Was Spurgeon a Calvinist?

Was Spurgeon a Calvinist?It seems incredible that the question should be asked, given the amount of literature available on Spurgeon and the clear and repeated statements the man himself made. But last year, two of my friends – both able evangelists, neither of them with much time for Calvinism or Calvinists (and neither of them, I think, really understanding either) – both expressed their admiration for Spurgeon and ended by saying 'But of course he wasn't really a Calvinist.' It isn't a new charge, of course – many of Spurgeon's contemporary Calvinists said the same thing. What is different about my two friends is that it's non-Calvinists who are saying it; and it set me wondering why; why two men should think that about Spurgeon today. What I want to do in this brief article is look at the two different reasons these friends gave and for each one examine whether there is a misunderstanding of Calvinism involved. Then, in conclusion, I want to suggest some lessons that contemporary Calvinists may need to learn.

1. The reasons they gave

Evangelist number one told me that Spurgeon wasn't really a Calvinist because he was willing to say to a mixed congregation – believers and unbelievers – 'Christ died for you.' In context, this followed the statement 'Calvinists are not seeing people converted today because they are unwilling to say to their congregation "Christ died for you."' With this latter statement there are a number of problems; is it true that Calvinists are not seeing people converted today – or, at least, are seeing fewer people converted than non-Calvinists? It may be – but are there any statistics? (Let us leave aside the admittedly vital question, 'How do we judge true conversion?') And if it is true, how do we establish that it is because Calvinists are not saying 'Christ died for you' to unbelievers? Much more importantly, if the statement 'Christ died for you' is so vital to gospel preaching, how do we account for the plain fact that not one of the evangelists in the Acts of the Apostles ever used the phrase – or anything implying it – in any of their recorded sermons? My evangelist friend – one of the most gifted and able men I know – went quiet at this point; it had never occurred to him (such is the power of presuppositions – ours too, of course, not just 'theirs'!). 'Don't they?' he asked. And then 'What about Isaiah? "The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all."' What indeed? Isaiah of course is not a New Testament evangelist and an Old Testament sermon to a rebellious but covenant community cannot be applied willy-nilly in preaching to pagans. But, just in case any should doubt Isaiah's doctrine of the atonement, the prophet tells us 'He bore the sin of many,' and no Calvinist doubts that.

But what of Spurgeon? Without doubt, he did believe in the doctrine of limited atonement which, properly speaking, does make it impossible to say to a mixed crowd or to a particular unconverted sinner 'Christ died for you.' Then too, he did sometimes – in his closing appeals – seem to invite people to Christ on the basis that Christ had died for them. But, let it be said, not very often. It is equally true that he sometimes invited people to Christ in terms that made him sound like a hyper-Calvinist (A hyper-Calvinist, in the sense in which I am using the word here, believes that the warrant of faith is within the sinner himself; that is, an unconverted person may believe that the gospel promises are for him or her if and only if he or she finds certain qualifications in his or her own self.) It is certainly true that, much more often, Spurgeon invited folks to Christ in terms that did not compromise his Calvinism in either direction.

What then shall we say of the 'lapses'? It is possible, of course, that they are editorial additions, since we know that his secretary Joseph Harrold often edited the sermons and was solely responsible for their editing after Spurgeon died. It is possible, then – but not, I think, likely. In fact, it is much more likely to be quite the reverse: because Spurgeon edited most of his own sermons, we cannot say these phrases were uttered incautiously in the heat of the moment, or taken down wrongly by stenographers. When Spurgeon himself reviewed the manuscript, he let the phrases stand. Why? Surely it is because the preacher was too concerned that sinners be commanded, invited and encouraged to come to Christ in terms that they could understand to worry about possible misunderstandings that people might read into his words? In this, he followed the apostle John – John 3:16, 1 John 2:2 for example.

When evangelist number two expressed his convictions about Spurgeon, I asked him to justify it, and he attempted to do so by referring to a sermon of Spurgeon's on Matthew 23:37 (Volume 45.2630). In the introduction to this sermon Spurgeon – obviously aware that his interpretation will be regarded by some as non-Calvinist, says 'I have long been content to take God’s Word just as I find it.' That, thinks my friend, proves that Spurgeon is not a Calvinist, or at least not a proper one, for he has not come to this scripture with his theology as a mould into which it must fit! Indeed, Spurgeon goes on '…and when, at any time, I have been accused of contradicting myself through keeping to my text, I have always felt perfectly safe about that matter. The last thing I care about is being consistent with myself. Why should I be anxious about that? I would rather be consistent with Christ fifty times over, or be consistent with the Word of God; but as to being for ever consistent with oneself, it might turn out that one was consistently wrong, consistently narrow-minded, and consistently unwilling to believe what God would teach. So we will just take the text as we find it; and it seems to say to me that, if Jerusalem was not saved,— if her children were not gathered together in safety as a brood of chickens is gathered beneath the hen,— if

Christ did not gather them, and protect them, it was not because there was any unwillingness on his part. There was always a willingness in his heart to bless Jerusalem, and, therefore he could truly say, “How often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings!” From this utterance of our Lord, I learn that, if any man be not saved, the cause of his non-salvation does not lie in any want of graciousness or want of willingness on the part of God. They who dare to say that it does, venture very far, and are very audacious in their assertions. This text says the very opposite; and so far as it is applicable to the sons of men in general, it declares that God wills not the death of any, but desires that they should turn unto him and live.'

Now, anyone who thinks this does not represent true Calvinism has, I believe, made two vital errors. Those errors, I suspect, are our fault as much as theirs; but I will come to that. First, what are those errors?

