by Newman Hall, 1891
This Book is the fulfillment of a long-cherished purpose. It expresses the thoughts and prayers of many years, and is published with devout desire to minister consolation to some of the afflicted children of God.
01. The Place Called Gethsemane
02. Companions in Gethsemane
03. The Chosen Few for the Darkest Shades
04. The Agony in Gethsemane
05. The Agony Arising from Human Sensitiveness
06. The Agony Arising from Divine Purity and Love
07. Christ's Gethsemane Appeal to the Father
08. The Divine Fatherhood-an Argument both for Importunity and Resignation
09. Importunity in Gethsemane
10. Resignation in Gethsemane
11. Slumber in Gethsemane
12. Watch and Pray in Gethsemane
13. The Strengthening Angel
14. The Answer to the Prayer of Gethsemane
15. Deliverance in Trial by Strength to do the Will of God
16. The Traitor's Kiss
17. The Father's Cup in Gethsemane Accepted
18. Perfect through Suffering
19. The Brotherhood of the Divine Sufferer
20. The Brotherhood of the Sorrowful with Christ
21. The Weeping One of Gethsemane to Weeping Womanhood
22. The Petitioner of Gethsemane Our Helper in Prayer
23. Peace by Prayer
24. Believing Prayer Sure of Gracious Response
25. The Mourner's Self-Examination
26. Anxiety
27. Job in the Garden of Grief
28. David in the Garden of Grief
30. With Christ All's Well
31. Paul in the Garden of Grief
32. Fatherly Chastening
33. Fruits from the Garden of Affliction
34. Afterwards
35. Patient Waiting
36. Comfort in the Will of God
37. The Comfort of Praise
38. The Sufferer Consoling the Sad
39. Not Dead but Gone Home
40. The Glorified Sufferer
HallN GLHGG: 01. The Place Called Gethsemane
Gethsemane! How sacred the memories this word recalls; how deep the emotions it stirs; how tender the consolations it breathes; how human the sympathies it reveals; how solemn the mysteries it suggests!
Gethsemane as a place is almost forgotten in Gethsemane as a revelation. It is lost sight of in the event, it is eclipsed by the doctrine. In mere place there can be no actual sanctity. Yet if there be one spot more than another which, from its associations, may be regarded as holy ground, that spot, next to the Calvary of Sacrifice and to the Olivet of Ascension, is the Gethsemane of Grief.
Many traditional sites are untrustworthy; but there can be no doubt that the Kedron valley, near the road from Jerusalem to Bethany, was the scene of the Savior's agony and bloody sweat. Just beyond the water-course, at the foot of Olivet, is a small plot of ground enclosed by a rough ancient wall, under the care of the monks of a small adjoining convent. This spot, during many centuries, has had undisputed possession of the name. Within it are some very large olive trees, partly decayed from extreme age. Around it are similar trees of gigantic growth and venerable antiquity. Though not themselves standing at the time of our Lord, they may be the outgrowth of the very trees under which He wept and prayed. The name indicates that olive trees abounded there, Gethsemane meaning "Oil-press," and typically suggesting the pouring forth of the sacred oil of faith and patience, under the pressure of grief. Among these hoary eloquent witnesses of sacred history, the path still leads to Bethany.
The garden is within a few hundred paces of the city-gate. Emerging from the narrow streets and closely-clustered dwellings, after a few minutes of rapid descent we are in a wooded solitude, and in the silence of night feel as much withdrawn from the world as if in a wilderness. The only sign of being near a city is the wall of massive stones stretching far away southward on the crest of the rocky ridge, until it ends in the sharp angle that marks the limit of the Temple area. Opposite us is Olivet, rising not much higher than Mount Zion over against it. The silent stars twinkle through the foliage, and the moon casts broad shadows from the great trunks as in the olden time.
During nearly two millenniums devout pilgrims have visited the spot; and in many cases, though with a great admixture of ignorant superstition, yet also with true and loving reverence, mourning for the sins that made the Savior mourn, and offering Him the tribute of penitential tears and grateful praise. At the present day, from all parts of Christendom, disciples resort there to kneel where Jesus knelt, to pray where Jesus prayed. Sometimes in the congenial fellowship of "two or three" they have experienced that Real Presence which their Lord promised to all who in any place "meet together in His name;" and as each in turn may lead the devotion of the rest, the voice trembles and sentences become broken syllables, until emotion chokes utterance; and when in subdued tones they join in some familiar hymn, one voice fails and then another, until the anthem is lost in sobs more expressive than song.
Or it may be that, apart from all companionship, the pilgrim finds some sequestered nook, where, unobserved, he kneels where he thinks Jesus may have knelt, and as his tears fall on or near the very ground moistened by the Savior's agony, he adores the love that did not refuse the cup that was so bitter, and offers for himself with aided resignation the great Exemplar's prayer-Father, may Your will be done.
The writer can never forget such visits; especially a recent one, in company with "two or three" fellow-servants of the Master. It was near Easter-time. The moon was shining brightly, as when Jesus went there on that eventful eve of the Passover. Passing out of the Jaffa gate we walked around the northern wall, close to the rocky mound now considered to be the very Calvary of the crucifixion, with the old garden at its foot, in which is an ancient sepulcher recently discovered. Then descending the ravine of the Kedron, in utter silence and solitude we knelt and prayed beneath a huge olive-tree; and after meditating there on the great Sacrifice, ascended the Mount of Triumph and Ascension, where, beholding, bright in the moon's reflected radiance, Jerusalem on the one side and the Dead Sea on the other, the eye of faith was raised to the Eternal Light, His more dazzling glory veiled as the Man of Sorrows, irradiating with love His Church, the New Jerusalem, and making even the Sea of Death a pathway of splendor.
Not all may enjoy the privilege of visiting these scenes; but all may experience everywhere, the spiritual presence of Jesus in their hearts. Yet there may be spots specially endeared by such communion. Jesus loved Gethsemane. John says of the garden, that "Jesus often resorted there with His disciples." Luke says, that "He went as He was accustomed to the Mount of Olives." The road went past the garden; and Luke records, that when Jesus arrived at a certain spot He tarried with His disciples. It was not necessary to name what was so familiar, the place of confidential communion and prayer-"When He had come to the place."
Here our Lord often retired from the crowds and controversies of the city. In the loneliness and silence He was better able to confer with His chosen disciples, to answer their inquiries, to calm their anxieties, to prepare them for approaching trial, and especially to hold communion with His heavenly Father. Here He often sought needful help for the bitter anguish He foresaw in that very garden. The traitor was in no difficulty as to where the Victim might be found. If no longer in the upper chamber or at Bethany, then assuredly in Gethsemane. Judas had often been there with the rest, a witness to the piety, wisdom, sympathy, and tenderness of Him he now was selling to His foes for thirty pieces of silver! How terribly suggestive of privileges abused, of wickedness intensified, the simple fact-"Judas knew the place!"
In all ages, to the hearts of many of His disciples, there have been places specially endeared whence prayers more frequent and earnest than elsewhere have ascended, and tears more copiously welling up from hidden depths have fallen-some place which has witnessed spiritual struggles more severe-some Bethel where the stone of trial has proved a pillow of comfort, and the dark night has revealed the heavenly ladder with its ministering spirits-some Peniel where God has met His struggling child-some Gethsemane where, with sweetest consolation, has been tasted the bitterest cup, and where that cup has taught the most precious lessons of filial submission; where angels have come to strengthen, and the fear of death has been vanquished, and the once suffering but now exalted Savior has made us also "more than conquerors," and imparted "the peace that passes all understanding."
It may be the accustomed place in the house of God, or the corner of the chamber where prayer is accustomed to be made; it may be some sequestered grove in the forest, or cleft in the mountain, or garden-nook; it may be "under the fig-tree," like that of Nathanael, or in the shadow of some oak or maple tree, ancient as those olive trees of Gethsemane-the special locality matters not; but beautiful or famous as other spots may be, there is none so sacredly dear as the place hallowed by frequent communion with heaven. No need to mark on the map what is deeply engraved on the heart. No need of plan to guide the steps, no need of any name; we "know the place." Though everywhere "He who is a Spirit" will meet with all who seek Him "in spirit and in truth," yet if we feel devotion increased by the sacred associations of some particular spot, we need not fear to be reproved by Him who often resorted to Gethsemane to meditate and pray.
PLACES OF PRAYER
ABRAHAM-built an altar-Gen. 12:8.
And he went to Bethel, into the place of the altar, and there called on the Name of the Lord.-Gen. 13:4.
JACOB-This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven. And he called the name of that place Bethel.-Gen. 28:17.
DAVID-Lord, I have loved the habitation of Your house, and the place where Your honor dwells.-Ps. 26:8.
DANIEL-His windows being open in his chamber towards Jerusalem, Daniel kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave thanks before his God, as he did aforetime.-Dan. 6:10.
PAUL-We went out of the city by a river-side, where prayer was accustomed to be made.-Acts 16:13.
Jesus-When Jesus was at the place named Gethsemane, He says to His disciples, Sit here, while I shall pray yonder. . . . Jesus ofttimes resorted there with His disciples. -Matt. 26:36; John 18:2.
HallN GLHGG: 02. Companions in Gethsemane
Our Lord, having loved His own, "loved them unto the end." It was a love to last until He died, after death, when He ascended, and forever. He cleaved to them with human affection as well as divine. He wished to be loved by them, to be held in affectionate remembrance. For this He instituted the Holy Supper. The valedictory discourse was uttered to console and instruct His chosen friends. He said little of His own approaching sorrows in His desire to soothe theirs. Then, as the High Priest of His Church, He offered to His Father the Intercessory Prayer, which the disciple, specially loving and beloved, stored up for us in his divinely-aided memory. Then they sang a hymn together, most probably chanting the Psalms of the Passover Service, containing predictions of His own Paschal Sacrifice. Then, all things being accomplished for the welfare of His disciples-calmly, deliberately, well knowing what awaited Him there-He led the way to Gethsemane.
We are reminded of another traveler along that road-His type and human ancestor. The same nation revolted against both their kings; one was betrayed by his son, the other by His disciple. With a few chosen followers both went forth from the same city. With feet bared and head covered in token of grief David crossed the Kedron, passed Gethsemane, and ascended Olivet, "weeping as he went." And now the Son of David, the victim of a more monstrous conspiracy-leaving the city, which, after witnessing His works of healing and listening to His words of love, was about to clamor for His blood-went forth with tears, prepared to agonize and die for its salvation.
David's chosen body-guard were faithful in his extremity. "As the Lord lives, surely in what place my Lord the king shall be, whether in death or life, even there also will your servant be." Ittai kept his word. But the chosen captains and friends of Jesus were about to forsake Him. His foreknowledge of this was one element in His sorrow. Jesus said to them as slowly they descended towards the Garden-"All you will be fall away because of me this night; for it is written, I will smite the Shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered."
His human heart craved human sympathy; but He was to be "wounded in the house of His friends." Not only would Judas betray Him, but "His own familiar friends in whom He trusted," would forsake Him when He most needed them. Peter protested that even though all the others failed he would follow Jesus to prison and to death. The sorrow of the Savior's heart was expressed in the reply-"Even in this night you will deny me thrice. This very night, in which at the Supper we solemnly pledged our mutual love, in which you listened to my counsel and consolation, and avowed unchanging fidelity-this very night when I shall lean on you for the special help which you alone can render by human sympathy with human sorrow-Verily I say unto you, that even in this night you all will forsake Me."
How true to human nature is such grief! Great woe does not blunt the feelings to minor sorrows. Our Lord's chief burden was unspeakably greater than the temporary failure of His friends. The world's sin lay on Him, and the world's redemption was before Him. Yet He felt keenly this additional pain. Great sorrow makes us specially sensitive, enlarging the capacity and stimulating the faculty of suffering. Stripped and bare we feel keenly what we, if thickly clothed with comfort, would not have noticed. The open wound smarts with each breath of cold. When property, health, reputation, life are threatened, we can least endure a slight from those we love. When foes are most cruel we need friends to be most kind. When the world frowns, we most need the home to smile. Even under the burden of guilt and fear the cup is not so full but that an unkind look will add gall and render it more difficult to drink. If, then, we should ever have cause to say, "Reproach has broken my heart; I am full of heaviness; I looked for some to take pity, but there was none, and for comforters, but I found none," let us remember that He of whom this was predicted was "in all points tried like as we are."
Thus answering, Jesus sadly forewarning, the disciples vainly protesting, they reached "the place." Then He kindly counseled them once more. "Pray that you enter not into temptation." They were sincere in their expression of resolve, but ignorant of their own weakness and the force of their great enemy. Jesus knew their danger, foresaw their fall, and directed them to their only Refuge. Times of sorrow may be as perilous as times of gladness. If the mountain top has its precipices, the low valley has its bogs and pitfalls. Jesus warned His disciples because He loved them. He was willing to drink His own cup of sorrow, but He was not willing that they should fail in sharing it and so sharing the resulting joy. Jesus warned them also for His own sake. He felt He would need them very near in His conflicts. Even they could be a solace and a strength, although, compared with Himself, infinitely inferior. They were as yet ill-informed; very weak in many ways; would soon forsake Him, and one of them deny Him. They had leaned on Him, yet He now leaned on them.
In great sorrow we also may find help from people very inferior in station, education, and Christian attainment. It is not the wisdom, the culture, the strength that are needed-so much as the sympathy. The nervous system of sufferers may be so shattered that solitude becomes intolerable, and they may be refreshed by the presence of those who can render no effectual help against the outward trouble. Thus, in the darkness of the night, or the roaring of the storm, the company of a child has often calmed the terror. A woman, broken-hearted by the death of her husband, spoke of being chiefly comforted by the visits of a little girl who, when asked what she did, replied, "I only put my cheek against hers, and cry when she cries." So in this darkest hour even the "strong Son of God" craved the company of friends so weak.
Then Jesus said to the disciples-"Sit here, while I go and pray yonder." There was an agony of which there could be no close spectator. But He still clung to human sympathy, and was unwilling to be absolutely alone. When the dark cloud was beginning to overshadow Him, He longed for the nearer presence and sympathy of His friends.
And this is one precious leaf of healing in the Garden of Grief. At all times, true friendship is one of the chief charms of life. But in sorrow we specially appreciate its priceless worth. Stars shine brightest when the night is deepest. The helping hand and the voice of cheer are most welcome when the way is roughest and the burden heaviest. Human friendship has its outer and inner circles. Only some of those with whom we walk on the highway, or sit down at the marriage-feast, would we select to weep with us in the Garden of Grief. In our sorrows let this be a solace, that God has given us the friendship of any on whose wisdom we may rely in times of perplexity, whose sympathy soothes in seasons of sadness, to whom we carry and confide our secret sorrows, for whose presence and prayers we can hope in the dark valley or on the river-bank. "A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity."
All solace for a sorrowing heart
I prize as sent by You;
But most of all I thank You, Lord,
For human sympathy.
For loving hearts that pure and true
Beat in response with mine;
For Friendship's sacred ivy-leaves
That closely intertwine.
For friends who in the wildest storm
Hasten to my relief;
Most near when most their help I need,
In darkest shades of grief.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 03. The Chosen Few for the Darkest Shades
Our Lord selected to be specially near Him in Gethsemane-Peter, James, and John. He loved all, but especially those who believed in Him. He loved all His chosen disciples, but did not think it necessary to show impartiality by the absence of all preference. Some people's benevolence seems to embrace all mankind in general and no one in particular. Jesus was more human. He had a dear home at Bethany, and He "loved Martha and Mary and Lazarus." When the latter was dying, the urgent sisters could employ no designation so precise and prevailing as "He whom You love is sick." He who was "made like unto His brethren" found solace, not only in general benevolence, but in particular friendships.
He may do what He will with His own, giving no reasons. But sovereignty would be dishonored if exercised merely to display power, apart from wise and beneficent purpose. Such purpose always exists in the mind of God, though often concealed. Let us inquire what may have prompted the selection of these three.
PETER had just been warned of his danger. Special help for special peril was provided by special love. If the foresight of failure did not destroy Peter's freedom, this election to privilege aided the repentance which was also foreseen. Jesus already beheld Peter shrinking under the questions of the maid-servant, and heard the denial with an oath; but He also had purposed the look of loving reproof which would break the heart, and the message that would heal it, "Go tell my disciples and Peter."
Jesus knew that with all his faults, Peter was not treacherous; and though by lack of watchfulness he would yield to a sudden temptation, all the time it had been true-"You know all things-You know that I love You." Others of the disciples did not thus deny Him, but they did not follow, as Peter did, to the judgment hall. They did not fall so low, but they never soared so high in habitual zeal and fervent affection. To Peter, emphatically among the disciples, were entrusted "the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven," for it was he who was to be the first after the descent of the Spirit to preach salvation both to Jews and Gentiles. The memories of Gethsemane would help to produce the repentance which so soon followed, and qualify Peter to be a chief teacher and apostle of the Church, fulfilling the word-"When you are converted strengthen your brethren." How tender was the forgiving love of Christ in this selection, and how full of the consolation provided beforehand for His sorrowing and suffering disciple!
JAMES, the partner of Peter in fishing and his intimate friend, one of the "sons of thunder" who had avowed their readiness to "drink of the cup" that Jesus drank, was the first to endure this mortal test. "Herod killed James the brother of John with the sword." An ancient tradition states that the officer who conducted him to the tribunal was so impressed by his bold avowal of the faith, that he himself confessed Christ, and was beheaded at the same time. The considerate love of the Master was shown in preparing the disciple for this speedy drinking of the same cup, by selecting him to be a near witness of His own conflict.
The third was JOHN the brother of James, "the disciple whom Jesus loved," who "leaned on His bosom at supper," to whose care the dying Savior committed His mother, who would be most qualified by special love to remember and record what he was privileged to witness, and who was to live the longest to bear testimony of the sufferings and triumph of the Lord.
These three had previously been selected for special privileges. They alone entered the chamber where the daughter of Jairus was raised to life. They alone had witnessed the Transfiguration, and had heard Moses and Elijah conversing with Jesus concerning that "decease at Jerusalem" which was so near. They had beheld their Lord when His face was radiant with glory, and had heard the voice of the Father-"This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased."
Thus they had been fortified for this contrasted scene of woe. They who are favored with special privileges may expect special trials. Moments of ecstacy are often followed by seasons of depression. If we climb the mountain we must expect to descend the valley. The vision of God is to help us in the conflict with Satan. The nearer we are to Christ the more we may expect to be partakers both of His joys and His sufferings.
There are many disciples who remain on the plain when others go up where celestial glories flash and angelic voices enchant; and there are many who remain outside the garden, while those who had been on the mountain enter the inner gloom and share the Master's agony. Would we lose the ecstasy rather than share the grief, give up the honor of higher service rather than endure the severer discipline it involves? We should not, like the sons of Zebedee, desire seats of special honor in His kingdom; but may we not desire to be among the inner circle of His friends, though we may thus have to share His grief as well as His glory?
With these three our Lord withdrew farther into the Garden of Grief. "He began to be sorrowful and very heavy." He was less restrained in the company of these chosen few. It was the darkening eve before the blackness of night; the lowering of the cloud before the scathing flash and deafening roar. "He feared as He entered into the cloud."
All His allotted trial had been accepted-foreseen, forefelt, embraced in loving purpose; yet when it was approaching, His humanity shuddered. Herein He showed that He "was in all points tried as we are." It is one thing from a distance to consent to some bitter trial, but quite another thing to remain calm, when the iron is about to enter the soul depressed by the horror of a great darkness. The patient who has long resolved to undergo a painful operation may quail at seeing the scapel. Hearts that had long been familiar with the prospect of separation, have broken with anguish when the inevitable hour approached. "He began to be sorrowful and very heavy."
The three had noticed-the dejected countenance-the pallid cheek, the downcast eye-the trembling gait-the agitated gesture-the altered voice. And now He gave His grief verbal expression. "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." His human spirit was oppressed with an anguish which, more bitter than death itself, might overpower the vital forces.
Such a word is often used under the shock of grief. People say they can endure no longer; they are ready to die. We know how to interpret such expressions. But how much more emphatic such a word from the lips of One so uniformly calm; and who, while ever sympathizing with the grief of others, was so reticent respecting His own!
We have here a revelation of the inner experience of the Savior's heart. The strongest in public, have often been agitated and oppressed in private. The calmness witnessed by the crowd is often preceded by a sorrow "even unto death" known fully to God alone, and only partially to a few bosom friends. Deeds which the people witness and history records, have often been the outgrowth of hidden agony. The calmness has been the result of the conflict-the triumph the fruit of the struggle-the exulting joy the harvest of the briny tears.
Jesus had said to the rest of the disciples, "Tarry here while I shall pray." It was from His Father alone He could obtain efficient help. Yet He took with Him these three. And when He went further, to be quite alone with God, He went only "a stone's cast"-the distance of a stone when tossed carelessly away; so that they were near enough to witness the struggle and hear the prayer. Evidently Jesus needed them. He wished to feel He was not quite alone; that, while praying to His Father, they were near to aid by their human sympathy whenever He might seek the expression of it. He condescended to ask their support. "Watch with me." The prayers of the sinless Savior, bearing the sin of others, must at this time have been so peculiar to Himself that He could not say, "Pray with me." But He did say, "Watch with me."
How pathetic this appeal! There was a kind of help which even His Father could not give except instrumentally through them. Without irreverence may it not be said that even God alone did not suffice? As man He needed man also. Some Christians have spoken as if with God they were independent of others. Christ, our Example, was more human than some of His followers seem to be. He wanted the response of a human heart, the grasp of a human hand, the blending of a human tear, the solace of a human voice; and so He said, "Tarry here, be close at hand, be ready to cheer, be vigilant to warn-watch with me."
With this human heart craving human help it was additional bitterness in His cup when again and again He found His disciples sleeping, instead of heeding His request, "Watch with me." "Sleeping for sorrow" indicated sorrow of an inferior quality. True sympathy should stir our energies to useful help, not soothe them in indolent laments. These three missed an opportunity never to return. Deeply also He felt it when they with the other eight "forsook Him and fled." This was already in His mind. He had expressed the grief it would give Him when He said, "You shall leave me alone-yet I am not alone, but the Father is with me." The presence of the Father did not prevent, though it mitigated, the pain of being "left alone" by them.
Let not mourners be discouraged when they desire additional consolation to that which comes direct from the Unseen God. The most eminent saints have often been most dependent on, most responsive to, human affection. When most earnest in seeking help from Heaven, let us not fear to say to chosen friends, "Watch with me." In the fiercest conflicts and beneath the heaviest burdens we sometimes wish to be quite alone with God. But this may not always be best. A friend at hand, in the intervals of wrestling, may be as an angel of God strengthening us. And if such friends fail us at seasons when we specially need them, slumbering instead of watching, or leaving us when their presence is most desired, let us take comfort from remembering that our Lord endured the same, and that He will, by sympathizing support, supply their lack of service.
Jesus withdrew a few steps even from the chosen three that He might pray alone. He could take them with Him some little way, but there were conflicts none could share, a cup none else could drink. So with us all. Every soul must in some respects be apart from all others. Each has his own special sins, struggles and woes. Dearest friends may be very near us, but cannot be with us in the most secret place of the soul. They may often watch with us when they cannot pray with us. They may see our tears but not the deep fountain; hear our sighs, but not the heart-throb; know we are sorrowful unto death, but cannot share our crushing woe. Jesus can. He who felt the need both of Divine and human consolation can, as God, give the help His Father gave to Himself; and can, as Man, supply the sympathy He Himself sought from His friends. He watches with us, suffers, prays; and He never slumbers nor sleeps.
By such ministry we may render to others the help we have needed ourselves. We watch at the bedside of a sick friend; so let us watch with those whose hearts are wounded. Thus we may share the privilege of the disciples, and minister to Christ Himself. If we watch with His afflicted friends in Gethsemane He will say, "Forasmuch as you did it unto one of the least of these my brethren you did it unto me." The heart intent on comforting others will feel its own load lightened, and watching in their garden of grief may prove an medicine of healing in our own.
Deliver us, blessed Master, from all self-seeking, emulation and spiritual pride; let us envy none on whom You bestow special honors; may we rejoice if permitted to occupy any position however obscure, and engage in any service however lowly. Increase in our hearts that love to You which shall expel whatever is not in sympathy with Yourself. O for increased delight in Your society and service, more readiness to follow You wherever You go! Then shall we esteem it an honor and delight to be among Your chosen ones, even if we are called to Gethsemane to witness Your agony, and in our measure to share it too.
O for the love, the perfect love,
The love that casts out fear;
That sings amid the wildest storm,
And smiles through every tear.
The love that drains the bitterest cup,
And clasps the heaviest cross;
Deeming such grief is lasting gain,
And earth's best gold but dross.
The love that serves with quenchless zeal,
That sits at Jesus' feet,
That leans upon His loving bosom
When heart to heart does beat.
O God of love! kind Comforter,
O loving Jesus, hear!
This perfect love to me impart,
This love that casts out fear.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 04. The Agony in Gethsemane
"Being in an agony, He prayed more earnestly."
The word agony suggests the contests of the Grecian games, in which the competitors struggled with tremendous exertion, often with the loss of blood, to win the wrestler's prize. Thus our Lord exhorts us to agonize to enter in at the strait gate. The word is now employed to signify either intense bodily pain, or crushing grief of soul.
We behold in Gethsemane a perfectly righteous Man enduring unexampled agony of mind. God, in some mysterious but real sense, is also there in agony. Jesus could say there, as everywhere else, "He who has seen me has seen the Father."
The agony is narrated by Matthew, who partially witnessed it, and who would at once learn from his three fellow-disciples what they had seen and heard. It is also described by Mark, to whom his intimate friend, Peter, would narrate it; and by Luke, intimately acquainted with the disciples, and a fellow-worker. He claims to have had "perfect understanding of all things from the very first." John records the entering into the garden and the Sufferer's word of loving resignation-"The cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it," and so confirms the narratives already given. These writers were under the special direction of the Spirit whom Christ promised to "bring all things to their remembrance." The inspired author of the Epistle to the Hebrews supplements their accounts. Putting together these records the full narrative is as follows-
"He took with Him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful, greatly amazed, and sore troubled. Then He said unto them, my soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death-abide here and watch with me. And He went forward a little, and was parted from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and fell on the ground on His face, and prayed that if it were possible the hour might pass away from Him. And He said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto You, remove this cup from me; nevertheless not what I will, but what You will. O my Father, if it be possible let this cup pass away from me-nevertheless not as I will but as You will. And He came unto the disciples and found them sleeping, and said unto Peter-What, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you enter not into temptation-the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. He went away again the second time and prayed, saying, O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, Your will be done. And He came again and found them sleeping-for their eyes were heavy, and they knew not what to answer Him. And He left them again and went away, and prayed a third time, saying the same words. And there appeared unto Him an angel from heaven, strengthening Him. And being in an agony He prayed more earnestly. He offered up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears unto Him who was able to save Him from death. And His sweat became as it were great drops of blood falling down upon the ground. And when He rose up from His prayer He came unto the disciples and found them sleeping for sorrow, and said unto them, Why are you sleeping? Watch and pray that you enter not into temptation. Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."
The particulars thus given, with such sublime simplicity, set before us more powerfully than by any human eloquence the depth of this mysterious agony. The obvious depression; the features, tones and words of extreme woe; the retirement with a few; the solitary wrestling in prayer; the kneeling; prostration; the face on the ground; the earnest appeal that a cup so bitter might be taken away; the rising from prayer to His Father in order to seek human sympathy; the returning to His Father and praying more earnestly with tears and strong cryings-in this agony of soul, blood exuding from the pores and tinging the copious sweat of the body; and in this conflict the Sufferer so exhausted, "exceeding sorrowful even unto death," that life might have failed and He might have actually died then and there of a broken heart before the time of His completed sacrifice on the cross, had not an angel come to strengthen Him-surely the "Man of Sorrows," in Gethsemane, surpassed every other sufferer in agony.
Let us, in any garden of grief, think of Him. Jesus, the Son of God, in agony-Jesus, the absolutely perfect Man, in agony! Jesus, with His sensitive body, His vivid mental perception, His loving heart, His enlarged capacity for suffering-He in such agony! Jesus in agony for us! Should not beholding Him lessen the sense of our own grief? Unlike Him, we suffer often by our own folly; and our sorrows are those of sinners, whose stripes are fewer than their faults, and who need the grief as fatherly chastisement for their spiritual culture. "Consider Him, lest you be weary and faint in your minds."
Let the sorrowful seek comfort in the same manner as their Lord. "Being in an agony He prayed the more earnestly." He poured out His grief to God. His Father knew all without His telling, but His telling lessened it. Expressing His sorrow to One who loved Him helped to draw away His mind from the grief itself to the Father who over-ruled it and shared it; who could sustain in it, and deliver from it. Cold philosophy may suggest-"God knows, why tell Him? or, if you tell Him, do it calmly; or if earnestly, why 'more earnestly?'" But human hearts find comfort in expressing their grief to one who sympathizes, and in repeating their requests to one who can help. So let us pray "the more earnestly." More agony-more importunity! More cares-more cries! More pains-more prayers! More sorrow-more sympathy sought-and we shall receive more Divine help to say with Jesus, "The cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?"
When crushed with care, and sunk in woe,
To whom for comfort can I go,
But, dearest Lord, to Thee?
In all my griefs You have a part,
And in Your large and loving heart
There is a place for me.
O Jesus! Brother, Friend divine,
Within my lonely dungeon shine;
Out of the depths I cry:
Let me not sink in dark despair,
Help me my heavy load to bear:
Show me that You are near!
The furnace fierce I will not fear
If Your consoling voice I hear;
The flame will not consume:
The darkest night will turn to day,
Its fearful phantoms fade away,
If You the gulf illume.
Amid the toil, the daily strife,
The bitter, bitter pains of life,
O hold my drooping head;
O be my constant, tender Friend,
Console, preserve me to the end,
Stand near my dying bed.
Increase my faith, and give me grace
Your love to trust, when least I trace
Your loving, faultless plan;
Make me by grief for glory meet-
Howe'er You will-in me complete
The work Your love began.
Come when You will! then let me rest
From sin and sorrow, ever blessed
At home, in heaven, with Thee:
So will I praise You, as I ought
For these brief woes, o'er-ruled, that wrought
Such blessed eternity.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 05. The Agony Arising from Human Sensitiveness
"Let this cup pass from me."
In venturing to ask "why this agony?" we think of Moses who, at the burning bush, was commanded to take the shoes off his feet, for it was holy ground. Here is no place for cold criticism or speculative curiosity.
Was it caused by apprehensiveness of the Cross? The evangelists emphatically indicate that He knew all that awaited Him. Mark, specially instructed by Peter, records that when at Caesarea Philippi, Jesus taught His disciples "that the Son of Man must suffer many things, and be rejected, and killed." Again He relates that when they were going up to Jerusalem, "Jesus went before them," urged onward by an intense desire to reach the altar of sacrifice, so that "they were amazed, and as they followed were afraid; and He began to tell them what things would happen unto Him, saying, Behold, we go up to Jerusalem; and the Son of Man shall be delivered unto the chief priests; and they shall condemn Him to death-and they shall mock Him, and shall scourge Him, and shall spit upon Him, and shall kill Him." John relates how at Jerusalem, a few days before His crucifixion, Jesus said, "Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour-but for this cause I came unto this hour. Father, glorify Your name. Now shall the prince of this world be cast out. And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me. This He said, signifying what death He should die." At the supper He had said, "All of you shall fall away because of me this night. You shall leave me alone. One of you shall betray me. You (Peter) shall deny me thrice."
It is thus evident that He not only knew, but that He revealed to His disciples that He knew all that awaited Him. Everything was depicted vividly in His mind. He foresaw the treacherous betrayal, the cowardly forsaking, the shameful denial. He felt already the cords that bound Him, the hands that smote Him on the face. He saw the murderous looks of the scribes and priests at the midnight trial, and heard their decision to put Him to death for avowing Himself the Son of the Blessed. Already He stood before Pilate and heard the cruel clamor of the multitude, "Crucify Him! crucify Him!" and felt the torment of the lacerating scourge. Even now He saw Himself clothed in a robe of mockery, and felt the smiting by the sceptre-reed and the piercing of the thorny crown, and heard the crude jeers of the insulting soldiers. Even now He bent beneath the burden of the cross, and saw the lamenting women struggling through the heartless throng, and endured the indignity of being stripped of His clothing, and the torture of the piercing nails, and the shock of the cross as it was uplifted, and the burning fever, and the thirst, and the slow sinking of the life; and He heard the fresh taunts which His increased torture provoked.
But still greater was His distress at witnessing the anguish of the mother standing beneath the cross, to soothe the Sufferer by her presence and her tears. Above all, He felt beforehand the darkness that would overcast His soul, the sense of utter abandonment, the temporary loss of even Divine comfort, the anguish which forced from Him the cry, "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" All this was vividly present in Gethsemane, and helped to produce the agony.
Some have objected to this idea, as if dishonorable to the great Champion of mankind. It is true that many of His followers, even women and children, have endured bodily torture more keen and protracted, not only with patience but with cheerfulness. It is true that the anticipation of it has sometimes even caused delight. But Christ was to share fully our humanity, and therefore it was necessary that He should share with the weakest as well as the strongest. As in outward condition He was poor and not rich, in order to sympathize with the poor, so in temperament He shared with those who are not born with iron nerves, but who are most keenly sensitive both to bodily pain and mental anguish. Else it would not be true of multitudes that He was tried like as they are. So He shared their humanity in shrinking from the suffering He was about to endure, and was in agony because of this shrinking.
The writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews, proving that Christ is fully qualified by sympathy to be our High Priest, speaks of Him as "in all things made like unto His brethren; for in that He Himself has suffered being tempted, He is able to support those who are tempted; for we have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with a feeling of our infirmities, but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin"-such fellowship with us in suffering having been exhibited "in the days of His flesh, when He had offered up prayers and supplications with strong cryings and tears unto Him that was able to save Him from death," and so "He learned obedience by the things which He suffered." (Heb. 2:17, 18; 4:15; 5:7.)
The first and obvious interpretation of the narratives of the Evangelists, with this explanation, would suggest that our Lord was shrinking from the death of agony He was about to suffer. But can we suppose that He whose great object in coming to the world was to die for its sin, in accordance with His Father's will, would wish to escape the sacrifice and leave undone the work for which He came? He would not, could not return to His throne unable to say, "I have finished the work which You gave me to do."
But might He not, as man, sharing human infirmity, so shrink from the process as to pray that, if possible, the work might be done without the extreme anguish? He came to redeem us from death by dying. This was the cup long in His view, the cup He had long been preparing to drink. But when it was actually presented to His lips, His human sensitiveness might recoil. That cup was so full, so bitter, so awful; the sight of it approaching, the foretaste of it so appalling that, if He were really partaker of our infirmities, He could not but shrink from it.
Though there are some who, apart from religion, regard death without terror, there are others to whom, physically, it is intensely repellent, in spite of Christian faith. Some of the best prepared for heaven have a constitutional dread of the act of dying. Did not our Elder Brother share the infirmities of the weakest? But in His case there was more than this. It was death in the midst of life, not by disease but violence, not at a stroke but by protracted torture. It was death associated with betrayal, denial, desertion by His disciples; with accusations He loathed, with the cunning spite of the rulers and the passionate frenzy of the people He came to save; the death of one condemned as a blasphemer and impostor, a thief and a murderer; the death of the Representative of mankind, bearing their sins, crushed with the sense of their guilt-the Lord "laying on Him the iniquities of us all;" during the suffering of which He was to experience what seemed desertion by His Father, as though, while earth was rejecting Him, heaven was closed against Him, while man was murdering Him, God was forsaking Him-O was it wonderful that if really Man, "compassed with infirmity, tempted like as we are," His most sensitive, though sinless humanity shuddered, and that He should pray, submissively to His Father's will, that if it were possible, consistently with the great purpose of His mission, THAT CUP might pass from Him?
All these approaching agonies were simultaneously present to the Savior's mind. To us sorrows come separately. We can bear, one by one, trials which, coming all at once, would be overwhelming. If we can anticipate a few, others are mercifully concealed from our wisest calculations or saddest forebodings. Looking backward, we wonder how we passed through such difficulties. One reason is that they did not, and could not, occur together. The path must have led us quite through the morass before it climbed the precipice; must have guided across the burning sand before it reached the roaring torrent.
In His case all the distresses of the future were piled together to appall His soul. The water of the lake, which in its gradual descent by its torrent-outflow, rolls harmlessly along the well-guarded channels, will, if bursting forth in sudden flood, strain to the utmost, or sweep away, the strongest barrier. No wonder that the human nature of Christ was in agony!
Besides, our fear for the future is more or less mitigated by hope. What we dread most may not come to pass. Something may intervene to divert the peril. The dark cloud may disperse without breaking over us. Or the reality may prove far less injurious than the fear. But in the agony of our Lord all the foreboding was certain to be verified. His foreknowledge was all-comprehensive, precise and certain. Therefore His suffering was unexampled. "Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow."
Let not such considerations be regarded as inconsistent with His divinity. He was also veritably Man; not in mere outward aspect, but with all the sinless infirmities and sensibilities of humanity. As "God manifest in the flesh" He could not be exempt from the varied sufferings to which men in the flesh are liable. The Example for all must show to all how to bear all trials. To underrate His keen sense of pain is to underrate His qualifications as "the Apostle and High Priest of our profession." It is our consolation in every sorrow, that we have the presence and sympathy of One who fully knows, not merely by His Divine omniscience, but by His personal human experience, our fears and pains and temptations and woe.
Thus, as the Son of Man, His experience resembled, while it surpassed in sorrow, that of David, as expressed in Psalm 55-"Give ear to my prayer, O God; and hide not Yourself from my supplication. My heart is sore pained within me-and the terrors of death are fallen upon me. Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror has overwhelmed me. And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. As for me, I will call upon God; and the Lord shall save me. Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain you."
The neglect of this truth has been the fruitful cause of the superstitious worship paid to the mother of our Lord. By many who devoutly exalt His Divinity, His real humanity has been lowered, as if detracting from it. The effulgence of the former has been allowed to outshine or eclipse the latter, instead of being reflected in it. The practical result in many cases has been worship to Christ as another God, instead of to the one God revealed in humanity. If Christ is thus thought of only as the infinitely glorious Ruler of the Universe, instead of as being also the true Brother of Mankind, there is a vacancy left in the human heart, requiring human compassionateness to fill. Where is this to be found so fully as in woman's tender heart? How natural then for frail, sensitive, sad men and women to invest the mother of Jesus with that tenderness and capacity to sympathize of which her Divine Son has been divested. No wonder that multitudes of trembling penitents, of heart-broken sorrowing suppliants, should feel more sure of a listening ear and pitying heart in a woman, who remembers all her womanly anguish and retains all her womanly sympathies, than if they applied directly to the King of Glory. So they ask the mother to intercede with her Son, as if He had not a heart of infinite tenderness, and had not experienced the same human griefs.
But if Jesus does possess that human and therefore that womanly heart, having suffered and still remembering all human sorrows, then there is no need for any other Mediator. "There is one God, and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ Jesus." There is one High Priest and only One who can atone and fully sympathize, who ever lives and is ever present everywhere, to pity and support and save. In Him our complete humanity dwelt and still dwells. That complete humanity comprises both the masculine and the feminine natures. Every true woman has much of man's heroism, strength, resolve, endurance; and every true man has much of woman's gentleness, sensitiveness, tenderness, compassion. Both are perfected in Christ, who became Man in the completeness of His dual nature-not as the masculine only, but as humanity, the race-"The Man Christ Jesus" (1 Tim. 2:5). So that whatever is characteristic of woman's nature, as well as of man's, is found in Him in all its perfection. As there was never man so brave and so strong; so there was never woman so gentle and compassionate. To go from Him to find sympathy in any one of His servants is to leave the sun, in order to find better light in the moon which only reflects it.
