Spurgeon on Whitsunday

From early days, the church celebrated Whitsunday to commemorate the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles and other believers fifty days after the resurrection of Christ; an event that occurred during the Jewish festival called the “feast of weeks” or Pentecost (Exodus 34:22; Deuteronomy 16:10). The festival of Whitsunday owes its name to the white garments worn by those who were baptised during the vigil. And Pentecost derives its name from the Greek for “the fiftieth” (day after Easter).

Many interesting things have happened on Whitsunday through the Church’s history. After a disastrous season ministering in Georgia, the Wesley brothers returned to England believing their lives and ministry had failed. John Wesley wrote of his experience in Georgia, “I went to America to convert the Indians; but, oh, who shall convert me?” The answer to his question came shortly after their return from America. Charles Wesley was the first of the two to be justified by faith. On Whitsunday, May 21, 1738, he experienced Pentecost. He wrote in his journal that the Spirit of God “chased away the darkness of my unbelief.”

Nearly 130 years later, Charles Spurgeon preached a message that explains why we must keep looking back to the church’s first Whitsunday (Pentecost) to find instruction on how to engage today’s generation with the gospel in the power of the Holy Spirit. Below is an edited portion from that sermon titled simply, “Pentecost.”

“And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance” (Acts 2:1-4).

How absolutely necessary is the presence and power of the Holy Spirit! It is not possible for us to promote the glory of God or to bless the souls of men, unless the Holy Ghost shall be in us and with us.

Those who were assembled on that memorable day of Pentecost, were all men of prayer and faith; but even these precious gifts are only available when the celestial fire sets them on a blaze. Among them were the apostles and the seventy evangelists; yet even these favored and honoured saints can do nothing without the breath of God the Holy Ghost.

Surely, my brethren, if so it was with them, much more must it be the case with us. Let us beware of trusting to our well-adjusted machineries of committees and schemes; let us be jealous of all reliance upon our own mental faculties or religious vigor; let us be careful that we do not look too much to our leading preachers and evangelists, for if we put any of these in the place of the Divine Spirit, we shall err most fatally. Let us thank God for all gifts and for all offices, but oh, let us ever be reminded that gifts and offices are but as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals, unless the quickening influence be present.

Now, I earnestly pray that, this morning I may stir up your pure minds by way of remembrance, by a simple exposition of the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. We are not observers of days and months, but it happens to be the season of the year in which the Early Church celebrated the outpouring of the Spirit at Pentecost. We commonly talk of Whitsuntide, or White-Sunday, which name is not without its lesson.

In the earlier centuries on this particular day, in commemoration of the great baptism of the three thousand converted under the preaching of Peter, it was the custom of the Church to hold a great baptism, and the candidates for immersion being, as with us, robed in white — (hence the name “Candidates,” or “White ones”) — that Sunday was called White-Sunday.

The Season when the Spirit of God was given.

“When the day of Pentecost was fully come.” We may observe, first, that the Spirit of God was given in God’s chosen and appointed time. There is a set time to favor Zion. The Spirit is not at all times alike active in his manifest workings. Both to try our faith and to prove his own sovereignty, the right hand of the Lord is sometimes thrust into his bosom, and he will only make bare his arm only at such times and seasons as he shall have himself appointed. Brethren, if every drop of rain has its appointed birth-day, every gleam of light its predestinated pathway, and every spark of fire its settled hour of flying upward, certainly the will, foreknowledge, and decree of God must have arranged and settled the period of every revival, place of every gracious visitation. Times of refreshing, in a Church or a commonwealth, come not except as the Creator-Spirit has determined. In God’s accepted and appointed time, therefore, the light of heaven shall go forth; and although this is not to withhold or restrain us from asking for the Spirit every day, it is to encourage us if he do not at once begin to work, for if the vision tarry we are to wait for it, it shall come in due time — it will not tarry.

