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TOPIC: MacDuff, John - Encouragement to Patient Waiting (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 08 NOT FORSAKEN
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NOT FORSAKEN
"When the evening was come, he was there alone. But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves—for the wind was contrary."—Mat_14:23-24
The narrative of which these words form a part, has often been a source of great comfort to the tried and suffering believer. Every little incident is of priceless value, as it brings more and more fully home to the heart the tender sympathy of Jesus—His sleepless care—His ready help—His almighty power. We are told that, at the close of a busy and anxious day, when our Lord had miraculously fed five thousand people with five loaves and two fish—when the people, astonished at His power, had resolved to make Him their king—He "constrained His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him unto the other side" of the sea of Galilee, while He Himself retired to a mountain to pray. Suddenly a violent tempest arose. The terrified disciples plied their oars, but in vain. Their little bark was "in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves," the plaything of the storm, and "the wind was contrary." Darkness gathered round them, and, worse than all, they were alone; for "Jesus had not come unto them."
Fit representation of the believer still! How often has he to encounter, and that, too, at his Master's bidding, the stormy gales of trouble? The ocean of life, how suddenly is it lashed into fury, and, despite all our efforts, our feeble bark is driven to and fro! It has been thus with Christ's disciples in every age. He has promised to deliver them out of the storm, but not to secure them from encountering it. "The same afflictions have been accomplished in the brotherhood" of faith since time began. The saints in glory all toiled, amid similar billows, in life's stormy sea. Though never shipwrecked, they were all tempest-tossed. Think of their bitter disappointments, their grievous losses, their perplexing cares, their fearful sufferings, their painful trials, their cruel mockings and scourgings, their buffetings and imprisonments and deaths, as they are recorded for our instruction in the Book of God! The Elder Brother Himself did not escape. He was made like unto His brethren, in all points tempted like as we are. What a dread night—what a fearful tempest was that in which He was constrained in the bitterness of His anguished soul to cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
While the trembling disciples were battling with the waves on the lonely sea, the Savior was alone with His Father, pleading for them on the mount. He had not forgotten them. His all-seeing eye followed them in the gloom of night, and amid the furious waves. And even so He pleads for you, tempest-tossed believer. Do not think that, because the storm continues boisterous, He intercedes in vain. The Father hears Him always. Your not sinking proves that His advocacy prevails. He prays not that your day may never be stormy, but, in answer to His intercession, you may be confident that "as your day so shall your strength be." His eye of love rests upon you. There cannot be a night so dark in which He cannot trace your course. As on that lonely mountain-height He "saw the disciples toiling in rowing," so in the heights of glory He sees you also, storm-driven Christian. Every secret anxiety, every heart-buried grief, is watched from His throne on high. He knows all your difficulties, sorrows, and temptations. You shall not perish by any oversight of His. When He sees that the fitting season has arrived, He will appear for your deliverance.
He foresaw the toil and danger of His disciples on the Sea of Galilee. He purposely sent them away that they might be tossed. He who could have prevented their sufferings by His power, permitted them in His wisdom, that He might glorify His mercy in their deliverance, and confirm their faith by the outcome of their distresses. Even so, Christian, He permits your sorrows. Every night of pain and sickness, every wave of trouble that rolls over you, comes at His command. He knows that they are necessary, and He has told you to expect them. "In the world you shall have tribulation." The experience of believers of all ages testifies that,
"The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown."
They may continue long, and appear overwhelmingly great. How did all things seem to conspire against the fearful disciples! The night was sullen and dark—their Master was absent, the sea was boisterous—the winds were high and contrary. Had their Master been with them, however wildly the elements might rage, they would have felt secure; had their Master been absent, still if the sea had been quiet or the wind favorable, the passage might have been endured; now, both season, and sea, and wind, and their Master's desertion combined to render them miserable. And thus sometimes the providence of God appoints that no glimpse of comfort shall appear to gladden the trembling heart—troubles surround us on every side—we are beaten back by opposing doubts and fears—and eagerly as we look out through the dark gloom, no ray of comfort darts across it—all is thick, impenetrable darkness. Oh, how often do our hearts fail within us, and we begin to cry, "Lord, why have You forsaken me? why do these storms beat upon me? Why do You not hearken to my cry and come to my help?"
"Hearken to your cry," O child of God! He has heard it already. Yes, amid the songs of angels and the anthems of adoring hosts, your feeble voice has reached the courts of heaven. He who loves you with more than a brother's love is even now watching you—noting your sorrows, caring for your griefs, sympathizing in all your pains and sufferings.
