Chapter 13: Last Days at Waterbeach

Chapter 13.
Last Days At Waterbeach An Invitation from London—New Park Street Chapel—Decaying Prosperity—Mr. Spurgeon's First Night in London—His Misgivings—First Impressions of the Chapel—Dr. Gill's Chair—Differences of Opinion—The Evening Sermon and its Effects—Offer and Acceptance of the Pastorate—Impressions of Outsiders—Entry in the Church Book at Waterbeach.

We are now approaching the close of the days at Waterbeach, which the great preacher never ceased fondly to remember in London in after days. The manner in which he was first introduced to a larger sphere of labour in the metropolis might look like accident; but Mr. Spurgeon himself would have called it a particular providence. As the reader will be aware, when the pulpit of an important church and congregation becomes vacant, any mention of a promising village genius, who might be able to maintain the prestige of eminent predecessors, is listened to with interest. Men who have already made a reputation are commonly too scarce to be available; but it is always just possible that some rising star may be found who will equally well serve the anxious deacons' purpose. In the case of Mr. Spurgeon, it happened that news of his uncommon talents and unexceptionable teaching was carried to the Baptist Church at New Park Street Chapel, Southwark, at a time of urgent need in the autumn of the year 1853, when the pastorate was vacant. The sanctuary, which had accommodation for twelve hundred persons—not more than a sixth part of which was occupied—was supposed to be as handsome as it was spacious. Though the cause was an ancient one, the chapel itself was comparatively new; it had been erected in the reign of William IV., in place of one which had been taken down to clear the approaches to the present London Bridge. As will be shown in the proper place, quite a succession of notable theologians had been associated with the people from the seventeenth century downwards; but at the time mentioned the outlook was altogether disheartening. It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain congregational prosperity in crowded industrial centres, from which the best families showed a growing disposition to remove in order to secure the greater quiet and purer air of the suburbs. This was the case with New Park Street Chapel forty years ago; and to any ordinary observer it must have appeared that nothing short of the miraculous could arrest the process of decay.

Mere appearances may be deceptive, however; no actual miracle was needed to turn back the tide to the high-water mark of prosperity; all that was wanted was a man possessing certain gifts and characteristics. Where was such a man to be found? That was a question which the deacons wished to have answered; and at a very opportune moment a friend came forward to give the desired information. The man wanted was down at Waterbeach; and one of the friends had become impressed with his talents while noting the way in which he had been somewhat roughly rebuked at a meeting at Cambridge on account of outspoken adherence to what he judged to be the truth. When the late Mr. William Olney heard of this circumstance, he resolved that he would write to the young preacher to see what he might have to say to the proposal that he should make a trial of his gifts before a London congregation. From Mr. Olney's standpoint, all the precedents of the past seemed to favour a successful issue. The church of which he was a member had so repeatedly, with the best results, selected a man for its pastor who was still in his teens, or had scarcely got out of them, that the fact of Mr. Spurgeon being only nineteen years of age was of good omen. It had been much the same with Dr. John Grill, who had been pastor for over fifty years, with Dr. John Rippon, who held the office during sixty-three years, and with Dr. Joseph Angus, who had resigned the post about a dozen years before.

