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The story of George Fox's life suffers from two great disadvantages which the reader should always bear in mind.
In the first place, the old, strange, stilted language, used by all in his day, makes it difficult for us to feel as much at home with him as we should do. We must remember that even Salvationists in our own days are tempted when they write to give up their simple, everyday language, and to wrap up their thoughts more fashionably. But those who will try to see George Fox, as he so often was to be found, praising the Lord in a stinking prison cell, will be able in spite of his strange words to grasp his glorious meaning.
And then we have also to remind ourselves that he had little chance either to observe or to organize any regular and effective warfare. For over a hundred years England had been victimized by religious discussions until the very idea of real worship had been almost lost. No wonder at poor George's perplexities when his hungry soul began to long for God, and no wonder that the great note of his whole life thereafter was so largely that of avoiding whatever others did. If he could anywhere have seen how singing processions, flags, music, open-air demonstrations could be used in the power of the Holy Ghost to the salvation of the people; and if he could have been allowed to organize accordingly, all England would have been stirred and perhaps delivered at once from the curses of formalism and spiritual death. But it may be that God only granted him light according to what it was then possible to do. He lived a prophet's life leaving to us in these days of liberty, not a complete description of our duties, but an example of fearless, devoted service, that, alas, but few have ever attempted to follow.
In the first place, the old, strange, stilted language, used by all in his day, makes it difficult for us to feel as much at home with him as we should do. We must remember that even Salvationists in our own days are tempted when they write to give up their simple, everyday language, and to wrap up their thoughts more fashionably. But those who will try to see George Fox, as he so often was to be found, praising the Lord in a stinking prison cell, will be able in spite of his strange words to grasp his glorious meaning.
And then we have also to remind ourselves that he had little chance either to observe or to organize any regular and effective warfare. For over a hundred years England had been victimized by religious discussions until the very idea of real worship had been almost lost. No wonder at poor George's perplexities when his hungry soul began to long for God, and no wonder that the great note of his whole life thereafter was so largely that of avoiding whatever others did. If he could anywhere have seen how singing processions, flags, music, open-air demonstrations could be used in the power of the Holy Ghost to the salvation of the people; and if he could have been allowed to organize accordingly, all England would have been stirred and perhaps delivered at once from the curses of formalism and spiritual death. But it may be that God only granted him light according to what it was then possible to do. He lived a prophet's life leaving to us in these days of liberty, not a complete description of our duties, but an example of fearless, devoted service, that, alas, but few have ever attempted to follow.