Confessions of a Bibliophile
by on October 07, 2009
Recently, I was looking through the biography of Larry King’s My Remarkable Story, and I came across a line that stuck out at me. He writes that we need to understand people by looking at three main things in their life: their background, their context, and then the complications they find themselves in. King would know.
So I’m going to run a particularly favorite dead guy, Charles Haddon Spurgeon, through Larry King’s biographical filter:
Background:
Charles Haddon Spurgeon was born In 1834, in the little town of Kelvedon, England. By the age of sixteen, he had already developed a reputation as the preacher boy of the fens. He had no formal theological training when he accepted the pastorate at New Park Street Chapel in London in 1854, and when the crowds became too numerous, Spurgeon moved to the Metropolitan Tabernacle. Here, he would gain the reputation of being a mega-church pastor before mega-churches were popular.
Yet Spurgeon was no typical C.E.O. pastor. Not only did Spurgeon know the names of every member in his congregation, but he also knew the names of their children, grandchildren, and pets. He preached weekly to 6,000 people, sometimes to 10,000 people, one time to 23,000, all without the aid of microphones or amplification.
Context
As the 18th century gave way to the 19th, the industrial revolution altered the landscape of Europe. Darwin’s Origin of Species would revolutionize the study of nature. And medical advances would alleviate diseases previously untreatable.
In this contaxt, Spurgeon speaks about Christ with imagery that furnace workers, farmers, and chimney sweepers could resonate with.
“‘If man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward,’” he writes, “certainly Jesus Christ has the truest evidence of being a man” (Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, Vol. 9, 876). In an era when bloodletting was a common alleviation for many illnesses, Spurgeon says “No need to put on the leech, or apply the knife; [Christ’s blood] flows spontaneously” (Morning & Evening, March 23).
In other words, Spurgeon preached Christ in the raw. He never pulled his punches. Against the background of a dehydrated Victorian pulpit, Spurgeon splashes his congregation with living color. Legend has it that even Queen Victoria herself dressed up as a common peasant and snuck inside London’s Metropolitan Tabernacle to hear him preach.
Complications
But Spurgeon had his problems. Big ones. Like his lack of formal theological training. The fact that he never attending seminary gave many of his critics enough ammunition to cause Spurgeon to sink into deep depression. He suffered from many mental illnesses, not least of which we’d probably call seasonal affective disorder (SAD). Every summer Spurgeon had to retreat to Mentone, France (where he eventually died) to escape the unforgiving London weather.
Another complication occurred at the beginning of his ministry in London. He was preaching at the Surrey Garden Music Hall to several thousand people, and his deacons told him to evacuate the crowd because the building couldn’t support the massive audience. But Spurgeon would have none of it, and half way through the service, a balcony collapsed in the back. Right before his eyes, many were crushed to death. For months he stopped preaching because he considered himself a murderer. He never really got over it.
Contribution
Spurgeon’s sermons contain more words than the Encyclopedia Britannica, they have been translated in dozens of languages, and today there is more published material by Spurgeon than by any other living or dead Christian author (which makes doing a Ph.D on the guy a bit challenging).
But why do I read this dead guy? Because Spurgeon packs his theology with imagery, poetry and metaphor. Buckets of it. Even the least educated of London’s population, the chimney sweepers, were able to wrap their minds around deeply theological realities. He also wrote voluminously. His sermons were circulated throughout the world, and by the end of his life in 1892, many pastors were preaching Spurgeon’s sermons every week instead of their own (a practice he forbade when he got wind of).
Spurgeon also spoke out against slavery to the extend that many in America hated his guts. 
We stopped selling his sermons, boycotted his ministry, and there are rumors that churches in the South held huge bonfires after their services to burn his books. Spurgeon was once asked to come to America, but he declined. “You are an immature nation,” he wrote in a letter.
Yet Spurgeon remains, in my opinion, one of the most colorful preachers in history. In a day when we casualize preaching, I believe Spurgeon has something significant to say about the purpose of preaching, the way we preach, and the aim of preaching – to communicate Christ “in the flesh.”
I guess that’s what Spurgeon did best, he put flesh on faith and bones on Bibles. He made it come alive.
So my confession: I’m a self proclaimed bibliophile. I read a lot of dead people. Morbid, for sure. But there’s something about the dead theologians – they seem to have more to say, and can say it better. Larry King’s formula works well, and books (especially biographies) must be appreciated in the tension between the context and complications.
The more I read about Spurgeon, and Luther, and other personal heroes, the more I look around and see ordinary heroes in the faces of those around me. Friends, colleagues, teachers, fellow golfers. Everyone has a publishable story.
Spurgeon once said that God can build a wall just as high with pebbles as he can with boulders. And for pebbles like me who will never be a Spurgeon, or an Augustine, Knox, Calvin, or anyone else, it’s refreshing to know that we can live every day as though it were going to influence someone in the future.
How will your biography read?
Here’s a great Spurgeon resource: