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Commentary Index | Return to PrayerRequest.com | DownloadJohn Macduff Collection: MacDuff, John - Encouragement to Patient Waiting: 05 SUBMISSION
TOPIC: MacDuff, John - Encouragement to Patient Waiting (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 05 SUBMISSION
Other Subjects in this Topic:
SUBMISSION
"May Your will be done."— Luk_11:2
Such is part of the prayer which our Savior taught His disciples. It is familiar to us all. We have lisped it at a mother's knee, we have given utterance to it in the house of prayer, and in the secrecy of our closets we have offered it up at the throne of the heavenly grace. And, yet, how seldom have we fully realized its import, and given our willing, heartfelt response to the petition! The truth is, we can only fathom its deep meaning, and attain the power of saying "Amen" from the heart, by degrees. And the place where our heavenly Father most often imparts the power is the chamber of sickness. There we feel the intense reality of the spiritual struggle—the battlings of the human will against the Divine—the wrestlings between doubt and trust, between earth and heaven, between things seen and temporal, and things unseen and eternal.
It is for the very purpose of teaching us submission, that trials, and sickness, and sorrows come upon us. In health and prosperity our great desire is self-pleasure, or looking for a state of rest and satisfaction here, instead of taking up the cross—of labor in duty, and submission to the will of God, with a renunciation of all worldly schemes of happiness, and patience for death to put us in possession of it. And God, who seeks our well-being, who desires to bring our will into entire conformity with His own, withdraws us from the world, that by the painful necessity of sickness, suffering, crosses, He may break the strong chain which binds us to the world, may crucify our wills, may lead us to look ever to Him, and to trust in His promised faithfulness and unerring wisdom.
God knows that without holiness we can have no true happiness—that our hearts can find no true rest until they are drawn upwards, and centered in Him; and therefore He appoints us a continual process of purification and refining, until the dross of selfishness, impatience, murmuring, and self-pleasing is removed from our hearts, and we are brought to say, as we never could before, "Father, Your will be done." For this end are we summoned to enter the furnace of sharp affliction—for this end is long-continued suffering permitted, for this end have we sometimes days, and nights, and months, and years of weariness, and anguish, and bitter disappointment.
Tried one! do you feel it a difficult thing, in the midst of pain, and weakness, and bodily infirmity, to say, "Your will be done." Oh! deem it not strange—saints now in glory have been vexed and troubled by the same thought; often have they grieved and lamented because they were conscious of fretfulness and impatience under the hand of God. While it is the very secret, the mystery of solid peace within, still it is the hardest and most difficult of all lessons, to resign everything to God's will, to be disposed of at His pleasure, without one resisting one opposing thought.
But if you are learning, if you are striving to endure with patience, if you are making constant efforts, be they ever so feeble, to cherish a meek and submissive spirit, fear not. All shall yet be well; more grace will be given you. The heavier the trial, the larger will be the measure of strength.
Remember the example of your blessed Lord. He went through far more than you can be called to suffer. His sorrows were not merited, as yours have been. He was all pure; suffering could find in Him no more to cleanse than sin could find to fasten upon. Yet whose sorrow was like unto His? who ever passed through such a fiery ordeal? And why was it? That He "might learn obedience by the things that He suffered." He was made "perfect" by sufferings; and of this perfection, after the measure of a creature and the proportions of our mere manhood, are the saints made to partake; they are purified, that they may be perfect. And therefore the sorrows of the holiest minds are the highest approaches to the mind of Christ, and are full of a meaning which few can comprehend. Oh, then, strive to follow the Savior's steps! Be not dispirited, be not afraid. Keep a good heart, and you will be carried through. He who perfected His own Son through sufferings, will bring you to glory by the same path.
Remember, too, you are not your own, but His. You have given yourself up to Him. Why, then, complain that He is doing with you as He pleases? The great law of sacrifice is embracing you, and must have its perfect work. Let it be your prayer, then, that your will being crucified, you may offer up yourself to be disposed of as He sees best, whether for joy or sorrow, blessing or chastisement—to be, to go, to do, to suffer, even as He wills, even as He ordains, even as Christ endured, "who, through the eternal Spirit, offered Himself without spot to God."