There was a further mystery in the season, for it was after the ascension. The Spirit of God was not given till after Jesus had been glorified. The various blessings which we receive are ascribable to different parts of Christ’s work. His life is our imputed righteousness; his death brings us pardon; his resurrection confers upon us justification; his ascension yields to us the Holy Spirit and those spiritual gifts which edify the body. “Wherefore he saith, when he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men. And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers; for the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ.” As when Roman heroes returned from blood-red fields and the senate awarded them a triumph, they rode in their chariot drawn by milk-white steeds through the thronging streets of the capitol, so did Jesus Christ when he led captivity captive receive a triumph at his Father’s hands. The triumphal chariot bore him through the streets of glory, while all the inhabitants thereof with loud acclaim saluted him as Conqueror.

“Crown him! crown him! Crowns become the victor’s brow!”

It was the wont of the Roman conqueror as he rode along to distribute large quantities of money which were scattered among the admiring crowd. So our glorified Lord scattered gifts among men, yea to the rebellious also he gave those gifts that the Lord God might dwell among them; in this manner, then, to grace the triumph of Jesus, the Spirit of God was liberally poured out upon the Church below. Perhaps you remind me that our Lord had ascended ten days before. I know he had, but the delay might teach them patience. Not always does the flower bloom from the root in one hour. Christ has ascended and heaven is ringing with his praise, they have kept ten days of joyous holiday before the eternal throne, and now when Pentecost is fully come, the rushing mighty wind is heard.

Do you think, my brethren and sisters, that we plead Christ’s ascension enough as a reason why the Church should be blessed with the Spirit? I know we often reach as far as “By thine agony and bloody sweat, by thy cross and passion, by thy precious death and burial, by thy glorious resurrection,” — but do we proceed to “by thine ascension we beseech thee to hear us?” I am afraid we fail to perceive that the ascension of Christ is to be used as an argument in prayer, when we would have the Church revived by the holy breath of God, or have gifts bestowed upon her ministers and Church-officers.

Moreover, there is yet more teaching in the season. It was at Pentecost. Pentecost was a harvest-festival. On that day the sheaf was waved before the Lord and the harvest consecrated. The Passover was to our Savior the time of his solving, but Pentecost was the day of his reaping, and the fields which were ripe to the harvest when he sat on the well, are reaped now that he sits upon the throne.

But certainly the Spirit of God was given at Pentecost because there was then the most need of it. On that occasion vast crowds were gathered from all regions. The God of wisdom always knoweth how to time his gifts. What would have been the use of granting the many tongues when no strangers were ready to hear? If there had been no Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and dwellers in Mesopotamia collected in Jerusalem, there would have been no need for the cloven tongues; but inasmuch as the city was full and the high festival was being kept by unusual multitudes, it was most fit and right that now the Lord should say — “Thrust in thy sickle, for the harvest of the earth is ripe.”

Dear friends, I think that whenever we see unusual gatherings of men, whenever the Spirit of hearing is poured out upon the people, we ought to pray for and expect an unusual visitation of the Spirit; and when I look upon these crowds assembled in this house every Sabbath year after year, I can but entreat you to cry mightily to him with whom is the residue of the Spirit that he would give us a Pentecost, for though neither Parthians, nor Medes, nor Elamites are here, yet there scarcely ever passes a Sabbath without there being representatives of almost all nations under heaven who hear the wonderful works of God, not in their own tongue it is true, but yet in a language which they understand. Oh! pray that the Spirit of God may fall upon the unexampled hosts assembled here.

Still, dear friends, we have not dwelt upon a leading reason why the Holy Spirit descended at this special season. “They were all with one accord in one place.” We have been expecting to see the days of heaven upon earth. Our soul has longed to hear the voice of God thundering out of heaven. We have hoped for days such as our fathers have told us comforted them in the old time. We looked to see thousands born in a day; alas, the vision cometh not. But look at our country! We have had spasms of revival; that is as much as I can say. Even the Irish revival, for which we can never sufficiently bless God, was but as a passing cloud; it was not an abiding, resting shower, and so with all the shakings we have had in these later times. We have had but glimpses where we wanted sights; we have had but twilight where we needed the sacred, everlasting noon.

