Preaching That Brings Revival

Well, we are in the Evangelism Awakening Revival Institutes, and if you would turn in your handout, friends, to session four, the preaching that brings revival. In our session today, friends, I want to bring before us the subject of the preaching that brings revival. When the great doctrines of grace are preached with authority, and the gospel is presented in its proper order, then the Holy Spirit is given room to work.

Finney compared it to a millstone. The top stone is the law of God, and the bottom stone is the conscience of man. And when the two stones meet, they grind one upon the other, and it is here where the Holy Spirit brings conviction of sin.

We must return to preaching the gospel in its purity and proper order. A sinner must first see the need of a Savior from sin before he can apply the remedy for sin in the person of the Lord Christ. In the land today, the bane of the church is self-indulgence and self-preservation.

The watered-down gospel message is all about us served on a man-centered platter at a sumptuous banquet table laden with delicacies. Other generations knew the cost of discipleship and the price of following a crucified Christ. John the Baptist had a platter with his head upon it for telling Herod it was not lawful to have his wife.

Early in his ministry, Stephen was baptized with stones as he saw Jesus rise from his throne. The Apostle Paul finished his ministry not with accolades and applause, but with a falling ax. The blood of the martyrs cries out against the self-absorbed church of this generation.

Well, I want to read an account now, friends, taken from the archives of the Nettleton Papers. Ezehiel Nettleton kept detailed records of his converts in the second great awakening, not to brag about them, but to pray for them. It is estimated that he was the means of 30,000 souls coming to Christ from his labors.

Well, I spent hours poring over his personal papers at Hartford Seminary, and I conducted primary research by visiting 60 locations of revival in three states throughout Connecticut, New York, and Massachusetts. But Nettleton is a forgotten figure today. He is worthy of our study.

My biography on his life was a great sacrifice to research and write. I give you J.I. Packer's endorsement of it at this time. He wrote, The momentous ministry of the Ed Swartzend Evangelist, Ezehiel Nettleton, a key figure in the second great awakening, has been effectively forgotten during the past century and a half of less than reformed revivalism.

Dr. Johnston's masterful and thorough biography is a long overdue tribute to this outstanding servant of God in his priority reading for all who care about evangelism today. Well, I highly recommend that book to you, friends. It's called Ezehiel Nettleton, Revival Preacher, and I want to read you now, friends, an eyewitness account of a revival under the ministry of Nettleton, taken from his personal papers.

I recommend it to you because it not only gives us a better understanding of who Ezehiel Nettleton was, but it also demonstrates how he dealt with awakened sinners in scenes of powerful revival. It's an important document in the study of revival for several reasons. In our day of easy believism, multitudes in our churches remain in an unconverted condition.

We have moved so far away from true conversions we can no longer recognize them. False fire abounds in our pulpits across the land, and too many have been victimized by swallowing a watered down man-centered gospel. To study this account taken from the height of the second great awakening is an opportunity for us to learn what true conversion is, and to have the knowledge how to deal with awakened sinners by not healing their wounds slightly.

Well, here now is that account given by a man who was converted in revival under Nettleton in Jamaica, Long Island in 1826. Here now are his words. In perusing the life of Mr. Nettleton, I have had brought vividly to my recollections scenes and circumstances connected with the revival of religion in Jamaica in 1826 of deep interest to me, and although more than 18 years have passed, their interest is as deep as ever, and I think strikingly illustrates the wisdom and the prudence of that truly wonderful man in dealing with awakened sinners.

The first time I ever saw Mr. Nettleton was on a communion sabbath in the early part of the winter of 1826. Two strangers entered the church and walking slowly up the aisle seated themselves in the front pew. Many eyes were fastened upon them, and after service, as is common in the country, many inquiries were made as to who they were, for they were evidently clergymen.

It was some time before I learned that one of them was the Reverend Mr. Nettleton, the great revival preacher. The church in Jamaica had been greatly divided. We were literally two bands hostile to each other and bitter in feeling.

The apostle might have said of us we were hateful and hating one another, and there seemed but little prospect of our ever being any better. It was but a sad spectacle on that day presented to this man of God, when a few days after I heard that Mr. Nettleton, the revival preacher, was soon going to preach for us, I shall never forget my feelings. I determined I would not hear him, and especially so when an old disciple, long since in glory, Mr. Othniel Smith, who had listened with rapture to George Whitefield, seventy years before when he preached in Jamaica, said to me, this Mr. Nettleton that is going to preach for us is a most wonderful man.

He is said to be the greatest preacher that has been among us since the days of George Whitefield. He said further that, from what he had heard of him, he believed he could almost read a man's heart, so wonderful was his knowledge of human nature. I well remember I secretly said, he shall not see my heart, for I will not let him see me.

