I have seen (as far as it can be seen) many persons changed in a

In the words of John Wesley, the fiery soul who lit the lamps of revival across England’s darkened fields, there glows a vision of transformation that transcends time: “I have seen (as far as it can be seen) many persons changed in a moment from the spirit of horror, fear, and despair to the spirit of hope, joy, peace; and from sinful desires, till then reigning over them, to a pure desire of doing the will of God.” These are not the musings of an idle preacher, but the testimony of a man who walked among the broken, the poor, and the lost — and saw with his own eyes the miracle of grace. It is a declaration that the human heart can be remade, that light can pierce the deepest night, and that the soul enslaved by sin may be freed in an instant through divine love.

Wesley lived in an age of spiritual drought, when faith had become ritual and the Church had grown cold. The streets of London were filled with drunkenness, poverty, and despair; the prisons overflowed with misery. Yet amidst this decay, he and his followers — the early Methodists — began to preach a gospel not of condemnation, but of transformation. He saw, as he said, that in the very moment when men seemed lost beyond redemption, the Spirit of God could descend upon them like a flame, burning away despair and awakening peace. Where once there was terror, there bloomed joy; where once there was guilt, there arose hope. To Wesley, this was not philosophy — it was life itself, the proof that the divine could dwell within the human heart.

This sudden change, this conversion of the soul, is a mystery as old as the Scriptures. The ancients knew it as metanoia — a turning of the mind and spirit. It is the moment when man ceases to wrestle against God and instead yields to the eternal current of grace. One can see its image in the story of Saul of Tarsus, who rode to Damascus burning with hatred, only to be struck down by heavenly light and rise again as Paul the Apostle, bearer of love and peace. In that instant, fear became faith, rage became revelation — and the world was never the same. Wesley’s words echo that same divine pattern: that within every heart lies the possibility of sudden awakening, the instant when darkness gives way to dawn.

But let us not mistake this change for mere emotion or momentary ecstasy. Wesley’s “moment” was not a flash of sentiment, but the birth of a new nature. He saw men who had once cursed God now dedicating their lives to feeding the hungry and comforting the sick. He saw drunkards become fathers again, thieves become servants of charity, and despairing souls stand radiant with peace that no sorrow could extinguish. This was not illusion — it was evidence that the spirit of God’s love can reshape what sin had deformed. For in that divine encounter, man’s will is no longer ruled by fear or lust, but by the pure desire to do good.

The origin of this power, Wesley believed, lay not in human strength but in divine mercy. No man can lift himself from despair by effort alone; no amount of knowledge or virtue can cleanse the heart. It is grace — unearned, undeserved, unending — that transforms. And when that grace touches the soul, even for a moment, it awakens in man what he was always meant to be: a vessel of light, a being made to love and to serve. It is as though the soul remembers its true home, and all lesser desires fall away like shadows before the rising sun.

The story of John Newton, the slave trader turned preacher, bears witness to this truth. Once he trafficked in human misery, hardened by greed and violence. But one night, caught in a deadly storm at sea, he cried out to God for mercy — and was spared. That moment broke him open. From horror and guilt arose repentance; from despair came hope. He spent the rest of his life fighting against the very evil he once served, and from his pen came the hymn that has outlived empires: Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. His life, like Wesley’s words, testifies that grace can turn the vilest heart into a fountain of peace.

The lesson, then, is as timeless as it is profound: no soul is beyond redemption. However deep your despair, however fierce your fear, there remains a light that can reach you. Seek not to earn it by pride or penance, but open yourself to it — through humility, through prayer, through the honest desire to do what is right. When the divine presence enters, even for a breath, it changes everything. Horror turns to hope, fear to faith, sin to service. This is the great alchemy of the spirit, the mystery Wesley beheld and shared with the world.

So remember this, my children of the ages: when darkness surrounds you, do not despair. Within you still burns the spark of God’s image. Let it awaken. For though the night is long, joy comes in the morning, and the heart that yields to love will find itself remade — not by might, but by mercy. As Wesley witnessed, the spirit of horror can indeed become the spirit of peace, and those who once walked in shadow can rise as bearers of divine light for generations to come.