To Mr.——.
DCCCLXXXVI. — To Mr. ——.
MY DEAR BROTHER, January, 1780.
YOU seem to me not to have well considered the Rule’s of a Helper, or the rise of Methodism. It pleased God, by me, to awaken, first my brother, and then a few others; who severally desired of me, as a favor, that I would direct them in all things. After my return from Georgia, many were both awakened and converted to God. One, and another, and another of these desired to join with me as sons in the Gospel, to be directed by me. I drew up a few plain rules (observe, there was no Conference in being!) and permitted them to join me on these conditions. Whoever, therefore, violates these conditions, particularly that of being directed by me in the work, does, ipso facto, disjoin himself from me. This brother M. has done: (But he cannot see that he has done amiss:) And he would have it a common cause; that is, he would have all the Preachers do the same. He thinks “they have a right so to do.” So they have. They have a right to disjoin themselves from me whenever they please. But they cannot, in the nature of the thing, join with me any longer than they are directed by me. And what, if fifty of the present Preachers disjoined themselves! What should I lose thereby? Only a great deal of labor and care, which I do not seek; but endure, because no one else either can or will. You seem likewise to have quite a wrong idea of a Conference. For above six years after my return to England, there was no such thing. I then desired some of our Preachers to meet me, in order to advise, not control, me. And you may observe, they had no power at all, but what I exercised through them. I chose to exercise the power which God had given me in this manner, both to avoid ostentation, and gently to habituate the people to obey them when I should be taken from their head. But as long as I remain with them, the fundamental rule of Methodism remains inviolate. As long as any Preacher joins with me, he is to be directed by me in his work. Do not you see, then, that brother M——, whatever his intentions might be, acted as wrong as wrong could be? and that the representing of this as the common cause of the Preachers was the way to common destruction? the way to turn all their heads, and to set them in arms? It was a blow at the very root of Methodism. I could not therefore do less than I did: It was the very least that could be done, for fear that evil should spread.
I do not willingly speak of these things at all: But I do it now out of necessity; because I perceive the mind of you, and some others, is a little hurt by not seeing them in a true light.
I am
Your affectionate brother.
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DCCCLXXXVII. — To Mr. —.
DEAR ——, December, 1786.
You know I love you. Ever since I knew you, I have neglected no way of showing it, that was in my power. And you know I esteem you for your zeal and activity: for your love of discipline, and for your gifts which God has given you; particularly quickness of apprehension, and readiness of utterance; especially in prayer.
Therefore I am jealous over you, lest you should lose any of the things you hare gained, and not receive a full reward: And the more so, because I fear you are wanting in other respects. And who will venture to tell you so? You will scarce know how to bear it from me, unless you lift up your heart to God. If you do this, I may venture to tell you what I fear, without any further preface. I fear you think of yourself more highly than you ought to think. Do not you think too highly of your own understanding? Of your gifts? particularly in preaching? as if you were the very best Preacher in the Connection? of your own importance? as if the work of God, here or there, depended wholly or mainly on you? and of your popularity? which I have found, to my surprise, far less, even in L——, than I expected.
May not this be much owing to the want of brotherly love? With what measure you mete, men will measure to you again. I fear there is something unloving in your spirit; something not only of roughness, but of harshness, yea, of sourness! Are you not also extremely open to prejudice, and not easy to be cured of it? so that whenever you are prejudiced, you commence bitter, implacable, unmerciful! If so, that people are prejudiced against you, is both the natural and the judicial consequence. I am afraid lest your want of love to, your neighbors should spring from want of love to God; from want of thankfulness. I have sometimes heard you speak in a manner that made me tremble; indeed, in terms that not only a weak Christian, but even a serious Deist, would scruple to use. I fear, you greatly want evenness of temper. Are you not generally too high, or too low? Are not all your passions too lively? your anger in particular? Is it not too soon raised? And is it not too impetuous? causing you to be violent, boisterous, bearing down all before you? Now, lift up your heart to God, or you will be angry at me. But I must go a little further. I fear you are greatly wanting in the government of your tongue. You are not exact in relating facts. I have observed it myself. You are apt to amplify; to enlarge a little beyond the truth. You cannot imagine, if others observe this, how it will affect your reputation. But I fear you are more wanting in another respect: That you give a loose to your tongue when you are angry; that your language then is not only sharp, but coarse, and ill-bred. If this be so, the people will not bear it. They will not take it either from you or me.
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