The Answer to Prayer

Psalm xx. 6 v.

‘•’ Now know I that the Lord saveth His anointed: He will hear him from His holy heaven with the saving strength of His right ban

Tim deepest answer to prayer is not a voice — nut a “’ yes ’ 01 a “no “; it is the support of a hand. This is not the common view. I cry to God in the night, and strain through the silence for a message. I never doubt that the answer shall be a voice, never dream that the reply shall be aught but a consent or a denial. I have apked the removal of a trouble; I assume that it will either be granted or refused. Not so thinks the Psalmist. His best hope for prayer is neither the one nor the other. He says that God answers His anointed souls, not by a voice, but by a hand — not directly, but indirectly. There comes from the silent skies no peal of music; there flashes through the outward dark no gleam of glory; but into the heart there steals a strange strength, an unaccountable peace.

THE ANSWER TO PR AY Eli. 185

Perhaps it was not felt at once. You were in search of another kind of answer, and may not have recognised its coming. It seemed to grow up naturally, to be a bit of yourself, to have nothing superhuman in it. It was not like an answer to prayer at all — it was so woven with your ordinary life. Yet, it was God’s own messenger, the response to your cry of yesterday. You spoke to Glod through one door, and He answered you by another; you opened at the front, and He came in at the back; you asked to be lifted into heaven, and He gave you more power to live on earth; you craved melody for the ear, and He sent you, instead, the saving strength of His right hand.

Son of Man, I accept the answer that was given to Thee. Thy cup did not pass, but Thy angel came. Thy angel came by the back door, when Thou wert weeping at the front. He came before Thy tears were ended. The answer to Thy prayer entered Thy heart unseen. It was born in the hour of sorrow; it grew up while Thy tears were falling; but when it was full-grown, there was a great calm. Let me believe that Thy angel is mine. “When I pour forth my soul in strong crying and tears, let me believe that the answer is already come. I am looking too far to find it. I seek it in the clearing of the cloud; I expect it in the spilling of the cup; my eye is all on the front, and I forget the postern door. Let me remember Thee — Thy Grethsemane, Thy triumph. It is not a new cup I need; it is a new hand. I want something to keep the cup from trembling, yea, from spilling. I want power to hold it calmly, steadily. I want a hand to repress the shaking of my hand. I want none of its drops to fall idly, ineffectually. I want to receive Thy cup in Thy garden — in the power of Thy peace. My prayers shall all be answered when I am answered like Thee.