Because of his youth he was known as
the boy preacher, but it must be pointed
out he had in no way referred to
himself under this term or used it as
a kind of gimmick to draw a crowd.
Nevertheless he soon preached to a crowd and
did so each Sunday.
When he went to Water Beach the congregation
numbered about 40, but it grew with great
rapidity.
People came not only from the village itself
but also from the surrounding countryside till the
attendance mounted regularly to 400 and more.
Of course they could not all get into
the little building, but doors and windows were
left open and people stood outside listening to
a preacher such as they had never heard
before.
During his days at Water Beach Spurgeon manifested
a gift for which he was to be
preeminent throughout his later ministry, the gift of
understanding and influencing people.
He talked to men and women on the
street and he visited them in their homes.
He knew them and their teenagers and their
children by name.
He recognized sin and it was everywhere.
He witnessed the people's manner of life.
He prayed by the sick, comforted the suffering
and watched the dying.
In public and in private he ever presented
the gospel and great was his joy when
he heard the news of the first convert.
This was a woman who came to tell
him that under his preaching she had been
brought into a deep conviction of sin but
that she had received the Savior and was
now rejoicing.
A great many others followed till Water Beach
was virtually transformed.
Did you ever walk through a village notorious
for its drunkenness and profanity?
Did you ever see poor wretched beings that
once were men standing or rather leaning against
the posts of the ale house or staggering
along the street?
Have you ever looked into the houses of
the people and beheld them as dens of
iniquity at which your soul stood aghast?
Have you ever seen the poverty and degradation
and misery of the inhabitants and sighed over
it?
Yes, you say, we have.
But was it ever your privilege to walk
through that village again in after years when
the gospel had been preached there?
It has been mine.
I once knew such a village as I
have pictured, perhaps in some respects one of
the worst in England, where many an illicit
still was yielding its noxious liquor and where
in connection with that evil all manner of
riot and iniquity was rife.
There went into that village a lad who
had no great scholarship but who was earnest
in seeking the souls of men.
He began to preach there and it pleased
God to turn the whole place upside down.
In a short time that little thatched chapel
was crammed.
The biggest vagabonds in the village were weeping
floods of tears and those who had been
the curse of the parish became its blessing.
Where there had been robberies and villainies of
every kind all around the neighborhood there were
none because the men who used to do
the mischief were themselves in the house of
God rejoicing to hear of Jesus crucified.
I am not telling an exaggerated story nor
a thing I do not know, for it
was my delight to labor for the Lord
in that village.
It was a pleasant thing to walk through
that place when drunkenness had almost ceased, where
debauchery in the case of many was dead,
when men and women went forth to labor
with joyful hearts singing the praises of the
ever-living God, and when at sunset the
humble cottager called his children together, read them
some portion of the book of truth, and
then together they bent their knees in prayer
to God.
I can say with joy and happiness that
almost from one end of the village to
the other at the hour of eventide one
might have heard the voice of song coming
from nearly every roof tree.
I do testify to the praise of God's
grace that it pleased the Lord to work
wonders in our midst.
He showed the power of Jesus' name and
made me a witness of that gospel which
can win souls, draw reluctant hearts, and mold
afresh the life and conduct of sinful men
and women."
Spurgeon's pastorate at Waterbeach continued until he was
19.
During that period, although he manifested a rare
maturity, he had also much to learn about
the day-by-day conducting of the ministry.
That experience was evident, for instance, in his
sermon preparation.
He sought to be led by God to
some passage of Scripture, endeavoring in prayer and
study to understand it thoroughly.
After filling his soul with its message, he
marshaled its truths into organized form in readiness
for delivery.
He found the main points and then the
secondary points that the Scripture contained, wrote them
out in two or three pages of notes,
and carried those into the pulpit with him.
Some 200 or so Waterbeach sermon outlines are
still extant, and they manifest the nature of
his early preaching.
He did not, like most men during their
first few years in the ministry, merely touch
the surface of gospel truths.
On the contrary, the great system of doctrine
that he had been weighing in his mind
since childhood, and that had largely constituted the
body of his study, underlay virtually all he
said, and provided the strength of his ministry.
Spurgeon's experience also grew in his handling of
people during those days.
When the town scourge unloosed her tongue upon
him one day, he replied as though he
had barely heard her and incorrectly understood her
words.
After two or three outbursts, she hurried away,
saying, The man is as deaf as a
post.
A certain minister who invited him to come
and preach, upon seeing how boyish he looked,
treated him with contempt.
But Spurgeon, in his sermon, replied by quoting
a verse from Proverbs that rebuked the man's
uncivil behavior, and then he went on to
preach so powerfully that when the service was
over, the man patted him on the back
and said, You're the sauciest dog that ever
barked in the pulpit.
The occasion marked the beginning of a warm
friendship between them.
There was a woman who, though a true
saint, constantly lacked Christian confidence.
She told Spurgeon she was such a hypocrite
that she ought not to attend church, and
that she had no Christian hope whatsoever.
Knowing her true earnestness and desiring to help
her, he offered to buy her hope for
five pounds, to which she exclaimed, Oh, I
would not sell my hope in Christ for
a thousand worlds.
During those teenage days in Water Beach, Spurgeon
revealed much of the character that later shone
in him so prominently.
Admittedly, he was audacious and fearless, and any
who saw this feature alone could well assume
that he was impudent.
But he was also very real.
He had not the slightest element of pretense,
and in both his public ministry and his
pastoral relationships, his unrelenting earnestness was manifest to
all.
His extraordinary preaching powers were also evident, a
voice of tremendous strength together with the sweetest
moving tones, and all under constant control.
Spurgeon exercised an unyielding self-discipline.
To him, the Christian life must be fully
governed, and he put that ideal into stern
practice.
Rising early, he filled the day with labor,
studying and visiting, praying and preaching.
He gave no attention to sports, and had
no personal friendships with members of the opposite
sex, but all his time and thought were
given to the Lord.
In many senses, though yet so young, he
was far ahead of many older ministers in
knowing and doing the work of that office.
As his brother James expressed it, he has
a marvelous example of a preacher leaping out
of bound, full-grown into the pulpit.
Charles's extraordinary advancement in the work of the
ministry was not understood, however, by his father.
John Spurgeon, wanting the best for his son,
made plans to put him into Stepney College,
the Baptist ministerial training school.
The universities had long been closed to all
who were not members of the Church of
England.
Charles was not happy about his father's idea,
but he was willing to go along with
it if necessary, and he agreed to meet
the college principal, Dr. Joseph Angus.
The interview was to take place at a
home in Cambridge, that of Daniel Macmillan, the
prominent publisher.
Charles arrived at the appointed hour, and was
shown by a maid into a sitting room,
and there he waited for Dr. Angus to
arrive.
But at the end of two hours, he
called for the maid, only to discover she
had shown the gentleman into a room at
the other side of the house.
He too had waited all that time, but
having to catch a train, he had left
the house some moments earlier.
Later that day, Spurgeon was walking through the
fields on his way to a village service.
As he thought of the strange event of
the afternoon, there came an overwhelming impression in
his mind, almost as though he actually heard
a voice that said very distinctly, Seekest thou
great things for thyself?
Seek them not.
He immediately rejoiced in his counsel, and then
and there he determined not to enter the
college.
He already knew God had already made him
a minister, and he purposed to continue the
manner of life that had been his for
the past two years.
