In the summer of 1782, Charles Simeon (1759–1836) was invited to fill the pulpit of St. Edward’s, Cambridge, for the vacationing Christopher Atkinson. At the time, Simeon was only 22 years old, had come to faith in Christ just three years before, and, by his own admission, “knew not any [sincerely] religious person.”1 Despite these limitations, God used Simeon to pack the pews of St. Edward’s, rivet his hearers, and lead the venerable John Berridge of Everton to compare the sight of this weekly phenomenon to “opening night of a London play.”

That summer was one of adulation and affirmation for Simeon. So one would expect both to follow him to his new appointment just blocks away at Holy Trinity. But they didn’t. For Simeon, the first twelve years there were filled with stiff and steady opposition from the leaders as well as the laity. And over his remaining years at Holy Trinity, 54 in total, Simeon faced a barrage of other challenges, each one formidable enough to potentially end his ministry. Through these very challenges, however, God shaped Simeon into the great gospel influence that he was then and remains now.

Appointment and Opposition

While still a Cambridge undergraduate, Simeon was named a fellow at King’s College, ordained as a deacon in the Church of England, and blessed with his blockbuster summer at St. Edward’s. In November of that year, the pastor of Holy Trinity, Henry Therond, died. Soon thereafter, the Bishop of Ely, James Yorke, appointed the young Simeon as Therond’s successor.

Despite Simeon’s triumph earlier that summer, the people of Holy Trinity quickly rose in opposition to the bishop’s choice. Their man of choice was the more experienced and politically savvy John Hammond. The bishop would not budge in his selection of Simeon, but neither would the people in their preference for Hammond. So, exercising their prerogative, the people hired Hammond as their afternoon lecturer.2 Then, those parishioners with rented pews locked them so that any Sunday-morning churchgoers (those who wished to hear Simeon preach) had to sit on benches rented at Simeon’s expense.3 Finally, after multiple attempts by Simeon to start a Sunday-evening service, the church wardens locked the building altogether, thereby prohibiting any kind of nighttime gathering within the walls of Holy Trinity.

After five years, Hammond left his position as afternoon lecturer. But instead of appointing Simeon as Hammond’s replacement, the congregation hired Butler Berry. Ultimately, in 1795, the people of Holy Trinity replaced the departing Berry with their pastor of twelve years. Simeon was now the minister of Holy Trinity in name as well as in spirit. More than a decade of deep-seated opposition was over. But Simeon’s challenges were not.

Ongoing Challenges

The list of Simeon’s ongoing challenges ranges far and wide, from Cambridge, community, and church to illness, loss, and battles with his own indwelling sin.

Even though Simeon worked for the University of Cambridge, he faced opposition from the university at large,4 as well as members of his own college.5 On at least three different occasions, Simeon was stridently opposed from the pulpit and in print for matters relating to biblically orthodox sermons he had preached before the university.6

Simeon faced opposition not only from inside the university, but from outside of it as well. In 1812, Simeon wrote to Thomas Thomason about two men who were disturbing a pair of religious societies for which Simeon was responsible.7 Five years later, Simeon again shared with Thomason about “a most malignant attempt to injure my character”8 from those in the community.

While Simeon was deeply devoted to the Church of England, he also faced opposition from some within it. In 1808, Bishop Yorke, the one by whom Simeon was appointed pastor at Holy Trinity and with whom he very much got along, died. From that time on, Yorke’s replacement, Bishop Dampier, became a perennial opponent to Simeon.

Simeon was saddled with a pair of enduring physical challenges. He struggled with his speaking voice from his late thirties to his early sixties — at one point leaving him with the feeling that he was “more like one dead than alive.”9 As Simeon was finally resolving his vocal issues, he began struggling with gout, a condition that he first described as a “bruised foot,” but later as “a very long step towards the eternal world.”10

Simeon bore up under the emotional challenges that come with the death of close family and friends — his brothers Richard (1782) and Edward (1813), as well as his close friends and former curates Henry Martyn (1812) and Thomas Thomason (1829). By 1817, Simeon himself was much aware of his own mortality, writing, “I feel that I am running a race against time; and I want to finish my work before ‘the night cometh, in which no man can work.’”11

Finally, Simeon faced lifelong challenges against his own anger and pride. These two tendencies were well-known both to others12 and to Simeon himself.13 As late as 1827, less than a decade before his death, Simeon admitted that he was still working on matters related to his temper.

