{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13267/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13267","id":"gutenberg_13267","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13267","summary":null,"tags":["Bible. Psalms -- Meditations","Category: Religion/Spirituality"],"text":"THE THRESHOLD GRACE\n\n_MEDITATIONS IN THE PSALMS_\n\nBY\n\nPERCY C. AINSWORTH\n\nAUTHOR OF 'THE PILGRIM CHURCH.' 'THE BLESSED LIFE,' ETC.\n\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTE\n\n\nDuring his brief ministry Mr. Ainsworth published a series of meditations\nin the columns of the _Methodist Times_, which are here reprinted by the\nkind permission of the Editor, Dr. Scott Lidgett. The rare interest aroused\nby the previous publication of Mr. Ainsworth's sermons encourages the hope\nthat the present volume may find a place in the devotional literature to\nwhich many turn in the quiet hour.\n\nA.K.S.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n   I. THE THRESHOLD GRACE\n  II. THE HABIT OF FAITH\n III. THE ONE THING DESIRABLE\n  IV. EYES AND FEET\n   V. THE SAFEGUARDED SOUL\n  VI. A PLEA FOR TEARS\n VII. DELIVERANCE WITH HONOUR\nVIII. PETITION AND COMMUNION\n  IX. HAUNTED HOURS\n   X. THE WINGS OF THE DOVE\n  XI. A NEW SONG\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE THRESHOLD GRACE\n\n\n  The Lord shall keep thy going out and thy coming\n  in, from this time forth and for evermore.\n\n  Ps. cxxi, 8.\n\nGoing out and coming in. That is a picture of life. Beneath this old Hebrew\nphrase there lurks a symbolism that covers our whole experience. But let us\njust now look at the most literal, and by no means the least true,\ninterpretation of these words. One of the great dividing-lines in human\nlife is the threshold-line. On one side of this line a man has his 'world\nwithin the world,' the sanctuary of love, the sheltered place of peace, the\nscene of life's most personal, sacred, and exclusive obligations. And on\nthe other side lies the larger life of mankind wherein also a man must take\nhis place and do his work. Life is spent in crossing this threshold-line,\ngoing out to the many and coming in to the few, going out to answer the\ncall of labour and coming in to take the right to rest. And over us all\nevery hour there watches the Almighty Love. The division-lines in the life\nof man have nothing that corresponds to them in the love of God. We may be\nhere or there, but He is everywhere.\n\n_The Lord shall keep thy going out._ Life has always needed that promise.\nThere is a pledge of help for men as they fare forth to the world's work.\nIt was much for the folk of an early time to say that as they went forth\nthe Lord went with them, but it is more for men to say and know that same\nthing to-day. The _going out_ has come to mean more age after age,\ngeneration after generation. It was a simpler thing once than it is now.\n'Thy going out'--the shepherd to his flocks, the farmer to his field, the\nmerchant to his merchandise. There are still flocks and fields and markets,\nbut where are the leisure, grace, and simplicity of life for him who has\nany share in the world's work? Men go out to-day to face a life shadowed by\nvast industrial, commercial, and social problems. Life has grown\ncomplicated, involved, hard to understand, difficult to deal with. Tension,\nconflict, subtlety, surprise, and amid it all, or over it all, a vast\nbrooding weariness that ever and again turns the heart sick. Oh the pains\nand the perils of the going out! There are elements of danger in modern\nlife that threaten all the world's toilers, whatever their work may be and\nwherever they may have to do it. There is the danger that always lurks in\n_things_--a warped judgement, a confused reckoning, a narrowed outlook. It\nis so easily possible for a man to be at close grips with the world and yet\nto be ever more and more out of touch with its realities. The danger in the\nplaces where men toil is not that God is denied with a vociferous atheism;\nit is that He is ignored by an unvoiced indifference. It is not the babel\nof the market-place that men need to fear; it is its silence. If we say\nthat we live only as we love, that we are strong only as we are pure, that\nwe are successful only as we become just and good, the world into which we\ngo forth does not deny these things--but it ignores them. And thus the real\nbattle of life is not the toil for bread. It is fought by all who would\nkeep alive and fresh in their hearts the truth that man doth not live by\nbread alone. For no man is this going out easy, for some it is at times\nterrible, for all it means a need that only this promise avails to\nmeet--'The Lord shall keep thy going out.' He shall fence thee about with\nthe ministry of His Spirit, and give thee grace to know, everywhere and\nalways, that thou art in this world to live for His kingdom of love and\ntruth and to grow a soul.\n\n_The Lord, shall keep ... thy coming in._ It might seem to some that once a\nman was safely across the threshold of his home he might stand in less need\nof this promise of help. But experience says otherwise. The world has\nlittle respect for any man's threshold. It is capable of many a bold and\nshameless intrusion. The things that harass a man as he earns his tread\nsometimes haunt him as he eats it. No home is safe unless faith be the\ndoorkeeper. 'In peace will I both lay me down and sleep, for Thou, Lord,\nalone makest me to dwell in safety.' The singer of that song knew that, as\nin the moil of the world, so also in the shelter of the place he named his\ndwelling-place, peace and safety were not of his making, but of God's\ngiving.