G. Campbell Morgan: The Prince of Expositors

One of the religious institutions of my early days in South Wales was the anniversary celebration of the church or the minister. Usually it was held on the weekly half-holiday—Wednesday or Thursday—with a preaching service in the afternoon, followed by a fellowship tea, and then by a public meeting. The preacher was usually someone of national, or even wider, reputation. I never missed this opportunity to hear a distinguished visitor, and can still recall some of these preachers and their sermons. Among them were such men as F. B. Meyer, much-beloved in America, and A. C. Dixon, Spurgeon’s American successor at the Metropolitan Tabernacle in London. Others not so widely known nonetheless also made a deep impression on my young mind. Of those who came to these anniversaries, two men especially impressed me with their preaching, not only then but in later years as well. One was John Henry Jowett, often called “The Greatest Living Preacher,” and the other George Campbell Morgan, proclaimed “The Prince of Expositors.”

In those days Campbell Morgan made a greater impact upon me than Jowett. His pulpit presence was impressive, and his “curiously memorable face” was such indeed. There was no question about his being a preacher. He invariably wore a clerical collar (not because “you must put it on you if you haven’t got it in you”) and always had the proper bearing. While his impressive appearance helped, it did not of itself explain his phenomenal success as a herald of God.

Campbell Morgan was as much American as he was British. He spent much time in America, and loved and understood its people. And his association at the famous Northfield Conference with the son of D. L. Moody—an association begun quite early in his ministry—enriched Campbell Morgan’s character, strengthened his preaching, and enhanced his reputation in North America.

Although he was of Welsh extraction, his preaching had none of the Welsh characteristics found in Welsh pulpiteers like Howell Harris and Christmas Evans. He was born, in fact, not in Wales, but in a Gloucestershire village on December 9, 1863. The family soon removed, however, to my native city, Cardiff, where he was reared as a Wesleyan Methodist. His father had been a Baptist minister for some years before joining the Plymouth Brethren, “the straightest of the sects.” Its members took the Bible literally, denounced anything savoring of the “social gospel,” and demanded the strictest separation from the world. Their concept of independence set them apart not only from “the pope and the devil,” but also from all other churches.

However much or little of this teaching was imparted to Campbell Morgan, his early association with the Methodists influenced him far more. As a mere youth he began to preach in the little churches of South Wales and Monmouthshire, and was soon in constant demand. In his early twenties he was “on the plan” as a lay-evangelist, and won considerable fame as a revivalist. Clearly, God had called him to the ministry. So the young evangelist believed, and so did a host of discerning admirers.

Although across the years he often preached in Methodist pulpits, Campbell Morgan never became a Methodist minister. His trial sermon had “showed no promise,” and he was rejected for the Wesleyan ministry. For some years prior to this jolting experience, young Campbell Morgan had earned his living as a schoolmaster, much as did Phillips Brooks, his older American contemporary. There was one significant difference, however: Phillips Brooks was a failure as a teacher, whereas Campbell Morgan was a shining success. While he had no formal training in pedagogy, he proved to be a “born teacher.” This teaching ability he took with him when he eventually entered the ministry.

At the age of twenty-six Campbell Morgan accepted the pastoral oversight of a little Congregational church in the English Midlands. And despite his lack of formal training for the great work he was destined to do in the Christian church, it quickly became evident that he was indeed destined to do this mighty work. Within five years of entering his first pastorate he became minister of an important church in Birmingham, and virtually next-door neighbor to the great Robert William Dale, the most distinguished Congregationalist preacher and thinker of that day.

One day Robert Dale sent for the new preacher. Campbell Morgan knew that the great man was a fierce advocate of adequate preparation for the ministry and a great foe of theological illiteracy. The young minister was only too aware of his own educational insufficiency, so when Dale asked his visitor about his reading, Campbell Morgan apologetically spoke of himself as an “untrained man.” The great preacher rebuked him firmly, yet kindly. “You must never say that you are untrained,” he said. “God, who has many ways of training men, has trained you; and I pray that you may have great joy in his service.”

The young minister did have great joy, and also great success, in the service of Christ. In only a few years he seemed to sky-rocket to stardom! The parallel in this respect between Campbell Morgan and Spurgeon, his older and more illustrious contemporary, is obvious. Before long London claimed the former as years before it had claimed the latter. Campbell Morgan went to New Court Church, in North London. Then, after a period at Northfield and on the North American continent generally, he returned to London to minister at Westminster Chapel, in the heart of the city and in the shadow of Buckingham Palace.