So bitterly did I dread anything like close experimental preaching. I had long been a professor of religion, having united with the Rutgers Street Church in 1812, while Dr. Mildeler was the pastor, and notwithstanding, I had always been outwardly consistent, regularly observing secret and family prayer, constant in my attendance upon all the meetings of the church. Notwithstanding all this seemingly consistency of character, there was always a fearful whisper from the faithful monitor within that all was not right.

There was a secret dread of self-examination, an unwillingness to know the worst, respecting my case, and the idea of coming in contact with a man who would be likely to expose my shallowness. If not hypocrisy, I could not endure, and accordingly I resolved that something should detain me from the church when Mr. Nelton preached. But contrary to my secret determination, I went to church at the appropriate time with my family.

After the Sabbath, numbers of the church members called upon Mr. Nelton at his lodgings to welcome him among us, and I was repeatedly requested to do so with the rest, but day after day I contrived to excuse myself, although I knew it was a civility that was expected of me. At length the brother, who had often urged me to go, called upon me to know if I would not take Mr. Nelton a little ride in my gig, as he was in feeble health, having but just recovered from a protracted illness. Adding that he found riding not only beneficial but necessary, and he knew I could do it just as well or not.

I never shall forget the feelings at this proposition. I at first refused outright, and was vexed that the proposition should have been made. I treated the brother rudely.

He, however, continued to urge, and said he had gone so far as to tell Mr. Nelton he knew I would do it cheerfully. I called upon him the next morning with my gig at ten o'clock, and was introduced to him on the sidewalk, and never did culprit dread the face of his judge more than I dreaded to be brought face to face with a man who, it was said, could almost read the heart. I received him politely, and we soon entered into a pleasing conversation about almost anything and everything except personal religion.

This, as scrupulously avoided, I found he was in feeble health and somewhat given to hypochondria, therefore I felt assured I could entertain him by talking about his own ailments. In less than one hour all my unpleasant feelings had vanished, and I felt as free and easy with him as if I was riding with some long-tried friend, and that which I so much dreaded became to me at once a source of great pleasure and of much profit. The first day he rode with me about six miles, and after that, for seven months, very few pleasant days passed that we did not ride together from five to twenty miles, I became deeply interested in him as a man and as a preacher.

Why I at first liked his preaching I cannot say, but I was unwilling to be absent from a single meeting. The class of subjects he chose, as his theme of discourse, was new. The distracted state of the congregation led those clergymen who supplied her a pulpit to select some subjects connected with Christian duty.

A brother to love, if I remember right, was a subject of discourse seven times in about three months. On the contrary, Mr. Nettleton presented the claims of God and the duty of sinners, and here I remember we had no opportunity of scrutinizing the sermon to endeavor to ascertain on which side of the division the preacher was. This I considered a masterstroke of policy.

Thus smoothly and pleasantly it passed along with me for about two weeks, when one evening he announced from the desk that he felt some encouragement to believe that the Lord was about to grant us a blessing. He said he had seen several individuals who were anxious for their souls, and two or three who indulged hope. How it would end with them he would not say, but he wanted the church to walk softly before the Lord and to be much in prayer.

I felt then that my own case required looking into it once, or I was lost. I resolved soon to attend to it, nor to let the present opportunity pass. Mr. Nettleton had never yet said one word to me on the subject of experimental religion, although I had been with him a great deal.

The next day as usual I called for him to ride. I was obliged to go to Flushing that day, distant about five miles, just as we were ascending the hill, a little out of the village, and before any subject of conversation had been introduced, and the horse on a slow walk. He gently placed his hand upon my knee and said, Well, my dear friend, how is it with you? I hope it is all peace within.

I could not speak for several minutes. He said no more, and there was no occasion, for an arrow had pierced my inmost soul. My motion was overwhelming at length.

After recovering a little of self-possession, I broke the silence by telling him frankly I was not happy, that there was no peace within. All was war, war, war. His manner was so kind, he instantly won my confidence, and I unburdened my soul to him.

I told him how I had felt for years past, and how very unhappy at times I had been. He did not seem inclined to talk. All he said was occasionally, Well, well, well, with his peculiar cadence.

At length he said he did not feel very well, and he wanted to be still. But this was a request he often made, and I thought nothing of it. I river-rode several miles with him, and not a word has passed between us after such a request.

I continued to ride with him once and twice a day, but although I was anxious to converse, he said but little to me, except occasionally he would drop a remark, calculated to make me feel worse instead of better, at times greatly deepening my distress. Some months afterwards, I spoke to him about this, and he said he did it intentionally, for it reason to believe many awakened sinner had his convictions all talked away and talked into a false hope. About this time, he appointed a meeting of inquiry, and I told him I should be there.