The decision allowed no room for earthly ambition.
It marked another step forward in the mortification
of self, and in the growth of his
soul's devotion to the Lord.
In later years, Spurgeon referred to the event
of his missing Dr. Angus as the Lord's
hand behind the maid's mistake.
The college gave its students valuable knowledge of
the Bible and of general theological subjects.
It provided classroom instruction in how to prepare
sermons and how to deliver them, and it
endeavored to lead the young men into a
well-ordered and disciplined manner of life.
But those things were hardly necessary to Spurgeon.
He was already far beyond the college's students,
and undoubtedly beyond most of its faculty in
theological knowledge and preaching ability, and he already
possessed a wide pastoral experience.
Moreover, though strictly subject to all that was
righteous and true, he was in some senses
a free spirit, without fear of man and
entirely unfettered by human conventions.
He had received in birth a unique genius
of spirit, and that would surely have suffered
had he entered an environment where efforts would
have been made to force it into the
mold of ordinary individuals.
He had been prepared for a divinely ordered
ministry, and did not need the usual shaping
by the hands of man.
After Spurgeon had been in Water Beach two
years, an event took place which, in the
plan of God, drew his ministry there to
its close.
In November of 1853, he spoke at a
meeting of the Cambridge Sunday School Union.
He was followed by two other ministers, each
of whom referred belittlingly to his youthfulness.
One, in fact, was particularly nasty, and stated,
It is a pity.
Boys do not adopt the scriptural practice of
tarrying at Jericho till their beards are grown,
before they try to instruct their seniors.
When the speaker had concluded, Spurgeon secured the
chairman's permission, and made a reply.
I reminded the audience, he says, that those
who were bidden to remain at Jericho were
not boys, but full-grown men whose beards
had been shaved off by their enemies, as
the greatest indignity they could be made to
suffer, and who were, therefore, ashamed to return
home until their beards had grown again.
I added that the true parallel to their
case could be found in a minister who,
through falling into open sin, had disgraced his
calling and needed to go into seclusion, till
his character had, to some extent, been restored.
Spurgeon knew nothing of the man who had
attacked him, but he had unwittingly described his
condition.
The poor man had fallen into sin, and
since his behavior was known to the people,
one can but imagine his embarrassment.
This meeting, however, though of no special importance
in itself, proved of pivotal significance in Spurgeon's
life.
It led in an indirect way to the
placing before him of the supreme opportunity of
his career, the opening of a great door
and effectual, a call to the pastorate of
the New Park Street Baptist Church in London.
Now we begin another subsection of the book,
The First Years in London, 1855 to 1864.
And this section begins with chapter 5, a
great door and effectual is opened.
And it begins with a quote from the
Prince of Preachers, written in 1894 by James
Douglas.
Here's the quote.
To what then was Spurgeon's swift and decisive
promotion due?
We infer it was due to this fact,
that there was nothing in him necessitating delay.
He could be placed in the seat of
honor, for he had the spiritual grounding requisite.
He could serve the relative end, for the
basis of it had been laid in his
own heart.
The light was there.
It needed but a stand adequate to its
power of illumination.
And specially should be instanced this point, that
he had the true Christian foil in respect
of honor, namely, humility.
He had, as we have just seen, forsworn
the search of great things for himself.
And what is this?
In the economy of grace, but the forerunner
of promotion.
He had no great stalking ambition.
The role of a country village pastor was
as ample as his heart's desire.
London might make him greater.
It could hardly make him happier.
And now chapter 5, a great door and
effectual is opened.
A man named George Gould was present at
that meeting in Cambridge.
He was deeply impressed by Spurgeon's ministry and
gave a London friend, William Olney, a glowing
report of the young Water Beach preacher.
Olney was a deacon of the New Park
Street Baptist Church, and since it was without
a pastor at the time, Gould urged that
it seriously consider this remarkable youth.
The New Park Street Church invited Spurgeon to
supply its pulpit for a Sunday.
He was amazed at the request and replied
to their letter saying they must have the
wrong Spurgeon, for he was merely a lad
of nineteen.
They replied that he was the one they
had intended, so he agreed to spend Sunday,
December 18, 1853, with them.
Reaching London on Saturday, he went, as they
had arranged, to a boarding-house in the
Bloomsbury district.
Several young gentlemen lived at this house, and
as they looked upon the visitor, his clothes
anything but stylish, his hair unkempt, and his
whole appearance countrified, they were much amused.
At the supper-table they told him of
the extraordinary abilities of many of the London
preachers, men, they said, of thorough scholarship and
rare oratorical powers, and the suggestion was that
Spurgeon was entirely out of place in one
of the city's most prominent nonconformist churches.
Spurgeon felt that much would be expected of
him in this pulpit, especially because of the
personal greatness and lengthy ministries of three of
the men who had filled it.
The first of those was Benjamin Keech, an
outstanding preacher and author who had suffered in
the pillory for his faith during the 17th
century.
The second was John Gill, a man of
tremendous learning, the author of ponderous volumes of
theology and biblical commentary, who had exercised his
ministry there for 51 years.
The third, John Rippon, had proved himself an
able preacher and had edited a widely used
hymn book, and his ministry in this pulpit
had lasted for the amazing length of 63
years.
These men were yet highly revered, especially by
Baptists throughout England, and their greatness served all
the more to discourage Spurgeon as he came
now to spend the Sunday in their pulpit.
After having supper with the young gentleman, Spurgeon
went to his room.
It was not actually a room, merely a
kind of cupboard over the stairs, and so
small he could barely kneel beside the bed.
Throughout the night there was almost constant noise
from horses and carriages on the street below,
and he found it difficult to sleep.
As he awoke in the morning he felt
lonely and friendless.
The great city seemed forbidding, and he longed
for his flock in Waterbeach, who would be
that day meeting without him.
Nor were matters improved when he made his
way to the church.
The building had been a rather grand place.
It was of stone and brick construction, now
much blackened by the city's grime.
Nevertheless, it remained one of the largest Baptist
chapels in Britain, and he says that upon
first viewing it, I felt for a moment
amazed at my own temerity, for it seemed
to my eyes to be a large, ornate,
and imposing structure, suggesting an audience wealthy and
critical, and far removed from the humble folk
to whom my ministry had been sweetness and
light.
But although the building was imposing, the location
was deplorable.
It lay south of the Thames, and the
only immediate access from the other side of
the river was by a toll bridge.
The area was low and flooded easily, and
smoke and soot were everywhere.
Around the chapel stood a brewery, warehouses, and
factories.
The only homes close by were impoverished hovels.
Among the members of the church, however, were
several very earnest Christians.
Some were men of professional status, and others
operated their own businesses, and in general the
congregation was composed of very respectable middle-class
people.
During the months without a pastor, the church
had heard several supposedly capable men, but they
had never asked one of them twice, for
they gave them such philosophical or dry-learned
sermons that once was enough.
As a result, attendances had decreased, the work
was at a low ebb, and the people
were discouraged.
As Spurgeon entered the pulpit that morning, though
the church had seats for twelve hundred, he
saw a congregation estimated by some as high
as two hundred, and by others as low
as eighty.
All feelings of depression vanished from his mind
before the responsibility that was now his, that
of preaching the word.
The people saw a man strong in confidence
in God, and they listened to a voice
like that of which they had never heard
before.
Taking as his text, every good and perfect
gift is from above, and cometh down from
the Father of Lights, with whom is no
variableness, neither shadow of turning.
