The Goal of Adversity

“He took her by the hand and lifted her up, and immediately the fever left her; and she ministered unto them.” — Mark i. 31.

Mark had a very active mind — the most active mind of all the four evangelists. He delights to record not words but deeds. I do not think that any of the others, after telling of this woman’s cure, would have immediately added, “and she ministered unto them.” The sequel is not what we should expect. When an invalid awakes from the prostration of fever we expect to hear that others minister to her — do what they can to repair the ravages of disease. The first thing Matthew records about the convalescent daughter of Jairus is the command of Jesus that “something should be given her to eat.” No doubt the time came when she also ministered to the household; but Matthew does not pass on to that; he drops the curtain at the couch of the invalid. Is Mark, then, less sympathetic? Is it want of sentiment that makes him haste to tell us how soon this woman was up and at her work again? No; I think it is the opposite feeling. Mark feels that the great use of a temporary personal burden is the power it gives for human ministration. This is a side of the subject which we do not often look at. We seldom view our invalid moments as preparations for increased activity. But Mark does so view them; to him this is their glory. The woman raised from the bed of fever is not merely restored; she is magnified. She is in a better state than if she had never been ill.; The illness has been an enrichment. I think her new ministrant attitude must have been to her friends as great a surprise, as great a miracle, as her cure. They saw her, very likely, as they had never seen her before — lending a helpful hand with a cheerful spirit. But to us of later years this will be no surprise. We have learned something — the very lesson which Mark meant to teach us — that pain is the ivory gate and golden which leads into the heart of our brother.

My soul, it was by the gate of the temple called Beautiful that the lame man was laid; in the moments of thine impotence, remember that. Remember that thine experience of the cross is itself the gate into the temple of sympathy. I do not say it is thine only gate into Heaven; Heaven

has many temples — many mansions. Thou shalt know by the training here what shall be thy temple yonder. Perhaps thine is here an inquiring mind; there are yonder those who “inquire in His temple.” Perhaps thine is here the gift of eloquence; there are yonder those who “in His temple speak of His glory.” Perhaps thou hast here the spirit of an artist; there are yonder those whose temple is a place in which ‘* to behold the beauty of the Lord.” But it may be that here thy lot is simply to lie low — to be prostrated on a bed of pain. That battered gate is the most beautiful of all. It is thy training for the night service. It is thy school for learning the art of mercy. The barrier that chains thee is a rudimentary wing; one day thou shalt fly with it. One day it will bear thee on errands of love. One day it will carry thee to the spirits in prison that thou mayst lead them to fountains of living water. One day thou shalt open more doors than the angels, because the a hast been where they have not — in the valley of tribulation. In the hour thou callest death Christ shall take thee by the hand, and on the wings of thine earthly infirmity thou shalt arise and minister.