A Garden in the Gloom

T have all things and abound.” — Palt. iv. 18.

In one of my garden books there is a chapter with a very arresting heading, “Flowers that grow in the gloom.” It deals with those patches in a garden which never catch the sunlight, the dull corners which at no part of the day are found with shining faces. And my guide tells me the sort of flowers which are not afraid of these dingy corners, nay, rather like them and flourish in them. There are plants which seem to thrive in apparent adversity. Where others would be pinched for lack of warmth and cheer these draw nourishment and stimulant from severity. It must be a fascinating thing to watch the growth of flowers which have a preference for the gloom. These flowers would not lift their heads to the meridian sun; they are children of the shadow, and they are wooed by the twilight and the shade.

And there are similar things in the world of the spirit. They only reveal themselves in hard circumstances. They come out when material circumstances become stern and Severe. They grow in the gloom. For how can we otherwise explain some of the experiences of the Apostle Paul? Here he is in captivity at Rome. The supreme mission of his life appears to be broken. His mis-Sionary career is ended. He has no longer the stimulus of travel, the joy of his sublime itinerary, the joy of carrying the good news of grace over the highways and byways of Asia and Greece. The open road is narrowed down to servitude. Gloom has settled upon his lot, but it is just in this besetting dinginess that flowers begin to show their faces in bright and fascinating glory. He may have seen them before, growing on the open road, but never as they now appeared in incomparable strength and beauty. Words of promise opened out their treasures as he had never seen them before. They were now like the expanded fullness of a rose as compared with the imprisoned mystery of the bud. Even Providence itself revealed new intimacies in his penury, and he discovered deepening wonders in the fellowship. There was a flower named Recollection which never unfolded such treasures in the sunlight as it now revealed in the gloom. Forgotten mercies reappeared, and in such a way as to disclose new aspects of heavenly grace. And, strangely enough, the flower called Hope flourished in amazing luxuriance; the apostle named it “the Hope of Glory.” And Human Kindnesses, which once were perhaps seen but dimly, were now clothed in loveliness. Perhaps the kindness showed itself in a visit from Onesimus, a runaway slave, or perhaps in some tender remembrance from friends at Philippi or Corinth. In one way or other the gloomy season became the home of spiritual graces, and the dingy corner inspired the most wonderful experiences of his life.

But of all the things which revealed themselves in this period of gloom there were none which compared with what the apostle called ‘‘ the unsearchable riches of Christ.” These riches revealed themselves in amazing brilliance, like the brightness of the stars on nights when there is no moon in the sky. And among these treasures were such wonderful things as the grace of Christ, and the love of Christ, and the joy of Christ, and the peace of Christ, and it seemed as though they almost needed an “encircling gloom”’ to draw out their secret and their inner glory. At any rate the realm of gloom became the home of revelation, and Paul began to realise as never before the range and wealth of his spiritual inheritance. And so while some of his friends were referring to his misery he was singing of his joy; while they spoke of his tribulation he exulted in “‘a peace which passeth understanding”’; while they piteously regretted his poverty he boasted of “possessing all things.” “I have all things and abound!”

Some men become very poor when they are imprisoned in tight corners. When we reach the desert places in life the great question is this: ‘‘ What have we got to live on?” And our means consist very largely of our savings and our storings. This man Paul had been laying up treasures in Heaven, and these treasures befriended and comforted him in his gloom. There are some folk, who, when they get old, or when they come to lonely places, have a dismal and wintry lot. They live with very cheerless associates. Their own animosities crowd about them. They live with their own peevishness, and their sourness, and their fretfulness, and their censoriousness, and their unthankfulness, and their little-mindedness! What a menagerie of ugly things! And yet in multitudes of lives they constitute the only company when the sun goes down, and the cold evening wind blows about them, and they are left alone.

On the other hand, who has not known men and women who when they arrive at seasons of gloom and solitude put on strength and hopefulness like a robe? They have lovely things to live with. They have their own old loyalties. They have sweet memories which come freighted with rich cargoes from far-off years. They have large sympathies which keep them young, and which preserve their leaf from withering. They have sunny alluring visions. And far more wonderful than all these, in their humble lot there comes another Bethlehem, in which the Lord of Glory incarnates himself in hallowing power and peace. we

You may imprison such folk where you please, you shut up their treasure with them. You cannot shut it out. You may make their material lot a desert, but the wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the rose.