The Gain of Loss

Philemon i. 15 v.

“Perhaps he therefore departed for a season, that thou shouldest receive him forever.”

There are possessions which only become our own when for a time we have lost them. There are joys which never abide with us till they have passed through the cloud. We, like Philemon, are enriched by our bereavements. We often hold a faith just because we have been born to it; and its value is unknown. But a cloud comes and receives it out of our sight; and suddenly it becomes precious. We awake to the knowledge that there has been a diamond in our hand. We find that we have been rich without knowing it. We would give all the world to get back what yesterday we deemed of no price. And in that very desire we are richer, better than we were before. It is better to know the preciousness of faith, even while not having it, than to have it and not know its preciousness. It is better to ciy for a Christ whom you believe to be absent than to stand in His presence and count it a worthless thing. And the very cry will bring Him back j for what is thy need of Him but Himself within thee? The cry will bring Him back — no longer to be ignored, but to be cherished; no longer to be an appendage to life, but to be life itself; no longer to be a Sunday guest, but to abide with you forever.

My Father, help me to realise the gain of my losses. I speak of the silver lining in the cloud; teach me that the cloud itself is the silver lining of my life. My life is colourless until Thy cloud comes. It is in the moment of departure that I recognise my angel; the wings are revealed in the act of disappearing. Men say Thou art manifested by what Thou givest; I think Thou art more manifested by what Thou withdrawest. The veil is never so rent from my heart as in the hour when Thou claimest back Thine own. Thy gift becomes most glorious when Thou coverest it with Thy hand; it is expedient for me that my Christ should go away. Thy gifts are too near me to be seen by me. Therefore, Thou hast sent a cloud over the mountain of radiance. Thou hast trained my love by loss; Thou hast educated my faith by shadow; Thou hast taught me morning by night. Thou hast made me to stretch out my hands to clasp that which was unfelt before. Thou hast hid Thyself behind the curtain, that I may learn to cry for Thee. I basked at first in Thee, like an unconscious flower; Thy winter broke the flower, and made me a man. I woke to Thee by the blast of my own wailing — the wailing for an absent joy. I could not take Thy blessing till it had departed for a while.