What is the reason of this? Perhaps it is to be found in our want of union. “They were all with one accord in one place.” Christians cannot all be in one place. We have no room that would be large enough to hold them, blessed be God! But if they cannot all be in one place, yet they can all be of one accord. Oh! when there are no cold hearts, when there are no prejudices to divide us, no bigotries to separate; no apathy shall hold us down, no false doctrine shall thrust the flocks from one another, and no schism to rend the one sacred garment of Christ, then may we expect to see the Spirit of God resting upon us. And in any one Church where shall be no strife which shall be the greatest, no division about peculiarities, no fighting for respectabilities and selfishnesses, but when the Church are of one accord, then may we expect to hear the sound of abundance of heaven’s rain.

Note, dear friends, what they were doing. They were not merely unanimous, but they were earnest about one grand object. They had all been praying. Read the first chapter and you will perceive that they had been much in prayer. The whole of the time since the ascent of our Lord they had been occupied in constant supplication, and so pleading both day and night, it was no great wonder that the granaries of heaven should be unlocked. We have had weeks of prayer at the beginning of the last few years, and it was well, but if we had continued in prayer all the weeks of the year, if we had always been with one accord still crying unto heaven, still wrestling with the angel, still interceding, surely the little cloud, like a man’s hand, which the eye of faith has seen, would by this time have covered all the heavens, and have discharged a plenteous shower upon all nations of men. There must be unity, but that unity must not be the frozen union of death, but the glorious welding of a glowing furnace heat.

They had been much in prayer, and now I see them sitting still. Wherefore sit they so quietly? It is the quietude of expectation. When God’s Church adds expectation to supplication, then a blessing tarries no longer. We ask, but we do not expect to receive. We pray, but probably nothing would so alarm us as the answer to our prayers. If after having pleaded with God to send his Holy Spirit the Holy Spirit did come, there are many who would not believe it, there are others who would think it a mere excitement, and there are multitudes who would shut their eyes to it altogether. Oh Spirit of God! work in the hearts of thy children perfect harmony, intense anxiety, and confident expectation, and then wilt thou come to do thy mighty deeds once more.

These remarks concerning the season may lead to many practical questions; I will but put them rapidly, and leave them. Do I help to hinder the coming of the Spirit by any bitterness of my temper? Do I by any want of love tend to divide the Church? Are my prayers such as are likely to prevail? And when I pray do I expect the blessing of God? If not, how mournful that I should be the means of restraining and limiting the Holy One of Israel, that I should be a Church-robber, and commit sacrilege against the Church of God, not by stealing its gold and silver, but by closing the treasury of God! Let us as a Church humble ourselves under the hand of God, and then, girding up the loins of our mind, to wait upon him with patience and earnestness until the Spirit be poured out from on high!

Yearning for Revival

Do You Believe This?

Informed of His friend Lazarus’ illness, Jesus declared, “This sickness is not to end in death,” and decided to remain where he was staying for a couple more days. Though His remarks and behaviour confused and startled the disciples, Jesus knew God was ordaining a circumstance that would increase His glory. In the tomb where Lazarus lay, all appeared final and hopeless, as death does, but it wasn’t to be; Jesus was about to manifest His power there and offer proof He was Messiah.

But a barrier stronger than death lay outside the tomb—unbelief in the human heart. When Jesus met Martha just outside Bethany, He asserted, “I am the resurrection and the life, he who believes in me will live even if he dies.” Then He asked her a penetrating faith question, “Do you believe this.” Though she replied she did, confusion came over her and she departed to ask Mary to talk with Jesus. When they met, Mary cried out through her tears, “If you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died!” To her and the rest, Lazarus was dead, and that was that.

But Jesus knew God’s purposes. Before a weeping crowd and doubting clamourers, Jesus called for the cave’s stone to be removed. Imposing her doubt against this intrusion of her brother’s grave, Martha protested that Lazarus’ body had certainly begun decomposing. To that Jesus replied, “Did I not say to you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

Lest anyone doubt who He was and what His mission meant, Jesus prayed to the Father, and then commanded, “Lazarus, come forth!” And when Lazarus walked out, pulling off his wrappings, those who saw what Jesus had done believed in Him.

