The Asbury Journal Spring 2024

EDITOR

Robert Danielson EDITORIAL BOARD

Kenneth J. Collins

Professor of Historical Theology and Wesley Studies

J. Steven O’Malley

Professor of Methodist Holiness History EDITORIAL ADVISORY PANEL

David Bundy, New York Theological Seminary Ted Campbell, Perkins School of Theology Hyungkeun Choi, Seoul Theological University Richard Heitzenrater, Duke University Divinity School Scott Kisker, Wesley Theological Seminary Sarah Lancaster, Methodist Theological School of Ohio Gareth Lloyd, University of Manchester Randy Maddox, Duke University Divinity School Nantachai Medjuhon, Muang Thai Church, Bangkok, Thailand Stanley Nwoji, Pastor, Lagos, Nigeria Paul Numrich, Theological Consortium of Greater Columbus Dana Robert, Boston University Howard Snyder, Manchester Wesley Research Centre Leonard Sweet, Drew University School of Theology Amos Yong, Regent University Hwa Yung, United Methodist Church, Kuala Lampur, Malaysia All inquiries regarding subscriptions, back issues, permissions to reprint, manuscripts for submission, and books for review should be addressed to: The Asbury Journal Asbury Theological Seminary 204 N. Lexington Avenue, Wilmore, KY 40390 FAX: 859-858-2375 http://place.asburyseminary.edu/asburyjournal/ © Copyright 2024 by Asbury Theological Seminary

ISSN 1090-5642

The Asbury Journal VOLUME 79:1 Spring 2024

TABLE OF CONTENTS

6

From the Editor

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A Deal with the Devil: Pragmatic Mission and Early Methodism’s Complicity with Slavery William Payne

29

A Plain Account of Christian Purity: Berlin Walls Dean G. Blevins and Marie Gregg

52

H.C. Morrison and the Holiness Union of the South Robert A. Danielson

92

“Chieftain, Farewell”: Bishop Matthew Simpson’s Funeral Address to Abraham Lincoln Samuel J. Rogal

109

The New York Circuit and the City Missions Movement: Temporary Spaces, Quarterly Meeting Collaboration, and Rented Pews Philip Hardt

130

Why Did Disciples Anoint with Oil for Healing in Mark 6:13?

Craig Keener

Features 138

From the Archives: Francis Clark: The Dark History of Slavery and Methodism in Kentucky

148

Book Reviews

167

Books Received

Timothy C. Tennent President and Publisher Gregg Okesson Provost

The Asbury Journal is a continuation of the Asbury Seminarian (1945-1985, vol. 1-40) and The Asbury Theological Journal (19862005, vol. 41-60). Articles in The Asbury Journal are indexed in The Christian Periodical Index and Religion Index One: Periodicals (RIO); book reviews are indexed in Index to Book Reviews in Religion (IBRR). Both RIO and IBRR are published by the American Theological Library Association, 5600 South Woodlawn Avenue, Chicago, IL 60637, and are available online through BRS Information Technologies and DIALOG Information Services. Articles starting with volume 43 are abstracted in Religious and Theological Abstracts and New Testament Abstracts. Volumes in microform of the Asbury Seminarian (vols. 1-40) and the Asbury Theological Journal (vols. 41-60) are available from University Microfilms International, 300 North Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106.

The Asbury Journal publishes scholarly essays and book reviews written from a Wesleyan perspective.

The Journal’s authors and audience reflect the global reality of the Christian church, the holistic nature of Wesleyan thought, and the importance of both theory and practice in addressing the current issues of the day. Authors include Wesleyan scholars, scholars of Wesleyanism/Methodism, and scholars writing on issues of theological and theological education importance.

ISSN 1090-5642 Published in April and October Articles and reviews may be copied for personal or classroom use. Permission to otherwise reprint essays and reviews must be granted permission by the editor and the author.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 6-8 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.01

From the Editor

In this issue of The Asbury Journal, we are seeking to take an historical look at various conflicts and controversies which have existed within the Church, and especially within the Wesleyan-Holiness tradition we represent. Conflict is a part of life, and also part of our theological task, as we seek to live in the world round us. Sometimes conflict does not even look like conflict until we examine it through the lens of hindsight.

As we reach the conclusion of Asbury’s Centennial Celebration, which we celebrated from Fall 2022 through Spring 2024, we have examined some of the surprising successes and theological contributions of our tradition and our past, but growth does not just occur from success, but also from wrestling with hard issues and difficult challenges. Sometimes we need to wrestle with these same realities today and this includes providing space for lament. On April 2, 2024 Asbury Seminary held an event on race and religion in Kentucky, called Breaking Barriers. A final piece of that event was to lament our past with a public service and reading of the names of the enslaved people in the Clark inventory, which is the focus of this issue’s “From the Archives” essay. History has repercussions, and it is important that we recognize those even in our modern world.

William Payne sets the stage for this issue with an article on the difficult history

of slavery in early Methodism. This is a history which has often been over-simplified and focused on the positive aspects of antislavery movements in Methodism. But it is important that we seriously look at the complexity of the issue and ask hard questions of our historical record. Dean G. Blevins and Maria Gregg take us to the opposite end of the historical spectrum, examining how the issue of “speaking in tongues” in the Church of the Nazarene continues to divide Holiness and Pentecostal Churches and prevent theological healing and acceptance. They argue that there is a need to apply Wesley’s approach to theological disputes about perfection to our own modern disputes which seek to defend the purity of our theological positions. Robert Danielson goes back to the early

From the editor 7

days of that division, back when Holiness people felt excluded from the Methodist Church in the South and sought to organize themselves as a form of protection. This organization ultimately collapsed, in part due to the rise of Pentecostalism and holiness denominations such as the Church of the Nazarene. Samuel J. Rogal brings in what many would consider the highwater mark of American Methodism, when Methodist Bishop Matthew Simpson delivered the funeral address of Abraham Lincoln. Yet, even in the midst of this success, the issues of nationalism and the loss of Methodist distinctives to achieve respectability were beginning to emerge. Much of this can be seen in an analysis of Simpson’s oration. Success can sometimes be a dangerous challenge to negotiate. Philip Hardt returns to The Asbury Journal with more historical insight from the history of the New York Circuit.

Needs for funds and expanding church plants raised all kinds of issues as Methodism sought to expand in one of America’s largest cities in its early years. Once again, history can provide lessons for today’s needs and concerns as well. In an additional short essay, Craig Keener has brought his biblical scholarship into our pages to look at the scriptural support and understanding of anointing with oil, a topic of interest for many in the Global Church who might be tempted to apply magical meanings to this action.

In the final “From the Archives” essay, I explore the Clark inventory from the files of the Seminary archives. Returning to Payne’s earlier article, this document shows hard evidence that the first Methodist pastor in Kentucky enslaved human beings. The document itself is a painful reminder of this reality, but even more are the names of the people listed as “property” along with pots and pans, quilts, and cows. But as painful as this document is, it is also a reminder of how we need to allow our theology to rule our life and not give in to compromise with the world’s way of living.

As we end our first one hundred years, and look forward to what we hope will be another one hundred years to come, Asbury Theological Seminary needs to spend time not only in celebration, but in lament and mourning, and thinking about the mistakes of the past. How can we learn from them and make our ministry stronger and more vibrant to a hurting world? Learning and growth comes from conflict as well as success. The important part is to reflect theologically on the past and seek to apply those theological principles to current and future issues as well. Forgiveness is always a part of the process, and God is always ready to offer grace and healing when we are able to truly repent of the sins of the past, both as

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individuals and as communities. As the prophet Joel wrote when the future seemed full of sin and conflict,

“Even now,” declares the LORD, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.”

Rend your heart and not your garments. return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and compassionate,

slow to anger and abounding in love, and he relents from sending calamity.

Joel 2:12-13 Understanding our past in its entirety, both positive and negative elements, can help us grow into the people God desires us to be. To truly be a kingdom people requires us to face conflict and seek to find scriptural ways to move into healing and restoration. Without this reflection and understanding, we are likely to repeat the mistakes of the past. Lament, repentance, and forgiveness is the only real way forward.

Robert Danielson Ph.D.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 9-28 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.02

William Payne

A Deal with the Devil: Pragmatic Mission and Early American Methodism’s Complicity with Slavery

Abstract: Early American Methodism inherited a staunch abolitionist position from John Wesley. Bishops Francis Asbury and Thomas Coke strongly opposed slavery. Under their leadership, the early minutes and disciplines included a series of rules that required preachers to free their slaves and ameliorate the effects of slavery. They also waged an ongoing “war” with the various state legislatures that allowed slavery. After a strong backlash threatened Methodism’s ability to minister to slaves, enter plantations, and work in the South, the church prioritized the evangelistic mandate over the cultural mandate. The compromise mitigated social hostility and allowed Methodism to become the largest church in the South by 1800. Sadly, the compromise tainted the church, enabled slavery, and created a legacy of racism.

Keywords: Methodism, slavery, abolition, Francis Asbury, Thomas Coke William Payne, PhD, is Professor of World Missions and Evangelism at Ashland Theological Seminary. His email is: wpayne@ashland.edu 9

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A Historical Analysis of Early American Methodism’s Slavery Debate In the late 1760s, European immigrants planted American Methodism in New York and Maryland. During the ensuing years, both centers expanded to surrounding colonies. Notwithstanding, the membership of the southern hub (Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina) outpaced the membership of the northern hub (New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey). By 1778, southern Methodism registered 7,337 members and the northern circuits only numbered 270. At the formation of the Methodist Episcopal Church (MEC) in December 1784, southern Methodism had 12,200 members and northern Methodism had 2,505 members counting 982 members from Delaware.1 Number of Methodists in colonies and states between 1773 and 1784 1773

1774

1775

1776

1777

1778

NY

180

222

200

132

96

0

NJ

200

257

300

150

160

130

PA

180

240

264

236

232

140

DE

0

0

0

0

0

0

MD

500

1063

1429

1737

2101

1987

VA

100

291

955

2456

3449

3693

NC

0

0

0

683

930

1291

SC

0

0

0

0

0

0

Payne: A Deal with the Devil 11

1779

1780

1781

1782

1783

1784

0

0

0

0

0

0

140

196

512

657

1028

963

179

190

361

517

605

560

795

410

1052

1447

1017

982

1873

2129

3382

4294

5122

5308

3937

3928

3839

4082

3699

3449

1653

1411

1393

1492

2279

3443

0

0

0

0

0

99

Sources: Data from Lee, A Short History, 1810: 358; MEC, Minutes, 1813.

What caused the membership disparity between the northern hub and the southern hub? Starting in 1769, Methodist missionaries controlled and directed the northern work. They did not employ many colonists as preachers. The northern work suffered when John Wesley recalled his missionaries during the Revolutionary War.2 By contrast, the southern work did not employ missionaries or answer to Wesley. Instead, it trained and utilized local American preachers. Those preachers became the de facto leaders of American Methodism when the missionaries left.3 They were acquainted with revival, pro-American, independent in their thinking, and indigenous to the South.

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At the 1779 Fluvanna Conference in Virginia, the southern preachers intended to take American Methodism in a new direction by ordaining themselves so they could administer the sacraments. This would have separated them from the northern work. In a last-minute bargain with Francis Asbury, the southern preachers agreed to hold-off on their plan, pending a solution from Wesley.4 In the aftermath of Fluvanna, Asbury, as Wesley’s designated general superintendent, took full control of the southern work. To prevent schism, he gave the northern conference the power to approve or reject whatever the southern conference decided. From the perspective of the South, this violated the rules of democracy because the northern conference was under Asbury’s control and did whatever he told it to do. Furthermore, southern preachers said that Asbury manipulated the rules to his advantage.

The Slavery Debate The emerging slavery debate evinces how the northern conference used its privilege to force an unpopular issue onto southern Methodism.

Before the reunification of the northern and southern conferences in 1779, the northern conference mandated that traveling preachers must promise to free their slaves. It opined that “Slavery is contrary to the laws of God, man, and nature, and hurtful to society, contrary to the dictates of conscience and pure religion, and doing that which we would not others should do to us and ours.”5 After Fluvanna, the northern conference unilaterally applied the rule to the southern work. The southern connection did not receive it well. The southern preachers would not have allowed the decision if they would have had equal representation, since they outnumbered the northern preachers.

Jesse Lee, the first historian of American Methodism, captured the southern sentiment. “It is evident that the [northern] preachers in this case went too far in their censures; and their language in their resolves was calculated to irritate the minds of our people, and by no means calculated to convince them of their error.”6 It should be noted that the southern circuit riders strongly opposed slavery and did all they could to ameliorate the conditions associated with it. However, the southern local preachers were not as resolute as the circuit riders. In essence, the local preachers served as the pastors of the local societies, while the circuit riders traveled large circuits.

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When the slave rule was applied to local preachers, a lack of consensus emerged. In 1783, the conference agreed to try slave-holding local preachers for one more year.7 In 1784, the traveling preachers determined to suspend the local preachers in Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey who did not emancipate their slaves and to try those in Virginia for another year.8 In the aftermath, the local preachers in Virginia formed a powerful lobby that challenged the authority of the conference. As the conferences became more aggressive with slavery rules, the local preachers in Virginia became more vocal in their opposition.

In the first MEC (Methodist Episcopal Church) Discipline in 1785, the church, under the resolute leadership of Bishop Thomas Coke, showed a strong resolve to deal decisively with the slavery issue. In order to “extirpate the abomination of slavery from among us,” the MEC added new rules.9 First, every member who held slaves had to make provision for their gradual manumission. Second, the traveling preachers had to keep a journal to record the ages and names of every slave and the date when each slave was to be set free. Also, the journals had to list where the signed documents from the slave-holding Methodists were recorded. Third, every member not wishing to abide by the rule could withdraw from the society within the next twelve months. After that period, noncompliant members would be expelled. Fourth, after withdrawing or being expelled, the former members could not participate in the sacrament with the Methodists. Fifth, slave owners would not be admitted to the society or the Lord’s Supper until they signed documents to emancipate their slaves.10 Nonetheless, this did not keep the leadership of the MEC from preaching against slavery.

“Continuing to preach an emancipation ethic, [they] insisted that the piety of a prayerful honest man who was emotionally aware of the love of God should be expressed through opposition to slavery.”11 The disciplinary rules put the MEC in conflict with state laws that forbade emancipation in some southern states. Could the MEC require a Methodist to break a “no manumission” law in order to remain a Methodist or become a Methodist? The conference argued that it was not the province of the church to work contrary to the established legal provisions of the civil authority.12 In 1785, the newly minted bishops (Asbury and Coke) conducted conferences in North Carolina (20 April), Virginia (1 May), and Maryland (1 June). During these meetings, Coke used aggressive rhetoric and ecclesial threats to push his antislavery views. While at the North Carolina

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Conference, Coke spoke in such a harsh tone that Lee responded. Coke retorted that Lee was “unfriendly to the cause.” Afterward, during the examination of character, Coke objected to Lee’s. When Lee defended his position, Coke cut him off. This led to a heated exchange.13 After the intense debate, the North Carolina Conference agreed to send the state legislature a petition asking that residents be allowed to emancipate slaves because North Carolina did not allow for the emancipation of slaves. The MEC sought to maintain its social witness against slavery and show that it respected state laws by attempting to change anti-emancipation laws. Wade Barclay notes: Methodists at that time were active in circulating petitions to be presented to state legislatures in behalf of emancipation. A petition had been circulated by Methodists in North Carolina praying for the repeal of the law against emancipation of slaves and Coke states that Asbury visited the governor and “gained him over.”

The legislature, however, failed to act. In November [1785] at least nine petitions were presented to the Virginia Legislature—four of which were from Halifax, Amelia, Mecklenburg, and Pittsylvania—in the heart of Methodist country. No legislative action resulted.14 Because the rule in the 1785 Discipline made an exception for Methodists who lived in states that banned the emancipation of slaves, Coke moderated his rhetoric in North Carolina. However, while in Virginia, he boldly preached “liberty to the captives” (Isa 61:1) because Virginia law allowed for emancipation. Evidently, this caused a great deal of internal and external opposition. In reference to this period, Lee said, “[Coke] was much respected in the United States; but he met with some opposition in the south parts of Virginia, owing to his imprudent manner of preaching against slavery.”15 According to Samuel Hill, [White Methodists in the South] were not averse to benevolent reform if that meant encouraging personal temperance and helping the orphan or widow, the deaf, the dumb, the blind, the insane. But, if it meant rearranging the social order, tampering with slavery, interfering with state sovereignty, . . . then benevolent reform was totally misguided. It was in fact, un-Christian, since it created political tests for spiritual organizations.

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Whether a man held slaves or not was irrelevant to his right to join a church.16 As a consequence of his preaching against slavery, Coke had many narrow escapes. Cameron provides numerous examples.17 Asbury offered the following one: I found the minds of the people greatly agitated with our rules against slavery, and a proposed petition to the general assembly for the emancipation of Blacks.

Colonel Bedford and Doctor Coke disputed on the subject, and the Colonel used some threats: next day, brother O’Kelly18 let fly at them and they were made angry enough; we, however, came on with whole bones.19 In other cases, Methodist preachers in the South were arrested, fined, and physically hurt. In South Carolina, a preacher was dunked and nearly drowned.20 In particular, carrying conference-sanctioned antislavery pamphlets caused persecution and public rejection.

During the 1785 Virginia Conference, many petitions were presented asking that the minutes on slavery be suspended. Coke replied that they must be retained and threatened that preaching would be withdrawn from circuits where they could not be enforced.21 After the Virginia Conference, Asbury dined with General Daniel Roberdeau.22 They conversed on slavery, the difficulties attending emancipation, and the resentment some of the members of the Virginia legislature expressed against those who favored a general abolition.23 Afterward, Roberdeau arranged for Coke and Asbury to meet with George Washington. When Coke and Asbury visited Washington, they handed him a petition against slavery.24 They hoped to give the signed petition to the Virginia Legislature. They were received politely and were able to discuss the issue with him. However, Washington refused to sign it.25 Later, Coke met with Devereux Jarratt, an Anglican priest, a leading figure in the Virginia revival, and a mentor of southern Methodist preachers. He and Coke disagreed about the minute on slavery. Coke wrote that Jarratt was “a violent assertor of the justice and propriety of Negro slavery.”26 Jarratt disagreed.

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The truth is, the little man read the minutes to me, and asked my opinion of them. I told him I was no friend of slavery; but however I did not think the minutes proper, for two reasons. First, the disturbance it would make and the opposition it would meet with in the societies.

Second, He [sic] ought not to make a disputable matter a positive term of communion. And as he was a stranger in the land, I told him the spirit of Virginia would not brook force, and probably gave him some advice on the matter, which I suppose the bishop looked upon as an insult.27 Coke clashed with Jarratt because Jarratt did not favor a general manumission of slaves. Jarratt’s thinking illustrates the mindset of the Virginian local preachers. That is, he demonstrates an “I am against slavery but opposed to a general abolition” perspective. He states, Slaves are treated, in America, so inhumanly, in thousands of instances, and by thousands of masters, as must be very abhorrent to every tender, reflecting mind.

I hope and believe that the day of their release has begun to dawn; and I lament it as a misfortune that the faults already committed are too strong to admit of any speedy amendment. Their numbers are so great that a general manumission would be the utter ruin of the country.28 The Slavery Rules Suspended In less than one month, the Baltimore conference did what the Virginia conference would not do. They suspended the rule on slavery. Little is reported on the debate or the rule change. Coke stated, “We thought it prudent to suspend the minute concerning slavery, on account of the great opposition that had been given it, especially in the new circuits, our work being too infantile a state to push things to extremity. . . Indeed, I now acknowledge that, however just my sentiments may be concerning slavery, it was ill-judged of me to deliver them from the pulpit.”29 Coke, Asbury, Lee, and others contended that the suspension of the minute on slavery was the only option open to them because the antislavery rhetoric hurt membership and the viability of the MEC in the South. The Virginia membership figures substantiate this. In 1783 and 1784, while the slavery rules were being applied to local preachers and the people as a whole, Virginia Methodism suffered large declines. Numbers for 1785 are not available. By 1786, a year after the rule was suspended, Virginia Methodism showed a large increase in members.30

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In short, the slavery issue inflamed passions in the South and hindered Methodism’s ability to grow with the slave and the white populations. When the traveling preachers, who were more intimately connected to the southerners than the bishops, saw the negative effect that the issue was having on membership and the sustainability of the southern portions of the MEC, they begged for relief from the rules. Coke and Asbury remained staunch abolitionists after the suspension of the rule. However, for the sake of institutional viability, contextual stability, and evangelistic success, they buried the slavery issue.31 Evaluating the Compromise with Slavery The slavery compromise was a begrudging attempt to contextualize British Methodism in America. From Fluvanna to 1785, the lack of intentional contextualization led to institutional conflict. During these years, Asbury and Coke were rigid and unyielding. This caused a crisis that demanded a radical response. In essence, the totalitarianism of the missionary bishops led to a compromise that cemented slavery in the southern MEC. One could argue that the compromise with slavery was a pragmatic response that sought to adapt the MEC to a negative contextual factor in order to grow the church in accordance with the evangelistic mandate. In other words, the mission of the church demanded that the MEC make peace with slavery in order to maintain access to the slaves and grow the church with the white population in the South.32 Donald Mathews captures this notion.

The mission of the [MEC] was to “preach the Gospel to every creature,” Negro as well as white. If indignant masters kept them from the slaves, the preachers reasoned, negroes would never know God’s love for them. And the master, alienated by harsh rules, would shut himself away, not only from his own salvation, but also from influences that would work ultimately to free the slaves.33 From a utilitarian perspective, the wisdom of the compromise was self-evident. Many quotes from Asbury affirm this. The following journal entry offers a backhanded justification for the MEC’s compromise with slavery.

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I am perfectly satisfied with the part I took in the [1796] General Conference relative to the slaves. It is of great consequence to us to have proper access to the masters and the slaves. I had a case, a family I visited more than a year ago, a tyrannical old Welshman. I saw there he was cruel, his people were wicked, and treated like dogs. “Well,” say you, “I would not go near such a man’s house.” That would be just as the devil would have it.

In one year I saw that man much softened, his people admitted into the house of prayer, the whole plantation, 40 or 50 singing and praising God. What now can sweeten the bitter cup like religion? The slaves soon see the preachers are their friends, and soften their owners towards them. There are thousands here of slaves who if we could come to them would embrace religion.34 Pragmatism ran deep in early Methodism. For example, a pragmatic John Wesley implemented innovations like field preaching, the class meeting, watchnight services, lay preaching, the circuit system, and the ordination of American Methodist lay preachers because they were profitable and grew Methodism.35 On the surface, it appears that the slavery compromise fits in with the above list.

On closer review, it does not belong on the list. First, Wesley’s innovations were allowed by scripture. In some cases, they were rediscoveries of the apostolic faith.36 Contrarily, a close reading of the New Testament shows that the practice of slavery is not compatible with the Gospel. Second, Wesley attempted to reform the church and the nation by spreading scriptural holiness through the land. The compromise with slavery darkened the transforming light of the Gospel and enabled a wretched practice.

Critical Contextualization Early American Methodism’s compromise with slavery points to failed contextualization in that it normalized an unscriptural practice when the MEC baptized slavery and made theological arguments for it.37 Paul Hiebert argues that the missionary church must evaluate the culture and its associated customs in light of biblical truth. In accordance with critical contextualization, practices that align with the gospel and those that are not contrary to the gospel will be kept and affirmed but unbiblical practices will be rejected.38 Rejecting aspects of the culture will impede evangelization if the people being evangelized do not own the process. Hiebert states, “It is

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important that the people themselves make the decisions [about what they adopt and reject]… Leaders may share their personal convictions and point out the consequences of various decisions, but they must allow the people to make the final decisions if they want to avoid becoming policemen.”39 Without a doubt, the Methodist bishops acted like policemen when they passed rules to force the southern Methodists to reject slavery.

They came from monarchial England and were under the autocratic leadership of John Wesley. In their home context, the Methodist preachers debated issues with Wesley while in conference, but Wesley always made the final decision. He was the king of the Methodist connection. Asbury and Coke believed that they were the Wesley of American Methodism.

When they attempted to duplicate that leadership style, they met with strong resistance because they did not appreciate the emerging democratic ethos in the South.

Second, the southern local preachers became entrenched in their resistance because the English missionaries did not attempt to conscientize them and lead them to the biblical point of view by means of good-natured persuasion. Ultimately, this sabotaged the bishops’ desired outcome.

Third, the biblical teaching on slavery must be nuanced. The conveying of nuanced truth requires conversation and mutual respect. If the bishops would have communicated God’s vision for the church instead of confronting the preachers and their political order, the outcome may have been different.

Fourth, a deeply embedded social institution cannot be dislodged quickly. A church without political influence or military power should realize that it must prepare the ground for change by salting the social environment with the truth of the gospel. Over time, the slow growing seed of the kingdom will bring divine transformation to the society if the church waters it and nurtures it by giving faithful witness to Jesus’ lordship in word and deed (Matt 13:31-32).

Slavery in the New Testament Early American Methodism and the people who lived in the South held the Bible in high regard. For example, because of attacks on the unscriptural basis of the MEC, the bishops added 70 pages of biblical references and notes to the 1796 Discipline.40 If the bishops would have made a compelling biblical case for abolition, the southern Methodist local

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preachers would have considered the argument. Others were making a biblical case for slavery.

What does the New Testament say about slavery? In order to answer this question, one must consider the historical context. Rome suppressed a series of deadly slave revolts in 71 BCE. During the revolts, armies of rampaging slaves sent fear through the Roman Senate and the empire. Eventually, the combined strength of eight legions permanently destroyed the slave revolts. In the aftermath, over 6,000 surviving slaves were crucified as a warning to others who might desire to rebel against slavery. Their rotting bodies lined the Appian Way from Rome to Capua.

After this, the state did not tolerate slave insurrection or those who favored slave rights.41 Considering the historical background, one can understand why the New Testament’s pragmatic teaching on slavery lacked prophetic bravado and revolutionary rhetoric. First Timothy 6:1 tells slaves to treat their masters with honor and respect so that the name of God and our faith will not be spoken against by the unbelievers. First Peter 2 – 3 and Titus 2:2-4 tell disadvantaged people (persecuted Christians who live under an evil government, slaves, and women who are married to harsh unbelievers) to live exemplary lives for the sake of the gospel and Christ’s inbreaking kingdom. Colossians 3 and Ephesians 6 make the same point.

They conclude by telling slaves to obey their masters knowing that God is the final judge (Col 3:22-25; Eph 6:8).

Instead of arguing against the social injustice of slavery, the New Testament focuses on the growing kingdom of God that will transform culture as the church evangelizes the nations. A soon-to-be-realized divinely ordained eschaton will fix all injustices when Christ returns. Since the New Testament church held to this blessed hope, it did not challenge the Roman Empire, foment slave revolts, get back at their enemies, or openly challenge the unjust systems of the land. Rather, the New Testament tells the church that it cannot discriminate (cf. Jam 2). As the seed of the new humanity, it must exist as an alternative community that witnesses to God’s rule and his just character (cf. Eph 2:15b-16). The new humanity points to and reveals the pending telos to the extent that it embodies the heart of God. Consequently, not discerning poor believers in the Body of Christ is cause for censor and divine judgment (1 Cor 11:17ff ).42 Likewise, showing favoritism brings judgment (Jam 2: 1-13). Also, agape should cause the believers to hold each other in better esteem than they hold themselves

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(Phil 2:3). Love is a fruit of the Spirit and evidence that one is mature in Christ (1 Cor 13).

When the Church lives into the New Testament ideal, the social categories that define the world no longer define the believers. Ergo, the binary sets Jew/Greek, male/female, rich/poor, and slave/free are replaced by “children of God” (see Gal 3:28, 5:6, Col 3:11).43 As such, Christian husbands cannot abuse their wives like pagan husbands (1 Pet 3:7, Col 3:19) and Philemon must treat Onesimus like a beloved brother and not like a slave (Phlm 16). Paul reminds slave owners that God will judge them if they do not treat their slaves well (Eph 6:9, Col 4:1). In fact, Christians are to become slaves to each other (Matt 20:27) and to God (John 15:20, Eph 5:6).44 In practice, once you become a disciple, you must align your values and practices with the inbreaking kingdom of God by striving to become like Christ.45 In this light, one should not argue that the New Testament endorses slavery. Categorically, it does not approve of chattel slavery. Rather, it merely acknowledges the reality of slavery in the Roman Empire. Since slavery was an entrenched institution for the people of that time (a social fact), the New Testament writers tell Christian slaves and slave owners how they should live so they can influence others for Christ. In practical terms, Peter tells believing slaves that those who abuse you will be drawn to you and the Christ in you because of your exemplary behavior. As such, “always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have” (1 Pet 3:15b, NIV).

In sum, first-century slaves did not have the ability to oppose slavery. However, they could lay a foundation for evangelism by living a life that was beyond reproach in terms of the cultural categories that existed in the Roman society. In time, as the social influence of the church blossomed, the culture would grow to reflect kingdom values. Furthermore, since God will fix the fallen order when Christ returns, Christian believers need to remain focused on witnessing and right living. This is why Paul compromises his personal liberty by becoming all things to all people in order to win some to Christ. Figuratively, he has made himself a slave to all so he can win a few (1 Cor 9:19-27). In both Paul and First Peter, the evangelistic mandate requires that Christians live so they do not discredit the gospel or impede their ability to influence others for Christ.

When applied to southern Methodism, the teaching of the New Testament and the practice of the MEC do not align. A simplified example

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will illustrate the broader issue. Research shows that people from kinshipbased societies rarely cross-cultural, social, and linguistic boundaries when they come to faith.46 This is a sociological fact, not a theological affirmation.

That is why missiology emphasizes E-1 evangelism.47 As such, if you were to build a chapel in a socially stratified village and seek to evangelize all the people without considering their system of social organization, the various groupings would resist intermingling in the chapel. This would stymie evangelism. However, if you started with class-specific evangelism, you would be able to evangelize each of the social groups without forcing the people to cross social boundaries.

After you evangelized the various groups, you would tell them that the Bible does not permit Christians to practice radical social stratification.

In fact, faithfulness to Christ requires that the new disciples reorient themselves so that they no longer affirm radical social stratification. In the aftermath, the emerging church would become a place where people from various classes come together as one people united by Christ. If the church continued to grow, it would begin to influence how the larger society imagined and practiced social stratification.

This is how the kingdom seed slowly leavens the society. In truth, one does not have to renounce radical social stratification to be evangelized.

However, once a person is discipled, he or she must own the biblical vision of the new humanity and reject unbiblical forms of social stratification.

In the American South, Methodism made peace with slavery when it decided that it would ignore slavery in order to emphasize the evangelistic mandate. After it became the largest church in the South, it did not teach its people to deconstruct slavery and live into the new humanity that Christ mandated. Instead, it interpreted the Bible in a way that justified slavery. In this regard, it did not function as salt and light, give a clear witness to the New Testament’s guidance on slavery, or follow the commandment to love one’s neighbor. For this reason, racism was enabled in the church and continues as a legacy issue into the present time. Early American Methodism sinned when it did not discern the Body of Christ!

Conclusion The future shape of southern Methodism was determined between 1770 through 1785. During that time, southern Methodism had no political power, social standing, or means to end southern slavery. The political activism, authoritarian rule, and abolitionist rhetoric of Asbury and Coke

Payne: A Deal with the Devil 23

inflamed passions, alienated southerners, threatened the long-term viability of southern Methodism, and clashed with the democratic values of the emerging republic. This disturbed most of the southern preachers. The resulting institutional conflict threatened to rupture southern Methodism.

A compromise was needed. A good compromise would have emphasized evangelism, acknowledged the evil of slavery, created congregations that lived into the New Testament ideal of the new humanity, and taken a long view to the elimination of slavery.

Early American Methodism did not have to fight against slavery in order to evangelize in the South for the same reason that the New Testament did not argue against slavery. However, after it established the church in the South, it should not have ignored the evil of slavery or permitted the church to make excuses for it. Disciples cannot affirm slavery or practice racism.

In the end, the MEC greatly erred when it made peace with slavery in order to minimize institutional turmoil and social opposition in the South.

Ultimately, the gospel that it preached did not transform the people in the church, create a new humanity, or change the culture. Instead, it baptized the institution of slavery and enabled the continuation of racism. This is the enduring legacy of early Methodism’s compromise with slavery.

End Notes For more information on the numerical increase and decline of the hubs, see Payne “Without a Parallel,” 105-164.

1

2 Starting in April 1778, Francis Asbury remained at Judge White’s home in Delaware, Asbury, Journal, 1:267.

3

Payne, American Methodism, 68.

Originally, they agreed to wait one year. Four years later, Wesley’s solution was the formation of the MEC and the ordination of many circuit riders. For a complete understanding of the Fluvanna problem, see Payne, “Without a Parallel,” 234-240.

4

5

Lee, Short History, 69-70.

6

Ibid., 72.

7

MEC, Minutes, 25.

8 Ibid., 47. Virginia is singled out because it permitted manumission.

Other southern states did not permit it.

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Payne, American Methodism, 178.

10

Barclay, Early American Methodism, 73.

11

Matthews, Slavery and Methodism, 13.

12

Cameron, “The New Church Takes Root,” 253.

13

Payne, American Methodism, 179.

14

Barclay, Early American Methodism, 74.

15

Lee, Short History, 120.

16

Hill, The South and the North in American Religion, 80.

17

Cameron, “The New Church Takes Root,” 254.

18 James O’Kelly was a Methodist leader in the South. He opposed slavery and bishops. In 1792, he led a rift in the MEC. 19

Asbury, Journal, 1:488.

20

Payne, American Methodism, 185.

21

Barclay, Early American Methodism, 73.

Daniel Roberdeau was a founding father, brigadier general in the Revolutionary War, and a member of the Continental Congress.

He represented Pennsylvania. After the war, he relocated to Alexandria, Virginia.

22

23

Asbury, Journal, 1:498.

24

Coke, Journal, 63.

25 “Upon my return Found Mr. Magowan, and a Doctr. Coke & a Mr. Asbury here—the two last Methodest [sic] Preachers recommended by Genl. Roberdeau—the same who were expected yesterday,” Washington, Diaries, May 26, 1785.

26

Asbury, Journal, 3:82n.

27

Jarratt, The Life of the Reverend Devereux Jarratt, 84.

28

Ibid., 82.

29

Coke, Journal, 65.

30

Payne, American Methodism, 181.

Payne: A Deal with the Devil 25

31 Even though the MEC stopped promulgating rules in 1785, the slavery issue did not go away. For example, Asbury asked the Virginia preachers to sign a statement that they opposed slavery in 1798. In 1800, the General Conference sent the state legislatures an address about slavery.

The address raised suspicions and hurt Methodism’s work with slaves.

Methodist preachers were not of one mind. As late as 1798, 30 percent of Virginian local preachers owned slaves. Ultimately, the slavery issues caused the MEC to split in 1844 when the General Conference attempted to censor Bishop Andrew of Georgia because he acquired two slaves and would not sell them because he feared they would be mistreated by a new owner.

32

See Pinn, Introduction to Black Church History, 29-30.

33

Mathews, Slavery and Methodism, 13.

34 Asbury, Journal, 3:160. When viewed through the lens of Marxist critique and critical theory of religion, Asbury’s comments reflect how the oppressors used religion to mollify slaves so that they accepted oppression. As such, Pinn states, “The notion of common redemption or spiritual freedom for all did not mean freedom on earth. Methodist preachers reconciled their concern for enslaved Africans with the demands of slaveholders by emphasizing the soul irrespective of the physical body’s fate.” Black Church History, 29-30.

See Wesley, “A Plain Account of the People Called Methodists,” Works 8:248-268.

35

36

Power.

For a fuller understanding of this, see Hunter, To Spread the

“I am brought to conclude that slavery will exist in Virginia perhaps for ages; there is not a sufficient sense of religion nor liberty to destroy it; Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians, in the highest flights or rapturous piety, still maintain and defend it,” Asbury, Journal, 2:151.

37

38

Hiebert, Anthropological Reflections, 89-90.

39

Hiebert, Anthropological Insights, 187.

40

Payne, American Methodism, 172.

41

Bradley, Slavery and Rebellion.

42 In First Corinthians 11, the phrase “Body of Christ” has a double meaning. It refers to the communion elements and the community of saints.

Going back to Tertullian, people have argued that Christians are neither Jew nor Gentile. Rather, they are a third race (Gruen, 2017).

43

44 English translators showed a bias when they routinely translated the term doulos as servant. Many recent translations have corrected that

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mistake. For example, the American Standard Version only translated doulos as slave one time, but the New American Standard Version translates it as slave 126 times. In fact, the New Testament says that God is our master, and we are his slaves. The parables repeatedly make this point. The idea of slave and son are not mutually exclusive in the ancient world since a son was under the full authority of his father in the same way as a slave (cf. Gal 4:1).

