Do you not feel, in looking back upon seasons of affliction, that they have been times when, notwithstanding the trials, you have had unusual peace and happiness in your heart? There is a sweet joy which comes to us through sorrow. The bitter wine of sorrow acts with a tonic influence upon the whole system. The sweet cup of prosperity often leaves a bitterness in the taste; but the bitter cup of affliction, when sanctified, always leaves a sweet flavor in the mouth. There is joy in sorrow. There is music in this harp with its strings all unstrung and broken. There are a few notes we hear from this mournful lute which we never get from the loud-sounding trumpet. We obtain a softness and melody from the wail of sorrow, which we never get from the song of joy. Must we not account for this by the fact, that in our troubles we live nearer to God? Our joy is like the wave as it dashes upon the shore—it throws us on the earth. But our sorrows are like that receding wave which sucks us back again into the great depth of Godhead. We should have been stranded and left high and dry upon the shore, if it had not been for that receding wave, that ebbing of our prosperity, which carried us back to our Father and to our God again. Blessed affliction! it has brought us to the mercy-seat; given life to prayer; enkindled love; strengthened faith; brought Christ into the furnace with us, and then brought us out of the furnace to live with Christ more joyously than before.
Little-faith.
One inconvenience of "little-faith" is, that while it is always sure of heaven, it very seldom thinks so. Little-faith is quite as secure for heaven as Great-faith. When Jesus Christ counts up His jewels at the last day, He will take to Himself the little pearls as well as the great ones. If a diamond be never so small, yet it is precious because it is a diamond. So faith, be it never so little, if it be true faith, is "like precious" with that which apostles obtained. Christ will never lose even the smallest jewel of His crown. Little-faith is always secure of heaven, because the name of Little-faith is in the book of eternal life. Little-faith was chosen of God before the foundation of the world. Little-faith was bought with the blood of Christ; ay, and he cost as much as Great-faith. "For every man a shekel," was the price of redemption. Every man, whether great or small, prince or peasant, had to redeem himself with a shekel. Christ has bought all, both little and great, with the same most precious blood. Little-faith is always secure of heaven, for God has begun the work in him, and He will carry it on. God loves him, and He will love him unto the end. God has provided a crown for him, and He will not allow the crown to hang there useless; He has erected for him a mansion in heaven, and He will not allow the mansion to stand untenanted forever. Little-faith is always safe, but he very seldom knows it. If you meet him he is sometimes afraid of hell; very often afraid that the wrath of God abideth on him. He will tell you that the country on the other side the flood can never belong to one so base as he. Sometimes it is because he feels himself so unworthy; another time it is because the things of God are too good to be true, he says; or he cannot think they can be true to such a one as he. Sometimes he is afraid he is not elect; another time he fears that he has not been called aright, or that he has not come to Christ aright; anon, his fears are that he will not hold on to the end, that he shall not be able to persevere; and if you kill a thousand of his fears, he is sure to have another host by to-morrow; for unbelief is one of those things which you cannot destroy; you may kill it over and over again, but still it lives. It is one of those ill weeds which sleep in the soil even after it has been burned, and it only needs a little encouragement, or a little negligence, and it will sprout up again. Now, Great-faith is sure of heaven, and he knows it. He climbs Pisgah's top, and views the landscape o'er; he tastes of the sweetness of paradise even before he enters within the pearly gates; he sees the streets which are paved with gold; he beholds the walls of the city, the foundations whereof are of precious stones; he hears the mystic music of the glorified, and begins to smell on earth the perfumes of heaven. But poor Little-faith can scarcely look at the sun; he very seldom sees the light; he gropes in the valley, and while all is safe, he always thinks himself unsafe.
"To be with Christ."
"To be with Christ." Who can comprehend this but the Christian? It is a heaven which worldlings care not for. They know not what a mass of glory is crowded into that one sentence: "To be with Christ." But to the believer the words are a concentration of bliss. Take only one of the many precious thoughts the words suggest—the sight of Christ. "Thine eye shall see the King in His beauty." We have heard of Him, and can say, "Whom having not seen we love." But then we "shall see Him." Yes, we shall actually gaze upon the exalted Redeemer. Realize the thought. Is there not a heaven within it? Thou shalt see the hands which were nailed to the cross for thee; thou shalt see the thorn-crowned head, and with all the blood-washed throng, shalt thou bow with lowly reverence before Him, who bowed in lowly abasement for thee. Faith is precious, but what must sight be? To view Jesus as the Lamb of God through the glass of faith, makes the soul rejoice with joy unspeakable; but oh! to see Him face to face, to look into those eyes, to hear that voice—rapture begins at the very mention of it! If even to think of it is so sweet, what must the vision be when we shall talk with Him, "even as a man talketh with his friend"—for the vision of Christ implies communion. All that which the spouse desired in Solomon's Song, we shall have, and ten thousand times more. Then will the prayer be fulfilled, "Let Him kiss me with the kisses of His mouth: for Thy love is better than wine." Then we shall be able to say, "His left hand is under my head, and His right hand doth embrace me." Then shall we experience the promise, "They shall walk with me in white, for they are worthy." And then we will pour out the song of gratitude, a song such as we have never sung on earth, tuneful, dulcet, pure, full of serenity and joy, no discord to mar its melody; a song rapt and seraphic. Happy day, when vision and communion shall be ours in fulness—when we shall know even as we are known!