Sickness, Suffering, Depression

must pass through much tribulation. I answer, Truly it must be so, but when the gold knows why and wherefore it is in the fire, when it understands who placed it there, who watches it while amid the coals, who is sworn to bring it out unhurt, and in what matchless purity it will soon appear, the gold, if it be gold indeed, will thank the Refiner for putting it into the crucible, and will find a sweet

satisfaction even in the flames. ¹ O n one occasion, in the midst of a severe time of sickness and mental distress, Spurgeon commented on eleven deaths that had occurred among the Tabernacle membership in one month. "We have often wondered," he mused, "at the fewness of our deaths, far below the average of the life-tables."

He followed He followed with the observation that "Godliness, bringing with it temperance, peace, and purity, has a tendency to produce long life." Sometimes, however, a combination of other situations serves to make miserable and cut short the life of even the godly. Spurgeon came into a series of circumstances from which there was no escape; each contributed its own part to the neverceasing tension that challenged his faith and his health for more than thirty-five years. Sickness and distress of a palpable sort recurred frequently during the last twenty-two years of his life. His loyal "Armour-bearer," J. W. Harrald, estimated that from the age of thirty-five Spurgeon was out of his pulpit for one-third of the time either in pain, sickness, or convalescing. ²

A Living Theology of Suffering

He knew something of this, however, by the time he was twenty-two, for in January 1856 he preached, apparently with more than theoretical speculation, "God teaches his people every day, by sickness, by affliction, by depression of spirits, by the forsakings of God, by the loss of the Spirit for a season, by the lackings of the joys of his countenance, that he is God, and that beside him there

is one else." ³ However real these experiences were to Spurgeon at twenty-two, by and by they would be as real and as constant as life itself.

Twenty-five years later he still held to divine purpose in suffering. In The "Sitting of the Refiner," Spurgeon pointed to the Word, fellowship with Christ, and the presence of the Holy Spirit as means of purification. God is determined to purify his people for he has elected them to holiness. None need complain against election if they have no desire for holiness. "Sirs," he chided, "if you do not wish for purification and holiness, why should you quarrel with God because He doesn't give it to you?" He also looked to a variety of providential interventions as God's way of sitting to refine his sons of Levi. "Such is the stubbornness of our flesh, that the Lord uses for fuel in His furnace sharp and heavy trials of different kinds," Spurgeon emphasized, with no change of perception over the quarter of a century. "Adversity assumes many forms and in each and all of its shapes the Lord knows how to use it for His people's benefit."

He continued:

Christ sits as a Refiner when He takes away prosperity and brings the wealthy down to poverty. He

often refines men by the losses which they sustain of beloved friends. Bereavement burns like a

furnace blast and, oh, how much of carnal love has been consumed by it! We have known persons

greatly purified by the Holy Spirit by passing through depression of spirit, inward grief and soul

sorrow. Spiritual pain has been blessed to some and physical pain to more. 4

Spurgeon never doubted that his exquisite pain, frequent sicknesses, and even despondency were given to him by God for his sanctification in a wise and holy purpose. After six years, to be followed by sixteen more, of such suffering Spurgeon gave his pastoral thought on the issue in an article entitled "Laid Aside. Why?" We may ask God questions, Spurgeon believed, if we do so without murmuring. Should a commander of soldiers, of his own will, render his most zealous fighters incapable of entering the fray, would we not be at a loss to discern his motives? "Happily for us," Spurgeon responded, "our happiness does not depend upon our understanding the providence of God." The Christian is able to believe even when he is not able to explain and is content to leave all to the wisdom and goodness of his heavenly Father. "The painful malady which

puts the Christian minister hors de combat when he is most needed in the conflict is a kind messenger from the God of Love, and is to be entertained as such." It puzzled Spurgeon, nevertheless, and led him to assert, "but how it can be so we cannot precisely tell." He sought, however, both by experience and by biblical example to shed some light on the subject. Every paragraph is evidence in itself that Spurgeon wrote in the throes of a bout with severe pain and mental distress. At the close of the article he confessed, "Just now, when anguish fills the heart, and the spirits are bruised with sore pain and travail, it is not the best season for forming a candid judgment of our own condition, or of anything

else." ⁵ Filled with sentences that were self-contained units of axiomatic significance, Spurgeon built a case for the instrumentality of suffering in increasing one's faith, encouraging humility, developing patience alongside effectiveness in service, deeper imitation of Christ by participation in his sufferings, the benefits of a change of spiritual atmosphere in which to grow fragrant spiritual fruit, true sympathy and fellowship in binding up the hurts of the broken-hearted, and fatherly chastening for more unadulterated devotion to the glory of God and his cause in the world. He was careful on this last point to avoid the syndrome of Job's friends. "Yet it is not good," he warned, "to attribute each sickness and trial to some actual fault, as though we were under the laws, or could be punished again for those sins which Jesus bore in his own body on the tree."

How uncomely would it be to judge the greatest sufferer as the greatest sinner; equally unwise would it be to apply "so erroneous a rule to ourselves, and

morbidly condemn ourselves when God condemns not." ⁶ A very striking image with riveting barbs illustrated Spurgeon's understanding of the Lord's detestation of conceit and his use of suffering to obliterate it. "Consciousness of self-importance is a hateful delusion, but one into which we fall as naturally as weeds grow on a dunghill." His discussion of suffering as an opportunity for increased faith provides an example of the

sweetness and condensed power of Spurgeon's treatment of the issue:

Let us consider awhile. Is it not good for us to be nonplussed and puzzled, and so forced to exercise

faith? Would it be well for us to have all things so ordered that we ourselves could see the reason for

every dispensation? Could the scheme of divine love be indeed supremely, infinitely, wise if we could

measure it with our short line of reason? Should we not ourselves remain as foolish and conceited as

spoiled and petted children, if all things were arranged according to our judgment of what would be fit

and proper? Ah, it is well to be cast out of our depth, and made to swim in the sweet waters of mighty

love! We know that it is supremely blessed to be compelled to cease from self, to surrender both wish

and judgment, and to lie passive in the hands of God. 7

This theology had been verified, purified, and annealed to his heart by 1890. In

preaching on Christ as "Our Compassionate High Priest," Spurgeon mused,"I could not get on without those sick beds and those bitter pains, and those weary sleepless nights." Blessedness comes through smarting, if we would be helper of the people of God. The Christian must glory in his infirmities and sicknesses for they will be made useful "for the comfort of God's sick people." Not less so did Spurgeon glory in his depression, for here he felt very close to Christ because in

all our affliction he himself also was afflicted. So will it be with the minister:

Our depressions may also tend to our fruitfulness. A heart bowed down with despair is a dreadful

thing. "A wounded spirit who can bear?" But if you have never had such an experience, my dear

brother, you will not be worth a pin as a preacher. You cannot help others who are depressed unless

you have been down in the depths yourself. You cannot lift others out of despondency and depression,

unless you yourself have sometimes need to be lifted out of such experiences. You must be compassed

with this infirmity, too, at times, in order to have compassion on those in a similar case. 8

Surrey Music Hall Disaster

Due to the great growth of the congregation at New Park Street, the congregation decided that it would hold its morning services at the Chapel and the evening services at Exeter Hall, in order more easily to accommodate the great crowds that desired to hear Spurgeon. From June ⁸ through August ²⁴ in 1856 the congregation met at Exeter Hall, but found the arrangement very inconvenient and the proprietors of the Hall came to believe that its dominance by one

denomination was not appropriate. Spurgeon agreed. ⁹ Still in need of a large space to meet the demand of the public and to fulfill an evangelistic mandate and opportunity, the church, after free discussion and objections from some who called it the "Devil's House," decided to rent the Music Hall of the Royal Surrey Gardens for one month, beginning on the third Sunday of October, showing a willingness to go even to the Devil's house to win souls for Christ. The facility, known widely for the amusements and pageantry regularly sponsored there, would serve for just over three years as the preaching venue for the most popular preacher in England. On the morning before that first evening service, hopes and fears ran high. Spurgeon asked the congregation to "Prove the Lord" by their courage and commitment to such a bold, foolish as many insisted, venture in trust of a God whose power is shown in their weakness, whose wisdom overcomes their foolishness, and whose purpose overcomes their vacillations. Even if he, so Spurgeon preached, should have to stand where "thunder-clouds brew, where lightnings play, and where tempestuous winds are howling" he was, nevertheless, born to prove the power and majesty of God. The events of that evening caused him "to pass through the

greatest ordeal of [his] life." ¹⁰ One of Spurgeon's students, William Williams, recalled the visceral reaction that Spurgeon had when any event or conversation reminded him in a graphic way of that terrible event. Spurgeon asked Williams about his text for a sermon and Williams responded, "The curse of the Lord is in the house of the wicked, but he blesseth the habitation of the just." Spurgeon gave a deep sigh, his countenance dropped and he moaned, "Ah me!" When asked what vexed him he responded, "Don't you know? That is the text I had on that terrible night of the accident at the Surrey Music Hall." Williams did not know it and resolved never to mention either the text or the event to him again. "I cannot but think," he wrote, "from what I saw, that his comparatively early death might be in some measure due to the furnace of mental suffering he endured on and after that

fearful night." ¹¹ After twenty years of printed sermons, Spurgeon recalled many of the pivotal

events by which the circulation of his sermons increased to wider and wider audiences. Among those factors he mentioned the move to the great hall in Surrey Gardens where he preached for more than three years. This hall, Spurgeon believed, had been prepared by a marvelous providence for just such a time, "for its main use and benefit to any one in any sense, until it was turned into a hospital, was connected with our occupation of it." The great providence included, however, this event. Though he dared to mention it, he demurred "even at this distance of time" to trust himself "to write upon the deadly horror which passed over my soul during the calamitous panic which brought to a speedy end the first service in that place." He recognized, nevertheless, that "God marvelously overruled the sad event for his own glory, leading vast numbers of all ranks to besiege the edifice, and crowd it continually." For the printed

sermons these events "opened a far wider door than before." ¹² Robert Shindler, who knew Spurgeon from 1855 after his settlement in London, and wrote often for The Sword and the Trowel, recalled the effect that the Surrey Music Hall calamity had on Spurgeon. At the Baptist Union meeting in 1881, twenty-five years after the event, Spurgeon was announced to preach at Portsmouth. Long before the time for service, the room was packed and hundreds of others were pressing to get in. This created some confusion just as Spurgeon moved to the platform to take his seat. The confusion so disturbed him that "he seemed entirely unmanned, and stood in the passage leaning on his hand." He told Shindler that the scene's likeness to that at the Music Hall was so vivid that he felt entirely unable to preach. He did preach, and, according to Shindler, preached well. Spurgeon himself referred to this event in The Sword and the Trowel. He believed that the "vast audience had a remarkable escape from an imminent peril." A newspaper had remarked that Spurgeon appeared nervous, and he responded, "Who could avoid it amid that dense throng, in a frail building, with constant interruptions?" His public reminiscence of the scenes that caused his propensity toward fright was stated in strong language: "The horror of great darkness which passed over the preacher's soul, few can understand but those who have once seen a multitude flying in panic, and people trodden to death in the crush." ¹³

The Pressure of Ceaseless Labor

During an episode of particularly acute pain in the fall of 1869, Spurgeon had to explain why his contribution to the Sword was beneath its usual volume. "The Editor's painful indisposition compels him to forego his usual monthly notes, and also the Exposition of the Psalm." Then he noted with an honest selfperception that suffused all his communication: "Too great pressure of work has produced a disorder whose root is more mental than physical." To him, the combination of "wearisome pain, added to relative affliction and ever increasing responsibility," constituted "a burden under the weight of which unaided mortal strength must sink." Since nothing in his temporal situation brought relief or the prospect of pleasure, he confessed, "An all-sufficient God is our joy and

rejoicing." ¹⁴ Spurgeon sometimes seemed to know better how to handle pain, adversity, and opposition than friendship and commendation. When a small book appeared in 1869 with high commendation of his " Labour, and Success," Spurgeon wrote, "When Christian friends write in our honour we feel great shame that we so little deserve their praise, and painful prostration of spirit that we should have had a word said in our favour." Surely the writer's views were

due more to "grateful affection than to calm judgment." ¹⁵ Public approval pained him, for each accolade seemed to produce the greater stress of exalted expectation. The increasing responsibilities of which he spoke, including the demands of the benevolent ministries, flew upon him relentlessly and in evermore strident insistence. The ministry of preaching and publishing made a part of this increase.

