Maidenbower Baptist Church

What happens when you pray? What should you expect? The foundation of our prayers is laid in God himself, in his faithful love, his gracious plan, and his precious word. The expression of our prayers, springing from that foundation, is in a calling upon the Lord and praying to him, an expectant looking. Then the expectation of our prayers is that, framed by God and his plan and his promises, he will respond readily and richly, and so bless his people, not because of any good thing in them, but because of his own goodness toward them.

The Lord speaks by Isaiah to offer rest and refreshment to weary souls, the prophet communicating industriously, simply, patiently, progressively, and attractively, a model for the teacher and preacher of gospel truth. That rest and refreshment are described, the language telling us that this gospel blessing is fitting, effective, and available. But, tragically, this very rest and refreshment was resisted by those to whom it was merely childish babbling, and to they brought judgment on themselves. Will we resist or receive God's rest in Christ?

Spurgeon's gospel logic is uncomplicated, in principle and in practice, and it shows here. Our Lord says, "If you love me, keep my commandments." It is clear from this sermon that the straightforwardness of this statement was as objectionable then as now, and caused as many problems. Beginning with a stimulating survey of all the 'ifs' in the chapter, the preacher then settles on this simple statement as a very serious 'if', having to do with the very question of love in the heart of a man, the presence or absence of faith's affectionate attachment to Christ as Lord and Saviour. Spurgeon next makes clear that the test of love is judiciously chosen: obedience as a demonstration of love cuts through so much fluff and stuff, and gets to the core of things. Spurgeon explains the wisdom of this test, and why it is such an appropriate and clear indication of whether or not there is love to the Lord in the heart. Running out of time, he gives us just a couple of lines to assure us that love will endure this test, before closing with a brief series of potent applications, exhorting the saints to discover and hold to the commandments of Christ as they come to bear upon us, and challenging unbelievers to face the fearful consequences of declaring that they do not have any love to Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners.

Here is another probing sermon, profitable even when painful. Here is the Christ walking among the Ephesian church in Revelation 2, first of all perceiving their hearts and lives and concluding that while he knows their works he still has something against them. The Lord therefore issues a prescription, to remember from where they have fallen, and to repent. This leads to our Lord's persuasion, in which he issues both a threatening warning and a sweet promise. You can see that the intention is not at all to crush, but there is still a challenge to our souls in the first heading, as we are forced to face the possibility of declining love for Christ in our hearts. The prescription comes to us clearly and helpfully, in three yoked commands: remember, repent, and return. Again, this is not difficult to understand, but it is not necessarily easy to obey. Finally, Spurgeon presses in some motives with our Lord's persuasives, his warning and his promising, both designed to put us back in the way of love. To decline in love to Christ is the Christian's wasting disease; to grow in love for Christ is the Christian's foretaste of glory. So we are obliged to look into our own hearts, not in hopeless despair, but in order that we might, at Christ's direction and invitation, address any drifting away from him whom our souls love.

Who can plumb the depths of our Lord's sorrows, or scale the heights of his joys? It was for the joy that was set before him that he endured the cross and despised the shame. So we will ask what was it that Jesus did when he so endured and so despised. We must consider how he did this, and what was that joy which sustained him. Finally, we will assess whether or not Jesus has entered that joy, or in what sense he already enjoys or still anticipates that joy that was set before him. This is the Christ whom we are called to consider as we run the race that is set before us.

The disciples were not inclined to believe that Jesus had risen from the dead. They were intelligent men, they were convinced Jews, and they were learning disciples, and were resistant to the idea of a risen Jesus. In the face of their suspicion, the Lord gave them a great deal of instruction. They heard his voice and words, they saw his hands and feet, they touched his flesh and bones, they gave him fish and honeycomb, and they thought about the truth which they had been taught. All of this provides a great deal of instruction: a rebuke to unbelief, an offer or life, a gift of peace, a prompt to fellowship, and a glimpse of hope.

I doubt that anyone who reads Spurgeon with any consistency and seriousness thinks of him as a soft preacher. Some may have a notion of him as some genial Victorian pulpiteer, but a few sermons will quickly dispel the image, and reveal a man whose compassion is matched with his conviction, whose kindness is rivalled only by his courage. The result is sermons which bite and sting, and sometimes constitute a sustained assault upon the Christian conscience. This sermon is one such, a penetrating study of Numbers 32:23 and the suggestion that Gad and Reuben might have held back when the time came to conquer the Promised Land. Spurgeon transfers the principle to those professing believers who do not go up to spiritual war with their brothers, who sinned against their brothers and their Lord by the great sin of doing nothing. Spurgeon holds nothing back in pressing this principle into the conscience of his hearers, and our own, by extension. This, he makes clear, is a sin that will find us out. There is, of course, a danger that sermons like this will trouble the feeble and stir up a false guilt, but there is an equal need for sermons which fearlessly probe both our motives and our intentions, and call us to consider whether or not we are serving God and his people as we could and as we should.

"These are days of great looseness; everywhere I see great laxity of doctrinal belief, and gross carelessness in religious practice. Christian people are doing to-day what their forefathers would have loathed. Multitudes of professors are but very little different from worldlings. Men's religion seems to hang loosely about them, as if it did not fit them: the wonder is that it does not drop off from them. Men are so little braced up as to conscientious conviction and vigorous resolve, that they easily go to pieces if assailed by error or temptation. The teaching necessary for to-day is this: 'Gird up the loins of your mind,' brace yourselves up; pull yourselves together; be firm, compact, consistent, determined. Do not be like quicksilver, which keeps on dissolving and running into fractions; do not fritter away life upon trifles, but live to purpose, with undivided heart, and decided resolution." So Spurgeon describes the reason for preaching this sermon, and what more can we say by way of introduction? It expresses the preacher's profound concern and earnest plea. The sermon develops as the sustained exhortation of a pastor confident that the motives which the gospel supplies will be sufficient to establish and encourage the people of God in a lukewarm and watery age.

What distresses a true Christian? What makes a believer weep? In Psalm 119:136 we see a child of God grieved over sin. It is a constant grief, it is a great grief, it is a personal grief, and it is distinctly a godly grief, a Christlike sorrow that arises out of the dishonour done to a holy God and the misery brought upon sinful men. As it is Christ who gives us the prime example of such grief, so it is to Christ that we must go for our obtaining and expressing of this grief.

Repeatedly, insistently, joyfully, earnestly, Spurgeon pounds away on the same drum: "Rejoice evermore!" His introduction is unusually long, situating, explaining, illustrating, and enforcing the command of the text. Only then does he come to the quality of the joy which a Christian is commanded to feel and express. He moves on to the object of this joy, considering God and his covenant as causes of joy, and encouraging us to stir up joy by holy exercise. Then he gives us more reasons for rejoicing—that it wards off temptation, shuts out worldly mirth, encourages saints, and attracts sinners. In a sense, the sermon is worth reading for the spontaneous outflow of thought and encouragement contained in (or bursting out of!) the introduction. One almost wonders if Spurgeon suddenly took a breath, and realised half his time had gone before he had even begun his first point! With marvellous sermonic control, not rattling things off, but with a kind of condensed fervour, he covers his ground tersely and intensely, pressing home flashes of insight and exhortation. It is a wonderful theme, well-handled both in terms of its matter and its manner.

If you ever feel besieged, the Thessalonian believers would have sympathised with you. Paul, himself assaulted, nevertheless expressed his concern for and confidence about the saints in Thessalonica. He is realistic about the real danger that Christians face, the evil one who seeks in all things to hinder and harm us. He is confident because of the faithful Lord whom Christians trust. He relies on the gracious care that Christians have as the Lord establishes and guards his beloved people.

Out of his comfort in his Father's sovereign grace, and his pleasure in revealing his Father, the Lord invites to come to him all who labour and are heavy-laden, and he will give them rest. This shows us something of Christ's delight in salvation, that he urges people to come to him. It points us to Christ's concern in salvation for all those who labour and are heavy-laden. It emphasises Christ's offer in salvation: the gift of rest, now and eternally, to all who come to him.

Racing through his text, throwing light upon it from various angles, Spurgeon gives us a sermon full of hope, because full of Christ. He begins by showing us that the gospel of faith is evidently a gospel for those who are lost. Then we are reminded that this gospel has to do with Christ Jesus, and him only. The faith which saves makes a particular confession about this Christ. This faith in Christ brings with it a great comfort to enjoy. Faith also has a sure promise to rest upon. There is a rising intensity through this sermon, as Christ comes more and more into view as the object of faith, and the preacher pleads with his congregation to get to grips with Christ as confessing believers and believing confessors. The risen Christ is the only hope of every sinner: "This is the ship which has carried thousands to heaven. We who go on board shall get to heaven by it. If it could go down, we should all sink together; but as it floats safely, we will all sail together to the Fair Havens. There is no second vessel on this line; and there is no other line. This one chartered barque of salvation by a confessing faith now lies at the quay. Come on board! Come on board at once! God help you to come on board at this very moment, for Jesus Christ's sake!"

A true child of God serves out of love, not for a carnal reward. Nevertheless, the Lord in his mercy makes certain promises toward those who serve well. As we conclude our brief survey of the character and work of deacons, we ask, "What does the church expect of deacons?" The answer is, we expect them to serve, and to serve well. So we must consider first the service that deacons render, and what it means to serve well. Then we can ask about the reward that deacons enjoy—a good standing with God and with men, and great boldness in the faith which is in Christ Jesus. Do the deacons we have model this service? What other men are developing or demonstrating such a spirit? Are all God's people marked by hearts and hands compelled by his grace?

A simple division and a thorough exposition form the bedrock of a sermon urging the saints to pray. Rising from Paul's plea to the Romans at the end of the fifteenth chapter of that letter, Spurgeon emphasises the need even of an apostle for the intercessions of the saints, highlighting the demands and dangers that he faced, and underlining the humility shown in seeking such help. The bulk of the sermon is then given over to a step-by-step exposition of the prayer requested, Spurgeon breaking down the petition phrase-by-phrase. It is a simple but effective approach, and Spurgeon's persistent pressing home of its practical lessons prevents it becoming a shallow slide across the surface of the text. The preacher addresses both the general desires and the specific details of the apostle as he asks the saints to engage with him in prayer. Then, briefly but pointedly, he turns to the blessing given in answer to the prayer, urging his hearers to seek the same mercies for the same reasons. As he closes, he brings his applications close to the congregation, reminding them that they too face demands and dangers similar to those of the apostle, and must have the same response: to go to the God of peace to obtain the help that he alone is able to give.

The Christian life involves a growing depth of experience of and appreciation for the Lord Christ, a growing appetite to be like him. This issues in a spirit of prayer to which wonderful assurances are attached. Here we consider a particular promise about prayer, that the believer should ask as he wills, and it will be done to him; then a particular condition for such prayer, that it must come from one who abides in Christ and has Christ's word abiding in him; finally, there is a particular pursuit in prayer, a wonderful circularity in which the man who is in Christ wants more of Christ and gets more of Christ.

Do you not love the broad, deep, clear promises and patterns of God's word? The ones that speak with simplicity and sufficiency to every situation? Here is a wonderful example: "O Lord, be gracious to us; we have waited for you. Be their arm every morning, our salvation also in the time of trouble" (Is 33:2). This prayer gives us a comprehensive request for the tender mercies of a faithful God. It reveals an expectant desire, a spirit of faith and hope because of who God is—we are waiting for Christ to show his hand. Then it expresses our perpetual dependence, our reliance on our Redeemer all our days and in the worst of days, to defend and deliver all who call upon him.

