The Veiling of Divine Authority

“Thy gentleness hath made me great.” — 2 Samuel xxil. 36.

Gentleness is the restraint of power. I think the word is often misapplied. I should never dream of applying it to that which is necessarily soft and quiet. Men speak of the gentle brook. Where does its gentleness lie? There is no reserve of power in a brook. It speaks quietly, yet it speaks as loud as it can. It gives out as much as is in it to give. I should never use the term to describe anything which is quiet from weakness. Nature in her summer moods is entitled to the name of ‘* gentle “; we feel she is holding back something. Why do we call a soft breeze “gentle “? Not from what it reveals, but precisely from what it does not reveal — the possibility of the hurricane. Whatever force at any moment declines to exert its full power is entitled for that moment to the name “gentle,” The Bible says God does not exert His full power. It says that if He did there would be no room for you and me. If He put forth His omnipotent will there would be no space for my will; I should then be a piece of mechanism. It is His gentleness that makes me great. He refuses to occupy His entire field. He wants me to get a margin of it, a corner of it. He will not monopolize the kingdom, the power and the glory. He wants me to get a part in the anthem. He moderates the strength of His own voice just that mine may be heard. He goes behind the trees of Eden’s garden just that I may not see Him, just that I may choose unbiassedly between the evil and the good.

My Father, I have heard men say that Thine is not a perfect world. I thank Thee for that which men call imperfect. I bless and magnify Thy name that Thou hast restrained part of Thy power; this gentleness of Thine has made me great. I have heard the complaining of Thy Psalmist, “Verily, Thou art a God that hidest Thyself!”

But, to me, Thy hiding has revealed something — myself. I could never have felt my manhood if Thou hadst not lowered Thy voice, if Thou hadst not left a space unfilled. Often hast thou seemed to resign Thy sceptre, to let the world trample Thee down. Often have I felt myself alone with the trees of the garden; no thunder came from Thee to say, “Choose that which is good!’’ But that gentleness, that veiling of Thy lightning, has made a man of me. I have walked to the tree, alone; I have met both vice and virtue; I have given virtue the nuptial ring. I have chosen freely because I did not hear Thy thunder. The sound ot Thy thunder would have left me without choice — would have made me mindless; I should have been driven as the stars are driven. But Thy silence has given me speech; Thy reticence has given me revelation; Thy concealment has given me consciousness. Thy rest has roused me; Thy stillness has stirred me; Thy quiet has quickened me; Thy mildness has matured me. I have learned responsibility by the relaxing of Thy hand; Thy gentleness has made me great.