Maidenbower Baptist Church

1 John 5:13 reveals the purpose for which the apostle wrote his first letter: "These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, that you may know that you have eternal life, and that you may continue to believe in the name of the Son of God." Again emphasising that the Scriptures are written by the Holy Ghost for our profit, and to be received as such, Spurgeon then gets closer to his text. Under the influence of the Holy Spirit, John has written with a particular purpose, and this is a purpose which we ought to pursue. The bulk of the sermon is given over the first heading, as the same Spirit who gave the Word carries along its preacher, exploring the assurance of the believer in connection with the faith which is in the believer's heart. This being thoroughly established, Spurgeon also insists that we ought to follow up on John's purpose. If the apostle so wrote, we ought not to neglect what he has said, and the direction he has given, but rather to rejoice in the prospect and engage in the pursuit of this assurance. It is a rich sermon, doctrinally careful and experimentally full, with a practical edge.

Do Christian comforts last for life and evaporate at death? According to Asaph in Psalm 73:24, addressing the Lord, he says, "You will guide me with your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." A Christian's life is not easy, but it is secure, and our death is full of hope, our confidence grounded in the Christ who has overcome death. So we here consider death without Christ, death in Christ, and death for a Christian, full of grace and hope, leading to glory.

This is God's world, and it is God's weather. We accept that man as a steward of God's world may have some influence on climate, but we acknowledge God as the Master. That means that mankind is not the original or terminal authority or responsbility for the weather. It is God's weather absolutely and rightly, and he has established the stable framework and sends the particular elements. It is God's weather generously and graciously, because he cares for the world which he made and the people who dwell in it. And, it is God's weather purposefully and sovereignly, as he sends it for blessing and mercy, or in cursing and judgment. We, then, must take care how we think about, speak of, and respond to God's weather, but most of all we must ask about the relationship we sustain to the God of the weather, the God who made this world.

There are a number of sermons which touch on this topic, or deal with it directly, during this season of Spurgeon's ministry. It is not a change of emphasis so much as a change of tone. He often, throughout his ministry, celebrates the reliability and clarity of the Word of the Lord. In the background here, though, is the Downgrade Controversy, the increasing theological liberalisation of Christianity, revealing where real faith and mere nominalism divide. That context means that some of Spurgeon's sermons, while remaining essentially pastoral, also become more polemical. Some take on an edge, as this one does, as the preacher considers what it means that "the mouth of the Lord has spoken it." This is our warrant for teaching scriptural truth; this is the claim of God's Word upon your attention; this gives to the Word of God its distinct character; this makes the truth of Scripture a ground of great alarm to many; and, this makes the Word of God the reason and the rest of our faith. While there is conviction to establish and comfort the child of God, so there is a persistent resistance to and assault upon the errors that were becoming current, and sadly remain so, undermining the confidence that we may and must have in the Scriptures as the breathed-out and written-down Word of God.

A Christian is a joyful and peaceful person, with a life marked by certainty and security. Christians do not claim easy lives, but they do enjoy happy lives, marked by comforts in life, at death, and beyond death. What are our comforts in life? Though they are too many to catalogue, one way to summarise them is to say that our unchanging God is our unerring guide who gives us an unshaking hope: "For this is God, our God forever and ever; he will be our guide even to death" (Ps 48:14). Through all the changing scenes of life, the believer in Christ is led in love, watched over and provided for at every step and stage, with not a moment apart from the covenant care of the eternal God of grace. This is a faithful love that brings us to and even through death itself.

Why does someone get baptised? What does church membership declare? How does someone become a Christian, and what does that mean? John gives the answer when he tells us that "as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name: who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God" (Jn 1:12–13). The end of this chain of three links is our identity as children of God, a privilege granted to those who receive Christ. So this receiving and believing come before this identification. Then, behind the faith that looks to and embraces Christ, lies the sovereign work of God in making the heart new. This is the spring of life, and this is the grace of God.

