Psalm 138:8 The LORD will perfect that which concerns me: your mercy, O LORD, endures for ever: forsake not the works of your own hands. A friend said to me one day, "How sad it is that we cannot devote ourselves more constantly to our own spiritual culture! There are so many utterly unspiritual things to be done or gone through with, that it is really very little time that we can give to the great work of this life — our preparation for a higher and better life." This would have been well said, were it not that the very condition of things complained of is a providential necessity of God's appointment, and therefore undoubtedly better for us than any method that we might deem preferable. If the soul, and God, and heaven are not fictions, we are constrained to believe that the Divine providence orders our discipline here with a view to our surest nurture and our highest good, that its school is our best school, its designated way the best way for us. I doubt whether the concentrated devotion to the soul for which the devout often yearn is the fit mode of educating the soul. Probably, even to the most religious mind, the cloister has never been so favourable to the growth of piety as the duties of an active life or of a Christian home would have been. A good man somewhat given to cant, meeting Wilberforce one day, said to him, "Brother, how is it now with your soul?" and was shocked beyond measure by the philanthropist's reply, "I have been so busy about those poor men, that I had forgotten I had a soul." Yet there can be no doubt that by means of "those poor men" Wilberforce's soul had been growing a great deal faster than that of his friend, who had perhaps spent half his time in counting the pulse-beats of devotional feeling. In speaking thus I would not have it inferred that I hold emotional piety in low repute. I look upon it as the Alpha and the Omega, the source and consummation of all that is excellent in man. But perpetual and over-anxious watching may do as little for the plants of God's planting in the heart as for those of our own planting in our gardens. Nor would I have it supposed that I undervalue the direct offices of piety, whether secret or social. I regard them as an essential part of the plan of Providence. But God trains us, for the most part, in ways which we should not choose for that purpose, and sometimes in ways which we are prone to regard as injurious rather than helpful. To some of these methods of the Divine providence I ask your attention. There is hardly anything of which we are more apt to complain than routine-work, especially that in which not hand or foot, but brain and soul, are compelled to go over the selfsame round day after day and year after year. We are sometimes inclined, in our weariness, to resort for terms of comparison to the very Tartarus of our classical studies — the rock of Sisyphus and the sieve of the Danaides. Yet we might look for our parallel in the opposite direction; for is not the administration of this glorious universe, for the most part, a routine? Has not the infinite Creator, for unnumbered aeons, renewed, day by day and year by year, the same unvarying round of beneficent ministries? And if we may be permitted to speak of that self-consciousness in which our own has its birth, must we not think of this routine as a part of God's supreme felicity, while ever new love, mercy, and compassion flow in the course of universal nature, and breathe in the benignant will, which is no less essential from moment to moment than when in the beginning it moulded chaos into form, life, and beauty? Now, so far as God's Spirit is in us, our routine-work shall be exalted, hallowed, glorified, made more and more like His. Is it for the benefit of others, and is it lovingly wrought? If so, those affections which are so essential a part of the soul's best life are exercised, fed, and strengthened by it, and we thus become — though it be without our distinct consciousness — enlarged in our sympathies, broadened in our charity, better tithed for every genial ministry of earth and of heaven. Or is our life-work one which has prime reference to self, yet imposed upon us by necessities of subsistence or position which we cannot evade? If so, it is of God's appointment — a part of our Divine service; and if it be pervaded by the true spirit of service, it is a routine only in appearance — in reality, it is a revolution on an even higher plane, in an ever larger orbit; and we shall find in God's good time that it has been training us for the unwearying service of the heavenly temple. Yet again, is our routine, as it probably is, one which admits, with every new revolution, of more of mind, and soul, and strength? Then, wearisome though it be, it is a healthful discipline, equally for the powers which it calls into exercise, and for that conscientious fidelity in our appointed sphere, which must concur with trained and tried capacity in fitting the steward of the few and small things committed to his earthly trust for the larger stewardship of the heavenly life. Another subject of frequent complaint is the waste of time in unavoidable, bug unprofitable, social engagements. The hours which, if taken from more laborious pursuits, we would gladly devote to entertaining or lucrative intercourse with equals and friends, the wise and the brilliant, those whose converse is our privilege and our joy, must often be spent where we give, and receive nothing in return, wit may be, with those whom we see fit to call dull and stupid, or frivolous and empty, or with the impertinent and importunate, — with those who claim sympathy to which they seem to have no right, or aid to which they can proffer no title other than their need. Can this be a part of our spiritual education? Yes; and a most essential part. It comes to us through the ordering of Providence, and is therefore, no doubt, better for us than the great things which we would gladly do instead, but for which the opportunity is not afforded us. We shall one day own that no time has been better spent, if on these occasions we have exercised patience, forbearance, unwearying kindness, persevering helpfulness, if we have given pleasure, diffused happiness, relieved burdens, cleared perplexity, shed sunlight on those who live under the shadow, quickened dull minds, lightened heavy hearts. But in such ways as I have spoken of, solid portions of time that might have been given to our own mental culture are often invaded and frittered away. Can this be good for us? Yes, if Providence so wills. Growing knowledge is, no doubt, an unspeakable benefit; yet we may be gee impatient for its acquisition. We may feel too much as if this world gave the only opportunities for mental cultivation and growth. A part of what we may regret that we lose here will be of no interest or worth to us when we go hence; and for all that we can then desire and need there is ample room in the limitless future. Another often uncomfortable method of spiritual discipline consists in the seemingly excessive annoyance and mortification occasioned by what we account as slight mistakes, follies, and faults. In the vexation and discomfort which we bring upon ourselves by some momentary and almost unconscious deviation from the fitting and the right, we often have an impressive practical commentary on the text, "Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth!" But in these experiences we have a most essential and blessed part of our providential education. How should we ever recognize our failures and faults, did they not leave these vivid traces in our experience? Equally is Providence educating us by those trials and griefs — the lighter and the heavier — which belong to our condition as mortals. But it is never go be forgotten that the ministry of affliction is wholly contingent on our receptivity. The sands of the desert drink in the spring rains, but are not fructified by them. The untilled field returns their blessing in unsightly and noxious weeds. But in the prepared soil they reappear in growing grain and swelling fruit-buds — the prize of faithful toil, the hope of the year; and those dreary, chilly, sunless days of the early rain are the harbingers of all that is bright, beautiful, and gladdening in garden, field, and orchard. Thus the dews and rains of God's afflictive providence in some souls are absorbed and lost, and leave no sign; others they sour, or madden, or hopelessly depress; but where there are already germs of the heavenly Father's planting, they quicken growth, they create inward grace and beauty, they fructify all peaceful thoughts, pure desires, and holy aspirations; they ripen the harvest whose reapers are the angels. But not only through these sadder ministries is God's providence perfeering that which concerneth us. Equally is all that is mirthful and gladdening a part of our education for our immortal being. How vast is our receptivity of gladness! How kindly the necessity — not only in childhood and youth, but under our severest cares and labours, and even under the burden of many years — of recreation and pleasure! Thus by His various discipline is God perfecting that which concerneth us, giving us a far better education than we could plan for ourselves. Let us yield ourselves lovingly to the training of His providence, assured that, ordered by Him, all things shall work together for our good. (A. P. Peabody, D. D.) Parallel Verses KJV: The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands. |
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