Services 2026.
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The Methodist in Early America Wake up, Sleeper Rise From the Dead
“Wake up, sleeper,
rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”
— Ephesians 5:14
Before America had a Constitution, it had circuit riders.
Long before our nation had a Capitol building, it had men on horseback with Bibles in their saddlebags, riding through forests and over mountains to tell people about Jesus.
This is the story of how God used the Methodist movement to wake up a young nation.
The Spark That Crossed the Atlantic
Methodism didn’t start in America. It began in the heart of an Anglican priest named John Wesley in England.
On May 24, 1738, Wesley went to a small meeting on Aldersgate Street in London. Someone was reading a commentary about the book of Romans. Wesley later wrote that, as he listened, he felt his heart “strangely warmed.”
In that moment, he knew—deep in his soul—that Christ had taken away his sins, even his, and saved him by grace.
From that “strangely warmed” heart, a movement was born.
Wesley never came to America himself, but his message did. In 1769, he sent two lay preachers, Richard Boardman and Joseph Pilmore, to the colonies—a land spiritually hungry and geographically vast. It was the perfect place for what came to be called “Methodist” methods: small groups, close accountability, passionate preaching, and a call to holy living.
Wesley once summed up the Christian life like this:
“Do all the good you can,
by all the means you can,
in all the ways you can,
in all the places you can,
at all the times you can,
to all the people you can,
as long as ever you can.”
That kind of practical, wholehearted faith would fit perfectly on the American frontier.
The Circuit Riders: God’s Saddle Preachers
If there is one image that captures early American Methodism, it’s this:
A lone rider, on a muddy road, in the rain.
A worn Bible in his saddlebag.
A heart burning with the gospel.
These were the circuit riders—traveling preachers who rode from settlement to settlement, preaching wherever they could gather a handful of people: cabins, barns, fields, camp meetings.
One of the greatest was Francis Asbury. He came from England in 1771 and never really stopped moving.
An estimated 300,000 miles on horseback.
More than 16,000 sermons preached.
Organizing camp meetings, ordaining ministers, visiting believers.
All while battling chronic illness, never marrying, never owning property, never settling down.
By the time Asbury died in 1816, Methodism had grown from a small, scattered movement into the largest Protestant denomination in America.
And who were these preachers?
Not polished seminary graduates.
They were blacksmiths, farmers, young men from ordinary backgrounds—people on fire for Jesus, willing to go where comfort could not follow.
They believed something powerful: that salvation is for everyone—not just the rich, the educated, or the well-connected.
On a frontier where many people felt forgotten, that message was revolutionary.
The Message They Preached
What did these early Methodists preach?
They preached the new birth:
“You must be born again.”
— John 3:3, 7
You could grow up in church, know the prayers, say the right words—but without a personal encounter with Christ, you still needed to be born again.
They preached grace:
“For by grace you have been saved through faith… not a result of works…”
— Ephesians 2:8–9
Salvation, they said, is a gift, not a reward. You don’t earn it by being good. You receive it by trusting in Jesus.
They preached holiness:
“Strive for peace with everyone,
and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord.”
— Hebrews 12:14
And:
“For this is the will of God, your sanctification…”
— 1 Thessalonians 4:3
Methodists believed that God doesn’t just forgive us—He transforms us. He calls us to a life set apart, a life that looks more and more like Jesus.
They preached invitation:
“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28
Camp meetings and revival services often ended with this kind of call: come, kneel, pray, receive Christ, find rest for your soul.
They preached assurance:
“The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit
that we are children of God.”
— Romans 8:16
You didn’t have to live in constant fear and uncertainty. The Holy Spirit could give you a deep, inner assurance that you really belong to God.
And they preached the power of the Spirit:
“I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh…”
— Acts 2:17–18
They believed God wanted to pour out His Spirit on ordinary people, in ordinary places—cabins, campgrounds, little wooden chapels—transforming hearts and communities.
And again and again, they echoed this wake-up call:
“Wake up, sleeper,
rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”
— Ephesians 5:14
What This Means for Us
So what does an old story about circuit riders and camp meetings have to do with you and me?
Everything.
Because the same Jesus who met John Wesley on Aldersgate Street,
who strengthened Francis Asbury on lonely roads,
who moved in log cabins and open fields…
…is the same Jesus who meets us right where we are.
The Methodist movement in America reminds us:
No one is too far—geographically, socially, or spiritually—for God to reach.
Faith is personal—you must be born again; you can’t inherit salvation.
Grace is real—you’re saved by faith, not your performance.
Holiness matters—God wants to change not just your status, but your life.