He said I must not attend on any account. He was only attended for anxious sinners. I told him I certainly shouldn't be there unless he absolutely forbade it.

I do, said he with more than ordinary earnestness. The anxious meeting was the first he appointed in Jamaica. It was to be held at the house of a dear friend of mine, and one whom knew something of my state of mind.

I went there in the afternoon, and made arrangements to be concealed in an adjoining bedroom, the door of which could not be shut, the bed being placed against it. I was on the ground an hour before the time appointed. Mr. Nettleton came soon after, to arrange the seats.

About this he was very particular. He came into the bedroom, where I was concealed, two or three times. He wanted the door closed, but he found it could not be done, so he gave it up.

He did not know I was there until some weeks afterwards. The temptation to be present at that meeting I could not resist. Somehow, I had received an impression that my salvation depended upon it.

I thought it was altogether a piece of cruelty in Mr. Nettleton to forbid my being present, and I determined to carry my point privately if I could not openly. Situated as I was, I could hear next to nothing as to what was transpiring in the anxious room. Mr. Nettleton addressed those present individually, and in a very low tone of voice, bordering upon a whisper, and as he approached the open door, I could occasionally catch a sentence, and hear a deep and anxious sob, but these words and broken sentences and sobs were loud and pointed sermons to me.

I wanted to get out from my hiding place, that I might give vent to my pent-up feelings. At times it seemed as if I must cry out, in bitterness of spirit, so agonizing were my feelings, especially so, as I heard him say to one individual, Is it possible? Well, I'm afraid you will lose your impressions, and if you should, what will become of you? If the spirit is grieved to return no more, you will lose your soul. After going around the room and conversing with each individual, he made a few general remarks, applicable to all, respecting the danger of grieving God's Holy Spirit, and then dismissed the meeting after a short prayer.

Instead of feeling any better after this meeting, as I expected to do, I felt worse and worse. Sleep was now taken from me, and I felt that death was better than life. The next night I got out of bed around midnight, and went out into the woods.

It was exceedingly dark. I fell down at the foot of a tree, and cried aloud for mercy, in agony of soul. I felt that God was just in punishing me.

I felt the longest and severest punishment he could inflict was no more than I deserved. My sins, my aggravated sins, appeared so great. I remained out of doors most of the night, in the morning, early, before I went home.

I called at Mr. Nettleton's lodgings. He sent word he could not see me at this hour. I went away, and returned an hour or so.

He told the servant to request me to be seated, and he would be with me in a few minutes. Every minute now seemed an hour, and a long one too. For nearly thirty minutes he kept me in this state of horrible suspense, during which I was constantly pacing the floor with my watch in my hand.

When at length he entered the room, threw my arms around his neck, told him I was in perfect agony, and that I should die if he did not someway comfort me, I told him it seemed as if I could not live another hour in such distress. I can't help you, my dear friend. You must not look to me.

And he burst into a flood of tears. What shall I do? What shall I do? I repeated over and over again, in a loud voice. You must yield your heart to Christ, or you are lost, said he, and adding, I do certainly think your situation is a very alarming and dangerous one.

After a few minutes he said, Come, let us kneel down. This was contrary to his usual practice. He made a very short prayer, not more than a minute in length, rose from his knees, advised me to go home and remain in my room, and abruptly left me, almost overcome with emotion.

Had there been any means of self-destruction within my reach, I believe I should have employed it, so agonizing were my feelings. He sent word to me by a young friend that he did not wish to ride that day. I passed most of the day in my room on my knees.

Occasionally I walked for a few minutes in my garden, and then returned to my room. It was the just and the eternal displeasure of an angry God that seemed to crush me to the earth. The justice of God and the eternity of his anger distressed me most.

I sent for Mr. Nettleton, but he excused himself and did not come. It was past the middle of the afternoon, and approaching sundown, and I had not yet broken my fast. After a short walk in the garden, I again entered my room, locked the door, and threw myself prostrate on my settee.

As near a state of hopeless despair as I can conceive a mortal to be on this side of the bottomless pit, I cried aloud, Oh my God! How long? How long? Oh my God! My God! After repeating this in similar language several times, I seemed to sink away into a state of insensibility. When I came to myself, I was upon my knees, praying not for myself but for others. I felt submission to the will of God, willing that he should do with me as should seem good in his sight.

My concern for myself seemed all lost in concern for others. Terror seemed all exchange for love and despair for hope. God was glorious and Christ unspeakably precious.

The cry of Blessed Jesus! Blessed Jesus! took the place of Lord of Mercy. I will stop there, friends. There is much more to the account, but for the sake of time, I had to refer you to my biography on Nettleton to finish the story.

Let us prepare now for session five.