The Province of Mental Rest
“‘T& shall come to pass in the day that the Lord shall give thee rest from thy sorrow, that thou shalt say, How hath the oppressor ceased ’ — Isa. xiv. 3, 4.
O man discerns his sunbeams till he has found rest. When the mind is in a state
of turmoil we are ignorant of our own privileges. We are like Abraham on Mount Moriah. We are perplexed about our Isaac, and therefore we miss the ram which is caught in the thicket. The ram is there all the time, yet we see it not. We are too distressed in mind to see it. Before it can break on our sight we must get rest from our sorrow — our sorrow about Isaac. The moment Abraham gets rest regarding Isaac, he has a clear vision of the ram; he cries, “How has the oppression ceased!” The oppression had ceased long ago. The way of escape had been wide open before his eyes.
There had never been any outward mist over the gate; the gate was there, and it was there unbarred. Why had he not seen it? Because it was hid by another mist — the mist of the heart. There are more things hid by the mist before the heart than by the mist before the eye. Mary comes to the door of the sepulchre and cries, “They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him,” and all the time He is at her side. The disciples upon the road to Emmaus lament an absent Christ, and all the time He is walking with them, talking with them. Why have these failed to recognise their privileges? Because they are in mental unrest; Mary has a sad heart, the disciples have a wounded spirit. It is no use to anoint the eyes when the soul is weeping; the eyes will not see, if there are tears in the soul. In vain, if the heart is troubled, will you unveil the many mansions in the house of my Father. Only when my spirit has rest can I say, “How has the oppression ceased!”
Lord, I have been mistaken as to the time for Thy rest. I have thought of it as something which comes at the evening hour — at the end of my day. I have thought of it as a state of final peace, resulting from the clearness of my view. Not so, my Father! Thy rest comes not from my vision; it is my vision comes from Thy rest. Not because I have seen the rainbow do I repose in Thee; I repose in Thee that I may see the rainbow. I must rest from my labour first, and then my works shall follow — my powers of beholding Thy glory. Thy rest is for the morning, not the evening. It is sent to give me wings, not to fold my wings. It is not the close, but the beginning, of my day. I shall never begin to see Thee till my seventh morning dawns. Only when Thy Sabbath rest is at the door shall I see Thy creation to be “very good.” It has been “very good” all along; chaos has been vanishing, dry land has been appearing, stormy waters have been subsiding. But I cannot see this without my Sabbath, Thy Sabbath. In vain the light shall gleam, in vain the firmament shall sparkle, in vain the herb and plant and tree shall spring, without Thy Sabbath. Rest alone can recognise radiance; peace alone can perceive progress; calmness alone can cry, “Chaos is dispelled!” I wait for Thy seventh morning, O Lord; I wait for Thy Sabbath of rest. Only when I am “still” shall I “know that Thou art God”; when Thou hast given my spirit rest I shall say, “How hath the oppressor ceased |”