An additional source of the Savior's agony, a bitter element in His cup, was the special assault of the devil in Gethsemane. He had said, "The prince of this world comes, and has nothing in me;" and when His captors arrived He said to them, "This is your hour, and the power of darkness." The final agony of His conflict with Satan had begun. The enemy of souls took advantage of the Savior's depression of mind and body to offer suggestions which were abhorred and repelled, but which intensified His grief and the agony of His conflict. As in the wilderness Satan tempted our Lord in His loneliness and faintness to avoid suffering and win His kingdom by unlawful means; as by the medium of Peter he tried to dissuade the Victim from going onward to the Cross, and Jesus, addressing the foe who was making use of the friend, said, "Get behind me, Satan, for you savor not the things which are of God, but those which are of man;" so in the garden the enemy was trying to harrow the Champion's mind by the impious thought-"Save Yourself."
Herein again the humanity of Christ has been invalidated by representing Him as if incapable of being tempted to sin. Moral incapability of yielding is one thing; natural capability of being tempted is another. Else there could have been no conflict in the Champion's case, and therefore no true championship, and no example of victory by conflict. It was the real humanity of Christ which made it possible for Satan to tempt Him-"for God cannot be tempted of evil," as God; but God, manifest in the flesh, could be and was so tempted.
Was not the severity of this conflict with sin the cause of the exudation of blood with the sweat of agony? This may explain the language of the writer to the Hebrews, when he encouraged persecuted believers by the example of their Lord, saying, "You have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin." The Captain of Salvation never resisted His persecutors, never strove against sinners; but He did resist temptation and He did strive against sin, even unto blood, in Gethsemane. (Heb. 12:4.)
"Touched with a sympathy within
He knows our feeble frame;
He knows what sore temptations mean
For He has felt the same.
"But spotless, innocent, and pure
The great Redeemer stood,
While Satan's fiery darts He bore
And did resist to blood." (Isaac Watts)
There are seasons when believers are specially assailed by the devil. He often comes into our garden of grief, aggravating it by making our depression an occasion of endeavoring sometimes to crush the spirit by despair; at other times inspiring hope by suggesting escape from duty, or by tempting us to distrust God and murmur at His dealings, or to cherish revengeful feelings towards men as instrumental in our sufferings. Sometimes dark forebodings, cowardly shrinkings, wicked imaginations, even horrible blasphemies may cross the mind, which we feel cannot be the outcome of our own renewed hearts, but must be suggestions of the prince of darkness. But sometimes we may feel as Bunyan's Pilgrim in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. "I took notice that now poor Christian was so confounded that he did not know his own voice; and thus I perceived it-just when he was come over against the mouth of the burning pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stept up softly to him and, whispering, suggested many grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily thought had proceeded from his own mind. This put Christian more to it than anything that he met with before, even to think that he should now blaspheme Him that he loved so much before."
In all such trials incident to our humanity it is a consolation to be assured that "no strange thing has happened unto us." We are liable to them while in the flesh. Multitudes of our fellow-believers have suffered in like manner, but passed through the dark Valley to the Delectable Mountains and the Land of Beulah and the Celestial City. More than all, our Divine Leader and Captain felt the like infirmities, fears, depressions, pains of body, agony of spirit, conflicts with Satan.
"Christ leads us through no darker rooms
Than He went through before." (Richard Baxter)
He knows all we suffer; watches, pities, suffers with us, and still is "touched with a feeling of our infirmities, having been in all points tempted like as we are."
Now, having won eternal victory, and spoiled principalities and powers, and led captivity captive, He is seated at the right hand of the throne of God, our Almighty Champion to help us in every conflict. Though we fight "against principalities and powers, against spiritual wickedness in high places," we do not fight alone. "Faith sets the Lion of the tribe of Judah against the roaring lion of the bottomless pit-this delivering Lion against that devouring lion." (Leighton.)
When Satan comes to us in our garden of grief, he comes not as our enemy alone, but as Christ's also, an enemy defeated and despoiled by Him who in Gethsemane resisted unto blood, and by whom we shall triumph too, "more than conquerors through Him who loved us."
HallN GLHGG: 06. The Agony Arising from Divine Purity and Love
"This cup."
Human sensitiveness, though explaining in some degree the grief in Gethsemane, is far from fully accounting for the exceeding agony. Some have taught that our Lord's soul was sorrowful even unto death, because the wrath of God was resting on Him as bearing the sin of the world. But this is repugnant to all we are taught of the Father's justice and love, and opposed to the facts detailed. On the Mount of Transfiguration the conversation on "the decease He was to accomplish at Jerusalem" was closed by the Father's voice-"This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." That Son so beloved, when about to die, could not be in agony because of the displeasure of Him who was "well pleased." The intercessory prayer just offered had expressed the Savior's joy in finishing His appointed work. His prayer of agony, not as to an angry God, but to His "Father," and His readiness to drink "the cup which His Father had given;" the angel sent from heaven to comfort Him; the strength thus imparted to enable Him to "pray the more earnestly;" and His expressed confidence that had He so desired His Father would send Him more than twelve legions of angels-these facts forbid such an explanation. Dean Alford in his Greek Testament says, "We must not for a moment think of the Father's wrath abiding on Him, as the cause of His suffering. Here is no fear of wrath-but, in the depth of His human anguish, the very tenderness of filial love."
May we not rather infer that the agony was caused by His own sense of the evil of sin? Imperfect men have grieved bitterly for the sins of others. Moses, when he descended from the Mount and witnessed the wickedness of the people, cast down the tables of the Law and broke them-and prayed, "Oh, this people have sinned a great sin, and have made them gods of gold. Yet now, if You will forgive their sin-and if not, blot me, I pray you, out of Your book which You have written." The Psalmist said, "Rivers of waters run down my eyes, because they keep not Your law." Jeremiah exclaimed, "O that my head were waters, and my eyes a fountain of tears; that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people." Paul, lamenting the unbelief of the Jews, said, "I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Spirit, that I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart. For I could wish that myself were separated from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh." How often Christian pastors have grieved for members of their flocks who have made shipwreck of faith, parents for children's sins, and friend for friend. Christians cannot, in their present condition, live in unbroken bliss unless they are callous to the sins and sorrows of others. Wickedness must cause sorrow to benevolent holiness, even when that holiness is defective. How much more must the sin of others have oppressed the sinless Son of Man!
Prophets, apostles, pastors, parents, have mourned for the sins of particular nations, churches, families, at particular periods. But, to the all-observant soul of Jesus, all the sins, of all mankind, of all ages, in all regions; sins of which history has no record; sins which could not be depicted or described; sins beyond all reckoning both in number and degree; secret as well as open sins, of heart as well as action, with all their varied aggravations and consequences-these were all and at once present to His holy and compassionate mental vision, causing agony beyond any mere human capacity to understand. More than this, He was the Representative of our race, and came to bear our sins as well as our sorrows. He could not be personally guilty, being "holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners;" but as our High Priest the sins of the race had been, as it were, confided to Him. He carried them on His heart. He confessed them to God. He offered atonement and intercession for them. "He bore our sins in His own body on the tree," and in Gethsemane also.
"We must not pass over the last and deepest mystery of the Passion-the consideration that upon the holy and innocent Lamb of God rested the burden of all human sin-that to Him, death, as the punishment of sin, bore a dark and dreadful meaning, inconceivable by any of us, whose inner will is tainted by the love of sin." (Dean Alford.) Thus the "Son of David" fulfilled the Psalmist's words, "Innumerable evils have compassed me about-my iniquities" (the iniquities of humanity, of His brethren, becoming His by His fellowship with them; for surely He has borne our sins) "have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of my head-therefore my heart fails me. There is no rest in my bones because of my sin. For my iniquities are gone over my head-as an heavy burden they are too heavy for me. I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly" (Ps. 40:12; 38:1-6). "My soul is exceeding sorrowful even unto death."
In the case of this Sufferer, Divine purity was incarnated in a frail human body, which had come into close contact with sin. Absolute perfection was brought near to absolute depravity in its blackest phase-the approaching murder of the Just One, revealing intense hatred of goodness, cruel repulse of love, resolute rebellion against God. As a person in perfect health might be shocked when brought into a crowded fever or small-pox ward, when the habitual attendants, accustomed to the signs of sickness and the polluted air, might not suffer; as one coming out of the bright sunshine into a darkened room feels it to be blackness, while those dwelling there can see around them; as a virtuous woman would shrink with revulsion from the talk and the conduct of the utterly fallen and shameless-far more must the absolute Perfection of Divine holiness be in agony when brought face to face with deadliest depravity.
Besides this, Divine love was brought into the presence of human misery. The holy God, hating sin, was the merciful God, loving the sinner; and therefore grieved because of the evils sin was bringing on its victims. He who wept over Jerusalem, foreseeing the calamities their crime would bring on them, was grieving now for the self-same reason. Knowing all the evils sin entails in the present life, all the woes it causes in the future, all the damage it does to the immortal nature itself-how could Divine love do otherwise than grieve? If He had compassion on the lepers and the blind, if He felt for the weary and hungry, much more would He feel for the infinitely greater calamities and sorrows of sinners. This agony was a necessary result of Christ being both Son of God and Son of Man. Incarnate Holiness was shocked-Incarnate Love was grieved. "The chastity of His pure feeling recoils with horror from the hell-gulf of wrong and wild judicial madness into which He is now descending; and the love He has for His enemies brings a burden of concern upon His heart that oppresses, and for the time well-near crushes Him." (Bushnell)
Bishop Pearson, in his Exposition of the Creed, with admirable force and condensation, says-"We may know thus much, that the griefs He felt were incomparably beyond all of which any man is capable. 'He began to be sorrowful, sore amazed, and very heavy,' words which come far short of the original, which signifies not only excess of sorrow, but such as brings consternation, bowing the soul under the pressure of it-signifies the highest degree of horror and amazement, even unto stupefaction-anguish in excess. The occasion of the grief will manifest the bitterness thereof-for God 'laid on His own Son the iniquities of us all;' and as we are obliged to sorrow for our own particular sins, so was He grieved for the sins of us all. If, then, we consider the perfection of His knowledge-He understood all the sins for which He suffered; all the evil and the guilt; all the offence against the majesty, and ingratitude against the goodness of God, which was contained in all those sins. If we look upon His absolute conformity to the will of God-He was inflamed with most ardent love; He was most zealous of His glory; and most studious to preserve that right which was so highly violated by those sins. If we look on His relation to men-He loved them all far more than they did themselves; and knew those sins were sufficient to bring eternal destruction on their souls and bodies-He considered them whom He so much loved as lying under the wrath of God, whom He so truly worshiped. If we consider all these circumstances, we cannot wonder at that grief. For if the true condition of one single sinner, only for his own iniquities, cannot be without great bitterness of sorrow, what bounds can we set unto that anguish which proceeds from a full apprehension of all the transgressions of so many millions of sinners?"
David was in agony of soul for sin, not so much because of the consequences to himself as of dishonor to God, saying-"Against You, You only have I sinned, and done this evil in Your sight." It appalled him to think of his secret sins being set before God in the light of His countenance. What must it have been for Jesus, the Holy One of God, to have all the sins of mankind set before His soul, as their Representative! Taking their sins and sorrows on Himself as Mediator, and in this sense making them His own, He fulfilled the words of the Prophet-"Surely He has borne our sins and carried our sorrows." "He who knew no sin was made sin for us." "Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us." "He bore our sins in his own body." (Ps. 40:12; Is. 53; 2 Cor. 5:21; Gal. 3:13; 1 Pet. 2:24.)
This soul-agony was intensified by association with His infirm humanity. Even the most robust human frame could ill sustain the anguish of so great a heart-how much less a frame the most sensitive! The horror of Divine holiness at such sin, the grief of Divine love at such misery, were felt though a human brain and thrilled a human body. Was not this enough to cause the groans and the blood-sweat?
"That this Divine, suffering sensibility should not fearfully wrench, and burden even to crushing, the human vehicle it occupies, is scarcely credible. A suffering that exceeds the proportions of the vehicle must needs appear by violent symptoms-even as a powerful engine in a frail, light-timbered vessel must needs make it groan heavily, or shake it even to wreck. What then is the fact? Is there any sensibility in God that can suffer? Nothing is more certain. He could not be good, having evil in His dominions, without suffering even according to His goodness. For what is goodness but a perfect feeling? And what is a perfect feeling but that which feels towards every wrong and misery, according to its nature?" (Bushnell.)
But it may be asked, Why should the everlasting Son of the Father assume the frail humanity which involved such special suffering? Why, Himself guiltless, endure agony deserved by the most guilty? Why might not man be saved without such divine sorrow? We presume not to argue from what we may conceive as having been necessary, and so deduce the fact; but we take the fact as revealed, and so conclude that it must have been necessary to secure the best results for the salvation of man and the glory of God. We may infer what is abundantly verified by the Word of God, that no remedy for man's sin and misery, no vindication of Divine righteousness, no manifestation of Divine love, no effectual influence on man's heart to make him holy and happy, no method of promoting the greatest happiness of the greatest number, the welfare of the universe and the manifestation of God, could have been so well provided.
"Why are You cast down, blessed Jesus, and why disturbed? Certainly it was nothing of despair or distrust of the Father, much less any conflict or struggle with Him. He engaged in an encounter with the powers of darkness. Now the serpent makes his fiercest onset on the seed of the woman, and directs his sting, the sting of death, to His very heart. The sufferings were for our sins; they were all made to meet upon Him, and he knew it." (M. Henry.)
But this is not our present subject. Holy Scripture, in its simple but emphatic words, best answers the question. Gethsemane fulfills the ancient prediction-"Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows. He was wounded for our transgressions; He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed. He was numbered with the transgressors; and He bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors." He Himself declared, "I lay down my life for the sheep. The Son of Man came to give His life a ransom for many. This is my blood of the New Testament, which is shed for many, for the remission of sins." This is the explanation of the Apostles, "Christ has loved us and given Himself for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God. Christ has once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God. He is the propitiation for our sins. He gave Himself a ransom for all. He laid down His life for us. The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin." Heaven confirms this explanation-"Unto Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, be the glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen." (Isa. 53; Mark 10:45; John 10:15; Matt. 26:28; Eph. 5:2; 1 Peter 3:18; 1 John 1:7, 2:2; 1 Tim. 2:6; Rev. 1:5, 6.)
The blood shed for man's salvation was not only that which streamed from His wounds on the Cross, but also the mysterious pre-libation in Gethsemane, which the agony of the soul forced from the pores of the skin without external violence. The atoning death, completed on the Cross, began in the Garden. Physical pain was chiefly exhibited at Calvary; mental and spiritual pain, the deepest agony, in Gethsemane. There He poured out His blood for us; there "He carried our sorrows."
Let those who are in the Garden of Grief pluck some of the olive leaves of healing which grow in this Gethsemane.
Be comforted by the assurance of pardon.-The horror of Christ's holy soul shows that sin is unspeakably hateful. We may well mourn because of our own guilt when He who knew no sin so mourned for that of others. The more we know of Christ the more we shall know our exceeding sinfulness, the burden of which would be intolerable but for this sacrifice. In the Garden He was offering what He completed on the Cross-"A full, perfect and sufficient sacrifice, oblation and satisfaction, for the sins of the whole world." (Book of Common Prayer-Holy Communion.) If sin is our chief sorrow, remission of sin by Christ is our chief comfort. If sin inflicts the deadliest wounds, the healing leaves of the agony applied by faith effect the cure. "Be of good cheer, your sins are forgiven; go into peace." "The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations."
Be comforted by help obtained to conquer sinfulness.-If we really believe in Christ we shall share His detestation of evil. Love to Him who forgives us at so great a cost will promote hatred of that which caused His agony. The power of sin in us; the struggles it costs us, and our failures; the dishonor thus cast on Christ; the injury to His cause and to our fellow-men; above all, the grieving the Holy Spirit of Jesus by disobedience or neglect; any failure of return of love to Him whose love to us is so unspeakably great-surely sin, not so much for its penalties but for itself, should be our chief sorrow. As a farm-laborer, dying in extreme agony, said to the writer, in response to words of sympathy, "My biggest pain is ever to have sinned against my dear Lord Jesus." Love to Him who for us endured agony, and resemblance to Him in abhorrence of sin, will help us to say, "Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." Such victory over sin is consolation indeed.
Be comforted by sharing Christ's love for sinners.-To feel for others is a remedy against engrossing grief for ourselves. Let us think of those who are ignorant of our source of comfort, and instruct them. Let us pity those who are exposed to the woes which sin entails, and pray for them. Let us more tenderly carry the sins and griefs of others, and we shall feel less the burden of our own.
Christ both knows our sorrows and actually sympathizes in them.-He is with us in our Garden of Grief. "In all their affliction He was afflicted." He knows our sorrows better than even our nearest earthly friend. He who sought His chosen disciples for sympathy comes to us as our Brother, holding us with a hand human as well as Divine-"I am with you always. I will never, never leave you; no, I will never, never forsake you."
GETHSEMANE! most holy place,
With unshod feet I turn to thee;
With weeping eyes and reverent pace,
Human, Divine, Gethsemane!
O Man of Sorrows, why that groan,
That bloody sweat of agony;
Prostrate, convulsed, o'erwhelmed, alone,
In death-shades of Gethsemane?
Divine perfection sank aghast,
Fronted by man's depravity;
Its basest token, blackest, last,
The murder near Gethsemane.
Divine Compassion grieved for men,
The death by sin, the misery;
He bore our guilt and sorrow then,
In awful, dark Gethsemane.
Unspotted Goodness, crushed by guilt;
Heart-broken Love, by enmity;
More than Your blood by sinners spilt
Combined in Your Gethsemane.
O Sacrifice for sinners' sin!
Priest perfected for sympathy!
Who did by grief salvation win,
We bless You for Gethsemane.
O You whose agony of love
The deadly burden bore for me,
Look down with pity from above,
And save through Your Gethsemane.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 07. Christ's Gethsemane Appeal to the Father
"O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me-nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will. O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, Your will be done."-Matthew 26:39, 42
"Abba, Father, all things are possible unto You; take away this cup from me-nevertheless, not what I will, but what You will."-Mark 14:36
"Father, if You be willing, remove this cup from me-nevertheless not my will, but Yours, be done."-Luke 22:42
The prayer of our Lord in Gethsemane was based on the Fatherhood of God. Because God was His Father, He, as a Man, had a will of His own, for He was "made in the image of God," and He knew that His Father recognized and honored that will in all His dealings with Him-"Father, my will." And because God was His Father, He, as man, submitted with absolute resignation-"Father, not my will, but Yours be done."
Our Lord in His agony sought relief in prayer. He addressed a personal God, distinct from the universe of Nature; the Author, Preserver, and Ruler; a God everywhere present, taking notice of all His creatures. He showed that the human soul can hold converse with the Divine, and not appeal in vain for sympathy and support.
He poured forth His heart to God as His Father. God was His Father in a special and exclusive sense. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us; and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten from the Father. No man has seen God at any time; the only begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, He has declared Him." At His baptism, the voice from heaven proclaimed, "This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."
Not only in this Divine relationship did Christ appeal to God as His Father, but as the Representative of humanity also; as Son of Man as well as Son of God. Union with Christ by faith unites us with Him in sonship. He taught us to pray-"Our Father, who are in heaven." When returning to His glory He confirmed the relationship-"I ascend to my Father and your Father." "He is not ashamed to call us brethren."
God the Father has supernaturally and of His special grace, created to be His children, those who are regenerated or born from above. He is Father to all by natural creation, but only they who accept Him as such are in the full sense His children. The prodigal, while sinfully away from home, could not share its privileges; but when he arose and went to his father, saying, "Father, I have sinned;" when he returned with penitence to plead for a share in the father's regard, then he received the kiss, and wore the robe, and joined the feast. If we thus have returned to God, He has given us a new heart and welcomed us home, and we, reconciled through the "only begotten Son," illustrate the word-"As many as received Him to them gave He the right to become children of God, even to those who believe on His name." "And because we are sons, God sent forth the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, Abba Father"-dear Father. "You received the spirit of adoption whereby we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God." (John 1:12; Gal. 4:6; Rom. 8:15, 16.)
A universe contemplated as without a creating and upholding God, however beautiful, is but as a beautiful corpse, and man a friendless-a wretched wanderer. "The universe is not dead and demoniacal, a charnel-house with spectres; but God-like and my Father's." (Carlyle.) Although from marks of design we infer a contriving mind, and an intelligent force directing nature, we never truly believe in God until we recognize His personal nearness to ourselves, His knowledge of all our circumstances, His approachableness and readiness to help us-until we can say, "My God."
God is to us no cold abstraction, not mere power, or intellect; not a mere ruler, however mighty and wise; but a Being with emotions kindred to those with which He endowed man when made "after His image." He ordained the parental relationship, and represents parental love as an emblem of His own. This Fatherhood is more than a figure of speech, and must not be explained away to suit a philosophical theology.
He who made the parental heart knows how a true father yearns over his child, grieves at its sorrow, rejoices in its gladness, consoles, caresses, succours it, encourages its appeal to him, loves its voice, and delights to give whatever is in his power to promote the child's real good. There are many fathers, alas, who do not feel thus; but these are unnatural parents, not such as God had in view when He inspired the word-"Like as a father pities his children, so the Lord pities them that fear Him."
Would not you, if a father, wish your children to tell you all their troubles, however trivial others might deem them; to confide in you and seek your help and sympathy at once, making you the earliest and chief minister of comfort, instead of uttering those troubles first to others, or hiding them in their own sad hearts? If the sorrow were such as you could not remove, would you not nevertheless welcome the utterance of it, and strive to console where you could not cure? And if some part of your wise and kind training should be felt very irksome and painful, would you not still wish it to be told you rather than borne in silence; and even if some request were made which you could not, or ought not to gratify, would you not still wish that the child should bring to you the impossible or unwise request, rather than silently brood over it, or be tempted to some unfilial mode of obtaining it? So with our Heavenly Father.
As a father's pity is employed to illustrate Divine sympathy, so is a mother's tenderness. "As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you." What comforter can be compared to a mother? Bearing her little one in her bosom, shielding it from the cold, supplying its needs from her own life-stream, soothing its griefs by her tender caresses and the gentle murmur of her voice, "dandling it on her knees" (as the Divinely directed prophet graphically depicts in this illustration)-then, when grown older, entering into all its childish griefs and troubles; not despising them because trifles to her, but patiently listening and earnestly consoling, because to that little one those troubles are real and great-afterwards, when the child has become the man, so making his sorrows her own, that the heart, locked perhaps against all besides, can unburden itself on that bosom where in infancy it first found solace-never wearied by the long enumeration of woes, and by what to others would be the tedious repetition of the same sad tale; cheerfully sharing the trouble even when there may be little hope of lightening it; never treating it with levity or indifference; advising, but, at such a time, never rebuking; and even when that child has been the cause of her bitterest grief-when his troubles have come on him by his own folly or wickedness-when he has forsaken his childhood's home and scorned the counsel and affection of his parents, yet, when he comes to her with a heart bursting with anguish, forgetting his faults in the contemplation of his sorrows, and with undiminished maternal tenderness, folding him to her bosom, wiping his tears, pleading his cause-O how a mother comforts!
The Creator of that heart, when "the Word was made flesh," experienced, as the babe of Bethlehem, the child of Nazareth, the Man of Sorrows, how it can console. Beneath the cross, when strong men had fled, hour by hour stood one weeping woman, whom no weakness of body, no agony of mind, no threats or jeers of foes, could separate from her Son in His greatest need; and whose silent sympathy, when her arms could no longer embrace Him, nor her tongue any longer find utterance for her choking sorrow, ministered, who can tell how much of comfort, to that tender human heart which was breaking with its great agony. And He who, both as God the Creator and as Man the Mediator, knows so well what is meant by a mother's consolation, has said, "As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you."
The Divine fact cannot be less than the human figure. The finite cannot transcend the infinite. Man's love cannot exceed God's. He must be more full of pity than any earthly father, more tenderly compassionate than any earthly mother. Therefore He is not indifferent to our sorrows, under the discipline by which He promotes our highest good. He is not a stern preceptor who, knowing that his plans are wise, cares not for the pupil's troubles in the process. Though He cannot alter or regret methods which will secure our supreme welfare, He yet pities us for the passing sorrows they cause. As our unerring Guide He perseveres in bringing us along the very best road homeward, in spite of its difficulties and dangers. He is too wise to take us out of it, and also too kind to be unmindful of our flint-cut feet, our thorn-torn hands, our rain-drenched garments, our hunger and thirst and weariness.
Our Lord's appeal to God as "Father" was evidence that He was not, even then, forsaken in His humanity. He experienced the deep depression, the spiritual eclipse, the midnight darkness, under which we may speak as if utterly desolate. But a feeling of forsakenness is no proof of the reality. As the sun is not altered when eclipsed, so God was as near in Gethsemane as on the Mount of Transfiguration. The Sufferer expressed this confidence when calling on Him as "Father." God has forsaken no one who utters this cry. The appeal is the response to His own call. If as a child I say "My Father," He as Father has already said "My child." "Mourning after an absent God is an evidence of love, as strong as rejoicing in a present one." (F. W. Robertson.)
Speak to me, my God;
And let me know the living Father cares
For me, even me; for this one of His choice.
Have You no word for me? I am Your thought.
God, let Your mighty heart beat into mine,
And let my answer as a pulse to Thine.
See, I am low-yes, very low; but You
Are high, and You can lift me up to You.
I am a child, a fool before You, God;
But You have made my weakness as my strength,
I am an emptiness for You to fill;
My soul, a cavern for Your sea.
'You make me long,' I said, 'therefore will give;
My longing is Your promise, O my God.'
(George M'Donald.)
It may be Gethsemane midnight with some reader, and friends whose sympathy was relied on may slumber or depart; and it may be Satan's hour of supreme assault; and body and soul may be in agony, and the horror of a great darkness surround us, yet let us cling to this relationship-"My Father! Abba, Father! Dear Father!" He ever watches over us, loves, pities, listens, delights to support and console. Therefore, as children plead with earthly parents, we may plead with our heavenly Father. He needs not our importunity to dispose Him to help us. "He delights in mercy. He waits to be gracious." We may shed our tears and utter our sighs and groans in the presence of One ever attentive to His children's cry. He who inspired the desire for Him will not contradict Himself.
There are seasons when we cannot express our sorrows in form of words. The pain may be too acute, the heart too broken, the spirit too crushed for more than this one cry, "Father!" But what other word, what array of language, so eloquent in His ear! It pierces the thickest overhanging cloud, it is heard amid the most jubilant anthems of heaven's choir. We may be confident that God is still with us while enabled still to utter his own Name, and that He already has responded to all it involves. "Before you call I will answer, and while you are yet speaking I will hear." His love leads us into the Garden of Grief, that our wounds may be healed by the leaves which grow there alone. Assured of His fatherly pity we may appeal to Him-"My soul is exceeding sorrowful, O my Father! Even unto death, my Father!"
My Father! from the depths I cry to Thee;
My spirit faints, I sink in waves of woe;
Your love my only confidence and plea,
Your sympathy the only balm I know.
There is a gulf for ordered speech too deep;
A furnace far too fierce but for a cry;
Sorrows in which 'twere luxury to weep;
A darkness whence is only heard a sigh.
Give ear to plaints that from these depths arise,
Nor leave me in the dark to grope alone-
Father! behold Your child with pitying eyes,
And answer prayers condensed in sigh or groan.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 08. The Divine Fatherhood-an Argument both for Importunity and Resignation
"Father! My will, Your will."
Earnestness in appealing to any one for help is limited-by our confidence in his power, his good-will towards us, and his wisdom in the methods he may take. We ought not to ask what we know to be beyond his capacity; we hesitatingly ask if doubtful of his willingness, or if we think that by pleasing us he may harm us in the end. Nor can we be fully resigned when our requests are refused, so long as we think such refusal is our loss. But when we appeal to God we may be importunate, because assured that what we ask is within His power, that His fatherly love prompts Him to listen favorably, and that His wisdom so regulates His answer as to preserve us from our own mistakes in asking, and to secure our highest welfare, whether by granting or partly fulfilling, or refusing our requests.
The Father's will is sustained by unlimited POWER. Mark records that our Lord said, "Abba, Father, all things are possible to You." Matthew, that He said, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me." Luke, that He said, "Father, if You be willing, remove this cup from me." In this seeming diversity there is Divine harmony.
God is Almighty. Whatever exists, is within the sphere of Him by whom it exists. He who made and controls all actual things must be capable of doing all imaginable things, which are not self-contradictory. But there are moral limits to the exercise of this power. God is free from without, but is bound by His own Being. He is necessarily what He is, and all His acts proceed from Himself. If He has power so also He has the wisdom, holiness, and goodness which regulate its exercise. It is impossible for Him to do anything contrary to His own entire nature. This limitation, instead of detracting from His glory, is essential to it. Wisdom cannot err; holiness cannot sin; love cannot be cruel. This is as true as that Infinity cannot be limited; Immutability cannot change; Eternity cannot end. God therefore cannot do what would be contrary to perfect holiness, wisdom and love. It is impossible for Him to do what would be opposed to His own glory-that is, to the best interests of the universe. He who formed its plan and ordained its laws is able, while adhering to a purpose, to vary the method. But if to do so would be injurious, His Will would refuse what His power would enable; so that morally it would not be possible, because opposed to His own wisdom and goodness.
For example. A ship is in peril, and the flowing of the next tide will be its destruction. Prayer is offered that the tide may be stayed. But the injuries resulting elsewhere from such tidal arrest would far exceed the particular advantage to the one ship. The request might not be possible.
The owner of a small farm fears ruin unless plentiful rain falls on it. But this might damage a far larger region, and so might not be possible.
The limit of human life is about fourscore years, and though we may wish to retain with us those we love, in the sight of Him "in whom our breath is" and who "orders the bounds of our habitation," it may not be wise, and therefore not possible, that He should spare them to us. So if trial is needed for beneficent ends, the removal of it may not be possible for Him who seeks in that trial the welfare of His children.
Thus, possibility with God is identical with willingness. He can do all things, and therefore "all things are possible;" but as all He does is regulated by perfect wisdom and goodness there are some things which He cannot will to do, and which therefore are morally impossible. Thus the universal potentiality is limited only by the perfection of His own nature. The power to do all things is regulated by the will to do only what is best; and thus our Savior's word, "If it be possible," is exactly equivalent to "If You will."
Within this will everything is possible. Man's will is limited by human weakness. We wish what seems to us the very best, yet often we cannot obtain it. We try our utmost and fail. Unexpected barriers bid us halt in our swiftest march. Our amplest resources are exhausted. But while our will in such cases rests on treacherous sand, the will of God is based on the rock of His infinite perfections. Omnipotence sustains every thought. "He speaks and it is done; He commands and it stands fast." Therefore we pray with importunate confidence. If He is willing to help us "who can stay His hand?" Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill be made low. Fountains shall spring up in the wilderness, and a path be opened through the deep. In His hands are the hearts of all men. He can thwart the malice of foes, or make our enemies to be at peace with us. He who rescued Israel from Egypt, and Jerusalem from Sennacherib, and Daniel from the lions, is still as able to remove from His children every bitter cup, or give them grace to drink it. By methods as effectual as miracles, and not less Divine because unobserved, He can fulfill His promise-"Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver you."
The perfection of God is a source of sweetest consolation to us in our feebleness and foolishness. If He were not Omniscient, we might suffer and He not know. If He were not Omnipresent, we might cry and He not hear. If He were not Omnipotent, we might perish and He be unable to help. If He were not good, He would not care for us, or might crush us. "God's greatness encourages us in our littleness. The sun is so glorious that it refuses not to shine on a ash-heap; the rain is so plenteous that it disdains not to fall into a tiny flower-pot; the sea is so vast that it does not hesitate to waft a feather; and God is so mighty that He rejects not the prayers or praises of babes and sucklings! If God were little He might despise the little." (C. H. Spurgeon.) "Though the Lord is exalted, yet He has regard unto the humble. He has not despised the affliction of His afflicted children, nor hid His face from them. I am poor and needy, yet the Lord thinks upon me. Put my tears into Your bottle."
If such ability in God is an encouragement to importunity it is no less so to submission. If our wish is not granted we know that, though in the power of God, it was not in accordance with His wise and kind purpose.
He is the blessed God; and as the visible sun diffuses light by necessity of its nature, so the Divine Fountain of bliss delights to impart it to His children. His love prompts the will and directs the power to secure their highest welfare. Jesus, in the woe of the garden, was still the well-beloved Son. The hand that presented the bitter cup was the hand of Him whom the Sufferer addressed as 'Dear Father'. Love decreed it; not love to those alone who were to be saved by it, but love to Him who was to drink it. Christians must not think that the bitterness of the cup given to them is any sign of diminished love in their Father who gives it. "Whom the Lord loves He chastens." He says, "I have loved You with an everlasting love." By love He first drew us to Himself; and ever since He has held us "by cords of love." Love rescued us from Pharaoh, divided for us the Red Sea, smote Amalek, and daily feeds us with heavenly manna and living water. Love ordains every struggle to strengthen us, lights every furnace to purify us, mingles every cup to heal us. Is not a father's love most proved, and his pity most exercised, when persevering in some wholesome discipline, or directing some painful surgical treatment for his son, to avoid worse suffering and to secure life-long benefit?
Such confidence in our Father's love should render easy submission to His will. We could not confidently say "Your will be done" to a friend of whose wisdom we were doubtful; still less to a stranger whose will might be governed by his own selfish interests. But we may confidently surrender our own will to that of a Father, whose infinite resources are at the service of infinite love, and say with our Elder Brother, "May Your will be done."
HallN GLHGG: 09. Importunity in Gethsemane
"My Will."
To those who believe in the efficacy of prayer, importunity is natural. Transcendental philosophy may say that we should be content with simply stating or even thinking our requests, because more than this is useless. Transcendental piety may say that our own wishes should be so merged in the divine Will that we should cease to have any other will. But the heart, breaking with grief, craves comfort which neither such philosophy nor such piety affords. How encouraging it is to turn to the perfect example of "The Man Christ Jesus!" His agony in Gethsemane suggests chiefly His atoning sacrifice; but it is also a most precious illustration of human piety not only in absolute submission to his Father's Will, but in importunate pleading for His own.
Jesus is not only the Author and Giver, but the "Captain of Salvation," the Example of the saved under similar discipline of sorrow, exposed to the temptations of the same foe, and employing the same weapons, "the sword of the Spirit which is the Word of God," and "praying always with all prayer and supplication." "For both He who sanctifies and they who are sanctified are all of one-for which cause He is not ashamed to call them brethren" (Heb. 2:10-18). If prayer was to the sinless Humanity a chief weapon, strength and solace, must it not be equally essential to His followers?
Individual Prayer.-Our Lord prayed at other times for the little band of His disciples, for the whole world, and for His persecutors; but here He brought His individual personality before God. "Father, my Will."
So we may bring before Him our own little, individual concerns-"my," me! If He is Infinite, our littleness does not elude His eye or hand. We are little and overlook the little; but He is too great to disregard the smallest of His children. The Son, "in the bosom of the Father," assures us that the very hairs of our head are all numbered. Therefore we may, without presumption, appeal to Him. Amid the countless multitudes of human faces there are not two exactly alike; characters also differ, and the circumstances of each life. Every child in the largest family has its special characteristics, is distinctly known and loved, would be missed if absent. And every child of God has a distinct personality, its own place in the family, and is the object of the Father's constant care. "I have engraved you on the palms of my hands, I have called you by your name." The Good Shepherd "calls His own sheep by name." He says, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them."
O my Father! I am Your child! Insignificant in myself, but precious to You. You have created, preserved, redeemed, adopted, sanctified me. I am Your workmanship. You have a home for me above. Look then on me, even me. Listen to my cry, even mine. Let this cup pass from me.
Special Prayer.-"This cup." So we may plead, not only for our distinct concerns, but with particularity as to our desires. Some may say, "Commit the whole of life to Him at once, and leave the details." We are apt to pray in the general, as much shorter and easier, "Help us in all trials, at all times." But we feel our sorrows in particular, one by one, day by day. As our Lord sought help in a peculiar trial, so we are instructed "in everything to make known our requests unto God." We necessarily look at the special cup we have this day to drink; we taste its bitterness, and shudder at the thought of drinking it. Let us then hold it forth to our Father's pitying eye. How trifling compared with the vast events of His universe! But nothing which affects His children is insignificant to the eye of Love. Let us then, in filial confidence, plead, "Father! let this cup pass from me."
Repeated Prayer.-Filial requests may be often urged. "Vain repetitions" are those of cold formality, as if their number gave efficacy. Christ in Gethsemane urged the same request three separate times; and doubtless on each occasion reiterated the appeal. So may we urge our request again and again. As long as the bitter cup is held to us and we shrink from it, we may ask to be spared it. We are not expected to cease thinking it bitter because repeatedly given us to drink. It is consistent with piety in the disciple to imitate his Lord in repeating the same prayer for relief.
Earnest Prayer.-Jesus knelt, fell prostrate, called to His Father with "strong crying and tears," with agony of soul, indicated by the "bloody sweat." He never hesitated in His Divine resolve, but there was a human shrinking from woe which longed for relief. It may be very unphilosophical to add "strong crying and tears" to the simple utterance of believing prayer, but it is very human to do so, and very Christlike. Tears! blessed solace to suffering! There are times when the fierce furnace has dried up the fountain. Oh, for the luxury of weeping! Tears are often the refreshing dew of heaven; as gentle showers on the parched ground, as "rain on the mown grass"-drops which bring rainbow-glories to overarch the darkest storm-cloud. Jesus wept at Bethany with the weepers, and shed tears over guilty Jerusalem. Those tears were for others; these were for Himself also. Tears with our prayers will relieve while they express our sorrow. Thus let us plead with our Father.
Let us tell Him the bitterness of it. Conviction that the bitter cup is curative, does not alter the fact that it is acute. "No affliction for the present seems joyous but grievous." Tell Him how grievous this special trial-how excruciating the pain, how keen the unkindness, how crushing the disappointment, how dreary the desolation, how precious the imperilled treasure, how dear the suffering friend, how strong the craving for the blessing we seek, how irksome the task allotted, how difficult the surrender of what is dearer than life. Let us hold up to our Father this particular cup, and say, "Father, let it pass from me! My will!"
Plead the fullness of it, the number and variety of trials that sometimes oppress us-perhaps poverty, sickness, bereavement, unkindness-all together at the same time.
Plead the duration of the trial. Throughout His life Jesus was the Man of Sorrows; and many of His disciples go mourning all their days by reason of continued illness, unkindness, loneliness, or anxiety-successive sorrows, stripes repeated before the former wounds are healed; one woe treading on the heels of another, as with Job. Some thorn is always rankling. When one crag has been surmounted another has to be scaled, when one torrent has been waded, another and yet another roars across our path.
Tell Him if the trial seems unsuitable. When we think the medicine prescribed by a physician does not benefit us but increases the pain, we tell him. So, if we think our trials not adapted to our temperament, it is better to tell even such a thought to our Father than nurse it in our own bosom. "My Father, pity your foolish child, but bear with me while I confess that this bitter cup depresses my spirit, raises doubts, disturbs my faith, irritates my temper, drives me to frivolity, hinders prayer, tempts me to seek relief wrongfully. I am taught that affliction should make me humble and patient, gentle to others, weaned from earth, submissive to You; but this cup seems to produce opposite results. Oh, let this cup pass from me! "
Let us tell Him the faintness of spirit it produces; how we feel sometimes worn out with suffering, as if unable to hold up any longer, or even to pray. "I am poured out like water, all my bones are out of joint; my soul is bowed down to the dust; my tears have been my food day and night. O my God, my soul is cast down within me; all your waves and your billows are gone over me. Abba, Father, let this cup pass from me!"
Imitating the Divine Example in Gethsemane let us then not hesitate to plead with wrestling earnestness that God would remove whatever causes us agony; that He would relieve pain, heal sickness, spare life, remove danger, calm anxiety, restore love, restrain sin, abate anger, disperse the cloud, calm the storm, send the sunshine. Submission to God's Will implies the existence and pleading of our own. The earnest desire is necessary for the resigned Will, and precedes it.
