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I have had to put my reading of John Howe's 'The Blessedness of the Righteous' on hold because of a family visit, but I had time to read some this morning. I have finished the exposition and doctrine (155 pages) and this is how John Howe begins the next section: 'And now is our greatest work yet behind; the improvement of so momentous a truth, to the affecting and transforming of hearts; that, if the Lord shall so far vouchsafe his assistance and blessing, they may taste the sweetness, feel the power, and bear the impress and image of it. This is the work both of the greatest necessity, difficulty, and excellency, and unto which all that hath been done hitherto is but subservient and introductive.' There follows another 211 pages. Makes you think, doesn't it?
Monday 26 July 2010
Saturday 24 July 2010
A gap - but more a legacy
This is a photo of Dr Lloyd-Jones and Rev Murdo Gordon taken outside the front door of Newtown Evangelical Church, Parkstone, Dorset in the late 1950's. Murdo Gordon died in 1993; at the time I wrote an appreciation of what I knew of him, but this was never published. At the request of a grand-daughter I have been looking through old photos, and coming across this I decided I would include my appreciation as well as posting the picture. So here it is.
A tribute to the Rev Murdo Ross Gordon, 1924-1993
On January 4th 1993 the Rev Murdo Gordon was called from this life. For the past 33 years he had lived in South Africa, but before that he had two pastorates in England. Those whose memory goes back to the ’50’s may remember him at the Westminster Fellowship and the Puritan Conference.
He had been unwell for a number of years. In 1979 he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy and gradually deteriorated in health over the period since then. The day before he died, the Lord’s Day, he was able to attend morning service in the chapel at the Bible Institute in Kalk Bay where he had been principal for 21 years. In the evening he became unwell, was taken into hospital and passed away early the next morning. His wife, in a letter sent to family and friends, wrote movingly, ‘Murdo could no longer preach as his voice had lost most of its strength. He could not walk or lift his left hand. He was very limited; he had discomfort but no pain. He never complained of his lot and still wanted to serve the Lord in any way he could. Each morning he was at his desk and could still just write letters, pay bills etc.; his Bible was always near and he often spent time quietly praying. His work here was finished; it was just a little step to heaven for him.’
Murdo Gordon was born on the Isle of Skye on December 19th, 1924. His father was a crofter, though he also sailed with the Merchant Navy and worked at salmon fishing; he was born in a croft reputed to date back to 1400, with walls six foot thick. ‘Gordon’ is not a typical Skye name but it appears that a Gordon was shipwrecked in Staffin Bay in the north-east of the island and the Gordons found in the Culnacnock region are descended from him. Gaelic was the language in the home. Murdo wrote of his childhood: ‘At home there was family worship morning and evening. A metrical Psalm would be read, sometimes sung, a chapter read, then father prayed quietly and we all joined in the Lord’s prayer. On Sunday evenings we read good solid books such as Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, Baxter’s Saint’s Everlasting Rest, the biography of Lachlan MacKenzie of Lochcarron and sermons by Robert Murray M‘Cheyne and C. H. Spurgeon. We were well instructed in the things of God. At school, at Sunday School and at home we were taught that valuable, yet now neglected, Shorter Catechism. We also learned many of the Psalms and other passages. I read the Bible regularly especially its historical parts. The doctrinal passages did not appeal so much at this stage.’ His family belonged to the Church of Scotland, but it interesting to note that the Free Church minister in the area in his early childhood was Rev Kenneth MacRae.
Murdo Gordon went to school in Valtos with its single teacher; one retired during his time there so the whole of his school education was in the hands of two teachers. It is worth noting what he says about them: ‘Both these ladies set a good Christian example and taught from a thoroughly biblical basis. I well remember how impressed I was when Miss Mackenzie looked at her pupils and solemnly told us she feared many of us would not be in heaven but in hell. Miss Campbell was soundly converted while with us and there was a noticeable change in her life… The teaching may largely have been basic 3 R’s but it was thorough and left me at no serious disadvantage when I moved south and competed with people who had been to prestigious schools. I was equipped for life at this little village school.
The quality of education in the school must have been impressive, bearing in mind that later he became an engineering draughtsman and then principal of a Bible College. There is one rather humorous incident arising from his school. When he was 17 he applied for training under a wartime government scheme. Down in Surrey he was asked about his schooling, to which he replied that he had been to Valtos Public School, not realising the significance of ‘public school’ to English hearers. He was accepted for the six month course! While he was young he suffered from polio and as a result limped for the rest of his life.
