“This explanation brings us, however, only to the vestibule of the great mystery of suffering in the work of recovering man from the Fall. The Captain of our salvation, who put himself in man’s place and took upon himself all human conditions, was made perfect through suffering. The full preparation for his work as the Saviour of man called for a discipline of pain. I shall not attempt to explain this experience of Christ, but salvation brings the believer into a state of profoundest and most mysterious union with Christ. The believer must walk in the footsteps of Jesus. As Christ first came into a condition of sympathy with man, so must man come into a condition of sympathy with him. The believer must share and repeat, in a feebler way, of course, the experiences of the Lord Jesus. He must fill up that which is behind of the sufferings of his Saviour. By this union with Christ in the discipline of pain the Christian is prepared for a union of blessedness. ‘If we suffer, we shall also reign with him.’ How broad and deep this union of the believer with Christ may be, I cannot tell. I am not able to measure this idea. It seems to me like one of God’s infinite thoughts, revealed in its dimness to overawe the souls of men by its shadowy sublimity—seen only enough to suggest how much vaster is that which remains unseen—an iceberg, one part standing out and nine parts sunk in the unfathomed sea. It is a thought to be felt and experienced rather than weighed and measured by human logic. This is all that I have to say upon this subject. Do these views commend themselves to you, Mr. Hume?”
“I do not know,” was the reply; “I want to revolve the subject in my own mind. I have received some new ideas, but I judge that a man needs experience in this matter as well as thinking. If I had Deacon Smith’s experience of life, I could form a better opinion. As much as this I can see to be true—that provision for bodily pain is a safeguard to the happiness and life of men, and that a world which should anticipate every human want, leaving nothing to be struggled after and nothing to be endured, would have a disastrous influence upon human character. I will admit that the provision for pain is wise and good.”
“One other point,” continued Mr. Wilton, “we ought to notice before leaving this subject. The word of God says, ‘We know that all things work together for good to them which love God,’ but it says no such thing of those who do not love him. The afflictions of this life work out for the righteous ‘a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.’ The ministry of pain is a ministry of love only to those who submit to Christ. To those who kick at God’s mercies the best blessings turn to evils and curses; to the faithful in Christ the greatest griefs and calamities become choice blessings. A submissive heart and the agency of the Holy Spirit are needed to sanctify pain. It is a great mistake to think that all men are made better by afflictions. Only the few get good from the discipline of life. With many persons troubles only stir up the worst passions till they rage like caged tigers.”
“This last remark, Mr. Wilton, has thrown a flood of light upon this subject. But it seems strange to me to find myself saying this. I see how it is that so large a part of the pains of life is found in the end to accomplish no good. The evil remains evil. Do you think that my long trial of doubt and unrest and pain of heart can ever be blessed to my good?”
“That it can be so blessed to your good and to the good of many others I have no doubt; but whether it will be, I cannot tell. That depends upon yourself, upon your coming through Christ to God as your heavenly Father. It is my earnest prayer that from your unrest of spirit deep peace in Christ may break forth; and many others unite in the same.”
“I certainly hope,” said Mr. Hume, “that my life may not come to nothing. It seems as if something better than a few years of mingled pain and pleasure, overshadowed by most painful doubt and darkness and followed by a plunge into nothingness, must be possible for me.”
“God give you grace,” said Mr. Wilton, earnestly, “to forget the things which are behind, and reach out your hands toward the worthiest destiny! But remember that there is a destiny more terrible than to cease to be, there is a death deeper and darker than the grave.
‘There is a death whose pang
Outlasts the fleeting breath;
Oh, what eternal terrors hang
Around the second death!’”
Mr. Wilton did not think it best to attempt to draw out Mr. Hume farther at that time. He saw that he appeared to be under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and hoped that he would soon experience the new birth by which old things pass away and all things become new. He knew that time is an element even in the operations of the Spirit, and he feared to shake the bough too roughly lest the fruit should fall untimely only to wither in his hand. Happily, the superintendent’s bell brought the conversation at that point to a natural conclusion.