Reading through Spurgeon’s sermons often throws up interesting insights about the act of preaching, if only because Spurgeon did it so often and, typically, so well. You do not need to read much to find that he is fundamentally a textual-expository preacher, focusing on and expounding a short passage of Scripture. Usually, he breaks his sermon down into a number of points—regularly three, but not artificially or monotonously (in fact, the variety of Spurgeon’s three-point sermons is worth a study of its own). He typically announces his outline toward the beginning of his sermon, giving his congregation a sense of where he is going to go. Then, as he proceeds, he announces and summarizes his points, moving on from one to the next. For preachers, this is a question of homiletics—specifically, the construction, balance, and proportion of the sermon.

What is particularly interesting is how often Spurgeon finds himself under pressure of time. His sermons, when read, are usually in the forty to forty-five-minute range, and he seems committed to this kind of length. With this in mind and with his structure in place, he aims to make each sermon its own coherent whole. However, preaching with fairly minimal notes and seeking to be responsive both to the Spirit working in him and the people listening to him, he regularly makes comments about hurrying on, about the passage of time, about having to be brief, about needing to summarize. Some of his sermons are not, as a result, the most finely-polished examples of the homiletical craft. Also, sometimes he seems quite deliberately to move from shorter to longer points, or vice versa, as if to build momentum or develop an argument. At other times, it can feel as if he is riding a sprightly horse, trying to keep a tight rein with a view to getting safely and soundly to the end of his gallop. And, usually, Spurgeon lands his sermonic aircraft without either the endless circling of some pulpit pilots or the harrowing thump and smoking brakes of others.

As we see a master of his craft managing his material in this way, what might we learn? I suggest that we can learn the importance of a good structure, a responsive heart, and an adaptable man.

First, we learn the importance of a good structure. That well-ordered and thoughtfully organized outline serves Spurgeon well. Within the overall plan of his three points (or however many there may be), he often has identifiable sub-headings. Sometimes, these are broken out within the printed sermons. He may have a logical argument that proceeds through each point or one that varies from point to point. If you look at the notes that he took into the pulpit, it is this developed outline that is usually before him. This provides a number of advantages. He can always see where he is in terms of his structure compared to his available time. He knows where he has gone and where he needs to get to. If he becomes pressed for time, he is able to prioritize to keep his sermon coherent and complete.

Second, we learn the importance of a responsive heart. While it is not always easy to gauge from a written sermon, one still has a sense, from the rhythm of Spurgeon’s words, phrases, and sentences, when he is preaching with particular freedom. Remembering that written outline, the reader begins to be carried along on a wave of holy eloquence, a more deliberate or expansive declaration of particular points—how much more if one were a hearer! There are at least two dimensions to this. One is the preacher’s responsiveness to the Holy Spirit in the very act of preaching. In dependence upon him, thoughts can fill the mind and words the mouth as the theme or topic is illuminated as it is handled. This might lead either to a distinctive and penetrating concentration of material, in which an element of the sermon acquires a laser focus, or to a holy overflow of material, in which descriptions of the Savior or considerations of Christian experience seem to bubble out of the preacher. The other element is the preacher’s responsiveness to the people listening to him. Spurgeon often refers to the tears of his congregation (regularly in connection with his own) or to other impacts that the sermon has upon his hearers. He is preaching with his eyes on his congregation and his heart toward them. In Spurgeon, the lively pulpit dynamic, triangulating between the Holy Ghost, the preacher, and the hearers, is vibrant and potent. He seems to be highly sensitive to it, willing to give himself to the current of the moment and allow the sermon to develop, as a whole or at particular points, in a way dictated by the immediate influence of the Holy Ghost and the discerned needs or appetites of the congregation.

Third, we learn the importance of an adaptable man. Taking into account both the overarching structure of his sermon, with the desire to complete it coherently and forcefully, and his responsiveness to the influence of the Spirit and the presence of the people, Spurgeon shows himself supremely adaptable. If his first point bubbles over, he will tell people that he needs to press through the second in order to address the third properly, and the second might then become little more than a slightly developed list of headings. If his whole sermon gushes along, he might close with an abbreviated series of appeals rather than an extended series of applications. If the conclusions or applications are exploding, he will corral the whole with a few pithy words. In this sense, the spirit of the prophet is subject to the prophets (1 Cor. 14:32). This is not some wild rollercoaster ride in which no one has any idea what will happen next. This is a man responsive to the help of the Holy Spirit and so thoughtfully and deliberately managing his material as he goes.

Spurgeon’s practice does not permit us simply to ‘wing it’ in our sermons. The Holy Spirit helps us in our studies as much as in the pulpit, and—for all his gifts—Spurgeon is a man who enters the pulpit prepared to preach. He does that dependent on the Spirit of Christ, which means he is sensitive to the influences of the Spirit on both preacher and hearers. With that in mind, not a slave to his outline but sustained by it, he is able to adapt as he preaches, as the occasion and situation demands. Sometimes, that puts him in a holy hurry. The results may not always be the most highly polished and sweetly proportioned productions of the pulpit, but they are delightful examples of a living man preaching to living men in the presence of the living God. Even if preaching different kinds of sermons and accounting for our different gifts, this remains a good model for the man of God.