the largest and most expansive of the three waves, I show how early Methodist missionaries traveled the world and shaped the emergence of global Christianity. World Methodism brought revival to new lands and empowered local leaders to take charge of their social and political future. Methodism throughout the world developed in local contexts despite tensions with British and American authorities who sometimes hoped to shape new believers in their own image. Wherever conflict between church and culture festered, church growth remained stagnant. However, as churches empowered local, indigenous leaders, Methodism again and again expanded. Indeed, for almost every generation, the future of Methodism has looked uncertain. My hope is that this book—part history, part theology, part meditation—may help to illumine the way forward.
PART ONE
THE Origins OF BRITISH METHODISM
CHAPTER ONE
Warm Hearts
BRIGHT ORANGE AND YELLOW LIGHT streams from the top of a tall building. An inferno consumes the home, flames rushing from its fragmentary remains. White smoke rises to the sky. Against the flow of blazing heat, a crowd of desperate neighbors moves toward the fire. They hoist up one brave and desperate man. He grasps for a frantic child, who dangles from the upper window. Farther away, onlookers flee the conflagration. A cool darkness surrounds the rescued family. They shrink from the heat and the terrible sight of the child. One figure alone leans into the light. A father on his knee, hands clasped in prayer, reaching feverishly to the sky.
Figure 1.1. Rescue of John Wesley
Two haunting images in a single scene—a defenseless child and a fleeing family—resist closure in Henry Perlee Parker’s portrait, “The Rescue of John Wesley from the Epworth Rectory Fire” (1840) (figure 1.1). The lack of a single focal point leaves viewers uncertain. Even the father’s eager supplication on bended knee, whether pleading heavenward to God for providential deliverance or only in desperation that the child might save his life by risking the fall, is offset by a man leading a startled horse from the blaze in the distance. Antagonistic and contrary motions disrupt simple resolution, symbolizing tensions that have existed within Methodism from its earliest days.
The horror of the real event surpasses Parker’s dramatic painting. The Epworth fire of 1709 nearly killed John Wesley (1703–1791), who was only five and half years old at the time. Wesley’s father, Samuel, was a minister in the Church of England. Their family lived in the church rectory in Epworth, a small town in Lincolnshire near Sheffield. Sometime near midnight, flames consumed the family home. Sparks from the chimney fell on the roof and quickly spread. One of the girls felt a burning sensation on her foot and hurriedly ran to tell her parents. Samuel Wesley awakened the children in the adjacent room, a maid carried the youngest child from the nursery, and all but young “Jacky” followed along with the others. The family huddled in the downstairs hall, surrounded by the fire. The roof had weakened in only a matter of moments, and they feared that all was lost as the walls began to collapse around them. When the front door was finally opened (the key had been left upstairs in the commotion), flames rushed in from a strong northeast wind, threatening to consume them all. They finally escaped through windows the neighbors broke open to reach the family. Safely outside, they assessed the damage. They were scorched but unharmed, undressed and bitterly cold but together. Then, in the calm, Jacky’s terrified cries reached them from the upper level of the burning home. The child, previously unnoticed, was unable to escape by descending on the severely weakened staircase. Samuel Wesley, hearing the terror-stricken screams of his son, frantically ran back inside. He couldn’t ascend the stairs through the fire, no matter the effort. My child is lost, he thought. In unspeakable anguish, Samuel Wesley knelt down where he stood, commended his son to God, and “left him, as he thought, burning.” John’s mother later marveled, “The boy, seeing none came to his assistance and being frightened by the hanging of the chamber and his bed being on fire, climbed up to the casement, where he was presently spied by the men in the yard, who immediately got up and pulled him out just in that article of time that the roof fell and beat the chamber to the earth.”1
John Wesley’s mother recognized the infinite mercy of God in the event. Susanna Wesley was an independent woman by standards of the day. As with other mothers, she was primarily responsible for the education of her children and the development of their faith. Letters to her eldest son, Samuel Jr., provide a glimpse into her methods and temperament. She advised scrutiny of individual conscience, avoidance of temptations, and constancy in virtue. Although she never attended university, just as other women were barred from such studies at the time, she was far better educated than most of the Epworth townspeople and taught her children to carefully understand Scripture and the fundamentals of the faith.
