“Preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all longsuffering and doctrine” (2 Timothy 4:2).
Nineteen-year-old Charles Spurgeon had doubled his country congregation to over four hundred members, and reports of his eloquence reached William Olney, a prominent layman in the New Park Street Chapel in London. This church boasted a rich history. Such luminaries as John Gill and Benjamin Keach had led the congregation. However, over time, attendance had declined, and every Sunday the church’s twelve hundred seats reminded its two hundred parishioners of better days.
Under such distress, the London congregation took the unusual step of inviting young Spurgeon to preach for them. He wrote back, making sure they understood he was only nineteen, offering the opportunity to withdraw their invitation if his age put them off. It did not. So, on Saturday, December 10, 1853, Spurgeon made his way to London.
He spent that night in a boarding house, and several people, as if in collusion to frighten him, described the great and learned men who filled the famous city’s pulpits. In bed that night, he “tossed in solitary misery.” The next morning, he headed to church along the historic streets.
Nearing his destination, his eyes fell on the “large, ornate, imposing structure” where he was to preach. “Wondering, praying, fearing, hoping, believing,” he later recalled, I “felt all alone and yet not alone.” He spoke on “every good and perfect gift” that morning and in the evening, to a larger audience, on those “without fault before the throne of God.”
More trial Sundays followed, and after a probationary period, the church called him unanimously. Spurgeon spent the rest of his life there. His sermons read like he had polished them for months. In fact, he spoke after little focused preparation. As much as his busy schedule would permit, he would consume literature like lions devour meat. Then, Saturday night, he would hole up in his study, settle on a text, and scratch out a few notes.
Spurgeon didn’t preach through books of the Bible, opting rather to determine the need of the hour. Listeners never would have guessed his sparse specific preparation. On Sunday afternoons, he followed the same process to prepare for Sabbath-evening. Week by week he climbed the platform, telling himself on each of the dozen or so steps, “I believe in the Holy Spirit.” He hated pulpits: “What horrible inventions they are!” No lawyer would ever plead his case “buried alive almost up to his shoulders.”
The congregation grew. Six years into his ministry, membership rose to 1,494. Years later, having built the Metropolitan Tabernacle to accommodate the crowds, the roll numbered 5,472. While some transferred in from other churches, including his wife-to-be, the foundation of the congregation’s growth came from conversions. The last ten years of his pastorate, the church averaged 269 baptisms each year.
Along with outward success, Spurgeon faced many difficulties. Illnesses such as nephritis, gout, and rheumatism plagued him. He chronically waded through “deep waters of mental depression,” resorting often to Mentone, France, for rest and healing.
Finally, January 31, 1892, his body gave out. Students carried the beautiful olive-wood casket to the church he had served so faithfully. From 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m, sixty thousand mourners in double file paid their respects. Several services memorialized the great preacher. When the last ended, a choir of orphan boys sang as the coffin was carried down the aisle.
About the Columnist: Paul V. Harrison has pastored Madison FWB Church in Madison, Alabama since 2015. Previously, he pastored Cross Timbers FWB church in Nashville, Tennessee, for 22 years. He was an adjunct professor at Welch College for 17 years, teaching church history and Greek. Paul is the creator of Classic Sermon Index, a subscription-based online index of over 66,000 sermons, with clients including Harvard, Baylor, and Vanderbilt, among others: classicsermonindex.com.