In this brief address, Spurgeon acknowledges that his text—"Now set your heart and your soul to seek the Lord your God"—fits best those who are already saved. However, appreciating that it involves a little straining, he still wants to apply it also to those who are not yet converted. The exhortation as a whole gives us a lively sense of Spurgeon's appetite for the Lord God, and his appetite for others to have such an appetite. There is a concentration and consecration of all the faculties on the glorious person and personal glory of the God of heaven, a present desire to draw near to him and to enjoy him. Spurgeon more or less runs through the same trajectory for each of the two basic classes of people in his sights as he preaches, pressing upon us all the immediate necessity and blessed prospect of drawing near to God.

It is easy to reason from poverty that we should hold on to what we have. It is easy to reason from wealth that we should hoard what we have gathered. The divine economy works on a different basis. Proverbs 11:25 contains a promise made, that the soul who blesses will be blessed, that the waterer will himself be watered. We should consider that promise applied to Christian life and service, and then the promise embraced, the challenge of faith to individual Christians and Christian churches to take God at his word, to be flowing waters rather than stagnant pools, in anticipation that in blessing, we shall be blessed, and so able to bless again.

This is another simple sermon in two parts. Whereas the previous sermon offered a stark contrast between the wages of sin and the gift of life, this provides a sequence. After an introduction in which Spurgeon suggests a difference between happiness and blessedness (the former being a good thing, but essentially being of this world, while the latter has a heavenly quality about it), he exposes the world's suggestions of where blessedness—true and lasting happiness—can be found. Then he turns us to the somewhat surprising text of James 1:12 to look at blessedness in this life and in the life to come. Yes, there are heavenly joys even now for the man who endures temptation—the man who, out of love to God, holds fast in the storm, and whose faith and hope and love are demonstrated to be real and true. And then there are joys to come, the crown of life which the Lord bestows upon those who do not turn away or fall away. Sustained and strengthened by his grace in Christ Jesus for every good work, their heavenly reward shall only make their appreciation of God's favour all the richer and riper. Spurgeon gets happily expansive, almost carried away, as he considers the blessedness of the blessed in the glory to come, urging all to make sure that they enjoy this crown, awaking in the likeness of Jesus Christ, our resurrected Lord and King.

**Due to a technical error there is no video for this sermon.** David—his soul probed and prodded by the Lord—felt his sin to be ever before him. He was afflicted by its grievous roots, its ugly details, its painful effects, its damning strength, and its offensive nature. And what does all this mean for his relationship with God? David knows that God alone can put away sin, and so—his conscience agitated—he cries out to God for cleansing through sacrifice, a prayer that finds its fulfilment in the death of Jesus, who put away sin by the sacrifice of himself.

Spurgeon is not a mindless preacher, stuck in a rut of structure, though he is always recognisably himself in style. Here he begins with a brief introduction, before launching into a study in contrast between the wages of sin, which is death, and the gift of God which is everlasting life in Jesus Christ our Lord. In each case (particularly the first) he goes beyond a scant understanding of the words, and begins to dig out their sense, and press home their substance, and plead in the light of what he has to say. The first part of the sermon is a pressing development of the misery of sin and its consequences, manifestly weighing down the very heart of the preacher as he speaks. In the second half he moves into light and joy, setting forth the wonders of redeeming grace in Christ, and the free favour of God. He closes with applications for the believer, pressing home what it means to receive this life and to live as those who live indeed, but also encouraging every child of God to believe in the life-giving power of the Holy Spirit, the same power by which Jesus Christ was raised from the dead. By the grace of God, the preaching of the gospel of Jesus Christ will yet secure life for those who are dead in sin, to the praise of his glory. It is a simple structure, and a striking sermon, and it should leave us feeling the horrible weight of sin and its awful wages, the wonder of God's grace in Christ, bestowing life on the hell-deserving.

Having thought about why the church needs deacons, we turn next to the qualities which a church must look for in deacons. Among the things to look for, a potential deacon must be credible, available, responsible, reliable, practical, charitable and spiritual. These qualities will show themselves in the things to look at: his life, his wife, his home. These are the things a man must be if the church is to recognise him as a deacon.