Figure 1.2. Susanna Wesley
Samuel and Susanna both participated in the religious education of their children—ten of nineteen survived into adulthood, including three boys—but Susanna’s piety deserves special notice. Each evening, she devoted time to one or two of her children for individual counsel in religious matters. Even when they lived away from home, she continued to guide them in letters she sent with extended discourses on Christian faith and practice. A few years after the Epworth rectory fire, Susanna’s independent spirit resulted in public scandal. Her husband was away in London, so she began providing Sunday evening prayers and devotions for the family in his absence. In time, their neighbors began to attend the meetings as well—in fact, quite a few of them. Not surprisingly, Samuel Wesley was bound to find out after more than two hundred people had gathered for prayer and spiritual advice at his home. He wasn’t pleased. But when he wrote to question his wife, she shrugged off any criticism of the propriety of a woman teaching and leading others with a reasoned defense of her responsibility to obey the Lord:
I reply that as I am a woman, so I am also mistress of a large family. And though the superior charge of the souls contained in it lies upon you as head of the family and as their minister, yet in your absence I cannot but look upon every soul you leave under my care as a talent committed to me under a trust by the great Lord of all the families of heaven and earth. And if I am unfaithful to him or to you in neglecting to improve these talents, how shall I answer unto him, when he shall command me to render an account of my stewardship?3
Samuel Wesley (1662–1735) and Susanna Annesley Wesley (1669–1742), the parents of John and Charles Wesley, came from families with strong Protestant nonconformist backgrounds, though each elected to join the Church of England prior to their marriage in 1688. The couple lived briefly in London before Samuel received a living in Lincolnshire, where they eventually settled at Epworth and raised a large family. Susanna’s regimented methods of religious education and self-discipline had a marked influence on the children and has often been heralded as a model of Christian piety. As members of the Church of England, which had separated from Rome and the authority of the pope during the sixteenth-century Reformation, the Wesleys affirmed the historic teachings of the creeds and the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion (the Anglican confession of faith).2 They regularly used the Book of Common Prayer, with Thomas Cranmer’s timeless prayers and liturgy. Yet it is also worth noting that both Susanna and her husband, Samuel, were raised in dissenting families. While worshipers in the Church of England enjoyed the political and social privileges that came with membership in the national church, including the possibility of attending the universities at Oxford or Cambridge, dissenters assembled only under various restrictions or “disabilities.” The Act of Uniformity (1662) had required that all ministers abide by the Book of Common Prayer, and dissenting or “nonconformist” ministers were barred from preaching within five miles of any town or city. Susanna attended her father’s dissenting church until she joined the Church of England as a youth—an early sign of her independence. Samuel’s father, John “Westley,” was a dissenter who spent time in prison for refusing to use the Prayer Book after 1662. Samuel joined the Church of England shortly before moving to Oxford to attend Exeter College. The two married in 1688.
When her husband refused to change his mind on the matter, Susanna replied in a most unrelenting fashion: “Send me your positive command in such full and express terms as may absolve me from all guilt and punishment for neglecting this opportunity of doing good to souls, when you and I shall appear before the great and awful tribunal of our Lord Jesus Christ.”4
Figure 1.3. John Wesley
Although his parents’ influence and example continued to shape his decisions, John Wesley eventually left home to prepare for university life through education in languages and classics at Charterhouse School. He was devout and successful. By the end of the 1720s, John was a fellow at Lincoln College, Oxford, and a teacher of the Greek New Testament. When his younger brother Charles came up to Oxford for studies, John took special responsibility for a small group the two gathered together, leading the band of students into fervent acts of spirituality and Christian service. He was especially attracted to devotional writings that focused on right practice and the need for holiness in everyday life: Thomas à Kempis’s Imitation of Christ, Jeremy Taylor’s Holy Living and Holy Dying, and William Law’s Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life. These works inspired in John a deep piety and commitment to the church. The “Holy Club” dedicated themselves to fasting, regular participation in the Lord’s Supper, and works of charity, such as visiting the sick and providing material goods for those in orphanages and prisons. In time, rumors spread about these Oxford students, their numbers increased, and the derisive label “Methodists” eventually stuck.5
John and Charles Wesley were lifelong members of the Church of England. As children, they learned from the Book of Common Prayer (BCP), which first appeared in 1549 and marked the reformation of the English church under the reign of Edward VI. The BCP contains prayers, litanies, and services for the Lord’s Supper and other special occasions. The Wesleys also subscribed to the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, which provide the standard of doctrine and practice for the Church of England and the worldwide Anglican communion.
