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TOPIC: MacDuff, John - The Footsteps of Jesus (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 11 Murmuring—Submission
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"Peace, all our angry passions, then,
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at His sovereign will,
And every murmur die."
"Why does a living man complain?" Lam_3:39.
"It is the Lord; let Him do what seems good to Him." 1Sa_3:18.
Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards. And what we are born to as men, we are born again to as Christians. We are not therefore to think that any strange thing has happened to us, if sorrow, in any of its multifarious forms, befalls us here below, since the same afflictions are accomplished in our brethren that are in the world.
"If you endure chastening," says the apostle, "God deals with you as with sons." But how should we endure it? It should be done in an inquiring spirit. We ought to be anxious to know the cause of the visitation. With the patriarch of old, our language should be, "Show me why You contend with me?" It should be done also in a prayerful spirit: for, "Is any among you afflicted? let him pray." And it should be done especially in a submissive spirit. We should not merely hear the rod—but kiss it. Instead of cherishing any feelings of murmuring and rebellion, under the afflictive dispensations of God's providence, we should humble ourselves under His mighty hand, that He may exalt us in due time.
And how many considerations are there which should induce and promote such a spirit! If we compare our sufferings with our deserts, shall we not find abundant reason to banish every complaint, and hush into silence every murmur? Should we complain of light and momentary trouble—when we deserve to be tormented in hell forever? Should we complain of the chastisements of a gracious Father—when we have rendered ourselves obnoxious to the sentence of an angry Judge? Should we complain that God sits by us as a refiner to purify—when He might be a consuming fire to destroy? Should we complain that we have to pass under the rod of His love—when we might have been set up as a mark for the arrows of His indignation, the poison whereof might drink up our spirits? Could we look into the lake of fire, and have a sight of the wretched beings who are there writhing in deathless agonies—we should thank God for the most miserable condition on earth, if it were only sweetened with the hope of escaping that place of torment.
Let us think, again, of the many mercies of which we have been, and still continue to be, the subjects. "And shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?" not moral evil, for that cannot come from Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity; but what our old writers call penal evil, or the corrections with which He visits the children of men. It is recorded that a slave, on one occasion, was presented by his master with a bitter melon, which was immediately eaten by him. Seeing this the master asked how he could eat so nauseous a fruit? He replied, "I have received so many favors from you that it is no wonder that I should, for once in my life, eat a bitter melon from your hand." This answer, so striking and generous, affected the master deeply—so much so, that he gave him his liberty as a reward for the noble spirit he displayed. And is there not a lesson for us to learn from this? Should we not receive our afflictions from the Divine hand with similar feelings? Should we forget our blessings, which are so many—and dwell upon our crosses, which are so few?
It would be well also for us to compare our sufferings with what others have had to endure. The people of God have been, in all ages, a suffering people; and one and another of them could say with special emphasis, "I am the man that has seen affliction." There was Job. So pre-eminent was his character that it was said of him by God Himself, that there was none like him in all the earth; and yet in a single day he was cast down from the highest pinnacle of prosperity to the lowest depths of adversity. In the morning he was the richest man in all the East. With patriarchal dignity he looked round upon the joyous circle of seven sons and three daughters; but in the evening he found himself without flock, or herd, or child. In the morning he flourished like a stately cedar, with its verdant branches spread around but in the evening, as if struck by the lightning's flash, his spreading honors are all scattered to the winds, and he stands like a withered trunk, solitary, and bare, and blasted. O what are our troubles compared with his? And did he murmur? No, he adored the hand that smote him; prostrate in the dust he exclaimed, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"
Take the apostle Paul again. O what had he to pass through! Bonds and imprisonments everywhere awaited him. Perils and privations of every kind he had to endure. But none of these things moved him, neither did he count his life dear to himself, so that he might finish his course with joy.
But let us turn from the servant to the Master, and consider Him. What was His condition during His earthly sojourn? He was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, notwithstanding His infinite dignity and unsullied purity. "We suffer justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing amiss." Our sufferings are only partial; but He suffered in every way. Ours are only occasional; for hours and days of pain—we have weeks and months of pleasure. But His sufferings were uninterrupted—they accompanied Him from the manger to the cross. What He endured, especially during the closing scenes of His memorable career, passes all comprehension. Hear His heart-rending cry, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." "And being in an agony He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."
O shall we compare our sufferings with His? To do so would be to weigh a mote against a mountain. Well may we say—
"Now let our pains be all forgot,
Our hearts no more repine;
Our sufferings are not worth a thought,
When, Lord, compared with Thine."
