Andrew Reed

This book about the 19th century preacher and philanthropist Andrew Reed The Greatest is Charity by Ian J Shaw came out about five years ago. It really is a great book. This is for a number of reasons. Firstly, Calvinist Reed was not only a very successful pastor and preacher in London's east end but also the founder of several significant charities that were such a great help to orphans and others in great need. 

Nevertheless, his name has been rather forgotten. In this book Ian Shaw has out together a very well researched, judicious and interestingly written book that covers all aspects of Reed's life - his background and birth in 1748, ministry in Stepney including the building of Wycliffe Chapel, the beginnings of his charity work, his trip to the USA in 1833, his family life and friendships, his political involvement and various controversies including his partly unwise novel, the revival he saw in 1839, the restarting of his charity work when badly let down, his mixed involvement in the promotion of overseas mission, his old age and death in 1862 and something of what has happened since.

Much has changed since Reed's day and even then one wonders whether one would have taken the approach he did - very establishment oriented, with great respect for royalty and for Anglicans who sadly let him down in the end. What a man though. There were giants in the land in those days and Andrew Reed was one of them. A 430 page hardback this book was published by Evangelical Press. The foreword is by Brian Edwards.

Whitefield's skull

I've been reading about the forgotten Andrew Reed. He made a trip to America and wrote about it in 1836. In a fascinating and understated passage we read as follows.

We had a conference with the pastors here; and afterwards went to the church, which is enriched with the remains of Whitefield. The elders of the church were present in the porch to receive us. We descended to the vault. There were three coffins before us. Two pastors of the church lay on either side; and the remains of Whitefield in the centre. The cover was slipt aside, and they lay beneath my eye. I had before stood in his pulpits; seen his books, his rings, and chairs; but never before had I looked on part of his very self. The skull, which is perfect, clean, and fair, I received, as is the custom, into my hand. I could say nothing; but thought and feeling were busy. On returning to the church, I proposed an exercise of worship. We collected over the grave of the eloquent, the devoted, and seraphic man, and gave expression to the sentiments that possessed us, by solemn psalmody and fervent prayer. It was not an ordinary service to any of us. More care should be taken to preserve these remains, and less freedom used in the exhibition of them.