The primary one is that Calvinists 'get their system' from somewhere other than Scripture and impose it on the sacred text. I guess we have to admit straight away that some have done and do do that! Many of us have winced at those who want to assure us that when Christ said 'God so loved the world' he meant 'God only loves the elect,' – as if the Saviour did not have the vocabulary to express his meaning properly. But we also have to say that this is not true Biblical, evangelical Calvinism; however well-meaning, and however great its pedigree, it is a perversion. And it's a perversion that is at least as dangerous as Arminianism. By contrast, we would want to insist that the Scriptures alone are our authority; that our Calvinism is clearly taught in the Scriptures; that responsible and careful exegesis of all the Biblical data drives us to our theology – and then to turn the tables on our friends by showing how they impose their own presuppositions and theology on the Scriptures. (For example, what else can we make of Mark 10:45 – the Son of Man came to give his life a ransom for many – other than that the Saviour did not mean 'for all' or he would have said 'for all'?) The Scripture drives and controls our theology, not the reverse. If we are not faithful to the Scriptures – and to all the Scriptures – then let it be shown and we will recant. But (we need to warn our friends) take care; just as we do not abandon our belief in the deity of Christ when heretics point us to 1 Timothy 2:5 ('the man Christ Jesus') so we will not abandon our particular atonement when Christian friends show us (as if we have never seen it!) 1 John 2:2 ('he is the propitiation… for the sins of the whole world'). The cases are exactly parallel; in neither case are we surprised by the text, in neither case do we impose our theology on the text and in neither case is our theology challenged by a proper understanding of the text.

The second error is to think that Calvinists believe that God does not desire the salvation of all. Perhaps there are some (undoubtedly there are some) who call themselves Calvinists who believe this; once again, however, that is not the essence of Calvinism. Calvinists well know that God takes no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather than he should turn and live (Ezekiel 33:11); we know it, and rejoice in it. But faced with all the Scriptural data we see the need to make a distinction between the desire of God and the purpose of God. Plainly, not everyone is saved. Either then God does not have the power to save everyone (which makes God less than God and controverts plain Scriptures ) OR it is not God's purpose that everyone be saved. It is his will, but not his purpose. WHY should God's will be different from his purpose? Who knows? As Bunyan said on another issue, 'Where Scripture has no tongue I have no ears.' We are not told why and it is pointless to speculate; so we maintain both truths – not in tension, but in joy. The tension is only in the minds of those who lament our inconsistency!

2. Contemporary Calvinism is not like Spurgeon's.

But I said earlier that, if our non-Calvinist friends hold these errors it is probably our fault as well as theirs. We may want to say 'Hodge and Warfield and a thousand other Reformed theologians will put you straight if you but read them!' But it is not enough; they are reading us, and see not nearly enough to attract them. May I suggest two major errors of which we need to repent?

Firstly, we do not have the passion for the lost that we should have. That's been said often enough, and it's true. No-one looking at Spurgeon or at Whitefield could deduce that their theology made them cold, or ineffective evangelists. But our Calvinism is not like theirs in at least one important respect: many of us are more in love with our theology than we ever have been with souls. Many of us are more concerned with how other Calvinists see us, or with what Spurgeon called 'a foolish consistency' than we are with reaching the lost. Both Spurgeon and Whitefield preached in ways and did things which caused other Calvinists to question their theology; but we are too careful for that. Perhaps we value our welcome at the Leicester Conference far too much to do anything which might raise eyebrows, still less save souls! Both Spurgeon and Whitefield were different; they were innovative, adventurous and careless about their own reputations. When we are the same, others will have far fewer grounds for hating Calvinism.

Secondly – less importantly but not to be forgotten – we need to be more obviously people of the book. Until we know our Calvinism well and can defend it from Scripture alone; until we know what the most likely objections are and can answer them from the Scriptures alone let us not presume to teach others. Many of us can remember those heady days when first we glimpsed those doctrines of grace, and yearned that others should know them too. And that is right, surely. But immature zeal can do great damage – and anyway, reaching the lost is always more important.

Friday

"The truest reward of our life's work is to bring dead souls to life.  I long to see souls brought to Jesus... it should break my heart if I did not see it... Men are passing into eternity so rapidly that we must have them saved at once... Brethren, can we bear to be useless?  Can we be barren, and yet content?" (Spurgeon).

If one poor soul from Moordown

Should meet me at His right hand,

My heaven will be two heavens

In Immanuel's land.

Spurgeon - from a different angle?

Well - who’d have thought it?

The following quotes are taken from ‘Why did the English stop going to church?’ by Dr. Michael Watts, then Reader in Modern History at Nottingham University.  It formed the 1995 lecture of the Dr. Williams’ library.  Watts does not appear to be evangelical, making his comments all the more illuminating.

The liberalisation of Christianity was intended to make the faith relevant to the men and women of the modern world.  It had instead the effect of making the churches irrelevant to the needs of twentieth-century men and women. (page 11)

How… can we explain the difference between the religious histories of England and the United States?  The answer seems to be that the American churches, to a far greater extent than English churches, have held on to the doctrines that produced the upsurge in popular religion in both countries n the first half of the nineteenth century: the doctrines of the sinfulness of man and of his ultimate destruction in the fires of hell unless rescued by the blood shed by Christ at Calvary… conservative churches grow and liberal churches decline because liberal churches offer commodities such as ‘fellowship, entertainment and knowledge’ which are also provided by secular organisations, while conservative churches offer ‘the one incentive which is unique to churches’: salvation, the ‘promise of supernatural life after death’ (page 13).

Spurgeon

Furthermore, and fascinating for Spurgeon fans, Watts writes

I began my study of Nonconformist history many years ago with an examination of the career of the great Baptist leader John Clifford.  Inevitably, in the course of that study, I had to spend a good deal of time on the Down Grad controversy of the 1880s.  In that controversy Spurgeon argued that the liberalisation of the English Presbyterians in the eighteenth century had led to the decline of Old Dissent and he warned that the liberalisation of Victorian Nonconformity that was occurring in his own day would, if not checked, issue in a similar conclusion.  Clifford, as president of the Baptist Union in 1888 and as the most prominent of the Baptist liberals, had the task of defending his fellow Dissenters from what many of them regarded as Spurgeon’s libellous attacks.  My own sympathies in the controversy were entirely with Clifford.  It was not surprising that a young researcher should have scant sympathy for Spurgeon, the man who took some pride in his later years in the accusation that it would take a surgical operation to get a new idea into his head.  Yet, a hundred years after the Down Grade controversy, I have to confess that both in his interpretation of history, and in his prognosis for the future, it was Spurgeon, not Clifford, who was right.

