Chapter 65: Services at the Agricultural Hall

Chapter 65.
Services At The Agricultural Hall

Third Conference of the College—Closing of the Tabernacle—Services in the Agricultural Hall—A. Striking Service.

The third Conference of the Pastors' College was held during the latter part of March. On Tuesday, the 19th of the month, a large company of ministers and students assembled at Upton Chapel, Lambeth Road, when Mr. Spurgeon, as president, gave an address on Enthusiasm. He said he believed enthusiasm to be the great want of the age; and it was then shown with great force in what sense enthusiasm in all ages enabled men to excel in various departments of service. The speaker continued:—

"It was tills spirit that nerved the mediæval artists in executing those grand and lasting works of art which had made their names famous. It is an intense devotion to science and discovery that enables medical men and explorers to die for the sake of giving the world more knowledge. The same enthusiasm that has modelled stone as if it were clay, that forces the earth to yield up her hidden secrets, and has induced men to lay down their lives for the sake of discovery, is required by us all. I am sometimes tempted to think that the Christian Church is what Dr. Watts has described it to be—viz., 'majestically slow.' She once seemed to tread on the mountain tops; but now she systematically keeps in the valleys and loves the sequestered shades, leaving the jutting crags for the most imprudent young men. Yet I would venture to ask, Where does the Holy Ghost dwell, and in what form does His influence develop itself? There is only one safe answer to this question, and that would be with the incarnation of enthusiasm, if I may use such an expression. All Church history—by whom written it does not signify—shows that the Holy Ghost is in the Church working with power whenever there is enthusiasm among its members. It is indeed cause and effect—the Holy Ghost producing enthusiasm. My notion of what an apostle is, is that he is a man of fire. After the Apostolic age, and during the next two or three centuries, the way in which the Church put out the fires of Diocletian was by fire. Their own fire encountered the world's fire, and overcame it. Christianity then was an intolerable nuisance, but now it is a thing accounted to be most respectable. Consistency largely prevailed; in nine cases out of ten Christians made themselves beggars for conscience sake. It was an age of enthusiasm, when the world was in earnest, and as earnestly burnt Christians as they were in earnest about teaching their persecutors. During the dark ages, the most prominent and useful men were the enthusiastic men. The few preachers of those days were all daring, forcible men, who felt they had a call, and followed it with little light and much ignorance. Then we come to the Reformation days, when Luther and Calvin, though in different ways, manifested extraordinary enthusiasm. This enthusiasm caught everywhere, and all Christians had it in some measure, even to the travelling pedlars who surreptitiously circulated the Word of God. Whitefield and Wesley were moved by the same spirit; the former, indeed, is described as a lion. Both attended enthusiastic meetings; men and women would meet for prayer and praise at such places as the Tabernacle, Moorfields, at five o'clock in the morning. I think that people then must hare loved their religion to get up in time for a five-o'clock morning service."

Energy was pronounced to be the first, if not the last, thing wanted in Christian oratory, while action was "about the twentieth thing wanted." It was then shown wherein lay the power of enthusiasm. Did it not lie very much in themselves? He would ever wish to have his soul on fire for his Master, just as much as a passionate man had the flames of hell within him when he was in a bad temper. Enthusiasm dignified a minister's work, and the work itself was of a dignified character. They were fellow-labourers with God, labouring for souls. Without enthusiasm their work would be dead and dull, but with it everything was worth doing, and was well done. He believed that enthusiasm would remove many difficulties which lie in a minister's pathway. It was deplorable that so many ministers in the denomination were so badly paid; but until the wrong was rectified, they could only bear with it through enthusiasm in their work. Preaching the Gospel without enthusiasm would make people indifferent to religion, if not atheists. They could have no conversions without enthusiasm. He might say that enthusiasm had all sorts of virtues, and for himself, he could see no weakness in it. With it one talent would equal ten, and with ten they might equal one hundred. By fire he meant the fire which flashes out of a man, and he would say, let the world call them fanatics, say they were mad, they would tell the world to prove it. In the evening the annual supper was given, Mr. Samuel Morley being in the chair, and a sum of £1,100 was collected. Dr. Allon was among the speakers. Mr. Morley leaned towards those who desired the union of the Baptist and Pædobaptist denominations. This was not Mr. Spurgeon's view, however. "I hope we shall never see the day when there will cease to be Baptists and Independents," he remarked. "I hold that though we are bound to love our mothers-in-law, we are not bound to live with them. We do not love one another one whit the less because we can carry out our conscientious convictions as we please. Certainly I do think," it was added, "that in some villages and towns some Baptist churches may be a superfluity; and I think the same may be the case with some Independent churches." The Conference continued during the three following days. In the course of a striking account of his work among the street-trading classes, Mr. W. J. Orsman declared that there was awful truth in the remark of one at the supper to the effect that London was the most heathenish part of the United Kingdom.