Although he had a godly upbringing he was not converted when he left Skye. This came about while he was living in Hounslow. He had begun to attend services at Cranford Baptist Church where Pastor H. G. Goddard ministered. He began to realise his sinfulness and started to read his Bible again. One answer from the Shorter Catechism came to his mind, ‘God having out of his mere good pleasure from all eternity elected some to everlasting life…’ Was he one of God’s elect? This became the great question. ‘To most people I must have appeared to have been a person with no undue cares. Inwardly however, I was spiritually hungry, thirsty and miserable because I knew I was a lost hopeless sinner.’ The great change came about in July 1944 during a sermon at a Thursday evening meeting through the words of John 6:37, ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.’ A sense of joy and assurance was immediate.
That same evening he was on fire watch duty. ‘I was not going to say anything about what had happened, but my colleague and I started to discuss things and soon I told him. I lay down on a stretcher but could not sleep for joy. My misery was gone and I was “filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy” (1 Pet.1:8). By the morning the news had spread and person after person came to have a look at me. They wondered if I had a halo and was sprouting angelic wings. My joy seemed complete and was with me all the time. By coming to Christ I discovered to my surprise I was elect.’
From the very beginning of his Christian life he had a great desire to serve the Lord and to evangelise. With others he gave out tracts in the street, visited an American army camp, held open air meetings, visited the homes of Sunday School children and before long had begun to preach. In January 1946 he entered London Bible College where he graduated with a London BD in 1950. The long summer vacations were mainly spent with the Open Air Mission in evangelism, and Saturdays often found him preaching at Speakers’ Corner. There was no doubt about his total adherence to the doctrines of grace – soon after his conversion he found himself arguing for particular redemption in discussion – but they fuelled and directed rather than retarded his zeal for souls.
In 1950 he became pastor of Donnington Hall (now Donnington Evangelical Church), Willesden, and in 1955 moved to Newtown Evangelical Free Church, Parkstone, Dorset, where I was in membership. For the next five years he was my pastor, although they were years when most of my time was spent away from home, first in the RAF and then at London Bible College. His character and ministry left a deep impression on me and his influence was formative. Looking back it is astonishing to realise he was only 30 when he took up his second pastorate, there was a stability and maturity about him which belied his years and which I am sure must have made him so suitable as a College principal. People look back on his ministry as one primarily of preaching and teaching, but it was also fruitful in conversions. After one ordinary Sunday evening service four people made a profession of faith – though this was not known at the time. His pastoral work kept him from much direct evangelism but I remember going with him to gypsy encampments where he would preach, and he quite often took a group of young people with him to weeknight and Saturday evening services, often in small villages, where he would preach the gospel. I remember one particularly powerful sermon which simply had the word ‘Come’ as its text. Doubtless it derived its power from his own conversion experience.
His preaching was generally very biblical, orthodox but effective. Because of his limp there was a certain awkwardness about his pulpit presence, sometimes he almost seemed to lurch when he changed his position, but once he was into his sermon he would hold many of us spellbound. Two sermons in particular were memorable, though I only heard one of them. The first was on the ten virgins in Matthew 25 and at least in our family caused a lot of discussion. Certainly the idea of gospel hypocrites was not one that had ever been preached before to our church, and I think he must have felt that among Christians generally and perhaps in the church itself the work of the Lord was hindered by such people. He repeated the sermon at an FIEC meeting in the area. The second sermon – the one I did not hear – was on predestination, and again caused much discussion which I entered into when home from the RAF, expressing myself against the doctrine quite strongly. However, on returning to camp my readings over the next few days were from John 6 and it was quite impossible to avoid seeing that Murdo had simply been preaching the truth of God’s Word.
He was also very assiduous in visiting, riding a small motor-bike which he was given and, in the days before modern crash helmets, wearing a Biggles-type leather flying helmet. My uncle, who was church secretary, told me that he believed his visiting played a great part in the blessing on his ministry. In the prayer meetings he would mention people he had visited for prayer, but he had an unfortunate habit of saying about sick people, ‘I did not like the look of Mrs X when I visited her this afternoon,’ which caused repressed smiles on the part of less sanctified young people.
