Part 4 (1/2)

There is no need to try to solve that old, yet always new, question of human hearts, ”Why does G.o.d permit so much suffering in his children?”

It is idle to ask this question, and all efforts at answering it are not only vain, but they are even irreverent. We may be sure, however, of one thing, that in every pain and trial there is a blessing folded.

We may miss it, but it is there, and the loss is ours if we do not get it. Every night of sorrow carries in its dark bosom its own lamps of comfort. The darkness of grief and trial is full of benedictions.

”The dark hath many dear avails; The dark distils divinest dews; The dark is rich with nightingales, With dreams, and with the heavenly muse.

”Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill, Complain thou not, my heart, for these Bank in the current of the will.”

The most blessed lives in the world are those that have borne the burden of suffering. ”Where, think you,” asks James Martineau, ”does the Heavenly Father hear the tones of deepest love, and see on the uplifted face the light of most heartfelt grat.i.tude? Not where his gifts are most profuse, but where they are most meagre; not within the halls of successful ambition, or even in the dwellings of unbroken domestic peace; but where the outcast, flying from persecution, kneels in the evening on the rocks whereon he sleeps; at the fresh grave, where, as the earth is opened, heaven in answer opens too; by the pillow of the wasted sufferer, where the sunken eye, denied sleep, converses with the silent stars, and the hollow voice enumerates in low prayer the scanty list of comforts, the easily remembered blessings, and the shortened tale of hopes. Genial, almost to a miracle, is the soil of sorrow, wherein the smallest seed of love, timely falling, becometh a tree, in whose foliage the birds of blessed song lodge and sing unceasingly.”

The truly happiest, sweetest, tenderest homes are not those where there has been no sorrow, but those which have been overshadowed with grief, and where Christ's comfort was accepted. The very memory of the sorrow is a gentle benediction that broods ever over the household, like the afterglow of sunset, like the silence that comes after prayer.

In every burden of sorrow there is a blessing sent from G.o.d, which we ought not to thrust away. In one of the battles of the Crimea, a cannon-ball struck inside a fort, gas.h.i.+ng the earth and sadly marring the garden beauty of the place. But from the ugly chasm there burst forth a spring of water, which flowed on thereafter, a living fountain.

So the strokes of sorrow gash our hearts, leaving ofttimes wounds and scars, but they open for us fountains of rich blessing and of new life.

”Then Sorrow whispered gently: 'Take This burden up. Be not afraid.

An hour is short. Thou scarce wilt wake To consciousness that I have laid My hand upon thee, when the hour Shall all have pa.s.sed; and gladder then For the brief pain's uplifting power, Thou shall but pity griefless men.'”

These are hints of the blessings of burdens. Our dull task-work, accepted, will train us into strong and n.o.ble character. Our temptations and hards.h.i.+ps, met victoriously, knit thews and sinews of strength in our souls. Our pain and sorrow, endured with sweet trust and submission, leave us with life purified and enriched, with more of Christ in us. In every burden that G.o.d lays upon us, there is a blessing for us, if only we will take it.

CHAPTER VII.

HEART-PEACE BEFORE MINISTRY.

”Like the star That s.h.i.+nes afar, Without haste And without rest, Let each man wheel, with steady sway, Round the task that rules the day, And do his best.”

--GOETHE.

Peace in the heart is one of the conditions of good work. We cannot do our best in anything if we are fretted and anxious. A feverish heart makes an inflamed brain, a clouded eye, and an unsteady hand. The people who really accomplish the most, and achieve the best results, are those of calm, self-controlled spirit. Those who are nervous and excited may be always busy, and always under pressure of haste; but in the end they do far less work than if they wrought calmly and steadily, and were never in a hurry.

Nervous haste is always hindering haste. It does faulty work, and does but little of it in the end. Really rapid workers are always deliberate in their movements, never appearing to be in any hurry whatever; and yet they pa.s.s swiftly from task to task, doing each duty well because they are calm and unfl.u.s.tered, and, with their wits about them, work with clear eye, steady nerve, and skilful hand.

An eminent French surgeon used to say to his students, when they were engaged in difficult and delicate operations, in which coolness and firmness were needed, ”Gentlemen, don't be in a hurry; for there's no time to lose.”

The people in all lines of duty who do the most work are the calmest, most unhurried people in the community. Duties never wildly chase each other in their lives. One task never crowds another out, nor ever compels hurried, and therefore imperfect, doing. The calm spirit works methodically, doing one thing at a time, and doing it well; and it therefore works swiftly, though never appearing to be in haste.

We need the peace of G.o.d in our heart just as really for the doing well of the little things of our secular life as for the doing of the greatest duties of Christ's kingdom. Our face ought to s.h.i.+ne, and our spirit ought to be tranquil, and our eye ought to be clear, and our nerves ought to be steady, as we press through the tasks of our commonest day. Then we shall do them all well, slurring nothing, marring nothing. We want heart-peace before we begin any day's duties, and we should wait at Christ's feet till we get his quieting touch upon our heart ere we go forth.

It is especially true in spiritual work that we must know the secret of peace before we can minister either swiftly or effectively to others in our Master's name. Feverishness of spirit makes the hand unskilful in delicate duty. A troubled heart cannot give comfort to other troubled hearts; it must first become calm and quiet. It is often said that one who has suffered is prepared to help others in suffering; but this is true only when one has suffered victoriously, and has pa.s.sed up out of the deep, dark valley of pain and tears to the radiant mountain-tops of peace. An uncomforted mourner cannot be a messenger of consolation to another in grief. One whose heart is still vexed and uncalmed cannot be a physician to hearts with bleeding wounds. We must first have been comforted of G.o.d ourselves, before we can comfort others in their tribulations.

The same is true of all spiritual ministry. We need a steady hand to touch the work of Christ's kingdom. One of our Lord's earlier miracles furnishes an ill.u.s.tration of this truth. Jesus was called to heal a woman who lay sick of a great fever. One of the Gospels describes the cure in these striking words: ”He touched her hand, and the fever left her; and she arose and ministered unto them.” We readily understand this record in its primary reference to the physical cure that was wrought by our Lord. We know, of course, that the woman could not minister to others while the fever was on her. When sore sickness comes, the busiest, fullest hands must drop their tasks. No matter how important the work is, how essential it may appear, it must be laid down when painful illness seizes us. We must be healed of our fever before we can minister.

But there are other fevers besides those which burn in men's bodies.

There are heart-fevers which may rage within us, even when our bodies are in perfect health. We find people with feverish spirits--unhappy, discontented, fretted, worried, perhaps insubmissive and rebellious.