The Americanization of Francis Asbury

Mike Maguire Carrying the Book from Creative Commons

He slept in more places than George Washington and traveled more than any other man of his generation, some quarter of a million miles in all. From the New England coastline to the Carolinas down south, he crossed the eastern mountains in America over sixty times. He was acquainted with the great leaders of his day-- Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Dickinson, Rodney, Meriwether Lewis and others--but he knew the not-so-great even better, for he devoted his life to a movement which was, in its early stages at least, primarily lower-class in its composition. He was never college-educated, yet he learned to read the Biblical languages and whenever he could, he studiously devoured not only works of theology, but history, biography, philosophy, and poetry as well. His name may be found on countless street signs and maps all across the nation and he is listed among the sixty-six great Americans whose works ought to be preserved and properly published.

The place of Francis Asbury in American history would seem thus to be secure, and not only so among those who may trace the origin of their denomination back to the results of his seemingly indefatigable labors, but to all those with more general interest in the story of America. But as we observe the 250th anniversary of his arrival in America, it's worth noting that the "Prophet of the Long Road" has often been remembered more as a monument or supra-historical symbol than as a real-life personage who lived through what was an exciting if trying period of our nation's history. Even among his spiritual heirs in Methodism, most may remember little else about the English immigrant who became the most celebrated of the circuit-riders whose work catapulted a relatively small sect hugging the eastern American shoreline in the 1760s into what became the largest denomination in the country just a century later. Yet even in that role the image of Asbury's silent silhouette on horseback has often been confused with that of Methodism's founder, John Wesley. 

In reading his letters and journal, however, it is evident that Asbury was not only a man of deep commitment and conviction, and a true "Method-ist" in the Wesleyan sense of that term, but that he became, like many immigrants to these shores, inescapably American as well. Scarcely one month after his appointment to come to the colonies at a conference in Bristol in August 1771, the twenty-six-year-old Englishman wrote in his journal entry for September 12, 1771, that he found himself on a ship crossing over to the "New World" in order to "live to God, and to bring others so to do." And when he arrived in Philadelphia some six weeks later on October 27, he likewise noted that "when I came near the American shore, my very heart melted within me, to think from whence I came, where I was going, and what I was going about. But I felt my mind open to the people, and my tongue loosed to speak. I feel that God is here, and find plenty of all we need."

And it was this devotion to a divine mandate which indeed enabled Asbury not simply to endure the severe hardships that his work entailed, but to thrive in his new environs.

To be sure, there were few occupations of the day which so drained and spent a person as the life of a frontier circuit-rider. Travel presented a continual problem, for instance, especially as one left the relative "civilization" of the coastlines. He generally traveled alone, often in extremely isolated areas, quite literally hacking his way from one community to the next, and the journeys themselves seemed to have consumed the better part of his days. The continual exposure to the elements left him constantly and often quite seriously ill, and his health problems were further complicated by a reticence to stop and recuperate fully. In his journal entry for July 14, 1774, for example, Asbury wrote "I have now been sick near ten months; and many days closely confined, yet I have preached about three hundred times, and rode near two thousand miles in that time, though very frequently in a high fever." Yet though at times he seemed to doubt that he would "abide long in this world of danger and troubles," his attitude consistently seemed to be "come life or come death, let the will of the Lord be done!"

In addition to the hardships the life of a circuit-rider entailed, including the near poverty which inevitably accompanied that role, Asbury encountered issues of spiritual indifference as well. The response to his gospel messages was not always encouraging and at times, it led him to privately complain in his journal entry of October 17, 1777, of "dull" congregations or "stupid souls." In an earlier entry, he likewise summarized his visit by writing, "they behaved with decency, though it is more than probable that some of them had enough of my preaching" (Journal and Letters, July 19, 1776). And as war concerns between his native and adopted lands heightened, the preaching task only increased in difficulty. Asbury observed in that regard that as the minds of the people became more and more "confused and filled with the spirit and troubles of the times," so too were they unable to "with some considerable calmness pay attention to those momentous matters" of faith (May 1, 1778). Despite such difficulties, however, Asbury continued to preach, driven by an inner resolve and gratitude for the grace which he believed God had given to him. Indeed, even in the darkest hours, Asbury could still write on February 1, 1779, "I entertain great hopes that we shall see a gracious revival of religion. The Lord knoweth that, next to my own soul, this is my chief concern, and all my interest in America, or in the whole world." 

Likewise, Asbury was adamant in preserving as much "old Methodism" in the new country as he could. "I am fixed to the Methodist plan," he wrote, "and while I stay, the rules must be attended to and I cannot suffer myself to be guided by half-hearted Methodists” (Journal entries for November 19, 1771, and April 28, 1771). That meant supporting the system even when it was not in accord with his own personal opinions. His relationship with Thomas Rankin, the preacher who had been appointed by Wesley to supersede Asbury in leading the Methodist movement in America before the War, is worth noting in this respect. Though he privately lamented in his journal that "the conduct of Mr. Rankin is such as calls for patience” (January 12,1775)--an observation shared by many  Methodist pastors of their own district superintendents over the years--he yet largely respected Rankin's authority, at least until Rankin returned to England in 1778.