Example and Lessons

What are some ways Simeon endured these challenges — such that he not only remained in ministry, but did so for 54 years and left a legacy that still bears fruit today? And what lessons might his example have for pastors today?

Attend to your own soul.

In the first place, Simeon endured his many challenges by attending carefully to his own soul. He learned a dictum early in his life that “to soar heavenward” one must “grow downwards in humility.”14 So, Simeon spent long hours every day in God’s word and prayer. In fact, he went to bed early so that he could get up early and give unhurried time to his Lord in these ways.15 He referred to prayer as the “grand means” for one’s “growth in grace,”16 while “a devout reading of Scripture . . . qualifies [one] to speak to others.”17

“Simeon endured his many challenges by attending carefully to his own soul.”

Simeon also attended to his soul by engaging in rich fellowship with others. For example, he was sincerely and deeply devoted to the Reformed content and rhythms of the Church of England, and the weekly worship of his church greatly sustained him. He was also an active part of the Eclectic Club, a group of pastors who regularly met for mutual theological edification. Finally, Simeon convened an annual weeklong retreat for ministers and their wives that was devoted to rest, Bible reading, and extended times of conversation and fellowship. These retreats were of such spiritual encouragement that he reflected on one as follows:

For half a day perhaps I have often known times as precious; but never for nearly three days together. The solemnity, the tenderness, the spirituality, and the love were equal to anything I have ever seen. God was truly in “the midst of us.”18

By diligently pursuing these means of grace, Simeon remained spiritually nourished and up to facing the challenges of ministry.

Attend to the souls of others.

Simeon endured his many challenges by attending not only to his own soul but also to the souls of others. He devoted himself to many projects — all focused on Scripture — that no doubt kept his personal challenges in perspective.

Simeon’s aim for Holy Trinity was to nurture his people by regularly and faithfully preaching the Bible. His aim for Cambridge undergrads was to teach them how to reason according to Scripture (which he did at Friday-night tea parties held in his rooms), as well as how to faithfully exposit the Scripture (which he did at Sunday-afternoon sermon classes also held in his rooms). Simeon’s aim for Britain and beyond was to put the Bible into the hands of as many people as possible. This led to his part in the founding of the British and Foreign Bible Society.

Simeon also worked to send faithful Bible teachers to as many places as he could. So he established the Society for Educating Pious Men for Ministry, of which William Wilberforce was a trustee.19 He also established a trust dedicated to purchasing pulpits throughout England into which biblically orthodox preachers could be placed.20 Finally, Simeon played an integral part in founding the Church Missionary Society21 as well as the Society for the Promotion of Christianity Among the Jews.

“Simeon’s long-term investment in a variety of Bible-focused projects led to a life of ministry stability.”

Simeon’s long-term investment in a variety of Bible-focused projects led to a life of ministry stability. So, for example, instead of being entirely consumed by his early difficulties at Holy Trinity, Simeon spent those years also initiating and developing his missionary interests in India, his sermon classes among undergraduates, and his earliest printed edition on preaching. These efforts beyond the parish kept the challenges at Holy Trinity from holding Simeon back in his overall desire to spread the word of God. Throughout the years, as Simeon faced setbacks in one area of ministry, his progress in others provided encouragement to press on.

Endurance in Every Challenge

Throughout his five-and-a-half decades of pastoral ministry, Simeon’s character was shaped by many of the same challenges that pastors face today. The following questions, each forged on the anvil of Simeon’s life and ministry, can help pastors reflect on our own work and, in doing so, further build up our endurance for a long life of effective ministry.

Like Simeon, do I habitually give myself to the word and prayer? If not, then am I doing what it takes to make the word and prayer a priority in my daily life?

Like Simeon, do I sincerely view my church’s liturgy (whatever form that may take) as a source of spiritual nourishment? If not, then what measures can I take to be fed by it rather than merely preside over it?

Like Simeon, do I regularly take time away for personal edification and encouragement? If not, then with what group of like-minded pastors or gospel workers can I associate for spiritual development and refreshment?

Like Simeon, do I creatively leverage my work in a variety of ways? If not, into what added areas could I extend my gospel burden, my sermons, and my experience?

