Transcript
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 1: In the beginning, the Lord God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. Jesus Christ declared, "I am the light of the world. He that follows after Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." C. H. Spurgeon shared the light of God revealed in Jesus Christ. He began as the unknown pastor of a rundown church in South London while
only 19 years of age. By the time he was 27, he pastored the largest congregation in the world, gathering 6000 people twice each Sunday. More than any other preacher before or since, Spurgeon symbolizes the gospel message and the evangelical faith of Baptists.
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 1: More than any other preacher, Spurgeon modeled others after his own [model?]. He left lights behind him, through his writings and by the influence of his preaching. He spoke face to face with 10 million persons. Even today, more publishers have more titles in print by Spurgeon than any other religious author, living or dead.
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M: Father, what do the London papers say about Mr. Spurgeon and the funeral services?
Well, son, they say he was the greatest preacher who ever lived. Certain he was great in the affections of the people, for thousands of them gathered at the graveside for his burial. I believe that he has preached the gospel face to face with more people than the apostle Paul, and his sermons have as large a sale in America and across the world as they do here in England.
How many attended the funeral service?
Well, there actually were five services in the Metropolitan Tabernacle, son, held for special sections of the Christian public before the official one. Members of the Parliament, representatives of foreign governments, city dignitaries, and thousands of London citizens packed the tabernacle for the official service. Mr. Sankey, the American singer who works with the evangelist D.L. Moody, sang for them, and the galleries were crowded
with the poor folk of south London. It says here that 100,000 people filed past Mr. Spurgeon's casket while it was in display to pay their last respects over the past three days. Students from his [past as?] college carried the body to the coach, and 500 children from Spurgeon's orphanage gathered in a special reviewing stand to view the procession as it passed.
[Boy?], it sounds like the funeral of one of the royal family.
Yes, son, that's exactly what many have been saying. The procession was two miles long, and the streets were thronged by huge crowds every inch of the six-mile journey to the cemetery. Eight hundred policemen were recruited from all over London to handle the crowds. When they came to the cemetery entrance at Norwood, admission had to be limited by ticket, and it took the hearse 25 minutes to enter the gate.
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 1: Tonight we journey back in imagination to the 1890s. Many of our great-grandparents would sit in a darkened auditorium, as we are now, watching lantern slides, led by a church choir, like this one. They loved to sing some of the old familiar songs of the church as they flashed on the screen. Sing along with us now as we recall this lovely hymn, popular in C. H. Spurgeon's congregation, "Jesus Shall Reign."
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: Why does light still shine today from the life and ministry of Charles Haddon Spurgeon? One reason is the enormous crowds which flocked to hear him preach while still a teenager. On Sunday, December 15th, in 1850, a snowstorm drove a 16-year-old Charles Spurgeon into this little Methodist chapel in Colchester, looking for shelter against the cold winds. There he responded to the preacher's challenge to receive Christ as his Savior, and immediately began a life of
Christian service. At 17 he accepted the pastorate of this tiny village Baptist chapel near Cambridge. The Lord moved in blessing as he applied himself to study and evangelism, until he was invited to pastor a London church while still only 19 years of age. New Park Street Chapel, London, seated 1,200 persons, but had dwindled to only 80 in attendance when C.H. Spurgeon first began to preach there. Within a month, the seats and aisles were
so crowded they moved to Exeter Hall, where up to 5000 came to services. Then the crowds forced still another move: to Surrey Gardens Music Hall, which seated 10,000. Every Sunday here in London, and often during the week in other centers across Britain, the young 20-year-old gathered hearers for his gospel messages. The newspaper said he attracted hearers as a flytrap attracts insects. They suggested that a ship called the Great Eastern,
which lay rocking at the London decks, be turned into an entertainment center, and that C.H. Spurgeon be engaged to draw the crowds. The sensation of London, he drew many satirical attacks. Some saw him only as a fire and brimstone preacher, more powerful than the weak and unconvincing clergy of the state Church of England. The established church they pictured as slow, ponderous, and old-fashioned in its conduct of the Christian pilgrimage. But
Spurgeon was "the new conductor," offering passengers an exciting ride to heaven. The Church of England was an old, slow coach, but Spurgeon's congregation rode the fast train. And so the crowds continued to come. He spoke to the common man in common terms. He preached no sensational sermons, introduced few novel ideas. He never advertised a subject, but, in a day when
most clergymen simply read literary essays from the pulpit, Spurgeon clearly proclaimed the reality of a biblical faith. In plain, direct, and forceful English, he taught the doctrines of Scripture with wit, humor, and plenty of illustrations. His voice was so beautiful and powerful it was often compared to an orchestra or a cathedral bell. Twenty-five thousand persons could hear him in a day when electrical public address systems had not even been invented.
