Rest for the Restless

It was out of King David’s weak side that -*- there came that oft-quoted cry: “Oh! that I had wings like a dove; for then would I fly away and be at rest.” There was a better side of the man, from which came such triumphant shouts as this: “Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear.” Or this one: “I have behaved, and quieted myself as a child that is weaned of his mother.” Or this noble injunction: “Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him.”

David was, no doubt, in genuine trouble when he longed for the wings of a dove. His kingdom was in insurrection, his throne in peril, and the treacherous darling of his heart was snatching at his crown. Under these accumulated miseries the old exile from Jerusalem envied the turtle-dove which, flying past him toward the forest, could go whithersoever it would. Suppose his wish had been granted. He might have fled from the post of duty, which was a post of danger. But would not his troubles have flown with him as fast and as far as he? Might not fresh troubles have met him in the place whither he flew?

David’s prayer, though a weak one, was very natural. It is perfectly natural that we all should grow restless under trouble. It was perfectly natural for him to indulge his petted son Absalom; but how dearly he paid for his folly. It was perfectly natural for Job’s wife (whom I believe to have been a good woman, and not a vixen) to have exclaimed, when her heart was crushed under a hurricane of trials: “Dost thou still retain thy integrity? Renounce God and die!” Nature in all these cases behaved badly. It was the part of grace to have behaved better. A sorry excuse is it for us who claim to be Christians that, when we do a weak or wicked thing, we so often say: “It is quite natural to feel or to act as we do.” What is divine grace offered to us for, unless it be to triumph over the weakness and errors of our poor wayward nature?

Thousands of us are repeating David’s restless cry as often as we are put under the pressure. When the rod of chastisement makes us smart, or a load of worries is chafing us, how often we are tempted to pray for the wings of a dove to carry us away. We hardly know or care where it be, so that it be out of the reach of the rod or the worry. Our wayward selfishness says: Fly! God’s loving voice says: Be still.

Sometimes a swarm of cares and calls press in upon us in a perfect crowd, tramping on each other. Work pushes us. Interruptions annoy. Mishaps befall us. We take these accumulated vexations so hard and chafe so under the friction. We borrow fresh troubles from the morrow, and anticipate worse things to come. Under this sharp strain, faith and fortitude often give way, and we cry out in a sort of restless despair: “Oh! for wings to fly away and be at rest.”

When in this state of feeling — so perfectly natural and yet so unworthy of a Christian — we frequently get a message from our Heavenly Father. Perhaps we open our Bibles and read such words as these: “Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for him.” Or we light upon these words: “Beloved count it all joy when ye fall into divers trials; knowing this, that the trial of your faith worketh patience.” Once when I was dreadfully harassed by a doubt whether I should remain in a certain pulpit or go to a very inviting one, eight hundred miles away, I opened Cecil’s wise book of practical thoughts, and my eyes fell on these “pat” and pithy words: “Taking new steps in life are very serious dangers, especially if in our motives there be any mixture of ambition. ‘Wherefore gaddest thou about to change thy way?’” Now I did not know before that there was such a passage in the Bible. I turned to the second chapter of Jeremiah, and found it there, though translated a little differently. I resolved at once not to “gad about” or change my field of labor, and have thanked God for that timely Scripture hint ever since.

The reader of this chapter will recall, probably, just such experiences of his own. He was longing to run away from school, because God gave him hard lessons to learn, and sometimes used the rod. Or he was in “the fining pot” of trial, and the fire burned hot. There was a terrible temptation to rebel and to try to escape from the fiery ordeal. But, if you had been allowed your own way, your silver never would have been refined or the dross purged out of your character. When we were children, and suffered from a decayed tooth, the sight of the dentist’s ugly instrument made us start to run. But kind old mother said: “Sit down and take it bravely. It will soon be out, and then you will feel better.”

This same process has been gone through hundreds of times since. God was using the lancet, and we tried to escape from it. Temporary relief, immediate ease, was what we wanted, instead of permanent benefit. Running away would only have postponed the difficulty or retarded the cure. We needed to be kept still until God -had got through with his surgery; for it is not the escape from discipline or the shirking of painful loads that makes a Christian strong. That was a very selfish and cowardly prayer of the old royal refugee: “Oh! that I had wings like a dove to fly away.” He might better have asked for strength from heaven to stand fast and firm, like an anvil when it is smitten heavily. It is usually a piece of moral cowardice when we run from a hard place to an easy one, or from a dangerous post to a snugly-sheltered one. Many lives become utter failures from the simple lack of courage.

II. Another point must not be forgotten. The changes which we make from the motive of self-indulgence or of sheer restlessness are seldom changes for the better. The weary sufferer begs to be carried into another room; but he carries his pain with him. City people, tired of hard pavements and heavy taxes, see such enchantment in a June landscape that they determine to move into the country. But when winter blockades them, and they miss genial society and their church-meetings and other accustomed privileges, they find that the country is not the perfect paradise they dreamed of, and wish themselves back again. New troubles live in the new place. The “dove- wings” simply carry us away from one set of troubles into another set, which we may not have any more grace to bear. It is not change of place or change of circumstances that we need most. It is a change of heart. Our lives do not consist in mere externals. Would that those ambitious worldlings who are all the time coveting, and grasping, and pulling down, to build greater, might learn that they will never be satisfied. Money, office, luxury, fine equipage never can satisfy the soul that starves itself out of Christ.

It is not only the men of the world that commit these sins. This restless spirit often disturbs and dishonors God’s children. We give the lie to our own professions and disgrace our good names when we indulge in these restless and rebellious feelings. It is a hard lesson to learn, but a very profitable one, that where God puts us we ought to stay, and what he orders we ought to do. His place is always the right place. My own early ministry was in a very difficult and discouraging field. I foolishly resolved to flee from it; but the Master kept me there, and presently a most glorious revival-shower burst upon the little field and made it smell like a garden of roses. God kept me from losing a good lesson and a rich blessing. I did not deserve the mercy that he sent me.

Oh! that every restless spirit would learn that many a loss is really a gain, many a hindrance is wisely meant to help us, many a humiliation exalts us in the end, many a cross is indispensable to the winning of a crown. We are often going up spiritually when, apparently, we are going down. We are often helped on our way by being hedged up or turned back. This is a paradox; but it is just as true as that “when I am weak then am I strong,” or “having nothing I may possess all things” in Christ. Then let us quit praying for the dove’s wings and stand in our lot bravely and quietly. It will be time enough for the flight of the dove when our life-work is ended and the door of our Father’s house stands open for our coming.

“I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do

Or secret thing to know;

I would be treated as a child

And guided where to go.

“There are briers besetting every path

That call for patient care;
There is a cross in every lot

And a constant need for prayer;
But a lowly heart that leans on thee

Is happy anywhere.”