As long as we pastor imperfect saints, in a fallen world, from a broken body and embattled soul, we will face challenges — some of which may tempt us to give up ministry altogether. But as with Simeon, God has more than enough grace to sustain us as we attend carefully to our own souls, the souls of others, and the Christ who saves us both.

We, body and spirit, have desires that are at odds with one another until Christ our Lord comes to help. He places the jewels of the virtues in their proper places — and in the place of sin, he builds the courts of his temple. He makes for the soul ornaments from its dark past to delight Wisdom as she reigns forever on her glorious throne. (Aurelius Prudentius Clemens, Psychomachia)

To those of us accustomed to a wide array of rich resources for discipleship, lists of vices and virtues might seem rudimentary. In fact, we tend to view lists that say “do this” or “don’t do that” as legalistic obstacles to spiritual formation. But dismissing the seven virtues and their related vices would be to abandon centuries of profound theological and pastoral reflection. To understand their history is to take a large step toward recovering their value.

From Martyrdom to Monasticism

The church underwent massive transformation as Christianity transitioned from a persecuted sect to the predominant religion of the Roman Empire.

For much of the first two centuries of the church’s existence, the Roman government regarded Christianity as an illegitimate religion. Professing faith in Christ, therefore, was a sober and serious commitment. Christians faced episodic persecution by the empire and were occasionally publicly executed as martyrs. Because of these dangers, candidates for membership in the early church were rigorously examined to ensure a clear understanding of the gospel and prepare them for the possibility of martyrdom.

The situation changed markedly under emperor Constantine the Great (reign 306–337), who declared tolerance of Christianity throughout the Roman Empire in AD 313. As Christianity became more acceptable and the ranks of the church swelled with new converts, the task of discipleship became more difficult. The threat of death by martyrdom no longer protected the church from insincere professions. This resulted in assemblies that neglected basic Christian discipleship and biblical spirituality. In some cases, churches looked as decadent as the surrounding culture.

Men and women arrested by the call of Scripture to live in holiness and service to others found it increasingly difficult to do so in a church in cultural captivity. Many of them established new communities outside of urban centers where they committed themselves to generosity, Scripture memory, worship, and prayer. The monastic movement became the new martyrdom — committed believers gave up wealth and prestige to bear witness for Christ in lives of radical self-sacrifice and personal holiness.

It was in this setting of intense disciple-making that virtue and vice lists were freshly developed.

Diagnosing the Disease

In their decades of caring for members of monastic communities, leaders like Evagrius of Pontus (346–399) and his disciple, John Cassian (360–430), sought to understand the patterns in sin and temptation.1 The most enduring and comprehensive account of these patterns emerged with the teaching of Gregory the Great (540–604), the bishop of Rome. As a monk, Gregory traced the many permutations of sin to seven “heads” that branched from the root of pride:

For pride is the root of all evil, of which it is said, as Scripture bears witness: Pride is the beginning of all sin. But seven principal vices, as its first progeny, spring doubtless from this poisonous root; namely, vainglory, envy, anger, melancholy, avarice, gluttony, lust. For, because He grieved that we were held captive by these seven sins of pride, therefore our Redeemer came to the spiritual battle of our liberation, full of the spirit of sevenfold grace.2

“Understanding the seven ‘capital’ sins was critical to diagnosing disordered affections in the Christian life.”

Understanding the pathology of the seven “capital” (from Latin caput, “head”) sins — how all other sin branched from these heads — was critical to diagnosing disordered affections in the Christian life.3 But diagnosis of the disease only goes so far. Following the pattern of Scripture, the church also sought to find ways to capture the virtues that characterize new life in Christ.

Applying a Remedy

The term “virtue” comes from the Latin translation (virtus) of the Greek word meaning “moral excellence” (aretē). For centuries, Greek philosophy consistently identified four virtues as central to a life of moral excellence: prudence (wisdom), justice, temperance (self-control), and fortitude (courage).

These four virtues not only appeared in Aristotle’s (384–322 BC) Nicomachean Ethics and Plato’s (c. 427–347 BC) Republic, but also in intertestamental literature like The Wisdom of Solomon — a book that was included by Alexandrian Jews in first century BC editions of the Greek translation of the Old Testament.4 According to Wisdom 8:7, “If anyone loves righteousness, her labors are virtues (aretai); for she teaches self-control and prudence, justice and courage; nothing in life is more profitable for men than these.”