If you’ll allow me, I would like to make a connection between this call to faith and the situation of churches today. All around London, near-empty chapels remind us just how far away we’ve come from a not-too distant time of fullness and life. And even in churches that appear more healthy (larger anyway), many distractions and demands on time are dulling the hearts. Centres once blazing with gospel fire appear nearly extinguished. So desperate is the situation that some among us might even be tempted to say like Mary, “Lord, if you had been here, our chapels would not have died!”

But with God all things are possible. And in this season of decline, I hear our Saviour saying, “Do you believe?” The call is not to despair, but to live in faith. Faith that comes from the surety of God’s Word. Faith that is strengthened through prayer. Faith that is exercised in persistent gospel efforts despite the paucity of the present response.

Spurgeon declared in one of his sermons,

“Before the Lord blesses a church, he prepares it for the blessing. A number of sailors wrecked on a desert island are thirsting for water; but suppose a shower comes at once, it will be wasted blessing. They must be so thirsty that they are led to put up an apparatus for catching the water when it comes; otherwise the water comes too soon, and is lost. I love to see a church in such state of agony for God’s grace that it has got, as it were, the reservoirs ready to hold the grace when it comes.”

This same spirit holds residence in my heart. The situation is bleak, no argument there, but the same God who touched dire times with a fullness of blessing and power still lives. The Word carries the same sharpness to pierce all unbelief. The same Holy Spirit is able to bring a season of refreshment to God’s people.

Jesus asked, “Do you believe this?” And today He repeats the question to us. Do we believe this?

O, yes, Lord, we do believe, help our unbelief. Make us a people prayerful and proclaiming. Make us a church ready and waiting for the blessing. Make us a church that has filled the valley with ditches, prepared to catch the rain when it comes.

Lord, we do believe this!

How England Was Revived in the 18th Century by J.C. Ryle

That a great change for the better came over England during the 18th century is a fact that I suppose no well-informed person would ever attempt to deny. You might as well attempt to deny that there was a Protestant Reformation in the days of Luther, a Long Parliament in the time of Cromwell, or a French Republic at the end of the 18th century. There was a vast change for the better. Both in religion and in morality, the country gradually went through a complete revolution. This is a great fact that even the irreligious cannot deny, however they may attempt to explain it.
But, by what means was this great change effected? To whom are we indebted for the immense improvement in religion and morality that undoubtedly came over the land? Who, in a word, were the instruments whom God employed in bringing about the great English reformation of the 18th century?

The government of the country can lay no claim to the credit for the change. Morality cannot be called into being by laws and statutes. People have never yet been made religious by acts of government. In fact, the parliaments and administrations of the 18th century did as little for religion and morality as any that ever existed in England. Nor did the change come from the Church of England as a body. The leaders of that venerable institution were utterly unequal to the times. Left to herself, the Church of England would probably have died of pride and inactivity.

Nor did the change come from the independent churches of the dissenters. Content with their recently won freedoms, that worthy body of men seemed to rest upon their oars. In the general enjoyment of their new rights of conscience, they forgot the vital principles of their forefathers as well as their own duties and responsibilities.

Who, then, were the reformers of the 18th century? To whom are we indebted, under God, for the change that took place? The men who wrought deliverance at this period were a few individuals, most of them clergymen of the Established Church, men whose hearts God touched about the same time in various parts of the country. They were not wealthy or highly connected. They had neither money to buy adherents nor family influence to command attention and respect. They were not put forward by any church, party, society, or institution. They were simply men whom God stirred up and brought out to do His work without previous concert, scheme, or plan.

They did Christ’s work in the old apostolic way by becoming the evangelists of their day. They taught one set of truths. They taught them in the same way, with fire, reality, and earnestness. They taught them in the same spirit, always loving, compassionate, and like Paul, even weeping, but always bold, unflinching, and not fearing the face of man. They did not wait for sinners to come to them, but rather they sought sinners. Instead of sitting idle until sinners offered to repent, they assaulted the high places of ungodliness like men storming a breach, giving sinners no rest so long as they held to their sins.

The movement of these gallant evangelists shook England from one end to another. From the beginning, people in high places made it known that they despised them. The educated class sneered at them as fanatics.

The humorists made jokes and invented sarcastic names for them. The Church of England shut her doors on them, and even the dissenters turned the cold shoulder on them. The ignorant mob persecuted them. But the movement of these few evangelists went on and made itself felt in every part of the land.

