While Methodist owed its early success to many factors, perhaps most important was its ability to match its style and approach to the character of the newly formed American nation. Once separated from England, immigrants flocked to the new continent with great hopes for a new and better life. The decades after the Revolutionary War saw enormous expansion westward as settlers opened up new, virgin land with small farms and cottage industries and crafts. This was often an unruly process with families removed from their roots and placed into new, difficult situations without much institutional support. Social morals and graces suffered.
The genius of the Methodist movement was its realization that what had begun as an informal circulation of John Wesley’s emissaries among the first classes and Methodist groups could be channeled into a means of spreading the Gospel that literally grew with the new nation out to its very frontier. Today we will look at the time of the Circuit Riders, basically the first half century following the War. As we do, it is important to realize that these traveling ministers and the “enthusiastic” response to their preaching and exhortation (often blended together) was closely coupled to the formation and operation of the class meetings at the local level. Each supported the other, and neither would probably have succeeded on its own. The circuit riders tied these local groups together, often within the quarterly meetings covering large regions, and encouraged the local lay leaders with galvanizing sermons as well as occasional materials to read and share. Converts brought into the fold at the big meetings were nurtured and remained because of the classes. For many on the frontier, these regular meetings were the only social gatherings that existed where they could meet their neighbors, share experiences, and organize help for one another.
In sharp contrast to the educated clergy that were a part of the Anglican and Puritan systems (and their descendants), the circuit rider system was a truly grass roots effort. The young men who entered this system often had some skills; many were apprenticed to trades such as blacksmithing, saddle making, or carpentry. (This paralleled to a considerable degree what was happening in England where Wesley’s ministry had its greatest appeal to the new industrial working classes that were uprooted and moved to the suddenly growing cities rather than to the farmers who continued to work the land, often for an overlord. Methodism actually had little impact on the poorest of the poor whose lack of skills and education put them at the margins of society.) Having not grown up as Methodists, the new recruits usually began to attend Methodist meetings out of curiosity about this boiling hot religion where people would jerk and twitch, stand up shouting, or fall to the ground where they might lie prostrate for hours. Many did so with the expressed disapproval of their families. After some time they would get caught up, having experiences of their own. These were often accompanied by dreams or the experience of hearing the voice of God convicting them of their guilt and telling them to embark on a new path. This gave them the grist for their own exhortations, and they might spend a year or two speaking at local meetings. For the new converts, these were exciting times. People would gather to hear their stories, and many were convinced that they had a calling to mimic the traveling leadership and begin their own circuit.
During the early days, Francis Asbury would travel the country attending annual conferences. At these meetings he would ordain new preachers and set them out on circuits, often to new territory, until they got reassigned the following year. Asbury wanted a truly national system, so he often assigned preachers to circuits well away from their home turf. This had the dual effect of forcing the preachers into a high level of dedication and self-reliance, and it kept the stories that were heard on the circuit fresh and interesting to the locals. Asbury’s task was a delicate balance between his desire to make the growing enthusiasm available to convert as many souls as possible and the vision of keeping the Methodist system together and organized with a single message. His was also the task of making sure only the best were on the road, so he chose to turn away those whose work was not sufficiently focused.
Training was done on the job. New preachers were often assigned to travel for a time with a more experienced person on a circuit. Thus they learned first hand how it was done and had the opportunity to have their efforts critiqued and improved. “Grace” rather than education was considered to be the main qualification for the job. And the measure of grace was the ability to speak to the heart and win souls to Jesus. Interestingly, new converts who became preachers often were taken with an excitement about learning as much as possible about their new Christian faith and many picked up the discipline of regular Bible reading along with a careful study of Methodist documents and the sermons of John Wesley. Older preachers encouraged this. It had the effect of gaining for the circuit riders some respectability since they could point to the Word for illustration and authority while not breaking down their common touch with too much erudition and complex argument. Some riders went into the business of distributing Bibles and tracts. In subtle ways, this was to seep into the class meetings and form one of the roots of the public education movement that was originally intended to get everyone to read the Bible.