He had a great concern for ‘vital godliness’. Doctrinal convictions which did not issue in this were suspect as far as he was concerned; in a discussion at a Bible study he once gently corrected my enthusiasm for sound doctrine by emphasising the need for vital godliness. I remember him saying perhaps more than once that he found that those who believed the doctrines of grace were people who were reliable, people of authority, stability and integrity – he was talking mainly about ministers at the time. Certainly this was true of him. He was a man of God. He was a man, with his own individuality, foibles and sense of humour, but his character was formed by his trust in and heart knowledge of a great, holy and gracious God. I am thankful to have known him.
As she concluded her letter, his wife Margaret wrote, ‘Murdo has left a gap – but it is more a legacy.’ Those who knew him will want to use that legacy to spur them on.
On January 4th 1993 the Rev Murdo Gordon was called from this life. For the past 33 years he had lived in South Africa, but before that he had two pastorates in England. Those whose memory goes back to the ’50’s may remember him at the Westminster Fellowship and the Puritan Conference.
He had been unwell for a number of years. In 1979 he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy and gradually deteriorated in health over the period since then. The day before he died, the Lord’s Day, he was able to attend morning service in the chapel at the Bible Institute in Kalk Bay where he had been principal for 21 years. In the evening he became unwell, was taken into hospital and passed away early the next morning. His wife, in a letter sent to family and friends, wrote movingly, ‘Murdo could no longer preach as his voice had lost most of its strength. He could not walk or lift his left hand. He was very limited; he had discomfort but no pain. He never complained of his lot and still wanted to serve the Lord in any way he could. Each morning he was at his desk and could still just write letters, pay bills etc.; his Bible was always near and he often spent time quietly praying. His work here was finished; it was just a little step to heaven for him.’
Murdo Gordon was born on the Isle of Skye on December 19th, 1924. His father was a crofter, though he also sailed with the Merchant Navy and worked at salmon fishing; he was born in a croft reputed to date back to 1400, with walls six foot thick. ‘Gordon’ is not a typical Skye name but it appears that a Gordon was shipwrecked in Staffin Bay in the north-east of the island and the Gordons found in the Culnacnock region are descended from him. Gaelic was the language in the home. Murdo wrote of his childhood: ‘At home there was family worship morning and evening. A metrical Psalm would be read, sometimes sung, a chapter read, then father prayed quietly and we all joined in the Lord’s prayer. On Sunday evenings we read good solid books such as Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, Baxter’s Saint’s Everlasting Rest, the biography of Lachlan MacKenzie of Lochcarron and sermons by Robert Murray M‘Cheyne and C. H. Spurgeon. We were well instructed in the things of God. At school, at Sunday School and at home we were taught that valuable, yet now neglected, Shorter Catechism. We also learned many of the Psalms and other passages. I read the Bible regularly especially its historical parts. The doctrinal passages did not appeal so much at this stage.’ His family belonged to the Church of Scotland, but it interesting to note that the Free Church minister in the area in his early childhood was Rev Kenneth MacRae.
Murdo Gordon went to school in Valtos with its single teacher; one retired during his time there so the whole of his school education was in the hands of two teachers. It is worth noting what he says about them: ‘Both these ladies set a good Christian example and taught from a thoroughly biblical basis. I well remember how impressed I was when Miss Mackenzie looked at her pupils and solemnly told us she feared many of us would not be in heaven but in hell. Miss Campbell was soundly converted while with us and there was a noticeable change in her life… The teaching may largely have been basic 3 R’s but it was thorough and left me at no serious disadvantage when I moved south and competed with people who had been to prestigious schools. I was equipped for life at this little village school.
The quality of education in the school must have been impressive, bearing in mind that later he became an engineering draughtsman and then principal of a Bible College. There is one rather humorous incident arising from his school. When he was 17 he applied for training under a wartime government scheme. Down in Surrey he was asked about his schooling, to which he replied that he had been to Valtos Public School, not realising the significance of ‘public school’ to English hearers. He was accepted for the six month course! While he was young he suffered from polio and as a result limped for the rest of his life.
Although he had a godly upbringing he was not converted when he left Skye. This came about while he was living in Hounslow. He had begun to attend services at Cranford Baptist Church where Pastor H. G. Goddard ministered. He began to realise his sinfulness and started to read his Bible again. One answer from the Shorter Catechism came to his mind, ‘God having out of his mere good pleasure from all eternity elected some to everlasting life…’ Was he one of God’s elect? This became the great question. ‘To most people I must have appeared to have been a person with no undue cares. Inwardly however, I was spiritually hungry, thirsty and miserable because I knew I was a lost hopeless sinner.’ The great change came about in July 1944 during a sermon at a Thursday evening meeting through the words of John 6:37, ‘Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.’ A sense of joy and assurance was immediate.