\n\nSometimes there is a problem and a pain waiting for a man across his own\nthreshold. Many a man can more easily look upon the difficulties and perils\nof the outer world than he can come in and look into the pain-lined face of\nhis little child. If we cannot face alone the hostilities on one side of\nour threshold we cannot face alone the intimacies on the other side of it.\nAfter all, life is whole and continuous. Whatever the changes in the\nsetting of life, there is no respite from living. And that means there is\nno leisure from duty, no rest from the service of obedience, no cessation\nin the working of all those forces by means of which, or in spite of which,\nlife is ever being fashioned and fulfilled.\n\nAnd now let us free our minds from the literalism of this promise and get a\nglimpse of its deeper application to our lives. The threshold of the home\ndoes not draw the truest division-line in life between the outward and the\ninward. Life is made up of thought and action, of the manifest things and\nthe hidden things.\n\n'Thy going out.' That is, our life as it is manifest to others, as it has\npoints of contact with the world about us. We must go out. We must take up\nsome attitude toward all other life. We must add our word to the long human\nstory and our touch to the fashioning of the world. We need the pledge of\ndivine help in that life of ours in which, for their good or ill, others\nmust have a place and a part. 'And thy coming in'--into that uninvaded\nsanctum of thought. Did we say uninvaded? Not so. In that inner room of\nlife there sits Regret with her pale face, and Shame with dust on her\nforehead, and Memory with tears in her eyes. It is a pitiable thing at\ntimes, is this our coming in. More than one man has consumed his life in a\nflame of activity because he could not abide the coming in. 'The Lord shall\nkeep ... thy coming in.' That means help for every lonely, impotent, inward\nhour of life.\n\nLook at the last word of this promise--'for evermore.' Going out and coming\nin for evermore. I do not know how these words were interpreted when very\nliteral meanings were attached to the parabolic words about the streets of\ngold and the endless song. But they present no difficulty to us. Indeed,\nthey confirm that view of the future which is ever taking firmer hold of\nmen's minds, and which is based on the growing sense of the continuity of\nlife. To offer a man an eternity of music-laden rest is to offer him a poor\nthing. He would rather have his going out and his coming in. Yes, and he\nshall have them. All that is purest and best in them shall remain.\nHereafter he shall still go out to find deeper joys of living and wider\nvisions of life; still come in to greater and ever greater thoughts of God.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nTHE HABIT OF FAITH\n\n\n  Trust in Him at all times, ye people.\n  Pour out your heart before Him.\n  God is a refuge for us.\n\n  Ps. lxii. 8.\n\nHere the Psalmist strikes the great note of faith as it should be struck.\nHe sets it ringing alike through the hours and the years. _Trust in Him at\nall times._ Faith is not an act, but an attitude; not an event, but a\nprinciple; not a last resource, but the first and abiding necessity. It is\nthe constant factor in life's spiritual reckonings. It is the\never-applicable and the ever-necessary. It is always in the high and\nlasting fitness of things. There are words that belong to hours or even\nmoments, words that win their meaning from the newly created situation. But\nfaith is not such a word. It stands for something inclusive and imperial.\nIt is one of the few timeless words in earth's vocabulary. For the deep\nroots of it and the wide range of it there is nothing like unto it in the\nwhole sweep of things spiritual. So the 'all times' trust is not for one\nmoment to be regarded as some supreme degree of faith unto which one here\nand there may attain and which the rest can well afford to look upon as a\ncounsel of perfection. This exhortation to trust in God at all times\nconcerns first of all the _nature_ of faith and not the _measure_ of it.\nAll real faith has the note of the eternal in it. It can meet the present\nbecause it is not of the present. We have grown familiar with the phrase,\n'The man of the moment.' But who is this man? Sometimes he is very\nliterally a man of the moment--an opportunist, a gambler with the hours, a\nfollower of the main chance. The moment makes him, and passing away unmakes\nhim. But the true man of the moment is the man to whom the moment is but\none throb in the pulse of eternity. For him the moment does not stand out\nin splendid isolation. It is set in its place between that which hath been\nand that which shall be. And its true significance is not something abiding\nin it, but something running through it. So is it in this great matter of\nfaith. Only the faith that can trust at all times can trust at any time.\nThe moment that faith heeds the dictation of circumstance it ceases to be\nfaith and becomes calculation. All faith is transcendent. It is independent\nof the conditions in which it has to live. It is not snared in the strange\nweb of the tentative and the experimental. He that has for one moment felt\nthe power of faith has got beyond the dominion of time.\n\n_Trust in Him at all times._ That is the only real escape from confusion\nand contradiction in the judgements we are compelled to pass upon life.