There is sin in exalting our own Will to the level of His, but not in having a Will; in trying to get our Will by whatever methods, not in asking our Father to accomplish it. It seems an affectation of an impossible piety to profess to have no Will but God's. There was nothing thus overstrained in the piety of the Man Christ Jesus. His example forbids self-condemnation for having a strong desire, and for expressing it strongly. Let us then appeal to our Father and say, "Behold me, even me; listen to my complaint; behold this cup; how bitter it is, how full, how long I have had to drink it. In my ignorance it seems unsuited to my temperament. How wearied and faint I am! How earnestly I desire to be spared the further drinking of it, O my Father! Witness these tears, hear these cries, consider my soul's agony and bloody sweat, give heed to the prayer of your own Son-Father, let this cup pass from me!"
Father, let this cup pass from me,
Filled to the brim with gall;
To taste alone is misery,
How can I drink it all?
I hold it with a trembling hand,
Amazement chills my heart;
O let this cup, at your command,
This bitter cup depart.
Fiercer than torments flesh can know
Are those the mind assail,
The bloody sweat revealed a woe
Keener than scourge and nail.
If it be possible, O Lord,
Let this cup pass from me;
Hear your own agonizing word
From dark Gethsemane.
Yet Father, not my will, but Thine,
Your will alone be done;
And make Your loving purpose mine,
Through Jesus Christ, Your Son.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 10. Resignation in Gethsemane
"Your will be done."
Our Lord was truly Man, and so possessed a human will. He desired to be spared the agony He was expecting and suffering. It was agony of body in the tortures of the cross; agony of soul by anticipation of the cross, by ingratitude, slander, and insult of foes, and by the sleep, desertion, and denial of friends; agony of spirit in bearing the sin of mankind and the fierce assault of the devil.
In His agony He prayed that the cup held out might pass from Him. As human, He prayed with intense earnestness. As the Son of God, He bowed with absolute submission. The will of the Father which He had come to execute, though it conflicted with His natural wishes, was recognized as supreme in authority-best for the glory of God, for the welfare of the universe, for the Sufferer Himself.
"He begs that this cup might pass from Him, that He might avoid the sufferings now at hand; or at least that they might be shortened. This intimates no more than that He was truly Man, and as Man could not but be averse to suffering. This is the first and simple act of man's will-to start back from that which is sensibly grievous, and desire the removal of it. The law of self-preservation is impressed on the innocent nature of man, and rules there until overruled by some other law; therefore Christ expressed a reluctance to suffer, to show that He was taken from among men, tempted as we are yet without sin. Note, a prayer of faith against an affliction may very well consist with the patience of hope under affliction. If God may be glorified and man saved without His drinking this bitter cup, He asks to be excused. Otherwise not. What we cannot do with the securing our great end we must reckon to be in effect impossible; Christ did so. We can do nothing, not only we may do nothing, against the truth." (Matthew Henry.)
This submission to the Father's will was displayed in all His words and actions. He constantly declared that He had come into the world, not to promote any personal aims, but to accomplish the will of God. To the captious Scribes and Pharisees He said, "I can of my own self do nothing; I seek not my own will, but the will of the Father who has sent me." After conversing with the woman of Samaria, He was found weary and faint by the disciples on returning with food; and when they begged Him to eat, He replied, "I have food to eat that you know not of. My food is to do the will of Him who sent me, and to finish His work." It was as natural and pleasant to do the will of God as it was to satisfy natural appetite. It was to Him more so. In seeking the salvation of that one sinner He had forgotten His hunger. The will of the Father was His supreme joy. "This is the will of Him that sent Me, that of all He has given me I should lose nothing." The great work the Father had entrusted to Him was the salvation of mankind. For this He had to suffer and die. He never drew back from, He resolutely pressed forward in, His purpose to do the Father's will. "I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how am I straitened until it be accomplished."
Thus He fulfilled the ancient prophecy, applied to Him by the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews (10:5-10), "When He came into the world He said, Sacrifice and offering You do not desire, but a body have You prepared me-in burnt-offerings and offerings for sin You have had no pleasure. Then said I, Lo, I come to do Your will, O God." The prophecy thus applied to Christ adds, "I delight to do Your will, O my God; yes, Your law is within my heart" (Psalm 40:7, 8). Obedience was to Him not merely duty, but blessedness. The law of God was not merely expressed in His actions, but stored up in His heart. The conduct was the outcome of His dominant desire-His most cherished purpose. The will of the Father was His very life, and that will was concentrated in the atonement of which the agony in Gethsemane was a part.
Just before leaving the upper chamber, or perhaps on the way to the Garden, He had said, in His valedictory prayer, "I have glorified You on the earth-I have finished the work which You gave me to do. And now, O Father, glorify You me." He prayed for the glory of completing the Father's will and for strength, not to evade it, but to accomplish it. Thus on the cross His dying consolation was uttered in the final word of triumph, "It is finished."
None ever pleaded so importunately as our Lord in Gethsemane; none ever resigned His own will so absolutely. As our example, He taught us how urgent desires may be combined with child-like submission to the will of God. We often separate them, or cultivate one at the expense of the other. Earnest in petition, we murmur at a seeming refusal; or, mistaking depression for submission, and unnatural suppression for piety, we yield as to the inevitable, and vainly try to ignore irrepressible desires. Our Lord divinely holy in His entire humanity, showed us how, while strongly pleading for our own will, to subordinate it to that of God. "Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me-nevertheless, not my will, but Yours, be done."
In a previous chapter, the Fatherhood of God was urged as an argument both for importunity and resignation. We cannot doubt His loving desire to bless us, His infallible wisdom in the method, or His boundless ability to execute His purposes. We are therefore safe in His hands. He will grant us our will if it be best; and if He refuses, it is because He has something better to give. His love is revealed as much in denying as in granting.
As we emerge from childhood, we learn to suspect the wisdom of our wishes. From some eminence in our pilgrimage we look back on the path, and see plainly how much of our trouble was caused by resolutely following our own will. We see how we sometimes turned aside from the true way because it seemed rough and perplexing; and how, in other places, attracted by the flowers or the scenery, we neglected the map and the sign-posts, and wandered among bogs and thickets, where we floundered in mire, or were torn with thorns; and to precipices, where we stumbled and were bruised, and might have perished. Thus, by bitter experience, we have learned that our will is not always the wisest. What we have prescribed to ourselves as medicine has proved to be poison; the cup we have clutched as sweeter than honey has become more bitter than gall. We resolved to take the helm into our own hands, and have struck on hidden rocks. We have gone where the moss was brightest, and the quagmire has nearly choked us. We have glided where the ice seemed smoothest, and it has given way in the moment of our greatest exhilaration.
It is not safe to say unreservedly, "This is my will; O my Father, grant it." Many have thus asked for what has proved their greatest misery, as was the case with a mother, who, when her minister prayed for the life of her boy, adding, "but not our will; let Yours be done," exclaimed, "No, no! I cannot give him up." He was spared, but brought her grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. But God's will is infallibly wise. He knows both when the sweet in the cup disguises the poison, and when the bitter is the needful ingredient for the healing. He sees the end from the beginning; where the frowning ravine opens out into a blooming valley or a fertile plain; where through the tossing tide-waves of some narrow channel is the entrance to the safe anchorage. We may not understand His methods, but we can rely on His love and wisdom. Our highest enduring welfare is His object, and there is an eternity hereafter for the development. We cannot expect to work out the problem "now in the time of this mortal life;" and during afflictions "which are but for a moment," to perceive in what manner they are working out the "exceeding weight of glory," which is eternal. We now "walk by faith, not by sight;" and thus we know that infallible wisdom directs the Will which is prompted by infinite love and sustained by unlimited power. Therefore we pray with confidence, "Father, Your will be done."
The will of God is commended to us by special promises-promises not merely of general advantage, but of particular benefit to ourselves individually.
In the operation of a general scheme of beneficent Providence, some must seem to suffer for the general good. Wise alteration in human laws, the progress of discovery and invention, while benefiting the many often entail injury on the few. Loyal sons have often accepted personal loss, and risked even life for the honor of their father and welfare of the family. And should not the children of God delight in His glory, even at their cost?
Thanksgivings should not be rendered for personal benefactions alone. True piety is not sordid. Whether our sky be cloudy or clear, whether our storehouse be empty or full, whether in loneliness we lie on a bed of pain or go up with the great congregation to the house of God, we should sing, "We praise You, we bless You, we glorify You, for Your great glory."
But loyal homage and filial love towards God are inseparable from personal benefit, though this should not be our chief motive. Our Father's will is ever linked with our own welfare. We are never in danger of being personally crushed in an exulting crowd. The flood that bears fertility to other fields never desolates our own. We share in the fertilizing influence of every cloud and every ray of sunshine. If the vapor that drops gentle rain on others comes to us as hail, the invigorating breeze as desolating blast, even so it brings us good and not evil.
The will of our Father not only secures advantage to His family as a whole but to every individual child. All things work together for their lasting good. All things! Not alone pleasant things, which we call mercies, but painful things, which we call trials. Thus when we pray for God's will we ask for that which, in promoting His glory and the general good, secures also our own welfare. If then every cup, however bitter, conveys to us some healing medicine or strengthening food, profit as well as piety should prompt the prayer-Your will be done. Happy for us that our Father loves us too much to let us have our own will when it would do us harm.
My will? It is often the result of ignorance, the prompting of passion. My Father, may Your will be done!
My will? I often desire as a treasure to enrich, what would prove a burden to crush. My Father, may Your will be done!
My will? I may pursue a phantom which would allure me to the perilous precipice or the fatal bog. My Father, may Your will be done!
My will? I may be eager for a draught of pleasure, which would poison my whole life. My Father, may Your will be done!
Lord! take your way with me, and let me not choose my own. Ordain my lot. Mix my cup. Your Will-unfailingly kind in its purpose, infallibly right in its method, absolutely sure of its fulfillment. My Father, may Your will be done!
Your way, O Lord! Your way-not mine!
Although oppressed,
For smoother, sunnier paths I pine,
Your way is best.
Though crossing thirsty deserts drear,
Or mountain's crest;
Although I faint with toil and fear,
Your way is best.
Though not one open door befriend
The passing guest;
Though night its darkest terror lend,
Your way is best.
So seeming wild without a plan,
Now east now west;
Joys born and slain, hopes blighted, can
Your way be best?
My soul by grief seems not to be
More pure and blessed;
Alas! I cannot, cannot see
Your way is best.
I cannot see-on every hand
By anguish prest,
In vain I try to understand
Your way is best.
But I believe-Your life and death,
Your love attest,
And every promise clearly says
"Your way is best."
I cannot see-but I believe;
If heavenly rest
Is reached by roads where most I grieve,
Your way is best.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 11. Slumber in Gethsemane
Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. "What, could you not watch with Me one hour? The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."-Matthew 26:40, 41
On reaching the Garden the Sufferer had said, "Pray that you enter not into temptation." When He took with Him into closer retirement the favored three, He again besought them-"My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death-wait here and watch with Me." Then He went from them only a short distance and for a short time, to wrestle alone in the prayer of His great agony. Yet when, with a heart ready to break, He returned for the solace of their sympathy, He found them sleeping.
How pathetic was His admonition! He specially addressed the one who had most emphatically protested his zeal, not now as Peter, the rock, but saying, "Simon, why are you sleeping?" (Mark 14:37). The others shared the gentle reproof, "What, could you not watch with Me one hour?"
"Could you not watch with Me?" It was not much just to keep awake; as a sentinel, to warn of danger or confer with his captain; or as a nursing friend, to minister to the suffering and sad. Judas had been on the watch. In the space of two or three hours he had been to the priests, concluded his wicked compact, explained his plans, helped to gather the armed band, and was leading them on their night-march of capture. Surely if the treacherous foe was awake and active, to discover, seize, accuse, and slay; the faithful friends might have been on the watch to share and soothe the grief of the Lord they loved?
"Could you not watch one hour?" The time during which their aid was needed was so brief. It was not as if some great continuous effort was required, or as if, after a long night of toil, sleep was an absolute necessity and could not be delayed. Surely seeing their Lord in such deep distress, hearing His earnest appeal, and witnessing the commencement of His agony, they should not so soon have yielded to drowsiness. They had toiled all night in their fisher-boat in spite of failure, taking nothing-could they not watch one hour of this night, to secure the in estimable privilege of ministering to their Divine Master?
"Could not you watch with Me? You are those who have continued with me in my temptations." After all they had witnessed of His endurance of trial and tender pity for others; after all their own strong protestations, it was sad that they should sleep.
"Could you not watch with me." He had at once risen from sleep to calm the tempest, when they aroused Him saying, "Save, Lord, or we perish." He had remained awake, watching and praying, when they, in the darkness of night, were striving against the opposing winds; and He had come to them across the waves, saying, "It is I, be not afraid." He had just been pouring out His heart to them in many words of counsel and comfort at the final feast of love-and could it be that they should so soon fail Him?
At this very time He was watchful for them. He came now to rouse them, not merely that they might minister to Him, but that they might not injure themselves. In the midst of His own agony He was solicitous for their good. They were losing a great privilege, they were imperilling themselves, they were storing up regretful memories. Could they not watch with Him who was so watchful for them?
David, the type of Christ, in his grief passed near Gethsemane, as he "went up by the ascent of Mount Olivet, and wept as he went up; and all the people that were with him went up, weeping as they went up." But these servants of the Divine Son of David, the Messiah King, left Him to weep alone-while they slumbered and slept.
How considerate was our Lord in making kind allowance for their infirmities. Their guilt was great, but so was their weakness. They were sincere in their love, though remiss in their wakefulness.
"He found them sleeping for sorrow." The Evangelist's statement was a statement of fact, known and appreciated by the Lord. He knew that the sleep was from weariness, not heartlessness. The weariness resulted from mental emotion. His pathetic address at the Supper must have grieved them by sympathy with His manifest sorrow, and by apprehensiveness for themselves. It was evident from His whole manner, His counsels as of one bidding a final adieu, His intimations of suffering and death, that some terrible storm was about to burst on them. And now, His obvious agony, and the warning which indicated approaching peril, so added to the pressure of grief, that mental and physical drowsiness overcame them, and instead of making the more vigorous efforts to master it, they were "sleeping for sorrow."
Perhaps some reader may have experienced what it is to be sleeping for sorrow, weary with woe. As severe toil exhausts the body, so does grief the mind. Physical agony often induces sleep, and for a season no more pain is felt. Mental distress often prevents sleep, but it also sometimes induces it. The supply of tears is drained. The capacity for conscious distress ceases. The spirit asks to sleep before it can again feel.
So sometimes in the midst of a storm there is a lull in the conflict of the elements, as though exhausted by their own violence, and there intervenes a delusive, perilous pause. The rain ceases to fall, the hurricane is hushed, no lightnings flash, nor thunders roar. The storm sleeps. So sometimes during a fierce battle there is a brief cessation of active hostilities. The guns are too hot to be fired, the field supplies need to be replenished, the soldiers must recover breath, or be nourished with food. The fierceness of the fight has necessitated such pause. The battle sleeps. And amid the storm or the conflict of trial, there is often a temporary pause, a partial oblivion; and the sufferer in the garden of grief is "sleeping for sorrow."
Our Lord not only recognized the fact that it was sorrow, and sorrow for Him, which produced the drowsiness, but He also gave them credit for willingness which was hindered by weakness, and by the temptations incident to humanity. "The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."
This was stated as a general fact, true of all mankind. True, therefore, of Himself as Son of Man. At that moment it was evident from His tears, His cries, His prayer of agony, that His own flesh was weak. But His watchfulness and earnest prayers, His unchanged resolve and entire resignation, were evidence that His spirit was willing in all things to obey the will of His Father.
An important distinction must be recognized between Christ and His disciples, both in willingness and weakness. His spirit was absolutely willing because divinely perfect, while our spirit is only defectively willing by reason of sinfulness. His flesh was weak solely by reason of blameless infirmities, incident to the humanity He had assumed; while our flesh is not only thus weak, but influenced by "fleshly lusts which war against the soul." In a sense not true of Christ, our "flesh lusts against the Spirit." Even were we like our Lord in purity, we must, like Him, watch and pray. How much more, being what we are! The spirit will only be willing by prayerfulness; the flesh, in its weakness, will only be kept from wickedness by watchfulness.
Weariness of body tends to becloud the mind and weaken the will. Men are not so capable of exertion when lacking food or rest. Thus a good general watches the food provisions, that the soldiers may not go into battle with the hunger that abates courage. Fatigue renders the eye less keen, the foot less firm, the hand less steady. All this the Elder Brother recognized, and so extenuated the fault. "He knows our frame, He remembers that we are dust."
He who promised "another Comforter," another Paraclete to help us, is Himself our Advocate. As Counsel, specially retained for us in the Court above, He makes the best of our case that truth permits. If our Judge, He is our Pleader too. Even when He accuses for the guilt, He praises for the goodness. "He who has the sharp sword with two edges," prefaced His reproofs of the church in Pergamos by saying-"I know your works-and you hold fast my Name, and have not denied my faith." While He said "I have a few things against you," He commended them for steadfastness amid the fierce trials of persecution-"even in those days wherein Antipas was my faithful martyr, who was slain among you, where Satan dwells" (Rev. 2:12-14).
With such an Advocate we need not ourselves seek for pleas in cessation of judgment. He will do this far better than we can ourselves. When He reproved the disciples they could find no excuse, "neither know they what to answer Him." But He promptly put in the plea-Sorrow, Weakness, Willingness. Let us leave to Him the extenuation, while we confess the aggravation. Sleeping! alas-in spite of Your love, Your sorrow, Your request, Your warning-in spite of my infinite obligations, and my often-repeated vows-Lord have mercy upon me, a sinner!
We should learn to put the gentlest construction on the faults of our friends. Sorrow sometimes makes us selfish, and pain induces peevishness. We are apt to think we are badly used when those we love are not so zealous in their sympathy as we expected. Let us try to minimise their fault, and make allowance for their own cares, or weariness, or grief. Excuses for them will soothe the wounds, which harsh censures of them would irritate.
Our Lord's gentleness towards us when sleeping for sorrow, and our imitation of Him in our own forbearance towards others, will always prove to be 'leaves of healing in our garden of grief.'
The reader is reminded of the special lessons of consolation this subject suggests. The love of Jesus in enduring for us this particular sorrow; His Brotherhood in suffering as we often suffer from failures of friends; His ability to sympathize with us in such disappointment; His gracious compassion towards our infirmities; His pleas in mitigation of our faults; His appreciation of the willingness combined with the weakness; His unslumbering watchfulness over us-such are some of the leaves of healing we may pluck in this part of the garden of grief.
HallN GLHGG: 12. Watch and Pray in Gethsemane
"Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation."
The weakness of the flesh was not an encouragement for sleeping, but an argument for awaking. If the body in all its functions were a perfect instrument for a spirit perfectly willing-strong, unwearied, free from impulses and passions by which the devil tempts the spirit-there would not be such need of the exhortation; but because of the body's weakness, the spirit has the more reason to watch and to pray.
The devil assailed the Savior in the wilderness through the weakness of the flesh, when hunger was felt after long fasting. Save yourself this pain! And now again, when the flesh was still more weak, the devil renewed the assault with a similar suggestion, Drink not this cup! Out of His own consciousness of human weakness, Jesus warned His disciples to imitate His own example of watchfulness and prayer.
The devil quoted and misapplied scripture, when he tempted Christ to cast Himself from the pinnacle of the temple. And he has often perverted these words to encourage slumber in those whom the Lord sought to awaken. Satan says, "Your flesh is weak, but you mean well. God will take the will for the deed. Nature craves indulgence-indulge it; hunger asks food-take it. You cannot help feeling thirst-slake it. You are weary-rest. You are drowsy-sleep. Take comfort from the conviction of what is right, and from a general desire to do it when the difficulty is not too great; but when feeling weak, especially so very weak in the garden of grief, be content with wishing to be vigilant, and with a good conscience settle yourself to slumber."
Our Lord's argument was the very reverse. "Because the spirit is willing, let its will be firm. Because the flesh is weak, let the spirit be the more strong. Because feeling drowsy, be the more resolute to watch. Because in slumber your danger is increased, let your vigilance be increased. Because the flesh is weak, watch and pray that you enter not into temptation."
An Alpine climber, after hours of exertion, may be so weary that he can proceed no further until he recruits his strength. But he must beware of sleeping on the ice-slope, or the precipice's edge. Cold and exhausted he pauses on the snow-field, but he must keep up the circulation by exercise. If he lies down to slumber-he may not wake again. The more weary he feels the-more watchful must he be.
A friend of the writer was overtaken by night on a lofty mountain-ridge. The path behind was too perilous to be retraced in the dark; and the way in front was obstructed by a rock, which he was too weary to scale. His resting-place was a steep slope towards a fearful precipice. One careless movement might be fatal. As the darkness deepened, the danger was disguised. With a lessening visible sense of peril he felt increasing drowsiness. How he had to stir up his mind to a conviction of the need of unremitting vigilance! What efforts were his during those long hours to drive off sleep! Thus it is with those who are weary with wrestling with temptations, with enduring afflictions. In the darkness of the garden of grief they are in special danger, and therefore specially need to watch and pray.
The storm may seem to slumber, but woe to the pilot who presumes on the lull, and is sleeping at the helm when the elements awake with renewed violence. There may be a pause in the battle, but woe to the army which sleeps while the foe is busy in reloading his guns, and gathering his troops for a renewed charge. In our grief there may come intervals of relief, but woe to the sufferer who allows weariness so to take advantage of the respite as spiritually to slumber, and be beguiled by the devil's plausible arguments to enter into temptation.
In the garden of grief, with body and mind weakened by woe, there is great danger of entering into temptation, by impatience and distrust of God. These are the beginnings of paths leading away from God's garden of trial into the devil's wilderness of flattering but false and fatal ease.
Others have entered into temptation by seeking solace in trouble from poisonous pleasures and perilous delights. They would mitigate the bitterness of sorrow's cup by another, which may for a time dull the sense of pain and grief, but which has often tied and bound in the chain of evil habit the sufferer who has had life-long reason to regret, that by such relief from suffering, he fell into such depths of sin. Others, to divert the mind from anxious and sorrowful thoughts, have welcomed the visits of some ungodly but gay companion, whose jokes and tales have engendered a lasting preference for such society. Others again have sought relief in worldly pleasures, in more than questionable entertainments, in trashy tales suggestive of evil, which, after the transitory diversion, have left permanent wounds on the soul.
Temptation itself cannot be avoided. It is inherent to our human nature. It assailed the holy Christ. But it is one thing for temptation to come to us, and quite another for us to enter into it. Once willingly enter and we may ramble further and further among thickets, bogs, and precipices; whence if we return it will be with garments muddied and torn, with wounds and bruises and saddest memories. "See that you ENTER not into temptation."
"A green log is safe in company of a candle;" yes, but with a few shavings and some dry sticks the green log yields to the flames. Satan seldom assails first with great temptations. Skillful general! he makes his approaches gradually, by zig-zag trenches creeps towards the fortress he intends to storm, and then suddenly unmasks his batteries. After defeat he fakes retreat, but lurks in secret ambuscades. Though the flame has been extinguished, the ashes may be smouldering. Our old sins may be conquered-yet not quite killed. We have rejoiced over their funeral; but, unless we watch, they may rise up from their coffins, and with all the added horrors of the grave, may seek to bring us back, hopeless captives of death. All along the path we need the reiterated warning-Watch!
The chief danger is the first, and the first is yielding to drowsiness. Extinguish the feeble flame which might cause a conflagration. To safeguard the citadel, resist the preliminary assault on the outworks. To escape the plague, breathe not infection. To keep from sin, enter not into temptation; and therefore slumber not, but watch!
Avoid what are called LITTLE sins. No sin can be really little, committed against the holy laws of conscience and of God. Little faults may be the beginnings of great ones; to save the big ship, stop the small leak. The deadly upas-tree is in the seed, the poisonous serpent in the egg, the fierce tiger in the playful cub. A number of little wounds may kill-as surely as one deep gash; a small vein kept open, may drain away the life-stream as fatally as a main artery.
The greatest peril is the slumber which renders us indifferent to all temptation. It steals on us by imperceptible degrees; pleads the excuse of necessary repose; flatters by the hope of fitting for future toil; asks but a brief indulgence. It binds with films of such silken softness that we dream we can break them when we will; but alas, what mighty cords can be twisted from these thin threads! Some dangers are limited to certain portions of our pilgrimage-this haunts the whole. When once overcome by it all other foes are ready to start from their hiding-places to wound, if not to capture or to kill.
Occasional explosions in coal-mines indicate the danger always lurking there. One candle carelessly exposed may rouse the lurking foe. Into the daily atmosphere of life may suddenly be injected the inflammable vapor of deadly temptation. Our only safety-lamp is the grace of God watchfully held. We carry about with us easily besetting temptations, highly combustible, which an accidental rub may ignite! If we cannot throw them off, how necessary to watch lest they burst into flame!
Watchfulness implies EXERTION. A sailor on the watch sees the rocks ahead, and warns the pilot to alter his course. The captain of a ship observes the fall of the barometer, and gives his orders to take in sail. A soldier on the watch spies the foe, and resists the attack. And a Christian on the watch not only observes but acts, conquers as well as detects evil, does his duty as well as recognizes it. As the householder in the parable, keeping watch, he "does not allow his house to be broken into;" as the faithful servant, he improves his talents, and when his Master knocks, is watching that "he may open to Him immediately."
Watchfulness and prayerfulness are intimately connected, and must not be separated. Watchfulness represents the human phase of the religious life; prayer the Divine. The former prompts effort, the latter dependence. Watch! as if salvation depended on ourselves; pray! as if it were to be accomplished entirely by God. Both are one. To watch without prayer would be sinful self-reliance; to pray without watchfulness would be sinful indolence.
We must pray in order to watch, because this is spiritual life in exercise, and prayer for the Spirit of life sustains it. We must pray to continue to watch, for the increase of the willingness, for support in the weakness. How can we keep watchful in drowsiness, and resist the foe in weakness, without prayer to One mighty to save? "My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He who keeps you will not slumber." Our Fellow-Sufferer, now on the throne, "is able to save to the uttermost, seeing He ever lives to make intercession for us." And "the Spirit helps our infirmities." We do not pray alone.
We must also watch that we may pray. "Be sober and watch unto prayer. Continue in prayer, and watch in the same." Watch against distracting thoughts in prayer. Chrysostom says, "The devil knows how good a thing is prayer, therefore he so greatly tries to hinder it." Watch for opportunities to pray. Plausible pretexts abound for neglect, especially in seasons of great sorrow and weakness. Besides fixed seasons for prayer let us watch for opportunities amid the labors of the day. Rowland Hill used to commend spontaneous prayer, because "it flies up to heaven before the devil can get a shot at it." Watch for answers to prayer. Watch to fulfill the duties arising from such answers. If blessings are given, watch to be grateful; if strength, to exert it; if knowledge, to use it; if opportunities, to improve them. Greater spiritual mercies demand greater self-sacrifice. If we feel more love, do we render more service? If comforted, do we the more try to comfort others?
As our Lord went again and again to the disciples whom He had commanded to watch and pray, so He is ever going the rounds of His camp and sees whether His soldiers, whom He still bids to watch with Him, are vigilant and active in resisting the tempter, guarding His Church, promoting His kingdom, and preparing for His coming. As affliction is a season in which we may specially glorify Him, so also it is a season in which we may sadly fail by sleeping when we should watch and pray.
How great was the loss of the disciples! Such a privilege as keeping watch with the Savior in His great struggle, helping Him by their vigilance, comforting Him by their sympathy-was offered only to those three, of all mankind. When Jesus, in preexistent form as the Angel of Jehovah, appeared to Moses "in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush," the prophet turned aside "to see this great sight why the bush was not burnt." He hid his face with reverence, and took his shoes from off his feet, and listened to all the words of God. But there was a greater wonder in Gethsemane when, not an olive-tree, but the Angel Jehovah Himself was enduring the flames from which He came forth unscathed and glorified-a sight which angels watched with wonder, which eternity will celebrate.
The opportunity never returned. This was the very last hour in which the disciples would be alone with Him. He was now to be delivered to His foes. Would not the neglect of such a privilege, the failure of love and duty at such a time, be a constant regret?
When Jesus returned to them "and found them asleep again He left them and went away again." Emphatic congruity-a double "again"-their sleeping and His leaving them. If the first sad remonstrance availed not, was it as likely another would rouse them as it was that it would increase their guilt? A third time He returned-and still they were slumbering. It was now too late. The traitor was at hand. What grief of disappointed love is in the words, "Sleep on now, and take your rest; behold the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."
From the companionship of friends, who should have watched and wept with Him, He was to be seized by foes who would mock and slay Him. The disciples might now sleep on, so far as any help they might have rendered was concerned. Sleep on now-if you can! They would not rouse themselves at the voice of the Savior-now they are to be roused by the voice of the betrayer. Yet even now their Lord cares for them. They would be in danger of being captured if they remained in the garden. "Rise, let us be going; behold he who betrays me is at hand." Those who will not rouse up at the voice of Jesus are likely to be roused by that of calamity. But, "better be alarmed by swords and spears than left to perish in false security."
By lack of watchfulness they fell into sin. Christ left it to their choice, to sleep on, or to go to their homes, or to keep near Him in His trial. This last they would have done had they been prepared for the trial by watchfulness and prayer. But they all "forsook Him and fled." By lack of watchfulness the most zealous of them fell into the perilous folly of smiting with the sword, and afterwards into profane denial of all knowledge of his Lord. Spiritual slumber is the precursor of sin. After the first awakening of the soul from death there is constant need of the rousing call-Awake! "Let us not sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober."
Trial that is sanctified is a great blessing; but when we do not, by watchfulness and prayer, seek sanctifying grace, it may be an occasion of grievous injury. Sorrow is not safety. Affliction is no barrier against temptation. The garden of grief is not so fortified that the foe cannot gain access. The slumber of grief may be troubled by dreams of sin, in which fancies may appear facts. Vain desires, evil imaginations, self-indulgent impulses may enter the encampment if the sentries slumber, to pollute, to injure, to steal, if not to slay.
Eve must have been unwatchful when the arch-enemy suggested taking the forbidden fruit. Milton represents the guardian angels as detecting Satan in the act of whispering evil to her when asleep in Paradise-
"Him there they found,
Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve;
Assaying by his devilish art to reach
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams;
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires
Blown up with high conceit engend'ring pride."
(Paradise Lost, Book 4.)
Surely if the tempter could thus enter the Garden of Eden, as yet unclouded by sin, we have special reasons, in our garden of grief, to watch and pray.
In our grief we may be comforted by our Lord's injunction in Gethsemane. He who says "Watch" is watching over us. He who bids us "Pray" is interceding for us. The more we watch, the more of His words of comfort we shall hear. The more we pray, the more of His supporting grace we shall receive. The more we watch and pray in our tribulation, the more conscious communion with Him we shall enjoy, the more ready we shall be to embrace opportunities of serving Him, the more comfort we shall obtain by comforting others, and so forgetting our own troubles in ministering to theirs.
"Christian, seek not yet repose,
Cast your dreams of ease away;
You are in the midst of foes:
'Watch and pray.'
"Hear the victors who o'ercame,
Still they mark each warrior's way;
All with warning voice exclaim
'Watch and pray.'
"Hear, above all, hear your Lord,
Him you love to obey;
Hide within your heart His word
'Watch and pray.'
"Watch, as if on that alone
Hung the balance of the day;
Pray, that help may be sent down
'Watch and pray.'" C. E. Elliott.
HallN GLHGG: 13. The Strengthening Angel
"And there appeared an angel unto Him from heaven, strengthening Him."
Our Lord had in vain sought wakeful sympathy from His three human friends, and returned with an additional burden to solitary communion with His Father. To supply their lack, an angel was sent from heaven to strengthen Him in visible form and audible voice, and prove to His depressed humanity that the invisible God was there, seeing His tears, hearing His groans, answering His prayers.
As Jesus was removed only a stone's cast, the disciples, just aroused, could see in the moonlight, this heavenly visitant. Most probably he came, as angels on other occasions, in human form. Which of the angels enjoyed the distinguished honor of being sent direct from the Father in response to the prayer of the Son? Alas for the disciples, who by sleeping, had forfeited the privilege of rendering such ministry!
In what manner was strength imparted? To the body, wasted as it was with struggle and woe, "even unto death?" As the angel revealed to Hagar the water which saved Ishmael; and as an angel provided the cake and cruse of water for Elijah, did this strengthening angel sustain in some manner the body of our Lord, to enable Him to endure the agony and finish the work?
Was it strength to the human soul by the tender sympathy which the disciples failed to express; invigoration of His sensitive and saddened heart, to bear up under desertion of friends and malignity of foes?
How often have men ready to faint been made strong by sympathy, courageous by kindness! How often have gentle words of love roused the hero to fresh deeds of valor, and the tender tones or tears of friendship been the prelude to the shout of victory! There is no such strength as that which love can give. The love of God makes the feeblest of men mighty to overcome the world, the flesh, and the devil. "Your gentleness has made me great." Was it thus the angel was "strengthening Him?"
Was it strength imparted to the higher nature, the spirit of the Divine Man? Was it by suggesting, at this hour of fierce temptation, the greatness of the work He was now about to complete-the salvation of mankind, and thereby the manifestation of the Divine glory-the work He had come expressly to accomplish, which was dear to His heart, which was now so very near its completion? Was it by holding before those sorrow-streaming eyes the crown which the cross would win, the ocean of everlasting gladness the bitter cup would open, so that He "for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame?"
Of this we may be sure, that the visit of the angel, direct from heaven, was an assurance that He was not forsaken by God, and that the cup of agony would pass, if not by His being spared it, yet by His being strengthened to drink it.
What a wonder is here! The Eternal Word incarnate, having assumed the nature of man, and made "lower than the angels," needs and accepts support from one of His creatures! The Lord of angels, in His weakness and woe, is sustained and strengthened by one of the countless host who had bowed before His throne in worship, and had hastened to fulfill His every command. "Jesus was pleased to receive comfort from His servants just as God receives comfort from His creatures; and as we feel pleasure when a friendly hand lays upon our wound the plaster which ourselves have made." (Jeremy Taylor.) This ministry exhibited the extremity of the woe which needed it, and the vastness of the love which stooped to such need.
Why should the existence and ministry of angels be regarded by any one as impossible, and such belief the offspring of credulous superstition?
A law of the natural world is 'agency by instruments'-one great Efficient working by second causes. He makes day and night, summer and winter, instrumentally, by the motions of the earth. In causing the grass to grow, He employs the showers; in bringing the showers, the clouds; in producing the clouds, the sun; in preserving man and beast, one generation for ministering to the next. He cares for children; "it is not His will that one of these little ones should perish," and the parents are naturally His angels on earth, while "their angels do always behold the face of their Father in heaven."
The less minister to the greater, and the greater to the less. All the lower orders of being minister to man. Are there no higher orders to minister to him, even as he, the greater, ministers to so many less?
But are there any greater? Why not? Below man are countless orders of graduated life, from infusoria to quadruped, from mollusc to mammal. Above man up to the Creator is Infinity. Does nothing exist in that interval? Man is the first in the upward series possessing a soul; does the progression end here? May there not be above him modes of intelligent existence even as below him there are modes of unintelligent? What the Bible reveals in the spiritual world has its analogy in the natural.
The Old Testament records many instances of such ministry, while the New Testament crowds into the history of a few years a much larger proportionate number. ANGELS predicted the birth of Christ's forerunner and of Himself, sang His Advent hymn, sustained Him in the desert and the Garden, gathered around Calvary, rolled away the stone from the sepulcher, announced His resurrection, and attended His ascension. Continuing this ministry to His disciples, they opened prison doors for their escape, smote Herod their persecutor, brought to Cornelius the answer to his prayers, assured Paul of safety in the storm, and were beheld by John surrounding the throne in numberless array, singing the anthem of delivering grace.
"There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." They must, therefore, take deep interest in the facts and truths relating to the Savior's kingdom. "Which things the angels desire to look into." They will share the final triumph "when the Son of Man shall come in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him." Their voices will swell the Hallelujah Chorus of the skies. "I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne, and the number of them was ten thousand times ten thousand and thousands of thousands, saying, with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb who was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing."
We must necessarily be interested in the character and qualifications of such allies. We may infer that they were created before Adam, because nothing is said of their origin, and their pre-existence is taken for granted. With faculties originally higher than our own, they have had ages during which to acquire knowledge and wisdom. They have the wealth of experience derived from such long existence. We may, therefore, suppose their intelligence.
Sinless, their faculties have not been impaired by moral imperfection. Doubtless they were tempted when Satan and his angels fell, but they were kept from falling. Christ spoke of His second appearing "with the holy angels." They cannot, therefore, be influenced by any unworthy impulse. They are sure zealously to carry out all the purposes of a God of holy love.
Being sinless, they are deathless-for sin is death. "Those who are accounted worthy to attain that world cannot die any more, for they are equal to the angels."
They are strong. "The Lord Jesus will be revealed from heaven with His mighty angels." Their strength is seen in their actions as revealed. They are thus appealed to-"Bless the Lord, you His angels who excel in strength."
They are loyal-for they "do His commandments, hearkening to the voice of His word." We pray that His will may be done on earth as it is done in heaven. With unanimity, constancy, promptitude, cheerfulness, they carry out all His loving purposes towards us.
Because of such loyalty they are beneficent-for His will is love; and, because also of their own nature, they take special interest in our welfare. The Good Shepherd is sure of their sympathy when He says, "Rejoice with Me, for I have found the sheep which I had lost."
These heavenly allies are numerous-"The chariots of God are twenty thousand." As on Sinai, in the holy place, so at the Nativity there was "a multitude of the heavenly host," and both Daniel and John beheld their "thousands of thousands." Our Lord when leaving Gethsemane knew that "more than twelve legions of angels" would be sent for His rescue, if He needed them. These multitudes of celestial beings are employed for us. Unseen, they are our companions-companions before we reach their abode. Already "we have come to an innumerable company of angels."
The Word of God assures us that their ministry is rendered to all His people in general, and not merely to the special saints respecting whom such intervention is recorded. "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about those who fear Him." So we say that a general encamps round about a city. The Arabs thus encamp round their chief, whose tent is in the center. So did the Israelites round the Tabernacle, three tribes on each side. This teaches us the completeness of our defense. No part is left exposed to the foe, who cannot, by sudden assault, rush in to destroy us. The angel-circuit must first be broken. It suggests permanence; not such help as may be given by an escort which guards us to a certain point and then returns, but abiding support. It is personal permanence, not local. The escort keeps with the travelers, and does not, as a garrison, remain in the fortress after those travelers have left it. Angels not only encamp where we tarry, but strike tents and accompany us when we move forward.
The idea of vigilance is connected with encamping. Not as troops who have returned home, or are dwelling in a city. Angels are camping out with us on hostile ground-
"They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love and nothing for reward:
O why should heavenly God to men have such regard?"
(Spenser.)
In that wonderful outburst of holy confidence for all who "dwell in the secret place of the Most High," recorded in Psalm 91, we are told that He gives His angels charge concerning them, lest at any time they dash their feet against a stone. Not only are they often employed in rescuing believers from harm which obviously threatens, but in guarding them from unseen danger-not only from great perils, but from those little obstacles, as "stones," which cause discomfort if not disaster.
The writer to the Hebrews asks, not in doubtful inquiry but in confident assurance, "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for those who shall be heirs of salvation?" All of them are servants of God employed for the saints; all of them are sent forth to minister; all of them are engaged on behalf of all who, by faith in Christ, are "heirs of salvation."
We become heirs of salvation when, by faith, we become children of God, and thus "joint-heirs with Christ." Then angels rejoice over a sinner that repenteth. If they rejoice in our spiritual birth, will they not be interested in our growth? If they exult at the beginning of such life, will they not watch over and help its development? If evil angels are busy to mislead us, will not holy angels be at hand to counteract such agency and help us along the narrow road? Will they not do what they can, by command and help of their Lord, to draw us out of the Slough of Despond, to help, as Great-heart, up every Hill Difficulty, to rescue from the dungeons of Despair, to cheer in the dark valley, to rouse from slumber in the Enchanted Ground, to gladden in the Land of Beulah, to unfold bright visions as we cross the river, and with songs of bliss accompany us to the Celestial City?
