The Test of Our Hopefulness
“Té is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.” — Law. iii. 26.
HAT a singular combination — hope and
quiet waiting! It is like a union of poetry and prose. Does it not seem an incongruous mixture of sentiments! We associate hope with impulse; quiet waiting is surely the want of impulse! Hope is a state of flight; waiting implies repose. Hope is the soul on the wing; waiting is the soul in the nest. Hope is the eagerness of expectancy; waiting is a condition of placid calm. Is not that a strange union of feelings to put into one breast! No; it is a sublimely happy marriage — the happiest conceivable. There is no test of hope like quiet waiting. If you want to measure the strength of a man’s hope, you must measure the quietness of
his waiting. Our hope is never so weak as when we are excited. I have seen two men who were engaged in the same cause, and who were equally bent on that cause, affected quite differently in an argument. The one was fiery, impetuous, vehement, tempted to lose temper and prompted to be abusive; the other was calm, cool, quiet, disposed to be deferential and inclined to be conciliatory. Yet the second was the man of sure hope. He was calm because he was fearless, he was silent because he was sanguine. He had seen the star in the east and he knew it was travelling westward. He did not care to argue about it, to protest about it, to lose his temper about it. He was so sure of its coming that he was willing to make concessions. He could afford to be gentle, he could afford to be generous, in the light of the morning star. Lord, the man who saw Thy glory in Patmos was the man who slept in Thy bosom. So shall it be with me. If I have a clear vision I shall have a tranquil temper. I do not wonder that St. John became so gentle; the quickened eye makes the quiet heart. Open Thy heavens, O Lord, and the dove will come. The dove cannot come until Thy heavens be opened. I see a storm gathering in the west; clouds are drifting, winds are rising, birds are flying; my prospect is obscured toward the setting sun. I hear men cry, “The old faith is vain, the old promise is vain!” JI am wroth with these men; I am abusive; I call them atheists; I hurl anathemas against them. Why am I thus inflamed? My Christ, it is because I myself doubt of Thee. It is because I have lost sight of Thy bew in the cloud, of Thine anchor in the storm. [t is my self-pity makes me angry, it is my hopelessness makes me unquiet. Unveil mine eyes,O Lord! Give me a glimpse of Thy glory! Send me a cluster of the grapes of Eshcol! Let me have one view from the heights of Pisgah! Open Thy heaven but for a moment to my inner sight! Then the dove will come, mildness will come, peace will come. It will be with me as it was with Moses. He saw the desert illuminated with Thy burning bush; therefore he was the meekest of men. Iluminate my desert, and I too shall be meek. Make me sure of Thee, and I shall cease to strive or cry. Establish mine own heart, and I shall be gentle with my brother. Light my candle within, and I shall be tender to the mists without. Conviction will calm me; certitude will soften me; the rays of the morning will mellow me; the charm of a cloudless soul will give me charity. I shall love my brother better when I see my Father nearer. Thou shalt keep the man in perfect peace whose hope is stayed on
Thee,