Mr. Spurgeon himself was by no means elated with the proposal that he should visit London. He had had little experience of life in the metropolis; but the vivid portrayals of Ragged London, which had so often had a fascination for him in the columns of Household Words, would only tend to make him love all the more the charms of his native East Anglia. The boy-preacher's private address being unknown to the magnates of New Park Street, the letter of application was sent to Waterbeach Chapel, and the mysterious-looking missive was lying on the communion-table when, after the winter-morning drive from Cambridge, Mr. Spurgeon entered the building to conduct the usual service. At first he thought that the letter was not for him; but a deacon was present in the person of Mr. Coe, who knew well enough that the application had reached the person for whom it was intended. There might be another Spurgeon at another place with a larger congregation, but the suggestion that the letter was intended for him was none the less mistaken. The more the preacher looked at the matter all round, the less he appears to have liked the prospect which the proposed visit to London opened before him. The situation was so far peculiar that pride or desire for a higher position must have nothing to do with influencing him in making his decision. It was not long since he had seemed to hear on Midsummer Common the admonition which had entered into his very soul: "Seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not." A reply was at first sent to London, saying that a mistake had evidently been made; but at length Mr. Spurgeon agreed to visit the metropolis. Being in love with the sphere he was occupying, and having no ambition to remove to London, Mr. Spurgeon left home on a memorable Saturday in December, 1853, with a heavy heart. Indeed, the affair was so genuine a trial to him that the passage of Scripture on which his mind continued to dwell was, "He must needs go through Samaria." We have to picture the country youth travelling up the Eastern Counties Railway to the old terminus at Shoreditch, thinking all the way of those he had left behind in Cambridge, and eagerly anticipating the time when he would return to them. In London the signs of approaching Christmas might be apparent on every hand; but all that did not tend to relieve his own lowness of spirits. Where was the young preacher to find a lodging? Not one of the good deacons who had favoured the notion of asking him to make a trial of the exercise of his gifts before a London congregation had offered him lodging and entertainment. A "supply" could be provided for at a boarding-house in Queen Square, and that was the most convenient arrangement. Though this was a highly respectable place, it was not one calculated to inspire a new-comer with a love of London. Those who commonly frequented the boarding-house were precise religionists of the Evangelical section of the Established Church, and their conversation was not of a kind to exhilarate one who had just come up from the Fens and was destined to strike out for himself a new path in the great centre of the world's commerce and civilisation. The select company of the common-room would at once see that the new-comer not only did not belong to their coterie, but appeared to be in certain respects somewhat of a greenhorn. They all saw at a glance that his clothes had not been made in Bond Street or Regent Street; and while the formidable-looking black satin stock he wore was such as might have come as an heirloom from Stambourne, the red-and-white cotton pocket-handkerchief which occasionally became visible naturally awakened dismay in the hearts of persons whose notions of propriety were of such an approved standard. When these good people learned that the round-faced boy who had suddenly appeared among them was actually engaged to preach on the morrow at one of the great chapels of London, which had its memorable associations, they could not help being amused, although they may have been too polite to show what they felt. At the same time, the temptation to entertain their young friend with trustworthy information relative to the men of might and of miraculous eloquence who then held forth in the various London pulpits was too great to be resisted. "There were giants in the earth in those days," and these Anglican Evangelicals plumed themselves upon being minutely acquainted with their characteristics. Mr. So-and-so who ministered in one quarter was the oracle of thoughtful people; Mr. Somebody-else in another direction had an irresistible attraction for men; and then there was another whose powers were such that City merchants flocked to hear him a thousand at a time! There may have been others whose powers of voice and of oratory were too great for human estimation; but the very thought of having to sleep in the same town with such men of world-wide fame was more than enough to unnerve a rustic evangelist who was timidly anticipating having to stand in the pulpit of Dr. Rippon within the space of a few hours. After all this it seemed meet that the boarding-house manager should, for a bedroom, allot Mr. Spurgeon a small place over the street door, hardly more than large enough to turn round in, and in which peaceful sleep was impossible on account of noises from the streets. When, at length, the morning came—a sombre December morning in London—the Evangelical Churchpeople of the boarding-house common-room went their several ways to hear those wonderful magnates of the English pulpit whose genius and labours imparted such lustre to the metropolis. It was too much to expect that any one of the number should volunteer to accompany the odd-looking visitor from the Fens to his singular destination at the Baptist meetinghouse, with which they were probably only very imperfectly acquainted. Being a stranger in London, the young preacher's first business when he left his lodging on the Sunday morning was to find the way to New Park Street. Turning into the great main thoroughfare of Holborn, he went on down the hill, the Viaduct being then hardly thought of, and turning again into Farringdon Street, he went on over old Blackfriars or Southwark Bridge, to come at last to the chapel which had such a memorable history associated with it. Before entering, there seems to have been another pang of misgiving; but, as the visit to London had not been of his own seeking, he resolved to go boldly forward and do what was expected of him. The meetinghouse appeared to be as dull and gloomy within as it was black and uninviting without; but all this was quite in keeping with the state of Mr. Spurgeon's mind. He was still thinking of the words, "He must needs go through Samaria." At the same time he could not but feel interested in his surroundings when he actually entered the building. There were warm-hearted friends to welcome him, while here and there were memories of a distinguished past. The temptation to sit down in what had been Dr. Gill's chair was irresistible, and there were pictures, etc., to see, as well as things to hear, in which such a visitor would be greatly interested. Some few persons still survive who were present at the old chapel on that memorable Sunday morning; but the one who retained the most vivid recollections of the occasion was my friend the late Mr. William Olney, from whom I received a particular description of what happened. When Mr. Spurgeon left the vestry to enter the pulpit the outlook was more dispiriting than ever, the mere handful of people dotted about the building representing altogether a much smaller congregation than would have assembled at Waterbeach, or at any of the special services in the parts surrounding that village. Everything associated with the place seemed to indicate that the prosperity of the past had gone down to low-water mark, and this could not but affect the preacher's spirits. The sermon was founded upon Jas 1:17, "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning." Perhaps some of the veteran Calvinists among the congregation may not have thought it a promising omen when the first text was thus selected from the Epistle of the Apostle of Works. Be that as it may, the original style and method of the youthful preacher struck all discerning persons present. The extraordinary clearness and power of his voice were also noticed. As to the general merits of the preacher, however, there was division of opinion. Some were captivated at once; others, who posed as more discerning, deliberate critics, hesitated to give their approval. This was all very natural. If it needs a great man to introduce original methods, such as will inevitably supersede the old-time ways or fashions, it also needs persons who are something more than commonplace to appreciate the innovation. But apart from what he had actually done in the way of preaching the Gospel to a London audience, Mr. Spurgeon had given his hearers something to talk about. The two hundred persons present, who on this occasion had an average of six seats each in the Southwark meetinghouse, went home not only to dine but to discuss what they had heard and seen. They had passed through a new experience; and while some may have ingenuously confessed that they were charmed, others were persuaded that such preaching would never do. We have to remember that on that first Sunday of his appearance in London, Mr. Spurgeon was a fair sample of what he would surely continue to be in years to come. He gave neither more nor less than one of his ordinary sermons, such as he would have preached to his rustic flock at Waterbeach had he remained at home. Any notion of delivering an elaborately prepared discourse to impress the congregation "with a view" to the pastorate, was far from his thoughts; he was too anxious to get the business over, and to return to dearly-loved Cambridge, to be tempted by such a prospect. At the same time, he was pointed in his remarks and simple in his style; and while his overflowing humour might provoke a titter through the chapel—staid deacons and grave matrons being unable to resist the temptation—the young preacher would actually be seen at times to smile himself. Nothing could be more impressive than the way in which he presented the solemn truths of the Gospel; but, nevertheless, the fact remained that this man was capable of smiling in the pulpit, and did not account it a sin to make others smile as well. The greater part of those who were present in the morning took care to go in the evening, and the reports they had made about the strange ways of the young man from Cambridge proved to be a sufficient advertisement to draw together a much larger assembly. An eccentric preacher who was only nineteen years of age was sure to prove a powerful attraction to the religious quidnuncs of London of forty years ago. The subject of the evening sermon was taken from the Book of Revelation, "They are without fault before the throne of God." The theme was a congenial one; the preacher had gained confidence since the morning; he was in better spirits, so that he was enabled to speak with comfort to himself while he powerfully impressed those who heard him. It was an extraordinary occasion, and those present felt it to be such. At the conclusion of the service it was a somewhat perplexing thing to know what to do with the people. They lingered in and about the chapel in a state of excitement; and the majority were anxious that the young Waterbeach pastor should forthwith be asked to remove to London. The day was thus a success, after all; and the youth whom the company at the Queen Square boarding-house had set down as a mere odd-looking rustic had so far become master of the situation that he had no reason further to fear being put to the test of preaching before a London congregation. The ordeal had not been what he had anticipated; he had succeeded in a signal manner when he thought it more than possible that he might fail; and he had gained new friends where he may not have hoped to find them. The evening repast in the boarding establishment, therefore, was a far pleasanter affair than breakfast in the early morning had been. The boy-preacher was no longer depressed by contrasting his own native littleness with the mighty pulpit orators who were the wonder of London. He might be but an apprentice hand, as Potto Brown had said; but he had a Gospel message to give such as the people were glad to hear. All things now seemed to wear a more attractive face; and though this Cambridge youth was not seeking a London pastorate, nothing was more certain than that he need not shrink from it if, later on, he should be disposed to enter upon such a sphere. The good people at Waterbeach of course felt regret at the turn which things were taking in connection with their pastor; but as such a termination of his services in the village was well known to be inevitable sooner or later, they reconciled themselves to it. The first letter of invitation arrived at No. 60, Upper Park Street, Cambridge, where Mr. Spurgeon was then living, in the latter part of January, 1854, after he had preached again on several occasions in London. In reply, the young pastor referred to his comfortable position among a devoted and loving people; and the only reason that moved him to leave them was the fact that they were unable to raise sufficient for a minister's maintenance. This seemed to indicate that the hand of Providence was opening the way for work in another direction. Mr. Spurgeon himself at this time acted with caution, and he admired the exercise of prudence in others. When he had accepted the call to Waterbeach, he would not bind himself to serve for longer than three months; and when the deacons asked him to occupy the London pulpit for half a year he shrank from the unqualified acceptance of their offer. He reserved the right to retire should anything like failure attend his ministry; and, on the other hand, he would not disregard a hint to resign if the other side felt disposed to give it. He was quite incapable then of measuring his own capacity, although after a time, when he had discovered what he could do, he was remarkable for self-reliance. People may have supposed later that he believed in himself; he really believed in what God was capable of accomplishing through his means. In January, 1854, however, he was particularly careful to keep open a way of retreat into the Fens should the London experiment not answer his expectations. He thought that people's enthusiasm might cool down, and then his popularity would be sure to wane. In any case, he would not leave Waterbeach abruptly, for the people had all been kind and devoted; and they would heartily welcome him back into their midst if the London arrangement should not become permanent.

