There are no words of comfort like those that our Father speaks to us: When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee. We are called to go straight through the foaming river holding fast to this assurance.
And look at the white water. There are pot-holes among the boulders where a foot might be caught and held; a sudden spate might easily overwhelm us; the spray half blind us; the noise deafen us. There is no human way, no human hope; there is nothing to be seen but a boiling flood, boulders, snags, tossing spray; there is not one inch of smooth water anywhere. But the word of our God holds fast. It would be cowardice to fear. God save us from cowardice. “Be of good cheer, my brother; I feel the bottom, and it is good.”
But life can be terrific. Things can happen that seem to tear such words out of our mouth and drive them like dust before a hurricane. Look at the shattered life, that young life, and tell me of a God of mercy and pity—how can you?
Is to rack souls joy?
Does turn of screw and make songs, or hammering
Of most unkindly fortune make music?
Such hammers fall too heavy for that.
Those hammers fall on many hearts today; and only He whose prayer in Gethsemane began with the words, “O My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me,” can enable the soul of man in its extremity to continue that prayer as He continued it, and to end it as He ended it. There are times in life when the one place in all the world where we can find what we are seeking is in the Garden of Gethsemane.
From that garden it is only a few steps to a place which is called in the Hebrew Golgotha, where they crucified Him. Our questions are hushed there.
“If Thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross. Let Him save Himself, if He be Christ, the Chosen of God. If Thou be Christ save Thyself and us. Let be, let us see whether Elias will come and save Him.” If? Whether? And to all, silence in heaven above, in earth beneath. There was no vindication of God, no opening of the heavens, no Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting upon the Holy One, no Voice declaring, “This is My beloved Son.” And He, the blessed Sufferer, was silent—as a sheep before her shearers is dumb so He opened not His mouth to answer any question, till on an evening, as He walked along a country road with two troubled men, He said, Ought not Christ to have suffered these things and to enter into His glory?
That silence shames us. Cannot we, His foolish ones and blind, bid our restless questions be still awhile? It is only for a little while, for it is toward evening now, and the day is far spent. Soon, very soon we shall go in to tarry with Him. All our questions will be answered then. But in that day we shall ask Him nothing: “Ye shall ask Me no question,” so He has told us. Perhaps because we shall have forgotten our questions. One look in His face,, and like the dew that has seen the sun those questions will have vanished. Vanished as a cloud in the blue that is though it had never been.
Strange things can happen in the short day of life. I am allowed to copy a page from a letter written by one who nursed his fellow-missionary through deadly illness, in the hope that should this page find another on the edge of that rough water he may feel the hand-grasp of a friend.
“The book found its way into the sick-room on the ground that it might have a message for the patient, but he soon passed beyond the reach of words of cheer. I have never before realized how satanic delirium can be. It seems as if the devil is allowed to take advantage of the weakened condition of the sufferer to dominate his mind. These nights I have seen a soul suffering the very agonies of hell, confirmed in the belief that he had fallen from grace and was doomed to everlasting damnation; and acting like one. The mention of the Name would but call forth blasphemy. There is something sinister and devilish about these diseases. Thank God we do not need to understand.”
There is no new thing under the sun:
“One thing I would not let slip,” wrote John Bunyan. “I took notice that now poor Christian was 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, 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: yet, if he could have helped it, he would not have done it; but he had not the discretion either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these blasphemies came.
When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate condition some considerable time, he thought he heard the voice of a man as going on before him saying, Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear none ill; for Thou art with me.
Then he was glad, and that for these reasons:
First, because he gathered from thence, that some who feared God were in this Valley as well as himself. Secondly, for that he perceived God was with them, though in that dark and dismal state. And why not, thought he, with me? Though, by reason of the impediment that attends this place, I cannot perceive it. Thirdly, for that he hoped, could he overtake them, to have company by and by.
So he went on, and called to him that was before: but he knew not what to answer for that he also thought himself alone. And by and by the day broke. Then said Christian, He hath turned the shadow of death into the morning.”
Thank God for the morning after such a night. About the piteous fading of the mind, someone has said, “It is sometimes the Father’s way to put His child to bed in the dark”; but the child will waken very happy in the morning. And the words comfort the greater trial of what appears to be spiritual collapse. However shadowed the “going to bed” of the Father’s child may be, the awakening will be radiant.
Think of it and be comforted, you who have seen one dear to you pass (apparently) unsuccoured through rough waters. Body, soul and spirit may appear to be submerged, but the spirit of the child of God is never for one moment imperiled, no sudden swirl shall pluck it out of the Hands that hold it fast. And your prayer found it where you could not follow. There was no response that you heard or saw when you spoke those words of life, and sang those hymns by that bedside. But singing can follow one under water, it sounds far off and a little dreamy, but it is clear. Perhaps that is how those hymns sounded to that dear spirit. And under water, deep under water, it saw a light softly diffused coming to meet it. This is what happens when one dived into a deep pool at night and swims slowly upward. The moonlight meets one long before one reaches the surface. And if it can be so with the moonlight of earth, how much more true it must be of the sunlight of heaven.
