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On a cold December night in 1785, a young, fidgety man loitered outside a London clergyman's house in Charles Square, Hoxton. Passersby gave him little notice, but the rich, dashing, and well-connected William Wilberforce took great care that no one would recognize him here. For this was the home of John Newton—the man slandered in some quarters as an "enthusiast"—and hardly fit company for a promising young Member of Parliament.

But "enthusiast" or no, Newton was the man Wilberforce wanted to see. As a boy of eight years, he'd sat at the feet of the fascinating sea-captain, drinking in his colorful stories, jokes, songs—and perhaps most importantly, lessons of faith. Yet Wilberforce's mother disliked Newton's "methodism" and forbade her son to visit Newton in Olney. Newton feared he'd lost the boy. He wrote to his poet friend William Cowper that religious sentiments in Wilberforce "seem now entirely worn off, not a trace left behind."

Now, in a moment of spiritual crisis, wondering whether his reborn faith in God required him to leave politics, Wilberforce knew who could help him most. Rounding the corner for the second time, he mustered his courage and strode to the front door to call on his old friend.

For all his hesitation, Wilberforce had good reason to confide in John Newton. A man both experienced in the world and now a minister of the gospel, Newton stood uniquely poised to advise men like Wilberforce. He knew how to relate to and counsel many people, including politicians, clergy, middle-class bourgeoisie, and country artisans. How did Newton acquire such influence and ability? And what distinguished him as a "director of souls?"

Newton understood the importance of spiritual accountability and friendship. Early in his Christian life, he'd enjoyed the encouragement of men like Captain Alexander Clunie, who reinforced his newfound belief in Christ and connected him to other evangelical Christians in London.

In Liverpool, during his seven frustrating years of striving toward ordination, Newton thrived in the company of Calvinist Baptists and other Dissenters, and organized a regular Sunday evening meeting for a few select friends to discuss spiritual matters. He titled his first literary venture Thoughts on Religious Associations.

Opportunities for spiritual counsel abounded in his parish at Olney. During the 1760s and 1770s, he hosted a continual stream of students, laymen, and clergy from surrounding areas eager for spiritual conversation. Newton traveled extensively as well, once making a three-month 650-mile circular tour preaching for old friends in Yorkshire and the West Midlands.

When he couldn't travel to visit friends, Newton wrote letters instead. He wrote with personal warmth, often addressing specific issues in friends' lives and sharing tidbits from his own life as well.

His thought-provoking letters advised friends on matters ranging from vocation to marriage to death. Occasionally he would address theological issues, particularly the Calvinist-Arminian controversy then troubling evangelical churches. These were often prompted by questions correspondents struggled with. Though himself a moderate Calvinist, he tried, as he once said, to "keep all shibboleths, and forms and terms of distinction out of sight, as we keep knives and razors out of the way of children," opting rather to "talk a good deal about Christ."

In the 1790s, Newton was at any one time working from a stack of 50 or 60 unanswered letters, spending hours each week at his desk. The postal system at the time expected recipients of letters to pay the postage. Newton's friends prized his advice highly. Many of his letters—in fact, over 500 of them—were published for a wider audience, particularly in his 1780 book Cardiphonia, or The Utterance of the Heart (the title was suggested by his friend, the poet William Cowper).

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