Chapter XI

Ir is a painful fact that many a sinner walks in a flowery path to perdition, and goes merrily to his everlasting ruin. It is, on the contrary, as certain that many a saint travels by a rough and toilsome road to heaven, and ascends to glory amidst many tears. Our Divine Lord has set forth this in the most awful of his parables — the rich man and Lazarus. If we looked only at the outward and present condition of these two men, we should say one is the type of all that is felicitous, the other, of all that is miserable. But who that looks in upon the heart of the two, and onward to their eternal abode, would not a thousand times rather be Lazarus with his poverty, sores, and beggary, feeding at the rich man’s gate upon the crumbs which fell from his table, than the wealthy possessor of the mansion, with his purple and fine linen and daily luxurious fare. Look up at the one who has dropped all his poverty, borne by angels to Abraham’s bosom; and then look down upon the other, stripped of his splendid garments, deprived of his luxurious living, and from the midst of his torment begging for a drop of water to cool his parched tongue, and there see the end of sanctified poverty and of unsanctified wealth. Many are the afflictions even of the righteous. Notwithstanding they are the children of God and the heirs of immortality, even they are not exempted from the common lot of

$2 humanity, as described by the patriarch of Uz, where he says, ‘Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upwards.” Yea, on the contrary, they are afflicted because they are the children of God. ‘For if ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons, for what son is he whom the Father chasteneth not f’ — Heb. xii, 7. The church of God, though

‘*A little spot enclosed by grace
Out of the world’s wide wilderness,”

is not, like Paradise, fenced in from sorrow. ‘There is a tearless world, but it is reached by a vale of tears. As those who are exposed to such a variety and such a constant recurrence of trials, we need some principle to sustain us under them. We must either be petrified by the stonemaking process of some stoical philosophy, into cold, lifeless statues, or we must find some source of consolation. It is but few who can reach to the apathetic insensibility of the former state; the great bulk must find comfort or oblivion somewhere. We are in danger in times of trouble of resorting to many things that are inimical to our peace and to our holiness. Afflictions are not only evil in themselves, but are likely also, if care be not taken, to produce evil. They not only always lead to sorrow, but often to sin. A wounded spirit has frequently been the occasion of a burdened conscience. The wormwood and the gall of sorrow have fermented into the poison of iniquity, by impatience under the hand of God, and by revengeful feelings towards the human instruments of our griefs. How apt we are to sink into heartless inactivity — hopeless despondency — sinful distrust — and overwhelming sorrow. In the dark and gloomy night of tribulation, when the sun of our prosperity has set — when the clouds of adversity

aT ee. ee have so overspread the heavens that not a star twinkles — and the tempest rages, how much do we need something to cheer us, something to keep down those unbelieving thoughts of God and his Providence which are then so apt to rise, and to relieve that intense wretchedness which then too often takes full possession of the soul. And where shall we find it? What can doit? Philosophy? Miserable comforter! It may, as I have said, in some few cases, petrify the heart and turn the man into a stone: though it can rarely do this, for nature resents the violence thus offered to it, and even from the rock itself drops wil sometimes ooze, even if streams do not flow. Reason may say to the sufferer, “Weeping will do you no good, it will not bring back the comfort you have lost, or remove the affliction under which you suffer.” ‘““No,”’ says the patient, ‘and it is for that 1 weep, because my sorrows are remediess even by my tears.’’ Will change of scene, or occupation, or business, or pleasure, bring consolation P No. They may divert the mind for a little while from the cause of its sorrows, and produce a temporary oblivion of them; but a lacerated heart carries its wound with it, and though its pains may be lulled, it receives no cure from this source. No. Fairs, faith is the only thing that meets the case: and this does meet it. This glorious, wonderful, divine principle, which guards the prosperous man from being injured by his prosperity, sustains the suffering one from being crushed by his adversity. That which is the shade of one from the scorching heat of the sun, is to the other, his refuge from the storm.

We shall now show how faith acts in reference to afflictions.

First. In prospect of them.

It suggests that as we are sinners in a state of probation

—as sorrow more or less is the lot of humanity — and especially as God has declared that whom he loveth he chasteneth, — the true believer expects trials. He sees no reason why he should be exempted from them. ‘This expectation, as we shall presently show, does not degenerate into gloomy predictions, painful forebodings, and tormenting anticipations; this were not faith but unbelief — but only checks that unfounded confidence which leads him to say, ‘‘My mountain stands strong, I shall never be moved,” and produces that surrender of himself to fearless and excessive enjoyment of things seen and temporal, which is the essence of worldliness. Without at all lessening the proper enjoyment of present comforts, and throwing dark shadows upon, or uttering croaking voices in the sunny path of prosperity, it simply says, ‘“‘Since God has forewarned you to expect trouble, do not be immoderate in your joy of the gourd, nor trust so surely in it as if you thought it could not wither.” Faith thus acts the part, not of an envious ill-wisher,but of a faithful monitor.