John Wesley’s zeal brimmed over. Life at Oxford, though prestigious and comfortable, proved insufficient for a man of his temperament. In 1735, John convinced his brother Charles that they should risk the dangers of traveling across the ocean to serve as clergymen in the new colony of Georgia. Charles would have been quite happy to stay at Oxford, but he reluctantly agreed and quickly received ordination in the church for the task. The arduous journey challenged John Wesley’s faith far more than any event before: as storms rocked the ship, John Wesley’s trust foundered (“much ashamed of my unwillingness to die”). To his surprise, a group of German Pietists aboard the ship—Moravians, known for their belief in assurance of salvation and commitment to foreign missions—appeared entirely unmoved during the worst trials of the journey.6
Ministry in the new settlement at Savannah, too, proved far less glamorous than the young man had imagined. His methods of intense self-examination and devotion were not appreciated by the colonists, and an amorous relationship with a young woman, Sophy Hopkey, soured. He soon found himself a victim of his own impetuous decisions. John barred his paramour from the communion table, and her new husband and family brought an indictment against him. Wesley furtively left the colony, returning to England a broken man: “I went to America, to convert the Indians; but Oh! who shall convert me? Who, what is he that will deliver me from this evil heart of unbelief? I have a fair summer religion.”7
The backdrop of the eager first rise of Methodism at Oxford and the abortive second rise of Methodism in Georgia makes the legendary third rise of Methodism in London even more powerful in Methodist family lore. Under the influence of Moravian Christians such as Peter Boehler, John Wesley gradually became convinced that he required a deeper experience of faith. Understanding John Wesley’s earnest search for greater faith can be difficult to appreciate. After all, he was thirty-five years old, devoted himself to daily prayer and reception of the sacrament, taught the New Testament, led small groups of believers in daily devotions, and worked as a minister in the church and missionary in difficult circumstances abroad. Still, he believed that he needed more—more than the faith of his parents and more than an outward commitment to living in the way that follows Christ. Wesley believed he lacked the deeper, inward knowledge that he belonged to God. Then, as he sat reluctantly at a society meeting at Aldersgate Street on May 24, 1738, listening to a reading of Martin Luther’s Preface to the Epistle to the Romans, John Wesley experienced divine assurance—an experience of faith he had never known before:
About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for salvation, and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.8
With these words, John Wesley gave witness to his trust in God. The event ranks among the seminal moments not only in Methodism but in the history of Christianity.
What actually happened at Aldersgate? A few observations may help to clarify the experience. First, John Wesley places Jesus Christ at the very center of the event. The work of Christ permeates the entire scene, so much so that one can hardly imagine the occurrence in any other way: “faith in Christ,” “trust in Christ,” and “Christ alone” saves him from sin and death. Second, Wesley links his experience of assurance to the Reformation. His explicit reference to Luther’s Preface to the Epistle to the Romans reminds us of the central importance of justification and recalls Luther’s fresh discovery of salvation by faith in the imputed righteousness of Christ. Third, the experience is highly individualistic. Wesley’s repeated use of “I,” “me,” and “mine” demonstrates that the assurance of faith he experienced was intensely personal. To know God at Aldersgate is to experience the crucified Christ. How could it be any other way? To have faith in God is to do so by trust in the work of Christ, his sufficiency for salvation, and the knowledge that comes by Christ alone.
John Wesley may be best known for his presentation of the way of salvation. Wesley taught that grace abounds in every aspect of God’s work in the Christian life, including a prevenient grace that prepares the way for a sinner to be reconciled to God, a justifying grace that brings pardon for sin, and a sanctifying grace that fills the heart with love.
Against the tendency to see religion as a matter of civil participation, social obligation, or family tradition, Wesley upended the Church of England with a reforming movement that appealed to those seeking a life-changing experience of faith in God. Few Methodists today surpass Wesley in his devotion to God at Oxford or Savannah, but Wesley came to believe that for all the good he was doing—his intense practices of prayer, regular participation in the Lord’s Supper, and works of service to the community—he hadn’t experienced the full transformation of Christian life promised in the Scriptures. Appeals to the inward witness of the Spirit abound in Wesley’s sermons because his own experience of a deeper faith came through the gradual recognition that it wasn’t enough to be the recipient of baptism, the child of a minister, or a scholar of biblical languages. Wesley knew that his heart had been transformed, and this transformation alone marks a true and living faith in Christ. The emphasis on interiority that Aldersgate memorializes does not eliminate the way that practices of small groups, sacramentality, self-discipline, mutual accountability, and holiness in social action all shaped Methodism in the subsequent decades, but ultimately these all spring from the work of Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit.