Any hope that the people of Southwark would repent of their choice, or that Mr. Spurgeon himself would see that it was his duty to retire into the country, was doomed to meet with disappointment. The preacher's popularity continued to increase in a way that was quite without parallel. Instead of New Park Street Chapel having twelve hundred seats for two hundred persons, the doors were soon besieged by crowds who were content with standing room if seats were not to be obtained. At first there was a small minority who were not in favour of inviting Mr. Spurgeon to accept the pastorate, but eventually these gave way to the wishes of the majority, so that the call became practically unanimous. This cordial invitation to the pastorate was acknowledged by the youth of nineteen, and no difficulty appeared to stand in the way of his accepting it. He reminded his friends that he had never sought advancement at their hands; he had had nervous misgivings about making the experiment of preaching in London at all, and now the general outlook filled him with astonishment. His one desire was for God to lead him on and open the way. Since he had seemed to hear that mysterious admonition outside of Chesterton, he would not dare to harbour any ambition on his own account; but at the same time he could not but feel some satisfaction at becoming the pastor of a people with so noble a history. As he thought of his illustrious predecessors—Keach and Stinton, Grill and Rippon—he asked for the prayers of the saints that such an inexperienced youth might prove worthy to follow in their train. He hoped that any unguarded words he might use, or any mistakes into which he might fall, might be overlooked. While making a great venture, he did so in faith that the Lord would strengthen him to undertake the service. This was no vain confidence, but rather full dependence on the Divine strength.

