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TOPIC: MacDuff, John - Encouragement to Patient Waiting (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 12 SUNSHINE
Other Subjects in this Topic:
SUNSHINE
"Lord, lift up the light of your countenance upon us."—Psa_4:6
A time of sickness is not infrequently a time of gloom. We seem to be surrounded with thick darkness. As in the natural world, when dense clouds come between us and the light of the sun, we are more timid and fearful—as in threading our way amid precipices and pitfalls we tremble to find the shades of evening gathering around us; so when in the dangerous pilgrimage of life we find ourselves suddenly enwrapped in mist and gloom, our hearts begin to fail, and our fears are awakened at every onward step. We lose for a while the comforting sense of the Divine favor and presence; we are cast down by the pressure of painful doubts and apprehensions; we know not which way to turn for light, and the language of our troubled souls often is, "Has God forgotten to be gracious?" Why has this darkness come upon me? Why am I left so comfortless? Why is that hand withdrawn, which used to guide me? Why that comfort withheld which used to gladden me? Why that peace destroyed which used to quiet me? Why do these fears, and doubts, and apprehensions so gather round and beset my soul?
Suffering one, have you not experienced this sadness?—have you not agonized under the appalling thought that your God and Father had forsaken you—that the light was forever withdrawn which was the very joy of your heart? Lying on your sick-bed, have you not passed many a weary, anxious hour trying to discover, "Why is it so with me? Why has my health been taken away? Why has trouble been sent upon me? Why, O my God, are You angry with Your child? and why do You leave me to grope my way through such impenetrable darkness?"
Oh! this is the ordeal of sickness, this is part of the "much tribulation." No "strange" thing has happened unto you. Your Father has not left you, neither has He withdrawn the sunshine of His favor. He has only permitted clouds to intervene, dark and mysterious providences to come across the sky, and dangers to threaten you for a season. And He has had the wisest reasons for so doing. He knew how prone His children ever are to forget or undervalue their most precious blessings—how the world, and our daily interaction with it, tend to weaken and destroy our longings for heavenly communion and fellowship—how the uninterrupted continuance of blessing and comfort and peace is not conducive to the growth and development of the Christian character, but oftentimes leads to listlessness, inactivity, and spiritual pride.
Therefore does He send trial, distress, suffering; therefore does He remove some valued blessing or comfort; therefore does He command the clouds to gather and to cast their deepening shadows round His loved one. It is not that He delights in giving pain, or in lessening the peace and comfort of His children. Oh, no! It is that they may long more ardently for that of which they have been for a season deprived; it is that the darkness may make the sunshine more precious—that the fears and doubts may intensify the desire for peace and security—that the absence of spiritual joy may reawaken the longing for its return—that the dangers and perils which ever and anon are exciting the cry for help may lead the trembling one to distrust self, to feel no security in mere human help, but to look upwards to Him "whose arm is not shortened that it cannot save, whose ear is not heavy that it cannot hear."
"It is in this way that a forgotten God recalls our wandering affections to Himself. He lays waste the 'enthroned creature' that He may once again enthrone Himself. He breaks the cistern, not that we may be left parched and fainting in the wilderness of life, but go and satisfy our thirsting souls once again from the everlasting spring. He crushes the bruised reed, but He substitutes for it a rock. He puts far away from us 'lover and friend,' with all the unutterable sweetness of their affection and the tenderness of their love; but what does He substitute? Himself, the intense, unfathomable love of His own infinite mind, the presence of Christ, and communion with heaven."
Precious surely is the time of sickness if it accomplishes this gracious design—if it brings the soul to a nearer, closer, more intimate and endearing fellowship with its God and Father. Painful it doubtless is to undergo this discipline, yet is it needful. And shall we for a moment compare the brief interval of suffering with the season of restored joy and peace and gladness? What though health may have declined? what though we may have been withdrawn from the world, and have been robbed of some of its enjoyments? To have again the assurance of the Father's love, of the Savior's intercession, of the Spirit's help and guidance, oh, is not this infinitely more precious? To feel that our spiritual energies have been quickened and renewed—that our faith, and love, and hope, have been strengthened and increased—that our thoughts and feelings, our desires and aspirations, have all become more heavenly and pure—oh, surely it was well for us that we were left for a season amid the darkness, until our cry of distress was heard and answered, "Lord, lift up the light of your countenance upon us."