A thoroughly experimental sermon, in which Spurgeon takes Job as something of a template for all believers, suggesting that Job was favoured (as others may sometimes be) with particularly vivid impressions of God, some striking sense of his majesty and the glory of his perfections. Such views of the Lord truly make an impression upon us, bringing us low in ourselves. This is no generic sense of lowness, according to Spurgeon, but rather a profound consciousness of sin, which in turn leads to a heartfelt repentance, which our preacher unpacks in some detail. Here, particularly, Spurgeon brings the truth of God's Word close to home, pressing it into your hearts, and asking how we hope to deal with God if such a man as Job was so profoundly humbled by this glimpse of his glory. Of course, his answer lies in the righteousness of Christ alone, by whom only we can stand accepted before God, our sins put away and a righteousness established for us in which God himself delights. Incidentally, it might be worth a glance at the texts read before Scripture noted, as usual, at the end of this sermon. Usually, it would be a chapter, or a portion of one. On this occasion, it is the bulk of two chapters, with a selection from two others. If nothing else, this reminds us that Spurgeon is conscious of the broader context of the texts which he preaches, and seeks to situate each sermon within the broad sweep of Scripture, the book in question, and the immediate scope of the text itself.

Everyone is sowing some kind of seed: "he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life" (Gal 6:7–8). Paul exhorts the disciples of Christ to follow their Lord in doing good. This is a holy labour, living as Christ in the power of his Spirit. He offers a needed warning, against weariness and faintness. He supplies a needed encouragement, reminding us that sowing now brings an eventual reaping which will be the happy reward of the righteous. All this leads to a broad exhortation, that saints are to sow in season, doing good to all, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.

John wants his beloved spiritual children not to be deceived by those who claim righteousness in the heart but show none in the life. He emphasises the Lord Jesus as the standard of righteousness, the Man who showed love to God and to men in all his life. He underscores the fact of righteousness, that a Christian is righteous just as Christ himself is righteous. So what is the proof of that righteousness? It is doing righteousness, it is living out one's union by faith with the Lord Jesus.

This sermon is numerically significant on several levels. It is the two thousandth sermon, the last sermon of Volume XXXIII in the Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, and a sermon prepared to be read on the first day of the year of 1888. As so often with these 'major marker' sermons (ones that break through particular numerical boundaries), and all the more so when those markers are loaded up like this, Spurgeon deliberately returns to the very core of his ministry and the delight of his own soul—the atoning sacrifice of the Lord Jesus. The sermon is itself is of the utmost simplicity, as Spurgeon seeks to come to the text, and to come at the congregation. He shows how, in the verse in question, God treats sin as a disease and provides a cure for that disease in the stripes of the Lord Christ, a disease which is immediately and completely effective wherever it is applied. In truth, Spurgeon never strays very far from this theme, but an occasion like this makes it all the more imperative for him to state once more the touchstone of his ministry.

It is easy to shame people over prayer; it is harder to stir people to prayer. Daniel's example as an old man in Babylon, a prime minister and a prophet, should help us. Despite his position, pressures, and privileges, he pondered his Bible and was stimulated to pray. Even then, he did not rush into the divine presence, but prepared himself, setting his face toward the Lord God, both body and soul primed for his approach to the throne of grace. Finally, he prayed, mingling adoration, supplication, and confession. Thus Daniel pondered, prepared, and prayed, and so might we.

What can cause an outburst of holy joy? God himself is the source, the theme, the object of such praise, especially in his gracious dealings with sinners. To get to the root of the matter, we must look first at the blessings bestowed, the great mercy poured out and the pardon of transgressions granted. Then we must look at the scope which is expressed—a mercy as great as the heavens are above the earth, a pardon that removes transgressions as far as the east is from the west. Then we must consider the people who are favoured with such mercy: those who fear the Lord, who have felt the weight of their sin and have found the sweetness of divine pardon.