Well, who would have thought it?  Abandon the gospel, and churches die…

Spurgeon on Calvinism

Part one of a little diet of sweet truth

(But first: a cautionary tale. Take care, gentle reader, if you are but young in the faith. Once upon a time when I was even younger, I saw a husband and wife converted under my ministry. They went on holiday and heard a preacher who told them - quite fairly - that I was more Calvinistic than he was. (Arminius himself may have been more Calvinistic than he was - but let it lie.) They had never heard the word, and made the mistake of looking it up in a secular encyclopaedia. Thereafter, they wanted nothing at all to do with me.) GB. The rest of this post is Spurgeon.

There is no soul living who holds more firmly to the doctrines of grace than I do, and if any man asks me whether I am ashamed to be called a Calvinist, I answer—I wish to be called nothing but a Christian; but if you ask me, do I hold the doctrinal views which were held by John Calvin, I reply, I do in the main hold them, and rejoice to avow it. There is no soul living who holds more firmly to the doctrines of grace than I do, and if any man asks me whether I am ashamed to be called a Calvinist, I answer—I wish to be called nothing but a Christian; but if you ask me, do I hold the doctrinal views which were held by John Calvin, I reply, I do in the main hold them, and rejoice to avow it.

Now, you are aware that there are different theories of Redemption. All Christians hold that Christ died to redeem, but all Christians do not teach the same redemption. We differ as to the nature of atonement, and as to the design of redemption. For instance, the Arminian holds that Christ, when He died, did not die with an intent to save any particular person; and they teach that Christ's death does not in itself secure, beyond doubt, the salvation of any one man living. They believe that Christ died to make the salvation of all men possible, or that by the doing of something else, any man who pleases may attain unto eternal life; consequently, they are obliged to hold that if man's will would not give way and voluntarily surrender to grace, then Christ's atonement would be unavailing. They hold that there was no particularity and speciality in the death of Christ. Christ died, according to them, as much for Judas in Hell as for Peter who mounted to Heaven. They believe that for those who are consigned to eternal fire, there was a true and real a redemption made as for those who now stand before the throne of the Most High.

Now, we believe no such thing. We hold that Christ, when He died, had an object in view, and that object will most assuredly, and beyond a doubt, be accomplished.

We measure the design of Christ's death by the effect of it. If any one asks us, "What did Christ design to do by His death?" we answer that question by asking him another—"What has Christ done, or what will Christ do by His death?" For we declare that the measure of the effect of Christ's love, is the measure of the design of it. We cannot so belie our reason as to think that the intention of Almighty God could be frustrated, or that the design of so great a thing as the atonement, can by any way whatever, be missed of. We hold—we are not afraid to say that we believe—that Christ came into this world with the intention of saving "a multitude which no man can number;" and we believe that as the result of this, every person for whom He died must, beyond the shadow of a doubt, be cleansed from sin, and stand, washed in blood, before the Father's throne. We do not believe that Christ made any effectual atonement for those who are for ever damned; we dare not think that the blood of Christ was ever shed with the intention of saving those whom God foreknew never could be saved, and some of whom were even in Hell when Christ, according to some men's account, died to save them.

Beam me up, Deacon

A phenomena that hasn't yet made much inroad in the UK is that of using technology to 'broadcast' the sermon from a popular preacher into other congregations miles - many miles, maybe - away. One church in the US is apparently considering a 'satellite' congregation in, er, Scotland. I do hope they know about time differences.

The idea is a congregation meets together under its own 'service leader'. They have their own music, readings, notices etc - and then, at a predetermined time, the video screen goes on and they all listen to the sermon. Usually a well-known preacher is preaching it, at that moment, to 'his own' congregation. It's no different, a mega-church may argue, from what's been done for years, with folks in 'overflow rooms' watching the sermon on screen. It's just that now the 'overflow room' is further away!

Not everybody's happy: Dan Phillips for example asks

• Think about this. Christianity Today reports that, in 2002, 2000 clergy were looking for jobs. In 2009, 5000 clergy were looking for jobs. Yet let one personality become popular, and what do churches do? Beam that one personality to multiple locations. Hm... are the two phenomena related?

My guess is there may be some correlation, but probably not a lot.

Actually, the phenomena isn't that new, only the technology. What was once technologically impossible became possible but expensive, then easy and cheap. But there have always been preachers whose ministries have attracted crowds. Spurgeon, Lloyd-Jones, Daniel Rowland - many, many others. And there have always been folks who thought that they should get rid of the crowds! 'Send them away! There are struggling churches nearby - let them go there. Or let them plant a church; it's wrong to have that big a crowd.' When I was a pastor with Grace Baptist Churches, I heard it suggested that any church bigger than 50 was sinful. (Naturally, it was suggested without any Biblical warrant - there isn't any - and by a man whose church had never got anywhere near 50!)

Should such men do anything about it? Well, many do - Spurgeon for example planted many churches, often sending them a preacher he had trained himself. Yet the Tab continued to be full.

Here's a man who is being blessed under a particular ministry, and is actively involved - as a result - in the work of that church. Should we insist he go somewhere where he finds the ministry to be less of a blessing? On what ground?

'For the sake of the Kingdom!' someone cries. 'That's the ground.' OK - but how do you know that the Kingdom will prosper if that man's blessing decreases? Why are you so sure that the Kingdom will not prosper more if one church grows large and is able to do many things that small churches - even working together - cannot easily do? I grant that 'the Kingdom' is all-important. But why are we so sure that a lot of weak churches are better for the Kingdom than a few big ones?

My own church is middle-sized, rather than large: 250 or so on a good morning (it used to be higher, but we've planted a second congregation.) And I've had a man say to me 'It's time you sent some of your people to help a struggling cause.' But the one time we tried to do that, the 'struggling cause' didn't want it. I offered to try and lead my church to a) send them a preacher that I knew they already liked, b) help support him financially, c) encourage a team of people to come with him and help in the work. But the small church's leadership weren't interested.

