Bid Me Come!
Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water.” — Matt. xiv. 28.
Christ comes to us all — to the gutter child prompted to divide her taffy with her little brother; to the girl following an ideal purity through the polluting associations of some miserable home; to the man of business who turns aside from the selfish maxims of his competitors to succor a comrade overtaken by misfortune; to the heathen catching sight of some loftier truth than the priests of idolatry ever taught him, and following it like a white bird. To all such, and, indeed, to all men. He comes, who as the true Light lighteth every man coming into the world.
To some He comes in the spring of life, when the number of the days behind is few and of those before many; He descends the woodland glade, the piles of deep soft moss muffling His footfall, the flowers springing back from His light tread. He makes His 32 presence known in the caress of the mother pleading with her child to give its heart to the Master of life, in the word of the teacher or minister. To others He comes in summertide, as life is reaching its prime and thought is becoming mature, and when opportunity has been given to compare between a life full of accessories apart from Him, and one with Him apart from all accessories, and between these two the choice has been clearly and dehberately made.
Probably Christ oftenest comes through the night and storm, when the wind is contrary and the strength giving out, when the sky is black with the hurrying clouds, and the wind churns the water into a yeasty foam; when the hopes of former years have been disappointed, and the light that shone so brightly has faded; when ill health oppresses, when heart and flesh fail, when our days are bereft of the souls that made them speed quick as a meteor flash; when the fire burns low in the grate, when sin and sorrow have played sad havoc th us — then our troubles and losses make the pavement of His feet, and through the storm, nay, by means of the storm, the Master says, “I have come.”
At first, it may be, Christ is only a vision, a new hope, a ship that may come within hail, a probability, an //. We have heard of the great things He has done for others; we have been arrested by the beauty of His portrait in the gospels; we have dreamed of Him as a radiant being, with the power of distributing heahng and help. We would like to believe in Him and to learn those deep secrets which have ht up the lives of so many around. We feel that if we could but once get to His side He would answer our questions, realize our ideals, satisfy our passionate craving for love; and therefore, though we cling to the boat, and to the comrades whose toils we have been sharing, we finally resolve to make the venture. When a lull comes in the howl of the wind we say faintly, “If it be Thou, bid me come.”
There is this beauty about the dealings of Christ our Saviour: He does not tantalize us, presenting an ideal or a vision of a better life which He will not or cannot communicate. The very idea of His incarnation was that He should set us an example that we should follow in His steps. If He lived wholly for God, we can; if He spent much time in prayer, we may; if He bore the contradiction of sinners against Himself without a single word of recrimination, it is possible for us to do so; if out of death He became fruitful of life, there is no reason why our death should not have a similar issue; if He walks the water, we may be sure it is not His intention merely to dazzle or startle us, as the acrobats at some country fair the open-eyed villagers, but that we may come to Him and walk with Him on the waves. It is always right to say to Jesus, “Where Thou art I would be; what Thou art doing I would do; where Thy feet are mine would find a foothold. Bid me come!”
Bid me come m the life of filial trust. Christ’s Ufe was as free from care as that of the bees among the limes. Amid the strife of men and the fret of daily circumstance He leaned back on the bosom of God; never alone, because the Father was with Him; never in need which the Father would not supply; always at rest, ever serene and tranquil, perpetually hidden in the secret of the divine tabernacle from the strife and babble of human tongues. Ah, exquisite vision! We see the life gliding over the waves that threaten to engulf us. We wish that it might be ours. But let us not be content with longings and regretful contrasts; let us say, “Bid me come, that my life may drink deep into Thy spirit, and keep step with Thee over the water.”
Bid fne come in the life of prayer. In this our Lord might have done less than we, but probably He did more. Amid His activities He always made time for the mountain height; amid His sufferings it was in prayer that He found solace and strength; amid the many demands that laid their withered hands upon His garment’s hem, it was in prayer that He replenished the virtue that was always streaming out. From His own exercises He gathered the exhortations and precepts which have opened the way of prayer for His followers. Here again the radiant vision comes across the sea of time — so calm amid the storm, so elevated above the -waves. And we do well to ask Him to empower us to pray as He did. Bid us come! Teach us to pray! Help us to leave the formal, careless prayers of the past, and to step out into fellowship with Thy mighty intercessions.
Bid me co?ne to the same pitch of holy devotion and consecration. There was no pause in His life of devotion to His Father’s will — always the devoted Servant, ever the obedient Son, instant in season and out of season to do the work with which the Father had intrusted Him. With steadfast face He made for His cross; with unswerving purpose He accomplished our redemption. We might well wish for this. Days in which the high purpose of our life has faltered come back to memory; hours when we have sunk down wearily to indolence and lethargy; moments when we have looked back to the cities of the plain, unable to face the rugged path of the cross. What a contrast between that heroic figure pressing through the storm, and the vacillation which has made us shrink from entering into conflict with its fury! “Bid us come” is a prayer which we do well to offer. His commands are enablings. With His word there goes power. Whatever He says to us we can do. Bid us come!
In all time of our tribulation bid us come to Thee for patience. In all time of our wealth bid us come to Thee for humility. In the hour of temptation bid us come to Thee for succor. In the hour when faith is small bid us come to Thee for strength. And in the solemn moment when we stand on the confines of time bid us come to Thee across the space of dark water, that where Thou art we may be also.
In all such coming there must be leaving. We must come down out of the boat. With some that boat represents prejudice; with others mistrust. The self-life in one of its many forms is as dear to us as that boat to Peter. Our resolutions and energies and endeavors appear at times to be the only plank between us and destruction. But as long as we hold on to any one of these we inevitably miss the freedom, luxury, and glory of walking with Christ on the waves. Who would not prefer the freedom of the sea-bird’s flight to the narrow confinement of the creaking boat? Yet such is the contrast between faith and sight, between a life of fellowship with the risen Saviour and one of toiling in rowing. What is better, then, than to lift perpetually the cry, as any vision of Christ passes across our mind, “If it be Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water “?