This briefer sermon is 'intended for reading', which usually indicates a sick man writing or editing a previous address for distribution. Brevity here does not undermine simplicity, clarity, or pungency! The text is short: "My son, give me your heart." The sermon is straightforward, looking at the love which lies behind the request for wisdom, then at the wisdom which guides the loving request, and then a pressing application to be wise by attending to this wise admonition. Here the more practical elements of the sermon come to the fore, although—as we often see with Spurgeon—he usually sows fruitful seeds of thought along the way, quite apart from any more formal element of application. The last paragraph confirms our earlier expectations as well as informing our understanding: the sermon is an 'occasional address' (delivered on a specific occasion), in this case an appeal for funds for hospitals (when such were typically privately and charitably supported). Now we know not only when the address came, but we appreciate more fully why Spurgeon has been pressing for the heart—because once our heavenly Father has our heart, he has our hands, too, in cheerful dispensation of our good things. In addition, the final appeal is pleasingly quirky—before the plate is being passed round for the collection of money, Spurgeon passes around his own invisible plate, for the collection of hearts.

Solomon, the son of David, stood before the temple as it was filled with the glory of the Lord, and led Israel in blessing the Lord their God. His heart was full with the fact that the Lord God of Israel had "fulfilled with his hands what he spoke with his mouth" to his father David. We can follow this Solomon as he contemplates the promises that God made and the performances which followed, leading to the praises of the inheritor. At the same time, we must recognise that this is even more wonderfully true of the Son of David who has built a spiritual temple, and in whom God has wonderfully accomplished his covenant with David to a glorious degree.

By October of 1887 the Downgrade Controversy—the battle against doctrinal decay in the professing church of Christ—was in full swing. Letters had appeared in The Sword and the Trowel over the previous months, and Spurgeon himself had entered the fray through August and into September. The sermon which we consider today is clearly the fruit of that conflict, with Spurgeon feeling "as if the text had been newly written for the present occasion, for it is in every syllable most suitable to the immediate crisis." That text is Zephaniah 3:16–18, where the Lord calls his people to faithful labour and promises his saving and succouring mercies to them. Spurgeon handles the text by looking at the present trials of God's people, the glorious consolation which they have in the midst of those trials, and the brave conduct which ought to characterise them in the face of those trials. Many of us see the unhappy inheritance of the theological liberalism which took root at the end of the nineteenth century. While we may not be of the generation which saw the downgrade, we can—if we continue to heed Spurgeon's call to arms—be a generation which seeks to recover some of the lost ground.

In this fourth sermon on the means of grace, we have to consider that these things are not merely mechanical. We do not merely go through the motions and collect grace. God's grace is made known in Christ, and our approach must be relational, eager to know more of the Saviour by the means provided for us.

Psalm 13 begins low and ugly, but rises to beauty. The pain of the opening verses gives way to the prayer of the second short section, concluding with the praise of the last few lines, from which vantage point we can look back and see several things. First, the direction of praise, which is toward the Lord to whom he has looked and to whom he has cried. The expression of praise is strong and substantial and sweet, as the psalmist sings of God's salvation. That leads us to the foundation of praise, the bountiful dealings of a gracious God.

It is by no means deliberate that the last few sermons have not had the 'classic' Spurgeon three point structure, but I hope that it at least undermines the weary assertion that this preacher 'invariably' has three points. This sermon has an interesting balance, because it has two main divisions but is still divided into thirds. The sermon finds us on the Emmaus road, with two disciples who are thinking foolishly, "slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken." Spurgeon is blunt and forceful in dealing with this matter. Speaking first to the true believer, he asserts, first, that unbelief is folly, and, second, that unbelief arises from slowness of heart. The preacher simply explores those two assertions arising from the text, analysing and anatomising our dull hearts. He closes that portion of the sermon with an encouragement—that slowness of heart is not the same as hardness of heart, and that those who weary of their doubts should abandon them for the faith that not only saves but also secures. Then, with that element of the sermon concluded, Spurgeon asks his believing congregation to pray as he speaks directly to the unconverted. The last third of the sermon is a sustained plea to those who do not yet believe, seeking to expose and to correct the folly and dullness that grips such hearts, concluding with warnings and pleadings. The sermon is striking in its directness and in the arrangement which serves as a vehicle for that direct address, looking first the doubting believer and then the unbeliever in the eye with affection and concern, and speaking to the soul.