Oh, shrink not from any fellowship with your Lord in suffering, who for you "endured the cross, despising the shame," and is even now preparing for you joys which "eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man to conceive!" Try to say, it may be with trembling, faltering lips, "O my Savior, let me be silent like You, and never open my mouth in complaining, whatever be the bitter cup You give me to drink; for it can only be a cup of blessing to Your redeemed child, for whom You have borne the curse, and exhausted the cup of wrath and indignation."
Be comforted, too, by the thought that submission is pleasing in your Father's sight. The sooner you gain the spirit of a child, the sooner will the cross, the trial, the suffering, be removed. Not that you are to try to bear with patience in order to be freed from chastisement, but because you will be doing "that which is pleasing to Him;" and when you do, He will enable you to "rejoice with exceeding joy."
And oh, suffering child! will not this help us to be more patient and submissive—the thought that "yet a little while, and He who shall come will come, and will not tarry." Then will He give rest to the weary, and consolation to the sorrowful. Their peace shall be as a river, ever flowing; they shall have entered into "the joy of their Lord." No more sin, nor any more guilt, no more penitence, no more trial, no infirmity to depress us, no false affection to mislead us, no passion to transport us, no prejudice to blind us, no sloth, no pride, no envy, no strife, but the light of God's countenance, and a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God. That is our home. Here we are but on our pilgrimage, our path tangled and thorny, our rest broken and disturbed, our spiritual vision dim and obscured.
No more, child of God—your very sufferings on earth, so soon to be over, so small compared with your deservings, so short in duration compared with eternity, "shall work for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Oh! surely this consideration will also help to increase your patience under suffering. Your glory is to superabound, as your afflictions have abounded. Your eternal refreshings will be measured out to you by the cup of trial you have drunk. God has beaten and hammered you only to make you a vessel unto honor. All sorrow and sighing shall then flee away, and everlasting joy be upon your head. Why then complain because God designs to make you very glorious? Does He injure you in thus rendering you fit for a higher and nobler place in heaven? Impatience and fretfulness can free you from no other weight but one, and that is "an exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Suffering may seem long and weary, and, for the present, grievous; yet it is but a little moment, a twinkling of an eye, compared with the everlasting inheritance of the saints in light, when the days of your mourning shall be ended.
Oh, fear not, trembling believer! Your Father knows the weight and duration of your sorrows and trials. He sees the end from the beginning, and the happy outcome out of all your afflictions which He has in store for you. Trust Him, submit to Him; no sorrow has been mingled in your cup, no thorn has been scattered on your path, no grief has oppressed your spirit, but what "is common to the whole family of God." The Shepherd is leading you by a circuitous path, but in the right way to His own blessed fold. Leave all to Him—to His faithfulness, His love, His power, His watchful, sleepless care. Let your song be—
"He has led me through the wilderness,
A long and lonely way;
He has soothed me with His tenderness,
And fed me day by day.
"Oh, better far the wilderness
And desert way to me,
If, wandering in its loneliness,
I should be nearer Thee!"
As you advance, still trying more and more to submit to your Father's will, in every fresh trouble imploring fresh grace—in every onset of the evil heart to resist God's pleasure, crying to Him for help—your prayer will be answered. Mercies you do not dream of now will be strewn around your footsteps. Powers which until now have lain as sleeping shadows within you, will awake to life—powers of faith, of hope, of love, and of that perfect patience and submission which will enable you to lift your streaming eyes to heaven, and say, "Lord, I am Yours; do with me what You will—send me what You plead; only abide with me." Then let the shadows of evening fall—let your path be dark and desolate—let your burden be heavy, your cross painful—in the surrounding stillness you will hear voices cheering you onward, voices from the everlasting hills, and the sound as of the waving of angels' wings around you.