At the same time it believes that no evil can come except God sends it. This is its triumph, to look into the dark unknown of futurity, and to rest assured that no evil can come forth from the impenetrable cloud but what comes at his bidding. The doctrine of Providence follows true faith throughout its whole course, which it grasps as the traveller does his staff, upon which he leans equally in sunshine and in storm — which keeps him steady in paths that are slippery, and others that are rocky — and which, whether his way be up hill or down, is still his support. This will account for its frequent introduction in these chapters.

The shafts of sorrow fly thick around us, but not one can hit us, except its flight be guided by unerring wisdom. Job said, ‘“‘ Why hast thou set me as.a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to myself.” — Job vii, 20. An expression which if it imply some terror as though God were shooting at him, implies also some consolation that no arrow could touch him but what came from His bow. So that when the Christian sees the trouble coming, he knows whence it comes, and that it cannot come except God permit it. Oftentimes the storms of Providence, like those of nature, are a long time gathering. We feel the sultry heat, the stagnant atmosphere, and observe the electric clouds, and are prepared for a thunder storm: we stand watching the cumulative masses in the horizon, with something of awe, and under the apprehension which is awakened, we consider that it may after all disperse and not discharge; and even if it should come, we know that God rides upon the whirlwind and manages the storm; and that it can do no harm but what God permits and appoints it to do. “*‘ He maketh darkness his secret-place; his pavilion round about him is dark waters, and thick clouds of the skies.”’ Therefore fear not: «Thou trembling saint, fresh courage take, The clouds you so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.”

It is the assurance of faith, that if the affliction should come, it will bring its own support with it. Oftentimes the trial, like mountains, appears larger and higher at a distance than on our nearer approach; and like most that is dreadful, less terrific when we are close to it than when seen from afar. Familiarity, which diminishes our delight in what is pleasurable, does the same with our horror of what is painful. But let it be all it was feared, still the Christian, when trustful in God, says and ought to say, “If God should not sink the coming trial to my present weak faith, he will raise my weak faith to the magnitude of the coming trial. The affliction may not be all I now fear; but if it should, my God will make his grace sufficient for me to bear it. He will not send the trial, but dring it. And I have his promise that he will never leave me. I hear him saying to me at this moment, ‘ When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ — Isaiah xliii, 2; — xh, 10. What then ought I to fear — can I fear — will I fear? I will go forward to meet the coming affliction; for I am going on to meet an all-wise — all-gracious — all-powerful God.”

Faith takes off the mind thus from painful anticipations of the future. It complies, to its own happiness, with the merciful admonition of Christ, ‘‘ Take therefore no thought for the morrow; for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” — Matt. vi, 34. This is a beautiful and most merciful exhortation; but then, no man in prospect or fear of future trouble can very easily obey it, till he believes that as God is taking thought for the future on his behalf, he need not be anxious himself about it. Reason, I know, suggests that he who does not with solicitude anticipate future evil till it comes, suffers it but once; while he who is always anticipating it, suffers it as many times over as he thus thinks upon it. Still nothing can keep down these gloomy forebodings, but the assurance that God is caring for the future as well as for the present.

The mind thus taken off from a painful and unnecessary anticipation of future evil, is left to the performance of present duty. This is a most desirable course of action. If some people are so much taken up with the present as to forget the future, — which is a possible and by no means an uncommon case, for there is usually some provision to be made for the future — on the contrary, there are many who are so much taken up with the future as to forget the present. Their fears of contingent evils rise so high as to unfit them for the discharge of certain obligations which now press upon them. There is always some duty immediately pressing, from which no probable, possible, or even certain future trial should divert us. It is always an additional aggravation of affliction when it comes, to look back and see something neglected, and thus to go laden with the guilt and enfeebled by the influence of past sins, to encounter future trials. Oh, it is of immense importance to keep a conscience void of offence, not only for present comfort, but for support under coming afflictions. Inconsistencies are sure to find us out in the dark season of affliction, if not before. We need not add to the gloom and sorrow of that dreary hour, by the guilt of past sins, either of omission or commission: but on the contrary, should seek among other consolations, to have ‘our rejoicing in the testimony of our conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, we have had our conversation in the world.” — 2 Cor. i, 12. Close walking with God is as incumbent for our interests as it is for our duty.