Is it too much to believe that the same "helmed cherubim and sworded seraphim" who attended their Lord, attend also on His humblest friends?-that the bright-harnessed angels," who "all about the courtly stable" sat "in order serviceable," (Milton) are also round about many other manger-beds, and make many lowly hovels "courtly?"
How priceless is the sympathetic help of friends in our garden of grief-when, by voice or touch or tear we have been animated with new courage-whose tender sympathy and wise counsels have rendered them verily angels of God, raised up on earth yet sent by Heaven. But even the kindest may fail. Because our trouble seems to them light, some may think it should be light to ourselves. They cannot understand all our hidden, unspeakable woes; they may have absorbing sorrows of their own. Do angels sometimes supply the lack?
Have we never felt as if an unseen helper was with us? Sometimes, in great perplexity, not knowing how to take the very next step, light has suddenly shone upon the path, and a voice has seemed to speak-"This is the way, walk in it." Sometimes, when grievously tempted, and ready to faint or yield, some "sword of the Spirit" has been put into our hand, and we have exclaimed, "Rejoice not against me, O my enemy!" In some grievous sorrow, when we felt as if body and soul would sink beneath the weight of our cares, an invisible friend has seemed to interpose and lighten the burden, so that we could bear it. Sometimes, when the gloom has been that of the shadow of death, and not a star has glimmered, a gentle radiance has lighted up the darkness, as though some lustrous form, direct from the realms of light, had come to cheer us. When bound hand and foot with despondency, our chains have sometimes suddenly fallen, and the dungeon door has opened, as though by the visit of the angel who rescued Peter. When the storm has been furious, and our little boat ready to sink, there has been a sudden calm as though He who rebuked the waves of Galilee had sent an angel over the waves to repeat His own word, "Be not afraid."
"It may be that God will not send such a comforter until after a long expectation and a patient sufferance, and an enduring hope. But know this also, that the holy angel and the Lord of all the angels stands by every holy person when he prays; and although He draws before His glories the curtain of a cloud, yet in every instant He takes care we shall not perish, and at a right time dissolves the cloud, and makes it to distill in holy dew, and in drops sweet as manna, pleasant as nard, and wholesome as the breath of heaven." (Jeremy Taylor.)
Surely we may indulge the hope that angels will be near to encourage us in the hour of death, as with our Lord when anticipating the cross so near at hand. Having "ministered" to us all along the journey will they not be with us at its close? Numberless deathbeds of saints have been thus attended, unless we are to suppose that testimonies so many and varied have all been the utterance of delusions. Aged believers and little children, philosophers and rustics, have alike seemed to see and hear attendant angels brightening the darkened chamber, and thrilling it with unearthly harmonies.
Let this comfort us in the departure of those we love. They are taken from us, but are received by angels. Earthly companionships are exchanged for heavenly. Mourning relatives were not the only watchers at their bedside. Rejoicing angels were there, to gladden their departing spirits with visions of glory even amid the gloom of the grave. Let us also take courage in view of our own decease. We know not where this may happen, but wherever it may be, it will become to us the gate of heaven.
A stone was Heaven's gate when Jacob slept
And saw the sparkling causeway to the skies:
Thus, every spot on which a Christian dies,
O'er whose long sleep heart-broken friends have wept,
Has been Heaven's portal, whence a soul has leapt
To glory, waking up with glad surprise.
The chamber, hallowed home of love and prayer,
The couch, the empty cot, the old arm-chair,
The sea, the ship, the crag, the mountain-side,
The deepest mine-where'er 'tis said, "he died,"
Has witnessed angels ministering there.
Each Christian death-place bears the title given,
This is the house of God, the gate of Heaven.
-Newman Hall on the death of his friend, C. E. Reed, Secretary of the Bible Society, from a fall on the Morteratsch Glacier, July 29, 1884.
Superstitious abuse of this truth has sometimes produced a recoil from the subject altogether. But we must bear in mind that whatever that ministry may be, it is merely instrumental, by direction and help of the Lord of angels. Scripture gives no sanction to prayers offered to them, as it encourages no assurance that such prayers are heard. For this, Omnipresence and Omniscience would be needed. Our prayers are to be offered to God alone, in the name of Jesus alone. He is everywhere, and listens to every supplication. When John "fell down to worship before the feet of the angel," who showed him the wonders recorded in the book of Revelation, the angel at once repudiated such homage, saying, "Don't do this, for I am your fellow-servant, and of them which keep the sayings of this book-worship God."
The angels are only His servants, to execute His will. We thank Him for the help He thus affords by them. Above all, we rely on the "other Comforter" whom Jesus promised to "abide with us forever," and on His own assured presence-"I am with you always." We may rest confident that He who needed the angel to strengthen Him will not leave us alone in our garden of grief.
While comforted by the thought of angelic support, let us look for such visits, not to lull us to sleep, but to rouse us to action; not to lead us away from the gymnasium and the battle, but to animate for the hardship and the strife; not to bring us out of Gethsemane, but to strengthen us, as our Lord, to "pray more earnestly." So the angels met Jacob, to teach him how to wrestle in prayer, "as a prince to have power with man and with God," and go forward to meet Esau; to Gideon, saying, "The Lord is with you, O mighty man of valor; go in this your might against the Midianites;" to Elijah, that by strength received he might return to duty; to Paul, saying, "You must appear before Caesar;" and to Christ, encouraging Him to endure the cross.
We may all share in some degree the privilege of the angel who strengthened Jesus, by strengthening His weak disciples, by fellowship with the lonely, by companionship in watching and prayer, by leading to Christ those over whose repentance angels rejoice. "Forasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, you have done it unto Me." If the grief of our own garden is too great for us, as sufferers, let us go out of it to some other sufferer's garden on an errand of sympathy. In thus acting as ministering angels we may sometimes forget our own griefs. Such leaves of Gethsemane applied to others will help to heal our own wounds.
HallN GLHGG: 14. The Answer to the Prayer of Gethsemane
"O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, YOUR WILL BE DONE."
"He was heard for His godly fear."
The remarkable passage in the Epistle to the Hebrews, supplementing the Gospel narrative, says of Christ, the High Priest of the Church-"Who in the days of His flesh, having offered up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and tears, unto Him that was able to save Him from death, and having been heard for His godly fear, though He was a Son, yet learned obedience by the things which He suffered" (Heb. 5:7, 8)
Two important questions arise-
What was the prayer?
How was it heard?
The prayer being addressed to "Him who was able to save Him from death" has been interpreted by some to mean a request to be delivered from the impending crucifixion. If so, the prayer was not heard. Consequently this was not the request. A marginal note in the R.V. says "Out of death." And some have considered that our Lord prayed that, though He must die, death might be the speedy entrance to the life beyond. Thus He prayed for the Resurrection and Ascension, and so was heard.
The Old Version renders the clause, "He was heard in that He feared," and many interpreters have maintained that the prayer was answered by our Lord being delivered from the oppressively agonizing fear which had prompted the prayer-"Let this cup pass from me." But some of the best scholars are of opinion that the word rendered fear never means the fear of terror, but of reverence, and that the meaning of the clause cannot be from but on account of this reverence. Dean Alford renders "He was heard on account of His pious resignation;" and the R.V. "He was heard for His godly fear."
Although no child of God would claim merit for resignation, yet this is a condition of mind which may render it suitable for God to grant our requests. It may be good for us to obtain what we ask when willing to forego it, and not before. We are more likely to be heard when we yield to His will than when we press our own. Our Lord was our perfect Example. We often begin by making our own wishes paramount, and gradually let them recede behind the will of God. But our Lord, throughout this agony of prayer, desired supremely that the will of His Father might be done.
But why is it said that the prayer was addressed to "Him who was able to save Him from death?" As already explained, His humanity shrank from the sufferings of both body and mind awaiting Him. Had the cup not been to Him bitter, had the cross not been torture, had such a death not been agony, He would not have been really human-the "Son of Man;" and so He shuddered in view of it. But had He relented in purpose, and willed for a moment that His human feelings might prevail over His Father's will, He would not have been our perfect Redeemer and Example. "If he had not felt the cross to be a dread, it had been no sacrifice. If he had allowed the dread to penetrate to His will, He had been no Savior." (Alexander Maclaren). He carried His human fear to One, able, if He chose, to deliver Him from all that He apprehended. It was the prayer of the faith that "God is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him." But while appealing to Him who was able to save Him from a death so terrible, from drinking a cup so bitter, the burden of the prayer from beginning to end was this-"Not my will, but Yours be done."
Thus the prayer in Gethsemane was that of "piety," of "godly fear," of "pious resignation." It was an earnest, importunate pleading for His Father's will, and therefore for help to accomplish it. His humanity was shrinking, the flesh was weak, the devil was tempting, there was an agony of conflict, the "hour of darkness" was striving against the Light; and from the gloom of the deadly combat came forth from the first, reiterated, prevailing over every suggestion of Satan, every desire of the weak though sinless flesh, every prompting of the perfect though sensitive humanity, this conquering cry-"Father! Your will be done!"
This prayer was answered. He was "heard for His godly fear," heard in the one prevailing request which His godliness, His reverence, His filial love dictated. He had come to the world for the very purpose of carrying out the Father's purpose of love-"I delight to do Your will!" And He was heard by being enabled to do it, by the strengthening of His frail body, by the allaying of His human fears, by victory over the foe in this fierce final struggle. His prayer was answered, not by escape from the death in view, but by victory over it, and from all fear of it; so that although He was still to be betrayed, condemned, mocked, scourged, crucified, yet He was heard by deliverance from the agony then crushing both body and spirit, and by invigoration to perform that will of God, the accomplishment of which was the prayer of Gethsemane.
This had been His prayer when He predicted His death, saying, "The hour has come, that the Son of Man should be glorified. Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour-but for this cause came I unto this hour. Father, glorify Your Name." He prayed that His Father might be glorified by strengthening Him to endure the hour, to suffer the death, to realize the glory. Save me out of this hour, not that I may escape it, but that I may endure it, and be delivered out of it by accomplishing the purpose of it-Your Will. (John 12:23-28).
Throughout the whole of His ministry on earth our Lord spoke and acted as the obedient agent of His Father. He "took on Him the form of a servant," and as a servant He regarded the will of God as supreme. "I came not to do my own will, but the will of Him who sent me." It was impossible for Him to have any aim or wish that might interfere with His dominant purpose. The will of the Father was the will of the Son, and the prayer which was heard was for the strength needed for the execution of that will.
The first evidence of this was the angel sent from the Father as the minister of such invigoration. "There appeared an angel unto Him from heaven, strengthening Him." Here was a direct, immediate, visible answer-the angel of invigoration, giving strength for the doing of the will.
The reality of the invigoration was evident in the behavior of the Sufferer in all that followed. The agony had not at once become less, but power to endure it had increased. The prayer was not feebler by weariness, but stronger in importunity. "Being in agony he prayed the more earnestly." This was itself an answer, in the evidence of strength bestowed; not rendering the Father more willing to hear, but solacing the Sufferer in such utterance of His deepest desires, and in the increased assurance that the Father who helped His infirmities so to pray, would assuredly "hear Him for His godly fear."
The infirmity of the humanity was now exchanged for the strength communicated in answer to the prayer. The form was no longer prostrate but erect. The cries were hushed. No more tears were shed. Calm had succeeded conflict. The spirit ever willing was now directing the flesh no longer weak. Jesus rose from prayer, woke the sleepers, warned them of the danger, and advanced to meet the foe. "Rise up, let us be going; behold he is at hand who betrays me." There was no idea of escape. "Let us be going," not away from, but towards the traitor. The hand which had shrunk from the cup when not actually presented was now stretched out to receive it.
Capture might have been avoided. Amid the shadow of the great trees, behind the rocks, or in the caves and tombs, hiding-places might have been found, until at dawn of day Christ and His disciples might have reappeared amid the admiring crowds at Jerusalem, whom a few miracles might have aroused to an enthusiasm which their rulers would not dare to provoke. Apart from Divine knowledge, His human faculties, all awake as He was, must have detected the moving lights and increasing murmur of the crowd. But there was no attempt at flight or concealment. He Himself advanced to meet His captors, and was the first to speak.
Judas was now approaching, "and with him a great multitude, with swords and knives, from the chief priests and the scribes, and the elders." There were also present some of the Roman Guard from the Tower of Antonia, whose special duty was to keep order in the Temple, and so were sent to secure the one charged with gathering disorderly crowds there, and promoting sedition. A small rabble of men leagued against twelve legions of angels! Soldiers of the decaying Empire to bind the Lord of Heaven and earth! Priests of the perishing temple to drag to death the everlasting High Priest!
"Jesus, knowing all things that should come on Him, went forth, and said unto them, Whom do you seek? They said, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus said unto them, I am He." He was ready for their wicked will, made ready in answer to prayer. So sublime was His fortitude, such dignity combined with such sorrow in His demeanor, that they, surprised, confounded, self-condemned, in a moment of terror, shrank backward on the rocky, sloping ground-stumbling in confusion against each other and lying prostrate, so that escape even then would have been easy. "They went backward and fell to the ground." Without the need of any miracle to effect this, they were overawed by the majestic dignity and courage which proved that His prayer had been heard.
Rallying after brief discomfiture, the motley crowd again advanced. For a moment they were irresolute, Judas also "stood with them." They seemed uncertain whom to seize. The calmness of Jesus was again evident in His repeated inquiry, "Whom do you seek?" "They said, Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus answered, I have told you that I am He-If therefore you seek Me, let these go their way." His composure was seen in thoughtful care for others. "You have said you seek only Jesus of Nazareth. I have repeatedly told you I am He. My name alone is in your warrant, and you cannot detain my friends. Let them go where they will."
The officers still hesitated. Could it be that the 'dangerous criminal', the formidable conspirator and leader of sedition, was thus, without an attempt at resistance or concealment, offering Himself to bonds, and probably to death? Might not one of His confederates be pretending to be the Chief, so that the object of pursuit might meanwhile escape? The doubt was removed by Judas, who now gave the sign, preconcerted to avoid mistake. "And forthwith he came to Jesus, and said, Hail, Master; and kissed Him."
The answer to the prayer was revealed also in the Lord's address to Judas. The quiet, sad, pathetic, but searching question-"Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?"-proved how calm and strong He had become.
Still more was the fact that our Lord "was heard" evident from those precious words, "The cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?" He had first prayed that the cup might pass from Him, if possible. This was not possible. Then-"If this cup may not pass from me unless I drink it, Your Will be done." The unconditional prayer was this-"Your Will be done"-Whatever the cost, however painful the process. So His prayer was really heard by the being strengthened to do that Will for which He prayed. He no longer says, "Let the cup pass from me," but "Shall I not drink it?"
Thus it was that Christ was "heard for His godly fear." His repeated, paramount, agonizing prayer was for the accomplishment of His Father's Will. His "godly fear" was this godly longing for the will of God. He "was heard" in the invigoration He needed. The angel from Heaven strengthened Him. The "other Comforter" possessed His soul. His Heavenly Father was consciously near. The frail body was upheld by the willing human spirit, both now made invincibly strong by the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.
Thus he was enabled to drive away the tempter, to meet the betrayer, to advance towards the cross, to drink the cup; and thus His prayer was answered, "Your will be done." "He was heard." Thus let us desire an answer to the prayer of our grief and our best consolation, in grace sufficient to bear the burden, to drink the cup, to carry the cross, to suffer and to do the will of our Father.
HallN GLHGG: 15. Deliverance in Trial by Strength to do the Will of God
"You answered me, and strengthened me with strength in my soul."-Psalm 138:3
Sufferers in Gethsemane are comforted by seeing, in this example, that prayer is answered when strength is imparted to suffer and do God's will. We are apt to think that our prayers are in vain when the very request is not granted. We pray to be spared such and such a trial-pain, sickness, poverty, bereavement. These continue. Though we ask to be spared the bitter cup, it is still presented. Can the promise be fulfilled, "All things whatever you shall ask in my Name shall be granted"? But what do we ask in Christ's Name beyond that which He himself asked, that the will of God may be done? If we ask anything irrespective of His will, it cannot be in the Name-that is, in the spirit-of Him who prayed in Gethsemane. In every request which is really Christian, we therefore pray, "Father, not my will, but Yours be done." If so, His will becomes our will, and our prayer is heard when we receive strength to do it or suffer it.
To continue to pray, even when there is no outward answer in the removal of the trial, is itself an answer; for it is a proof of strength bestowed, without which we should cease to pray. To persevere in duty, as did Christ; to be gentle towards failing friends; to be forgiving towards foes and traitors; to be willing to suffer rather than sin by evading duty; to refuse deliverance when within our power, if at the cost of conscience; to be in the furnace and not murmur; to toil up the rugged hill and not look back-surely this is the answer to our prayer, when our supreme desire is to be strengthened to do the will of God.
Faith conquers when we are resigned to trials we cannot escape; but it is "more than conqueror" when we wrestle with difficulties or endure agony which it is in our power to avoid, but which we gladly embrace as the will of God. "Christ's was the quiet surrender of what was His, because He could not both have it and yet do His work and save the world. We talk of the glory of resignation to the inevitable; but the true glory is resignation to the evitable. To stand unchained, with perfect power to go away, and so standing to let the fire creep up to the heart-that is the truer heroism. When Christ refused to call the angels to His help the strength which was implied in the support of the angels was surely entering into Him, and making Him ready for the battle which He was just about to fight." (Phillips Brooks)
Trials may obstruct our path, which we feel unable to surmount. We pray, "O Lord, remove the mountain. Have You not promised such an answer to the prayer of faith? Is anything impossible with You? But Your will be done." The mountain remains in all its threatening inaccessibility. But new strength is imparted to the body, new courage to the soul. An invisible Hand is stretched forth and grasps our own. Now we begin to climb with cheerful hope, higher and higher above the clouds of doubt and despondency, until we breathe the exhilarating air and revel in the glorious landscape of the summit. Then we go on our way with invigorated powers, happy memories, useful experiences, confirmed hopes. Is not this a true answer? Is not such strength to climb the mountain its practical removal? Is it not better? Its removal would be but one event and relief. Strength to climb it remains in permanent invigoration of character, and has results enduring as eternity.
When Moses was summoned to go and demand the liberation of captive Israel, he earnestly prayed for the removal of such a mountain. He pleaded his weakness-"Who am I, that I should go unto Pharaoh?"-his lack of credentials and of eloquence, and at length presumed to say, "O Lord, send, I pray you, by the hand of him whom You will send." The work must be done by himself, and his prayer was heard in strength given-"Certainly I will be with you; I will put forth My hand; I will be your mouth and teach you what you shall speak." Thus the mountain was removed by strength to climb it. Was it not better for Moses that he should thus be the great Lawgiver and Deliverer of the chosen people of God, and a blessing to the world, than that he should have had his first wish, and spend his remaining years in feeding a few sheep in the wilderness?
Prayer in trial is often answered with a fuller blessing, by strength for trial, than by escape from trial. David's experience has been shared by multitudes-"In the day that I cried, You answered me, and strengthened me with strength in my soul." The answer to the cry was by strength to endure the cause. This answer came at once-on the same day-in the strength so to pray and so to endure. We cannot escape conflict; it is better to fight and conquer. "Without combat you can not attain patience. If unwilling to suffer you refuse to be crowned. Without labor there is no arriving at rest, nor without fighting can the victory be won." (Thomas a Kempis.) Our prayer is answered when we can say-"God is my strength; He teaches my hands to war. You have girded me with strength to the battle." We ask for peace, and He answers by grace to win it. "The Lord will give strength to His people; He will bless His people with peace;" with peace, by strength. When we have felt too weak to encounter the difficulty and bear the sorrow-He has put this new song into our mouth, "You have been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress;" and then, instead of hesitating in any perilous or painful path, we have exclaimed-"I will go in the strength of the Lord God."
Trial endured by help from God is better than trial shunned. It was better for Columbus to go forward in spite of Atlantic storms and a murmuring crew than to seek inglorious shelter in some tranquil harbor or royal palace. He who has fought many battles, which have left many scars, is a better soldier than another who has lived secure in the barracks. And the Christian who prays for the help of God is no loser when enabled to fight the good fight, however fierce, rather than being spared the struggle. If with severer trial more strength is bestowed, we may rather desire than shun that which brings the more abundant grace. If more than for ease a Christian prays to be "strengthened with all might by God's Spirit in the inner man," he should not lament the necessity which brings the supply. It was better for Abel to be strengthened to suffer martyrdom than to be spared the persecution; for such avoidance would have been fruitless in result, whereas by strength to endure it, "He, being dead, yet speaks."
Against the powers of darkness,
With hellish craft and rage,
Our heavenly Captain calls us
Incessant war to wage.
But who would ask exemption
From such a noble fight?
All needful strength is promised,
We struggle for the right.
We'll bless You for the battle,
We'll glory in the strife;
We'll shout at call of trumpet,
We'll win eternal life.
Strong in the strength of Jesus,
And in His spirit brave,
Crowned through eternal ages
We'll sing His power to save!
-Newman Hall
The disciples, left alone after the Ascension, might dread the hostility of those who had murdered their Lord, and pray to escape. But their request was better answered by the assurance, "You shall receive power, after the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you shall be my witnesses"-Greek, martyrs. They were to bear testimony even unto death by strength bestowed, and then to become founders of the Church, teachers and examples for the world. Paul prayed to be relieved from his thorn in the flesh, but it was better that he still had to endure it when assured by Christ, "My strength is made perfect in weakness;" so that he said, "I glory in weakness, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." Thus Christian martyrs were rescued, not from slimy cell, galling chains, hungry lions, fiery faggots, but by strength to suffer, and so conquer-strength not merely to submit to force, but of their own free will to welcome the furnace, to kiss the cross. And the blood of the martyrs became the seed of the Church. So, ever since, the 'Gethsemane of conflict' has been the sure pathway to the 'Calvary of conquest' and the 'Olivet of glory'. All who, like their Lord, have "offered up prayers and supplications with strong crying and tears" unto Him who was able to save them from sorrows and death, yet with supreme desire that the will of God might be done, "have been heard for their pious resignation;" and their true request has been granted in strength bestowed to do that will.
"Peace! doubting heart; my God's I am!
Who formed me man, forbids my fear
The Lord has called me by my name;
The Lord protects, forever near;
His blood for me did once atone,
And still He loves and guards His own.
"When passing through the watery deep,
I ask in faith His promised aid,
The waves a dreadful distance keep,
And shrink from my devoted head;
Fearless their violence I dare;
They cannot harm, for God is there!
"To Him my eye of faith I turn,
And through the fire pursue my way-
The fire forgets its power to burn,
The lambent flames around me play;
I own His power, accept the sign,
And shout to prove the Savior mine.
"Still near me, O my Savior, stand!
And guard in fierce temptation's hour;
Hide in the hollow of Your hand;
Show forth in me Your saving power;
Still be Your arms my sure defense
Nor earth nor hell shall pluck me thence."
(Wesley.)
HallN GLHGG: 16. The Traitor's Kiss
"Judas, do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?"
Glancing at the merely human aspects of the call of Judas, we may suppose that he was first attracted by the eloquence, miracles, and rising fame of the young Prophet. At the first he may have been conscious of no insincerity, and seemed as true-hearted as the others. Thus many in our day experience certain religious emotions and make confession of faith, which their after-life proves to have been like the seed on the rocky ground, springing up hastily, but soon withering from lack of root.
He was naturally covetous, and when the first enthusiasm cooled, yielded to the dominant passion. His seeming integrity induced his intimate companions to trust him as treasurer. This was an opportunity of purloining. He murmured at the cost of the ointment, in professed care for the poor. "This he said, not because he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and having the bag, took away what was put therein." The rebuke on that occasion, the pricking of conscience by the Lord's habitual teaching, the growing lack of accord between his own mind and that of his brethren more and more alienated him; he felt ill at ease. "Two cannot walk together except they are agreed." Disappointed, vexed, and angry, he might gratify both his spleen and avarice by becoming a secret ally of those who openly were the foes of Jesus. He was willing to take a bribe, however paltry. And so he bargained to betray Jesus at a place and time when He might be seized in the absence of the people. He may have expected that when actually captured, Jesus would exert His latent power to establish a temporal kingdom, which might yield Judas greater opportunities of self-aggrandisement. Such may have been the motives prompting him to an act unparalleled in vileness.
This treason was premeditated, deliberate, carefully contrived, and carried out in all its arranged details. He offered his services to the priests; he bargained for a certain sum, doubtless asking more, but willing to take even so contemptible a reward as thirty pieces of silver, which he counted out and put into his bag; he described his proposed method, and himself secured both a cohort of Roman soldiers with their captain, and a posse of police from the Jewish authorities. "Judas, then, having received the band (or cohort) of soldiers and officers from the chief priests and the Pharisees, came there with lanterns and torches and weapons."
In the uncertain light, amid the gloom of the olive grove, it might be possible for the captors to mistake their victim, especially as some of them might never have seen Him face to face. To avoid such contingency, Judas contrived a sign of designation; and this was to be the kiss of friendship, whereby he, as one of the disciples, should thus deliver over their own Leader. In all this there was evidence of careful arrangement to overcome resistance, prevent escape, and avoid mistake. "the one I shall kiss, that is He; take Him, and lead Him away under guard."
Perhaps the upper chamber was first visited. Finding it vacated, the traitor led the way to the retired spot where he had shared the sacred retirement of his Lord. Judas "knew the place, for Jesus ofttimes resorted there with the disciples." He abused the most sacred privileges of trusted intimacy, and his knowledge of the Lord's habits of private prayer and confidential communion, to execute his wicked design.
Jesus, grieved by the slumber of the disciples but invigorated by the ministry of the angel, emerged from the shadows of the Garden and met the traitor at the head of his armed band. After the first surprise and consternation, caused by the unexpected self-surrender and dignified demeanor of Jesus, although He had declared himself to be the Nazarene of whom they were in quest, they seem to have hesitated. Perhaps, having heard of or witnessed some of His miracles, they feared lest supernatural injury would be inflicted on any who laid hostile hand on a Prophet regarded by many as another Elijah. But Judas knew that His power had never been exerted to injure even His worst foes. If the traitor handed Him over with impunity the captors need not hesitate. "And forthwith He came to Jesus, and said, Hail, Rabbi and kissed Him"-with emphasis, as the Revised Version has it in the margin, "Kissed Him much."
A kiss is the sweetest, holiest pledge of faithful friendship, and the heart's true love. We remember still the mother's fond kiss as we lay in the tiny crib-
"Her nightly visits to my chamber made,
That she might know me safe, and warmly laid."
We remember the parting kiss, with the regretful tears, when leaving home for the distant school; and the welcoming kiss on our return, the mother's radiant smiles reflecting more than all the child's delight; the kiss of congratulation on success achieved, and the kiss of sympathy that sweetened sorrow's cup. We think of the kiss that foretells and the kiss that cements the holiest and dearest of earth's relationships, and the last kiss before the lips are stiffened in death; and, yet again, the kiss on the cold marble brow before the form beloved was shut from view forever. In such connections the kiss is identified with all that is most tender, beautiful, and true in a human nature which still bears traces of its Divine original.
We think of Jacob, who met Rachel at the well and kissed her, and lifted up his voice and wept-the expression of his fondest hopes; and of Esau who, though deeply wronged, when he met his brother, with generous affection "ran to meet him, and fell on his neck and kissed him"-an assurance of reconciliation; and of Joseph, who beholding again those who had cruelly sold him unto slavery, kissed all his brethren, and wept upon them-a pledge of forgiveness; and again, of this mighty governor, who, when Jacob was dead, fell upon his father's face, and wept upon him, and kissed him"-a token of enduring filial love; and of Aaron, who, commanded to go with Moses to rescue Israel from Pharaoh's thrall, met his brother in the Mount of God, and kissed him-a covenant of fraternal alliance; and of David and Jonathan, who, at a time of great peril, "kissed one another, and wept one with another"-a token of unselfish friendship; and of the disciples of Ephesus bidding Paul farewell on the seashore at Miletus, who "all wept sore, and fell on his neck, and kissed him"-a pledge of undying remembrance.
But most of all we think of Jesus, who did not rebuke the woman "a sinner" when, with the ointment she anointed His feet, and washed them with tears, and kissed them-her expression of penitence and grateful homage; and especially we think of the father in the parable, who, when the prodigal was yet a great way off, "saw him, and had compassion, and fell on his neck and kissed him"-the emphatic symbol, by Him who cannot lie, of Divine forgiveness. And now He, who had uttered these words in the traitor's hearing, is to be insulted and grieved by this symbol of love being profaned as a signal of treachery and a prelude to murder! The same word is employed in both connections, the kiss of the father and that of the traitor, an intensified kiss-kissed him emphatically.
Never was friendship so degraded to the service of the devil. How weak the words of Solomon-"The kisses of an enemy are deceitful." How far less damnable seems the crime of Joab, the only other instance in Scripture of such abuse of such a token, when he said to Amasa, "Is it well with you, my brother, and took him by the beard with his right hand to kiss him, and smote him with his sword; and he died." But all the history of villainy, and all unrecorded deeds of treachery, can present no parallel to the kiss of such a one as Judas, given to such a One as JESUS-the token of discipleship-the signal of treason. Truly had Satan entered into him.
How divine the forbearance of the Lord towards this treachery! Righteous indignation of those whose goodness makes them hate evil might have prompted the expression of abhorrence by the holiest of human saints. Jesus, on the first sight of Judas, gently said, "Friend (or companion) why have you come?" "You have been one of my chosen followers, with me in my journeys, listening to my words, a witness to my works, admitted to my intimacy. Consider your present errand! Has it really come to this? Will you persist in your plot, and complete the treachery? Before it is too late, think of it!" Here was another opportunity for Judas to repent. Would not the gentle remonstrance touch even his hard heart?
Jesus did not indignantly refuse the insult. "He hid not His face from shame and spitting." It was easier to receive the spitting of an open foe, than the kiss of a treacherous friend. This required a meekness more sublime. He enjoined much less than this on His followers when He said, "If any smite you on the one cheek, turn to him the other also." How much easier this difficult test of patience than not to turn away the cheek from such a polluted kiss! "Would you ask what Satan can do and God can bear; what the basest of mankind can do and the best of mankind can bear? Behold the lips of Judas who kisses, and the cheek of Jesus which receives the kiss. What righteous man among men would not have turned away his face? What saint might not have felt holy and vehement anger?" (Stier.)
The forbearance of Jesus to His worst foe, in the very act of his basest enmity, was expressed in the second appeal-"Judas, are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?" He bore an honored name, henceforth to be trampled in the mire of world-long contempt. The title of the chief tribe of Israel was hereafter to represent the betrayal to death of Israel's Prince, the King of the Jews. What a contrast this last address, by the name of one of the disciples, to His first recognition after death-"Mary!" Judas! companion, disciple-are you betraying Me? Judas, do you betray, treacherously, deliberately-for money? Are you betraying the "Son of Man," after the warning at the Supper, "Woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed"? With a kiss?-token of loyalty and love?-how much better, if at all, with threats and blows! Has it indeed come to this?
What a contrast between the 'hate of Judas' and the 'love of Jesus'! the hardening hate, the persevering love! the grace that pursued for salvation the traitor who was pursuing Him for destruction! "The great ocean clasps some black and barren crag that frowns against it, as closely as with its waves it kisses some fair strand enamelled with flowers and fragrant with perfumes. But what matters it though we float in the great ocean of the Divine love, if with pitch and canvas we have carefully closed every aperture at which the flood can enter? A sealed jar, plunged in the Atlantic, will be as dry inside as if it were lying on the sand of the desert." (Maclaren)
Again, we are reminded of the cost of our redemption. This betrayal was a bitter ingredient in the cup of sorrow. It formed no small part of the burden which pressed down the soul of the Sufferer in Gethsemane. It was all distinctly foreknown. "One of you shall betray me." Not so much did the body feel pain, as the sensitive spirit ingratitude and treachery. It was bitter grief that one of His chosen companions should betray Him to His bitterest foes-and with a kiss! The grief of David was shared with intensity by the Son of David, "My own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, has lifted up his heel against me." The sin of the world with the woe it entails, for which sin He suffered, was thus exhibited in its aggravated form. Was it this to which mankind had sunk? Contrast humanity in Jesus, as it originally was, as it ought to be-with humanity in Judas! And Jesus was bearing the sin of the traitor who was betraying Him!
"Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world." Let us hate the sin that needed the sacrifice, love the Savior who bore the sin, rejoice in the salvation thus secured. Let this love comfort us in every garden of grief. Whatever our other trials, our heaviest burden has been borne, our darkest fear dispelled, our deadliest wound healed by the Sufferer of Gethsemane; and our spirit may rejoice in Christ our Savior, "with joy unspeakable and full of glory."
We see also another proof that our great High Priest is fully qualified for sympathy. He shared with us hunger, thirst, weariness, pain-but pangs far more poignant are those arising from 'unrequited affection' and 'confidence betrayed'. Of this bitter cup the Savior drank, and every follower of His may be sure of the brotherly sympathy of Him whom Judas betrayed with a kiss.
Here is a suggestion for self-scrutiny. None can ever exactly commit the sin of Judas-but it may be approached. A profession of religion may be made for wrongful ends, to gain confidence and lull suspicion. The kiss of seeming zeal may hide the thief's dishonesty and the adulterer's wiles, or may be given to secure office in the Church, and gratify ambition, or covetousness, or ease. Christ's character as Man or Teacher may be lauded, while His claims as Divine Savior are rejected. We may kiss Him in the Creed, in hymns, in the ascription, "You are the King of Glory, O Christ," while secretly rejecting His authority, and by our inconsistency injuring His cause. We may bow at His Name, yet trample on His laws. We may salute Him with "Hail, Master," and yet dishonor Him. We may kiss Him and yet betray Him.
Let us examine ourselves. Does our lack of consolation arise from any lack of sincerity? Can it be that Jesus asks us the question, calling us by name as He did Judas-"Are you betraying the Son of Man, with a kiss? You, who have known me so long, professed to serve me so faithfully, received from me so many proofs of love-Are you betraying Me? Are you betraying the Son of Man? your Redeemer, who suffered for your sin; your Brother, who sympathizes with your sorrow; your Advocate, who pleads for you in heaven? Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss? By false profession of friendship, under mask of discipleship, even at the Holy Supper, devising iniquity, cloaking sin, scheming sinful indulgence, inventing excuses and palliations of evil, prostituting 'love's tenderest token' as an instrument of betrayal-Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?"
The very thought is agony. Can it be ever possible? Lord, is it I? Search me, O Savior, and try my heart, and see if there be any wicked way in me-any lurking lust, any cunning covetousness, any secret bosom sin, any falseness of friendship. O make me altogether Yours-sincerely, unreservedly, forever! Let every outward homage be the token of a loyal heart and devoted life; and never, oh never, may I give You cause to ask, "Are you betraying the Son of Man with a kiss?"
To feel towards Christ more than any human kiss can express-entire trust, unreserved surrender, and conscious sincerity in appealing to Him as did Peter, "Lord, You know all things, You know that I love You"-this will comfort us in every garden of grief, and enable us, though "sorrowful," to be "always rejoicing." If His foes, to escape judgment, are exhorted to "kiss the Son, lest He be angry," how much more should His friends, by reverent yet endearing affection, daily renew their vows, and bow before Him, anointing His head with the fragrant ointment of unswerving love, homage, and obedience!
Then may we rejoice in an increasing and endeared communion which a kiss can only faintly indicate; and employ, without presumptuous familiarity, the language of sacred passion of saints of old, and say-"The love of Christ constrains us. We love Him because He first loved us. Lord, You know that I love You! You have put gladness into my heart! I will be glad, and rejoice in You! How excellent is Your loving-kindness! Your loving-kindness is better than life. With my soul have I desired You in the night. My soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning. My soul thirsts for You as a thirsty land! As the deer pants after the waterbrooks, so my soul pants after You, O God! My meditation of Him shall be sweet; I will delight in the Lord. Whom have I in heaven but You, and there is none upon earth that I desire in comparison with You! My heart and my flesh fails, but You are the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Lord, what will You have me to do? Bless the Lord, O my soul! I will bless the Lord as long as I live. I will extol You and praise Your Name forever and ever. Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power be unto Him who sits on the throne, forever and ever. My Lord and my God!"
Such habitual communion of soul will repel all temptation to any approach towards denial or betrayal. The kiss of love renders impossible the kiss of treason, and makes the garden of grief, in the company of Jesus, the vestibule of Paradise-the gate of Heaven.
THE KISS OF REVERENTIAL LOVE
"You hidden source of calm repose;
You all-sufficient love divine;
My help and refuge from my foes,
Secure I am, if You are mine:
From sin and grief, from guilt and shame,
I hide me, Jesus, in Your name.
Your mighty name salvation is,
And keeps my happy soul above;
Comfort it brings and power and peace,
And joy and everlasting love.
To me, with Your dear name, are given
Pardon and holiness and heaven.
Jesus, my All in all You are,
My rest in toil, my ease in pain-
The medicine of my broken heart;
In war, my peace; in loss, my gain.
My smile beneath the tyrant's frown;
In shame, my glory and my crown:
In need, my plentiful supply;
In weakness, my Almighty power;
In bonds, my perfect liberty;
My light, in Satan's darkest hour;
In grief, my joy unspeakable;
My life in death; my heaven; my all."
(C. Wesley.)
~~~~~~~~
"I lift my heart to Thee,
Savior Divine,
For You are all to me,
And I am Thine.
Is there on earth a closer bond than this-
That my Beloved's Mine, and I am His?
Thine I am by all ties;
But chiefly Thine,
That through Your sacrifice
You, Lord, are mine;
By Your own cords of love so sweetly wound
Around me, I to You am closely bound.
To You, You bleeding Lamb,
I all things owe;
All that I have and am,
And all I know
All that I have is now no longer mine,
And I am not my own-Lord, I am Thine.
How can I, Lord, withhold
Life's brightest hour
From You-or gathered gold
Or any power?
Why should I keep one precious thing from Thee,
When You have given Your own dear self for me?
I pray You, Savior, keep
Me in Your love,
Until death's holy sleep
Shall me remove
To that fair realm where, sin and sorrow o'er,
You and Your own, are one for evermore."
(C. E. Mudie)
HallN GLHGG: 17. The Father's Cup in Gethsemane Accepted
"The cup which my Father has given me-shall I not drink it?"
The signal-kiss having been given by the traitor, the soldiers and officers "laid hands on Jesus and took Him." Then Peter, in a fit of momentary but ill-timed enthusiasm, drew his sword and smote one of the foremost of the band, a servant of the High Priest who was the real leader of the conspiracy. Perhaps he aimed at the head, but, better versed in the use of oar than sword, he only hit the ear. This was divinely over-ruled. Had the blow been fatal, both Leader and disciples would have been reasonably charged with armed insurrection, and in that case Jesus could not have pleaded before Pilate, "My Kingdom is not of this world."
Peter showed something like heroism-one armed man attacking a multitude. But it was not true courage. He acted without orders from and in opposition to the whole spirit of his Lord. He broke the compact which Christ had just made with His captors-"If you seek me, let these go their way," safely, peaceably. The act was one of insanity, for it was calculated to provoke wholesale retaliation. Had it proceeded from true courage, Peter would not have at once forsaken his Lord, nor denied Him.
At once Jesus rebuked Peter, and forbade all resistance, saying, "Put up again your sword into its place, for all those who take the sword shall perish by the sword"-this would have occurred then and there but for the intervention of the Prince of Peace. At once He calmed the rising wrath of the guard-Loose my hands that I may approach the wounded man and heal him. Or-Thus far you have suffered from my friends, forbear to retaliate; there will be no further resistance; the injury shall be redressed-and He touched his ear and healed him." He had compassion on His captor, and returned good for evil. He drank the cup.
