The story
01Northampton, then the open fields
It began in a farm town, not a capital. In the winter of 1734 Jonathan Edwards, pastor at Northampton in Massachusetts, was preaching on being made right with God by faith when the young people of his town stopped joking about it. Within six months, by his own careful count, some three hundred people in a town of about eleven hundred had been changed. He wrote it up honestly — including what troubled him — and A Faithful Narrative was read across the Atlantic, so that when the next wave came, people already knew its name.
In England the door opened outdoors. In February 1739 George Whitefield, locked out of the pulpits by clergy who thought him a fanatic, stood on a rise at Kingswood near Bristol and preached to about two hundred coal miners. They had no parish and no pew; nobody's church had ever come for them. Whitefield wrote that he first knew they were affected when he saw the white gutters their tears made down their coal-blackened faces.
That is the hinge of this whole era: the preaching went to where the people actually were. Miners, sailors, brickmakers, and soldiers lived outside the parish system, and the parish system was largely content to let them. Whitefield talked John Wesley into the fields, though Wesley thought open-air preaching nearly sinful — on April 2, 1739, he wrote that he "submitted to be more vile" and preached from a little rise outside Bristol to about three thousand people. He kept it up for fifty more years and, by common estimate, rode a quarter of a million miles doing it.
02Whitefield and Wesley: the disagreement, and the friendship
The two great preachers did not agree. Whitefield was a Calvinist: God chooses, and the chosen come. Wesley was an Arminian: Christ died for everyone, and grace can be resisted. In 1740 and 1741 they fought it out in print and the movement split into two streams, and both of them meant it — this was not a small disagreement, and neither man pretended it was.
They also refused to stay enemies. They preached in each other's causes, and Whitefield asked in his will that Wesley preach his funeral sermon; in November 1770 Wesley stood up and did it. The story most often retold is that someone asked Whitefield whether he expected to see Wesley in heaven, and he answered no — Wesley would be so near the throne, and he at such a distance, that he would hardly be able to see him. Whether or not the words are exact, the friendship was.
03Testing the fire — and the hymns the people kept
Meanwhile Edwards did something braver than either defending the revival or fearing it: he tested it. People were crying out, shaking, and falling down, and half of New England wanted to call that proof and the other half wanted to call it proof of the opposite. Edwards said both were wrong. In The Distinguishing Marks (1741) and Religious Affections (1746) he argued that strong bodily effects settle nothing either way, and gave the real marks instead: Jesus exalted, sin hated, Scripture honored, love produced, and a life that keeps on afterward. Test the fire; do not put it out.
The theology the people actually kept was the theology they sang. Charles Wesley wrote something like six thousand hymns — "And Can It Be" out of the week of his own conversion, "O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing" on its first anniversary — and converts who owned no books carried whole doctrines home in their mouths. Forty years later John Newton, a former slave-ship officer turned country parson, and his neighbor the poet William Cowper published the Olney Hymns for their weeknight meetings. Number forty-one was Newton's own story: amazing grace, that saved a wretch like me.
04Small groups, and the woman who paid for the revival
Crowds are easy; keeping them is not. In February 1742 Wesley's Bristol society was divided into groups of about a dozen so that a leader could visit each member weekly, and the visit quickly turned into an honest conversation about how that person was actually doing with God. Wesley made it the backbone of the movement. That is why Methodism outlived its founders while other revivals evaporated: a convert was not left alone with an experience — he was put in a room with eleven people who would ask him about it every week.
Much of it was carried by women, and much of it was paid for by one. Selina Hastings, Countess of Huntingdon, spent her fortune on the revival after 1746, made Whitefield her chaplain, funded some sixty chapels, and opened a college at Trevecca in 1768. Sarah Crosby began leading and then plainly preaching to hundreds; Mary Bosanquet made the scriptural case to Wesley in 1771, and he allowed that a woman under an extraordinary call could preach. Behind the Wesleys themselves stood their mother Susanna, who had taught nineteen children one at a time and told her husband that her kitchen meetings were not going to stop.
05Across the color line, into schools and orphanages
The fire crossed lines that respectable religion had not. Whitefield preached to enslaved Africans, Samuel Davies in Virginia baptized them and taught them to read so they could have the hymnbook, and out of that soil came Harry Hosier, the formerly enslaved preacher who rode with Francis Asbury and whom many hearers judged the better of the two, and Richard Allen, converted as a young man in Delaware, who would found the African Methodist Episcopal Church. The Awakening also had to be told on itself: Whitefield pressed for slavery to be legalized in Georgia and used enslaved labor to support his Bethesda orphanage. Wesley called the trade the execrable sum of all villainies and Newton confessed his part in it publicly — the same revival produced both the sin and its accusers, and honesty requires saying so.
Where it went next is the point. Whitefield's orphan house at Bethesda opened in 1740 and Wesley's people ran schools, free medical help, and a lending fund for the poor; Robert Raikes started Sunday schools in Gloucester in 1780 that taught working children to read; awakened men like John Howard walked into the prisons and wrote down what they found. In 1785 a young Member of Parliament named William Wilberforce was converted, went to Newton for advice, and was told to stay in politics. Six days before he died in 1791, Wesley wrote him one last letter telling him to go on against that execrable villainy — the slave trade fell in 1807.
06The shape it left behind
By 1800 the shape of modern evangelical Christianity was set: the call to be born again, the hymnbook, the small group, and the assumption that a converted people will go do something about the world outside the meeting. The next generation read these men and looked at a map. William Carey, a shoemaker with a homemade globe, was already asking why anyone should stay home.

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