A circuit was usually between 200 and 500 miles around, and the rider was expected to complete the course in two to six weeks. The pace was always hectic. The circuit rider would go only a few miles before stopping to set up another meeting. He might preach two or three times a day. This of course meant that meetings could happen on any day of the week, not just on Sundays. While at a stop, the preacher would also check on class meetings and visit as many of the local families as possible, usually sharing a hymn and a prayer. There were relatively few days of rest in the schedule. This ensured that most people could see the Methodist preacher about once a month. Preaching was done wherever it was convenient, most often at the home of one of the members of the Methodist group. But preachers were known to use schools, stores, and taverns (even during business hours), as well as the open air. If a minister used someone’s home, he would often stay there for the night and eat dinner with the family. Circuits were opened as fast as there was someone to visit. Some stories tell about the preachers who appeared even before the wagon was unloaded and timber felled for a new house.
The life of a circuit rider was physically grueling. They traveled, usually by horseback, with little more than the clothes that they were wearing through all kinds of weather. On the frontier where conditions were primitive, there were stories that preachers sometimes declined the offer of a bed and slept out of doors to avoid the fleas and bedbugs. Circuit riders were supported in their task mainly by the fraternity of other circuit riders, whom they would often meet at conferences. A great camaraderie developed, and many circuit riders maintained a lifelong mail correspondence among themselves. Illness and accident were constant perils. At the beginning of the 19th century, about one in six of the circuit riders died on circuit. My copy of the Sacred Harp contains hymns to be sung at the end of the preacher’s visit that commend him to God’s care in case he doesn’t make it back the next time. Celibacy was the order of the day, but for practical rather than doctrinal reasons. After several years on circuit, preachers might meet an available woman and marry, which usually led to their giving up their assignment and “locating.” There they often became preachers who performed Sunday services for an area and worked otherwise for a livelihood. At the height of the circuit riding ministry, this was considered a second class status within the church. But as towns grew out of settlements and church buildings sprang up, the stigma slowly evaporated. In a few cases, new wives supported an itinerant career from home or traveled with their husbands.
Such was the reach of this system that within a generation of the end of the Revolutionary War, a visit by the Methodist preacher was considered to be a normal, and expected, part of daily life in America. Thus it is hardly surprising that Methodism’s growth outpaced by a large margin other denominations. Perhaps more importantly, its fundamentally different style forever changed the face of American Protestantism. It stood in sharp contrast to the pattern of the established churches of the colonial period in which ministers were theologically educated at universities and the distance between the clergy and the laity was a matter of class as much as education or wealth. By contrast, the Methodist system blurred the distinction between minister and lay person. Anyone with a story to tell could speak, and exhorters (even after they became “licensed”) were usually “one of us.” The speaking itself was aimed at the heart with the goal of winning souls to Christ, in contrast to the nuanced interpretations of theology offered in east coast congregations. The subjects were hell and the devil, with a clear eye on the coming day of judgment. This reflected Wesley’s own interest in bringing people into a direct experience of the Spirit, after which they were on the road toward Christian perfection. Life for the Methodist was a journey. The theology was practical, recognizing that even if one was brought into the church that it was still possible to falter and return to sinful ways. It emphasized discipline and moral uprightness. It valued work. As such, it fit well with the aspirations of new settlers who saw themselves as the creators of a new nation and a new economy based on the industry and initiative of its citizens. It played to their hopes more than their despairs and frustrations. This made Methodism as much of the people as for the people. People took to it eagerly, in part because as a result of hearing about God’s plan and purpose (as well as God’s judgment), folks could see themselves as a meaningful part of a great mission to build a new world. They were enfranchised and liberated from the tyranny of old governments. The future, whether as citizens of the nation or as the people of God, was in their hands. Their fate was not at the whim of either a capricious king or God. Young men who became circuit riders saw this not as a career choice, but the highest possible calling to which they could aspire and the best possible thing that they could do with their lives. This vision permeated their work. It made the American experience of religion unique and gave it its special character.
