Call to Commitment

 

No one can read Charles Finney’s autobiography and doubt that his word pierced the hearts of those, to whom he spoke. It occurred in private conversation and it occurred when he preached. Finney attributed this power to his baptism in the Holy Spirit. Following my thoughts, is an example of him speaking to his employer and the interesting conversion of the man, which contains a bit of humor. 

In this chapter, I wanted to insert a couple accounts of the power of revival praying. There is a touch of humor, as well, in the first account about the prayer of old Deacon Montague. But it was also a demonstration of spiritual power, which stirred everyone present, as well as the entire community. Montague was an old man, but the story that follows concerns young people in prayer. I have learned that nothing satisfies youth more that the reality of the movings of God. We also should observe that the Lord uses young people, just as he uses the older ones. In fact, the Bible teaches that He often called adolescents into His purposes and used them mightily.

 The last part of this section will tell of Finney’s call into the ministry and then, will show that the Holy Spirit, not only empowers, He also trains His servants for service. This is another principle plainly taught in Scripture and one that I would desire to see more candidates follow. In the first place, let them know that they are truly called of God and then, let them enter the school of the Holy Spirit, initiated by a baptism in His presence.

  

Finney’s employer, Esquire Wright

This morning, of which I have spoken, I went down into the office and there I was having the renewal of these mighty waves of love and salvation flowing over me when Esq. Wright came into the office, where I studied law. I said a few words to him on the subject of his salvation--I do not recollect what. He looked at me with astonishment but made no reply whatever that I recollect. He dropped his head, and after standing a few minutes left the office. I thought no more of it then, but afterwards found that the remark I made pierced him like a sword, and he did not recover from it till he was converted.

  I have said that when I was converted it was up in a grove where I went to pray. Very soon after my conversion several other cases of conversion occurred that were reported to have taken place under similar circumstances: that is, persons went up into the grove to pray, and there made their peace with God. When Esq. Wright heard them tell their experience one after the other in our meetings, he thought that he had a parlor to pray in; and that he was not going up into the woods, and have the same story to tell that had been so often told. To this, it appeared, he strongly committed himself.

 I have found in my ministerial experience a great many cases of this kind, where upon some question, perhaps immaterial in itself, a sinner's pride of heart would commit him. In all such cases the dispute must be yielded, or the sinner never will get into the kingdom of God. I have known persons to remain for weeks in great tribulation of mind, pressed by the Spirit, but they could make no progress till the point upon which they were committed was yielded. Mr. Wright's was the first case of the kind that had ever come to my notice. After he was converted, he said that the question had frequently come up when he was in prayer, and that he had been made to see that it was pride that made him take that stand, and that kept him out of the kingdom of God. But still he was not willing to admit this, even to himself.

 He tried in every way to make himself believe, and to make God believe, that he was not proud. One night he said he prayed all night in his parlor that God would have mercy on him, but in the morning, he felt more distressed than ever. He finally became enraged that God did not hear his prayer, and was tempted to kill himself. He was so tempted to use his penknife for that purpose, that he actually threw it as far as he could that it might be lost, so that this temptation should not prevail. One night, he said, on returning from meeting he was so pressed with a sense of his pride, and with the fact that it prevented his going up into the woods to pray, that he was determined to make himself believe, and make God believe, that he was not proud; and he sought around for a mud puddle in which to kneel down, that he might demonstrate that it was not pride which kept him from going into the woods. Thus he continued to struggle for several weeks.

 But one afternoon I was sitting in our office, and a couple of the elders of the church were with me, when the young man that I met at the shoemaker's shop as a Universalist, and who was that day converted, came hastily into the office, and exclaimed as he came, "Esquire Wright is converted!" and proceeded to say: "I went up into the woods to pray, and heard someone over in the valley shouting very loud. I went over to the brow of the hill where I could look down, and I saw Esquire Wright pacing to and fro and singing as loud as he could sing; and every few moments he would stop and clap his hands with his full strength and shout, 'l will rejoice in the God of my salvation!' Then he would march and sing again, and then stop, and shout, and clap his hands."

 While the young man was telling us this, behold Esq. Wright appeared in sight, coming over the hill. As he came down to the foot of the hill, we observed that he met Father Tucker, as we all called him, an aged Methodist brother. He rushed up to him, and took him right up in his arms. After setting him down and conversing a moment, he came rapidly toward the office. The moment that he came in, we observed that he was in a profuse perspiration, he was a heavy man--and he cried out. "God, I've got it! God, I've got it!" slapped his hands with all his might, and fell upon his knees and began to give thanks to God.

 He then gave us an account of what had been passing in his mind, and why he had not obtained a hope before. He said as soon as he gave up that point and went into the woods, his mind was relieved; and when he knelt down to pray the Spirit of God came upon him with such power as to fill him with such unspeakable joy, that it resulted in the scene which the young man witnessed. Of course, from that time Esq. Wright took a decided stand for God.