Many were aroused and awakened to think about religion. Many were shamed out of their sins. Many became frightened at their own ungodliness. Many were converted. Many who declared their dislike of the movement were secretly provoked to imitation. The little sapling became a strong tree; the little creek became a deep, broad stream; and the little spark became a steady, burning flame. A candle was lighted of which we are now enjoying the benefit.

The feeling of all classes in the land about religion and morality gradually assumed a totally different complexion. And all this, under God, was effected by a few unpatronized, unpaid adventurers! When God takes a work in hand, nothing can stop it. When God is for us, none can be against us.

The Sword of Preaching

The instrumentality by which the spiritual reformers of the 18th century carried on their operations was of the simplest description. It was neither more nor less than the old apostolic weapon of preaching. The sword that Paul wielded with such mighty effect when he assaulted the strongholds of heathenism 1,800 years ago was the same sword by which they won their victories.

To say, as some have done, that they neglected education and schools is totally incorrect. Wherever they gathered congregations, they cared for the children. To say, as others have done, that they neglected the sacraments is simply false. Those who make these assertions only expose their entire ignorance of the religious history of that period. But beyond a doubt, preaching was their favorite weapon. They wisely went back to first principles and took up apostolic plans. They held, with Paul, that a minister’s first work is to preach the gospel.

They preached everywhere. If the pulpit of a parish church was open to them, they gladly availed themselves of it. If it could not be obtained, they were equally ready to preach in a barn. No place was too unworthy for them. In the field or by the roadside, on the village grass or in a marketplace, in lanes or in alleys, in cellars or in attics, on a tub or on a table, on a bench or on a horse block, wherever hearers could be gathered, the spiritual reformers of the 18th century were ready to speak to them about their souls. They were instant in season and out of season in doing Christ’s work, and crossed sea and land in carrying forward their Father’s business. Now, all this was a new thing. Can we wonder that it produced a great effect?

They preached simply. They rightly concluded that the very first qualification to be aimed at in a sermon is to be understood. They saw clearly that thousands of able and well composed sermons are utterly useless because they are above the heads of the hearers. They strove to come down to the level of the people and to speak what the poor could understand.

To attain this, they were not ashamed to sacrifice their reputations as learned men. They willingly used illustrations and anecdotes in abundance and, like Jesus their Master, borrowed lessons from every object in nature. They carried out the maxim of Augustine, “A wooden key is not so beautiful as a golden one, but if it can open the door when the golden one cannot, it is far more useful.”

They revived the style of sermons in which Luther and Latimer were so eminently successful. In short, they saw the truth of what the great German Reformer meant when he said, “No one can be a good preacher to the people who is not willing to preach in a manner that seems childish and vulgar to some.” Now all this, again, was quite new in their age.

They preached fervently and directly. They cast aside that dull, cold, lifeless mode of delivery that had long made sermons boring. They proclaimed the words of faith with faith, and the story of life with life. They spoke with fiery zeal, like men who were thoroughly persuaded that what they said was true and that it was of the utmost importance to your eternal interest to hear it.
They spoke like men who had a message from God for you, who felt that they must deliver it, and that they must have your attention while they delivered it. They threw heart, soul, and feeling into their sermons, and they sent their hearers home convinced that the preacher was sincere and wished them well. They believed that you must speak from the heart if you wish to speak to the heart, and that there must be unmistakable faith and conviction within the pulpit if there is to be faith and conviction among the pews. All this was a thing that had become almost obsolete. Can we wonder that it took people by storm and produced an immense effect?

The Substance of Preaching

But what was the substance and subject matter of the preaching that produced such wonderful effect in the 18th century? I will not insult my readers’ common sense by only saying that it was simple, earnest, fervent, real, genial, brave, lifelike, and so forth. I would have it understood that it was eminently doctrinal and distinct. The strongholds of that century’s sins would never have been cast down by mere earnestness and negative teaching. The trumpets that blew down the walls of Jericho were trumpets that gave no uncertain sound. The English evangelists of the 18th century were not men of an uncertain creed. But what was it they proclaimed? A little information on this point may be useful.

