One Thing I Do!

"The memory of the just is blessed."

"The righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance."

All nations have held in honor the names and deeds of the illustrious dead. When this is kept within due bounds, and not abused to purposes of idolatry or superstition—as is done by paganism which deifies its heroes, and by popery which canonizes its saints—it is a custom, the observance of which is as useful to survivors as it is respectful to the departed. Be it ever recollected, however, that the best way to commemorate the virtues of the dead, is to hold them up not only for the admiration—but for the imitation of the living.

A hundred years ago, George Whitefield, in the course of his abundant and successful labors, of which Bristol and its vicinity formed one of the principal scenes, erected this place of Christian worship; and it has been deemed desirable, by those who still continue to enjoy this fruit of his ministrations, to observe a day of grateful commemoration of the event. We commend them for so doing. May we be all solicitous that the services of the day may be so conducted, that while we pay all due respect to the memory of that wonderful man, it shall be less a tribute of praise to him, than to the Master whom he served.

In the selection of a text for the occasion, I have been guided by a desire to find one, which, while it shall appropriately describeWhitefield's character and conduct, shall serve no less as a model for ours; and perhaps I could not have found one better suited to accomplish both these purposes than that expression of the apostle Paul—"One thing I do!" Philippians 3:13

Human life is so short, and the faculties of man are so limited, that he who would do some great thing, must do but one; and must do that one with such a concentration of his forces, as, to idle spectators who live only to amuse themselves, looks like enthusiasm, and almost draws upon him the charge of fanaticism. "There is something fearfully exalted and impressive in the spectacle thus presented of the power of one absorbing interest and one mighty object, to take and keep possession of the soul; to model its whole life and character into its own resemblance; to bend its most vigorous purposes and inveterate prepossessions into subserviency and absolute obedience; to avail itself of the strength even of a giant intellect, and to sustain itself on the resources of the most masculine mind and the most generous heart; until, as the ivy enwreathing the forest oak, it outgrows its utmost height, flourishes in all its luxuriance through the extent of its dimensions, and waves in verdure and loveliness, even amidst ruin and decay. It is a lesson of the richest value to see the purpose thus subduing, while it elevates, the man; the soul transformed, yet vanishing amidst the irradiations of its brightness, and its whole structure penetrated, purified, and effulgent with its consuming splendor, and like the polished surface of a mirror, hid in the luster of its own reflections."

But then what care and solicitude should be exercised in the selection of that one supreme, absorbing object. It should be something lawful, for how wicked to lavish a whole life upon what is illicit. It should be something important, for how frivolous, to expend existence for a bauble. It should be something achievable, for how foolish to exhaust the soul upon what is clearly unattainable! With such an object, unity of purpose, wisdom in the choice of means to accomplish it, and resolute determination of will, are the very grandeur and completeness of human character.

I. What was Whitefield's one thing? He himself shall tell you. In a letter written to a friend on the day of his ordination, occurs the following sublime and comprehensive, yet simple expression—"I hope the good of souls will be my only principle of action. I call heaven and earth to witness, that when the bishop laid his hand upon me, I gave myself up like a martyr for Him who hung upon the cross for me." As the oak lies enfolded in the acorn, so did his whole future life lie wrapped up in that one sentence. All his amazing labors; his numerous journeys and voyages; his sermons and his letters; his personal religion and his prayers; his public addresses and his private conferences, were but the expansion of this one sentence, the development of that one principle– 'the good of souls is my only principle of action.' In that he lived, and moved, and had his being. So completely had this absorbed him, that he seemed to have no second object. This, he thoroughly understood, deeply felt, and constantly kept in view, as the end of his calling and his business in life.

The Pyramids or the Alps are not more clearly seen, or more steadily kept in view, by the traveler who is journeying to behold those stupendous wonders of nature and are, than was the salvation of souls by this devoted man. His concern for this was so intense, that his soul seemed to be ever oppressed with heaviness for the longing he bore towards it. Foster, in his essay on "Decision of Character," has very properly placed him in juxtaposition with Howard, whom he had just represented as visiting Rome with such an intense severity of conviction that he had one thing to do, as to refuse himself time to survey the magnificence of its ruins. "Unless," says the essayist, "the eternal happiness of mankind be an insignificant concern, and the passion to promote it an inglorious distinction, I may cite George Whitefield as a noble instance of this attribute of the decisive character, this intense necessity of action. The great cause, which was so languid a thing in the hands of many of its advocates, assumed in his administrations an unmitigable urgency."