One, too, mightier than the angels will make His presence felt; and as you place your trembling hand in His, and cry, "Lord, guide me, for I cannot see," there will descend a stream of light upon your darkening path, and peace so perfect, that, with songs of praise and thanksgiving, you will pursue your way, willing to wait, willing to endure, willing to do all things and to suffer all things, for His dear sake who is leading you through the valley of the shadow of death—to the fountains of living waters—to the land of everlasting joy!
O You who are the God of patience and consolation, strengthen me in the inner man, that I may bear Your yoke and burden without murmuring. May I heartily love You, entirely confide in You, and absolutely resign both soul and body to Your wise disposal. Lord, I am sensible that I am far from exercising that unreserved submission to Your will which I ought to exercise. Help me, I beseech You, so to trust in Your infinite goodness and unerring wisdom, that I may be able to say, from my very heart, "May Your will be done." Oh, teach me to be grateful for the manifold comforts allotted me; and support me graciously, that my soul be not cast down and disturbed within me. Assist me to cherish penitent, believing, and serious thoughts and affections, and such meekness and patience as my Divine Master manifested while He was a sufferer on earth. Give me a deep sense of my sinfulness, that I may ever be humbled before You, and may feel Your great mercy and forbearance towards me.
Grant that all Your dispensations may be sanctified by Your Holy Spirit, and be instrumental in preparing me for that happy state where peace, and purity, and love are perfected—where there is no more sin, no strife, no sorrow—where the former things are passed away, and You make all things new. Hear, gracious Lord, accept, and answer, and bless Your servant, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.
REST
It was Your will, my Father,
That laid Your servant low;
It was Your hand, my Father,
That dealt the chastening blow;
It was Your mercy bade me rest
My weary soul a while;
And every blessing I receive,
Reflects Your gracious smile.
It is Your care, my Father,
That cherishes me now;
It is Your peace, my Father,
That rests upon my brow;
It is Your truth, Your truth alone,
That gives my spirit rest,
And soothes me like a happy child
Upon its mother's breast.
I have known youth, my Father,
Bright as a summer's day,
And earthly love, my Father;
But that too passed away.
Now life's small candle faintly burns—
A little flickering flame,
But Your eternal love remains
Unchangeably the same.
—The Dove on the Cross
"May Your will be done."— Luk_11:2
Such is part of the prayer which our Savior taught His disciples. It is familiar to us all. We have lisped it at a mother's knee, we have given utterance to it in the house of prayer, and in the secrecy of our closets we have offered it up at the throne of the heavenly grace. And, yet, how seldom have we fully realized its import, and given our willing, heartfelt response to the petition! The truth is, we can only fathom its deep meaning, and attain the power of saying "Amen" from the heart, by degrees. And the place where our heavenly Father most often imparts the power is the chamber of sickness. There we feel the intense reality of the spiritual struggle—the battlings of the human will against the Divine—the wrestlings between doubt and trust, between earth and heaven, between things seen and temporal, and things unseen and eternal.
It is for the very purpose of teaching us submission, that trials, and sickness, and sorrows come upon us. In health and prosperity our great desire is self-pleasure, or looking for a state of rest and satisfaction here, instead of taking up the cross—of labor in duty, and submission to the will of God, with a renunciation of all worldly schemes of happiness, and patience for death to put us in possession of it. And God, who seeks our well-being, who desires to bring our will into entire conformity with His own, withdraws us from the world, that by the painful necessity of sickness, suffering, crosses, He may break the strong chain which binds us to the world, may crucify our wills, may lead us to look ever to Him, and to trust in His promised faithfulness and unerring wisdom.
God knows that without holiness we can have no true happiness—that our hearts can find no true rest until they are drawn upwards, and centered in Him; and therefore He appoints us a continual process of purification and refining, until the dross of selfishness, impatience, murmuring, and self-pleasing is removed from our hearts, and we are brought to say, as we never could before, "Father, Your will be done." For this end are we summoned to enter the furnace of sharp affliction—for this end is long-continued suffering permitted, for this end have we sometimes days, and nights, and months, and years of weariness, and anguish, and bitter disappointment.