Here, perhaps, a question will arise in some minds, whether it is compatible with faith, to pray to God to avert an approaching affliction. Most certainly it is, as much so as it is to pray for deliverance from present trials, and as it is to use all proper means for that purpose. Grace does not produce an insensibility to trials; for if there were no feeling, there could be no patience. Submission is our duty; and that implies something that is felt to be an evil, but to which in obedience to God, the mind bows down. Now it is quite compatible both with faith and submission to pray for deliverance from both threatened and endured tribulation, provided our prayers be submissive, and we are willing after all to leave the matter to the Divine will, and we stand prepared to acquiesce in the answer God may be pleased to give. The very petition to have the affliction averted or removed is itself an act of faith, since it is an expression of our belief in the providence of God. We have innumerable instances to prove the lawfulness of prayer for averting or removing afflictions, in the Word of God, alike in the way of promises, precepts, and examples; and especially in the highest of all examples, that of our Divine Lord, who in prospect of the sufferings he was then enduring and expected yet to endure, prayed and said, ‘‘O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” — Matt. xxvi, 39.

SECONDLY. We now consider the exercise and influence of faith under affliction.

The expected trial comes on. God has not seen fit to avert it. The storm bursts upon the head of the sufferer, and what are his views and feelings now as a believer P Faith first of all considers sin as the cause of sorrow. The believer traces up all his afflictions to this as their original source and cause. Suffering with him is not merely the established and original order of nature, it is the disturbance of that order, the disarrangement of that first beautiful scheme and framework, by sin. God did not make man to suffer and weep, and he never did suffer and weep till he sinned. The geologist clearly perceives in the broken and confused strata of the earth’s crust, not the original and undisturbed order of primeeval creation, and the regular unimpeded deposits, as the silent and uninterrupted proceeding of the work of nature; but the proof of some mighty disturbing force which has upheaved the masses and thrown all into apparent confusion. So is it in the moral world. All was order, and beauty, and bliss, at the beginning, but sin with volcanic force has disturbed, broken, and confounded all. This is declared in the Word and received by the Christian; and it is of wonderful potency to bring him to submission and to enable him to justify God in his severest dispensations. He never loses sight of this guilty cause of all his sorrows. Nor does he satisfy himself with going back to the sin of Adam, that first offence which brought in sin, and death, and all our woe; but he dwells upon his own sin — the ten thousand sins both of omission and commission of which he has been guilty, and with devout humiliation under a deep sense of their desert, he exclaims, ‘‘ He hath not dealt with me after my sins, nor rewarded me according to my iniquities. Wherefore should a man complain, a living man for the punishment of his sins. I will bear the indignation of the Lord, for I have sinned against him.” This is faith. It also recognises God as the Author of his affliction. ““I was dumb,” said the Psalmist, “I opened not my mouth, because /how didst it.’ The believer sees God’s hand, realises God’s work in his sufferings. ‘‘ That no man should be moved by those afflictions;” said the apostle, “for ye know we are appointed thereunto.” — 1 Thess. iii, 3. But faith not only recognises the hand of God, for many an unconverted man does this, but the hand of God as a

Father. It is this which is its peculiar act. It does not merely believe that the God of providence is in the trial, but the God of grace. Its language is not only “God hath sent it,” but “my Father sent it;” and while the worldling sullenly exclaims, ‘It is the will of God, and I suppose I must submit:” the believer says, ‘The cup which my Father giveth me to drink, shall I not drink it?” This is its persuasion, for God has said it, “Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.” — Heb. xii, 6. But this is a secondary act of belief reflected from a primary one. It is the act of one who has already believed in Christ for the salvation of the soul; of one who has really become by faith a child of God — of one who with an unwavering tongue can say in the spirit of adoption, ‘‘ Abba, Father.’’ And it is surprising how many are enabled thus to come to God im affliction, who are filled with doubts and fears at other times. It is of infinite moment for the believer to keep up the sense of this paternal character of God, and his own filial relationship to him. <A child will take that from the hand of his father, which none else could persuade him to receive.