The Spirit still speaks—assuring us, empowering us, waking us up.
Maybe today, you feel like that sleeper in Ephesians 5—going through the motions, but spiritually tired, numb, or distracted.
Hear this word spoken over you:
“Wake up, sleeper,
rise from the dead,
and Christ will shine on you.”
Hearts Set Aflame: The First Great Awakening and the Birth of a Nation
Will you not revive us again,
that your people may rejoice in you?”
— Psalm 85:6
In every generation, God’s people drift.
We get comfortable. Our faith becomes routine. The fire grows dim.
In the 1700s, across the American colonies, that’s exactly what had happened. Churches were filled with people who believed the right things on paper—but many hearts were cold. Faith had become inherited, not experienced.
Into that moment, God began to answer the prayer of Psalm 85:
“Will you not revive us again…?”
He did it through two very different men: Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield. And the ripple effects helped shape the spiritual atmosphere in which this country was born.
Jonathan Edwards: A Heart Captivated by God’s Beauty
Jonathan Edwards pastored in a small New England town called Northampton. He wasn’t flashy. He preached quietly, often reading from a manuscript. But his heart burned with a huge vision of God.
One of his favorite verses was:
“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do,
do all to the glory of God.”
— 1 Corinthians 10:31
Edwards believed all of life—from simple meals to great decisions—was meant to display the glory of God. True Christianity, to him, was not cold belief, but a heart set aflame with the beauty of Christ.
He also loved verses that highlighted God’s grace:
“For by grace you have been saved through faith.
And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God,
not a result of works, so that no one may boast.”
— Ephesians 2:8–9
In a culture that often confused being “nice” or “religious” with being truly born again, Edwards insisted: salvation is by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone.
He preached about the new birth:
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:17
For Edwards, a Christian wasn’t just someone who said the right words. A Christian was a new person—heart, desires, and affections transformed by the Holy Spirit.
In Northampton, revival did not begin with noise, smoke, and lights. It began with conviction.
Young people who had been indifferent suddenly felt the weight of eternity. Families began gathering in homes to pray. Conversations in shops and fields turned to the state of the soul. A town once spiritually dull became alive with a sense of God’s presence.
Edwards reminds us that revival often begins quietly, when God stirs the heart of one person who longs for more of Him.
George Whitefield: A Voice That Shook a Continent
If Edwards was a quiet flame, George Whitefield was a wildfire.
Whitefield traveled up and down the colonies on horseback, preaching outdoors to thousands. His voice was so powerful that Benjamin Franklin once calculated that it could be heard from nearly a mile away.
Whitefield’s message centered on one dominant theme:
“You must be born again.”
— John 3:7
He believed you could attend church your whole life, know the Bible, and still not be truly converted. So he preached with passion, often with tears, pleading with people to come to Christ personally.
Another passage that shaped his preaching was:
“And you were dead in the trespasses and sins…
But God, being rich in mercy…
made us alive together with Christ.”
— Ephesians 2:1, 4–5
Whitefield told people the truth: without Christ, we are spiritually dead. We don’t need a spiritual tune-up—we need a resurrection. And only Jesus can do that.
Crowds gathered in fields, streets, and churchyards. Farmers, merchants, enslaved people, children—tens of thousands heard the gospel. Hardened hearts softened. People wept, repented, rejoiced.
Whitefield reminds us that revival spreads when God’s people boldly proclaim the gospel with love, urgency, and joy.
Two Men, One Spirit, One Mission
Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield could hardly have been more different.
Edwards: quiet, scholarly, careful.
Whitefield: dramatic, emotional, thunderous.
Yet the same Holy Spirit worked through both.
The First Great Awakening was not about one style of preaching or one kind of personality. It was about God reviving His church.
Edwards shows us the power of deep, steady faithfulness—a life anchored in God’s glory.
Whitefield shows us the power of bold, Spirit-filled proclamation—a voice willing to speak for Christ anywhere, to anyone.
Together they show us this:
Revival does not depend on our personality. It depends on our availability.
Shaping a People, Shaping a Nation
So how did this shape the birth of this country?
As the Awakening spread, believers across the colonies began to experience:
A personal relationship with God, not just inherited religion.
A sense of spiritual equality—rich and poor, educated and uneducated, all stood level at the foot of the cross.
The courage to question dead, formal structures and to seek freedom to worship from the heart.
Those spiritual currents helped prepare people to think about freedom, conscience, and responsibility before God—ideas that would echo in the years leading up to the American Revolution.
No, the Awakening wasn’t a political movement. It was a spiritual one. But spiritual awakenings change people, and changed people begin to shape history.