Sin deserves judgment. Your sin deserves God's judgment. In the first chapter of Isaiah, God declares his righteous judgment against the sin of Israel. Taking verse 27 as a general principle, applicable to God's dealings with sinners today, we look at the redemption promised, a ransom price paid, a deliverance accomplished. Then we turn to the redemption described in terms of the justice and righteousness of God displayed. Finally, we look at the redemption bestowed on the penitents. Where does a sinner find such a redemption? Where does God show himself both just and the Justifier, if not at the cross of Jesus Christ?

Here is Spurgeon at the heart of his ministerial and pastoral calling: glorying in the cross of a crucified Christ. Here is the essential power of all his preaching, and here is the delight of his own soul. Unpacking the sermon methodically, and finding his time running out as he expands upon this theme, Spurgeon begins with the cross itself, and what the apostle meant when he thought of it and spoke of it. He had in mind the fact of the cross, the bare reality of the incarnate Son of God dying for sinners. He had in mind the doctrine of the cross, and all it means, and the cross of the doctrine, the very centre and core of true Christianity. And why did Paul glory in this? Spurgeon ranges across the attributes of God, highlighting the ways in which God is manifested and magnified in the salvation accomplished in the death of his beloved Son, as well as speaking of the particular delights and comforts and stirrings which it brings to those who glory in it. And then, says our preacher, Paul had felt all its impact on his own soul and on his own life. The world had been emptied of all its attraction, all its enticements, all its glories, by the glory of the cross. Oh that the glory of the cross would have the same impact on us today, that the death of Christ would slay in us both self and the world, and so hold our hearts that no-one and nothing else would ever draw us, but that Christ in all the matchless mercy of his atoning sacrifice would be and remain our all-in-all.

The Lord Christ should be ever more glorious to us, his blood ever more precious, his salvation ever more wondrous. The simplest truths should delight our hearts. In Hebrews 1:3 we are told that the Son of God incarnate "He had by Himself purged our sins." We must take note of the Actor who does the work, his separation to the work, the essence of the work, the beneficiaries of the work, and the certainty of the work.

It is all too easy to despise the needy, especially when they intrude upon us. Christ and his disciples were seeking privacy and peace in the face of their own weariness and trouble, but when they came out of the boat in which they had travelled, they found a crowd waiting. What did the Lord Jesus see? He saw a great multitude, a mighty mass of needy people all seeking help. How did the Lord Jesus feel? He was moved not with frustration but with compassion, as he is still moved. What did the Lord Jesus know? He knew that the crowd were like sheep which had no shepherd. How did the Lord Jesus act? He began to teach them many things, to tell them about the kingdom of God, in order that they might find peace, protection, and provision under his care.

This sermon sounds a note of concern. The Second Letter to Timothy has a consistent awareness of certain threats to the gospel and its ministers, a series of troublesome individuals who assault the truth of Christ and oppose the servants of Christ. Nevertheless, Paul's "gracious anxiety" does not disturb "the serenity of his faith." He remains confident that the foundation will stand, because of the seal of God upon his people. With this in mind, Spurgeon first explores the way in which false teachers were overthrowing the faith of some, with warnings for God's people in every age. He then considers the abiding foundation of God, the purpose, truth, and work of the Almighty, which are not shifted. Finally, he turns to the seal on the foundation stone, the mark which gives us confidence, of divine election with divine sanctification. We are at least as well-stocked today with false teachers as Paul in his day, and Spurgeon in Victorian London. It is therefore appropriate for us to maintain a gracious anxiety for the sake of Christ and his church, but also a serene faith, confident that the purpose of God shall come to pass, the truth of God shall endure, and the work of God shall proceed.

