Fletcher of Madeley

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With Fletcher there was no preaching against the absent wrong-doer, no
haranguing evil in the abstract, but there was never lacking a
definite and personal denouncement of present and personal sin. One
tremendous word loomed large before his hearers, nor could any
misunderstand when he talked about SIN, and the arousing thought was
pressed ever closer to them by his pointed use of the word YOU. Here
is an example:--

"Did you ever make a prey of the poor and helpless? Are you like the
horse-leech, ever crying, 'Give, give!' still wanting more profit, and
never thinking you have enough? Do you take more care to heap up
treasure on earth than in Heaven? Have you got the unhappy secret of
distilling silver out of the poor man's brow, and gold out of the
tears of helpless widows and friendless orphans? Or, which is rather
worse, do you, directly or indirectly, live by poisoning others, by
encouraging the immoderate use of those refreshments which, if taken
to excess, disorder the reason, ruin the soul, and prove no better
than slow poison to the body? If your business calls you to buy or
sell, do you use falsehoods? do you equivocate? do you exaggerate or
conceal the truth in order to impose upon your neighbour, and make a
profit of his necessity or credulity? If any of these marks be upon
you, God's word singles you out and drags you to the bar of Divine
justice to hear your doom in the text, '_The wicked shall surely
die_.' Oh, see your danger; repent and make restitution! Why should
you meet the unjust steward in Hell, when you may yet follow Zacchaeus
into Heaven?...

"Perhaps your conscience bears you witness that you are not a swearing
Christian, or rather a swearing infidel. Well, but are you clear in
the point of adultery, fornication, or uncleanness? Does not the guilt
of some vile sin, which you have wickedly indulged in time past, and
perhaps are still indulging, mark you for the member of a harlot, and
not the member of Christ? Do you not kindle the wrath of Heaven
against yourself and your country, as the men and women of Gomorrah
did against themselves and the other cities of the plain? If you
cherish the sparks of wantonness, as they did, how can you but be made
with them to suffer the vengeance of eternal fire? Do not flatter
yourselves with the vain hope that your sin is not so heinous as
theirs. If it be less in degree, is it not infinitely greater in its
aggravating circumstances? Were these poor Canaanites _Christians_?
Had they Bibles and ministers? Had they sermons and sacraments? Did
they ever vow, as you have done, to renounce the devil and all sinful
lusts of the flesh? Did they ever hear of the Son of God sweating
great drops of blood, in an agony of prayer, to quench the fire of
human corruption? Oh, acknowledge your guilt and danger, and by
deep repentance prevent infallible destruction!"

Faithful and fearless utterances such as these made him famous, but
not popular: inconsistent professors resented them deeply; open
sinners raged at the unsparing denunciations which they could not fail
to appropriate, yet out of the latter class came some of Fletcher's
best and most encouraging converts.

Much of his success in getting men to listen to unpalatable truths lay
in his gentleness of manner and rare humility of mind, but "gentlest
of human beings" as he has been described, he had the courage of a
lion in fight, and for his Master's sake he knew no palliation of
unrighteousness, even though his truth-telling made the bitterest of
enemies.

_By nature_ Fletcher was not a meek man; he had "a fiery
passionate spirit," says one of his biographers, "insomuch that he has
frequently thrown himself on the floor, and lain there most of the
night bathed in tears, imploring victory over his own temper. And he
did obtain the victory, in a very eminent degree. For twenty years and
upwards before his death no one ever saw him out of temper, or heard
him utter a rash expression on any provocation whatever.... I never
saw him in any temper in which I myself would not have wished to be
found at death."

A friend who lived for some time in his house writes thus:--

"His enemies wrested his words, misrepresented his actions, and cast
out his name as evil; but whether he was insulted in his person or
injured in his property; whether he was attacked with open abuse or
pursued with secret calumny, he walked amid the most violent assaults
of his enemies, as a man invulnerable, and while his firmness
discovered that he was unhurt, his forbearance testified that he was
unoffended."

