II. The effect of sorrow upon the human spirit. It “breaks” it. When a vessel’s timbers are shivered by the fury of the storm she may not go to pieces altogether. But she is no longer able to hold her own against the elements, which she could once use as forces to convey her from land to land. If she were now to put to sea, instead of riding over the waves and making them her servants, she would be a passive thing in their hands, a mere helpless bundle of timbers to be tossed whithersoever they pleased, instead of “walking the waters like a thing of life.” So it is with the human spirit when the cross seas and angry winds of adverse circumstances have quenched the hope and paralysed the energy that once governed and inspired the man. He is no longer able to face the storms of life, and outride them, or even make them advance his interests. He is passive amid the changes and chances of mortal life, and they drift him on wheresoever they will. But this can never be the case unless a man has lost faith in the character of God and his own high and immortal destiny. Then, indeed, the elements which he was built to rule will rule him, and he will fail to fulfil the end for which God launched him on the sea of life.
outlines and suggestive comments.
I have always preferred cheerfulness to mirth. The latter I consider as an act, the former as a habit, of the mind.—Addison.
The “sorrow of heart” here spoken of, we may consider as that which arises from an evil conscience, from envy, discontent, and other similar sources.—Wardlaw.
A “merry” or “glad” heart is one of the attributes of piety. It (literally) “does good to the countenance,” improves it, as we say in our idiom, “Come with us, and we will do thee good” (Numb. x. 29).—Miller.
This word merriment is of frequent use among our old writers. It is Foxe’s favourite description of the holy joy of the martyrs.—Bridges.
It sits smiling in the face, and looks merrily out of the windows of the eyes. But this is not till faith has healed the conscience, and till grace has hushed the affections, and composed all within. Stephen looked like an angel when he stood before the council (Acts vi. 15); and the apostles went away rejoicing (Acts v. 41). There are that rejoice in the face only, and not in the heart (2 Cor. v. 12); this is but hypocrisy of mirth, and we may be sure that many a man’s heart bleeds within him when his face counterfeits a smile. It is for an Abraham only to laugh for joy of the promise, and for a David to “rejoice at the word as one that findeth great spoil” (Psalms cxix. 162), wherein the pleasure is usually as much as the profit. Christ’s chariot, wherein he carries people up and down in the world, and brings them at length to Himself, is “paved with love” (Cant. iii. 9, 10); He brings them also into His wine cellar (Cant. ii. 4), where He cheers up their hearts, and clears up their countenances, and this is Heaven beforehand. These are some few clusters of the grapes of the celestial Canaan. But as the looks are marred, so the spirits are dulled and disabled by sorrow, as a limb out of joint can do nothing without deformity or pain. Dejection takes off the wheels of the soul, hinders comfortable intercourse with God, and that habitual cheerfulness, that Sabbath of the spirit, that every man should strive to enjoy. Afflictions, saith one, are the wind of the soul, passions the storm. The soul is well carried when neither so becalmed that it moves not when it should, nor yet tosses with tempests of wrath, grief, fear, etc., to move disorderly. Of these we must be careful to crush the very first insurrections; storms rise out of little gusts, but the top of those mountains above the middle region are so quiet that ashes, lightest things, are not moved out of place.—Trapp.
Mirth and cheerfulness make a man not only fitter for the occasions of this world, but even for spiritual affairs also. Wherefore Elisha calleth for a minstrel that, being angry with the king of Israel, by the melody of the music a more soft and sweet disposition might possess him. . . . “Joy,” saith Aquinas, “is, as it were, a juice spreading itself over the whole man, dispersing the comfort of itself to all the faculties of the soul, and all parts of the body.” But, now, what is it that maketh a merry heart? Surely not the things of this world. They only do beset the heart with a dream of mirth, they do only make the heart drunken with some flushings of joy. A merry heart indeed is that which the assurance of God’s favour rejoiceth, and that will make the countenance cheerful in any trouble, even in death itself. It is true also that by sorrow of heart the spirit is broken, the heart and the spirit being but one string of life. But what is it by which the heart should be made sorrowful? Surely not the things of this life, seeing the life of the heart is so far above them. For it is a shameful folly to hurt a better thing for that which is far worse. No; nothing should make the heart sorrowful but repentance for sin, and as that casteth down the spirit, so will it raise it up again. Wherefore Augustine saith, “Let the penitent always be grieved, and let him rejoice for his grief.” Nothing should make the heart sad but the fear of God’s displeasure, and if that break the spirit, it will heal it again with endless consolation.—Jermin.
The principal thought of verse 14 is a repetition in a slightly varied form of a truth that has been considered before. (See on chap. [xii. 1], [xiii. 18], etc.)
outlines and suggestive comments.