He shook the whole of Britain and beyond with the strength of his gospel message and the reality of his own faith. Another reason why Spurgeon's light still shines relates to the great permanent congregation he established in the heart of London. South London, a district full of poverty and need, named a crossroads called the Elephant and Castle after a hotel there. On that location, in 1861, Spurgeon's congregation erected the largest Christian
auditorium in the world, the Metropolitan Tabernacle. For over 30 years, 6000 hearers jammed the Tabernacle twice each Sunday to hear Spurgeon. So many welfare organizations and social ministry came to birth through the church that Reverend James Spurgeon, the pastor's brother, had to be appointed to manage them. Members of the royal family, prime ministers of England, and overseas visitors, including a president of the United States, gathered with the
citizens of London, from the wealthiest to the poorest, at many services. One American visitor described a typical service in moving terms.
There was no accompaniment to the singing. A man beside him on the platform stepped forward and raised the tune. The preacher -- you could see by his movement -- joined heartily in the singing. All had books. The whole congregation rose. Some 2500 voices sent up their wave of song from the body of the building. This was met by another wave from 2000 voices in the first gallery where I stood, and from the upper gallery, a thousand voices met these billows of song till all mingled [in row?]
in an ocean tide of melody, uplifting and sublime. I couldn't sing. The whole scene was overwhelming. I sat down and wiped away my tears. Then followed a prayer, deeply devotional, tender, plaintive, beseeching, in power and pathos beyond anything I have ever read in his sermons. The impressions left by that prayer freshen my mind and heart today.
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: An immersion baptistery on the lower platform could be opened when needed. This featured two recessed floor boxes, where deacons assisting the pastor could stand. Spurgeon baptized his candidates with their backs to the congregation, and the deacons assisted him with the entry and exit of those being immersed. When the American evangelist, Dwight L. Moody, came to England, he came especially to visit the tabernacle and hear C. H. Spurgeon.
M: After I was converted, I began to hear of a young man preaching in London with great power, and a desire seized me to hear him. Everything that I could get hold of in print that he ever said, I read. While I was here, I followed Mr. Spurgeon everywhere. I found my way back here many times since, and I never come into this building without getting a blessing on my soul.
UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: The secret of Spurgeon's preaching power appears in the first words he ever spoke in the tabernacle.
M: I would propose that the subject of the ministry in this house, as long as this platform shall stand, and as long as this house shall be frequented by worshipers, shall be the person of Jesus Christ. I am never ashamed to avow myself a Calvinist; I do not hesitate to take the name of Baptist; but if I am asked what is my creed, I reply, "It is Jesus Christ." My venerated predecessor, Dr. Gill, has left a body of divinity, admirable and excellent
in its way, but the body of divinity to which I would pin and bind myself forever, God helping me, is not his system or any other human treatise, but Christ Jesus, who is the sum and substance of the gospel; who is, in Himself, all theology, the incarnation of every precious truth, the all-glorious personal embodiment of the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: Here is an American hymn, popular in Spurgeon's London congregation. Sing along with us now. "On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand."
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: Changed listeners, a great congregation. These are monuments enough to a faithful man of God. But Spurgeon's sermons and publications constitute his most obvious memorial. When young preachers complained of the difficulty of finding sermon illustrations, he gave a magnificent lecture on candles and showed how these could illustrate spiritual truths. And when he lectured on creation and on some of the excesses of Charles Darwin's thought, the papers proposed that a gorilla
should lecture on Mr. Spurgeon. Spurgeon's home was extremely comfortable, and the journey to the Tabernacle not far by coach. He kept a magnificent library and spent most of his days in extensive reading and research. Sixty-five volumes of his preaching remain in print today, some 4000 sermons in all. They outsell all other sermons still. Spurgeon authored 135 volumes and edited another 28.
The sheer bulk of his output is estimated to be the equivalent of the 27 volumes of the ninth edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. If you, today, decided just to read his sermons at the rate of one per day, it would take you 10 years to complete the task. The busy pastor also edited a monthly magazine called The Sword and the Trowel. He wrote popular books suitable for family reading, some of which reached a circulation of 600,000.