He will assuredly "come to your help." He delays for the wisest and best reasons. His present intercession has gained much for you. It has enabled you to struggle on until now, it has given you strength to resist despair—it has kept you praying, wrestling, entreating—and soon it will accomplish more, far more. Take it as the pledge that Jesus loves you, when, though the storm has continued to rage, and the calm has been delayed, the waves have not been allowed to overwhelm you. His time is the best time. Yet a little while and the hour of deliverance will arrive. Yet a little while, and you will have rest, and peace, and quiet. You will find that it was good for you to have been afflicted—that your faith was strengthened by trial—that your progress heavenward, instead of being retarded, was hastened by the storm—that the winds you dreaded were wafting you onward in your voyage, and that the waves which seemed to threaten you with death, were bearing you to the haven of eternal calm.
Oh, then, whatever be your present state, whatever the cares, and troubles, and griefs which burden your spirit, whatever the darkness which has been permitted to enwrap you, strive ever to feel that He who has for a season seemed to leave you all alone on a stormy sea—He who has spoken to the tempest, and allowed the waves to rear their foaming crests, is even now pleading for you on the mount—even now watching you, until the hour arrive when He shall say, "Peace, be still;" and drawing near to you, shall whisper these consoling words, "It is I; be not afraid."
Be this your earnest prayer to Jesus—
"Amid the roaring of the sea,
My soul still hangs her hopes on Thee;
Your constant love, Your faithful care,
Is all that saves me from despair.
"Though tempest-tossed, and half a wreck,
My Savior through the floods I seek;
Let neither winds nor stormy main
Force back my shattered bark again."
Heavenly Father, give me grace to trust in You at all times. You know what is best for Your sinful creatures, and Your wisdom designs good to them by affliction. Teach me to acknowledge the mercy of Your dispensations, and the advantages of a bed of sickness. Make me to rejoice in the means which You have employed for strengthening my faith, increasing my love of prayer, and bringing me to a sense of my own utter helplessness. Oh, grant that in the midst of my distress I may be able to feel assured that my Savior is interceding for me, and that in His own good time He will appear for my help and deliverance. Allow me not to give way to fear and despondency, or to fall into despair. Give me patience under my sufferings, and a hearty resignation to Your will. Mercifully hear me, O my Father, and give me that peace which You have promised to those whose hearts are set on You; for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was once a man of sorrows, and is still touched with a feeling of our infirmities; to whom, as our merciful High Priest, be glory forever. Amen.
"When the evening was come, he was there alone. But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves—for the wind was contrary."—Mat_14:23-24
The narrative of which these words form a part, has often been a source of great comfort to the tried and suffering believer. Every little incident is of priceless value, as it brings more and more fully home to the heart the tender sympathy of Jesus—His sleepless care—His ready help—His almighty power. We are told that, at the close of a busy and anxious day, when our Lord had miraculously fed five thousand people with five loaves and two fish—when the people, astonished at His power, had resolved to make Him their king—He "constrained His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him unto the other side" of the sea of Galilee, while He Himself retired to a mountain to pray. Suddenly a violent tempest arose. The terrified disciples plied their oars, but in vain. Their little bark was "in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves," the plaything of the storm, and "the wind was contrary." Darkness gathered round them, and, worse than all, they were alone; for "Jesus had not come unto them."
Fit representation of the believer still! How often has he to encounter, and that, too, at his Master's bidding, the stormy gales of trouble? The ocean of life, how suddenly is it lashed into fury, and, despite all our efforts, our feeble bark is driven to and fro! It has been thus with Christ's disciples in every age. He has promised to deliver them out of the storm, but not to secure them from encountering it. "The same afflictions have been accomplished in the brotherhood" of faith since time began. The saints in glory all toiled, amid similar billows, in life's stormy sea. Though never shipwrecked, they were all tempest-tossed. Think of their bitter disappointments, their grievous losses, their perplexing cares, their fearful sufferings, their painful trials, their cruel mockings and scourgings, their buffetings and imprisonments and deaths, as they are recorded for our instruction in the Book of God! The Elder Brother Himself did not escape. He was made like unto His brethren, in all points tempted like as we are. What a dread night—what a fearful tempest was that in which He was constrained in the bitterness of His anguished soul to cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
While the trembling disciples were battling with the waves on the lonely sea, the Savior was alone with His Father, pleading for them on the mount. He had not forgotten them. His all-seeing eye followed them in the gloom of night, and amid the furious waves. And even so He pleads for you, tempest-tossed believer. Do not think that, because the storm continues boisterous, He intercedes in vain. The Father hears Him always. Your not sinking proves that His advocacy prevails. He prays not that your day may never be stormy, but, in answer to His intercession, you may be confident that "as your day so shall your strength be." His eye of love rests upon you. There cannot be a night so dark in which He cannot trace your course. As on that lonely mountain-height He "saw the disciples toiling in rowing," so in the heights of glory He sees you also, storm-driven Christian. Every secret anxiety, every heart-buried grief, is watched from His throne on high. He knows all your difficulties, sorrows, and temptations. You shall not perish by any oversight of His. When He sees that the fitting season has arrived, He will appear for your deliverance.