Spurgeon gave several names to his distress through the years—gout, rheumatism, neuritis—combined with overwork, depression, and constant stress, and guilt over feeling stress. He seemed instinctively to know that gout was not the simple answer to all that surged through his body and mind. Hannah Wycoll has made the point, that his "condition was diagnosed as Bright's Disease, or chronic nephritis, a disease of the kidneys, causing severe pain and swelling due to accumulation of fluid which can distend the whole body, and severely restrict

breathing." ¹⁶ The history of gout in his family makes it possible that at times his bodily complaint arose from that source, but probably the severity of it is explained in terms of the severe aggravation of joint pain by the peculiar symptoms of Bright's Disease. Spurgeon's terms and perception will rule the narrative, but we will understand that he probably had more reason for pain than even he knew.

Even as he celebrated a twenty-year ministry of publishing sermons in 1875, Spurgeon printed a candid caveat to the sense of exhilaration that such success

brought him. He reviewed the twenty-year history of consecutively published sermons and admitted the "mental wear and tear involved in printing one sermon a week," and, though Scripture is an inexhaustible quarry, "the selection of the next block, and the consideration as to how to work it into form, are matters not so easy as some think." Month after month pulpit preparations are not slight

matters especially when one considers how heavily one feels what is at stake. ¹⁷ Relentless labor had a twofold effect, the result of which was an insoluble dilemma. It tended to increase the work load exponentially and it ruined the physical condition so that labor became impossible. Reflecting clearly on his personal experience Spurgeon told his students and graduates from the college: "The consecrated flame will, perhaps, consume you, burning up the bodily health with too great ardour of soul, even as a sharp sword wears away the scabbard, but what of that? The zeal of God's house ate up our Master, and it is but a small matter if it consume his servants. If by excessive labour we die before reaching the average age of man, worn out in the Master's service, then, glory be to God.

We shall have so much less of earth and so much more of heaven." ¹⁸ Late in 1869, in the middle of November, Spurgeon was suddenly laid aside by an attack of the smallpox, which he called "that dreadful disease." It struck him just as he had so filled his schedule that he needed to be "in a thousand places." He prayed fervently that none of the work would suffer, and especially the orphanage and college. Spurgeon noted that in just a few hours, without knowledge of Spurgeon's indisposition, a friend called and left £500 for the orphanage. "How condescendingly did the Lord thus ease his poor servant's mind! We felt a sweet peace and holy joy in leaving all the rest of our work in the same hands." In just a few days another gift arrived of £1000. Again Spurgeon acknowledged that all provision was from God and he gladly "set to our seal that God is true." We have many other sources of anxiety, as flesh would call them, but the gracious dealings of our God compel us to call them founts of joy, since they give us excuse for appealing to his bounty." He printed the letter and let the donor know that his donation encouraged the trustees to take ⁵⁰ more boys in the orphanage and to complete the number of 200 as soon as

possible. ¹⁹ By the middle of 1871, Spurgeon's pains and distress returned with power and with a more extended attack than hitherto experienced. Acknowledging that he had been relatively free from difficulty since Christmas of 1869, he wrote, " On the last day of the annual Conference we were laid prostrate by an attack of our very painful malady. It will, we fear, be our cross till death." The attack came upon him "as an armed man, and great has been our bodily anguish beneath its

strokes." He had to suspend his personal work and thus wrote few notes for the monthly Sword. He gave thanks to his brother and others for their faithfulness and ability to "conduct affairs so well in our absence. The Lord's name be

praised." ²⁰ The next month carried an article entitled "The Pastor's Illness" written by George Rogers. The debilitating nature of Spurgeon's 1871 bout with his perennial afflictive encounter was accentuated when Rogers explained with candor its thoroughness. Spurgeon could not rise to write words of "counsel and encouragement" because of the "restlessness and pain of his bodily affliction."

Though so low in health, Rogers said he was "sustained and cheered" by reports of the good attendance at the Tabernacle, the reception given to the preachers, and the offerings made to sustain the college and the "several agencies, instituted by him as auxiliaries to his ministrations." The obvious concern and prayers of his people greatly encouraged him. None should think it strange, Rogers wrote, that ministers are laid aside just when it seems that their presence is most needed. They too are subject to the sovereign providence of God and must say, "If the Lord will." Scripture and history confirm this reality and it should bring no surprise nor discouragement when it occurs. The cancellation of speaking engagements must evoke prayer and understanding from those so disappointed, and curtailment of any invitations for the future must surely be seen as

necessary. ²¹ Rogers had his own explanation of what brought about this crisis in strength and health. He believed that the excitement of the recent college conference exacerbated the difficulties of an already nearly exhausted state in need of vacation. The intense excitement of so many bright, youthful, useful and "valiant soldiers of the cross, who had imbibed his spirit, and had been trained through his instrumentality" put his strong sensibilities to the severest test. The intelligence and devotion and the manifold gifts and operations of mind evident in the presentation of papers intensified the effect of this highly emotional week and, whereas, in normal circumstances such operations would strengthen and encourage, an already depleted body and mind were pushed to a crisis point by

the his overcharged emotions. ²² Spurgeon intended to take his trip to the Continent for rest but was unable even to travel. Three months of pain and weakness was made more unbearable by a thirteen-week absence from the Tabernacle pulpit. He hoped to resume his ministry in July. In spite of the great difficulties encountered, Spurgeon reported, as a duty as well as a pleasure, God's goodness in the event. "My beloved people have overflowed with love to me. Everybody has been kind. Prayer has been

fervent. Our various works for the Lord have been well sustained. The congregations have been excellent, and the prayer meetings especially large." He informed all his readers that they should not ask him to preach for them in the next few months, "for I cannot comply with their requests without incurring fresh sickness." When a friend suggested that he evangelize a few months in every year and edit a weekly paper, he acknowledged the kindness of the confidence but sighed, "Why not expect me to become rival to Atlas and carry the world, or the successor of Hercules with twice his labours? A five-pound note for the orphanage is of more value than the wisest inventions of new tasks for an overwrought man." ²³

A Chronic Experience of Varying Degrees

Any gain of strength encouraged Spurgeon. Friends began to suggest all sorts of remedies for his recurrent difficulties. He told them that he was indeed better, though still feeble. He had taken one service for each Sunday for a month. "Though greatly pressed to rest, to travel, to take a voyage to Australia, to go to Hydropathic Institution, to make a trip to America, to visit Switzerland, to stay in Scotland, to try Buxton, Bournemouth, Scarborough, etc. etc. we feel it our duty to begin work gently and prudently, little by little, but still to begin." He gave thanks to all those friends so concerned as to suggest ways of improvement but, though he knew he was "overwrought", he found no way to escape the pressures his own zeal had created, and he declined to pursue anything but duty.

24

By September he described himself as "quite recovered" but "still weak and not able to work up to his usual point." Again he requested that no invitations to preach be given for he would merely have to refuse. Taking note, therefore, "will

spare both them and us the time occupied in writing needless letters." ²⁵ In December, he finally relented and informed his church and friends, "We have been enabled to continue our ministry and other labours under very considerable difficulty from feeble health, and now, in order to gain rest and escape the fogs which close the year, we have felt bound to make a short sojourn in the warmer

climate of the south of France." ²⁶ Spurgeon recounted the experience with pain that so dominated 1871 in the preface to that year's bound volume of The Sword and the Trowel. In spite of the aggravating to debilitating difficulties, he assured his readers that "unmingled mercy" suffused the entire experience. The struggle taught him "to count his sore sicknesses as his choicest blessings." Though he did not deny others the right, he could not "sing of mercy and of judgments," for his music was of love alone. Spurgeon never liked pure sentiment and unrealistic cant spirituality, but he would not let his readers think that this language was merely "superfine sentiment, or high-raised enthusiasm." No, he wrote "soberly and in quiet earnest." He had found "affliction sweet, and the cross so richly profitable, that it is by bare justice to regard it as a richly paternal blessing." Always ready with analogies from his observations of nature he likened the painful assault on his health to a spade that loosens the earth around a tree and "sets the roots at liberty to suck the fatness of the soil." If he could complain, then well might "the mown grass murmur at the clouds which renew its verdure." He had no inclination to let his "heart speak one injurious word of pain and depression, which work in us the comfortable fruits of righteousness." He went so far, in fact, as to "wish our

readers no richer benediction that the sanctification of every providence to their

soul's highest good." ²⁷ In 1874 Spurgeon endured the same undulations of pain and greater pain. In March he began his "notes" with a confession of having a "jaded mind" brought

on by "rheumatic pains." ²⁸ He wrote his report of the college conference from a "desert place" where he had "fled to recover from the wear of this exciting

week." ²⁹ In July, an Anglican clergyman wrote to him and said that his gout was sent to him as a judgment of God because of his opposition to the Church of England. Spurgeon wondered, in light of that theology, what the death of the

Bishop of Oxford from a broken neck meant. ³⁰ In November he informed his readers that most of October saw him unable to function because the change of season "brought on a rheumatic affection, which was very painful, but far less severe than on any former occasion." Perhaps remembering his former invincible exuberance he mused, "It must be a high privilege to be always able

to work for the Master with vigour." ³¹ Again in 1875, Spurgeon found himself waylaid by pain and distress. So indisposed was he that he could not even take his planned trip to Mentone but made him a prisoner at home. Pain had seized him like an armed man making his hands and feet good for nothing but suffering. "We had much to do,—too much," he complained, "and to our grief we could not even so much as think of all the good things we had planned." Both his surgeon and his physician, based on years of observing Spurgeon, advised him that the "disease springs from mental causes, and can be as fairly reckoned upon, when an extra pressure of care or labour occurs, as the tides may be calculated by the moon." He would have to rest, and when reinvigorated, would be at work again. "It is very sad to be pulled up thus in full course," he lamented, "when good is to be done and so

much of it lies before us." ³² When Spurgeon returned to health, he felt that he needed to reserve his strength for the requirements of tending the ministries of the Tabernacle.

Throughout April and May of 1876 he stayed in his chamber, and, when finally able to preach on "the Lord's Day", he informed his readers that it would be that way for some months to come. "All engagements to preach abroad must stand

postponed or cancelled, and no new work of any sort can be undertaken." ³³ This plea seemed not to have universal effect for in the next month he begged friends "not to press him so importunately to preach every day and every where." To the "eager pleaders" who asked for "just one day at our anniversary!" he called to "have some mercy." If they replied to his "no" answer with another invitation explaining why their invitation should be an exception,

he requested that they enclose a stamp so that he would not be out a penny as well as the time to say no again. "Could any one of our readers guess what a public man's correspondence costs him? Make it a penny less," he reconfirmed,

"by not asking him to preach when he is not well." ³⁴ Early in 1877, Spurgeon again got away to Mentone but encountered a cold wind in Marseilles that prompted an attack of rheumatism and "caused us intense pain and weakness." His friends sent him freely their fail-proof remedies for which Spurgeon thanked them profusely and asked that they be kind enough "not to send us any more remedies: we know of at least ⁵⁰ infallible cures, and are embarrassed with medical riches which, like the miser, we hoard up for the

benefit of others." ³⁵ He admitted that one of the most extraordinary, even if equally useless, was the recommendation that he keep a pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons in the room. In south Germany the doves were called "gout pigeons." The only relation Spurgeon could see between the birds and rheumatism was that the noise they made would end the short periods of respite that he had and so hasten the final end of all anguish.

Concern for Thomas

Given Spurgeon's chronic pain and illness, the frailty of his son Tom must have been a constant concern for the Spurgeons. Both Charles and Tom were baptized on September ²⁰, 1874, at eighteen years of age by their father. They soon became involved in preaching at Bolingbroke in a private home. The crowds grew and led to the building of Bolingbroke Chapel in 1877. When it became clear that Thomas was ill-affected by English weather, his mother advised a voyage. His father concurred and wrote him, "You will preach, I am sure, but without good training you cannot take the position which I want you to occupy."

