Lament for Spurgeon’s College 

By Seidel Abel Boanerges

Et teneo et teneor – I hold and am held

Our heavenly Father, God of our story,
A great flame has flickered and gone.
A lighthouse that once cast gospel light to the ends of the earth
Now stands dark in the mist.
We lift our eyes to you, but the sky is thick with sorrow.
We do not understand.
We cannot understand.
Father, I hold this ache in my hands, and find I am still held in yours.

Spirit of God, why has this well of wisdom run dry?
Why have the gates of Spurgeon’s College closed after 169 faithful years?
This was your vineyard.
A place where truth was tended and souls were trained for mission and ministry.
From brick to pulpit, from classroom to chapel, this was a holy ground.
Spirit of God, I hold the loss like a sacred weight, and you hold me through it.

Jesus, here we meditated on your Word,
Our hearts were pierced,
Our hands were lifted in prayer,
And our lips were trained to speak good news.
Here, callings were confirmed.
Here, tears were shed for the lost.
Here, lives were poured out like offerings on your altar.
And now? Now the rooms echo only with memory.
The lights are out. The books are untouched.
The voices that once rang with fire and joy are silent.
Jesus, I carry the silence, and you carry me.

Lord, you called Charles Spurgeon to dream this dream.
You sustained it through three centuries and many wars,
Through doubt and uncertainty, through confusion and despair.
You brought tutors who were passionate about your Word,
Students who came trembling but left bold.
And now the doors have closed, not with ceremony, but with sorrow.
Lord, I hold the history, but you hold the future.

We are left holding the pieces.
Plans abandoned. Prayers unanswered.
Why now, Lord, when hope was rising?
When partnerships were forming?
When the gospel is more urgent than ever in our weary, wandering world?
Lord, I hold my confusion, but am held by your mystery.

What of the prayers whispered in lecture rooms?
What of the commitments made in the chapel?
The tears. The laughter. The fire?
Was it all in vain?

No. We believe you have not forgotten.
Jesus, you are the Word made flesh.
You see. You remember. The Word sown in this place for 169 years will not return void.
Not one sermon, not one soul, not one sacrifice has escaped your notice.
Jesus, I hold the harvest unseen, and am held by your promise.

So we come not with answers, but with ashes.
We weep, as Hannah wept.
We cry out, as Jeremiah cried.
We lament, as Christ lamented over Jerusalem.
This is our lament, and it is our worship.
Lord, I hold the sorrow, and you hold my soul.

And yet
We will not let go of hope.
You are still God.
You are still good.
You are still writing the story.
Father, I hold to hope by a thread, and find your hands are the net.

So from these broken ruins, raise up new voices.
From these scattered seeds, bring forth a greater harvest.
May Spurgeon’s legacy not end, but multiply.
Let the silence of these rooms echo into a thousand places of worship.
Let the sorrow of this moment sow joy in the fields we cannot yet see.

Until then, we lament.
Until then, we remember.
Until then, we wait in hope.

I hold the ache that lingers, and I am held by the hope that lives.
I hold the ashes of what was, and I am held by the flame that still burns.
I hold the waiting in my chest, and I am held in the arms of eternity.
I hold the ‘not yet’ with trembling hands, and I am held by the One who holds tomorrow.


Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, For his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is your faithfulness — Lam. 3:21–23 3


A Prayer

Our Heavenly Father,
You are the God of every season, every ending, every new beginning.
Today, we are broken.
We come before you as staff, students, trustees, alumni, and friends.
Some taught, some served, some gave, some prayed, but all of us weep.

Thank you for Spurgeon’s College
For every year it stood, every life it shaped, every soul it sent.
Thank you for the laughter, the tears, the late-night prayers.
Thank you for every ‘yes’ whispered through trembling lips.
Thank you for every gospel seed sown in secret.

Now, as the doors close, we bring you our ache.
We bring the confusion, the regret, the unanswered questions.
We bring our anger and our fatigue. We bring it all to you.

Wrap your arms around those who have lost their livelihood.
Surround those whose studies were cut short.
Uphold those carrying the burden of decisions.
Comfort those who feel discarded.
Reassure those who wonder if it was all a waste.

Let none walk away in despair.
Let none forget their calling.
Let none believe the lie that this is the end.

Jesus, our shepherd and our friend,
You who walked among us and wept,
You who called and commissioned,
Walk with those in grief, and whisper again,
“You are still called. You are still mine.”

Holy Spirit, breath of God, flame of Pentecost,
Come to those who are grieving.
Comfort, guide, and strengthen.
Where the light has dimmed, rekindle fire.
Where the wind has stopped, breathe afresh.
Where hope is thin, fill again.

And may all who once were formed here, now go and form others
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,
With deeper compassion and stronger conviction.
For yours is the Kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Amen!


 

The Revd Dr Seidel Abel Boanerges was the Dean of Ministerial Formation at Spurgeon’s College