In conformity with this, faith considers LOVE as the motive on God’s part of all afflictions. They not only come on those whom God loves, but decause he loves them. They are love tokens, as much so as any thing else that comes from the hand of love. The father chastens his son in love — gives him medicine in love — denies him some things he asks for in love. It is the severity of love, I admit, but still it 2s love, and a contrary line of conduct would not be love. But often it requires strong faith to believe this. ‘ What, ¢izs love, to wither my gourd, and scorch my head by the sun, and beat upon me by his hot fierce blast? This love, to shatter my cisterns and spill their water upon the ground? This love, to frustrate my schemes and disappoint my hopes, and strip me of my comforts and leave me spoiled and peeled? This love, to fill my eyes with tears and my bosom with sighs?” “Yes,” replies God, ‘‘ As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.” ‘“« Knough,” says the Christian in his best mood, “Enough, I believe it: and my soul is even as a weaned child.” See him when in that frame, he not only ‘hears the rod,” but kisses the hand which uses it. What can we not endure from the hand of love? Let me be assured that a friend loves me and that tenderly, and that all his conduct is dictated by affection, I can bear his reproofs, though they may be somewhat severe. I can submit to his requirements, though they may seem to be rigid. I can allow him to take from me some things which I value, though I may not see the necessity of such sacrifices. My entire confidence in his affection leads me to say, “It must be necessary for my welfare, or I am sure his love would not thus put me to pain. It cannot be to sport with my feelings and see me weep, that he acts thus. I am sorrowful but trustful, for he is wise and he loves me.”

Faith is assured that there is a necessity for our trials. There is no Scripture it more readily assents to than that of the apostle Peter, “If needs be ye are in heaviness through manifold temptations.”’ Yes, there must be some kind of necessity, or he who loves them so strongly would not thus afflict them. He himself is the judge of that necessity, and with him it must be left. But we are in all cases to be assured that it exists, though oftentimes it is hidden. Hence, the beautiful reply of Dr. Payson, who in his deep affliction was asked if he saw any particular reason for his heavy trials. ‘‘ No,” said he, ‘but I am as satisfied as if I saw ten thousand reasons. It is the will of God, and there is all reason in that.” Our trials come sometimes when there seems, so far as our spiritual condition is concerned, less need than ordinary for them. And then is the time especially for confidence in God’s wisdom and love as to their necessity. When they find us in a backsliding state, and come like messengers to fetch us back from our truant wanderings, we know, rather than believe their necessity. We see and feel it as clearly as if a voice from heaven declared it. But to be overtaken with some severe visitation of Providence, when the soul is comparatively healthful, and its course is even and undeviating, and then to say, ‘‘I am sure there is some needs be for this, though I cannot see it. It lies hidden somewhere in the depths of God’s wisdom and love, where I cannot find it; but I am sure it is there. My Heavenly Father does not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men, much less his own children: and I believe I am one of them.”

It is also assured that the design of affliction is good. How beautiful is the language of the apostle: ‘“We have had fathers of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them reverence: shall we not much rather be in subjection to the Father of spirits and live? For they verily for a few days chastened us after their own pleasure; but he for our profit, that we might be partakers of his holiness.” — Heb. xii, 9,10. Yes, such is the imperfection of human love, that even parental affection is sometimes poisoned and misdirected by passion; and the father corrects his child intemperately, and more from caprice than from judgment, and rather for the indulgence of his own stormy temper than the child’s good. There is nothing like this in God. The Divine Father never corrects in a passion; but proceeds to fs chastisement with the coolness and calmness of a judge, the love of a parent, and the purpose of a physician. “He for our profit,’’ — never for his own gratification, but always for our good. Certainly not for our ease, ‘for no affliction for the present is joyous, but grievous;” but for our good. He is not indifferent to our present tranquillity and comfort, as is evident from the thousand mercies with which he has surrounded us; but he is chiefly intent upon our good: and when these two are in any measure incompatible with each other, he never hesitates for a moment which he will make to give way to the other. A wise physician is not indifferent to the comfort of his patient; but when the question is ease and death, or pain and life, he takes up his knife and proceeds with as much tenderness as possible, but without delay, to amputation. He consults the de first, and ease only subordinately. So does God. His aim is our profit, that is, “THAT WE MIGHT BE MADE PARTAKERS OF HIS HOLI-NEss:” that we might be made partakers of the Divine nature — sharers of the very holiness of God. How precious a thing must be holiness in itself, and how precious it ought to be to us, when God, who loves his people with so strong an affection, puts them to so much pain to obtain it.