He spoke of God as described in the
term, the Father of Lights.
He enlarged upon the divine attributes, especially God's
unchangeableness, and closed by declaring his giving of
gifts, even the gift of his Son, the
Lord Jesus.
The sermon was not in any way an
effort to produce something profound to win the
favor of the London audience.
It was simply the kind of sermon he
would have delivered to his rustic congregation in
Waterbeach.
But the result was extraordinary.
A few hearers knew not what to think
of him, for he was so young, yet
seemed so mature, and he was entirely different
from any preacher they had ever heard.
But most were excited, and could hardly find
words to express their delight.
During the afternoon, several of them called on
members who had been absent in the morning,
and on various neighbors and friends, telling them
of the marvelous youth from the country, and
declaring they must come and hear him in
the evening.
Accordingly, the evening congregation was much larger than
that of the morning.
Spurgeon was more at home in his surroundings
as well, and as he preached on, they
are without fault before the throne of God,
the people were lifted to new heights of
understanding, and to new raptures of feeling.
When the service closed, most were unwilling to
leave the church.
They stood around in clusters, greatly moved, overwhelmed
by the glory of what they had heard,
and urged the deacons to make sure this
amazing preacher returned.
The deacons were equally enthusiastic.
They asked Spurgeon to set dates to minister
to them again, and they declared that if
he were in the pulpit for three Sundays,
the building would be filled.
They were spiritually so starved that a morsel
of gospel was a treat for them.
Deeply affected by the need, and assured that
this door was being divinely opened, he agreed
to return on three Sundays the following month,
January of 1854.
During the conversation, he informed the deacons that
he was not a college man, but they
had heard so many college graduates and had
been wearied with their preaching that they replied,
that is to us a special recommendation, for
you would not have much savor or unction
if you came from college.
Spurgeon walked back to the boarding house a
different man.
I wanted no pity from anyone, he says.
I did not care a penny for the
young gentlemen lodgers and their miraculous ministers, nor
for the grind of the cabs, nor for
anything else under the sun.
God had anointed his ministry.
The people had been delighted, and he was
to come again.
After two weeks he again spent a Sunday
at New Park Street.
He returned immediately to Waterbeach, but the London
church would not wait for him to fulfill
the arrangement he had made with them.
The deacons wrote immediately, expressing the people's unbounded
satisfaction with his ministry and extending him a
call to become their pastor right away.
The Sunday school superintendent wrote separately and told
of him, I never saw such a desire
toward a minister as there is at the
present time toward you.
You will find a great many faithful friends,
and should the Holy Spirit lead you to
decide for New Park Street, I hope and
pray you will prove a blessing to thousands.
Spurgeon had apparently mentioned his sense of the
awesome spiritual responsibility of this task.
The letter from the deacons suggested that he
might want to accept the pastorate on a
trial basis.
They added that at the end of six
months he might reconsider the matter, and if
he then felt it necessary, but he replied
that he would come on three months trial,
and concluded by stating his urgent request that
all the people pray for him.
One thing is due, he declared, namely that
in private as well as public they must
all wrestle in prayer that I might be
sustained in the great work.
His parting from his people in Water Beach
was sad for him and sad for them.
Some had realized they could not long hope
to keep such a man in so small
a place, but now that the removal was
imminent, though they rejoiced in the prospect for
him, they shed many tears at the thought
of seeing him go.
He had loved them, and they had loved
him, and the bonds of affection could not
easily be broken.
Throughout the rest of his life, some of
the warmest friends he had anywhere were to
be found in the Baptist Chapel at Water
Beach.
In February 1854, at the age of 19,
Spurgeon entered his ministry in London.
He came on three months trial, but his
labor there was to last till his death
nearly 40 years later.
As the people had expected, the new Park
Street attendants jumped immediately.
Within a month the chapel was crowded, with
the seats filled, the aisles packed, and the
people sitting in the windows and standing shoulder
to shoulder in the Sunday school area.
All manner of reports about this ministry spread
across London.
In the midst of this happy situation, the
deacons brought up the matter of ordination.
During his days at Water Beach, Spurgeon had
been unordained, but he was assured he was
ordained of God, and as far as he
was concerned, that was all that mattered.
But human ordination was everywhere practiced by Baptists,
and among the new Park Street people, there
were several who felt the church should now
call an ordination service.
Spurgeon told them he did not believe this
was a scriptural practice, and that he did
not need it to validate his ministry.
The blessing of God, he declared, was the
divine seal upon his holding of the office.
Man could add nothing to it.
Nevertheless, he was willing to go through with
the ceremony if the church thought it necessary,
and although it would do him no harm,
neither would it do him any good, and
there the matter rested.
Similarly, Spurgeon rejected the title Reverend.
He said it was a remnant of Romanism
that the Reformers ought to have dropped, but
his publishers inserted it before his name at
the head of his printed sermons, and the
fact that for some years he did not
forbid it was probably a concession to those
who felt they were honoring him by using
it.
Finally, in 1865, he had the practice stopped.
He urged his students to use instead the
scriptural term, Pastor.
The lack of the title, however, did not
hinder.
It probably helped Spurgeon's acceptance by the common
man.
The crowd came every time he preached, and
for this reason he was constantly spoken of
as a second Whitefield.
But, like Whitefield, Spurgeon did not make the
gathering of a crowd his first interest.
In view of the spiritual warfare in which
the Christian is placed, he was concerned, first
of all, that his people learn truly to
pray.
Of course, during previous months, the New Park
Street people had prayed, but their prayers were
a little more than nicely worded phrases, unctionless
petitions uttered in a rather formal manner.
To Spurgeon, prayer was something far superior to
mere service activity.
He talked with God in reverence, but with
freedom and familiarity.
In his prayers, there were none of the
tired expressions many ministers use, but he spoke
as a child coming to a loving parent.
A fellow minister declared, prayer was the instinct
of his soul and the atmosphere of his
life.
It was his vital breath and native air.
He sped on eagle wings into the heaven
of God as he prayed.
So real was Spurgeon's praying that the formal
effort showed in glaring contrast beside it.
I can readily tell, he stated, when a
brother is praying or when he is only
performing or playing at prayer.
Oh, for a living groan, one sigh of
the soul has more power in it than
half an hour's recitation of pretty, pious words.
Oh, for a sob from the soul or
a tear from the heart.
And he was equally opposed to the hallelujah
or praise the Lord that was only a
formality and arose not from the inner man.
Spurgeon truly expected to see God answer prayer,
both in the individual life and in the
life of the church.
He recognized unanswered prayer beyond human understanding, but
he also experienced numerous instances in which God
moved in response to his cry.
He knew that God's power was manifested in
the services in proportion as God's people truly
prayed and that in such proportion also souls
were brought under conviction and drawn to Christ.
Spurgeon's own praying proved of great influence upon
his people.
Deeply moved by the reality of his intercession,
many of them became ashamed of their own
pretty, pious words.
Some of them undoubtedly had a difficult struggle
to overcome the formal practices of previous years,
but they persisted and little by little they
began to wrestle with God in true prayer.
I can never forget how earnestly they prayed.
Sometimes they seemed to plead as though they
could really see the angel of the covenant
present with them.
More than once we were all so awestruck
with the solemnity of the meeting that we
sat silent for some moments while the Lord's
power appeared to overshadow us.
We had prayer meetings in New Park Street
that moved our very souls.
