Searchings in the Silence

Psalm v. 3 v.

“My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning, 0 Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee; and will look up.”

Why “look up”? Is it expectancy — the lifting of the eyes in the hope of an answer? I do not think so. I think it is the looking up not in expectation but in pride — that noble pride which a holy man may feel. The Psalmist says that when he prays he can pray with unabashed countenance — with eyes looking right into the face of God. He has nothing to be ashamed of. He may not gain his desire, but he need not blush for it. And why has he no cause to blush? Because his prayer is offered “in the morning.” It is not wrung out by the exigencies of the day. It does not come from the burden and the heat. It is not wakened by the cares of the world. It is not a cry called forth by personal pain. It comes from the heart as yet unburdened, from the spirit as yet free. It mounts by the wings of praise; it soars in the flight of song. It has not been taught to fly; it flies by instinct. It turns to the Father as the magnet turns to the pole — not by compulsion but by attraction. It comes before the clouds come, ere ever there is felt a drop of rain. Only the offering of life’s morning can say,” I will direct my prayer unto Thee’’

Oh, Thou whose name is love, it is in the offering of love that Thou rejoicest. There is no sacrifice to Thee like the morning sacrifice. Thou lovest it best because it is the least sacrificial. It is dearest to Thy heart because it is most spontaneous to mine. Thou desirest not sacrifice, oh, my Father. My voice is never so sweet to Thee as when it comes from where the birds sing. The cry of the weary is open to

Thee, but it is not precious to Thee. The prayers of evening can wake Thy yity, but only the prayers of morning can stir Thy joy. Be mine the voice Thou shalt hear in the morning. Many voices cry to Thee from the dusk; let mine be from the dawn. Let me bring Thee my springtime, my freshness, my glory. Let me bring Thee my heart undimmed, my life unweighted. Let me bring Thee a desire for communion that is born not of fear, but of love. Let me pluck for Thee the rose that has not drooped beneath the shower. If my voice shall be heard in the morning, I can lift up my head with joy.

Matthew iv. 16 v.

“To them which sat in the region and shadow of death light is sprung up.”

What a strange antithesis! — “to them which sat in death light is sprung up.” We should have expected “life is sprung up.” Is not life the natural contrast to death? Is there any cure for death but to abolish it? Yes, there is another cure — to throw light upon it. What makes death horrible is its darkness. It is not a thing which I know to be bad; it is a thing of which by nature I know nothing. What I want is light. It may be that when the light comes, I shall find that death needs no transforming. It may be, the sunshine will reveal it to be already a form of life. I want the sunshine; I want something to see by, something to judge by, something to read by. I do not ask that the valley should be made a mountain; I want light in the valley. Who can tell but under the shadows of night there may rest treasures ‘of purest gold. Who can tell that the valley is not richer than the mountain, if only the morning were here to disclose its gems. Truly it was a wonderful insight that made the prophet say, “to them that sat in death light is sprung up.”

Oh, Thou who hast made all things new by Thy rising sun, I understand death in Thee. I have called it the great eclipse — and so it is; but it is the eclipse by Thee. It is Thy shadow passing between me and the earth.

Never art Thou so little eclipsed as then. Thou shuttest all the doors that I may speak to Thee alone. Thou drawest the curtains of the eye, Thou hushest the songs of the ear, Thou closest the gates of the past, that I may be alone with Thee. I do not see any change in the shadow, but I have found a new cause for the shadow. I used to think it was an eclipse of life — an eclipse of Thee. I thought it was the earth putting out the heaven; I see now it was the heaven putting out the earth. It is not new life but new light that has come. Life was always in the valley, but I mistook its shadow. Thou art the shadow of death, oh, my Father; Thou art the veil of the temple, Thou art the cloud on the mercy- seat, Thou art the darkness on the cross. I shall not fear any longer to sit in the region of blinding death, since I know that I am blinded by the light above the brightness of the sun.

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