Yes, Christian, these seasons of darkness and trembling are all needed, and it is only when we come to realize how much we have gained by them that we see how gracious, kind, and good our heavenly Father has been in permitting them, and that we feel assured that they are as much the fruit of His tender love as His more obvious blessings. Faint not then, suffering one, if even yet you have not realized the full measure of God's love in your trial. Be sure you are precious in His sight; and although He allows you for a while to tread a dark and dangerous path, yet He is near at hand. Still grope on, albeit with a trembling heart; pray on, albeit with faltering tongue. The darkness will yet be dispersed; the gloom will pass away; your trial hour will come to an end, and you will again rejoice in "the light of your Father's countenance."
"A little while, 'twill soon be past;
Why should we shun the shame and cross?
Oh, let us in His footsteps haste,
Counting for Him all else but loss.
Oh, how will recompense His smile
The sufferings of this little while!"
Not forever has the hand of love been withdrawn—not forever has the voice of mercy been hushed to silence—not forever has the fountain of heavenly blessing and joy been sealed up, not forever has the sunshine departed, and the misty shadows gathered round you, "Wait on the Lord, and be of good courage." He will strengthen your heart. Yes, He will "lift upon you the light of His countenance," and whisper words of consolation and endearment. He will take you by the hand, and guide you over the slippery places. He will refresh your soul with heavenly manna and living water. He will reveal to you more than you have ever yet known of the beauties of holiness—the attractiveness of spiritual intimacy and communion—the joy of living in sensible fellowship, and in childlike simplicity and trustfulness, with your God and Redeemer. And at length, when the end of the journey has been reached, when your soul is fitted for a more glorious land, He will send His messenger of love. "Rise up, my child, my faithful one, and come away for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone"—the clouds are fast receding from the sky, the shadows depart of your mortal life, and the bright effulgent day is dawning, that shall never fade. It is past, it is gone—the dark time of your conflict and trial—the dreary season of sickness, and trouble, and disquietude—the time of the singing of angels is come for you, and the voice of the seraphim is heard in that land. You have wrestled with sin until the breaking of the day; you have toiled all night, but the morning is near. "Arise up then, my child, my faithful one, and come away, let us hasten and be gone; for the dawn is bright on the everlasting hills!"
Oh, sweet and blessed hour for the weary and toil-worn! Who shall describe the happiness awaiting the believer in that world where the "sun shall no more go down, neither shall the moon withdraw itself, and where the days of mourning shall be ended?" True, the 'valley' must be passed through, and it is dark; but there is a song of triumph prepared for that hour. We must bid farewell to time and time's possessions—farewell to the loved ones who have been our companions in life's journey—farewell to home, and friends, and earthly blessings. And such an hour is full of deep and dreadful solemnity; but, blessed be God, there is a light which can penetrate even the darkness of death's valley—there is a voice whose whispered accents will then fall sweetly on the listening ear, and calm every rising apprehension. "I am with you still." Your Savior is near; therefore dread not the darkness and gloom which are gathering around you.
My child, the day breaks, and we must depart; the shadow of death is deepening on your eyelids, and the radiance of earthly suns has passed away from them forever. But fear not, a better light will cheer you, even the light of your Father's countenance—that sun, whose effulgence eternity itself will never diminish or cloud, is about to rise upon you. And through your soul, already trembling on the threshold of a new existence, the glorious splendor of heaven is dawning, before yet the silver cord that binds your mortal life is altogether loosed. Soon shall you bask in the unclouded radiance of your Father's countenance, you shall see the King in His beauty, and have no more need to offer the prayer, "Lord, lift on me the light of Your countenance," for never again shall a passing cloud fling its dark shadow between you and your God—never again shall you know doubt, or fear, or peril—no evening will ever come—no gloomy night enwrap your spirit; but you shall "have fullness of joy, and pleasures at God's right hand for evermore."
