The Organ of Divine Knowledge
“Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him. But God hath revealed them unto us by His Spirit.” — i Cor. ii. 9, 10.
Everything is seen by its own glass; everything looks foolish when seen through any other glass. Music is meaningless when addressed only to the eye; painting has no message to the ear. The deep things of man can only be seen by their own faculty. So is it with the deep things of God. There are things in religion which are mysteries to every organ but one — the spirit of love. There are depths which love alone can fathom. I hear of Divine suffering; I look through the glass of reason and pronounce it a mystery. I say, Could an Infinite Being be limited by human trials! But the moment I learn what love is I see through another glass. I see that, the more infinite love is, the more limited must its possessor be. I see that if God be love He not only can, but must, suffer more than others. I see that if He were less infinite He would be less limited, less crush d The Organ of Divine Knowledge
by the sorrows around Him. It is the fulness of His love that makes Him so susceptible to pain — the pain of others; it is His majesty that crucifies Him; His cross is made from His crown.
O Thou whose name is Love, by Thine own spirit Thy mysteries are manifest to me. I understand Thy cross the moment I understand Thy glory. If Thy glory were the kingdom and the power, I should think Thy cross what the Romans thought it — foolishness. But Thy glory is love, and therefore Thy fetter is Thy wing. Thy burdens are the gems of Thy crown. I understand why it is that all the sorrow came to Thee, and not to me; it was because Thou wert so infinitely more loving. I understand why the penalty of sin fell on Thy bosom, not on mine. Mine had not love enough to bear that pain. It would have been a mystery if it had fallen on aught but Thee. It was the Divine in Thee, not the human, that made Thee suffer. We speak of Thy humiliation. Thy humiliation was not Thy cross; it was that which hindered Thy cross. Thy cross exalted Thee; every nail was a badge of royalty, every thorn a wreath of majesty. Thy cross became Thee, O Christ; it was the fitting raiment of the king. It became Thee better than the crown I meant for Thee — the hosannas to the son of David. God forbid that I should see Thy glory in aught beside! It is all limpid-clear when seen through the glass of love.