Each man seemed like a crusader besieging the
new Jerusalem.
Each one appeared determined to storm the celestial
city by the might of intercession, and soon
the blessing came down upon us in such
abundance that we had not room to receive
it.
As we go on to consider the rest
of Spurgeon's life, we must bear in mind
the manner in which his people prayed.
Numerous men and women were converted, several institutions
developed, various buildings were erected, and their work
had its effect to the ends of the
earth.
All the time true prayer rose to God.
When someone once asked Spurgeon the secret of
his success, he replied, My people pray for
me.
He meant not prayer in the usual formal
and unexpected manner, but wrestling with God in
living faith that he would answer.
The arrangement under which Spurgeon had come to
London was soon overruled by the members of
the church.
Well before that period had elapsed, a business
meeting was held, and the people urged him
to receive the pastorate on a permanent basis.
He replied, There is but one answer to
so loving and cordial an invitation.
I accept it.
But he continued, I entreat of you to
remember me in prayer that I may realize
the solemn responsibility of my trust, remember my
youth and inexperience, and pray that these may
not hinder my usefulness.
I trust also that the remembrance of these
will lead you to forgive mistakes I may
make, or unguarded words I may utter, O
that I may make no injury to you,
but be a lasting benefit.
In April 1854, at the age of nineteen,
Spurgeon fully undertook the pastorate in London.
The crowds soon created a problem.
Sunday by Sunday, morning and evening, every foot
of space in the chapel was filled.
In turn, the place became unbearably hot, and
the oxygen was used up, yet there was
no possibility of fresh air for the windows
had not been constructed to open.
Spurgeon repeatedly suggested to the deacons that the
small upper panes of glass be removed, but
they did nothing about it.
One morning it was discovered that the panes
had been smashed out.
Spurgeon was delighted, and proposed that a reward
of five pounds should be offered for the
discovery of the offender, who when found should
receive the amount as a present.
Of course, he had removed the glass himself.
I have walked with the stick which let
the oxygen into that stifling structure.
Thus he made it a bit of a
game in doing what the deacons ought to
have engaged a workman to do.
The additional air was a help, but it
was evident a much larger seating capacity was
needed.
After the church had put up with the
difficulty of the overcrowding for a few more
months, construction operations were begun to enlarge the
building.
While this work was in progress, the services
were held at Exeter Hall.
This was a large auditorium in the heart
of the city, but despite its 4,000
seats and standing room for another 1,000,
it proved much too small, and hundreds were
turned away.
Upon completion of the enlargement at New Park
Street, the services were again held there.
It now seated 1,500, and with the
filling of the Sunday School Hall and other
rooms, a total of 2,000 could be
squeezed in.
But numerous persons who had heard Spurgeon at
Exeter Hall now came to hear him at
the chapel, and the crowding was worse than
ever.
The only recourse was to move the evening
service to the hall again and try to
make do with the chapel in the morning.
Thereafter, evening by evening, the hall was crowded
to its utmost capacity.
Thousands who arrived, hoping to get in, failed
to do so and remained outside, a noisy,
milling multitude that blocked the movement of traffic
on the street.
News of this activity spread throughout London and
even to much of the British Isles.
Exeter Hall was normally used for musical concerts
and educational lectures, but it was almost unheard
of for such a place to be used
for religious services.
Many persons looked on the whole procedure with
strong disapproval, and knowing that Spurgeon was not
a college graduate and that he was unordained,
they quickly assumed he must be a charlatan,
a man who knew how to attract and
sway an audience and get them to give
their money.
But circumstances arose in which Spurgeon gave evidence
of his love of mankind and of his
willingness to devote himself to comforting those in
need.
An epidemic of Asiatic cholera at that time
began to rage in London, particularly in the
area south of the Thames.
Spurgeon cancelled all out-of-town engagements and
gave his time to visiting the sick.
The disease entered numerous homes.
Almost everywhere there was suffering and often there
was death.
Family after family, he says, summoned me to
the bedside of the smitten, and almost every
day I was called to visit the grave.
With loving kindness to the sick and in
heartfelt sympathy with the bereaved, he conducted this
labor, and at any hour of the night
he might be awakened with an urgent request
to come and pray with someone who seemed
about to pass into eternity.
Under this unremitting labor, he soon became utterly
exhausted.
He was not only tired but was becoming
sick himself.
In this condition, as he returned one day
from a funeral, he noticed a piece of
paper pasted up in a shoemaker's window.
To his delight he found it carried a
verse of Scripture.
Because thou hast made the Lord, which is
my refuge, even the most high, thy habitation.
There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall
any plague come nigh thy dwelling.
As Spurgeon read this verse, his outlook was
suddenly lifted.
Faith appropriated the passage as her own, he
says.
I felt secure, refreshed, girt with immortality.
I went on with my visitation of the
dying in a calm and peaceful spirit, and
I suffered no harm.
Thus passed Spurgeon's first year in London, and
as months succeeded months, his fame increased.
Although he was cruelly attacked in much of
the press, he was greatly loved by his
own people, and had a host of admirers
among the population at large.
A former actor, Sheridan Knowles, had been converted
at Bloomsbury Baptist Church, and his life had
been changed.
He was asked to speak at the Stepney
College, and a student wrote, quote, Immediately upon
entering, Mr. Knowles exclaimed, Boys, have you heard
the Cambridge sure lad?
Go and hear him at once, if you
want to know how to preach.
His name is Charles Spurgeon.
He is only a boy, but he is
the most wonderful preacher in the world.
He is absolutely perfect in his oratory, and
beside that a master in the art of
acting.
He has nothing to learn from me or
anyone else.
I was once lessee of Drury Lane Theatre,
and were I still in that position I
would offer him a fortune to play for
one season on the boards of that house.
Why, boys, he can do anything he pleases
with his audience.
He can make them laugh and cry and
laugh again in five minutes.
His power was never equaled.
Now mark my words, boys, that young man
will live to be the greatest preacher of
this or any other age.
End quote.
Statements equally praiseful from many other persons raised
the question as to what effect such admiration
had upon him.
Many a man has been ruined by a
mere fraction of the adulation Spurgeon received, and
he was conscious of the temptation to self
-esteem it provoked.
He paid a visit to Scotland, and although
he won the favor of numerous ministers there,
some of the Scottish divines thought his strong
confidence manifested a somewhat proud spirit.
In England he was more than once spoken
of as impudent, and there were occasions when
he conducted himself with a boldness and an
authority that seemed to support that view.
Nevertheless, we must remember that he was merely
twenty and twenty-one.
During such immaturity some measure of overconfidence was
to be expected.
Yet the very reason for the praise lay
to some extent in his humility.
More than most men he knew a deadness
to self and was concerned above all things
with bringing glory to God.
What he was at heart is manifest in
a statement that he wrote later.
When I first became a pastor in London,
my success appalled me, and the thought of
the career which it seemed to open up,
so far from elating me, cast me into
the lowest depths.
Who was I that I should continue to
lead so great a multitude?
I would betake myself to my village obscurity,
or emigrate to America, and find a solitary
nest in the backwoods where I might be
sufficient for the things which would be demanded
of me.
It was just then that the curtain was
rising upon my life work, and I dreaded
what it might reveal.
Spurgeon needed someone in whom he could confide,
someone who could comfort and encourage him, who
could share his innermost desires and feelings.
