Training for the Church
Training for the Church
Cambridge is small, so nowhere is more than a few minutes on a bike from anywhere else.
Ridley Hall is a Victorian redbrick building, named after Nicholas Ridley, a Reformation martyr, who was burned to death for his faith in 1555.
John had a room on Staircase E. Other names painted alongside his at the entrance to that staircase were those of three good friends: John Bridger and Philip Tompson from Rugby days, and John Sheldon, his friend at Trinity.
‘Are you coming to the lecture this morning?’ Philip Tompson asked.
‘No, I think I’ll go the library,’ John would answer. It was the same most mornings.
John used his time at Ridley more for personal study than for lectures. He read books written by the lecturers, and he read more widely, too. This seemed a more productive way of spending his time. And his time was always tight. Off he would stride to the library, taking a shortcut through Clare Memorial Court, with his gown flowing behind him. ‘You could set your watch by him,’ said John Collins, a student at Clare.
John Stott was often invited to college Christian Union groups, speaking to as many as four colleges per week. The University Library wasn’t far from Ridley, so John would sometimes take his bike with him, or walk back through Clare Memorial Court and grab his bike at Ridley. Either way, he could be at a college group within a few minutes.
John started speaking to college CU groups while he was at Trinity. At one stage the Girton Christian Union wanted him to speak. One of its members cycled down to Trinity to invite him. She propped her bicycle against the wall of Whewell’s Court, and looked for his name. Then she climbed the dark staircase, and was about to knock on the big oak door of his rooms when she caught sight of a typewritten notice. It read:
‘Working 8 am – 8 pm. Please do not disturb unless absolutely necessary.’
She crept back down the stairs again, and cycled off. In those days she couldn’t text him, or Facebook him. She could have left a note in his pigeonhole in the Porters’ Lodge if she had thought of it. But the notice left her too stunned to do that, and so John was not invited to Girton after all!
That student was Myra Chave-Jones. She would often see John in the University Library. ‘He worked with iron self-discipline,’ she said. ‘He would enter silently, go to his usual corner, reach for books, and settle down with total concentration.’ Myra became a good friend of John Stott years later, and they laughed about the notice on his door.
Several Ridley men had been greatly helped in their faith through the CICCU. On Sunday evenings the CICCU held a weekly evangelistic address in Holy Trinity Church, for members to invite their friends. John Stott, John Sheldon, Philip Tompson and John Bridger were there every week. They helped with stewarding, and were often asked to talk with younger students who wanted to know more about the Christian faith. They sat down with students in the same way Bash had sat down with them.
While at Ridley Hall, John received a letter inviting him to write an article for the national Scripture Union magazine. It was his first article for a national magazine.
‘What’s it on?’ asked Philip Tompson when they talked that day over lunch.
‘The importance of teaching the Christian faith to children,’ John replied.
‘Hmmm,’ said Philip, digging into his wartime spam [a rather pink meat substitute] as enthusiastically as he could. ‘Didn’t you just speak about that to a group planning a beach mission?’
‘I did. Thank you for remembering,’ said John. ‘Aren’t these beach missions wonderful for teaching Bible stories to children! People can write children off as too young to understand their need of Christ. But we need to teach them what sin means. And it’s dangerous to be shallow, just because they’re young. Then there’s the obvious that we too easily miss.’
‘More water?’ Philip filled their glasses as John paused to eat, before he continued, ‘They have their whole lives ahead of them – to live for God, and to speak of him.’
As John began writing his article, he drew illustrations from the prophet Jeremiah, who thought he was too young to be of use, from the gospel account of the Lord Jesus welcoming little children, and from Bash camp. This was how John Stott always argued his case. He would use biblical principles and then show from everyday life how they can be worked out.
The spiritual influences he had known in his own childhood had gone very deep. First, his mother who urged him to read his Bible and to pray; then Nanny Golden who taught him and Joy choruses and took them to Sunday School; and then Bash. ‘The one who plants and the one who waters really do not matter. It is God who matters, because he makes the plant grow.’1
* * *
Around the corner from Ridley Hall, in Selwyn Gardens, history was about to be made.
John’s friend from Trinity, now Dr Oliver Barclay, had moved to live in London. He joined the staff of the Inter-Varsity Fellowship, helping Christian Unions like the CICCU all around the country. Oliver returned to Cambridge for a weekend as he wanted to share some news with John.
‘DJ has been telling us about a new idea,’ he began, ‘and I think you’ll be interested.’ Douglas Johnson (always called DJ) was Oliver’s boss. John knew DJ, and thought very highly of him.
‘He’s been sharing his hopes and dreams,’ Oliver continued. ‘Last week he talked to the staff about the church scene around the country. He really knows his stuff.’