Weekly sermons, distributed through the newsstands for a penny each, sold 25,000 copies a week, and his publishers always kept one million copies of the back numbers in stock. They continued to release one previously unpublished sermon per week until 1917, 25 years after his death. Spurgeon based every sermon on a biblical text and taught strong doctrine and theology.
Preacher, pastor, author -- it may be that the variety and richness of his ministry best explains his continued influence today. Spurgeon sold the original New Park Street Chapel property and from the proceeds established 21 neighborhood missions. This is one of them. They ministered to London's poor with food, clothing, and free education. He also founded and established an orphanage, which cared for
500 homeless boys and girls. Often Spurgeon himself would pay the utility bills and the tradesmen accounts to keep these institutions solvent. In addition, he personally established 17 almshouses. These were homes which he built for the elderly poor as part of the Tabernacle ministries. When Spurgeon heard that a young man, converted under his ministry, had begun preaching in the streets of London,
he helped him with books and resources and began to guide his theological studies. Out of this, the Pastors' College developed. College graduates filled pulpits from Australia to Africa, from India to Japan. Many served in Canada and in the north, south, and west of the USA. In Britain alone, 20,000 Baptisms were reported by Spurgeon's college students in their first 10 years. By the time he died, over 1000 had trained under him. With the cross as the center of his theology, Spurgeon chose as his college motto the Latin for "I both hold and am held." The college theme hymn was Horatius Bonar's "Hallelujah for the Cross."
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: Spurgeon provided support for struggling ministers and library resources for poor students. Every Friday he lectured them himself, discussing every aspect of successful ministry. In the college lecture hall, the great pastor would read to them from [Scott?] and from Shakespeare and instruct them in the arts of public speaking and in oral interpretation. Spurgeon organized a plan to provide inexpensive, wholesome books for family reading, and he employed a band of
90 coal porters who sold books and Bibles, visited the poor, and worked as personal counselors and evangelists. His twin sons, Thomas and Charles, Jr., also became Baptist preachers. He baptized them at the age of 19. Charles remained in England, serving as a pastor at Greenwich, but Thomas ministered in Australia and New Zealand. Both served later as trustees of Spurgeon's College. Thomas, seen here at
the left, succeeded his father as the pastor of the London Tabernacle. For 14 years, Thomas preached the same gospel to the huge congregation with a similar blessing to that of his father.
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UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: Spurgeon lit many lamps, but perhaps his ministry remains most in our century because his message so clearly proclaimed the power of the gospel. The world's leading evangelical preacher fostered American evangelism. He loved Ira D. Sankey, the pioneer gospel hymn writer. Evangelist D.L. Moody depended on him for many ideas and resources. While he was only a young man, C.H. Spurgeon's evangelistic message uplifted Christ and
glorified God. Forty years later, the message remained unchanged. He preached the great doctrines of the Bible: salvation by grace, justification by faith, and service to others for Jesus's sake. He was often ill with crippling rheumatic gout, but his joyous spirit bubbled over with encouragement to others. He expressed a gospel invitation in every sermon, but he set his salvation preaching
firmly within a sense of responsibility to the social needs of his generation. Spurgeon accomplished more in the short 57 years of his life than some others might in a dozen lifetimes. The last words he uttered in the London Tabernacle summarize his convictions.
M: If you wear the livery of Christ, you will find Him so meek and lowly of heart that you will find rest unto your souls. He is the most magnanimous of captains. There never was His like among the choicest of princes. He is always to be found in the thickest part of the battle. When the wind blows cold, He always takes the bleak side of the hill. The heaviest end of the cross lies ever on His shoulders. If He bids us carry a burden,
He carries it also. If there is anything that is gracious, generous, kind, and tender, yea, lavish and superabundant in love, you always find it in Him. His service is life, peace, joy. Oh, that you would enter on it at once. God help you to enlist under the banner of Jesus Christ.
UNIDENTIFIED SPEAKER 2: Spurgeon loved to declare Jesus Christ to be the light of the world, and he will be remembered for this witness most of all. Spurgeon's favorite hymn seemed to say it well. He loved to sing the chorus, "I do believe, I do believe that Jesus died for me." Sing this hymn along with us now. "There Is a Fountain."
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M: And now, we introduce to you the popular preacher from the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London, Pastor Charles Haddon Spurgeon! Will you please rise and greet our visitor with applause?