To a man with talents trained as were his, with a power of expression
which could melt into uncommon eloquence when he chose, with learning
to illuminate, judgment to balance his effects, and extreme quickness
of perception to adapt illustration and appeal to any audience,
Fletcher might have made for himself a mighty name. Instead of this,
"his design was to _convert_ and not to _captivate_ his
hearers; to secure their eternal interests, and not to obtain their
momentary applause.... He spake as in the presence of God, and taught
as one having Divine authority. There was an energy in his preaching
that was irresistible. His subjects, his language, his gestures, the
tone of his voice, and the turn of his countenance, all conspired to
fix the attention and affect the heart. Without aiming at sublimity,
he was truly sublime, and uncommonly eloquent without affecting the
orator."

CHAPTER XII.

Scanty Encouragements.

Fletcher's encouragements at Madeley were at first sufficiently scanty
to have disheartened many an earnest man.

Two Marys were amongst his earliest converts. Mary Matthews, of
Madeley Wood, went to hear him with the mind of the Pharisee, but she
left his presence with the heart of the publican. Having obtained the
pardon of her sins, she opened her little house for preaching, and
stood firm, although threatened by some of the villagers with a drum-
led mob, and eventually haled before the magistrates and fined £20 for
the offence of turning her cottage into a conventicle.

Mary Barnard, a lame old women of ninety, counted no pain or distance
too great to prevent her from making her toilsome journey to the
church where she "first saw the light," and, uneducated as she was,
her definite testimony to the power of the cleansing Blood often
cheered the preacher who had blessed her.

Fletcher's methods were unique for the times in which he lived. There
was no hiding from him. Those who tried to escape his influence by
avoiding his preachings were pursued into their various haunts and
homes under all kinds of circumstances and at all hours. Some
pretended that they could not awake in time to get ready for his early
services; he responded by going out himself with a bell and sounding
such clashing peals in various parts of the parish that there remained
no shadow of excuse for their sleeping after 5 a.m.!

He adopted the practice of dealing with criticisms and objections from
the pulpit, a course sufficiently unusual to attract much attention to
what he had to say.

Work as he might, however, Fletcher received so little encouragement
that he was frequently burdened with the fear lest he had mistaken the
Divine appointment.

One day, when he was much oppressed in this way, he was summoned to
bury a parishioner. At once he lost sight of his own trouble in the
opportunity of dealing out red-hot truths to a crowd of people. One
man was so convicted that he broke out into a storm of bad language,
fighting as best he knew how the strange influences of the Spirit.
These were too strong for him, however, and he melted into tears of
penitence. How gladly the Vicar gave him the pardon he asked for his
behaviour, and led him further still into the joy of sins forgiven,
can never be told. From that time he became an active helper in the
parish, and one of Fletcher's greatest encouragements.

The conversion of this man, however, seemed only the signal for
greater opposition on the part of some of the colliers. A number of
them were baiting a bull near Madeley Wood Meeting-house one night
when he was expected there to preach. "We'll wait here and _bait the
parson!_" they cried, settling at once who should pull him off his
horse, and who should set the dogs upon him.

Mr. Fletcher, all unsuspectingly, prepared for his walk to the wood,
but on the threshold was met by a messenger who had forgotten to give
notice of the burial of a child who was even then being carried up for
its funeral. Here was a duty which could not be put off; the Vicar
stayed to attend to it, and so missed his preaching appointment.

The men waited in vain, then repaired to a public-house to drink and
curse their ill-luck. As they swore horrible oaths a huge china punch-
bowl standing in the room fell in small fragments. This so impressed
one of the number that he rose and left the place, vowing there and
then to break with his old companions, and seek the salvation of his
soul.

A somewhat well-known story is connected with Fletcher's sensitiveness
to the influence of the Spirit with regard to his message for men. He
had entered the pulpit one Sunday morning at Madeley to preach a
sermon prepared for the purpose, when all remembrance of it fled; he
could not even recall the text. Instantly throwing himself upon the
Spirit of God for guidance, he turned to the First Lesson for the day,
which happened to be the history of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
As soon as he began to make some remarks upon it thoughts flowed,
words burned, and he found himself so strangely upheld and inspired
that he felt certain God intended the word for someone of whom he was
not himself aware. So sure did he become of this fact that he
requested to be privately informed if this were the case.

Three days later a woman called at the vicarage and told him that she
had for some time been greatly concerned about her soul through
attending his services. Her husband noticed her habits of private
prayer, and in a violent rage threatened her with frightful
consequences if she did not refrain from her church-going. She told
him her conscience would not allow that, and with terrible oaths he
cried, "I'll cut your throat as soon as you come back, if you go!"