O Lord, heavenly Father, I beseech You look down in pity and compassion upon me, Your afflicted servant! I humbly desire to acknowledge my sins, negligences, and errors, and to plead the all-sufficient merits and the precious blood-shedding of Christ my Savior. Blessed Jesus! Your followers and people have the assurance of Your own gracious declaration, that if they come to You weary and heavy laden they shall find rest unto their souls. O Savior of the world! I come to You weary and heavy laden with the burden of sin; may I find deliverance in You! May I find access to Your favor by that living way which You have appointed. May my faith fail not in the day of trial! and when clouds and darkness are around my steps, oh, may You be near to help me, and to lift upon me the light of Your countenance! Grant, O Lord, that I may be kept from all distrust or murmuring, and may I have grace to resign myself into Your hands, with entire submission to Your wise appointments. You, Lord, know the discipline I need, the furnace of trial through which I must pass, until the love of sin is wholly removed, and my heart purified from all iniquity. Help me by Your Holy Spirit to surrender my will to Yours, and to feel assured that Your eye of love is ever watching me. Oh, calm my spirit, and speak peace to me in my anxieties, and enable me to say under every trying dispensation, however grievous, "Blessed be the name of the Lord!" Give me patience to bear all my sufferings, and quietly to wait Your time for relief. You take pleasure in those who hope in Your mercy; oh, increase my faith, sustain my hope in You! Forsake me not when my strength fails. If You, Lord, will be pleased to support me, nothing will be too heavy for me. Oh, make Your strength perfect in my weakness! You who delight in mercy, save me for Your mercy's sake. You know my exceeding weakness. Oh, hold me up, that my footsteps slip not! Strengthen me with all Your might, according to Your glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering, with joyfulness. Gracious God, restore me to health, if it seems good unto You, in order to Your great ends, and my own interest.
And however You shall determine concerning me in this, yet make my repentance perfect, my passage safe, and my faith strong; that when You shall call my soul from the prison of the body, it may enter into the rest of the sons of God, through Jesus Christ. And to Your name, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be ascribed all glory and praise, world without end. Amen.
"Lord, lift up the light of your countenance upon us."—Psa_4:6
A time of sickness is not infrequently a time of gloom. We seem to be surrounded with thick darkness. As in the natural world, when dense clouds come between us and the light of the sun, we are more timid and fearful—as in threading our way amid precipices and pitfalls we tremble to find the shades of evening gathering around us; so when in the dangerous pilgrimage of life we find ourselves suddenly enwrapped in mist and gloom, our hearts begin to fail, and our fears are awakened at every onward step. We lose for a while the comforting sense of the Divine favor and presence; we are cast down by the pressure of painful doubts and apprehensions; we know not which way to turn for light, and the language of our troubled souls often is, "Has God forgotten to be gracious?" Why has this darkness come upon me? Why am I left so comfortless? Why is that hand withdrawn, which used to guide me? Why that comfort withheld which used to gladden me? Why that peace destroyed which used to quiet me? Why do these fears, and doubts, and apprehensions so gather round and beset my soul?
Suffering one, have you not experienced this sadness?—have you not agonized under the appalling thought that your God and Father had forsaken you—that the light was forever withdrawn which was the very joy of your heart? Lying on your sick-bed, have you not passed many a weary, anxious hour trying to discover, "Why is it so with me? Why has my health been taken away? Why has trouble been sent upon me? Why, O my God, are You angry with Your child? and why do You leave me to grope my way through such impenetrable darkness?"
Oh! this is the ordeal of sickness, this is part of the "much tribulation." No "strange" thing has happened unto you. Your Father has not left you, neither has He withdrawn the sunshine of His favor. He has only permitted clouds to intervene, dark and mysterious providences to come across the sky, and dangers to threaten you for a season. And He has had the wisest reasons for so doing. He knew how prone His children ever are to forget or undervalue their most precious blessings—how the world, and our daily interaction with it, tend to weaken and destroy our longings for heavenly communion and fellowship—how the uninterrupted continuance of blessing and comfort and peace is not conducive to the growth and development of the Christian character, but oftentimes leads to listlessness, inactivity, and spiritual pride.