Doubtless, the father had in mind a position at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. "Theology is not to be learned in its amplitude and accuracy by one destined to be a public instructor without going thoroughly into it, and mastering its terms and details." Spurgeon, again even in this incidental way, revealed how central theology was to his entire understanding of pastoral ministry. "Perhaps a voyage may give tone to your system," that is, might strengthen him physically so that

he could stand the rigors of "two years of steady application." ³⁶ Thomas left for Australia on June ¹⁵, 1877. Spurgeon announced it briefly in the Sword, writing, "Here, perhaps we may be allowed to notify our Australian friends that our son, Thomas Spurgeon, left us for Melbourne, on June ¹⁵, taking a voyage in the Lady Jocelyn for his health. We shall be grateful to any friends who will extend

kindness to him. He will be willing to preach as opportunity may occur." ³⁷ The voyage proved to be a stimulant to his health. He landed in Australia on August ²⁸. Soon after Thomas landed, Christopher Bunning made contact with him and saw to it that he was most heartily welcomed by everybody. Thomas spoke to a crowd of more than ⁴,000 at the Melbourne Town Hall "with much

profit to his hearers and credit to himself." ³⁸ Bunning described a journey he took with Thomas through the bush country on which they managed several times of preaching. After a day of wandering through miles of trackless shrub, they held a service in a woodshed where Thomas, "with divinely imparted skill, combated excuses of all kinds" while Bunning preached on the Lord's opening the hearts of the first converts of Europe. Other preaching engagements, social events, and witnessing opportunities sanctified this tour of the bush of several weeks. It could not have but helped immensely the spirit of CHS when Bunning

closed the letter with a high commendation of both his sons:

God has made him the instrument of much blessing to many, but most of all, I think, to me and mine. I

believe that the foregoing and other work Thomas may do in the Colonies, if the Lord will, may prove

no mean help towards preparing him for what I pray may be a gloriously useful life. I must rejoice

with you, beloved sir, in the fact that both your sons are called so unmistakably to the ministry of the

gospel. Though perhaps not remembered by Charles, now in college, I desire to send affectionate

Christian salutation to him. To you, honoured President, I must ever remain, Your very grateful ex-

student, Wm. Christopher Bunning. 39

While Thomas found time to mend, he admired the tireless zeal of a friend, Mr. Varley, who preached every day. Thomas found some opportunities to preach in Australia, but accepted the time of rest as preparation for greater usefulness later.

His mother digested his letters home for publication in The Sword and the Trowel and his father wrote him with the compactness demanded by his schedule, but with expressions of hope for the future. "When I have you and Char at my side to preach the same great truths we shall by God's grace make England know more of the Gospel's power." These words encouraged Thomas to pray for "full consecration and that consuming zeal which God has helped you

to." ⁴⁰ Charles was "working well at College and will, I trust, come forth thoroughly furnished," his father wrote. "When you come home I hope that your practice in Australia will lessen your need of college training so that one year may suffice. Still every man regrets when in the field that he did not prepare

better before he entered it. We shall see." ⁴¹ On August ²⁶, 1878, Thomas received the cable, "Mother's worse, return."

He was able to leave by September ¹² and arrived home toward the last of October. By November his father was sick and Thomas was called on to preach five times at the Tabernacle. These messages were published under the title, The Gospel of the Grace of God. His father said they were "full of the truth of the gospel, and of living earnestness. The style is all aglow, sparkling with metaphor, warm with affection, burning with zeal." He also admitted that

probably he was prejudiced in the young man's favor. ⁴² In the middle of January, Thomas accompanied his father to Mentone, where he had a regimen of study under the guidance of CHS. By April ¹³ they were home again. Thomas entered the Pastors' College but "ill health often

interrupted his attendance." ⁴³ He left again in October 1879 for New Zealand.

This was a sad event for the elder Spurgeon and he preached that evening at the week-night service, "No, my Lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit." Until his father's death, Thomas remained in New Zealand and Tasmania with the exception of five months on a fundraising tour of England. The Sword and the Trowel, however, ever kept the name of Thomas Spurgeon before its readers, in humorous articles, travelogues, sermons, and reports of full-time evangelistic success. His father worked with zeal among the supporting friends of the chapels and missionary labors, to raise funds for the building of Thomas' Tabernacle in Auckland, New Zealand. An effusive thank you letter in the Sword from Thomas

was followed by his father's remark, "We have no doubt that when we receive a picture of the proposed chapel, and the work has commenced, friends will give

ample help to our son." ⁴⁴ Another letter and report from Auckland brought Spurgeon to express something of his fears for his over-stretched son. Thomas had a "heavy task before him," and Spurgeon prayed that in his efforts to collect funds "he may not break down under the pressure which this must bring upon him." The cities of Australia were wide apart and thus the "toil and weariness of a collecting-tour to

a young man who is not strong." ⁴⁵ The loss of the adult companionship of Thomas, even with the knowledge of his gospel faithfulness down under, placed an atmosphere of melancholy on the spirit of C. H. Spurgeon, as he feared that overwork might produce a like chronic struggle with depression and fatigue.

Depression and Candor

In July 1877 Spurgeon had to cancel appearances at Liverpool, Norwich, and Maze Pond because of pain and sickness. He kept up a schedule at home but asked friends not to ask him to come and speak. If he exerted himself to do more than that, he knew he would be "laid aside pretty frequently with depression of spirit and pain of body;" he preferred therefore the relative seclusion of keeping steadily on with home duties for the comparative quiet might renew strength for

future endeavors. ⁴⁶ Early in 1881, he had been ill for five weeks and "during that time I have been brought into deep waters of mental depression," but at the

same time had had more "quiet of heart than aforetime." ⁴⁷ Elizabeth Skoglund has pointed to Spurgeon as a master for understanding the inner-workings of depression on God's faithful servants. He also had keen insight into its origins mentally and physically, and gave profound theological interpretations of it. He did not analyze depression as having unexceptionally its roots in sin. That origin was possible and sometimes was the clearest explanation, but frequently the explanation for its assault on the spirit was far removed from a sinful disposition, and its remedy was often something other than repentance. "Spurgeon was far ahead of his time in perceiving this important relationship between emotions and the body," Skoglund observed, an insight he gained because of the connection he consistently experienced between

his chronic ailments and his ever recurring depression. ⁴⁸ In sharing his pain, of body and of spirit, openly, Spurgeon became a great source of comfort and counsel to others. His own vulnerability to this condition and the criticism he received for it, made him acutely sensitive to the experience of others and allowed him to find scriptural and theological examples to explain this very common, but nonetheless distressing, human condition. Skoglund accurately noted that "the black clouds of depression never permanently left Spurgeon's life

until he went to be with his Saviour." ⁴⁹ Skoglund also drew from some of Spurgeon's sermons to show that Christ himself felt depression, obviously not sinfully so, but as a result of the impact of his knowledge that formerly sustaining mercies were now being withdrawn. He began to be very heavy, so the Evangelists tell us, and if we would have some kind of sympathy with him in his sorrow "sometimes even to us the

grasshoppers must be a burden, that we may in all things be like our head." ⁵⁰ Her survey of Spurgeon's progress from his early ministry to his death convinced Skoglund that "In spite of, and very likely because of, the depression in Spurgeon's life, he became a spiritual giant for God." Skoglund found in

Spurgeon's experience and his ability to analyze it carefully a profound help in counseling Christians walking under the shadows of a cloudy pilgrimage.

Spurgeon's student and biographer, J. C. Carlile, saw in Spurgeon this same element of edification through the way in which he bore with constant pain.

Carlile observed that the greater part of Spurgeon's career "was lived in fellowship with physical pain." In bearing it himself with buoyant resignation, suffering contributed "to the comfort and the strengthening of others." In later years as he sat uneasily and ponderously in the chair in his private room, talk was difficult as breath came only through pain, and, even in sitting, he leaned hard on his walking stick. "The enemy has me to-day," he once said, "in both knees. I am afraid I cannot walk to the platform." He began the arduous stroll by straightening himself up, tightening his lips, he stood with the aid of his cane on one side and a helping arm on the other. Along the corridor he would struggle, and then into the College room where, as Carlile recalled, "the rafters rang with the welcome of one hundred and twenty men." He straightened himself more, reached the platform and sat down. "Then the enemy gave him another twinge; his face was drawn for a moment but when he looked up with a new light in his eye, he said, 'God gives to some a talent for suffering.'" Reflecting his own judgment and conversations that he had with the men present, Carlile noted, "That afternoon many men felt ashamed that they had ever spoken of their paltry little aches and pains. They had seen a great soul in physical agony." ⁵¹

The Hard Years of 1878 and 1879

As the time came for finishing the editorial work for The Sword and the Trowel in December of 1877 for the January magazine 1878, the first entry in the notes stated, "Mr. Spurgeon is completely laid aside and in a condition of pain which

prevents his doing anything." ⁵² In January, "worn out with weariness of brain" Spurgeon left for a period of rest. Each year certain symptoms appeared with "painful force" and indicated that "the strain upon the mind must be loosened or the periods of rest lengthened." The strain of ministry of such a large congregation combined with the growing responsibilities of the benevolent enterprises made it necessary to take steps to "remove some of the burden to

other shoulders." ⁵³ As far as the congregation itself was concerned, Spurgeon felt an increasing burden over the statistics of increase and decrease. When 1877 produced a gross increase of 437, dismissals of various sorts of 337, giving a net increase of ¹⁰⁰, Spurgeon sighed, "It is remarkable how large a gross increase is needed to make any clear increase. As a church grows older this difficulty increases, and great work must be done for but little statistical result." The important issue, however, was that "souls are saved and whether other churches on earth or the hosts

triumphant above are the gainers, it is equally a matter for rejoicing." ⁵⁴ Deacons suggested that he take some extra weeks away. One in fact suggested twelve, for sometimes even seven or eight weeks is not sufficient for a thorough recovery. The deacon had a horse that was as "good a bit of stuff as ever lived, but too free (very like yourself), would overdo himself if he had the chance, and at last got queer in the legs and giddy in the head." The horse needed three months on good soil to regain strength and perspective and "being sold he

fetched the original price." ⁵⁵ Spurgeon had no desire to be sold at any price but smiled at the congenial comparison. He seemed to get better "every five minutes" he said and looked upon Mentone as a "charming retreat, unsurpassed

for its warmth, sunshine, and scenery." ⁵⁶ Not only was the weather and scenery a tonic for Spurgeon, but he found the fellowship remarkably encouraging, as ministers from both Church and Dissent formed a "practical Evangelical Alliance." The minister and evangelist of the French Church were very attentive both to visitors and to Mentonese.

In July 1878, Spurgeon was unable to keep an appointment to preach at Witney "for the severe weather confined us to our bed." Spurgeon's father went instead and filled the place well. Spurgeon made it clear that he feared to make engagements "since we are so often laid aside in the most painful manner, and

disappointment is the result." When it became known that he was going to Scotland for rest, requests for sermons along the way began to mount. Spurgeon was perplexed about this, not knowing quite how to process such severe kindness. He did not lose his sense of humor and irony in describing his perplexity. Invitations came from a "large number of Scotch towns, and from places on each of the three lines of railway, but we were entreated just to make a few hours stay and preach in North Wales, as also on the Cumberland coast, which as everybody knows are both on the road to Scotland if you choose to make them so." He could not calculate how many pence he had been fined in the form of postage for providing "no" answers to all these requests. Just a two hour stop and take the next train multiplied by twelve made it dubious that he ever would reach Scotland. "This, too, when a man is out for a holiday!" The matter to Spurgeon was not as easy as simply saying, "No," for he had rather be flogged than refuse a preaching invitation. As it turned out, Spurgeon's health, or lack of

it, caused a postponement of the holiday. ⁵⁷ None need be offended, therefore, for Spurgeon did not come near the towns of invitation, but found his respite on a painful bed.

Soon he was able to travel and to Scotland he went. A friend, Mr. Duncan, had a yacht and days were spent "cruising in sunny seas, and usually anchoring at night in lonely bays." There distractions came not from the rumble of traffic nor ceaseless noise of city life, but from the "scream of sea-birds, the cry of the seal, and the splash of leaping fish." There he experienced a bath of rest, intense enjoyment and repose, for which he expressed gratitude, that no "exhibitions,

artificial recreations, or medical preparations can afford." ⁵⁸ He did not observe only, however, but fished and found the time exhilarating. In using his fishing trip as an illustration for evangelism, he described what must have been a vivid experience on board the yacht. "It is very encouraging to feel that a large creature of some sort is tugging away at the other end of your line. Up with him at once! It is better still to have two hooks and to pull up two fish at a time, as one of our friends did. To do this twice every minute, or as fast as ever you can throw the line is best of all. What an excitement! Nobody grows tired, and the day is hardly long enough. Up with them in with the lines! What, another bite?

Quick! Quick! … This is good fishing." ⁵⁹ On November ¹⁰, 1878, Spurgeon became sick and called on his sons to preach for him. "Son Tom," stepped into the breach taking the evening service that had been specially designed for "outsiders," the quarterly occasion when Spurgeon's regular hearers stayed home to allow others to attend. Tom preached five times and Charles once. Spurgeon wrote, "It has been a delight of no

ordinary kind for both of the sick parents to hear on all hands the highly favourable judgments of God's people as to the present usefulness and ultimate

eminence of their sons." ⁶⁰ Spurgeon preached once in December and by the middle of January went to his retreat in France at Mentone. According to Fullerton, this location, "of all the places in the French Riviera was the chosen retreat during the last quarter of the nineteenth century of those who sought winter sunshine apart from the gaieties

of fashion." ⁶¹ Thomas Spurgeon accompanied him on this trip. Spurgeon wanted to give some special attention to the reading of his son and assigned him Carlyle's French Revolution and A. A. Hodge's Outlines of Theology. During this visit the younger Spurgeon met George Muller, Hudson Taylor, and John Bost.

