Spurgeon’s confidence that Heaven is the place of great union with Christ and reunion with redeemed loved ones. As a caring pastor, Spurgeon desires his people to understand that embracing the gospel should change their view of death. He says, “Let no doubt intervene; let no gloom encompass us. Dying is but going home.” Only six years later, at age fifty-seven, Spurgeon himself would go home to Jesus, joining his friend Charles Stanford.

As of Monday morning, Nanci is with Jesus. So happy for her. Sad for us. But the happiness for her triumphs over the sadness. Grieving is ahead, and it will be hard, but these last years and especially this last month have given us a head start on the grieving process. I am so proud of my wife for her dependence on Jesus and her absolute trust in the sovereign plan and love of God.
Nanci is and always will be an inspiration to me. I have spent the last two days with family and friends, thanking God for His grace and the promises of Jesus that we will live with Him forever in a world without the Curse, and He will wipe away all the tears and all the reasons for the tears. All God’s children really will live happily ever after. This is not a fairytale; it is the blood-bought promise of Jesus.
What a great and kind God He is. As of Monday, Nanci now lives where she sees this firsthand, in the place where Joy truly is the air she breathes: “In your presence is fullness of joy, at your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Psalm 16:11).
Thank you so much for all your prayers, some of you for four years of praying consistently for Nanci. My heart is full of gratitude to you. Don’t feel your prayers were not answered—many of them were, and many others were answered in a better way than we could ever ask.
Today’s blog is excerpted from my book We Shall See God. It’s the first of 50 entries drawn from Charles Spurgeon’s sermons on Heaven, and it’s entitled “Dying Is But Going Home.” It seems fitting to share right now. Spurgeon delivered this sermon on March 21, 1886, just three days after the death of his friend and fellow pastor Charles Stanford. In it, he encourages his congregation to view death as a home-going, as the gateway to full union with Christ:

Breathe the home air. Jesus tells us that the air of his home is love: “You loved me before the foundation of the world.”
Brothers and sisters, can you follow me in a great flight? Can you stretch broader wings than the condor ever knew and fly back into the unbeginning eternity? There was a day before all days when there was no day but the Ancient of Days. There was a time before all time when God only was, the uncreated, the only existent One. The Divine Three—Father, Son, and Spirit—lived in blessed camaraderie with each other, delighting in each other.
Oh, the intensity of the divine love of the Father to the Son! There was no world, no sun, no moon, no stars, no universe, but God alone. And the whole of God’s omnipotence flowed forth in a stream of love to the Son, while the Son’s whole being remained eternally one with the Father by a mysterious essential union.
How did all this which we now see and hear happen? Why this creation? this fall of Adam? this redemption? this church? this Heaven? How did it all come about? It didn’t need to have been. But the Father’s love made him resolve to show forth the glory of his Son. The mysterious story which has been gradually unfolded before us has only this one design—the Father would make known his love to the Son and make the Son’s glories to appear before the eyes of those whom the Father gave him.
This Fall and this redemption, and the story as a whole, so far as the divine purpose is concerned, are the fruit of the Father’s love to the Son and his delight in glorifying the Son.
That [the Son] might be glorified forever, [the Father] permitted that he should take on a human body and should suffer, bleed, and die. Why? So that there might come out of him, as a harvest comes from a dying and buried grain of wheat, all the countless hosts of elect souls, ordained forever to a joy exceeding bounds. These are the bride of the Lamb, the body of Christ, the fullness of him who fills all in all. Their destiny is so high that no language can fully describe it.

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It may seem obvious, but you are not the saviour of the church; Jesus is. That truth should set you free. The church does not depend on you, but on Jesus. The church does not depend on your ministry, but on Jesus. The work does not stand or fall on you, but on Jesus. Be freed by that. You can only do what you can do and you only must do what Jesus has actually said you must do, not what tradition, culture or people’s general expectations (or, indeed, your own unrealistic expectations) say you must.

