The most famous sermon in American history, "Sinners in the Hands of
an Angry God," was preached in 1741 by Jonathan Edwards, a pastor who,
by virtue of that sermon's title and some gruesomely vivid imagery in
its text, is often -- and mistakenly -- thought to have been some sort
of ogre.
Actually, even though his sermon excited a tremendous response (well,
not when it was first preached to his own congregation, but when he
took it on the road), and even though he was almost single-handedly
considered responsible for "The Great Awakening" in 18th-century New
England, Jonathan Edwards was no ogre at all.
True, he was an exceedingly studious man. And he strove diligently to
keep his mind on what he was doing, and to waste no time -- to the
extent that while making journeys on horseback, he would pin numbered
notes to his jacket, by which he would remind himself of thoughts he
had had while riding, so he could pursue them at home.
But he was also a gentle and loving family man, who set aside what
today's parents know as "quality time" -- an interlude of at least
an hour before each evening's supper, when he gave his children his
undivided attention.
Probably as a result of his caring nature, mingled with his beloved
wife's considerable social graces, charm, practicality, and tact, the
Edwards progeny had by 1900 given to the world no fewer than 13 college
presidents, 65 professors, 100 lawyers, a dean of an outstanding law
school, 30 judges, 66 physicians, and a dean of a medical school, as well
as 80 holders of public office including three United States senators,
the mayors of three large cities, the governors of three states, a
Vice-President of the United States, and a U.S. Treasury Controller.
Members of Jonathan Edwards' family have also been recognized through
the years as "great readers," "highly intelligent," published authors,
holders of graduate degrees even in times and situations when that
may have been considered unusual, and (what else?) numerous ministers
and missionaries.
In other words, it looks very much like Jonathan Edwards and his wife
Sarah did something very right indeed during their 41 years of marriage;
certainly they left an indelible legacy of goodness mingled with respon-
sibility.
If Edwards had not come to a hard conclusion about who should and who
should not be voting members of the church; and if he had not felt he
must preach strong, evangelical -- and yes, judgmental -- Calvinist-
inspired sermons; he would probably be remembered as one of the great
family men of all time, instead of as an execrable, absolutely unmovable,
voice of prophecy (and sometimes of doom).
From the time of his birth on October 5, 1703, to his death on March 22,
1758 (from a smallpox vaccination gone bad), Jonathan Edwards was a
single-minded individual.
He was born into a family full of Reformed clergymen. The theology he
was taught and fervently embraced always emphasized the absolute sover-
eignty of God, the abject depravity of humankind, the reality of hell,
and the necessity of a person's individual act of repentance in order
to enter into New Life with God.
At the same time, he was an observant "natural philosopher," who loved
the out-of-doors. Beauty was very important to him, and he viewed it as
a metaphysician, finding therein proofs of God's goodness and love to
humankind. In later years, he and Sarah would ride horseback together,
enjoying the beauties of creation, and sometimes stop in favorite out-
of-the-way spots to discuss and face together exceedingly difficult
topics and hard choices.
One of the hardest was to refuse Communion to unregenerate persons, even
if they had previously been considered members of the church. This de-
cision caused so much grief and pain that finally, Edwards was released
from his pulpit in Northampton, Massachusetts. From 1751 to 1757, he then
devoted himself to ministering to Native Americans at a mission post in
Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Here he pastored a small English congregation,
was a missionary to 150 Mohican and Mohawk families, and wrote many of
his major works. (He once observed to his wife that he thought perhaps
he wrote better than he spoke.)
Although he wept to think of leaving his new flocks, he acceded to the
wishes of those who called him to be president of what is now Princeton
University.
However, before he was able to really undertake that task, he was dead
of smallpox. A great voice was stilled; but its echoes are still heard
today.
You may recognize this portrait: http://www.yale.edu/wje/index.html
Here are both a picture and an article about his life:
http://www.yale.edu/wje/html/life_of__edwards.html
For more ecclesiastical writings: http://www.dallas.net/~trigsted/JErev.htm
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