And what is it that should now be considered, both by preachers and people, the one great end of the ministerial office, and the one thing to be done by those that fill it? Has the matter changed since Whitefield's time? Or was he only, and Wesley his equally illustrious compeer, to whom, also a great part of this sermon applies—were they only, I say, under obligation to make the good of souls the object of their lives? Did not the apostle write it for all times, all countries, and all churches—as a description of the object of the Christian ministry?

"They watch for your souls as they that must give account?" Have men ceased to have souls? Or are their souls no longer lost? Or is there now no Savior for them? Has the term of Christianity expired, or the day of salvation forever gone by? If these questions are answered in the negative, as of course they must be, then let it be published as with a seraph's voice, and let its echoes roll through every congregation and over every pulpit throughout our world, that the one thing every minister of Jesus Christ has to do, that which he must understand, keep constantly in mind, desire with intense ardor, make the center of all his closet exercises, study, pursuits, pulpit labors, and fellowship with his friends—is the good of souls!

It is the very end and purpose of his ministry, that to which on the day of his ordination he professed before heaven, earth, and hell—solemnly to dedicate his whole being; and for which he did then, in effect, make an eternal abjuration of every inferior object, and of all the indolent, lukewarm, and quiescent feelings, even in regard to this. This was the object which engaged the omniscient mind of God in the councils of eternity! This was the object on which the Son of God was fixed when he humbled himself unto death, even the death of the cross! This was the object for which the Spirit of God was poured out from on high! This was the object for which the Scriptures of eternal truth were penned! This was the object for which apostles lived, reformers labored, and martyrs bled! Yes, my brethren, as long as we are keeping this object in view we are in sympathy, yes, in fellowship, with all these and in all this.

In seeking this object we are, as compared with all other laborers and objects—like the angel of the Apocalypse, standing in the sun. What so benevolent, what so noble, so sublime, so God-like, so eternal—as this! The one thing of the poet, of the painter, of the sculptor, and the architect—however great their genius, or lofty their ambition—is of the earth, earthy! And the noblest of their productions will at length serve but to deck the funeral pile of the world—while glory, honor, and immortality shall characterize ours. How pitiable, how groveling, the ambition of him who is intent only upon intellectualism, philosophy, eloquence; whose solicitude is fixed upon writing and preaching what he deems to be well composed sermons; whose aim is to please the people who run after a talented man; and whose reward is the plaudits of his audience. Poor, base-minded creature, to be thus sinking down from the infinite, the divine, the eternal—to the finite, the human, the temporal—to seek men's applause instead of their salvation—to be satisfied with the reward of an actor upon the stage, instead of the approving smile and public testimony of God, the judge of all, and Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, delivered before the innumerable company of angels and the spirits of just men made perfect.

And then the cruelty of that man's heart, as well as the baseness of his mind, who, with immortal souls going down to the pit before his eyes, and the means of their salvation in his hands—can be taken up with any other object whatever than plucking them as brands from the burning. Does Whitefield now repent of "the one thing" he selected as the object of his life? Have the light of eternity and the science of heaven revealed to him that he was mistaken in making the good of souls his only principle of action? You judge! Is there a single individual who, whatever he may now be making the object of his ministry, does not know that if he were, like Paul, caught up into the third heavens, he should come back, like him, impressed with the utter littleness and worthlessness of everything, as an end of the ministry—but the salvation of immortal souls?

I just before spoke of Howard; and I would not detract an atom from the fame of that noble-hearted philanthropist, nor extinguish a single ray of the glory that encircles his brow. He who familiarized himself with misery to alleviate it, and exposed himself to pestilence, and died at last a martyr to philanthropy, is worthy of all the honors which an admiring nation and posterity bestowed upon him; but Whitefield was a man of even sublimer philanthropy than Howard. Howard's was mercy to the body, Whitefield's to the soul. Howard moved through his course amidst the admiration of society, Whitefield amidst its scorn and contempt. Statues were erected for Howard; the pillory would have been erected for Whitefield, if his enemies could have had their wish. Both now have their reward—but can we doubt whose crown is the weightiest and shines the brightest?

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