Campbell Morgan was probably the most competent, certainly the most popular, Bible teacher of his time. It is no exaggeration to say that he rediscovered the English Bible for the average educated reader. Like no other preacher of this century, he had the enviable gift of providing a way into the throbbing heart of God’s Word for any who would listen to its inner message. Like John Robinson of Leyden, he believed that God has always yet “more light to break forth from His Holy Word,” and it became Campbell Morgan’s supreme concern to be a worthy channel—both intellectually and spiritually—for this Divine Light. It was a day when “newer views” of Scripture were being much canvassed, to the puzzlement—and even bedevilment—of many rank-and-file believers. Campbell Morgan realized the pressing need of stimulating a genuine desire to understand the message of the Word and, as old Thomas Chalmers would say, to “proceed on it” in the business of living the Christian life. Campbell Morgan set out to provide that stimulation. That is why his preaching was so memorable and so fruitful! That is why his midweek Bible lectures were the weekly event for thousands of people! From the very beginning of his ministry he determined to be an expounder of Holy Writ, A Man of the Word (as a biography by one of his daughters-in-law is entitled). No wonder he came to be known as “The Prince of Expositors.” In this regard he was truly the successor of Alexander Maclaren.

In a revealing bit of autobiography Campbell Morgan tells about passing through what the medieval mystics called “The Dark Night of the Soul.” His mind was clouded by perplexities, his faith riddled with doubts, and his Bible shut tight. He was in mental anguish, in spiritual gloom. Then came the moment of crisis. “In my despair,” he wrote, “I took all my books, locked them in a cupboard, and left them there for seven years. I bought a new Bible, and began to read with an open mind and a determined will. That Bible found me. Since that time I have lived for one end—to preach the teachings of the Book that found me.” It was a great experience, one that recalls what Samuel Taylor Coleridge said when asked why he accepted the Bible as the inspired Word of God: “I believe in the Bible because it finds me.”

As I look back I think that Campbell Morgan made his greatest impression on me (and on several thousand others) by a series of remarkable sermons he delivered in Westminster Chapel during the early months of World War I. These sermons dealt wisely and courageously with the living issues of the conflict. I remember particularly his sermon on “Multitudes in the Valley of Decision” (Joel 3:14). It was so dynamic that on several occasions the staid congregation broke into sustained applause—something unprecedented in that stately sanctuary. One thing he said with tremendous effect was this: “I here affirm that in my heart there is the profoundest conviction that never again shall we see our sons and brothers and fathers marching to slaughter in the interests of pride and power.” It was tremendous preaching, it was electrifying preaching. Elocution and diction were excellent, the spiritual passion supremely intense. No wonder the applause was loud and sustained. History, unfortunately, has betrayed the great preacher’s optimism.

The golden rule for preaching has been defined as follows: “Make sure of your first sentence; make sure of your last sentence; and put your first sentence and your last sentence as close together as you possibly can.” In other words, give special attention to your introduction and your conclusion and don’t be “long-winded”! Campbell Morgan certainly took pains with his introductions and conclusions; just as certainly, however, he did not put them close together. His sermons were twice as long as the average sermon today; indeed, just his introductions were as long as many present-day discourses in their entirety. Even by the standards of fifty years ago Campbell Morgan’s sermons were far too full, and not even the most intent listener could have absorbed more than one-tenth of any of his discourses. But there was never any doubt or confusion about the main thrust of a message, whether it was on “The Ministry of Hope,” “Triumph Amid Tragedy,” or “The Dominion of Man” (actual sermon titles). Campbell Morgan had a remarkable gift for clear and direct speech. Phrase-making, let alone paradox-mongering, held no appeal for him. Some of his “sermon-tasters” may have criticized his failure to deal with “modern problems” or may have disliked his preaching technique. No listener of average intelligence, however, could ever say he did not know what Campbell Morgan was “driving at.”

Campbell Morgan did not survive into our frightening space age! But were he with us today, he would certainly still find his messages in the Word of God. He would still be “The Prince of Expositors.” He would still find his satisfaction in unfolding the inexhaustible treasures of Holy Writ. He would have his critics, of course, even as he had them in his lifetime. Perhaps a few words from P. T. Forsyth are to the point here: “We do not treat the preacher fairly when we judge him by his statements, logic, anecdotes, or phrases. We must judge him by his positive and effective message.” So judged, there is no doubt as to Camp bell Morgan’s stature in the history of preaching and in “The Royalty of the Pulpit.”

JOHN PITTS

Minister

Calvary Presbyterian Church

Margate, Florida

The Reasoners

The Nicodemuses reason

causes,

effects …

fallouts,

fears,

infinity …

keeping mathematical queries alive.

“See,” they say, “the end does not arrive.”

They do not know that

reasoning

the absolutes of

dust

can never find the plan

by which Eternal God transmutes an endless life in man—

through simple trust …

nor can it bring

a tryst

with Christ, nor

cause

the Cause of everything

to seek

a simple throne of flesh—

their own.

And so,

the Nicodemuses even reason

Reason,

searching alone

in eager, ever-darkening

delusions

for their fixed

conclusions.

LESLIE W. SMITH

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