William Nevins, part 3: A Time to Rejoice (1822-1832)
All that we know of history are those things that were recorded. It’s often the case that the further we get from events, the more gaps there are in the story. We know just enough of the life of William Nevins to make us wish that we knew more.
After two years of pastoral ministry, Nevins was married to Mary Lloyd Key on November 13, 1822. We know who she was, but we don’t know how they met or anything about their courtship. She came from a family with a dramatic story. Her father Philip had grown up and been educated in Annapolis, Maryland’s capital city. The American Revolution came when he was 18. But Philip stayed loyal to the British crown in opposition to those who stood with the Declaration of Independence—including his own brother. By God’s mercy, the brothers never faced each other in battle, but Philip was captured by the Spaniards when the British lost the Battle of Pensacola. After the war he went to England for several years, but—unlike almost every other Loyalist—he was able to return to America. Not only did he return to Maryland, but his past actions were virtually forgotten. In 1790, only 7 years after the end of the war, he married the governor’s daughter! Eleven years later, the year that Mary was born, President Adams appointed him as a federal judge.
The Keys lived in Georgetown, a small Maryland community on the Potomac, just upriver of Washington, D. C. We may wonder how Nevins, a humble pastor in Baltimore, ended up meeting Mary, a high society girl from Washington. But history refuses to give up the secret. Once the reality of marriage loomed on the horizon, Nevins joked to a friend that he was so busy with his pastoral work that he wasn’t sure he had time to be married. Somehow he found the time.
A month before his wedding he wrote some of his thoughts in a letter to a friend. Based on later events, these meditations of his heart proved hauntingly prescient, but they teach us there is a difference between fatalistic pessimism and honestly preparing your heart for the trials of life.
I anticipate, of course, a good deal of what is called happiness, and I probably have as good reason to do so as any one; yet I frequently and anxiously reflect on the uncertainty of all human things; and that God in his mercy may disappoint me of what I am looking forward to. I make it my constant prayer and endeavor that I may be prepared for disappointment, and that I may be brought to that state of mind in which I will piously and submissively bow to every part of God’s will concerning me and mine.
Between 1824 and 1834, God brought five children into their family. The oldest, named for his grandfather, was buried as a baby; the youngest died before the age of two. It can be hard to imagine what it was like to live in the past. But I do wonder—what was it like when the loss of a child (or more) was more a rule than an exception? Life is no more certain than it was in 1824; it just statistically seems to be so. They knew the dangers and prepared their hearts accordingly. Do we?
The text on the gravestone of Philip Nevins.
William did find time for marriage, though not at the expense of his ministry. He had been the pastor at First Presbyterian for two years when he was married, and the work of the ministry continued for several more years. Preaching, prayer meetings, pastoral visits—week by week and season by season he served the people of Baltimore. It was an ordinary season of typical pastoral work—faithful labors and slow, nearly imperceptible growth. Nevins, like most pastors, prayed for a time of revival and clear working of the Holy Spirit. It seems that in 1824 God began preparing the hearts of the people.
John Summerfield was a young, gifted Methodist preacher who was losing his battle with tuberculosis. In the winter of 1824-1825, the Methodist church sent him as a missionary to Baltimore. His time there caused a “profound sensation,” and through his preaching the rough soil of many human hearts was broken up, a necessary step for the seed of God’s word to take root. Nevins was always a friend to others who shared core biblical convictions, and the difference in denominations did not hinder him from befriending Summerfield. By June of 1825, Summerfield had ended his earthly labors, dead at 27. Nevins would later say that knowing Summerfield had been one of the greatest blessings of his life.
About this time a potential crisis loomed. Nevins came to the conviction that he should no longer baptize the babies or young children of people who did not themselves profess faith in Jesus. To put his new convictions into action meant the possibility of upsetting a large part of his church—it might even mean the loss of his position. But he was a man of integrity and acted on his principles. While a few families did leave the church, others were positively affected. His principled stand caused many to consider the nature and seriousness of their standing with God.
On March 7, 1827, Nevins entered the pulpit as he had hundreds of times before. He preached from 2 Corinthians 6:2— “now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.” With the sermon completed, he descended from the pulpit, spoke with the people, and left for his nearby home. But something was different about this day. This day the Holy Spirit had come down and breathed on his sermon in a remarkable way.
Two years before this eventful Sunday, First Presbyterian had joined with Second Presbyterian to form an afternoon Sunday School for young men of the two churches. These Bible classes met each Sunday afternoon. When it was time to gather the classes on March 7, it was clear that something unusual was going on. The older teachers found that many of the students and even some of the younger teachers had been so affected by the morning’s message that the afternoon classes could not continue as usual. There was much soul-searching going on as the Scripture text of that morning lay heavily on the hearts of many who had not yet professed faith in Christ. As this was going on at the church, Nevins began to get visitors at his home, asking for further help and clarity about salvation. This atmosphere continued into the coming weeks, and nearly 100 people came to him seeking freedom from troubled consciences. Before much time had elapsed, over 200 people had been added to the two churches; many would go on into full time service of Christ.
The ripple effects of that Sunday sermon in March were felt throughout the city. More Sunday Schools and prayer meetings were formed. People went out into the city, evangelizing through the distribution of tracts. Out of these activities, the Fourth Presbyterian Church was planted and began to grow. While revivals such as these can sometimes be diluted with false converts who are swept up in emotional enthusiasm, Nevins later reflected that he could not think of anyone from this group who proved unfaithful in their commitment to Christ. Years later a friend (who was probably reflecting on some of the wild activities associated with the Second Great Awakening) commended him by saying that “neither in this revival nor subsequent seasons of special attention to religion in his church, did he resort to any of the modern devices for creating or maintaining excitement.”
The year 1830 marked the tenth anniversary of Nevins as pastor at First Presbyterian. He had grown from a young seminarian to a seasoned pastor whose ministry had been unusually blessed by God. He preached a sermon in recognition of those ten years. As he looked back, he realized that 220 people had been added to the church in those ten years, most of whom were added because of the revival. In the course of his pastoral duties he had also conducted the graveside services of over 200 people. But many of these people were not connected with his church or were infants and young children. So the church had done more than maintain its size—it had grown substantially.
The calm waters of Nevins’ ministry would continue for another two years. In that time he would continue to grow nearer to Christ and to see him bless his labors. The preaching, the pastoral visits, and the prayer meetings continued. In 1831, another small revival rained down on his church. He also continued to serve the citizens of Baltimore in various ways. This included conducting funeral services for those who were not members of his church—or any church. On August 3 of that year, he stood in the middle of the church’s graveyard and spoke words over the body of Henry Poe, the brother of the famous writer, Edgar Allan.
Within four years, both William and Mary would themselves be residents of that same cemetery. Two decades later, the more famous Poe would join them.