Christian leaders like Ambrose of Milan (c. 340–397) thought the four classical virtues reflected what the Scriptures taught as the “cardinal” excellencies upon which all other moral virtues in the Christian life hinged (Latin cardo means “hinge”).5 They added to these the three transcendent “theological” virtues identified by Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:13: “So faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.” Augustine (354–430) argued that the four cardinal virtues ultimately grew out of the greatest theological virtue, love:

. . . temperance is love giving itself entirely to that which is loved; fortitude is love readily bearing all things for the sake of the loved object; justice is love serving only the loved object, and therefore ruling rightly; prudence is love distinguishing with sagacity between what hinders it and what helps it. The object of this love is not anything, but only God, the chief good, the highest wisdom, the perfect harmony. So we may express the definition thus: that temperance is love keeping itself entire and incorrupt for God; fortitude is love bearing everything readily for the sake of God; justice is love serving God only, and therefore ruling well all else, as subject to man; prudence is love making a right distinction between what helps it towards God and what might hinder it.6

Foils for the Deadly Sins

Thus, a tension emerged between the seven deadly sins and the seven heavenly virtues. The virtues (prudence, justice, temperance, fortitude, faith, hope, and love) did not clearly oppose an opposite deadly sin (vainglory, envy, anger, melancholy, avarice, gluttony, and lust).

Aurelius Prudentius Clemens (348–c. 410) recognized this tension and saw the pastoral benefit of assigning opposing virtues as foils for each of the deadly sins. In Psychomachia, a graphic poem in the style of Virgil’s (70–19 BC) Aeneid, Prudentius squares off each of Cassian’s vices with the personified biblical virtue that could defeat it in the Christian’s battle for holiness. In the poem, as in the life of the believer, vainglory is defeated by humility, lust by chastity, anger by patience, and so on. The idea sprang from biblical teaching: the command to put off sin is grounded in the call to put on Christ — to walk by his Spirit and so bear spiritual fruit (Galatians 3:27; 5:16–24). Christians fight the schemes of their adversary clothed in gospel armor and equipped with spiritual weaponry (Ephesians 6:10–20). Additionally, the New Testament almost always places the characteristics of true spirituality alongside the descriptions of the sins the believer is to flee.7

Nevertheless, despite the widespread influence of Prudentius’s poem in the medieval period, the seven heavenly virtues — not a list of opposing virtues to contrast the deadly sins — endured as a lasting framework for spiritual formation.

Framework for Spiritual Formation

Writing for the instruction of fellow Dominican monks, Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) gave extensive attention to the nature of virtue and how it functioned in the life of the Christian. In his Summa Theologica, Aquinas argued that virtues are habitual dispositions — patterns of mind and heart that bring about good actions, especially by preventing our impulsive desires from taking us to sin’s opposite extremes.8 The virtue of temperance, for example, guards the appetite against gluttony on the one hand and abstinence on the other. Similarly, fortitude fears neither danger nor labor.9

“Christians act in virtuous ways because of the regenerating power and sanctifying grace of the Holy Spirit.”

Aquinas also argued that Christian virtue was more than the Greek philosophers’ quest for self-improvement. Christians are disposed to act in virtuous ways because of the regenerating power and sanctifying grace of the Holy Spirit. But new dispositions also require habituation — intentional cultivation through a life of obedient dependence on Christ.10 Like Augustine, Aquinas argued that the theological virtues — connected to and comprehended in love — were the specific means of grace God used to deepen and mature all other virtue.11

The seven heavenly virtues, however, remain more foreign to contemporary readers than the more familiar seven deadly sins. The centuries-old tension Prudentius felt between the two lists, persists. Therefore, we shouldn’t abandon either approach to spiritual formation. Contrasting the deadly sins with their opposite virtue can be a valuable way to gain insight and mature in holiness (see Colossians 3:5–17). Humility poisons pride, chastity defangs lust, temperance bridles gluttony, charity overpowers greed, diligence overcomes sloth, patience outlasts envy, and kindness conquers anger.

