Looking at the Right Side

“Now in the sunset glow I stand so near %B The hills of light that all the past grows clear; Even griefs, transfigured in this softer ray, Take on new forms and shine above my way. With dawning triumph in the words I read, ‘He taketh from us nothing that we need.’”

FRANCES L. MACE.

“VTERY much heart-pain is caused by looking at the wrong side of providences. If we could only see the strange things of our lives in their true light, perplexity would vanish and the darkest experiences would be brightened as night is brightened by the shining stars.

Late on a summer afternoon rain began to fall. For half an hour it fell in gentle shower. All the while the sky in the low west was cloudless, and the sun, near his setting, shone in uudimmed radiance. Through the falling shower his beams poured, making a scene of wonderful beauty. The crystal raindrops looked like diamonds as the sun’s rays touched them, and the whole air seemed full of brilliant gems. Arching the eastern horizon a wondrous rainbow appeared, all its colors dazzling in their bright beauty. So it is to the eye of Christian faith when the clouds of trial gather overhead and the rain falls: it is still clear where the Father looks down upon his children. No clouds cover his face; the beams of his love stream through the falling shower; every teardrop becomes a precious gem and the rainbow of peace glows upon the clouds. The Christian needs only to be hold his sorrow in the true light to see it thus transfigured.

“Be still, sad heart, and cease repining: Behind the clouds is the sun still shining. Thy fate is the common fate of all: Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary.”

One Christmas a friend sent the poet Whittier a gentian-flower pressed between two pieces of glass. On one side the appearance was without beauty — only an indistinct, blurred mass of something held beneath the pane — but on the other side the full exquisite beauty of the flower appeared delicately out lined under the glass. The poet hung the token on his window, turning the lovely side inward. Those who passed by without, looking up, marked only a “gray disc of clouded glass,” seeing no beauty, perchance wondering that the poet would cherish any thing so void of grace; but he, sitting within, looked at the token, and saw outlined against the winter sky all the exquisite loveliness of the flower.

“They cannot from their outlook see
The perfect grace it has for me;
For there the flower whose fringes through
The frosty breath of autumn blew
Turns from without its face of bloom
To the warm tropic of my room,
As fair as when beside its brook
The hue of bending skies it took.

“But deeper meanings come to me,
My half-immortal flower, from thee:
Man judges from a partial view;
None ever yet his brother knew.
The eternal Eye that sees the whole
May better read the darkened soul,
And find, to outward sense denied,
The flower upon its inmost side.”

There is a side of perfect beauty in every providence of Christian life, and there is also a side that is dark, blurred, or even repellent. To those whc look at the providence from within, sitting in the chamber of faith and peace, it appears in all the colors of heaven; but to those who stand outside, in the winter’s cold, and look at it, it appears without one line of loveliness. Only those who behold God as their Father see the beauty in his providences.

Our Lord in his parable of the Vine and its Branches tells us two things which ought to help in the interpreting of life’s trials. He says that the Father is the husbandman, and also that it is the fruitful branches, and not the unfruitful, that the husbandman prunes. Afflictions are never in them selves joyous or pleasant. We cannot welcome them into our lives in the same way that we welcome experiences of gladness; they always give pain, and we cannot enjoy pain. Many of them cut deeply and sorely into our lives. Sometimes our best-beloved friends are taken away from us, and our hearts are left bleeding as a vine bleeds when a green branch is cut from it. Sometimes it is loss of property or of money that tries us, or it may be in sickness or personal suffering that the chastening consists. In whatever form it comes, the experience is painful. It cannot be otherwise.

Here it is that Christian faith comes in, putting such interpretation and explanation upon the painful things that we may be ready to accept them with confidence, even with rejoicing. The assurance which our Lord gives that the Father is the husbandman, if we can but receive it in simplicity, at once puts a gracious and loving aspect on whatever sufferings we are called to endure. Our Father is the husbandman; we are branches under his care. He watches over our lives. The afflictions which cut into our very souls, the taking from us of objects that are dear to us, as when the gardener with his sharp knife removes luxuriant branches from the vine, are our Father’s prunings. No hand but his ever holds the knife. “We are sure, then, that there is never any careless cutting, any unwise or mistaken pruning, any needless removing of rich branches or growths.

We really need to go no farther than this. A strong, abiding confidence that all the trials, sorrows and losses of our lives are parts of our Father’s husbandry ought to silence every question, quiet every fear and give peace and restful assurance to our hearts in all their pain. We cannot know the reason for the painful strokes, but we know that He who holds the pruning-knife is our Father. That ought always to be enough to know.

The other thought in the Lord’s parable is scarcely less full of comfort to a Christian. He says it is the fruitful branches that the Father prunes: “Every branch that beareth fruit he purgeth.”

Afflictions are not, then, a mark of God’s anger or disapproval; rather, they are a mark of his favor. They show that the branches into which he cuts, from which he trims away the luxuriant growths, are fruit-bearing already. He does not prune the fruitless branches: he cuts them off altogether as useless, as mere cumberers, absorbing life and yielding nothing of blessing or good. There is no place in the divine kingdom for uselessness. God may let these barren branches alone for a while — they may grow undisturbed even until death before they are actually cut off — but the Father does not take the trouble to prune them, because it would do no good. They are in Christ only in appearance, not really, and have no true life in them. The wisest and most skillful pruning will never make fruitful a lifeless tree or vine.