45

Payne, “Biblical Interpretation.”

46

McGavran, Understanding Church Growth, 69-71.

47 Ibid., 47-51. Missiologists measure the culture distance between the evangelist and the people that are evangelized. Evangelism is most effective when it is completed by a person who is culturally aligned with the people being evangelized. This is E-1 evangelism.

Works Cited Asbury, Francis 1958

The Journal and Letters of Francis Asbury. Edited by Elmer Clark. 3 vols. Nashville, TN: Abingdon.

Barclay, Wade Crawford 1950 Early American Methodism, 1769-1844. 2 vols. New

York, NY: Board of Missions and Church Extension of the Methodist Church.

Bradley, Keith 1989

Slavery and Rebellion in the Roman World, 140 B.C. -70 B.C. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

Cameron, Richard 1964 “The New Church Takes Root.” In The History of

American Methodism. Edited by Emory Bucke, 241–90.

Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press.

Coke, Thomas 2005

The Journal of Dr. Thomas Coke. Edited by John Vickers.

Nashville, TN: Kingswood Books.

Gruen, Erich S. 2017

“Christianity as a “Third Race:’ Is Ethnicity at Issue?” in Christianity in the Second Century: Themes and Developments, edited by James C. Paget and Judith Lieu, 235-249. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Hiebert, Paul 1985

Anthropological Insights for Missionaries. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.

Payne: A Deal with the Devil 27

1994

Anthropological Reflections on Missiological Issues.

Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books.

Hill, Samuel S., Jr. 1980 The South and the North in American Religion. Athens,

GA: University of Georgia.

Hunter, George, III 1987 To Spread the Power: Church Growth in the Wesleyan

Spirit. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press.

Jarratt, Devereux 1806 The Life of the Reverend Devereux Jarratt, Rector of Bath

Parish, Dinwiddie County, Virginia. Baltimore, MD:

Warner & Hanna.

Lee, Jesse 1810

A Short History of the Methodists in the United States of America Beginning in 1766 and Continued till 1809.

Baltimore, MD: Magill and Clime.

Mathews, Donald G. 1965 Slavery and Methodism: A Chapter in American Morality,

1780-1845. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

McGavran, Donald A. 1990 Understanding Church Growth. Edited by C. Peter

Wagner. 3rd ed. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.

Methodist Episcopal Church 1813 Minutes of the Annual Conferences Annually Held in

America from 1773 to 1813 Inclusive. Nashville, TN:

Daniel Hitt and Thomas Ware for the Methodist

Conexion in the United States.

Payne, William P. 2001 “Without a Parallel: Reasons for the Expansion of

Early American Methodism.” PhD dissertation,

Asbury Theological Seminary.

2013

American Methodism: Past and Future Growth.

The Study of World Christian Revitalization Movements in Pietist/Wesleyan Studies. Lexington, KY: Emeth Press.

2021

“Biblical Interpretation, Gender Equality, and the Evangelistic Mandate,” edited by David W. Scott.

UM & Global, January 1, 2021. http://www.um global.org/2021/02/william-payne-biblical-inter pretation.html.

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Pinn, Anne H. and Anthony B. Pinn 2002 Fortress Introduction to Black Church History.

Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg Fortress.

Washington, George 1978 The Diaries of George Washington, 1784 – June

1786. Edited by Donald Jackson and Dorothy Two

hig. 4. 6 vols. Charlottesville, VA, University Press

of Virginia.

Wesley, John 1991

“A Plain Account of the People Called Methodists.”

Vol. VIII in the Works of John Wesley. 3rd ed. Edited

by Thomas Jackson. 248-268. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 29-51 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.03

Dean G. Blevins and Marie Gregg

A Plain Account of Christian Purity: Berlin Walls

Abstract: While theological definitions of holiness incorporate purity terminology among several metaphors, the challenges resident in using this language may well impede opportunities of engaging difference and reconciliation. Wesleyans need a “Plain Account” of Christian purity to guide both ecclesial discussions that stress not only strengths, but also limits, in purity thinking. Using an example involving the Church of the Nazarene and Pentecostalism, the writing reveals how purity thinking risks creating “Berlin walls” when engaging differences. The analysis argues that a moral fear of degradation, rather than an acknowledgment of difference, often pushes purity thinkers to oppose certain issues.

Keywords: baptism, degradation, Holy Spirit, moral, Nazarene, Pentecostal, purity, tongues, virtue, Wesleyan Dean G. Blevins serves as Professor of Practical Theology and Christian Discipleship at Nazarene Theological Seminary, and as affiliate faculty for Asbury Theological Seminary. Dr. Blevins has consulted and published in the fields of Wesleyan Practical Theology, Christian Discipleship, and Psychology of Religion. He serves as editor of Didache: Faithful Teaching https://didache.nazarene.org/.dgblevins@nts.edu Marie Gregg is a graduate of Nazarene Theological Seminary, 2023 recipient of the NTS Corlett Senior Sermon recognition for excellence in holiness preaching, and Pastor of Discipleship at Spokane Valley Church of the Nazarene.marie.gregg@nts.edu 29

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Introduction Ministers who embrace the language, and ideology, of purity find themselves faced with a radical rethinking due to recent events.

Contemporary writings challenge a shame-based, sometimes hypocritical, or violent, culture surrounding evangelical expressions of purity thinking, even as the movement appears to be making a comeback (Abraham 2022, French 2019, French and French 2022). Often, within Wesleyan circles, the language of purity remains tethered to the larger vision of holiness of heart and life. While the Wesleyan Holiness movement continues to embrace the language of purity, particularly considering its biblical framework, not all academics agree to its veracity in contemporary culture.

To highlight danger, the article draws from a Wesleyan tradition, a case study of the Church of the Nazarene during a key juncture of its history.

The writing begins by noting the challenges to purity advocacy today, and Wesley’s desire for a “Plain Account” that includes both advocacy but also caution and correction. The writing documents the Church of the Nazarene’s vigorous resistance to Pentecostalism, often juridically located in a what outsiders might consider a minor official position. The writing closes exploring the underlying causes and invites continued research and reflection on the theme of a “plain account” of Christian purity.

Purity Thinking Under Siege as an Object of Ecclesial Curiosity Various purity movements seek to be faithful to biblical definitions of purity (Brower Latz and Ermakov 2014). However, contemporary research reveals that the overall vision of purity, as a social-psychological stance in the United States, remains fraught with specific cultural baggage, affecting politics and exposing painful expressions of abuse both in contemporary times and within US history (Beck 2011, Dreyfus 2019, Haidt 2012, Klein 2019, Wang et al. 2023, Wilkerson 2020). Each exploration provides ample resources to explore the limitations of purity language from a socio-cultural mindset. Still, do these treatises provide enough information to guide ecclesial reflection within the Wesleyan tradition?

Wesleyans often appeal to purity around their key doctrines, such as the Church of the Nazarene with its Manual, Church of the Nazarene (2017) Article of Faith X on Entire Sanctification (para. 10). However, the theme also emerges in those awkward moments when a seeming tangential statement in the “Appendix” of the polity’s Manual (2017, para 925), one not even considered part of the operative doctrine of the denomination,

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suddenly appears as a “principle” (sic) statement upon which the denomination’s very identity stands.

This principled view, named by two of the denomination’s General Superintendents, occurred over a resolution to change paragraph 925 in the Manual Appendix. The statement addressed the “Baptism of the Holy Spirit” and the possibility of glossolalia, or speaking in tongues. Outside observers would be surprised by the rollercoaster of events during the second business session of the denomination’s primary rule making body, the General Assembly, on June 15, 2023, (Church of the Nazarene, Youtube, 2nd Event). Initially the Assembly adopted an amended resolution from delegates from the Global South, offering a more moderate view, stating: “While we do not believe that speaking in tongues is the evidence of being filled with the Holy Spirit, we affirm all the gifts of the Spirit.” However, members of the Global North at the Assembly, recognizing the view might include tongues as a gift, engineered a remarkable legislative reversal through an “amendment to the amendment,” endorsed by leadership. The final resolution unequivocally stated: “We do not believe that speaking in unknown tongues is evidence of being filled with the Holy Spirit.” The sudden change in posture provided an interesting example of how purity, when perhaps misunderstood, links what many name as a timeless Article of Faith to a more tangential denominational statement barely fifty years in the making.

This writing invites readers into a practical theology, or “Plain Account,” of purity that cautions holiness renewal movements who might use purity language in a way that truncates Christian belief and practice (Brower Latz and Ermakov 2014:250-271). Unfortunately, a misuse of purity language may also impede any sustained dialog between members of the body of Christ, when opponents employ language in a manner that creates irrevocable differences based upon a sense of degradation. John Wesley’s struggle to clarify Christian perfection offers an example to explore this need for a different Plain Account.

John Wesley’s Plain Account John Wesley’s tract “A Plain Account of Christian Perfection” attempted to clarify the limits of Christian perfection as well as elaborate on the doctrine’s strengths. Traditional editions, such as those by Thomas Jackson or Edward H. Sugden, reflect a uniform treatment of Wesley’s words to the point that the treatise appears as a straightforward reflection of his

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contemporary thought published in 1777 (A Plain Account 1966). However, the critical edition of Wesley’s publication, located in Volume 13 of the Bicentennial edition of Wesley’s Works, reveals a different typographical configuration (Wesley 2013). The critical edition includes varying font styles, revealing clearly how much Wesley drew extracts from previous work, including selective editing to correct for previous overstatements, but also offering new material to bridge the previous work.

While Wesley remains fairly consistent in his belief of the power of Christian perfection, the treatise also contains careful engagement with excessive claims that seemed to appear later in the Methodist movement, particularly following the Methodist revival of 1758-1763 (Chilcote and Collins 2013: 179; Stark 2011). Wesley’s description in the Plain Account gestures to two earlier documents titled “Cautions and Directions Given to the Professors of the Methodist Societies,” and “Farther Thoughts on Christian Perfection,” both works which precede the “Plain Account” in Volume 13 of the Bicentennial edition. As Paul Chilcote and Ken Collins note in their introductions, this “revival” called forth extreme views around the efficacy of Christian Perfection perpetuated by Methodist preachers such as Anglican Priest Thomas Maxwell and follower George Bell. The alternative views offer overstatements that allow both for enthusiasm and antinomianism in some circumstances; tempting people to pride by believing that they were saved from all sin, could never die, could never be tempted, that they could feel no more pain, while also professing a gift of prophecy and absolute discernment of the spirits (93-94). Wesley concludes (before a final exhortation) with a series of observations on what Christian Perfection both is and is not.

Wesley’s treatise, indeed, all of his writings later in life on Christian Perfection, continued to reaffirm his belief, and place the term in service to holiness of heart in life. Yet, it seems clear that Wesley remained pressed also to nuance and amend his view. Also, Wesley obviously needed to correct the errors of perfectionistic thinking, starting as early as 1760, to help Methodists understand that Christian perfection still allowed for ignorance and mistakes, and required the ongoing need for the blood of Jesus’ atoning work.

For the sake of this article, the authors concede that any “Plain Account of Christian Purity” should continue to nuance the benefits of this endeavor of seeking purity, perhaps as a goal. However, the authors also stress the need to point out the limitations of purity language, particularly as

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it shapes ongoing efforts at renewal. What do Wesleyans risk by undertaking this language? They risk creating “Berlin walls” through a preoccupation with a personal moral code that results in separation within the larger body of Christ.

Case Study: Pentecostalism and the Church of the Nazarene Perhaps the long-standing strained relationship between Wesleyan Holiness and Pentecostal traditions affords a place to begin examining such a wall as it manifested itself in the summer of 2023. Admittedly the journey between these two traditions (often championed by “the librarians” of Asbury Theology Seminary) remains fraught, even to this day (Bundy, Hammond, and Sang-Ehil Han, 2002, 1-24). With the Church of the Nazarene, the tension begins with the start of both the denomination and the Pentecostal movement in Los Angeles, not far from the William Seymour’s Azusa Street revival. The relationship remains so tense, that explanation often requires more space to explain the denomination’s stance than with other Christian and non-Christian movements (Ingersol 1999: 188-211). As evidenced in the Herald of Holiness, as well as subsequent statements in the Manual, Church of the Nazarene (1972, 1985, 2017-2021), the barriers erected indeed feel like the construction of a “Berlin wall” to keep the movements thoroughly separated.

Introduction and Methodology As noted, the denomination’s struggle with Pentecostalism surfaced recently during the 30th General Assembly of the Church of the Nazarene, particularly during its business session held June 15th, 2023. The thirty-minute exchange revealed the depths of the denomination’s view of this “gift” of the Holy Spirit as divisive and challenging to the core identity of the denomination by its highest leadership. Outsiders might note it would seem odd that a statement that appears outside the denomination’s constitution, Articles of Faith, Covenants of Christian Character and Conduct, and ongoing policies and procedures, might prove so essential.

While the appendix of the Manual holds several important social and moral statements, and indexes and procedural guides, each social statement remains subject to renewal every twelve years. Outside readers might puzzle over a statement bearing such weight in defining a denomination, particularly over against other Christian traditions, with a closing (new) statement added that explicitly reminds its membership of its opposition

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to tongues. A documentary exploration using the denomination’s primary publication, the Herald of Holiness (now titled Holiness Today), alongside other interpretations during this key juncture anchored in the 1970s, provides a clue to the creation of an ongoing debate over Manual 925.

Though for a short time, leaders in the Church of the Nazarene identified with and saw themselves as part of this movement, enough distinction between Holiness and Pentecostal theology and practice arose by 1919 that the General Assembly voted to drop “Pentecostal” from the name of the denomination (Manual, 2017: 19). From this point, the differences only grew. By the mid-1950s articles began to appear in the Herald of Holiness that seek to articulate an understanding of the baptism of the Holy Spirit as distinct from the spiritual gift of tongues. In fact, writers argued that tongues have no meaningful place within the Church of the Nazarene.

Writers did occasionally mention other supernatural manifestations, yet persistently distinguished between the Wesleyan-Holiness theology of the Church of the Nazarene and the theology and practices of the Pentecostal movement (Clergy Development Church of the Nazarene, 2004: 308).

The years 1954-1984 serve as a timeframe to search the archives of the Herald of Holiness, published by the Nazarene Publishing House, Kansas City, and available on the Olivet Digital Commons (https:// digitalcommons.olivet.edu/). The Church of the Nazarene Manual statement regarding baptism with the Holy Spirit did not occur until 1980 (see below), yet changes leading to the update appear commensurate with changes following World War II. This timeframe allows opportunity to discern the processes and denominational impact of such a change. Additionally, broader historical situations such as second-wave feminism, the increasing impact of mass media, and the ever-shifting nature of national politics inform the reading as nothing occurs in a vacuum. Utilizing the search function available for the PDF scans of the older magazine issues, the authors conducted a search of the following words in the reading: tongues, charismatic, Pentecostal, gifts, miracles, baptism of the Holy Spirit.

Documentary Findings By 1954 the denomination would prioritize its definition of the baptism of the Holy Spirit in a way distinct from the continually developing Pentecostal movement. Lauriston Du Bois, in the January 20, 1954, issue writes, “Personal witness was a vital outgrowth of the Early Church as the followers of Jesus moved out of the Upper Room filled with the Holy Ghost.

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Personal witness must characterize the life of the Spirit-filled Christian today” (Dubois 1954: 3). Personal witness, the reader understands, means talking with others about Christ and Christ’s work. There is, of course, nothing wrong with this stance, and such conversation is a central part of Christian life. However, the author of this article argues the conversation itself proves crucial and not the supernatural empowerment of the believers on Pentecost to speak in languages they would not otherwise know.

A few weeks later, H. Orton Wiley (1954: 10) writes that “it is interesting to note that the Greek words heterais glossais, or ‘other tongues,’ occur only in connection with Pentecost. Tongues provided an inaugural sign, in which the Holy Spirit elevated the powers of the disciples to speak in other languages the wonderful works of God.” Wiley thus explicitly makes the connection to known languages; what the earliest believers were empowered by the Holy Spirit to do on Pentecost served to further the spread of the Gospel message. Wiley implicitly understood that such empowerment would not have been necessary if everyone within earshot easily understood a common tongue.

By 1960, the Herald articles move beyond making the connection to known languages and step into a space of rejecting the sensational (and perhaps, stereotyped) elements of Pentecostalism. Such articles insist that the empowerment of the Holy Spirit “is not predictive, sensational, prophetic, spectacular, pseudo-healing power, but dynamic witnessing power” (Wordsworth 1960: 10). Again, the presence of the Holy Spirit leads to an ability and drive to share the Gospel with others, but not in ways that extend beyond a normal conversation over a cup of coffee. In July 1960, editor W. T. Purkiser (1960a: 17) bluntly responds to a question with the following answer: “We certainly [do] believe in the baptism with the Holy Spirit, and we do not believe in speaking with other tongues as a necessary sign that one has received the baptism with the Holy Spirit… We have never sanctioned speaking in tongues.” Purkiser goes on to restate this position in December 1960. “The Church of the Nazarene totally and completely rejects the idea of any kind of tongues as evidence of the baptism with the Holy Spirit” (Purkiser 1960b: 16). For Purkiser, this position remains clearly a settled issue.

However, in 1967, Purkiser finds himself still responding to questions, utilizing greater detail, to answer the baptism of the Holy Spirit:

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I believe it is incisively clear from Acts 15:8-9 that the baptism with the Holy Spirit is the means whereby the effectiveness of the cleansing blood of Christ is made real. There is no evidence at all to connect speaking in “unknown tongues” with the baptism with the Holy Spirit. The languages spoken at Pentecost were understood without interpretation by those who came from the various lingual areas represented. There is no reason to believe that the two other times languages are mentioned in the Acts were any different. There was some kind of tongue speaking going on in Corinth, and views as to its nature differ. If it is said that this represents the same phenomenon which is reported in Acts, then it must have been understandable languages. If it is said that the Corinthian tongues were different from those of Acts 2, then there is nothing in I Corinthians 14 to connect the manifestation in any way with the baptism with the Holy Spirit (cf. I Corinthians 3:1-3; 5:1-6; 6:1-8; 11:17-34). (Purkiser 1967: 19) In 1976 the Herald of Holiness published the General Superintendents’ public address to the General Assembly under the title (and official banner) “The Position of the Church of the Nazarene on Speaking in Tongues.” The article begins with the explicit statement: It is our considered judgement and ruling that any practice and/or propagation of speaking in tongues either as the evidence of the baptism of the Holy Spirit or as a neo-pentecostal ecstatic prayer language shall be interpreted as inveighing against the doctrines and usages of the Church of the Nazarene (Par 25, Section 3 [Referencing the General Constitution admonishing “inveighing”]. (Board of General Superintendents 1976: 4-5) The General Superintendents statement included several key considerations: 1) Baptism of, or with, the Holy Spirit indicates the presence of heart cleansing or entire sanctification; 2) language in Acts 2 described actual languages of the day, 3) Paul’s direction in Corinthians was to clear up abuses, 4) Nazarenes seeking to encourage tongues are encouraged to seek membership elsewhere, 5) Christian difference may occur broadly in the church; 6) Nazarenes should adopt the stewardship of clearly biblical doctrines and practices.

What seems a settled position among denominational leaders appears far less determined for the average churchgoer. As late as September

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1980, new Herald editor W.E. McCumber fields questions regarding the nature and function of the “tongues” discussed in 1 Corinthians 14:13-18.

He writes, “To Paul, the use of languages in a worship service that could not convey a clearly understood message to the worshipers was self-centered and childish. He passionately believed in communication that edified ‘the other,’ not in demonstration that exalted one’s self (sic)” (McCumber 1980: 31). If a Herald reader missed the line in the sand up to this point, McCumber makes it clear. The Church of the Nazarene does not practice speaking in tongues. Those who choose to do so, for McCumber, engage in self-centered, childish behavior.

In June 1981, the Herald of Holiness article entitled “The True Blessing of Pentecost: What is It?” makes the point with gentler language.

“Since these inaugural ‘signs’ [tongues] are not the permanent manifestations of Pentecost, what, then, is the result of being filled with the Spirit?… the great moral consequence of Pentecost: ‘...cleansing their hearts by faith’ (v.

9)” (McGonigle 1981: 10-11). In the same issue, McCumber gives space in his editorial column to declare that the real lesson of Pentecost is found in the fact of the first believer’s being “cleansed from sin and self-centeredness.

[T]hey were prepared to speak and work as the Lord’s witnesses, not for a day but for a lifetime. We can do without the inaugural signs. We cannot get along without the abiding spiritual effects of power and purity” (McCumber 1981: 31). In the Church of the Nazarene, power and purity of heart and life, rather than power in the form of supernatural manifestations, remain forever connected.

The Herald of Holiness review reveals both the tension underlying the engagement with the Pentecostal tradition, and a clue concerning the impasse, a reliance on purity as the motivating difference. The documentary review also invites an understanding of the underlying context for the divide.

Underlying Conflict Sociologist and church historian Charles Perabeau offers several important insights into the conflict between the Church of the Nazarene and the emerging Neo-Pentecostal/Charismatic or Jesus People (Koester 2002: 274-278, Perabeau 2011: 19-63). Perabeau notes that Nazarene founder Phineas Bresee tended to downplay the movement at its beginnings and even raised questions concerning its African American roots in Los Angeles.

Perabeau continues that the later controversy motivated the denomination

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to drop the term “Pentecostal” from its own title (Perabeau 2011: 94-98).

While documenting earlier conflicts, Perabeau uses Nazarene archival information to expose a much later conflict following a period when the church seemed amenable to accepting previous Pentecostal churches from England into the Nazarene fold (Perabeau 2011: 39-45).

The apparent “precipitating event,” one that raised barriers to a new level, occurred during the 1972 General Assembly in Miami and culminated in a revised statement that worked its way into the denomination’s polity as a Manual statement. Prior to 1972 a group best known as “The Committee of Charismatic Nazarenes” advocated for a re-engagement with Pentecostalism, fueled by the resurgent Charismatic Movement under the aegis of the Full Gospel Businessmen’s Fellowship International, and supported by traditional Pentecostal denominations. A recent crisis in Brazil over glossolalia preceded the gathering. However, the most telling moment came during, of all things, a lunch break within the gathering of the General Assembly of the Church of the Nazarene. Delegates returned to discover printed material supporting glossolalia as evidence of baptism with/of the Holy Spirit (discussed below) at their delegate seats. The idea of a competing perspective arriving unannounced into the very sanctum of the deliberative body of the denomination probably fueled the differences (Perabeau 2011: 48-55). This view continued to irritate Nazarene deliberation through publications that explicitly advocated for adoption of the alternative view concerning tongues (Full Gospel Businessmen 1973). By 1976 the denomination published a specific statement rejecting tongues speaking (mentioned above) that reflected a clear break with Pentecostalism and removed the possibility of congregations seeking to join “the Association of Pentecostal Churches of America” an opportunity to retain their property (Manual 1972, para 27, 40).

The denomination moderated the language, but incorporated a Manual statement in 1985, ensuring the position remained part of the polity: “to affirm that even a special or any alleged physical evidence, or ‘prayer language,’ is evidence of the baptism with the Spirit is contrary to the biblical and historic position of the church” (Perabeau 2011: 59, 1985 Manual: 284). Perabeau notes that the final iteration of the statement appeared muted from the original resolution, due in part to a theological disagreement over the Board of General Superintendents’ right to function as a form of ecclesial “magisterium” through their ruling; rather than rely on formal polity action through General Assembly resolution to the Manual,

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Church of the Nazarene (Perabeau 2011: 54-55). Regardless, by the time the final Manual statement appeared in the “Appendix” (alongside earlier statements on racism and women’s rights, as well as folk dancing and swimming at that time) this singular statement bore incredible weight for either becoming an ordained Elder, or remaining a member of the Church of the Nazarene.

One should note that Perabeau argues the rift between Nazarenes and Pentecostalism, or the Charismatic movement reflected the Nazarene denomination’s gradual movement toward social respectability (from sect to Church denomination). This “social drift” contributed to the marginalization of Pentecostalism (Perabeau 2011: 18). Pragmatically, just how marginalized the drift might reflect remains open to debate.

While the Church of the Nazarene grew 60% between 1972 and 2010, to a membership of approximately 650,000; the Assemblies of God grew 181% to approximately three million and the Church of God (Cleveland, Tennessee) grew over 260% from a little less than 300,000 to over a million by 2010. The growth among ethnic communities within Pentecostal traditions alone might warrant a renewed conversation by this time (ARDA, online https://www.thearda.com/us-religion/group-profiles/).

The underlying theological difference rested with the American Holiness tradition’s belief that “baptism with the Holy Spirit” resulted in entire sanctification, while Pentecostalism associated speaking in tongues or glossolalia as evidence of baptism of/with the Holy Spirit. These entrenched theological perspectives, often signature to both traditions, probably drove the underlying division, regardless of the evidence of healing, reconciliation, or other manifestations of God’s work within certain Charismatic gatherings. Public events such as the “Conference on Charismatic Renewal in the Christian Churches,” held in Kansas City with 40,000 registrants, highlighted the tension, particularly when magazines like Christianity Today (1977) reported that ex-Nazarene clergyman Warren Black and approximately fifty Wesleyan Holiness participants attended as well.

The debate with Pentecostalism deepened the Nazarene denomination’s commitment to a particular theological stance concerning the baptism of/with the Holy Spirit. While agreeing to earlier holiness interpretations of entire sanctification, the embroiled battle may have included emotional and intellectual spillover in attempting to keep the spirit baptism theology “pure” in the denomination, avoiding any hint

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of degradation through any alternative view. Researchers might well acknowledge that the denomination did provide nuanced treatments of both the Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, such as those by Dr. Stan Ingersol (1999). However, the underlying social “pressure” to keep Nazarenes aligned ecclesiastically may well have spilled over into a theological (or ideological) justification to defend the holiness view of baptism of/with the Holy Spirit through a particular reading of scripture.

This defensive posture may have led some Nazarenes to “chafe” with interpretations that made Pentecostalism a partner within the Wesleyan Holiness tradition, and “bristle” when its own adherents questioned baptism of/with the Holy Spirit (Dayton 2007: 91). The underlying tension explains some of the “trial by fire” experienced by Nazarene Theological Seminary professor Dr. Rob Staples (2007). Staples faced possible dismissal due to his 1979 writing, “The Current Wesleyan Debate on the Baptism of the Holy Spirit,” which reflected both his opinion, but also that of General Superintendent William Greathouse at the time. Ultimately individual churches attempted some level of reconciliation between the two traditions, yet the rift provides an ongoing tension in both ecclesial and academic settings (Dart 1995).

Observations based on the Case Study Any denomination does possess the right to declare its doctrinal positions, not only in the quest for theological accuracy but for the sake of informed consent for the members (or potential members) of the denomination. Clear statements allow persons to choose whether they can reasonably be involved with this expression of the Church. There is no problem with the Church of the Nazarene spending time working out its position regarding the nature and use of tongues. The problem occurs when the level of effort expended in this theological wrestling match reifies into a framework that excludes ongoing difference of thought within the tradition and prevents possible fellowship with other parts of Christ’s body, fifty years later in an Assembly action, when even thirty-three percent of the denomination votes otherwise.

Wesleyan Puritanism, A Plain Account Caution For the sake of this writing, the Church of the Nazarene’s tensions regarding glossolalia merely serve as case study to a greater project in determining what a plain account of Christian purity might entail. To be

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honest, several Wesleyan traditions might chart similar struggles, as does the Wesley Theological Society’s continued “on again, off again” relationship with the Society of Pentecostal Studies, a relationship that ended in 2020 by vote of the WTS membership (Bundy, Hammon, and Han 2022: 9-11, Wesleyan Theological Society 2019 Minutes). At the heart of the issue may be whether certain positions around the doctrine of purity invoke a kind of Wesleyan “Puritanism” either by those more aligned within the American Holiness camp, or even among those who ascribe themselves as classically “Wesleyan.”

Puritanism as a Greedy Ideology Some challenges to purity thinking merely help Wesleyans name the weakness and establish a questioning posture considering contemporary social issues. However, other challenges to purity “thinking” may prove more resilient and require a deeper understanding of the underlying concerns, particularly when differences occur over social issues. This concern opens the door to a different definition of purity often located under the banner of Puritanism, which presupposes the need for a purity of ideology or practice, particularly over the evil seduction of degradation. In an earlier survey of Puritan movements (Christian and non-Christian), anthropologist and educator Walter E. A. van Beek (1988) notes that the quest for purity provides a “greedy ideology.” Van Beek writes that this quest: (W)hether voluntarily accepted or enforced, demands total commitment. It affects all spheres of life, leaving no field of action untouched. Lacking easily fulfilled goals, “the quest” continues to pursue adepts.

After removing one corrupt institution, or removing one particular source of defilement, other evils seldom fail to manifest themselves swiftly… Puritans view the world as a battlefield, where the forces of Good – always in short supply – battle against omnipresent Sin, Corruption and Evil. Among the ideologies of puritan movements, all of which offer an explicit definition of sin, several different approaches to Evil can be discerned. The main distinction is that between personal and collective evil, between evil residing chiefly in the individual, or evil located in the body social. The Christian movements offer examples of the first category. (van Beck 1988: 4-5) The book van Beek edits includes chapters addressing Geneva Calvinism, English Puritanism, Dutch Evangelicalism, and Chinese Christian

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fundamentalism alongside Islamic traditions and even communism. The breadth of the presentations demonstrates that a process, or “posture,” surfaces once purity becomes part of the conversation around social, or even ecclesial engagement. This approach mirrors other historical surveys of American Protestantism that associate purity imagery with the rise of American Fundamentalism (Ferm 1991: 55-72). When does “difference” become so painful that purity invokes a need to overcome, expel, and barricade others in order to avoid the degradation of the group’s beliefs and practices? This question surfaces less with a concern of John Wesley’s own Puritan influence, whether Wesley saw himself among non-conforming Puritan ministers or as an Anglican priest. That ground remains open to interpretation (Hammond 2009: 174-207; Monk 1966). However, Wesley, often portrayed as a Methodist pietist, opens the door to this hybrid vision today (Christianity Today, 10/26/2022).

Like Wesley’s Methodism, Puritanism received its name from the detractors of a group of Reformed English Protestants intent upon creating “godly Genevas” in England and America, yet deeply interwoven with Anglican roots (Coffey and Lim 2008: 1-9; Collison 2008). Within this movement one would find both moderate and radical efforts to redraw the boundaries of permitted behavior. The efforts primarily occurred during periods of uncertainty, and in the midst of diverse and uncertain subcultures that fractured the customary expectation of religious “manners.”

Unfortunately, the efforts often did more to create dissention among the faithful as it did to address differences in social classes (Walsham 2008: 280).

A Right Heart?

Wesleyans might argue that John Wesley’s sermon “The Catholic Spirit” offers a buffer to intense expectations, and rejections, of alternative stances within Christian tradition. True, Wesley did reject certain assumed heretical stances in the sermon, speculative and practical latitudinarianism, as well as a disregard for congregational practice (III:1-3). Yet on matters of difference from worship to “opinions” Wesley invites: “Is thine heart right, as my heart is with thy heart?” Secondly, an offer made on Jehonadab’s answering, “It is:” “If it be, give me thine hand” (Wesley, 1750/1985: 82).

However, the question of discerning a “right heart” may well be the place where a Plain Account of Christian Purity requires considerable judgment on the part of both parties. With the advent of research in moral

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psychology, perhaps the “heart,” or emotional disposition, raises the key concern by all parties. When one fears that one’s purity might be threatened with degradation, a dangerous tendency occurs to either ignore, attack, or just barricade the suspected culprit. Jonathan Haidt (2012) identifies five socio-moral postures that shape US discourse: care/harm, fairness/cheating, loyalty/betrayal, authority/subversion, and sanctity/degradation (Haidt 2012: 146). The moral intuitions remind WEIRD participants (Western, Educated, Industrial, Rich… by global standards… and Democratic) that reason alone does not drive decision making (Haidt 2012: 103-120). Both research into Wesley’s own moral psychology and resulting contemporary work in fields such as medicine and counseling psychology support this holistic view (Leffle 2021, Maddox 1998, 2001). Haidt also uses the term “sanctity” to describe a once biological necessity (to avoid pathogens) turned toward the sacred or religious. Since purity in the Wesleyan tradition carries an explicit religious perspective (opposed to the purity of chemicals), the same moral intuition applies (Haidt 2012: 170-177).

Berlin Walls: Barriers to Difference through Purity Regulation While Haidt in no way reflects a Wesleyan theological bent toward purity, any view of purity easily conflates with the moral intuition of sanctity, and particularly the correlative fear of degradation. This particular concern opens the door to protect ourselves, and perhaps even God. Richard Beck (2011) writes, “Feeling this degradation, we seek to protect God from need, to create quarantines around God. God, thus, is self-contained, perfect, and holy. But inherent in this impulse is a flight from our own need, a refusal to exist in a state of need” (Beck 2011: 170). When written on a larger theological horizon (associated with the very holiness of God) the term may easily incorporate other moral intuitions such as loyalty and authority by ascribing ultimate allegiance to the Puritan ideal (Van Velzen and van Beek 1988: 7-29). Impurity, in this sense, reflects a loss both of true reverence, perhaps a betrayal of a loyalty, and a sense of subversion. Degradation, particularly in a Puritan vision, includes the necessity, inevitability, of sin rather than merely acknowledging difference. Degradation threatens one’s identity through association. Naming sin, calling for repentance, and ultimately (perhaps) both expecting and extending forgiveness provide the operative response to engaging difference within a Puritan piety (Watkins 1972: 8-16). To degrade, rather than remain pure, challenges a range of moral intuitions, and invokes a conversionist response, making the

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possibility of rational discourse around differences harder to accomplish.

In the face of sinful behavior, the Berlin wall rises from the horizon.

Degradation may take several forms including, remarkably, a seeming intellectual tendency to protect a proper historical Wesleyanism that risks dismissing alternative theological variation around John Wesley’s own message and life (Abraham 2005, Noble 2011). This type of protective theological perspective reflects Andrew Brower Latz’s (and he might say Kathryn Tanner’s) concern with a kind of assumed theological purity, associated with Postliberal theology and Radical Orthodoxy, a purity that belies even the original ecumenism in Wesley’s thought (Brower Latz 2014: 258-261). When it comes to a Plain Account, perhaps creating a larger tent, rather than circumscribing the conversation against some theological traditions, warrants consideration (Morrill 2008: 83). Erecting Berlin walls against some theological positions really may not serve to deepen the Wesleyan tradition, particularly if one hopes to remain in new “ecumenical” settings absent the blind spots of current theological concerns.

Beginning the Plain Account As noted at the beginning of this writing, Wesley’s “A Plain Account of Christian Perfection” acknowledged the positive as well as cautioned toward harmful excesses. This writing focused on raising a caution toward adopting excessive focus on purity by erecting institutional barriers that hamper, even punish, those perceived “outside” the ideological or practical walls of sanctity. One indicator adopted by economist and leadership theorist Albert C. Brooks (2019) occurs when leaders, on either side of an issue, adopt a posture of “contempt” for the opposing viewpoint. Brooks, adopting social psychologist and relationship researcher John Gottman, asserts contempt reveals the primary motivation for the dissolution of marriages, when we reduce even those people closest to us to a “worthless” status (Brooks 2019: 23). Brooks does offer antidotes reflective of a national discourse that includes powerful leadership on both sides of an issue. In the current ecclesial context, this aligns perhaps with the tendency to remain in “bubbles” of mutual support, so often aligned with the protection of one’s “identity” in light of a broader stance (Brooks 2019: 205-206).

However, there may be some “gestures” of positive interaction worthy of mention for future exploration. The first possible clue emerges from the study of scripture and Jesus own approach to the “impure,” often considered worthless. Previous writers like Richard Beck argue that Jesus’

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love overcomes the barriers to impurity (or at least to revulsion) to embrace the other. This ability, for Beck, would be available for Christians through the practice of the Eucharist for the sake of mission. Beck writes: (O)ne cannot help but wonder how the association of the Lord’s Supper with Jesus’ ministry of table fellowship might be shaping the missional imagination of that church. How, even if the adults were a lost cause, the image of Jesus eating with sinners might be affecting the minds of the children within that faith community. Or how the conscience of one individual might be pricked by the images of the Eucharist one Sunday morning, prompting her to reject the hurtful practices of the church. (Beck 2011: 198) Beck’s vision is helpful for overcoming the inhospitality of the church in the face of difference. While purity may require more, including a broad vision of wholeness and attention to overcoming evil, a vision of hospitality may at least mitigate difference from within a body.

We close this article as we opened, with an invitation to other Wesleyans to consider what a “Plain Account of Christian Purity” might accomplish for this day. In a world marked by deep polarization, like other times in history, the tendency to erect barriers in the face of honest difference (Berlin walls) is only one potential concern. Other challenges may occur, but always with the potential of a Plain Account discovering a deeper, richer, doctrine…and loving posture toward others…if we look closely.