Therefore does He send trial, distress, suffering; therefore does He remove some valued blessing or comfort; therefore does He command the clouds to gather and to cast their deepening shadows round His loved one. It is not that He delights in giving pain, or in lessening the peace and comfort of His children. Oh, no! It is that they may long more ardently for that of which they have been for a season deprived; it is that the darkness may make the sunshine more precious—that the fears and doubts may intensify the desire for peace and security—that the absence of spiritual joy may reawaken the longing for its return—that the dangers and perils which ever and anon are exciting the cry for help may lead the trembling one to distrust self, to feel no security in mere human help, but to look upwards to Him "whose arm is not shortened that it cannot save, whose ear is not heavy that it cannot hear."
"It is in this way that a forgotten God recalls our wandering affections to Himself. He lays waste the 'enthroned creature' that He may once again enthrone Himself. He breaks the cistern, not that we may be left parched and fainting in the wilderness of life, but go and satisfy our thirsting souls once again from the everlasting spring. He crushes the bruised reed, but He substitutes for it a rock. He puts far away from us 'lover and friend,' with all the unutterable sweetness of their affection and the tenderness of their love; but what does He substitute? Himself, the intense, unfathomable love of His own infinite mind, the presence of Christ, and communion with heaven."
Precious surely is the time of sickness if it accomplishes this gracious design—if it brings the soul to a nearer, closer, more intimate and endearing fellowship with its God and Father. Painful it doubtless is to undergo this discipline, yet is it needful. And shall we for a moment compare the brief interval of suffering with the season of restored joy and peace and gladness? What though health may have declined? what though we may have been withdrawn from the world, and have been robbed of some of its enjoyments? To have again the assurance of the Father's love, of the Savior's intercession, of the Spirit's help and guidance, oh, is not this infinitely more precious? To feel that our spiritual energies have been quickened and renewed—that our faith, and love, and hope, have been strengthened and increased—that our thoughts and feelings, our desires and aspirations, have all become more heavenly and pure—oh, surely it was well for us that we were left for a season amid the darkness, until our cry of distress was heard and answered, "Lord, lift up the light of your countenance upon us."
Yes, Christian, these seasons of darkness and trembling are all needed, and it is only when we come to realize how much we have gained by them that we see how gracious, kind, and good our heavenly Father has been in permitting them, and that we feel assured that they are as much the fruit of His tender love as His more obvious blessings. Faint not then, suffering one, if even yet you have not realized the full measure of God's love in your trial. Be sure you are precious in His sight; and although He allows you for a while to tread a dark and dangerous path, yet He is near at hand. Still grope on, albeit with a trembling heart; pray on, albeit with faltering tongue. The darkness will yet be dispersed; the gloom will pass away; your trial hour will come to an end, and you will again rejoice in "the light of your Father's countenance."
"A little while, 'twill soon be past;
Why should we shun the shame and cross?
Oh, let us in His footsteps haste,
Counting for Him all else but loss.
Oh, how will recompense His smile
The sufferings of this little while!"
Not forever has the hand of love been withdrawn—not forever has the voice of mercy been hushed to silence—not forever has the fountain of heavenly blessing and joy been sealed up, not forever has the sunshine departed, and the misty shadows gathered round you, "Wait on the Lord, and be of good courage." He will strengthen your heart. Yes, He will "lift upon you the light of His countenance," and whisper words of consolation and endearment. He will take you by the hand, and guide you over the slippery places. He will refresh your soul with heavenly manna and living water. He will reveal to you more than you have ever yet known of the beauties of holiness—the attractiveness of spiritual intimacy and communion—the joy of living in sensible fellowship, and in childlike simplicity and trustfulness, with your God and Redeemer. And at length, when the end of the journey has been reached, when your soul is fitted for a more glorious land, He will send His messenger of love. "Rise up, my child, my faithful one, and come away for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone"—the clouds are fast receding from the sky, the shadows depart of your mortal life, and the bright effulgent day is dawning, that shall never fade. It is past, it is gone—the dark time of your conflict and trial—the dreary season of sickness, and trouble, and disquietude—the time of the singing of angels is come for you, and the voice of the seraphim is heard in that land. You have wrestled with sin until the breaking of the day; you have toiled all night, but the morning is near. "Arise up then, my child, my faithful one, and come away, let us hasten and be gone; for the dawn is bright on the everlasting hills!"