‘Tell me more,’ said John, pouring them both a cup of tea. ‘I am interested.’ John and Oliver had often discussed Bible teaching in churches. They longed to see the Bible taught better on Sundays. John wanted to hear DJ’s views. DJ was clear-sighted.
‘Actually he didn’t start with the churches. That was what made it so interesting,’ said Oliver. ‘He started with the universities. Theological colleges like Ridley Hall.’
John handed him his tea with the comment, ‘Sadly most theology lecturers around the country do not believe the Bible to be the Word of God.’
‘Exactly!’ said Oliver. ‘Which is why DJ wants to start there. If theology lecturers had been better taught when they were students, they would be better at training the students under them.’
‘I could not agree more,’ said John. ‘Future lecturers have to be well-grounded in biblical truth. They need to be able to make a case for it.’
‘DJ used the exact same expression! We have to equip lecturers better in making a case for the authority of the Bible. And if we do that, we’ll see real change trickle down to local churches.’
‘So what’s his next big idea?’ John asked. Under DJ’s leadership a few years earlier, the Inter-Varsity Fellowship had founded a publishing house, Inter-Varsity Press (IVP). It was still fairly small at this stage, but producing some first-rate titles. John was sure DJ would have more big ideas.
‘To set up a theological research centre. He’s already begun to discuss it with a few friends,’ said Oliver. ‘They want it to be close to a university.’
This was a very big idea! John offered Oliver a biscuit as he took in what Oliver was saying.
‘If you have half an hour, I’d like to show you a house which I think could fit the bill.’
‘Really?’ said John. (‘Really’ was one of Oliver’s favourite words. It could mean so many things, depending on its intonation.)
The two friends laughed.
‘Yes. Really! It belongs to a distant cousin. I heard about it on the Barclay grapevine. Let me show you – it’s in Selwyn Gardens.’
John was keen to see it. When they had finished their tea they walked down Sidgwick Avenue and turned the corner into Grange Road. Cambridge would be a perfect location for such a venture. Standing outside the long, two-storey house in Selwyn Gardens, they wondered if God would bring DJ’s dream to reality. ‘There’s a lovely garden at the back,’ said Oliver, leading the way around the side of the house.’
‘Room for expansion,’ John joked.
With the help of a generous donor, 36 Selwyn Gardens was purchased in 1944. Over the following years it became widely known as a centre for evangelical research, and drew some of the best evangelical minds in the world. The centre was called Tyndale House after William Tyndale, who translated much of the Bible into English. Tyndale House, under God, still plays a key role in the Church.
* * *
John spent much time at Tyndale House during his final year in Cambridge, talking with its warden, and with the first students who were researching for doctorates. It was a small beginning. But men like DJ looked at what was, and saw what could be.
John naturally passed his exams. He could have been ordained in the summer of 1945, but a new Principal was arriving at Ridley Hall, and John thought it would be good to stay an extra term. He could assist the new Principal in settling in the new students, and he could get on with some more study, without the distraction of exams. So he wrote to his father, to see if his father would support him financially for this extra time.
His father’s response was part of the wonderful mosaic God was painting. Arnold Stott did not consider theology to be part of John’s real education. If John would spend the time reading more widely, then he liked the idea. So John planned to stay for the Michaelmas Term, to dip into new areas of study. John Stott became known for his sheer intellectual reach, which was a hallmark of his preaching and his writing.
The extra term in Cambridge also brought a providential meeting. Harold Earnshaw-Smith, Rector of All Souls, was the speaker at a special CICCU event. ‘Have you lined up a curacy yet, John?’ he asked.
‘No, not yet,’ John replied. ‘I do need to give time to that.’
‘Would you like to come back to All Souls? Home territory for you, and lots of students around. I know you’ve been much valued in the CICCU.’ London University had a Christian Union on the same model as Cambridge, with central meetings and college meetings. Many of its members came to All Souls. Mr Earnshaw-Smith was thinking aloud. And in his mind’s eye he could see just the right role for John.
This invitation came out of the blue for John. He said he would like to write to his father for advice. Arnold Stott wrote back to say he had no objection. Within a few weeks John, to his great surprise, was curate at All Souls, Langham Place.
John Stott left Cambridge at the age of twenty-four. That summer was his last as Camp Secretary. His years in the CICCU and Iwerne had both left a deep mark on him. It was a mark which he never forgot. Sixty years later he still described himself as ‘a product of Iwerne and the CICCU’. God had used them to form him.
John squeezed in a visit to Iwerne each summer for many years, partly to catch up with friends, and partly to get to know new leaders. John was always looking ahead to see how people’s skills could be used.
Some years after leaving Cambridge, both John and Oliver were asked to become lifetime Honorary Vice Presidents of CICCU. They accepted with pleasure.
1 1 Corinthians 3:7