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Wordsworth, E. E. 1960 “What is Sanctification: Part 3.” Herald of Holiness 49: 9 (4/20/1960): 4-5. van Velzen, Thoden and Walter E.A. van Beek 1988 “Purity, A Greedy Ideology” in The Quest for Purity: Dynamics of Puritan Movements edited by Walter E. A van Beek. Berlin, Germany: Mouton de Gruyter, pp.

1-35.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 52-91 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.04

Robert A. Danielson

H.C. Morrison and the Holiness Union of the South

Abstract: Holiness history in the southern United States tends to view the movement as a collection of local or regional churches or institutions without a unified organization. This view often overlooks the work of H.C. Morrison and an organization he founded called the Holiness Union of the South. It began in 1904 and lasted through 1915 and sought to unite the Holiness work in a fashion similar to the National Holiness Association in the northern United States. The Union focused on the areas of mission, education, and publishing- areas which smaller organizations were illequipped to operate. While the Union was initially successful, a number of forces led to its collapse: the growth of Pentecostalism with its rapid spread across the South, the growth and expansion of Holiness denominations, such as the Church of the Nazarene and the Christian and Missionary Alliance, and the outbreak of World War I. Morrison ultimately returned to his base in Kentucky, where he maintained his focus on mission, education, and publishing, albeit on a smaller scale than he envisioned under the Holiness Union of the South.

Keywords: H.C. Morrison, Holiness Union of the South, Pentecostalism, mission, religious education, publishing Robert A. Danielson, Ph.D, is the Director of Strategic Collections and Scholarly Communications Librarian at the B.L. Fisher Library of Asbury Theological Seminary, where he also serves as an affiliate faculty member in the School of Mission and Ministry in Wilmore, Kentucky.

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Introduction The early 20th century was a period of great transition and consolidation within the Holiness Movement. While movements such as the National Holiness Association were active in the North and Midwest, Holiness denominations such as the Christian and Missionary Alliance, the Free Methodists, and the Church of the Nazarene were also growing in the North, Mid-West and the Western parts of the United States. The Holiness Movement in the South has largely been seen as an abundance of regional associations, small independent groups, and holiness-leaning members of traditional denominations, especially the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. As J. Lawrence Brasher summarized, At the turn of the century, holiness people in the South chose one of three paths. Many remained as “loyalists” within the diffident, sometimes hostile, Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Others joined one of the several new independent holiness sects. A few defected to the Methodist Episcopal Church, which was more favorable to holiness then its southern sibling and actively sought members from among the “comeouters.” Holiness, which earlier had been a hope of unity between the two Methodisms, was now viewed by the Southern church as an unwelcome “party,” and, accordingly, by the northern church as a source of potential strength in the South.1 In the midst of this period, H.C. Morrison, an ardent holiness advocate and evangelist in the Methodist Episcopal Church South, set out to create a holiness organization modelled after the National Holiness Association, but focused on holiness organizations and churches in the South. It would be known as the Holiness Union of the South, or just the Holiness Union, and would last from its founding in 1904 to its final convention in 1915. Morrison used his base in Louisville, Kentucky to build an extensive network across the South and the Southwest, but would ultimately fail to achieve the goals he envisioned. Yet, the movement was significant for the history of both the Holiness Movement and the growth and spread of Pentecostalism in the South.

H.C. Morrison and the Reasons for the Holiness Union H.C. Morrison had specific reasons to develop such an organization.

The Methodist Episcopal Church, South had set out to undermine those

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working to expand holiness doctrine by requiring southern Methodist preachers to seek approval from local presiding elders and pastors before speaking outside of their usual domains. As Turley pointed out, Henry Clay Morrison, Pentecostal Herald editor and regular speaker at the Indian Springs camp meeting, was the first prominent figure to fall victim to the antiHoliness legislation. In 1896 Morrison conducted revival services at a camp meeting near Dublin, Texas, after receiving notice from a local Methodist pastor and the presiding elder that he was unwelcome there. When the presiding elder filed a complaint against Morrison, the denomination tried and ejected him from the ministry.

Morrison had as many friends as enemies in the church, and after filing an appeal with the Kentucky Annual Conference, the denomination restored his ministerial credentials.2 However, both Brasher and Turley, along with other scholars of the period, fail to note Morrison’s active response to organize the Holiness Movement in the South. Clearly, Morrison’s trouble within the Methodist Episcopal Church, South was a serious enough danger sign so that just a short eight years later Morrison would launch an effort to unite the Holiness Movement outside of the established denominational structure.

In an unpublished manuscript, holiness historian Delbert Rose added an additional and more complex understanding of the forces beneath this move, while also recognizing the importance of what Morrison was attempting to accomplish, Three and one-half years after the “General Assembly for the Promotion of Scriptural Holiness,” held in Chicago, May 1901, another important assembly convened. This one was sectional, called “The Holiness Union of the South,” and met in Memphis, Tennessee, October 11-14, 1904. The occasion for this meeting can easily and safely be inferred. The 1901 General Holiness Assembly in Chicago had failed to carry through on the good intentions with which it was called, conducted, and closed. They were striving to unite all the “friends of holiness,” of the various sectors of the nation, of whatever denominational, or non-denominational group they might be members, into one great, unified national movement. Obviously the 1901 Assembly failed to meet the organizational needs felt by holiness people in the southern states.

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According to Rev. S.L.C. Coward of the Louisville Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, for nearly twenty-five years prior to the Memphis meeting there had been very real tensions over the doctrine of sanctification in the M.E. Church South. This controversy had occasioned the sword of criticism being used to hurt reputations, wound spirits of men high and low in the Church, and leave injuries that only time and grace would heal.

Those known as the “holiness people” declared they were often discriminated against in Conference life, and unjustly opposed by unethical means, at times, by an organized opposition within their denomination.

Consequently, they felt the only successful way to stand up to this opposition was to organize for the spiritual conflict in which they were embroiled.3 It is also important to recognize that Morrison was adamantly opposed to forming a new denomination, and yet the National Holiness Association was not viewed without skepticism. Turley indicates this skepticism in his history on the Georgia Holiness Association with regards to a NHA camp meeting held in Augusta in 1885, The hierarchy was reluctant to forgive what it considered the “undue efforts” of northern church officials who had taken advantage of southern poverty and disarray during Reconstruction in an attempt to regain a foothold in the South. At one southern meeting, National Association evangelists reported that officials of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, “understood that we were there to make a raid upon the church for the purpose of enlarging our own territory… and that the Methodist Episcopal Church had loaned to the committee, not only its official sanction but also its money.” Within three weeks of the August meeting’s conclusion, Warren Chandler wrote to association president Jarrell concerning the potential “divisions and strifes” among Southern Methodists resulting from fellowship with National Camp Meeting evangelists from the North.

Chandler remarked that the northern church could, in his opinion, be using the National Camp Meeting Association as a channel through which they were infiltrating the region.4 With such attitudes prevalent in the South, it was necessary for Morrison to distance any efforts of his own organization from the National Holiness Association.

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In response to a letter from the editor of the Free Methodist about the possibility of the upcoming convention of the Holiness Union turning into the organization of a new denomination, Morrison responded, There are scattered throughout the country persons who have been turned or driven out of churches because of their devotion to the doctrine of holiness, and their zeal in its promotion. We will welcome them to fellowship.

Some may object to this, but their objections will not avail. These persecuted people are human beings, they are our Father’s children, they need the nourishment of Christian sympathy, and we will give it to them without apology to any one. There are men who have been robbed of their license to preach, and others who have been refused license. They are called of God to the ministry, the people are perishing for the truths burning in the souls of these men. We do as the Iowa Holiness Association has been doing for years, give them a certificate of good character and soundness in doctrine, and let them go forth to preach the Word. Those who desire such certificates must pass a careful examination before a competent committee.5 Yet, Morrison resisted the idea of forming a new denomination. This was to be a unifying organization along the lines of the National Holiness Association, but Morrison rejected working within the national body, The National Holiness Association has been in existence for, I think, more than a quarter of a century, and has been able to accomplish nothing for the South as yet… The National has unlimited territory in which to work. There are the great Northern, Eastern, and Western states, which are practically untouched… The holiness people of Massachusetts must not be expected to be guided and controlled in carrying forward their work, by some brother in New Orleans.

Neither will the holiness people of New Orleans be guided and controlled in their work by some man in Boston, who knows nothing of them and their wants.

The Holiness Union just organized has no more business undertaking to organize the holiness work in the State of Maine from the N.H.A. has of undertaking to organize and control the work in Texas.

This does not mean sectionalism, but it means practical common sense. There are other important reasons for our action, which if occasion arises, we will be able to make very clear to the people of all parts of the country.

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The Holiness Union is organized on a much broader basis than some of the older organizations. They answered for their day and their region of operation, but we were in sore need for something for these times and this region.6 In an open letter in The Pentecostal Herald to the President of the National Holiness Association, C.J. Fowler, published in October of 1904 after the organizational meeting of the Holiness Union of the South, Morrison presented a number of arguments for the formation of the Holiness Union of the South. He noted the presence of four large holiness colleges: Asbury College (Wilmore, KY), the Male and Female Colleges (Meridian, MS), and the Holiness University (Peniel, TX). This was supplemented by several Bible Schools (Nashville, TN, Memphis, TN, and in South Carolina). Combined they represented more than 1,000 students. In terms of publishing, the South contained: The Way of Faith (South Carolina), The Christian Standard (Florida), The Living Water (Tennessee), The Holiness Advocate (Texas), and The Pentecostal Herald (Kentucky). These, he argued, reached “not less than one hundred thousand readers each week” with their combined efforts. Morrison also pointed out an orphanage (Peniel, TX), a Rescue Home (Dallas, TX), and “a very large number of holiness campmeetings, reaching from the Virginia shore to the Mexican border, and from the Ohio River to the Florida coast.” Morrison also noted, “We have a host of earnest evangelists, and quite a number of full salvation missionaries in the foreign field.” While he stresses a desire for good relations with the Christian Holiness Association, he also remarked, “I find that it is the universal opinion among us, that it would be unwise and unfortunate for you to organize National Holiness Associations in the territory represented by our recent convention.”7 In March of 1905, H.W. Bromley laid out the vision of the Holiness Union Morrison was promoting.8 Bromley lists three aspects of this work. First, The Pentecostal Herald to connect holiness people through a common communication forum. Second, the Pentecostal Publishing Company and a Pentecostal Tabernacle that Morrison was building in Louisville, Kentucky, as a type of organizational center and operation to promote holiness teaching. Third was the work of mission including S.W. Edwards in Cuba, and the work of Brother Sarmast in Persia (who were being supported by Morrison at the time). Alongside of these three elements was a desire to raise funds to help educate young men to be holiness

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evangelists at holiness colleges. Morrison’s vision was nothing short of a full-blown holiness organization, designed to spread holiness through publishing, missions, and educational training. It sought to bring together smaller holiness churches and organizations across the South in such a way that a pooling of resources could fund a global revival, without becoming an independent denomination.

One of Morrison’s concerns was holiness publishing.

This is the printing office of the Holiness Evangel at Pilot Point, Texas in 1908.

(Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

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Holiness Union Conventions 1904-1915 The principle activity of the Holiness Union was its annual conventions. These became events to bring together holiness leaders from around the South to help create and build the holiness network in the region. At least the first three were recorded in detail in book form,9 while more of the rest are covered in some detail in The Pentecostal Herald.

1904, Oct. 11-14 Memphis, TN (Masonic Hall) H.C. Morrison, Pres.

1905, Nov. 22-26 Meridian, MS (Courthouse) H.C. Morrison, Pres.

1906, Oct. 24-29 Atlanta, GA (Dr. Broughton’s Tabernacle L.P. Brown, Pres.

1907, Oct. 23-27 Louisville, KY (Trinity M.E. Church) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1908, Oct. 20-25 Birmingham, AL (City Hall) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1909, Oct. 19-24 Chattanooga, TN (First M.E. Church) L.P. Brown, Pres 1910, Oct. 19-23 Little Rock, AR (City Auditorium) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1911, Oct. 17-22 Nashville, TN (Watkins Hall) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1912, Ap. 30- May 5 Columbia, SC (Main Street Methodist) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1913, Ap. 29-May 5 Louisville, KY (Trinity M.E. Church) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1914, Ap. 28-May 3 Louisville, KY (Trinity M.E. Church) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1915, Ap. 27-May 2 Atlanta, GA (Dr. Broughton’s Tabernacle) L.P. Brown, Pres.

1916 left up to executive committee in 1915 and never held

The Memphis Convention of 1904 The initial meeting of the Holiness Union of the South was well documented, with a book printed by Pentecostal Herald Printing (the early name of the Pentecostal Publishing Company). The meeting was held in the Young Men’s Hebrew Association on Second and Adams Streets in Memphis, Tennessee. H.C. Morrison was delayed by a late train, but the elected leadership demonstrated the primary influences of the newly formed union. Morrison was chosen as president, and other Kentucky names filled key spots with L.L. Pickett as first vice-president, John Paul as third vice-president, and H.W. Bromley as secretary. John Wesley Beeson of the Meridian Colleges in Mississippi was second vice-president, and holiness leaders from Texas made up the rest of the executive committee (B.W. Huckabee as fourth vice-president and E.C. DeJernett as treasurer).

A glance at the membership list of the first members, emphasizes this strong presence of Kentucky, Mississippi, and Texas holiness groups, but there were significant people present from other parts of the South. C.W. Sherman from St. Louis, Missouri is one such figure who was a charter member of the Holiness Union and attended the convention. He led the Vanguard Mission which was actively involved in publishing, education, and missionary endeavors in India.

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Bessie Sherman Ashton, daughter of Vanguard Mission founder C.W. Sherman was the mission speaker at the 1904 Holiness Union convention. She spoke of her work at the Vanguard Mission in India.

(Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

With Morrison arriving late, J.W. Beeson began by speaking about the Meridian Colleges and the importance of holiness education.

This was a major theme of the convention, with J.W. Hughes (President of Asbury College in Wilmore, Kentucky), E.C. DeJernett (representing the Texas Holiness University in Greenville, Texas), and Rev. N.J. Holmes (Superintendent of the Bible School and Missionary Institute in Columbia, South Carolina) all speaking to the convention. Images of these schools and their leaders appear in the convention publication, which also includes an

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image of Taylor University. After Beeson’s speech, Morrison arrived and the convention began in earnest. In his opening speech in the first convention of the Holiness Union, Morrison noted, In the great work of spreading scriptural holiness among the people of the present generation, and handing it down to the coming generations, it will be apparent to all that some sort of organization is necessary.

If we could succeed against the mighty forces that confront us in the great work God has given us to perform, we must have that strength which comes from union.

This is evidently the will of God who has baptized us by one Spirit into one body. We have met here to consummate such an organization. It is well understood that there is a great necessity and wide clamor for such an organization as we now propose.

We want to put ourselves into good harness, strong enough to pull our full strength, and yet so loose as in no way to interfere with free and healthful circulation.10 Morrison ended his speech with a call for 100 sanctified men to cause a revival across the South, but right before this call he said, “We will make much of the coming of the Lord, and warn men to watch, lest He come and find them unprepared. We will seek to explain to people the teachings of the Word of God on the healing of disease, and rejoice with all who find succor from the Lord for their bodies. We will try to stir the hearts of God’s people everywhere on the subject of missions; we will not go to the heathen with a grammar, but with a New Testament.”11 He called for a union which allowed Holiness people to work together, but without forcing uniformity.

It is also interesting to note that one of the early members listed in 1904 was Rev. L.P. Adams of Memphis. Adams was an independent Holiness pastor in Memphis. By 1907 Adams encountered G.B. Cashwell and received the Pentecostal doctrines, and was one of a small group of white pastors who affiliated with Charles H. Mason and his Church of God in Christ (COGIC) which was founded in Memphis in 1900. He would later join the Assemblies of God. This example lays out how early Pentecostal leaders were involved with the Holiness Movement networks. The Holiness Union of the South is a good example of these networks, and the rise of Pentecostalism was a major problem for the Holiness Union, as will become clear later in this article.

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The Meridian Conference 1905 In November 22-26, 1905, the second meeting of the Holiness Union occurred in Meridian, Mississippi,12 the home of John Wesley Beeson’s Meridian Male and Female Colleges. The original date of October 18-22 was delayed due to an outbreak of yellow fever (announced in the October 4, 1905 issue of The Pentecostal Herald). In the reports by Morrison and B.F. Haynes (President of Asbury College) found in the December 6, 1905 issue of The Pentecostal Herald, the primary focus was on strong holiness preaching and the organization of a mission board by the Holiness Union. As Morrison noted, “At this convention a Missionary Board was elected to collect money and assist in the support of several full salvation missionaries in various fields.”13 Morrison later went on to elaborate the mission plan of the Holiness Union, It was the unanimous decision of this Board of Missions that we should not undertake the organization of churches, or the establishment of independent missions or schools in any of the foreign fields, but that our work should be evangelistic and that we should send out evangelists to travel in the various mission fields, assisting the missionaries of existing churches in promoting revivals of religion. It would be the special work of such evangelists to seek to bring missionaries and native Christians into the experience of entire sanctification. The great desire and purpose of the Holiness Union is to assist in promoting a world-wide revival of full salvation, to help, so far as in them lies, to carry to the ends of the earth the glad news that Jesus Christ is able to save all men from all sin.14 The board was selected to be made up of L.P. Brown (Mississippi), B.F. Haynes (Kentucky), M.A. Beeson (Mississippi), Joshua Sanders (Louisiana), Charles Dunaway, W.P.B. Kinard (South Carolina), and H.C. Morrison (Kentucky). The excitement over the mission program resulted in a collection on the last night of the convention for $1,721.35 in subscriptions. Morrison also called for a drive to grow the Union to 10,000 members.

An additional report by Rev. Jordon W. Carter in the December 13, 1905 issue of The Pentecostal Herald, noted that B.F. Haynes and Professor Akers of Asbury College travelled to the convention with twentytwo students. In a fascinating letter from a young E. Stanley Jones to his mother (and then passed on to Nellie Logan), dated December 2, 1905, it

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seems that E. Stanley Jones was one of the students in attendance, and this idea for a Missionary Board was possibly the result of Jones’ work. Jones wrote, I have just gotten back, or rather it has been several days now, from the sunny South where cotton grows and negros drive ox-carts and sing songs. It was the best short trip I have ever taken. Had more real enjoyment. We left on Tues. 19th at night and having to stop over about “20 miles below here” I hunted up a place to preach in a home and the Lord was there. We got to the Convention after having a service on the train at 2:30 PM on the next day. We went to the Court House, where they were holding the Convention and heard the young man who is with me in the picture preach one of his “big” sermons. We were assigned to our house after that. We were invited to stay at the Meridian Male College but as it was three miles from town we came into town to a private house after we stayed out there for a day or so.

The preaching was extraordinary. It raised me off my seat several times. H.C. Morrison and others were at their best. The pres. of our college preached several times, and was wonderfully blessed of God. I had prepared a paper to be read before the Convention to get them to organize a board of Mission for the whole South among the Holiness people. This, I read at one of the business sessions and immediately was discussed and declined impracticable by the pres. of the Convention. He however complimented the paper as being well gotten up. But would you believe it, the Convention a day or two after that after much discussion created the very board for which the paper pled. It means a great deal indeed. Of course, the pres. of our college was proud of his boys for they made a good impression on all those people from all over the South.15 It was also interesting to note that at the Meridian Convention, when the executive committee was elected, H.C. Morrison chose not to remain as president, but instead chose to be on the mission board. This was commented on in an article in The Christian Witness and Advocate of Bible Holiness, when the writer noted, “Many were surprised when Rev. H.C. Morrison declined renomination for President of the union. Brother L.P. Brown, a capable and devoted layman of Meridian, was almost unanimously elected President of the Holiness Union for the following year…”16

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A second concern of the Holiness Union was holiness education.

This is a post card of Meridian Male College, about the time of the convention and M.A. Beeson, its President who served on the new mission board of the Union.

(Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

The Atlanta Convention of 1906 In 1906, the Holiness Union met in Atlanta at the Tabernacle Baptist Church. Morrison noted that the day before the convention he attended the memorial service for Sam Jones, one of the great holiness evangelists, which was held in the same church with an estimated 4,000 people in attendance. At this time, we also begin to see notes about meetings of the Evangelistic Brotherhood, which were designed to coincide with the conventions. This group was organized by Morrison on September 28, 1904 before the organization of the Holiness Union and many of the same people were involved.17 It began to meet at the same time as the Holiness Union Conventions after a vote in June 1906.18 Its purpose seems to have been focused on providing a qualification for evangelists who correctly understood and taught the doctrine of sanctification. There were

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also dues which helped pay a death benefit when a member passed away to help cover funeral costs.

While missions remained a key theme, with the presence of S.W. Edwards from Cuba and Ed and John Roberts who were advocating for mission in India both being noted, the convention was also involved in a great deal of street preaching. A total of $3,500 was raised for mission and the Union noted it would support the Roberts brothers in India, Bro. Sarmast in Persia, Edwards in Cuba, and J.M. Taylor, his wife, and Flora Philips on an evangelistic tour of the West Indies.19 Morrison defined the pattern of the conventions in the Pentecostal Herald, “We should have each year a few carefully prepared papers on the most vital subjects. But preaching, prayer, and praise, with ample time for altar work should have ample opportunity to bring immediate results, in the conversion of sinners, the sanctification of believers, and the deepening and building up of the spiritual life of the holiness people.”2

The 1906 Atlanta convention of the Holiness Union met in the Broughton Tabernacle.

(Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

The Louisville Convention of 1907 The 1907 Convention should have been a highwater mark in Morrison’s work with the Holiness Union, as it was held in Morrison’s own territory. The reports indicate a strong turnout with delegates from every Southern state and only six states from the entire U.S. not represented. Large crowds were noted, with filled galleries and even the use of overflow areas

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in Sunday School rooms in the host church, Trinity Methodist Episcopal.

Papers were presented by Rev. Joseph Smith, President Ellyson, President Beeson, and Professor Wray. Schools represented included Asbury College, the Meridian Colleges, Peniel College, Kingswood College, Arkansas Holiness College and a school from Louisiana. But while Morrison’s publishing business was booming, his aim to create a Holiness Center in the Pentecostal Tabernacle was not fairing as well due to financial concerns.21 In April of 1906, the Azusa Revival had broken out in Los Angeles, California. This is often traced as the starting date of the modern Pentecostal Movement. While this movement was not addressed directly in the accounts of the fourth Holiness Union Convention, it can be read into some of the comments. Great care is taken in the various accounts to emphasize the order and respectability of the meetings. While the description of the closing prayer meeting at Morrison’s Pentecostal Tabernacle notes, “There was shouting, laughter and tears, and waves of holy joy swept over us,”22 the focus tended to be more on education than any other theme. In an editorial by James Mailley on the convention, he wrote, “No movement that is not intelligent can endure. The holiness movement is no exception.

It must raise up educated teachers of the doctrine or go down in defeat. No amount of zeal can save a cause from the destructive effects of ignorance.”23 The only real note on the Azusa Revival comes from Pres. J.W. Beeson in a presentation he published called “What Evangelists Shall We Call?” in which he wrote, “As Bro. L.P. Brown often says, the holiness people need some sanctified common sense. The Dowieites, the Sandfordites, the ‘Tongues’ people24 and many others that we might name, have been led off by unwise and dangerous leaders. There is much good in all of these, but much that is dangerous, and our people should be wise and discriminating… It will be a blessed day for the holiness movement when evangelists are expected to have some sort of credentials from a reliable organization of some kind.”25 The growth of Pentecostalism would change the religious dynamics of the South and often led to holiness groups joining the new movement.26 While the Louisville Convention of 1907 was clearly a success, the shadow of the new Pentecostal Movement was beginning to be felt.

The Birmingham Convention of 1908 The fifth Holiness Union Convention in Birmingham was reported as a success, but it started under a major setback. Just days before the convention, from October 8-11, 1908 the Holiness Church of Christ

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(both eastern and western divisions) united with the growing Church of the Nazarene. President Ellyson of the Texas Holiness University at Peniel was made a general superintendent and prominent holiness leaders joined the emerging denomination. C.A. Bromley wrote about the Church of the Nazarene in The Pentecostal Herald and noted, “With the increase from the South this year, we now have three Bible Schools, three publishing plants, and three weekly papers. This adds to our effectiveness to spread scriptural holiness over these lands.”27 Given Morrison’s initial aims to combine holiness publishing and education efforts across the South, this was a huge blow.28 While Morrison maintained positive relations with the Church of the Nazarene and his allies in Texas, their influence and presence waned in the remaining activities of the Holiness Union.

Perhaps it is not surprising with these losses, the convention in Birmingham focused more on the issue of missions than on education or publishing. The speakers were heavily from Kentucky and it was reported that 18 states were represented. The colleges present were limited to Asbury College, the Meridian Colleges, and Boaz Seminary in Alabama. Despite the smaller turnout and the exodus of many of the Texas holiness people, the Holiness Union Board of Missions decided to send Morrison, “to make an evangelistic tour around the world preaching full salvation, assisting missionaries in revival meetings, making careful note of the spiritual state of the church, and gathering such information as would be of general use to the Board in future efforts to promote the doctrine and experience of entire sanctification in the various mission fields of the world.”29 Financially, the Board supplied the finances not only to pay for Morrison’s travelling expenses, but also to support his family in his absence. The trip was fundamentally to preach holiness in foreign fields, but it was also to visit and explore existing holiness mission work and understand the needs for more training and funding to advance the holiness cause. Perhaps, it was with this aim in mind that Morrison called the Birmingham Convention one of the best conventions, “We had a great time at Memphis, a great time at Meridian, a time of power at Atlanta, a powerful time at Louisville, but the tide rolled in more graciously at Birmingham than at any one of the other yearly meetings.”30 Morrison spoke at the Convention on “Missionary Evangelism as Distinguished from Regular Mission Work” as well as giving a sermon on “The Office Work of the Holy Ghost in the Salvation of Souls.” Both talks seem in many ways to be geared toward Morrison’s missional thinking and

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planning for his world tour. The main missionary present was Mrs. Ada Beeson Farmer, a sister of J.W. and M.A. Beeson, who had been trained as a teacher in some of J.W. Beeson’s earlier schools before Meridian. She also taught for two years at the Meridian Colleges before going to the Christian and Missionary Training School in Nyack, New York. After her time in New York, she went to work with J.O. McClurkan’s Pentecostal Mission in Nashville. In 1902 she left as a Christian and Missionary Alliance missionary to Guanxi Province in China, with financial support from the Pentecostal Mission. The goal was to start up a new work of the Pentecostal Mission, but due to various problems, she ended up with the Christian and Missionary Alliance. She had returned on furlough in 1907, and had spoken at the Louisville Convention in 1907. She returned to China in January of 1909 and passed away in March of 1911.31 The missionary connection with the Beesons, Meridian Colleges, and H.C. Morrison was made even stronger through Ada Farmer’s involvement in the Louisville and Birmingham Conventions.

The Chattanooga Convention of 1909 The 1909 convention in Chattanooga is notable for the absence of H.C. Morrison, who was on his world tour of evangelism. Morrison’s friend and most frequent ally (and Union Secretary), John Paul ran The Pentecostal Herald and promoted the convention as well. Many of the usual holiness speakers were present and gave papers, and Asbury College and the Meridian Colleges were represented as well as Boaz in Alabama, being represented by J.L. Brasher. Almost all states were represented and most of the major evangelical denominations. Paul noted that the decision was made to hold the 1910 convention in Little Rock, Arkansas, in part to draw more deeply from holiness groups in Texas, Oklahoma, Missouri, and Arkansas.32 The most significant event was the decision to try and promote the Union through appointing State Secretaries, “who shall canvas his state for funds, securing names of those throughout the state, interested in the propagation of holiness in the church, and soliciting from each at least a small contribution for paying transportation of persons to represent that state in the Fall convention.”33 This included the idea that every ten cents given to the Union work would qualify as a ballot, enabling the donor to nominate a delegate. At a set time, the ballots would be tallied with funds going to pay the way of the person with the most ballots, and so on down

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the line until the funds were exhausted. Funds given without naming a delegate would go to pay the expenses of the State Secretary.

It is questionable how well this system worked. In a letter dated April 6, 1910, J.B. McBride from Peniel, Texas, wrote John Paul, “I would like to know my duty as state secretary of the Holiness Union for Texas.

I failed to see the Herald which contained the article on the Holiness Union and the object for which all the state secretaries were elected. I want to discharge my duty to the best of my ability and do all I can to make the convention in Little Rock one of the greatest that ever came to the southwest. Prospects are encouraging. I meet many men who expect to attend. I am announcing it everywhere I go, have been in many places in Okla. in the past four months and have two more large meetings before leaving the state and will make a strong pull for it.”34 It is clear that the aim of the State Secretaries was to boost attendance at the Holiness Union Conventions, which was likely suffering reduced numbers from competing loyalties to Pentecostalism and Holiness denominations, like the Church of the Nazarene.

The Little Rock Convention of 1910 The Convention of 1910 is important for the return of H.C. Morrison from his world tour. He was able to make it back, even though he had experienced some health challenges along his trip, and he was in top speaking form. “Bro. H.C. Morrison, who has recently returned from a world tour of missions sent out by this Convention, gave us a broad vision of the holiness movement from the standpoint of the evangelization of the world. Bro. Morrison was weak in body, but has lost none of his old time force and power as a preacher.”35 Morrison had been writing and publishing accounts of his trip in The Pentecostal Herald, and it was noted that the Holiness Union had brought in about $5,000 for missions over the year because of Morrison’s trip and his published accounts.

The Little Rock Convention also looked a bit more like the older conventions, even with a smaller group of around 400 people. There was a presence from Texas with J.B. McBride and E.P. Ellyson taking leadership roles. There was a presence from New Mexico and Nebraska, with an additional Beeson brother, W.J. Beeson representing New Mexico Holiness University.36 In total Morrison noted some 8-9 holiness schools present and about 1,000 new members added to the roles. Present were also larger groups of representatives from Georgia, Mississippi, Arkansas, Oklahoma,

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Texas, Illinois, and Missouri.37 It is unclear if the State Secretary plan was responsible for any of this growth, but the role of State Secretary is not mentioned again in reports on the Union.

Despite a heavy focus on mission through Morrison’s return and his preaching, he actually took a stronger stance on the issue of education in his writing. In a lengthy discourse about the subject, Morrison related four reasons why education is a promising avenue for holiness work, and he also mentioned a couple dangers.38 He first indicated that holiness efforts at education can revive interest in youth in evangelism and mission, “The holiness movement has put scores of well-equipped soldiers into the field who would have lived and died in ignorance, tobacco and sin, but for the revival of full salvation.” Secondly, he noted the importance of holiness scholars, “Some of these men will pursue their studies in fields of literature and science and in the end will write textbooks free from the taints of infidelity and in full harmony with the revelations from God.” Third, holiness schools would send out teachers to influence the younger generations. And finally, holiness schools would help produce better-educated business people with holiness values. The dangers were twofold: there might be too many schools which could weaken the movement, and this could cause unholy rivalry within the movement. Such a position is interesting coming on the heels of Morrison’s world tour where he encountered many young graduates from holiness schools (especially Asbury College) in mission, but it also is interesting knowing that in 1910 Morrison had been asked to take on the presidency of Asbury College and began his own career in academic leadership.

The Nashville Convention of 1911 If the Little Rock Convention of 1910 looked like a potential opportunity to return to some of their earlier strengths, the Nashville Convention of 1911 highlighted the problems the organization faced.

Nashville was the ecclesiastical center of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. It was also the home of the Pentecostal Mission and J.O. McClurkan, who would have been key members of the Holiness Union, if they had decided to join. They were active in the fields of education, publishing, and mission, and had historic connections to Morrison. Before the Convention began, a comment about the Holiness Union being the only group of Holiness missions from the South by Mrs. Bettie Whitehead in The Pentecostal Herald, seems to have caused a heated response. Mrs.

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Whitehead (who was made Assistant Editor in 1911 and became the third Mrs. H.C. Morrison in 1916) in an attempt to correct the error wrote, …we had in mind the fact that the Union was the only movable body of holiness people, having their annual meetings for the promotion of the cause of holiness and securing means to put holiness missionaries on the field… We are glad to note the fact that The Pentecostal Mission, at Nashville, Tenn., and the Nazarene Church, in different parts of the country, are doing a great work in indoctrinating the people in the doctrine of entire sanctification and in sending holiness missionaries into every mission field, and we feel in this great work, we are one in heart and purpose.39 As if this were not bad enough, the Holiness Union Convention was scheduled to take place immediately after the Nazarene Church General Assembly in Nashville. Morrison noted that he was able to see Seth C. Rees and talk to Rev. Breese, and visit the publishing house of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South and speak to the editor of The Christian Advocate, but in general, “The preachers of Nashville did not extend to us the greeting and gracious Christian spirit that we have met in Louisville, Chattanooga, Birmingham, Meridian, Little Rock and Atlanta.”40 He acknowledged strong attitudes against the Holiness Movement which “greatly prejudiced the powers that be” against the movement. Morrison wrote, “They (the Nazarenes) were accused of being too demonstrative, too much noise, too much sectarianism, etc. Such criticisms do not count much with us these days. There was quite a noise in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost, and the Scriptures certainly give good authority for an enthusiastic and rejoicing Christianity.”41 The result of all of this seems to be rather poor attendance, especially with the Evangelistic Brotherhood. This led the Convention to make the decision to move the timing of the yearly meeting to the spring to accommodate the schedules of evangelists and ministers involved in various conferences and revivals. In his articles, Morrison reflected back on his time as a student at Vanderbilt University, which he felt had lost its roots in true Wesleyan theology. He also bemoaned the political situation in Nashville, which needed revival since it was under the forces of “King Alcohol.” In retrospect, the 1911 convention in Nashville might be seen as the beginning of the end of the Holiness Union.

The Columbia Convention of 1912

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The 1912 Holiness Union Convention was held in Columbia, South Carolina. This was an area of interest for the Holiness Union because it was the headquarters of Rev. J.M. Pike’s The Way of Faith, which had been founded by Robert C. Oliver (founder of the Oliver Gospel Mission). Pike took over the editorial work for some 25 years after Oliver died in 1893.

This paper became instrumental in reporting on A.B. Crumpler’s revivals in the Pentecostal Holiness Church and in carrying reports on the Azusa Revival from Frank Bartleman.

Columbia, South Carolina was also near to the Bible School and Missionary Institute. This school was represented at the first Holiness Union in Memphis in 1904, where founder N.J. Holmes spoke on behalf of the school as its superintendent, and is listed as one of the founding members of the Holiness Union. The school had been founded in 1893 outside of Greenville, and then moved in 1898 to property on Paris Mountain.

In 1901 the entire school moved to Atlanta until October 1903 when it relocated to Columbia using the Oliver Gospel Mission building until June of 1905 when it returned to Paris Mountain. In 1907, an early Pentecostal advocate, Miss Pinkie Blake, had introduced the Pentecostal experience, and its leader and students experienced speaking in tongues. In 1911 it had received its formal charter from South Carolina and in 1915 it moved to Greenville. Currently, the school is Holmes Bible College, known as “the oldest Pentecostal school in the world.” Perhaps, this choice of location by the Holiness Union was an attempt to move those inclined toward Pentecostalism to return to traditional Holiness teaching.

Another interesting participant in the 1912 convention was A.B. Crumpler, a minister in the Methodist Episcopal Church, South who had been influenced by Beverly Carradine. Like Morrison, he had been charged and tried for conducting a revival against the objections of the presiding minister in 1899. He was acquitted, like Morrison, but chose to leave the denomination and founded the Pentecostal Holiness Church in Goldsboro, North Carolina. This small denomination was torn apart when one of its ministers, G.B. Cashwell advocated the teachings of the Pentecostal experience, and in 1908 most of the ministers supported this doctrine and Crumpler returned to the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Crumpler was not only present at the 1912 convention, but preached there and joined the Holiness Union at that time as well. W.P.B. Kinard of Epworth, South Carolina was also present at this convention (he was also a charter member of the Holiness Union from 1904) and was made second vice-

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president. He later founded the Epworth Camp Meetings, near Ninety Six, South Carolina, along with John Paul and other people with ties to the Holiness Union.

While these ties are interesting, the convention was not well attended. John Paul noted that it was “delightful” and “well-received,” but “It was probably not as big as the conventions usually are, but this can be partially explained by the fact that only six months have intervened between the last two conventions.”42 While Morrison’s account was also positive, it is difficult to miss another article in the same issue noting that the Church of the Nazarene was combining The Pentecostal Advocate (Peniel, Texas) with The Nazarene Messenger (Los Angeles) into a new paper, The Herald of Holiness, and hiring B.F. Haynes of Tennessee (a longtime holiness ally and president of Asbury College for three years) as its new editor.43 The Pentecostal Advocate (formerly The Holiness Advocate) was one of the papers Morrison had highlighted as a prominent part of the publishing mission of the Holiness Union back in 1904. In terms of holiness publishing, it is interesting to note when The Way of Faith ended in 1931 it merged with Morrison’s Pentecostal Herald, and perhaps the connections made at this time laid the groundwork for that future merger.