Thank you, thank you, my brothers and my sisters. I trust you do not consider me to be over-familiar in addressing you as my brothers and my sisters. I know of a minister conducting a funeral service who, when he was about to put the body in the ground, could not remember whether he was burying a man or a woman, and he turned to a mourner standing nearby who did not seem to be greatly affected by the loss and hastily whispered, "Brother or sister?" Imagine his surprise when the mourner
said, "Neither." "Neither a brother nor a sister?" the clergyman anxiously inquired. "Oh no," said the mourner. "Just a friend. No relative at all." And you are my friends, and therefore my Christian brothers and sisters. You see, I like to wear a hat, as any gentleman should. And a hat not only protects from the cold, but it's part of my stock-in-trade as a Baptist minister. I often meet with my ministerial brethren,
and when I feel the urge to do something religious, I take off my hat and take up a collection -- something Baptists do with considerable regularity. But you see, I have 500 orphans to support in the Stockwell Orphanage, which is associated with my work at the Metropolitan Baptist Tabernacle in London, and passing the hat is often the only way that I can collect. I usually get a few small coins and occasionally a half sovereign or so, and I always lead my brethren in a prayer of thanksgiving for their gifts.
On one occasion, some of my ministerial friends decided to cure me of this habit of taking spontaneous offerings. When I took off my hat and passed it among them, one by one each shrugged his shoulders, displayed his empty pockets, shook his head, or otherwise indicated to me he had absolutely nothing to give. Of course, it was all very carefully prearranged. And my hat returned to me absolutely empty. I took my hat, and I gazed at its emptiness, and I surprised them by saying,
"Gentlemen, we shall pray." They bowed their heads in some amazement, but lifted them again very quickly in even greater surprise at the audacity of my prayer. It was a bold prayer, I confess, and it was not meant for the heavenly Father's ears alone. I said, "Lord, I want to thank Thee that this bunch of skinflints at least gave me back my hat." I do try not to go out
of my way to make a joke -- or to avoid one. A gentlemen accosted me a few days ago after I had preached in a large city church and an offering had been taken for my orphans, and he said, in one of these ultra-pious, supercilious voices, "Oh, Mr. Spurgeon! I thought you were an evangelist who preached for souls and not for money." "Well," I said, "sir, I am, and normally I do.
But my orphans cannot eat souls. And if they could, friend, it would take four the size of yours to give one a square meal." I mentioned to my New Park Street deacons, on several occasions, that the upper panes of the iron-framed windows in the sanctuary should be taken right out because they were not meant to be opened, and the sanctuary was badly in
need of fresh air. Nothing ever came of my remarks. It did happen, however -- quite providentially, I should say -- one Monday morning that somebody removed almost all of those panes of glass -- in a masterly fashion, almost as though they'd be taken out by a glass [merchant?]. This caused great consternation
and no little conjecture as to who the culprit might be. I proposed that a sum of five pounds should be immediately set aside against the discovery of the offender who, when found, should receive it as a reward. The reward was never forthcoming, so I have not felt it incumbent upon me to say what else I might know about the incident. I trust that no one will suspect me. For if they do, I shall -- well, I shall have to say that I have walked with a stick that let the oxygen into that stifling
structure. Up until the age of 14, I had not so much as heard of the people called Baptists. When I did hear, it was not at all a favorable report that was given me concerning them. If any ask why was I then baptized, I answer, "Because I believe that to be an ordinance of Christ, very specially joined together by Him with faith in His name. 'He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved,' as the Scripture says." Of course, I
had no superstitious idea that baptism itself would save me. And I did not fulfill that outward ordinance in order that I might join a party or become a Baptist, but rather as I truly felt that I might be a Christian after the apostolic fashion, for "they, when they believed, were baptized." It is now questioned whether John Bunyan was ever baptized. The same question can never be raised concerning me -- I, who scarcely belong to any sect, am nevertheless by no means willing to have
it doubted in time to come whether or not I obeyed my conscience in this matter! I read the New Testament for myself. I found believers' Baptism there, had no mind to interfere with my Lord's order. If any see not as I do, well, to their own master they stand or fall. But as for me, I've always felt that the perceptions of my understanding in spiritual issues should be the law of my life, and I trust they [alway?] will be. If I thought it wrong to be a Baptist, I think I would give it up
and become what I thought was right. The particular doctrine to which Baptists adhere is that they acknowledge no authority, save that which comes from the Word of God alone. They pay no attention to the authority of the church fathers. They care not for the authority of the church mothers -- except as and where this may agree with the teachings of the apostles and the evangelists and the prophets and especially of our Lord Jesus Christ Himself. If we could find infant