And just glance at the good that afflictions are calculated to effect, and do effect in all cases where they are sanctified. As the bee sucks honey from many a bitter herb, so faith extracts good from bitter sorrows. How they crucify him to the world — and the world to him, and thus make their own cross affect them in the same way as the cross of Christ; sometimes gently drawing him away from it, at others forcing him out as by a violent wrench. How they mortify his pride and cure his vanity. How they restore him from his backslidings and bring him again to God from whom he has departed. How they revive his lukewarm religion and quicken him in prayer. How they make him feel that religion is after all his great concern. Yes, there is more learnt sometimes in one great affliction, than from a thousand sermons, or a library of books. Who would dare to present this prayer? ‘“‘ Lord, let me have worldly comforts though they ruin me: and keep away affliction though it would save me.” Why then should we act as we would not pray? Should we quarrel with the man who in pulling us out of the water, where, but for him, we should have been drowned, if he put a leg or an arm out of joint? And shall we murmur when God in saving us from perdition lessens our comforts? Is it not a blessed exchange to part from temporal comforts for inward holiness? Who would not be willing to have less of the world; if thereby he may have more of God? Who would not be kept poor in wealth, if he may be rich in faith? Who is the loser, if he have like Gaius, a healthy soul in a sickly body? This is the good to be gotten by afflictions, and it is the business of faith to believe the declaration that “ALL THINGS WORK TOGETHER FOR GOOD to them that love God, who are the called according to his purpose.” While there is in the love of the world a dreadful power of turning all good things into evil, there is in the love of God as happy a principle to turn all evil things into good. This wonderful transmuting operation is ever going on in the life of a Christian, laying all under tribute, outward calamities, inward conflicts, sickness, losses, dark seasons, and mental perplexities, to promote the good of his soul — his eternal welfare. All these things are working together for good. Infinite wisdom and Allmighty power do not work by means and agencies apart, but by their concurrence and combination. They keep in the order of co-operation which might otherwise appear a vast confusion of things. But for the faith of this, the believer might look on the crowd and tumult of things with an utter distraction in his calculations and hopes. He beholds a thousand different things in action, each doing something, and some doing what seems to oppose others. And how can they all, so various, so different, in some respects so contrary, produce a common result. Faith is assured there is in all this a stupendous, invisible machinery, which holds them all working in connection, and reproves the unbelief which says, ‘This is absolutely needless,” or that obstructs rather then co-operates or conduces to good.

And it also believes that God does no more than is necessary for this end. Tender is the language of the prophet, “In measure, when it shooteth forth, thou wilt debate with it: he stayeth his rough wind in the day of the east wind.” — Isaiah xxvii, 8. Analogous to this is God’s language to the Jews, “I will correct thee in measure.” — Jer. xxx, 11. Hence the pleading of the prophet, “O Lord, correct me, but with judgment; not in thine anger, lest thou bring me to nothing.” — Jer. x, 24. Wise physicians adapt not only the nature of the medicine to the disease, but its quantity to the strength of the patient. They administer as much as is necessary to produce the desired effect and no more. This is God’s method. All the afflictions he sends are by weight and measure; as wise in their proportions as they are in their adaptations.

Faith looks for comfort, support, and direction during the season of trial. It expects that, “‘ As the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also aboundeth by Christ.” — 2 Cor. i, 5. It does not shut up the windows of the soul, and retire desponding and disconsolate to sit in darkness, because some little light within has been ex-T tinguished, but keeps them open for the glorious light of the sun to shine in and enliven the scene. It does not amidst broken cisterns, turn away from the fountain, but goes straight to the living water. It does not, like Rachel weeping for her children, “‘vefuse to be comforted,” but acts like a child in tears through some loss, or some insult, who runs to his mother for her sympathy and comfort, and confidently expects her sweetest, kindest words then. It saith, ‘“‘ Where is he that giveth songs in the night?” And then serenely expects his approach with his richest consolations. It is unbelief which says, “‘ He has forgotten to be gracious; he has in anger shut up his bowels of compassion, and is clean gone for ever. I shall never see good.”

And then the believer looks for swpporé as well as consolation. He is confident in God that he will lay no more upon him than he will enable him to bear. He believes that God will sink the burden to his strength, or raise his strength to the burden: ‘‘ God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able to bear.”

*“— 1 Cor. x, 13. “I believe that,” says the Christian, “and though the load seems to increase rather than diminish, yet I take hold of God’s strength, and hope to be sustained, for

‘ How can I sink with such a prop
As my eternal God;
Who bears the earth’s huge pillars up,
And spreads the heavens abroad.’

I might as soon believe the Alps would sink under the accumulating weight of snow, as to imagine that a soul would be crushed by any weight of trouble, that leans upon Omnipotence for support. So that if I am not delivered, I shall be sustained; and sustentation is a degree and commencement of deliverance.”