The 1907, 1913, and 1914 conventions of the Holiness Union all met in Trinity Methodist Church in Louisville, KY. (Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

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The Louisville Convention of 1913 In what was perhaps an attempt to regroup and rethink his strategy, H.C. Morrison held the tenth annual convention back in his own territory.

It may have been aimed to return to the strength the Holiness Union had in 1907, when the convention was last in Louisville. Mrs. Bettie Whitehead sought to promote the convention before its start by promoting Morrison and his world tour, Dr. H.C. Morrison, in his world-tour, touched thousands of hearts and led them to a knowledge of Christ our Lord.

Many of the missionaries of different denominations, heard the message of complete deliverance from sin, actual and inbred, and sought Jesus in his sanctifying power. Those who had received the experience previously, but whose constant giving out had left them in need of a refreshing, found fresh anointing from the Holy Spirit. He touched heathendom as no other man since the days of Bishop Taylor.44 This appears to be part of a push to focus back on missions at this convention.

The Holiness Union had sent out Rev. Joseph H. Smith on a smaller version of a world tour to the Philippines, China, Korea, and Japan earlier that year.

Morrison described in his account mostly filled churches with an “auspicious” opening, and “quite a large number of states” represented by delegates.45 However, J.B. McBride from Penial, Texas was absent and J.L. Brasher had to take his place. J.W. Beeson was present as always, but most of the names show more of Morrison’s strong Kentucky influence then a wide presence of holiness leaders from the South. The Cowman’s and “young Bro. Kilbourne” were present from the Oriental Mission Society.46 They had interacted with Morrison on his world tour of evangelism, and so they spoke on missions at this convention as well. In perhaps one of the most telling acts of the convention, it was decided to meet in 1914 back in Louisville. Morrison’s influence and circle were growing smaller, even as a Rev. Joseph Owen declared, “it proved to be one of the best conventions that has yet been held.”47 The Louisville Convention of 1914 In 1914 the convention again returned to Louisville, which had become a shrinking center for Morrison’s type of holiness, embedded within the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. It is extremely interesting that in the

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run up to this convention it was even announced that Dr. C.J. Fowler of the Christian Holiness Association would speak at the convention.48 This was announced in late April before the convention, but Fowler does not seem to appear in the reports about the convention which followed. Instead Bud Robinson takes the opening spot on the program. Was Morrison seeking to reach out to the very man and organization who he had essentially told to stay out of the South back in 1904? Perhaps, he was beginning to reconsider the role of the Holiness Union and wonder if it should be brought under the wing of the Christian Holiness Association after all. In any case, Fowler’s appearance never materialized.

Once again, the convention was reported as a success with full altars, good speakers mostly from among Kentucky holiness people or people with strong personal connections to Morrison, and Asbury College had a presence with the Asbury College Male Quartet.49 Right before the convention, Morrison had visited Pilot Point, Texas for the meeting of the Texas Holiness Convention and he reported that most of those attending were now members of the Church of the Nazarene.50 One of the new attendees of the Holiness Union who made a big impression was E.E. Shelhamer who was located in Atlanta, Georgia. He not only spoke at the convention but offered to host the following year in Atlanta. Shelhamer was a radical holiness leader who had been a part of the Pentecost Bands and was involved in the early development of the Free Methodist Church in the South.

The final convention of the Holiness Union met in 1915 in Atlanta at the newly rebuilt Broughton Tabernacle.

(Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

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The Atlanta Convention of 1915 The Atlanta Convention of 1915 was held in the new Broughton Tabernacle, reflecting back on the 1906 convention, but without the same impact. The numbers were definitely down as Morrison admitted, “The attendance was not as large as it would have been, but for the financial pressure occasioned by the war in Europe, although quite a number were present and the blessing of the Lord was on us.”51 Missions seemed to be a strong focus of this convention as well. L.P. Brown, in a report in The Pentecostal Herald gave some detail on the missions of the Holiness Union, when he wrote, “Support in full of Rev. E. Stanley Jones in India, support in full of the various fields of India of three native preachers and pastors, support and educating in India of four native boys and four native girls, to Rev. S.W. Edwards, Utuado, Porto Rico, $10.00, to Rev. B.L. Sarmast, Oroomiah, Persia, $82.00.”52 This report is interesting, since at this time both Jones and Edwards were full time missionaries for the Methodist Episcopal Church. In an ominous note, on the same page as Brown’s report is a letter from Sarmast noting the slaughter of Armenian Christians as part of the start of the Armenian Genocide of 1915-1916. Sarmast was Armenian and his work in Persia was among the Armenian people. Later reports would reveal that his entire family except for one son, was killed in the genocide while Sarmast was fundraising in the U.S. He and his son would become refugees in the U.S. and he would end up as a Methodist Episcopal Church pastor in Michigan, ending the Holiness Union’s mission work in Persia.

E.E. Shelhamer was active in this convention speaking on “The Need of the Holiness Press,” as was G.W. Matthews from Georgia, but most of the speakers were common names from Morrison’s circle. J.W. Hughes spoke on “The Fall of Man- Atonement Needed,” John Paul spoke on “The Next Great Revival and Its Groundwork,” Morrison spoke on “EvangelismFormative and Reformative,” and J.W. Beeson gave a speech on “Do Our Holiness Schools Meet the Demand for Present Day Education.” W.P.B. Kinard, J.T. Upchurch, and C.F. Wimberly were others from the past, who shared the stage with a few other speakers from Georgia.53 In the end, Morrison noted, “The time and place for the next Annual Convention was left in the hands of the Executive Committee.”54 While this marks the end of the short-lived Holiness Union of the South, what is more interesting is Morrison’s write-up of the convention before it was held. In a lengthy article, Morrison seems to be trying to

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reframe or reorganize the Union along different lines than in 1904. He starts by rooting the entire foundation of the Union in Wesley, and almost seeking to make it a group of holiness leaders within the various branches of Methodism, rather than creating a safe place for holiness people outside of denominations as he had proposed in 1904. He still argued for a Southern regional focus, “It’s membership, reaching into many thousands, may be found in all that tier of states extending from Virginia to Texas, and up as high as the Ohio border.”55 His focus is much more clearly missional, referring to his tour around the world, the efforts of Joseph H. Smith in his tour of Asia, and in noting that the Union wanted to send another evangelist on a world tour after “the present war is over.” Morrison also calls for the work of building more camp meetings, and schools and education continue to play a role, but the participants have changed. The Meridian Colleges and Asbury College are still mentioned, and even Trevecca College (the previous Pentecostal Mission’s Missionary Institute) and Peniel, Texas (although both of those institutions were now firmly Nazarene). In addition, he mentions Ruskin Cave, Tennessee, Vilonia, Arkansas, and Hamlin, Texas. Morrison also continues to call for an army of evangelists, but all of this seems to be framed within Methodism more than as an independent organization.

It could be that the growing rise of Pentecostalism and the Church of the Nazarene was forcing Morrison to take a crucial stand on encouraging holiness people to remain within their traditional denominations, a stance that he took all of his life.

The End of the Holiness Union of the South By 1916, the religious landscape in the South was very different from 1904 when the Holiness Union of the South was formed.

Pentecostalism had exploded and grew expansively in the South drawing away key holiness allies. The growth of the Church of the Nazarene as a holiness denomination practically eliminated the participation of Texas holiness groups, and ended up assuming the work of the Pentecostal Mission on the death of McClurkan. While the end of the Holiness Union is not quite clear, there are several hints about what might have happened. In Morrison’s paper, The Pentecostal Herald, it noted a revival of the Kentucky State Holiness Convention at about the same time as the usual Holiness Union convention. The former secretary of that organization, Andrew Johnson wrote,

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The last separate annual convention of the Association was held at Ashland, Ky., in 1912. At that convention a motion was made by Dr. Morrison to hold the next convention at Louisville, Ky., in connection with the big Holiness Union Convention. The two conventions merged at Louisville the spring of 1913. The Union was like the allegory of the snake that swallowed the frog- it was “all snake and no frog.” The people were so busy with the large convention they entirely overlooked the state convention. The Holiness Union Convention met the following year in Louisville and the state convention met at the same time incognito.

The Holiness Union went South in 1915 with a convention in Atlanta, Ga., while the Kentucky State Holiness Association was left outdoors and failed to hold a convention that year. But the Association has gotten itself together, and has resumed its independent and separate existence…”56 The state convention in 1916 was held in Wilmore, Kentucky, Morrison’s new center as the president of Asbury College, and it was “reorganized” with Morrison being named as president. Morrison’s close friend John Paul, who tended to be a frequent speaker and actively involved with the Holiness Union was one of the principal speakers at the Kentucky Convention. Also present was E. Stanley Jones, the missionary from India, who one year earlier had been supported by the Holiness Union as one of their missionaries. Clearly Morrison was making a statement about both consolidating his position and focusing more on local holiness work.

Comparing the Holiness Union to a “snake” also seems to indicate some underlying tensions within the Holiness Union and local state holiness associations. Morrison’s successful conventions in 1907, 1913, and 1914 in Louisville showed the strength Morrison had in Kentucky holiness circles, even while his broader regional strength was fading.

However, Morrison tended to stay above the issue, focusing his editorials on other topics in 1916. He did finally comment in a September 1916 editorial, on an upcoming “Interdenominational Holiness Convention” in Brooklyn, New York during the first October dates usually assigned to the early Holiness Union conventions. Morrison wrote, “Nothing has occurred in the South that has meant so much for the holiness movement as the great conventions held in Meridian, Miss., Memphis, Chattanooga, and Nashville, Tenn., Little Rock, Ark., Birmingham, Ala., Atlanta, Ga., Louisville, Ky., and Columbia, S.C. These meetings brought the gospel of full salvation home

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to many thousands of hearts and swept away much misunderstanding and prejudice on the subject of sanctification.”57 He encouraged his readers to pray for and support the Brooklyn convention from October 6-16, and in a follow up article on the convention, Morrison even revealed he was a speaker at that convention.58 Perhaps Morrison was simply trying to aim for a larger leadership role in organizing the Holiness Movement on a national level. The pull of both greater local focus and greater national forms of organization would definitely have impacted a regional group such as the Holiness Union.

In any case, Morrison was clearly not accomplishing the goals he set out to achieve. In 1915 the Pentecostal Mission in Nashville joined the Church of the Nazarene. Back in 1907 the Holiness Union asked for the Pentecostal Mission to send a delegation to Louisville for the convention.59 Morrison and McClurkan of the Pentecostal Mission frequently preached together and were in the same holiness circles, however, they were known to have minor theological and personality differences. Benson refers to one such encounter where Morrison seems to have publicly rebuked the mild McClurkan, possibly in August of 1908 at the Lebanon Camp Meeting where both were speaking.60 Benson only guesses at some of the possible tensions, but it could also stem from McClurkan’s reluctance to join Morrison’s Holiness Union. In what might be linked to an earlier conflict, Timothy Smith noted an account which likely occurred at the second convention of the Holiness Union, “At a conference at Meridian, Mississippi, for example, McClurkan expressed to the assembled leaders of the holiness movement in the South his anxiety that in preaching the eradication of the carnal mind they might fail sufficiently to stress the human frailties of those who enjoyed this exalted grace. Henry Clay Morrison, so one account has it, interrupted and took McClurkan sharply to task. The reproof went on some time. At its end, the Nashville pastor, famous above everything else for his gentleness rose quietly, pointed to Morrison, and said, ‘Brethren, that is exactly what I mean.’”61 Such conflict may have been part of the reason why the Pentecostal Mission did not join the Holiness Union.

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Postcard of the Pentecostal Mission Training Home, an orphanage in Nashville, TN. Morrison had hoped that McClurkan and his Pentecostal Mission would join the Holiness Union, but this never happened. The Mission ultimately joined the Church of the Nazarene.

(Image from the Author’s Collection, used with Permission.)

As far as organizing holiness people in the South, it is interesting that the two main players were McClurkan and Morrison. McClurkan’s work began as a loose alliance of holiness people in 1898, and by 1904 had its own publication, Zion’s Outlook (which became Living Water), as well as a Missionary Institute (which would become Trevecca College), and a strong missionary presence.62 Morrison would have desired McClurkan’s support, and this might account for the first convention being held in Memphis, Tennessee in 1904. But in the list of member organizations and individuals in the account of this convention, there are no representatives from Nashville or McClurkan’s Pentecostal Mission present. Groups such as the Christian and Missionary Alliance and the Church of the Nazarene had been involved in conversations with McClurkan about joining their organizations, and they were expanding their own presence in the South. McClurkan died in 1914, but when asked about the future of the Pentecostal Mission before he passed, he had encouraged their joining the Church of the Nazarene. Thus, a major holiness organization of the South, with connections to publishing, education, and mission work, chose not to align with the Holiness Union, and this would represent a huge blow to Morrison’s aims.

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A different, but equally serious, problem from the growth of holiness denominations was the growth of Pentecostalism. C.W. Sherman, leader of the Vanguard Mission of St. Louis was a charter member of the Holiness Union in 1904, and his daughter, Bessie Sherman Ashton, who led the Vanguard mission work in Sanjan, India was the missionary speaker at this convention. She had been active in the Pentecost Bands before leaving them to work with the Vanguard Mission work. The Vanguard Mission was another important part of holiness work in the South, with a missionary presence and a holiness paper, The Vanguard (and even an Indian version, The India Vanguard). In what is perhaps one of the most tragic events in the history of the early Holiness and Pentecostal conflict, the Vanguard Mission of St. Louis had its camp grounds and printing offices taken over by early Pentecostals. John W. Harris relates the events of a Mr. B, who had returned from California with the teaching of tongues, and Harris writes, Mr. B., the leader of this doctrine, with his followers had taken full possession of the Vanguard Missionary Home with the grounds, saying the Holy Ghost had given it to them. The former leaders C.W. Sherman, his wife and Miss Anna Abrams, his wife’s sister, who were aged, in terror had left the grounds and gone to St. Louis where they had a small mission on Chauteau Avenue. They were there at the time we came. The new occupants of the Home had destroyed all of the old files of “The Vanguard” which had been saved for several years, and had changed the name of the paper to “The Banner.” The early garden which had been planted sometime before was given up to the weeds or destroyed, saying such work was of the devil. The meetings were being held day and night while everything around was going to ruin.

Even the food became scarcer and scarcer, because all that had been laid up was consumed, and nothing was coming in.63 While this event seems to have occurred about April 1918, the loss of the Marvin Camp Grounds to the Pentecostals was a major blow to the Vanguard Mission, even though it continued to publish some version of The Vanguard at least through 1924.64 While this episode occurred after the end of the Holiness Union, similar, although less dramatic, movements had been taking place across the South, and in the process removing potential or existing members of the Holiness Union. The impact of the growing influence of Pentecostalism is perhaps best seen in the 1912 convention in Columbia, South Carolina, where a recently ousted A.B. Crumpler had

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joined the Union, and where J.M. Pike’s paper, while remaining holiness had helped promote the Pentecostal Revival in the region. The April 1914 formation of the Assemblies of God in Hot Springs, Arkansas also likely drew from holiness people in that region as well, some of whom had likely attended the 1910 convention in Little Rock.

Along with holiness people and churches joining holiness denominations or affiliating with the growing Pentecostal Movement, the impact of the war in Europe was also causing difficulties. In the account of the 1915 convention in Atlanta, references are made to lower attendance than normal due to the economic difficulties, and also to putting off another missionary tour until after the conflict. Travel would have been impacted and the absence of many younger men due to military service would have definitely disrupted the typical Holiness Union convention.

Publishing Education and Mission: The Themes of the Holiness Union The Holiness Union of the South gradually faded with the last known convention held in Atlanta in 1915. Its end, perhaps due to pressures from World War I, the growing rise of Pentecostalism which spilt the Holiness Movement, and the rise of holiness denominations such as the Church of the Nazarene, the Free Methodists, and the Christian and Missionary Alliance in the South, had made the work of the Holiness Union obsolete. But what of Morrison’s three principle goals: publishing, education, and missions?

It is important to take a moment and see the end result of these goals.

Morrison likely saw his work with the Holiness Union as a failure. Even in his own autobiographical work, Morrison refers to the organization as the “Southern Holiness Association.”65 This change of name in a very cursory chapter might well be a Freudian slip, indicating his larger ambition to create competition for the Christian Holiness Association. In the following chapter on his world tour of evangelism, he corrects the slip and mentions the Holiness Union only in passing,66 spending many subsequent chapters on the tour itself, and seldom referring to the organization which sent him.

But did this organization really fail to meet Morrison’s expectations?

In terms of publishing, in 1904 Morrison had aimed to unite the efforts of Southern presses for the work of holiness in a concerted effort.

His 1904 outline included: The Way of Faith (South Carolina), The Christian Standard (Florida), Living Water (Tennessee), The Holiness Advocate (Texas), and The Pentecostal Herald (Kentucky). The Christian Standard seems to have merged several times and ultimately moved to being published in

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Chicago as the Christian Standard and Guide to Holiness in 1912, so it was no longer part of Southern publishing. Both Living Water (from the Pentecostal Mission) and The Holiness Advocate became part of the Church of the Nazarene and ended as independent titles, replaced with The Herald of Holiness as a denomination publication in 1912. The Way of Faith would merge with The Pentecostal Herald in 1932, leaving Morrison’s publishing work as the only major holiness publication left in the South. Morrison’s Pentecostal Publishing Company and The Pentecostal Herald and Way of Faith (as it was known till Morrison’s death in 1942) were some of his most important efforts in the day, and even today they remain key elements for any researcher looking into the teachings and influence of the Southern Holiness Movement.67 Morrison’s vision documented this period more than any other publishing effort.

With regard to education, some of the schools mentioned in 1904 moved toward Pentecostalism (the Bible School and Missionary Institute of Columbia, South Carolina) and others fell under the Church of the Nazarene (Holiness University, Peniel, Texas and the early school of the Pentecostal Mission in Nashville). Morrison took charge of Asbury College in 1910, so many of his ideas and efforts went that direction. His most reliable ally in the Union was J.W. Beeson of the Meridian, Mississippi colleges. Beeson would sell his schools in 1919 after the end of the Holiness Union due to health problems. The schools eventually ended under the Methodist Episcopal Church with a lack of holiness emphasis. Beeson moved to Atlanta and became involved in the insurance business. His faithfulness to Morrison is perhaps best seen in the gift his son Ralph Waldo Beeson gave to Asbury Seminary in 1990 of close to 39 million dollars, one of the largest gifts of its day. Most of this gift was focused on programs focused on evangelism and mission, which was part of the shared concerns of Morrison and J.W. Beeson back in the Holiness Union. Meanwhile, Morrison carved out a vision for holiness education in Asbury College and later Asbury Seminary, and much of this was likely influenced by many of the connections he made in the Holiness Union with educational leaders, such as Beeson.

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J.W. Beeson, a longtime holiness ally of H.W. Morrison from the Holiness Union.

(Image from Asbury Theological Seminary’s Archives and Special Collections, used with Permission.)

The Holiness Union’s work with mission is perhaps one of the most interesting stories. While they never supported a large number of missionaries, a number of them were significant, but almost all of them ended up as part of the Methodist Episcopal Church. Perhaps the most wellknown name was E. Stanley Jones, who surprisingly seems to have received his earliest support from the Holiness Union, although that is seldom reported anywhere. S.W. Edwards started out in Cuba, did significant work in Puerto Rico with the Methodist Episcopal Church, and ended up essentially starting the Methodist Church in Costa Rica before he left the mission field under a scandal.68 James M. Taylor was another important holiness evangelist and missionary who traveled throughout the West Indies, Central America, and South America before becoming involved in the Methodist Episcopal Church Board of Foreign Missions as the Secretary for Missionary Evangelism in 1917, where he was sent to Mexico and throughout Asia.

He would ultimately become president of Taylor University for a brief time (April 1921- January 1922) before an unexplained scandal forced him to resign. He then disappeared into the Chautauqua circuit speaking about his adventures around the world. The Holiness Union also funded Morrison’s

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evangelistic tour around the world, which heavily influenced his view on missions and brought him into connection with the Cowmans and the Kilbournes of the Oriental Mission Society, who even attended and spoke at Holiness Union Conventions. OMS (now One Mission Society) still maintains contact with Asbury and keeps its archives at Asbury Theological Seminary. When Morrison established Asbury Theological Seminary, from its first full class ( the graduates of 1927), all five students spent time in the mission field.69 While Morrison is most known for his work in publishing and religious education, these elements often overshadow his foundational interest in mission as well, and this was heavily shaped by his experience in the Holiness Union of the South.

Conclusion The Holiness Movement in the South was not a poorly organized amalgam of independent holiness churches, camp meetings, and small state organizations. It was a complex network of relationships which crossed state lines in intricate ways. This can be seen most clearly in the Holiness Union of the South, a short-lived attempt to form a regional association based on these relationships. H.C. Morrison, its founder, was able to bring together holiness leaders from South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkansas, and Texas, as well as other Southern states. In many ways, this was a successful venture, but happened too late to be truly effective. The rapid growth of Pentecostalism, the rise of Holiness denominations, especially the Church of the Nazarene, and the economic impacts of World War I split this organization apart before it really became established. But Morrison seems to have maintained connections across these various divisions, even as he encouraged holiness people to remain within the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Through a creative use of publishing, a focus on education, and a common concern for missions, Morrison was able to produce a non-denominational organization in which holiness people could thrive from 1904-1915. That in itself was a major accomplishment.

While challenging the more well-known Christian Holiness Association within the South, Morrison established an environment in which holiness connections and networks could form and develop.

While the growth of holiness denominations and Pentecostalism likely contributed to the collapse of the Holiness Union, it also provided the space for networks to grow which also fueled the growth of groups like the

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Church of the Nazarene and gave birth to Pentecostal networks as well.

With more research, it might turn out that the Holiness Union of the South was even the birthplace of subsequent holiness and Pentecostal groups.

While that would certainly not be a part of Morrison’s broader vision, it can provide greater insight into the rapid growth of Pentecostalism and holiness denominations throughout the South in the early twentieth century.

End Notes 1 J. Lawrence Brasher, The Sanctified South: John Larkin Brasher and the Holiness Movement, University of Illinois: Urbana and Chicago, IL (1994): 40.

2 Briane K. Turley, A Wheel Within a Wheel: Southern Methodism and the Georgia Holiness Association, Mercer University Press: Macon, GA (1999): 186.

3 Delbert Rose, “The Holiness Union of the South, 1904” labelled “chapter 5” pages 1 and 2. Undated manuscript. Papers of Delbert Rose, box 19, folder 19, “Historical Subject Files, Holiness Movement in the South, 1904-1914.”

4

Turley, A Wheel Within a Wheel, 109.

H.C. Morrison, “The Christmas Conference,” The Pentecostal Herald. (June 1, 1904): 1.

5

6 H.C. Morrison, “Harmony in the Holiness Movement,” The Pentecostal Herald. (October 19, 1904): 8.

H.C. Morrison, “An Open Letter to the President of the National Holiness Association,” The Pentecostal Herald. (October 26, 1904): 1.

7

8 H.W. Bromley, “Several Real Needs; An Earnest Letter.” The Pentecostal Herald. (March 1, 1905): 7.

Until recently only one of these books was readily available, The Yearbook of the Holiness Union for 1904 (Memphis, Tennessee), which was reprinted by Charles Jones in 2001. While it is clear from The Pentecostal Herald that The Yearbook of the Holiness Union for 1905 (Meridian, Mississippi) was published, no extant copy has yet been located. The Yearbook of the Holiness Union for 1906 (Atlanta, Georgia) was discovered in the archives of Asbury Theological Seminary during the course of this research and has been made available electronically from Asbury’s First Fruits Press (https://place.asburyseminary.edu/firstfruitsheritagematerial/214/). Some smaller pamphlets were printed following some of the later conventions and contain some information, and these are located in the Papers of Delbert Rose at Asbury Theological Seminary, box 19, folder 19. These will also be made available through First Fruits as well.

9

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H.C. Morrison, “The Opening Address,” in Yearbook of the Holiness Union: Containing a Full Report of the Holiness Convention Held at Memphis, Tenn., Oct. 11-14, 1904. Pentecostal Herald Print: Louisville, KY (1904): 19.

10

11

Ibid., 22.

12 For more on the Meridian Holiness Union Convention, see Katharine Elizabeth Smith, “Let the Lower Lights be Burning: An Historical Study of the 1905 Meridian Holiness Union.” University of Mississippi Honors Thesis (2012). https://egrove.olemiss.edu/cgi/viewcontent. cgi?article=3440&context=hon_thesis. Smith’s work does a good job exploring the nature of the Meridian Convention and its implications for the relationship between Morrison and the Beesons, however it does not really deal with the full nature of the Holiness Union of the South and often treats the Meridian Convention as if it were a single occurrence.

13 H.C. Morrison, World Tour of Evangelism. Pentecostal Publishing Company: Louisville, KY (1911): 8. https://place.asburyseminary.edu/ firstfruitsheritagematerial/20/ 14

Ibid.

15 E. Stanley Jones, copy of a letter to his mother, dated Dec 2 1905, from Asbury Theological Seminary, B.L. Fisher Library, Special Collections, E. Stanley Jones Papers ARC 1982-002, box 2, folder 3. The letter requests his mother to pass on the letter to Nellie Logan, an important correspondent and first grade teacher of Jones, which may explain why it is found among the correspondence with Nellie Logan.

The Christian Witness and Advocate of Bible Holiness.

(December 28, 1905): 13.

16

17

1904): 8.

“The Evangelistic Union.” The Pentecostal Herald. (October 19,

The Evangelistic Brotherhood: Constitution and Points of Information. Pentecostal Herald Print: Louisville, KY (n.d.). This pamphlet is located in the Papers of Delbert Rose, box 19, folder 19, subject file on Conventions, Holiness, Holiness Movement in the South (1904-1914).

B.L. Fisher Library Archives and Special Collections, Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, Kentucky.

18

19 J.M Taylor’s book Campaigning for God in Caribbean Waters (J.M. Taylor: Knoxville, TN 1912) is an account of this mission work begun in 1906 (originally published in 1909 it was re-edited in 1912). The Pentecostal Herald from the time period of the Holiness Union frequently contains letters, articles, and missionary reports from Jones, Edwards, Sarmast, and Taylor as the major missionaries for the Union.

H.C. Morrison, “The Atlanta Convention, chapter IV.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 21, 1906): 1.

20

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21 Robert A. Danielson, “From the Archives: The Pentecostal Herald, The Pentecostal Publishing Company, and the Pentecostal Tabernacle: H.C. Morrison Dreams Big.” The Asbury Journal 78 (1): 210-228 (Spring 2023).

22 H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Union Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 6, 1907): 1.

James Mailley, “Personal Impression of the Great Louisville Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 6, 1907): 8.

23

24 The Dowieites were followers of John Alexander Dowie (18471907) who founded his own city in Zion, Illinois and was a well-known faith healer. He was deposed for questionable business dealings by followers in 1905. Frank Sanford (1862-1948) was an influential leader of a faithbased group called “The Kingdom” located in Shiloh in Durham, Maine (called Sandfordites by Beeson). Sanford became an absolute ruler of the commune, claiming to be an incarnation of Elijah and King David. He was responsible for the death of a number of followers and ended up serving time in prison. Since Pentecostalism was not a formal movement at this time, it is often referred to by their primary sign of speaking in “tongues.”

Pres. J.W. Beeson, “What Evangelists Shall We Call?” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 18, 1907): 8.

25

26 See especially Chapter five in Randall J. Stephens, The Fire Spreads: Holiness and Pentecostalism in the American South (Harvard University Press: Cambridge, MA 2008), which relates much of this emerging conflict. He notes of early Pentecostalism, “Converts were drawn largely from holiness fellowships. Consequently, battles between Pentecostals and their nonpentecostal holiness foes became commonplace.” (187).

C.A. Bromley, “General Assembly of the Pentecostal Church of the Nazarene.” The Pentecostal Herald. (October 28, 1908): 4.

27

28 For more on the development of the Texas Holiness Association see, Ryan Kristopher Giffin, “’Launched Upon Its God-Ordained Career’: The Founding of the Holiness Association of Texas.” The Asbury Journal 78(1): 75-102 (Spring 2023).

H.C. Morrison, World Tour of Evangelism. Pentecostal Publishing Company: Louisville, KY (1911): 8-9. https://place.asburyseminary.edu/ firstfruitsheritagematerial/20/. For more on the world tour, see Luther Oconer, “A World Tour of Evangelism: Henry Clay Morrison’s Radical Holiness Meets ‘Global Holiness,’ 1909-1910,” in Holiness and Pentecostal Movements: Intertwined Pasts, Presents, and Futures, edited by David Bundy, Geordan Hammond, and David Sang-Ehil Han. The Pennsylvania State University Press: University Park, PA (2022): 96-116.

29

30 H.C. Morrison, “The Birmingham Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 18, 1908): 1,8.

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31 Ada Beeson Farmer’s presence at the convention is confirmed in a copy of the program for the 1908 Birmingham Convention found in the Papers of Delbert Rose, box 19, folder 19, subject file on Conventions, Holiness, Holiness Movement in the South (1904-1914). B.L. Fisher Library Archives and Special Collections, Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, Kentucky. More on Ada Beeson Farmer can be found in Ada Beeson Farmer: A Missionary Heroine of Kuang Si, South China by Wilmoth Alexander Farmer (Foote and Davies Company: Atlanta: GA 1912).

John Paul, “The Convention as the Secretary Saw It.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 5, 1909): 5.

32

33 Bud Robinson, “My Impressions of the Holiness Union at Chattanooga.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 5, 1909): 4.

Letter from J.B. McBride to John Paul, dated April 6, 1910. This letter is located in the Papers of Delbert Rose, box 19, folder 19, subject file on Conventions, Holiness, Holiness Movement in the South (1904-1914).

B.L. Fisher Library Archives and Special Collections, Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, Kentucky.

34

Prof. J.W. Beeson, “Some Features of the Holiness Convention.”

The Pentecostal Herald. (November 9, 1910): 5.

35

36 John Paul, “Some Things That Happened at the Holiness Union Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 2, 1910): 5.

H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 16, 1910): 1.

37

38 H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 16, 1910): 8.

Mrs. Bettie Whitehead. “Lest We Be Misunderstood.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 15, 1911): 4.

39

40 H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Convention at Nashville, Tenn., Part I.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 8, 1911): 1.

H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Convention at Nashville, Tenn., Part II.” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 22, 1911): 1.

41

42 John Paul, “The Holiness Union Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 15, 1912): 9.

H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Union Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 22, 1912): 1, with the announcement of the new Herald of Holiness on page 8. The “Minutes of the Nineth Annual Session of the Holiness Union Convention” were published on page 12-13 of this issue as well and note a number of the new members who joined in South Carolina.

43

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44 Mrs. Bettie Whitehead, “Greeting!” The Pentecostal Herald.

(April 30, 1913): 4.

H.C. Morrison, “Convention Notes.” The Pentecostal Herald.

(May 7, 1913): 1.

45

46 H.C. Morrison, “Resume of the holiness Union Convention.”

The Pentecostal Herald. (May 14, 1913): 1.

Rev. Joseph Owen, “The Holiness Union Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 14, 1913): 4.

47

48 Mrs. Bettie Whitehead, “Welcome to Our City.” The Pentecostal Herald. (April 29, 1914): 4.

Mrs. Bettie Whitehead, “The Holiness Union Convention.”

The Pentecostal Herald. (May 13, 1914): 4. See also, H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Convention at Louisville, Kentucky.” The Pentecostal Herald.

(May 20, 1914): 1, and C.F. Wimberly, “Holiness Union Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 20, 1914): 7.

49

50

H.C. Morrison, The Pentecostal Herald. (May 6, 1914): 8.

H.C. Morrison, “The Atlanta Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 19, 1915): 1.

51

52 L.P. Brown, “Report from Bro. L.P. Brown.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 19, 1915): 10.

From the program of the 1915 Atlanta Convention, a copy of which is found in the Papers of Delbert Rose, box 19, folder 19, subject file on Conventions, Holiness, Holiness Movement in the South (1904-1914).

B.L. Fisher Library Archives and Special Collections, Asbury Theological Seminary, Wilmore, Kentucky.

53

H.C. Morrison, “The Atlanta Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (May 19, 1915): 1.

54

55 H.C. Morrison, “The Atlanta Holiness Convention.” The Pentecostal Herald. (April 28, 1915): 1, 8-9.

Andrew Johnson, “The Kentucky State Holiness Convention.”

The Pentecostal Herald. (April 26, 1916): 13.

56

57 H.C. Morrison, “The Holiness Convention,” The Pentecostal Herald. (September 6, 1916): 1.

H.C. Morrison, “The Interdenominational Holiness Convention,” The Pentecostal Herald. (November 8, 1916): 1, 8.

58

59 Wynkoop, Mildred Bangs, The Trevecca Story: 75 years of Christian Service. Trevecca Press: Nashville, TN (1976): 75.

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60 Benson, John T., A History 1898-1915 of the Pentecostal Mission, Inc. Trevecca Press: Nashville, TN (1977): 96-97.

Timothy L. Smith, Called Unto Holiness. Vol. 1, The Story of the Nazarenes: The Formative Years. Nazarene Publishing House: Kansas City, MO (1962): 192.

61

For more on the mission work of the Pentecostal Mission see, R. Jeffrey Hiatt, “A Historical Account of the Pentecostal Mission and Its Contributions to the Church of the Nazarene.” The Asbury Journal 71(2): 102-114 (Fall 2016).

62

63 John William Harris, Tears and Triumphs: The Life Story of a Pastor-Evangelist. Pentecostal Publishing Company: Louisville, KY (1948): 334-335.

64 Mrs. A.E. Stevenson, “The Vanguard’s Crisis.” The Vanguard 44 (1): 10-11 (April 1924).

H.C. Morrison, Some Chapters of My Life Story. First Fruits Press: Wilmore, KY (2014). Reprint, originally published Pentecostal Publishing Company: Louisville, KY (1941): 195. Chapter 28 is entitled, “An Enlarged Effort in the Holiness Movement” but passes over much of the detail of the Holiness Union.

65

66

Ibid., 201.

For more on Morrison’s publishing see Robert A. Danielson, “From the Archives: The Pentecostal Herald, The Pentecostal Publishing Company, and the Pentecostal Tabernacle: H.C. Morrison Dreams Big.” The Asbury Journal 78 (1): 210-228 (Spring 2023).

67

68 For more on S.W. Edwards and his mission work see Robert A. Danielson, “Sidney W. Edwards: Early Holiness/Methodist Missionary Pioneer in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Costa Rica.” The Asbury Journal 78 (1): 121-150 (Spring 2023).

See Robert A. Danielson, “The Missionary Class of 1927.”

Alumni Link (March 2, 2023), https://asburyseminary.edu/elink/themissionary-class-of-1927/.

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Samuel J. Rogal

“Chieftain, Farewell”: Bishop Matthew Simpson’s Funeral Address to Abraham Lincoln

Abstract: This article reflects back on the historic oration by Methodist Bishop Matthew Simpson at the funeral of Abraham Lincoln in Springfield, Illinois in 1865. Matthew Simpson was one of the most prominent orators of his day and had built up political connections during the Lincoln Presidency. Bishop Simpson in many ways represents the rising respectability of Methodism in the United States as its influence grew and Methodism became more acceptable among society and in political circles. Simpson even represents a form of Christian nationalism which emerges from his funeral address and the way he portrays the “martyred” president.

Keywords: Matthew Simpson, Abraham Lincoln, funeral address, Springfield (IL), Methodist Episcopal Church Samuel J. Rogal is the emeritus Chair of the Division of Humanities and Fine Arts at Illinois Valley Community College in Oglesby, Illinois.