Baptism in the Scripture, we would adopt it. I tell you, it would help us out of a very grave difficulty. It really would. It would remove from us that reproach with which we are so often associated -- namely, that we are odd and do not as other people do. But we've looked carefully through the Scripture and cannot find it there, nor do we believe that it is there. My mother said to me once, "Oh, Charles, I often prayed that you might become a
Christian. But never, never that you would become a Baptist!" I could not resist the temptation to reply, "Ah, Mother, the Lord has answered your prayer with His usual bounty and given you exceeding abundantly what you asked or thought." There is a preachers' association, a lay preachers' association, in Cambridge, connected with the work of the St. Andrew's Street Baptist Chapel, once the scene of the
ministry of Robert Hall. And a number of worthy brethren belong to that lay preachers' association and proclaim the gospel in the villages round about Cambridge. In my young days, the presiding genius of that association was the venerable Mr. James Vinter, who we were wont to address as "Bishop" Vinter. His warm heart, friendly smile, genial manner was enough to keep a whole fraternity stocked with love; and accordingly, the brethren love to belong to that lay preachers' association
and labor together as true yokefellows. My suspicion is that the aforesaid Bishop Vinter not only preached himself and helped the brethren, but I believe that actually he acted as a kind of recruiting sergeant and drew in young men into the association to keep up the number of the host of lay preachers. At least I can give my testimony concerning one particular instance [there?]. It was a Saturday morning. The boys had all gone home for the half-holiday. I'd finished teaching
school, and into my school room came the aforesaid Bishop Vinter to say would I please go over to the village of Teversham on the following evening, for, he said, "a young man is to preach there who is not much used to services and very likely would be glad of company." That was a cunningly devised sentence, if I've ever heard one. For at the time, in the light of the evening that followed, I turned it over and over in my mind and vastly admired
its ingenuity. If he had asked me to preach, the answer would have been a decided negative. But merely to accompany a good brother who did not like to be lonely and might ask me to give out a hymn or a prayer, that was not at all a difficult matter, and so the request was cordially complied with. Little did the lad know in Scripture what he was doing when Jonathan and David sent him to fetch the arrow -- or what they were doing. Little did I
know what I was doing when I was cajoled into accompanying a young man to Teversham. On the next day, my Sunday school work was over, tea had been taken, and I set out along the Newmarket Road in the company of a gentleman a few years my senior. We talked of good things, and at last I ventured the pious hope that he would know the presence of God while he was preaching. He seemed to start, assured me he never had preached in his life, could not possibly consider attempting such a thing. In fact, he said, he
was looking to a young friend of his for that, a certain Mr. Spurgeon. This cast an entirely new light on the matter. I could only say that I was no minister, and even if I was, I was quite unprepared -- to which my companion replied that he, in an even more emphatic sense, was no preacher. There'd be no sermon that night, he said, unless I delivered one. Then he counseled me to take one of my Sunday school addresses and share it with the people. He said it would just
suit those poor people fine. They would appreciate it more than the studied sermon of some learned [divine?]. I felt fairly committed to do my best, and I walked along, lifting my heart in prayer and seeking the Lord's guidance. It seemed to me that I could surely tell a few simple villagers about the sweetness and the love of Jesus. I felt these in my own heart. And so, with another prayer for God's help, I decided to attempt the task.
My text would be, "Unto you therefore which believe, He is precious." And with the help of almighty God, I would at least tell out the story of the cross and not send the people home without a word. Well, we entered into the low-pitched room of a thatched cottage where the services were to be held and where were gathered a few simple farm laborers and their wives. And we sang, and we prayed, and we read the Scripture, and then came my very first sermon. Now how long it was, or how short, I cannot
now recall. But I do remember, it was not one-half the task that I had imagined it would be. I was glad to see my way to a fair conclusion in the singing of the last hymn. To my delight, I had not stopped short nor broken down in the middle nor been destitute of ideas, so I made a fine finish and took up the hymnal, when, to my astonishment, the voice of an old lady sang out from the back row, "Why, bless your dear heart, child; how
old are you?" I stammered back, "You have to wait until the service is over before asking any questions. We shall now sing." We did sing. The young preacher pronounced the benediction, and then began a dialogue between the old lady and myself, into which the whole company entered in full discussion, and the burden of the whole discussion was, "How old are you?" At last I said, with immense
solemnity and great dignity, "I am under 60." "Yes," said the old lady. "And under 16, too!" "Never mind my age," I said. "Think of the preciousness of the Lord Jesus." [After?] promising to come back and preach for them again, if the gentlemen at Cambridge thought me worthy. Very great and profound was my awe of the gentlemen at Cambridge in those days.