That same evening he was on fire watch duty. ‘I was not going to say anything about what had happened, but my colleague and I started to discuss things and soon I told him. I lay down on a stretcher but could not sleep for joy. My misery was gone and I was “filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy” (1 Pet.1:8). By the morning the news had spread and person after person came to have a look at me. They wondered if I had a halo and was sprouting angelic wings. My joy seemed complete and was with me all the time. By coming to Christ I discovered to my surprise I was elect.’
From the very beginning of his Christian life he had a great desire to serve the Lord and to evangelise. With others he gave out tracts in the street, visited an American army camp, held open air meetings, visited the homes of Sunday School children and before long had begun to preach. In January 1946 he entered London Bible College where he graduated with a London BD in 1950. The long summer vacations were mainly spent with the Open Air Mission in evangelism, and Saturdays often found him preaching at Speakers’ Corner. There was no doubt about his total adherence to the doctrines of grace – soon after his conversion he found himself arguing for particular redemption in discussion – but they fuelled and directed rather than retarded his zeal for souls.
In 1950 he became pastor of Donnington Hall (now Donnington Evangelical Church), Willesden, and in 1955 moved to Newtown Evangelical Free Church, Parkstone, Dorset, where I was in membership. For the next five years he was my pastor, although they were years when most of my time was spent away from home, first in the RAF and then at London Bible College. His character and ministry left a deep impression on me and his influence was formative. Looking back it is astonishing to realise he was only 30 when he took up his second pastorate, there was a stability and maturity about him which belied his years and which I am sure must have made him so suitable as a College principal. People look back on his ministry as one primarily of preaching and teaching, but it was also fruitful in conversions. After one ordinary Sunday evening service four people made a profession of faith – though this was not known at the time. His pastoral work kept him from much direct evangelism but I remember going with him to gypsy encampments where he would preach, and he quite often took a group of young people with him to weeknight and Saturday evening services, often in small villages, where he would preach the gospel. I remember one particularly powerful sermon which simply had the word ‘Come’ as its text. Doubtless it derived its power from his own conversion experience.
His preaching was generally very biblical, orthodox but effective. Because of his limp there was a certain awkwardness about his pulpit presence, sometimes he almost seemed to lurch when he changed his position, but once he was into his sermon he would hold many of us spellbound. Two sermons in particular were memorable, though I only heard one of them. The first was on the ten virgins in Matthew 25 and at least in our family caused a lot of discussion. Certainly the idea of gospel hypocrites was not one that had ever been preached before to our church, and I think he must have felt that among Christians generally and perhaps in the church itself the work of the Lord was hindered by such people. He repeated the sermon at an FIEC meeting in the area. The second sermon – the one I did not hear – was on predestination, and again caused much discussion which I entered into when home from the RAF, expressing myself against the doctrine quite strongly. However, on returning to camp my readings over the next few days were from John 6 and it was quite impossible to avoid seeing that Murdo had simply been preaching the truth of God’s Word.
He was also very assiduous in visiting, riding a small motor-bike which he was given and, in the days before modern crash helmets, wearing a Biggles-type leather flying helmet. My uncle, who was church secretary, told me that he believed his visiting played a great part in the blessing on his ministry. In the prayer meetings he would mention people he had visited for prayer, but he had an unfortunate habit of saying about sick people, ‘I did not like the look of Mrs X when I visited her this afternoon,’ which caused repressed smiles on the part of less sanctified young people.
He had a great concern for ‘vital godliness’. Doctrinal convictions which did not issue in this were suspect as far as he was concerned; in a discussion at a Bible study he once gently corrected my enthusiasm for sound doctrine by emphasising the need for vital godliness. I remember him saying perhaps more than once that he found that those who believed the doctrines of grace were people who were reliable, people of authority, stability and integrity – he was talking mainly about ministers at the time. Certainly this was true of him. He was a man of God. He was a man, with his own individuality, foibles and sense of humour, but his character was formed by his trust in and heart knowledge of a great, holy and gracious God. I am thankful to have known him.
As she concluded her letter, his wife Margaret wrote, ‘Murdo has left a gap – but it is more a legacy.’ Those who knew him will want to use that legacy to spur them on.
