"Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus."
"He continued all night in prayer to God."—Luke 6:12.
We speak of this Christian and that Christian
as "a man of prayer," Jesus was emphatically so. The Spirit was "poured upon
Him without measure," yet—He prayed! He was incarnate wisdom, "needing
not that any should teach Him." He was infinite in His power, and boundless in
His resources, yet—He prayed! How deeply sacred the prayerful memories
that hover around the solitudes of Olivet and the shores of Tiberias! He
seemed often to turn night into day to redeem moments for prayer, rather than
lose the blessed privilege.
We are rarely, indeed, admitted into the solemnities of His
inner life. The veil of night is generally between us and the Great High
Priest, when He entered "the holiest of all;" but we have enough to reveal the
depth of fervor, the tenderness and confidingness of this blissful
intercommunion with His heavenly Father. No morning dawns without His fetching
fresh manna from the mercy-seat. "He awakens morning by morning; he awakens my
ear to hear as the learned," (Isa. 50:4). Beautiful description!—a praying
Redeemer, wakening, as if at early dawn, the ear of His Father, to get fresh
supplies for the duties and the trials of the day! All his public acts were
consecrated by prayer—His baptism, His transfiguration, His miracles, His
agony, His death. He breathed away His spirit in prayer. "His last breath,"
says Philip Henry, "was praying breath."
How sweet to think, in holding communion with God—Jesus
drank of this very brook! He consecrated the bended knee and the silent
chamber. He refreshed His fainting spirit at the same great Fountain-head from
which it is life for us to draw, and death to forsake.
Reader! do you complain of your languid spirit, your
drooping faith, your fitful affections, your lukewarm love? May you not trace
much of what you deplore to an unfrequented chamber? The treasures are locked
up from you, because you have allowed the key to rust; the hands hang down,
because they have ceased to be uplifted in prayer. Without prayer!—It is the
pilgrim without a staff—the seaman without a compass—the soldier going unarmed
and unharnessed to battle.
Beware of encouraging what indisposes to prayer—going to
the audience-chamber with soiled garments, the din of the world following you,
its distracting thoughts hovering unforbidden over your spirit. Can you wonder
that the living water refuses to flow through obstructed channels, or the
heavenly light to pierce murky vapors?
On earth, fellowship with a lofty order of minds, imparts a
certain nobility to the character; so, in a far higher sense, by communion
with God you will be transformed into His image, and get assimilated to His
likeness. Make every event in life a reason for fresh going to Him. If
difficulted in duty, bring it to the test of prayer. If bowed down with
anticipated trial, "fearing to enter the cloud,"—remember Christ's
preparation, "Sit here while I go and pray yonder."
Let prayer consecrate everything—your time, talents,
pursuits, engagements, joys, sorrows, crosses, losses. By it, rough paths will
be made smooth, trials disarmed of their bitterness, enjoyments hallowed and
refined, the bread of the world turned into angels' food. "It is in the
closet," says Payson, "the battle is lost or won!"
"Arm yourselves likewise with the same mind."