Ultimately, cultivation of virtue is not the remedy for sin — justification and final salvation come through the atoning work of Christ, alone. But in the same way the seven capital sins provide a diagnostic for disordered affections, the seven heavenly virtues provide a framework for spiritual formation. Generations of faithful Christians have used the language of heavenly virtues and deadly vices as means for growing in grace. And by recovering these tools for the modern church, we are better equipped to present ourselves holy and acceptable to God, which is our spiritual worship (Romans 12:1).

How can Scripture say that there was a time when Jesus wasn’t “perfect”? Twice we’re told that Jesus was made perfect (Hebrews 2:10; 5:9). Hebrews even goes on to connect perfection with cleansing from sin. Old Testament sacrifices couldn’t “make perfect,” cleanse, remove guilty feelings, or “take away sins” (Hebrews 10:1–4). Yikes! Did Jesus really start his life as an imperfect human needing to be cleansed from sin? That doesn’t fit with what the Bible says in other places, even in Hebrews, where we’re told that Jesus did not sin (4:15). How can Scripture say that Jesus had to be perfected, connect perfection with sin, and still affirm that Jesus was sinless?

The Bible answers these questions in a surprising way. The perfecting of Jesus isn’t some embarrassing reality to paper over. Instead, Hebrews insists that Jesus’s perfection was “fitting” — good, right, appropriate (2:10). We’re told, in fact, that had Jesus not been perfected, then God’s story wouldn’t be good news. To hear the Bible’s surprising answer to why the sinless Jesus had to be perfected, we have to start at the beginning of the Bible’s story — with Adam.

Adam’s Imperfection

We were created to live permanently in God’s presence. That is the goal of God’s story. It’s where God’s story will one day end and, therefore, where it’s been headed from the beginning (Revelation 21:3). God wants to be our God in the perfect and permanent place he’s prepared for us (Hebrews 8:10; 9:11; 11:16). To reach that end, to enter and remain in God’s presence, humans must be perfected. Humanity’s original glory and worldwide dominion had to become permanent glory and dominion. For that to happen, Adam, our representative, needed to trust and obey God.

He didn’t.

Instead, he disbelieved in God’s goodness and disobeyed God’s word. As a result, humanity lost its original splendor. We lost our original splendor, becoming diminished in glory and restricted in our dominion. Hebrews 2 tells this sad story. It’s why perfection in a post-Adam, post-fall-into-sin world now requires unwavering trust in God and forgiveness. Faith alone won’t perfect us any longer now that we have red on our ledgers. Something has to be done about our sin too.

Jesus’s Perfection

This is the world Jesus entered and the humanity Jesus assumed. Hebrews doesn’t tell us how Jesus was “made like [us] in every respect” (2:17) while still avoiding guilt by association with Adam. Other places in the Bible give us hints. (Compare Matthew 1:18–25 and Luke 1:26–38 with Romans 5:12–21.) Hebrews only tells us that Jesus was like us and that he lived his human life full of faith and free from sin, with the help of the Holy Spirit (Hebrews 2:13; 4:15; 9:14).

“Jesus did what Adam did not. And because he did, he reached humanity’s goal.”

Jesus, in other words, did what Adam did not. And because he did, he reached humanity’s goal. He was made perfect (5:9). Humanity’s original destiny — superiority to angels, glory, and dominion — is now his permanently (1:5–13; 2:9). Even his body is now “indestructible” (7:16), since perfection takes away even the possibility of mortality. It’s this new status, therefore, that makes Jesus fit to live right where God intended humans to live — in his presence forever (1:3; 11:16; 12:28).

But that’s only part of the story. After all, the Bible doesn’t just say it was fitting for Jesus to be perfected, but perfected “through suffering” (2:10). It’s a two-word phrase we cannot live without!

Our Perfection

When Jesus entered God’s presence, he went there ahead of us, not instead of us. He’s like Daniel Boone, a pioneering trailblazer who paved the way for others to follow him. That’s exactly how Hebrews describes Jesus (2:10; 12:2). It’s also why Hebrews won’t let us forget that Jesus wasn’t simply perfected but was perfected through suffering.

He ran his race. He succeeded where Adam had failed. He trusted and obeyed all the way to the cross. And he did all this for us. His final act of faith gives us a way to wash our sins clean and join him in God’s presence.