In commanding Peter to sheathe the sword, He gave a permanent law to His Church. Force would only provoke force, and in the use of this weapon, the world has the superiority. The violent invite violence; but the gospel message is gentleness and love. He rebukes all who would promote His Kingdom by force, as He had rebuked His disciples when they desired to bring down fire from heaven to consume some hostile Samaritans-"You know not what manner of spirit you are of; for the Son of Man has not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them." His work was to "bear witness of the truth," not by inflicting, but enduring suffering, so that witnessing should mean martyrdom, if need be. The bitter cup was to be drunk, not forced on others. By suffering, His followers were to conquer. Jesus came to suffer, and so to save. He would neither reject nor avoid the appointed and necessary cup of sorrow. "Shall I not drink it?"
Peter was repeating his former fault when he tried to dissuade Jesus from going up to Jerusalem to suffer. Had Jesus wished such deliverance, the moral power which had made His foes fall back, and the miraculous power which healed Malchus, would have availed without Peter's sword.
Far more-could not the Lord of angels have at once called their thousands to His rescue? "Don't you think that I cannot beseech my Father, and He shall even now send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then shall the Scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?" Even now, having suffered thus far, and face to face with the soldiery and police, it was at His own free option that He went forward to the cross. He laid down His life of His own accord. At His request, the Father would at once send, not a solitary angel, as in the garden; not a single cohort, like that which had come to seize Him, but "twelve legions of angels." The Roman Legion, composed of many cohorts, numbered six thousand men. Twelve legions, this number probably suggested by the united number of Christ and the eleven disciples, would constitute seventy-two thousand. More than twelve legions-not of feeble men, but of invincible, irresistible, celestial warriors, then mustering round about Gethsemane in unseen array-would in one instant flash forth for His rescue. But, instead of uttering the word which would have secured safety, He said, "The cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?"
It was the Savior's own desire to suffer. To escape would be to falsify Scripture, to renounce His own purpose, to abandon His work of salvation; above all, to contravene the Father's loving will. My Father has ordained this cup, mingled it, knows every drop in it, presents it-shall I not drink it? He is infinite in wisdom, and cannot err; infinite in love, and cannot be unkind; infinite in resources, and would not give it to me to drink if His and my own great purpose to save the world could be better realized. It is not so much a grief as a gift-for my own blessedness; for "the joy which is set before me;" for my triumph on man's behalf over sin and death. It is a cup which, drained by me, shall procure to countless multitudes a cup of redemption, a cup of consolation, a cup of glory in the everlasting banquet of heaven. "The cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?"
And He drank it to the dregs! He uttered a final word which might reach the hearts of His murderers, and lead them afterwards to repentance, "Are you come out as against a thief, with swords and staves to take me?" Has my life been one of lawlessness and injury? Do you come with weapons to seize one who never resisted wrong, and lanterns as if to search out a thief hiding from justice? "I sat daily with you teaching in the temple, and you laid no hold on me." Was my teaching immoral or seditious? Had it been so you might then and there have apprehended me. Why this midnight violence?
"But this is your hour, and the power of darkness." You are now left to yourselves, for full revelation of your cherished hate, for unchecked execution of your cruel purpose. It is a brief hour of my seeming defeat, soon to be followed by eternal triumph. It is the power of darkness for a little moment prevailing, soon to be driven off by the dawn of the everlasting day.
"Then all the disciples forsook Him and fled." After His care for their safety, His generous setting them at liberty to act on their own impulses, His obvious desire in the Garden for their presence and sympathy, His sorrowful anticipation of such desertion when, at the Supper, He said-"All of you shall fall away because of me this night-for it is written, I will smite the Shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered. Behold the hour comes, yes, is now come, that you shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave me alone-and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me."
Surely, had they watched with Him they would still have continued with Him. As human, He still needed their companionship and sympathy. They might also have gone prepared to bear witness on His behalf against the malicious slander of false witnesses. This was another bitter element in His cup of sorrow, that with the sole exception of John, "they all forsook Him and fled."
Then His enemies mustered their forces to secure Him. As though He were to be more dreaded than the Samson whom the Philistines took such pains to capture, the cohort of Romans and the Jewish police, "the band and the captain and officers of the Jews, took Jesus and bound Him." And He, the Messiah King, the Lord of heaven and earth, submitted to be thus bound, and was led unresistingly to be condemned and crucified. His own words were verified-"I say unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in me, And He was reckoned among the transgressors." "He was led as a lamb to the slaughter." He drank the cup His Father had given Him.
Let His followers, whenever they have to drink a cup of sorrow, be comforted in remembering this last word of Christ at Gethsemane. He, the sinless One, suffered for us the sinful ones. By reason of our transgressions, His cup was so bitter. By drinking it, He provided an antidote for the poison which sin infuses into every cup of ours. His love prompted Him to drink it all. He has thus removed from us the danger, fear, and sorrow. Our garden of grief, by His bitter cup, has been delivered from its darkest gloom, has been illumined by Divine love and rejoicing hope. He who has thus saved us from sin and death ever lives our sympathizing Brother and High Priest, will be with us in every trial, and enable us also to say, "The cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink
HallN GLHGG: 18. Perfect through Suffering
"In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering." Hebrews 2:10
All suffering is a mystery, especially that of the "sons of God." Why should the Omnipotent Ruler allow His children to endure so many trials? Gethsemane replies. Even the well-beloved Son of God, free from all sin, needed to be perfected for His work and triumph by the discipline of sorrow. It is less a mystery that we sinners should also suffer.
It was a "stumbling-block" to the Jews that the Messiah was despised and crucified. After the first exultation caused by the Resurrection, Ascension, and Pentecost; the humiliation of their Lord in His suffering humanity was a difficulty to many disciples, and a hindrance in winning converts. The argument of the writer to the Hebrews is that, although God had power to prevent such suffering, He not only allowed but ordained it, in order that the Christ might thus be fully qualified both to perform effectually His great work and to attain fully the higher glory the grief would win.
The gracious purpose of God is to bring "many sons to glory" by the agency of His Son, who is represented as the "Captain" or the "Author" of their salvation. He secures it by sacrificing Himself as the "Propitiation for the sins of the whole world;" by His High Priestly sympathy and intercession; by His perfected glory. It is essential that He be completely fitted in His Divine Humanity for the mission He undertook. As God He was always perfect. As man He was ever "holy, harmless, undefiled." But as regarded His office He needed to be qualified.
Thus the word here rendered "to make perfect" is frequently employed. "Though He were a Son, yet He learned obedience by the things which He suffered; and having been made perfect, He became the Author of eternal salvation" (Heb. 5:8, 9), "completed, brought to His goal of learning and suffering" (Alford). "Solid food is for full-grown men" (that is, "perfect," Heb. 5:14, Marg. R.V.) completed, mature manhood, in contrast to childhood. "If there was perfection through the Levitical priesthood, what further need was there that another priest should arise after the order of Melchisedek? For the law made nothing perfect" (Heb. 7:11, 19). The legal system was incomplete. The Messiah was to be the fully qualified and perfected High Priest of the Church. "Gifts and sacrifices cannot, as touching the conscience, make the worshiper perfect-but Christ, through His own blood, entered in once for all into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption." By suffering death He was perfected in qualification.
Saints of old had not their condition in glory completed apart from the completed gospel. "They received not the promise (that is, its fulfillment), God having provided some better thing concerning us, that, apart from us, they should not be made perfect," that is, in relation, not to character but condition (Heb. 11:40). "Though they had already obtained so good a name through faith, they had nevertheless still to wait for something better. . . . The final blessing made known by the Gospel has become the joy of all the patriarchs in the heavenly world." (Delitzsch.) "You are come to the spirits of just men made perfect" (Heb. 12:23). Incomplete while in the flesh, their spirits have now entered on the fullness of the glory ordained until the Resurrection. In this sense, Christ was to be "made perfect through sufferings"; that is, fully qualified for His office. (Heb. 5:9, 14; 7:11, 12, 28 10:14; 11:40; 12:23.)
It "was fitting that" God that this completeness should be attained through suffering. It was not derogatory to His character or inconsistent with His purpose, but befitting the whole system of redemption, a reasonable and unavoidable sequence from the facts. If God brought many sons to share Christ's glory, it was fitting that their Leader should share their sufferings on the way to it, and so become perfect as their Savior. "In order to raise humanity from the depths of misery, in which it is so unlike its ultimate destination, to the heights of glory for which it is destined, God must first lead up His only Son to glory through deeps of human suffering, that thus by Him, the Son made perfect through suffering, He might make of us also, glorious sons of God. This is what was God-befitting in the work of salvation." (Delitzsch.)
It was not weakness, but wisdom, which ordained those sufferings. It "was fitting that God," as Ruler, that law should be honored-it "was fitting that God," as Father, that love should be manifested; it "was fitting for God," in bringing many sons to glory, to provide for them a Ransom, an Example, a Sympathizer; it was fitting for Him to bring their Captain to glory by the same path along which they must necessarily walk. Thus suffering was needed for atonement, for example, for sympathy, for High Priestly efficacy. "In all things it was fitting for Him to be made like unto His brethren, for in that He Himself has suffered being tempted, He is able to support those who are tempted" (Heb. 2:17, 18).
Suffering was also needed for His perfected triumph. As Divine Man, He was to be rewarded, exalted, and glorified. His former glory in heaven appertained to Him as Son of God. The glory of humanity could only be His by His becoming Son of Man; and, as Man, suffering was needed for the perfection of glory. Thus we honor patriots, philanthropists, martyrs, in relation to their sufferings. They would not be so honored had they not endured so much. Thus we behold "Jesus, because of the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor, that by the grace of God He should taste death for every man." Because He suffered unto death He was crowned with glory, and because thus crowned He became competent for the salvation of all men, and His sufferings effectual in the case of every sinner who trusts Him. It is as the fully consecrated Priest, the victorious Captain, the King of Glory, that He is able to "save to the uttermost" the sons of God; and it was through suffering He thus became "mighty to save." "He humbled Himself, becoming obedient to death, yes, the death of the cross. Therefore, also, God highly exalted Him."
Sorrow was the highway to joy. Gethsemane was the portal to Paradise. The cross was the ladder to the crown. He was "made perfect through suffering."
Abundant consolation is here provided for sorrowing sons of God. They may rejoice that He is sole Lord of the universe. There is no superior force to defeat His saving purposes. His control includes "all things," small and great-the daisy and the oak, the pebble and the mountain, the rivulet and the ocean, the glow-worm and the sun, men and angels, the poorest, the youngest, the most unworthy. If Christ suffered, it was not because His Father was unable to prevent it. So He "for whom and by whom are all things" is able to protect all who trust in Him.
There is comfort in the purpose of God. He is "bringing many sons unto glory." He does not adopt them and then forsake them as foundlings. They are new-born as heirs of an "inheritance that fades not away." The sonship precedes the glory, and is a pledge of it. They are "sealed with the Holy Spirit, who is the pledge of our inheritance." This promise is not the privilege of a few. God is "bringing many sons unto glory." Not many as opposed to all, but to few. It is provided for all, offered to all, accepted by a multitude "whom no man can number;" for whom "many mansions" are prepared. The purpose of God towards His "many sons" cannot be frustrated by any sufferings which they may endure. Their adoption as "sons," their call to "glory," their being "brought" along the way by their Father, should encourage them in the assurance that no afflictions on the road shall prevent them from reaching their home. "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?"
There is comfort in contemplating the "Captain of our salvation." He is "Author" of it, by the sacrifice of Himself; as our Guide He leads us onward towards its full possession; as our Champion He fights for us; as our Commander He directs us what to do; as our ever-present Helper He enables us to say, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me;" as our Forerunner He lights up the dark valley, bursts the tomb, and "opens the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers;" as our Intercessor he pleads our cause before the throne of God. How assuring that He, our Captain, has been made competent for this great work, that nothing is lacking in qualification! Our safety is bound up in His. His triumph is a pledge of ours. "Because I live you shall live also."
There is comfort in the fact that He has been made thus "perfect by suffering." Although He did not need suffering to purify from sin, we do. Our faith is more precious than gold, but, like gold, is mixed with dross, and needs the furnace. While thus called to suffer, let us be comforted by looking to Him who is the "Author and Finisher of the Faith," its chief Exemplar. Let us "consider Him who endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself lest we be weary and faint in our minds." Every step of the painful path has been trodden by Him. The foes who threaten us have been vanquished by Him. Through all the obstacles that threaten to impede us He has forced a passage. As a company of Alpine climbers are attached by a rope to their guide, who shares all their toils and perils, showing and often making the way and always preceding them, so the Captain of our salvation is linked with all His followers, guiding, guarding, sharing. Can the "many sons" complain of the roughness of the road which their Elder Brother had to tread with bleeding feet and weeping eyes? If He, in whom the Father was always "well pleased," suffered, shall not we, who have so often grieved our Father?
If, following Him as our Captain, we must expect the suffering, we may be also sure of the glory. Like Himself, "we must through much tribulation enter into the Kingdom." The short night of weeping heralds the dawn of endless rejoicing. In suffering pain of body, anguish of heart, spiritual conflict and depression, we must not think it "strange," when not only all the "many sons" share the trial, but even God's well-beloved Son. His Father is our Father. What it "was fitting that Him" to appoint for Jesus we should welcome, rather than resent. "Shall we be gold and not be purified, children and not be chastened, Christians and not suffer," sons of God and not be perfected? Great privileges are linked with great trials. The mountain-summit has an exhilarating atmosphere, and commands extensive views, but can only be reached by contending with difficulties and enduring toil. Shall we not suffer these cheerfully when the mountain is the Mountain of God's Holiness, and the highway to His abode?
Shall we complain of the path which has such ending? Beyond all thought is the full meaning of the word, "An exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Should we pace the path merely with resignation? Should we not "go on our way rejoicing," in company with the many sons whom the Father is "bringing to glory?"
Blessed Lord! who did taste death for everyone, therefore for me, admit me among Your followers. They who receive You have the privilege to become the sons of God. I receive You penitently, gratefully, gladly, as my Savior and Lord! Make me, by Your Spirit, one of the many sons whom God, by You, is bringing to glory. Help me to trust, follow, obey, glorify You. Lead me in any path You see best; and if it be sometimes dark and rough, help me to rejoice that thus I am following You, and that each step leads me nearer to Yourself.
"My God, I thank You who have made
The earth so bright;
So full of splendor and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right.
"I thank You more that all our joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours,
That thorns remain
So that earth's bliss may be our guide
And not our chain.
"I thank You, Lord, that You have kept
The best in store;
We have enough, yet not too much,
To long for more-
A yearning for a deeper peace
Not known before.
"I thank You, Lord, that here our souls,
Though amply blessed,
Can never find, although they seek,
A perfect rest;
Nor ever shall, until they lean
On Jesus' bosom."
(A. Proctor)
HallN GLHGG: 19. The Brotherhood of the Divine Sufferer
"He is not ashamed to call them brethren." -Hebrews 2:11
If the Leader of God's "many sons" must share their trials He must Himself become Man. This was a Brotherhood to be gloried in. He Himself was not ashamed of it, since they and He are "all of One, for which cause He is not ashamed to call them brethren." "Since then the children are sharers in flesh and blood, He also Himself in like manner partook of the same." "Born of a woman" He shared their entire humanity. He experienced the feebleness and dependence of infancy, and is Brother to every little child. Toiling in obscurity, year after year, He is Brother to all who, by sweat of brow, earn their daily bread. Having experienced hunger and thirst He is Brother to all who suffer privation, and all who ever hunger naturally for what they cannot obtain righteously. Weary at the well and in the boat, He is Brother to all whose labor of hand or head is excessive and exhausting. In the agonies of scourge and cross He was Brother to all who suffer pain, and are in danger of impatience or of wrongful escape. He experienced the separation of soul and body, and the instinctive fear of death common to humanity.
As our Brother, He took to Himself a human soul as well as body, with human emotions-exhibited in His "compassion on the multitudes"; His pity towards the sick and sad; His sympathy when He wept on seeing the tears of others; His love for little children; His benevolence towards all, with His special friendship for a few. With the bravery of the bravest He united the tenderness which some falsely contrast with manliness, but which is an essential element of it. He sought human sympathy, even in the intervals of prayer to His Father; and was pained by unrequited affection and desertion. He exhibited the self-respect which every true man should feel, when He said, "have you come out as against a thief?"
In spirit, as well as body and soul, He was our Brother-exhibited in His exceeding sorrowfulness, the anguish of the Sin-bearer, His cry from the midnight gloom of the cross. Whatever has been endured by any of His followers in depression of spirit, in agony of forsakenness, was felt by Him.
Without sin, He partook of the faculties which to us are occasions of sin. "God made man upright;" with human instincts, "very good." The first Adam was tempted, and fell; the second Adam was tempted, and stood firm. Because tempted-our Brother.
As Brother He shared the discipline of trial. Our High Priest sanctifies us, by His Sacrifice, Spirit, and Example; and we who are thus sanctified are all children of the Father who led Him and is leading us to glory. God ordains the suffering and the glory, both in the case of the "Captain of Salvation" and His followers. Therefore, sharers in the discipline of the same Father, in the sanctifying grace of the same Spirit, subject to the purifying flames of the same furnace, journeying along the same painful path to the same blessed Home-He and we are "both of One;" and, therefore, He is not ashamed to call us brethren.
It may happen among men that one becoming great in position, but small in heart, is ashamed to acknowledge his brother, who still lives in the cottage they had shared together. Not so with Christ. After His brief sojourn on earth as our Brother, now raised to the glory of His Father's throne, He is not ashamed to own those with whom He shared poverty and pain.
He acknowledged this Brotherhood when He said to the multitude, "Whoever does the will of my Father, the same is my brother." He owned it after His resurrection-"I ascend to my Father and your Father." He ascended in the same human form. The angels expressed it when they said, "This same Jesus shall in like manner" return-as Man. At the Second Advent "the Son of Man will come in His glory"-glorious, yet Man. On the judgment-seat He will proclaim the relationship-"Forasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these, my brethren, you did it unto me;" the very least of them-His brother! And in heaven, when He might have put away a form reminding of humiliation, He retains it forever. "The Lamb as it had been slain" means the Savior as a Man, with the scars of Calvary, seated on the throne.
Why is He not ashamed? Because we are children of the same Father, "both of One Father." Because of the true love which is never ashamed of its object, but is the more ready to express itself the more it is needed. Because He knows the infirmities with which we struggle, the yearnings of unsatisfied desire, the cravings of poverty and pain, the opportunities presented by circumstances for Satan's assaults-weariness of mind and weakness of flesh. He is "touched with a feeling of our infirmities," and, in spite of our failures, is not ashamed of us. Because He knows the good that is in us, for He put it there. He knew how sincere Peter was, in spite of his failure when he said, "You know that I love You." He sees that, battling with temptation and often wounded, we still retain the shield and grasp the sword; and that although often stumbling and faint, our faces are still heavenward. Beneath fading blossom and torn leaf He sees the living germ that shall yet burst into beauty and fruitfulness.
He does not despise the day of small things-the first tear of the penitent, the first genuine struggle against sin, the first homeward step of the prodigal. He sees the little patches of blue sky that foretell fair weather, the first few flowers that show the path of coming spring, the first streaks on the horizon that proclaim the dawn-and He is not ashamed of us.
He has a work of grace going on in our hearts. He knows what He has done and will do. He sees the end from the beginning; the flower in the bud, the fruit in the blossom, the day in the dawn, the river in the streamlet, the man in the babe, perfected Glory in the beginnings of Grace. Because in us-fearing, sorrowing, struggling, bleeding, fainting, sometimes falling-He sees those He is leading to glory, who will surround His throne, radiant in holiness, exulting in bliss, perfect as He is perfect-"He is not ashamed to call us brethren."
Let this Brotherhood with the chief Sufferer comfort all "the sons of God" who mourn. What an honor is such relationship! What a treasure is such love! Heavenly realities transcend all earthly terms. His is a love which never loses its freshness, never wearies in its manifestation, and which no lapse of time can weaken. We shall never fully know "the length and breadth and depth and height" of a love that "passes knowledge."
It is consolation that there is nothing in us the discovery of which will diminish His love, because He already knows more of our unworthiness than we ourselves. We may sometimes think that if those we love knew all our faults they would love us less. Jesus knows. He has "set our sins in the light of His countenance," but that light is love. There is nothing for Him to find out that will make Him ashamed to call us brethren.
"Since You have deigned,
Creator of all hearts, to own and share
The woe of what You mad'st and we have stained.
"You know'st our bitterness; our joys are Thine;
No stranger You to all our wanderings wild;
Nor could we bear to think how every line
Of us, Your darkened likeness and defiled,
"Stands in full sunshine of Your piercing eye,
But that You call'st us Brethren! Sweet repose
Is in that word! The Lord who dwells on high
Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows."
(Keble)
The lowliest Christian may exult in a Brotherhood nobler than all worldly relationship. Those in peril may rely on the safety this assures. In all distress we have a "Brother in adversity;" a Friend who "sticks closer than a Brother." When tempted we can confidently appeal to Him who "resisted unto blood striving against sin." When bereaved we can be sure of the sympathy of the Brother of Bethany. And when we cross the river called Death, our Brother will fulfill His promise, "When you pass through the waters I will be with you." He will welcome us on the other shore, lead us by the hand to the Father's presence, and say, "Here am I, and the children You have given me!" Before the innumerable multitude of unfallen angels He will own us as co-heirs with Himself, and summon us to share the home He is preparing for us-saying, "Come, O blessed children of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world." Then, when we are "perfected," reflecting His image-"like Him, seeing Him as He is" throughout eternity He will "not be ashamed to call us brethren!"
HallN GLHGG: 20. The Brotherhood of the Sorrowful with Christ
"And the fellowship of His sufferings."
The Son of God, as our Brother, willingly shared our sorrows. So we, sons of God, are brethren of Christ, and should willingly have fellowship with His sorrows. The apostle, instead of deprecating this, regarded it as the highest privilege. "I count all things to be loss, for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord-for whom I suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but rubbish, that I may gain Christ-that I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings" (Phil. 3:7-12).
Strange that such a One should suffer; strange that any other can wish to share the suffering; still more that such an inflicter of suffering on Christ's friends should feel such desire! But consider what he gained. He won Christ; he obtained "righteousness," not merely deliverance from penalty, but a renewed nature, regulated not by law but love-conformity to Christ Himself. He gained such knowledge of Him as includes communion, friendship, joy-"I know whom I have believed." He experienced "the power of His resurrection;" not mere conviction of the miraculous fact, but present resurrection of the soul, quickened by His risen life-"God has raised us up and made us to sit together in heavenly places with Christ Jesus;" "risen with Him" already, "through faith of the operation of God, who raised Him from the dead." As inseparable from all this, Paul desired "the fellowship of His sufferings;" not as a loss set-off against the gain, but as itself part of the gain.
Though none can share the atoning sufferings, we do, by faith, share in the benefits they secured. But this had been already expressed. More is meant. Paul was ready to endure similar afflictions. If the Master was scorned, maligned, scourged, killed-the servant was willing to endure the like, from love and loyalty. It would be a satisfaction to be thus identified with Him. "I take pleasure in reproaches, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake;" "always bearing about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our body."
But these are not Christ's own sufferings. The grief in Gethsemane has been explained as arising chiefly from holiness and love. Love to His Father made Him grieve for dishonor done Him. Love for law caused distress at its violation. Love towards men filled Him with grief at their ruin and wretchedness, their alienation from God, and exposure to the penalties of law. Jesus was "grieved for the hardness of men's hearts." He wept over guilty and doomed Jerusalem.
Paul desired to endure such sufferings. The more he resembled Christ the more he must necessarily have fellowship with such sorrow. He did experience such fellowship. He "ceased not to warn everyone, night and day, with tears." He said, "Many walk of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ." He gladly exposed himself to persecution, while beseeching the Gentiles to be reconciled to God. How he mourned over the unbelieving Jews! "I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience bearing witness with me in the Holy Spirit, that I have great sorrow and unceasing pain in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were anathema from Christ for my brethren's sake, my kinsmen according to the flesh, who are Israelites."
Have we such fellowship with Christ? Husbands and wives are so united, that the sorrow of each is that of the other. Children and parents, brothers, sisters, and friends, thus bear one another's burdens. Our sins have cost Christ sorrow; do we sorrow with Him as well as for ourselves? The Holy Spirit is "grieved;" do we grieve too for the sins of others, for dishonor done to Christ? "Fools make a mock at sin," or regard it with indifference, even with some interest, in works of art, books, shows; people who would not do the same things, do not always regard them with grief. Do we abhor the sin which cost Christ the agony of Gethsemane? Do we share with Him in compassion for the sinner?
This "fellowship" is further illustrated by the apostle's words in Col. 1:24-He rejoiced that "trials in his flesh" were "the afflictions of Christ." "He is the Head of the Body, the Church" v. 6. No part of the human body suffers without the head. Luther says-"If the toe is hurt the countenance shows it;" and Augustine, "the Savior of the Body and its members, are two in one flesh;" and Paul, by the Holy Spirit, "No man ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ also the Church; because we are members of His body," (Eph. 5:28-33); and the Divine Head of the Church" "He who receives you, receives me." "I was sick and in prison, and you visited me."
Thus the sorrows of believers are Christ's also. "In all their afflictions He was afflicted." "Bruise your finger, and the brain throbs; strike the man that is joined in Christ here, and Christ up yonder feels it." "He who touches you, touches the apple of My eye." Paul remembered how Christ had appealed to him, "Why are you persecuting me." So, now, he who once persecuted Christ in His followers is comforted by knowing that his own sufferings are those of his Lord-"The afflictions of Christ in my flesh."
He rejoiced also that he was helping to fill up the remainder of the suffering allotted to Christ's Body. There was nothing left to be supplied to the one all-sufficient sacrifice for sin. He "when He had offered one sacrifice for sins forever, sat down on the right hand of the throne of God." But the sufferings of Christ as examples of patience, as evidences of Divine support, as qualifications for sympathy, as preludes to victory, are still effectual for strength and comfort; and as such are shared by believers.
"All the tribulations of Christ's body are Christ's. Whatever the whole Church has to suffer, even to the end, she suffers for her perfection in holiness and her completion in Him; and the tribulations of Christ will not be complete until the last pang shall have past, and the last tear have been shed. Every suffering saint of God in every age and position is, in fact, filling up, in his place and degree, the afflictions of Christ in his flesh and on behalf of His body. Not a pang, not a tear is in vain." (Alford.) Thus Paul said, "I rejoice to fill up, on my part, that which is lacking of the afflictions of Christ."
He rejoiced that his sufferings were borne for the good of others. His imprisonment at Rome spread the knowledge of Christ even in the palace, and produced the Epistles to the Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, and Timothy. How precious have been the teachings of prisons, whether at Rome or Bedford! How the Body of Christ has been nurtured and strengthened by the endurance of martyrs!
All suffering saints thus help the Body of Christ. By their patience, trust, and triumph, whether witnessed or read of in their biographies, they help others to be patient, reliant, victorious. "No man gets good out of his sorrows for himself alone. Whatever purifies and makes gentler and more Christ-like is for the common good. We shall never understand our sorrows unless we try to answer the question-What good to others is meant to come through me by this? Alas that grief should so often be self-absorbed!" (Maclaren.)
Paul said, "I endure all things for the elect's sake, that they also may obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory." The salvation is in Christ alone, but help to faith may be afforded by example. So again he says, "Blessed be the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, that we may be able to comfort them that are in any affliction, through the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted of God; for as the sufferings of Christ abound with us, even so our comfort also abounds through Christ. But whether we be afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; or whether we be comforted, it is for your comfort, which works in the patient enduring of the same sufferings which we also suffer" (2 Cor. 1:3-6).
This fellowship with Christ was a present delight. "Now I rejoice in my sufferings." Not in heaven, after the sufferings had ceased; not in the palace, after the battle; not in the home, after the journey-but now, on the rocky path, amid the fierce fight, in the fiery furnace. He sang songs when in the stocks of the inner prison. As "sorrowing" he was "always rejoicing." He "gloried in infirmity." He "took pleasure in reproaches." And now, deprived of liberty to prosecute his mission, chained day and night to a soldier, liable at any moment to be put to death, he says, "Now I rejoice in my sufferings."
Abundant consolation is provided for afflicted believers in such teaching and example. They need not wait, they may rejoice now; not although, but because they suffer. "If you are reproached for the name of Christ, happy are you." Sorrow links us to Him in fellowship of grief. The bitterest cup should be sweetened by remembrance that He drank it; the roughest road alluring, if He trod it; the darkest gloom brightened, if He consecrated it.
"Is it fit that He should lead through rugged, thorny ways-and we try to get away through flowery meadows? This is the way we must follow, or else resolve to leave Him-the way of the Cross is the royal way to the Crown. Reproaches for Christ, why do these fret you? They were a part of His treatment while here. You are a partaker of His sufferings, and in this way He is bringing you forward to the partaking of His glory." (Leighton.) Our griefs are His. He feels them all. Let us endure them as the "sufferings of Christ," and rejoice that thus we diminish the sufferings of others, and hasten on the time when "there shall be no more pain, neither sorrow, nor crying."
Let us earnestly desire fellowship with Christ in His sorrow because of men's sin and woe. Animated by zeal for God and compassion for sinners, let us labor as He did-to raise the fallen, comfort the sad, and save the lost. Such sorrow for others will lighten our own load. Such fellowship will help us even to rejoice in sufferings "in our own flesh for His body's sake."
In actual suffering, joy is impossible except by actual union with Christ. "Then, even when we are in the whitest heat of the furnace, we have the Son of Man with us; and if we have Him, the fiercest flames will burn up nothing but the chains that bind us, and we shall walk at liberty in that terrible heat, because we walk with Him." (Maclaren.) Thus closely in fellowship with Jesus let us remember that "if we suffer with Him we shall also reign with Him." Therefore "rejoice inasmuch as you are partakers of Christ's sufferings; that when His glory shall be revealed, you may be glad also with exceeding joy."
Not alone in lull of tempest,
Not when viewing grief afar;
Waiting not until heavenly glory
Wipes the tear and gilds the scar-
Now we joy in tribulation;
Christ is with us in the flame;
All our sorrow He is sharing;
Now we triumph in His Name.
Every ailment of the Body
Centers in the living Head;
Shared are all His servants' trials
By the Lord who for them bled.
Every grief of ours is helping
Christ's afflictions to complete;
Hastening on the consummation
When all saints in glory meet.
Joy we then in tribulation,
Furnace moulds for use the ore;
Better far than fruitless comfort
Pain that fits for service more.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 21. The Weeping One of Gethsemane to Weeping Womanhood
Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, "Rabboni!" (which means Teacher). John 20:16
Woman is specially honored in connection with the human life of Jesus. "Born of a woman," He made maternity glorious, so that the primeval curse is more than compensated by the joy that such "a Man is born into the world." Dependent, as an infant, on His mother's tender care, He dignified forever all those unostentatious but anxious toils which are the most important and characteristic part of woman's mission. Holy women were among His most faithful followers, and "ministered to Him of their substance." He specially encouraged her who touched the hem of His garment, and those who brought their children that He might bless them, and the penitent who bathed His feet with her tears, and her who anointed Him for His burial, and of whom He said-"Wheresoever this Gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she has done shall be spoken of as a memorial of her." No woman shared in His betrayal; and though "His disciples forsook Him and fled," "the women who came with Him from Galilee bewailed and lamented Him."
A woman, in spite of the jeers of the crowd and her anguish at His torture, consoled His human heart by a mother's silent sympathy. Women watched the burial of His body, and when the great stone was rolled to shut the tomb, "Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting near the sepulcher." Women were the first witnesses of the resurrection, for "very early in the morning, when it was yet dark, they came bringing the spices which they had prepared." And it was to a woman the risen Savior first appeared. It was only the third day since, in the Garden of Gethsemane, He had uttered His last words to the disciples. Now, in the garden near unto Calvary, He uttered His first resurrection word. Then He had wept, praying to the Father, and was comforted. Now, His first work was to comfort a woman, weeping, in quest of Himself.
Christians are often sorrowful when, if they had clearer knowledge and stronger faith, they would rejoice.-"Mary stood outside the sepulcher weeping." She wept because she thought He was dead. But the absence of the body-an additional grief-was a proof that there was no cause for grief. That which then caused weeping, afterwards caused rejoicing. And thus we often weep at that which would give us joy, did we rightly know or fully trust; we have dreaded what afterwards we prized, and mourned over that which became a permanent joy. When we stand at the sepulcher weeping for some dear friend, could we see him as he now is, robed in spotless holiness, and exulting in fullness of joy, sighs would be changed to songs for his eternal gain.
Angels sympathize with Christians in their sorrow.-Mary saw "two angels in white sitting, the one at the head and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. And they said unto her, Woman, why are you weeping?" If angels shed no tears, they are not indifferent to ours. They seem to say, "What you grieve for is helping you onward to the home where all grief will be remembered only with thankfulness. Our Lord and your Lord is not dead-He is risen. He is near you. Tell Him all your sorrows. He will strengthen you in every trial; and soon will summon you where all tears are wiped away. Woman, why are you weeping?
The thought of losing Jesus is enough to make His friends weep.-"She said unto them, Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him." It is grief to Christians when, in any sense, their Lord is taken away. When He is absent from the Church, and outward shows divert the eye from the Lord; when instead of a living Christ there is only a sepulcher, no whitening of which can compensate for the absence of the Prince of Life; and when He is absent from the pulpit, and mere philosophy or ethics or polemics are discussed, and the living, loving Christ is absent; and when by worldliness we have no longer that fellowship with Him we once enjoyed-if we are indeed His friends we shall weep, saying of our follies and our sins, "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him."
Jesus is often very close to His disciples when they do not perceive Him.-"She turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing, and knew not that it was Jesus." Though He addressed her, she did not recognize Him. She was not expecting Him, His resurrection body was somewhat changed. Through the thick veil of tears she could not see distinctly. And so "she knew not that it was Jesus." Thus also we often fail to see Him when He is very near. We are not looking out for Him. He comes in a method unfamiliar. We are so absorbed in sorrow that we do not see Him who comes to soothe it. Like the sisters of Bethany at the grave, we grieve so much for Lazarus that we do not recognize the "Resurrection and the Life." Like the disciples in the storm, we are affrighted when He walks to us across the waves. We often think He is farthest when He is nearest. Is he not "a very present help in trouble?" Broken-hearted penitent, mourning because your sins have driven away your Savior-that very sorrow is a sign that He is close at hand, for "He is near unto those who are of a contrite spirit." Like Mary also, we sometimes mistake Him for the gardener. We think only of the servant when we should acknowledge the Master. We rest in the means of grace when we should rise to the Giver of grace. We deem Him absent when, in the blessing He gives, through the humblest of instruments, we should adore Himself.
Christ's first resurrection word was one of consoling sympathy-not of power, victory, or vengeance. He is tender, loving still-"the same yesterday, today, and forever." His first word was not to an official but a private person; not to the strong but to the weak; not to an apostle but to Mary. He spoke to womanhood through her. He knew how often woman weeps unseen-what a martyrdom of grief she often undergoes by sensibilities wounded, yearnings unsatisfied, love unrequited, closest ties torn asunder, anxieties and toils which only love like hers could enable her to endure, and wounds hidden from all eyes which only love like hers could bear and yet conceal-and so Christ's first word after His resurrection was one of sympathy with woman's grief. "Woman, why are you weeping?" He asks the cause, not that He does not know, but that He would have the sorrowful lighten their sorrow by pouring out their heart into His.
"Woman, why are you weeping? whom do you seek you?" Seeking Jesus is the best antidote to weeping. The question implies that sorrow should be dispelled by such a search. Are you seeking one who is angry? Then you might weep, dreading a foe. Or one who is treacherous? Then you might weep, fearing betrayal. Or one who is feeble? Then you might weep at his inability to help. But if you do you seek the loving, faithful, mighty Savior, why are you weeping? Weeping and seeking are sure to end in finding and rejoicing when He whom we seek is Jesus.
True love may be combined with deficient knowledge.-"Sir, if You have borne Him hence, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away." No name had been mentioned, but Mary speaks so, because He was uppermost in her feelings all the world besides must think of "Him" too. So let the thought of Jesus be in our hearts. Will He be pleased? What would He have me to do? In this enterprise, in that company, shall I have His presence and enjoy His blessing? Affection sees no difficulties. Love laughs at the impossible. Mary was alone, a weak woman, but she was ready to bear away the body at once! Yet how little knowledge! She was thinking of Christ as dead, and expected to minister only to His corpse. Jesus accepts true love in spite of its errors. There may be theology, correct and complete in every detail, but without love; and there may be love, true and deep, allied with much ignorance. Should not we also be lenient with intellectual mistakes when associated with reverent love? Even doctrinal errors should be treated gently, much more should ecclesiastical. Are those who use other church forms be more alien from us, than those who do not love the same Savior? Shall we separate from any loyal soldier of Christ merely because he does not wear our uniform, and regard those who do not serve Him as nearer to us, because within our own pale, than his true friends outside? Jesus will excuse mistaken modes of worship and of thought; but no orthodoxy or churchmanship, however sound, will win recognition from Him without love. If we sorrow because we cannot as yet see as some other Christians do, let us not fear rejection from Him who seeks first the homage of the heart, and will eventually enrich with all truth those on whom He has already bestowed the greater gift.
Christ knows His disciples individually. "Jesus said unto her, Mary!" He addressed her by the old familiar name. The friend of former days was still individually dear. So Jesus knows all His disciples personally. "I have engraved you on the palms of My hands." The good Shepherd "calls His own sheep by name." The High Priest carries their memorial on the sacred breastplate. So He appeals to us. Are we in sorrow, inconsolable, forgetting Him who sends it for our good? He reminds us of His presence, saying-Mary! Are we fearing some danger as though we had no Almighty Friend to protect us? He places Himself between us and it, and says-Mary! Are we becoming worldly, restraining prayer, toying with temptation, looking at some forbidden fruit until it becomes pleasant in our eyes? Jesus, in a tone of faithful remonstrance, says-Mary!
Every true disciple recognizes the Savior's voice.-"She said unto Him, Rabboni, which is to say, Master." Do we thus confess Him to be "Master"-saying, "Lord, what will You have me to do?" In sorrow, do we submit with patience, and say, Rabboni? In danger, do we trust with holy confidence and repeat, Rabboni? When tempted, do we turn at His reproof and penitently, resolutely exclaim, Rabboni?
At death Jesus will say-"Mary." It will be the voice not of an enemy, but of our best, our heavenly Friend. It will be Jesus coming to take us to Himself. Shall we be ready at once to welcome Him as Rabboni? When He sits on the throne of judgment He will invite to His kingdom every one of His faithful followers, with an individual recognition, calling each by name-Mary! Shall we be among them and joyfully respond, Rabboni?
Let such be our response now in every garden of grief. Let us cheerfully submit to His will, and drink every cup He gives us. In answer to His personal appeal, let us habitually and practically imitate her who, when Jesus said unto her, "Mary!" turned herself and said unto Him, "Rabboni!
HallN GLHGG: 22. The Petitioner of Gethsemane Our Helper in Prayer
"Let us come with boldness to the Throne of Grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need."
In times of trouble, there is no comfort like that of prayer. It is a marvel that sinful man may have any communion with his Maker; still more, that such communion may be with boldness! How shall we think of Him so as to be encouraged to pray to Him? As on the throne of Empire?-It is too vast! As on the throne of Justice?-It is too stern! As on the throne of Glory?-It is too dazzling! He is on the Throne of Grace! The Empire is ruled with kindness, the justice linked with mercy, the glory beaming with love. Our encouragement to approach it is this-He who prayed in Gethsemane has passed into the heavens, to pray for us.