During the week which followed this Conference, Dr. Campbell, the veteran journalist and friend of Spurgeon, passed away in the seventy-third year of his age. This was probably quite unexpected, for three months previously, when he had retired from active service, he seemed to be free from all infirmities of age. I am not quite sure that the friendship between the young pastor of the Metropolitan Tabernacle and the autocrat of Bolt Court was quite so cordial after the Baptismal Regeneration controversy as it had been before. Be that as it may, Dr. Campbell well served his generation, and, as one said of him, "he could heartily shake hands after a quarrel." In the early spring of 1867 the Metropolitan Tabernacle had been in use during six years, and it was found that the building would need to be closed for a month in order to complete the cleaning and renovation, as well as some repairs which were now necessary. When the question arose, Where shall the people assemble in the meantime? it was felt that Exeter Hall would be too small for such a congregation. At last, it was resolved to hire the Agricultural Hall at Islington, a building of such dimensions that a congregation three times as large as that at the Metropolitan Tabernacle could assemble within its walls. Without being asked, the present Dr. Newman Hall offered the use of Surrey Chapel for the week-night services, an accommodation which was gladly accepted. On account of its being several miles distant from the Tabernacle, the Agricultural Hall was inconveniently situated for Mr. Spurgeon's congregation, and although large numbers, no doubt, attended, very many would not undertake such a journey on Sunday mornings. The arrangements were for one service only on each Sunday, as it was not advisable for the preacher to undergo the strain of addressing between twenty and thirty thousand persons more than once on one day.

Mr. Spurgeon did not need to take his congregation with him in order to fill 15,000 sittings, as well as the standing room, however; for when the news spread through North London that the great preacher was coming, it was generally hailed with surprise and satisfaction. There were many who had never heard Mr. Spurgeon preach, being prevented by the distance from attending at the Metropolitan Tabernacle. Then, the boldness and the novelty of attempting to hold services in such a building struck people with astonishment. "Even those who knew the capabilities of Mr. Spurgeon's wonderful voice more than feared for the result of the step he had taken; while others, remembering how signally the speakers at the Reform demonstrations held in the building had failed to make more than a few hundred persons hear, naturally predicted that the result would be a failure," remarked The Freeman. There would be found to be a great difference between speaking in the chapel at Newington and such a structure as the Islington Hall; for quite apart from its vast size, the acoustic properties of the latter were not good. To those who were more perfectly acquainted with the preacher's power of voice, however, the prospect was not disturbing. The great building was 384 feet long and 217 feet wide, but the throng enclosed in such a space would be no greater than the crowds which Mr. Spurgeon had often addressed in the open air. There was an eager demand for the ordinary tickets of admission for the five Sundays at a shilling each; and, in addition to ticket-holders, there was a crowd of five or six thousand persons on the morning of the first service.

Taken as a whole, the spectacle was as novel as anything of the sort ever seen in London. There does not appear to have been a hitch of any kind. As one who was present writes: "The arrangements made for preserving order and for the easy accommodation were perfect. The members of the Church who made themselves useful on this occasion performed their work most satisfactorily. Considering the temptation, which is seldom resisted at such remarkable gatherings, of giving commands after the perfunctory style of a parish beadle, the method adopted was well carried out. There was no fuss, no peremptory commands... and visitors seemed thoroughly to understand each other; and, so far as we could see, there was no collision between the public and the authorities." So little fear was there of any disorder that only four or five policemen were present. We find it added that "three parts of the area and of the side seats were filled before ten minutes to eleven, at which time there was a buzz of excitement and a crowd of persons came running in, helter-skelter, all anxious, of course, to secure the best seats. As the clock struck eleven, most of those present were quietly seated, and waiting for the entrance of the preacher." Some of the more distant seats were unoccupied; but, notwithstanding, numbers were standing in the aisles, preferring the inconvenience to the risk of being out of hearing. The organ was not used, but a body of singers occupied an orchestra in the centre of the building. When the preacher ascended the platform, accompanied by his deacon, "Father" Olney, the buzz of conversation was at once hushed, men removed their hats from their heads, and umbrellas, that many had opened to keep off the sun-rays which came through the glass roof, were closed. The opening prayer was heard throughout the building, and time was well kept in the singing. The Freeman thus described the first part of the service:—

