The Christian slave feels exalted even while on earth, for he is well persuaded “that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor power, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God.” Rom. viii. 38.
If for a few days the afflicted Christian and slave “wander in the wilderness in a solitary way;” if “hungry and thirsty, their souls faint in them,” he is yet “hastening to a city of habitations.” Ps. cvii. 4, 5, 7.
If even the sun of his earthly hopes be set, yet he is hastening to a country where “thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself; for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.” Isa. lx. 20.
With such views the heart is elevated above the pains and miseries of this transitory world to the contemplation of hope celestial.
The mere philosopher, who views the mutilated structure of the moral world, sees no renovating principle to reorganize its scattered fragments. He mourns with unavailing sorrow over the ruins of his race, and chills with horror at the prospect of his own decay. But the Christian sees a fairer earth and a more radiant heaven. And should the poor slave, forgetful of this high destiny of his Christian character, and of his ultimate home, feeling, like Hagar, the slave of Sarah, the hand of his mistress dealing hardly by him, and, like her, attempt a remedy by flight; like her, he will hear the voice of God, saying, “Return to thy mistress, and submit thyself under her hand.” Gen. xvi. 9.
Like her, in humble submission, he obeys the command, and prays, “O Lord, correct me,” for “I know that the way of man is not in himself it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.” Jer. x. 23.
In the miseries and vanities with which he is surrounded, the Christian only sees proofs of a fallen, not of a hopeless state. He, like old Æneas, is seeking and looking for a home in a foreign land, and, like him, constantly requires the interposition of some friendly providence to warn him that he is still distant from the destined shores.
Mutandæ sedes; non hæc tibi littora suasit,
Delius, aut Cretæ jussit considere Apollo.—2d Ænead.
Like the Israelites, he has pitched his tent in a wilderness of sin, and feels grateful for those afflictions that reiterate the admonition: “Arise and depart, for this is not your rest.” Micah ii. 10.