NOT FORSAKEN
"When the evening was come, he was there alone. But the
ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves—for the wind was
contrary."—Matthew 14:23-24
The narrative of which these words form a part, has often
been a source of great comfort to the tried and suffering believer. Every
little incident is of priceless value, as it brings more and more fully home
to the heart the tender sympathy of Jesus—His sleepless care—His ready
help—His almighty power. We are told that, at the close of a busy and
anxious day, when our Lord had miraculously fed five thousand people with
five loaves and two fish—when the people, astonished at His power, had
resolved to make Him their king—He "constrained His disciples to get into a
ship, and to go before Him unto the other side" of the sea of Galilee, while
He Himself retired to a mountain to pray. Suddenly a violent tempest arose.
The terrified disciples plied their oars, but in vain. Their little bark was
"in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves," the plaything of the storm,
and "the wind was contrary." Darkness gathered round them, and, worse than
all, they were alone; for "Jesus had not come unto them."
Fit representation of the believer still! How often has
he to encounter, and that, too, at his Master's bidding, the stormy gales of
trouble? The ocean of life, how suddenly is it lashed into fury, and,
despite all our efforts, our feeble bark is driven to and fro! It has been
thus with Christ's disciples in every age. He has promised to deliver them
out of the storm, but not to secure them from encountering it. "The
same afflictions have been accomplished in the brotherhood" of faith since
time began. The saints in glory all toiled, amid similar billows, in
life's stormy sea. Though never shipwrecked, they were all
tempest-tossed. Think of their bitter disappointments, their grievous
losses, their perplexing cares, their fearful sufferings, their painful
trials, their cruel mockings and scourgings, their buffetings and
imprisonments and deaths, as they are recorded for our instruction in the
Book of God! The Elder Brother Himself did not escape. He was made like unto
His brethren, in all points tempted like as we are. What a dread night—what
a fearful tempest was that in which He was constrained in the bitterness of
His anguished soul to cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
While the trembling disciples were battling with the
waves on the lonely sea, the Savior was alone with His Father, pleading for
them on the mount. He had not forgotten them. His all-seeing eye followed
them in the gloom of night, and amid the furious waves. And even so He
pleads for you, tempest-tossed believer. Do not think that, because the
storm continues boisterous, He intercedes in vain. The Father hears Him
always. Your not sinking proves that His advocacy prevails. He prays not
that your day may never be stormy, but, in answer to His intercession, you
may be confident that "as your day so shall your strength be." His eye of
love rests upon you. There cannot be a night so dark in which He cannot
trace your course. As on that lonely mountain-height He "saw the disciples
toiling in rowing," so in the heights of glory He sees you also,
storm-driven Christian. Every secret anxiety, every heart-buried grief, is
watched from His throne on high. He knows all your difficulties, sorrows,
and temptations. You shall not perish by any oversight of His. When He sees
that the fitting season has arrived, He will appear for your deliverance.
He foresaw the toil and danger of His disciples on
the Sea of Galilee. He purposely sent them away that they might be tossed.
He who could have prevented their sufferings by His power, permitted them in
His wisdom, that He might glorify His mercy in their deliverance, and
confirm their faith by the outcome of their distresses. Even so, Christian,
He permits your sorrows. Every night of pain and sickness, every wave
of trouble that rolls over you, comes at His command. He knows that they are
necessary, and He has told you to expect them. "In the world you shall have
tribulation." The experience of believers of all ages testifies that,
"The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown."
They may continue long, and appear overwhelmingly great.
How did all things seem to conspire against the fearful disciples! The night
was sullen and dark—their Master was absent, the sea was boisterous—the
winds were high and contrary. Had their Master been with them, however
wildly the elements might rage, they would have felt secure; had their
Master been absent, still if the sea had been quiet or the wind favorable,
the passage might have been endured; now, both season, and sea, and wind,
and their Master's desertion combined to render them miserable. And thus
sometimes the providence of God appoints that no glimpse of comfort shall
appear to gladden the trembling heart—troubles surround us on every side—we
are beaten back by opposing doubts and fears—and eagerly as we look out
through the dark gloom, no ray of comfort darts across it—all is thick,
impenetrable darkness. Oh, how often do our hearts fail within us, and we
begin to cry, "Lord, why have You forsaken me? why do these storms beat upon
me? Why do You not hearken to my cry and come to my help?"
"Hearken to your cry," O child of God! He has heard it
already. Yes, amid the songs of angels and the anthems of adoring hosts,
your feeble voice has reached the courts of heaven. He who loves you with
more than a brother's love is even now watching you—noting your
sorrows, caring for your griefs, sympathizing in all your pains and
sufferings.
He will assuredly "come to your help." He delays
for the wisest and best reasons. His present intercession has gained much
for you. It has enabled you to struggle on until now, it has given
you strength to resist despair—it has kept you praying, wrestling,
entreating—and soon it will accomplish more, far more. Take it as the pledge
that Jesus loves you, when, though the storm has continued to rage, and the
calm has been delayed, the waves have not been allowed to overwhelm you. His
time is the best time. Yet a little while and the hour of deliverance will
arrive. Yet a little while, and you will have rest, and peace, and quiet.
You will find that it was good for you to have been afflicted—that your
faith was strengthened by trial—that your progress heavenward, instead of
being retarded, was hastened by the storm—that the winds you dreaded were
wafting you onward in your voyage, and that the waves which seemed to
threaten you with death, were bearing you to the haven of eternal calm.
Oh, then, whatever be your present state, whatever the
cares, and troubles, and griefs which burden your spirit, whatever the
darkness which has been permitted to enwrap you, strive ever to feel that He
who has for a season seemed to leave you all alone on a stormy sea—He who
has spoken to the tempest, and allowed the waves to rear their foaming
crests, is even now pleading for you on the mount—even now watching you,
until the hour arrive when He shall say, "Peace, be still;" and drawing near
to you, shall whisper these consoling words, "It is I; be not afraid."
Be this your earnest prayer to Jesus—
"Amid the roaring of the sea,
My soul still hangs her hopes on Thee;
Your constant love, Your faithful care,
Is all that saves me from despair.
"Though tempest-tossed, and half a wreck,
My Savior through the floods I seek;
Let neither winds nor stormy main
Force back my shattered bark again."
Heavenly Father, give me grace to trust in You at all
times. You know what is best for Your sinful creatures, and Your wisdom
designs good to them by affliction. Teach me to acknowledge the mercy of
Your dispensations, and the advantages of a bed of sickness. Make me to
rejoice in the means which You have employed for strengthening my faith,
increasing my love of prayer, and bringing me to a sense of my own utter
helplessness. Oh, grant that in the midst of my distress I may be able to
feel assured that my Savior is interceding for me, and that in His own good
time He will appear for my help and deliverance. Allow me not to give way to
fear and despondency, or to fall into despair. Give me patience under my
sufferings, and a hearty resignation to Your will. Mercifully hear me, O my
Father, and give me that peace which You have promised to those whose hearts
are set on You; for the sake of our Lord Jesus Christ, who was once a man of
sorrows, and is still touched with a feeling of our infirmities; to whom, as
our merciful High Priest, be glory forever. Amen.