April 1 marked ten years of my being pastor at Oldham Bethel Church. Let’s quickly get over the fact that, yes, I started on April Fool’s Day. You can decide for yourself whether the bigger joke was played on me or by me. But ten years feels like the shortest long amount of time worth looking back and seeing what’s what. I don’t think ten years is all that long in the grand scheme of things. But it is the shortest long time that feels like a reasonable amount of time to have been in the same place, doing the same thing and that one might have learnt one or two things worth knowing over that period. So, I thought I might just share some of the things I have learnt. Some are bigger than others, some more or less significant, but they are things I know now and either didn’t know before or didn’t fully appreciate (and maybe I still don’t). But in no particular order, here are some things:
People Leave and This Is Normal
One thing that few people prepare you for before you begin your pastorate is that people will leave your church. I don’t know a single pastor that hasn’t had people leave their church. People leave for a variety of reasons, many perfectly legitimate, some perhaps less so. But even the best pastor in the world will have people leave on them both for legitimate and perfectly understandable reasons but also for less legitimate reasons and will have had fingers pointed in their direction as the fundamental reason why. People leaving is normal and is something we simply have to accept as a fact of ministry.
People Leaving Is Always Sad
The other thing about people leaving is it is always sad. If they are leaving for legitimate reasons, you will find it sad that good people, friends whom you love, are moving on. It isn’t necessarily hurtful when it happens, but it is sad nonetheless, even when it is for legitimate reasons and with every blessing from the church. Others leaving badly will make you sad because they cause so much pain, either to you personally or to the church at large. It is always sad when people leave and there is rarely much you can do to insulate yourself from it.
The Church Is Its People Who Are Its Best Resource
Indeed, the church is its people which means its people are its best resource. That doesn’t mean they are a resource to be exploited. Simply to say, the church is at its best when its resources are all working towards gospel ends. When each part of the body is freed up to serve in the particular ways in which God has gifted them to serve the church will be at its strongest.
Don’t Overestimate What You Can Do in a Year; Don’t Underestimate What You Can Do in Five
Somebody said this to me when I first started in the role and I think it has been seen to be true. There are lots of things we may want to do. Lots of things we might feel are worthwhile. But change will often happen in increments and change will often come when new folks show up and get stuck in too. It takes time to instil cultural change and it takes time to either win people to whatever needs to happen or to sift those who will not be won and feel they would be better served elsewhere. These things all take time. There is a limit to what might be achieved in a year, but over five years the change in a church can be enormous in a number of ways.
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Written by Edward T. Welch |
Monday, April 3, 2023
Even his opponents could see this: “Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone’s opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances” (Matt. 22:16). Of course, their remarks were a form of flattery by which they hoped to trap Jesus, but they were true remarks nonetheless. Jesus’s imperviousness to the opinions of others was part of his teaching with authority, and it was one of the features that distinguished his ministry from that of all the other Jewish leaders.