A Word for Us Today
Listen again to Psalm 85:6:
“Will you not revive us again,
that your people may rejoice in you?”
We need that prayer today.
We live in a distracted age, a divided age, an age where it’s easy for faith to become just one more activity on the calendar.
The First Great Awakening reminds us:
God can awaken whole communities—starting with one surrendered heart.
He can use quiet scholars and fiery evangelists, pastors and ordinary believers.
He loves to take dry bones and breathe new life into them.
The question is not, “Can God revive us?”
The question is, “Are we willing to be revived?”
Are we willing, like Edwards, to seek God’s glory in everything?
Are we willing, like Whitefield, to speak of Jesus openly, with love and urgency?
The History of Early America Part One – The Pilgrims/Congregationalists
Today I want to invite you to step back in time—not to escape our world, but to see it more clearly.
In the 1630s, a group of Christians crossed the Atlantic to what would become Massachusetts. They weren’t just looking for better land or new opportunities. They were longing to build a holy community—a place where Scripture shaped every corner of life.
As they sailed, their leader, John Winthrop, preached a famous sermon. In it, he used the words of Jesus:
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”
— Matthew 5:14
Winthrop told them: if we follow Christ faithfully, our life together will shine. But if we turn from him, everyone will see that too. They believed the eyes of the world—and of God—were on them.
They dreamed of a “city upon a hill”: small towns, wooden meetinghouses, families gathered each week to worship, pray, and covenant together. Out of this soil grew early Congregational churches—communities that emphasized local faithfulness, shared responsibility, and a people bound together by promise.
It wasn’t perfect. They made real mistakes and committed real sins. No human community is flawless. But their longing was sincere: to build a people whose hearts were wholly God’s.
A People Shaped by Covenant
For these early Massachusetts believers, the church was not just an institution—it was a covenant family.
Members promised to walk together in holiness, to encourage one another, and to submit to Christ as their true head. They met in simple buildings, not grand cathedrals. They sang psalms without polished choirs. They listened to long sermons—not for entertainment, but for transformation.
Their simplicity reminds us of something important:
The strength of a church is not in its structure, but in its surrender.
One passage that shaped them deeply comes from Acts 2, describing the very first Christians:
“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship,
to the breaking of bread and the prayers.”
— Acts 2:42
That little word “devoted” tells the story. The early church—and later, the churches in Massachusetts—weren’t perfect, but they were devoted:
Devoted to the Word of God.
Devoted to fellowship with one another.
Devoted to worship and prayer.
That’s what they wanted their churches to be: not clubs we attend when it’s convenient, but covenant communities we give our lives to.
A Community Built on the Word
Those early settlers believed Scripture should shape not only Sunday worship, but everyday life—speech, work, family, and community decisions.
Their town records show people wrestling with questions like:
How do we treat our neighbors justly?
How do we care for the poor?
How should we respond when someone sins publicly?
They weren’t trying to build a perfect society. They knew that was impossible this side of heaven. They were trying to build a faithful one.
And God used their imperfect efforts. From their small, windswept towns came pastors, missionaries, schools, and movements that would influence the spiritual life of a nation.
What Their Story Teaches Us
So what does all of this have to do with us?
We live in a very different world. We’re online; we’re scattered; many of us feel more isolated than ever. But the calling is surprisingly similar.
Their story reminds us that:
Faithfulness begins small.
It starts at home, in local churches and small groups, in friendships where believers covenant—formally or informally—to walk with Christ together.
Revival begins with ordinary obedience.
Not with celebrity preachers or perfect programs, but with everyday Christians opening their Bibles, confessing their sins, loving their neighbors, and showing up for one another.
God delights to use simple, Scripture-anchored people.
A plain meetinghouse, a faltering prayer, a family gathered around the Word—these are the places where God’s light shines most clearly.
Their story is not about perfection; it is about perseverance.
Not about power; it is about purity of heart.
Not about building monuments; it is about building disciples.
A Word for Us Today
Listen again to these two verses, now spoken over your life and your church:
“Unless the Lord builds the house,
those who build it labor in vain.”
— Psalm 127:1
“You are the light of the world.
A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.”
— Matthew 5:14
We may not live in colonial New England, but we face the same calling:
To be a people shaped by the Word.
To be a community bound by love.
To be a light on a hill in our generation.
The Puritans planted seeds they would never fully see grow.
In the same way, much of what we do for Christ will bear fruit long after we are gone.
So here is the question for us:
What kind of “city on a hill” are we building—
in our homes, our churches, our neighborhoods—today?
Not a perfect one. That’s not possible.
But a faithful one?
By God’s grace, yes.