Our chief and comprehensive request must ever be "Mercy and Grace." The first prayer of penitence is "God be merciful to me a sinner." He who atoned for sin is before the throne to plead for sinners. Grace includes more than mercy. It is seasonable support at all times. If mercy forgives our failings, grace helps us not to fail. We need mercy to pardon, grace to purify; mercy to give life, grace to nourish it; mercy to rescue us from Pharaoh, grace to guide us to Canaan; mercy to lay the foundation of the temple, grace to complete it to the top-stone. Grace every day, in all circumstances-in prosperity, lest we forget God; in adversity, lest we distrust Him; in temptation, lest we fall; in conflict, lest we yield; in anguish, lest we faint. Our great encouragement is that on the Throne is One who has known the need of help from God, from angels and from men.
It is in the garden of grief that we specially need "grace for seasonable help" to sustain the heavy burden of the oil-press-patience, submission, acquiescence, undoubting trust, the love that accepts cheerfully every cup, however bitter, which our Father gives us to drink! Surely He who so took the cup in Gethsemane, and who is now "perfected" on the throne, will bestow the grace for which we may ask in full assurance of faith.
We may come "with boldness." Not the boldness of presumption; for if we would "serve God acceptably" it must be "with reverence and godly fear." Not the boldness of self-will; but ever praying-"Father, Your will." Not the boldness of self-merit; but saying with Daniel, "We do not present our supplications before You for our righteousnesses, but for Your great mercies."-It is the boldness of reliance on God's own nature and promise. He has bidden us pray, assured response, and promised help. He means what He says. So we may come with reliance, though with reverence; with earnestness, though with submission; with confidence, though with penitence; with the boldness of a child telling all its griefs and needs to a pitying parent-the boldness Jesus encouraged in the parable of the importunate widow, and rewarded in the case of the Syrophenician mother.
Are we discouraged by the infinite majesty of God? He is revealed in Jesus as full of compassion and near to every one of us. Does sin make me fearful in approaching a God so holy? My Priest offers Himself as a sacrifice, pleading His merits to atone for my misdeeds. Do I hesitate because of the unworthiness of my prayers, the defective penitence, the lack of fervor, and the wandering thoughts? He is "touched with a feeling of our infirmities." He knows the habitual desire of the heart in spite of the intrusion of other things. He knows we "hate vain thoughts," and though they persist in flying round us like stinging gnats, we do not encourage them to settle upon us. If we cannot drive them off let us turn them into prayer, and use the subjects they suggest for fresh petitions; so shall these very hindrances become helps. Our best prayers are indeed defective, but His mingle with ours, and "Him the Father always hears."
But I need so very much! my guilt is so great, my faith so weak, my burden so heavy! He knows it all. Our very guilt is a plea with Him who came on purpose to bear it. Our need is an argument with Him who has a boundless store and wishes to dispense it. Our sorrow is a resistless recommendation to Him who came to "bind up the broken-hearted."
"The Spirit also helps our infirmities; for we know not what we should pray for as we ought; but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." Jesus pleads for us before the throne-He also sends us more than angelic help, even that of the "other Comforter," who pleads with us in our hearts, prompting desires beyond the imperfection of words to express.
Let us then pray with full assurance of faith, seeing that the throne is the throne of grace, that our Father is "the God of all grace," and "waits to be gracious;" and that at His right hand is He who died for us, who is not ashamed to call us brethren, shares our sorrows, pities our infirmities, and is pledged for our salvation. Whatever the burden of our grief, whatever the desire of our heart, let us "draw near with boldness unto the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy, and may find grace to help us in time of need."
HallN GLHGG: 23. Peace by Prayer
"In everything let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God shall guard your hearts."
Prayer is the pathway to peace. It is essential to piety. It is as light to plants, fuel to fire, food to the body. If we were to cease from prayer we would cease to live, for by prayer we are united to the Source of Life.
The precept "Pray without ceasing" means, not that we are always to be in the act of supplication, but habitually prayerful, so that at no time it would be incongruous to express our desires to God. Prayer should not resemble a solitary pillar on a level plain, but a cluster of pines on a swelling hill. The whole of life should be elevated above the world, and acts of prayer harmonious uprisings from what altogether soars heavenward.
Affliction prompts us to pray for help, and this is one of its chief uses. It is better to suffer and pray than to rejoice while forgetting God. In everything we shall be saved from anxiety, if we bring everything to our Father. Paul spoke from experience when he said, "In nothing be anxious; but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 4:6, 7).
Exposed to dangers on all sides-accidents, disease, poverty, bereavement, death; with commercial or family responsibilities; the trader with his liabilities; the father providing for his family; the mother tenderly watching over her children-how can they avoid anxiety? The indolent, the selfish, the frivolous may say they don't care; but the nobler the nature the less the indifference to whatever involves the welfare of others-of individuals, of the nation, of the Church. And should not every one be anxious about his own soul, inquiring earnestly, "What must I do to be saved?"
The remedy is in "prayer and supplication." "Supplication" perhaps means the special petitions of prayer in general, the prayer and the petition respecting the thing causing anxiety. And such request is to be made known to, brought into the presence of God, laid before Him as we would spread out a case to an earthly father, expressing our feelings, and asking the special help needed.
Our heavenly Father knows it already, but desires that we ourselves go to Him. He "pities" His children, and listens to them lovingly. He knows that their telling the trouble relieves it. We are not to be falsely humble, as though our troubles were too insignificant to bring before His throne. Our anxieties arise from individual troubles, and so we are to bring each individual care to God as it occurs-"in everything." We speak of unburdening the mind to a friend. So by prayer to God we are lightened of the anxiety we express. As He has all needful capacity to help us in all things, not one thing should be omitted which causes us distress. When John the Baptist was put to death, his disciples "went and told Jesus." When Lazarus was sick unto death, the sisters sent and told Jesus. So let us tell everything to Him-tell Him first, tell Him all; for He is ever near, the "same Jesus."
Such prayer should be "with thanksgiving." Acknowledgment of former answers encourages new petitions. "You have been my help, leave me not, O God of my salvation." In the darkest gloom we have cause for praise; not only for temporal mercies, but for spiritual grace-the indwelling of the Spirit, fellowship with Christ, the Father's love, the hope of glory. We should also thank Him for the expected answer to our present prayer. "This is the boldness which we have toward Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us-and if we know that He hears us, we know that we have the petitions which we have asked of Him" (1 John 5:14, 15). We should also thank Him for Himself, in whom "all things are ours." To "glorify Him for His great glory" will encourage us in every prayer uttered in the garden of grief.
Anxiety is the hurricane which troubles the waters of sorrow with contending waves and driving spray. Prayer rebukes the tempest, and though the sorrow remains there is a great calm. Make the anxiety a subject of prayer, then it will become a helpful means of grace. It has been said that "care and prayer are as opposed as fire and water." Rather let us use care as we use coals, and pile it as fuel on the fire of prayer, to make it burn more brightly.
Then "the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall guard your hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus." By faith we have peace with God-by prayer we enjoy the peace of God. We have surrendered our will to His. We have committed ourselves to Him, and all that concerns us. Why then be anxious?
This "peace of God" guards the "hearts and thoughts," the fountain and its streams, the emotions and the ideas, the affections and the will. It is said to "guard them;" the word is military, and is used in 2 Cor. 11:32-"In Damascus, the governor guarded the city;" and in 1 Peter 1:5-"Guarded through faith unto salvation." It is a peace, not of sentimental luxury, but, like that of a garrison, keeping watch and ward against a beleaguering foe. It is the best defense against disturbing doubts. We have facts and arguments, testimony and criticism, with which to do battle with unbelief on its own ground. But these weapons are not always available. For all believers at all times "the peace of God" is a sure protection. Personal experience is the best answer to theoretic objections. Walls and battlements are important, but the garrison within forms the sure defense. "One thing I know, that whereas I was blind, now I see," was an unanswerable reply to those who questioned the miracle. "I know whom I have believed" is armor which no fiery dart from without can pierce-an iron-plated ship, richly freighted, which laughs at pistol-shots.
This peace of God "passes all understanding." It is most reasonable and yet cannot be understood merely by the intellect. It must be experienced to be known. When known it surpasses all power of language to express. It is "the secret of the Lord which is with those who fear Him." This peace of God "guards the heart and thoughts in Christ Jesus." Through His mediation we obtain it. By His Spirit it is imparted. "He is our Peace;" and He says, "My peace I give unto you." Thus guarded we may rejoice in full assurance of faith, whatever our grief and dangers. What can the world offer to allure us from this fortress? How tasteless its dainties to those who feed on the Bread of Life; how empty its honors compared with those of the children of the King of kings; how weak its attractions to those who dwell in His presence; how paltry its promises to those who are "joint-heirs with Christ!" Shall we leave the castle over which the royal standard floats to enter the rebel tents? Shall we exchange the food of Heaven for poisoned banquets? Shall we exchange the music that entrances the soul, for syren-songs that beguile to death? Carnal lusts may assail the gate of the flesh, infidel doubts that of the intellect, unhallowed passion that of the affections; but the peace of God will guard the citadel from capture. A battery of earthly troubles may thunder round the believer, but will not disturb, far less injure one who "dwells in the secret place of the Most High."
The chief solace in all sorrow must ever be the assured presence and love of our heavenly Father. We cannot doubt the existence of One with whom we are in habitual communion. Having this, let us rejoice that all the events of our life are ordered by Him in love. "My times are in Your hand;" not only because You are Ruler over all events, but because I take my times and place them in Your hands with childlike reliance. Therefore I will not be anxious either for what is present or what is future. Thus may Your peace guard my soul as a garrison.
My times are in Your hand!
I know not what a day
Or fleeting hour may bring to me,
But I am safe while trusting Thee,
Should all things fade away.
All weakness I-On Him rely
Who fixed the earth, and spread the sky.
My times are in Your hand!
Pale poverty or wealth,
Corroding care or calm repose,
Spring's balmy breath or winter's snows,
Sickness or buoyant health
Whate'er betide-If God provide,
'Tis best; I wish no lot beside.
My times are in Your hand!
Many or few my days,
I leave with You-this only pray,
That by Your Grace, I, every day
Devoting to Your praise,
May ready be-To welcome Thee,
Whene'er You com'st to set me free.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 24. Believing Prayer Sure of Gracious Response
"Shall not God avenge His own elect?"-Luke 17:1-8
Prayer is specially appreciated in the garden of grief, because it brings us into the immediate Presence of Him who is able to deliver and console. As prayer is our most effectual weapon against our adversary, he endeavors to weaken the arm that wields it by suggesting doubts of its efficacy. Can our imperfect petitions reach the infinite Ruler, or change His purposes? Sometimes the darkness seems deeper, and the storm more fierce. Then we are apt to pray with less fervor, or even desist from what seems useless. Knowing how His disciples are thus tempted, our Lord taught them, on diverse occasions and especially in the parable of the importunate widow, "always to pray and not to faint."
Believers in Christ have, in these words, an absolute reply to all skeptical objections. He who was in the beginning with God, in the bosom of the Father, knows the Father's heart. He is at the right hand of the Majesty on high, before whom countless petitions are presented, and, knowing how our petitions are received, encourages us to go on presenting them. He confirms to us this high privilege. We may "pray." He impresses on it the seal of His Divine authority. We "ought to pray!" He teaches us that not on special occasions alone, but at all times, in every trouble, we "ought always to pray!" And though hope still deferred makes the heart more and more sick, still we are to pray in full assurance of the best answer, in the best method, at the best time "Men ought always to pray and not to faint."
The argument in the parable by which our Lord enforced this duty was one, not of resemblance but of contrast. In every particular the "unjust judge" was the reverse of "Our Father." If the widow gained her suit, how much more certainly will God's elect! (Luke 18:1-8).
Like many Oriental judges this man seemed to glory in saying, "I fear not God, neither regard man." The widow knew it, yet, having no other resource, she appealed to the official minister of justice. Some villain, taking advantage of her weakness had stolen her cow, or robbed her orchard, or filched part of her ground by removing the ancient landmark, and was threatening further injury. So she went to the magistrate for protection and redress. "Avenge me of my adversary." She had no influential friend, no public press to appeal to, no power to compel or money to purchase justice-yet she persevered. At first without success. One day the judge had not yet risen; another day he had retired early. Now he was at dinner; now with friends; now too busy. At length he promised to help her, not because of duty or pity, but because annoyed by her pertinacity. Many a seemingly good deed is prompted by no better motive.
Our adversary, the devil, wages perpetual war against the elect of God, seeking to beguile or drive them into sin. Alas, that many should treat their foe as a friend! They give heed to his counsel, admit him to their abode, make over to him their chief treasure, and do his drudgery as a delight; little dreaming that all the while he is apprehending their ruin.
Happy they who, whatever their sorrows, appeal against sin as their foe. They know that the sin which is in them is not of them-not what they were made for or wish-but an invader claiming what was never rightfully his, a murderer seeking by separating them from God to destroy them-as in the case of Job, trying to make earthly trouble an occasion of spiritual injury, by distrust and resorting to wrong methods of alleviating it. Therefore, the children of God appeal to Him for support. This adversary tries to rob me of a good conscience, to snatch away my robe of righteousness, to destroy my peace, to invade my heart, which belongs only to You. Help me, O my Father! I cannot struggle alone against an adversary so strong! Trials sent by You are, I know, for my good, but the enemy puts poison into the cup, whose bitterness alone would never harm me. He perverts Your dispensation of merciful chastisement into an occasion of malicious injury. Counteract his devices! Drive away from this Gethsemane the lurking devil who would make it a desert of doubt, instead of a garden of confidence!
The judge, "for a while" turned a deaf ear to the supplicant; and God sometimes appears to "bear long" with the elect. The rain does not at once descend on the parched ground; the empty cistern is not filled; the light does not shine; the adversary mocks. But we are taught "to pray and not to faint." God never delays to listen, but chooses His own time for letting His help appear. Jesus tarried long after the urgent message that His friend was sick. The woman of Canaan repeatedly urged her petition, and Paul prayed again and again about his thorn in the flesh. Our Lord Himself, in Gethsemane, shared in this seeming delay. He who was thus tried as we are, bids us, in spite of discouragements, "always to pray and not to faint."
The argument is a twofold contrast. The JUDGE was unrighteous. He would help for the sake of a bribe, but disregarded the widow who could pay him nothing. To him truth, equity, honor, were unmeaning terms. How much more will prayer be heard by the infinitely righteous One, whose promise and oath are pledged to uphold His law, support the needy, and punish the wrong-doer! The judge was unmerciful as well as unrighteous. This widow's tears had no effect on a nature steeped in selfishness. How much more will prayer be answered by a God merciful and gracious, whose name is Love, who pities His children, whose throne is a throne of grace, whose nature is ever to have mercy! The judge, if willing, might be unable by infirmity, absence, or press of engagements, to attend to the widow; but our God never slumbers nor is weary, is always at hand, and, however numerous the applicants, can give undivided attention to each one, at every moment and without delay.
There is also a contrast between the PETITIONERS. In the parable the suitor is a widow, indicating helplessness. There was nothing in her position to commend her to notice. But believers belong to the highest of all aristocracies. They are the chosen of God; their names are enrolled in the archives of the royal palace; their peerage dates from before the foundation of the world; they are kings and priests unto God. However poor and despised in this world they claim relationship with glorified spirits, angels are their ministers, they belong to the Royal Family of Heaven. "And shall not God avenge His own elect?"
The widow applied on a private and personal matter. Protect me-avenge me of my adversary. This enemy of hers had not insulted or injured the judge. But the cause of God's elect is His-as well as theirs. They are the Lord's jewels, and Satan tries to rob the royal treasury. His success would be God's dishonor, whose heart is set on bringing His many sons to glory; therefore the foe who would hinder them is His foe too. If he who touches us "touches the apple of His eye," our petition is for God as well as for ourselves.
The widow was not summoned by the judge. On the contrary, his notorious character discouraged her. But God's elect are specially invited by the King. The Ruler's chosen Ambassador says, we "ought always to pray and not to faint." Should we not then "come with boldness to the throne of grace?" How can prayer be disregarded by Him who commands it? The widow might fear lest importunity would incense the judge. But our persevering supplication is welcomed by our Father, who loves to hear His children's voice.
The widow drew up her own petition. The judge had given her no advice how to approach him or what to ask. But our petition has been indited by the Judge Himself. He has taught us what to pray for, and even furnished us with words and pleas. He has recorded promises with which to back up our requests.
The widow was alone. There was no crowd of petitioners appealing against the same adversary. But God's elect are an innumerable multitude. The saints in heaven unite with those on earth, saying, "How long, O Lord, how long? How long shall the adversary assail Your Church, distress Your children, seek to despoil and destroy Your elect?" Crowds of petitioners stand day and night in the Presence, with one heart and voice saying, "Avenge me of my adversary." If the solitary petitioner was heard, will not the countless hosts of God's elect be heard?
Most of all, in the way of contrast, is the consideration that the widow stood before the judge, without advocate or friend to plead for her, whereas we have with us God's own Son to support our petition, and ensure a favorable response. "He ever lives to make intercession," and "Him the Father hears always." If the widow, standing there alone, was successful in her suit, how much more will God avenge His own elect, when they come before Him in numberless array, and with God's own Son for Advocate.
Do we hesitate to take this comfort to ourselves, fearing we are not of the elect? They are described as those who habitually pray. This we are all commanded to do. If we accept the privilege and obey the command, we have the best reason to know that we belong to the elect. If we feel that sin is our chief adversary, earnestly strive to resist its assaults, and fervently pray God to help us, we are among the elect of God, whom Jesus described as praying day and night unto Him.
"And will not God avenge His own elect? He will avenge them speedily, though He bears long with them." Trials often are removed speedily, in a literal sense. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." And when deliverance seems delayed, yet in view of an eternity of bliss, it comes speedily. When we reach our eternal home we shall be astonished at the shortness of the journey which has led to such unending bliss; and the lightness of the afflictions which wrought out such an exceeding weight of glory.
Let us then never grow faint in prayer, but be assured that we are answered in the best way, and that although sometimes the very reverse of what we ask may seem to be sent, such disappointment to our passing wishes is the real granting of our habitual desire-to be purified from sin, to enjoy more of God, to be made more fit for heaven, and thus to be delivered from our adversary. Yes, even in disappointment, we will rejoice that God is answering the prayer of His elect, "though He bears long with them."
PRAYER ANSWERED IN DISAPPOINTMENT
"One jewel more"-I asked, "to make me glad."
He took the one I had.
"At length from trouble bid my soul repose."
Yet thicker came the blows.
"Grant me a life of active zeal," I said.
He laid me on sick bed.
"O let me rest with You in pastures green!"
Only steep crags are seen.
"Why with keen knife, dear Lord, do prune me so?"
"That richer fruits may grow!"
"Why in my portion mix such bitter leaven?"
"To nourish you for heaven."
"Lord, take Your way with me, Your way, not mine."
"My child! all things are thine-
All speedily, though grievous, shall prove best,
And then-eternal rest."
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 25. The Mourner's Self-Examination
"Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God." Psalm 42:5
In a fog, some objects which would guide and please us are concealed, others are magnified or distorted. In the approaching friend we fear a foe. A beautiful shrub, or the sign-post pointing homewards, may provoke terror. So in our seasons of sorrow we are sometimes perplexed, anxious, perhaps desponding as to our path. It is well to ask whether there is valid reason for this; to interrogate ourselves, as the Psalmist when he said, "Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disturbed within me?"
We may be victims of a morbid imagination-fancying poverty, sickness, unkindness, which have no reality. We may dread something future which may never become present; a dark cloud in the distance which may soon become radiant with beauty, or altogether disappear. "Many of our sorrows are purely homespun, with a pattern of our own invention, like certain painters who delight in heavy masses of shade." (C. H. Spurgeon) Our fears are often greater than our misfortunes. If not a present reality, why be cast down now? The trouble may be self-caused, and should be self-ended; arising from my own improvidence, injudicious or unkind treatment of others, unreasonable demands and expectations. Let me stop the leak of my fault, and so prevent the outflow of my disquiet. Perhaps, on consideration, I may be convinced that my trouble arises from some contemptible trifle, which I may be ashamed to acknowledge even to myself.
Still there may be a great trouble, unavoidable and distressing. But why so disturbed, O my soul? You have experienced trials before; no strange thing has happened to you. They are far less than your faults deserve; they will not last long. Why then be cast down?
Above all other arguments of comfort, "Hope in God, who is the health of my countenance and my God." Bodily health is one of the best of earthly blessings, for without it no other can be fully enjoyed. But God is my true health. Without Him nothing else can fill my heart with peace, and make my countenance radiant with joy. When Stephen was maligned, condemned, about to be stoned, his face shone as an angel's, because he beheld his Lord, the health of his countenance. Whatever else I lose, having Him, "all things are mine." He is not a strange deity; not merely the universal Ruler, but "my God," my very own, with whom I am on covenant relations-my Father!
"Hope in God." He overrules all events. No trouble comes to you accidentally. All things work together for your good. If He wounds, it is to heal. If He impoverishes, it is to enrich. "I shall yet praise Him." Be not impatient, hurting your wings against the cage which He, who watches the sparrows, is on the way to open for you to soar into the blue heavens. At evening time it shall be light. "It is when the hour is darkest, when the clouds are thickest, and the hollow moaning of despair is awakening on the chill night breeze, that He interferes, to whom time is not, save as the setting wherein He has been pleased to place His work." (Wilberforce.) When Cuthbert, missionary to Northumbria, was driven on the coast of Fife, he said, "Snow closes the road on land and storm the sea, but still the way of heaven lies open." Why then so cast down? for at the worst you will be at the best-at home. "I shall yet praise Him."
My distress may be spiritual. I fear I do not rightly believe, love, and obey! O my soul, hope in God. His love, not your own feelings, is your health. Your fear reveals a desire for Him, which He inspired and accepts. Take your unworthiness to Christ, and cast your burden on the Lord.
Have you no enjoyment in religion? Still "hope you in God." The mountain of God's grace, on which you have often gazed with delight, has not melted away in the mist that conceals it. Remember Him from "the land of Jordan;" how He brought you out from Egypt and the wilderness, and opened a way through torrents of fears and temptations, into the fair Canaan of promise. Remember Him of whom our fathers have told us what things He did in their days, and in the old times before them-all recorded blessings to His children in all ages, and the still more numerous blessings unrecorded. Remember Him who blessed you in former days, whether on some great mountain like Hermon, or on some little hill Mizar; in great or little troubles. Remember all your delight in communion with Him-in the church, or the chamber; on some high mountain of adoration, or a little hill of trust and love; in the palace of privilege, or the prison of privation. Yes, Lord, though disturbed about myself at present, I will bear in grateful remembrance the past, and remember You. "Though deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls," Your love is deeper than any sorrow of my soul, and if, through depth of sorrow, I reach depths of love, "I shall yet praise You."
Yes, I will remember You, O Savior!-how You did weep and agonize in Gethsemane, how Your prayer was heard, how You did drink the cup of sorrow for me! I will remember You from the hill Calvary, where Your blood was shed for my sins, and from the hill Olivet, whence, Victor over death, You did ascend to the throne on which You are seated for evermore-"mighty to save!" "I will remember You, the health of my countenance and my God!" "The Lord will command His loving-kindness in the day-time," and if sorrow still casts its dark mantle over me, yet "in the night His song shall be with me."
Are you grieved because of yielding to temptation? It would indeed be a reason to mourn if sin caused no sorrow. If I am indulging in any wrong I may well be disturbed. There can be "no peace to the wicked," until he repents; and none to God's children while cherishing any evil in the heart. Unreserved surrender is the cure of such disquiet.
But ceasing to do evil does not remove the guilt already incurred. Does past sin weigh heavily?-"Hope in God;" cast your burden afresh on Him who says, "Come unto Me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." You shall yet praise Him. You may at once. He says to every penitent seeker-"Your sins are forgiven, go into peace."
Yes! though my tears have been my food day and night, though all Your waves and Your billows have gone over me, the night will soon be over, the battle ended, the victory won; I shall yet praise You. Yet? I will praise You now! Now in the fight, now in the furnace, now "in the night His song shall be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life. Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disturbed within me?" God is more than circumstances, more than all things visible, more than my changing ideas and feelings respecting Him. He abides ever, Infinite in goodness. I will "try when I have comforts to find God in all; and when I have no comforts to find all in God." (C. H. Spurgeon.)
Why cast down? Hope in God;
Love's own hand uplifts the rod;
Wisdom guides each painful blow,
All things work for good, we know.
Why amid the darkness fear?
Your protecting Lord is near-
Why should fiercest foes alarm?
He will shelter you from harm.
Why are you cast down, my soul?
Jesus Christ has made you whole;
Are you tempted? He can save;
Fearing death? He spoiled the grave.
Why cast down with such a Friend?
He will love you to the end,
Guide and guard you all your way,
Bring you to unclouded day.
Soon, all doubt and sadness o'er,
Safe on Canaan's peaceful shore-
Joyful, grateful, you shall raise,
For brief sorrow, endless praise!
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 26. Anxiety
"Be not anxious for your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear." Matthew 6:25
"Fear not, little flock, it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom." Luke 12:32
In the parable of the man who said to his soul, "You have many goods laid up for many years," the Great Teacher warned the rich against eagerness in accumulating wealth. He then warned the poor against anxiety about securing the necessaries of life. Covetousness is of the mind, not of the condition. The poor may be as eager for pence as the rich for pounds. There is anxiety of the cottage, as well as of the counting-house; fretting care, not only that the barn be full, but lest it become empty. So our Lord admonishes all His followers not to be perplexed about earthly things. Take no fretting thought-be not anxious. For this He gives six powerful reasons, Luke 12:22-32.
1. Contrast the smallness of what makes us anxious-with the greatness of what God has already given. He bestows life without our labor or taking thought. We breathe when asleep as when awake, and the blood circulates and builds up the wasting tissues without our consciousness. Is not that life more than the food which supplies it, and that body more than the clothing that clothes it?
Sometimes the rich are anxious in their abundance, what selection shall be made for the feast-"what shall we eat?" And sometimes the crowded wardrobe causes anxiety as to which dress shall be selected for some occasion of pleasure or display-"with what shall we be clothed?" But many more are anxious about the empty cupboard-how to obtain food for their day's hunger, or clothing to shield the body from the cold. But if God gives life, will He not sustain it-and if He sustains the body, will He not clothe it? "The life is more than food, and the body than clothing."
2. God provides for birds and flowers-much more for us. "Consider the ravens," so familiar to the disciples. Let us consider our own homely or beautiful musical birds-the blithe sparrow chirping in the hedge or city-street; the thrush as it warbles its glad matins and vespers, repeating each strain as loving it; the black-bird, with mellow plaintive tones; the lark upspringing to heaven, rapturously singing as it soars; the rustic robin cheering winter's gloom with its mellifluous sweetness, worthy to be named even with the nightingale, faithful summer-visitant, gladdening both darkness and day with its enchanting melodies. They do not sow nor reap nor gather into barns-yet God feeds them! He endowed them with that keen vision to spy their food, those agile wings to reach it, that sharp bill to seize it.
"He hears the ravens that cry, and satisfies the desire of every living thing." And will He not much more feed you whom He has more richly endowed-you who can, and therefore should, sow and reap and store, with all industry and prudence? But having done your duty in the exercise of such capacities, and having prayed to your Father who much more cares for you-should you be anxious, as if inferior to birds in trusting Him?
Consider also "the lilies how they grow;" (flowers in general, or specially the scarlet anemone-making the spring pastures of Palestine radiant with beauty). We may consider the flowers poetically, and listen to the wisdom or the music of their speech. The painter considers them artistically, and reproduces their forms and hue, so that in smoky towns we may be reminded of rural beauty, and in winter's dreariness of summer's loveliness. But we may also and chiefly consider the lilies as reminding us of God. "How they grow!" Who can understand all the mystery of the life even of a tiny flower? They "toil not," as men; "neither do they spin," as women. Their life is brief; flourishing today, and, as in the East, cut down to dry in the sun, and next day burnt up in the oven; and yet so graceful in form, so beautiful in color, the objects of so much thoughtful and tasteful care, "that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."
And will God not much more clothe you, who can both toil and spin, and who have the same God who esteems you of far greater value, and has promised that you shall not lack anything that is good? Children's voices may reprove our anxiety as they sing-
I know who makes the daisies,
And paints them starry bright:
I know who clothes the lilies,
So sweet and soft and white:
And surely needful clothing
He will for me provide,
Who know Him as my Jesus
And in His love confide.
I know who feeds the sparrow,
And robin, red and gay;
I know who makes the skylark
Soar up to greet the day:
And me much more He cares for,
And feeds with daily bread,
Whom He has taught to love Him,
And trust what He has said.
The daisy and the lily
Obey Him all they can;
The robin and the skylark
Fulfill His perfect plan.
And I to whom are given
A heart, and mind, and will,
Must try to serve Him better
And all His laws fulfill.
The daisies they must perish,
The lark and robin die;
But I shall live forever
Above the bright blue sky:
Dear Jesus, You will help me
To love You more and more,
Until in heaven I see Thee,
Am like You, and adore.
-Newman Hall
3. The USELESSNESS of anxiety. Who, by all his "worry, can add one inch to his stature"? By temperance in all things, and observance of the laws of health, we may add some years to our age. But not by anxiety. This shortens life. Some are anxious to increase their apparent height, but who can increase his real height by an inch? How small a thing it would be to add a little to length, either of life or limb, compared with the constant supplies of God for the body's life! "If you then, are not able to do even that which is least, why are you anxious concerning the rest?"
Anxiety is useless. It does nothing towards attaining its end. It hinders clear thinking, firm purpose, steady perseverance, final success. An old author says-"Don't fret about what you can't help, or what you can help. If you can't help it, fretting won't mend it. If you can help it, help it, and there will be nothing to fret about." Exercise caution, diligence, perseverance, prayer. "Work but don't worry." Then commit the result to God-"Casting all your care upon Him; for He cares for you."
4. It is heathenish to be "anxious for all these things." It is right to desire, work for, and enjoy them; but if we make them our supreme aim we lower ourselves to the level of idolaters-"for all these things do the heathen seek after." The nature of the particular idol does not constitute heathenism, but the idolatry which exalts anything above God. Alas, how many professed Christians are only baptized heathen! setting their affection on things of the earth; "lovers of pleasure, more than lovers of God;" indulging "covetousness, which is idolatry;" as if man's chief end were to please himself instead of "to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." As if our clothes were more than our body-our money more than our mind-our things more than ourselves-what we think we have more than what we really are. "A man's life consists not in the abundance of the things which he possesses," but in what by God's grace he is-in faith, love, holiness, childlike trust. If eager chiefly for things of earth we are only like "the heathen."
5. Our Father knows our need. The Creator of the birds and flowers is our loving Father. Christ does not say that we can do without these things, and should not wish for them. He was more human than some philosophers-He is more considerate of our present needs than some Christians. He said that we have need of these things, and that our Father knows it-knows that we require food and clothing, the comforts of home and the solace of affection. "He who made the need, pledges the supply." The very need is evidence that He who caused it considers it. So in the higher need of the soul. If He implants the desire for what is good, He will help us to attain it. The longing for Himself is evidence that He has already given Himself. "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."
6. If our Father gives us the kingdom-we may trust Him to provide all else. The disciples were few, feeble, poor, and exposed to the world's enmity. They were as timid sheep. But Jesus said, "Fear not." If a little flock, you have a great and good Shepherd, able to supply all your need, ever keeping watch, mighty to save. To Him you are precious. You are on your way to the kingdom. Though wanderers in a wilderness you will soon dwell in a palace-not as strangers, but as children of the King! It is your Father who gives it, and it is of His "good pleasure."
If so, will He not provide all needful things on the way? If a loyal subject volunteers in the army of his king, will not daily rations be provided? If a loving father urges his far-off son to come home, and prepares for his reception, will he allow him to perish by the way for lack of what his father could supply? Will not the love that gives the greater, give the less? "He who spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how will He not with Him also freely give us all things?" Little flock, you already realize the promise.
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." Christ now reigns in the heart, protecting and blessing all who obey Him. "We have eternal life." If then we possess the kingdom of heaven, shall we be anxious respecting the things of earth?
Let us then "seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness," assured that all these other things shall be added unto us. Not all that others have-not all that we may desire-but all that is really best. We may have large contentment-with small stores. The peace of God does not depend on plentiful gold. To have the will of God in heart and life; to "desire what He has promised, and to love what He has commanded;" to "hunger and thirst after righteousness" more than after riches, and thus to be filled, is to be rich indeed.
Worldliness can be driven from the heart only by the entrance of godliness-the baser passion must be conquered by the nobler; covetousness by contentment-anxiety by faith-selfishness by love-Mammon by God. A paramount desire to obtain the kingdom and become righteous, will counteract every base craving. Kings and priests of God, will not desire to be slaves of Mammon.
Jesus in Gethsemane, by His prayers and agony, showed how He loved those for whom He was thus securing the kingdom. He is now seated on that kingdom's throne. Let us not dishonor Him by distrusting Him about the lesser needs of the body. Come, O Savior King, into my heart, to rule there without a rival! All else I leave. My Father knows what I need. It is His good pleasure to give me the kingdom, and I may well be without anxiety respecting all things else!
HallN GLHGG: 27. Job in the Garden of Grief
"Though He slays me, yet will I trust in Him."
Wave after wave swept over Job. Sabeans captured his oxen-lightning destroyed his sheep-Chaldeans carried off his camels-and the hurricane buried his children beneath the ruins of their house. As soon as he received these tidings, he bowed himself on the ground and worshiped, saying, "Naked came I out of my mother's womb and naked shall I return there-the Lord gave and the Lord has taken away-blessed be the name of the Lord."
What I seemed to have was never mine. It was always God's. I will bless Him for the loan, and all the comfort it gave me. And now that He takes it back, I will still praise Him. It is not merely the robbers, the lightning, the hurricane-"Who knows not in all these, that the hand of the Lord has wrought this? in whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind? Blessed be the name of the Lord."
Other troubles followed. Losses may be borne in health with a patience, which gives way under pain. "Put forth Your hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse You to Your face." Such was the suggestion of the Adversary who was taking occasion of his troubles in the flesh to destroy his soul. "Satan smote Job with sore boils from the sole of his foot unto his crown." Then mistaken friends, who came to comfort, vexed him by attributing such grievous sufferings to great sins.
Hear the lament of this early sufferer in his garden of grief. "Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. O that my calamity were laid in the balances, for it would be heavier than the sand of the seas. When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise? but the night is long, and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. My days are spent without hope. When I say, My bed shall comfort me, then You scare me with dreams. I am a burden to myself. O that it would please God to cut me off."
Now listen to his song as it modulates from such minor tones into those of resignation and hope. "What! shall we receive good at the hands of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?" Shall we forget the past years of prosperity-the riches, the health, the household, enjoyed so long, and shall we murmur now that he sends woe? Are not our sins more than our sorrows? Should not these sorrows lead to repentance? "How can man be just with God? If I wash myself in snow water, and make my hands ever so clean; yet will you plunge me in the ditch, and my own clothes shall abhor me. Make me to know my transgression and my sin. I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear; but now my eye sees You-therefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes."
His afflictions became profitable by increased prayerfulness. He yearned, as did the Sufferer of Gethsemane, for human sympathy. "Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O my friends, for the hand of God has touched me!" They failed him, but he the more sought comfort in God. "O that I knew where I might find Him, that I might come even to His seat! I would order my cause before Him, and fill my mouth with arguments."
Prayer brought peace. "I have treasured up the words of His mouth more than my necessary food. Would He contend with me in the greatness of His power? No, but He would put strength into me. He hides Himself that I cannot see Him, but He knows the way that I take; when He has tried me I shall come forth like gold. Though He slays me, yet will I trust in Him" (wait for Him, R.V.). Though I fall under the burden He lays on me, though I die in the furnace He kindles, I will expect the fulfillment of His promises. I may cease to trust friends who fail me, but I will never cease to trust in God.
The fuller revelation of God in Christ enables us with still stronger assurance, not only to hope and trust, but also to love and rejoice. The author's father, who had passed through many trials, made an addition to these words, which he was so in the habit of using during half a century that he seemed to think he was quoting Job when he said, "Though He slays me, yet will I trust in Him, and love Him too." Mere philosophy or stoicism or a phlegmatic temper may endure without complaining; but the religion of the Bible alone can enable us to trust in God and love Him, whatever the sorrows He may ordain.
The words in which Job expressed belief in a future state have given consolation to the children of God ever since. He could not know the full meaning of the inspiring Spirit. "Holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the Holy Spirit," but like children who are taught lessons of wisdom which they cannot fully understand, so the prophets of the Old Testament spoke mysteries for which the New Testament furnishes the key. Their eye did not see, nor their heart conceive the things which God had prepared for His people, but which He has now "revealed to us by His Spirit" (1 Cor. 2:10). What to them was given in the bud we possess in full blossom; and we in our turn know not as yet all that shall yet be developed. But the future fruit is enveloped in our blossom, as this was enveloped in their bud. "They present, not only the first lines of the picture which is worked up in detail later on, but also an outline sketched in such a way that all the knowledge of later times may be added to it." (Delitzsch.)
"I know that my Redeemer lives, and that He shall stand up at the last upon the earth-and after my skin has been thus destroyed, yet from my flesh shall I see God-whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another" (Job 19:25, 26, R.V.).
"All the days of my warfare would I wait until my release should come. Even now my witness is in heaven. My advocate is there on high. My friends scorn me, but my eye pours out tears unto God; that He would maintain the right of a man with God, and of a son of man with his neighbor." Though I die unvindicated, I know that my Redeemer lives; He could stand up for me even on the dust of my body, over my grave, to plead for me. And after my skin has been thus destroyed by disease, yet apart from my flesh shall I see God. I shall see Him "for myself," vindicating me against all traducers; my eyes shall behold Him, "and not another;" the same God whom now I trust.
This passage proves Job's undying faith in God his conviction of a future state in which what seems wrong here will be set right; and so illustrates his fixed resolve, "Though He slays me, yet will I wait for Him." "It points to the resurrection; and the poem of the Old Testament saint, this old song of the night breathing forth faith's yearning towards the glorious appearing of Him who is "the Last" as He is "the First," may be chanted by the Christian believer with no less confidence and with a fuller realization of what it means." (Lange.)
Yes! we will sing as our Easter Anthem, on every "Lord's Day" of Resurrection, every hour of our pilgrimage, in the joy of our hearts, "I know that my Redeemer lives." I know that "Now has Christ risen from the dead, and has become the first-fruits of those who sleep." I know that He ever lives as my Intercessor, and defense. Foes may condemn, friends fail, helpers die, flesh decay-but He lives! I know it, not from testimony alone, but from personal experience of His presence in my soul. There is much I may doubt, but I am certain here. I "know Him and the power of His resurrection," and "am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day."
Mourners rejoice! He is not a dead historic deliverer, a hero enshrined in grateful memory. He lives still-He is among us-He dwells within us-as He said, "I am with you always." Death has lost its terrors. Through its portal we enter His presence. "The Lord blessed the latter end of Job more than the beginning." This is true of all the children of God. For them He keeps His "best wine until the last." Their sorrow always ends in joy. Meanwhile, the gloom of the dungeon is dispelled by this ray from heaven-the shipwreck is averted by this anchor of the soul-the despair of weariness in the long wilderness is prevented by this voice which reaches us from saints in advance-"Who is he who condemns? It is Christ who died; yes, rather, who has risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also makes intercession for us." I know that He will come again in the glory of the Father, and that He will stand in the latter day upon the earth, and raise in glory the bodies of those who sleep in Him. And therefore as we bear such bodies to the grave, and anticipate our own burial, we will repeat, with fuller realization of their import, the Divine words, consecrated by so many tears, by so many joyful hopes, "I know that my Redeemer lives!"
HallN GLHGG: 28. David in the Garden of Grief
"I will bless the Lord at all times." Psalm 34:1
DAVID SIGHING
"MY God, my God, why have You forsaken me? why are You so far from helping me? I cry in the daytime, but You hear not; and in the night season, and am not silent. I am weary with my groaning; I water my couch with my tears. For innumerable evils have compassed me about-my iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of my head-therefore my heart fails me."