Actually, I can conceive of why that might be. An influx of Moordowners would have been enough to give them the majority vote in church meetings. They could have changed anything they wanted, to make it more like Moordown. (Or less, depending on who went, of course.) And if you're tempted to say 'Gracious and spiritual people wouldn't do that,' - well, it depends. If they honestly thought that 'the way we do things' brings more glory to God than 'the way they do things', then of course they would. And anyway, if a struggling church is going to stop being a struggling church, something has to change - probably quite a lot of 'somethings'.

What's this got to do with 'beaming preachers'? Quite a bit, I think.

Suppose Pastor Jones has a remarkable ministry and people are already crowding into his church, while others are listening over the internet regularly. And two hundred miles away a group of people, who all listen to Pastor Jones, live in the town of Drysville. They've discovered that when they give recordings of Pastor Jones to their neighbours, their neighbours listen and get converted. So they all begin to meet together on Sunday morning. One option is to call a pastor to serve them. But someone suggests 'beaming in' Pastor Jones, at least for a little while. What should be the great principle that guides them?

Surely it's this: would a resident pastor be more effective, or less, in building up the saints and reaching the lost? They may decide 'less', and arrange to beam in Jones.

Mind you - I would hope it would only be a temporary expedient: for there's more to being a pastor than preaching.

Wounded in the house of my friends? #2

See yesterday’s blog for an introduction to this. Now, now – don’t be lazy. You only have to scroll down a little bit.

3. Sermon or lecture Once, argues Murray, ‘lecture’ in preaching circles meant what is now meant by expository preaching. Lloyd-Jones called his work on Romans ‘lectures’, but ‘conceived the contents of his Ephesians series as ‘sermons’ and anyone comparing… can quickly see the difference.’

Well, yes – OK. There are different types of sermons, different purposes in mind, differing congregations, even. Yet (as Murray readily acknowledges) Lloyd-Jones’ ‘Ephesians’ series proceeded consecutively through the whole book. Nothing is proved – or even indicated – by this point, I think.

4. What helps the hearer most is best ‘At the end of the day, the best preaching is that which helps the hearers most, and in that connection the track record of the consecutive ‘expository’ method is not impressive.’ The danger is, Murray says, that the preacher becomes only a commentator; and ‘a sermon needs a text as the basis for a memorable message,’ especially if the preacher is not to introduce a whole series of ideas into the sermon and lose clear, over-all lessons.

The weakness here though is that Murray is criticising badly-done expository preaching and using it as a reason to call the very form into question – except in the hands of a favoured very few. In simple logic, that isn’t adequate: the remedy for poor preaching of any type is to improve it.

And the passage reads as if there are no dangers associated with ‘the other’ type (or types). Of course, Murray knows that there are. For example – a text may become a pretext: it may be ‘expounded’ in such a way that has no reference to the context at all. Spurgeon himself was not immune from this danger! (Nor was Lloyd-Jones: his sermon on ‘Revival’ in the midst of his Ephesians series is inspiring, but not warranted by the context.)

Too many tyros have tried to preach verse-by-verse through major books of Scripture with near-disastrous results. It is arguable that this is one of the reasons why ‘reformed’ preaching has, in more than one place, been criticised as ‘heavy’ or plain ‘dull’.

Well, indeed; I remember suffering a series of verse-by-verse expositions of Jeremiah! But the preacher saw eventually that it wasn’t a good idea. It may be, however, that reformed preaching is criticised as ‘dull’ because too many reformed preachers are ‘dull’ – or, indeed, are not really preachers at all. Is there any evidence that they would be less dull if they abandoned the consecutive method?

5. The best ‘fit’ for evangelistic preaching ‘Evangelistic preaching does not best fit the ‘expository’ mode; in fact, where the ‘expository’ is exclusively used, true evangelistic preaching to heart and conscience commonly disappears.’

There’s some truth in the ‘fit’ argument – though I suspect that where evangelistic preaching has disappeared other factors weigh heavier. (‘But there’s never an unsaved person there’). In fact, many preachers haven’t a clue how to preach evangelistically. They’ve no idea what interests the unbeliever, or how to excite a proper interest in the unbeliever, or how to get hold of an unbeliever’s attention before the sermon ‘proper’ begins. (I remember overhearing a surgeon say to a patient, ‘You need an operation or you’ll die; but I can’t operate on you while you’re behaving in this way, otherwise you’ll die on the table and that will damage my reputation.’ Brutal – but the patient listened to every word that followed!)

However, there’s another side to the ‘fit’ argument. Some parts of the Bible are written with an evangelistic purpose. John’s gospel is the supreme example: ‘these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name,’ (20:31). Frankly, if a man is preaching from any part of John’s gospel and cannot see the evangelistic application, he either does not understand the passage or does not understand the gospel. Or take the Acts of the Apostles: Lloyd-Jones' last evangelistic series of the Westminster years was on that great book. He treated it very differently from 'Romans' or 'Ephesians' - but it was consecutive and expository, passionate and clear. Choose the passage/book right, and consecutive exposition is a superb way of preaching evangelistically.

So, is Iain Murray right to sound a caution? Yes, I think he is. We’re not to be slaves to method. We have to be prepared to find out what ‘works best’ for us – and best helps our hearers. We have to consider the possibility that we ourselves might be ‘dull’ and ‘heavy’. And certainly we have to make sure that every sermon we preach can stand alone: as Iain D Campbell says on the blog referenced yesterday, ‘At last, I know that I am committed to two things: to a stand-alone sermon, and to a Christ-exalting sermon. The first is necessary because it is just possible that someone may wander into church, not having heard the gospel before, and hearing it now for the first and last time. In that case, it will not do simply to refer to last week's sermon, or anticipate next week's. Each sermon must be a study in itself, a complete unit, which can be transported out of the church and into the life of the hearer.’

But I think Murray overstates it. The thing the church needs most is good expository preaching. It doesn’t have to take as long as Lloyd-Jones typically did – see here, for example, to discover how another preacher did it.

Above all, let us labour to be both accurate and passionate, whether we preach consecutively or not. Years ago I taught a preaching class and asked ‘Which is most important in a sermon – to be sound, or to be interesting?’ Everyone of them thought ‘sound’ was more important. I disagree – to be sound but boring borders on criminal. Both are equally important.

