Georg, as he liked to be called (the 'e' was added when he came to England), was born in 1803 in Germany. His father, Johann Müller, developed a private plan early in life to ensure Georg's freedom from the uncertainties of war and politics. He would enter him for service in the Lutheran Church. As Georg recalled, "Not so as I might serve God‚--but that I might have a comfortable living!" And no doubt provide a comfortable and secure retirement for his father, too, in a minister's expansive country house. At age thirteen, Georg was not averse to this. A comfortable living sounded fine to him. He knew that Lutheran ministers did not actually have to live in a godly manner; they only needed to appear godly.

His father introduced Georg and his brother to money quite early on in life, giving them quite a sum "to save." He believed this would help them realize and understand the value of money. "In order," commented Georg later, "to educate us in worldly principles." But in doing this, Johann had opened up a veritable Pandora's box of worldly principles to his sons. George soon discovered that he liked spending money much more than he enjoyed saving it.

As Georg grew older, he became adept at stealing money and spending it on more adult pleasures. He recalls heavy drinking sessions with school colleagues, playing cards and reading racy novels instead of studying. He hints at darker experiences, too‚--what he later called "immorality" and "gross immorality," Victorian euphemisms for sex. He had several girl friends of questionable character who featured in his early diaries. Furthermore, he spent time in prison while studying divinity.

After beginning his studies at Martin Luther University, Müller discovered that only "decent" divinity students got decent Lutheran parishes. To be fair, he was having pangs of conscience, but the pivotal moment of Georg's life crept up on him unawares. His drinking crony Christoph Beta, newly returned to the University, boldly asked Georg if he would like to try something different from the usual run of taverns and worse. How about a prayer meeting? Something intrigued Georg about the invitation. He asked what went on, and upon being told it was Bible reading, singing and prayers, something moved him to accept. In fact, he found he was eager to do so.

God Gets Müller
Next Saturday, a dark November's eve in 1825, the two young men slipped down through the narrow lanterned and cobbled streets to the meeting. The meeting opened with a hymn, and then Friedrich Kayser knelt down and informally asked a blessing on the group. Georg was stunned. He had never seen anyone on his knees before. He himself had never prayed on his knees. He recalls it "made a deep impression on me." Suddenly, he realized he was truly happy for the first time, and a sense of peace entered his soul. But "if I had been asked why--I could not clearly have explained it." He walked back to the campus on a cloud of pure joy.

It was a turning point. Georg felt a new sense of calling in his life. He was not perfect, but he gave up his former ways, with only a few missteps. No longer was he concerned with having a comfortable country pastorate. Now he wanted to do mission work, and felt he immediately received the "peace of God that surpasses all understanding."

At first, his father was distressed by his decision, and mandatory military service seemed to derail his plans. Then illnesses made him unfit for the service and his father came around. George (the 'e' was now added) then set out for England to train with the London Society for Promoting Christianity amongst Jews. He arrived in England amid much social unrest. The industrial machine had made men, women and children virtual slaves, and George felt compelled to try to help them. He had spent much time in study, but now he wanted to be active in changing the social climate. The Society was not willing to alter his training, so George set out on his own.