Part 1 "IT IS I"
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Oh, to recognize Christ more vividly in all our troubles!—to lose sight of human agency in the absorbing contemplation of Jesus! Regrets and murmurs will never end, if we look only or chiefly at secondary causes. "If I had not done this—if I had been more prudent in that—if such a one had not been so unfaithful and unkind"—oh, how endless may such false reasoning become! What discontent they will occasion! How difficult will it be to feel resigned, when we blame others or ourselves as the sole causes of our troubles!
Let me look away from inferior agencies. Jesus sends the storm! Did He ordain this affliction, and shall I not be submissive to His authority? If He sent this poverty, ought I not to welcome it? If He ordered this disappointment, should I regret it? If He has commissioned this sickness—shall I not patiently endure it? If He has allowed enmity to assail me, shall not hatred to my enemy be forgotten in submission to my Friend? If He has bereaved me, and earth appears a blank in the absence of those so dear, though I cannot but mourn, shall I murmur? If He mixes the embittered cup, shall I not drink it? May I not be sure that it is wisely and kindly mingled and, though it may be bitter, that life and health must result from the draught?
Not beholding God in the storm, or entertaining false conceptions of Him, is a prolific source of fear. Some other form is seen in the tempest, which inspires alarm. Men are afraid of fate, or chance, and behold phantoms of evil all around. An assassin lies in ambush at every turn. Each cloud that gathers conceals an enemy, and the muttering of the tempest, is the voice of a foe. Thus, superstition is full of fears, in proportion as it fails to recognize the one sole object of religious reverence. How great a truth is there in the saying of Solomon, "In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence, and his children shall have a place of refuge!" Fear and courage are allied. If we rightly fear the true God, we need fear none besides. What can harm us, if He is our Protector? Whose enmity need we dread, if He is our Friend? Why should the storm distress or frighten us, if Jesus is there to shield us from injury, and even to make the fury of the winds and waves conducive to our good? We cannot escape from the storms of life; but those storms lose their power, not only to injure, but also toalarm, when we hear the voice of Jesus saying, "It is I; do not be afraid!"
As the only reason why the disciples should not fear, Jesus simply said "It is I!" As if this was quite sufficient to banish alarm. It was unnecessary to assure them of their safety; or what He would do to effect it. It was enough to let them know that it was He! His presence was a sufficient guaranty for deliverance. And does not this assurance, "It is I," involve everything needed to calm the fears and soothe the sorrows of afflicted believers still?
It was the voice of POWER —He spoke of whom it is recorded that "all things were made by Him!"—who said, "All power is given unto Me in heaven and in earth"—whom the elements of nature reverently obeyed, and who at that moment was manifesting His supremacy, by suspending His own laws, while He walked upon the sea. It was the voice of one who obviously was able to do everything that was necessary for the safety of the disciples. The storm might be furious, but He could control it! The waves might be boisterous, but He who marched upon their foaming crests could curb their violence. He could, by a word, either still the tempest or preserve His disciples in the midst of it. And it is the same voice of Omnipotence, which still speaks amid the storm. He who made, can control.
It is as true in reference to troubles of every kind as it is of the elements of nature—that "fire and hail, snow and vapors, stormy wind, fulfill His word. He has established them forever: He has made a decree that shall not pass. The sea is His, and He made it. He set for it bars and doors, and said, Hitherto shall you come, and no further; and here shall your proud waves be stayed." And surely He who "commands and raises the stormy wind, which lifts up the waves thereof," is equally able to "make the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still." Afflicted disciple, be of good cheer! He who speaks to you in the tempest produced it, and can control it. The Friend who bids you, fear not, is the God by whom all things were made. He who appears for your support has but to speak, and it is done—to command, and it stands fast. His word is as mighty when it speaks for the comfort of His afflicted people as when it said, "Let there be light, and there was light." Is anything too hard for the Lord?
His very word of grace is strong
As that which built the skies;
The voice that rolls the stars along
Speaks all the promises.
But the recognition of this voice as one of power is not alone sufficient to take away our fear. It might increase it. For He who speaks is the God whom I have offended by my sins, and whose power enables Him only the more effectually to secure my punishment. If He can control the storm, He may direct that lightning to scathe me, those waves to engulf me! The acknowledgment merely of the God of nature is not enough to calm the agitated breast. Until I can hope for pardon, the very perfections that render Him glorious render Him dreadful too! That infinite majesty, that unlimited sovereignty, that boundless might, is all arrayed against my sins! I must behold Jehovah as the God of grace, I must see Him in the person of his Son, before my fears can vanish. And it is Jesus, Immanuel, God with us, who says "It is I."
It was also the voice of LOVE. The disciples at once recognized it as such. It was their best Friend who addressed them, whose tenderness had been uniform, who always made allowances for their infirmities, bore with their provocations, and sympathized with their sorrows. They had never witnessed any act of His life that was not marked by love. None who sought His assistance were ever rejected by Him, and to no request did He ever turn a deaf or an indifferent ear. They were therefore perfectly sure that His power would be put forth to help them. The same voice of love speaks in the storm still. He addresses us—of whom it is written, "Like as a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear Him. As one whom his mother comforts, so will I comfort you. Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion upon the son of her womb? Yes, she may forget, yetI will not forget you."