In the divine workings such a one now
entered his life, and became his magnificent help
till death did them part.
Chapter 6 begins with a quote from H.
L.
Weyland, from his work entitled Charles H.
Spurgeon, His Faith and Works, 1892.
It begins with this quote.
The fact is that Mrs. Spurgeon's aid and
sympathy were invaluable in the molding of her
husband's character and life, so that he never
could have been what he was without her.
His mind was finely balanced, so was hers.
His common sense was large, hers was equally
so.
His heart throbbed with love to God and
mankind, and hers glowed in fully as warm
a flame.
He was equal to the perfecting and execution
of every form of benevolence, and in this
she was a true yoke-fellow at every
step.
While at every turn in his public life
he was the next target for many a
rude attack, she, next to God, was his
shield and helper.
No two souls on earth from the first
fair dawn were more perfectly adapted to each
other than Charles and Susanna Spurgeon.
Thus the quote now begins Chapter 6 entitled
Spurgeon's Marriage, This One Truly Made in Heaven.
Although most boys during their late teen years
are busy seeking the company of girls, Spurgeon
had thus far given no attention to the
opposite sex.
Till the age of nineteen he had devoted
himself totally to studying and preaching.
But now all became changed.
A young lady, Susanna Thompson, was present at
the evening service of his first Sunday at
New Park Street.
On this occasion she viewed him as something
of an oddity.
I was not at all fascinated by the
young orator's eloquence, while his countrified manner and
speech excited more regret than reverence.
I was not spiritually minded enough to understand
his earnest presentation of the gospel and his
powerful pleading with sinners, but the huge black
satin stock, the long badly trimmed hair, and
the blue pocket handkerchief with the white spots,
these attracted most of my attention and I
fear awakened some feelings of amusement.
Those first impressions did not last long.
Susie was a close friend of the Olney
family, and Spurgeon was often in the Olney
home.
In this frequent crossing of their paths she
began to see something of his qualities, and
he began to be attracted to her.
By the time he had been in London
merely two and a half months he sent
her a gift.
It was a copy of Pilgrim's Progress, and
in it he had written, Miss Thompson, with
desires for her progress in the Blessed Pilgrimage,
from C.
H.
Spurgeon, April 20, 1854.
From that point he became her spiritual guide.
Susanna had earlier believed in Christ for salvation,
but had not grown during the period the
church was without a pastor.
Now as the days passed he gently led
me, she says, by his preaching and by
his conversations, to the cross of Christ for
the peace and pardon my weary soul was
longing for.
Their friendship soon became more personal.
On June 10 of that year there was
a gala event in London, the opening of
the Crystal Palace.
This was a great exhibition hall that housed
displays of goods from the ends of the
earth, and it had its own walks and
planted areas.
Charles and Susanna attended with a party of
friends, and he saw to it that he
sat next to her.
During a lull in the proceedings he pointed
out some lines in a book he had
brought with him, lines that admonished any young
man seeking a wife to pray for her
will.
As she read them he asked, Do you
pray for him who is to be your
husband?
She was strangely excited, even by the mere
reference to marriage, although she made no reply.
When the ceremonies were ended, the same low
voice whispered again, Will you come and walk
around the palace with me?
Thereupon, leaving the rest of the party, they
walked away by themselves, and she later wrote,
We wandered together for a long time, not
only in the wonderful building itself, but in
the garden and even down to the lake.
During that walk on that memorable day in
June, I believe God himself united our hearts
in indissoluble bonds of true affection.
From that time our friendship grew apace and
quickly ripened into deepest love.
Within a few more weeks, on August 2,
they were at her grandfather's home and walked
together into the garden.
There, in solemn joy, he pledged his love
and asked her to marry him.
I think of that old garden as a
sacred place, a paradise of happiness, since there
my beloved sought me for his very own,
and told me how much he loved me.
Though I thought I knew this already, it
was a very different matter to hear him
say it, and I trembled and was silent
for very joy and gladness.
The sweet ceremony of betrothal needs no description.
To me it was a time as solemn
as it was sweet, and with a great
awe in my heart, I left my beloved
and hastening to the house and to an
upper room, I knelt before God and praised
him with happy tears for his great mercy
in giving me the love of so good
a man.
During the months that followed, Susanna became spiritually
stronger.
Early in the new year, 1855, she applied
to be baptized.
Spurgeon had tried to keep their relationship a
private matter, but the news had apparently leaked
out.
As the list of candidates for baptism was
being read to the church, the name immediately
preceding hers was that of an elderly man,
Johnny Deer.
Two maiden ladies, sitting at the back of
the room, were overheard to say, What was
that man's name?
Johnny Deer.
Oh, I suppose the next will be Susie
Deer, then.
Throughout this period, Spurgeon was enduring bitter attacks
in much of both the secular and religious
press.
They were distorted, false and cruel, and although
he bore up well, he was often sorely
wounded.
He needed help and encouragement, and these, with
marvelous understanding and sympathy, Susanna provided.
The time they were able to spend together
was very limited.
He usually came to her home each Monday
morning, yet he had no choice but to
bring with him the secretary's transcript of one
of the Sunday's sermons, which he edited.
The sermon, when printed, had to fill eight
pages.
He might need to remove or add a
portion, and there was also paragraphing to be
introduced, and various changes to be made.
He hastened to have it ready for a
messenger boy, who would arrive on a bicycle
at a given time in the afternoon, and
would hasten with it to the printer, who
would immediately set about putting it into print,
that it might be in the hands of
the readers by Thursday morning.
This labor marked, or marred, his Monday visits
to Susie.
They also sought to have an hour or
two together on Friday afternoons.
The Crystal Palace, which always had displays of
an interesting and instructive nature, with its walks
and botanical life, was usually their trysting place.
This afforded him a temporary rest from his
tremendous round of activity, and gave him relaxation
in a quiet atmosphere, and in company he
loved the best.
But all was not ideal in their relationship.
There were times when he wounded Susie by
forgetting all about her.
This happened once when he took her as
he went to preach on a certain afternoon
in a large London auditorium.
She says, quote, We went together in a
cab and I well remember trying to keep
close by his side as we mingled with
a mass of people thronging up to the
staircase.
But by the time we had reached the
landing he had forgotten my existence.
The burden of the message he had to
proclaim to that crowd of immortal souls was
upon him, and he turned into the small
side door where the officials were awaiting him,
without for a moment realizing that I was
left to struggle as best I could with
a rough and eager throng around me.
At first I was utterly bewildered, and then
I was in anger.
I at once returned home and told my
grief to my gentle mother.
She wisely reasoned that my chosen husband was
no ordinary man, that his whole life was
absolutely dedicated to God and his service, and
that I must never, never hinder him by
trying to put myself first in his heart.
Presently, after much good and loving counsel, my
heart grew soft and I saw I had
been very foolish and willful.
And then a cab drew up at the
door, and dear Mr. Spurgeon came running into
the house, in great excitement, calling, Where's Susy?
I have been searching for her everywhere and
cannot find her.
Has she come back by herself?
My dear mother went to him and told
him all the truth, and I think when
he realized the state of things she had
to soothe him also, for he was so
innocent at heart of having offended me in
any way that he must have felt I
had done him an injustice in thus doubting
him.
Quietly he let me tell how indignant I
had felt, and then he repeated mother's little
lesson, assuring me of his deep affection for
me, but pointing out that before all things
he was God's servant, and I must be
prepared to yield my claims to his.