Let us think much, then, of what the Savior endured, if we are for bearing our trials with submission. We should consider Him who endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself, lest we be wearied and faint in our minds. The disciple, we must remember, is not above his Master, nor the servant above his Lord. And would you, Christian, wish to fare better than Him? Can the common soldier complain when he sees the commander enduring the same privations? Jesus Christ was a man of sorrows, and are you not to taste the bitter cup? He was acquainted with grief, and are you to be a stranger to it? Would you wish for the friendship of that world, whose malice He had to bear continually? Would you have nothing but ease—where He had nothing but trouble? Would you have nothing honor—where He had nothing but disgrace? Would you reign with Him hereafter—and not suffer with Him here? O say, then, with Him, "The cup which My Father has given Me—shall I not drink it?" And as you drink yours, O, think of His.
"How bitter that cup, no heart can conceive,
Which He drank quite up, that sinners might live;
His way was much rougher and darker than mine,
Did Jesus thus suffer—and shall I repine?"
Another consideration that should produce a spirit of submission is, that our sorrows are not to last forever. "For surely," says the wise man, "there is an end; and your expectation shall not be cut off." That end is certain. Many a mariner has been ready to hail a desired haven which he never reached; and many a warrior has reckoned with confidence upon a victory which he never obtained. "We looked," said the Jews, "for light, and behold darkness; for peace, and behold trouble." But, O you suffering saint—it will not be so with you! Your deliverance from sorrow is as sure as the purpose, the promise, the covenant, the oath of God can render it. And not merely is it certain—but it is near. "For yet a little while, and He who shall come will come, and will not tarry." A few weeks, or months, or years more, and all will be peace and quietness and assurance forever. And, it must be added, that that end will be unspeakably glorious. "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." There will be no shattered frame—no emaciated countenance—no furrowed cheek—no faltering voice in those blessed regions. There every eye shall sparkle with delight—every countenance will beam with ineffable satisfaction—every pulse will beat high with immortality—and every frame will be able to sustain without weariness an eternal weight of glory.
O child of sorrow, think of these things. Be anxious to feel their hallowing influence, that resignation may have her perfect work, and that no murmuring spirit may be indulged in, even for a moment. In the sweet strains of the poet, we would say,
"Whate'er your lot, whoe'er you be,
Confess your folly, kiss the rod;
And in your chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.
A bruised reed He will not break;
Afflictions all His children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,
He wounds to heal.
Humbled beneath His mighty hand,
Prostrate His providence adore;
'Tis done! arise—He bids you stand,
To fall no more."
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at His sovereign will,
And every murmur die."
"Why does a living man complain?" Lam_3:39.
"It is the Lord; let Him do what seems good to Him." 1Sa_3:18.
Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards. And what we are born to as men, we are born again to as Christians. We are not therefore to think that any strange thing has happened to us, if sorrow, in any of its multifarious forms, befalls us here below, since the same afflictions are accomplished in our brethren that are in the world.
"If you endure chastening," says the apostle, "God deals with you as with sons." But how should we endure it? It should be done in an inquiring spirit. We ought to be anxious to know the cause of the visitation. With the patriarch of old, our language should be, "Show me why You contend with me?" It should be done also in a prayerful spirit: for, "Is any among you afflicted? let him pray." And it should be done especially in a submissive spirit. We should not merely hear the rod—but kiss it. Instead of cherishing any feelings of murmuring and rebellion, under the afflictive dispensations of God's providence, we should humble ourselves under His mighty hand, that He may exalt us in due time.
And how many considerations are there which should induce and promote such a spirit! If we compare our sufferings with our deserts, shall we not find abundant reason to banish every complaint, and hush into silence every murmur? Should we complain of light and momentary trouble—when we deserve to be tormented in hell forever? Should we complain of the chastisements of a gracious Father—when we have rendered ourselves obnoxious to the sentence of an angry Judge? Should we complain that God sits by us as a refiner to purify—when He might be a consuming fire to destroy? Should we complain that we have to pass under the rod of His love—when we might have been set up as a mark for the arrows of His indignation, the poison whereof might drink up our spirits? Could we look into the lake of fire, and have a sight of the wretched beings who are there writhing in deathless agonies—we should thank God for the most miserable condition on earth, if it were only sweetened with the hope of escaping that place of torment.
Let us think, again, of the many mercies of which we have been, and still continue to be, the subjects. "And shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?" not moral evil, for that cannot come from Him who is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity; but what our old writers call penal evil, or the corrections with which He visits the children of men. It is recorded that a slave, on one occasion, was presented by his master with a bitter melon, which was immediately eaten by him. Seeing this the master asked how he could eat so nauseous a fruit? He replied, "I have received so many favors from you that it is no wonder that I should, for once in my life, eat a bitter melon from your hand." This answer, so striking and generous, affected the master deeply—so much so, that he gave him his liberty as a reward for the noble spirit he displayed. And is there not a lesson for us to learn from this? Should we not receive our afflictions from the Divine hand with similar feelings? Should we forget our blessings, which are so many—and dwell upon our crosses, which are so few?