Of course, I have preached many, many times since then. Many times. In fact, I've been asked to go out of London next Saturday evening to preach for one of my good brethren in the country. And I like to help my brethren out of the city when I can. But Sunday is such an important preaching day for me that I hesitate to give up my Saturday, which I normally use for preparation. I don't think I'd even go to heaven on a Saturday night --
that is, if I had to return. I am thankful, however, that some 25,000 copies of my sermons are printed every week and sold for a penny each on the railroad station and from the newsagent shops, printed up in these little booklets and sometimes in annual volumes as well. And I'm thankful, not because of any selfish pride; rather because people who never see or hear sermons otherwise, many of them have
found Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior through the [reading of them?], and many a village preacher has found some thoughts to share with his simple congregation. I said I have preached a great deal, and I have. And when one gains a reputation like this, one is besieged by others to help them in their preaching. One good brother pled with me and pled with me to listen to him preach and to offer some constructive comments afterwards.
I dislike doing that sort of thing, but finally I yielded to it. And he stood up there in the pulpit and preached his sermon to me, and when it was over, he urged that I should make some comment, and at last I said, "Well, now, my brother, I have to be honest with you. And I believe there were three things wrong with that sermon. Now the first, my brother, was that you read it. A sermon, sir, is meant to be delivered and proclaimed, never to be read." "Well," he said,
"so I read it. What else was wrong with it?" "Well, if you must know," I said, "my brother, not only did you read it, but you read it very badly." Now he was a glutton for punishment and would not let me go. So, you see, I was compelled to tell him the whole truth. He said, "So I read it, and I read it badly. What else was wrong with it?" "Brother," I said, "not only did you read it and did you read it badly, but frankly, it was not worth reading anyhow."
There is no truth in the rumor which is making the rounds at the moment that a certain bishop of the Church of England is supposed to have added an amusing rhyme concerning me recently. The good bishop is supposed to have said, "There is a young fellow called [Spurgy?] / Who hates all of our high church liturgy / But his sermons are fine / And I use them for mine /
As also do most of my clergy." There's absolutely no truth in that rumor at all. There may be some truth in its content. Oh, the enemy has me in the knees tonight. Put your leg in a vise and crush it as hard as you can, and that is rheumatism. Crush it again [20?] times as harder, and that is arthritic gout. I pity the poor dog who has had as much pain
in all four of his legs that I've had in just one of mine -- and yet, I bear my willing witness that I have learned more from the fire and the hammer and the [file?] than anything else in my Lord's [workshop?]. When my schoolroom is darkest, it seems to me that then it is sometimes that I see and I understand the most.
I was seated the other day in a very lovely garden, surrounded by all -- (inaudible) in delightful -- all around. Shielding my eyes from --, gazed about at palms and bananas, roses and camellias, oranges and aloes, -- and heliotrope, -- garden was filled with sweetness and fruitfulness and perfume. Surely the gardener, whoever he might be,
who had formed and fashioned and set in order this delightful spot, was --. Then it came to me to consider the church of Jesus Christ as a garden and to suppose the Lord Jesus Christ Himself to be the gardener. Mary Magdalene met Jesus, you remember, on the resurrection morning, -- supposing Him to be the gardener. We -- [meditate?] well
upon such a supposition. The Lord hath caused some of us to suffer severe physical pain, which often bites into the spirit and causes the heart to stoop. And others among us have suffered severe temporal losses, having no --, even severe financial ruin. Are you ready to complain against the Lord for all this? -- my sister? I pray you do not so.
