On a Sunday morning in the Fall of 1878, the bell tolled at the famed Metropolitan Tabernacle Church, calling its members to services. Just five days earlier, a passenger ferry, the SS Princess Alice, violently collided with another vessel and sank in the murky depths of the River Thames. In one of the deadliest maritime disasters in British history, over 600 souls perished, many from the congregation's own cherished ranks. Each person in attendance was caught in an intricate web of shared suffering, every heart haunted by the ghastly loss of at least one, if not many, who were dear to them.
The revered shepherd of this grieving flock was none other than the illustrious Charles Spurgeon, the renowned "Prince of Preachers," celebrated for the fiery passion and poetic eloquence of his sermons. His task that morning, beyond bringing comfort to the bereaved, would be to satisfy the many questions that the tragedy had raised about God's providence, a central doctrine in his pulpit ministry.
Summoning the empathy and wisdom of a seasoned shepherd, Spurgeon opened his sermon by acknowledging the somber mood of the occasion. "A heavy cloud weighs upon me," he would confess. Then, in an attempt to reassure the mourning assembly, he posed a challenge in the form of a question: "Does any calamity befall the sons of men without the Lord's permission, guidance, and supreme control?" With utmost conviction, he declared, "Assuredly not!"
Yet, the tragedy had presented a formidable challenge not just to the congregation but to the pastor, as well. In comments he made in the immediate aftermath of the calamity, he credited divine intervention for the survival of a very devout woman. Although the pastor's words were meant to comfort, they backfired like a homemade rocket, leaving many to wonder why God failed to save their loved one. The reassuring balm of God's sovereign control, a common theme in Spurgeon's sermons, appeared to sting rather than soothe.
Having spent the past week wrestling with these concerns, Spurgeon ascended to the podium well-prepared to deliver what would become one of the most meaningful sermons of his distinguished career. His congregation yearned to understand why God had allowed such a catastrophe and why some had been spared while others had not. "We freely admit," the pastor would concede, "we do not understand this, and therefore we do not attempt to explain it."
Nevertheless, in an effort at damage control, the pastor sought to clarify his controversial comments about the devout woman, stating, "Death, as well as life, lies within the realm of providence and it's not a reflection of a person's character." Yet, he had drawn an inference about the character of the woman who was rescued. The underlying judgment in his original statement left many feeling God had passed a silent verdict on their loved ones.
Concerned that the faith of his congregants had been shaken, the pastor was also aware that God's sovereignty had become the focal point of many of their questions. "Miraculous [interventions] in the affairs of this life," Spurgeon would confess, "are not to be expected."
This statement likely shocked those hanging onto his every word, especially in light of an earlier statement in which the pastor had described God's role as the "primary cause" of the accident, dismissing the blunders of the two ship captains as mere "secondary causes."
I imagine the average Joe sitting in the pew that morning thinking, "Uh, hold on, Charles, didn't you just say God caused the accident? So, He's into causing disasters but not into saving people from them?" His followers were unsettled for good reason. If God had a hand in orchestrating the disaster, why didn't He extend the same hand to save? If interventions "are not to be expected" in order to save, as Spurgeon suggested, then why should they be expected at all? Doesn't it make more sense to conclude that tragedies are simply the collateral effect of God's non-intervening grace?
Like a pilot attempting to pull his aircraft out of a nosedive, Spurgeon wisely sought to correct his course. "It was the Lord's arrangement," he explained, "that he should put forth his power in certain ways which we call the laws of nature, and by that arrangement he abides." In other words, if God had swooped in to perform a miraculous rescue, it would have been a violation of the natural laws, which He ordained and by which He steadfastly "abides!"
For this staunch defender of God's sovereignty to give randomness an affirming nod was a startling admission, indeed. But like pulling the throttle back in the middle of a nosedive, reality demanded it. As a result of this mid-course correction, the pastor was able to offer his congregation a rational explanation for God's non-intervention.
When the backlash over his comments first occurred, the pastor stood at a theological crossroads. He could stand by his original statement about the godly woman, steadfastly contending that those who perished had been divinely judged. Of course, he couldn't really know that to be God's intent, and verbalizing it would have been tantamount to punching the throttle in the middle of a downward spiral, magnifying the despair of his flock.
On the other hand, he could have avoided the whirlwind generated by his comments altogether by simply asserting, from the beginning, that grace does not require divine intervention; that the Grand Architect of the natural order calls the shots not in defiance of nature's laws, but by means of them! By picking a clear lane, one way of the other, the pastor would have at least been more consistent with himself.
To clarify, under an agreement laced with terms and conditions, such as the Old Testament presents between God and the nation of Israel, divine intervention is to be expected. But the New Testament, characterized as a no-strings-attached, unconditional covenant, stands in stark contrast. The often overlooked feature of such a covenant is that because it is void of conditions, it is also void of the promise of divine intervention.
Take the devout woman for example. Was her rescue an act of divine intervention as Spurgeon originally suggested, or was it purely fortuitous? If believers were guaranteed safety from life's harms in exchange for their faithfulness, the New Testament would not be an unconditional covenant. Obedience would be the condition and deliverance would be the promised reward. In his course correction, the good pastor steered clear of this mistake by acknowledging that interventions "are not to be expected."
However, Spurgeon wasn't quite done making adjustments to his flight path. He went on to say, "If [interventions] were given to save the lives of godly men alone, as some would have it, then this world would become the place of judgment, which it is not intended to be." The judgment of individuals, as Spurgeon was careful to explain, "is reserved for the final account."
In this statement, we uncover another grace-laden revelation: This world is not the theater of God's judgment! In even pithier terms, God steers the world not by a hands-on justice but by a hands-off grace. By contending that God permits life to follow its course according to natural law, and does not interpose Himself to establish justice in this life, Spurgeon succeeded in setting forth a comprehensive, grace-centered explanation of divine governance.
The assertions that named God as the initial cause of the disaster and pointed to His intervention on behalf of the godly woman generated so much confusion because both are at odds with the realities of a world governed by a non-intervening grace. Nevertheless, to his credit, Spurgeon was able to move past these initial contradictions and offer his congregation the grace they needed in their time of grief. Setting aside the hiccup over God's sovereign control, this sermon stands as a towering beacon of grace, one of the most epiphany-laden gems in the brilliant legacy of the legendary Prince of Preachers.