Tried one! do you feel it a difficult thing, in the midst of pain, and weakness, and bodily infirmity, to say, "Your will be done." Oh! deem it not strange—saints now in glory have been vexed and troubled by the same thought; often have they grieved and lamented because they were conscious of fretfulness and impatience under the hand of God. While it is the very secret, the mystery of solid peace within, still it is the hardest and most difficult of all lessons, to resign everything to God's will, to be disposed of at His pleasure, without one resisting one opposing thought.
But if you are learning, if you are striving to endure with patience, if you are making constant efforts, be they ever so feeble, to cherish a meek and submissive spirit, fear not. All shall yet be well; more grace will be given you. The heavier the trial, the larger will be the measure of strength.
Remember the example of your blessed Lord. He went through far more than you can be called to suffer. His sorrows were not merited, as yours have been. He was all pure; suffering could find in Him no more to cleanse than sin could find to fasten upon. Yet whose sorrow was like unto His? who ever passed through such a fiery ordeal? And why was it? That He "might learn obedience by the things that He suffered." He was made "perfect" by sufferings; and of this perfection, after the measure of a creature and the proportions of our mere manhood, are the saints made to partake; they are purified, that they may be perfect. And therefore the sorrows of the holiest minds are the highest approaches to the mind of Christ, and are full of a meaning which few can comprehend. Oh, then, strive to follow the Savior's steps! Be not dispirited, be not afraid. Keep a good heart, and you will be carried through. He who perfected His own Son through sufferings, will bring you to glory by the same path.
Remember, too, you are not your own, but His. You have given yourself up to Him. Why, then, complain that He is doing with you as He pleases? The great law of sacrifice is embracing you, and must have its perfect work. Let it be your prayer, then, that your will being crucified, you may offer up yourself to be disposed of as He sees best, whether for joy or sorrow, blessing or chastisement—to be, to go, to do, to suffer, even as He wills, even as He ordains, even as Christ endured, "who, through the eternal Spirit, offered Himself without spot to God."
Oh, shrink not from any fellowship with your Lord in suffering, who for you "endured the cross, despising the shame," and is even now preparing for you joys which "eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man to conceive!" Try to say, it may be with trembling, faltering lips, "O my Savior, let me be silent like You, and never open my mouth in complaining, whatever be the bitter cup You give me to drink; for it can only be a cup of blessing to Your redeemed child, for whom You have borne the curse, and exhausted the cup of wrath and indignation."
Be comforted, too, by the thought that submission is pleasing in your Father's sight. The sooner you gain the spirit of a child, the sooner will the cross, the trial, the suffering, be removed. Not that you are to try to bear with patience in order to be freed from chastisement, but because you will be doing "that which is pleasing to Him;" and when you do, He will enable you to "rejoice with exceeding joy."
And oh, suffering child! will not this help us to be more patient and submissive—the thought that "yet a little while, and He who shall come will come, and will not tarry." Then will He give rest to the weary, and consolation to the sorrowful. Their peace shall be as a river, ever flowing; they shall have entered into "the joy of their Lord." No more sin, nor any more guilt, no more penitence, no more trial, no infirmity to depress us, no false affection to mislead us, no passion to transport us, no prejudice to blind us, no sloth, no pride, no envy, no strife, but the light of God's countenance, and a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God. That is our home. Here we are but on our pilgrimage, our path tangled and thorny, our rest broken and disturbed, our spiritual vision dim and obscured.
No more, child of God—your very sufferings on earth, so soon to be over, so small compared with your deservings, so short in duration compared with eternity, "shall work for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Oh! surely this consideration will also help to increase your patience under suffering. Your glory is to superabound, as your afflictions have abounded. Your eternal refreshings will be measured out to you by the cup of trial you have drunk. God has beaten and hammered you only to make you a vessel unto honor. All sorrow and sighing shall then flee away, and everlasting joy be upon your head. Why then complain because God designs to make you very glorious? Does He injure you in thus rendering you fit for a higher and nobler place in heaven? Impatience and fretfulness can free you from no other weight but one, and that is "an exceeding and eternal weight of glory." Suffering may seem long and weary, and, for the present, grievous; yet it is but a little moment, a twinkling of an eye, compared with the everlasting inheritance of the saints in light, when the days of your mourning shall be ended.