The poor woman only prayed the harder, and when Sunday morning came
she dressed herself for church as usual. As she passed through the
kitchen her husband bellowed out, "I shall not cut your throat as I
said, I shall heat the big oven and throw you into it the minute you
get back." To the accompaniment of savage swearing she closed the door
and made her way to the church, praying all the time that God would
strengthen her to suffer whatever might befall her.

In grateful amaze she drank in every word of Fletcher's impromptu talk
upon the three martyrs in the fiery furnace, and to herself she cried
softly, "If I had a thousand lives I'd lay them all down for Jesus!"

Knowing the brutal nature of her husband--a butcher by trade--she was
quite prepared for the worst that might happen to her, but God kept
her in utter and perfect peace when she actually saw flames issuing
from the oven. She was even _joyful_ as she opened the door to
death.

Then, to her unspeakable astonishment, she saw her husband upon his
knees, beseeching God to pardon his sins. He caught her in his arms,
crying, "Forgive me, wife; oh, forgive me if you can!" turning from
her only to cry yet more earnestly to God for the mercy he had been
led by the Spirit Himself to seek.

With here and there such incidents to cheer him, Fletcher found, after
two years of rough work and numberless hindrances, that public respect
was taking the place of open opposition, and the word of truth, sown
in difficulty and hardness, was beginning to bring forth fruit in many
hearts. Wesley says of him:--

"Having chosen this narrow field of action, he was more and more
abundant in his ministerial labours, both in public and in private,
not contenting himself with preaching, but visiting his flock in every
corner of his parish. And this work he attended to, early and late,
whether the weather was fair or foul, regarding neither heat nor cold,
rain nor snow, whether he was on horseback or on foot. But this
farther weakened his constitution, which was still more effectively
done by his intense and uninterrupted studies, in which he frequently
continued with scarce any intermission fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen
hours a day. But still he did not allow himself such food as was
necessary to sustain nature. He seldom took any regular meals, except
he had company; otherwise, twice or thrice in four and twenty hours he
ate some bread and cheese or fruit. Instead of this, he sometimes took
a draught of milk, and then wrote on again. When one reproved him for
not affording himself a sufficiency of necessary food, he replied,
'Not allow myself food? Why, our food seldom costs my housekeeper and
me together less than two shillings a week!'"

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ORPHAN HOME.

Isolated as was the life she lived at Hoxton, Mary Bosanquet was not
wholly severed from her parents. At intervals her father would drive
up in his carriage, bringing her some present and renewing his
persuasions to her to live at home upon the terms of spiritual silence
on which he had previously insisted. But though, to all appearance
peculiarly alone, the two years spent in her solitary lodging was a
time of the richest blessing, during which she entered into such
communion with God as influenced the whole of her after-life.

An almost curious sensitiveness to the sorrows and needs of men so
possessed her that all consideration of self or repining at her
condition was entirely shut out, and with this insight into the woe of
the world came a wonderful baptism of Divine love. God became all in
all to her soul, and she lived in the spirit of Gerhardt's inspired
hymn:--

Oh, grant that nothing in my soul
May dwell but Thy pure love alone;
Oh, may Thy love possess me whole,
My joy, my treasure, and my crown!
Strange flames far from my heart remove,
My every act, word, thought, be LOVE!

It was inevitable that her Methodist friends should suggest to her a
less lonely life; some of them, indeed, went so far as to speak of her
in connection with Mr. Fletcher.

"Ah, if I were to marry _him_," she thought, "he would be a help
and not a hindrance to my soul!"

She little knew that Fletcher had been fighting the same thought.
Indeed, it was not long after this that, in answer to Charles Wesley's
practical suggestion, that a wife would be helpful in his lonely work,
Fletcher drew up as quaint a set of _Reasons for and Against
Matrimony_ as have ever been committed to paper:--

FOR.

1. A tender friendship is, after the love of Christ, the greatest
felicity of life; and a happy marriage is nothing but such a
friendship between two persons of different sexes.

2. A wife might deliver me from the cares of housekeeping, etc.

3. Some objections and scandals may be avoided by marriage.

4. A pious and zealous wife might be as useful as myself; nay, she
might be much more so among my female parishioners, who greatly
want an inspectress.

AGAINST.