Even as Asbury's own leadership began to grow among the younger and native-born American preachers, however, it is clear that America had an increasing influence on Asbury as well. Though he promised his parents in a letter of October 7, 1772, not long after arriving in Philadelphia, that "I will come home as soon as I can," Asbury was never to do so and the longer he stayed in America, the more attached he became to it. Perhaps befitting his clearly adventuresome spirit, Asbury developed an almost innate love for his surroundings, suggesting in an unabashed display of boosterism that "if a poor man can live anywhere, he may here” (Letter to his parents, January 25, 1773). To be sure, there was a great attraction to the land itself, but more than that, Asbury seemed to imbibe the spirit of America which fit his personality well. For there was a certain self-effacing aspect of Asbury's character and a sense of humor not above seeing the lighter side of people's lives, including his own. (In one setting he recorded in his journal on July 9, 1780, being condemned "for telling humorous anecdotes.") And in the end, the differences with Rankin, and later Thomas Coke, may largely have stemmed from the fact that Rankin and Coke were both thoroughly British and Asbury had already become American.

His decision to remain in the colonies when Rankin and the other English preachers all decided to return because of the war, for instance, was primarily one of conscience and his sense of duty. "Neither is it the part of a good shepherd to leave his flock in times of danger," he wrote in his journal on August 7, 1775, and nineteen months later on March 30, 1777, that decision was confirmed once more: "my brethren are inclined to leave the continent … but my determination is to trust in God and be satisfied if the souls of my fellow men are saved." And yet, that decision to remain in America was also reflective of a shift in his own life too, away from the land of his birth and towards the one of his divine calling.

To be certain, Asbury continued for some time to refer to himself as an Englishman and his journal suggests that there were indeed occasional bouts with homesickness. But though he seldom commented on the War directly, in what he did say it seems evident that his sympathies lay with the colonists to whom he had already given much of his life. Wesley's "Calm Address to Our American Colonies," issued in 1775 and taking a clear stand against the revolution, prompted this entry of March 19, 1776, in Asbury's ledger: "I also received an affectionate letter from Mr. Wesley, and am truly sorry that the venerable man ever dipped into the politics of America … had he been a subject of America, no doubt but that he would have been as zealous an advocate of the American cause." 

Even more revealing may be the words of a later entry of September 8, 1780, where the tension is clear, but equally so are Asbury's sentiments:

"I have a natural affection for my own countrymen; yet I can hear them called cruel people, and calmly listen to threatening of slaughter against them. Were a people spreading desolation with fire and sword in England, I, as an inhabitant, whether the invaders were right or wrong, would probably feel as the Americans do, and use the same harsh expressions."

In short, Asbury's orientation was increasingly tilted toward the Americans; one may even argue that his hand was on the independence plough before the war ever began, and though he sometimes sighed for home, he never really looked back. To be clear, Asbury never allowed himself to be drawn into the actual hostilities themselves and for this reason, among others, he was suspect in the eyes of many. And like everyone else who was not in the militia, Asbury was at first chiefly affected by the War in secondary ways. Resources, scarce to begin with for a circuit-rider, became even more limited. To make ends meet, Asbury was forced to sell his books, for instance. A disruption of communications similarly prevented Asbury from hearing from his parents in England for seven years. Even as tensions were rapidly escalating, though, Asbury continued to ride his circuits and perform his work as before.

By February 1777 the situation began to change, however, with the imposition of oaths of allegiance in several of the states, with Maryland even requiring a willingness to bear arms against England if called upon to do so. Because out of conscience Asbury was unable to take such an oath, he retreated to Delaware where clergy were not under any such compulsion. Even there, however, he found his activities greatly abbreviated. Asbury complied with the restrictions "for the glory of God and the prosperity of the church" (June 28, 1778). But it clearly grated against him not to be able to travel and preach and to spend one "dumb (silent) Sabbath" after the other, seldom able to leave his asylum. "My usefulness," he wrote on September 15, 1778, "appeared to be cut off; I saw myself pent up in a corner; my body in manner worn out...and every surrounding object and circumstance wore a gloomy aspect."

Unsurprisingly thus, though the war was still raging, by 1780 Asbury began to travel once more, even returning to Baltimore much to the joy of his friends and himself. Indeed, the war itself began to slip back into the category of the inconvenient for Asbury. During the last half of that year, in fact, he journeyed some twenty-six-hundred miles, dodging British patrols as he went, and in the following year he visited not only Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia, but Pennsylvania and New Jersey as well. "I want to be moving on," he wrote on July 29, 1782, "if I rest for a few days, I am tired: blessed be God, who thus embitters inactive quiescence to me." 

When word came on May 10, 1782, that Britain had at last acknowledged American independence, Asbury responded simply by writing, "May it be so! The Lord does what to Him seemeth good." For even as hostilities ended, Asbury's chief concern for his land was not its political fortunes but the "gracious revival of religion." "O America! America!" he opined in an August 1783 letter to George Shadford. "It will certainly be the glory of the world for religion."

Only one year after the final treaty that formally recognized the United States of America was signed in Paris, in Baltimore a new and fully independent religious body was birthed as well, the Methodist Episcopal Church. No longer muzzled by Maryland laws, Francis Asbury was present and, perhaps to absolutely no one's surprise, Asbury was consecrated by Thomas Coke as a bishop of the American church that he had come to serve only thirteen years earlier. Imbibing the democratic spirit of the age, however, rather than simply accept Wesley's appointment to serve in such a capacity, Asbury insisted that it first be voted upon by his fellow preachers, and so indeed it was. His "Americanization" was largely complete. 

C. Chappell Temple holds a Ph.D. from Rice University. He is an elder in the Texas Annual Conference and adjunct professor in the areas of United Methodist history, doctrine, and polity.