 

 Deacon Montague, young people, and the power of prayer 

The deacon of the Congregational church was a thin, spare, feeble old man by the name of Montague. He was quiet in his ways, and had a good reputation for piety; but seldom said much upon the subject. He was a good specimen of a New England deacon. He was present, and they called upon him to lead the meeting. He read a passage of Scripture according to their custom. They then sung a hymn, and Deacon Montague stood up behind his chair and led off in prayer. The other persons present, all of them professors of religion and younger people, knelt down around the room. My brother said that Deacon Montague began as usual in his prayer, in a low, feeble voice, but soon began to wax warm and to raise his voice, which became tremulous with emotion.

 He proceeded to pray with more and more earnestness, till soon he began to rise upon his toes and come down upon his heels, and then to rise upon his toes and drop upon his heels again, so that they could feel the jar in the room. He continued to raise his voice, and to rise upon his toes and come down upon his heels more emphatically. And as the Spirit of prayer led him onward, he began to raise his chair together with his heels, and bring that down upon the floor; and soon he raised it a little higher, and brought it down with still more emphasis. He continued to do this, and grew more and more engaged till he would bring the chair down as if he would break it to pieces.

 In the meantime, the brethren and sisters that were on their knees, began to groan, and sigh, and weep, and agonize in prayer. The deacon continued to struggle until he was about exhausted, and when he ceased, my brother said that there was nobody in the room that could get off from their knees. They could only weep and confess, and all melt down before the Lord. From this meeting the work of the Lord spread forth in every direction all over the town. And thus it spread at that time from Adams as a center, throughout nearly all the towns in the county.

 At the next meeting of the young people I proposed that we should observe a closet concert of prayer for the revival of God's work--that we should pray at sunrise, at noon, and at sunset in our closets and observe this for one week, when we should come together again and see what farther was to be done. No other means were used for the revival of God's work. But the Spirit of prayer was immediately poured out wonderfully upon the young converts. Before the week was out, I learned that some of them, when they would attempt to observe this season of prayer, would lose all their strength and be unable to rise from their knees, or even stand upon their knees in their closets; and that some of them would lie prostrate on the floor, and pray with unutterable groanings for the outpouring of the Spirit of God.

 The Spirit was poured out, and before the week ended all the meetings were thronged; and there was as much interest in religion, I think, as there had been at any time during the revival. And here I am sorry to say that a mistake was made, or perhaps I should say a sin committed, by some of the older members of the church, that resulted in great evil to them. As I afterwards learned, a considerable number of the older members of the church resisted this new movement among the young converts. They were jealous of it.

 They did not know what to make of it, and felt as if the young converts were too forward and were getting out of their places in being so forward and so urgent upon the older members of the church. This state of mind finally grieved the Spirit of God. It was not long before alienations began to exist among those older members of the church, which finally resulted in great evil to those members who had allowed themselves to resist this latter revival. The young people held out well. The converts, so far as I know, were almost universally sound, and have been thoroughly efficient Christians. 

 

Finney’s call to preach the gospel 

A Deacon Barney came into the office and said to me, "Mr. Finney, do you recollect that my cause is to be tried at ten o'clock this morning? I suppose you are ready." I had been retained to attend his suit as his attorney. I replied to him, "Deacon Barney, I have a retainer from the Lord Jesus Christ to plead His cause, and I cannot plead yours." He looked at me with astonishment and said, "What do you mean?" I told him in a few words that I had enlisted in the cause of Christ, and then repeated that I had a retainer from the Lord Jesus Christ to plead His cause, and that he must go and get somebody else to attend to his lawsuit--I could not do it. 

 I had been very fond of my profession. But as I have said, when I was converted all was dark in that direction, and I had no more any pleasure in attending to law business. I had many very pressing invitations to conduct lawsuits, but I uniformly refused. I did not dare to trust myself in the excitement of a contested lawsuit, and, furthermore, the business itself of conducting other people's controversies appeared odious and disgusting to me.

 This at first stumbled me. I thought I had taken too much pains, and spent too much time and study in my profession to think now of becoming a Christian, if by doing so I should be obliged to preach the Gospel. However, I at last came to the conclusion that I must submit that question to God. That I had never commenced the study of law from any regard to God, and that I had no right to make any conditions with Him; and I therefore had laid aside the thought of becoming a minister, until it was sprung in my mind, as I have related, on my way from my place of prayer in the woods down to the village.

 But now, after receiving these baptisms of the Spirit, I was quite willing to preach the Gospel. Nay, I found that I was unwilling to do anything else. I had no longer any desire to practice law. Everything in that direction was all shut up and had no longer any attractions for me at all. I found my mind entirely changed and that a complete revolution had occurred within me. I had no disposition to make money. I had no hungering and thirsting after worldly pleasures and amusements in any direction. My whole mind was taken up with Jesus and His salvation, and the world seemed to me of very little consequence. Nothing, it seemed to me, could be put in competition with the worth of souls, and no labor, I thought, could be so sweet, and no enjoyment so great, as to be employed in holding up Christ to a dying world.