It would be well also for us to compare our sufferings with what others have had to endure. The people of God have been, in all ages, a suffering people; and one and another of them could say with special emphasis, "I am the man that has seen affliction." There was Job. So pre-eminent was his character that it was said of him by God Himself, that there was none like him in all the earth; and yet in a single day he was cast down from the highest pinnacle of prosperity to the lowest depths of adversity. In the morning he was the richest man in all the East. With patriarchal dignity he looked round upon the joyous circle of seven sons and three daughters; but in the evening he found himself without flock, or herd, or child. In the morning he flourished like a stately cedar, with its verdant branches spread around but in the evening, as if struck by the lightning's flash, his spreading honors are all scattered to the winds, and he stands like a withered trunk, solitary, and bare, and blasted. O what are our troubles compared with his? And did he murmur? No, he adored the hand that smote him; prostrate in the dust he exclaimed, "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"
Take the apostle Paul again. O what had he to pass through! Bonds and imprisonments everywhere awaited him. Perils and privations of every kind he had to endure. But none of these things moved him, neither did he count his life dear to himself, so that he might finish his course with joy.
But let us turn from the servant to the Master, and consider Him. What was His condition during His earthly sojourn? He was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief, notwithstanding His infinite dignity and unsullied purity. "We suffer justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing amiss." Our sufferings are only partial; but He suffered in every way. Ours are only occasional; for hours and days of pain—we have weeks and months of pleasure. But His sufferings were uninterrupted—they accompanied Him from the manger to the cross. What He endured, especially during the closing scenes of His memorable career, passes all comprehension. Hear His heart-rending cry, "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." "And being in an agony He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."
O shall we compare our sufferings with His? To do so would be to weigh a mote against a mountain. Well may we say—
"Now let our pains be all forgot,
Our hearts no more repine;
Our sufferings are not worth a thought,
When, Lord, compared with Thine."
Let us think much, then, of what the Savior endured, if we are for bearing our trials with submission. We should consider Him who endured such contradiction of sinners against Himself, lest we be wearied and faint in our minds. The disciple, we must remember, is not above his Master, nor the servant above his Lord. And would you, Christian, wish to fare better than Him? Can the common soldier complain when he sees the commander enduring the same privations? Jesus Christ was a man of sorrows, and are you not to taste the bitter cup? He was acquainted with grief, and are you to be a stranger to it? Would you wish for the friendship of that world, whose malice He had to bear continually? Would you have nothing but ease—where He had nothing but trouble? Would you have nothing honor—where He had nothing but disgrace? Would you reign with Him hereafter—and not suffer with Him here? O say, then, with Him, "The cup which My Father has given Me—shall I not drink it?" And as you drink yours, O, think of His.
"How bitter that cup, no heart can conceive,
Which He drank quite up, that sinners might live;
His way was much rougher and darker than mine,
Did Jesus thus suffer—and shall I repine?"
Another consideration that should produce a spirit of submission is, that our sorrows are not to last forever. "For surely," says the wise man, "there is an end; and your expectation shall not be cut off." That end is certain. Many a mariner has been ready to hail a desired haven which he never reached; and many a warrior has reckoned with confidence upon a victory which he never obtained. "We looked," said the Jews, "for light, and behold darkness; for peace, and behold trouble." But, O you suffering saint—it will not be so with you! Your deliverance from sorrow is as sure as the purpose, the promise, the covenant, the oath of God can render it. And not merely is it certain—but it is near. "For yet a little while, and He who shall come will come, and will not tarry." A few weeks, or months, or years more, and all will be peace and quietness and assurance forever. And, it must be added, that that end will be unspeakably glorious. "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." There will be no shattered frame—no emaciated countenance—no furrowed cheek—no faltering voice in those blessed regions. There every eye shall sparkle with delight—every countenance will beam with ineffable satisfaction—every pulse will beat high with immortality—and every frame will be able to sustain without weariness an eternal weight of glory.
O child of sorrow, think of these things. Be anxious to feel their hallowing influence, that resignation may have her perfect work, and that no murmuring spirit may be indulged in, even for a moment. In the sweet strains of the poet, we would say,
"Whate'er your lot, whoe'er you be,
Confess your folly, kiss the rod;
And in your chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.
A bruised reed He will not break;
Afflictions all His children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,
He wounds to heal.
Humbled beneath His mighty hand,
Prostrate His providence adore;
'Tis done! arise—He bids you stand,
To fall no more."