Direction is as necessary in many cases, as consolation and support. There are afflictions in which nothing can be done, and we seem to be commanded, like the Israelites at the Red Sea, to “stand still and see the salvation of God;”’ cases in which the sufferer is addressed as were the Israelites in reference to their seeking help from Egypt: “Thus saith the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel; in returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength. Your strength is to sit still.”’ — Isaiah xxx, 7,15. In this case, patience and not action is called for. But there are others where something is to be done; and direction is needed from God to know what. Difficulties often add great weight to trials. The Christian sees something must be immediately resolved upon, but is most distressingly at a loss to know what course to pursue, and what step next to take. A wrong one may plunge him still deeper into distress, and render his case all but hopeless. He well knows that necessity is a bad oracle to consult — an evil counsellor, and what shall he do? Do? Believe the promise — ‘‘ The meek will he guide in judgment: and the meek will he teach his way.’ — Psalm xxv, 9. “Yea,” saith God, “Z will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go; I will guide thee with mine eye.” — Psalm xxxii, 8. This promise the believer turns into prayer; for which no words are so suitable for us to carry to God, as those which God has first spoken to us: ‘‘ Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies.” — Psalm xxvu, 11.

He then looks to the end of afflictions. The end may sometimes come in this world. In reference to this, the utmost that the believer can be sure of is, that they will end in God’s time. They may last for his whole life. The

T2 sickness which afflicts his body may be unto death. The loss which he has sustained in his property may be irreparable, and poverty may go down with him to the grave. The trial which beclouds and distresses his spirits may be his lot for life. But on the other hand, they may not: God may be bringing him “through fire and through water to bring him out into a wealthy place.” But he leaves this in the hand of God, and endeavours to maintain a hope which shall save him from despondency — checked at the same time by a fear that guards him from unwarranted confidence. It is this waiting posture, this season of suspense, during which the Christian is saying, ‘‘ As soon as I shall see how it will go with me,” that is the testing-time of confidence in God. Can he then keep his mind calm, hopeful, and cheerful? Can he then wait for God’s deliverance without resorting to any sinful means of his own? Can he then unite patient endurance with wise and prudent activity?

But if the end should not come in this world, it will in the next; when they will not only for ever cease, but leave an eternal blessing behind. Here it is impossible to forget or omit the language of the apostle: “I reckon that the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” — Rom. viii, 18. ‘Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” — 2 Cor. iv, 17. Four things are set forth in these passages. first, the actual termination of our afflictions. This is sweet. They are to end: they are not to last for ever: the last pang, and groan, and tear, are at hand: and how zear the Christian never knows. Secondly. But they are not to end like those of the brute creation — in the grave merely, but in heaven. The last pang, and groan, and tear, are to usher in that blessed state of which it is so beautifully said, ‘“‘The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” — Rev. vii, 17. Heaven, and not annihilation, shall terminate the afflictions of the righteous. Thirdly. Heaven is so glorious that the first view of its scenes, and the first moment of its enjoyment, shall make amends for the longest life of the most complicated and intense sufferings. Fourthly. The sufferings of earth will enhance and increase the felicities of heaven. Oh, this wonderful opposition — this divine antithesis — this inconceivable contrast! — glory set over against affliction; weight of glory against light affliction; eternal glory against momentary affliction. In that sentence, not only brilliant with the lustre of golden, but radiant with the splendour of heavenly characters, the genius of the apostle rose to one of his highest altitudes of inspiration. At that moment, the veil that hides the holy of holies and conceals the enthroned Deity from the gaze of sense and of reason, was half-drawn aside; and in dazzling but still vague glory, the Ineffable appeared to his enraptured gaze. To that glory, the sufferings of the present time will yield their contribution. They will aid, by their previous submissive endurance, to increase the power of contrast; and they will, by the graces they call here into exercise; by the sanctification they promote; by the heavenly temper which they cultivate and cherish; be the means of ripening the spirit, and making it meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. Every tear that is shed; every groan that is heaved; every loss that is sustained; every moment of suffering that is endured; every disappointment that is experienced, which is borne with patience, with resignation, with unwearied holiness, will not only be followed with millions of ages of ineffable felicity, but will prepare the soul for its enjoyment, and add something to its weight and its lustre. To believe this, to live in hope of it, and by this hope to be sustained under present sufferings, is the work of faith.

TuirpLy. This grace has something to do with afflictions when they are past. It believes that God has removed them, and is grateful for the deliverance. Means and instruments may have been employed, and they may have been adapted to the end. But who gave them efficacy, and rendered them successful? General laws were obeyed; but who secured the result? A deliverance from affliction loses half its sweetness when it loses in the mind of him who has experienced it all its Divine interposition. How we ought to dwell upon deliverance from affliction may be learnt by reading the one hundred and third and one hundred and sixteenth Psalms; and the twelfth Chapter of the Hebrews. How most men do conduct themselves when the affliction passes off, may be learnt from the conduct of the lepers whom Christ healed; of whom he said, “‘ Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger?” — Luke xvii, 17, 18.