Part Two
Holy, ‘Knock-’Em-Down’ Preachers
In 1802, 26-year-old Jacob Young began a new Methodist preaching circuit along the Green River, a vast and growing region of central Kentucky. Knowing he could count on little help from his supervising elder (a millwright who divided his time between his craft and itinerant preaching), Young devised his own strategy for evangelizing the region:
“I concluded to travel five miles, as nearly as I could guess, then stop, reconnoiter the neighborhood, and find some kind person who would let me preach in his log cabin, and so on till I had performed the entire round.”
Near the end of one dreary day, Young came upon a solitary cabin in the woods. He spotted a woman in the doorway and asked for lodging, but the woman refused. Desperate, Young exclaimed, “I am a Methodist preacher, sent by Bishop Asbury to try to form a circuit.”
“This information appeared to electrify her,” recalled Young. “Her countenance changed, and her eyes fairly sparkled. She stood for some time without speaking, and then exclaimed, ‘La, me! Has a Methodist preacher come at last?’”
The family were North Carolina Methodists recently migrated to Kentucky. Their home soon became a regular preaching appointment on Young’s circuit.
This eager reception of a Methodist circuit rider was repeated over and over again in the late 1700s and early 1800s, so much so that Methodism experienced remarkable growth.
Early circuit riders were a different kind of clergy than had ever been seen in America, serving a rapidly expanding and spiritually hungry nation. They pursued their calling with remarkable zeal, forever changing the style and tone of American religion.
What was a circuit rider’s life like? And what was their collective impact?
Virtual Miracle
Along with the Baptists, the Methodists were among the fastest growing churches in post-Revolutionary America. Between 1770 and 1820, American Methodists achieved a virtual miracle of growth, rising from fewer than 1,000 members to more than 250,000. In 1775, fewer than one out of every 800 Americans was a Methodist; by 1812, Methodists numbered one out of every 36 Americans. At mid-century, American Methodism was almost ten times the size of the Congregationalists, America’s largest denomination in 1776.
Key to the Methodist success was a dedicated contingent of itinerant preachers, or circuit riders. In this era, most Americans lived on widely scattered farms or in tiny, often remote villages. In 1795, 95 percent of Americans lived in places with fewer than 2,500 inhabitants; by 1830 this proportion was still 91 percent. Itinerant ministry provided preaching, the sacraments, and church structure to communities that would not otherwise have been able to attract or afford a minister.
In 1790, the Methodist preacher Freeborn Garrettson noted that in New York, thousands “in the back settlements, who were not able to give an hundred [pounds] a year to a minister … may now hear a sermon at least once in two weeks; sometimes oftener”—thanks to the presence of Methodist circuit riders.
In many areas, the pace of settlement simply outran the resources of the older denominations. In 1770, the territories that would eventually become Georgia, Kentucky, Ohio, and Tennessee contained only about 40,000 people of European or African descent. By 1810, the combined population of these same regions was over 1 million. In many of these rapidly growing regions, the Methodists held the only religious services for miles around.
The Methodist Difference
In contrast to the mobility of the Methodist itinerants, New England clergy traditionally held lifetime tenure in a single parish. Of the 550 graduates of Yale College who entered the Congregationalist ministry between 1702 and 1794, a remarkable 71 percent ministered for their entire career in only one church. In colonial New England, both pastor and people saw ordination as a long-term commitment to a single congregation. Nothing could have been more foreign to the Methodist concept of an itinerant ministry.
Educationally and socially, the early Methodist preachers were cut from the same fabric as the farm and artisan families who made up the bulk of their audiences. Unlike their college-educated Congregationalist, and Presbyterian counterparts, the early circuit riders began ministry with a natural social affinity with their listeners.
