View source for Part 2 "IT IS I"

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'''[[Part 3 "IT IS I"]]'''
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<p> "It is I!" Yes; the <em>result</em> proves it was Jesus. How many of His people in all ages have echoed the sentiment of the Psalmist, "It was good for me that I have been afflicted!" It is this that He intends. "Whom the Lord loves He chastens, and scourges every son whom He receives. If you endure chastening, God deals with you as with sons." <em>Children</em> seldom see, at the time they are corrected, what advantage can result from it. They may think it hard to be denied this gratification, to submit to that exercise of discipline, to be made to apply themselves to a course of tedious study, or to take nauseous medicine when they are ill. But it is wise love in the parent that imposes present pain for the sake of permanent advantage. Earthly fathers may err, but our heavenly Father never. What He does is <em>always</em> "for our profit." "We know that <em>all</em> things work together for good to those who love God." Then let us not murmur at the storm. "Would we be children, and not be chastened—overcome, and not contend—be gold, and not be tried—be Christians, and not suffer?" (John Owen)<br><br>
<p>As the bush which Moses beheld on Horeb was <em>not consumed</em> although in flames, for God was there—and as Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came forth from the midst of the burning fiery furnace <em>unhurt</em>, because the Son of God had walked with them there. Even so, the afflictions that Christians suffer cannot so kindle upon them as that one hair of their head shall be injured! We may have to endure even <em>fiery</em> trials, but we know that the furnace is heated, not to <em>consume</em>, but to <em>purify</em>. In the language of Malachi, "He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver." Does the refiner throw the precious metals into the flames, and <em>forget</em> them? No, for they are too costly. He is anxious and careful, respecting them. He sits patiently at the door of the furnace, intently watchful. <em>As soon as he sees his own face reflected from the molten metal within</em>, he knows that the process has been successful, and he abates the fury of the flames. So does Jesus watch the furnace of affliction in which His people are being purified, not allowing them to suffer injury and loss, but only <em>waiting to see His own image reflected from their hearts.</em> They come forth as gold seven times purified.<br><br>
  "Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword, separate us from the love of Christ?" The very contrary: they unite us more closely to Him. We not merely survive, but are victorious. "No, in all these things we are <em>more </em>than conquerors through Him who loved us." <em>More </em>than conquerors—not merely remaining in possession of the field, but coming forth unscathed from the conflict, and not merely unscathed, but invigorated. He is indeed a conqueror who, resolutely resisting an attack, wards off every blow so that he suffers no injury, and who, though the conflict may be stern, <em>overthrows, disarms, and tramples</em> under foot his assailant. But if with a generous hand he raises him from the ground and, not content with overcoming his body by superior valor, subdues <em>his spirit</em> also, by superior love, he gains a victory yet more complete. By mastering the foe, he becomes a conqueror; but by <em>converting that foe into a friend</em>, he becomes "more than conqueror."<br><br>
  Such is the victory of the believer. The trials by which he is assailed are not only deprived of all power to injure, but <em>become</em> <em>the principal occasions and instruments of his invigoration, comfort, and salvation. </em>However forbidding their appearance, however rough their salutation, they are bearers of Heaven’s most precious blessings. They wear the aspect of foes only at a <em>distance</em>, and in the <em>beginning</em> of the fight. Soon the Christian warrior embraces them as friends; and the weapons that seemed pointed against him are by faith reversed, and become ranged around him for his defense. His assailants are now his allies; and thus recruited by the encounter, "in all these things he is <em>more than conqueror, </em>through Him that loved us."<br><br>