"The 103rd psalm was read, and suitable evangelical comments were made. The question so shrilly uttered, 'Are you ready? let this question echo in every heart,' seemed to echo through the building, and we were informed that the sounds, though not intelligible, were heard outside the building. The prayer which followed the reading of the lesson was peculiarly fervent and solemn, and at the time Mr. Spurgeon was earnestly pleading for a blessing upon the neighbouring ministers, most of them were engaged in praying that strength might be given him who was addressing so mighty a concourse close by. 'Bless this locality,' prayed Mr. Spurgeon; 'let Islington rejoice in the Lord; grant that as the voice of Jonah shook the city of Nineveh, so the voice of these Thy ministers may shake the North of London.' The responses to this supplication were almost universal; and an under-current of the deepest feeling seemed to pass through the building when Mr. Spurgeon prayed, 'Now, my God and Father, Thou hast helped me to preach to great masses of the people these many years, and though I have had many and cruel enemies, and though the devil has roared full often, yet Thou hast enabled us to open many places where the Word had never before been preached, and many souls have been saved—oh, now do some great work in this hall. From this hall as a centre, let the true fire go forth to all England, and let Thy ministers catch the heavenly flame. Oh God, send a great universal revival of true religion in this country.' Again the responses were loud, and many sobbed." The sermon, which lasted for fifty minutes, was founded on the parable of the two sons, St. Mat 21:28-31. This discourse, like the others which were given at the Agricultural Hall, was specially addressed to the unconverted. He said that the scene he looked upon reminded him of the assemblies which, in days happily gone by, crowded the amphitheatres of Old Rome:—

"Ranged on all sides were multitudes with eager eyes and cruel hearts. In such a gathering there was no difficulty in separating the precious from the vile. There in the centre was seated the solitary disciple of Christ who was about to die when the lion should be let loose; while all around the amphitheatre or the mighty colosseum was a great crowd who were gazing down like heathens, and proving to a demonstration that they were such, by looking at the Christian martyr shedding his blood for the gratification of the populace. He (the preacher) could not attempt to separate the two classes that morning; it were a task that angels could not perform now, although they must do it some day. Let them make the division among themselves in their own consciences, let their own honesty make the mark, and each man ask this morning, 'Am I on the Lord's side?' 'Divide, divide,' they say in the House of Legislature. Let them also say the same in the house of prayer that day. Yet if they could thus divide, and if those on one side could say, 'We have made a covenant with God by sacrifice,' and those on the other side were enemies to God, it would still be necessary to make a further division among the last class. For all sinners were not alike—they were not all in the same moral condition. He would therefore divide them into two distinct classes. First, those who were avowedly disobedient to God; and, secondly, those who were deceptively submissive to Him. The first class said, to use the words of the text, 'I will not.' They had spoken what was in their minds right out; for actions were louder than words. They continually said, by their neglect of the Sabbath, their neglect of prayer, and of the house of God, by never reading the Bible, and their whole course of conduct, 'I will not.' They did not give an assent to the doctrines of God's word. They said they would not believe anything which they did not understand, although there were ten thousand things which they could not understand, but which if they did not believe they would be great fools."

Reference was made to a conference of working men, which had recently been held, and at which some of the speakers had quarrelled with the doctrines usually preached by Gospel ministers, as if such doctrines could be altered "to suit each objector's taste." If preachers were to yield to such nonsense as that they would only be despised for doing so by working men themselves.

"He confessed, however, that he liked them for their honesty in saying 'I will not,' but he must candidly tell them that they had got to be a little too fond of their honesty, and began to look down upon the professors of religion, and to say, 'I make no pretence to religion.' He hoped they would ever continue to despise and hate hypocrisy, and laugh at hypocrites. He had tried to do so himself. But if they began to make themselves proud of their honesty, he would let them down a little. If a man said, 'I don't profess to speak the truth,' it did him no credit, for he only boasted of being a liar. If he said, 'I don't profess to steal,' what was there to be proud of in not being a thief? So when a man said, 'I make no profession of religion,' it was not much to be proud of to declare that he did not fear, and love, and obey his Maker—that he did not treat his God as reason and revelation alike demanded. Still, if they said, 'I won't,' he thought they might be induced to go a little further, for they read in the text, 'Afterwards he repented and went.' Perhaps this man did not know the pleasantness of duty until he tried it; and many who said, 'I won't,' probably did it from ignorance of what religion was. Nine people out of ten did not seem to know what true, vital religion meant."