The typical circuit rider was a young, single man who hailed from an artisan background, who himself had already moved several times from one village or town to the next, but whose life had been abruptly transformed by a dramatic conversion experience. Before turning to preaching, Bishop Francis Asbury (Methodism’s most influential early leader) had been a blacksmith, and most of the other preachers had been carpenters, shoemakers, hatters, tanners, millers, shopkeepers, school teachers, sailors, and so on.
In many cases, the only real distinction between a Methodist preacher and his audience was which side of the pulpit each was on. Almost none of the first- or second-generation itinerants had anything more than a common school education. Up to 1800, even a full-time itinerant’s salary was limited to a paltry $64 a year. In that year, it was increased to $80 a year for an unmarried preacher. By comparison, the average annual income of a Congregationalist minister in 1800 was $400.
Ministry on the Move
A typical Methodist itinerant was responsible for a predominantly rural circuit, 200 to 500 miles in circumference. He was expected to complete this circuit every two to six weeks, with the standard being a four weeks’ circuit. His partner, if he had one, usually did not travel with him, but either followed or preceded him on the circuit. Hence, on a four weeks’ circuit, the people could expect preaching about every two weeks, but only rarely from a circuit rider on a Sunday.
On rural circuits, the itinerants made preaching appointments for nearly every day of the week, sometimes both morning and evening, with only a few days per month allotted for rest, reflection, and letter writing. Circuit riders were urged to preach at 5:00 a.m. in the summer and 6:00 a.m. in the winter.
The itinerants usually met and examined the classes (weekly small-group gatherings of one or two dozen people) at each appointment—all of which could take three to four hours a day, apart from traveling. Quarterly meetings, held at a centralized location, added variety to this routine, and beginning in the early 1800s, camp meetings often replaced one of the quarterly meetings.
Boiling Hot Religion
Early Methodist sermons emphasized the practical, the immediate, and the dramatic. “People love the preacher who makes them feel,” observed Methodist preacher Thomas Ware. The typical circuit rider preached from a basic set of Scripture texts embellished with anecdotes and analogies from everyday life. The few expository skills he used were largely gleaned from the sermons of colleagues. But he also learned to preach with what the itinerant Henry Smith referred to as an irresistible “holy ‘knock-’em-down’ power.”
Nothing would have been more anathema to Methodist itinerants than the dispassionate reading of a prepared sermon. They preached extemporaneously, without notes or manuscript. As Bishop Asbury once urged one of his preachers, “Feel for the power; feel for the power, brother.”
Circuit riders were both familiar and frightening, homespun heralds of a gospel that was attuned to everyday life yet unsettling in its larger implications. This approach led one contemporary to call early Methodism “a boiling hot religion.”
The preaching of John A. Granade is an extreme but telling example. Born in North Carolina about the time of the American Revolution, as a young man Granade became “perfectly reckless,” rambling through Kentucky and the Cumberland country (an Appalachian region in Kentucky, Virginia, and Tennessee) before settling in South Carolina to teach school. Distressed over his spiritual condition, Granade made his way to Tennessee, where for two years he was plagued by “voices” and “tormenting whispers.”
Day and night, through snow and rain, during the winter and spring of 1797–1798, Granade wandered about the woods “howling, praying, and roaring in such a manner that he was generally reputed to be crazy.” Throughout the western states he was known as the “wild man.”
Finally converted at a camp meeting, Granade immediately channeled his spiritual energy into preaching. “I would sing a song or pray or exhort a few minutes,” Granade later recalled, “and the fire would break out among the people, and the slain of the Lord everywhere were many.” Crowds began to follow him from place to place, “singing and shouting all along the road.” Some claimed Granade had a secret powder that he threw over the people to enchant them, and others believed he worked “some secret trick by which he threw them down.” At one meeting, so many people fainted and “lay in such heaps that it was feared they would suffocate.”