1. Death will shortly end all particular friendships. The happier
the state of marriage, the more afflicting is the widowhood;
besides, we may try a friend and reject him after trial; butwe
cannot know a wife till it is too late to part with her.

2. Marriage brings after it a hundred cares and expenses; children,
a family, etc.

3. If matrimony is not happy, it is the most fertile source of
scandal.

4. I have a thousand to one to fear that a wife, instead of being a
help, may be indolent, and consequently useless; or humoursome,
haughty, capricious, and consequently a heavy curse.

Fortunately for Mary Bosanquet, towards the end of these two years
there came to London her friend Mrs. Ryan (housekeeper of Wesley's new
Room at Bristol), who fell ill, was nursed by her with great devotion,
and afterwards taken home to share her rooms.

"I acknowledge," she writes, "I neither gained honour, gold, nor
indulgence to the flesh by uniting myself to a sickly, persecuted
saint; but I gained such a spiritual helper as I shall eternally
praise God for."

Shortly after their union a house of Miss Bosanquet's at Leytonstone
became vacant, and in March, 1763, the Friends moved into it, and
began private and public meetings under their own roof-tree.

One evening, as Miss Bosanquet was speaking to a large company
assembled in her kitchen, the fore-gate bell clashed with a mighty
peal. The servant went to answer it, and meantime there strode through
the back door into the kitchen four ill-looking men with clubs in
their hands. The servant hurried back trembling, saying that a
messenger had come to warn them of a great mob coming to upset them,
the ringleaders being four men with clubs.

Mary Bosanquet cast a glance at her audience and answered the maid
aloud, "Oh, we do not mind mobs when we are about our Master's
business. 'Greater is He that is for us than all that can be against
us.'" Then calmly she continued her subject, unhindered by any.

Having upon her table a few copies of the simple "Rules for the
Society of the People called Methodists," she handed one of them to
each of the four ringleaders, begging their acceptance that at their
leisure they might see the nature of the profession made by the
worshippers. They received them with respectful bows, and no more was
heard of "mobs" for that night.

The house was a lonely one, open on one side to the forest, and in it
at that time lived only Mary Bosanquet, Mrs. Ryan, a maid, and Sally
Lawrence, a little child of four years, whom Miss Bosanquet had taken
from her mother's coffin to her own warm care. When the nights became
dark, a disorderly crowd would gather at the gate to pelt the
worshippers with dirt, afterwards invading the yard to reach the
unshuttered windows, where they would roar like so many wild beasts.
But the protecting hand of God kept them from any real bodily harm.
"The Lord was with us," wrote the lady of the house most sweetly, "and
preserved us under Love's almighty shade."

Little Sally was the first of many orphans who followed. Through
various misfortunes and deaths around her, Miss Bosanquet quickly
found herself mothering six of them. The number grew until twenty
children and several grown people found a home beneath her hospitable
roof at one time. This family involved much nursing, for there were
never more than six in the house in perfect health.

Miss Bosanquet adopted for the whole household what was almost a
uniform of dark purple cotton; she fed them upon simple diet, kept
them to regular hours for meals and employment, trained the children
for service, and nursed sick people until they were well. Hers was
indeed a House of Mercy!

CHAPTER XIV.

A SEEKER AFTER GOD.

Five years had passed since Fletchcr entered Madeley as its Vicar, and
with the result of his labours he was anything but satisfied.

Of the fifth year he wrote: "This last year has been the worst I have
had here--barren in convictions, fruitful in backslidings." And to
the same correspondent (Miss Hatton, of Wem) he wrote later:--

"The coming of Mr. Wesley's preachers into my parish gives me no
uneasiness. As I am sensible that everybody does better, and is more
acceptable than myself, I should be sorry to deprive anyone of a
blessing; and I rejoice that the work of God goes on, by _any
instrument_, or in _any place_."

This was characteristic of him--ever depreciative of self, and
rejoicing in other men's labours.

Not only Wesley's itinerants, but the great preacher himself visited
Madeley, and it is significant that the straight-speaking old man did
not take the same pessimistic view of Fletcher's work as he did
himself. After preaching to crowds of his people, Wesley speaks of
Madeley as a great and encouraging "prospect." "There are many
adversaries indeed," writes the Father of Methodism, "but yet they
cannot shut the open and effectual door."