In this third sermon on the means of grace, we have to consider that these things are not merely mechanical. We do not merely go through the motions and collect grace. God's grace is made known in Christ, and our approach must be relational, eager to know more of the Saviour by the means provided for us.

Why are you not a Christian? We think first of the gracious invitation to the kingdom, the feast of fellowship with God in Christ Jesus, the readiness of our Lord to receive guests. Then we look at the tragic excuses that are so often and so easily made, by us as much as by others. Then we have to press the question home, as we consider the person who invites us, what is at stake, and the uncertainty of further opportunity to come.

"All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth, to such as keep his covenant and his testimonies." So writes the man of God in Psalm 25:10, and so preaches the servant of God in this sermon. In another simply structured sermon—remember, Spurgeon deliberately seeks to avoid complexity—he first paints the portrait of the covenanter, the man who keeps the covenant and testimonies of the Lord. As you might imagine, the preacher takes the opportunity to portray a truly Christian man, one thoroughly persuaded of his own sin and misery, but equally delighted with the provision God has made in Christ Jesus for sinners, and so committed to the Saviour and to the way of the righteous. But the man is no static saint: he walks that road, and find it to be paved with mercy and truth, not so much on his account, but on the Lord's. Spurgeon emphasises that this is the way by which the Lord draws near to the covenanting man, and these are the blessings which he showers upon him. Thus the experience described is less that of the covenanter seeking the Lord, and more the Lord favouring the covenanter. So the preacher both encourages the saint to keep God's covenant and testimonies, and challenges the sinner as to the misery and emptiness of life without God.

Having seen that our Lord Jesus is the fountain or reservoir of grace, full of grace and truth, next we ask how we come to enjoy the fullness of grace that is found in him. By what means does God show Christ to us? By what channels does God pour out, or communicate to us, the grace that is in Christ? How do we enjoy communion with him? The pattern of the early church is clear, and the pursuit of Christ in the various means of grace which they embraced from the beginning: the word, the sacraments, and prayer.

The simple structure of this two-pronged sermon by no means provides for any shallowness. The bulk of the address is given over to a careful consideration of God's thoughts toward us, thoughtfully mined from the text. In this respect, it is a masterpiece of exegetical clarity, simply considering the implications of the specific words of Scripture, allowing the phrases to have their full weight, and working out not only their obvious meanings but also their more subtle suggestions. The second element of the sermon considers our attitude toward God in the light of his thoughts toward us, and here the tone is more applicatory, wisely suggesting how divine truth calls forth an appropriate response. There are no real verbal fireworks, no sustained flights of soaring rhetoric. Rather, we have sweet and solid gospel logic that carries us smoothly and forcefully toward the ultimate purposes that God in his mercy has for his beloved people.

The apostle Paul had a holy dread of the Philippians sliding away from the faith of Jesus Christ. Spurgeon says he does not doubt the victory, but neither would he have it lost. Being "in the Lord," these believers are in their right place, and Spurgeon explains what that means for the Philippians and for others who have entrusted themselves to Jesus Christ. Furthermore, they need to keep their right place. If they are in the Lord, then that is where they need to "stand fast," in faith, in life, in experience, in holiness, without wearying or warping or wandering. But it is all very well to exhort a saint to stand fast—how is he or she to do so? What motives enable and sustain such endurance in the faith? Spurgeon often challenges us in the light of particular encouragements, or encourages us in the light of particular challenges: here he does the latter, reminding us of our citizenship in heaven, our expectation of Christ's return and our transformation, and the resources at our disposal in this pilgrimage. So, with our eyes firmly fixed on Christ and the fulness that is in him, we press toward the prize, holding firmly to Christ and his truth, standing fast in the Lord.

Here we seek to follow Christ along the path of duty, remembering that we are unlike him in some things and like him in others. As Christ enters Gethsemane, he faces a legitimate distress, raises a heartfelt plea, and demonstrates an entire submission. Walking in his footsteps, and appreciating that we do not drink the cup he drank, nor face the sorrow he faced, yet still there is for us a real distress, a painful dilemma, and a humble duty.