John Wesley and his circle of preachers proclaimed this message of inner faith so forcefully that many lost the right to speak in local churches. Wesley even returned to Oxford and delivered a scathing sermon distinguishing between the “almost” and the “altogether” Christian. The nominal Christian isn’t one who lives in wanton disregard for faith, as we may be tempted to suspect. Rather, John Wesley thought the “almost” Christian lives a morally upright life and, in many respects, looks just like an “altogether” Christian in matters of religion and ethics. The “almost” Christian avoids gluttony and wickedness, labors for the good of others, and even uses the “means of grace” in practices of prayer, church attendance, and family devotions. The “almost” Christian is sincere, desires to follow God, abstains from evil, and lives as Christians are expected to live. When Wesley spoke to those gathered at Oxford, he made one thing particularly clear: he wasn’t only casting aspersions on his listeners, he was also testifying to his own experience.
I did go thus far for many years, as many of this place can testify: using diligence to eschew all evil, and to have a conscience void of offence; redeeming the time, buying up every opportunity of doing all good to all men . . . endeavoring after a steady seriousness of behavior at all times and in all places. . . . Yet my own conscience beareth me witness in the Holy Ghost that all this time I was but “almost a Christian.”9
Wesley’s “almost” Christian doesn’t pursue evil but pursues good. The “almost” Christian seeks God sincerely and wishes to please God in all things. Still more work remains.
What marks the “altogether” Christian? John Wesley’s answer is difficult to quantify, for the mark of the “altogether” Christian is not found in a formulaic set of actions but the interior state of the heart. First, the “altogether” Christian has a heart filled with the love of God. The life is transformed from a wellspring of love that turns the mind, will, and emotions always toward the love of God. Second, the love of neighbor, as commanded in Scripture, drives the Christian to reject evil, avoid arrogance, and rejoice in love. Last, the “altogether” Christian lives a life in faith. Faith is a belief that springs from the experience of forgiveness. Faith brings about a life filled with ongoing repentance, love, and good works. Faith produces confidence that Christ reconciled us to God and saves us from eternal damnation.
In his sermon, “The Scripture Way of Salvation” (1765), John Wesley rejects the tendency to think of salvation only as a future blessing or reward. Wesley explains, “It is not something at a distance: it is a present thing, a blessing which, through the free mercy of God, ye are now in possession of.” In justification there is forgiveness of sins and peace with God, and in sanctification “we are inwardly renewed by the power of God.”
Surprisingly, Wesley’s experience of faith followed years of reading the Bible, devotional reading on faith and holiness, extensive service and witness to people in need, and ministry in Word and sacrament both in England and America. Even after all this, Wesley thought he needed transformation through faith in Christ. Against recommendations to be “still” before God, Wesley encouraged intentional activity. Don’t wait passively before God, he advised, but faithfully seek him through the divinely appointed means of grace. Read the Bible, attend the Lord’s Supper, and intentionally participate in opportunities for service. In time, perhaps even in an instant, the seeker may discover that Christ works in unexpected and life-giving ways.
Methodist history resembles a great work of art. Centuries-old paintings appear crisp and clear when viewed from a distance. Spectators may feel captivated by the moment, drawn into a scene, and caught up in the action. Move closer to the painting, however, and fine lines may gradually become visible in such an artwork. Small blemishes, or craquelure, form over time as stretched canvases gradually loosen and changes in temperature and humidity produce tiny fissures on the surface. The portrait doesn’t actually change upon closer inspection, but the slender lines serve as reminders of the distance between the original event and the spectator. These subtle blemishes, small signs of artificiality, may even disturb the belief that the artwork reproduces the original with precision.
Treasured stories from the earliest years of Methodism, viewed from the distance of three centuries, can be misleading. A boy pulled from a burning home. Young men at Oxford gathered for worship and service in devotion to God. A heart strangely warmed and a revival that spread to nations around the world. Look closer at early Methodism, however, and small fissures, previously invisible, appear in this stirring portrait. Tiny fractures remind us that these cherished stories provide order but resist complication. The stable familiarity of early Methodist history fosters the impression of unity and an uncomplicated vision of Christian piety, but a closer examination reveals subtle fractures and discontinuities that have shaped the identity of the movement even to the present day.
Figure 1.4. Close-up of second-generation Methodist James Everett (1784–1872) reaching from the ground for young John Wesley
Take a closer look at Henry Perlee Parker’s famous portrait, “The Rescue of John Wesley from the Epworth Rectory Fire” (1840) (figure 1.1). Created more than a century after the rectory fire that nearly killed John Wesley as a child, the painting differs in remarkable ways from the various eyewitness accounts of the blaze that have survived from the period. One notable detail reveals a surprisingly subversive undercurrent: the artist included a prominent nineteenth-century critic of British Methodism in his portrait of the rescuers. The man reaching for the child from the ground, just beyond the main group that surrounds the second-floor window, was none other than James Everett (1784–1872) (