Hebrews tells the story like this: During Jesus’s final days, he prayed and prayed that God would rescue him from death and reward his sinless life with perfection. God — we’re told — heard Jesus’s request precisely because of his “reverent submission” (5:7 NIV). God listened to Jesus because Jesus listened to God all his life. Jesus ran his difficult race and, along the way, learned what it meant to trust and obey God through thick and thin. As a result, Jesus crossed the finish line and was made perfect and, at the very same time, became the “source” of our perfection (5:9). Jesus perfectly passed his test of faith, and his passed test perfects us!

Precious Perfection

Had Jesus not been perfected, then we could not be perfected. There wasn’t any other way to reach the end of God’s story. Hebrews wants us to see this so clearly that it tells us four precious goods we would lose had Jesus not been perfected.

1. PERFECT EXAMPLE

First, we would lose our perfect example. Had Jesus come as an already-perfected human, then he couldn’t be our example. His human experience would have been too different from our own to be useful. That’s why Jesus came not only as one not yet perfected but also as one lowered, diminished, and restricted. He came as a post-Adam, post-fall-into-sin human like us.

Yes, he was sinless and blameless. Had he not been, then his final act of obedience would have lacked the potency our sins required (Hebrews 9:14). But he was, nevertheless, weak and susceptible to suffering in a way pre-fall Adam — God’s “very good” humanity (Genesis 1:31) — was not (Hebrews 2:15, 18; 4:15; 5:7). Friends, it’s Jesus’s example, his likeness to us, that inspires our race of faith. That’s what it’s meant to do. Jesus is like the amazing runners of old (11:1–40), only so much better (12:1–2).

2. PERFECT PRIEST

Second, we would lose our perfect priest. Had Jesus not been perfected, had he not experienced our human condition, he could not be our priest (2:17–18; 5:1–10). After all, priests are selected from “among” others just like them (5:1). How else could they hope to “sympathize with our weaknesses” (4:15)?

It’s also Jesus’s sinless experience of our human condition that qualifies him for a unique priesthood. Only a human with an indestructible life could be appointed to the ultimate priesthood and, therefore, provide his peers with the perfection other priests could not (7:11, 16–17; 9:1–10; 10:1–4, 11–14). Because Jesus sinlessly suffered, because he faithfully trusted and obeyed to the point of death, he reached humanity’s goal. And his body was made permanently immortal, qualifying him for an eternal priesthood. The suffering, the becoming perfect, however, was essential. Jesus could not be the priest we need without it.

3. PERFECT COVENANT MEDIATOR

Third, we would lose our perfect covenant mediator. Had Jesus not been perfected, then he could not give us access to God’s best and final promises. It’s Jesus’s final act of faithful obedience that unleashes the promises God made in his new and final covenant (8:6, 8). There God promised to make a way for humans to live with him forever, to do for them what Adam had not. He promised to stitch perfect faith and obedience into their minds and hearts (8:10). But he couldn’t do this without first taking away their sin. Perfection in a post-Adam world requires faith, but it also requires forgiveness. In the new covenant, God provides both through Jesus’s faith-filled death (9:15–28).

4. PERFECT KING

Finally, we would lose our perfect king. Had Jesus not been perfected, then Jesus couldn’t be our king. As Hebrews tells us, it was Jesus’s life of faithful obedience that caused his enthronement. “You have loved righteousness and hated wickedness; therefore God, your God, has anointed you with the oil of gladness beyond your companions” (1:9).

Later, Hebrews specifically draws attention to Jesus’s final act of faithful obedience. “We see . . . Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death” (2:9). It’s Jesus’s death — his final act of faithful trust in God — that led to his enthronement as our king. And it’s this king who triumphs over every one of our enemies (1:13; 10:13), including our ultimate enemy, the devil (2:14–15). Before Jesus was perfected, before Jesus died, we were slaves to the king of death. But now that Jesus has died, we serve a new and better Lord (13:20).

God’s Good Story

Far from being an embarrassing subplot in God’s grand story, Jesus’s perfection is the story’s fitting and surprising climax. It’s the reason we can call God’s story good. It’s the way — the only way — we can reach the story’s end. How precious indeed is Jesus’s perfection.

We wouldn’t want the story told any other way.