In Christ is all the fulness of God, and grace for grace, and so all that a sinner needs for all of life is found in him. There is grace for living, there is grace for growing, there is grace for serving, there is grace for dying, and there will be grace for glory, too. Let no sinner despair, and let no saint doubt—in Christ is all that we need, by God's gracious design, for all our salvation.

After a brief survey of the ways in which Psalm has been a blessing to true believers through the century, Spurgeon tells us how he intends to use it—to speak on the confidence of the saints, on the courage with grows from that confidence, and the way in which that courage will be tested. Each of those three points hangs upon an element of his text. However, in the background of the whole sermon hangs the fact of the Ligurian earthquake, with an associated tsunami, which struck northern Italy and the French Riviera (including Spurgeon's beloved Mentone) a few days earlier. It was a significant enough event to mean that the thought of the shaking earth and the roaring seas would have been close to the minds of the preacher's congregation, increasing their interest and the impact of the truth on their souls. It is, then, not only a fine example of a sermon well-grounded in a text, but also of a sermon which takes account of current events, and uses them to draw the attention of the hearers to eternal truths.

When asked about salvation, Paul and Silas point immediately, clearly, unreservedly and, unequivocally to the Lord Jesus Christ as the Saviour of a sinner. They make clear the quality of the Saviour of a sinner, his names and titles giving us the essence of his person and work. They show the centrality of the Saviour of a sinner, arrow in in on Christ Jesus. This reminds us of the exclusivity of the Saviour of a sinner, for there are no others in the running or the reckoning. It emphasises the sufficiency of the Saviour of a sinner—none other is offered because none other is needed. This is our Saviour to believe and to proclaim.

What is a sinner's experience of being saved? While the precise details might differ, the essential contours will be the same, whether or not you are Lydia the seller of purple or the jailer in Philippi. Looking at his experience, we see that a sinner expresses a deep sense of his own need, grasps a rich promise of divine salvation, receives a broad offer of heavenly mercy, hears a sweet explanation of God's grace, shows an immediate change of heart and life, testifies to his new-found faith in baptism, and rejoices in the favour he has been granted in Christ Jesus. There is no other path. All must come to the same salvation by way of the same Saviour.

From time to time Spurgeon preaches a sermon from multiple texts. Some of these are by way of development, some by way of contrast, some by way of confirmation and reiteration. This sermon belongs to that last category. The same phrase occurs in each text: "Lay hold on eternal life." Emphasising first the vital important of knowing and obtaining this life, and therefore the need for every man to lay hold upon it, the preacher then begins to plead and enforce the exhortation. We are to believe in it as it is presented in the Scriptures and impressed upon us by the Holy Spirit—it must be more than an idea to us. We must possess it, laying hold of it by putting our faith in Jesus Christ and working it out in all our actions. We must watch over it, for it is too easily shrivelled and undermined. We need to fulfil it, living here as those who have this life everlasting in our souls, with its realities conditioning our use of our time and strength. Then, we need to expect it—we must eagerly anticipate it as something that we enter fully before very long. How much do we consider eternal life? Perhaps even as Christians it tends to fade into the background. Spurgeon rescues it from neglect, and sets it before our eyes, front and centre, and very much within present grasp.

The text is Genesis 32:12, part of Jacob's prayer to the Lord his God: "For you said, 'I will surely treat you well…" In Spurgeon's translation, it is, "I will surely do thee good." After something of a meditation on Jacob's privilege, and ours, of having the living God as our God, Spurgeon emphasises the further blessing of being able to come before him in prayer. This leads him into a sermon about praying, the kind of sermon to which he often returns, pressing home not only the wonder but the necessity of calling upon the Lord. Here Jacob's prayer becomes first our memorial, for we need to remember what the Lord has said, studying out the distinctive elements of his particular promises to us. We ought to consider this prayer next as God's bond—his promise holding him fast to a particular course of action. Everything that is in God secures the assured outcome. And so this ought to be our plea in prayer also: "You said!" What a childlike plea! How earnest and how expectant! Here is a way to plead which will bring the pledged result to everyone who comes with faith to the God who has promised blessing to those who call upon him. And so we still learn, from Jacob, how to pray.