It was not for lack of invitation, but rather because he was so
engrossed in his work that the Vicar of Madeley had up to this time
confined his labours to his own parish. Now, however, he was persuaded
to make an evangelistic visit to Breedon, in Leicestershire, also to
Bath and Bristol.

While in Bath--conducting an extension of the opening services of Lady
Huntingdon's new chapel--he wrote his first Pastoral Letter to his
flock at home. Never were letters written less to please the ear, or
to make a bid for the affections of a people; honest, faithful
exhortations they were, plain to hurting-point, but made of wonderful
blessing to those to whom they were read. A sample of one will be of
interest:--

"Some of you wonder why you cannot believe, why you cannot see Jesus
with the eye of your mind, and delight in Him with the affections of
your heart. I apprehend the reason to be one of these, or perhaps
altogether:--

"1. You are not poor, lost, undone, helpless, despairing sinners in
yourselves. You indulge spiritual and refined self-righteousness; you
are not yet dead to the law, and quite slain by the commandment. Now
the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to none but the poor in spirit. Jesus
came to save none but the lost. What wonder, then, if Jesus is little
to you, and if you do not live in His kingdom of peace, righteousness,
and joy in the Holy Ghost?

"2. Perhaps you spend your time in curious reasonings, instead of
casting yourselves as forlorn sinners at the feet of Christ, leaving
it to Him to bless you when and in the manner He pleases. Know that He
is the wise and Sovereign God, and that it is your duty to lie before
Him as clay, as fools, as sinful nothings.

"3. Perhaps, also, some of you wilfully keep idols of one kind or
another; you indulge some sin against light and knowledge; and it is
neither matter of humiliation nor of confession to you. The love of
praise, that of the world, that of money, and that of sensual
gratifications, when not lamented, are as implacable enemies to Christ
as Judas and Herod were. How can ye believe, seeing ye seek the honour
that cometh from men? Hew, then, your Agags in pieces before the Lord.
Run from your Delilahs to Jesus resolutely. Cut off the right hand and
pluck out the right eye that offends you. 'Come out from among them,
and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and I will receive you.'
Nevertheless, when you strive, take care not to make yourself a
righteousness of your own striving. Remember that justifying
righteousness is finished and brought in, and that your goodness can
no more add to it than your sins diminish it. Shout then, 'the Lord
your righteousness!' And if you are undone sinners, humbly, and yet
boldly, say, 'In the Lord have I righteousness and strength.'"

There was no false comforting, or fine talk about "only believe" with
John Fletcher! If any lacked faith, he cut down to the roots to find
out why.

The preaching tours named were followed by many others. London,
Brighton, and Oathall were visited, in the first of which he
officiated for Whitefield in Tottenham Court Road Chapel.

We may judge by a letter to Whitefield that he would have gone yet
more frequently if he could, as he remarks, "I should be glad to be
your curate some time this year, but I see no opening, nor the least
prospect of any. What between the dead and the living, _a parish
ties one down more than a wife_."

He was not without distinguished visitors at the vicarage, however,
hostess though he had none; the Countess of Huntingdon, accompanied by
Lady Anne Erskine and Miss Orton, accepted the frugal provision for
comfort with which John Wesley had previously contented himself; the
scarlet coat and gold lace of a famous officer of Dragoons (Captain
Scott) was seen in his garden--a man, by the way, who preached daily
to his soldiers, and frequently exhorted in a Methodist meeting-house
in the full blaze of his regimentals--and was mounted by Fletcher upon
his horse-block to address large crowds which gathered to hear him.
Whitefield was also expected, but could not then avail himself of the
invitation, and, later on, he differed very seriously from the Vicar
regarding the doctrine of free salvation which it was ever his glory
to preach.

Before and beyond everything else John Fletcher was _a seeker after
God_. To assist himself in this supreme endeavour he drew up the
following rules for nightly use:--

1. Did I awake spiritual, and was I watchful in keeping my mind from
wandering this morning when I was rising?

2. Have I this day got nearer to God in times of prayer, or have I
given way to a lazy, idle spirit?

3. Has my faith been weakened by unwatchfulness, or quickened by
diligence this day?

4. Have I this day walked by faith and eyed God in all things?

5. Have I denied myself in all unkind words and thoughts? Have I
delighted in seeing others preferred before me?

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