The Preacher and the Printer
In 1739, the city of Philadelphia buzzed with news: George Whitefield, the thunder-voiced preacher from England, was coming to town. Known for drawing crowds in the tens of thousands, Whitefield had already stirred revival from Georgia to New England. But in Philadelphia, he would meet someone very different from his usual audience, a printer, philosopher, and scientist named Benjamin Franklin.
Franklin was not a religious man in the evangelical sense. He believed in God but had little patience for emotional religion. Yet he was curious about Whitefield. Could one man really preach without amplification to thousands of people at once? Franklin attended a meeting where Whitefield preached from the steps of the Philadelphia courthouse. Always the scientist, Franklin walked away from the crowd to test the preacher’s vocal range. In his autobiography, Franklin later wrote, “I had the curiosity to learn how far he could be heard... and I computed that he might well be heard by more than thirty thousand.”
The two men soon struck up a friendship. Though their beliefs were worlds apart, they respected one another. Franklin even agreed to print Whitefield’s sermons, journals, and fundraising appeals, for a price, of course. When Whitefield began raising money for an orphanage in Georgia, Franklin was skeptical. He believed people would eventually grow tired of the constant appeals and stop giving. To prove it, he attended one of Whitefield’s fundraising sermons with the firm intention of keeping his money in his pocket.
But as Whitefield preached, something began to stir. Franklin later admitted, “I began to soften.” At first, he decided to give a few copper coins. As the message continued, he reached for silver. By the end, he confessed, “I emptied my pockets wholly into the collector’s dish, gold and all.”
Though Franklin never converted under Whitefield’s preaching, their friendship lasted more than 30 years. They exchanged letters frequently. Whitefield, the fiery evangelist, and Franklin, the ever-inquisitive skeptic. When Whitefield died in 1770, Franklin helped publish his works and honored his legacy. The preacher had not won his soul, but had captured his admiration.
In the unlikely friendship between the preacher and the printer, we find the heartbeat of the First Great Awakening. Bold faith, powerful preaching, and a God who moves even the most analytical minds. Sometimes revival doesn’t just convert. It commands respect, even from those who stand just outside the flame.
( article courtesy of Revival Press )
In 1739, the city of Philadelphia buzzed with news: George Whitefield, the thunder-voiced preacher from England, was coming to town. Known for drawing crowds in the tens of thousands, Whitefield had already stirred revival from Georgia to New England. But in Philadelphia, he would meet someone very different from his usual audience, a printer, philosopher, and scientist named Benjamin Franklin.
Franklin was not a religious man in the evangelical sense. He believed in God but had little patience for emotional religion. Yet he was curious about Whitefield. Could one man really preach without amplification to thousands of people at once? Franklin attended a meeting where Whitefield preached from the steps of the Philadelphia courthouse. Always the scientist, Franklin walked away from the crowd to test the preacher’s vocal range. In his autobiography, Franklin later wrote, “I had the curiosity to learn how far he could be heard... and I computed that he might well be heard by more than thirty thousand.”
The two men soon struck up a friendship. Though their beliefs were worlds apart, they respected one another. Franklin even agreed to print Whitefield’s sermons, journals, and fundraising appeals, for a price, of course. When Whitefield began raising money for an orphanage in Georgia, Franklin was skeptical. He believed people would eventually grow tired of the constant appeals and stop giving. To prove it, he attended one of Whitefield’s fundraising sermons with the firm intention of keeping his money in his pocket.
But as Whitefield preached, something began to stir. Franklin later admitted, “I began to soften.” At first, he decided to give a few copper coins. As the message continued, he reached for silver. By the end, he confessed, “I emptied my pockets wholly into the collector’s dish, gold and all.”
Though Franklin never converted under Whitefield’s preaching, their friendship lasted more than 30 years. They exchanged letters frequently. Whitefield, the fiery evangelist, and Franklin, the ever-inquisitive skeptic. When Whitefield died in 1770, Franklin helped publish his works and honored his legacy. The preacher had not won his soul, but had captured his admiration.
In the unlikely friendship between the preacher and the printer, we find the heartbeat of the First Great Awakening. Bold faith, powerful preaching, and a God who moves even the most analytical minds. Sometimes revival doesn’t just convert. It commands respect, even from those who stand just outside the flame.
( article courtesy of Revival Press )
The Preacher and the Printer
In 1739, the city of Philadelphia buzzed with news: George Whitefield, the thunder-voiced preacher from England, was coming to town. Known for drawing crowds in the tens of thousands, Whitefield had already stirred revival from Georgia to New England. But in Philadelphia, he would meet someone very different from his usual audience, a printer, philosopher, and scientist named Benjamin Franklin.
Franklin was not a religious man in the evangelical sense. He believed in God but had little patience for emotional religion. Yet he was curious about Whitefield. Could one man really preach without amplification to thousands of people at once? Franklin attended a meeting where Whitefield preached from the steps of the Philadelphia courthouse. Always the scientist, Franklin walked away from the crowd to test the preacher’s vocal range. In his autobiography, Franklin later wrote, “I had the curiosity to learn how far he could be heard... and I computed that he might well be heard by more than thirty thousand.”
The two men soon struck up a friendship. Though their beliefs were worlds apart, they respected one another. Franklin even agreed to print Whitefield’s sermons, journals, and fundraising appeals, for a price, of course. When Whitefield began raising money for an orphanage in Georgia, Franklin was skeptical. He believed people would eventually grow tired of the constant appeals and stop giving. To prove it, he attended one of Whitefield’s fundraising sermons with the firm intention of keeping his money in his pocket.
But as Whitefield preached, something began to stir. Franklin later admitted, “I began to soften.” At first, he decided to give a few copper coins. As the message continued, he reached for silver. By the end, he confessed, “I emptied my pockets wholly into the collector’s dish, gold and all.”
Though Franklin never converted under Whitefield’s preaching, their friendship lasted more than 30 years. They exchanged letters frequently. Whitefield, the fiery evangelist, and Franklin, the ever-inquisitive skeptic. When Whitefield died in 1770, Franklin helped publish his works and honored his legacy. The preacher had not won his soul, but had captured his admiration.
In the unlikely friendship between the preacher and the printer, we find the heartbeat of the First Great Awakening. Bold faith, powerful preaching, and a God who moves even the most analytical minds. Sometimes revival doesn’t just convert. It commands respect, even from those who stand just outside the flame.
( article courtesy of Revival Press )
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