During the stay in Mentone he wrote his congregation.

To hearers at Tabernacle and elsewhere

Beloved Friends

By the tender kindness of God the journey hither was made without excessive fatigue, and now I trust

that genial weather will bring with it rapid restoration. This place has participated in the severe

weather. It has swept over the continent so that I miss just now the bright sunshine to which I have

been formerly accustomed, yet it is comparatively warm and so far is beneficial to an invalid. Rest is

the main thing, and I hope to find that I may come back to you strengthened for sacred service.

It is at the request of many that I write these few lines, otherwise I should be better content to say

nothing about myself. Tottering on my staff today in weakness I look forward hopefully to the time

when I shall stand among you in fulness of vigour. God grant that mental, and above all spiritual

strength may be given me for the preaching of the word in your midst, that my long bodily affliction

may assist to that end. I trust I shall not be forgotten in your prayers when it is well with you, I hope

also that the various enterprises, such as the College and Orphanage will not be allowed to languish

because the President is ill. Peace be to you all.

Your very heartily,

C. H. Spurgeon

In the Preface to 1879 volume of The Sword and the Trowel (written probably in December or late November 1879) Spurgeon summarized the painful struggle with sickness and depression experienced during the year. "Its earliest hours saw the Pastor a prisoner, unable to rise from the bed of pain." This caused him to take a "furlough of three months, during which his pain of body ceased, his spirits revived, and his mind recovered from a pressure which had somewhat overpowered it." Demands on both head and heart generated by ministering to such a large congregation as well as superintending so many forms of Christian work Spurgeon found impossible to describe to any but those that had felt such themselves. "It is no wonder that sometimes the strain is too great, and mind and

spirit sink into painful depression," Spurgeon confessed, "from which there is no

recovery but by rest." ⁶² This three-month furlough, was preceded by two months of such debility that Spurgeon had to ask others to fill his pulpit from November ¹⁰ until he left in January. During this time he wrote that he wished "zeal and fervor were not restrained and hampered by being yoked to painful infirmities of the flesh." He wanted his people and all his friends to know that he certainly would do more "if we were not laid prostrate at the very moment when our work requires our presence." He pledged that every interval of relief would be "laid out in his service." As mentioned above, his sons were among those that

supplied, Thomas filling five of the services. ⁶³ In the throes of this onslaught, Spurgeon tried to respond to the need for writing some memorial piece relative to the celebration of twenty-five years at the church. Spurgeon wrote, "Our ill health at this moment scarcely permits us either to hold a pen or to dictate words to another; we must therefore leave till another season such utterances of gratitude as the fullness of our heart may permit us." He had experienced many common blessings for which he was grateful, but the abundant and extraordinary favors given him in the relationship with his people throughout this semi-jubilee could not be "acknowledged fitly with the tongues of men or of angels, unless a happy inspiration should bear the

thankful one beyond himself." ⁶⁴ As he wrote the "Notes" for January, again his debilitating illness rose to the fore. "Should there be errors in the notes, or in acknowledgment of goods, or in aught besides, it is hoped and believed that the editor's ill-health will be a sufficient apology. We have done our best; but with a pained and wearied brain, which is the root of our malady, we cannot but fail in many ways." Though the celebration of the month was about his ministry, he kept as much aloof as he could from the excitement. He asked that friends understand and excuse him if he continued to do so, "for our head will not bear it." At the same time that he was pressed to the limit in pain and distress, he reported that "Mrs. Spurgeon has been passing through a very grievous time of pain and weakness." She felt unequal to the task of writing a report on the book fund. Her husband would

have helped, but he had been laid aside also "tossing to and fro in pain." ⁶⁵ In the next month this supine state continued, with a matching sense of mercy. "During the past few weeks, long weeks indeed, we have been laid aside by illness. There have been intervals of ability to write, as our readers will see by articles in this and last month's magazine, but for the most part we have been a prisoner, under bonds to cease from work." Spurgeon represented his case as one of happiness and favor, filled with mercy, but with necessary sharp pains and

excessive labors in order for the joy not to get out of bounds. These contrasting phenomena of life were meant to balance each other. In the midst of all, Spurgeon said, "We are now recovering strength, and before this sheet meets the reader's eye, we hope to be out of the colds and damps in the south of France."

He was surrounded with close friends and "love floats in the atmosphere we breathe." Again, Susannah would be unable to accompany him. He commended her to his friends that they would not forget her in his absence. The church officers had made an earnest appeal that he take sufficient time to rest for the longer good of his ministry among them. "We print it," Spurgeon noted "because

it will interest some of our friends." ⁶⁶

Dear Pastor,

It is with much earnestness and love that we, your church-officers, wish to lay before you this, our

united appeal.

We consider it to be the path of wisdom for you to lay on one side for three months your public

duties in our midst, so as to obtain the complete rest you so much require. Your many labours, in

season and out of season, in which we heartily rejoice, have led us to the conclusion that, unless you

renew your power by a long cessation from active work, you will be prevented from the continuance of

it in the future. Our hearts have sorely grieved over the suffering and weakness which have seized you

so often of late, and we, therefore, deem it imperative that you should try the effect of an entire change

of scene for three months. We will make any arrangements you may desire for the carrying on of your

work while you are away, but most affectionately yet firmly we press our unanimous judgment upon

you for your consideration. We shall miss you sadly, and shall hail with joy your return to your loved

and prosperous labours; still, we cannot but see that you are wearing yourself away at your post, and

must spare yourself for the future welfare and service, not only of our own beloved church, but of the

whole Christian world.

The officers not only sent this letter, but arranged that everything should be provided for in the pastor's absence. When it came to care for their pastor, they would do nothing by halves.

By the middle of March, in company with many friends, Spurgeon could say that he was better, "though weak in the knees, and liable to sharp rheumatic pains at every change of weather." He hoped to return to preach by the second Sabbath of April. The conditions at Mentone always helped him. The air of Mentone was dry, the weather is usually fine, and the Hotel de la Paix, wellordered in every respect, provided him every conceivable comfort and hospitality. He was surrounded by "friends of the choicest kind, who seem to come and go in succession, as if by arrangement." Dr. Bennet, his physician, as

usual, "exercised his best skill for our recovery." ⁶⁷ He saw Hudson Taylor as well as George Muller. Both of them were friends of Spurgeon and he admired them greatly. On this occasion, about Muller he wrote "We count it a surpassing joy to have been indulged with this man of God.

His preaching is most spiritual and strengthening; but in private he impresses us even more. His evident happiness and holy peacefulness read a blessed lesson to one who is far too apt to be cast down." He promised to write a bit about some of his visitors "if our mind be in fit order." He followed through with this promise for the May issue. Meanwhile, he went on to say, "We are revived in spirit, and strengthened in nerve, though a little perplexed by the report of the Colportage Society, which we desire to bring before the Lord in prayer, at the same time that we use the means by informing the people." Spurgeon confessed to the need for a large measure of faith, and, with his usual idoneous simplicity, felt confident that the Lord would supply the needs of his own work. "We cannot afford to be anxious, for this would neither honour the Lord nor benefit our mental or physical health." Later he described the immediate need the colportage ministry had of an infusion of £1,000. ⁶⁸

Pain and Benevolence

That note concerning the colportage ministry pointed to the reality that the benevolences that flourished under his superintendency also wore away his emotional reserves. His relationship to these generated an increasing manifestation of trust as well as a deepening source of distress. This process had begun years earlier.

Urgency saturated his words in 1870 when he wrote, "Will friends forgive us for reminding them that the greatest kindness they can do us is to prevent all temptation to anxiety of mind on our part by supplying with regularity of

liberality the needs of the College, Orphanage, and Colportage." ⁶⁹ Two years later he continued expressing this urgency through his commendation of the creative ways that givers of small gifts sought to expand their impact for good.

Spurgeon took special note of "several small sums from working men who have been led to help the orphanage through reading John Ploughman's Almanack," commending their suggestions for increasing the revenues. One such reader "wants us to urge some hundreds of workers to send 2s. 6d. each, as he has done, and so increase the income." Spurgeon thanked him for his spontaneous liberality, hoped others would imitate it for the sake of the orphans, and commended such giving by exclaiming, "The more the merrier." When another reader sent half-a-crown, acknowledging that the Almanack was worth it, "John Ploughman lifts his hat to that friend." Another reader of John Ploughman predicted a great sale for the book, and enclosed four guineas, as "an equivalent for ¹,000 copies, towards the Stockwell Orphanage Funds, trusting that many of

your readers may follow the example." ⁷⁰ The combination of "shrewd English common sense" and prayer was exhibited fully in a prayer meeting talk in August 1881. Summer travel often made people forgetful of the consistent needs back in London and, so Spurgeon confessed, caused "trial of my faith." "I see the waters ebbing out, and at times the tops of the rocks are left bare, and I can see the weeds and the mud, and I do not enjoy the sight at all." He had rather see plenty of sailing water "for the fleet of charity." While thankful that they had never been in actual debt, he also hoped for more regularity in giving. With the recent addition of the girls' orphanage he confessed to a trial of mind: "I say to myself, 'I do not see any more people taking a share in the work,' and the question arises, 'However will you keep them?'" His answer was that he did not know, but that God did, and he could find the means. He will not cast away a "good work that is undertaken for his sake." So, he urged the ¹,500 present for the prayer meeting, "pray about it lest it be true that we have not because we ask not." He spoke with urgency, begging

prayer for all the equally useful agencies, not because "I have any unbelieving anxiety, but because the Lord has said, 'For this will I be enquired of by the

house of Israel to do it for them.'" ⁷¹ Every new benevolence, each new society, every founding of a church in a needy area added to the mental burden of Spurgeon, increased the urgency of his appeal to his giving friends, and gave new impetus for importunate prayer before the throne of grace.

Sometimes Spurgeon seemed to use his health as leverage for gaining financial support. In 1871 he asked his hearers, "if they are profited by the word I preach, and desire to show their thankfulness," to do a personal kindness to him by contributing to the Stockwell Orphanage. "I am not well enough to bear anxiety," he informed them, "and I hope those I have laboured for will keep me from it by the constancy of their support of this and my other Institutions."

Should the support be steady and sufficient it would guard him against

"depression of spirit, and gladden me in the service of my Lord." ⁷² Before going away in 1874 he informed his people that he had prayed for "some little store in hand to last while we were away." Such provision would keep him from "temptation to worry about finances while seeking rest." His prayer had been heard "in some measure," and funds increased. "Never had we so many tokens of love from our friends as just now. We thank them all, and

take courage." ⁷³ One year later, upon a painful seizure in January, Spurgeon playfully mentioned all the prescriptions friends had given him to cure gout which would surely have killed him if he had taken them. Early in his life, before his own affliction was evident, Spurgeon himself had been humorous in suggesting a cure for gout for his grandfather, assuming he must have gout in the hand since he had not returned answer to his letters. "If he is alive," Spurgeon quipped, "and not gone beyond the seas, please to give him my kind love the first time you meet him, and tell him I suppose he must have gout in his hands, so that he cannot write." Should that be so, Spurgeon suggested, "keep all wines and spirits from him, as they are bad things for gouty folk; and be so good as to foment his hands with warm water boiled with the heads of poppies. By this treatment, the swelling will subside." At that point Spurgeon suggested that the fictitious friend to whom he composed this missal, place his grandfather at a table, put a pen in his hand, make him write his name and put it in the post. "Ah, 'tis a sad thing,"

observed the healthy nineteen-year-old Spurgeon, "people will get gouty!" ⁷⁴ Spurgeon had gotten gouty and now had no remedies to suggest but one. The best remedy for him, if friends really were concerned that he improve, would be "freedom from any anxiety about either College, Orphanage, or Colportage

while we are away. If the funds keep up, and the works are carried on by those engaged in them, and especially if the Lord will bless the enterprises, it will be better to us than all the lotions, liniments, specifics, and elixirs put together, with

twenty sorts of magnetisms thrown in." ⁷⁵ Again in 1879 we find how closely Spurgeon believed his health was connected to levels of anxiety prompted by assurance or insecurity of financial support for the benevolences. As he readied himself to leave England in November and December to escape the fogs in order to avoid the sickness that regularly attacked him during those months, with the hope of improved health and strength for the rest of the winter, he immediately thought of the financial state of the charity work. "Our only difficulty is that during our absence funds fall off," Spurgeon reminded the reading friends, "and, therefore, it would be a very great relief if the stores were well replenished before we went from home.