Take the supposition of that text into your heart this evening, supposing Him to be the gardener. The Lord has been pruning you sharply -- you sometimes feel --, knowing only the torment of the knife. Ah, yes. But supposing Him to be the gardener, hath not the Lord done it? Doth that not alter the case? -- [Oh?], put your finger to your
lips and be quiet until you can say from your heart, "The Lord -- blessed be the --." That the Lord hath done -- (inaudible) of His children, that no true child of His can --. He has been whipped with --. What the Lord hath done is the very best that could
be done, the very thing that you [or?] I would wish to have done, had we possessed infinite power and knowledge and love. I don't think I can really convey to you how I feel this evening. As my own words revive in me a memory filled with sweetness but dashed with bitterness, I [sat?] -- [14?] days -- in that [garden?] with -- my side (inaudible) -- the best of health and rejoicing
in the goodness of God. We returned home -- disabling pain, and he was, far worse than that -- he was called upon to lose his precious wife. How little did I know how soon I should have to turn to him and say, "Alas, my brother, thou art brought very low, for the desire of thine eyes is taken from thee," -- (inaudible) [outcome?]. The Lord hath done it. The sweetest rose
--. The gardener [came this way?]. And He has --. (inaudible) Is this not most natural? Has anyone here complained because of this? No, everyone knows that it is right and according to nature that the gardener should take His own flowers. If you are here tonight, my brother, my sister, sore troubled at the loss of your beloved, --,
your grief in the beauty of this --, supposing Him to be the gardener. My brother, my sister, remember when next the Lord comes to your part of His garden, and that may be this very week. When He does come, He will --. [Would?] you deny Him that, even if you could?
I'm sure the Word of God is very precious to you, as it is to me. And I have many favorite passages, and among those most favored by me is that one which is found in the prophecy of Isaiah and in chapter 53. I'm sure you know these words as well as I do. They say, "He was wounded for our transgressions. He was bruised for our iniquities. The chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and with His stripes, we are
healed." This is a chapter which speaks about our Lord upon the cross, written 700 years by the prophet before He was even born. I say to you, is it not a strange thing that when God talks about sin, He calls it a disease and -- healed. Oh, my brothers and my sisters, sin is a disease. -- (inaudible). It puts a man's
flesh in charge of his spirit. That is -- [order?], I do not know what is. It is a disease that causes extreme pain and suffering, if not in this life, then in the next. Sin, like a disease, poisons and pollutes a man and injures a man. And it is a disease that is fatal. But glory to God, the Scripture says, "with His stripes,
we are healed." Have you ever thought about the stripes of our Lord? You know, Herod's men mocked Him with a crown of thorns and a kingly robe, and then they stripped Him and flogged Him with a Roman scourge. Seven long leather thongs of plaited cowhide, in which were inserted sharp flints and the [hackle-bones?] of sheep. With that dreadful flogging instrument, they furrowed the
back of our precious Lord until the skin broke and the blood ran down. And on that bruised and bleeding back, they pressed the rugged cross and made Him carry it up the hill --. They laid that cross upon the ground and stretched Him upon it, one great spike through the -- and one great spike through that wrist, and one through the crossed ankles, and then lifted that cross and flung it into the socket prepared for it, so the whole [dragging?] weight hung upon those
three merciless --. Oh, what stripes were laid upon our Lord. Yet these are but the physical picture. [True?] reality -- (inaudible) says -- our sins in His own body on the tree. He -- for the unjust to bring us to God. He was made
sin for us, He who knew no sin, that -- (inaudible).
way of salvation. But I knew no more about it in my innermost heart than if I -- was there but I was --. It was a -- (inaudible) that the Lord --. It was a fresh revelation, as fresh as if I'd never read it --, but He was made the satisfaction for our sins. I -- (inaudible) through a -- Savior.
I have no other hope for heaven -- of a hope besides. I sometimes think I might have -- in darkness and in despair, right until now, had it not been for the goodness of God in sending upon me a snowstorm when I was on my way to a certain place of worship. When I could go no further, because of the snowstorm, I turned into a side street and came to a little Primitive Methodist chapel.
Now I had heard about the Primitive Methodists, that they could sing so loudly they would make your head ache. But I wanted to find the way of salvation. I didn't mind how loudly they sang or how much my head ached, if they could tell me that. There were only 10 or 15 people in that little chapel that Sunday morning, and the minister didn't come. I guess he was snowed up, I suppose. And finally a thin-looking man, a shoemaker or something of that sort, got up in the pulpit and began to try to preach. Now, it is well that a minister should be
instructed, but this man seemed to be really stupid. He had a good text. His text was from the Old Testament, "Look unto Me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth." He did not even pronounce the words correctly in his rough Essex accent, but said, "Look unto Me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth." But that didn't matter. There was, I thought, a glimpse of hope for me in that text, and I -- man began to preach
his sermon. He said, "Now, my dear friends, this is a very simple text. It says we must look. Now, lookin' don't take a deal of pain. It ain't lifting your foot or your finger. A man does not need to go to college to learn how to [look?]. A man may not make a thousand pound a year, yet he can look. Even a child can look. And my text says, 'Look unto Me, and be ye saved. Look unto Me. Look unto Me. Look unto Me.'" Then he developed his text in
this quaint fashion. He said, "Some [on?] ye are lookin' to yourselves. But there's no hope there. And some on ye are lookin' to the Father. And you may look to the Father by and by. And some on ye are saying, 'We must wait for the workin' of the Holy Spirit before we can be converted' -- you have no business with that now. Jesus Christ says, 'Look unto Me. Look unto Me.'" And then he continued in this very strange vein.