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Introduction As serious students of the life and times of Abraham Lincoln quickly come to realize, the relationship between their subject and nineteenthcentury Springfield, Illinois, consisted of two distinct but significantly unequal segments. In the beginning, in 1837, at age twenty-eight, Lincoln came to Springfield to practice law. For the next twenty-three years he did just that, as well as marry, establish a home and family, mature politically, and plan for his seat in the highest office of his nation. His election to that office in November 1860 cut the physical cord with Springfield. Less than five years later, however, his lifeless body would be returned to the Illinois capital city, the remains of a martyr sent to be interred into the soil of his adopted land. Generally, from the middle of the twentieth century to the present, Lincoln’s biographers have been content, and justifiably so, to focus long and hard at their subject’s pre-Presidential Springfield years, apparently comfortable with allowing Secretary of War William McMasters Stanton’s classic succinctness to end their narratives. As but one example, David Donald Herbert shuts the door of his Lincoln biography with, “…he [William Stanton] raised his hat and placed it for an instant upon his head and then in the same deliberate manner removed it. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘he belongs to the ages.’”1 Unfortunately, Stanton’s six words, although they might touch the heart and summon the tears, provide little or no satisfaction for those who seek the concrete details for a meaningful conclusion to Lincoln’s final days in Springfield. Certainly, there do arise, from a handful of Lincoln biographers, detailed accounts of that black-draped train and its sixteen-hundred-mile-long serpentine journey. It departed from Washington on 21 April 1865, through nine or ten cities on its way from the Nation’s capital to Springfield, italicized by Lincoln scholars with extended stops at Baltimore, Harrisburg, Philadelphia, New York, Albany, Buffalo, Cleveland, Chicago. The cortege came to a halt at Springfield, and the body was removed from the train to lie in the state capitol. Thus, the story of a martyred life does reach a conclusion of sorts. However, what arises as to the substance of the event of 4 May 1865, at Oak Ridge, just outside the city? What provides meaning for the day of Lincoln’s funeral service and burial? Assuredly, a discussion of that event, particularly the words spoken at that time and place, not only would have offered the biographers with sufficient opportunities to have completed their tasks, but they would have provided further details concerning the appropriate stage upon which might be displayed, for a brief historical moment, the martyred

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Abraham Lincoln, the city of Springfield in its urban adolescence, and the ever-growing mid-nineteenth-century Methodist Episcopal Church. Such arrangements eventually come to the light of biography and history by way of the then principal Bishop of that Church.

Mathew Simpson and Abraham Lincoln That bishop, Matthew Simpson (1811-1884), a native of Cadiz, the seat of Harrison County, near the east-central edge of Ohio, a man but two years younger than Abraham Lincoln, had been elected, at the relatively young age of forty-one, a Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church by delegates to the General Conference, assembled at Boston in May 1852.

Simpson’s two-decade climb from frontier Cadiz to that ecclesiastical mountain top occasioned more than the normal serenity and routine of Church offices and experiences. Prior to his election to the Methodist episcopacy, Matthew Simpson had entered adulthood as a student at the Methodist sponsored Madison College at Uniontown, Pennsylvania, then passed on to three years of private medical studies in the office of a local physician, and, after obtaining a license to practice medicine, spent a period as an actual practitioner of that profession. Then followed his evangelical conversion; an office in the local temperance society, an exhorter’s license from a local Methodist church, admission, on trial, as a member and Methodist circuit preacher in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Methodist Episcopal Conference. Thus, he joined, in April 1844, the ranks of traditional Methodist itinerant preachers. Following his tenure on the ecclesiastical hustings came the appointments as junior minister of the Methodist station in Pittsburgh; editorship of the Conference Journal, and minister in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Temporarily loosening the chains of Church assignments, he turned to Methodist related education: professor of natural sciences, foreign languages, and mathematics at Allegheny College, Meadville, Pennsylvania; at age twenty-seven, the initial presidency of Indiana Asbury University at Greencastle, during which period he developed and cultivated his interest in national and Church politics.

Thus, at age thirty-two, he positioned himself for election by the Indiana Methodist Conference, to lead the Indiana delegation to the quadrennial general Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church at New York City in May 1844. Pursuing another area of interest, he became a trustee for the Indiana Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, while during the same period,

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he assumed the four-year editorship of the Western Christian Advocate at Cincinnati, Ohio, a Methodist periodical claiming 12,000 subscribers and 50,000 readers.2 For the next thirteen years, from his election as Bishop in 1852 until the death and burial of Abraham Lincoln, Matthew Simpson continued his efforts to exercise his political influence on behalf of the abolition of slavery and the slave trade, against the Fugitive Slave Laws, and vigorous attempts to convince government officials who supported those views to appoint qualified Methodists sharing those views to government offices. Given his position within the Methodist Episcopal Church, as well as within those contexts, one can understand his interest in establishing a political relationship with the sixteenth President of the United States.

Most probably, Matthew Simpson’s initial meeting with then President-elect Abraham Lincoln occurred early in February 1861, when the Bishop had proceeded from his home in Evanston, Illinois, to Springfield, there to seek legislative support for a proposed bill to re-charter Methodist connected Northwestern University; On the morning of 11 February, he joined a group at the 110-room Chenery House, on Fourth Street, for breakfast and to extend best wishes to the president-elect. Later that morning, he stood among the citizens of Springfield, in the cold and drizzle, and listened to Lincoln deliver his “Farewell Address.” Two months later, in New York City, learning of the outbreak of Civil War (April 1861), Simpson hastened to Washington, directly to the White House, and a cordial reception from President Lincoln. During the ensuing discussion, that included attendance

by Cabinet members, concerning the potential size of the Union Army, Bishop Simpson offered his opinion that in the early stages of combat, at least 75,000 men would be required. That perspective provoked chastisement from Secretary of State William Henry Seward as to how a clergyman could be competent enough to judge upon such matters. One of Simpson’s defenders at that meeting replied that as a traveling Bishop, the Rev. Simpson had embraced the opportunity to test the temper of the people, both North and South. We have seen no record of the less traveled Seward’s response. As for Matthew Simpson, he quickly left the room.3 As the war progressed, Simpson continued to press upon Lincoln the need for emancipation of the slaves. For Lincoln’s part, and, for obvious political reasons, he would not announce to Simpson when or where he would reveal his decision on that issue. Nonetheless, he conveyed his respect for the clergyman’s persistence. In the end, Lincoln, the ultimate

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politician, would yield slightly to such pressures and clearly summarize his position to representatives of various religious denominations: “Nobly sustained as the government has been by all the Churches,” stated Lincoln, “ I would utter nothing which might, in the least, appear invidious against any.” However, again thinking politically, he voiced the opinion that the Methodist Episcopal Church, “by its greater numbers, the most important of all… It is no fault in others that the Methodist Church sends more soldiers to the field, more nurses to the hospital, and more prayers to Heaven than any. God bless the Methodist Church—bless all the Churches –and bless be God, who, in this our great trial, giveth us the Churches.”4 Interestingly enough, Matthew Simpson, himself, admitted to his discomfort in the presence of Abraham Lincoln, and he tended to approach their discussions with caution, no matter whether he sought assignment, advantage, or support for a friend or public recognition for his Church.5 In March 1865, with the end of the war in plain sight, Bishop Simpson had come to Washington—first to attend Abraham Lincoln’s second inaugural on Saturday, 4 March, then to deliver a sermon in the hall of the House of Representatives on the following Sunday, 5 March.

For that sermon, Matthew Simpson found the hall filled to its capacity. The size of his congregation attested to his reputation as a pulpit orator. The gathering included Mary and Abraham Lincoln, Chief Justice Salmon B. Chase, Secretaries Edward M. Stanton and William H. Seward, Speaker of the House Schuyler Colfax, and the influential Pennsylvania Republican Party leader Simon Cameron. Simpson focused his sermon on “the doctrine of the Cross,” emphasizing the need for spiritual unity, a community of interest among persons, universal liberty, and racial equality. He harkened back to an earlier sermon on the same subject, wherein “I glory only on the Cross of Christ. The Cross is everything to me. At the Cross I see my sins; there I see the boundless love of God; there I hear the voice of forgiveness; there I hear the voice of adoption. Today the Cross is conquering the world.

Jesus, the Son of God, is riding forth victorious, and I see earth kneeling before him. The apostle might have feared the Cross never conquered the world, but to-day, living where we are, we see the victories the Cross has wrought—how it is conquering paganism, superstition of every form; and how Christ to-day is honored and adored throughout the earth. People of every language and realm, of every form of culture and every station, are finding at the Cross redemption, forgiveness of sins. Then let me glory in the Cross also.”6

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Despite the solemnity usually required of a Sabbath morning sermon, when the Bishop had concluded his remarks, the congregants “’clapped their hands, stamped their feet, and waved their handkerchiefs,’ in approval of the hope he had expressed. Mr. Lincoln himself pounded vigorously on the floor with his cane, and the tears coursed down his bronzed cheeks.”7 Less than six weeks later, the sounds and signs of joy would succumb to the cries of shock and sorrow.

Matthew Simpson, who had been engaged in New York City, on Methodist Conference business, learned of the shooting of Lincoln at Ford’s Theatre and of the President’s death a day later, both by way of the newspapers. On 16 April, 1865, he received a telegram from George Harrington, Assistant Secretary of the Treasury Department for the past year, and acting under orders from the Cabinet of now President Andrew Johnson. Harrington invited the Bishop to assume charge of Abraham Lincoln’s funeral services, the first at the White House, the second at the President’s burial in Springfield. The Bishop hurried off to Washington, called upon Mary Todd Lincoln, and prayed with her. He quickly turned his attention to the White House service and his sermon there. In his opening prayer, he “invoked God’s grace ‘to bow in submission to Thy holy will’.”

He begged consolation for the widow, guidance for the sons, wisdom for the successor to the late lamented President. He pledged that “by every possible means” the citizens of the North should give themselves to their country’s service “until every vestige of this rebellion shall have been wiped out, and until slavery, its cause, shall be forever eradicated…’Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.’”8 Interestingly enough, that prayer by a Methodist bishop, although anchored in its sound and sense to Holy Scriptures, nonetheless echoed clearly the thesis of Abraham Lincoln’s proposed post-war domestic policy At any rate, following that White House service, Matthew Simpson returned to New York to continue his work on Methodist Church Conference affairs and to prepare for his funeral address at Lincoln’s burial. Essentially, the Bishop had eighteen days in which to produce the text for that solemn occasion. In so doing, had he, we might ask, consulted sources—persons or print? Or, had he relied solely on his own thoughts and recollections? We simply cannot easily confirm either, since the published version of the text of the ensuing “Oration” does not contain a single note or reference.9 In any event, that service, presumably arranged by the Bishop, began, on the morning of 4 May 1865, with the transportation of the coffin

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from the Illinois capitol to Oak Ridge, Cemetery, Springfield, followed by the procession of governors, senators, Congressmen, Illinois state and municipal officials, clergymen, and military officials. A clerical group chanted a dirge, a clergyman read from Holy Scriptures, a band and choir provided appropriate music. Then Bishop Matthew Simpson rose to deliver his oration—the text of which extended to approximately 9000 words.

Simpson’s Funeral Address Before entering into a discussion of that oration, keep in mind Matthew Simpson’s obviously delicate position. Although the words of that funeral address would emerge from the lips of the principal Bishop of the Methodist Episcopal Church, no Conference of that Church had assigned to him the task for that day in early May 1865. He had come to Springfield for that purpose in response to the formal request from a Cabinet officer, no doubt Secretary William Stanton, of the administration of the United States government. Technically, then, the Bishop represented the Nation, not his Church. He would rise to speak not from a pulpit of his Church, but upon a platform erected by and for those who had come to Springfield to mourn and to pay tribute to their fallen President. Of course, a significant portion of that gathering would have known of Matthew Simpson and his position within the Methodist Episcopal Church. Further, Church Conferences throughout the nation ought to have realized the rhetorical and literary quality of the Bishop’s oration and legitimately afford it a modest place within the broad environs of its own history. Nonetheless, all of that having been digested, as an ordained clergyman, Matthew Simpson could not possibly have failed to recognize the realities of his calling and of his office. On that particular day, and in that particular circumstance, he had to balance himself upon a rhetorical fence, between a funeral oration before a gathering of mourners and a sermon delivered to a congregation of mourners come to worship.

In that “Oration at the Burial at Springfield,” Matthew Simpson unfurled the colors of his mid-nineteenth-century rhetorical standard. As a skilled, experienced pulpit orator, he grasped firmly onto the emotional state of his audience. He understood where he stood and why he stood there. He realized the particulars, and their historical significance, of the occasion. He had learned years ago how to unite one with the other. He appreciated the need to operate the machinery of language in order to reach the hearts and the minds of his listeners. Without the least doubt, he knew how to strike quickly at the collective conscience of his audience, to

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establish immediately the proper rhetorical environment for his text. Thus he began, “Near the capital of this large and growing State of Illinois, in the midst of this beautiful grove, and at the open mouth of this vault which has just received the remains of our fallen chieftain, we gather to pay a tribute of respect and to drop the tears of sorrow around the ashes of the mighty dead.”10 With the very next sentence, he proceeded to unravel the chronology of a mere half-decade that remained in the political and mortal life of Abraham Lincoln—from the “Farewell Address” at Springfield to the ill-fated visit to Ford’s Theatre. He especially sought to establish early, by virtue of his own observation, Lincoln’s metaphysical pain in November 1860, at having to leave Springfield. “A little more than four years ago,” intoned Matthew Simpson, embracing the prose rhythm and alliteration and ornamental imagery of the nineteenth-century rhetorician, “he left his plain and quiet home in yonder city, receiving the parting words of the concourse of friends who, in the midst of the dropping of the gentle shower, gathered around him. He spoke of the pain of parting from the place where he had lived for a quarter of a century, where his children had been born, and his house had been rendered pleasant by friendly associations, and, as he left, he made an earnest request, in the hearing of some if who are present at this hour, that, as he was about to enter upon responsibilities which he believed to be greater than any which had fallen upon any man since the days of [George] Washington, the people would offer up prayers that God would aid and sustain him in the work which they had given him to do. His company left your quiet city, but as it went, snares were in waiting for the Chief Magistrate” (393).

Pause to consider, for a moment, those last eight words— “snares were in waiting for the Chief Magistrate.” Within various contexts of scriptures, the term magistrate generally identified a government official with administrative and judicial responsibilities. In Ezra 7:25, for example, we read, “And thou, Ezra, after the wisdom of thy God, that is in thine hand, set magistrates and judges, which may judge all the people that are beyond the river, all such as know the laws of thy God, and teach them that know them not.” (KJV) In the New Testament, one finds the term magistrate synonymous with “ruler,” as in Acts 12:11—“And when they bring you unto the synagogues, and unto magistrates, and powers, take ye no thought on how or what thing ye shall answer, or what ye shall say:” (KJV) And again, in Acts 12:58— “When thou goest with thine adversary to the magistrate, as thou art on the way, give diligence that thou be delivered from him;

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lest he hail thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and the officer cast thee into prison.”(KJV) Matthew Simpson, himself clearly a magistrate of Methodism, understood fully the connection between the hierarchy of Church and that of State, and thus evidenced little reluctance to adorn the politician, Abraham Lincoln, in the ecclesiastical garb of the Biblical magistrate.

Bishop Simpson continued the introductory flow of his “Oratory” with reference to the obvious but necessary contrast between the departure from Springfield, under spacious skies of hope and unlimited light of naïve political ambition, as opposed to the suffocating gloom that prevailed upon his return. Most important to his rhetorical design, he sought to stamp firmly upon the minds and within the spirits of his listeners the image of Springfield as the site of the beginning and the end of Abraham Lincoln’s martyrdom. Simpson linked that martyrdom to what he would assume as the great tragedy that had fallen upon the Illinois capital— a tragedy in the form of a loss of dreams and hopes for its citizenry. “How different,” he lamented, “the occasions which witnessed his [Lincoln’s] departure [from Springfield] from that which witnessed his return. Doubtless you expected to take him by the hand, and to feel the warm grasp which you had felt in other days, and to see the tall form walking among you which you had delighted to honor in years past. But he was never permitted to come until he came with lips mute and silent, the frame encoffined, and a weeping nation following as his mourners. Such a scene as his return to you was never witnessed” (394).

The orator abruptly turned his text to matters biblical, encouraging his listeners, his congregation, to imagine comparisons between the present funereal occasion and selected like instances from the scriptural past. “Such a scene as his return to you was never witnessed,” asserted the Bishop “Among the events of history there have been great processions of mourners.

There was one for the patriarch Jacob, which went up from Egypt, and the Egyptians wondered at the evidences of reverence and filial affection which came from the hearts of the Israelites. There was mourning when Moses fell upon the heights of Pisgah and was hid from human view.” Closing his Bible, the Bishop asked his collection of mourners to recall (assuming they could do so) “mournings in the kingdoms of the earth when kings and princes have fallen, but never was there, in the history of man, as that which has accompanied this funeral procession. And has gathered around the mortal remains of him who was our loved one and who now sleeps

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among us.” At that point, the Bishop shifted rhetorical gears from the factual to the emotional, directing his rhetorical darts to the hearts of listeners and congregants alike and, above all, stroking his own brush upon the façade of his own imagination. “If we glance at the procession which followed him, we see how the nation stood aghast. Tears filled the eyes of manly, sunburnt faces. Strong men, as they clasped the hands of their friends, were unable to find vent for their grief in words. Women and little children caught up in the tidings as they ran through the land and, were melted into tears.

The nation stood still. Men left their plows in the fields and asked what the end should be. The hum of manufactories ceased, and the sound of the hammer was not heard. Busy merchants closed their doors, and in the Exchange, gold passed no more from hand to hand.” He concluded that lengthy introductory section to his oration upon a note of what can be viewed only as wishful, positive thinking, given the times, as opposed to that which actually did or even might occur: “Men of all political parties and of all religious needs,” he stated, “have united in paying the mournful tribute. The Archbishop of the Roman Catholic Church in New York, and a Protestant minister walked side by side in the sad procession, and a Jewish rabbi performed a part of the solemn services” (394-395).

Bishop Simpson then turned his listeners’ attentions to the trial, the tragedy, the trauma. and the triumph of Abraham Lincoln’s brief Presidency— to what he labeled “the age of excitement”: the division, the death, the grief; the struggle to save a nation; “the apprehension of common ruin”; torture and starvation “through the mandates of those who are called the representatives of the chivalry, and who claimed to be the honorable men of the earth…” Then followed the sensations of joy as military success signaled the end of the rebellion— victories at Lookout Mountain and Gettysburg, the marches through Georgia and the Carolinas, the fall of Richmond, the surrender at Appomattox Court House (396-397).

In the midst of it all had come down from the White House a proclamation that would, hopefully, herald an end to the enslavement of God-created human beings.

For Matthew Simpson, however, the joy and the hope of the historical moment became little more than the backdrop for “one wail of woe— a sadness inexpressible— an anguish unutterable” (398). By itself alone, Abraham Lincoln’s death represented yet another tragic moment of the times; in Simpson’s view the manner by which the President’s life had been taken proved utterly unbearable to the mind and the heart. “Had

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he died on a bed of illness,” wishfully speculated the Bishop, his words seasoned by a generous dose of bitterness, “with kind friends around him; had the sweat of death been wiped from his brow by gentle hands, while he was yet conscious; could have he had power to speak words of affection to his stricken widow. Or words of counsel to us like those which we heard in his parting inaugural at Washington, which shall now be immortal— how it would have softened or assuaged something of the grief. There might, at least, have been preparation for the event. But no moment of warning was given to him or to us.

He was stricken down, too, when his hopes for the end of the rebellion were bright, and prospects for a joyous life were before him” (398).

From his underscoring of the nation’s present grief, from his recognition of the nation’s frustration over the vile means by which it had been deprived of its leader, from how quickly he realized that the joy of a nation over its victories had returned to its earlier four-year period of grief, the Bishop summoned forth the thesis of his oration: The real reason for gathering to mourn for Abraham Lincoln on that morning in early May 1865 would be found in the man himself. For four years, the majority of Americans viewed Abraham Lincoln as “a man whom they believed would do what is right, regardless of all consequences” (401). That thesis would easily divide itself into two parts: (1) “Mr. Lincoln was no ordinary man.” (2) “Abraham Lincoln was a good man” (399, 404).

In the first instance, according to Matthew Simpson, Abraham Lincoln generated a “moral feeling which gave him the greatest hold on the people, and made his utterances almost oracular. When the nation was angered by perfidy of foreign nations in allowing privateers to be fitted out, he uttered the significant expression, ‘One war at a time,’ and it stilled the national heart. When his own friends were divided as to what steps should be taken as to slavery, that simple utterance, ‘I will save the Union, if I can, with slavery; if not, slavery must perish, for the Union must be preserved,’ became the rallying word. Men felt the struggle was for the Union, and all other questions must be subsidiary” (401). The other “questions,” of course, referred to emancipation and abolition.

In the second instance, as to Lincoln being “a good man,” he stood tall, figuratively and literally, as “an honest, temperate, forgiving man; a man of noble heart in every way. As to his religious experience, I [Simpson] cannot speak definitely, because I was not privileged to know much of his private sentiments. My acquaintance with him did not give me the

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opportunity to hear him speak on those topics. This I know, however”— and at that point in his address, the Bishop embraced the sound and the sense of his ecclesiastical calling. “…he [Lincoln] read the Bible frequently; loved it for its great truths and its profound teachings; and he tried to be guided by its precepts. He believed in Christ the Saviour of sinners; and I think he was sincere in trying to bring his life into harmony with the principles of revealed religion. Certainly, if there ever was a man who illustrated some of the principles of pure religion, that man was our departed President. Look over all his speeches, listen to his utterances. He never spoke unkindly of any man. Even the rebels received no word of anger from him, and his last day illustrated in a remarkable manner his misgiving disposition” (404405).

As an example of that disposition, the Bishop cited the situation involving two men, both of whom have been reduced to biographical and historical footnotes. Jacob Thompson (1810--1885), a native of Caswell County, North Carolina, and generally identified as a Confederate agent operating in Canada, had served as a member of Congress from Mississippi (1839-1851), as United States Secretary of the Interior (1857-1861), and governor of Mississippi (1862-1864). He died at Memphis, Tennessee, on 24 March 1885. Nathaniel Beverley Tucker (1820-1890), born in Winchester, Virginia, until 1853 worked as a planter and businessman, then became the editor (1853-1856) of The Washington Sentinel. Following a term as United States Consul at Liverpool, England (1857-1861), he joined the Confederate military forces at the outbreak of the Civil War (April 1861), but beginning 1862, he became a Confederate agent in France and Canada. Accused of having participated in a plot to assassinate Abraham Lincoln, resulting in a reward of $25,000 having been placed upon him, until 1 November 1865, for his capture. No evidence, however, emerged of his participation in that affair. In the end, he resided in Washington, D.C. (1872-1890), then in Beverley Springs, West Virginia, where he died, interestingly, on 4 July 1890. In his “Oration,” Bishop Simpson reported that a dispatch had been received on the afternoon of that fatal April 1865 to the effect of Thompson and Tucker attempting to make their escape through Maine. President Lincoln’s advisors urged their immediate arrest. Mr. Lincoln, however, preferred to let them quietly escape. “He was seeking to save the very men who had been plotting his destruction,” commented Bishop Simpson. “This morning, we read a proclamation offering $25,000 for the arrest of these men as aiders and abettors of his assassination; so that, in his expiring acts,

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he was saying, ‘Father, forgive them, they know nor what they do’”11 (404405).

In Bishop Simpson’s view, the “good man” translated easily into the image of the God-trusting man. “As a ruler,” he asserted, “I doubt if any President has ever shown such trust in God, or in public documents so frequently referred to Divine aid. Often did he remark to friends and to delegations that his hope for our success rested in his conviction that God would bless our efforts, because we were trying to do right. To the address of a large religious body he replied, ‘Thanks be unto God, who, in our national trials, giveth us the churches.’ To a minister who said he hoped the Lord was on our side, he replied that it gave him no concern whether the Lord was on our side or not, for, he added, ‘I know the Lord is always on the side of right,’ and with deep feeling added, ‘But God is my witness that it is my constant anxiety and prayer that both myself and this nation should be on the Lord’s side’” (405).

Little wonder, then, that the Bishop could only conclude that although Lincoln had died at the hand of an assassin, he nonetheless fell under “the permissive hand of God.” God harbored “a wise purpose” in permitting Abraham Lincoln to die. In the Bishop’s mind, Lincoln’s “fame was full, his work was done, and he sealed his glory by becoming the nation’s great martyr for liberty.” With slaves having been emancipated in January 1863 and the seeds of a rebellion torn from the earth in April 1865, “having done the work for which God had sent him, angels, I trust, were sent to shield him from one moment of pain or suffering, and to bear him from this world to the high and glorious realm where the patriot and the good shall live forever” (406, 407).

“Chieftain! Farewell!” concluded Matthew Simpson. “The nation mourns thee. Mothers shall teach thy name to their lisping children. The youth of our land shall emulate thy virtues. Statesmen shall study thy record and learn lessons of wisdom. Mute though thy lips be, yet they still speak.

Hushed be thy voice, but its echoes of liberty are ringing through the world, and the sons of bondage listen with joy. Prisoned thou art in death, and yet thou art marching abroad, and chains and manacles are bursting at thy touch. Thou didst fall not for thyself. The assassin had no hate for thee. Our hearts were aimed at, our national life was sought. We crown thee as our martyr— and humanity enthrones thee as her triumphant son. Hero, Martyr, Friend, FAREWELL!” (410). A day later, a reporter from the Chicago Tribune,

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having been in attendance at the funeral ceremonies, described, in part, Bishop Simpson’s oration as “a critical and wonderfully accurate analysis of the late President’s character.” In turn, he added, the Bishop created “one of the most masterly efforts ever delivered by this eloquent speaker.”12 The “Farewell” that concluded Matthew Simpson’s “Oration” at Lincoln’s funeral also brought an end to the loosely entwined SpringfieldLincoln-Simpson-Methodist Episcopal Church connection and discussion.

Matthew Simpson, apparently, had little or no reason to return to Springfield following that May morning in 1865, nor did his thoughts, recollections, and public expressions of the life and times of Abraham Lincoln occupy significant portions of his remaining years. As indicated earlier in this discussion, the Conferences and Bishops of the Methodist Episcopal Church had extended efforts to establish meaningful political relations with the Lincoln Presidency, but the history of those efforts played no key roles in the expansion of Methodism in central Illinois following the end of the Civil War. Certainly, Lincoln historians and biographers have filled, and will continue to devote, significant quantities of their pages to the subject of Springfield, Illinois. They have to do so! They cannot possibly ignore the effects of Lincoln’s domestic and political experiences within that city upon his later career. Unfortunately, however, the details of 4 May 1865 will continue to be the responsibility of those few scholars and interested persons who want to relate the complete narrative of the life of Abraham Lincoln and to provide imagery, rhetorical substance, and meaning to the FAREWELL of an American martyr.

Denouement There does emerge a denouement to this discussion, admittedly a rather shallow indentation in the etching of the Simpson-Lincoln-Springfield thesis. Nonetheless, it remains a subject that has rarely, if ever, been brought to the surface. In late 1865, the respected nineteenth-century Massachusetts historian George Bancroft (1800-1891) produced a volume under the title, Our Martyr President, Abraham Lincoln. Voices from the Pulpit of New York and Brooklyn. Oration by Hon. George Bancroft. Oration at the Burial by Bishop Simpson. Bancroft had long stood as a strong supporter of Abraham Lincoln. A graduate of Philips Exeter Academy, Andover, New Hampshire, and of Harvard College, where he studied history and theology; he earned the Ph.D. degree from the University of Gottingen, Germany and gained recognition, on part, for his ten-volume History of the United States, from

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the Discovery of the Continent to the Present Time, published between 1834 and 1874, followed by a six-volume “Centenary Edition” in 18761879. Bancroft’s Voices from the Pulpit comprises twenty-one sermons and two prayers— all by ministers representing eight different Protestant denominations. In addition, one finds two “Orations”— Bishop Simpson’s gravesite presentation and Bancroft’s own offering, which he would deliver to a joint session of the United States Congress on 12 February 1866. In his highly oratorically-charged five-paragraph “Preface,” Bancroft offers to his readers “a memento of times of greatest moment, of events of wondrous and tragic interest, of stupendous and successful crime, of unparalleled national grief” (vii). He concludes by asserting that “This volume treasures up the utterances of those who were the mouth-pieces of the people, and thus conveys to the readers of the future a better idea of the wonderful effects produced on the national heart by the assassination of Abraham Lincoln than can be conveyed in any other way” (viii).

Neither in the “Preface” nor in the body of the text did Bancroft identify the denominations of his pulpit orators, nor did he offer reasons for their selections in his volume. However, a simple biographical search reveals that only two of those “mouthpieces” (excluding Matthew Simpson) belonged to Methodists. John McClintock (1814-1870), who would become, in 1867, the first president of Drew Theological Seminary, the Methodist institution in Madison, New Jersey, had, in 1856, accompanied Matthew Simpson as delegates to the Wesleyan Methodist Conference in England. McClintock anchored his sermon to Hebrews 13:7— “Remember them which have the rule over you, who have spoken unto you the word of God: whose faith follow, considering the end of their conversation.” (KJV) His text focused entirely upon Abraham Lincoln— his intellect, his lack of vindictiveness, his profound faith, his patriotism, his unaffected simplicity, his reputation abroad as a plain man of the people. “And now,” asked John McClintock, “what are to be the results of this tragedy to the country and to mankind.” His answer: “It is God that rules, and already we see that, even in this terrible crime, He has made the wrath of man to praise Him” (240).

The other Methodist sermonizer, Joseph Peter Thompson (18191894), a native of Winchester, Virginia, received a license as a local preacher in the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church in 1839, at the age of twenty. Ordained deacon in 1845, elder in 1847, a missionary in Nova Scotia, and pastorates in New York City and vicinity, and would be ordained Bishop of his Church on that celebrated day, month and year-

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- 4 July 1876. He had preached his sermon in the Broadway Tabernacle Church, New York City, on 30 April 1865, two weeks following Lincoln’s death— a piece extending in length to almost 15,000 words, the text derived from 2 Samuel 23:3-4— “The God of Israel said, the Rock of Israel spake to me, He that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of God. /And he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain.” (KJV) He began that sermon wrestling with the meanings of and the qualities for “greatness,” then focused upon the life of Abraham Lincoln— the years of poverty and obscurity in Kentucky, Lincoln as a self-made man, the nature and clarity of his mental processes, his clarity of vision, the keenness and strength of his logic, his adherence to ethical principles, his spiritual trust in God, the maintenance of a cheerful serenity before others, his kindness and sensibility. Rev. Thompson lingered at length upon Lincoln’s dedication to the preservation of the Union and to the abolition of slavery. “Our last lesson from the life of Abraham Lincoln,” he concluded, “is that of unwavering confidence in God, for the guidance, the defense and the deliverance of this Union” (215).

Note, as we arrive at the end of it all, neither the sermons of Joseph Thompson and John McClintock, nor the Oration of Matthew Simpson, find any room for a substantive connection among the death and burial of Abraham Lincoln, the Methodist Episcopal Church and burial site of the city of Springfield. Those who attempt to seek such a connection struggle long and hard at the task. Simply, the problem lies with Lincoln himself The historian George Bancroft offered the obvious reason for that struggle: “The blow aimed at him [Lincoln], was aimed not at the native of Kentucky, not at the citizen of Illinois, but at the man, who, as a President of the executive branch of the government, stood as the representative of every man in the United States. The object of the crime was the life of the whole people; and it wounds the affections of the whole people.

From Maine to the southwest boundary on the Pacific, it makes us one” (391). Thus, end of discussion: For select Methodist Episcopal orators, abolitionist, and Northern loyalist, the preservation of the Republic would trump even the well-earned martyrdom of a single President.

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End Notes 1

Lincoln (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1995): 599.

2 See Robert D. Clark, The Life of Matthew Simpson (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1956):25-163; David Bundy, “Simpson, Matthew,” in Dictionary of Evangelical Biography, ed. Donald L. Lewis (Oxford, England, 1995; rpt. Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson Publishers, 2004): 2:1017.

3

Clark, Life of Simpson, 218.

4

Quoted in Clark, Life of Simpson, 235.

5

See Clark, Life of Simpson, 218, 221- 222, 235.

“Glorying in the Cross,” in Matthew Simpson, Sermons (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1895): 254.

6

7

Clark, Life of Simpson, 244.

8

Clark, Life of Simpson, 246.

9 I admit to my inability to gain access to Matthew Simpson’s autograph papers housed in the Manuscript Division of the Library of Congress in Washington.

10 Matthew Simpson, “Oration at the Burial at Springfield,” in Our Martyr President, Abraham Lincoln. Voices from the Pulpit of New York and Brooklyn. Oration by Hon. George Bancroft. Oration at the Burial by Bishop Simpson. ed. George Bancroft (New York: Tibbals and Whiting, 1865; rpt.

London, England: Forgotten Books, n.d.), 393. Further references in my text to Bishop Simpson’s “Oration,” as well as the sermons collected in that volume discussed below) derived from this edition, with page numbers in parentheses.

Luke 23;34— “Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. And they parted his raiment, and cast lots.” (KJV) 11

12

Cited from Clark, Life of Simpson, 248.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 109-129 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.06

Philip Hardt

The New York Circuit and the City Missions Movement: Temporary Spaces, Quarterly Meeting Collaboration, and Rented Pews Abstract: It is well-known that, by 1850, the Methodist Episcopal Church had become the largest Protestant denomination in the United States. Indeed, camp meetings, dedicated itinerant preachers, and a democratic structure that utilized laypeople helped fuel this explosive growth, especially as Methodism moved westward. Yet, upon closer examination, the church’s growth occurred more slowly, especially in the long-established urban areas on the east coast. This is illustrated by the New York Circuit’s struggle to respond not only to the new “city missions” movement beginning in 1816, but also to new church construction in the other, more prosperous, parts of Manhattan. Although the circuit had pioneered some remarkable ministries such as the Mission Society, Tract Society, and Sabbath Schools, its Board of Trustees lacked the means to rapidly construct these badly needed churches, especially in the new “mission territory” in the city’s northeast. Yet, despite the severe financial constraints, the New York Circuit was still able to add to the Methodist presence through the use of two lowcost, creative strategies while rejecting a third proposal that was deemed too controversial.

Key Words: New York Circuit, David Reese, Quarterly Conference, New York City missions, Wesleyan Seminary Philip Hardt has a Ph.D. degree in American Historical Theology (Fordham University). His focus of research is nineteenth century Methodism in New York City.

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Introduction Beginning in the second decade of the nineteenth century, many evangelical Protestant denominations began to send out missionaries to various foreign countries. Indeed, in 1819, at the urging of Nathan Bangs and several others, the Missionary Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church (hereafter, MEC) was founded in Manhattan. At the same time, the evangelical churches in fast-growing Manhattan also realized the need for missionary efforts in the city itself. To be sure, the New York Circuit also made this a priority but, due to its burdensome debt, was unable to respond quickly. At the same time, the New York Circuit was able to actively participate in the “city missions” movement through two innovative methods while a third was given serious consideration but ultimately rejected.

The “New Missionary Field” After the War of 1812, several newly-formed city missionary organizations and evangelical churches began to view the densely populated northeastern part of Manhattan as mission territory. Although its population and shipping industries along the East River had increased dramatically, only a few churches currently served its mainly working-class inhabitants. For example, the densely populated seventh ward along the East River had just one church. According to Kyle Roberts, “Nearly one third of the city’s population lived in this sprawling region bounded by the Bowery Road on the West and the East River on the south and east, but only one sixth of the city’s churches had been erected there” (Roberts 2016: 88). In contrast, nearly all the churches were located in three areas: downtown in the city’s center, along the Bowery on the east side, and along the Hudson River on the west. Indeed, from 1812 to 1823, twenty-six churches, with six more underway, had been built in these areas (Roberts 2016: 81-2).

At the same time, two events of major significance occurred that motivated the city’s evangelically-minded Christians to more intensely focus on this neglected area. First, in 1816, a number of “voluntary associations” were formed for different religious, moral, and charitable purposes.

Roberts noted that “…women and young men established their own local voluntary associations that year to support urban missions and churches.

They recruited recent college graduates to distribute Bibles and tracts, converse with local residents, and gather congregations in the eastern part

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of the city” (Roberts 2016: 91). These newly-formed groups included the Female Missionary Society for the Poor in the City of New York (hereafter, FMS), the Young Men’s Missionary Society (hereafter, YMMS), and the New York Evangelical Mission Society of Young Men (hereafter, NYEMS) which had formed after an internal dispute with the YMMS (Roberts 2016: 91).

A Methodist group, also called the Young Men’s Missionary Society, had been formed in April, 1820. Yet, its only role was to support the national and international missions of the Mission Society of the MEC such as the outreach to native Americans (i.e., Wyandot, Creek, and Cherokees), the socalled “back settlements” in Georgia, and the French-speaking population in Florida. Moreover, when it was reorganized in November 1830, the main focus shifted to the relatively new mission to Liberia (“Young Men’s Missionary Society Minutes 1830-1839”).