This would make our holiday doubly restful." ⁷⁶ His readers became accustomed to these appeals for funds to insure his health and would respond immediately upon hearing of his plans to go to the Continent.

This became a bit of leverage in his hands also. When he left in November of 1881, he managed his appeal along those lines. "Friends who take an interest in our work will greatly ease our mind if they will send in specially abundant help for all the institutions while we are away," he reminded his readers and then added, "We once had watchful friends who promptly sent in generous aid whenever they saw that the pastor was ill, for they thought it would be ministering to his health if they kept every work in going order." Then the gentle application for such continued sensitivity, "Some of these friends still survive,

and the Lord is preparing more, for his work must not falter." ⁷⁷ The support of these benevolences was constantly on his mind. The prospect of worrying, worried him. The specter of fear stared at him so that he needed evidence of blessing to take courage. With the increase of responsibility in the coming years, the emotional and mental toll exacted on the health of Spurgeon would multiply. Before the bazaar in January 1882 for completion of the funding for the girls' orphanage, Spurgeon felt one of his old enemies creeping into his body. Massive mobilization of friends all over England was underway garnering sufficient goods and people for an extraordinary amassing of income. "It would be a great comfort," he told his readers, "to have just a line assuring us that our confidence is well-founded." Then he told the reader that "the fogs are coming over us, and the Pastor stands in daily fear of a return of rheumatism; in which case he will have to leave this land of damps at once." But how could he go with such pressure for his presence at this critical stage of development of plans and

publicity? "It would tend to health," he informed, "to see the good work going

on with vigour." ⁷⁸ Bazaar preparation must go on in his absence and will surely succeed if "every member of the church, every sermon-reader, and every magazine subscriber" would send in something. "Remember," he urged, "this is

for the girls and the little ones plead for themselves." ⁷⁹ The heights of joy generated by the brilliant successes of each respective charitable inflow, demanded a corresponding outflow of mind and heart from Spurgeon in a way that no other mortal could understand, and no other mortal could bear. Though he surrounded himself with capable administrators of like mind in doctrine and concern, none could take his place in the public appeal generated by every enterprise. It was Spurgeon's Tabernacle, Spurgeon's College, Spurgeon's Orphanage, Spurgeon's preachers, Spurgeon's colporteurs, Spurgeon's almshouses, and Spurgeon's fatherless children. He could not shove any of it off his shoulders; he knew that his urging, his presence, his reporting, his special ambience of justification for each ministry carried the day. No minute of any day was free from an ever-increasing demand on his skills of appeal, his facility of explanation, his face as the monument of trustworthiness and his ministry as the source of "thankofferings" for the people's investment. Where could he go, that this responsibility did not follow; what could he do ever to absent himself one moment from the care of so many people, the payment of so many salaries, and the maintenance of so much property? It demanded, moreover, not just administrative genius and never-ceasing investment of wise and experienced judgment, but the assumption of continued spiritual blessing on his life and ministry. What if that ceased?

Spurgeon made sure that none could doubt his commitment to the funding of the agencies and that he personally sacrificed for their well-being. The beginning of the twenty-five-year celebration saw the leadership of the Tabernacle propose that a gift, a testimonial be given to the pastor. Spurgeon approved the taking of the testimonial offering but stoutly refused to receive any of it as a personal gift.

Though a gift to a pastor for lengthy service was a worthy gesture and in many other cases would be right for pastors so honored to receive the offering gladly to lay aside for their families, "in our own case it did not seem to us at all fitting that the offering should come into our own purse." Though it would not be sinful to receive it, his conscience and heart revolted against the idea. He did not want to monopolize an honor that in reality belonged to the whole church. He proposed that the offering come but that it be set to the aid of the poor in the church. "To aid the church in its holy duty of remembering the poor, which is the nearest approach to remembering Christ himself, seemed to us to be the

highest use of money." ⁸⁰ He had begun to prepare for this a year earlier as he approached the end of twenty-five years of ministry in the congregation. In January 1878, he told the deacons that the "heaviest burden was the Almshouses." They had a scantily endowed fund sufficient for six widows but now supported seventeen. That, added to the gifts to the poor, including poor members, exceeded £1,000 in expense each year. He requested, therefore, that an effort be made to raise a £5,000 endowment and "this part of the church work would be put into proper shape." He would regard this as a proper way of celebrating his silver anniversary of ministry. Though he himself could bear the burden, he would not like to leave such a load for his successor should he be called away soon. His administration would be no blessing should the church find that they had facilities for widows to starve in, but no provision for their daily bread. When the occasion arrived, therefore, the care for the widows was increased and the bed of pain he occupied was assuaged. "All the while that we have been tossing to and fro in pain," Spurgeon set the personal context, "the money for the various objects has flowed in at a rate seldom experienced before. It seems as if the Lord had bidden his stewards take double care of our work while we were suffering. To God be the first praise, and then to every donor our personal

gratitude." ⁸¹ As proceeds for the Memorial continued to come, Spurgeon again commented on the relation between their generosity and his health. Contemplating a trip to Mentone, he remarked, "This rest is rendered the more truly restful by the fact that our subscribers have been doubly generous to the various funds, and thus make us feel that no work will suffer while we are away." Even with the possibility of such an increase in endowment, Spurgeon could not afford to let anyone forget that "the outlay for the various enterprises goes on." He felt relief, however, in the present security, both earthly and heavenly, of "a fair balance in hand on all accounts, and the assurance that kindly hearts will not forget to keep all needs supplied, and yet above that the confidence that our God will supply all

our needs." ⁸² Donations had reached £2,300 with the promise of another £1,000. He continued his determination, in spite of efforts to convince him otherwise, that no portion would be kept for himself, but that he would divide the amount among the various institutions. The committee insisted, however, on marking the event with a tablet in the Almshouse schoolroom and giving some memento of the occasion to the Spurgeon household—"some substantial bronze,

or piece of furniture, with a suitable inscription" ⁸³ At the end of year, as Spurgeon wrote the preface for the 1879 Trowel, he reported a final total of the

Memorial testimony gift, given by "our beloved people," of £6,223 10s 5d.

Spurgeon had the pleasure of handing it all over to trustees for the Lord's work.

He felt great relief knowing that "our Almshouses are now endowed, so that the

support of the aged sisters will never become a burden to the church." ⁸⁴ By 1882 Spurgeon had found that "the amount provided by the Pastor's endowment" was not sufficient for the old ladies to live upon. "A few more

hundreds," he reported, "would put this institution beyond want." ⁸⁵ When he returned from Mentone in 1879, after the refreshment of rest and the great victory of the Memorial, he reported, "We are revived in spirit, and strengthened in nerve, though a little perplexed by the report of the Colportage Society." As usual, he wanted to bring the need before the Lord in prayer, "at the same time that we use the means by informing the people." He needed faith that sufficient provision would come to meet the requirements for the Society and to maintain equilibrium in his own health. "We cannot afford to be anxious, for this

would neither honour the Lord nor benefit our mental or physical health." ⁸⁶ He went on to describe a situation in which the funds for the Colportage Society were cripplingly low and he called for an inflow of £1,000. "Now there are ⁸² colporteurs and the stock is too low to go on with, paying cash. Any other way of acting is difficult in practice and unsound in principle." For the sake of Kingdom work, the labor of the colporteurs in gospel preaching, temperance, lecturing, tract distributing, and sick visiting must be continued. No fewer than ⁷⁵,000 families were being visited monthly. All of this, from a human standpoint, stood in peril, and Spurgeon looked "up to God for immediate help."

He could not think that God willed to "for us to stay this holy service, which he is so greatly blessing." All silver and the gold belonged to the Lord, and he could provide it through a single donor or raise up many friends to make up the

amount. ⁸⁷ Having told the "brothers and sisters in Christ" of the pressing need, he assured his readers that he would make no abject appeal, or put advertisements in the paper about our distress." The trial had come when he had no personal reserve to bear it, "judging according to the weakness of our flesh." He resolved, nevertheless, to "rejoice in it in spirit, and bless the Lord, who will supply the need as surely as he lays the burden upon us." Just to press a bit more purposefully on the regular donors, Spurgeon wanted them to understand that colportage was not of secondary importance to the college and orphanage.

Though Spurgeon could not hide from anyone his instinctual delight in the college, his commitment to the ongoing immediacy of the practical work of the colportage must be embraced by his supporters. "It is doing a grand work for the

Lord in benighted districts, and we love it by no means less than any other of our institutions." He recognized that he failed to interest others in it with sufficient urgency, but now "seeing that we are powerless in the matter, and straitly shut up by urgent necessity, we cast the whole business upon the Lord, expecting to see his delivering hand." Spurgeon felt the awkwardness of the timing— just after such large giving to the Testimonial, and just before the annual college meeting—and realized that a bare appeal to the Christian public was not likely to prevail. An appeal, however, "to the Lord is never unseasonable, neither is he straitened. The confidence of the psalmist must be his: "My soul, wait thou only

upon God; for my expectation is from him." ⁸⁸ Needs were never-ending, and pressure unremitting, so Spurgeon must find ways to continue the appeals. Success continued to turn the handle on the vise that enclosed his mind and conscience. Upon completion of the purchase of the ground for the Girls' Orphanage in 1879, Spurgeon publicized a method of gaining regular contributions for the maintenance of the orphanages. First, the furnishing of the house would call for donations and then "increased help to feed all the boys and girls." Special friends could help us much if they would allow Spurgeon to send them collecting books. He wanted to get a "little band of helpers who would correspond with us personally, and help us regularly by

collecting in different towns and villages among their friends." ⁸⁹ Spurgeon needed no more mouths to feed and no more property to maintain, and his friends did not need another source of constant appeals. His own health could not endure the pressure of the increased responsibility, but neither could he turn his back on the providence that made the new mercy possible or the obvious need for a care facility where destitute girls might thrive.

In 1881 when he reminded his supporters that the college educated ¹⁰⁰ men in training for ministry and also taught 200 men at night to improve their "out-door preaching, Sunday-school teaching, and other gracious work," he also informed them that expenditures exceeded donations by £1,500 per annum. Considerable legacies had enabled the work to proceed without hindrance. Whether support in this way could be continued in the future, Spurgeon confessed not to know, but he was convinced that God would do what is right. At that time more than 500 ministers of the gospel had been trained. Though he loved the orphanage and rejoiced in the enthusiastic response of all to the needs of that work, he pointed out that "many will give to an orphanage out of natural compassion, who will not contribute to a college out of zeal for the truth." All the needs had been supplied, "nor shall we ever find ourselves forsaken, for the work is the Lord's."

Donors must be aware, however, that long-term continuance of all work

depended on the maintenance of the college. "While departures from orthodoxy startle us on all sides, it would ill become the lovers of the old-fashioned gospel to withdraw their aid from an institution which keeps to the Puritanic lines of doctrine, and has no ambition to be held in repute for 'progressive ideas,' and

'advanced thought'." ⁹⁰ Wayland Hoyt found Spurgeon to be placid under the weight of so many responsibilities. Hoyt looked at Spurgeon's ministries and calculated what it must take to sustain them. "I was thinking of the orphans he must feed, the old Christian women he must care for, the professors' salaries in his Pastors' College he must pay, the students he must supply with teaching, many of them with bread and clothing, since they were too poor to buy these for themselves."

Lost in the seeming impossibility of it all, Hoyt asked, "How can you be so easy minded? Do not these responsibilities come upon you sometimes with a kind of crushing weight?" Spurgeon looked at Hoyt "with a sort of holy amazement, and answered, 'No; the Lord is a good banker, I trust him. He has never failed me.

Why should I be anxious?'" ⁹¹ Spurgeon did indeed feel the ponderous immensity of the human situation and stated his susceptibility to physical and spiritual weakness with candor; never far behind, however, was the conscious testimony of reliance on God to care for his own work in the world. The delicate intersection, so ever-present in Spurgeon's theology, of human responsibility being merely one element of God's sovereign management of the world, made him never lose perspective even when under the most oppressive pressure. When in 1880 he reported that for six months the Lord had tried him "with sharp pains," he also stated that the Lord had removed "all cause for serious care as to the financial needs of my many institutions." We see here not only the candid recognition that the institutions were his, he felt the responsibility more than any single person on earth, but that the "trial of straitened supplies" had been kept from the suffering servant. God provided even though sickness weakened not only the physical efforts but the fervency of prayer. "I do but feebly trust and pray," Spurgeon complained, but as a matter of pure grace, "God most richly answers; and when in hours of crushing agony both supplication and confidence seem to need an effort beyond the strength of the tortured mind, the Lord deals with me after his own gracious fashion, 'exceeding

abundantly above all that we ask, or even think.'" ⁹² Receipts were reported each month in The Sword and the Trowel for all the benevolences, each contributor being listed by name. Weekly offerings at the Tabernacle were taken for the college. The Evangelists' Association received funds from donors as well as from the churches served by the evangelists.