<p>It is the voice of "the Consolation of Israel" who was "anointed to bind up the broken-hearted, and comfort those who mourn," and of a High Priest who "can have compassion." What could more emphatically prove His love than coming to this world of sorrow and sin to suffer and die for us, when we were enemies to God? He left the habitation of glory for the stable of an inn, the homage of angels for the insults of men, the smile of His Father for the temptations of the devil, the raptures of heaven for the groans of Gethsemane, the splendors of the throne for the ignominy of the cross, the brightness of the celestial glory for the darkness of the tomb. And why was this? It was love that prompted the sacrifice. Love to the undeserving, to the rebellious, to those who then crucified, and to those who now pierce Him by their sins!
And love still prompts His intercession at God’s right hand. Having done so much to save us, will He allow us to perish in the storm? "He that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, will He not with Him also freely give us all things?" Will the love that has already effected so much fail us in any extremity? May we not feel every doubt dispelled, when we recognize it to be Jesus who says, "It is I?" The scepter He grasps is omnipotence, but we need not be afraid when the hand that wields it is love! The winds and the sea obey Him; but the voice to which the universe pays homage says to every trembling disciple, "Be of good cheer."
The God that rules on high,
And thunders when he please;
That rides upon the stormy sky,
And manages the seas:
This awesome God is ours,
Our Father, and our Friend!
It is the voice of WISDOM as well as Love. It might be asked, "Why should not the power that can control the tempest have forbidden it to arise? Why should not the love which tells us not to fear have kept far from us all occasion of fear?" There is love in sending the storm, no less than in appearing to us in the midst of it. Afflictions are themselves proofs of kindness; but the kindness of a wise Father, who withholds not chastisement when He sees it to be for His children’s good. Love, not directed by wisdom, is often injurious to the objects of it. But the love of Jesus is such, that whatever is calculated for the advantage of His people is sure to be bestowed. "They shall not lack any good thing." And are not afflictions among the best of good things, if they tend to alienate us from earth, and to fix our affections more on Himself? Is not 'the tempest' an inestimable blessing, if it brings us more obviously into the presence of Jesus? If when all was serenity we were becoming indifferent to the company of our divine Friend, should we not praise Him for the storm that opens our eyes to watch for His appearing, and our ears to listen to His voice? Are not our heaviest trials among our greatest mercies, when they reveal Jesus to us more vividly, and unite us to Him more closely?
Jesus knows that trials are necessary for us. Though the way to glory has numberless and incomparable delights, yet He Himself has told us to expect storms. "In the world you shallhave 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.
In some form or other, at some time or other, suffering we should look for, suffering we shall have. They who appear exempt are so for a season only. When the calm seems most profound, the tempest may be gathering. The darkness, however deep, the waves, however wild, are no disproof of Christ’s love; but they are illustrations that His love is wise. "He does not afflict willingly, or grieve the children of men." If the trial were not necessary, it would not be sent. "Now, for a season, if need be, we are in heaviness through manifold trials." There is always a "need-be," though we may not fully perceive it. Trials remind us that this world is not our home. If we met with no sorrows in our way, we would be still more prone than we are at present to forget that better land towards which we are journeying. The inconveniences of the road continually tell us that we are only strangers and sojourners. We are taught our frailty, made to feel the insufficiency of earthly things to give us lasting and full enjoyment, and led in our misery more earnestly to seek the aid of our divine Comforter, and to "look to the Rock that is higher than we."
Faith is strengthened by trial. Every Christian grace becomes more vigorous by exercise. Therefore, we are taught by the apostle Paul to "rejoice in tribulations, knowing that tribulations work patience, and patience experience, and experience hope." The apostle James speaks in similar terms: "My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into diverse trials; knowing this, that the trying of your faith works patience." The apostle Peter also encourages believers to patience and cheerfulness in affliction, by the thought that "the trial of our faith, being much more precious than of gold that perishes, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise, and honor, and glory, at the appearing of Jesus Christ" (Rom. 5:3, 4; James 1:2-3; 1 Peter 1:6-7).
Not that the beneficial effects of the storm are always felt while it continues. The mind may be too much agitated by terrors, too much debilitated by sympathy with a diseased body, to be conscious of any immediate advantage. And thus, for our encouragement, we are told that "no affliction for the present seems joyous, but grievous: nevertheless,afterward it yields the peaceable fruit of righteousness to those who are exercised thereby." So in a tempest, the gale from which the mariner dreads destruction often drives the vessel onward in her course. This may not be perceived while the storm is at its height. But afterwards, when the sky becomes clear—afterwards, when the necessary observations can be taken—it is often found that much more progress has been made during one tempestuous night than many previous days of calm. This is always the case with the storms that assail the believer. They invariably speed him onward towards his desired haven. And though, while the winds are howling and the waves roaring around, he may say, "All these things are against me," and fears being driven farther from port. Nevertheless, afterwards, he discovers with thankfulness that the winds he dreaded, have been wafting him onward in his voyage. And that the waves which seemed to threaten him with death, have borne him heavenward.
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