Oh, fear not, trembling believer! Your Father knows the weight and duration of your sorrows and trials. He sees the end from the beginning, and the happy outcome out of all your afflictions which He has in store for you. Trust Him, submit to Him; no sorrow has been mingled in your cup, no thorn has been scattered on your path, no grief has oppressed your spirit, but what "is common to the whole family of God." The Shepherd is leading you by a circuitous path, but in the right way to His own blessed fold. Leave all to Him—to His faithfulness, His love, His power, His watchful, sleepless care. Let your song be—
"He has led me through the wilderness,
A long and lonely way;
He has soothed me with His tenderness,
And fed me day by day.
"Oh, better far the wilderness
And desert way to me,
If, wandering in its loneliness,
I should be nearer Thee!"
As you advance, still trying more and more to submit to your Father's will, in every fresh trouble imploring fresh grace—in every onset of the evil heart to resist God's pleasure, crying to Him for help—your prayer will be answered. Mercies you do not dream of now will be strewn around your footsteps. Powers which until now have lain as sleeping shadows within you, will awake to life—powers of faith, of hope, of love, and of that perfect patience and submission which will enable you to lift your streaming eyes to heaven, and say, "Lord, I am Yours; do with me what You will—send me what You plead; only abide with me." Then let the shadows of evening fall—let your path be dark and desolate—let your burden be heavy, your cross painful—in the surrounding stillness you will hear voices cheering you onward, voices from the everlasting hills, and the sound as of the waving of angels' wings around you.
One, too, mightier than the angels will make His presence felt; and as you place your trembling hand in His, and cry, "Lord, guide me, for I cannot see," there will descend a stream of light upon your darkening path, and peace so perfect, that, with songs of praise and thanksgiving, you will pursue your way, willing to wait, willing to endure, willing to do all things and to suffer all things, for His dear sake who is leading you through the valley of the shadow of death—to the fountains of living waters—to the land of everlasting joy!
O You who are the God of patience and consolation, strengthen me in the inner man, that I may bear Your yoke and burden without murmuring. May I heartily love You, entirely confide in You, and absolutely resign both soul and body to Your wise disposal. Lord, I am sensible that I am far from exercising that unreserved submission to Your will which I ought to exercise. Help me, I beseech You, so to trust in Your infinite goodness and unerring wisdom, that I may be able to say, from my very heart, "May Your will be done." Oh, teach me to be grateful for the manifold comforts allotted me; and support me graciously, that my soul be not cast down and disturbed within me. Assist me to cherish penitent, believing, and serious thoughts and affections, and such meekness and patience as my Divine Master manifested while He was a sufferer on earth. Give me a deep sense of my sinfulness, that I may ever be humbled before You, and may feel Your great mercy and forbearance towards me.
Grant that all Your dispensations may be sanctified by Your Holy Spirit, and be instrumental in preparing me for that happy state where peace, and purity, and love are perfected—where there is no more sin, no strife, no sorrow—where the former things are passed away, and You make all things new. Hear, gracious Lord, accept, and answer, and bless Your servant, for Jesus Christ's sake. Amen.
REST
It was Your will, my Father,
That laid Your servant low;
It was Your hand, my Father,
That dealt the chastening blow;
It was Your mercy bade me rest
My weary soul a while;
And every blessing I receive,
Reflects Your gracious smile.
It is Your care, my Father,
That cherishes me now;
It is Your peace, my Father,
That rests upon my brow;
It is Your truth, Your truth alone,
That gives my spirit rest,
And soothes me like a happy child
Upon its mother's breast.
I have known youth, my Father,
Bright as a summer's day,
And earthly love, my Father;
But that too passed away.
Now life's small candle faintly burns—
A little flickering flame,
But Your eternal love remains
Unchangeably the same.
—The Dove on the Cross