Thy Hand

“Thy hand presseth me sore.” — PSALM xxxviii. 2.

WHEN the pressure is sorest, the hand must be nearest. What should we do in suffering if we were left to imagine that it was Satan’s hand that presses so sore! Our Father has not left us in any doubt about it. This settles it: “Thy hand’’; “Thou didst it” (Ps. xxxix. 9); “It is the blow of Thine hand” (Ps. xxxix. 10); “Thy hand was heavy upon me” (Ps. xxxii. 4). It cannot be otherwise, for “in the shadow of His hand hath He hid you” (Isa. xlix. 2); and how can any other press you there? What is hid in God’s hand must be out of reach of Satan’s.

The hand is the most sensitive member, gifted with the most quick and delicate nerves of touch. When it presses, it instinctively measures the pressure; the contact is the closest possible; the throb which cannot be seen is felt, truly and immediately. This is how His dear hand is pressing you; this is what the pain means.

Have you ever watched the exceedingly delicate and yet firm pressure of the hand of a skilful tuner? He will make the string produce a perfectly true note, vibrating in absolute accord with his own never changing tuning-fork. The practised hand is at one with the accurate ear, and the pressure is brought to bear with most delicate adjustment to the resistance: the tension is never exceeded, he never breaks a string; but he patiently strikes the note again and again, till the tone is true and his ear is satisfied, and then the muscles relax and the pressure ceases. The string may be a poor little thin one, yielding a very small note; but that does not matter at all; it is wanted in its place: just as much as a great bass one, that can yield a volume of deep sound. The tuner takes just the same pains with it, and is just as satisfied when it vibrates true to the pitch, retaining its own individual tone. That string could not tune itself, and no machine was ever invented to accomplish it; nothing but the firm and sensitive pressure of the tuner’s own living hand can bring it into tune.

Will you not trust your Tuner, and begin a note of praise even under the pressure?

“Yet take Thy way; for sure Thy way is best, Stretch or contract me, Thy poor debtor. This is but tuning of my breast, To make the music better.” — George Herbert.

I take this pain, Lord Jesus,

As Thine own gift,
And true though tremulous praises

I now uplift;
I am too weak to sing them,

But Thou dost hear
The whisper from the pillow —

Thou art so near!

‘Tip Thy dear hand, O Saviour,

That presseth sore,
,The hand that bears the nail-prints

Fof evermore.
And now beneath its shadow,

Hidden by Thee,
The pressure only tells me

Thou lovest me!