Tuesday 13 July 2010
I have just started reading Margaret Drabble’s biography of the Potteries writer Arnold Bennett. Its first sentence reads like this: ‘Arnold Bennett was born in a street called Hope Street. A street less hopeful it would be hard to imagine.’ This reminded me of a tract I read years ago entitled, I think, ‘The Street called Hope’. It was written by Arthur Dean – again I think that that was his name. He became an evangelist but he was converted through an open-air meeting in the very same street and the tract told his story. At the top of Hope Street, on the edge of the city centre of Stoke on Trent, on the corner with Newhall Street, stood a substantial church building, its pediment proclaiming Hope Congregational Church, though it actually faced on to Newhall Street. When we arrived in 1966 this was the home of Bethel Evangelical Free Church.
The history of the building was unusual and problematic. There used to be a large Congregational church building called The Tabernacle not too far away. In about 1810 one of its deacons was convicted of being drunk in charge of a horse in Market Square. This resulted in him being disciplined. There was, I believe, a bit more to the story than this, but the nub of the matter was that he had his supporters who eventually left The Tabernacle and in 1812 Hope Congregational Church was built (I think this must have been before the Band of Hope was established!).
In 1966 (the biography was published in 1974) the bottle kilns of Dudson’s Pottery stood at the bottom of the Hope Street, though I don’t think they were still in use. Up one of the side streets you found pre-fabs still occupied, left over from the 2nd World War. A variety of mainly little shops jostled each other and everything had an atmosphere of grime so characteristic of those days. Margaret’s Drabble’s words are not surprising, yet the street led up to a place where the hope of the gospel was made known and still is. Hope Congregational building has gone but in 1977 a new building was opened – but that’s another story. (See www.bethelhanley.com/ )
The history of the building was unusual and problematic. There used to be a large Congregational church building called The Tabernacle not too far away. In about 1810 one of its deacons was convicted of being drunk in charge of a horse in Market Square. This resulted in him being disciplined. There was, I believe, a bit more to the story than this, but the nub of the matter was that he had his supporters who eventually left The Tabernacle and in 1812 Hope Congregational Church was built (I think this must have been before the Band of Hope was established!).
In 1966 (the biography was published in 1974) the bottle kilns of Dudson’s Pottery stood at the bottom of the Hope Street, though I don’t think they were still in use. Up one of the side streets you found pre-fabs still occupied, left over from the 2nd World War. A variety of mainly little shops jostled each other and everything had an atmosphere of grime so characteristic of those days. Margaret’s Drabble’s words are not surprising, yet the street led up to a place where the hope of the gospel was made known and still is. Hope Congregational building has gone but in 1977 a new building was opened – but that’s another story. (See www.bethelhanley.com/ )
Thursday 1 July 2010
The past is a different country - they say things differently there
In the May-June Reformation Today there is an excerpt from Eric Wright's book on Missions which includes this: 'May God deliver preachers, missionaries and evangelists from the terrible thought that their wife and children are in the way of their ministry!' This brought to mind what Selderhuis in his excellent book on Calvin has to say about his - that is Calvin's - wife after her death: 'Calvin felt the need to add also that she never hindered him in his work'. Selderhuis comments: 'Still, although it is to be hoped that everyone might claim his or her partner was no hindrance, we might also wish that Calvin had simply dropped the remark.'
Perhaps. But we remember that Calvin lived at a time when Europe was dominated by Roman Catholicism whose priests were obligated to be celibate. Surely one reason which must obviously have been advanced in favour of celibacy over against the Reformers was that marriage hindered a priest from giving himself fully to the work of God. So Calvin after positive compliments to his wife, from his own experience denies the Roman contention: 'She never hindered me in my work!' Well, who knows? But the point is this; it is all too easy to judge the past in terms of our experience and understanding in the present.
Laughter - the best medicine
I was fascinated by a sentence that comes in a social history of Britain between the wars (Martin Pugh; ‘We Danced All Night’). It is about the early films of Charlie Chaplin: ‘During wartime miracles were freely attributed to his films by wounded soldiers who laughed so much at his screen antics that they got up and walked without using their crutches.’ I do not doubt that this was the case, though whether the soldiers continued without their crutches might be a moot point. However, this is so similar to the sort of thing that happened in healing services where, if not laughter, there was great emotion, that I think the explanation must be the same. But I’m not going to pursue the subject further.
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