Spurgeon expressed at least mild concern in 1881 when he had not "received any amounts lately from the places visited by the evangelists" though he was sure that the spiritual results of the work of Fullerton and Smith at Sheffield would be "followed by a corresponding thankoffering." In addition the Yorkshire Association was "waiting until the close of Mr. Burnham's engagements to pay over in one sum the amounts received from the churches which he has helped."

Given the slowness of the thankofferings, Spurgeon noted that "general subscriptions will be heartily welcomed for this work, which the Lord has so signally owned to the salvation of souls, and the edification and comfort of believers." In the same way, though the Colportage Society flourished in the spiritual benefit it encouraged, "the general fund is very low, and help has been received to a very limited extent during the past six months." On that account Spurgeon would look "prayerfully to the Lord, through his people, to supply our

need." ⁹³ Spurgeon never panicked, never indicated anything less than full confidence in God's provision, but felt keenly the personal responsibility for reminding the people that they are stewards. He did so with gentleness and gratitude in most cases. Late in 1884 his fight with pain cost him dearly but he was able to say, "During our extreme weakness we have been kept from all anxiety as to funds for the Lord's work by the continual thoughtfulness of friends." The Lord would reward those that ministered to the needs of students, orphans, and evangelists. "Surely we are favoured above most others of our Master's servants by living in the hearts of so many gracious persons." His gratitude was "deep and

inexpressible." ⁹⁴ To the end Spurgeon saw sickness, debt, and donation as inextricably reciprocal in power. Before the opening of the Surrey Gardens Memorial, Spurgeon found the fund £272 short. "We have never opened any of our home buildings with a debt," he reminded the people. "Are we to do so now?" Should we at this hour come down to the common level and depart from our former most honorable course. Absolutely not. Well, shall the place be shut up for lack of funds? "Dear brethren," Spurgeon pleaded, "your old friend is not well, and the doctor says he must not be worried; so please clear off this evil thing."

Eliminate the strain and never allow the word "debt" to mar a memorial of gratitude. Then with a marked sense of both urgency and authority he closed the appeal, "Let the whole amount be at 'Westwood' before the sun has risen on the

2nd of June." ⁹⁵ Spurgeon's illness delayed the opening of the new building for the Carter Street Schools from June ² until June ²³, but "the balance of the money required

for the purchase of the land and the erection of the buildings" had been contributed so that they took possession of the premises "without a shadow of debt hanging over them." ⁹⁶

Public Interest in Personal Pain

Spurgeon, due to popular interest, informed the readership that in the future his notes would include a section of "personal" notes. These personal notes would consist mainly of letters that he had received about the impact of his published sermons for the salvation of their readers. Upon his return from France in the spring of 1879, accompanied by Tom, he was encouraged by being "heartily

welcomed at the Tabernacle on April ¹³." ⁹⁷ Fullerton added details: "When father and son appeared together in the Tabernacle pulpit on the thirteenth of that month, the congregation glad to greet them both, spontaneously rose and sang

the doxology." ⁹⁸ Spurgeon was concerned about the low state of funds for the benevolences but was convinced that by "divine blessing" soon all would be "in good sailing order." He thanked those friends that had urged him to take a longer time of rest. It could not be done however, as several things needed his personal attention. He reminded the readers that "the Pastor is not able to take any work

beyond that which is due at home, and it will be in vain to press him to do so." ⁹⁹ By October of 1879, Spurgeon again saw the need for rest and escaping the English winter with its fog and dampness. "At this time, or a little later," Spurgeon reminded his readers, "we have been ill for several successive years, and we are advised to go away before the illness comes, in the hope of getting strength to go through the rest of the winter." He intended to follow his physicians' advice but felt the difficulty this presented to the benevolences. "Our funds fall off," he lamented, "and therefore it would be a very great relief if the stores were well replenished before we went from home. This would make our

holiday doubly restful." ¹⁰⁰ The year 1880 did not provide Spurgeon respite from sickness or absences or dependence on the grace and continued provision of a loyal and devoted congregation. He sent a word of deep gratitude to his congregation through the preface of the 1880 Sword and Trowel for their constancy even with a "crippled minister, who has been away from his pulpit more than three months out of the

twelve." ¹⁰¹ This painful admission reflected the sad reality that his recent move of house had not materially benefitted his health. In August of 1880 he and Susannah moved to "Westwood" on Beulah Hill in Upper Norwood. The ground had springs on it that were supposed to be healthy and the higher ground was calculated to diminish the effects of fog and cold in the winter. "On the top of the Delectable Hill we trust that the fresh breezes may tend to give health and

prolong life." ¹⁰² How could one know if it did or not?

Spurgeon addressed the subject of suffering in 1881 through the medium of a

book review. Sir Emilius Bayley provided the occasion in a book entitled Deep Unto Deep: An Enquiry into some of the deeper experiences of the Christian Life, Spurgeon identified several factors of suffering to which a minister of the gospel must be sensitive. He recommended the book to young ministers, "for we are persuaded that there is far more need to study the pathology of the Christian soul than many of them wot of." Sore straits and depths of anguish constitute the experience of many saints and have legitimate claim on the "sympathy and the knowledge of every faithful minister of the gospel." Speaking obviously from his experience as a pastor but as truly from his own struggles, Spurgeon observed, "Physical infirmities and social bereavements, for example, may appear very common afflictions, though they plunge the soul into deep grief, but the influence they produce on sensitive minds is often so peculiar that each case requires specific attention." Old sins rise up to torture and haunt the memory of the saints even after the deep experience of forgiveness, and the temptations of Satan assault others with spiritual horrors—these are "not to be lightly thought of by those to whom Christ has committed the oversight of any church or congregation." In addition to Bayley, Spurgeon pointed to other and older authors that were "much tossed about on the stormy main" and thus knew "how to tend sea-sick souls in every stage of their sad complaints, whether staggering to and fro, or brought to their wits' end." Such men were Augustine, Luther, Bunyan, Gilpin, Brainerd, Edwards, and he even added "William Huntingdon."

Spurgeon would doubtless have listed himself as among these suffering healers, for he had experienced first hand the "pathology of the Christian soul" as prompted by physical distress, emotional crushing, and social bereavement.

Finally, however, it was not an issue that was strictly at the mercy of human experience. Any help from other quarters was welcomed, and Spurgeon believed that Bayley's "acquaintance with modern discovery has helped him to find

illustrations of a problem that is started and solved in the sacred Scriptures." ¹⁰³ In March of 1881, Spurgeon provided few notes for the magazine because of the incapacitating sickness of late winter. "More wearisome days have been appointed us, but yet the Lord has been very gracious, and we have good hope of permanent recovery when frosts and damps become fewer." The church members had urged him to go away for a month's rest. He felt overflowing gratitude for their kindness and wanted to give the greatest deference to their judgment, but he felt no release from his post. Where can he find meaningful respite in "this land of damp," while the charge that constituted the burden still rested upon him? "We should only lose our home comforts," Spurgeon surmised, "and like a snail carry our load on our back wherever we might crawl." Work would only accumulate and "while it is undone, where could we

rest?" Should he find the Garden of Eden, the "Serpent would be at us till our arrears are pulled up, and till we see the Lord's work going on again with its

usual vigor." ¹⁰⁴ When the Annual Church Meeting was held, Spurgeon was "disabled in both arms." He remarked that the "warm love of his attached people cheered his heart, and though another season of suffering awaited him, it was a

sunny oasis in the desert of pain." ¹⁰⁵ Undiminished difficulties plagued him throughout March so that his note in the April Sword repeated a familiar refrain. "Personal affliction has continued through the month of March, and it has been with difficulty that the weekly sermons and the monthly magazine have been prepared." He recognized divine providence in giving him "intervals of possible effort" when "all sail has been crowded on, so that we are not compelled to lie high and dry on shore." An earnest prayer of exclamation expressed both his frustration and his hope, "O for health and strength!" He felt that if he had those, he could do a great deal of work. He refused to allow a questioning and disgruntled spirit to leave the last impression, so added, "yet it may be a greater and a better thing to bow the head

in silence and say, 'It is the Lord, let him do as seemeth him good.'" ¹⁰⁶ Spurgeon was able to be present for the entire college conference in May 1881 but "on Saturday was overtaken by a rheumatic affection of the heel, which prevented his being able to stand." Because of the pain, he missed preaching that Sunday. That year in fact he stated in the "Annual Report of the Pastors' College" that he had been "very ill through the greater part of the past year [1880-81], and have therefore been unable to give much personal service to the College." It was a sore trial and the slack created by his illness has been taken up by his brother J. A. Spurgeon. He also mentioned that he was pleased that few had to be dismissed from the school for "frequent depression of spirit has made

it undesirable to have much trying work to do." ¹⁰⁷ Though some pressed him to take some time off at the end of the summer in 1881, Spurgeon insisted that it would not help and that his obligations in ministry simply prohibited it. "Many Sundays spent in the sick room forbid any further absence from home." He was, in fact, happy to report improved health and an ability to prepare the weekly sermons, edit the magazine, write books, and speak in public. As a specimen of the work that was normal per week, Spurgeon sought to encourage his readers that his strength at present was sufficient for a consistent outlay of work. He had preached five sermons, superintended three prayer meetings contributing his normal brief extemporaneous homilies, chaired two public meetings, made a speech at a third, officiated one communion, and been able to do one college afternoon of two

hours' lecturing. Some of these occupied far more time in preparation than in execution. He was thankful to be able to work and wished for strength to do

more. ¹⁰⁸ By October, however, he felt rheumatism approaching and, in spite of much work to do for the girls' orphanage, he turned the tasks over to others and made way for France in the first week of November. On the evening before he left he presided at the annual meeting of the Pastors' College. He bade the group gathered good bye for a few weeks and then gave a reading in the character of John Ploughman supported by a display of engravings from John Ploughman's Pictures. J. A. Spurgeon expressed the wish of all present that his brother would greatly benefit by his holiday. Spurgeon had lined up preachers for the times of his absence, including his brother, his son Charles, and a Sunday given over to

the evangelists D. L. Moody and Ira Sankey. ¹⁰⁹ On Saturday November ⁵ he sailed for Mentone and arrived safely at the Grand Hotel. "The warmth of the air, the brilliance of the light, and the dryness of everything" greatly enhanced his chances of a quick recovery. "If rheumatism does not depart in such balmy weather," Spurgeon lilted, "it must indeed be hard to dislodge." He arrived with great lumbago pains but they were gone in a night.

Such relief did Mentone provide that he urged those of his readers that were "not tied to the land of fog and frost" to try the hospitality of his host, M. Georgi,

"who has for years laid himself out to make me comfortable." ¹¹⁰ Near the end of this visit Spurgeon wrote, "We have been in a land where the sun's first beams call you to open the window and let in the balmy air; where in midwinter the flowers which exist in our conservatories are flourishing and flowering in the open garden." Added to that joy was the pleasantry that the people speak no English, did not know him by reputation, and he could walk the streets without the hindrance of every third person's either begging or proposing questions. Though he sounded quite eremitic, he still had enough callers "to keep the day from stagnation." Even at that, one must not underestimate the value of the time alone for Spurgeon. He considered it "no mean blessing." In the absence of people—blessed absence for his purpose—there were "olive gardens and the woods, and here one can be lost to every human eye." This combination of virtual anonymity, a limited number of courteous and respectful visitors, engaging soirees with nature, and judiciously attentive hosts made this as perfect a repose that could be had on earth. He had five weeks of it, and was thankful.

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Mentone provided not only a salubrious atmosphere in which Spurgeon felt that he could heal and thrive, but a close evangelical community for encouragement, worship, edification, and warm fellowship. Beyond that the very

geography of the place invited one to contemplate the presence of Christ. The seashore, the vines of grapes, the olive trees, and palms made Spurgeon exclaim, "Thy land, O Immanuel!" "While in this Mentone I often fancy that I am looking out upon the lake of Gennesaret, or walking at the foot of the Mount of Olives, or peering into the mysterious gloom of the Garden of Gethsemane." The narrow streets of the old town were such as Jesus traveled in Galilean villages. This location invited Spurgeon to expect the presence of Christ and turn all his days

into Sabbaths, his meals into sacraments, and earth into heaven. ¹¹² Spurgeon returned to preach on Christmas day and on the following day had the pleasure of attending Christmas at the orphanage where "all went merry as a marriage-

bell." ¹¹³ Full recovery still eluded him. By the final days of March 1882 when it was time to produce the Sword, Spurgeon wrote, "The magazine is demanded, and the Editor can scarcely think two consecutive thoughts." If an idea occurred it soon flew out of reach like the boy's butterfly, or if captured soon became so mangled that it was not worth the having. Readers must forgive and put extra effort into getting something good from the magazine thus compensating for the editor's malady of both hand and head. "We could not postpone the affliction, or we would have had the magazine first, and the gout afterwards; but the sickness waylaid us, and stopped us just when the hour for labour had arrived." If only legs and arms were affected, he would bear the pain manfully and proceed; "but the essence of our mischief is the brain, and, with the foe penetrating headquarters, it is not easy to carry on the war." He hoped the readers would be as kind as his Master and not expect more than he could give. He reminded them that God fed them from his little wallet when he was but a child, and now that he is older with hardly strength enough to lift the breakfast-basket of younger days, "you will pray that the Master will not stint the feast because he weakens the

servitor." ¹¹⁴ He renewed his oft-published request that all invitations for outside engagements cease. He could barely keep up with the demands of work at home.