He foresaw the toil and danger of His disciples on the Sea of Galilee. He purposely sent them away that they might be tossed. He who could have prevented their sufferings by His power, permitted them in His wisdom, that He might glorify His mercy in their deliverance, and confirm their faith by the outcome of their distresses. Even so, Christian, He permits your sorrows. Every night of pain and sickness, every wave of trouble that rolls over you, comes at His command. He knows that they are necessary, and He has told you to expect them. "In the world you shall have tribulation." The experience of believers of all ages testifies that,
"The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown."
They may continue long, and appear overwhelmingly great. How did all things seem to conspire against the fearful disciples! The night was sullen and dark—their Master was absent, the sea was boisterous—the winds were high and contrary. Had their Master been with them, however wildly the elements might rage, they would have felt secure; had their Master been absent, still if the sea had been quiet or the wind favorable, the passage might have been endured; now, both season, and sea, and wind, and their Master's desertion combined to render them miserable. And thus sometimes the providence of God appoints that no glimpse of comfort shall appear to gladden the trembling heart—troubles surround us on every side—we are beaten back by opposing doubts and fears—and eagerly as we look out through the dark gloom, no ray of comfort darts across it—all is thick, impenetrable darkness. Oh, how often do our hearts fail within us, and we begin to cry, "Lord, why have You forsaken me? why do these storms beat upon me? Why do You not hearken to my cry and come to my help?"
"Hearken to your cry," O child of God! He has heard it already. Yes, amid the songs of angels and the anthems of adoring hosts, your feeble voice has reached the courts of heaven. He who loves you with more than a brother's love is even now watching you—noting your sorrows, caring for your griefs, sympathizing in all your pains and sufferings.
He will assuredly "come to your help." He delays for the wisest and best reasons. His present intercession has gained much for you. It has enabled you to struggle on until now, it has given you strength to resist despair—it has kept you praying, wrestling, entreating—and soon it will accomplish more, far more. Take it as the pledge that Jesus loves you, when, though the storm has continued to rage, and the calm has been delayed, the waves have not been allowed to overwhelm you. His time is the best time. Yet a little while and the hour of deliverance will arrive. Yet a little while, and you will have rest, and peace, and quiet. You will find that it was good for you to have been afflicted—that your faith was strengthened by trial—that your progress heavenward, instead of being retarded, was hastened by the storm—that the winds you dreaded were wafting you onward in your voyage, and that the waves which seemed to threaten you with death, were bearing you to the haven of eternal calm.
Oh, then, whatever be your present state, whatever the cares, and troubles, and griefs which burden your spirit, whatever the darkness which has been permitted to enwrap you, strive ever to feel that He who has for a season seemed to leave you all alone on a stormy sea—He who has spoken to the tempest, and allowed the waves to rear their foaming crests, is even now pleading for you on the mount—even now watching you, until the hour arrive when He shall say, "Peace, be still;" and drawing near to you, shall whisper these consoling words, "It is I; be not afraid."
Be this your earnest prayer to Jesus—
"Amid the roaring of the sea,
My soul still hangs her hopes on Thee;
Your constant love, Your faithful care,
Is all that saves me from despair.
"Though tempest-tossed, and half a wreck,
My Savior through the floods I seek;
Let neither winds nor stormy main
Force back my shattered bark again."
Heavenly Father, give me grace to trust in You at all times. You know what is best for Your sinful creatures, and Your wisdom designs good to them by affliction. Teach me to acknowledge the mercy of Your dispensations, and the advantages of a bed of sickness. Make me to rejoice in the means which You have employed for strengthening my faith, increasing my love of prayer, and bringing me to a sense of my own utter helplessness. Oh, grant that in the midst of my distress I may be able to feel assured that my Savior is interceding for me, and that in His own good time He will appear for my help and deliverance. Allow me not to give way to fear and despondency, or to fall into despair. Give me patience under my sufferings, and a hearty resignation to Your will. Mercifully hear me, O my Father, and give me that peace which You have promised to those whose hearts are set on You; for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was once a man of sorrows, and is still touched with a feeling of our infirmities; to whom, as our merciful High Priest, be glory forever. Amen.