These three groups immediately focused their attention on one particular area called Corlear’s Hook which was located in the southernmost part of the new mission territory; Franklin and Chatham Squares formed its northern boundary. It was called Corlear’s Hook because it jutted out into the East River. Its location had made it perfect for shipbuilding and related trades. Indeed, since the 1750s, “the East River shipyards, stretching up the waterfront toward Corlear’s Hook, did a booming business refitting merchantmen with the cannon and extra sail required for a Caribbean expedition and repairing those that returned to port with damages” (Burrows and Wallace 1999: 183 [hereafter, Burrows]). Moreover, after the Revolutionary War, “as the expanding city engulfed adjacent farmland, the shipyards pushed up and around Corlear’s Hook, whose fine-sanded beaches had long been used for bathing” (Burrows 1999: 340). Again, the War of 1812 created an even greater demand for ships. According to Burrows and Wallace, “after 1815, if not earlier, the greatest concentration of shipbuilding facilities in the United States lay along the shores of the East River, two or three miles above the Battery.” On the Manhattan side, circling around Corlear’s Hook, were a number of shipyards who built “packets, brigs, schooners, slave ships, warships, and steamboats” (Burrows 1999: 441-2).

Moreover, by 1815, this continually increasing activity led to several changes in the neighborhoods around Corlear’s Hook. First, a mostly unchurched, working-class population had come to reside there. For example, “artisans” such as “watchmakers, printers, bookbinders, tailors, (and) hatters could not afford to stay downtown” due to the high rents and

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were forced to move northward to the fifth, sixth, seventh and tenth wards (Burrows 1999: 387). In addition, Colonel Rutgers, who owned a huge amount of land in the seventh ward (near Bancker Street [now Madison Street] and Chatham Square) had begun to rent lots at affordable prices to “shipwrights, coopers, chandlers, joiners, sailmakers, and ropemakers” (Burrows 1999: 389). Second, the emergence of numerous brothels had increased the area’s moral depravity. To be sure, brothels had also increased throughout the entire city due to “the surging influx of single male immigrants, sailors on shore leave, out-of-town businessmen, and the growing number of proletarianized journeymen who, facing an uncertain future, postponed marriage until their late twenties.” Yet, “the docks remained a haven for the coarsest bawdy houses. At Corlear’s Hook, adjacent to the shipyards, coal dumps, and ironworks, droves of streetwalkers brazenly solicited industrial workers, sailors, and Brooklyn ferry commuters. So notorious was the Hook’s reputation as a site for prostitution that (according to one theory) the local sex workers were nicknamed ‘Hookers,’ generating a new moniker for the entire trade” (Burrows 1999: 483-4).

An example of its moral looseness occurred in 1825 at one of the last public hangings in New York City. A young sailor, James Reynolds, had killed his ship’s captain with an axe. On the day of his execution, he was transported two miles from the prison near City Hall to the site of the hanging. Before he was hanged, Reynolds told the large crowd that he had led “a moral life…until corrupted by drink and the brothels of Corlear’s Hook, and exhorted youthful onlookers ‘to take warning by the awful spectacle, and shun the paths of vice’” (Burrows 1999: 506).

In addition, the area lacked sufficient churches even for those who did want to attend. For example, Roberts has pointed out that “only three churches – the Oliver Street Baptist (1795) and Forsyth Street Methodist (1789) in the northwest corner and the Rutgers Presbyterian Church (1796) in the center – served this diverse area before the War of 1812.” Moreover, in 1817, a city missionary “had discovered a Methodist Sunday school in operation…but plenty of work remained to be done” (Roberts 2016: 1314, 94). Recognizing this great need, the three newly-formed mission boards sprang into action. For example, in 1818, the FMS “established a free church in African-American Bancker Street” and, in 1819, “established another chapel on Allen Street, near Corlear’s Hook” (Burrows 1999: 495). In addition, the “Presbyterian YMMS of New York built a church near

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Corlear’s Hook and staffed it with eager young preachers” while the NYEMS (which had seceded from the YMMS) “set up mission stations in the Hook and on Bancker Street, where they conducted services, visited families, and held prayer meetings” (Burrows 1999: 496). Moreover, Methodist outreach in the “Hook,” which had started as early as 1811, would also establish a permanent presence there (see below).

The second factor was Reverend Ward Stafford’s quarterly report to the FMS in 1817. A native of New Hampshire, he had been raised in a pious home, educated at Andover and Yale, and was filled with missionary zeal. Serving as the FMS’s preacher-at-large, he “helped organize both the New York Marine Missionary Society (1817) and the Port of New York Society for Promoting the Gospel among Seamen (1818). Together, they erected the interdenominational Mariners’ Church (1819) on Cherry Street near the East River docks” (Burrows 1999: 496). Stafford had begun preaching to the sailors on December 20, 1816, in a school room located near the East River and ministered there until 1821 (Barclay 1949: 266). His lengthy report, entitled New Missionary Field, dealt solely with the critical situation in the northeastern part of the city. To be sure, his report not only motivated the FMS, but with its publication, also inspired the Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, and low-church (evangelical) Episcopalians.

Moreover, he urged the laity to make home visitations and periodic return visits. Yet, those who responded to his call often encountered hostility and rejection. For example, one missionary who preached in a ballroom was forced to move further away since the owners feared that he might ruin their business. Again, some residents refused the free Bibles and sometimes even physically abused those who came into their neighborhoods. Indeed, despite their fervor, new congregations often developed slowly (Roberts 2016: 87-90, 95).

In addition, Stafford’s report also acknowledged that still more churches were needed in the developed parts of the city. Indeed, according to his calculations, even if one minister had a thousand congregants, it would still leave sixty thousand “destitute of the stated ministry of the gospel, or of proper religious instruction” (Roberts 2016: 88). In contrast, some of his colleagues believed a more realistic estimate would be one pastor to six hundred members which would leave an even higher number unchurched. It was to this “twin” challenge that the New York Circuit also responded in a halting and cautious manner.

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The (Missionary) “Spirit” Was “Willing” but the Fund Was “Weak” To be sure, the New York Circuit also recognized this great need to establish new congregations. Yet, the substantial debt that the circuit had already incurred made the circuit’s Board of Trustees extremely hesitant to approve new church construction, not only in the underserved northeast, but also in other parts of the city. Indeed, during the 1820s, the debt continued to increase. For example, from 1821 to 1831, it increased from nearly thirty-four thousand dollars to nearly thirty-eight. Moreover, this indebtedness forced the trustees to borrow money every year, usually from its wealthier members at six percent interest. For example, from March 1826, to March 1827, they borrowed nearly fifteen thousand dollars. Again, from March 1830, to March 1831, they borrowed nearly ten thousand [see Appendix 1] (Board of Trustees Minutes [hereafter, BTM]).

Of course, this debt caused alarm. For example, on September 8, 1813, an individual named Munson, who may have been a class leader, had sent a letter containing seven questions about church expenses to the General Leaders Meeting (hereafter, GLM). For example, he asked who had authorized a fifth preacher for the present conference year (only four had previously been appointed) and who was responsible for paying their salaries. He also asked if “the monthly subscription in our Classes at first intended to be set apart as a Sinking Fund, to pay off the debt of the church” was actually being used for “the end for which it was given and intended?”

The GLM answered that it had never been intended for that purpose (General Leaders Meeting Minutes [hereafter, GLM -M).

Moreover, in the 1820s, the trustees themselves attempted to rein in the debt in two ways. First, they called for circuit-wide collections. This is illustrated by their resolution on December 4, 1821, which stipulated “that a collection be made in each of the churches on the fourth Sabbath in April and October each year and the money to go to pay the debt of the church.”

Moreover, they asked the preachers to assist them. For example, on March 5, 1822, the trustees appointed Joseph Smith, Gilbert Coutant, and John C. Totten to be a committee “to wait on the preachers to request their interest in the collections intended to be made for reducing the Church debt.”

Again, on June 7, 1825, they resolved “that the semi-annual collection for the payment of the church debt be made in all the churches on Sunday, June 19, and that Mr. Bailey inform the preacher-in-charge.” Finally, on July 5, 1826, they appointed James Donaldson and John Westfield “to confer

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with the preachers on the next semi-annual collection.” These semi-annual collections continued at least through 1829 (BTM).

Second, on April 12, 1823, the trustees formed the Commissioners of the Sinking Fund to deal solely with the debt. The plan called for the trustees to first visit each church in order to elect suitable persons to serve as “commissioners” of the fund. The number of commissioners from each church apparently depended on the church’s membership.

The older churches such as John Street, Forsyth Street, Duane Street, and Allen Street each had five. Greenwich Village had three, while Bowery Village and the Mission House each had two. Besides soliciting donations and subscriptions, they had two other responsibilities. First, the trustees authorized them to sell church-owned property. For example, on October 7, 1823, they sold the land in the rear of Allen Street, four lots in Willett Street, and the house in John Street. Second, they also reported the amount of the debt in various church gatherings. For example, on June 7, 1825, the trustees resolved “that a committee of this Board be appointed in conjunction with a committee of the Commissioners of the Sinking Fund to make a statement of the church debt to the Society and that the President and Treasurer be that committee.” Sometimes, the trustees themselves gave the report. For example, on April 5, 1826, the chairman and treasurer of the trustees were appointed a committee to read the annual accounts at the Love Feasts in all the churches. Again, on April 2, 1826, they “resolved that only the President read the Annual Report at one of our large churches at a Love Feast and that notice be given the week before.” Yet, these various measures did little to reduce the debt. For example, in 1833, it stood at nearly seventy-nine thousand dollars which was an eleven thousand dollar increase from 1832. Again, in 1834, it rose to nearly ninety thousand which was another increase of eleven thousand. Finally, in the 1830s, after the debt had been assigned to individual “charges” or churches, the debt remained high. (BTM; Seaman 1892: 271).

A (Mainly) Working-Class Circuit The question arises as to why the circuit had such a large debt.

If the number of churches was steadily increasing and periodic revivals were adding members such as the 1823 revival at the Mission House, why did the debt remain stubbornly high limiting the circuit’s outreach?

Clearly, the answer is that the great majority of members were on the lower end of the socio-economic spectrum. This is illustrated by examining the

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members’ occupations in the last two decades of the eighteenth century. To be sure, the circuit had at least a handful of prosperous members such as the merchants James Harper and Israel Disosway. The circuit also had what Dee Andrews has called “artisan-entrepreneurs” such as Philip J. Arcularius (master baker and tanner), Paul Hick (maker of plaster-of Paris items), and John Staples (baker and owner of a sugar refinery). According to Andrews, “they supported their chapels in the manner of a patron group, although not without compensation: the creditors of the New York Methodist society, for example, included William Lupton, Henry Newton, Philip Arcularius, and William Chave (who) annually received as much as seventy pounds interest on church debts” (Andrews 2000: 164-5).

Arcularius anecdote In contrast, the majority of members had significantly lowerpaying jobs. Andrews found that “the New York Methodist society, in short, was a workingman’s church, and artisans in particular formed its most significant social constituency. The predominance of tradesmen is apparent from the start, but even more so with the intensifying political climate of the 1790s” (Andrews 2000: 165). For example, in 1791, fifty-five percent of male members who were listed in the City Directory were carpenters, hatters, wheelwrights, ship carpenters, and tailors. Moreover, in 1796, the percentage had risen to sixty-one percent. Again, in 1791, the percentage of tradesmen to the merchant and professional group was now five to one, which was an increase from previous years. Moreover, carpenters, woodworkers, tailors, and shoemakers accounted for thirty-three percent of the circuit’s membership. Class leaders, too, were primarily chosen from the ranks of the working class. For example, in 1796, twenty-one artisans, one sea-captain, and one cartman accounted for eighty-nine percent of all class leaders. In sum, although the desire for outreach was present, its predominantly working-class members could not support these projects (Andrews 2000: 165-7).

Temporary Spaces Yet, the trustees responded to the need for new churches in three major ways. First, as a way to gain a foothold in a particular area, they often rented space. Yet, in his report, Stafford had argued for churches, not rented spaces. He felt that “when we consider the natural pride of the human heart, in connexion with the fact that these people live in a city, and

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in the midst of other churches, it is unreasonable to expect, that people of this description should go to a school-house or a private room to worship on the Sabbath” (Roberts 2016: 90).

Apparently, one of the first spaces they rented was the (Presbyterian) Mission House in Corlear’s Hook. Earlier that same year, the (also Presbyterian) YMMS had leased two lots and built a meetinghouse one block away from the NYEMS’s Seventh Presbyterian Church. Most likely, with the other church just a block away, the inability to gather a congregation led the YMMS missionary, Reverend John Miller, to quickly abandon the mission and rent it to the Methodists who, within six years, were able to build a new church in the area.

The question arises as to how the cash-poor Methodists could inexplicably succeed while the well-funded Presbyterians failed. Indeed, how could the generally slower-moving trustees ultimately prevail over the rapid efforts of the newly constituted YMMS? Four reasons seem to account for this. First, Methodist outreach to Corlear’s Hook had long preceded the “city missions” movement. This is illustrated by the “Monday Evening Prayer Meeting” (hereafter, MEPM) which had been held in Corlear’s Hook since at least 1811. The General (Class) Leaders Meeting oversaw these prayer meetings which were held in churches and other mission locations.

From at least 1811, the GLM divided the city into three districts. Every six months, the GLM made new “arrangements” (i.e., leaders and volunteers) for the nine or ten prayer meetings. Moreover, in July, 1816, the GLM resolved that “a person be appointed at each place holding the meeting who should act as a superintendent and call upon any proper persons who might be present to officiate” (GLM-M). These meetings also included preaching. This is illustrated by having candidates for “exhorter” speak at the MEPMs. For example, James Wells and John King applied to the GLM for a “license to exhort” and “were recommended to exercise in the General Prayer Meetings until the next Leader’s Meeting” (GLM-M). Two months later, the GLM “resolved that Brother Wells’ case should not be decided upon this evening, but that the Leaders of the Prayer Meeting be requested and authorized to call on him to exhort at their weekly meetings until the next meeting of the Leaders.” Yet, Wells never received his license.

The GLM felt that his recent appointment as a class leader was sufficient.

(GLM-M).

Moreover, a second MEPH in Corlear’s Hook had been established on or before June 13, 1813, at the home of James Woods on Lewis Street

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between Grand and Broome Streets. According to Seaman, this area was a “part of the city then very thinly settled, and (its roads were) not generally graded” (Seaman 1892: 296). Previously, Woods had been a volunteer at the John Street MEPM so it is likely that he was a member of John Street who may have lived close to Corlear’s Hook. The minutes for June 13, 1813, indicate that seven volunteers were assigned to Woods’ MEPM who probably lived near Woods. The minutes also indicate that Woods’ meeting was listed in the Second Division along with Fourth Street MEC and Two Mile Stone MEC. Since the previously established “Corlear’s Hook” MEPM was listed in the First Division with the John Street and Bowery MECs (both further south), it is likely that Woods’ meeting was further northeast than the other “Corlear’s Hook” meeting. In sum, the Methodists had established not one but two outreaches in this area several years before the city mission movement even existed.

Second, the Methodists used a “from the ground up” approach to establishing a permanent ministry in Corlear’s Hook. Indeed, from its earliest days, Methodism had always used a four-step approach in the development of a society. First, itinerant preaching “awakened” those who heard. Second, those who had been “convicted of sin” were invited to attend a class meeting, which often led to their conversion. Third, as the members increased, a society would be formed in that area. Finally, when the members could afford it, a chapel or meetinghouse would be built.

This incremental approach is illustrated by the way Woods’ prayer meeting eventually became a church. From 1813 to 1819, the prayer meeting continued to grow and in early 1819, the trustees rented a school-room in Broome Street near Lewis Street where regularly scheduled preaching was now also held, which might have included morning, afternoon, and evening services. Most likely, “local preachers,” rather than the “stationed preachers,” provided this preaching. Local preachers were laymen who had a secular occupation whom the QMC had granted a “license to preach.”

They primarily preached where the circuit was expanding.

Then, in May 1819, they rented the recently vacated Mission House. As the congregation increased, the trustees purchased four lots at Mount Pitt near Corlear’s Hook. They decided, however, not to build since the circuit’s debt had recently increased. Yet, two and a half years later, they decided to proceed. At a special meeting of the trustees on November 7, 1822, “a committee from the members living in the vicinity of the Mission House, applied to have a house of worship built on the

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ground belonging to the church in Willett Street. After some consultation, it was postponed for further consideration at a special meeting to be called of the Trustees and the preachers.” Most likely, because of the debt, this “further consideration” did not occur until nearly three years had passed.

Finally, on August 2, 1825, the trustees scheduled “a meeting for August 26 of trustees, stewards, preachers, and the commissioners of the Sinking Fund to consult on building a church in Willett Street.” Next, on October 4, the trustees approved a plan to build the church. At the same meeting, the Commissioners of the Sinking Fund resolved to have a collection in all the churches for the new church; this suggestion, however, was “laid on the table” (i.e., no action was taken). Then, on January 3, 1826, after further discussion, they resolved that their president and treasurer should “appoint a collection in all the churches to help with the new church.”

At their April meeting, trustee Robert Mathison was appointed to confer with the preachers about the collection. In addition, the trustees began a subscription (i.e., pledges) which brought in additional funds. Finally, on May 7, 1826, the Willett Street MEC, located in Willett Street between Grand and Broome Streets was opened with five hundred forty members and twelve class meetings. To conclude, the Methodists had great “staying power” and were content to wait patiently until the time was right to build their own meetinghouse. In contrast, with few members and competition from a rival meetinghouse one block away, Miller had quickly ended the outreach making it possible for the Methodists to move into the more spacious Mission House (BTM; Seaman 1892: 296-7).

Third, the Methodist approach to forming a congregation differed radically from that of the young and inexperienced YMMS missionary. In contrast to Miller’s approach of Sunday preaching and “street witnessing” which could be ineffective and even dangerous, the Methodist approach was most likely to simply invite family members, neighbors, and coworkers to attend the prayer meeting, thus avoiding the harassment that the overzealous urban missionaries often faced. Of course, by 1819, regular Sunday preaching was occurring, but by that time a congregation had already formed. Moreover, Wesley’s sermon on “cast not your pearls before swine” (Matthew 7) had discouraged the kind of witnessing and distribution of Bibles that Stafford had recommended. Since Methodists were expected to read Wesley’s sermons, it is quite possible that they were aware of this particular sermon. For example, Wesley had advised not sharing the Gospel message with unspiritual persons “lest they utterly despise what they cannot

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understand, and speak evil of the things they know not. Nay, ‘tis probable this would not be the only ‘inconvenience’ which would follow. It would not be strange if they were, according to their nature, to ‘turn again, and rend you;’ if they were to return you evil for good, cursing for blessing, and hatred for your goodwill. Such is the enmity of the carnal mind against God and all the things of God” (Wesley 1984: 658). To be sure, Wesley well knew the dangers of preaching before an unruly crowd in which verbal and physical abuse could easily occur. Moreover, Wesley believed that this kind of personal evangelism was rarely effective. For example, he wrote, “Beware of that zeal which is not according to knowledge…They who desire this cannot but desire that all mankind should partake of the common blessing. And when we ourselves first partake of the heavenly gift, the ‘divine evidence of things not seen,’ we wonder that all mankind do not see the things which we see so plainly; and make no doubt at all but we shall open the eyes of all we have any intercourse with. Hence we are for attacking all we meet without delay, and constraining them to see, whether they will or no. And by the ill success of this intemperate zeal, we often suffer in our own souls” (Wesley 1984: 656-7).

Finally, the leaders and volunteers were seasoned, mature, and missionally-minded Christians who had the strong support of the circuit’s spiritual infrastructure. Besides the Sunday preaching (three services!), they would also have attended their weekly class meeting (a requirement for all members) and possibly a weeknight preaching service. In contrast, Miller was young, an outsider to the neighborhood, and probably lacked the weekly spiritual gatherings that the MEC provided for its members. Indeed, after an extremely disappointing start, it is understandable that he quickly decided to abandon the Mission House.

In addition, on December 4, 1820, they “agreed to occupy the second story of the Wesleyan seminary (which served as the school’s chapel) as a place of worship, as soon as it is prepared for preaching, provided the preacher-in-charge can supply it with preachers in the plan or rotation with the other churches in the city – the collections to be taken the same as in the churches, until the Trustees can ascertain what sum they can give to the Trustees of the seminary for the use thereof, if it will answer to continue preaching in the second floor; if it should not succeed, the trustees of the church are at liberty to relinquish it.” The trustees were apparently satisfied since on October 2, 1821, they “resolved that the preaching in the

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Wesleyan Seminary shall be continued until the next Annual Conference” (BTM).

The impetus for this Methodist secondary school occurred in 1816 at a General Leaders Meeting when Lancaster S. Burling suggested “establishing a School, for the education of the children of Methodists.”

In response, “a committee of five was appointed to draw up a plan for the school.” On November 18, “the committee to inquire about the expediency of establishing within the city of New York a Seminary where the children of pious parents may be educated gave a report and a short debate followed.

The report went through several alterations and amendments and was brought before the ensuing Quarterly Meeting Conference, where it received sanction.” Finally, on January 20, 1817, “Reverend Soule, chairman of the School Committee, presented the committee’s proposed constitution, which was adopted without changes.” Yet, nine months elapsed until Joseph Smith made a motion concerning “the neglected business related to the organization of a school for children of Methodists in New York City.”

Three months later, a plan for the school was read and approved. In 1828, however, a lack of students led to its closing. (BTM; “Quarterly Conference Minutes” [hereafter, QCM]).

The trustees also rented secular locations. For example, in early 1831, they rented Broadway Hall which was located between Howard and Grand Streets on the east side. The trustees wanted Broadway Hall to be part of the regular preaching plan which meant three Sunday and one weeknight service. The rent, however, was five hundred dollars a year which did not include other expenses. To provide reassurance, “several individuals said they would share the cost if the trustees would not assume responsibility and (they) would reimburse themselves from the collections from time to time.” Once the stationed preachers agreed to include it in their preaching plan, the trustees approved it for a period of fifteen months.

Indeed, this new venture proved immediately successful: four persons were “awakened” at its first service and, a year and a half later, the Broadway Hall congregation moved into the Greene Street MEC (see below) (BTM, Seaman 1892: 281).

Trustee-Quarterly Conference Collaboration Second, the trustees were finally able to build two new churches with the help of a “building committee” from the Quarterly Meeting Conference (hereafter, QMC). After John Bennett, a lay preacher, held the

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first QMC in 1748, Wesley had mandated them for all circuits. In American, the QMC was usually held on a weekend and included preaching, business, holy communion, and a love feast. Great crowds from miles around usually attended and conversions often occurred. Yet, by the 1820s, at least in the urban areas, the QMC was now held on a weekday and exclusively devoted to business. (QCM). In Manhattan, the QMC met in January, April, July, and October. Meetings were held in the “lecture rooms” or “society rooms” of the various churches to accommodate the usual attendance of at least seventy members. Meetings began at four p.m. and sometimes lasted until eleven p.m. The QMC consisted of five groups: stationed preachers, local preachers, exhorters, stewards, and class leaders (the most numerous).

In the 1820s, membership varied from one hundred twenty to one hundred eighty. Yet, actual attendance was much lower due to inclement weather, illness, or work-related travels. Usually, the presiding elder of the district or the preacher-in-charge of the circuit chaired the meeting which handled various disciplinary matters, reviewed candidates for ministry, and discussed new initiatives (Quarterly Conference Members).

This joint cooperation began on December 1, 1830, when Reverend Samuel Luckey and Dr. David Reese, who were members of the QMC “building committee,” met with the trustees. Both men would continue to make significant contributions to the MEC. For example, Luckey, originally from upstate New York, had been converted in his early teens and ordained in 1811. After leaving the New York circuit, he served as a presiding elder, a principal (Genesee Wesleyan Seminary), and an editor (Christian Advocate). According to Seaman, Luckey was a “very able and laborious minister of the Word” (Seaman 1892: 258). Besides his medical practice, Reese was also a local preacher, class leader, and the newly-elected president of the Young Men’s Missionary Society. At the meeting, “Reverend Luckey informed the Board that at the last Quarterly Meeting Conference a committee had been appointed to enquire about building one or more churches. He asked the Board for their opinion.

Reese then submitted a plan to build a church in the central part of the city and on Manhattan Island (hereafter, MI), without any expense to the Trustees.” Manhattan Island was not actually an island; rather, it was an area of high ground with salt meadows encircling it located north of Houston Street. Eventually, the rocks had been removed and the land leveled. Yet, two previous “short-term” efforts had already occurred. For example, the

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minutes of the GLM indicate that in July 1811, a Monday Evening Prayer Meeting had been held on MI. MI was listed in the “Third District” along with Two Mile Stone, Fourth Avenue MEC, and “James Valentine’s (home) at the Ferry.” The prayer meeting leader was Simeon Price and five volunteers assisted him. Yet, by 1813, the meeting had ceased to exist. Again, in 1816, Abraham Stagg and Thomas Evans began preaching and held prayer services at the “Barracks,” the name given to several buildings at Houston and Second Streets that Staggs, a road builder, had constructed (Seaman 1892: 316-7).

Obviously grateful for their assistance, the trustees appointed a committee of five to work with the QMC committee. Indeed, the trustees had also been trying without success for more than a year and a half without success to build churches in the same locations. For example, on April 8, 1829, they considered purchasing an already existing church on MI only to find out later that it had already been sold. Another plan involved the purchase of an unfinished church which was currently unoccupied. Yet, the committee appointed to make a report opposed its purchase and the idea was dropped. Finally, two months later, they considered purchasing eight lots on the corner of Second Avenue and First Street which, at present, had a dwelling and burial ground. Yet, upon further investigation, they found that the property had already been rented. The trustees, however, kept persevering and three months later, when Brother Johnson, “urged the necessity of public worship at Manhattan Island,” another search committee was formed (BTM).

The joint committee then formed two separate building committees. On the one hand, the MI committee quickly accomplished its goal. Although they had originally planned to rent, just nine days after the special meeting, Johnson reported that four lots on the north side of Second Street near Avenue C had already been purchased for eight hundred dollars per lot. Moreover, at their June 1, 1831, meeting, the “president reported that the Preacher-in-charge had given an assurance that the stated services of the stationed preachers would hereafter be extended to Upper Greenwich and Manhattan Island.” Then, on July 27, 1831, the trustees appointed a committee to build a church there. Perhaps because of the approaching winter, the committee suggested waiting until March to build.

The trustees, however, objected and, on October 21, the plan for the new church was examined, amended, and approved. A month later, when the

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foundation stone was laid, a sermon was preached and a collection was taken.; three months later, the cornerstone was laid for the Second Street MEC (BTM; Seaman 1892: 316-7).

On the other hand, it took a longer time to build the “central city” church. For example, the trustees were asked to consider two proposals for financing. First, at an early March “special meeting” of the trustees, the QMC committee suggested spending thirty thousand dollars – fifteen thousand for the land and the other fifteen thousand for the church itself.

Fifteen thousand would come from subscriptions and fifteen thousand would come from no-interest ten-year loans. The trustees approved it on the condition that the fifteen thousand in subscriptions would have to be raised first. The second proposal occurred nearly three weeks later when Reese proposed that the trustees borrow twenty-five thousand dollars (instead of fifteen thousand) at five and a half percent interest payable in ten years.

The trustees, however, would not be responsible for the interest; rather, it “would be paid by sixteen individuals who would separately execute bonds to the trustees.” The trustees approved this second plan on three conditions.

First, they resolved that a committee of five be appointed to find a suitable location for the church. Second, they resolved that this “same committee inquire about a location in the vicinity of the Book Room and within the following limits: north of Canal Street, south of Prince Street, and east of Greene Street.” This area was chosen since it was within four hundred yards of Broadway Hall where a congregation had already been meeting (see above). Finally, they resolved that “if a location can be obtained within the following limits and if fifteen thousand in subscriptions can be raised, the Trustees will go ahead and build a church and a parsonage” (BTM).

This committee, however, struggled to find a suitable location.

For example, on March 19, 1831, Andrew Wheeler reported that four lots on the west side of Greene Street near Broome Street were available for ten thousand dollars. Apparently, no action was taken. Then, on June 25, the committee announced that five lots of ground containing two houses in Mulberry Street had been purchased for twelve thousand dollars. A month later, on the motion of Brother Halsted, the decision was reversed.

Moreover, the trustees directed that “a committee will look into the feasibility of building a church to the west of Mulberry Street (apparently closer to Broadway Hall) and if that doesn’t work out, they will look for a more suitable location.” Yet, a month later, the “committee…reported that four lots on Greene Street are available immediately for ten thousand

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dollars.” The terms called for “two thousand five hundred to be paid upon receipt of the deeds and the rest can be paid over four years at six percent interest.” Pleased with its proximity to Broadway Hall, they not only approved the purchase but also the sale of the previously purchased land in Mulberry Street (BTM).

The committee also struggled to get enough subscriptions, possibly because land in that area was more expensive. Yet, the committee was persistent. For example, on April 6, 1831, the trustees resolved that meetings should be held in each circuit church “for the purpose of raising money by subscription to build two churches – one in the vicinity of MI and one in Greene Street, near Broome Street and instructed the committee heretofore appointed on the subject of a central church, to attend to the same.” Nearly a month later, “Brother Halsted reported that subscriptions in three churches were considered.” Moreover, he asked the trustees for additional help; in response, they assigned a trustee to the following churches: Samuel B. Harper (John Street), James B. Oakley (Duane Street), Nathaniel Jarvis (Greenwich Village), William McClain (Upper Greenwich), Gilbert Coutant (Bowery Village), and William Smith (Willett Street). Yet, two months later, they allowed the committee to “adopt the plan they wish.” The subscription committee consisted of six laity and one preacher: Andrew Halsted, Andrew Wheeler, Peter Pinckney, Thomas Truslow, James Donaldson, Gilbert Coutant, and Reverend Stephen Martindale. Moreover, the trustees resolved that the other stationed preachers should help Martindale. Two months later, on August 31, 1831, the trustees “resolved that the preachers, along with whomever they appoint, shall take whatever measures they think best to solicit subscriptions.” They also resolved “that all money be returned weekly and that the preachers meet monthly to confer with the committee.” Then, on November 11, 1831, with Greene Street MEC almost finished and MI (Second Street MEC) about to be built, the trustees made another push for subscriptions. They resolved that the preachers give out subscription books to church members, friends, and every class member who had not yet subscribed. They also instructed them to collect the subscriptions. Yet, the number of subscriptions did not increase markedly. This deficit, however, did not prevent the opening of Greene Street MEC on April 20, 1832, which provided a permanent home for the congregation that had been meeting at Broadway Hall (BTM).

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Pew Rentals Finally, the trustees gave serious consideration to the Reverend Heman Bangs’ suggestion to rent pews as a way to raise money. Bangs had been born in Fairfield, Connecticut, in 1790, converted in 1806, and received “on trial” in 1818. During his long career (until his death in 1869), he served eleven years in New York City and fourteen years as a Presiding Elder in different districts including the New York District. According to Samuel Seaman (1892: 233-4), Bangs was an “energetic” pastor whose “preaching was simple, practical, earnest, and often accompanied with much divine power.” On January 26, 1830, at the invitation of the trustees, he first “set forth the great necessity of an additional number of churches in the city, and the inability of the Board of Trustees to build them in consequence of the heavy debt under which they labored.” To be sure, others felt this same “great necessity.” This was illustrated by a letter which was read at their May 18, 1830, meeting, which three preachers also attended. The writer, “a friend of the Methodists,” stressed “the importance and necessity of providing the means of religious instruction for those persons in the city who are now destitute thereof.” He suggested “the building of houses for public worship in different divisions of the city, not exceeding twelve, and stated the manner in which the object might be successfully accomplished.”

The trustees, however, took no further action (BTM).

In contrast, Bangs’ plan did not specify the number of churches to be built; rather, he “introduced a plan where one or more churches might be erected without adding to the present Church debt. The plan contemplated building churches with pews or slips to sell or let out, and also made provision for reserving a number of free seats.” After some discussion, it was “referred to a committee consisting of Joseph Smith, Gilbert Coutant, Andrew Wheeler, Lancaster S. Burling, and James Jarvis.” Of course, Bangs must have known that his proposal would generate strong opposition. For example, in 1797, when some New York City Methodists wanted to replace benches with pews, “a vocal minority objected to the building of church pews, which, it was feared, would lead to pew rents, always a hardship for the poor” (Andrews 2000: 167). Moreover, the General Conference of 1824 had decreed that “churches should be built with free seats” – a rule which did not change until 1852 when churches only had to have “free seats wherever practicable” (Flores 2022: 130; BTM).

Despite Bangs’ urgency, the committee opposed it for two reasons. First, it lacked general support. For example, the report stated

Hardt: The New York Circuit and the City Missions Movement 127

that “the major part of our people are opposed to a process of this kind, and consequently would not aid in the undertaking; while the individuals, not members of our church, to whom our expectations for success would of course be directed, might probably fail us in the issue. Only a few members favor the idea – and are widely separated from each other and many of them reside at too great a distance from the place where the first building on this plan would be built.” Second, it would allow men and women to sit together. This is illustrated by the report’s conclusion which stated that “the thing itself is not in accord with the discipline of our church in which it is expressly stated that the men and women shall sit apart in all our churches. Although an attempt has been made to establish the idea that what is contained in our discipline is but recommended, and consequently not binding, your committee consider such a doctrine to be fraught with danger; and not to be admitted as the true definition. They do therefore dissent from so strange an illustration of certain of the rules contained in our discipline and do consider them to be binding upon all who voluntarily unite with us” (BTM).

Yet, growing “respectability” was gradually lessening this prohibition. For example, describing a new MEC in New Haven, Nathan Bangs wrote, “The only objection that can be made to it is, the slips (i.e., pews) have doors, and part of them are either sold, with the privilege of redeeming them after ten years, or rented – but the whole of the gallery and both sides of the lower part, with exception of one or two seats are free.

This by many is thought a very great convenience, as they can have families sit together” (italics mine) (Flores 2022: 128). Again, three years later, a semi-autonomous Methodist congregation, disregarded the ban altogether.

According to Seaman (1892: 321), “the matter (i.e., of mixed seating) was afterward taken up by some of the laity, and on Monday, June 3, 1833, the cornerstone of the ‘First Wesleyan Chapel’ was laid on Vestry Street, near Greenwich. It was erected by joint-stock subscription on leased ground, at a total cost of about twenty-six thousand dollars.” Finally, seven years after Bangs’ proposal, mixed seating became the norm.

Conclusion To conclude, although the trustees considerably lagged behind the missionary groups and other evangelical churches, they did participate through the use of less expensive rental spaces (including one of their own!) and their willingness to work with a forward-looking QMC committee.

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Moreover, they gave serious consideration to generating additional income from pew rentals but, due to popular feeling, ultimately rejected it, although it eventually became common throughout the denomination. At the same time, the circuit’s mainly working-class members simply could not support the rapid construction of new churches no matter how badly they were needed. Yet, even as it responded cautiously, prudently, and patiently, the New York Circuit still made a significant contribution to the religious needs of the growing city, especially in its neediest sections.

Appendix 1: Church Debt: 1818-1834 Year Debt Increase (+) Amount Amount of Debt Decrease (-) Borrowed* Paid* 1818 $17,000.

----1819 27, 438.27 +10,438.

1820 32, 558.53 +5,120.26 1821 33,749.55 +1,191.02 1822 35,446.66 +1,697.11 1823 36,398.29 + 951.63 $6,107.00 1824 36,106.11 - 292.18 1825 35,637.39 - 448.72 2,393.80 $1,001.19 1826 31,883.00 -3,774.30 3, 483.68 6,500.00 1827 36,441.44 + 4,558.44 14,550.00 1,927.11 1828 32,506.68 - 3,934.76 5,629.43 1829 36,237.11 + 3,730.43 7,408.00 3,429.43 1830 34,707.11 - 1,530.00 5,650.30 1831 37,657.11 + 2,950.00 9,450.00 1832 67,339.11 +29,682.00 1833 78,773.67 +11,434.56 1834 89,798.67 +11,025.00 *Some annual reports did not list amount borrowed.

Source: Samuel A. Seaman, Annals of New York Methodism (New York: Hunt and Eaton, 1892), pp. 497-498.

Hardt: The New York Circuit and the City Missions Movement 129

Works Cited Andrews, Dee E. 2000 The Methodists and Revolutionary America, 1760-1800.

Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Barclay, Wade C. 1949 Early American Methodism, 1769-1844. Volume One. New York, NY: Board of Missions and Church Extension of the Methodist Church.

Burrows, Edwin G. and Mike Wallace 1999 Gotham. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Flores, Daniel 2022

Respectable Methodism. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications.

Methodist Episcopal Church Records (New York, NY: NY Public Library.)

“Board of Trustees. Minutes. 1820-1834.” vol. 93.

“General Leaders Meeting. Minutes.” Vol. 90a.

“Quarterly Conference. Members. 1818-1832.” vol. 79.

“Quarterly Conference Minutes. 1804-1824.” vol. 247.

“Young Men’s Missionary Society. Minutes. 1830-

1839.” Vol. 127.

