Christ's Estimate of His People

Christ's Estimate of His People

Spurgeon takes Christ's words to his bride in Song of Solomon 4:10-11 as a genuine expression of how Jesus actually estimates his people — their love is to him better than wine (a luxury and a refreshment), their graces smell sweeter than all spices, their words drop like honeycomb, the thoughts they never quite manage to speak lie under their tongue like honey and milk, and their daily actions smell to him like the cedars of Lebanon — and he argues this is not flattery but Christ's sincere valuation, which he set so high that even during his agony on the cross it was the thought of his people's love that cheered him. He is at pains to show that Christ does not estimate these things by their strength but by their sincerity, so the believer's feeble prayers, cold faith, stumbling words, and humble daily work are all precious to him — and he delights especially in the thought that even unspoken groans, unformed meditations, and the things too good to quite come out in words, are all observed and treasured. He closes with a practical application: since Christ so values the common actions of servants, tradespeople, and shopkeepers done honestly and conscientiously as much as sermons preached from pulpits, every believer can serve him all day long in any calling — and rather than producing pride, this knowledge of Christ's approval should overwhelm the soul with humility and drive it to love him more, pray more richly, and live more holily in grateful response. Sermon delivered by Charles Spurgeon on January 23rd, 1859.

The Savior's Many Crowns

Spurgeon organizes his meditation on "many crowns" into three categories: crowns of dominion — Christ reigns as King of Heaven commanding angels, King of Hell holding the chains of the damned, King of creation who spoke the universe into being, King of providence who sustains every atom, and King of grace who opens and shuts the door of mercy — making the point that there is nowhere a believer can go where Christ does not reign, so every fear is groundless and every burden should be left in his hands. He then turns to crowns of victory — won in fierce battles against the world (which tried poverty, threats, and blandishments and failed), against sin (whose poison Christ absorbed in his own body), against death (whose domain he broke open at the resurrection), against Satan (whose head he crushed in the very hour of his own wounding), and against the hard human heart (which yields only to the sight of the bleeding Savior on the cross). He closes with the sweetest category — crowns of thanksgiving — tracing how prophets, apostles, martyrs, soul-winners, infants, aged saints, and chief sinners all stream into heaven and without exception take their crowns off and lay them at Christ's feet, because every crown was won by his grace and blood, and he invites every hearer to make this day their day of espousals to Christ and so put one more crown on his already-adorned head. Sermon delivered by Charles Spurgeon on October 30th, 1859.

The Chaff Driven Away

Spurgeon begins by carefully defining the "ungodly" — not primarily the blasphemer or the open rebel, but the far larger class of respectable, church-attending people who live without a genuine eye to God, who have no love for him, no delight in prayer, and no dependence on Christ's blood — and then works through the fearful negative of Psalm 1:4 clause by clause, showing that the ungodly lack the special providence that watches over the righteous, have no perennial river of consolation to draw from in times of drought and death, bring forth no fruit and stand under the curse of Meroz for doing nothing, will find their leaf withering when trials come, and have no promise that what they do shall prosper. He then lingers on the terrible comparison to chaff — sapless, fruitless, light, unstable, and utterly worthless — and draws particular force from the nearness of chaff to grain, pressing home the solemn thought that ungodly fathers, sons, and mothers sit side by side with God's people, wrapped around them like a husk, and that the great winnowing day will sever these closest relationships forever. He closes with the awful prophecy — the wind drives the chaff away into unquenchable fire — and pivots from thunder to gospel, urging every ungodly hearer to cherish any spark of desire toward Christ, yield to the Spirit's movement, and look to the crucified Savior who came to save the lost and will in no wise cast out any who come to him. Sermon delivered by Charles Spurgeon on October 23rd, 1859.

Come and Welcome

Spurgeon builds the sermon around four elements of Revelation 22:17 — the water of life itself (God's free grace that pardons sin, overcomes the love of sin, satisfies the soul's deepest longings, and ends in eternal life), the breadth of the invitation ("whosoever will," with no reference to understanding, past character, feelings of repentance, or worthiness — the only question being whether you are willing), the cleared path ("let him come," meaning every obstacle — Satan, doubt, over-scrupulous preachers who pile up conditions, the sinner's own sense of unworthiness — is commanded to stand aside by the voice of Omnipotence), and the one condition that destroys all conditions: "freely." He lingers especially on "whosoever will" to demolish every excuse that keeps seekers back — you may be ignorant, hard-hearted, a notorious sinner, unable to repent as you wish — but none of these are the question; the text asks only about the will, and if you are willing, you are invited without exception or qualification. He closes with an equally emphatic refusal of all payment or worthiness as a price for the water, insisting it is to be taken without money, without merit, without stint, and without limit — Christ is more pleased to give than the sinner can be to receive — and urges every willing soul to come at once to the bleeding Savior on the cross, since none who come will ever be cast out. Sermon delivered by Charles Spurgeon on October 16th, 1859.

Grieving the Holy Spirit

Spurgeon builds his case for not grieving the Holy Spirit on two foundations: first, the Spirit's love — surveyed through his early striving with us before conversion, his patient perseverance when we resisted him, his work in quickening and teaching us, his help when we cannot pray, his indwelling despite our constant sin — arguing that this record of tender, costly, persistent love makes grieving him a particularly shameful ingratitude; and second, the Spirit's sealing, by which he attests the reality of our faith, marks us as God's own property, and preserves us unto the day of final redemption. He then identifies the ways believers grieve the Spirit — impure thoughts and outward sins, neglect of prayer and Scripture, ingratitude, unbelief — and traces the effects of his withdrawal: the Word becomes dark, comfort vanishes, power for service dries up, and all the graces wilt like flowers without water, leaving the believer in a misery no worldly thing can fill. He closes with both a personal and corporate application: urging any backslider to search out and slay the specific sin that drove the Spirit away and cry for his return, while lamenting that many churches have similarly grieved him into near-absence, and calling God's people to humble themselves, purge whatever is contrary to his Word, and plead for a revival that will open heaven's windows again. Sermon delivered by Charles Spurgeon on October 9th, 1859.