But a belief in God’s omniscience as having been a witness of all the prayers, penitence, and vows uttered during the season of trial, will lead to solicitude that these should be remembered, and as to the latter, performed. Most people who have any sense of religion at all, are apt in seasons of deep trouble, especially of alarming bodily sickness, when death seems near and eternity opening, to make solemn promises and vows of amendment. But alas, how few of them are of the mind of David, who makes frequent mention of his determination to perform his vows. *[ will go into thy house with burnt offerings; I will pay thee my vows, which my lips have uttered, and my mouth hath spoken, when I was in trouble.”” — Psalm lIxvi, 13, J 4. To forget these is a species of unbelief, for it is to act as though God had forgotten them. Usually it is better perhaps not to vow at all what we will do, but rather to pray for grace to do it. But then our prayers are as solemn in themselves nearly, and as binding as our vows. A believer therefore must be very mindful of the state of his heart while he was in trouble, and endeavour to conform to it his conduct afterwards. Jeremiah thus recollected his affliction when he said, ‘‘ Remembering mine affliction and my misery, the wormwood and the gall. My soul hath them still in remembrance, and is humbled in me.”’ — Lam. ii, 19, 20.

We should call past afflictions to remembrance to get the benefit of them. ‘‘ Afterwards,” saith the apostle, “they yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness to them that are exercised thereby.” There is no doubt that in some cases they are more profitable in recollection than in endurance. The mind at the time is too much occupied and agitated by pain or tumultuous thoughts to derive all the benefit they are calculated and intended to afford. How anxiously should the recovered sufferer look out for these after-fruits of righteousness. ‘“‘ Affliction,” says Manton, “is a tree that to the true and watchful believer bears good fruit: and we do not expect the fruit to form and ripen at once. It may be long maturing, but it will be rich and mellow when it is ripe. It frequently requires a long time before all the results of the affliction appear — as it requires months to form and ripen fruit. Like fruit, it may appear at first sour, crabbed, and unpalatable; but it will be at last like the ruddy peach or the golden apple.” An affliction sanctified is better than an affliction removed. And there is no affliction a Christian should more dread than an unsanctified one. They never leave us as they find us, but more hardened if not softened. It is fearful then to trifle either with the Word or with the judgments of the Lord, and it is difficult to say which is the more dangerous.

Faith improves past afflictions by encouraging us to trust God for future ones. ‘This is one of the after-fruits, a serene and tranquil state of mind with regard to futurity. He who has passed through one scene of danger and escaped, and through one time of suffering and has been supported, will feel less dread in prospect of it again. Experience is not the foundation of faith, but it is one of its buttresses. David said, ‘‘ I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High.” God’s Word wutried is sufficient ground of confidence; but it is an additional means of confidence, to be able to say, “‘Thy Word is a tried Word. J have tried it.”” It may not be necessary for us to keep a diary in writing, but surely we ought to keep one inscribed upon the memory; that when new scenes of trial are opening before us we may look over the record and learn from the past what to expect for the future. “Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever,’ is the song with which the believer should go forth to meet every fresh affliction. No, his arm is not shortened that it cannot save, nor his ear heavy that it cannot hear.

As one of the most beautiful testimonies to the blessed results of affliction in regard to the frame of mind it has produced, and the gratitude as well as submission with which a Christian that has been sanctified by it looks back upon the dark scene of woe, and afterwards gathers the peaceable fruits of righteousness, I will here introduce the language of Dr. Grandpierre, of Paris, whose house had been desolated by a fever that deprived him of his wife and some of his children. Immediately after his loss he preached a series of sermons on the subject of affliction, which have been printed and translated into English, under the title of, ‘Sorrow and Consolation; or, the Gospel preached under the Cross. Meditations, dedicated to the Afflicted.” For true pathos, and Christian sentiment, and strong consolation, I know nothing like them. Referring to his own experience, he says, ‘‘ Listen, my brethren; I know a man in Christ (whose history I will not communicate) who, at a certain period of his career, by a series of important events, saw, as it were, one vast winding sheet extended over every part of his existence, enveloping the present and the future. As in the natural world, under a grey and cloudy winter sky, the weight of snow and ice pressing on it, benumbs, enchains, and seems to have annihilated all vegetation and all sap, so was his heart, his life, all within, all without him. He thought not only that all earthly joys (by which I mean those which Christianity authorises and sanctifies) were for ever lost to him, but he thought that even his faith, which, though weak, had ever been sincere, could do no more than enable him to bear without murmur the burthen of an existence, thenceforth without interest and without enjoyment. I will not enter into more minute details; for those, not altogether novices in the things that belong to the mind, enough has been said to enable them to penetrate the depths of this misery. Well, this same man can now say, not that he experiences no more sorrow, not that he has no regrets, not that he weeps no more (you would not, you ought not, to believe him if he did;) but this he will boldly affirm, that God has so swallowed up his griefs, and tears, and heart, in the ocean of his boundless love, that he has not only resumed his interest in life, but that in some moments he asks himself if the happiness he possesses in his trial is not greater than any he has ever experienced, and if God has not blessed him more by that which he has taken away, than by that which he has given him?

