Preach the Bad News Too

Thirty large volumes: That’s how many pages it took to contain the testimonies of those applying for membership during the ministry of Charles Spurgeon. Fifteen thousand handwritten entries in all — over 70 percent of which were from new converts. The elders at the Metropolitan Tabernacle were anxious to know that a work of God had occurred in the soul before admitting one into membership, so at least one pastor would conduct an interview and record the applicant’s testimony before he or she sat down with Spurgeon directly.

One common experience shared in these testimonies — one less characteristic of converts today — is the misery most felt prior to conversion. Many were “cut to the heart” and were driven to ask, “What shall we do?” (Acts 2:37). A crushing burden was on their backs. They needed a Savior.

And these souls identified a consistent culprit behind their anguish: Spurgeon’s preaching. His sermons ruined their day. Conviction sent countless sinners away disturbed. Testimony after testimony speaks of dejection, fear, and alarm caused by his heralding. The compilers summarize, “The majority of these conversion experiences are not instant, but start with a few weeks or even months of painful conviction and sorrow before trusting alone in Christ and finding full joy and assurance” (Wonders of Grace, 13). Night came before morning.

Such testimonies may surprise us, especially if we too often stress the good news and shrink the bad, offer the sweet and withhold the bitter, press the inspiring and hurry past the unpleasant. It seems to me that many do not till the heart before planting gospel seed and see less fruit because of it. I believe we do not see more souls saved because we do not make more souls feel lost. I believe we are not happier in our salvation because we have not been made unhappier in sin. I believe we do not hear more testimonies of God’s grace because we do not emphasize God’s testimony against man’s sin.

Chaff Driven to God

We can learn from ministry at the Metropolitan Tabernacle.

Let’s take one of the testimonies, from Mr. John Samuel, as an example. Mr. Samuel was a husband and father of six; he was also a self-proclaimed “infidel, blasphemer, tavern lounger,” and “a hater of Baptists more than any other denomination, and of the people of New Park Street [Spurgeon’s church before it became the Tabernacle] more than any other Baptist” (Wonders, 22).

“Some of us preachers aren’t brave enough to bear much fruit for God.”

One day, when out drinking, an unconverted friend spoke admiringly of Spurgeon. In response, Mr. Samuel declared he must hear this Spurgeon preach. When his friend unhappily reminded him of his promise, horror washed over him. He grew even more dismayed when this same friend insisted they go to the evening service together and came over to help him with his work to ensure it happened.

Mr. Samuel was a cornered animal.

As they walked to the church, he contemplated darting down some alleyway to escape. But this friend stuck closer than a brother. Mr. Samuel arrived begrudgingly. He attended once, then twice, then three times — a Nicodemus sneaking into the back. But the sermon, time after time, found him where he hid. “I can’t explain it but somehow or other Mr. Spurgeon in his preaching took a view of me altogether, coming home so closely and personally with his remarks. . . . He looked at me a good deal as if he knew I was an infidel. I felt he was preaching only to me” (24–25).

As Mr. Samuel kept skulking, God’s word kept piercing. One sermon brought him especially low. On October 23, 1859, Spurgeon preached “The Chaff Driven Away” on Psalm 1:4 — “The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away” (KJV). Read Mr. Samuel’s report of it:

Mr. Spurgeon said those words over several times during his discourse — “the ungodly are not so” [comparing the wicked man of chaff to the flourishing tree of the godly man]. I felt them deeply, then it was I trembled and wept, and a good many more besides me did the same. After this I became very miserable. (Wonders, 25)

What did Mr. Samuel and his weeping fellows hear that day? A man warning of terrible judgment.

