One was a dynamic preacher from England, the other a hard-working printer in Philadelphia. In the mid-1700s, George Whitefield and Ben Franklin weren’t just the most famous people in America, they were the most influential.

Both of them knew the Bible well, but they treated it differently. George Whitefield powerfully preached the Scriptures, urging his audiences to hear God’s voice. Ben Franklin grew up in Puritan Boston, but in adulthood he seemed to spar with the Scriptures, appreciating its practical wisdom but questioning traditional theology.

As unlikely as it seems, George and Ben were also friends.

They met in Philadelphia, November 1739, when Whitefield began his first preaching tour of the colonies. In his journal account of their first meeting, George refers to Ben merely as “one of the printers,” but over time Franklin became Whitefield’s main publisher in America. As Whitefield traveled up and down the coast, preaching two or three times a day to massive crowds, there was a huge market for his writing. Franklin printed the preacher’s sermons and journals and covered him in nearly every issue of the Pennsylvania Gazette.

Though their shared celebrity status helped them understand each other as no one else could, the two men had very different lifestyles, temperaments and faith. George was all Psalms, and Ben was Ecclesiastes. That is, Whitefield trafficked in human emotion—praise and anguish alike. Audiences responded to his passionate preaching at a deeply emotional level. Franklin remained a skeptic about most things in life, especially religion.

A key Bible verse in Whitefield’s ministry was John 3:7—“Ye must be born again” (KJV). It was a simple gospel message that still rings true in our day: Don’t let your church do your faith for you; you need to grab it for yourself. George used all the training from his high school acting classes to ignite this passion in his hearers. The Spirit was calling them, and thousands responded.

Ben loved the way Whitefield challenged the power structure of churches, but when George pressed him to receive the “new birth” himself, Ben refused. Repeatedly. In his autobiography, Franklin says that Whitefield used to “pray for my conversion, but never had the satisfaction of believing that his prayers were heard.”

Always the inventor, Ben kept trying to make up his own religion. He often constructed lists of principles to follow, rules to live by and character traits to develop. “Emulate Jesus and Socrates,” was one such rule. He liked Jesus; he just didn’t believe he was the Son of God.

But Franklin did demonstrate a certain level of humility before others and before God. He once counseled a dying friend to trust that God, who had blessed him in this life, would treat him fairly in the next. There was an inkling of faith in that thought, though it wasn’t the full-blown commitment that his friend Whitefield was calling for. Perhaps there was a hint of Hebrews 11:6, a simple faith “that God exists and rewards those who seek him” (GNTD).

As we consider the immense historical significance of these titans, we see that America today shares the DNA of both. We are scientists and worshipers. We are spiritual and skeptical. Whitefield’s ministry ensured a spiritual vitality for the emerging nation. Franklin built social structures that could weather disagreements. He also helped to plant freedom of faith in our founding principles.

But perhaps George Whitefield and Ben Franklin bequeathed something else to us as well—the ability to talk honestly and winsomely about matters of faith. As the Bible tells us, “Your speech should always be pleasant and interesting, and you should know how to give the right answer to everyone” (Colossians 4:6 GNTD).

(For more on this subject, see Randy’s new book, The Printer and the Preacher: Ben Franklin, George Whitefield and the Surprising Friendship that Invented America—Nelson, 2015).