THE CRY OF DISTRESS
"In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried to my
God—and he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry entered into his
ears."—2 Samuel 22:7
It is related of King Asa, that an alarming and painful
disease came upon him—he was afflicted with a grievous bodily calamity; and
his illness continued to increase, "until his disease was exceeding great."
Yet, although on a former occasion he had gathered "all Judah and Benjamin,
and the strangers with them, out of Ephraim and Manasseh, and out of
Simeon,"—and had "entered into a solemn covenant with them to seek the Lord
God of their fathers with all their heart, and with all their soul," we are
told that, when sickness came upon him, he forgot his promise; and this is
the melancholy declaration of Scripture, "In his disease he sought not to
the Lord, but to the physicians."
What a sad contrast between this sinful forgetfulness—and
the heartfelt urgency of the royal psalmist! What wonder that the next thing
recorded of the one is his death, and by the other, that the "Lord heard his
voice, and his cry entered into His ears." Asa's cry of distress, being made
only to man, brought no relief—the psalmist's prayer to the Most High, was
heard and answered.
Which of these examples have we followed? When pain and
suffering have laid hold upon us, to whom, in our extremity, have we
made our appeal? Has it been to feeble, impotent man, whose every effort is
powerless without God's blessing? or has it been to Him who, in His holy
temple, hearkens to the cry of the humblest, the weakest, of His children?
Alas! have we not to acknowledge that many a time in our
distress we have looked for help only to man? We have made our appeal
to them, believing that they could deliver us, and we have wondered that the
sickness was not removed—the disease not cured.
Asa's sin was, not his having applied to the physicians,
but his having neglected, first of all, "to seek the Lord." We have been
guilty, not in having had recourse to means, but in trusting solely to their
efficacy.
Whatever be our danger or disease, we can only hope for
deliverance by immediately "calling upon the Lord, and crying to our God."
For is not this the end He has in view? He does not visit us with sore
calamity only to scare and frighten us away from Him, but that our danger
may drive us to Him. He permits terror to lay hold upon us that we may take
refuge in His arms. He allows our faith to fail that we may cling more
confidingly to His almighty arm. He delays the removal of disease that we
may become more importunate in prayer—that we may become more patient,
resigned, and submissive to His will. When these ends are accomplished, He
speaks the word, He dispels our fears, He grants our desires, He answers our
prayers.
"A little while, through grief and care,
Your servants, Lord, their cross must bear—
Still let this thought our hearts beguile—
It is but for a little while."
"The cry of distress." Oh! who but a doubting, faithless
one would ever imagine that the God of love would be indifferent when it
came "into His ears?" He, our Father, our covenant-God—He "who has not
spared His own Son, but delivered Him up to the death for us," shall He
refuse to hear our cry when danger or calamity threatens to overwhelm us?
Away with such doubts! "The Father himself loves you, because you have loved
me," was the assurance of the Savior to His disciples; and still the same
words are true regarding all who love the Lord Jesus Christ. It is in love
that He lays His hand upon us, in love that He seems to deny our prayers, in
love that He delays to send "help out of Zion." The Father of mercies is
evermore compassionately intent upon the sufferings of His dear children,
according to the depth and poignancy of their afflictions.
Our "cry of distress" He has indeed heard, but He delays
to answer it that we may learn to persevere in asking—that the passionate
fervency of unchastened prayer may be deepened into the strong breath of
humble supplication—that patience may have her perfect work—that we may
still "wait upon the Lord, who hides His face,"—that we may grow to trust
His love, to know what He is to us, yes, what He is to all who wait upon
Him. Oh! it is not that His ear is heavy, it is not that the tenderness of
His sympathy is blunted—it is a part of His plan of faithfulness and wisdom.
He is training His children—training them for the greatest dignity and the
highest happiness.
And He best knows how to do it. We might rather
choose comfort, health, an immediate answer to all our prayers; but we must
be taught that holiness is of more importance than comfort,
fellowship with God more precious than health, and that "through much
tribulation we must enter the kingdom." We must be brought to an entire and
willing surrender of the soul to Him, that, in His own way, and by His own
methods, He may cleanse it, may strengthen it, may renew it, may dwell in
it, make it His eternally.
Suffering child of God! does your heart fail you? have
you raised "the cry of distress," and received no answer, and are you
beginning to doubt the love, the faithfulness of God? Oh, trust in Him
still! He has heard you—your cry did enter into His ears. Cast
yourself in the full assurance of faith upon Him, and all shall be well. It
is He himself who has stirred up your soul in the hour of extremity to call
upon Him; and He has stirred you up to call because He means to grant your
desire, and this is His way of granting it. He has let this danger threaten
you that you may draw nearer to Him—that you may open to Him your grief,
your anxiety, your difficulties—that you may show Him your need—that you may
plead with Him by His covenant of tears—and, flying from all others, and
even from yourself—hide in His bosom.
Oh! you do not love yourself better than He loves you!
you can not shrink from pain more than He dislikes your bearing it; and if
He permits it still to continue, it is that a greater good may result to you
in bearing it—that your heart may receive and retain deeper and sharper
impressions of the likeness of your Lord. Oh, then, count the season of
suffering a precious, blessed season, though it be dim and overcast—a season
of promise and springing freshness—a token of His nearness, and of His
purpose to cleanse you for His own—"Blessed are you who weep now."
He who is greatly tried, if he be learning obedience
after the example of his Lord, is not far from the kingdom of God. Our
heavenly Father is perfecting His own work, tracing the divine lineaments
with His wise and gentle hand. He who perfected His own Son through
sufferings, has brought many sons to glory by the same rough road, even by
"the way of the wilderness and of the flood." He is bringing you home to
Himself. Do not, then, shrink because the path is broken and
solitary—because at times the cry of distress, "Lord, help me," is not
answered by a word—for the way is short, and the end blessed, and your every
footstep is marked by an eye of love—your every supplication "enters into
the ears" of the Lord God Almighty. He knows your every prayer for guidance,
deliverance, and help—your every effort to bear patiently and contentedly
what He has laid upon you, and to profit by the visitation—to hear the rod,
and Him who appointed it—to yield yourself always meekly, as the redeemed of
Christ, to the hand of God, as of a loving Father. All these things, which
man can never know, are known and valued by Him.
Still hope, still struggle on, still feel assured that
you are not under a harsh rod of vindictive infliction, but under the
watchful care of a "Father in heaven," who mingles for you joy and sorrow,
as He sees best for you, and who will "neither fail you nor forsake you."
O merciful God, who sees all our weakness, and the
troubles we labor under, have regard unto the prayer of Your servant, who
now implores Your comfort, Your direction, and Your help. Grant me grace
neither to grieve nor repine under this, Your chastisement. May I be enabled
to regard my troubles as an exercise of my faith, and patience, and
humility—and may I improve all my afflictions to the good of my soul and to
Your glory. You alone know what is best for us. Let me never dispute Your
goodness or wisdom, but ever trust Your heart, even when I cannot trace Your
hand. Oh, help me, good Lord, that I may cheerfully suffer and obediently do
Your will, and choose what You chose, and observe the ways of Your
providence, and revere Your judgments, and wait for Your mercy, and delight
in Your dispensations, and expect that all things shall work together for
good to those who love You. Grant this, O Father, through Jesus Christ our
blessed Savior. Amen.
"O Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me. Isaiah
38:14