Oh, sweet and blessed hour for the weary and toil-worn! Who shall describe the happiness awaiting the believer in that world where the "sun shall no more go down, neither shall the moon withdraw itself, and where the days of mourning shall be ended?" True, the 'valley' must be passed through, and it is dark; but there is a song of triumph prepared for that hour. We must bid farewell to time and time's possessions—farewell to the loved ones who have been our companions in life's journey—farewell to home, and friends, and earthly blessings. And such an hour is full of deep and dreadful solemnity; but, blessed be God, there is a light which can penetrate even the darkness of death's valley—there is a voice whose whispered accents will then fall sweetly on the listening ear, and calm every rising apprehension. "I am with you still." Your Savior is near; therefore dread not the darkness and gloom which are gathering around you.
My child, the day breaks, and we must depart; the shadow of death is deepening on your eyelids, and the radiance of earthly suns has passed away from them forever. But fear not, a better light will cheer you, even the light of your Father's countenance—that sun, whose effulgence eternity itself will never diminish or cloud, is about to rise upon you. And through your soul, already trembling on the threshold of a new existence, the glorious splendor of heaven is dawning, before yet the silver cord that binds your mortal life is altogether loosed. Soon shall you bask in the unclouded radiance of your Father's countenance, you shall see the King in His beauty, and have no more need to offer the prayer, "Lord, lift on me the light of Your countenance," for never again shall a passing cloud fling its dark shadow between you and your God—never again shall you know doubt, or fear, or peril—no evening will ever come—no gloomy night enwrap your spirit; but you shall "have fullness of joy, and pleasures at God's right hand for evermore."
O Lord, heavenly Father, I beseech You look down in pity and compassion upon me, Your afflicted servant! I humbly desire to acknowledge my sins, negligences, and errors, and to plead the all-sufficient merits and the precious blood-shedding of Christ my Savior. Blessed Jesus! Your followers and people have the assurance of Your own gracious declaration, that if they come to You weary and heavy laden they shall find rest unto their souls. O Savior of the world! I come to You weary and heavy laden with the burden of sin; may I find deliverance in You! May I find access to Your favor by that living way which You have appointed. May my faith fail not in the day of trial! and when clouds and darkness are around my steps, oh, may You be near to help me, and to lift upon me the light of Your countenance! Grant, O Lord, that I may be kept from all distrust or murmuring, and may I have grace to resign myself into Your hands, with entire submission to Your wise appointments. You, Lord, know the discipline I need, the furnace of trial through which I must pass, until the love of sin is wholly removed, and my heart purified from all iniquity. Help me by Your Holy Spirit to surrender my will to Yours, and to feel assured that Your eye of love is ever watching me. Oh, calm my spirit, and speak peace to me in my anxieties, and enable me to say under every trying dispensation, however grievous, "Blessed be the name of the Lord!" Give me patience to bear all my sufferings, and quietly to wait Your time for relief. You take pleasure in those who hope in Your mercy; oh, increase my faith, sustain my hope in You! Forsake me not when my strength fails. If You, Lord, will be pleased to support me, nothing will be too heavy for me. Oh, make Your strength perfect in my weakness! You who delight in mercy, save me for Your mercy's sake. You know my exceeding weakness. Oh, hold me up, that my footsteps slip not! Strengthen me with all Your might, according to Your glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering, with joyfulness. Gracious God, restore me to health, if it seems good unto You, in order to Your great ends, and my own interest.
And however You shall determine concerning me in this, yet make my repentance perfect, my passage safe, and my faith strong; that when You shall call my soul from the prison of the body, it may enter into the rest of the sons of God, through Jesus Christ. And to Your name, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be ascribed all glory and praise, world without end. Amen.