Some of my readers have probably not been exposed to the writings of Charles Spurgeon, the great 19th preacher in London. He has affectionately been called, “the prince of preachers.”
I’m not sure who gave him that title. I can assure you it was not the man himself. Over the past year I’ve read some biographical works regarding Spurgeon. Also, I have been using a daily devotional from his writings, Morning by Morning. Part of my routine each morning is a contemplative reading from this wonderful little devotional aid.
How many times I am brought to tears of joy and sometimes of repentance, through the blessed pen of this wonderful man of God. His insight into the Scriptures and the heart of God, coupled with a marvelous literary gift, make for some of the richest fare outside of Holy Scriptures. I hope you’ll consider reading Spurgeon.
Here’s today’s reading from Morning by Morning:
When we give our hearts with our alms, we give well, but we must often plead to a failure in this respect. Not so our Master and our Lord. His favours are always performed with the love of his heart. He does not send to us the cold meat and the broken pieces from the table of his luxury, but he dips our morsel in his own dish, and seasons our provisions with the spices of his fragrant affections.
When he puts the golden tokens of his grace into our palms, he accompanies the gift with such a warm pressure from His hand, that the manner of his giving is as precious as the gift itself. He will come into our houses upon his errands of kindness, and he will not act as some austere visitors do in the poor man’s cottage, but he sits by our side, not despising our poverty, nor blaming our weakness.
Beloved, with what smiles does he speak! What golden sentences drop from his gracious lips! What embraces of affection does he bestow upon us! If he had but given us pennies, the way of his giving would have covered them with pure gold; but as it is, the costly alms are set in a golden basket by his pleasant manner. It is impossible to doubt the sincerity of his charity, for there is a bleeding heart stamped upon the face of all his benefactions.
He giveth liberally and upbraideth not. Not one hint that we are burdensome to him; not one cold look for his poor pensioners; but he rejoices in his mercy, and presses us to his bosom while he is pouring out his life for us. There is a fragrance in his spikenard which nothing but his heart could produce; there is a sweetness in his honey-comb which could not be in it unless the very essence of his soul’s affection had been mingled with it. Oh! the rare communion which such singular heartiness effecteth! May we continually taste and know the blessedness of it!