I never forgot the teaching of that day.
I had learned my hard lesson by heart,
for I do not recollect ever again seeking
to assert my right to his time and
attention when any service for God demanded them.
There were occasions when Susy walked into his
vestry at the chapel just before he was
to go out to preach, and so intent
was he on the task ahead of him
that he stood and shook hands with her
as though she was a stranger.
Upon noticing his error he immediately apologized, but
the mistake manifests the concentration of his mind
in anticipation of the tremendous responsibility he felt
in preaching.
Charles and Susanna had been engaged for eighteen
months when she wrote, The year 1855 was
now drawing to a close, and we were
looking forward with unutterable joy to having a
home of our own and being united by
the holy ties of a marriage made in
heaven.
On January 8, 1856, the two lives were
joined.
Their ceremony was held at New Park Street,
and was conducted by a neighboring pastor, Dr.
Alexander Fletcher.
For some hours before the event, people were
waiting at the church, and although by this
date it had been much enlarged, it was
filled to overflowing.
A whole detachment of police arranged themselves outside
to control the great number who remained there.
The wedding was followed by a ten-day
trip to Paris.
Susanna had been to France earlier, and could
now point out to Charles various important sites.
They visited art galleries, palaces, and museums, and
even went to see the working of the
stock market.
Upon returning to London, they settled into married
life in a very modest home on New
Kent Road.
Of course, Charles was very busy.
Besides the multiple labors associated with New Park
Street, he was now preparing for the publication
of his first book, The Saint and His
Savior.
There were also numerous calls to preach at
other churches, some in London and some in
distant cities.
Most evenings he was away ministering somewhere, and
on occasion he was absent for a day
or more at a time.
He frequently returned home utterly exhausted, but invariably
found loving arms awaiting him amid every possible
kindness and comfort.
Susanna and Charles were very well suited.
Though Spurgeon was militant and fearless in his
stand for the truth of God, he was
also a very tender and sensitive man, and
he needed kindness and understanding in a wife.
This he found in Susanna.
Russell H.
Conwell, the founder of Temple University in Philadelphia,
who later visited the Spurgeons and became close
friends with them, commented on the loveliness of
their married life.
Had he married a silly wife, who would
have regarded him as the perfection of sainthood,
or a devotee of fashion, who would have
discouraged him with her corrections, he could never
have attained the eminence he reached.
Had he allied himself with a wife who
was less pious and sincere, or who would
have maintained her hold upon the affections and
esteem of his congregation, she would have served
to injure his reputation.
But she worked with him, prayed with him,
believed in him, and affectionately loved him through
his many years of work.
The thought of her, even when he was
absent from home, was to him a subtle
rest of spirit.
He could travel many days, and preach several
times a day, finding a rest in the
thought that at home she was hourly praying
for him, and was awaiting him with a
welcome he could anticipate with a sense of
divine peace.
Spurgeon's affection for Susanna, and hers for him,
never waned.
Both endured much sickness as their days wore
on, but they exercised toward each other a
beautiful patience.
Their unchanging affection is manifest in some poetic
lines that he wrote while away from home,
at a time when he had been married
for several years.
They read, in part, Over the space that
parts us, my wife, I'll cast me a
bridge of song, Our hearts shall meet, O
joy of my life, On its arch, unseen,
but strong.
The wooer his new love's name may wear,
Engraved on a precious stone, But thine image
within my heart I bear, The heart that
has long been thine own.
The glowing colors on surface laid, Wash out
in a shower of rain, Thou need'st not
be of rivers afraid, For my love is
dyed in grain.
The glittering dew drops of dawning love Exhale
as the day grows old, And fondness, taking
the wings of a dove, Is gone like
a tale of old.
But mine for thee from the chambers of
joy, With strength come forth as the sun,
Nor life nor death shall its force destroy,
Forever its course shall run.
Though he who chose us all worlds before
Must reign in our hearts alone, We fondly
believe that we shall adore Together before his
throne.
It is impossible to imagine anyone who would
have been so suitable a wife for Charles
Spurgeon as was this extraordinary woman, Susanna Thompson.
They were molded for each other by the
divine hand, and their union can only be
considered as a fulfillment of Susanna's anticipation.
It was, indeed, a marriage made in heaven.
Chapter 7 Entitled Conflict And it begins with
a quote from Passmore and Alabaster, Spurgeon's publishers,
printed in August of 1856.
Here's the quote.
The tongue of the wicked has assailed Mr.
Spurgeon with the most virulent abuse and lying
detraction.
His sentiments have been misrepresented, and his words
perverted.
His doctrines have been impugned as blasphemous, profane,
and diabolical.
Nevertheless the good hand of the Lord has
been upon him, and he has not heeded
the falsehood of the ungodly.
Here's chapter 7.
Again the title is Conflict.
When Spurgeon flashed upon the scene in London,
he disturbed the complacency of the religious life
of the day.
Most Baptist and congregational churches were quiet and
subdued, and even the Methodists had largely lost
of their original fire.
Those bodies in general still held to the
evangelical faith, but the preaching lacked fervor, the
churches possessed little vitality, and most were happy
merrily to keep the even tenor of their
way.
But this situation was challenged by the vitality
and power that radiated from Spurgeon's ministry and
personality.
Spurgeon had intellectual abilities of a very rare
order.
The constant reading he began as a boy
continued, and by the time he came to
London the knowledge he had amassed could virtually
be termed encyclopedic.
When he stood to preach, he had a
great deal of vast learning at his disposal.
He could quote at will from any book
of the Bible, using a most apt selection,
and repeating it exactly.
He had memorized an immense number of hymns,
and from those too he could, in an
instant, repeat a verse or several verses.
He could refer by way of illustration to
incidents from the history of the ancients, the
reformers, and the Puritans, and he made much
use of events in the lives of Whitefield
and Wesley and others of their times.
He was ever reading literature about the Bible,
a breadth of study that enabled him, less
than twenty years later, to write his volume
Commenting and Commentaries.
In the preparation of this book he passed
under review, he said, some three or four
thousand volumes.
His one hobby, if it can be so
termed, was that of scouting out and buying
second-hand books, and his personal library grew
till its volumes numbered more than ten thousand.
We must recognize that Spurgeon was, above everything,
a theologian.
He had given thought to the great doctrines
of the Bible from the time he had
begun to read, and from that point he
had been steadily building in his mind and
heart a knowledge of the vast system of
theology that is revealed in the Scriptures.
Londoners were startled as much by what he
said as by how he said it, and
this system of doctrine was the pervading quality
of all his ministry.
Nevertheless, his voice possessed not only a carrying
quality, but also an indefinable character that made
many a hearer feel the preacher had singled
him out and was speaking only to him.
The voice was in perfect control, and though
it could thunder with startling force, it could
also speak in the most moving, gentle tones.
The phrase often used of it was, like
a chime of silver bells.
Above all, in his delivery, Spurgeon was entirely
natural.
There was nothing put on about him, and
although a note of humor often crept into
what he was saying, the whole of his
preaching was overshadowed by his tremendous earnestness.
Although a vast host of Londoners became Spurgeon's
hearers and admirers, there were numerous others of
a different mind.
Many, knowing only that he was very young,
was not college-trained, and not ordained, jumped
to the conclusion that he could not be
a qualified minister, and therefore must be a
ministerial quack.
This was true of several newspaper editors.