Why does the church need deacons? To answer this question we consider carefully a division of labour established in Acts 6:1–7. The church needs deacons so that the first things might be pursued without distraction—prayer and the ministry of the Word, carried out by servants of the pulpit. The church also needs deacons so that the next things might be maintained without compromise—works of mercy and necessity under the care of servants of the table. In this way, all the work of the kingdom can be carried out wisely and well.

The first verse of Psalm 34 gives us a catechism of praise, telling us the who, and the what, and the whom, and the when, and the how of our glorifying God, and the whole psalm provides a catalogue which tells us why we can and should do so: because the child of God can say he heard me, he delivered me, he encouraged me, he protects me, he gladdens me, he provides for me, he inspires me, he judges for me, he is near to me, he redeems me, and he justifies me.

A simple sermon, and yet one that hits home. The texts is James 1:21–22, and Spurgeon does little more than run through the text, taking each portion as an instruction as to how we prepare for a sermon, engage with a sermon, and respond to a sermon. But to say that he runs through the text is not to suggest that he just rehearses its words. Rather, the point of hearing is doing, a real heeding of God's word. Spurgeon therefore asks first what are those filthinesses and wickednesses which unfit our souls for listening to the preacher. Further what does it mean to receive the engrafted word with meekness? How does a creature listen to the holy speech of his Creator so as to profit by it? Finally, what do we do afterward? Does the Scripture simply drift away from us, or do we set out to put it into practice, to the honour of God and to the blessing of others? Too often, the people of God undo all the effort of the preacher of his truth and trample on the very word itself. So, let us be hearers, yes, but doers also, and so honour the God who speaks in the Scriptures, and prove ourselves his true children.

Sometimes people ask a hard question: "Has God forgotten to be gracious?" It is not hard to answer, in one sense, but it shows a certain hardness in their soul to suggest that the unchanging God of grace has somehow altered in himself or ceased to be himself. So Spurgeon demands that we give that question all its weight, drag it into the light, and interrogate the question. By the end of the sermon, the question has become less a challenge to God and more a rebuke to ourselves. Spurgeon puts the question first of all in the mouth of a child of God who is cast down. Then he suggests that it might be found on the lips of a seeking sinner. Finally, and briefly, he wonders how it would play in the heart of a dispirited gospel worker. In each case, he forces us to follow the logic of our own doubts, often showing a merciful lack of mercy in pressing the case toward its ugly conclusion, before turning the question back upon us to expose our unbelief and present God to us in all his unchanging faithfulness and abundant grace. It is not easy to be dealt with so robustly, but Spurgeon evidently believes that there is some value in his rigorous dealings with souls. If we have been tempted to cover up our wounds of unbelief with the plaster of high-sounding words, Spurgeon is going to rip off the plaster and instead apply some astringent medicine to our souls—painful, perhaps, but profitable indeed.

Having drawn the portrait of a persecutor from Herod's history in Acts 12, we turn now to Simon Peter and those around him. Tracing Peter's experience, we see his threatening imprisonment, his peaceful night, his angelic deliverance, his happy housecall, his eventual report, and his quiet departure. Along the way we learn various lessons, not least about the preservation, peace, and prayers of the saints, and are assured of the progress of the gospel.

Paul compacts the experience of salvation into one terse declaration. He tells the Galatian Christians what we were (slaves), what we became (sons), what we are now (heirs because sons), and how we entered into this new state: through Christ Jesus. How, then, do we define ourselves? If we are sons, then we should be joyful and obedient because of what Christ has secured for us. If we are still slaves, we need to come to Christ that we might be set free.

Elijah's plea was simple: "Let it be known that I have done all these things at your word." Spurgeon turns it in two directions. First, to obedient saints, it is a firm ground for prayer. He considers the labouring minister, a whole church, an individual Christian, and—departing slightly from his main heading—he asks how it would be used by a seeking sinner. Second, to those who cannot say that they have acted according to God's word, it is a solemn matter for question, a means of self-examination. As he sometimes does, he puts the question to the same categories as under his first heading from the different angle: to the worker he asks about our preaching and our living; to the church, he asks about our motives and our holiness; to Christian people, he inquires about arrogance and hypocrisy. He gives more time here again to the seeking sinner, with a couple of hints to those who may be converted, urging them to embrace the will of God in those things which lead to peace. Spurgeon shows us here how to preach a sermon on two levels to a mixed congregation, blending both comforts and challenges to various kinds of hearers. The result is a striking call to humble obedience, applied across the board.

