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This sermon was first delivered on a Thursday evening in the March of the previous year, and then repurposed for reading on the first Lord's day of the year 1890. It is a delight to think that Spurgeon would preach something so sweet and substantial at an ordinary midweek service, and no surprise to find such a topic so well suited to the opening of a year. Here he develops the sermon with us, moving us on from point to point, thinking about the wonder of man blessing the God who blesses, the spirit in which we go about that happy work, the God whom we bless—that Jehovah who has made himself known to us in mercy—, and the self-awareness that we ought to exercise, as we address ourselves in the face of all discouragements within and without, to go on blessing the God of our salvation. Here is a preacher marked by simplicity of speech, plainness of address, and warmth of tone. Here we are stirred not just to think about what it means to bless the Lord, but to get involved with the business, and to get on with it, that the Lord shall not lack a witness to his majesty and mercy from us.

While Spurgeon is probably typecast as a classic three-pointer, his sermons actually show quite a variety in structure. This is a simple two-headed sermon, reflected in the title itself. How can peace be gained? How can peace be broken? Under the first heading, Spurgeon insists that true peace, the only peace worth having, is God's own gift, spoken to his people who are holy. He celebrates the certainty of it and explores something of the beauty of it. Then he comes down from the heights and considers the loss of our peace. Here the preacher shows himself the pastor. The text emphasises that we can lose our peace by turning back to folly, and while that is a proper consideration, Spurgeon takes a few moments to consider some of the other ways in which peace can be lost, not all of them through the sins and failings of true believers. His intention is not to offer us excuses, but not to lay the wrong burden on the wrong heart. The ground cleared, he asks very bluntly about the kinds of sins which lurk in our souls, and which can be the reason why we lose the peace which the Lord speaks. The probing is painful, the speech being plain, and a sensitive heart will find good reason to lament its own folly. Spurgeon concludes with exhortation, giving us a brief barrage of reasons to turn our backs upon folly once and for all, and not to go back to the paths which, because of grace, we have left.

A military parade is a display of human confidence in human might and human means. In Psalm 20, God's people reject confidence in man and instead declare their confidence in God alone. There are two outcomes to these two possible grounds of trust: either we bow and fall when we trust in man, or we rise and stand when the name of the Lord is our hope. The obvious response is to cry to the Lord for salvation, to make the favour of God in Christ not only the first cry but the often-renewed cry of the needy heart.

Barnabas and Saul are sent out by the Holy Spirit and by the church. As we follow them on this first missionary campaign, we simply observe where they went, what they did, who and what they found, what they said, and what the Lord God accomplished. Here is a tale of gospel opportunity and spiritual opposition, of the triumph of the good news of Jesus Christ.

This sermon is comfort with a little kick—rich in its consolations but not feeble in its applications. It begins with God's everlasting covenant, rooted in his own unchanging being, and the promises which cannot be broken, with all the assurance of unending good to those upon whom he sets his love. Spurgeon explores the certainty and security of the covenant, never straying far from Christ's finished work, whether he is speaking of the covenant itself, or the God who makes the covenant with his people. Then he turns to the promise, "I will put my fear in their hearts so that they will not depart from me" (Jer 32:40). Here he considers how God fulfils that promise, not by a twisting or emptying of certain spiritual realities, but by God's gracious and sovereign work in the soul, granting his people a holy awe, a filial fear, and a sense of grateful obligation. He considers the work of the Holy Spirit in this connection, giving us a trinitarian perspective on the whole, and uses the guarantee of a people united to God in holy fear to draw sinners to Christ to find certain peace and life everlasting.

His teaching concluded, our Lord is anticipating his sufferings. It is worth noting the spirit in which he spoke, marked by conviction, concentration, calmness, compassion, and courage. He sets before us the sacrifice which he anticipated, he himself being the Passover Lamb who would be crucified in the place of his people. This is the Saviour in whom we trust, the only Redeemer of God's elect. He establishes the standard for us to follow, the Shepherd of his beloved sheep.

Who or what do you want to be? Too often, our eyes and our hearts are fixed on those who seem to be great in this world, but they are far from God. In response we hear wisdom speak. WIsdom gives a warning: do not let your heart envy sinners. Wisdom urges a contrast: we are instead to be zealous for the fear of the Lord all the day. Wisdom offers a promise: surely there is a hereafter and your hope will not be cut off. We need to lift our eyes and our hearts above this world and beyond the sinners who seem to have all this world offers, to the promised hereafter and the glorious hope which Christ provides.

During this period, Spurgeon is locked in combat, contending for the honour and glory of Christ. This sermon is situated both in the overall battle he is fighting, but also in the context of a pastoral ministry in which he is conscious of the need to feed and encourage the flock of Christ. So, having previously preached on the Lamb in glory (the previous sermon in this volume, number 2095, if you want to read it for yourself) he now wants to emphasise that this Lamb is the Bridegroom of the church, and that all our hope and happiness centres in him not only in this life but also in the life which is to come. He therefore steps through the prospect that lies before us, noting from Revelation 19 some of the events which precede the moment of marriage. He turns our attention to the marriage itself, asking how it has been brought about and what it involves. He fixes our eye upon the Bridegroom of our hearts, Jesus Christ, in his character as the Lamb of God, pushing us to recognise that this is essential to the union. Finally, he allows us to see the wife of the Lamb as she approaches her Beloved, prepared by him, for him, clothed in the white linen of her righteousnesses. It is a beautiful picture, and one which the preacher would have us ponder, not only to stir up love and faith and hope, but also to ensure that we will, through trust in the Lamb, participate in that glorious consummation.

If Acts has two streams (the ministries of Peter and of Paul) then it also has three waves, as Christ's gospel spreads from Jerusalem, through Judea and Samaria, to the end of the earth. Here we are in Antioch, as the church separates Barnabas and Saul to the work of gospel preaching beyond the Mediterranean. We look at the men involved, the ministry they had, the motion of the Holy Spirit, and then the mission on which they were sent.

Though the last days can be fearfully dark, they are wonderfully bright because in them God is speaking to us by his Son. The opening verses of the letter to the Hebrews provide us with one of the most splendid testimonies to the glory of the Messiah, the Jesus of whom the writer speaks with such delight and reverence. He is the heir of all things, the agent of creation, the revealer of God, the upholder of all, the purger of sin, the ruler on high, and the name over all. Do we trust and adore this Jesus, our Christ, as he set before us in the Scripture?

In 2 Corinthians 5:20, the apostle Paul tells God's people that "we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ's behalf, be reconciled to God." If you want a demonstration of this spirit in a gospel preacher after the time of the apostles, you could not do much better that read this sermon from Charles Spurgeon. He begins by insisting that the voice we must hear in the sermon is not that of the prophet who first spoke these words, nor that of the preacher who repeats them, but that of the God who makes known his own gospel grace: "Incline your ear, and come to me. Hear, and your soul shall live; and I will make an everlasting covenant with you—the sure mercies of David" (Is 55:3). Here, then, we find—first—two saving precepts, to hear and to come. Then we have, for each precept, a saving promise, each of which Spurgeon explores with spiritual sensitivity and experiential insight. Then, broadening his scope to embrace the direction and tone of the whole chapter, we come to the saving pleadings, the Lord God himself calling on sinners to come, and removing all obstacles and addressing all objections. Spurgeon really climbs inside his text, and makes the voice of God his own, not with the intention of clouding the call of the Lord, but of ensuring that it is indeed Jehovah's voice alone which the congregation hears, and God alone to whom the congregation responds.