Roberts, Kyle 2016 Evangelical Gotham. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Seaman, Samuel 1892 Annals of New York Methodism. New York, NY: Hunt and Eaton.

Wesley, John 1984

The Works of John Wesley. Volume 1. Albert Outler, ed.

Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 130-137 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.07

Craig S. Keener

Why Did Disciples Anoint with Oil for Healing in Mark 6:13?

Abstract: This short essay explores the cultural meanings behind the practice of anointing people with oil for healing within the context of scripture. This work is the result of research which is not being published elsewhere due to space limitations, but is considered significant and of interest to many in the Global Church today. While it does not fit the full definition of an academic article, it remains an essay which can clarify and illuminate the issue of anointing with oil for many leaders and laity in the church.

Keywords: healing, anointing, oil, symbolism, medicine Craig S. Keener is the M.F. and Ada Thompson Chair of Biblical Studies at Asbury Theological Seminary in Wilmore, KY. 130

Keener: Why Did Disciples Anoint with Oil for Healing in Mark 6:13? 131

When Jesus’s disciples anointed the sick with oil for healing (Mark 6:13) they set precedent for following generations of Jesus’s followers (James 5:14-15). But would people have understood why they were being anointed? What kind of oil was it, and what was its symbolic or literal function?

What kind of oil was it?

Along with grain and wine, oil was one of the dominant staples of ancient Israelite agriculture; the trio appears at least 18 times in the OT.1 Ancients considered oil an absolutely necessary staple.2 Olive oil characterized Mediterranean agriculture3 and supplied most dietary fats.4 Judea and Galilee produced olive oil for export,5 not least for Egypt and Arabia, which had fewer olive trees.6 By contrast, due to purity concerns, first-century Judeans and Galileans avoided buying oil from gentiles.7 Once mature, each olive tree can produce as many as fifteen gallons of oil biennially for centuries.8 Uses of oil Oil was used in cooking, both to fry with and as an ingredient in the food itself.9 No one being anointed with oil, however, would have envisioned a culinary ritual, as anointing with oil was a regular part of hygiene. People in the Middle East also regularly lubricated their skin with olive oil, which is cool and soft, to protect against dryness.10 This was considered a natural part of caring for one’s health,11 often performed during bathing,12 and Greek bathers normally brought their own olive oil to the baths.13 Although soaps of a sort existed,14 Romans used olive oil instead, after hot baths opened the pores.15 (Other substances were sometimes substituted for olive oil,16 and some condemned excess anointing as luxury.)17 Lacking soap in the modern sense, Greeks and Romans until late antiquity used oil and sometimes utensils for rubbing to clean their skin.18 Greeks regularly oiled their bodies also before exercises.19 After exercise or bathing they could scrape off their sweat and dirt with a strigil.20 Judeans and Galileans also used oil to clean and anoint their skin,21 especially on their heads,22 not least to lubricate dry scalps. Some Galileans seem to have followed the Greek practice of scraping off sweat after activity.23 One would abstain from anointing as well as washing as part of self-humiliation during fasting.24 Along with washing, anointing could be used by a bride at her wedding25 or for other special occasions.26

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Medical anointing Related to its lubricating use, oil also was used on wounds.27 The medicinal use seems a natural extension of its use in bathing, which was often combined with massage.28 Herod the Great’s physicians tried in vain to restore him from his deathbed by bathing him in warm oil.29 Ancient pharmacists often used various oils in ointments, especially for external application.30 Ancient thinkers prescribed oil for a much wider range of ailments than we would expect today, including hip pain and headaches,31 lung problems,32 malaria,33 snake bite,34 paralysis,35 and epilepsy.36 Gentiles also (at least sometimes) used it against spirit possession.37 These practices were so widespread as to render suspect any ill-informed claims of narrower associations such as magic.

While this medical use of oil could well inform how people would understand the healing aspect of disciples anointing them, however, they would not envision the disciples as mere physicians treating them medically. Medicinal use would not normally yield such immediate results as to provide substantial and visible effects during the apostles’ quick travels (Mark 6:30).

Symbolism People traditionally used oil to consecrate someone for a special work for a deity. Symbolic anointings for office appear in the OT and in ancient Syria and Canaan.38 Israelites used anointing to consecrate priests;39 kings (by priests or often by prophets);40 altars;41 sanctuaries;42 and so forth.

Early Jewish followers of Jesus continued the practice of anointing with oil when praying for healings in their congregations (James 5:14).43 While anointing to symbolize healing differs from anointing to consecrate for special service, it could still communicate entrusting the person to God. Seeking to separate divine from natural treatments, however, may be more a modern Western preoccupation than an ancient one. In the ancient world, both were compatible and often appear together.44 Divine healing often used physical instruments, such as laying on hands (e.g., Mark 1:41), spittle (e.g., 7:33), a staff (2 Kgs 4:29), washing (2 Kgs 5:10-14) or a poultice (2 Kgs 20:7; Isa 38:21). In subsequent history and recent times, even what we might today deem medically worthless remedies, applied alongside faith that God worked through them, have sometimes have proved effective.45

Keener: Why Did Disciples Anoint with Oil for Healing in Mark 6:13? 133

People anointed themselves or others for various purposes. Because they often used olive and other oils in medicinal ointments, anointing could communicate concretely the idea of a healing substance. Given OT precedent for anointing for consecration, it could also communicate the sense of invoking God for healing.

Conclusion Because of its widespread use in ancient health and hygiene— the first association that would occur to most people in Mediterranean antiquity—anointing readily communicated the idea of health. Because scripture already used oil for consecration, in the context of ministry, it also communicated the sense of invoking God. Just as Jesus communicated his intentions to a man who was deaf and partly mute by touching his ears and tongue and looking to heaven (Mark 7:33-34), so would anointing with oil communicate to those who were sick the disciples’ intention to heal them in Mark 6:13. James 5:14-15 shows that early Christians carried on this practice, concretely expressing and embodying (as they did also through such physical practices as healing touch, holy kisses, and the Lord’s Supper) what their accompanying faith intended.

End Notes See Deut 7:13; 11:14; 12:17; 14:23; 18:4; 28:51; 2 Chron 2:10, 15; Neh 5:11; 10:39; 13:5, 12; Jer 31:12 [LXX 38:12]; Hos 2:8, 22 [LXX 2:10, 24]; Joel 1:10; 2:19, 24; Hag 1:11; Jdt 11:13; Jub. 13:26; 26:31; Sib. Or. 3.243, 745; Philo Spec. Laws 1.141, 179; 4.98; Virt. 95; Rewards 107; Josephus Ant. 8.57, 141, 247; 10.162; 11.16; 14.408; War 1.299; 1QHa 18.26; 11Q14 f1.2.10; 11Q19 38.4; 60.6; along with other produce, 2 Kgs 18:32; 2 Chron 32:28; Ezra 7:22; Tob 1:7; Josephus War 7.296; cf. Jdt 10:5; Rev 6:6.

1

2 Pliny Nat. 14.29.150; 23.34.69; Plutarch Love of Wealth 2, Mor. 523F; Sib. Or. 3.243; Peter Garnsey, Food and Society in Classical Antiquity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 12-14 (where available); Helmuth Schneider, “Nutrition: Greece and Rome,” Brill’s New Pauly, 9:916-21 (here 919); David A. Fiensy, The Archaeology of Daily Life: Ordinary Persons in Late Second Temple Israel (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2020), 145 (noting m. Peah 8:5; Ket. 5:8).

3 R. J. Forbes, Studies in Ancient Technology (9 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1955–64), 3:101-2.

4

Forbes, Technology, 3:101.

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5 John J. Rousseau and Rami Arav, Jesus and his World: An Archaeological and Cultural Dictionary (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 220 (noting Josephus War 2.590-92); Michael Patella, “Seer’s Corner: Food and Drink,” Bible Today 41 (5, 2003): 302-7. For oil production around Jerusalem, see Lee I. Levine, Jerusalem: Portrait of the City in the Second Temple Period (538 B.C.E.-70 C.E.) (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 2002), 346-47.

6

Rousseau and Arav, World, 221.

7 Fiensy, Archaeology, 282 (citing Josephus Life 74–76=War 2.591; cf. Ant. 12.120). Cf. Fiensy, Archaeology, 279, regarding Essenes (Josephus War 2.123; CD 12:15–17). The Mishnah may liberalize the prohibition (m. ‘Abod. Zar. 2:6; Jordan D. Rosenblum, “Kosher Olive Oil in Antiquity Reconsidered,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 40 [3, 2009]: 356-65).

8 Rousseau and Arav, World, 220. On olives and olive oil, see further e.g., Pliny Nat. 15.1.1—15.8.34.

9

Galen Properties of Foodstuffs 1.3, K.490; 3.21, K.707.

F. Nigel Hepper, Baker Encyclopedia of Bible Plants (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1992), 109; Fiensy, Archaeology, 279. See Ps 23:5 (LXX 22:5); 104:15 (LXX 103:15); cf. Philo Dreams 2.58. It was supposed to regulate skin temperature (Pliny Nat. 15.5.19). Anointed skin was visibly distinct from what was not (Thucydides 4.68.5; Matt 6:18).

10

E.g., Pliny N.H. 14.29.150; Dio Chrysostom 52.1; Fronto Eloquence 1.4; Ad M. Caes. 4.5.3.

11

12 E.g., Homer Od. 6.219-220; 6.227; 8.454; 10.364, 450; 17.88; 18.179; 23.154; Plutarch Cimon 1.6; cf. Pausanias 9.39.7. For washing and anointing hair, see Rolf Hurschmann, “Hygiene, personal,” 6:604-5 in Brill’s New Pauly, 604; Alexandra T. Croom, Roman Clothing and Fashion (Charleston, S.C.: Tempus, 2000), 105.

13

Theophrastus Char. 30.8.

14

Martial Epig. 14.26-27.

15 Bronwyn Cosgrave, The Complete History of Costume and Fashion from Ancient Egypt to the Present Day (New York: Checkmark, 2000), 77.

16 In regions where such oil was less available people substituted other substances (Xenophon Anab. 4.4.13; Galen Properties of Foodstuffs 3.14, K.684; or, for a goddess, ambrosial oil in Homer Od. 8.364-65); on oil from other plants, see e.g., Pliny Nat. 15.7.28-32; cf. 12.60.130. One could also bathe and anoint oneself with aromatic or other substances (e.g., Jdt 10:3).

Keener: Why Did Disciples Anoint with Oil for Healing in Mark 6:13? 135

17 Pliny Nat. 15.5.19; Dio Chrysostom Or. 77/78.41 (though cf.

Dio Chrysostom’s personal use during leisure in Or. 52.1). Self-disciplined Apollonius welcomed anointing and massage but insisted on cold water for his subsequent bathing (Philostratus Vit. apoll. 1.16).

F. Sherwood Taylor and Charles Singer, “Pre-Scientific Industrial Chemistry,” 347-74 in The Mediterranean Civilizations and the Middle Ages, c. 700 B.C. to c. A.D. 1500 (vol. 2 in A History of Technology; ed.

Charles Singer, E. J. Holmyard, A. R. Hall and Trevor I. Williams; New York: Oxford University Press, 1956), 355.

18

See e.g., Aeschines Timarchus 138; Thucydides 1.6.5; Virgil Aen. 3.281; Philo Names 84; Epictetus Disc. 3.22.88; Dio Chrysostom 18.6; Plutarch Cimon 16.5; Crates Ep. 20; Diogenes Ep. 35.

19

20

2.

Cosgrave, History of Costume, 77; see e.g., Lucian Lexiphanes

21 See Jodi Magness, Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit: Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 122, citing Ruth 3:3; Sus 1:17; POxy. frg. 840 2.8; b. Sabb. 41a.

22 t. Shebiit 6:9; Ab. R. Nat. 3A; b. Sanh. 101a; Shemuel Safrai, “Home and Family,” JPFC 728–92 (here 743); cf. Ruth 3:3; 2 Sam 12:20; Ps 23:5; 141:5; Eccl 9:8; Ezek 16:9; Luke 7:46. The Essenes’ reported aversion to oil is noted as exceptional (Josephus War 2.123) but seems confirmed archaeologically (Magness, Stone, 125).

23 Ronny Reich, “A Note on the Roman Mosaic at Magdala on the Sea of Galilee,” SBFLA 41 (1991): 455-58; Richard Bauckham, “Magdala as We Now Know It: An Overview,” 1-67 in Magdala of Galilee: A Jewish City in the Hellenistic and Roman Period (ed. Richard Bauckham; Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2018), 34.

24 M. Taan. 1:6; Yoma 8:1; y. Shab. 9:4; M.S. 2:1; cf. Apoc. Ab. 9:7; Byron R. McCane, Roll Back the Stone: Death and Burial in the World of Jesus (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2003), 38, citing Sem. 6:1. Cf. going without bathing or anointing during mourning in P.Oxy. 528.9-11; Croom, Clothing, 71. The prohibition of some rabbis during a sabbatic year (t. Ter. 10:10) pertained only within the bathhouse (y. Shebiit 8:2, §7).

25

L.A.B. 40:6.

Cf. Ps 45:7 (LXX 44:8). Mediterranean peoples sometimes employed anointing oil on special occasions (Martial Epig. 3.12; Josephus Ant. 19.239; b. Ket. 17b).

26

Isa 1:6; Luke 10:34; m. Shab. 14:4; t. Shab. 12:12; Gen. Rab. 80:9; Celsus Med. 7.1.2; 8.4.19; 8.10.1E; Pliny Nat. 28.9.41 (with hair); Rousseau and Arav, World, 200, 221; Vivian Nutton, Ancient Medicine (2d ed.; New York: Routledge, 2013), 189. For medicinal uses, see further Pliny Nat. 23.34.69—23.39.79 (esp. 23.39.79).

27

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28 Cf. Cosgrave, History of Costume, 50: Greeks used oils “for therapeutic reasons (both during massage and as medicine).” For proper Sabbath observance, rabbis separated everyday and medicinal uses (Str-B [ET] 2:13-14, noting m. Shab. 14:4; t. Shab. 12:12). Anointing could continue even when bathing proved inadvisable (Celsus Med. 4.5.3).

29

Josephus War 1.657; Ant. 17.172.

30 E.g., Dioscorides Mat. Med. 1.29-30 (in Udo Schnelle, with assistance by Manfred Lang and Michael Labahn, Texte zum Markusevangelium: Neuer Wettstein; Texte zum Neuen Testament aus Griechentum und Hellenismus 1.1.1 [New York: de Gruyter, 2008], 280); Celsus Med. 1.1.1; 1.2.7; 1.3.10; 1.4.2; 2.14.1, 4; 3.7.2A; 3.11.2; 3.18.8; 4.6.3-4; 4.31.8; 7.1.2; 8.4.19; Aretaeus Therapeutics of Acute Diseases 2.4, pp. 186, 187; 2.10, p. 199; 2.11, p. 201; Cure of Chronic Diseases 1.5, p. 223; 1.8, p. 223; 1.14, p. 226; 2.12, p. 236; Hippocrates Fistulas 10 (460); Excision of the Fetus 1 (514); 5 (518); Ulcers 22 (426); 24 (428); Regimen in Acute Diseases 65 (18L.); Diseases 3 (148); Diseases of Women 1.74.3 (156); 1.91.10 (220); 1.106 (230); 2.36 (320); 2.96.7 (394); 2.96.8; Hippocrates Affections 42 (252); Nature of Women 74 (404); 81 (406); 108 (424); cf. Nature of Women 97 (414); cf. L.A.E. 40:1. The physician may anoint hands before inserting them (Hippocrates Diseases of Women 2.38 (324; 147L.)). For use of oil internally as an emetic, see e.g., Aretaeus Therapeutics of Acute Diseases 2.5, p. 189.

Pliny Nat. 20.48.121 (with basil); Str.-B., 1:428-29; 2:11-12; followed in H. Schlier, “ἀλείφω,” TDNT, 1:229-32 (here 230; see further references in Schlier, “ἔλαιον,” TDNT, 2:470-72, here 472); Safrai, “Home,” 743 (citing t. Shab. 12:11-12; Ab. R. Nat. 12 A). For headaches, Celsus Med. 3.10.1.

31

Hippocrates Internal Affections 7 (184); Places in Man 17 (310).

For a cold, cf. Celsus Med. 4.5.3-9.

32

33

E.g., Celsus Med. 3.6.16; 3.11.2; 3.12.5; 3.14.1; 3.20.3; 3.22.5.

34

Pliny Nat. 20.9.18 (along with turnip and wine).

35

Celsus Med. 3.27.1D; cf. 3.27.2A.

36

Celsus Med. 3.23.6-8.

37 Schlier, “ἀλείφω,” 230, cites Celsus Med. 3.23. The evidence does not seem abundant, however.

For the latter, see F. Hesse, “‫ משח‬and ‫ משיח‬in the Old Testament,” (from χρίω), TDNT 9:496-508 (here 497).

38

39 Exod 28:41; 30:30; 40:13; 4Q375 f1.1.9; 4Q365 f9b.2.2; 4Q376 f1.1.1; 4Q493 f1.5; L.A.B. 13:1; 48:2; 51:7.

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40 1 Sam 9:16; 16:12-13; 1 Kgs 1:34; 19:16; 4Q458 f2.2.6; 11Q5 28.8, 11, 13; Ps 151:7; Josephus Ant. 6.83, 157, 159, 165; 7.355-57, 382; 9.106, 149; L.A.B. 51:6; 57:3; 59:1-4.

41

Exod 40:10; Ps 154h:11; Philo Mos. 2.146.

42

Exod 29:36; 30:26; Philo Mos. 2.146.

43

Cf. later T. Adam 1:7; 2:10.

44 Sir 38:1–9; b. Ber. 60a; y. Qid. 4:12, §2; Exod. Rab. 21:7; Pliny Nat. 20.100.264; Quintilian Decl. 268.21; Nutton, Ancient Medicine, 42, 285-86 (citing e.g., Artemidorus Onir. 4.22; ILS 2194); Leonhard Goppelt, Theology of the New Testament (ed. Jürgen Roloff; trans. John E. Alsup; 2 vols.; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1981–82), 1:141; cf. Hans-Josef Klauck, The Religious Context of Early Christianity: A Guide to Graeco-Roman Religions (trans. Brian McNeil; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 166–67; idem, “Von Ärzten und Wundertätern. Heil und Heilung in der Antike,” Bibel und Kirche 61 (2, 2006): 94-98; cf. Asclepius shrines near healthy springs in Vitruvius Arch. 1.2.7.

See e.g., John Wesley, The Journal of John Wesley (ed. Percy Livingstone Parker; Chicago: Moody, 1974), 198-99 (Nov. 28, 1753); Philip Hanson Jones, Wonders, Signs, Miracles … Why Not? Tales of a Missionary in China (New York: Exposition Press, 1966), 110; Bruce Olson, Bruchko (rev. ed.; Lake Mary, Fla.: Creation House, 1995), 148.

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From the Archives: Francis Clark: The Dark History of Slavery and Methodism in Kentucky1 While the archives and special collections are usually full of the ordinary paperwork and correspondence of generations past, along with other manuscripts, books, photographs and miscellaneous ephemera, occasionally you can come across a minor item which speaks to the darker side of history. Such is the case of a simple inventory of possessions made after the death of Francis Clark in 1799.

Rev. Francis Clark Sr. died on June 10, 1799 in Danville, Kentucky. A historical marker near Danville records the simple outline of his importance. In 1783, Clark organized the first Methodist society in Kentucky after settling from Virginia. He was assisted by John Durham, a lay leader, and they are credited with beginning the westward expansion of Methodism. A more in-depth historical account from 1868 of the history of Methodism in Kentucky relates how Bishop Francis Asbury appointed James Haw and Benjamin Ogden in 1786 to bring Methodism to Kentucky, but they arrived to find that Francis Clark had arrived before them. This history notes, He was a man of sound judgement and well instructed in the doctrines of the Methodist church. As a preacher he was successful, and was made the instrument of forming several societies, and lived many years to rejoice in the success of the cause that he had been the instrument, under God, of commencing in the wilderness. He died at his own domicile in the fall of 1799, in great peace, and in the hope of blessed immortality.2 It is interesting to note that it does not seem as if Francis Clark was ever officially a member of the early Kentucky Conference as it emerged in 1786, but general histories include him most often as the founder of the first Methodist society in Kentucky and one of the first Methodists to begin the opening of the west to Methodism. What is left out of the story is that Clark was a slave owner.

138

From the Archives 139

Page One of the Francis Clark Inventory (Image from the Archives and Special Collections of B.L. Fisher Library, Asbury Theological Seminary. Used with permission.)

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Methodists have traditionally been proud of a strong anti-slavery history. After all, John Wesley, the founder of Methodism was opposed to slavery and wrote “Thoughts Upon Slavery” in 1774, outlining his antislavery position. Thomas Coke and Francis Asbury, appointed by Wesley to oversee Methodism in the Americas, likewise opposed slavery, with Asbury even noting in his journal, “if the Methodists [did] not… emancipate their slaves, God [would] depart from them.”3 While opposing the owning of slaves in the Discipline when they organized Methodism in 1784 (question 12 made it clear that buying slaves would result in expulsion of members and selling was also not permitted), Asbury and Coke suspended the section for a year due to opposition.4 Yet, disturbing doubts constantly arise about Methodism and slavery. Why did John Wesley wait until he was 69 to confront slavery as an expression of his own religious convictions?5 Why did Thomas Coke support ministry to slaves in the West Indies, but oppose slavery in the United States? Why did Francis Asbury not take a harder line against slavery in his own itinerancy? The common view seems to be a fear that the issue of slavery would divide Methodists and prevent the evangelistic expansion of Methodism. Methodist prohibitions about slavery gradually became weaker with more compromises with slave holders.6 Finally in 1844, the issue divided the Methodists into the Methodist Episcopal Church (which opposed slavery) and the Methodist Episcopal Church, South (which accepted slavery). This is only a brief overview of a topic on which much has been written, but it provides important context for the inventory of Rev. Francis Clark’s possessions done on the 25th of September, 1800.

This four-page list prepared for the county court begins with the unsettling and disturbing list of human beings owned by the first Methodist in Kentucky. Four women are listed by name: Dinaa, Nanny, Krielly, and Jenny and their ascribed values ($150, $7, $100.66, and $250 respectively).

There are also two men in the list: David and Tom, each valued at $300 and then seven boys: William, Isaac, Abraham, John, Robbin, Jacob and Charles- all valued between $50 and $300). One girl is also listed named Ritter and valued at $120. As difficult as it is to look at the names of fourteen human beings who were considered “property,” it is even harder to see the list continue with horses, oxen, cows, pigs, beds, quilts, dishes, and other household possessions, including a Bible and New Testament (which are not given a value, since these items were priceless) and a hymn and prayer book. It is truly a sobering document and one that is hard to relate to the founding of the Methodist movement in Kentucky.

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Page Two of the Francis Clark Inventory (Image from the Archives and Special Collections of B.L. Fisher Library, Asbury Theological Seminary. Used with permission.)

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In wondering what influence Methodism might have had on Francis Clark and his views of slavery, I searched public records until I found his will dated June 8, 1796 in Mercer County Will Book 3, pages 1-4.

It reveals some more information about the human beings who Rev. Clark claimed as his possessions. The boy, William is revealed to be Dinaa’s child, and Isaac is not on the list in 1796, so he must have been an infant at the time of the inventory where he was valued at $50. None of the slaves were to be given freedom at Clark’s death, but were mostly divided between his five children. Dinaa, Nanny, Krilley and William were to go to Francis Clark, Jr., Abraham and Jenny to his daughter Sarah, John and Robbin to his daughter Susanna, Jacob and Ritter to his daughter Mary, and Tom and Charles to his son James. The man listed as David was to be sold to pay for any debts. All of the children where to be given their freedom when they reached the age of 25, but there is no indication if Clark’s children followed these instructions or not. If this was a reflection on his religious conscience, it does not seem to be very strong.

But this document does not just reflect on one individual. In May of 1790, Francis Asbury made his first trip as a Methodist Bishop to Kentucky. In his journal for Monday, May 17, 1790, Asbury wrote, Rode to Coleman’s chapel, about ten miles from Lexington, and preached to an unengaged people. We thence rode to I. Lewis’s, on the bend of the Kentucky River. Lewis is an old acquaintance, from Leesburg, Virginia; I was pleased to find that heaven and religion were not lost sight of in this family. Brother Lewis offered me one hundred acres of land for Bethel, on a good spot for building materials.

We rode through mire and rain for twenty-one miles to Francis Clark’s, near Danville, where we had a numerous congregation.7 Only a week before, Asbury had been discussing Bethel Academy, a Methodist school to be founded in Kentucky. Bethel Academy was a shortlived venture located close to the present-day campus of Asbury Theological Seminary in Jessamine County on the way from Wilmore to High Bridge.

The very day that vision of the ancestral legacy of Asbury Theological Seminary was being born, Asbury travelled to preach at Francis Clark’s Methodist society. The mention is brief, but it triggers the imagination. Did Asbury enjoy a warm meal after his long ride cooked by Dinaa or Krilley?

Did David or Tom clean Jessamine County mud off of Francis Asbury’s horse

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while Abraham or Jacob fed the worn-out animal? Did Robbin or John add wood to a fire to warm the chilled bishop? Did Ritter or Jenny help serve the meal or help clean and dry his coat before the fire?

Page Three of the Francis Clark Inventory (Image from the Archives and Special Collections of B.L. Fisher Library, Asbury Theological Seminary. Used with permission.)

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We do not know what Asbury actually did, felt, or thought as he encountered the slavery in Francis Clark’s home, and we likely never will. But I am left wondering why the anti-slavery advocate, who sought to expel those Methodists who bought and sold slaves remained silent. Why did he not give voice to those human beings he saw and supposedly felt passionately about? Did he try to reason with Francis Clark? How might that conversation have gone?

This document, now kept in our archives, bears testimony to Methodism’s failure to adequately address the theological dimensions of slavery. It bears the names of human beings who were treated as property instead of as children of God. It poignantly displays in black and white that a mare called “Pidgeon” and her colt were worth more that Dinaa’s child, William. Even more starkly, a woman named Nanny, who was most likely elderly and worn out from raising Francis Clark’s children over her long life, was valued at $7.00, which was fifty cents less than a white-backed heifer and a small steer. This is a document which is hard to look at, and even harder to process.

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Page Four of the Francis Clark Inventory (Image from the Archives and Special Collections of B.L. Fisher Library, Asbury Theological Seminary. Used with permission.)

So, what do we do with it? Do we sweep the history under the bed and pretend that Methodism was a glorious movement which opposed slavery in all its forms? No. History has to be dealt with, both the good and the bad. Methodism definitely had its darker side. Ministers like Francis Clark were able to maintain the legacy of slavery and avoid punishment

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or correction from religious leaders because of their influence and the conditions of the larger society. Francis Asbury, Thomas Coke, and others who could have taken the moral road of what was right, chose instead what was expedient. Fear of the opposition led to a moral failure all because it might split the Methodist movement, which then split anyway. It does not do any good to dwell on what might have been, but it does provide an opportunity to look to the present and the future of the Church and the Methodist movement.

Are there issues or moral rights which we are afraid to address because of public opposition from other leaders or society in general? Are there ways we can think about social justice and the marginalized differently in our own time? I wonder now, when I am in Danville and see an AfricanAmerican, if they are descended from Dinaa through her son William?

Do they perhaps bear the last name Clark as a legacy of slavery which Methodism failed to correct? Documents like this should give us pause to think and reflect on what it means to see everyone as being created in the image of God, and how a serious reflection of the theology of the imago Dei should be foundational for how we treat one another, no matter how different they may be from my culture, background, or religious tradition.

The archives of the B.L. Fisher library are open to researchers and works to promote research in the history of Methodism and the WesleyanHoliness movement. Images, such as these, provide one vital way to bring history to life. Preservation of such material is often time consuming and costly, but are essential to helping fulfill Asbury Theological Seminary’s mission. If you are interested in donating items of historic significance to the archives of the B.L. Fisher Library, or in donating funds to help purchase or process significant collections, please contact the archivist at archives@ asburyseminary.edu.

All images used courtesy of the Archives of the B. L Fisher Library of Asbury Theological Seminary who own all copyrights to these digital images, unless otherwise noted. Please contact them directly if interested in obtaining permission to reuse these images.

1

2 Rev. A.H. Redford, The History of Methodism in Kentucky, vol.

1 (Nashville, TN: Southern Methodist Publishing House) 1868: 24. This is actually a quote from an older work, to which the writer adds, “I attended his funeral in connection with the Rev. Francis Poythress, and at his request I preached from these words, ‘For to me to live is Christ, but to die is gain.’”

(See James B. Finley, Sketches of Western Methodism (Cincinnati, OH: Methodist Book Concern) 1855.

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3 See Brendlinger, Irv, “John Wesley and Slavery: Myth and Reality” (2006). Faculty Publications - College of Christian Studies. Paper 116. http://digitalcommons.georgefox.edu/ccs/116, 234.

4

Ibid., 235.

5 See Michael Jagessar (2007) Review Article: “Critical Reflections on John Wesley, Thoughts Upon Slavery,” Black Theology, 5(2): 250-255, DOI: 10.1558/blth2007v5i2.250 for more thoughts about Wesley’s lack of involvement in the fight against slavery.

See Walter Brownlow Posey, “Influence of Slavery upon the Methodist Church in the Early South and Southwest”, The Mississippi Valley Historical Review, 17(4): 530-542 (Mar. 1931).

6

The Journal of the Rev. Francis Asbury, Bishop of The Methodist Episcopal Church from August 7, 1771, to December 7, 1815. Vol. 2 (New York, NY: N. Bangs and T. Mason for The Methodist Episcopal Church) 1821: 75.

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The Asbury Journal 79/1: 148-166 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary DOI: 10.7252/Journal.01.2024S.09

Book Reviews Holiness and Pentecostal Movements: Intertwined Pasts, Presents, and Futures Bundy, David, Geordan Hammond, and David Sang-Ehil Han, eds.

Studies in the Holiness and Pentecostal Movements University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press 2022, vi + 274 pp., hardcover, $114.95 ISBN 978-0-2710-9215-7 Reviewed by Glen O’Brien (Eva Burrows College, University of Divinity) This first volume in Pennsylvania State University Press’s Studies in the Holiness and Pentecostal Movements is an impressive beginning for what promises to be a valuable and much-needed series. While Pentecostal studies have boomed, critical historical work on the Holiness Movement has lagged sadly behind in comparison. Linking the two movements, both historically and theologically, makes sense, not only as an explanation of their relationship but also as a strategy for keeping the Holiness part of the equation in the picture alongside its now much larger offspring. An authoritative monograph on the history of the Holiness Movement is long overdue and a genuinely global approach has never been attempted. The excellent earlier work of Donald Dayton, Melvin Dieter, Vinson Synan and others continues to be valuable but there is a need for more recent work to succeed those earlier achievements. This book does not claim to constitute such a definitive resource, but it serves researchers very well as a collection of valuable critical essays.

The editors provide a solid introduction to the intertwined nature of the two movements, helpful for any reader new to the field who is needing to get quickly oriented. The first four chapters bring accounts of important periods, ‘At the Beginning,” when the boundaries between the two movements were less definitively drawn. David Bundy’s excellent chapter on the straightforwardly named, “God’s Bible School” covers 148

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the period from 1892-1910. Situating the Cincinnati, Ohio school as an expression of the Radical Holiness Movement in the Progressive Era and focusing largely on the work of Martin Wells Knapp, he shows how the Holiness movement was a potent religious expression of Populist ideals such as representative democracy, women’s rights, and the overthrow of elites. The work of the remarkable Pandita Ramabai is highlighted in Robert A. Danielson’s chapter, which shows the connections between Ramabai and Holiness preachers E.F. Ward, Phebe Ward, and William Godbey, in the leadup to the Mukti Revival of 1905. It is valuable in underscoring the function of networks of literary influence in explaining revivals. It is always helpful to ask who somebody was reading when we attempt to understand causative factors in history. It is not a denial of divine activity to trace such influences, but since the demonstration of divine causality lies outside the remit of the historian, causes other than simply ‘an outpouring of the Spirit’ must be argued.

Early British Pentecostalism is often strongly linked to the Keswick Convention movement, but Kimberly Alexander’s perceptive chapter on Alexander A. Boddy and the Pentecostal League of Prayer underscores the Wesleyan influences. She argues persuasively that, not only American, but also British and Scandinavian Pentecostalism may “lay claim to a Wesleyan root” (73), even though those origins were later diluted in a more diverse confluence of ideas and experiences. In the fourth chapter, Luther Oconer skilfully traces Henry Clay Morrison’s “World Tour of Evangelism” (19091910) which took the Holiness message from Wilmore, Kentucky to Great Britain, Europe, Palestine, India, Burma, the Philippines, China, Japan, and Korea. It was a massive itinerary, covering a lot of ground in a relatively short time. Morrison’s focus was very much on the Radical Holiness message of an instantaneous experience of entire sanctification, rather than on divine healing or miracles. His hosts were normally Methodists who welcomed such an emphasis. Oconer shows how Morrison’s tour contributed to a “trans-Asian revival… interlinked via a complex web of relationships involving holiness-influenced missionaries, native evangelists, visiting revivalists and literature” which “helped create the conditions for the rise of global Pentecostalism” (110, 112).

The second part of the book is comprised of three chapters around the theme of “Unity and Diversity.” Daniel Woods explores railroads as both a spiritual metaphor and as a regularly used form of transport among Holiness and Pentecostal preachers. The enthusiastic embrace of this

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modern mode of transportation pushes against the inaccurate perception of a rustic anti-modernism. Drawing on Niebuhr’s classic Christ and Culture typology, Cheryl J. Sanders evaluates the contribution of Holiness preacher Amanda Berry Smith (1837-1915) and Pentecostal spiritual mothers in the Church of God in Christ, Lizzie Robinson (1860-1945) and Lillian Brooks Coffey (1891-1964). Applying a Womanist analysis, Sanders shows how Black Holiness women fostered “their own empowerment, equality, and social ethics as authentic evidence of their sanctification” (155). Insik Choi argues for Pneumatology as the basis for ecumenical dialogue between the Korean Methodist Church, the Korean Evangelical Holiness Church, and the Pentecostal Full Gospel Church. One of the more interesting aspects of this chapter is its suggestion that the indigenous Minjung (oppressed peoples) theology, as proposed by scholars such as Jong-cheon Park and Jeong-bae Lee, provides a valuable resource for ecumenical dialogue on the Holy Spirit.

The book’s final part takes a theological direction as Frank D. Macchia grounds the doctrine of the Atonement in Christ as the Spiritbaptizer. Henry H. Knight III underscores the optimism of grace in the idea of the realised kingdom common to both traditions. Finally, Chris E.W. Green considers the “Cleveland School” of Pentecostal-Holiness thought centred in the Church of God Theological Seminary, Cleveland, Tennessee (renamed “Pentecostal Theological Seminary” in 2004). He identifies Cheryl Bridges Johns, Steve Moore, Rickie Moore, and Chris Thomas as the “foundational four” who developed a discrete school of thought within Pentecostalism dedicated to a retrieval of Wesleyan origins and a commitment to social justice in a Pentecostal-Holiness mode. Defining “blackness” theologically rather than racially, Green calls for the Cleveland School to recover its “blackness.” This left me a little uneasy, given that all of the named scholars who represent the school are white. “Blackness” is certainly more than skin colour, but no community can legitimately claim “blackness” without black voices being centred and platformed.

The book is an attractively bound and designed hardback and is well illustrated with a selection of eighteen black and white photographs and illustrations sprinkled through the text. It is fully indexed, with generous end notes. The helpful bibliographies at the end of each chapter are a spur to further reading. The second volume in the series is an eagerly awaited history of Oneness Pentecostalism, edited by Lloyd D. Barba, Andrea Shan Johnson, and Daniel Ramírez, built around the themes of race, gender,

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and culture. Another volume in development includes a collection of essays on Methodist, Holiness, and Pentecostal women preachers. Penn State University Press and the series editors are to be commended for this exciting new series which promises to make a significant contribution to our understanding of these intertwined movements.

Age of the Spirit: Charismatic Renewal, the Anglo-World, and Global Christianity, 1945-1980 Maiden, John New York, NY: Oxford University Press 2023, 288 pp., hardcover, $115.00 ISBN 978-0-19-884749-6 Reviewed by Zachariah S. Motts John Maiden has created an intellectual map of the interconnected and various people, places, and institutions that formed what became known as charismatic Christianity. As a survey of the historical situation of these movements, it is an incredibly detailed work. It goes a step farther, however, in also looking at the “Spiritscape” that was created, a morphing, communal imaginary that spread across newly formed global networks.

More than simply looking at external events, this approach allows Maiden to reconstruct the sense of shared experience that was a major motivating force of this movement. There is a richness to the description in Age of the Spirit that is a boon for any scholar of religious movements.