It might be encouraging to know that fear of rejection has been a problem for a number of illustrious people throughout history. For example, Moses warned the leaders and judges of Israel about this very thing (Deut. 1:17). He knew that people reverence the opinions of others, show favoritism, and honor some people above others because they fear rejection from those whom they consider important.
This human tendency was an especially important issue for Israel’s judges. For example, if an Israelite had to judge a case involving a prominent metalworker, he might have experienced a certain pressure to make the judgment light or waive the penalty altogether. Otherwise, the metalworker might reject the judge the next time he needed his help. In other words, judges could be controlled by a defendant if the defendant had something that judges wanted. In such situations, people would become big and God’s justice would become small.
I wonder how many of us fear those who have more money, more power, more education, more attractiveness than we do. We could ask this question: Do I single out certain people and groups for their approval and acceptance because they can give me what I think I need? It could be a boss who does my annual review, a neighbor whose friendship enhances my status, a person who could help to make the church budget, or a spouse whose acceptance and approval are all- important.
King Saul is a specific biblical example of someone who experienced fear of rejection. In 1 Samuel 15, God commanded Saul to completely destroy the Amalekites. God then gave the armies of Israel grace to defeat these people, “but Saul and the people spared Agag [the king of the Amalekites] and the best of the sheep and of the oxen and of the fattened calves and the lambs, and all that was good” (1 Sam. 15:9). When the prophet Samuel confronted Saul with his gross disobedience, Saul confessed his sin but also justified it: “I feared the people and obeyed their voice” (1 Sam. 15:24).
Saul may have made this justification for one of two reasons. Perhaps he really did feel pressured by his generals to bring home some of the spoils of war. In that case, his excuse was indefensible in light of God’s endless warnings not to fear people. Or perhaps Saul reasoned that Samuel would accept his excuse because fearing others was such a common, human thing to do. After all, since fear of others is part of our fabric, how can we be held responsible for it? Regardless of which alternative represents Saul’s true motives, his fear of others had catastrophic results: it was the reason Saul lost his kingdom.
The Pharisees in the New Testament shared King Saul’s fear of rejection. They craved acceptance and approval from the people, and they were afraid they wouldn’t get it. Many Pharisees boasted that they didn’t believe in Jesus, and they even accused those who did of living under a delusion (John 7:45–49). Yet some leaders could not ignore Jesus’s authoritative teaching and miracles, and they quietly believed in him. In other words, they believed that Jesus was sent from God and was the Messiah for whom they had hoped and prayed.
You’d think that with such a conviction these leaders would become Jesus’s disciples immediately and seek to persuade the others to believe. Yet that didn’t happen. Their faith quickly withered. Why? They feared confessing their faith because of the possible reactions of those in the synagogue, “for they loved human praise more than praise from God” ( John 12:43 NIV). They felt they needed the praise of people. They feared rejection more than they feared the Lord.
Our Own Fear of Rejection
It sounds all too familiar. Sometimes we would prefer to die for Jesus than to live for him. If someone had the power to kill us for our profession of faith, I imagine that most Christians would say, “Yes, I am a believer in Jesus Christ,” even if it meant death. The threat of torture might make some think twice, but I think most Christians would acknowledge Christ regardless. However, if making a decision for Jesus means possibly spending years being unpopular, ignored, poor, or criticized, then many temporarily put their faith on the shelf. “Death is not imminent, so why hurry into such a rash decision?” “There will be time later to get things straight with God.” In other words, “Kill me, but don’t keep me from being liked, appreciated, or respected.”
Remember that one word: evangelism. I am sure that many teens would rather die than have their friends catch them hanging out with the church youth group or doing Christian drama on the streets. Aren’t the most popular mission trips the ones that take us far from our own neighborhoods? Africa is easy; our own neighborhoods are a constant challenge. Has anyone consistently had the boldness and clarity of Jesus to testify about the gospel? Never. Has anyone consistently avoided the fear of man in evangelism? Certainly not. There is a “foolishness” inherent in the message of the cross. The clear proclamation of the gospel does not make us look good. It doesn’t make us popular.
“Peer Pressure” and the Praise of God
The praise of others—that wisp of a breeze that lasts for a moment—can seem more glorious to us than the praise of God. Jesus himself told the Jewish leaders, “How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?” ( John 5:44).
Today we might call the Pharisees people pleasers. We would say they “struggled with peer pressure.” Since all of us are affected by it at one time or another, we are almost sympathetic toward such behavior. But people pleasing is perhaps the most tragic form of the fear of man. Teenagers constantly make unwise decisions because of it. Adults, too, look to other people for their cues. We wait for others to take initiatives of love. We spend too much time wondering what others may have thought about our outfits or the comments we made in the small-group meeting. We see opportunities to testify about Christ, but we avoid them. We are ruled by our own reputations. As we follow these Old Testament stories, the problem feels as though it is other people, but, in truth, the problem lies within us.
Jesus stood in stark contrast to this Pharisaic concern. He did not show favoritism; instead, he reached out to male and female, rich and poor, and people of all races and ages. He did not take a poll of what was popular before he began to teach; instead, he spoke truth that was often unpopular but could penetrate the heart. “I do not receive glory from people,” he said ( John 5:41). Even his opponents could see this: “Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone’s opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances” (Matt. 22:16). Of course, their remarks were a form of flattery by which they hoped to trap Jesus, but they were true remarks nonetheless. Jesus’s imperviousness to the opinions of others was part of his teaching with authority, and it was one of the features that distinguished his ministry from that of all the other Jewish leaders.
This attitude also characterized the ministry of the apostle Paul. He exhorted his churches to be imitators of him as he was an imitator of Christ (1 Cor. 4:16; 1 Thess. 1:6). By this, he was encouraging his disciples to imitate his life and doctrine, an imitation that included seeking the praise of God rather than men (1 Thess. 2:4). Paul was not a people pleaser. He was a people lover, and because of that he did not change his message according to what others might think. Only people lovers are able to confront. Only people lovers are not controlled by other people. Paul even indicated to the Galatians that if he were still trying to please man, he would not be a servant of God (Gal. 1:10). That is how seriously he took the fear of man.
Not that this came naturally. Paul had the same fleshly instincts we do, and he knew it. As a result, he beseeched the churches to pray for him: “[Make supplication] also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel . . . that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak” (Eph. 6:19–20).
Excerpt taken from Chapter 2: “People Will Reject Me”, When People Are Big and God Is Small: Overcoming Peer Pressure, Codependency, and the Fear of Man by Edward T. Welch. Used with permission
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