Seven Good Things about Peter Masters

PM has been criticised quite a bit in the blogosphere recently, some of it fair, some of it not so fair. No-one is perfect, no-one is beyond criticism. But we're not to be unbalanced, and certainly not to be untruthful. Therefore, here are seven things about Peter Masters that, in my own opinion, are causes for thanksgiving.

1. Personal graciousness. I know very well that he does not always 'come across' as gracious in his polemic messages and articles. But the fact is, I met Dr Masters only once, more than thirty years ago at one of the very first Tabernacle Summer Schools. I found him warm and welcoming, shy and self-deprecating - in a word, gracious. My friend Jonathan Hunt tells me that he is still the same, and I've no reason to doubt that. Thank God for his personal graciousness.

2. Passion for souls. When he went to the Tabernacle in the 70s, it was in a very poor state numerically. He set about changing that not with a ministry that drew believers from other churches but with robust evangelism. His work with Sunday Schools, his production of evangelistic materials in new and attractive formats, his determination that his congregation should be a working, soul-winning congregation, his regular evangelistic preaching - all of this is witness to a passion to see the Lord Jesus Christ glorified by the salvation of sinners.

3. Evangelistic preaching. Evangelistic preaching - a regular, weekly gospel sermon - is very much out of vogue today. Various arguments are produced against it; but the biggest reason, I'm convinced, why men do not do it is that they do not know how to do it.

Peter Masters has both argued for evangelistic preaching and modelled it for forty years or so. His book 'Physicians of Souls' (and there's another edition, called 'Physician of Souls'- note the difference) is, quite simply, brilliant. Every pastor/preacher should read it and attempt to imitate it. Masters' evangelistic preaching has produced an audience for it (I mean, unconverted people come); and it has produced fruit, with hundreds converted during those forty years.

4. Consistent ministry. Have you noticed how, every few years, new ways of growing congregations are produced? Some of them are better (more effective, or more Biblical, or both) than others; but one thing is sure: chopping and changing every few years will never work. Peter Masters knew what he wanted to do, and has done it consistently, and fruitfully. We've reason to be grateful to God for that; he has shown that the gospel without frills is still powerful under God.

5. Robust Calvinism. Like Spurgeon, I'm a Calvinist because it's a nickname for Biblical truth, not because of any particular fondness for the Reformer. So, I think, is Peter Masters. His Calvinism, like Spurgeon's, provokes and sweetens and empowers his evangelism, rather than restricting it. He has shown (again) that Calvinism really can build an inner-city congregation even in the 20th/21st Centuries; that it can be preached evangelistically, and that it does build up the souls of the saints. Thank God for that, too.

6. Willingness to innovate. I think the Tabernacle was the first Reformed ministry to make use of posters on the Tube. Superbly illustrated in cartoon-style by Lawrence Littleton Evans, they were brilliantly contemporary, gently provocative and successful in getting people to hear the gospel at 'The Tab'. Some years ago when we asked permission to do our own leaflet based on a 'Tab' poster called 'Why not hear the gospel?', the permission was readily and warmly given. Then again, Masters' own magazine-style evangelistic booklets were innovative and clear. Everybody's doing them now; but they weren't then.

7. Stand against charismatic issues. Masters has consistently warned against the dangers of charismatic doctrine with its supposed gifts and revelations, and has been one of the very few prominent evangelicals to do so. Most non-charismatics seem content to stay aloof and stay silent, and even to criticise cessationists. Masters has argued theologically and Biblically for the temporary nature of the sign gifts and has done so convincingly. Indeed, I abandoned my own charismatic views at the Tab Summer School I mentioned earlier under the compelling arguments presented (on that occasion) by Stuart Olyott. To this day I know of no other significant Reformed conference that has taken this line. Our charismatic friends lose no opportunity to promote their views (and rightly so, since they believe it to be the truth of God); but on this side of the debate, we try to stay neutral. Masters has not stayed neutral, and for that I am grateful to God.

Spurgeon's OTHER archive #1

From time to time, as time permits, I hope to include sermons on here, in the order in which they were preached, that haven't yet found their way on to Phil Johnson's famous 'Spurgeon Archives' site.  Here's the first - it will be found in Volume 6 of Spurgeon's sermons. Further editing will follow.

THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER

NO. 308

DELIVERED ON SABBATH MORNING, APRIL 15TH, 1860,

BY THE REV. C. H. SPURGEON,

BY THE REV. C. H. SPURGEON, AT EXETER HALL, STRAND.

THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER — “And when much people were gathered together, and were come to him out of every city, he spake by a parable: a sower went out to sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it. And some fell upon a rock; and as

soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it. And other fell on good ground, and sprang up, and bare fruit an hundredfold. And when he had said these things, he cried, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.” —

Luke 8:4-8

IN OUR country, when a sower goes forth to his work, he generally enters into an enclosed field, and scatters the seed from his basket along every ridge and furrow; but in the East, the corn-growing country, hard by a

small town, is usually an open area. It is divided into different properties, but there are no visible divisions, except the ancient landmarks, or perhaps ridges of stones. Through these open lands there are footpaths, the most frequented being called the highways. You must not imagine these highways to be like our macadamized roads; they are merely paths, trodden tolerably hard. Here and there you notice bye-ways, along which travelers who wish to avoid the public road may journey with a little more safety when the main road is infested with robbers: hasty travelers also strike out short cuts for themselves, and so open fresh tracks for others. When the sower goes forth to sow he finds a plot of round scratched over with the primitive Eastern plough; he aims at scattering his seed there most plentifully; but a path runs through the center of his field, and unless he is willing to leave a broad headland, he must throw a handful upon it. Yonder, a rock crops out in the midst of the ploughed land, and the seed falls on its shallow soil. Here is a corner full of the roots of nettles and thistles, and he flings a little here; the corn and the nettles come up together, and the thorns being the stronger soon choke the seed, so that it brings forth no fruit unto perfection. The recollection that the Bible was written in the East, and that its metaphors and allusions must be explained to us by Eastern travelers, will often help us to understand a passage far better than if we think of English customs.