What happens when you pray? What should you expect? The foundation of our prayers is laid in God himself, in his faithful love, his gracious plan, and his precious word. The expression of our prayers, springing from that foundation, is in a calling upon the Lord and praying to him, an expectant looking. Then the expectation of our prayers is that, framed by God and his plan and his promises, he will respond readily and richly, and so bless his people, not because of any good thing in them, but because of his own goodness toward them.

The Lord speaks by Isaiah to offer rest and refreshment to weary souls, the prophet communicating industriously, simply, patiently, progressively, and attractively, a model for the teacher and preacher of gospel truth. That rest and refreshment are described, the language telling us that this gospel blessing is fitting, effective, and available. But, tragically, this very rest and refreshment was resisted by those to whom it was merely childish babbling, and to they brought judgment on themselves. Will we resist or receive God's rest in Christ?

Spurgeon's gospel logic is uncomplicated, in principle and in practice, and it shows here. Our Lord says, "If you love me, keep my commandments." It is clear from this sermon that the straightforwardness of this statement was as objectionable then as now, and caused as many problems. Beginning with a stimulating survey of all the 'ifs' in the chapter, the preacher then settles on this simple statement as a very serious 'if', having to do with the very question of love in the heart of a man, the presence or absence of faith's affectionate attachment to Christ as Lord and Saviour. Spurgeon next makes clear that the test of love is judiciously chosen: obedience as a demonstration of love cuts through so much fluff and stuff, and gets to the core of things. Spurgeon explains the wisdom of this test, and why it is such an appropriate and clear indication of whether or not there is love to the Lord in the heart. Running out of time, he gives us just a couple of lines to assure us that love will endure this test, before closing with a brief series of potent applications, exhorting the saints to discover and hold to the commandments of Christ as they come to bear upon us, and challenging unbelievers to face the fearful consequences of declaring that they do not have any love to Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners.

Here is another probing sermon, profitable even when painful. Here is the Christ walking among the Ephesian church in Revelation 2, first of all perceiving their hearts and lives and concluding that while he knows their works he still has something against them. The Lord therefore issues a prescription, to remember from where they have fallen, and to repent. This leads to our Lord's persuasion, in which he issues both a threatening warning and a sweet promise. You can see that the intention is not at all to crush, but there is still a challenge to our souls in the first heading, as we are forced to face the possibility of declining love for Christ in our hearts. The prescription comes to us clearly and helpfully, in three yoked commands: remember, repent, and return. Again, this is not difficult to understand, but it is not necessarily easy to obey. Finally, Spurgeon presses in some motives with our Lord's persuasives, his warning and his promising, both designed to put us back in the way of love. To decline in love to Christ is the Christian's wasting disease; to grow in love for Christ is the Christian's foretaste of glory. So we are obliged to look into our own hearts, not in hopeless despair, but in order that we might, at Christ's direction and invitation, address any drifting away from him whom our souls love.

Who can plumb the depths of our Lord's sorrows, or scale the heights of his joys? It was for the joy that was set before him that he endured the cross and despised the shame. So we will ask what was it that Jesus did when he so endured and so despised. We must consider how he did this, and what was that joy which sustained him. Finally, we will assess whether or not Jesus has entered that joy, or in what sense he already enjoys or still anticipates that joy that was set before him. This is the Christ whom we are called to consider as we run the race that is set before us.

The disciples were not inclined to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead. They were intelligent men, they were convinced Jews, and they were learning disciples, and were resistant to the idea of a risen Jesus. In the face of their suspicion, the Lord gave them a great deal of instruction. They heard his voice and words, they saw his hands and feet, they touched his flesh and bones, they gave him fish and honeycomb, and they thought about the truth which they had been taught. All of this provides a great deal of instruction: a rebuke to unbelief, an offer or life, a gift of peace, a prompt to fellowship, and a glimpse of hope.