  The <em>faith, which recognizes in all events the voice of Jesus</em>, is the true alchemy that transmutes all baser substances into gold! However otherwise valueless, even though pernicious and destructive, they now become a precious treasure. In the calculation of his wealth, the believer may include his heaviest trials and keenest sorrows! The apostle Paul says, "All things are yours, the world, life, death, things present, things to come, <em>all </em>are yours." Men do not reckon <em>losses</em> among their possessions. These "all things" are therefore gain to those of whom it may be added "and you are Christ’s." Afflictions therefore, the frowns of 'the world" as well as its smiles; the sorrows of "life" as well as its joys; the sad separations and painful approaches of "death," as well as the heavenly summons it conveys; the storms and struggles of "things present," as well as the calm and the repose of "things to come"—ALLare ours. Were we wise, we would not wish to part with one of them; for who deliberately impoverishes himself? Did we see as God sees, we would <em>understand how </em>they were all working together for our good. But though "we walk by faith, not by sight," may we not be as certain of the result, since God declares it, as if wecomprehended the process?<em> The storm is ours!</em><br><br>
  "There shall no evil befall you, neither shall any plague come near your dwelling" (Ps. 91:10), is a promise to the fullest extent verified in the case of all who "dwell in the secret place of the Most High." To them sorrows are not "evils;" sicknesses are not "plagues." "The shadow of the Almighty," extending far around those who "abide under it" alters the character of all things which come within its influence. Joys are enhanced, and <em>sorrows become joys. </em>The day is brighter, and the night itself is turned to day. Passing through this medium, the<em>lightning</em>, which would have blasted, now only serves to render luminous the path, gilding it with glory; and the <em>poisonous stream</em>, in such an atmosphere as this, not merely loses every noxious quality, but, as it flows by the believer, refreshes, heals, and strengthens him.<br><br>
  Thus the storm is terrible <em>in appearance only.</em> The winds and waves, which beat on the vessel, instead of weakening, make it stronger and more sea-worthy. The buffeting of the billows renders its timbers the more compact. The voyage will be the more prosperous, and the admission into the peaceful harbor at its termination the more triumphant. "For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you <em>abundantly </em>into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." <em>Trials, however evil in themselves, become invaluable blessings when inflicted by a Father’s hand! </em>Of all the children of God now in glory, it is true that "He led them forth by the right way, that they might go to a city of habitation." It was often a <em>rugged</em> way, a <em>dark</em> way, a <em>mysterious</em> way, a <em>stormy</em> way, but always the <em>right </em>way. It is so still. I may experience it to be a valley of tears through which I pass, but whatever grief I feel, whatever difficulties I encounter, it is the <em>right </em>way, for it is my Father’s way—and who so wise and kind as He? It is the way to the city of God. Every step is<em>necessary</em> to take me nearer to that heavenly home. The very toils of the journey will result in bliss—and how soon will they be over! What a bright dawn will follow the few dark hours during which we may be "tossed by the waves, toiling in rowing, the wind being contrary!" "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." How short the night compared with the eternal day of which that morning is but the harbinger! Yes, amid the tumult and terror of the tempest, Jesus, rendering all things subservient to our welfare, bids us to be of good cheer, saying, "It is I; do not be afraid."</p>
<dir>
<br>
  His wonders to perform;<br>
  He plants his footsteps in the <em>sea</em>,<br>
  And rides upon the <em>storm</em>.<br><br>
You fearful saints, fresh courage take,<br>
  The <em>clouds</em> you so much dread<br>
  Are big with mercy, and shall break<br>
  In blessings on your head.<br><br>
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,<br>
  But trust him for His grace;<br>
  Behind a frowning providence,<br>
  He hides a smiling face.<br><br>
</dir>


<p>Moreover, the voice that speaks to us in the storm is that of one who has <em>Himself</em> been tempest-tossed. He was once the "man of sorrows," with an emphasis to which none of His followers can lay claim. There are no trials they endure with which He is not experimentally familiar. He knew what it was to suffer bodily privation. "He had no where to lay His head." He "hungered." He endured the torture and ignominy of the scourge and the cross. "He was despised and rejected of men." His own friends "forsook Him and fled." He endured unutterable anguish of spirit. "It pleased the Lord to bruise Him." "He put Him to grief." "Being in agony He prayed more earnestly." His soul was "exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." He "sweat great drops of blood." On the cross He exclaimed, with a bitter cry, "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?"<br><br>