"My lovers and my friends stand aloof from my sore; and my kinsmen stand afar off. Yes, my own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, who ate of my bread, has lifted up his heel against me. My tears have been my food day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is your God? And I said, O that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. How long will You forget me, O Lord? forever? how long will You hide Your face from me? Consider and hear me, O Lord my God-lighten my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death."
DAVID PRAYING
"Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing-I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. Hear me, O Lord; for Your loving-kindness is good-turn unto me according to the multitude of Your tender mercies. And hide not Your face from Your servant; for I am in trouble-hear me speedily. I am poor and needy-make haste unto me, O God-You are my help and my deliverer; O Lord, make no tarrying."
"As the deer pants after the water brooks, so my soul pants after You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God-when shall I come and appear before God? Turn unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted. Look upon my affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins. Hide not Your face from me; put not Your servant away in anger-You have been my help; leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation. Have mercy upon me, according to Your loving-kindness-according unto the multitude of Your tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Restore unto me the joy of Your salvation; and uphold me with Your free spirit."
"O turn unto me, and have mercy upon me; give Your strength unto Your servant, and save the son of Your handmaid. Be not far from me; for trouble is near; for there is none to help. Give us help from trouble-for vain is the help of man. Lead me, O Lord, in Your righteousness because of my enemies; make Your way straight before my face. Hold up my goings in Your paths, that my footsteps slip not."
"My times are in Your hand-deliver me from the hand of my enemies, and from those who persecute me. Make Your face to shine upon Your servant-save me for Your mercy's sake. O God, You are my God; early will I seek You-my soul thirsts for You, my flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land, where there is no water. Be my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort. Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of Your wings."
DAVID PRAISING
"I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my supplications. Because He has inclined His ear unto me, therefore will I call upon Him as long as I live. Return unto your rest, O my soul; for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you. For You have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, and my feet from falling. What shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits toward me?"
"Come and hear all you who fear God, and I will declare what He has done for my soul. I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined unto me, and heard my cry. He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings."
"Bless the Lord, O my soul-and all that is within me, bless His holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and do not forget all His benefits-Who forgives all your iniquities; Who heals all your diseases; Who redeems your life from destruction; Who crowns you with loving-kindness and tender mercies."
"O Israel, trust in the Lord-He is their help and their shield. You who fear the Lord, trust in the Lord-He is their help and their shield. The Lord upholds all that fall, and raises up all those that are bowed down. The Lord is near unto all those who call upon Him, to all who call upon Him in truth. The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy. Cast your burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain you-He shall never allow the righteous to be moved. The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. And those who know Your name will put their trust in You-for You, Lord, have not forsaken those who seek You. Let all those who seek You rejoice and be glad in You-and let such as love Your salvation say continually, Let God be magnified. Be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart, all you that hope in the Lord."
"I will bless the Lord at all times-His praise shall continually be in my mouth. I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears. He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress-my God; in Him will I trust. For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion-in the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide me; He shall set me up upon a rock. God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?"
"I will extol You, my God, O King; and I will bless Your name forever and ever. Every day I will bless You; and I will praise Your name forever and ever. The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not be in need. He makes me to lie down in green pastures-He leads me beside the still waters. Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil-for You are with me-Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life-and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
HallN GLHGG: 30. With Christ All's Well
"Is it well with you?" 2 Kings 4:26
All is well with us when Christ dwells in our hearts. The Shunamite mother could say "All is well," because she was a believer in God. Her faith was seen in her works. She loved God, and therefore loved the "man of God." Observing that he often passed her abode on his Divine errands, she prepared a chamber for his special use. So let us provide in our hearts an abode for Christ. He is always passing. He is willing to stay with us. He knocks and asks us to receive Him. The rich woman provided for the poor traveler. The Divine Master condescends to dwell with the lowest of His servants. The Shunamite carefully provided for the prophet's comfort-"Let's make a little room for him on the roof and furnish it with a bed, a table, a chair, and a lamp. Then he will have a place to stay whenever he comes by," and this was gratefully noticed by the prophet. Elisha said to Gehazi, "Tell her that we appreciate the kind concern she has shown us." So let us thoughtfully, generously, lovingly, be careful to entertain the Lord Jesus. Let it not be enough that we open the door for Him to enter. Let us prepare and provide as we do for an honored guest in our earthly home. Let us diligently consider what will please Him. Let us give Him our attention, our admiring, adoring, inquiring thoughts. Let us hold reverent and confiding converse with Him, and avoid whatever would dishonor or grieve Him. Nothing, not even the cup of cold water, will be unnoticed by Him. Such reception of Christ, the Great Prophet, daily ministry to Him in response to His unmerited love, will be our best security and consolation. With Him abiding with us, we can appeal to Him in all trial, sure that He will lend a ready ear, and stretch forth a ready arm for our help.
Our Divine Prophet asks us, "Is it well with you?" as He asked Peter, Do you love me? not because He is ignorant, but because He wishes us to examine ourselves to exercise our faith. All will be well. In a little while we shall be beyond the reach of sickness, bereavement, sin, and death. All is well-because these trials which seem ill are on the path to that heaven. No, more-these trials help us; they speed our pace, they strengthen our feet for the march, our hands for the fight; they "work out for us" the glory to come, and as the end will be well, the road must be well also. All must be well. Afflictions are not accidents, nor the working of mere physical laws. God is infinitely kind and wise to direct the best methods to fulfill His love. We see perfection in His smaller works which are completed before our eyes, in the life of a flower or a plant. The microscope reveals that in the smallest organism invisible to the naked eye, there is perfect design and workmanship. His procedure in Providence and Grace is a work in process. We see only a small portion of it; but we may infer, from what we know of His completed works, that "He does all things well."
We are assured of this by His written Word, and by the testimony of His Son who came to reveal the Father. And so when vision fails, faith is confident, and says, "It is well." Well, when He gives; well, when He takes; in storm as in calm, in sickness as in health, in sorrow as in joy, in death as in life-all is well. With Asaph we will "wash our hands in innocency;" but, as in his case, this will not give us assurance that all is well. It is only when we can say, "I am continually with You; You have held me by my right hand; You shall guide me with Your counsel, and afterwards receive me into glory;"-it is only when we cast ourselves in all our unworthiness and weakness on Himself, and say, "God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever," that we fully know all will be well, all is well, all must be well.
Can it be well without Him? Well with revellers in a sinking ship? well with sleepers in a burning house? Well with Belshazzar at his banquet, when the fatal finger wrote, "Weighed in the balances and found wanting?" Well with the rich man with goods laid up for many years, when the warning was given, "This night your soul shall be required of you"?
But with Christ all is well. It was well with the Jewish youths in the fiery furnace; with Daniel in the den of lions; with Paul and Silas in the inner prison.
Though a river has many windings, it is still flowing to the sea. Now it turns to the right, now to the left, now backward; yet the current rolls on without stay, and bears our boat towards home. Each bend, each seemingly opposing turn flows forward. If disappointed, it is well. If our dearest hopes are baffled, it is well. If the voyage seems tediously protracted, it is well. If speedily to end, it is well. However wild the waves of the narrow sea we have to cross, it will be well; for our Savior, who crossed it to secure our safe passage will be with us. He will welcome us on the distant shore. And then, could a voice from those we leave behind reach us amid the glories of heaven, asking "Is it well?" with what exultant joy we would shout the answer back-"It is well!"
ALL IS WELL
Say, Mourner! is it well with thee-
Your store, your self, your family?
With garb of grief and tracks of tears,
With face where faith contends with fears,
Bending beneath your burden-tell,
Toiling and tried one-Is it well?
The night is dark, and not a star
Sparkles faint comfort from afar;
I cannot trace the path I tread
I see not where I am led-
How it may be, I cannot tell,
But this I know-that All is well!
Of gladness, griefs are but the seeds;
Trials are sent to root out weeds;
As showers that fertilize are tears;
Prompters to prayer are painful fears;
Even 'mid love's ruin blessings dwell-
A bleeding heart says-All is well!
HallN GLHGG: 31. Paul in the Garden of Grief
"My grace is sufficient for you." 2 Cor. 12:9
Paul was a hero-defying difficulties, danger, death. He gloried in tribulation, yet he deeply felt it. He knew the darkest shadow of the garden of grief. In writing to the Corinthians he spoke as having been "pressed out of measure, above strength, insomuch that we despaired even of life." In defending his apostleship against false teachers, he briefly refers to having endured stripes above measure, been in prisons more frequent, deaths often, thrice beaten with rods, stoned, shipwrecked, in perils of waters, of robbers, in the wilderness, in the city; weariness, painfulness, hunger and thirst, cold and nakedness; with the daily care of all the churches. (2 Cor. 1:8-10; 11:24-28.) He also testified that he had been "caught up into paradise;" but that to prevent undue elation "there was given unto him a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet him."
The trial, whatever it was, is described as a "thorn," not a sword or a spear. Comparatively small annoyances, continued, may become a severer trial of patience than great calamities, which rouse all our energies to meet them, but, like a thunder cloud, discharge their bolts and roll away. The traveler with a thorn in his foot may be obliged to travel on without halting to extricate it. Every step gives pain; he is hindered, vexed, and receives little sympathy. It is only a thorn. The thorn may be some bodily ailment, not perilous but painful-vexations in business, petty worries, painful restraints, uncongenial occupation, social antipathies, aggravating intimates, malicious slander, cruel criticisms, plotting foes, Job's comforters. The devil often takes advantage of such trials to tempt to sin. Such a "messenger of Satan" may come to "buffet;" not to give one heavy blow and depart, but to continue to deliver stinging slaps, allowing no interval of rest.
The Apostle says this thorn was "given him." It was not by accident or merely the malice of Satan. The permission of it was the kind dispensation of a Father, in order to prevent greater evil. "Lest I should be exalted above measure" is the reason repeated twice in the same sentence. This confidence in God's loving purpose was great consolation.
A thorn may not only pain the body, but irritate and depress the mind, and hinder important work. Thorns out of sight, rankle in spite of littleness. Doubtless Paul's chief desire was the removal, not of the pain so much as of the hindrance to usefulness. But greater humility was more important than greater work. What we are is more than what we do. If the continuance of the thorn kept him from being "exalted above measure," the result was better than active labor. The tool is more valuable than the extra wages, in earning which it is damaged; and pride unfits for holy service, especially pride in what appears pious.
Whatever drives or draws to the throne of grace does us good, whether bitter cup or piercing thorn. Even a messenger of Satan brings us some blessing, and his malicious buffets fresh experiences of Divine love. "Concerning this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me." Here again he learned a lesson from Gethsemane. It is natural to continue to ask relief from continued pain. Little things that trouble the child are not too little to bring again and again to the Father.
The prayer was answered in a better manner than Paul expected. The thorn remained, but not because the prayer lacked faith, sincerity, or earnestness. It is an error to suppose that every real prayer will be answered literally, and that disappointment is evidence of unbelief. Moses asked in vain to enter Canaan. The prayer of Paul was answered by the assurance, "My grace is sufficient for you-for my strength is made perfect in weakness." The Lord disappointed for a time, in order to enrich forever.
"My grace is sufficient!" What a proof that "the Lord" to whom Paul prayed was Divine! How could man or angel presume to say that his influence would suffice Paul at all times, in bearing all trials? "God manifest in the flesh," who lives forever, "mighty to save," is alone able to supply all the need of all His disciples. We may, with full assurance, rely on His promise of grace. It is Sovereign grace, the free gift of the King; Covenant grace, ratified by His precious blood; Effectual grace, successfully working in all who believe; Unchangeable grace, never diminishing in quantity and power.
The grace promised is "sufficient;" adapted to the case in quality, quantity, continuance. It is "grace for seasonable help;" grace for today, and similar grace for tomorrow's additional or different trials. As in a great ocean-steamer all necessaries are provided for the voyage, so that passengers entering into contract and going on board need have no anxiety about the daily provision, so God assures us, not that we shall escape all storms and discomfort, but that we shall be amply provided for and brought safely home.
The promise of grace was confirmed by the assurance that the strength of God would be made perfect, in the weakness of man. The weakness would be the occasion for the bestowment of the strength. The strength being that of Omnipotence, and the weakness that of frail humanity, such weakness would become immeasurable gain. It was not promised that the strength of God would be given to supplement that of Paul, but as linked with the very weakness he dreaded, the very thorn he would be rid of. And this strength was to be given, not in limited measure, but would be "made perfect." The weaker, the sadder, the more tempted, so the more strengthened, comforted, victorious, would Paul be. The child most ailing receives most of the parent's care; the patient in greatest danger the physician's greatest and most prompt attention.
If grace is needed when our path is plain, much more when it leads among bogs and precipices; if when we have no burden to carry, much more when weighed down with sorrows; if when the wind is fair and only dancing wavelets beautify the sea, much more when the cyclone rages, and our dismasted vessel leaks, almost a wreck-how precious in such extremity this promise!
What was its effect on Paul? "Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my weaknesses, that the strength of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in weaknesses, in injuries, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake-for when I am weak, then am I strong." Paul submitted to disappointment as regarded the thorn, because of the greater benefits of the grace. He ceased to pray that the former might be removed, rejoicing that by its means the latter was bestowed. He was convinced that the strength of Christ did encompass him even as a tent. He did not submit as to a disappointment; he had realized something better. He now gloried in the thorn which had so distressed him. He retained it "most gladly," as a mark of favor, as an honor from God. He could now "glory in tribulations also." He had been in danger of glorying in his eloquence, miraculous gifts, labors, usefulness, and of being ashamed of this humiliating thorn; but now he rejoiced in it as the occasion of additional grace-not in his power to speak with tongues, to cure the sick, to raise the dead; not in his over-abundant labors and successes, nor even in his vision of Paradise, but in his infirmities. He took "pleasure in reproaches," for by the power of Christ these became titles of honor; in "necessities," for they opened wider the doors of God's treasury; in "persecutions," for the hatred of men increased the sense of the love of Christ; in "distresses," for these yielded new delights.
"There is, as the Apostle has remarked, a way to strength through weakness. Let me then be the most feeble creature alive, as long as that feebleness serves to invigorate the energies of my rational and immortal spirit; as long as in that obscurity in which I am enveloped the light of the Divine presence more clearly shines-then, in the proportion as I am weak, I shall be invincibly strong; and in proportion as I am blind, I shall more clearly see. O that I may thus be perfected by feebleness, and irradiated by obscurity." (Milton)
"One adequate support
For the calamities of mortal life
Exists; one only-an assured belief
That the procession of our fate, howe'er
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a
Being of infinite benevolence and power,
Whose everlasting purposes embrace
All accidents, converting them to good."
(Wordsworth)
The gospel assures me that the God "of infinite benevolence and power" is my very own God and Father. My personal interests are not lost sight of in those of the universe. Each trial I suffer is "given" as a blessing, though it appears as a buffet. The surgeon's knife has often averted death. Even God's thorns are curative. His withholdings enrich as well as His bestowings.
But though this is not always seen as regards the interests of time, it is always true as regards those of eternity. The thorn in the flesh saved Paul from pride in the spirit. How exposed are the most useful Christians to this temptation! To be proud of our beauty, strength, riches, station, power, learning, genius-this is absurd, for what have we which we have not received? and the greater the trust, the greater the guilt of unfaithfulness. But to be proud of our piety, our spiritual experience, our prayerfulness, zeal, usefulness-this is the worst kind of pride, most offensive to God, most injurious to our own soul, and most obstructive to usefulness. If so, how beneficent the thorn, in whatever shape, that checks such self-destructive abuse of heavenly gifts!
A vessel that carries much sail needs much ballast. A tree that spreads wide its branches must plant its roots deep, if it is not to be blown down by the tornado. No true prayer is lost. Faith may be exercised, in full expectation that the precise request will be granted. But it is a loftier reliance on God when we leave the manner of the response to His superior wisdom. Asking in Christ's Name is asking in His spirit-"Father, Your will!" We desire the very best He can give us-and this He alone knows. "My thoughts are higher than your thoughts." Strength to endure a trial may be better than its removal. Paul's stripes at Philippi were more painful than a thorn, but were the occasion of his songs in the night. Madame Guyon records, "The stones of my prison-walls have often seemed as rubies in my eyes." Martyr-tortures have often brought heavenly raptures. May not thorns, then, be blessed? Suppose they are in themselves trifles, may not even the worries of daily life become occasions of subduing anger, exercising patience, praising God, and so be dignified and glorified, helping us heavenward? May we not become "more than conquerors," by the "invincible might of weakness"? If the thorn remains, but grace is given to endure it, our prayer is granted in the spirit, while refused in the letter.
"The record book of every Christian's life has pages written at the bidding of that severe teacher, Disappointment. Tears blotted and blurred the page at the time. But as we turn to the page and read it in the light of experience, we write beneath it, 'Thank God for those losses; they were my everlasting gain. All things have worked together for good.' When we reach our Father's house we shall look back and see that the rough-visaged teacher, Disappointment, was one of the best guides to lead us to it. The lessons were hard to learn. But the rod we so disliked, stripping off much we valued, enabled us to travel freer and faster. Dear old, rough-handed teacher! We will build a monument to you yet, and crown it with garlands, and inscribe on it-'Blessed be the memory of Disappointment.'" (T. L. Cuyler)
But how can we endure the thorn meanwhile? By faith in our Lord Jesus. It was the Sufferer of Gethsemane who said, "My grace is sufficient for you." These words are not recorded in the gospels. They were not spoken while Jesus was on the earth. They are utterances of the ascended, glorified Christ. They prove His words, "I am with you always." He was with Paul-He is with us. He spoke to Paul-He speaks to us. By His Spirit He can so impress His written words on our hearts that we shall, with the Apostle, hear His voice addressing ourselves. "My grace!" the grace of the Man of Sorrows, the Friend of Sinners, the Healer of the Sick, the Brother of Bethany, the Weeper at the grave, the Suppliant of Gethsemane, the Omnipotent Head of the Church, the Lord of Glory-it is he who still says, "My grace is sufficient for you."
How often in fear and woe I've cried-
"Dear Lord deliver me!"
But still thus only He replied-
"My grace suffices thee."
This thorn, which rankles in my heart,
O Lord, with pity see,
And bid it speedily depart!
"My grace suffices thee."
How can I meet each boisterous wave
On life's wild stormy sea?
O calm the tempest! support! save!
"My grace suffices thee."
The night is dark, the way is long,
And friends and helpers flee!
The fight is fierce, the foe is strong!
"My grace suffices thee."
Enough, enough, what Jesus says!
I'll boast infirmity!
In conflict, sorrow, darkness, death,
Your grace suffices me!
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 32. Fatherly Chastening
"God deals with you as with sons."-Hebrews 12:1-13
As with wrestlers after long conflict, the arms of afflicted saints sometimes droop and their knees tremble. But they are encouraged to "lift up the hands that hang down and the feeble knees" by thinking of the "great cloud of witnesses" and of Him who "endured the cross," and is now "at the right hand of the throne of God." "Consider Him lest you be wearied and faint in your minds; you have not yet resisted unto blood, striving against sin," as He did in Gethsemane. They are also consoled by the fact that all their afflictions are the wise discipline of a loving Father.
This was already revealed in their Scriptures, but the Hebrew Christians seemed to have forgotten it. We may become so familiar with statements of truth that the truth itself escapes notice. One advantage of trial is the being reminded of what had become indistinct in memory. The rain may wash off the obscuring dust from the crystal. The lightning may reveal what had been unnoticed in the gloom. Affliction, like the setting sun making radiant obscure objects in the landscape, shows up many a text of Holy Scripture which had been long overlooked. "Have you quite forgotten the exhortation which speaks unto you as unto children?"
The Bible is not a dead, dusty volume of laws and precedents in some record office, but a present living teacher. The exhortation given in the past still "speaks." Circumstances change but great principles endure. Divine commands and consolations are ever new. The Bible "speaks unto you." As "all Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for instruction" in every age, God, by Solomon (Prov. 3:11), "speaks unto you."
On the Mount of Transfiguration a cloud overshadowed the disciples; "and they feared as they entered into the cloud." So we are apt to fear when sorrow casts its shadow over us, or wraps itself around us and conceals the path. But the disciples no longer feared when "there came a voice out of the cloud, saying, This is my beloved Son." Thus the voice of the Father comes out of every cloud, saying, "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am Your God." He speaks to us as unto children. "My son, regard not lightly the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when you are reproved of Him; for whom the Lord loves He chastens, and scourges every son whom He receives." We are in danger of treating trials too lightly. We are not, as others, to assume a "don't care" attitude; or assign trial to chance, or mere second causes; or to suppose God is angry, or indifferent to our sorrows. But we are to accept them, reverently, as from a Father, acknowledging that we are erring children, and inquiring what faults of ours may have needed the correcting rod.
But we are not to "faint when rebuked by Him." This we may do when we are so absorbed in grief that we do not listen to His voice of love, nor search the Scriptures of consolation, nor carry our woes to Him in prayer; or when, in indolent lamentation, we neglect our own duties and the sorrows of others-and even worse, when we distrust our Father, and say, "Has God forgotten to be gracious?"
The antidote to both tendencies is the revealed truth of the Divine Fatherhood. Trials are a token of remembrance-not forgetfulness; of care-not indifference; of training-not abandonment; of mercy-not punishment; of love-not wrath. God speaks to you, not as unto strangers or enemies or condemned sinners, but "as unto children." What joy when we recognize the Father's voice! when His call breaks the spell of despondency and we see that His chastisements are sent as blessings!
"In that hour,
From out my sullen heart a power
Broke like the rainbow from the shower-
To feel, although no tongue can prove,
That every cloud that spreads above
And veileth love, itself is love."
(Tennyson)
"If you endure chastening, God deals with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chastens not?" An earthly father prescribes the child's treatment and duties, provides and regulates its food and culture, appointing not what the child most wishes-but most needs, not what would be most pleasant for an hour-but most healthful and useful for future life. Therefore, the son of a wise and loving father must often learn difficult lessons, perform uncongenial work, be denied desired delights, and submit to painful discipline-"for what son is he whom the father chastens not? But if you be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are you illegitimate children and not sons."
Would we desire to cease to be God's children-in order to escape the discipline? Is not the sonship worth the chastisement which is a necessary part of it? God said to Israel, "I have chosen you in the furnace of affliction; I am the Lord your God who teaches you to profit." If chosen at all should we repine at 'the where'? Is not the privilege more than the place? If the furnace "teaches us to profit" should we not bless God for it as well as for the choice?
"Furthermore, we have had fathers of our flesh who corrected us, and we gave them reverence-shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live?" They chastened us "as seemed good to them" (R.V.); according to their own discretion, sometimes erroneously, unduly, angrily; for a few days only, during childhood, then leaving the grown man to himself-but God perseveres through maturity to old age, always for our profit.
If we submit when the result of correction is only for this life, much more when its fruits are to endure forever. The longest life here is but "a few days" compared with eternity. "A little while" and the earthly advantages of parental discipline will cease; while those of God's chastisement will go on forever, in enlarged capacity for enjoying the inheritance of the saints. "Should we not be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live!" The end of an earthly father's discipline is death. There is no end to God's present discipline. We live forever with Him, and retain the fruits of His chastisement as a subject of endless hallelujah.
"He for our profit." What profit? Nothing less than this-"That we might be partakers of His holiness;" that we may reach not simply the higher life of human excellence, but of Divine; that we may become more and more conformed to the Sufferer of Gethsemane, who was "made perfect by suffering"; and so become "like Him, seeing Him as He is." Thus, His severest chastisements resemble in design His kindest consolations-for He has "given to us exceeding great and precious promises, that by these we may become partakers of the Divine nature."
Our Father reigns in heaven above!
Why then in fear be weeping?
His arm of might, His heart of love,
All harm from us are keeping.
He guards us from our foes,
Our secret grief He knows,
He wipes the tear we shed,
He watches by our bed,
When we are sick or sleeping.
Our Father loves us in the grief
We suffer by His training;
'Rebukes' are of His blessings chief,
How foolish our complaining!
He knows the checks we need;
His blows are boons indeed;
His 'takings' aid our wealth;
His 'bitter works' our health;
Earth's griefs are heaven gaining.
Our Father rules the earth and sky,
He lives and reigns forever;
Our Father hears our feeblest cry,
Our Father leaves us never.
No tempest's angry breath,
Nor foe, nor grisly death,
Nor Satan fierce and fell,
Nor all the powers of hell,
Father and child shall sever.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 33. Fruits from the Garden of Affliction
"It was good for me to be afflicted, so that I might learn your decrees." Psalm 119:71
In this catalogue of some fruits, more or less alluded to throughout the volume, Repentance may be first named. Why this chastisement? "Search me, O God, and see what wicked way there is in me;" what duties neglected, sins committed, evil desires encouraged. Is there some Achan in the camp? Was the property lost honestly gained, generously used? What neglect of physical law may have caused this pain of body, of spiritual law this sorrow of soul? Trial acts as a chemical test, precipitating and thus revealing poisonous elements, unsuspected before. Thus the soul is cleansed from what might have killed it. Trial rouses from slumber, as by a trumpet call. It often prevents meditated sin, hedges up with thorns a perilous bye-way, and reveals the vanity of worldliness. In sorrow for the dead some have been born into eternal life, and in sickness found spiritual health. "Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept Your word."
Prayer. Many who never prayed before "call upon God in the day of trouble" (Ps. 107). Believers are roused to increased prayerfulness by special need of Divine help. Submission results from such recognition of a Ruler and Father. Trust is more than mere submission to authority. We lean more confidingly on the arm of the guide when the path is difficult, and we feel our weakness. Trust brings Patience; abiding concurrence in His will, rather than a restless desire for our own. Experience follows. A patient sufferer tests the promises and the power of faith, is conscious of the presence of the Comforter, and thus enjoys an internal evidence of the truth stronger than any outward testimony. His conscience approves as blessed the endurance of the trial. Thus Hope is encouraged. Help in the past guarantees the future. This hope springs from the assured experience of the love of God, which is the true life of the soul, a union with the eternal Life, which is the assurance to us of life eternal; for "God is not the God of the dead, but of the living," and is "not ashamed to be called their God," for "He has prepared for them a city." This hope of life in the future, arising from the life of love now, will never shame by disappointing us. Thus, "Tribulation works patience; and patience, probation; and probation, hope-and hope puts not to shame; because the love of God has been shed abroad in our hearts through the Holy Spirit which was given unto us" (Rom. 5:1-5). This is a hope which floods with sunshine the darkest valley, and gives "songs in the night" of the innermost prison.
Humility. Pride of strength is shattered by infirmity. Pride of beauty is shattered by disease. Pride of wealth is shattered by losses. Pride of success is shattered by failure. Pride of fame is shattered by slander. If pride is our great foe, the affliction that destroys it is our great friend. Humility promotes teachableness, and this increases Knowledge. Affliction gives leisure and inclination for prayerful study of the word of God. Most of the marks of loving assent in many Bibles have been made in the chamber of trial.
Luther said, "Affliction is the best book in the minister's library," and we respond, Affliction is the best teacher of the best book. "It is good for me that I have been afflicted, that I might learn Your statutes." Such learning is practical and secures Obedience. Affliction is a High School of Christian morals, and an Industrial School for practicing them. Even Christ "learned obedience by the things which He suffered."
Brotherhood. Grief makes all men kin. We forget differences of rank and opinion, political and religious, in the community of sorrow. This is a precious fruit of trial, in a world where we are so apt, because of differences, to forget our common brotherhood. Especially will this operate in softening personal resentments, leading us to think more kindly, to forgive more readily, to make greater allowance for the faults of those who have wronged us. Affliction is often the instrument by which the Holy Comforter nourishes the charity which "suffers long, and is kind, which envies not, which is not easily provoked, which endures all things."
There are beauties of holiness which are specially developed by affliction. The full foliage of an oak conceals the symmetrical architecture and sturdy strength of trunk and branches, which are only displayed when the storms of autumn have torn the screen away. There are beauties in the stream as it flows with unruffled surface through the meadows, reflecting each flower on the bank, each cloudlet in the sky; but there are other beauties caused by rocky obstructions in its course, where the waters foam and flash, and rainbow-glories hover above. It is only when the light of the sun is broken, and the rays are refracted by the rain-drops, with the storm-cloud for setting, that it reveals its varied colors and transcendent beauties.
Usefulness. We are apt to think exclusively of the good to ourselves. But we may benefit others as much in the shade, as the sunshine. Joyful patience in our pain has often been more instructive than our lessons in prosperity. How much easier will trial be borne if we regard it as a special opportunity of bearing witness for God, confirming the faith of His children, and proving that "though there is a great deal of the counterfeit coin of profession, yet some there are who have the reality of it, that there is truth in it, that the very Spirit of God dwells in true believers." (Leighton.)
Paul thus valued affliction, because, by the comfort he received from God, he was better enabled to comfort others. (2 Cor. 1:3-6.) Only by suffering are we qualified for sympathy. Should not the attainment of the faculty reconcile to the method? Brave men have undertaken arduous journeys amid deserts, mountains, dense forests and frozen seas, to open routes for others. Noble women have endured agonies in witnessing them, and dared contagion, in order to learn better to minister to the sick and dying. Should we not thus imitate Him who "for the joy set before Him" in saving the lost and solacing the sad, "endured the cross"? We can repeat, with the force of personal experience, the texts, hymns, and arguments specially helpful in our own sorrow. When the Comforter has spoken to our own hearts, we are better able to speak of Him with tenderness to those whom sorrow has rendered sensitive, and whom words, cold, however clear, and a hand, hard, however ready, might hurt when intended to heal.
Afflicted believer! value trial as helping you to comfort other sufferers. It was not sent for yourself alone. The "God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation," intended that thus "we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, by the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted of God." If then, "whether we be afflicted, or whether we be comforted," it is for "the consolation and salvation" of others, let us, both during and after our afflictions, say with the apostle, "Blessed be the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort!"
HallN GLHGG: 34. Afterwards
"No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Afterwards, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it." Hebrews 12:11
Believers sometimes distress themselves because they cannot take pleasure in pain. They read of those who have rejoiced in Gethsemane; who, like Paul, have "gloried in tribulation." It is consolatory that the very exhortation to filial resignation in Hebrews 12 recognizes the fact that "no chastening for the present seems to be joyous, but grievous."
"Chastening" means child-training. There would be no training in repentance, patience, faith, if the rod caused no pain. Divine trust does not ignore human nature. Peter, sharing Paul's magnanimity, writes to the "elect" as those who were "in heaviness through manifold trials." They are "chosen of God," "sanctified by the Spirit unto obedience," on their way to "an inheritance incorruptible," "kept by the power of God," "greatly rejoicing"-and yet "in heaviness!" (1 Peter 1:2-7.) "This the apostle blames not, but aims at the moderating of it; seeks not altogether to dry up the stream, but to bound it and keep it within its banks. Grace does not destroy the life of nature, but adds to it a life more excellent; yes, does not only permit, but requires some feeling of afflictions." (Leighton.)
Weep then, sorrowing one; tell your trouble to sympathizing friends; above all, to your fellow-Sufferer in Gethsemane; but let your sorrow be soothed by the "afterwards." The corn-field, ploughed, harrowed, weeded, storm-swept, snow-covered, shall bear golden sheaves, not only after, but by reason of, such culture. The husbandman "has patience." The vinedresser with kind care uses the knife, yet sometimes with a seeming severity which makes an ignorant observer think he will kill the tree. But he knows that the abundant pruning will produce abundant fruitage afterwards.
Christ said, "I am the Vine, you are the branches." Insincere professors are no real part of the tree, but as branches tied on; not to be pruned, but cut off, unless they repent. "But every branch that bears fruit He pruneth it, that it may bring forth more fruit." Does not the "more fruit" repay the more pruning? Should not the process, though painful, be prized for the result? Is our highest end to display mere leafage, or to glorify God? "Herein is my Father glorified, that you bear much fruit; so shall you be my disciples." Ought we to be satisfied to bear only so much as to secure us from being altogether cut away? Should not every Christian desire to be as fruitful as possible, so as best to prove his discipleship and glorify God?
These results are described as "the peaceable fruits of righteousness." Submission to pruning and desire for righteousness are evidences of being children of God, fruits of the Spirit, the pledge of the fuller harvest, "the Spirit witnessing with our spirit that we are the children of God." They prove that we have faith; by faith we are justified; and, being justified, "we have peace with God, through Jesus Christ." Reconciliation is peace. Contention has given place to harmony, restless searching to contented finding, painful doubting to glad assurance, "the peace of God which passes all understanding."
Affliction, patiently endured, strengthens the habit of confidence in our Father's care, and so we are at peace. Whatever the wildness of the storm, we have proved the safety of our Refuge. Perplexing doubts about the mysteries of Providence are lost in the calm trustfulness of love. But this does not come at once. Like other works of God, the process is gradual. Life is given at once, but the full maturity "afterwards." Suffering a while helps to make us "perfect, to establish, strengthen, settle us."
The early apple is sour, the early peach flavorless; but how sweet, fragrant, beautiful, "afterwards!" When the pain is very acute, the bereavement very fresh, the sufferer may say, with Job, "My grief is heavier than the sand of the sea;" or with David, "Has God shut up his tender mercies?" or with Elijah, "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life." But as with those eminent saints, the fruit will gradually become ripe, will ripen afterwards. Trial is not a dead pebble but a living seed, planted and nurtured by God. "The fruit of righteousness is sown in peace." "And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness, quietness and assurance forever" (Jas. 3:18, Is. 32:17).
After a long war, how joyful the proclamation of peace! After the tempestuous storm, how delightful the clear sky, the calm waters! Still more delightful when we can look back at the warfare and the storm, not as injuries but as blessings; when, however fierce the battle and wild the storm, we can bless God for it all, and testify
"That care and trial seem at last,
Through memory's sunset air,
Like mountain-ranges overpast
In purple distance fair.
"That all the jarring notes of life
Seem blended in a psalm,
And all the billows of its strife
Slow sinking into calm.
"And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play
And all the windows of my heart
I open to the day." (Whittier)
There are Christians whose piety is strong but not tender, sublime but not lovely, who need sorrow to soften and to make them more like their Lord, more useful to others. A Devonshire wall, when first built up of undressed stones, though strong, is rough and unsightly; but when winds and storms have carried to it the seeds of ferns and flowers, which sunshine has developed into Nature's unrivalled tapestries, how lovely becomes the lane thus bounded by walls no less strong than before, but how soft and beautiful!
I have watched the Matterhorn in its stern sublimity, with jagged precipices and black frowning peak overhanging the valley, until I have turned away oppressed with its threatening strength. And then has rolled up a dark cloud, from which the forked lightning has gleamed, while the pealing thunder has made the ground to tremble. But presently the cloud has dispersed, and the sun has shone on a transfigured scene. Those rugged precipices, those pointed rocks, that threatening peak, are now invested with a soft and stainless robe; sublimity is arrayed in beauty; and awe has been forgotten in delight.
This chastening is said to yield these fruits "unto those who are exercised thereby." The word is from gumnazo, from which comes our gymnastics. As the athlete willingly undergoes discipline in hope of the prize; and as "afterward," when mature in strength and skill, he does not regret the training, even so the followers of the "Captain of Salvation" should not regret being "exercised," gymnastisized. We were not born as molluscs or sloths, to live merely for ease and enjoyment, but for growth in all true manliness and womanliness, for virtue and usefulness, for God and eternity.
The marble block, could it speak, would not resent the chisel that cut away what imprisoned the angel to be revealed afterwards. The rough, dull diamond would not quarrel with the grinder's tool that enabled it to flash back all the glory of the solar ray, and be a fit ornament for a kingly crown. The swelling Nile, which seems to devastate the land, leaves the fertilizing deposit that afterwards enriches it with plenty. The soul may not complain of the plough and the harrow that yield in autumn the "peaceable fruit of righteousness."
How much more in eternity will be understood the meaning of "afterwards"! In this life we may have to wrestle long in the gymnasium. During some night of polar duration, from the depths of some dark valley, from the vortex of the cyclone, from the inner recesses of some Gethsemane of grief, the cry may be continuous-"Not joyous, but grievous!" But how rapturous and never-ending the Hallelujah song "Afterwards!"
"Now the sowing and the weeping-
Working hard and waiting long;
Afterward the golden reaping,
Harvest-home and grateful song!
"Now the pruning-sharp, unsparing,
Scattered bloom and bleeding shoot:
Afterward the plenteous bearing
Of the Master's pleasant fruit.
"Now the tuning and the tension,
Wailing minors, discord strong;
Afterwards the grand ascension
Of the Hallelujah song.
"Now the training, strange and lowly,
Unexplained and tedious now
Afterward the service holy,
And the Master's 'Enter thou.'"
(F. Havergal)
HallN GLHGG: 35. Patient Waiting
"Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him." Psalm 37:7
The tide was low, the sands stretched far and wide, and the briny sea spread away until its azure blended with the sky. During centuries that shore, alternately saturated with salt and scorched by sun, had never yielded refreshment to the faint. The "sad sea waves" sullenly breaking reminded of the thirst they could not slake. But suddenly I saw a tiny pool bubbling amid the sand. It was fresh, living water, forcing its way from hidden depths, irrepressible. Little birds came to sip it. I stooped, and my thirst was quenched. My soul was refreshed, for it sang an old familiar song, "O rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him."
There are times when life seems a dreary desert. Yet, after days of weary travel, we reach some Elim with its palm trees, and if, as at Marah, the inviting waters are bitter, God casts some tree of promise into them, and makes them sweet. We faint, and perhaps murmur, but God opens fountains from the flinty rock. We rest beside some Jacob's well; and, though it be deep, faith draws up its living water, and we hear the voice of God saying, "I give waters in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert, to give drink to my people, my chosen." Let His people therefore trust in Him, and wait.
We could not rest in our weakness. But underneath the weakest believer are "the Everlasting Arms." The Red Sea still divides at His touch. The wildest storm obeys His word, "Peace, be still." Strength without love does not give rest-but He in whom we trust is our compassionate Father. He gave his Son for our salvation. He dwells in us by His Spirit. We are "engraved on the palms of His hands." A father will not leave unsuccoured the child who appeals in need or peril. Jesus says-"Let not your heart be troubled."
We seek earthly support from sources on the permanence of which we cannot absolutely rest. The cistern leaks; the fountain fails; storm desolates the vineyard; the solid ground turns to quicksand. But Jesus Christ is "the same yesterday, today, and forever." He is not an unknown God-"We have heard with our ears, and our fathers have told us what things You did in their day, and in the old time before them." We have ourselves proved His power, love, and constancy. He has delivered us from a worse bondage than Egypt, and has promised never to leave us or forsake us-"My sheep shall never perish."
Patient waiting is sometimes more difficult than actual suffering. How distressing the suspense when expecting critical tidings, waiting the arrival of the physician, watching for rescue from a sinking ship! But if our help comes from the Lord, we may "wait patiently for Him." Patiently, because He acts on a plan prompted by wisdom and love, deliberately formed, carefully carried on, sure to be perfected. Delayed deliverance is being accomplished meanwhile. Intervening frosts and rains are "preparing for our use the kindly fruits of the earth, so that in due time we may enjoy them." During the darkest hours of night the earth is rolling onward to the dawn. Vessels on changing tacks, bound to the same port, may seem going from it, yet they are thus approaching it, and by that contrary course are escaping wreck. Children might disturb the roots to see how their plants and flowers are growing. Impatience hinders, not helps. Why pluck the fruit before it is ripe? Be patient, and let it swell into fullness, and sweeten in the sun.
God is patient. The silent stars, with seeming slowness yet unamusing certainty, pursue their course. Steadily the seasons change, and day follows on to night. The husbandman has long patience until he reaps the reward of his ploughing and sowing. God was patient during Joseph's reproach and imprisonment, until the Divine plan was perfected in the protection and nurture of the chosen race. He was patient during the sins and wanderings of the Israelites, until, purified and strong by trial, they were fit to occupy the promised land. The disciples waited patiently for the promised Comforter, and the Church still waits patiently for the glorious appearing of her Lord. How patiently has God waited for us, saying, "Behold I stand at the door and knock!" And shall we not wait patiently for Him? His season for manifested support is the best. "God is never before His time, and never too late." Let us wait the Lord's leisure. "If the promise tarries, wait for it-it will surely come-it will not tarry."