“My God! I thank thee for having revealed to me the first rudiments of this science, so dark and difficult to those who have not been enlightened by thee. Instead of complaining of the stripes thou hast inflicted, I will bless thee for them. Thou hadst accorded me great blessings, Lord, before thou didst chastise me; but I acknowledge, now, that thy chastisements are, of all thy favours, the least dangerous and the most salutary. Thou art not well known but in poverty; thou art not valued, save in the destitution of all things. Thy riches, thy greatest riches, remain concealed from him who does not know the depths of his own poverty; and who can know it better than he whom thou hast deprived of all, to place him in the possession of thy riches, at the source of thy bounties? I will say, then, to the praise of thy mercy, that solitude is not only without weariness and without melancholy, but that it possesses sweet enjoyments, inexpressible delights, for the soul thou deignest to visit, with which thou condescendest to associate, and to which it pleases thee to speak of thy love, and to reveal the greatness of thy glory. I loudly proclaim, to the manifestation of thy infinite grace, that the deepest wounds the heart can receive, those which are so deep and penetrating they might be expected to bleed for ever, are so soothed by the wine and oil poured upon them by thy Divine consolations, that, in the abundance of the blessings with which thou fillest the soul, one sometimes reproaches oneself for no longer feeling painful regrets. I will declare, with thanksgiving and songs of praise, that the horizon of life can never be so obscured, so discoloured, but that the ray of thy love can enlighten, animate, and sometimes gild and embellish it. I will declare, finally, O God of my salvation, God of my deliverance, my rock and my portion for ever, that when all other happiness fails us, that of belonging to thee, that of loving thee, of doing thy will, of devoting ourselves to thy service, that of finding all our pleasure in thee, increases so much, becomes so vast, so completely fills the capacity of the soul, that one is tempted to ask oneself, with uneasiness and culpable reproaches, if that which we possessed before, was happiness, true happiness, perfect happiness. Heretofore, O my God, thy place was usurped; thou wast obliged to make it wholly void, that thou mightest fill it! Glory be to thee, by Jesus Christ, from this time forth for ever and ever, Amen.”

Faith keeps up a holy jealousy over itself, lest it should sink again into that state of lukewarmness and worldliness which would render a repetition of the visitation necessary. This is its prayer: ‘“‘Shew me wherefore thou contendest with me. Surely it is meet to be said unto God, I have borne chastisement, I will not offend any more: that which I see not, teach thou me: if I have done iniquity, I will do no more.” — Job xxxiv, 31, 32. The believer realises the great fact that holiness is the end of all God’s dealings with him; that it was the design of his late affliction; and therefore now watches, prays, and labours, that he may no more be in such a state as to require such corrective measures. The man who is just recovered from a dangerous illness brought on by his own imprudence, and who has been told very plainly how it was incurred, and what he must do to avoid it in future, is, if he be a wise man, very attentive to the directions of his physician as to his future habits. He remembers all he suffered — all he feared — all he promised; and is concerned never to bring himself into a similar condition. So the Christian who sees that his affliction was sent in wise but severe love to heal some disorder of the soul, will remember the wormwood and the gall, and strive to keep the soul in future health, that the interposition of the Divine Physician may be no more necessary. Perhaps we could not have a more convincing evidence of sanctified affliction, or a richer benefit from our troubles, than a permanent recollection of the need of it when it came, and as permanent a solicitude to avoid the sin that made it thus necessary. The man who ten or twenty years after an affliction has passed off, looks back with adoring gratitude upon it, and says,

Father, I bless thy gentle hand;
How kind was thy chastising rod,
That fore’d my conscience to a stand,
And brought my wandering soul to God.

Foolish and vain I went astray
Ere I had felt thy scourges, Lord:
T left my guide and lost my way;
But now I love and keep thy word.

*<T love thee, therefore, O my God;
And breathe towards thy dear abode,
Where in thy presence fully blest,
Thy chosen saints for ever rest.”

I say that he who, years after the trial is over and past, looks back upon it with such sentiments as these, exhibits

all the proofs, and enjoys all the fruits of a sanctified atiliction.