Some reference was then made to the other character who said, "I go, sir," and went not. He represented a more numerous class—those who were Gospel-hardened. The Gospel was adapted to all, and the same truths that were preached to the working classes were preached to the upper classes. The effort of speaking to so vast a congregation so far tired the preacher's voice, that towards the close he seemed to flag a little; but he soon recovered, having a rest during the remainder of the day, though services were conducted by others in the lecture-hall beneath the Tabernacle. On the following Sunday, March 31, the crowd was so great that thousands had to turn away from the doors, being unable to gain admission. The sermon, which lasted over an hour, and was founded on Jer 31:18, was distinctly heard in every part of the great building. On Sunday, April 14, it was believed that about 25,000 persons were present; and, as was to be expected, the neighbouring congregations were much thinner than usual. The hall was of course densely crowded on the occasion of the last service, which took place on April 21. Nearly all the seats were occupied by ticket-holders; and when the doors were opened the waiting crowd ran in and at once occupied all the standing room. Mr. Spurgeon gave notice that he had a desire to correspond with any who felt a desire to extend the work of the Baptist denomination in London; for he saw no way of relieving the spiritual destitution of the metropolis but for each denomination to do its utmost to meet its own needs. The sermon was very anecdotal, in that respect being just of the kind to prove of interest to a vast mixed audience. It was founded on Num 23:10, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his." The opening had reference to death and the last reckoning:—

"Carlyle, in his 'History of the French Revolution,' tells us of a Duke of Orleans who did not believe in death. He must, I think, have been somewhat insane. He believed, or pretended to believe, that men did not die; so that when his secretary said in his presence, 'The late King of Spain,' he angrily demanded what he meant by it. The obsequious attendant replied, 'It is the title which some King of Spain has taken.' I do not suppose that I am addressing any such lunatics. There is no man here who does not expect that inevitable hour. A certain King of France believed in death, but he forbade that it should ever be mentioned in his presence. The king was like the ostrich, which, it is said, when pursued and unable to escape, hides its head in the sand, foolishly fancying that it is secure from its enemy because it does not see it. I trust that I do not speak to men so foolish as that—men who wish to shut their eyes to the day of death and to the future career of their souls and bodies. We have heard of a man who went into a tavern and ordered this and that—he feasted sumptuously; but when the host came with the bill he said that he had quite forgotten it, and that he had not thought of the reckoning, and that he had not a farthing with which to pay. Alas! my hearers, are you living like that in the inn of life? Do you forget the reckoning? Do you go from cup to cup, from merriment to merriment, from feast to feast, as though you were prepared for the last reckoning day? Be assured that it will come. We must die. There is no discharge from it. We must pass through the iron gate. Let us, then, be prepared for that emergency. All men think all men mortal but themselves; they regard others as having death written on their brow; and they reckon, at least, that they shall last for years to come. They will not dare to say that they are immortal; but, alas! they act as if they thought so. Balaam, though a base man, was no fool. He had thoughts of death. He did not shut his eyes to what he did not like. He believed that he should die. He expected it; he had desires about it; and though his desires were never carried out, but the reverse, he had wit enough to say from the very bottom of his heart—I doubt not it came sincerely—'Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my end be like his.' The exclamation had in it a double wish—a wish about death; and, secondly, a wish about after death—the last end. First, Balaam, seeing that he must die, anxiously desired that he might die such a death as the righteous die. A certain carping infidel, after arguing with a poor countryman, who knew the faith, but little else, said, 'Well, Hodge, you are so stupid there is no use arguing with you, I cannot get you out of that said stupid religion of yours.' 'Oh, well,' said Hodge, 'I daresay I am stupid, but I like to have two strings to my bow.' 'Well,' asked the man, 'what is that?' 'Why, suppose, Mr. Infidel, it should all turn out as you say; suppose there is no God, no hereafter, don't you see I am as well off as you are; at all events, I shan't be any worse; but if it should happen to be true, what is to become of you?' So that either way it is well for the righteous."

It was believed that the mind became quickened at the hour of death, when a man's actions were like spectres before him. There was, however, a great difference between the death of believers and those who passed away believing themselves to be like the brutes which perished:—