  These were real agonies, real temptations. It was not a fictitious storm that burst upon Him. It was not the mere <em>appearance </em>of tempest. The conflict was not imaginary. He was without sin, but not without a struggle against sin. He overcame, not because there was nothing to resist, but because love to His Father was supreme in His breast. The pain of hunger in the desert was real and acute. The inducement to appease that pain was real. So also the agony of the cross was real, and nature must have shrunk from it. But submission to the will of His Father was a stronger principle. Yet the struggle was severe. Else it would not be true that in "all points He was tempted like as we are." <em>There is no degree of suffering, or conflict, which He did not endure.</em> The wind never blew against any bark so furiously as against His! The night was never so dark, the waves never so boisterous, as when he encountered the storm.<br><br>
  What strong consolation is thus presented to afflicted disciples! Jesus is as able to <em>feel for our distress</em> as to deliver us out of it. His is a true sympathy. We do not suffer alone. He bears our grief. What encouragement to "come with boldness to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need," when we know that "we have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with a feeling of our infirmities!" The sorrows which oppress us, weighed more heavily on Him. The foes we battle with more fiercely assailed Him. We but <em>taste</em> the bitter cup; He drained it. There fall on us but a <em>few drops</em> of the tempest, which spent its rage on Him!<br>
</p>
<p>If then He, the holy, harmless, undefiled; escaped not the storm, shall we wonder or repine at affliction? In us there is much <em>dross</em> to be consumed; but in Him there was none. If He suffered, not for Himself, but for us, shall not we be content to suffer for ourselves? He consecrated the path of sorrow by His own sacred footsteps, and thus conferred on it a peculiar dignity. As the thorns that lacerated His brow composed a crown, so there is henceforth a majesty in grief, which no earthly joys can boast. The King of kings wore a <em>diadem of pain</em>, and appeared on earth, not as the man of gladness, but "the Man of sorrows." Let us rejoice in being conformed unto our Lord. Should not the servant be like his Master? If He encountered storms, is it fitting we should enjoy unbroken calm?<br><br>
  "If He led through rugged ways, shall we think to traverse only flowery meadows? It is a joyful thing to be a sharer with Christ in anything. All enjoyments wherein He is not, are bitter to a soul that loves Him, and all sufferings with Him, are sweet. <em>The worst things of Christ are more delightful than the best things of the world. </em>His afflictions are sweeter than its pleasures. Love delights in likeness, not only in things pleasant, but also in the hardest things, which have nothing in them desirable but only that likeness. What does the world by its hatred, but make us more like Him? When He was sought to be made a <em>king</em>, He escaped; but when He was sought to be brought to the <em>cross</em>, He freely yielded Himself. And shall I creep back from what He calls me to suffer? Has He not gone through all before, and made all easy and lovely? Has He not sweetened poverty, persecution, hatred, disgrace, and death itself—perfumed the grave, and turned it from a pit of horror into a sweet resting bed?" (Leighton)<br><br>
  "It is I!" Jesus calls our attention <em>to</em> <em>Himself. </em>He says not "Be of good cheer; <em>you</em> are skillful, strong, persevering, and well able to cope with the storm"—but "Be of good cheer; it is <strong>I</strong>." Our rigging may be rent, our sails torn, our rudder lost, our vessel dismasted, leaky, and almost a wreck; but when Jesus says "It is <em>I</em>," we cannot sink. Nothing can injure us with Him—nothing save us without Him! A babe and Christ can master the universe. But the babe does nothing, Christ everything. In our carnal pride we would be doing everything—pumping, rowing, shifting the sails, as though by our own efforts we could escape. But Christ will make us know how vain are all our labors without Him. He alone can save.<br><br>
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