Spurgeon was so much in the public eye
that they could not avoid mentioning him, and
since they regarded him as a charlatan, they
set out upon a campaign of bitter denunciation.
Some of their statements were too crude or
blasphemous to be repeated, but there were others.
An Ipswich Express correspondent reported under the title,
A Clerical Poltroon, As his own chapel is
under repair, he preaches in the Exeter Hall,
and the place is crammed to suffocation.
All his discourses are redolent of bad taste,
are vulgar and theatrical, and yet he is
so run after that, unless you go half
an hour before the time, you will not
be able to get in at all.
One leading minister of the independent denomination, after
hearing this precocious youth, said that the exhibition
was an insult to God and man.
The gifted divine had the impudence, before preaching,
to say, as there were many young ladies
present, that he was engaged, that his heart
was another's.
He wished them clearly to understand that, that
he might have no presents sent to him,
no attentions paid him, no worsted slippers worked
for him by the young ladies present.
I suppose the dear divine has been rendered
uncomfortable by the fondness of his female auditors.
These remarks bring protests from numerous readers.
In response, the Express rather flippantly admitted it
now believed the report about the slippers to
be untrue.
But in the meantime, the statement had been
copied by several other papers, and those allowed
it to stand without correction.
In fact, the Lambeth Gazette declared, The young
sisters are dancing mad after him.
He has received slippers enough from these lowly
-minded damsels to open a shoe-shop.
Another paper that had much to say about
Spurgeon was the Essex Standard.
The following passage is typical.
His style is that of the vulgar colloquial,
varied by rant.
All the most solemn mysteries of our holy
religion are by him rudely, roughly, and impiously
handled.
Mystery is vulgarized, sanctity profaned, common sense outraged,
and decency disgusted.
His rantings are interspersed with coarse anecdotes that
split the ears of groundlings, and this is
popularity.
This is the religious Führer of London.
The Patriot pointed out various elements in Spurgeon's
ability, but then went on to criticize him.
All in turn come under the lash of
the precocious Tyro.
He alone is a consistent Calvinist.
All besides are either rank Arminians, licentious antinomians,
or unfaithful professors of the doctrines of grace.
The doctrine of election is, in our age,
scorned and hated.
The time-serving religion of the present day
is only exhibited in evangelical drawing rooms.
He never hears his brother ministers assert the
positive satisfaction and substitution of our Lord Jesus
Christ.
Still rougher, if possible, is Mr. Spurgeon's treatment
of theologians not of his own especial school.
Arminian perversions, in particular, are to sink back
to their birthplace in the pit.
Their notion of the possibility of a final
fall from grace is the wickedest falsehood on
earth."
Another publication linked together the names Tom Thumb,
The Living Skeleton, and C.
H.
Spurgeon, thus suggesting that the right place was
in a circus.
Still another said that his ministry was a
reviving of the ancient Feast of the Ass.
And the third asserted, "...we had thought that
the day for dogmatic theological dramatizing was past,
that we should never more see the massive
congregation listening to outrageous manifestations of insanity, no
more hear the fanatical effervescence of ginger pop
sermonizing, or be called upon to wipe away
the froth that the people might see the
color of the stuff."
It is not Christian-like to say, God
must wash brains in the hyper-Calvinism a
Spurgeon teaches before man can enter heaven.
When the Exeter Hall stripling talks of deity,
let him remember that he is superior to
profanity and that blasphemy from a parson is
as great a crime as when the lowest
grade of humanity utters the brutal oath at
which the virtuous stand aghast.
Several newspaper cartoonists made Spurgeon their subject.
Most derided him, but two or three could
not refrain from recognizing that he proclaimed a
clear and positive message, and they made him
look superior to various others of the nation's
religious leaders.
To all the attacks, Spurgeon made no reply.
In his preaching, however, he sometimes made reference
by way of illustration to something the papers
had said about him.
When writing to his parents, he more than
once assured them that several statements, for instance
the one about the slippers, were untrue, and
urged them not to be alarmed about the
opposition he was receiving.
Nevertheless, he was wounded in seeing himself thus
accused and held up to ridicule.
Mrs. Spurgeon gathered all the defamatory statements and
pasted them in a scrapbook till it finally
became a huge volume.
She also framed a text and hung it
on the wall.
It read, Blessed are ye when men shall
revile you and persecute you and shall say
all manner of evil against you falsely for
my sake.
Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is
your reward in heaven, for so persecuted they
the prophets which were before you.
Spurgeon met opposition not only from the secular
press, but also from certain religious papers because
of his Calvinism.
Spurgeon wrote A Defense of Calvinism, which constitutes
an entire chapter in his autobiography.
He says, We only use the term Calvinism
for shortness.
That doctrine which we call Calvinism did not
spring from Calvin.
We believe that it sprang from the great
founder of all truth.
He termed this theological system the doctrines of
grace and he used the two terms interchangeably.
He had long been familiar with these verses
for they had composed the discussion he had
heard in the homes of his grandfather and
father.
These were the doctrines presented by Bunyan and
other Puritan writers.
It was these in which he was vigorously
instructed by Mary King, the housekeeper of the
school he attended at Newmarket.
She liked something very sweet indeed, good strong
Calvinistic doctrine, but she lived strongly as well
as fed strongly.
Many a time we have gone over the
covenant of grace together and talked of the
personal election of the saints, their union to
Christ, their final perseverance, and what vital godliness
meant.
And I do believe that I learned more
from her than I should have learned from
any six doctors of divinity of the sort
we have nowadays."
When he came to London, Spurgeon looked upon
his ministry as that of a reformer.
He was laboring to bring men back to
the truths they had left.
The generality of the Protestant ministers were basically
evangelical, but their preaching was very short on
doctrine and he felt himself largely alone in
the theological system he held and declared.
In sermon after sermon during his first years
in London, he asserted the doctrines of human
depravity and divine election, and he did so
with strong emphasis and much instruction.
My daily labor, he stated, is to revive
the old doctrines of Gil, Owen, Calvin, Augustine,
and Christ.
Spurgeon spoke out against the unthinking manner in
which some Calvinists talk about a limited atonement.
He much preferred the term particular redemption, the
belief that Christ did not merely make salvation
possible and leave it to man to do
the rest, but that he accomplished the redemption
of each of his elect ones and thus
assured their salvation.
But although he declared salvation is of the
Lord, Spurgeon also preached whosoever will may come.
Into the New Park Street Chapel and into
Exeter Hall came hundreds of men and women
who did not know the Lord.
In virtually every sermon he pleaded with them
to recognize their lost condition, to know that
Christ could save them, and to believe on
him then and there.
His preaching abounded with the free offer of
the gospel to all mankind and was fruitful
in the conversion of a great number.
Spurgeon recognized that the two concepts seemed contradictory,
but he declared the scripture taught both that
God would save his elect ones, but also
that man was responsible concerning his soul.
Therefore he constantly urged, Believe on the Lord
Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.
This free offer of the gospel to all
who would believe brought upon Spurgeon the attack
of the Hyper-Calvinists.
The Hyper-Calvinists believed everything held by other
Calvinists except that they also believed the gospel
offer ought not to be extended before an
audience composed of saved and unsaved.
They declared the gospel was only to be
presented to sensible sinners, persons conscious of their
need of Christ.
Spurgeon frequently spoke against this form of Calvinism
because it did nothing to awaken sinners to
their need of Christ.
The Hypers were not evangelistic.