I doubt that anyone who reads Spurgeon with any consistency and seriousness thinks of him as a soft preacher. Some may have a notion of him as some genial Victorian pulpiteer, but a few sermons will quickly dispel the image, and reveal a man whose compassion is matched with his conviction, whose kindness is rivalled only by his courage. The result is sermons which bite and sting, and sometimes constitute a sustained assault upon the Christian conscience. This sermon is one such, a penetrating study of Numbers 32:23 and the suggestion that Gad and Reuben might have held back when the time came to conquer the Promised Land. Spurgeon transfers the principle to those professing believers who do not go up to spiritual war with their brothers, who sinned against their brothers and their Lord by the great sin of doing nothing. Spurgeon holds nothing back in pressing this principle into the conscience of his hearers, and our own, by extension. This, he makes clear, is a sin that will find us out. There is, of course, a danger that sermons like this will trouble the feeble and stir up a false guilt, but there is an equal need for sermons which fearlessly probe both our motives and our intentions, and call us to consider whether or not we are serving God and his people as we could and as we should.

"These are days of great looseness; everywhere I see great laxity of doctrinal belief, and gross carelessness in religious practice. Christian people are doing to-day what their forefathers would have loathed. Multitudes of professors are but very little different from worldlings. Men's religion seems to hang loosely about them, as if it did not fit them: the wonder is that it does not drop off from them. Men are so little braced up as to conscientious conviction and vigorous resolve, that they easily go to pieces if assailed by error or temptation. The teaching necessary for to-day is this: 'Gird up the loins of your mind,' brace yourselves up; pull yourselves together; be firm, compact, consistent, determined. Do not be like quicksilver, which keeps on dissolving and running into fractions; do not fritter away life upon trifles, but live to purpose, with undivided heart, and decided resolution." So Spurgeon describes the reason for preaching this sermon, and what more can we say by way of introduction? It expresses the preacher's profound concern and earnest plea. The sermon develops as the sustained exhortation of a pastor confident that the motives which the gospel supplies will be sufficient to establish and encourage the people of God in a lukewarm and watery age.

What distresses a true Christian? What makes a believer weep? In Psalm 119:136 we see a child of God grieved over sin. It is a constant grief, it is a great grief, it is a personal grief, and it is distinctly a godly grief, a Christlike sorrow that arises out of the dishonour done to a holy God and the misery brought upon sinful men. As it is Christ who gives us the prime example of such grief, so it is to Christ that we must go for our obtaining and expressing of this grief.

Repeatedly, insistently, joyfully, earnestly, Spurgeon pounds away on the same drum: "Rejoice evermore!" His introduction is unusually long, situating, explaining, illustrating, and enforcing the command of the text. Only then does he come to the quality of the joy which a Christian is commanded to feel and express. He moves on to the object of this joy, considering God and his covenant as causes of joy, and encouraging us to stir up joy by holy exercise. Then he gives us more reasons for rejoicing—that it wards off temptation, shuts out worldly mirth, encourages saints, and attracts sinners. In a sense, the sermon is worth reading for the spontaneous outflow of thought and encouragement contained in (or bursting out of!) the introduction. One almost wonders if Spurgeon suddenly took a breath, and realised half his time had gone before he had even begun his first point! With marvellous sermonic control, not rattling things off, but with a kind of condensed fervour, he covers his ground tersely and intensely, pressing home flashes of insight and exhortation. It is a wonderful theme, well-handled both in terms of its matter and its manner.

If you ever feel besieged, the Thessalonian believers would have sympathised with you. Paul, himself assaulted, nevertheless expressed his concern for and confidence about the saints in Thessalonica. He is realistic about the real danger that Christians face, the evil one who seeks in all things to hinder and harm us. He is confident because of the faithful Lord whom Christians trust. He relies on the gracious care that Christians have as the Lord establishes and guards his beloved people.