Christ in the Night-Storm

THE third watch of the night had nearly passed. For many weary hours the disciples have been toiling at the oars through the tempest. But all the strength of the fishermen’s brawny arms can scarcely push forward the little boat against the angry waves which smite the bow like a sledge. Peter and John — who were brought up on this lake of Galilee — had never seen a rougher night.

There is no compass on board, and no light house on the beach. Through the thick darl” ness the little bark is invisible to human eye. If Peter’s anxious household had looked out from their door in Capernaum on that awful night, they could not have seen a boat’s-length from the shore; or, if they had set the olivelamp in the window, it might not have been discovered by the toiling rowers in the smack. It is a fearful night to be out in; but there is One Eye that beholds them from the hills of Gadara. Jesus watches them!

Many of my readers may be, just now, in a fearful, night-storm of trouble. One is in the darkness of a mysterious providence. Another is under a tempest of commercial disaster. He has lost the “rigging” of bis prosperity; his canvas is torn to shreds, and his pride has come down as a top-sail comes down in a hurricane. Another one is toiling with the oars against a head-sea of poverty. The guiding rudder of a dear and trusted friend has been swept away by death. Still another one is in a midnight of spiritual despondency, and the promise-stars seem to be all shut out under gloomy clouds. My friend

A is making a hard voyage, with her

brood of fatherless children to provide for. Friend B has a poor intemperate husband on board with her; and Brother C — ’s

little bark hardly rises out of one wave of disaster before another sweeps over it. There are whole boat-loads of disciples who are “toiling at rowing” over a dark sea of trouble. But Jesus watches them! His eye of love discerns every single child of his adoption over all the wide sea of human experience.

The hour of the Christian’s extremity is the hour of Christ’s opportunity. At the right moment Christ makes his appearance to the tempest-tost disciples on Genesareth. For we are told that “in the fourth watch of the night Jesus came to them, walking on the sea!” We do not wonder that the sublime and sudden miracle astounded them. We do not wonder that, as the ghost-like form draws nearer and nearer through the darkness, the awe-struck mariners throw down the oars, and cry out, “See! see! it is a spirit! it is a spirit!” But straightway Jesus speaks unto them, saying, “Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.” In an instant their fears vanish. Jesus comes near to them. He steps into the boat, and “the wind ceased.” The overjoyed disciples fall at his feet, and gratefully exclaim, “Truly, truly, thou art the Son of God!”

Now, good friends, who are breasting a midnight sea of trouble, open the eye of faith, and see that form on the waves I It is not an apparition; it is not a fiction of priestly fancies, as the scoffing sceptic has often insinuated. It is Jesus himself! It is one who was himself a “man of sorrows.” It is one who has been tried on all points as we are, and yet without sin. It is the Divine Sufferer who says, “It is I; be of good cheer.” Christ comes to you as a sympathizing Saviour. He comes as a cheering, consoling Saviour. His sweet assurance is, “Lo! I am with you. Fear not; I have i-edeemed thee. I have called thee by my name. Thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and they shall not overflow thee.” Behold that Saviour! Receive him into the ship. No vessel can sink or founder with Jesus on board. No struggling soul, no struggling church, no struggling work of reform, ever went down when the Son of God had set his divine foot within it. Let the storms rage, if God sends them. Christ can pilot you through. Let the midnight hours of darkness come, if Jesus only comes through them, with the hailing signal, It is I! There may be a night coming soon on some of you, when heart and flesh shall fail you, and the only shore ahead is the shore of eternity. If Jesus is only in the bark, be not afraid. Like glorious John Wesley, you will be able to cry aloud in the dying hour, “Best of all, Christ is with me! best of all, Christ is with me!”

II. I wish to bring home the teachings of this inspiring scene on Galilee to those who are in a mid-sea of convictions of sin and troublings of conscience. The storm of divine threatenings against sin is breaking upon you. You acknowledge that you are guilty, and you hear the rumbling thunder of that divine declaration, “The soul that sinneth shall die.” Alarming passages from God’s Word foam up around your distressed and anxious soul. You cannot quell this storm, or escape out of it. Toiling at the oars of self-righteousness has not sent you a furlong nearer to the “desired haven.” You have found by sore experience that sin gives no rest, and that your oars are no match against God’s just and broken Law.

Friend, give me your ear! Listen! There is a voice that comes sounding through the storm. Hearken to it! It is a voice of infinite love. ‘■’It is I!” What voice is that? It is the same voice that spoke Galilee into a calm; that said to Jairus’s dead daughter, Maiden, arise! that awoke Lazarus from the rocky sepulchre of Bethany; the same voice that sweetly said to a praying penitent, “Thy sins be forgiven thee.” That omnipotent voice says to you, “Be of good cheer; it is I!” It is I, who am one with the Father. It is I, who so loved you that I gave myself for you. It is I, who came into the world to seek and to save the lost. My blood cleanseth from all sin. I am able to save to the uttermost. Whosoever believeth in me shall not perish, but shall have everlasting life.

Troubled sinner, let me assure you of this one thing! If you will only admit this waiting, willing, loving Jesus into your tempest-tost soul, the “wind will cease.” All will be well. Christ can allay the storm. Receive him. Christ can take away your guilt. Receive him. Christ can forgive you. Receive him. Open your whole soul to him in penitent, humble faith; welcome him with grateful trust; do all he asks; surrender the helm to him; and you can then feel as the rescued disciples did when they knelt down in the drenched bottom of their little boat, and cried out, “Truly thou art the Son of God!”

An intelligent merchant friend of mine, who was once in a night-storm of anxiety and haunted by the terrors of a guilty conscience, writes as follows: —

“I have a right to speak about faith in Christ. Well, I have tried him these thirty years; and I assure you that, though I once felt as you feel, and feared as you fear, my doubts and fears were given to the winds from the hour I gave my confidence to Christ. I heard his gentle entreaty, ‘Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; ’ and I came. I heard his invitation, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and

I will give you rest.’ I came, and he gave me rest and peace, and joys innumerable and immeasurable, in comparison with which all that I had ever known before was but the bubble which bursts when you seek to grasp it. All this he will do for you. He longs to do it; but first he must have your submission and trust: this is the unalterable condition.”

All that this merchant did was to recognize Christ and receive Christ. As soon as Jesus came into his soul, the wind ceased. The clouds broke away. And now he is going joyfully on his life-voyage with Jesus in the vessel. So may you, if you will cry, —

“Jesus! Lover of my soul,

Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the billows near me roll,

While the tempest still is high:
Hide me, oh! my Saviour, hide

Till the storm of life is past.
Safe into the haven guide.

Oh! receive my soul at last!”