"Yet a little while." The pain, the grief, the privations, the fears, are but "for a moment" compared with the "eternal weight of glory." Heaven is not far off! Safely landed on the heavenly shore, we shall wonder that the trials of the wilderness journey seemed long. And these very trials are the pathway to that home, strengthen us in reaching it, and fit us for enjoying it. They "work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."
Let us, then, respond to our Savior's call-"Come unto me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him." For salvation, we may rest on His atonement. In all our weakness, we may rest on His strength. In all our sorrow, we may rest on His sympathy. In all our perplexity, we may rest on His guidance. In all our need, we may rest on His help. In all our danger, we may rest on His deliverance.
The snows of winter nurse the hopeful corn;
Long patient months produce the harvest fair;
The darkling clouds the sunset's throne prepare;
'Mid glacier-crags are noblest rivers born;
The tempest's tracks the mountain-face adorn;
In deepest mines are treasured gems most rare;
The port seems calmer reached through storms of care.
The night of weeping ends in joyful morn;
Events are not as first they meet the sight;
The sons of God, by passing griefs are blessed;
Amid the dark He ever leads to light,
His purposes and plans are always right.
Commit your way to Him-His way is best;
O wait for Him, wait patiently, and rest.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 36. Comfort in the Will of God
"I delight to do Your will, O my God." Psalm 40:8
The perfect example of this delight was given by the "Son of David," who, "when He came into the world, said, Lo, I come to do Your will, O God." The emotion of the heart, gives readiness to the hand and swiftness to the foot. We do for one another much that would be grievous without the love that makes it luxury. So, true love to God makes His will our delight. "We freely serve, because we freely love."
We sometimes wish to do some great thing for God. How eagerly we would set about it! There are few such things within the reach of any one; but small things done cheerfully are great in God's esteem. He who is willing to obey in the least, is a better servant than the man of superior ability who waits for the greatest opportunity to display it. The same sap is in the twig as in the trunk. The value of work is not in the much but in the why. We have what we are; what we are results from what we do; and habitually doing the will of God makes us "partakers of the Divine nature."
Great is the comfort of service. It is the active breeze which drives away the brooding mist. If no special voice from heaven summons us, let us search out for ourselves some way of usefulness which we know will be pleasing to God. The woman cured of fever at once rose up and ministered to her Healer and His disciples. Varied services for Him wait at our door. "Do the duty which lies nearest you; your second duty will already have become clearer. Your condition is but the stuff you are to shape the ideal out of-what matters whether such stuff be of this sort or that, only be sure the form you give it be heroic, be poetic." (Carlyle) Be Christian, be godly.
"Oh, what hidden powers are lying
Deep within your dormant will!
Why not rouse them? lest they, dying,
Fade away-forever still.
"Kindnesses if never o'ertaken
Pass beyond your power to do;
Loving words of your might waken
Noble deeds in others too.
"Every talent has been given
By your God for His employ;
They who, serving Him, have striven,
They alone can know true joy."
(H. M. M. M.)
Great troubles are more easily recognized as His will than trifling ones. Torrents, precipices, storms, belonging to the mountain we climb, are cheerfully accepted; but not the blistered foot, the sprained ankle, the broken staff. We joyfully address ourselves to what we think our proper task, but fret at interrupting circumstances. Let us regard these as also the will of God, and therefore our true work, and so delight in them. Taking a trouble, large or little, from His hands, transmutes stone to gold! We surrender easily what we value, in proportion as we surrender it to Him; and drink the cup of sorrow the more cheerfully when we remember that our Father has given it. Not by resisting or avoiding the correcting hand, but by reposing in it, find we peace. What joy in surrendering, because it is the will of Him who loves us with an infinite love! In losing the thing we gain God. "There is in man a Higher than love of happiness-he can do without happiness, and instead thereof find Blessedness! Which God-inspired doctrine are you honored to be taught; and broken with manifold merciful afflictions, even until you become contrite and learn it-the Self in you needed to be annihilated. On the roaring billows of Time you are not engulfed, but borne aloft into the azure of Eternity. This is the everlasting Yes wherein all contradiction is solved." (Carlyle.)
It is nobler and easier to carry the cross than drag it; to embrace sorrow as a Father's gift, than submit to it as a Ruler's fiat. In accepting His chastisements, as well as "in keeping His commandments, there is great reward." Let us carry all our trials up to the "exceeding high mountain" of our Father's will, and they shall become transfigured as was the homely garb of Christ by the dazzling splendors with which angels are enrobed. Gethsemane will be glorified. Instead, then, of sitting down in listless woe, with profitless longing for rest beyond the grave, let us find comfort in doing the will of God now.
Life is wasted if we spend it
Idly dreaming how to die;
Study how to use, not end it;
Work to finish, not to fly.
Godly living-best preparing
For a life with God above:
Work! and banish anxious caring;
Sorrow yields to active love.
Death is but an opening portal
Out of life to life on high,
Man is vital, more than mortal,
Meant to labor, not to die.
Praise for present mercies giving,
With good works your age endow;
Death defy by Christlike living,
Heaven attain in service now.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 37. The Comfort of Praise
"I will bless the Lord at all times."
To "praise the Lord for His goodness" is comforting music in every garden of grief. If we fix our thoughts on the many blessings He gives us, we shall think less on those He withholds. If we praise Him for what He is as well as for what He gives, we shall feel more sure that the sorrows He ordains are themselves reasons for thanksgiving.
It is easier to pray than to praise; because we are more conscious of our wants than of our wealth-of our pains than of our pleasures-of the moments when the stream of enjoyment is interrupted, than of the hours during which it flows with unrippled surface. We pray for what we want more than praise for what we have. Praise belongs to a higher order of devotion than the mere asking for favors. Praise is the life of heaven, and saints on earth may share the privilege. The Bible enjoins it, the example of believers encourages it, the divine Spirit in the heart prompts it. If saints of old said, "I will sing praise to my God while I have my being," shall not we, even when most sorrowing, bless the "God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with all spiritual blessings in Christ Jesus?"
We bless God "for all the blessings of this life." The psalmist roused himself to this duty, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and do not forget all His benefits." How apt we are to forget! One alone of the lepers returned to thank the Healer, who noticed the omission. "Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine?" If those who have been healed should praise, surely those also who have not needed healing. The mercies we receive every hour make up the largest benefactions from God, and yet these, because of the very constancy of their bestowment, are often forgotten. If I am knocked down by a carriage, and scarcely escape being crushed, I give thanks for the special providence; but should I not daily give thanks for the continual providence which preserves me, not only from such danger, but such fright?
Gratitude to the giver enhances the value of every gift. Such praise dignifies and brightens the smallest of our comforts. As these are continually bestowed, we are continually comforted in the recognition of them. Above all, we praise Him for His "inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ, for the means of grace and for the hope of glory." This outweighs all reasons for lament. We praise Him for Himself. The pleasure which nature and science yield is increased by our perception of the power and wisdom they reveal. Above all, beholding His glory "in the face of Jesus Christ" we blend our voices with the whole Church, saying, "We praise You, we worship You, we glorify You, for Your great glory." Such stimulants to praise in all places and times are constant ministrants of comfort.
Patience under trial becomes easy while we bless the Lord who sends it. How can we be murmuring at, or distrusting Him whom we are praising? It must also needs guard us from temptations which might plunge us into greater grief than that of affliction. We cannot be breaking God's laws when engaged in God's praise. A superior homage will prevent degrading alliances. Genuine praise produces genuine gladness. The exercise and expression of gratitude are in their own nature pleasurable; how emphatically so when the object is God! When we praise "we rejoice in the Lord;" and "the joy of the Lord is our strength." The happier we are in Him, the more patient in trial, brave in difficulty, diligent in service.
But when are we to bless the Lord? David says, "I will bless the Lord at all times." But suppose our hopes are disappointed, our requests denied, has He changed? If at all times we may say "Father;" if Jesus is "the same yesterday, today, and forever;" if at all times He intercedes, and is preparing mansions for us, and if at all times the Holy Spirit is our Sanctifier and Comforter, should we not bless Him at all times? If the promise is true, "When you pass through the rivers I will be with you," in these rivers we will bless the Lord! So long as the word stands "I will never leave you nor forsake you," we will never leave off praising Him. If "all things work together for good," then in all things, painful or pleasant, we will praise Him. Daniel, when he knew that the decree was signed, "kneeled upon his knees three times a day and gave thanks before his God." Paul and Silas, in the inner prison, at midnight, "sang praises unto God." The great apostle, awaiting martyrdom, wrote from Rome, "The Lord will preserve me to His heavenly kingdom, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen." God's saints, in all ages, have blessed the Lord at all times. So will we.
When not a ray lightens the path, and I know not where my next footstep may fall, in the midnight of anxiety and grief, as well as in the noontide of confidence and joy, I will bless the Lord! In the winter of fog and frost, when bitter winds of disappointment chill the heart, and the streams of consolation are frozen, and the ground is iron and the heavens lead, and the garden is without a flower and the tree without a leaf; as well as in the springtide of blossoms, and the summer of roses, and the autumn of rich harvests and fruits, I will bless the Lord. Amid the raging tempest, when lightnings gleam through the rifted clouds, and thunders make the mountains tremble, and wild waves threaten to overwhelm my frail bark; as when the sky is cloudless, and not a ripple disturbs the smoothness of the sea, I will bless the Lord. When the trumpet calls to war, and the conflict is fierce and I have to fight for very life, as well as when at the festal banquet of spiritual joy, I will bless the Lord. When death approaches, and the beloved activities of life must cease, and the familiar home be left, and those dearer than life be parted from; when heart and flesh fail, as much as in the full vigor of life, I will bless the Lord, who "gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
I'll bless the Lord at all times,
In darkness as in day;
I'll sing glad hallelujahs
All through my pilgrim way;
Until I cross the river
I'll sing my Savior's praise,
And then, in heaven forever
An endless song I'll raise.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 38. The Sufferer Consoling the Sad
"Let not your heart be troubled." John 14:27
It was a dark day for the disciples. They would soon be as orphans. They grieved for themselves and for their Lord. But they were also "troubled." Turning from His own approaching agony in Gethsemane, He strove to comfort them. How often our heart would be comforted if, in sacred sympathy with mourners, we said, "Let not your heart be troubled." Christ does not counsel the impossible. He was Himself the Man of Sorrows. What He forbids is not heart sorrow, but heart trouble-agitation of spirit, a mental hurrying to and fro in fear and perplexity.
The whole of the valedictory discourse was designed to calm the troubled hearts of the disciples. But for this they must believe what He said. So this is the practical cure of heart-trouble-"Believe in God." This alone can keep the heart tranquil. "Believe also in me." This was a stupendous claim if Jesus were merely man. The disciples did believe in God; but stronger faith would have resulted in better understanding of the Divine testimony to His Son. "Believe in me, not as dead or distant, but able to help in every necessity, and to welcome you in my eternal home." Then our Lord poured forth a full flood of comfort which, if received, would be an effectual preservative against heart-trouble. These "exceeding great and precious promises" are our inheritance also. Come, sad heart, and contemplate the reasons Jesus gives why, if sorrowful, you should not be troubled.
This world is not your home. There is a Father's house on high where Jesus is preparing a place for you (ver. 2). He soon will come again and take you to dwell with Him forever (ver. 3). Your reliance on Him will surely bring you to God, for He is the Way (ver. 6). His words and works are those of God, and worthy to be trusted (ver. 10). Prayer in His Name is sure to be answered (ver. 13). Another Comforter has been sent, who abides with us, the Spirit of Truth (ver. 16). We are not left orphans (ver. 18). Christ by His Spirit already comes to us, and is still with us (ver. 23). We have the privilege and solace of working for Him and with Him (ver. 21). In love and obedience we shall surely find comfort, and the Father will reveal Himself to us and dwell within us (ver. 23). We have a gift from Christ better than any the world can bestow-"My peace I give unto you" (ver. 27). We are not separated from Him, but are as branches in vital union with the Vine, by life from whom we bear fruit to His glory (15:5). Our joy will be complete if we abide in His love and laws (ver. 11). He laid down His life for us; could He show greater love? (ver. 13). He calls us His friends (ver. 14). If the world hates us, we only share with Him (ver. 18).
Let us not be surprised when troubles come of which He forewarned us. Let not sorrow fill our hearts when He has promised the Comforter to dwell within us, to guide us into all truth. He will Himself soon return. It is but a little while we have to wait. He will soon turn our sorrow into unclouded and everlasting joy. Meanwhile, whatever we ask according to the will of God and our real good, the Father will bestow. Let us ask and receive that our joy may even now be full. The Father Himself loves us, loves us especially because we love the Son. He is interceding for us, that we may have eternal life; that we may be bound in holy oneness with each other and Himself; that we may be kept by the power of His holy Name from the evil that is in the world; that Christ's own joy may fill us, and that hereafter we may be with Him where He is, beholding and sharing the glory of heaven. Such prayers for us by the well-beloved Son "whom the Father hears always," are sure to be answered (John 17).
Jesus said-"These things have I spoken unto you that in me you might have peace. In the world you shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." The tribulations are on the surface. The wildest waves of ocean do not disturb the abiding calm of the waters not far below. In confiding communion with a dear friend, or in loving service, we do not notice the roaring wind and rattling rain against the window-panes. When the promise is fulfilled, "I will come to him and sup with him, and he with me"-though in the world of tribulation, we have peace in Christ.
Having this peace, we are enabled to overcome all difficulties and bear all trials. The disciples might well be dismayed by having to encounter a persecuting world, and by seeing their Champion in Gethsemane and on the Cross. But He sought to dispel their fears by a cry of victory in advance. He had no doubt of the outcome. He went forth to the battle with the shout of a conqueror-"I have overcome the world."
Christ overcame the sin of the world by atoning for it; the world's sorrows by suffering them; the world's hatred by love. The world would have overcome Him had He rendered evil for evil. He overcame persecution by perseverance; the allurements of the world by scorning them; the temptations of the world by resisting them; "the prince of this world" by casting him down from his usurped throne. He overcame death by dying, and thus "destroyed him who has the power of death, and delivered them who, through fear of death, were all their lifetime subject to bondage."
But why should His victory make us of good cheer? He showed us how to conquer. Let us overcome tribulation by patient suffering, carrying the cross, kissing the rod. Let us conquer hatred by love; difficulties by mastering them; persecution by perseverance; worldly allurements by the inner life of godliness; and Satan's temptations by the Word of God and prayer.
The example of Christ in overcoming cannot alone make us of "good cheer," as a giant's victory will not give confidence to a child when assailed by the same formidable foe. But He conquered as our Champion, to secure our salvation. We have now to fight a defeated, wounded, weakened foe. The enemy is in retreat. Before our David the Philistine armies fly, and we may now win an easier victory. Christ's triumph obtains for us the help of the Holy Spirit, so that we fight, not in our own weakness, but in the strength of God. "He has ascended up on high, He has led captivity captive, and has received gifts for men, that the Lord God might dwell among them." His victory proves that He survives the conflict, a living, not a dead Champion. He went down into the grave and came forth from it unhurt, "Mighty to save." He said, "All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth." He is stronger than the world. He can "put down all rule and authority and power."
Surely such a victory should make us of good cheer. This was its effect on the disciples. How these feeble few blew the trumpet of victory on the day of Pentecost! When scourged, they "rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for the name of the Lord Jesus." Paul and Silas sang in the inner prison. Not the captive, but Felix, trembled. The apostle said, "Thanks be to God, who always makes us triumph in Christ." "In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loves us." The disciple who recorded these words of the Master said, "This is the victory that overcomes the world, even your faith." "You have overcome, because greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world." And Jesus the glorified conqueror says, "He who overcomes, I will give to him to sit down with me in my throne, as I also overcame, and sat down with my Father in His throne."
Let afflicted believers be of good cheer. In Christ they have inward peace, and may well endure the world's outward trouble. Do not regard tribulation as an evil. Tribulation! It is a whetstone to sharpen the sword by which we are to win the battle! It is the harsh blast of the trumpet calling to the fight that shall secure the victory! It is the fire, not only of the purifying furnace, but of the flaming chariot to carry us to glory! Tribulation is the path to triumph-along which our Savior marched to the throne; it reminds us of Him who fought for us, conquered for us, won eternal life for us, and who is saying to us this very day, as He said to His disciples of old, "In the world you shall have tribulation, but be of good cheer-I have overcome the world."
Jesus! our Leader, Pattern, Guide,
Never let me wander from Your side,
Nor from the narrow pathway slide,
But closely follow You.
By meekness, patience, kindness, prayer-
By works of love and friendly care-
By holy conduct everywhere-
Help me to follow You.
When fears and foes beset the way,
When darkest clouds obscure the day,
And easier paths tempt me to stray,
Help me to follow You.
Courageously in spite of foes,
With cheerfulness whate'er oppose,
Unto the journey's final close,
Help me to follow You.
Then along Heaven's own pathway bright,
No more with foes and fears to fight,
With victory crowned, and robed in white,
I'll ever follow You.
-Newman Hall
HallN GLHGG: 39. Not Dead but Gone Home
"Our Savior, Jesus Christ, abolished death."
"In my Father's house are many mansions."
We lament for the dead, because we ourselves dread death. The physical instinct, wisely given for the preservation of life, is controlled but not destroyed by faith. We may begin life as a summer holiday, on which we start with a guess of rain and certainty of nightfall. We see fleecy cloudlets on the radiant sky which threaten tempest. Every step along the gayest path leads to the grave. We look on the dying and the dead with sadness and awe. But there are far greater fears, and from these we are delivered by Him who "abolished death, and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel."
We dread the after-death. "Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all." But Christ, by death, atoned for sin, and so "destroyed him who has the power of death, and delivered them who, by fear of death, were all their lifetime subject to bondage." His victory in Resurrection and Ascension has become ours. "Thanks be to God who gives us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ. He who believes in me shall never die."
Just prior to His final conflict He assured His sorrowing friends that He would still live for them, and that they would live forever with Him. "In my Father's house are many mansions; I go to prepare a place for you; and I will come again and receive you unto myself, that where I am you may be also."
Afflicted believers, your sorrows are only the discomforts of a journey, each stage of which, however rough the road and wild the weather, brings you nearer home. The darkness is only that of the tunnel through which you are hurrying, and the speck of light at the end is nearing and brightening as you speed onward to the eternal sunshine.
Our Lord speaks of heaven as home-"My Father's house." What a contrast to the gorgeous imagery employed by servants is this sublimely simple familiarity of the Son! Inspired men are overawed by the distant vision of the Celestial City, with its pearly gates and streets of gold; as if a poor cottager, after visiting a royal palace, tried to describe the unimagined splendors of a place which members of the royal family simply knew as home. This was in harmony with His high claims of Deity! The disciples were not to be troubled on His account. Although betrayed, condemned, crucified, He was going home. They were not to be troubled for Him; and because of their intimate union with Him they were not to be troubled for themselves.
If heaven is Christ's home, it is ours also. We are "joint heirs with Jesus Christ." What hallowed associations are suggested by the word! Most men who have a real home feel, "There's no place like home." Not the outward investiture but the indwelling light and the pervading atmosphere of affection render the humblest dwelling, equally with the grandest mansion, home. LOVE makes home.
Home promises REST. There the wearied limbs or wearied brain repose after the day's toil. So amid the cares of life we look forward to "the rest that remains for the children of God." There will be occupation, but no painful toil. "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; they rest from their labors."
Home suggests FIDELITY. We may suspect deceit and treachery outside, but we can cast off all reserve, all distrust at home.
Home suggests SYMPATHY. There may be coldness outside, no interest in what deeply concerns us, no response to our warmest feelings, but at home we are always sure of a listening ear, a kindling eye, a responsive hand-grasp, a heart-expressive kiss. There may be enmity outside, avowed or concealed, and even friends may sometimes prove forgetful, selfish, and unkind; but home, true home, is the palace of love, "where hearts are of each other sure."
But the purest of earthly homes are but faint types of that above. There every heart is wholly true to every other, being wholly true to God. No suspicion lurks there, no envy at other's gifts, no ill-will, no mere pretended kindness, but hearty, warmly manifested love. Whatever in this world hinders true communion among Christians will have been left behind, and the unloveliness which more or less mars fellowship will disappear when the Bride of Christ will be "without spot or wrinkle or any such thing."
Oh, the rapture of meeting again and being forever at home with the dear ones we have loved on earth, all made perfect in the presence of the Elder Brother, whose likeness all will bear! Oh the bliss of holiest, deepest, constant sympathy with Christ Himself, and so being in the fullest sense "at home" in heaven! by grace, and yet by covenant right; not strangers, nor visitors, but children at their Father's, having "a right to the tree of life;" penetrating every recess of that paradise, entering every chamber of that palace, and feeling, as a bride entering her new home, "It is all mine, because it is all His, and I am His."
It is a PERMANENT home; mansions, not movable tents, but an enduring habitation. "We know that when this earthly tabernacle is dissolved we have a building of God." How unlike the uncertainty of earthly things! The lake, reflecting from its unruffled surface the sky and stars, may, in one short hour, be wild with storms. The stream, which often refreshed us, suddenly becomes dry. The fairest flowers droop even as we gaze on them. The loveliest homes are quickly broken up. No locks and bolts can shut out sickness and death. But as the home above is everlasting, so its "pleasures are for evermore." The sunshine will never be overcast by one fleeting thought of change or death.
And there is ABUNDANCE of supply. There are "many mansions." The Father's house is large enough for all His children-vast as His own heart. Holy angels are there, and "a great multitude whom no man can number, out of all kindreds and tribes and peoples," but "still there is room." There are multitudes, unknown to men but known to God, who have not bowed their knees unto Baal. Heathen nations are pressing into the kingdom; and the day is not far distant when all shall know the Savior, "from the least to the greatest." There is room for them all; there is still room for us-room for every mourner.
Number implies VARIETY. The mansions are not uniform, though all are perfect. They are prepared for dwellers of varied capacity-for children and young men, for babes in Christ and for those of full age. There will be no seclusion of classes, but there will be variety of degrees of glory; and thus the very lowest in attainment may be sure of a home yonder. There is no place in hell for any who sincerely repent and trust in the Savior. Timid, doubting, sorrowing one, be not troubled-those gates shall open for you; those streets shall be trodden by you; you shall drink of the river, clear as crystal, and you shall eat of the Tree of Life, and find a home in the many mansions.
These hopes are REALISTIC . "If it were not so, I would have told you." In this promise our Lord confirmed all the hopes He had already encouraged. But His silence ought to have sufficed had He not uttered such words. He knew what their expectation must be. The culture of religion in itself implies hope of the future. Are sacrifices made, pleasures surrendered, sorrow endured, prayers offered, and then is death to be the final end? If there be no heaven-"if in this life only we have hope,"-many might say, with Paul, "we are of all men most miserable." Conscience awakens hopes and fears beyond the present life, and Christ strengthened conscience. The Old Testament taught that He who called Himself the God of Abraham was the God, not of the dead, but of the living; and Christ confirmed the Old Testament. The disciples had forsaken all to follow Him. They loved their Lord, and knew He loved them. Could such love perish? They expected a kingdom; and as it was not to be earthly, it must be heavenly. Would Christ allow them to serve Him as they did, on false expectations? He did contradict their expectation of a temporal kingdom-would He not have contradicted this heavenly hope had it also been unfounded? We value our Lord's positive and repeated promises; but there is a special emphasis, a most touching assurance in this supposed silence. If they had falsely interpreted His meaning, if their wishes alone had suggested their expectations, if their loving loyalty was to have no recompense beyond the present life-He would have told them. Not to contradict such expectations would be to sanction them. Silence alone world have given emphatic consent and assurance.
O believer, your hope of heaven is no idle dream! That city does glow with splendor. That paradise is radiant with beauty. That home of perfect love is preparing for you. Earthly hopes perish, human promises fail; but expectations of believers shall be more than realized, for they are based on the truth and love of Him whose silence would have sufficed. "If it were not so, I would have told you."
Paul says," We are of good courage, and are willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be at home with the Lord" (R.V.). Death is only the migration of the soul from the fleshly tabernacle, to the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. If thus believers are to be at home with the Lord, they must be at home with one another. As we still enjoy spiritual communion with those gone before, when we meet, it will not be as strangers. It would seem incongruous if love so pure and deep should be incapable of mutual expression yonder. We might ask "Why have You made such capacities in vain?" The heart that truly loves, craves for and anticipates the continuance of those spirit-relationships which most nearly ally us with the Divine nature-God is love.
At the Transfiguration the two from heaven who conversed with Jesus were particular individuals-Moses and Elijah-known to each other, made known to Peter, James, and John. How could the apostle hope to meet his converts, as his "crown of rejoicing," without recognition? Weep, then, for the dead, in full assurance that they live with Jesus, and that you will soon rejoin them. Their rapture in His presence enhances the bliss of friendships, formed on earth to be perfected in glory.
Let us rejoice for them! They have left below all bodily infirmity, all mental errors, all imperfection of the spirit. On earth their chief delight was the will of God. Yet how often it was done with imperfection, intermission, and weariness! Now they "serve Him day and night in His temple." The perfect answer to their Gethsemane-prayer is the perfection of their blessedness-"Your will be done." There is no description of heaven more glorious than this-"His servants shall serve Him."
His servants serve Him. Happy, happy they!
The perfect service of a perfect Lord,
With duty and desire in full accord,
Is Heaven indeed; 'tis rapture to obey
When love constrains, unweariedly, always.
Alas! in seeming service, often now,
To some veiled form of self we basely bow;
Some worldly motive dims the heavenly ray,
And thus the prize of service true we miss
'Tis perfect sunshine that makes perfect day.
In Heaven, the radiant, all-inclusive bliss,
The brightest glory of their crown is this-
They from their Lord's commandments never swerve;
Him with exulting joy "His servants serve."
-Newman Hall
We will not weep for them as dead. Is it death to reach home after the toilsome journey, to wear the crown after the fierce fight, to serve in the presence of the King, where there is fullness of joy? The funeral was only that of frailty, sorrow, and sin. A Christian in that coffin, in that grave? No! he is at home in the Father's house. Away with heathen symbols from Christian cemeteries! The column never stood so firm, the flower never bloomed so fair, the torch never burnt so bright. Lamenting the separation for ourselves we will rejoice for them, and press forward to the home of reunion, where they await our coming, and where, with them, we shall be forever with the Lord."
HallN GLHGG: 40. The Glorified Sufferer
"The Lamb in the midst of the throne shall be their Shepherd, and shall guide them unto fountains of waters of life-and God shall wipe away every tear from their eyes." Rev. 7:17
Where is now our Brother in Adversity, and how is He employed? John the Baptist pointed Him out as "The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world." John the Apostle beheld Him as "The Lamb in the midst of the throne." Our Lord spoke of Himself as "sitting on the right hand of power," and Mark tells us that "He was received up into heaven, and sat down at the right hand of God" (Mark 14:62; 16:19). Apostles testify that God has made the risen Christ to "sit at His right hand" (Eph. 1:20; Col. 3:1); that "we have such an High Priest who sat down on the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens" (Heb. 8:1), "who is on the right hand of God, angels and authorities and powers being made subject unto Him" (1 Pet. 3:22). In encouraging the church at Laodicea to overcome, He said, "I also overcame, and sat down with my Father on His throne" (Rev. 3:21); and to the Father and the Son together the anthem of the glorified ascends-"Unto Him who sits on the throne and unto the Lamb, be blessing and honor and glory and dominion forever and ever" (Rev. 5:3). Surely then "He is able to save to the uttermost."
He is Lord of Creation and Nature's Laws. He is "mightier than the mighty waves of the sea," the wrath of man and the assaults of the devil. Is not the Church safe under His guardianship? Is not every disciple? If, when enemies, we were reconciled by His death, shall we not much more, now we are friends, be saved by such continued life! When we pray, "O Lamb of God, who died to take away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us," let us think of Him as no longer in Gethsemane or on the Cross, but on the throne of God, mighty to save!
Crown Him! our Prophet true;
Crown Him! our Kingly Priest;
Crown Him! our Champion-Monarch, who
From sin our souls released.
That anguish-furrowed brow,
Which thorns of mockery tore,
Is crowned with deathless triumph now,
And Joys for evermore.
The Church He ransomed sings
His vict'ry o'er the grave:
O crown Him! crown Him! King of kings,
Who lives and reigns to save!
Crown Him! Creator, Friend;
Sound His dear Name again!
Crown Him! through ages without end,
Emmanuel! God with men.
-Newman Hall
How is He employed? The Lamb of sacrifice is the Shepherd of guardianship. Departed saints often sang "The Lord is my Shepherd" as they followed Him through the gloomy valley or reposed in the green pastures. His words are still verified, "I am the Good Shepherd;" the scars he bears are a constant memorial that He "gives His life for the sheep;" and their safety and bliss verify His promise, "My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me, and they shall never perish." Not as before, with feeble, faltering, sometimes reluctant steps, but ever vigorous, faithful, rejoicing, "they follow the Lamb wherever He goes."
He guides them unto "fountains of waters of life." Cisterns, however large, are limited, may leak, are sometimes broken and "can hold no water." Thus with all earthly consolations. But "the river of the water of life" is clear as crystal; inexhaustible, for its source is ever the same; yet ever new, as varied lights on a stream's dancing wavelets and sparkling spray. The boundless universe filled with the works of God, the countless multitudes composing the society of heaven, the diverse kinds of service, the ever new revelation of Divine love and glory secure unceasing freshness in the unfailing fountain. Even now, thirsting for spiritual grace and consolation, we accept the Shepherd's call, "If any man thirsts, let Him come unto me and drink." But what must it be to drink of those waters at the Fountain!
In close connection with these words we read that "God shall wipe away every tear from their eyes." This also is the employment of the Shepherd who guides to the living waters, for God and the Lamb are inseparably united in these revelations of heaven. "The glory of God did lighten it, and the lamp thereof is the Lamb." "The throne of God and the Lamb shall be in it." "He showed me a river of water of life, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb" (Rev. 7:17; 21:22, 23; 22:1-4). Conjointly with the Father, the glorified Son, the ever-living Shepherd, wipes away all tears.
How can this be in a world where no tears are shed? By effacing from the volume of memory the sad traces of former tears. How many aged saints, after long and happy assurance of pardon, have still lamented with David, "Remember not the sins of my youth." These sometimes creep out from the shadowy past, and sadden those who long before entered into the peace of pardon. When what men call great sins are not on record, how often will acts of folly, self-indulgence, passion, unkindnesses, neglect of opportunities, and the dark days spent without God come to mind!
Though the wounds have been healed, the scars remain. But in heaven these also disappear, and pardoned sins will be remembered only to excite renewed praises to the Savior who took them away. "They have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; faultless before the throne."
So with other sorrows. After long years, former griefs become vivid in the imagination and cause new distress. Again we tremble at the past peril, quail under the threat, grieve because of the unkindness, lament the bereavement. But in heaven such memories will forever be effaced, and nothing remain but records of mercy. There will be no new occasion of tears, and no apprehension of it, "for the former things have passed away."
Let us, then, be comforted respecting those who have gone before. We shall soon join them. Meanwhile their Shepherd is ours. Drinking of the streams now is a sure token that we shall drink with them at the Fountain, and the pledge is the fact that "the Lamb is in the midst of the throne."
RESPONSIVE PRAYER OF THE SORROWFUL
The cup which my Father has given me shall I not drink it? His wisdom mingled it, His love presented it, His glory in my good and that of others prompted it-shall I hesitate to take it? Shall I not rather give thanks for it? If bitter to the taste, it is sweetness in the result-the passing pain is lasting health; even were it otherwise, should not my Father's will make it a privilege and blessing? The cup which my Father has given me shall I not drink it?
O You who in Gethsemane did drink the cup of unequaled woe, embittered by the sin of the world, grant that I may share in the Redemption secured through Your agony and bloody sweat, Your cross and passion! Then, saved from the guilt and power of sin, all other sorrows will be easy to bear, every other cup made sweet.
O Son of Man, Brother in adversity, who did pray in Your garden of grief, with strong crying and tears, who know, by sharing, our weakness and our woe-You who are touched with a feeling of our infirmities, cheer me with Your sympathy, and let me hear You say, "Let not your heart be troubled!"
As You did partake our woes, so let me rejoice in the fellowship of Your sufferings. May I be numbered with Your friends to share with You in the sorrows, sympathies, and prayers of Your Body, the Church. Let it console me that I drink of the cup You did drink of, and am baptized with the baptism with which You were baptized. Let the path along which I am led become beautiful and bright by the traces of Your feet, the memories of Your tears, the presence of Your Spirit, the pressure of Your hand. When I go through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for You are with me, Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
O You who did drain Your cup to its dregs, perfectly fulfilling the Father's loving will, and, having finished the great sacrifice, did ascend to the right hand of God, grant that I may prove that You are able to save to the uttermost. Lord support, help, and comfort me. In all times of danger, necessity, and tribulation, good Lord, deliver me!
Forbid it that in any garden of grief my soul should slumber. Let me not be so absorbed in my distresses as to forget You; let not the voice of pain silence that of prayer, nor let care for my own comfort make me indifferent to others, and negligent of duty. Let one not thus be found by You sleeping for sorrow; but help me to watch and pray that I enter not into temptation.
Lord of Angels, may I participate in their ministry to the heirs of salvation; and as You did thus receive strength, grant that I, by the agency of earthly friends or of heavenly messengers, may be comforted. But, above all, be You Yourself ever near. Having known the need of such consolation, and condescended to receive it, come to me when ready to faint, and strengthen me to say, "Father, Your will be done."
Hear me and deliver me! If You will, by taking the cup from me; but, if otherwise, by enabling me to drink it. Save Your servant by strength to serve and suffer. May I say, with Job, "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord," and with David, "God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble," and with the woman of Shunem, "It is well," and with Habakkuk, "Even though the fig trees have no blossoms, and there are no grapes on the vine; even though the olive crop fails, and the fields lie empty and barren; even though the flocks die in the fields, and the cattle barns are empty, yet I will rejoice in the Lord! I will be joyful in the God of my salvation. The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He will make me as surefooted as a deer and bring me safely over the mountains," and with Paul, "I glory in weakness, that the strength of Christ may rest upon me." O help me to do and endure all things by hearing Your voice saying-"My grace is sufficient for you."
Help me to bring everything to You in prayer, and so in everything to be without anxiety. I know You care for me; let me not then worry myself. Help me to cast my burden on You, trusting in You to sustain me. Let me come to the throne of grace, not doubtingly but boldly, because You are there to bestow all the help I need. Let me rejoice in the certainty that prayer is heard by Him who delights in mercy. Let habitual prayerfulness be to me an assurance that I am Your child, and so may I take to myself the promise of unfailing support to God's elect.
Let me not forget that, as one of the children of God, I must expect fatherly discipline; that whom the Lord loves He chastens; and that such sorrows are needful for my spiritual culture. O that I may thus be led to repentance of what is wrong; that faith and patience, trust, knowledge, prayerfulness, experience, hope, may be thus perfected. May not merely the primary essentials of godliness be mine, but by trial may the beauties of holiness be developed-whatever things are lovely, gentle, pure; and may I rejoice in my sufferings, if thereby others may be blessed both by my example of patience and by increased capacity to comfort others with the comfort with which I myself am comforted of God. Let me therefore consider, not so much the grievousness of affliction for the present, as the peaceable fruits of righteousness afterwards. I will rest on the Lord, and wait patiently for Him.
Affliction is leading me towards home, and fitting me for its enjoyment. From the gloomiest garden of grief I may see the many mansions of the Father's house which Jesus has gone to prepare. May I behold Him as the Lamb in the midst of the throne, at the seat of all authority. He who once died for my sins now lives and reigns for my perfected salvation. He will not fail me in my utmost need. He is still acting as the Good Shepherd of His glorified flock. He leads them to living waters, and has wiped all tears from their eyes. I may not mourn for them. Blessed are the dead who thus live with the Lord! I will not dread the hour that will bring me to join them in the presence and perfected service of God. Ought I not to say of every cup of sorrow thus given by my Father, "Shall I not drink it?"
But I will not regard sorrow as my cup. It is only one element in it, a small and transitory element. My cup is Salvation. In that cup are pardon, sonship, purity, peace, fellowship with God, everlasting bliss.
The penitent prodigal has been welcomed home. Justified by faith, I have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ. My sins and iniquities are remembered no more. I am born from above. I am a child of God. I look up to the Creator of the universe and say, Father! I may hold constant communion with Him. His Spirit in my heart helps me to conquer sin, and fills me with joy and peace in believing. Though I see Him not, yet believing in Jesus, I rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory. I know whom I have believed. I am persuaded He will keep me to that day. We know that we have eternal life. We know that we have a home above, eternal in the heavens. We are looking for that blessed hope, the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ.
This is my cup. In it there are some bitter drops, but how few compared with the whole contents of it! and these few essential to the health of those who drink. I cannot have the whole without the part. This is the cup my Father has given me, and shall I not drink it? Yes! I will take the cup of salvation, and call on the name of the Lord. Now on earth, and afterwards in the glorified assembly above, I will pay my vows unto the Lord; in the presence of all His people; in the courts of the Lord's house; in the midst of You, O Jerusalem! Praise you the Lord! Hallelujah!
"The mountains shall depart and the hills be removed, but my kindness shall not depart from You."
The joys of Earth may Heaven conceal,
God lives while these remove;
The hillock sinking may reveal
His mountain-range of love.
The dearest treasure I resign
Whene'er the word is given,
Becoming Yours is more of mine,
Less earth, but more of Heaven.
To suffer or to do Your will,
Though hard the task may be,
By emptying self, the more does fill
My soul, O Lord, with Thee.
If fading bloom brings fruit to reap;
If lapse of stream, the sea;
If joys abide by tears I weep,
I gain by more of Thee.
I lose the fading forms of sight,
The true abides always
I lose the shadowy things of night,
I gain the glorious day.
Dearer are dearest gifts of Earth
Which love resigns to Thee;
Such love is of celestial birth
And lives eternally.
Your likeness dimly was portrayed
In picture prized but lost
If God unveiled is thus displayed,
Why murmur at the cost?
If gift recalled brings You more near
Than gift conferred had done,
Why should I shed regretful tear?
Such loss is treasure won.
Be this my joy, to see Your will
Above my wishes soar:
My bliss Your counsels to fulfill,
My Heaven for evermore.
-Newman Hall
TO LIVE FOR CHRIST IS GLORY
We will not pine for death and rest,
Too soon from service breaking;
Fruit plucked unripe can never be blessed,
Our task beneath forsaking-
Not until the course is run,
Our Leader says, "Well done!"
Not until the conflict's borne,
The chaplet can be worn;
The Cross, the Crown is making.
Our life on earth has tender ties
We should not wish to sever:
Rich works of faith, sweet charities,
Which soon must cease forever-
To watch, and weep, and wait,
By love to conquer hate,
The flesh in curb to keep,
To rescue wandering sheep
How noble such endeavor!
'Tis gain if Jesus bids us die,
When young, mature, or hoary;
'Tis loss to wish the fight to fly,
Foreclosing life's bright story:
To battle for His laws,
To suffer for His cause,
To share His grief and shame,
To vindicate His name-
To live for Christ is glory.
SECOND ADVENT
Come, Lord, to earth again;
Come quickly, come and reign:
Lord Jesus, come!
Enthrone the struggling right,
Make clear the clouded night,
In victory close the fight:
Lord, quickly come!
The love of some grows cold;
Your foes are waxing bold:
Lord Jesus, come!
They mock our hope delayed,
Our little progress made,
Your precepts disobeyed:
Lord, quickly come!
Bid war and faction cease,
Bring in the reign of peace:
Lord Jesus, come!
Set every captive free;
Let all men brothers be;
Heal earth's long malady:
Lord, quickly come
Assert Your right Divine;
O'er all the nations shine;
Lord Jesus, come!
Then earth like heaven shall sing
With Hallelujahs ring,
And hail her rightful King:
Lord, quickly come!