He said, "Can you see Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane? 'Look unto Me,' He says. 'I am sweating great drops of blood. Look unto Me. I am hangin' on a cross. Look unto Me. I am dead and buried. Look unto Me. I rise again. Look unto Me. I ascend to the Father. O, poor sinner, look unto Me. Look unto Me.'" And when he'd gone about [that leg?],
he was at the end of his tether. Spying me seated there under the balcony -- and, I suppose, knowing me to be a visitor, because there were so few people there -- he looked at me as if he knew all my heart and pointed a bony finger right at me and said, "Young man, young man, you look very miserable." Well, I did, but I was not used to having remarks about my personal appearance made from the pulpit.
But it was a good blow, and one that was struck well home. And he continued, "Young man, you will always be miserable, miserable in life and miserable in death. But if you obey my text, if you look to Jesus Christ by faith, you will be saved. You will be saved." And then he began to shout, as only a Primitive Methodist can shout. "Young man," he said, lifting up his hands -- "Young man," he said, "look to Jesus Christ and live! You have nothing to do but to look and to live. Look!
Look! Look! Look! Look." I saw in a moment the way of salvation. I know not what else he said; I was so transfixed by that one idea. I had been waiting to do 50 things. When I heard that one word, "Look," what a charming word it seemed to me. I looked until I could almost have looked my very eyes away. And then and there the scales fell off, and the light came through,
and the clouds broke, and the sun shone. I could have stood and sung with the most enthusiastic of them about the blood of Jesus and about the look of faith, which brings healing by His stripes. What more shall I say? Had I an angel's tongue, would I plead? Yet I can say no more than I have already said this evening. In God's name, flee to Jesus Christ for refuge.
In a little while, I see this preacher stretched upon his bed. A few more days of solemn meeting, a few more prayers, a few more sermons, and I think I see myself in yon upper chamber while friends stand around and say, "He who has preached to thousands is now in need of consolation for himself. He who has cheered many through the article of death is now passing through those waters for himself." Shall there be any of you there, my friends, whom I shall see on that day, on my
deathbed, who will rise up and charge me with being unfaithful? Shall I lie there, and shall these eyes of mine be tormented with visions of men and women that I have amused and entertained but into whose hearts I never sought to press the conviction of the Holy Spirit for the salvation which is available in the Lord Jesus Christ? Shall I lie there, and shall these mighty congregations pass before me in dreary panorama, and as each sinks from my sight, will each charge me with unfaithfulness? God forbid. God forbid.
I ask you this one favor, and I do not think that you will deny it me: that when I lie a-dying, you will allow that I am free of the blood of all men, for I have not shunned to declare unto you the whole counsel of God. Now as I stand here, I make this my last appeal: in Christ's name, be ye reconciled to God.
And if you will not be reconciled, I ask you this favor, and I do not think you will deny this to me: if you will not be reconciled through the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, you must take the blame for your own ruin. For I am clear of the blood of all men, for I have not shunned to declare unto you the whole gospel of God. "There is a fountain filled with blood /
Drawn from Immanuel's veins; / And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, / Lose all their guilty stains. / I do believe, I will believe, / That Jesus died for me: / That on the cross He shed His blood / From sin to set me free." That's my favorite hymn and my favorite theme. "For e'er since by faith I saw that stream / Thy flowing wounds supply / Redeeming love has been my theme, / And shall be till I die. / I do believe, I will believe." You know that chorus. Sing it with me. "I do believe."
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M: Once again, softly, as a confession of our faith.
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M: Mighty God, as those whose lives are caught up in the glorious task of proclaiming the gospel, we thank you for those who have so faithfully labored and brought to us and to thousands and thousands and thousands of others the Word of God. And for all the saints, who from their labors rest, who Thee
by faith before the world confess, Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blessed. May we, Thy soldiers, true and bold, fought as the saints who nobly fought of old, and win with them the victor's crown of gold. Hallelujah. Amen.