They did not go out to seek the
lost, and they virtually rejected Christ's command, Go
ye into all the world, and preach the
gospel to every creature.
But although these people did not go after
the lost themselves, they were not lax in
going after the man who did.
Their chief spokesman was James Wells, the minister
of a fairly large congregation, and in the
Hyper-Calvinists' paper, The Earthen Vessel, he severely
attacked Spurgeon.
To him and his people, Spurgeon's soul-winning
activity was anathema.
God would save his elect without the interference
of this young upstart.
Wells took the stand of a very righteous
man, one who was contending for the faith,
and in a lengthy assessment of Spurgeon and
his ministry, he stated he could find not
the least evidence of saving grace in him,
and concluded that he probably had never been
converted.
In his preaching, Spurgeon frequently struck out at
the Hyper-Calvinists, but his strongest reply to
them was the glory of the gospel that
he preached, and the fact that he saw
it used of God in the transformation of
a multitude of lives.
Other religious journals also found fault with Spurgeon
during his first years in London.
The Baptist Reporter, the United Presbyterian Magazine, The
Critic, and the Christian News are examples of
those that attacked him.
The opposition from the world brought on a
terrible tragedy.
He was denied the continued use of Exeter
Hall, and therefore he considered obtaining the Surrey
Gardens Music Hall.
This was a very large auditorium that, besides
its main floor area, had three galleries, and
the total seating capacity was spoken of as
ten thousand.
It seemed an impossible scheme for him to
try to use such a place, for although
Whitefield had preached to twenty thousand and more,
that was in the open air, and probably
no one in all history had ever reached
so immense a crowd indoors.
Nevertheless, Spurgeon determined to attempt the gigantic task.
Knowing that as long as he was limited
to his chapel, hundreds of people who wanted
to hear the gospel were turned away each
Sunday, he felt he had no choice but
to try to use this hall.
The news that Spurgeon would preach in the
Surrey Gardens Music Hall spread quickly throughout much
of London.
It excited his own people with joyful anticipation,
it aroused many outsiders with a desire to
attend, but it also moved some whose motives
were evil to plan to disturb so significant
an event.
The opening service at the hall was planned
for the evening of Sunday, October 19, 1856.
The preceding days were a time of much
activity in the Spurgeon household, for on September
10 they moved to a new home, Helensburg
House, and just ten days later Susanna gave
birth to two babies, twin sons, whom they
named Charles and Thomas.
The crowd that gathered exceeded all expectations.
The hall was set in a kind of
park that was surrounded by a large ornamental
iron railing, and people began to assemble within
it not long after the noon hour.
Their numbers steadily increased, and when early in
the evening the building was opened, they flooded
in.
They filled every seat, packed the aisles, and
crowded the stairways, while thousands of others stood
outside, refusing to go away, and hoping to
hear something of the sermon through the windows.
When Spurgeon arrived, upon witnessing this vast concourse
of humanity, he was almost overwhelmed.
He was yet but twenty-two, and to
stand before this audience, conduct the service, and
preach, making himself heard and understood by such
a multitude, seemed truly an impossible task.
But in the assurance of divine strength, he
went before the multitude and began the service.
For the first moments everything proceeded with the
decorum of any ordinary Sunday service, and the
singing seemed particularly reverent and joyous.
But just after Spurgeon began to pray, the
place was suddenly thrown into consternation.
Someone in a gallery shouted, ìFire!î And
that was followed by a cry from the
ground floor, ìThe galleries are falling!î And
then a third voice was heard, ìThe whole
place is collapsing!î Immediately much of the
hall was in a panic, and people began
rushing for the stairs and pressing to get
out of the doors.
Under the extreme pressure, a stair railing gave
way, and several fell with it onto the
crowded floor beneath.
Some jumped from the gallery, and others lost
their footing on the stairs.
Falling to the floor, they were trodden down
by the many who attempted to pass over
them.
A stream of people pushed their way out
of the doors, but as they did so,
others thrust themselves in, intent on securing the
seats they had left.
From his place on the platform, Spurgeon could
not see all that was going on at
the far end of the hall where the
stairs and doors were located.
He tried to calm the audience and attempted
to preach, but it soon became evident the
service could not be continued, and he requested
the congregation to leave in an orderly manner.
He went into a side room, so overcome
that he fell to the floor, almost unconscious.
Before he left, he learned that seven persons
had died, and twenty-eight others had been
removed to the hospital, many of them severely
wounded.
He was taken to his home, and had
the comfort and consolation of his wife.
But the trouble had come at a time
when she was not as able to help
as she normally would have been, for less
than a month had passed since she had
given birth and she was still weak and
unwell.
The deacons realized that his home would not
be the best place for him under the
present circumstances.
There would be numerous visitors, friends who wished
to help, and foes who wanted to blame,
and there would assuredly be reporters.
Knowing the extreme sensitivity of his nature, and
the extent of his compassion for the sufferers,
the deacons whisked him away to a home
in the suburbs.
Here he would largely escape from visitors, and
they hoped that in the quietness he would
recuperate.
Providentially hidden away in the peaceful retreat, Spurgeon
did not see the reports carried in the
papers.
Some were sympathetic, but others were cruel.
The following is an example of what his
opposers wrote.
We are neither straight-laced nor Sabbatarian in
our sentiments, but we would keep apart, widely
apart, the theatre and the church.
Above all, we would place in the hand
of every right-thinking man a whip to
scourge from society the authors of such vile
blasphemies as on Sunday night, above the cries
of the dead and the dying, and louder
than the wails of misery from the maimed
and suffering resounded from the mouth of Spurgeon.
And lastly, when the mangled corpses had been
carried away from the unhallowed and disgraceful scene,
when husbands were seeking their wives and children,
their mothers, in extreme agony and despair, the
clink of money as it fell into the
collection-boxes grated harshly, miserably, on the ears
of those who, we sincerely hope, have by
this time conceived for Mr. Spurgeon and his
rantings the profoundest contempt.
It is well this report and the others
like it were kept from Spurgeon.
Of course the statement about the use of
the money-boxes was an entire fabrication, and
to portray him as heartless amidst the tragedy
was as cruel as it was false.
We must assume, however, that Susanna saw the
papers.
Spurgeon continued in his broken condition for seven
or eight days.
Then, as he walked in his friend's garden,
a verse of Scripture about Christ flashed into
his mind.
He saw it afresh.
Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and
given him a name which is above every
name.
And as he fed his soul upon its
truth, he began to improve.
His burden was gradually lifted so he could
return to his home.
On the following Sunday he ministered again at
New Park Street.
He had been out of his pulpit for
but one Sunday.
Spurgeon immediately set about helping the sufferers.
A fund was raised toward meeting their needs,
and Spurgeon, the deacons, and others visited hospitals
and homes of the relatives of those who
had died.
Yet, although he resumed his general labors, the
terrible event had severely affected his nervous system.
Throughout the rest of his days, the sight
of an overcrowded building placed him under an
immediate strain, and even years later, upon being
reminded of the event at the Surrey Gardens,
he easily became weak and sometimes seemed about
to faint.
Whatever the motive behind the tragedy, it joined
with the printed opposition in furthering Spurgeon's ministry.
The news of what had happened became known
throughout Britain, and despite the evil reports, many
persons could not help but feel sympathetic toward
him.
Moreover, the New Park Street people had already
appointed a committee to make plans for the
construction of a new and very large church.