Nothing additional could be attempted unless he wanted to come to a condition where he could "do nothing but lie and suffer excessive pain, with its consequent weakness of body and depression of spirit." In spite of his insistence to the contrary, he sill received requests by mail and sometimes deputations, forcing an interview in person, to issue the urgent need that some venues had of him. He was waylaid at odd corners and inconvenient times by those "who bored us with twenty requests to do the same thing, when we told them that it was not possible." Nevertheless he issued to them the "richest blessing for the

chastisement which they alone have brought upon us." ¹¹⁵ By April, he plodded on through debilitating pain and appeared to make his annual inaugural address at the conference of the Pastors' College Association.

He told the loving group that had gathered, "After my severe illness I am trembling like a child who is only commencing to use his feet." Barely could he keep himself up and he wondered aloud what a group could expect from a man that could hardly stand. For six weeks as he had considered what to say, he found his mind out of gear and his memory like the leaking buckets of the daughters of Danaus and his labors as vain as the stone-rolling feat of Sisyphus.

His brain had been so occupied with "sympathy for the poor body that it has not been able to mount aloft with the eagle, nor even to plume its wings for the lower flight" that was his task for the morning. Appropriately, he preached on the text, "When I am weak, then am I strong" and prayed that he would be able to give some encouragement that had come to him, as the old saints used to say,

"experimentally." ¹¹⁶ He still urged his men to feel earnestly the full weight of the responsibility put on them by virtue of their position as heralds of the gospel.

His contemplation of weakness, however, brought him to a reverie seldom indulged by Spurgeon, He looked at weakness brought on by " An oppressive sense of responsibility. " One should not carry his sense of responsibility too far so as to be unable to sustain it; "it may cripple our joy and make slaves of us."

One should not push himself beyond his physical and mental strength.

Faithfulness does not always equal visible success. You can teach but you can not make people learn; make things plain, but you can not make the carnal man have spiritual interest. "We are not the Father, nor the Saviour, nor the Comforter, of the Church." By too severe a sense of personal responsibility, Spurgeon could have turned his concern for the south of London into a detriment as pastor of his flock. "We get tugging away as if the salvation of the world depended upon our straining ourselves to death." Don't cultivate unconcern, but remember that "you are not God, and you do not stand in God's place; you are not the rulers of providence, and you have not been elected sole managers of the

covenant of grace; therefore do not act as if you were." ¹¹⁷ Wise words of advice these, but more intriguing from the mouth of a tired, hurting, and sick Spurgeon that had driven himself to perpetual weakness by his world-saving endeavors in his early ministry and still sought to sustain more than his mind could bear.

As he prepared his return to London from rest late in 1882, he reported that it had been a time of repose of body, mind, and heart, and hopefully, had prepared him for a "good long spell of work." He insisted, however, that his friends not burden him with invitations to extra things as they had done the previous year

with the result that his renewed strength was spent in enduring pain instead of public ministry. "Our own work taxes our strength to the utmost," he reminded all his exuberant friends, "and we beg to be pardoned if we cannot accede even

to urgent requests." ¹¹⁸ Spurgeon could not have anticipated the storm of trial that awaited him. He arrived in London on December ¹⁹ and on Christmas Eve the wife of his muchesteemed secretary J. W. Harrald died, leaving him a widower with four children. Rheumatism struck Spurgeon with a vengeance, and though he preached on Sunday ²⁴, he could not rise from the couch on Christmas Day. At Harrald's bereavement Spurgeon found himself incapacitated and unable even to attend the traditional Christmas celebration at the orphanage. The beloved and long-time deacon William Higgs died on Christmas also, and at the time of his burial William Mills, another deacon, went into a paralysis never to recover and died on January ¹², 1883. Spurgeon hobbled through services, appointments, meetings of societies, and other engagements connected with the Tabernacle for another few weeks, but by April he was so laid aside that for the first time he was unable to attend the conference of the Pastors' College Association.

On Monday afternoon of the Association's conference, he and Mrs. Spurgeon attended tea subsequent to the afternoon prayer meeting but could do nothing else. He could not even deliver his inaugural address or make the report at the subscribers' supper. He wrote on Tuesday morning, "After a night of extreme pain, I find myself unable to leave my bed today." He submitted to divine providence, prayed for the Spirit's blessings on all the proceedings, promised that if he felt able at any moment he would hurry to the conference, but must turn over everything to his brother. He hoped that the intensity of the attack meant that it would not last long but in the mean time, "it is furiously upon me at

this moment." ¹¹⁹ The conference men expressed their deep disappointment at his absence but gave moving assurance of their concern for his recovery and rejoiced that they received a great blessing from God even with the absence of the president. Soon after the conference Spurgeon had to issue his recurring rejection of all invitations to outside labors. "Our own legitimate work has grown so enormously that it is as much as we can possibly accomplish without being laid aside, and we have lately proved once more that it is the extra, outside services that bring about such sad breakdowns as the one we have recently experienced."

If any reader, therefore, contemplated a bazaar, tea-meeting, anniversary, debtremoval, school construction, or blue ribbon mission and was tempted to pose the question, "Shall we invite Mr. Spurgeon?" they immediately should supply

their own answer, "Don't." As much as he would like to help, nothing can come of such invitations, for accepting them only would mean a complete cessation of necessary labors at home. "It is a great sorrow to be shut up to this," Spurgeon

grimaced, "but what else can we do?" ¹²⁰ During May, even the meetings held at the Tabernacle Spurgeon was forced to miss. During those festive and joyful gatherings, he was "obliged to tarry at home, suffering pain of body and

depression of spirit." ¹²¹ July brought about another bout with inability to preach and for two Sundays he had to have others take his pulpit. The papers reported this as an attack of rheumatic gout. Spurgeon characterized the papers as a flock of sheep following without reason when in fact, Spurgeon replied, "These frequent ailments are incidental to our work, and we must accept them as a part of the price of our service." He illustrated this by referring to a letter from Guiness Rogers, who had preached for Spurgeon on a few hours' notice, in which he came "nearer the cause of our infirmities than most people have been able to do." The letter isolated the difficulty that Spurgeon alone had to bear, and he published it with the hope of gaining a more accurate judgment concerning his case.

Spurgeon was not desperate, but he did feel that Guiness Rogers provided an opportunity for allowing another to help all observers, sympathetic and cynical alike, to have some deeper insight into his constant state of dilemma. Rogers could see clearly that the constant source of Spurgeon's frequent illness and debility was not mere physical weakness and bodily infirmity, but the aggravation of any such tendency by the relentless mental and emotional strain on his faculties. "Your great congregation is an inspiration," Rogers reported, "but it is also an overwhelming responsibility." He did not find it surprising that continuous labor in this responsibility told on Spurgeon in many ways, in some that even Spurgeon might not suspect. Emotional detachment from all that was at stake in proclamation of the gospel to such a crowd might solve the personal problem but would forecast in the end a failed ministry. "I do not envy the man who can preach there without having his whole nature strained to the utmost, and that means nervous exhaustion, of all others the most difficult to contend against," Rogers observed, with genuine feeling for the dilemma. He could only offer a prayer—"may the Lord spare you many years to do a work to which not

one in ten thousand would be equal." ¹²² Though he resisted the newspapers in their terminology, by September Spurgeon himself referred to his constant pain as "cruel rheumatism." It hung on to him tenaciously during a visit to Scotland in August. The pain had been violent, he confessed, and made doubly so by the necessity to reply to requests

for help with the note, "Too feeble to leave the house." ¹²³ Spiritual strain and concern about infinitely important things intensified the physical strain under which Spurgeon labored, but rheumatism, relentless, sinister, sudden, and severe, made all of his labors a Herculean task and wore away his mind and soul.

Spurgeon's policy of publishing a sermon a week since the beginning of his ministry in London added to the pressure of his weekly work. He had handcuffed himself by the massive distribution of sermon texts making each production unusable for the future. Though he gloried in the expansion of this preaching ministry by the printed word, he could not come either to the Tabernacle or to other venues and preach sermons in print. "In my own case," Spurgeon wrote in 1884, considering what it meant to be getting old at fifty, "The early strain has been followed by a continuous draft upon the strength through the perpetual printing of all that I have spoken." With twenty-nine years of sermons on the shelves, he still must go on speaking, "plodding on, issuing more, and yet more, which must all be in some measure bright and fresh, or the public will speedily intimate their weariness." The outlook to his own eyes, he confessed, was not

cheering, but he had available "other optics" and would use them. ¹²⁴ His trip to Mentone in midwinter 1884-85 was delayed as Spurgeon was "smitten" with a painful encounter with his old nemesis. It was so severe that his friends feared that if he did not get an extended period of rest he would soon experience a complete breakdown. He was unable to preach at the annual watch night service on New Year's Eve, so W. Y. Fullerton and J. Manton Smith took the services. On January ⁵, Spurgeon missed the meeting of the South London branch of the Evangelical Alliance. Seven young men who were going out under the auspices of the China Inland Mission were present and one, C. T. Studd, captain of the "Cambridge eleven," gave the story of his conversion through Moody's preaching and his reason for doing mission work in China. All present, including Anglican, Wesleyan, Primitive Methodist, Congregational, and Baptist

ministers, prayed for the recovery of Spurgeon. ¹²⁵ At a special called meeting of the church on January ¹², the church insisted that Spurgeon take a three-month leave. "Your arduous labours and your incessant anxieties so far exceed the average strength of your constitution, that there is an imperative demand for you to take longer and more frequent occasions of retirement." They wanted him to do so at a time when he had energy enough to enjoy it and not when he had used up his last ounce of strength. Spurgeon responded that the coming college conference made it impossible for him to take three months, but he promised that he would rest as much as possible if "we can recover strength enough to travel out of this

perpetual fog." For the most rest, he needed to be assured that the ministries would be well supported and that the people would pray for the continued

spiritual harvest in the services at the Tabernacle. ¹²⁶ He went, and from Mentone he attached a letter dated February ¹⁶ to a sermon that he had prepared

for publication.

DEAR FRIENDS—

May the peace of God abide with you. With great pleasure I perform the weekly duty of preparing the

sermon and I pray our Lord to make it a blessing to all my readers. Each day I gather a measure of

strength. My walking is measured by steps, few and slow, but then I can walk, and this is a great

reason for gratitude to one who could not put his foot down without pain. I am recovering in all

respects and feel that a fortnight in this place has done more for me than could have been effected by

months of medicine. To Him whom I worshipped in pain be grateful praises for restoring mercy. 127

At the end of March he could write that his rest had "done wonders for the body worn with pain, and almost as much for the mind wearied with labour. If nothing unforeseen should occur, we hope to be in our own pulpit on the second Sabbath of April." He wanted to have a "long stretch of unbroken testimony for the

Lord." ¹²⁸ The actual reparation of mind and body fell short of what Spurgeon hoped for.

