The Charm of Tranquillity

’ He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet.” — Psalm cvii. 29, 30.

I TAKE the idea to be that the gladness of quiet is only felt after the storm, “Then are they glad.” Men become glad of the quiet hour after they have heard the roaring of the tempest. The stillness before the storm does not make us glad. There is a stillness before the storm. There is a state called innocence. It is Adam in the rustic village — Adam amid the trees of the garden. I was quiet there; but I had no sense of quietude, no gladness in being quiet. How could I, when I knew not the meaning of noise? I heard not the moaning of the great sea. I heard not the lashing of the waves upon the world’s shore. I had no trembling; but I had as little transport. The stillness of the night can bring no joy to the deaf-born. Why can it bring them no joy r Because it has never been broken. They have nothing to contrast it with. They have never heard the storm; therefore they cannot know the stillness. So was it with me in the Garden. But one day I strayed out beyond the gate and lost my way. And, as I wandered, I became weary and hungry and cold. Then, for the first time, the Garden was revealed. I said, ‘’ The Lord was in that place, and I knew it not; how glad I should be to get back there” I learned the stillness by the storm; I saw the glory by the gloom; I beheld the flowers of Paradise by the experience of Paradise lost.

My soul, hast thou considered the secret of thy rest! Hast thou considered why the Prince of Peace began by walking on the sea! It is because thy peace needs the sea. An unbroken calm could never have been a conscious calm — a calm to make thee glad. Thy bow demands the memory of a cloud. Only when Christ opened thine ear to the storm did He open thine ear to the stillness. It is not enough that quietness should reign; if thou art to be at rest, thou must hear that quietness. It must come to thee as a hiding-place from the wind, as a covert from the tempest. The charm of thy quiet hours is the remembrance of thy restless moments. Wouldst thou eliminate the cloud, then dost thou destroy the bow. Bless thy Father for the storm of yesterday! it has revealed to thee the calmness of to-day. It has made the silence a joy to thee. The peace of the still night is to thine opened ear no longer what it was to the deaf mute. To him it was a negation, a blank, a nothingness. To thee it is a possession, a power, a vocal presence — something to hear, to feel, to commune with. What has made the difference? It is the wings of the wind; it is the voice of the storm. It is through the swelling sea the Father has led thee to the haven; bless the swelling sea, O my soul!