Baptizing Common Places
American Methodists soon redefined sacred space. By 1785, only 60 Methodist chapels had been purchased or built, but there were more than 800 recognized preaching places. Meetings were held in homes (where the majority of weekday sermons were delivered), courthouses, schoolhouses, the meeting houses of other denominations, barns, or in the open.
While riding the St. Lawrence circuit in 1813, Benjamin Paddock regularly preached in a dry goods store in Potsdam, New York. Likewise, Robert R. Roberts once preached in a tavern in northwestern Pennsylvania, though not without difficulty. Partway through Roberts’s discourse, a drunkard in the audience awoke, calling out, “Landlord, give me a grog!” When Roberts protested granting the man’s request, the tavern owner replied, “Mr. Roberts, you appear to be doing well; I would thank you to mind your own business, and I will mine.”
Grueling Pace
The early circuit riders preached and traveled at a grueling pace. John Brooks, for example, labored so intensely during his first three years in the itinerancy that he reported, “I lost my health and broke a noble constitution.” During one tempestuous revival, Brooks lay “sick in bed,” but the people “literally forced me out, and made me preach.”
In 1799, itinerant Billy Hibbard rode the Cambridge, New York, circuit, a 500-mile, four-week circuit with up to 63 preaching appointments, in addition to the responsibility of meeting the classes. In one year on the Flanders, New Jersey, circuit, Thomas Smith estimated he traveled 4,200 miles, preached 324 times, exhorted 64 times, and met classes 287 times. Indeed, in many parts of the new nation, Methodist preachers suddenly seemed to be everywhere, leading one New Yorker to exclaim in 1788, “I know not from whence they all come, unless from the clouds.”
Circuit riders also frequently had to contend with poor or uncertain lodging. Most often the itinerants stayed with sympathetic families along their routes, though they sometimes lodged at inns or slept in the open.
At the end of one weary day in the North Carolina back country, the itinerant Thomas Ware sought shelter at the isolated cabin of a young couple.
“The man gave me to understand, at once, that I could not stay there,” recounted Ware. “I looked at him, and smiling, said, that would depend upon our comparative strength.” Unwilling to wrestle the Methodist preacher, the couple relented—and in the morning Ware baptized their children.
Bishop Francis Asbury set the standard for all early Methodist itinerants and left little doubt as to what he expected from his charges. During his 45-year career, Asbury, who never married, rode more than a quarter of a million miles on horseback and crossed the Allegheny Mountains some 60 times. He visited nearly every state once a year. One biographer estimates that Asbury stayed in 10,000 households and preached 17,000 sermons.
Common Heroes
Following Asbury’s example, the Methodist circuit riders transformed religious life on the early American frontier.
After devising a strategy for evangelizing central Kentucky, for example, youthful Jacob Young set out. On most days, he managed to find a place to preach. On one occasion, Young preached in a bar room. Several times he found groups already gathered, eagerly awaiting the rumored appearance of a preacher. Wherever possible, Young established weekly class meetings to carry on in his absence.
At a place called Fishing Creek, Young discovered a Methodist society under the leadership of an African-American slave named Jacob. With the assistance of several local women, Jacob preached regularly and had organized a class meeting. Young was impressed with what he saw. Though Jacob was illiterate, Young noted that he “could preach a pretty good sermon,” and that “his society [was] in excellent order.”
Within three weeks, Young had forged enough appointments for a four weeks’ circuit. By the end of the conference year, Young had taken in 301 new members, receiving all of $30 for his labors.
Once after Jacob had preached, a man began shouting at the top of his voice, “Young Whitefield! Young Whitefield!”—comparing him to the great eighteenth-century evangelist.
Recalled Young, “I thought I was one of the happiest mortals that breathed vital air.”
And so were the many families he ministered to—those for whom Methodism became a pillar of their lives.