Some good Christian people have the impression that their many troubles indicate that God does not love them — that they cannot be true Christians, or they would not be so chastened. This word of Christ shows how mistaken they are. The much chastening shows that the Father is pruning his fruitful branch to make it more fruitful: “Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.” Long ago the writer of one of the Psalms passed through an experience of perplexity when he saw how much less trouble men of the world had than he had, though he was faithfully trying to serve God. The record of his experience is valuable to us:

“But as for me, my feet were almost gone;
My steps had well nigh slipped.
For I was envious at the arrogant,
When I saw the prosperity of the wicked.
For there are no bands in their death;
But their strength is firm.
They are not in trouble as other men;
Neither are they plagued like other men.”

But the writer passes on to note the result of this absence of trouble or pruning:

“Therefore, pride is as a chain about their neck; Violence covereth them as a garment. Their eyes stand out with fatness: They have more than heart could wish, They scoff, and in wickedness utter oppression; They speak loftily.

* * * * *

Behold, these are the wicked; And, being alway at ease, they increase in riches.”

Then there rises up before the Psalmist the contrasted picture of his own life, and the question flashes, “Does it profit to be good?”

“Surely in vain have I cleansed my heart, And washed my hands in innocency;

LOOKING AT THE EIGHT SIDE. Ill

For all the day long have I been plagued,
And chastened every morning.”

A little later, however, we hear the solution of the strange perplexity:

“When I thought how I might know this,
It was too painful for me;
Until I went into the sanctuary of God,
And considered their latter end.
Surely thou settest them in slippery places;
Thou casteth them down to destruction.
How are they become a desolation in a moment!
They are utterly consumed with terrors.”

That one escapes the Father’s primings is not, therefore, a mark of peculiar divine love and favor. It is the fruitless branch that is never pruned; the fruitful branch is pruned, and pruned — not by one without skill, not by an enemy, but by the wise Father. Thus we see how we may even rejoice in our trials and afflictions. They are tokens that God loves us — that we are already blessed by him in spiritual fruiting — and they remind us that it is because God would lead us to be yet greater blessings by making us still more fruitful that he sends the trials.

We get from our Lord’s parable also another word of interpretation; we learn that our Father has a definite object in view in all his prunings:

“Every branch that beareth fruit he purgeth [or pruneth] it, that it may bring forth more fruit.” One who was altogether ignorant of the art of pruning and its purpose, who should see a man with a sharp knife cutting off branch after branch of a luxuriant vine, would at first suppose that the pruner was ruining the vine. So at the time it seems, but by and by it appears that the pruuings have made the vine more fruitful. In the season of vintage the grapes are more luscious, with a richer flavor in them, because of the cutting away of the superfluous branches. In like manner, if an angel who had never witnessed anything of human suffering, and who knew nothing of its object, were to see the Father causing pain and affliction to his children, it would seem to him that these experiences could be only destructive of happiness and blessing; but if the angel were to follow those chastened lives on to the end, he would see untold blessing coming out of the chasten ings. The Father was but pruning the branches that they might bear more and better fruit:

“Now the pruning, sharp, unsparing,

Scattered blossom, bleeding shoot;
Afterward the plenteous bearing
Of the Master’s pleasant fruit,”

In one of his Psalms, David says, “I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord, in the land of the living.” He had been passing through many and sore troubles, and so great were his trials that he would have sunk into utter darkness and despair but for his faith in a “goodness which he could not see. Unless he had believed to see the goodness he would have been overwhelmed. There are many times when we can readily discern the divine goodness in our lives — it is manifest all about us, in prosperities and favors which make us glad — but there come other times when the goodness cannot be seen. The home circle is broken; loved ones are taken from us; property melts away; friends fail; health is shattered. The goodness cannot be seen.

Then is the time for Christian faith. We should believe in the goodness we cannot see. We are sure that the goodness is there. God does not send us two classes of providences — one good, and one evil. All are good. Affliction is God’s goodness in the seed. It takes time for a seed to grow and to develop into fruitfulness. Many of the best things of our lives come to us first as pain, suffering, earthly loss or disappointment — black seeds, without beauty — but afterward they grow into the rich fruits of righteousness.

God’s love toward his children never intermits. His will is always mercy and love. Ofttimes there is more divine blessing in the things we regard as evil than in those we consider good. Pain may be better for us to-morrow than pleasure. Loss may have for us greater enriching than gain. Sorrow may work for us better service than joy in the fashioning of Christ’s image on our hearts. Misfortune, as we interpret the experience, may bring us infinitely more blessing than the events we write down as fortunate. Our wrecks of earthly hopes may be in reality the disclosing to us of rich spiritual possessions unseen before.

In one of our light, thoughtless, superficial words we say, “Seeing is believing.” But it is not true: seeing is not believing. Any one can believe when he sees, but a Christian is to believe when he can not see. If not, what is the blessing of faith? or what is the gain of being a child of God? We dishonor our Father if we can believe in his goodness only when we can see goodness written out in large letters upon the things he gives. Goodness is always wrapped up even in the most painful experience our Father sends. We should never lose sight of the divine purpose in all trials — to make our lives more fruitful. Merely getting through troubles with quiet acquiescence is not all of true Christian endurance: we must seek to get through better men and women, with more of the mind and spirit of Christ, loving God and men more. We must see that the pruning makes us more fruitful — that the cutting away of earthly things or of human joys sends more of our life to spiritual things, and to the bearing of the fruits of righteousness and peace. A sorrow that does us no good only harms us.