For one thing, the spiritual reformers of the 18th century constantly taught the sufficiency and supremacy of Holy Scripture. The Bible, whole and unmutilated, was their sole rule of faith and practice. They accepted all its statements without question or dispute. They knew nothing of any part of Scripture being uninspired. They never flinched from asserting that there can be no error in the Word of God, and that when we cannot understand or reconcile some part of its contents, the fault is in the interpreter and not in the text. In all their preaching they were eminently men of one book. To that book they were content to pin their faith, and by it to stand or fall. This was one grand characteristic of their preaching. They honored, loved, and reverenced the Bible.

Furthermore, the reformers of the 18th century constantly taught the total corruption of human nature. They knew nothing of the modern notion that Christ is in every man, and that all possess something good within that they have only to stir up and use in order to be saved. They never flattered men and women in this fashion. They told them plainly that they were spiritually dead and must be made alive again, that they were guilty, lost, helpless, hopeless, and in imminent danger of eternal ruin. Strange as it may seem to some, their first step toward making men good was to show them that they were utterly bad, and their primary argument in persuading men to do something for their souls was to convince them that they could do nothing at all.

Furthermore, the reformers of the 18th century constantly taught that Christ’s death upon the cross was the only satisfaction for man’s sin, and that Christ died as our substitute, the just for the unjust. This, in fact, was the cardinal point in almost all their sermons.

They never taught the modern doctrine that Christ’s death was only a great example of self-sacrifice. They saw in it something far greater and deeper than that--they saw in it the payment of man’s mighty debt to God. They loved Christ’s person, they rejoiced in Christ’s promises, and they urged men to walk after Christ’s example. But the one subject concerning Christ that they delighted to dwell on above all others was the atoning blood that Christ shed for us on the cross.

Furthermore, the reformers of the 18th century constantly taught the great doctrine of justification by faith. They told men that faith was the one thing needful in order to obtain an interest in Christ’s work for their souls. They declared that before we believe, we are spiritually dead and have no interest in Christ, but that the moment we do believe, we live and are entitled to all Christ’s benefits. Justification by virtue of church membership - justification without believing or trusting - were notions to which they gave no merit. 'Everything if you will believe, and nothing if you do not believe': this was the very marrow of their preaching.

Furthermore, the reformers of the 18th century constantly taught the universal necessity of heart conversion and new creation by the Holy Spirit. They proclaimed everywhere to the crowds whom they addressed, “You must be born again.” Sonship to God by baptism or while continuing to do the will of the devil they never admitted. The regeneration they preached was no dormant, motionless thing. It was something that could be seen, discerned, and known by its effects.

Furthermore, the reformers of the 18th century constantly taught the inseparable connection between true faith and personal holiness. They never allowed for a moment that any church membership or religious profession was the least proof of a man being a true Christian if he lived an ungodly life. A true Christian, they maintained, must always be known by his fruits, and these fruits must be plainly manifest and unmistakable in all aspects of life. “No fruits, no grace” was the constant tenor of their preaching.

Finally, the reformers of the 18th century constantly taught, as equally true doctrines, God’s eternal hatred against sin and God’s love toward sinners. They knew nothing of a heaven where the holy and unholy are both able to find admission. With respect to heaven and hell, they used the utmost plainness of speech. They never shrank from declaring, in plain terms, the certainty of God’s judgment and wrath to come if men persisted in impenitence and unbelief - and yet they never ceased to magnify the riches of God’s kindness and compassion, and to entreat all sinners to repent and turn to God before it was too late. Such were the main truths that the English evangelists of those times were constantly preaching.

These were the principal doctrines they were always proclaiming, whether in town or in the country, whether in church or in the open air, whether among the rich or among the poor. These were the doctrines by which they turned England upside down, made farmers weep until their dirty faces were streamed with tears, arrested the attention of peers and philosophers, stormed the strongholds of Satan, plucked thousands like brands from the burning, and altered the character of the age.
Call them simple and elementary doctrines, if you will. Say, if you please, that you see nothing grand, striking, new, or peculiar about this list of truths. But the fact is undeniable that God blessed these truths to the reformation of England. What God has blessed, man ought never to despise.