Who here is prepared to make his bed in hell? Who shall lie down and rest for ever in that lake of fire? You must, my hearers, if you are ungodly, except you repent. . . . I beseech you, think of your destiny — death, and after death the judgment. The wind, and after the wind the whirlwind, and after the whirlwind the fire, and after the fire nothing — for ever, for ever, for ever lost, cast away, where ray of hope can never come; where eye of mercy can never look upon you, and hand of grace can never reach you. I beseech you, oh, I beseech you by the living God, before whom you stand this day, tremble and repent.

He did tremble, and he would repent. After several more sermons, he began to find healing from his venomous bite by looking to the cross. “On Christmas Day . . . Mr. Spurgeon preached from the text, ‘Unto us a son is given.’ Having put the question to each of us — ‘Has the Son been given to you?’ I felt I could say, yes!” And from then on, he grew in grace, becoming a member of the church.

Blow Followed Blow

Now note how the interviewing elder explained this account of Mr. Samuel:

Mr. Spurgeon’s hard thrusts had evidently been made home thrusts by the Holy Spirit. The word was as a hammer, blow followed blow. He struggled, writhed, rebelled, still blow followed blow, until he was fairly compelled to give in. Verily there is nothing too hard for the Lord. Let sovereign grace be exalted, world without end. (Wonders, 25–26)

We add our note with Spurgeon’s: “A most blessed case.”

But notice: “blow after blow.” How much preaching today can fit that description? The preacher should offer comfort after comfort to those who would repent, but he should also know how to give blow after blow to those who refuse. Who really preaches on sin, depravity, death, and hell? Who takes aim at the pride of men, the danger of worldliness, the folly of any other way to God but through God’s Son? Some of us preachers aren’t brave enough to bear much fruit for God. We have some men willing to say what needs saying, but not enough.

As many as are deeply indebted to the Prince of Preachers for comforting their souls with the love of Christ, just as many were stricken, made restless, dragged down to feel their hopelessness in their sin. A rough and uphill path often led to Calvary: weeks of despair before the light of Christ truly broke through to their souls. Such a ministry was Spirit-filled, for Jesus promised that the Spirit would convict the world of sin (John 16:8). Sinners saw, and shivered to see, how utterly they had offended God and how totally unable they were to save themselves.

This made the news of Christ good news. Great and glorious news. The best news.

Bitter Before the Sweet

So, when Spurgeon gives us this advice, we now know better what he means by it:

If you really long to save men’s souls, you must tell them a great deal of disagreeable truth. The preaching of the wrath of God has come to be sneered at nowadays, and even good people are half-ashamed of it; a maudlin sentimentality about love and goodness has hushed, in great measure, plain gospel expostulations and warnings. But, if we expect souls to be saved, we must declare unflinchingly with all affectionate fidelity, the terrors of the Lord. (Words of Counsel for Christian Workers, 15)

Knowing the holiness of God, the desperate needs of men, and the terrors of the Lord upon the unrepentant, we persuade men. Do we know what Paul knew? “Knowing the fear of the Lord, we persuade others” (2 Corinthians 5:11). It is a beautiful testimony to persuade others because you know the love of God, the mercy of God, the joy found in God. But something is missing if we cannot also say, “Knowing the fear of the Lord, we persuade others.”

Spurgeon knew this terror, and perhaps one final picture will help us remember it afresh.

If we flatter our fellows into fond dreams as to the littleness of future punishment, they will eternally detest us for so deluding them, and in the world of woe they will invoke perpetual curses upon us for having prophesied smooth things, and having withheld from them the awful truth. (Words of Counsel, 15–16)

How shocking must the scene become to anyone who believes it: “They will eternally detest us.” Can you imagine the hatred of those in hell who, though justly damned for their transgressions, shriek the preacher’s name in fury because he prophesied only smooth things to them? They gnaw their tongues at the very thought of him: That liar, that fraud, that pretender — he knew! He raised no protest, sounded no alarm; their blood shall be on his hands.

This word is for us all. Let us not shirk unpleasant truths in our witness. Often the bad news comes before the good, true knowledge of sin before the Savior, deep despair before everlasting hope.