The preacher of the gospel is like the sower. He does not make his seed; it is given him by his divine Master. No man could create the smallest grain that ever grew upon the earth, much less the celestial seed of eternal life. The minister goes to his Master in secret, and asks him to teach him his gospel, and thus he fills his basket with the good seed of the kingdom. He then goes forth in his Master’s name and scatters precious truth. If he knew where the best soil was to be found, perhaps he might limit himself to that which had been prepared by the plough of conviction; but not knowing men’s hearts, it is his business to preach the gospel to every creature — to throw a handful on the hardened heart, and another on the mind which is overgrown with the cares and pleasures of the world. He has to leave the seed in the care of the Lord who gave it to him, for he is not responsible for the harvest, he is only accountable for the care and industry with which he does his work. If no single ear should ever make glad the reaper, the sower will be rewarded by His Master if he had planted the right seed with careful hand. If it were not for this fact with what despairing agony should we utter the cry of Esaias, “Who hath believed our report? And to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?” Our duty is not measured by the character of our hearers, but by the command of our God. We are bound to preach

the gospel, whether men will hear, or whether they will forbear. It is ours to sow beside all waters. Let men’s hearts be what they may the minister must preach the gospel to them; he must sow the seed on the rock as well as in the furrow, on the highway as well as in the ploughed field. I shall now address myself to the four classes of hearers mentioned in our Lord’s parable. We have, first of all, those who are represented by the way-side, those who are “hearers only”; then those represented by the stony-ground; these are transiently impressed, but the word produces no lasting fruit; then, those among thorns, on whom a good impression is produced, but the cares of this life, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the pleasures of the world choke the seed; and lastly, that small class — God be pleased to multiply it exceedingly — that small class of good-ground hearers, in whom the Word brings forth abundant fruit.

I. First of all, I address myself to those hearts which are like the WAY-SIDE

— “Some fell by the wayside; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it.” Many of you do not go to the place of worship desiring a blessing. You do not intend to worship God, or to be affected by

anything that you hear. You are like the highway, which was never intended to be a cornfield. If a single grain of truth should fall into your heart and grow it would be as great a wonder as for corn to grow up in the street. If the seed shall be dexterously scattered, some of it will fall upon you, and rest for a while upon your  thoughts. ‘Tis true you will not understand it; but, nevertheless, if it be placed before you in an interesting style, you will talk about it till some more congenial entertainment shall attract you. Even this slender benefit is brief, for in a little season you will forget all that you have heard. Would to God we could hope that our words would tarry with you, but we cannot hope it, for the soil of your heart is so hard beaten by continual traffic, that there is no hope of the seed finding a living root-hold. Satan is constantly passing over your heart with

his company of blasphemies, lusts, lies, and vanities. The chariots of pride roll along it, and the feet of greedy mammon tread it till it is hard as adamant. Alas! For the good seed, it finds not a moment’s respite; crowds

pass and repass; in fact, your soul is an exchange, across which continually hurry the busy feet of those who make merchandise of the souls of men. 

You are buying and selling, but you little think that you are selling the truth, and that you are buying your soul’s destruction. You have no time, you say, to think of religion. No, the road of your heart is such a crowded

thoroughfare, that there is no room for the wheat to spring up. If it did begin to germinate, some rough foot would crush the green blade ere it could come to perfection. The seed has occasionally lain long enough to

begin to sprout, but just then a new place of amusement has been opened, and you have entered there, and as with an iron heel, the germ of life that was in the seed was crushed out. Corn could not grow in Cornhill or

Cheapside, however excellent the seed might be: your heart is just like those crowded thoroughfares; for so many cares and sins throng it, and so many proud, vain, evil, rebellious thoughts against God pass through it,

that the seed of truth cannot grow. We have looked at this hard road-side, let us now describe what becomes of the good word, when it falls upon such a heart. It would have grown if it had fallen on right soil, but it has

dropped into the wrong place, and it remains as dry as when it fell from the sower’s hand. The word of the gospel lies upon the surface of such a heart, but never enters it. Like the snow, which sometimes falls upon our streets, drops upon the wet pavement, melts, and is gone at once, so is it with this man. The word has not time to quicken in his soul: it lies there an instant, but it never strikes root, or takes the slightest effect. Why do men come to hear if the word never enters their hearts? That has often puzzled us. Some hearers would not be absent on the Sunday on any account; they are delighted to come up with us to worship, but yet the tear never trickles down their cheek, their soul never mounts up to heaven on the wings of praise, nor do they truly join in our confessions of sin. They do not think of the wrath to come, nor of the future state of their souls. Their heart is as iron; the minister might as well speak to a heap of stones as preach to them. What brings these senseless sinners here? Surely we are as hopeful of converting lions and leopards as these untamed, insensible hearts. Oh feeling! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason! Do these people come to our assemblies because it is respectable to attend a place of worship? Or is it that their coming helps to make them comfortable in their sins? If they stopped away conscience would prick them; but they come hither that they may flatter themselves with the notion that they are religious. Oh! My hearers, your case is one that might make an angel weep! How sad to have the sun of the gospel shining on your faces, and yet to have blind eyes that never see the light. The music of heaven is lost upon you, for you have no ears to hear. You can catch the turn of a phrase, you can appreciate the poetry of an illustration, but the hidden meaning, the divine life you do not perceive. You sit at the marriage-feast, but you eat not of the dainties; the bells of heaven ring with joy over ransomed spirits, but you live unransomed, without God, and without Christ. Though we plead with you, and pray for you, and weep over you, you still remain as hardened, as careless, and as thoughtless as ever you were. May God have mercy on you, and break up your hard hearts, that his word may abide in you. 

