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Charles Spurgeon (1834 – 1892) became pastor of Park Street Chapel in London before he was 20. His following grew to be so substantial that the 6000-seat Metropolitan Tabernacle was built for his preaching ministry. There he served from 1861 to 1891. He was three years into his seven-year pastorate at Park Street when he spoke the following words from “The Poor Have the Gospel Preached to Them.”1 By that time, the crowds were so great that he was forced into larger venues—in this case the music hall at Royal Surrey Gardens.

Spurgeon compares the pulpit to Thermopylae, the narrow pass where 300 Spartan warriors stood their ground unto death against a force of 200,000 Persians. Though all these Spartan lives were lost, they purchased precious time for their Greek allies to prepare for ultimate victory. Similarly, the pulpit may seem small, but it can make the critical difference in rescuing a people from ruin.

By “dignity,” Spurgeon meant the high status and fruitfulness of the pulpit, not stuffiness. Indeed, he was criticized for his plain, accessible speech. But he defended clarity and color as necessary for communicating the gospel:

“The pulpit has become dishonored; it is esteemed as being of very little worth and of no esteem. Ah! we must always maintain the dignity of the pulpit. I hold that it is the Thermopylae of Christendom; it is here that the battle must be fought between right and wrong; not so much with the pen, valuable as that is as an assistant, as with the living voice of earnest men, “contending earnestly for the faith once delivered unto the saints.” In some churches the pulpit is put away; there is a prominent altar, but the pulpit is omitted. Now, the most prominent thing under the gospel dispensation is not the altar, which belonged to the Jewish dispensation, but the pulpit. “We have an altar, whereof they have no right to eat which serve the tabernacle;” that altar is Christ; but Christ has been pleased to exalt “the foolishness of preaching” to the most prominent position in his house of prayer. We must take heed that we always maintain preaching. It is this that God will bless; it is this that he has promised to crown with success. “Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.” We must not expect to see great changes nor any great progress of the gospel, until there is greater esteem for the pulpit—more said of it and thought of it. “Well,” some may reply, “you speak of the dignity of the pulpit; I take it, you lower it yourself, sir, by speaking in such a style to your hearers.” Ah! no doubt you think so. Some pulpits die of dignity. I take it, the greatest dignity in the world is the dignity of converts—that the glory of the pulpit is, if I may use such a metaphor, to have captives at its chariot-wheels, to see converts following it, and where there are such, and those from the very worst of men; there is a dignity in the pulpit beyond any dignity which a fine mouthing of words and a grand selection of fantastic language could ever give to it. . .”2

Footnotes:

1 “Preaching for the Poor,” in Spurgeon’s Sermons, 2nd ed. (New York: Sheldon & Company, 1861), 157-158. Preached January 25, 1857, on Matthew 11:5.

2 Earlier in the same sermon, he developed his point of accessibility: “If they are preached to in fine terms—in grandiloquent language which they cannot lay hold of—the poor will not have the gospel preached to them, for they will not go to hear it. They must have something attractive to them; we must preach as Christ did; we must tell anecdotes, and stories, and parables, as he did; we must come down and make the gospel attractive. The reason why the old Puritan preachers could get congregations was this—they did not give their hearers dry theology; they illustrated it; they had an anecdote from this and a quaint passage from that classic author; here a verse of poetry; here and there even a quip or pun—a thing which now-a-days is a sin above all sins, but which was constantly committed by these preachers, whom I have ever esteemed as the patterns of pulpit eloquence.” Ibid., 153.

6 Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out, “Hallelujah! For the Lord our God, the Almighty reigns. 7 Let us rejoice and exult and give him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and his Bride has made herself ready; 8 it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure”—for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.

Revelation 19:6-8 (ESV)

The organist strikes up the measured refrain of Pachelbel’s Canon in D. A hush falls, the doors open, the congregation turns. In steps the bride, radiant in her long white dress, joyful tears adding luster to her beauty, as her father escorts her to her bridegroom’s side.

Culturally speaking, even though she lives amidst prostitutes (17:1-19:3), the Church’s wedding day is coming. The glory of earthly brides and marriages will fade into a distant memory as, to tumultuous joy, the virgin Church is revealed, having prepared herself for her Husband.

In her innocence, Eve was presented naked to her husband. By contrast, bright, pure linen will clothe the Bride of Christ on the last day (v. 8). These beautiful garments are “the righteous deeds of the saints,” works of obedience performed by God’s people (v. 8b). This bride is clothed not by her own merit, however, but by the grace of God; He gives to her the fine linen garments (v. 8a); He creates in her the good works that she does (cf., Eph. 2:10; Phil. 2:12-13). The Church’s wedding dress is Christ’s gift.

Those who “hold to the testimony of Jesus” do “righteous deeds” (v. 8, 10). This probably means both holding fast to Jesus’ teaching, even in the face of opposition, bearing witness to Him even when the response is hostile.

The Church prepares her wedding dress when, in God’s power, she obeys Jesus fully, and proclaims the gospel to unbelievers. When Mother Teresa of Calcutta addressed the National Prayer Breakfast on February 3, 1994, a hushed audience awaited to hear what the frail and tiny servant of God would say. Flanked by President Clinton and Vice President Gore, she stunned nearly everyone by reflecting that “the greatest destroyer of peace today is abortion, because it is a war against the child.” But it is not enough to believe that abortion is an evil, she said. The Church must learn to right the wrong. In her case, she explained that her congregation in Calcutta was fighting abortion by adoption. To those who were willing to kill because they did not want the unborn, Mother Teresa implored, “Please don’t kill the child. I want the child. Please give me the child.”

If “the righteous deeds of the saints” is the raiment of God’s people, one must wonder how well-clothed the modern Church might be. The book of Revelation’s depiction of the future is a challenge for the present. Each congregation must examine itself and the needs of its community and ask, “What does the love of God constrain us to do?”

I recently had two conversations which captured my attention. One was with a young lady whom I interviewed on behalf of a pastoral colleague for an assistant position. I asked her to distinguish the terms “job” and “ministry.” She obviously saw the curve ball coming, adjusted her posture, and knocked it out of the park. For several minutes she waxed eloquently about how our “jobs” actually are ministry, that is, the way in which we serve God. When she finished, I congratulated her on providing a good “Protestant” answer and more importantly a good biblical one.

Shortly afterward I spoke with another follower of Christ. This fellow was deeply dissatisfied with his work because, in his own words, it’s “just a job.” Moreover, the various non-Christians with whom he works constantly use foul language and are less than refined. He wants to quit so that he can begin to serve in ministry.

C.S. Lewis in his book The Weight of Glory speaks to this issue with profound clarity. He writes:

“Christianity does not exclude any of the ordinary human activities. St. Paul tells people to get on with their jobs. He even assumes Christians may go to dinner parties, and what is more, dinner parties given by pagans. Our Lord attends a wedding and provides miraculous wine. Under the aegis of His church, and in the most Christian ages learning and the arts flourish. The solution to this paradox is, of course, well known to you: ‘Whether ye eat or drink or whatsoever you do, do all to the glory of God.”

Footnotes

C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1975).