It must be said, though, that the level of detail is dizzying at times. Even though Age of the Spirit sets out a range of history and focuses most heavily on the charismatic movement’s ties in the English-speaking world, it covers the subject at hand with thoroughness and rapidity. The text is constantly traversing continents, introducing new names and abbreviations, and tracing a spider’s web of connections. This is, of course, the point; Maiden is attempting to bring to light how the trans-local interconnectedness of this religious movement functioned. Even so, there are times when a bit more narrative background on the human beings that flash past would have been helpful. It is a useful reference for the person already familiar with the constant stream of names and events, but would be difficult to tell the importance or context of many of the named entities

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if all one had to rely on was this text. A few more pauses to tell stories of individuals would have been appreciated. As we move further from this history, that sort of narrative elaboration will be important to readers of the future. For that reason, it must be noted that Age of the Spirit is not an easy entry point to this history due to its breathless coverage of so much ground, but it is a useful guide for the initiated.

One fascinating piece of Age of the Spirit is how new technological possibilities of mass media shaped what the movement became. For our era in which the World Wide Web has made the global flow of information instantaneous, it is illuminating to think through how previous links between communities formed. The cheap availability of the cassette recorder is a technology that made charismatic networks come alive and democratized theology in an incredible way. Part of the reason that the charismatic movement could spread both inside and outside established churches is that cassette tapes of favorite speakers could be passed in a clandestine way between laypeople beyond the watchful gaze of clergy gatekeepers.

Maiden’s explanation of this element is a valuable piece of his description.

The last chapter on the legacy of the charismatic movement is eye-opening. So many features of the Christian landscape today that could easily be taken as unremarkable, common elements of broader evangelicalism have roots and ties to the history elaborated in these pages.

The mainstreaming of “praise and worship” music that opened possibilities for contemporary Christian music, the grassroots networking of religious concepts made possible by the cassette recorder, a renewed emphasis on small groups and prayer meetings: even as the direct influence of the charismatic movement fades, these things have left their mark. Many of the touchstones of the charismatic movement have been incorporated into the larger Christian imaginary in a way that has shaped expectations and norms.

Age of the Spirit is a useful work for the scholar of religious movements or sociology of religion. There is much in Maiden’s account that provides the granular detail necessary for a fuller picture of recent Christian history. A formidable work that teases out the interconnectedness of the many strands of the charismatic movement, Age of the Spirit is sure to be a guide for future scholarship on this topic.

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Henry Clay Morrison Smith, Ronald E. Wilmore, KY: Francis Asbury Institute 2023, 384 pp., paper $27.95, hardcover $35.95 ISBN: 978-0-915143-55-9 Reviewed by Roderick T. Leupp Henry Clay Morrison, 1857-1942, has not received his scholarly due, so Ron Smith’s addition to the slender accounting is welcome. This fulsome volume originated as Smith’s Drew University doctoral dissertation, and the eighteen-year gap between the degree’s 2005 conferral and this book’s 2023 publication may be due to Smith’s excellent explanatory Introduction and two lengthy appendices.

Methodist theology may be known more for its irenic restraint than its polemic crusading, yet Smith is clear about his undertaking one path of historical revision. His accomplishing this stated goal is the main reason to read this book. While Smith does not explicate the full amplitude of Wesley’s theology, or Morrison’s appropriation of it, he is convincing on this singular point: mainline Methodist theology of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries cannot be consigned to over-heated enthusiasm and heedless, sloppy warm-heartedness. Hence, there is much more diversity among mainstream Methodists of this period than historians such as Mark Noll and George Marsden have been willing to recognize. They were not the one-dimensional “experientialists” of the received scholarly consensus.

American Protestantism of this period is typically cast as a contest between Fundamentalism and Modernism.

In this familiar narrative, Methodism typically sails the prevailing winds of Social Gospel optimism, leaving the Baptists and Presbyterians as defenders of true gospel orthodoxy.

Morrison’s career— twice president of Asbury College, founder of Asbury Theological Seminary— gives the lie to this oversimplification. He strove to express clearly and completely his grasp of Wesley’s full theological witness, although strangely, Smith fails to cite the Wesleyan Quadrilateral here, probably because its “coinage” by Albert Outler postdated Morrison’s active life.

Outler may have regretted giving to the theological world the “Wesleyan Quadrilateral,” but expressed no such regret over christening

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John Wesley as a “folk theologian.” Morrison is cut from the same cloth, especially in his preaching and publishing ministries. If anything, Morrison’s Pentecostal Herald may have been more successful in spreading Morrison’s influence than were Wesley’s expansive publishing ventures.

In his day, Morrison undertook adventures that, to be honest, would likely escape the notice of today’s leading United Methodist preachers, ethicists, and theologians. Morrison might be said to be more conversant with a wider range of theological advocacy than is true of today’s mainline Methodism. For example, Morrison interacted with the Oberlin College luminary Charles Grandison Finney, although as Smith correctly notes, Morrison’s theology remained theocentric in contrast to Finney’s anthropocentric views.

Smith’s inviting subtitle of Remember the Old Paths, illustrated by convincing cover art that captures Morrison’s moment of conversion, working in the fields as a Methodist circuit rider ambled by, yet means something quite different for Morrison than it did for Wesley. As Randy L. Maddox, chief among many others, has shown in his epochal 1994 book Responsible Grace, Wesley was comfortable among, and conversant with, the manifold riches of the full, historic Christian witness. By comparison, one must conclude from Smith’s biographical testimony, Morrison was relatively ignorant of these riches. Smith never tells the reader how or why Morrison became “Dr. Morrison,” and Morrison’s theological education seems to have been limited to a single year at Vanderbilt, regrettably unable to pass the year-ending literature comprehensive.

Smith’s book, as he explains it, has benefitted from significant editorial input, yet at times one wonders “where is the editor?” That the plucky Francis Asbury rode “five to six thousand miles a month for an eighty-dollar annual salary, preaching daily,” is doubtless correct as far as salary and speaking, but that equine output is for an entire year, not a mere month (297). Again, Smith writes “tangential” when his meaning must be almost a semantic universe away, namely, “essential” (320). This book also seems to think that “servitude” is a good thing, when more than likely it is “servanthood” that is intended.

One means of asserting Methodist and Wesleyan “uniqueness” is, of course, to return to its centering doctrine of Christian Perfection or Entire Sanctification. To Smith’s credit, he does discuss “Second Blessing Holiness,” and Methodism’s tendency to reject this belief, allowing that Morrison accepted it. There is not much attention paid to defining or even

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illustrating just what Wesley may or may not have meant by Christian Perfection.

Paul Tillich assigned to himself the phrase “On the Boundary.” It may be said that Henry Clay Morrison saw himself thus, not on the boundary between philosophy and theology, as for Tillich, but on the boundary of Fundamentalist dogmatism and Modernist accommodationism. If there even is a contemporary Morrison, in 2024, would tossing her or him into the current Methodist ferment be confusing or clarifying? It is an intriguing prospect.

The Mission of the Triune God: A Theology of Acts Schreiner, Patrick Wheaton, IL: Crossway 2022, 179 pp., paper $23.99 ISBN 978-1-4335-7411-5 Reviewed by Jonathan Tysick (Stellenbosch University) In 1937 Edgar J. Goodspeed asked “where within eighty pages will be found such a varied series of exciting events— trials, riots, persecutions, escapes, martyrdoms, voyages, shipwrecks, rescues—…” as in the book of Acts? (Introduction to the New Testament, 187–88. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1937. This portrayal of Acts as a thrilling story has distracted many Christians from attributing a unique theological message to it as is given the Epistles or Gospels. In The Mission of the Triune God, Patrick Schreiner– associate professor of New Testament and Biblical theology at Midwestern Baptist Theological seminary in Kansas City— addresses this tendency by providing “a biblical theology” of Acts that “follow[s] the theological themes through narrative order” (15, Unless stated otherwise, all italics in quotations are original).

Schreiner opens his book with a brief but helpful introduction that summarises the uniqueness of Acts in the New Testament and its purpose: to provide assurance that “the bumpy start of the community of God is the plan of God” (23). Schreiner recognises that Acts is a “transitional book” that “recounts non-repeatable events” while also a “programmatic book” that “provides guidance for the church in every age” (21). He therefore emphasises Acts as a “renewal document” that serves as “an exemplar for

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the renewal of the church” (20). The author concludes his introduction by sketching out the seven theological themes that frame the narrative theology in Acts and that make up the book’s seven chapters.

In chapter one Schreiner makes clear from the beginning of Acts that “all the action finds its source in and stems from the Father” (30). Like a musical conductor, the Father has a plan (βουλῇ) that he fulfills through his agent, the word (the orchestra). The content of this word (the performance) is the Father’s Kingdom.

The book’s second chapter posits that the Father’s plan, word and kingdom “centers on the living exalted King” (45): Jesus. Beginning from the early chapters of Acts, Schreiner shows how Jesus’s resurrection, ascension, and death remain central in the theology of the book. This chapter also includes a helpful excursus on the Christology of Acts.

Chapter three highlights the Spirit’s empowerment of the first century church in Acts. Schreiner nicely outlines the soteriological, ecclesiological and missiological operations of the Spirit in Acts.

Fourthly, Schreiner returns to Acts’ “word” theme. Building on the work of David G. Peterson, Schreiner underlines the word as a personified “divine actor” (79). This word has a “Trinitarian shape… a Christological center” and is multiplied throughout the book of Acts.

In chapter five the book describes how salvation (stressing the martial aspects of the term in the OT and First century context) went from Jerusalem to “all flesh,” including even to “the pagans and barbarians” (99).

This is understood by Schreiner as a fulfillment of various prophecies of Isaiah (98).

The penultimate chapter describes how the church is established in the book of Acts narratively. Schreiner argues that in chapters 1-7 Israel is restored; in 8-12 “outcasts” are “assembled” (108); and in 13-28 “Gentiles” are “welcomed” (ibid.). An excursus on the Law in Acts is also included in this chapter.

The seventh and final chapter describes how the church, and especially the apostles, are witnesses, again fulfilling different prophecies in Isaiah 43-49 (138). In Acts, the apostles witness from Jerusalem, to Judea and Samaria to the ends of the earth (142). A conclusion recaps Schreiner’s seven theological themes, emphasising how “a retrieval of the theology of Acts provides the groundwork for the rebirth of the modern church” (149).

Overall, Schreiner succeeds in his goal of providing a primer on the major theological themes of Acts without neglecting Acts as a story.

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While not straightjacketing himself, Schreiner smoothly structures his chapters so that the early themes are focused on the earlier chapters of Acts, while the later deal with the concluding parts of the story. This allows the reader to comprehend the theology without ignoring the fast-paced story of Acts. Perhaps even more valuable, Schreiner writes as a Christian and is willing to tease out the nascent Trinitarian thought in Acts and allow the text to shape his understanding of the twenty-first century church.

The thirty tables and figures that litter Schreiner’s seven chapters are especially helpful in engagingly clarifying the theological themes. (See Schreiner’s The Visual Word: Illustrated Outlines of the New Testament Books. Chicago: Moody Publishing, 2021.) Likewise, the book is strong at connecting Acts to the Old Testament, making it a truly Biblical and not only New Testament theology.

Although he references over 125 academic works and articles, Schreiner also writes simply, describing personal experiences and mentioning many pop-culture references like Kanye West, Drake, Johnny Cash, the West Wing and (even) Voldemort. This colloquial approach may direct doctoral students and academics to denser volumes, while the interested Christian may find themselves overwhelmed by the academic bent of the book and prefer a more popular level Bible study. However– in between these two groups— undergraduate and masters students wishing to explore the big picture of Acts in a disarming and theological way will find Schreiner’s book to be a gift. Equally, Pastors and Bible teachers beginning a teaching series on Acts will find this volume to be a stimulating guide to propel them into study. I look forward to exploring other volumes in Crossway’s New Testament Theology series.

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New Testament Rhetoric: An Introductory Guide to the Art of Persuasion in and of the New Testament Witherington, Ben III and Jason A. Myers Second revised edition Eugene, OR: Cascade 2022, xiii + 380 pp., paper, $45.00 ISBN 9781532689680.

Reviewed by Duane F. Watson (Malone University) This is the second revised and expanded edition of this volume originally published in 2009. The first edition covered Mark and Luke, the speeches of Acts, Paul as rhetor, the Pastorals, and 1 Peter and 1 John, as well as broader topics of oral culture of biblical times, a brief survey of the history and practice of Greco-Roman rhetoric, and the contribution of rhetoric to New Testament hermeneutics. Some of these chapters have been revised and augmented. This second edition offers additional chapters on the rhetoric of 1 Corinthians and Romans, Captivity Epistles, James and Jude, and Revelation. It also contains new appendices on the elementary exercises of rhetorical education and an unapologetic apology for using rhetoric in the study of the New Testament. Witherington wrote the chapters and Myers expanded those of 1 Corinthians and Romans, and Captivity Epistles. Myers wrote the first appendix, and Witherington the second.

The new chapter on 1 Corinthians and Romans argues that in 1 Cor 2:1–5 Paul does not deny using rhetoric, but using sophistic rhetoric which was more ornamental and ostentatious. In fact, in this passage Paul was using the rhetorical technique of decrying rhetorical ability only to go on to demonstrate it. The letter is classified as deliberative rhetoric aimed at persuading the Corinthians to adopt social concord rather than factionalism as the advantageous path to follow. The propositio is identified as 1:10 and the narratio as 1:11–17 before the provision of a brief rhetorical outline of the letter. Further discussion focuses on chapters 13 and 15. The hymn of chapter 13 is considered to be a digression composed by Paul using the topic of love commonly used in deliberative rhetoric to promote social unity. Paul uses insinuation throughout the letter to prepare the Corinthians for addressing the subject of bodily resurrection in chapter 15, a subject the Greek mind found revolting and for which such preparation was necessary.

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Romans is classified as deliberative rhetoric aimed at unifying the Gentile and Jewish converts in Rome. The propositio is identified as 1:16–17: the righteousness of God is revealed through faith and those in covenant with him are likewise righteous through faith. The topics of righteousness (dikaiosynē) and faith (pistis) are developed throughout the letter. The chapter surveys larger blocks of argumentation in Romans with special attention to how Paul is true to the aims and usage of deliberative rhetoric. Chapters 2–3 utilize diatribe against imaginary or perceived interlocutors. Chapter 4 employs proof from historical example. Chapters 5–6 use comparison and contrast (synkrisis). The analysis of chapter 7 is significantly more detailed than other chapters, with focus upon Paul’s use of impersonation (prosopopeia). Adam is assumed to be speaking in 7:7–13 and those in Adam (humanity) are assumed to be speaking in 7:14–25.

The section is not autobiographical of Paul’s struggle with sin prior to his conversion, but the struggle of Adam and humanity in sin under the law.

It is concluded that Krister Stendahl was correct that we should not read the negative introspection of Augustine and Luther back into Romans as if it were Paul’s own struggle. Chapters 9–11 refute opposition arguments or any that could be raised against those being proposed. Chapters 14– 15 provide ethical instructions based on the previous argumentation and desire for unity. Unfortunately, chapters 8 and 12–16 are not covered.

The new chapter on the Captivity Epistles of Philippians, Ephesians, Colossians, and Philemon assumes that they were all written by the apostle Paul himself to churches in Asia Minor from his imprisonment in Rome.

Philippians is deliberative rhetoric giving direction on decisions that the recipients need to make. The propositio is rightly identified as 1:27–30 and understood to be developed in 2:1–11, 2:12-18, and 3:1–21. The focus is on the Christ hymn in 2:5–11 by which Paul holds up Christ as an example of humility to be followed in order for the recipients to obtain joy and unity.

Naturally the authorship of Ephesians and Colossians needs to be addressed when discussing their rhetoric. It is argued that the unusual language and style of these books, features typically cited in favor of their pseudonymity, are to be attributed to Paul being a good rhetorician adapting the Asiatic rhetoric of Asia Minor, home of the letters’ recipients. I would argue that Asiatic rhetoric, being sententious, elegant, and ornamental, is a rhetorical style that Paul disavows when writing the Corinthians (1 Cor 2:1–5). Rather than indicating that Paul wisely adapts his rhetoric to his audience in Asia Minor, any trace of Asiatic rhetoric in these letters is more

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likely indicative that he is not the author of them. However, a word of caution—rhetorical style is not a sharp tool for determining authorship. The use of secretaries who had freedom to compose the author’s thoughts, and the many facets of rhetorical situations have a large input on style.

Ephesians is identified as a circular letter using epideictic rhetoric that reminds the recipients of their Christian heritage and encourages them to continue being faithful to it. The focus is on the thanksgiving as a captatio benevolentiae (1:3–14), the exhortation in chapter 4, and the recapitulation and emotional appeal in the peroratio (6:10–20). While this analysis is certainly helpful, I am left wanting to know how the theology in chapters 1–3 works rhetorically and in relation to the exhortation of chapters 4–6.

There are fewer than two pages on the rhetoric of Colossians which is identified as deliberative rhetoric aimed at solving problems.

The focus is on the Christ Hymn (1:15–20) as the narratio or statement of facts, an identification supported by Quintilian who noted that a poem makes a suitable narratio. Unexpectedly, it is assumed that not only is Paul understood to be the author of Colossians but this hymn as well. The hymn could just as easily be borrowed from house church worship because it was familiar and accepted theology upon which any rhetorician could base persuasion and dissuasion. The short discussion of Philemon rightly emphasizes the role of insinuation and appeal to pathos in the letter. Paul carefully implies that Philemon needs to consider his slave Onesimus as a brother in Christ and free him, all the while appealing to Philemon’s emotions as an old man in prison to whom Philemon owes his salvation.

Witherington focuses his discussion of James on its argumentation, style, and structure. For argumentation, James relies heavily on enthymeme, that is, a proposition supported by a single reason. The propositions in James are often drawn from wisdom tradition. Diatribal style, rhetorical questions, and comparison (synkrisis) further support the argumentation.

The bulk of the discussion centers on the many proposals for the rhetorical outline of James and its incorporation of material from Septuagintal wisdom books and the early Jesus tradition, especially of a kind found in Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount. Jude is described as “a brief sermon following the conventions of deliberative rhetoric with an epistolary opening and a doxological conclusion” (193). Witherington describes the verbal and thematic parallels with James that perhaps suggest knowledge of the Letter of James. He also evaluates proposals for its rhetorical structure, briefly

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discussing the central role of comparison (synkrisis) of the false teachers and their teaching, behavior, and fate with notorious sinners of the past.

In the chapter on Revelation, Witherington rightly points out that Revelation is a unique combination of prophetic, apocalyptic, and epistolary literature. As such, its rhetorical nature is complex and multifaceted.

Revelation is not a transcript of visionary experience, but a literary presentation of such experience (240). As a prophet, John draws on the vocabulary, images, and ideology of prophetic and apocalyptic traditions, particularly as found in the Old Testament, to create his own prophecy. It is judicial rhetoric mixed with deliberative and epideictic rhetoric aimed at preparing the recipients for the judgment to come. Witherington surveys major current rhetorical analyses of Revelation, ultimately relying on that of Richard Bauckham.

The volume adds two new appendices. Appendix One by Myers, “The Elementary Exercises,” explores the four extant handbooks or progymnasmata of Theon, Hermogenes, Apthonius, and Nicolaus that guided elementary instruction in rhetoric in antiquity. These elementary exercises included working with or creating chreiai (sayings and deeds attributed to a famous person), fables, narratives, vivid description (ekphrasis), speech in character (prosopopeia), encomium, and comparison (synkrisis). Myers illustrates these exercises with examples drawn from the whole of the New Testament, showing that the study of these exercises greatly benefits the interpretation of the New Testament.

Appendix Two by Witherington is entitled, “An Unapologetic Apologetic about the Importance of Greco-Roman Rhetoric for Understanding the Text and Context of the NT.” He rightly points out that the use of rhetoric in New Testament interpretation is not new but has been present since the Greek Church Fathers. Such analysis is historically plausible because rhetorical usage permeated the Roman Empire and rhetorical education was available even in Galilee. More specifically, just an elementary level education contained enough rhetorical instruction for someone to write a rhetorically sound letter. Also, the primary task of preaching in this culture required a knowledge of rhetoric and such preaching easily translated to the letter form meant to be read aloud as a speech. Evidence of rhetorical finesse is found throughout the New Testament at both the micro and macro levels.

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The volume ends with a fine forty-three-page supplemental annotated bibliography, the work of Witherington’s doctoral student, Eric Laudenslager.

The volume accomplishes what it sets out to do. It explains Greek and Roman rhetoric and illustrates how it works in the New Testament and proves its usefulness for its interpretation. The additional material in the second edition strengthens the volume considerably, providing a fairly uniform coverage of the subject. The volume is now an even more helpful textbook and guide to New Testament hermeneutics.

South Asia’s Christians: Between Hindu and Muslim Mallampalli, Chandra New York, NY: Oxford University Press 2023, 368 pp., paper, $29.95 ISBN 978-0-1906-0890-3 Reviewed by Zachariah S. Motts From the arrival of the Thomas Christians to modern Pentecostalism, South Asia’s Christians covers an impressive sweep of history in a detailed manner while being surprisingly engaging and readable. Chandra Mallampalli provides an excellent overview that skillfully introduces the reader to the nuanced, complex interactions that have formed Christianity in this part of the world and makes the people and events that drive this history understandable and memorable. While being focused on Christians and their positionality as a minority group among Hindu and Muslim majorities, Mallampalli’s narrative is discerning and critical, avoiding hagiography as relationships and motivations are sifted and described.

Mallampalli places Christianity in South Asia between Hinduism and Islam. A fascinating insight of this relationality is the way that these religions shaped each other in profound ways over time. Each are defining and redefining themselves alongside one another as conversions change the demographic landscape, as political powers like the Mughul Empire, the Portuguese, the Raj, and the post-colonial, modern governments fall and rise, and as understanding and interpretation of the other changes and shifts over time. For some South Asian Christians, caste identity as a Dalit or a Brahmin continues to play an important role inside and outside

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of the church, inherited from the Hindu context. At other times, the encounters between religions create a move toward stronger boundaries and less porous identities. The Catholic and Protestant missionaries with their scriptural emphasis and confrontational debating style pushed their Muslim and Hindu interlocutors toward similar methods, toward a more consolidated, logocentric, religious self-understanding that could respond in kind to missionary pressure. These consolidated religious understandings become pivotal in the growing formation of national identities that, with the withdrawal of the British Empire, place Christian minorities on the outside as foreigners or colonial sympathizers, even after their long presence in the region which predates the colonial incursions.

The reader is drawn along through the text chronologically with occasional leaps into the future to capture how an era or episode has shaped outcomes in the broader timeline. This gives the chapters a helpful orientation even as the topics shift and the eras unfold. Mallampalli does historical narrative exceedingly well, even while describing the various Christian groups that populate this narrative with particularity and care. Thomas or Syrian Christians, Jesuits, Anglican missionaries, German Pietists, Dalit and tribal converts, Pentecostal preachers: wave after wave of variations on the Christian theme are born in or enter the Indian subcontinent, some believing they are the true and final expression, others long embedded in the local society and seeking to coexist. The strength of Mallampalli’s work is in the ability to see the whole and the parts, which allows the reader to appreciate the way these groups encounter, reject, assimilate, and change one another.

Even while being fair to the subjects of his study throughout, there are modern narratives that Mallampalli pushes back on. One is the common refrain that many of the Christians in this region were either “rice Christians” who converted for the economic benefits of aid from Christian missionary institutions, and/or that they were pressured by the colonizing powers to convert to a foreign religion. Mallampalli shows that this is far too simplistic of a view. The history, social reality of converts, missionary accounts, and present-day struggles show a far more complex picture than some of the nationalist rhetoric in the subcontinent would allow.

South Asia’s Christians is a book that is broad enough to provide an excellent overview, while being scholarly and thorough in a way that would give a seasoned student of religion, Christianity, or history plenty of enticing leads to follow up on. An enjoyable read, it more than succeeds at

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giving context and life to the deep, rich history of Christian interactions and interrelationships on the Indian subcontinent.

Shaping the Past to Define the Present: Luke-Acts and Apologetic Historiography Sterling, George E. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans 2023, 301 pp., hardcover, $44.00 ISBN 978-0-8028-4873-4 Reviewed by William B. Bowes (University of Edinburgh) Gregory Sterling is the Reverend Henry L. Slack Dean and Lilian Claus Professor of New Testament at Yale Divinity School, where he has served since 2012. In his well-known 1989 dissertation Historiography and Self-Definition, Sterling argued that both Luke-Acts and Josephus’ Antiquities should be categorized as a generic form that he dubbed “apologetic historiography.” Sterling’s conclusion has been influential in twenty-first century scholarship on Acts (e.g., Keener’s 4-volume 2014 commentary adopts Sterling’s view). In this book, Sterling writes a sequel to his initial work, expanding on his reading of Luke-Acts in the context of Jewish and Greco-Roman historiography. Notable features of this work include his discussion of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History as “apologetic historiography,” his analysis of Eastern ways of developing identity within Hellenistic contexts, and his approach to Luke-Acts vis-a-vis the Septuagint.

Sterling’s work is divided into three parts, each with three chapters.

The first part deals with ancient historiography generally, beginning in the first chapter by examining how Josephus, Luke, and Eusebius write history in similar ways and according to similar categories. Sterling suggests that the way that these authors exercised control over their narrative form was related to their attempt to establish a group identity within their culture. One of the ways that Josephus does this in his Antiquities is by emphasizing the ancient pedigree of the Jews and their traditions, and Sterling contends that Luke (recognizing Christianity’s recent appearance) does something similar to Josephus by emphasizing the continuity of the message of Jesus with what came before. For Luke, Christianity is not so much a new thing as it is “a continuation of the story of Israel” (32). To make this point, Luke’s Gospel

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edits Markan elements which emphasize the “newness” of Jesus’ teaching, and Acts presents Paul as preaching a recognizable message, cohesive with existing beliefs. The second chapter focuses on Josephus and how Josephus ascribes antiquity to the traditions of Judaism. A key element of Sterling’s argument is that Josephus (especially in Against Apion) recognizes a particularly Eastern way of writing– one which emerged from within the Hellenistic world but was distinct from it. The third chapter centers on the relationship between Luke and Acts, with Sterling arguing that Luke-Acts is indeed a single work. Notable observations include Sterling’s discussion of single works in antiquity existing in multiple scrolls (released at different times), and his suggestion that Luke edited Mark with Acts in mind.

The second part focuses on the Septuagint. In the fourth chapter Sterling contends that both Josephus and Luke considered the LXX to be incomplete and desired to craft a continuation of it. Using several examples (like the style of the Lukan infancy narrative), Sterling argues that Luke wrote “in a style that deliberately imitated the LXX” (103) specifically “as a mark of continuation” (104), similar to what Greek writers like Xenophon did in their historical works. Luke (unlike Josephus) did not intend to rewrite the LXX but to extend or continue it as part of the established tradition. The fifth chapter argues that both Luke and Josephus sought to legitimize the Jewish diaspora in their writing in a way that provided an understanding of Jewish identity not centered around the Jerusalem Temple. Just as Josephus did this by downplaying “land theology” in his Antiquities, Acts is written in such a way as to legitimize the Christian mission beyond Jerusalem. Lastly, the sixth chapter provides an analysis of the speeches in Acts and illustrates their indebtedness to the LXX. The third part of the book focuses on Luke’s writing in relation to the Greco-Roman world. The seventh chapter provides an exploration of Jesus’ death in Luke’s Gospel, with Sterling arguing that Luke sought to portray Jesus’ death as an exemplum (as Socrates’ death was often portrayed), thus rendering its embarrassing features more understandable in a Hellenistic context. In this way he connects Luke with other writers like Tacitus, Lucian, and Plutarch who borrow from similar traditions about death. The eighth chapter focuses on the summary statements about the early Christians in Acts (2:41–47; 4:32–35; 5:12–16). Sterling argues that Luke intended for these summaries to have an apologetic function, establishing the identity of the group. The ninth chapter deals with the (negative) ways non-Christians viewed Christians in antiquity, and the ways

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that Luke anticipated or responded to early criticism. For example, Sterling discusses primary source material about how Christians were perceived as having low standing the empire and contends that Luke was concerned with these things and sought to correct them. In the end, Sterling concludes that Luke sought to provide a sense of identification with the larger world while also developing a dialectical relationship with it.

Overall, Sterling’s book is a worthy sequel to his earlier work.

His work aids readers in understanding Luke’s context (as an historian among other historians), as well as the “why” and the “how” of Luke’s historiographical approach. Sterling’s analysis of Luke’s intentional and creative agenda behind his work is incisive and useful, but some readers will wonder how much (if any) of Luke-Acts that Sterling finds to be historically accurate. While Sterling uses no polemic toward conservative readings of Luke-Acts, he considers Luke to be more interested in apologetics than in historical verisimilitude. The tendency to view Luke as an inventor of creative fiction rather than a faithful (albeit creative) historian may repel some, and while he firmly situates Luke-Acts in its ancient context, one could suggest he does a disservice to readers by not addressing how a historian’s radical authorial freedom affects the work’s value to us in our modern context. Even so, this book is a helpful aid for serious students of Luke-Acts, a work that sought to shape its readers just as it was carefully shaped by a brilliant author.

The Asbury Journal 79/1: 167-171 © 2024 Asbury Theological Seminary

Books Received The following books were received by the editor’s office since the last issue of The Asbury Journal. The editor is seeking people interested in writing book reviews on these or other relevant books for publication in future issues of The Asbury Journal. Please contact the editor (Robert.danielson@asburyseminary. edu) if you are interested in reviewing a particular title. Reviews will be assigned on a first come basis.

Awabdy, Mark A. 2023 Numbers. Baker Commentary on the Old Testament Pentateuch. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-0-8010-3574-6. Price: $59.99.

Ayars, Matt, Christopher T. Bounds, and Caleb T. Friedman 2023 Holiness: A Biblical, Historical, and Systematic Theology.

Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0230-8. Price: $45.00.

Bartholomew, Craig G. 2023 Listening to Scripture: An Introduction to Interpreting the Bible. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-08010-9903-8. Price: $24.99.

Bird, Michael F. 2023

A Bird’s-Eye View of Luke and Acts: Context, Story, and Themes. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0809-6. Price: $36.00.

Blomberg, Craig L. 2023 Jesus the Purifier: John’s Gospel and the Fourth Quest for the Historical Jesus. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

ISBN: 978-1-5409-6295-9. Price: $49.99.

Bouma-Prediger, Steven 2023 Creation Care Discipleship: Why Earthkeeping is an Essential Christian Practice. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6632-2. Price: $25.99.

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Bullock, C. Hassell 2023 Theology from the Psalms: The Story of God’s Steadfast Love. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-15409-6696-4. Price: $24.99.

Chapell, Bryan 2024

Are We Living in the Last Days? Four Views of the Hope We Share About Revelation and Christ’s Return. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books. ISBN: 978-1-5409-0392-1.

Price: $22.99.

Congdon, David W., ed.

2023 Varieties of Christian Universalism: Exploring Four Views.

Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-0-80109576-4. Price: $24.99.

Draper, Andrew T., Jody Michele, and Andrea Mae 2023 Disabling Leadership: A Practical Theology for the Broken Body of Christ. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0335-0. Price: $24.00.

Edwards, Dennis R. 2023 Humility Illuminated: The Biblical Path Back to Christian Character. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0044-1. Price: $22.00.

Faro, Ingrid 2023

Fields, C. Ryan 2024

Demystifying Evil: A Biblical and Personal Exploration.

Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0493-7. Price: $28.00.

Local and Universal: A Free Church Account of Ecclesial Catholicity. Studies in Christian Doctrine and Scripture.

Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0671-9. Price: $40.00.

Flores, Daniel F., ed.

2022 Los Profetas: The Prophetic Role of Hispanic Churches in America. Nashville, TN: Wesley’s Foundery Books, Board of Higher Education and Ministry, The United Methodist Church. ISBN: 978-1-9530-5211-7. Price: $33.33.

Flores, Daniel F. 2023 Respectable Methodism: Nathan Bangs and Respectability in Nineteenth-Century American Methodism. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. ISBN: 978-16667-1396-1. Price: $31.00.

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Glahn, Sandra L. 2023 Nobody’s Mother: Artemis of the Ephesians in Antiquity and the New Testament. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0592-7. Price: $24.00.

Glanville, Mark R. 2024 Improvising Church: Scripture as the Source of Harmony,

Rhythm, and Soul. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0745-7.

Price: $28.00.

Goldingay, John 2023

Proverbs. Commentaries for Christian Formation. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. ISBN: 978-0-8028-79417. Price: $39.99.

Grindheim, Sigurd 2023 The Letter to the Hebrews. The Pillar New Testament Commentary. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans.

ISBN: 978-0-8028-7571-6. Price: $64.99.

Hamilton, Mark W. and Samjung Kang-Hamilton 2024 Story Ritual Prophecy Wisdom: Reading and Teaching the Bible Today. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans.

ISBN: 978-0-8028-8318-6. Price: $24.99.

Harris, Steven Edward 2023 Refiguring Resurrection: A Biblical and Systematic Eschatology. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. ISBN: 978-1-4813-1643-9. Price: $64.99.

Henning, Meghan and Nils Neumann, eds.

2024 Vivid Rhetoric and Visual Persuasion: Ekphrasis in Early Christian Literature. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. ISBN: 978-0-8028-8357-5. Price: $56.99.

Hollinger, Dennis P. 2023 Creation and Christian Ethics: Understanding God’s Designs for Humanity and the World. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6717-6. Price: $29.99.

Hutchinson, James Hely 2023 Answering the Psalmist’s Perplexity: New-Covenant Newness in the Book of Psalms. New Studies in Biblical Theology. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5140-0886-7. Price: $28.00.

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Inman, Ross D. 2023

Irving, Justin A. 2023

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Christian Philosophy as a Way of Life: An Invitation to Wonder. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6573-8. Price: $23.99.

Healthy Leadership for Thriving Organizations: Creating Contexts Where People Flourish. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6480-9. Price: $26.99.

Long, Thomas G. 2024 Proclaiming the Parables: Preaching and Teaching the Kingdom of God. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press. ISBN: 978-0-6642-6861-9. Price: $50.00.

McConville, J. Gordon 2023 The Suffering Servant: Isaiah 53 for the Life of the Church.

Touchstone Texts. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

ISBN: 978-1-5409-6063-4. Price: $24.99.

Merkle, Benjamin L. 2023 Exegetical Journeys in Biblical Greek: 90 Days of Guided Reading. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6510-3. Price: $21.99.

Meyer, Joanna 2023

Women, Work, and Calling: Step into your Place in God’s World. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

ISBN: 978-1-5140-0793-8. Price: $15.00.

Mouw, Richard J. 2024 Divine Generosity: The Scope of salvation in Reformed Theology. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. ISBN: 978-0-8028-8390-2. Price: $19.99.

Nogalski, James D. 2024 The Book of Micah. The New International Commentary of the Old Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. ISBN: 978-0-8028-8264-5. Price: $44.99.

Noll, Mark A. 2023

C.S. Lewis in America: Readings and Reception, 19351947. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic.

ISBN: 978-1-5140-0700-6. Price: $20.00.

Pardue, Stephen T. 2023 Why Evangelical Theology Needs the Global Church.

Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-54096074-0. Price: $24.99.

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Peterson, Cheryl M. 2024 The Holy Spirit in the Christian Life: The Spirit’s Work for, in, and through Us. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic.

ISBN: 978-1-5409-6392-5. Price: $24.99.

Pohl, Christine D. 2024 Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition. Twenty-Fifth Anniversary Edition. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. ISBN: 978-0-8028-83810. Price: $24.99.

Schreiner, Patrick 2024 The Transfiguration of Christ: An Exegetical and Theological Reading. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6596-7. Price: $26.99.

Schreiner, Thomas R. 2023 Revelation. Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6050-4. Price: $69.99.

Shepherd, Michael B. 2024 An Introduction to the Making and Meaning of the Bible.

Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans. ISBN: 978-18028-8393-3. Price: $26.99.

Vaughan, Joy L. 2023

Phenomenal Phenomena: Biblical and Multicultural Accounts of Spirits and Exorcism. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press. ISBN: 978-1-4813-1836-5. Price: $69.99.

Walton, John H. 2024 The Lost World of the Prophets: Old Testament Prophecy and Apocalyptic Literature in Ancient Context. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press Academic. ISBN: 978-15140-0489-0. Price: $22.00.

Ward, Jon 2023

Testimony: Inside the Evangelical Movement that Failed a Generation. Grand Rapids, MI: Brazos Press. ISBN: 978-1-5874-3577-5. Price: $24.99.

Whiteman, Darrell L. 2024 Crossing Cultures with the Gospel: Anthropological Wisdom for Effective Christian Witness. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. ISBN: 978-1-5409-6046-7. Price: $27.99.