We have not, however, completed the picture. The passage tells us that the fowls of the air devoured the seed. Is there here a way-side hearer? Perhaps he did not mean to hear this sermon, and when he has heard it he will be asked by one of the wicked to come into company. He will go with the tempter, and the good seed will be devoured by the fowls of the air. Plenty of evil ones are ready to take away the gospel from the heart. The devil himself, that prince of the air, is eager  at any time to snatch away a good thought. And then the devil is not alone — he has legions of helpers. He can set a man’s wife, children, friends, enemies, customers, or creditors, to eat up the good seed, and they will do it effectually. Oh, sorrow upon sorrow, that heavenly seed should become devil’s meat; that God’s corn should feed foul birds! O my hearers, if you have heard the gospel from your youth, what wagon-loads of sermons have been wasted on you! In your younger days, you heard old Dr. So-and-so, and the dear old man was wont to pray for his hearers till his eyes were red with tears! Do you recollect those many Sundays when you said to yourself, “Let me go to my chamber and fall on my knees and pray”? But you did not: the fowls of the air ate up the seed, and you went on to sin as you had sinned before. Since then, by some strange impulse, you are very rarely absent from God’s house; but now the seed of the gospel falls into your soul as if it dropped upon an iron floor, and nothing comes of it. The law may be thundered at you; you do not sneer at it, but it never affects you. Jesus Christ may be lifted up; his dear wounds may be exhibited; his streaming blood may flow before your very eyes, and you may be bidden

with all earnestness to look to him and live; but it is as if one should sow the sea-shore. 

What shall I do for you? Shall I stand here and rain tears upon this hard highway? Alas! My tears will not break it up; it is trodden too hard for that. Shall I bring the gospel plough? Alas! The ploughshare will not enter ground so solid. What shall we do? O God, thou knowest how to melt the hardest heart with the precious blood of Jesus. Do it now, we beseech thee, and thus magnify thy grace, by causing the good seed to live, and to produce a heavenly harvest.

II. I shall now turn to the second class of hearers:

 — “And some fell upon a ROCK; and as soon as it was sprung up, it withered away, because it lacked moisture.” 

You can easily picture to yourselves that piece of rock in the midst of the field thinly veiled with soil; and of course the seed falls there as it does everywhere else. It springs up, it hastens to grow, it withers, it dies. None but those who love the souls of men can tell what hopes, what joys, and what bitter disappointments these stony places have caused us. We have a class of hearers whose hearts are hard, and yet they are apparently the softest and most impressible of men. While other men see nothing in the sermon, these men weep. Whether you preach the terrors of the law or the love of Calvary, they are alike stirred in their souls, and the liveliest impressions are apparently produced. Such may be listening now. They have resolved, but they have procrastinated. They are not the sturdy enemies of God who clothe themselves in steel, but they seem to bare their breasts, and lay them open to the minister. Rejoiced in heart, we shoot our arrows there, and they appear to penetrate; but, alas, a secret armour blunts every dart, and no wound is felt. The parable speaks of this character thus — “Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth.” Or as another passage explains it: “And these are they likewise which are sown on stony ground; who, when they have heard the word, immediately receive it with gladness; and have no root in themselves, and so endure but for a time: afterward, when affliction or persecution ariseth for the word’s sake, immediately they are offended.” 

Have we not thousands of hearers who receive the word with joy? They have no deep convictions, but they leap into Christ on a sudden, and profess an instantaneous faith in him, and that faith has all the appearance of being genuine. When we look at it, the seed has really sprouted. There is a kind of life in it, there is apparently a green blade. We thank God that a sinner is brought back, a soul is born to God. But our joy is premature: they sprang up on a sudden, and received the word with joy, because they had no depth of earth, and the self-same cause which hastened their reception of the seed also causes them, when the sun is risen with his fervent heat, to wither away. These men we see every day in the week. They come to join the church; they tell us a story of how they heard us preach on such-and-such an occasion, and, oh, the word was so blessed to them, they never felt so happy in their lives! “Oh sir, I thought I must leap from my seat when I heard about a precious Christ, and I believed on him there and then; I am sure I did.” We question them as to whether they were ever convinced of sin. They think they were; but one thing they know, they feel a great pleasure in religion. We put it to them, “Do you think you will hold on?” They are confident that they shall. They hate the things they once loved, they are sure they do. Everything has become new to them. And all this is on a sudden. We enquire when the good work began. We find it began when it ended, that is to say, there was no previous work, no ploughing of the soil, but on a sudden they sprang from death to life, as if a field should

be covered with wheat by magic. Perhaps we receive them into the church; but in a week or two they are not so regular as they used to be. We gently reprove them, and they explain that they meet with such opposition in

religion, that they are obliged to yield a little. Another month and we lose them altogether. The reason is that they have been laughed at or exposed to a little opposition, and they have gone back. And what, think you, are the feelings of the minister? He is like the husbandman, who sees his field all green and flourishing, but at night a frost nips every shoot, and his hoped-for gains are gone. The minister goes to his chamber, and casts

himself on his face before God, and cries, “I have been deceived; my converts are fickle, their religion has withered as the green herb.” In the ancient story Orpheus is said to have had such skill upon the lyre, that he

made the oaks and stones to dance around him. It is a poetical fiction, and yet hath it sometimes happened to the minister, that not only have the godly rejoiced, but men, like oaks and stones, have danced from their

places. Alas! They have been oaks and stones still. Hushed is the lyre. The oak returns to its rooting-place, and the stone casts itself heavily to the earth. The sinner, who, like Saul, was among the prophets, goes back to plan mischief against the Most High. If it is bad to be a wayside hearer, I cannot think it is much better to be like the rock. This second class of hearers certainly gives us more joy than the first. A certain company always comes round a new minister; and I have often thought it is an act of God’s kindness that he allows these people to gather at the first, while the minister is young, and has but few to stand by him: these persons are easily moved, and if the minister preaches earnestly they feel it, and they love him, and rally round him, much to his comfort. But time, that proves all things, proves them. They seemed to be made of true metal; but when they are put into the fire to be tested, they are consumed in the furnace. Some of the shallow kind are here now. I have looked at you when I have been preaching, and I have often thought, “That man one of these days will come out from the world, I am sure he will.” I have thanked God for him. Alas, he is the same as ever. Years and years have we sowed him in vain, and it is to be feared it will be so to the end, for he is without depth, and without the moisture of the Spirit. Shall it be so? Must I stand over the mouth of your open sepulcher, and thin, “Here lies a shoot which never became an ear, a man in whom grace struggled but never reigned, who gave some hopeful spasms of life and then subsided into eternal death”? God save you! Oh! May the Spirit deal with you effectually, and may you, even you, yet bring forth fruit unto God, that Jesus may have a reward for his sufferings.

III. I shall briefly treat of the third class, 

and may the Spirit of God assist me to deal faithfully with you.