He had come close to achieving the common level below which he had fallen both mentally and physically, and while on other occasions he had garnered a storehouse of strength for future use, "on this occasion they have been consumed at once in needful repairs." All he could claim was that "the inner man is

somewhat renewed." ¹²⁹ He relished any indication that someone might understand the great stress under which he labored and which could only intensify as years passed, as expenses grew in each institution, and as Sunday moved forward to Sunday and the need to express something freshly became more and more difficult. A friend made the observation, and Spurgeon quoted his insight as "too true and too good to be lost." The friend found rest necessary for replenishing the mind and allowing its intrinsic creative energies to operate for a while without taxation; he inquired, "I wonder if it is so with sermons. You ought to know, if any one does; for a sermon printed weekly for thirty years must be a great strain on the productive power of a man's mind if he does not

merely repeat himself." ¹³⁰ Brief moments of restoration of a pain-free day accompanied with a longabsent exuberance, made Spurgeon more confident of his endurance than he had cause for. Previous periods of good feeling had worked to over-exertion and rapid decline. The pattern did not disappoint. In October 1885 Spurgeon reported that he was in vigorous health and working at breakneck speed. He was fulfilling

long postponed commitments in preaching and hoped that his own pulpit might have its preacher for many a day. He attributed this surge in good feeling to abstinence from flesh as food. It proved to be "a more effectual preservative

from rheumatism and gout than any of the many systems hitherto tried." ¹³¹ By the end of 1885, Spurgeon was in a more distraught condition physically and emotionally than he had been since the Surrey Music Hall disaster. In the December notes, he confessed that he finally must succumb. "Neuralgia has marked us for her own for some time past." His brain was so weary that it refused to perform and it took him an entire day to "produce the thought-fabric which, in better times, was woven in half-an-hour." If the net were not mended it would break. Wretched pain for days on end, and "golden hours lost in miserable incompetence," served to warn him that the greatest efficiency "requires the

most willing worker to have his due proportion of Sabbath." ¹³² "I am utterly hard up," he explained as he told his readers why they should not expect much that was scintillating from his pen in the preface to the bound volume of The Sword and the Trowel, 1885. "Every limb of my body is tormented with pain; there is about as much pain in each limb as any one of them can conveniently bear." Not only so with the body, but the mind-body unit was in a state of "fidgets malaise, and depression." Could someone be chained in his place he would gladly yield, but since none is handy "we must tug the oar even if we snap our bones." After two paragraphs, Spurgeon had to put down the pen for he was interrupted by "a hurricane, consisting of rushes of pain, twitches, and all sorts of deadly apprehensions" and only continued later by dictating to an

amenuensis. ¹³³ Writing around the same time, but for the notes of the January Sword, he reported "Brain weariness has driven the Pastor to take his accustomed rest." The delay in going brought on the painful attack, caused not so much by the recurrence of his disease as by "general weariness." On December ¹⁷ he described a "balmy day of clear sunshine and summer warmth" in Mentone. He could sit outside all day and drink in the healing influences of sun, sea, and air. "There is nothing like it for an invalid, to whom the cold and the damp are killing." He hoped soon to be on his feet with a refreshed brain

ready for full work again. ¹³⁴ When he addressed the college conference in May 1886 he was in great pain and had had to miss the greater part of the conference. During his inaugural address his pain made it hard to think and "almost impossible to think connectedly." Almost all that he had prepared was forgotten and "no new springs of thought could make channels for themselves while the mind was smothered up in physical suffering." He hesitated to prepare the message for

publication in the magazine but friends reminded him that The Sword and the Trowel was largely autobiographical and it should certainly appear as the testimony of a man who could "with difficulty keep himself from tears through acute suffering and yet was resolved to take his part in a meeting which he had anticipated with solemn interest for months before." Spurgeon also wanted the reader to know that the revising was accomplished under the same difficulties as

its original delivery. ¹³⁵ As printed, the message contained slight references to his pain. The message, "What We Would Be," extended a series of tender admonitions to his men for holiness and wisdom and understanding and gentleness with sinners. Their maturity now, after so many years, must qualify them as Fathers in the church, not for the purpose of control and demanding honor, but for service and selfgiving, wise counsel. He wanted them to yearn for the growth of their people and to be quick to spot returning sinners that they might deal bountifully with them.

About eight minutes before he finished, as it appears, Spurgeon said, "I don't think I can say much more, I am so greatly overcome by pain." He then continued, "I was going to say that as an earthly father stands in the place of God to his children, so do we in a certain measure." He closed with a lament of humble submission to the divine ordering of the individual moments of life; "I wish I could have spoken to you with all my strength, but it may be that my weakness may be used of God to greater purpose. My thoughts are few by reason of pain, which disorders my head, but they are on fire, for my heart remains true to the Lord, to his gospel, and to you. May he use every man of us to the utmost of our capacity for being used, and glorify himself by our health

and our sickness, our life and our death! Amen." ¹³⁶ He located the cause of this particular set-back in his exertion of too much energy in preaching the annual sermon for the Wesleyan Missionary Society. He returned home exhausted and acutely suffering. For three Sabbaths he had to miss preaching at the Tabernacle, and, as mentioned, a major portion of the college conference, as well as all the meetings of the Colportage Society. Many had to suffer because of his illness. "The question continually comes up," Spurgeon revealed, "Is not this too heavy a price to pay for the privilege of rendering occasional service to deserving objects outside our own immediate

circle?" ¹³⁷ How did Susannah cope with these long and frequent absences of her husband. She had the book fund to occupy her and so had volunteer help coming to the home frequently, to package requested volumes, to aid in correspondence, and to ascertain the fitness of those requesting books to receive them. Especially

when the volumes were to be sent to post did the home have intense activity.

None of this, however, compensated fully for the absence of the one she loved to call "Tirshatha." When Mrs. Spurgeon wrote her book fund report for the year, she closed with a lamentation of his absence in Mentone, a condition that had prevailed for many years. In her Victorian poetic style, she wrote of "The dim and silent study,—the Pastor's empty chair,—the long, grim rows of unused books,—the closed inkstand, in which the very pens have a forlorn and drooping pose." Adding to the stillness, aloneness, and deep sense of absence were "the lack of scattered papers, and other signs of a busy lifework." She had anxieties, too, that pressed her each day concerning him, "my beloved." Not only was he ill, but was "a thousand miles from wife and home!" Were it not for the given grace to commit all into the Father's loving hand, and the granted faith to believe that "He hath done all things well", she did not think that either of them could

bear the separation. ¹³⁸ By the middle of 1888, another season of suffering had borne down the sprits and mind of Spurgeon, but had not so debilitated him that he could not unsheathe his Sword. "A magazine is in some danger of death when the editor is so completely prostrate that his brain will not think," Spurgeon commented, and noted also a complicating factor, "and his right hand cannot hold a pen." The peculiarly heavy portion of the affliction came on him in between the production of one monthly number and the next, so he found himself, "through restoring mercy, again able to set about our appointed task." Always involved in a conscientious effort to keep the divine goodness before him, Spurgeon acknowledged, "There is always some circumstance of grace about the heaviest trial. The thorn-bush bears its rose. The Lord lets us see a bright light in the

clouds even when they gather in grimmest fashion." ¹³⁹ Such was the balance when he wrote to Fullerton from Mentone in January 1889. "I have been very ill but I now feel convalescent. I have had—say four days real holiday: the rest belongs to the head of illness & getting better. No, I had a good week at first."

140 He wanted to remember every blessing. Anything short of hell, was mercy.

The Misapplication of Pain

Spurgeon had suffered so long and in such a variety of ways that it naturally had an effect on his thought processes and his emotional resilience. He freely admitted this, that he was among those that "were most prone to forget the silver lining." Had he not said, "As to mental maladies, is any man altogether sane?"

141 Darkness accompanied him frequently. But that his sickness ever made him paranoid or irrational, thus unable to analyze thought with his normal acuity and frame a response with clarity and punctiliar relevance, there is no evidence, and he resisted the conclusion with vigor. Not his liver or his inflamed joints, but his heart and head assumed his consistently expressed doctrinal position and issued foreboding warnings about the corrosive effects of liberal thought.

Spurgeon resented the feigned kindness by which his critics justified themselves in ignoring his sober alarm as constitutional melancholia aggravated by sickness. These attempts to minimize Spurgeon's perceptive powers, or attributing his theological alarm merely to a despondent spirit, had surfaced in the middle of 1886. When he published sermon number 1900 of The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit he challenged his critics, "Let those who read that sermon see whether gout makes us surly, or even melancholy. Yet that

discourse was almost re-written when it was torture to hold a pen." ¹⁴² The sermon was an exposition of the admonition "Rejoice Evermore." The exuberance and exhilaration of the sermon belies any tendency to sourness on account of pain. Many notable passages press relentlessly for the Christian to regard every moment and every situation as an occasion for rejoicing. There is a possible oblique reference to his present state of intense pain in one passage, but it is only at the end of an exhortation to consider how the gospel transforms all

earthly experiences into occasions for joy:

I believe, dear friends, that if we are right-minded every doctrine of the gospel will make us glad,

every promise of the gospel will make us glad, every precept of the gospel will make us glad. If you

were to go over a list of all the privileges that belong to the people of God, you might pause over each

one, and say, I could rejoice evermore in this if I had nothing else. If ever you fail to rejoice, permit me

to exhort you to arouse each one of the graces of the Spirit to its most active exercise. Begin with the

first of them, faith. Believe, and as you believe this and that out of the ten thousand blessings which

God has promised, joy will spring up in your soul. Have you exercised faith? then lead out the sister

grace of hope. Begin hoping for the resurrection, hoping for the second coming, hoping for the glory

which is then to be revealed. What sources of joy are these! When you have indulged hope, then go on

to love, and let this fairest of the heavenly sisters point you to the way of joy. Go on to love God more

and more, and to love his people, and to love poor sinners; and, as you love, you will not fail to rejoice,

for joy is born of love! Love has on her left hand sorrow for the griefs of those she loves, but at her

right hand a holy joy in the very fact of loving her fellows; for he that loves doeth a joyful thing. If you

cannot get joy either out of hope, or faith, or love, then go on to patience. I believe that one of the

sweetest joys under heaven comes out of the severest suffering when patience is brought into play.

"Sweet," says Toplady, "to lie passive in thy hand, and know no will but thine." And it is so sweet, so

inexpressibly sweet, that to my experience the joy that comes of perfect patience is, under certain

aspects, the divinest of all the joys that Christians know this side of heaven. The abyss of agony has a

pearl in it which is not to be found upon the mountain of delight. Put patience to her perfect work, and

she will bring you the power to rejoice evermore. 143

His detractors resisted him, not with rational argument, but by making him an object of ridicule and pity. When he garnered evidence that the doctrinal decline was indeed real and noticed by other truly sane people, sound in mind and body, scattered throughout the Christian world, he informed his condescending detractors that the illustrations "suffice to show that it is not a solitary dyspeptic

who alone judges that there is much evil occurrent." ¹⁴⁴ The Sword and the Trowel in February of 1890 reported that one newspaper attempted to comfort Spurgeon at his "worst stage of depression concerning the doubts of the day" by the assurance that religion can never pass away. Other English Baptists informed some American inquirers that Spurgeon conducted himself in such a manner because "sickness and age had weakened his intellect."

145 A recent historian of English Baptists, A. C. Underwood, has continued that ridicule of Spurgeon by stating, "A sick man, he viewed with deepest concern all departure from the theology of the Puritans." Underwood has added to the insult by implying that Spurgeon was simply intellectually incapable of appreciating

the advances of modern thought. ¹⁴⁶ When one critic suggested that Spurgeon's accusations came from his sickness, not his theological acumen, he showed his entire disgust with this dodging of theological issues. "Our opponents," he says, "have set to work to make sneering allusions to our sickness." His solemn observations about theology are suggested by his pain, according to the critic, not his brain. This lack of Christian courtesy showed, in Spurgeon's judgment, that the new theology had introduced a new tone and spirit. Adherence to old-fashioned faith determines that a man must be an idiot and should be treated "with that contemptuous pity which is the quintessence of hate." If a theological watch-dog is known also to be ill, "impute their faith to their disease, and pretend that their earnestness is nothing but petulance arising from their pain." ¹⁴⁷

Suffering by Revealed Truth

It was good that Spurgeon had a theology of suffering long before he had the constant experience of it. The severity of it in his own life and the scurrilous way his opponents mined it for useful treasure could have driven a more unstable man to cynical despair. In 1857 he preached "The Loved Ones Chastened." He explored in detail from scriptural examples why God's people experience so many and such a variety of troubles in this life. Always searching for a biblical foundation, a word from revealed truth, Spurgeon asserted, "Apart from the revelation of God the dealings of Jehovah towards his creatures in this world seem to be utterly inexplicable." Religions say that God gives good to the good; the man that prospers is favored of the gods. He gives bad to the bad; those that suffer and are unsuccessful are obnoxious to the most High. The text of Scripture unravels the mystery; listen and "the riddle is unriddled:" "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore, and repent." The Christian's reward is

not in this life and the wicked man's punishment is not here.

He casts the Christian down; he gives the most afflictions to the most pious; perhaps he makes more

waves of trouble roll over the breast of the most sanctified Christian than over the heart of any other

man living. So, then, we must remember that as this world is not the place of punishment, we are to

expect punishment and reward in the world to come; and we must believe that the only reason, then,

why God afflicts his people must be this:

In love I correct thee, thy gold to refine,

To make thee at length in my likeness to shine. 148

Ireland, 1947), 231.