The Case of the Skeptical
Lawyer
Charles Finney
"If Christianity is true, why don't you convert Finney?" a young farmer asked his zealous Christian wife. "If he's converted, I'll believe." The farmer was only one of many young people in the upstate town of Adams, New York, who were hiding behind the coattails of the popular young bachelor lawyer.
Charles Finney was admired for both his physical and intellectual prowess. As a sixteen-year-old school-master he had won the admiration of his frontier scholars by out-running, out-wrestling and out-jumping them all. He became a musician, then a classical scholar, then a lawyer at twenty-six. By the year 1821, when Finney was twenty-nine, he had a booming practice and was the idol of the town's young people.
Everyone was aware of Finney's skeptical views. He argued with the minister, but because of his musical talent he served as choir leader at the Adams Presbyterian Church. Once in a prayer meeting he was asked if he wanted to be prayed for. "I suppose so," he countered half-heartedly. "But you have already prayed enough in this church to pray the devil out of Adams — if there's any virtue in your praying."
But the choir leader's caustic remarks did not keep a small band of the church young people from praying
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for him. And, unknown to them, conviction began its work.
Finney's favorite reading menu was Blackstone's law books. He noticed the prized volumes repeatedly referred to the Bible as the highest authority. He bought a Bible, partly for his own education and partly to help him outwit his pastor. After several weeks he became convinced that the Bible was not to blame for the inconsistencies he saw among the religious people he knew.
Finally he decided to make his peace with God.
On a Monday he methodically began reading his Bible — this time for spiritual help. But each time he heard a client knock on his door, he covered his Bible with law books. When he decided to pray, he plugged the keyhole of his office door to keep from being heard outside. These sly attempts to find peace, however, brought him no relief.
Wednesday morning arrived, and he padded into his law office, eyes hollow from loss of sleep. Suddenly an inner voice seemed to whisper, What are you waiting for? Are you trying to become righteous on your own? Writing later he said, "I saw then that Christ's work was a finished work . . . and that all I must do was consent to give up my sins and accept Him."
Finney closed his office for the day. He slipped away into the woods and found an outdoor closet formed by several large, fallen trees. As he knelt, he heard the leaves rustle. He looked up, embarrassed that someone might find him on his knees. But no one was there. He remained in the solitude of prayer.
It was noon when he walked out of the woods. His heart was singing. He went back to his office, knelt in
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earnest prayer, and received a mighty infilling of the Spirit. Afterward almost the entire town was converted — including all but one of the young people. He preached in a nearby village named Sodom where the only good man in town was called Lot. And like the town of Adams, Sodom bowed to Christ before Finney's testimony.
Dozens of other New England communities bent under the gale force of his empowered preaching. His ministry spread to the big cities. Ten thousand were converted in a series of meetings in Rochester. He went on to become a famous evangelist, professor, college president, and pastor. Today his lectures and memoirs are standard reading in evangelical schools. The once skeptical lawyer became a highly influential factor in American Christianity.