"When Saladin lay dying he ordered that, as soon as he was dead, a herald should take his winding-sheet, and as he showed it to the people, should say, 'This is all that is left of Saladin, the conqueror of the East!' But he could not have said that if he had been a Christian, for there is left more than the winding-sheet and the grave; there is left the world to come and all its infinite riches of blessedness. It is written upon the tomb of Cyrus, 'Stranger, here lies he who gave the Empire to the Persians, grudge him not the little earth that covers him.' But the Christian does not lie there, for he is risen. Have you never heard a dying man exclaim, 'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death yet will I fear no evil?' It is a ghastly thing to die and believe there is an end of you. But there is worse than death. The angel will cry, 'One woe is past, and behold there come two woes more—the judgment and the wrath to come.' The Christian dies in peace and sometimes in triumph. Sometimes it is still as the summer's evening, and the Christian crosses Jordan almost dry-shod. Sometimes there is a storm and the waves are up, and the Jordan overflows its banks; but then the saint rests in the arms of God and safely crosses. The Father is sometimes pleased to give His people strength that they go to heaven almost with the triumph of Elijah. In all cases there is peace and a certain confidence of God's love for His children. Balaam also said something respecting the 'last end.' We do not believe that life is the latter end of man. Those who do believe it are welcome to their belief. We certainly shall not quarrel with them; when a dog has a bone, let him keep it. We can see nothing in it suitable to us. If men like the thought of dying like brutes, perhaps they know their own value best. So they shall keep it if they like. But as for us, we believe ourselves to be immortal; that God has endowed us with a spiritual nature which is to outlive the sun, which is to outlast the stars; we believe, in fact, that we are to exist and be coeval with eternity. We suppose that the first thing after death is that the spirit is disembodied. What it is like you and I cannot guess. It is a thing not to be seen, or touched, or handled. It is quite out of the realm of materialism, yet you and I are quite sure there is an immaterial something within us infinitely more precious than the eyes, the hands, the feet. The saints in heaven are happy, but they are not quite perfect, nor will be until we are all gathered in and the resurrection day comes. Some of you have never exercised your spirits at all about the spiritual world. You have talked with thousands of people in bodies, but you have never spoken with any who have not bodies. But let me tell you that the Christian is in the daily habit of communing with the spiritual world. So when they die they will not go to an entirely strange place. All disembodied spirits will have to come before the fiery eyes of God."

Some of those present had probably never thought of death or of God; and for such there was no hope save through repentance. It was of no use their thinking about heaven, for heaven would be intolerable to the ungodly. This point was well illustrated by a young woman's dream:—

"She dreamed that she was in heaven unconverted. She thought she saw the pavement of transparent gold and spirits dancing to sweet music. But she stood still, and when the King said, 'Why do you not partake in the joys?' she answered, 'I cannot join in the dance or in the song. I cannot join in the dance, because I do not know the measure; I cannot join in the song, for I do not know the tune. Then said He, in a voice of thunder, 'What doest thou here?' And she thought that she was cast out for ever. You would be a stranger in a strange land. Except a man be born again he cannot see the kingdom of God." The last judgment was then pictured—the righteous and the wicked assuming different bodies, the bodies of the former being as superior to those of mortality as the flower is superior to the seed. The audience was then urged to make a practical use of this lesson. There was an old proverb which said, "Wishers and woulders make bad housekeepers;" and there was another equally pointed, "Wishing never filled a sack." It was useless merely wishing in such a matter:—

"There is an old story of the Goths and Huns, who, having once drunk the sweet wines of Italy, used to say, as they smacked their lips, 'Where is Italy?' And when their leaders pointed to the gigantic Alps covered with snow, they said, 'Can't we cross them?' So I would have you say with Gothic ardour, 'Where is heaven, for I fain would go there.' There was a Roman emperor who fitted out an expedition and sent it to England; when the soldiers reached the coasts of Britain they leaped ashore and gathered shells, after which they went back, and that was all! Some of you are just so. You are gathering shells, and nothing more. Hear me when I say that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life. I am Christ's enlisting officer to-day. If you want to be a Christian, come to Christ; take Christ, that is God's shilling, and you are enlisted—not bringing anything, but taking. If you will trust the Lord Jesus, and take Him to be your salvation, you are enlisted as a soldier of Christ. If you enlist you will have to give up your sins and some of your empty pleasures. Give your heart to Jesus and rest on Him alone. The victory will make amends for whatever you endure. On the floor of this hall the other day men wrestled for the mastery. It was a somewhat dangerous sport, but to those who gained the victory that seemed ample compensation. At Old Rome, when the legionaries passed in triumph through the streets, and all the people crowded to see them, it was a great thing to have been a soldier. Think of the victory and triumph of heaven, the shouts of the angels, the songs of the redeemed, the hallelujahs, the blessings for ever. Ay, these will make amends to the brave Christian warrior. Fight manfully in His cause, and the crown of victory will more than repay your toil."

Thus ended a truly remarkable series of services. In conducting them even Mr. Spurgeon's powers were severely taxed; and although only one sermon was given on each Sunday, some extra rest had to be taken during each week.