It is interesting to us to learn what the young preacher from the Fens appeared like to shrewd observers who were tempted to enter New Park Street Chapel to see and hear for themselves. One who was an excellent judge wrote: "His voice is clear and musical, his language plain, his style flowing but terse, his method lucid and orderly, his matter sound and suitable, his tone and spirit cordial, his remarks always pithy and pungent, sometimes familiar and colloquial, yet never light or coarse, much less profane. Judging from a single sermon, one supposed that he would become a plain, faithful, forcible, and affectionate preacher of the Gospel in the form called Calvinistic; and our judgment was the more favourable because, while there was a solidity beyond his years, we detected little of the wild luxuriance naturally characteristic of very young preachers." From the first, the Quakers appear to have appreciated Mr. Spurgeon's forcible outspokenness while giving his message; and if Job Spurgeon, who in the seventeenth century was thrown into Chelmsford Gaol, suffered as a Quaker, there was some kinship between the Essex youth and the Friends. Even at this early date there was a notice of the New Park Street pastor in The Friend which was characteristic of the quarter whence it came. It ran thus:—

"The interest excited by his ministry, and the conflicting opinions expressed in reference to his qualifications and usefulness, have been altogether without parallel in modern times. It was a remarkable sight to see this round-faced country youth thus placed in a position of such solemn and arduous responsibility, yet addressing himself to the fulfilment of its onerous duties with a gravity, self-possession, and vigour that proved him well fitted to the task he had assumed." In reference to the transformation scene which had taken place at New Park Street Chapel, it was added:—

"In a few weeks the empty pews were crowded, every sitting in the chapel was let; and ere twelve months had elapsed the eagerness to hear him had become so great that every standing-place within the walls was occupied on each Sabbath, and it soon became evident that increased accommodation must be provided." In the meantime, while all this was taking place in London, nearly sixty miles distant, the deacons at Waterbeach plainly saw that their young friend would never return to that little pastorate. Then they made this historic entry in their Church Book:—

"Mr. Spurgeon continued to labour amongst us with very great success till the beginning of 1854, when he was called to the more important pastorate of New Park Street, where his popularity and usefulness continue beyond all parallel in modern times, being often called upon to preach on public occasions in all parts of the country." When Mr. Thompson, the present pastor at Waterbeach, read that passage to his congregation on Sunday, February 7, 1892, he very appropriately added:—

"Our beloved friend has gone from us, leaving no stain behind him. A man greatly beloved by all. He has left a terrible breach. He was a man of great faith, with an unswerving fidelity to the truth, loyal and devoted to his God, docile, childlike before God, fearless before men. He possessed a gentleness of soul known to few men, and when buildings and books shall be no more, Charles Haddon Spurgeon will continue to live, and his works will follow him."