 Having had no regular training for the ministry I did not expect or desire to labor in large towns or cities, or in cultivated congregations. I intended to go into new settlements and preach in schoolhouses, and barns and groves, as best I could. Accordingly, soon after being licensed to preach, for the sake of being introduced to the region where I proposed to labor, I took a commission for six months of a Female Missionary Society, located in Oneida County. I went into the northern part of Jefferson County and began my labors at Evans' Mills, in the town of Le Ray. At this place I found two churches, a small Congregational church without a minister, and a Baptist church with a minister. I presented my credentials to the deacons of the church. They were very glad to see me, and I soon began my labors. They had no meetinghouse, but the two churches worshipped alternately in a large stone schoolhouse. The schoolhouse was so large, I believe, as to accommodate all the children in the village. The Baptists occupied the house on one Sabbath, and the Congregationalists on the next; so that I could have the house but every other Sabbath to preach in that place, but could use the house evenings as often as I pleased.

  

A unique method of preaching 

Let not anything I say leave the impression on any mind, that I thought either my views or my methods perfect, for I had no such thought. I was aware that I was but a child. I had not enjoyed the advantages of the higher schools of learning. And so conscious had I been all along that I lacked those qualifications that would make me acceptable, especially to ministers, and I feared to the people in populous places, that I had never had any higher ambition or purpose than to go into the new settlements and places where they did not enjoy the Gospel. Indeed, I was often surprised myself, in the first years of my preaching, to find it so edifying and acceptable to the most educated classes. This was more than I had expected--greatly more than my brethren had expected, and more than I had dared to hope myself. I always endeavored to improve in everything in which I discovered myself to be in error. But the longer I preached, the less reason had I to think that my error lay in the direction in which it was supposed to lie by my brother ministers.

 Ministers generally avoid preaching what the people before them will understand as addressed particularly to them. They will preach to them about other people, and the sins of other people, instead of addressing them and saying, "You are guilty of these sins"; and "the Lord requires this of you." They often preach about the Gospel, instead of preaching the Gospel. They often preach about sinners, instead of preaching to them. They studiously avoid being personal, in the sense of making the impression on anyone present that they mean him or her.

 Now I have thought it my duty to pursue a different course, and I always have pursued a different course. I have intended to make every person present feel as if I meant him and her. And I have often said: "Do not think I am talking about anybody else: but I mean you, and you, and you." Now ministers told me at first that people would never endure this; but would get up and go out, and never come to hear me again. But this is all a mistake. Very much in this, as in everything else, depends on the spirit in which it is said. If the people see that it is said in the Spirit of love, with a yearning desire to do them good; if they cannot call it an ebullition of personal animosity, but if they see, and cannot deny that it is telling the truth in love, that it is coming right home to them to save them individually--there are very few people that will continue to resent this. If at the time they feel pointed at, and rebuked: nevertheless, the conviction is upon them that they needed it, and it will surely ultimately do them great good.

 I believe that half an hour's earnest talk to the people from week to week, and from time to time… if the talk be pointed, direct, earnest, logical… will really instruct the people more than the two labored sermons that those who write get off to their people on the Sabbath. I believe the people would remember more of what is said, be more interested in it, and would carry it away with them to be pondered, vastly more than they do what they get from the labored written sermons which they hear.

 When I first began to preach, and for some twelve years of my earliest ministry, I was most commonly obliged to preach without any preparation whatever except what I got in prayer. Oftentimes I went into the pulpit without knowing upon what text I should speak, or a word that I should say. I depended on the occasion and the Holy Spirit to suggest the text, and to open up the whole subject to my mind; and certainly in no part of my ministry have I ever preached with greater success and power than I did when I preached in that way. If I did not preach from inspiration, I don't know how I did preach. It was a common experience with me, and has been during all my ministerial life, that the subject would open up to my mind in a manner that was surprising to myself. It seemed that I could see with intuitive clearness just what I ought to say, and whole platoons of thoughts, words, and illustrations, came to me as fast as I could deliver them.

 And let no man say that this is boasting of a higher inspiration than is promised to ministers, or than ministers have a right to expect. For I believe that all ministers, called by Christ to preach the Gospel, ought to be, and may be in such a sense inspired, as to "preach the Gospel with the Holy Ghost sent down from heaven." What else did Christ mean when He said, "Go and disciple all nations… and lo I am with you always, even unto the end of the world?" What did He mean when He said, speaking of the Holy Spirit… "He shall take of mine and show it unto you?" And also, "He shall bring all things to your remembrance, whatever I have said unto you?" What did He mean when He said, "If any man believe in me, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water?" "This spake He of the Spirit that they which believe on Him should receive." All ministers may be and ought to be, so filled with the Holy Spirit that all who hear them shall be impressed with the conviction that "God is in them of a truth."