This psalm weaves together God's high character and man's deep need, not as contrasts but as counterpoints. We do not lose sight of Christ, we do not disconnect from Christ's people. Here, then, is a man who has grasped God's faithful love, God's ready grace, and God's tender mercies. The plea to be heard, for God to turn to the needy man, fits the suffering Son, a seeking sinner, a struggling saint, and a striving servant.

If you are setting off across the desert, you need water. If you are caught in the desert, you need water. If you have or will have a real thirst, you need water. If you have thirst of soul, you need living water—you need the God of grace to shower forgiveness, peace, joy, and strength upon you. That is the condition to which Christ speaks. To all such he offers a solution: "Come to me, and drink." He is the one who supplies the Spirit, who gives all needful for spiritual life and service. The invitation could not be broader: "anyone" who thirsts may come to him and drink. But the question is real: "If anyone is thirsty...." Not everyone feels this thirst, and not everyone responds to Christ when the man of love offers life in himself.

Our Lord Jesus, insists Spurgeon, was not only a man of sorrows, but a man of joys. He knew joys in his humiliation, and he knows joys in his exaltation. He has distinct gladness as the Mediator. Bubbling over with delight, Spurgeon spreads himself in his introduction, delighting to think of the delight which characterises our Lord in glory. Only then does he turn, with particular concentration, to the substance of his sermon, packing in truth because he has less time than otherwise, condensing his study of the distinctive privilege and character of the saints' joy, drawn from their entering into Christ's joy. He holds fast to his text, before expanding upon it in the last few moments of his sermon, as—soaked with Scripture, and with a poetry born of piety—he considers the channels through which the blessings of God flow to us, and then soars into a concluding exhortation to God's people to enter into the joy which the Lord has secured for us. It is a truly happy sermon, and it breeds the kind of happiness which this world cannot offer, but which is received and enjoyed by all who know Christ Jesus as their God and Saviour, and the Almighty as their Father, through him.

A brief devotion in preparation for a season of thanksgiving, considering Habakkuk's resolution to rejoice in the face of the loss not just of the mere delights of life but the very supports of life. However, when all is gone, God is not, and God is still good. Habakkuk therefore, facing the worst of all possible futures in this world, looks up to the God of salvation and resolves to rejoice and so bring glory to God whatsoever comes to pass.

Here is a song for the wilderness, delight for the desert pilgrim. The song has a strong foundation, for it is a song of God reconciled, of peace established. It is a song of endless resources, for to those in fellowship with God the wells of salvation have been opened—gospel truths, gospel promises, gospel ordinances, and gospel experiences. This leads to joyful labour, for we are to draw from the wells of salvation, to return to Christ again and again to obtain strength and sustenance for the way. Then, and only then, can we sing praises to God as we pass through the wilderness.

What may seem to be a slightly twee title contains a very sweet truth: "My God will hear me." With such a brief phrase, Spurgeon simply unpacks it, weaving together doctrine, experience, and practice. Here is a title to relish, "my God," with all it means. Then there is an argument to grasp, that because he is God and my God, he will hear me. Then there is the favour involved, that all-hearing, sympathetic, wise, and righteous ear which is open to our cry, to enter into our experience. And do not forget, says Spurgeon, the person who is heard. Here he pleads not only with the believer who already enjoys this sweet silver bell ringing in his heart, but also the troubled and distressed soul, sin-sick and sorrowing, who has come to desire God as Saviour. The God of heaven, kind and gracious, will most assuredly hear the one who cries out of the depths. What a joyful thought to take away, and what a great expectation to possess: "My God will hear me!"