 “And some fell among THORNS; and the thorns sprang up with it, and choked it.” Now, this was good soil. The two first characters were bad: the wayside was not the proper place, the rock was not a congenial  situation for the growth of any plant; but this is good soil, for it grows thorns. Wherever a thistle will spring up and flourish, there would wheat flourish too. This was fat, fertile soil; it was no marvel therefore that the husbandman dealt largely there, and threw handful after handful upon that corner of the field. See how happy he is when in a month or two he visits the spot. The seed has sprung up. True, there’s a suspicious little plant down there of about the same size as the wheat. “Oh!” he thinks, “that’s not much, the corn will out-grow that. When it is stronger it will choke these few thistles that have unfortunately mixed with it.” 

Ay, Mr. Husbandman, you do not understand the force of evil, or you would not thus dream! He comes again, and the seed has grown, there is even the corn in the ear; but the thistles, the thorns, and the briars have

become intertwisted with one another, and the poor wheat can hardly get a ray of sunshine. It is so choked with thorns every way, that it looks quite yellow: the plant is starved. Still it perseveres in growing, and it does seem as if it would bring forth a little fruit. Alas, it never comes to anything. With it the reaper never fills his arm. We have this class very largely among us. These hear the word and understand what they hear. They take the truth home; they think it over; they even go the length of making a profession of religion. The wheat seems to spring and ear; it will soon come to perfection. Be in no hurry, these men and women have a great

deal to see after; they have the cares of a large concern; their establishment employs so many hundred hands; do not be deceived as to their godliness — they have no time for it. They will tell you that they must live; that they cannot neglect this world; that they must anyhow look out for the present, and as for the future, they will render it all due attention by-and-by. They continue to attend gospel-preaching, and the poor little stunted blade of religion keeps on growing after a fashion. Meanwhile they have grown rich, they come to the place of worship in a carriage, they have all that heart can wish. Ah! Now the seed will grow, will it not? No, no. They have no cares now; the shop is given up, they live in the country; they have not to ask, “Where shall the money come from to meet the next bill?” or “how shall they be able to provide for an increasing family.” Now they have too much instead of too little, for they have riches, and they are too wealthy to be gracious. 

“But,” says one, “they might spend their riches for God.” Certainly they might, but they do not, for riches are deceitful. They have to entertain much company, and chime in with the world, and so Christ and his church are left in the lurch. Yes, but they begin to spend their riches, and they have surely got over that difficulty, for they give largely to the cause of Christ, and they are munificent in charity; the little blade will grow, will it not? No, for now behold the thorns of pleasure. Their liberality to others involves liberality to themselves; their pleasures, amusements, and vanities choke the wheat of true religion: the good grains of gospel truth cannot grow because they have to attend that musical party, that ball, and that soiree, and so they cannot think of the things of God. I know several specimens of this class. I knew one, high in court circles, who has confessed to me that he wished he were poor, for then he might enter the kingdom of heaven. He has said to me, “Ah! Sir, these politics, these politics, I wish I were rid of them, they are eating the life out of my heart; I cannot serve God as I would.” I know of another, overloaded with riches, who has said to me, “Ah! Sir, it is an awful thing to be rich; one cannot keep close to the Saviour with all this earth about him.” Ah! My dear readers, I will not ask for you that God may lay you on a bed of sickness, that he may strip you of all your wealth, and bring you to beggary; but, oh, if he were to do it, and you were to save your souls, it would be the best bargain you could ever make. 

If those mighty ones who now complain that the thorns choke the seed could give up all their riches and pleasures, if they that fare sumptuously every day could take the place of Lazarus at the gate, it were a happy change for them if their souls might be saved. A man may be honorable and rich, and yet go to heaven; but it will be hard work, for “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven.” God does make some rich men enter the kingdom of heaven, but hard is their struggle. Steady, young man, steady! Hurry not to climb to wealth! It is a place where many heads are turned. Do not ask God to make you popular; they that have popularity are wearied by it. Cry with Agur — “Give me neither poverty nor riches.” God give me to tread the golden mean, and may I ever have in my heart

that good seed, which shall bring forth fruit a hundredfold to his own glory.

IV. I now close with the last character, namely, the GOOD GROUND. 

Of the good soil, as you will mark, we have but one in four. Will one in four of our hearers, with well-prepared heart, receive the Word? The ground is described as “good”: not that it was good by nature, but it had been made good by grace. God had ploughed it; he had stirred it up with the plough of conviction, and there it lay in ridge and furrow as it should lie. When the gospel was preached, the heart received it, for the man said, “That is just the blessing I want. Mercy is what a needy sinner requires.” So that the preaching of the gospel was THE thing to give comfort to this disturbed and ploughed soil. Down fell the seed to take good root. In some cases it produced fervency of love, largeness of heart, devotedness of purpose of a noble kind, like seed which produces a hundredfold. The man became a mighty servant for God, he spent himself and was spent. He took his place in the vanguard of Christ’s army, stood in the hottest of the battle, and did

deeds of daring which few could accomplish — the seed produced a hundredfold. It fell into another heart of like character; — the man could not do the most, but still he did much. He gave himself to God, and in his

business he had a word to say for his Lord; in his daily walk he quietly adorned the doctrine of God his Saviour, — he brought forth sixty-fold. 

Then it fell on another, whose abilities and talents were but small; he could not be a star, but he would be a glow-worm; he could not do as the greatest, but he was content to do something, however humble. The seed

had brought forth in him tenfold, perhaps twentyfold. How many are there of this sort here? Is there one who prays within himself, “God be merciful to me a sinner”? The seed has fallen in the right spot. Soul, thy prayer shall be heard. God never sets a man longing for mercy without intending to give it. 

Does another whisper, “Oh that I might be saved”? Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou, even thou, shalt be saved. Hast thou been the chief of sinners? Trust Christ, and thy enormous sins shall vanish as the

millstone sinks beneath the flood. 

Is there no one here that will trust the Saviour? Can it be possible that the Spirit is entirely absent? That he is not moving in one soul? Not begetting life in one spirit? We will pray that he may now descend, that the word may not be in vain.