\nTimes change so suddenly and inexplicably. The hours seem to be at strife\nwith each other. We live in the midst of a perpetual conflict between our\nyesterdays and our to-days. There is no simple, obvious sequence in the\nmessage of experience. The days will not dovetail into each other. Life is\ncompact of much that is impossible of true adjustment at the hands of any\ntime-born philosophy. And in all this seeming confusion there lies the\nnecessity for faith. Herein it wins its victory. We are to trust God not\nbecause we cannot trace Him, but that by trusting Him we may ever be more\nable to trace Him and to see that He has a way through all these winding\nand crossing paths. Faith does more than hold a man's hand in the darkness;\nit leads him into the light. It is the secret of coherence and harmony. It\ndoes not make experience merely bearable, it makes it luminous and\ninstructive. It takes the separate or the tangled strands of human\nexperience and weaves them into one strong cable of help and hope.\n\n_Trust in Him at all times._ Then faith at its best is a habit. Indeed,\nreligion at its best is a habit, too! We are sometimes too ready to\ndiscount the worth of the habitual in our religious life. We put a premium\non self-consciousness. We reduce the life of faith to a series of acts of\nfaith of varying difficulty and import, but each detached from the rest and\nindividually apprehended of the soul. Surely this is all wrong. In our\nphysical life we are least conscious of those functions that are most vital\nand continuous, and the more perfectly they do their work the less we think\nabout them. The analogy is incomplete and must be drawn with care. But when\nyou have conceded that faith has to be acquired, that it has to be learned,\nthere is still this much in the analogy. If faith is a long and hard\nlesson, the value of the lesson to us is not the effort with which we learn\nit, but the ease with which we apply it. The measure of conscious effort in\nour faith is the measure of our faith's weakness. When faith has become a\nspontaneity of our character, when it turns to God instinctively, when it\ndoes its work with the involuntariness of habit, then it has become strong.\n\n_Pour out your heart before Him._ How this singer understood the office and\nprivilege of the 'all times' trust! He knew that there is a fullness of\nheart that is ill to bear. True, in more than one simple way the full heart\ncan find some slight relief. There is work. The full heart can go out and\ndo something. There is a brother's trouble in which a man may partly forget\nhis own. There is sympathy. Surely few are so lonely that they cannot find\nany one ready to offer the gift of the listening ear, any one willing to\nshare with them all of pain and burden that can be shared. Ah! but what of\nthat which cannot be shared? What of the sorrow that has no language, and\nthe shame and confusion that we would not, and even dare not, trail across\na friend's mind? So often the heart holds more than ever should be poured\nout into another's ear. There are in life strained silences that we could\nnot break if we would. And there is a law of reticence that true love and\nunselfishness will always respect. If my brother hath joy, am I to cloud it\nwith my grief? If he hath sorrow, am I to add my sorrow unto his? When our\nprecious earthly fellowship has been put to its last high uses in the hour\nof sorrow or shame, the heart has still a burden for which this world finds\nno relief. But there is another fellowship. There is God our Father. There\nis the ear of Heaven. We may be girt with silence among our fellows, but in\nlooking up the heart finds freedom. In His Presence the voice of confession\ncan break through the gag of shame, and the pent-up tide of trouble can let\nitself break upon the heart of Eternal Love.\n\n_God is a refuge for us._ That is the great discovery of faith. That is the\nmerciful word that comes to be written so plainly in the life that has\nformed the habit of faith. God our refuge. It may be that to some the word\n'refuge' suggests the occasional rather than the constant need of life. But\nthe refuge some day and the faith every day are linked together. A thing is\nno use to you if you cannot find it when you want it. And you cannot find\nit easily if it be not at hand. The peasant built his cottage under the\nshadow of his lord's castle walls. In the hour of peril it was but a step\nto the strong fortress. 'Trust in Him at all times.' Build your house under\nthe walls of the Eternal Help. Live in the Presence. Find the attitude of\nfaith, and the act of faith will be simple. Trust in Him through every\nhour, and when a tragic hour comes one step shall take you into the\ninnermost safety.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE ONE THING DESIRABLE\n\n\n  One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will\n  I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of\n  the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the\n  beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple.\n\n  Ps. xxvii. 4.\n\n_I have desired ... I will seek._ Amid the things that are seen, desire and\nquest are nearly always linked closely together. The man who desires money\nseeks after money. The desire of the world is often disappointed, but it is\nrarely supine. It is dynamic. It leads men. True, it leads them astray; but\nthat is a reflection on its wisdom and not on its effectiveness. Among what\nwe rightly call the lower things men do not play with their desires, they\nobey them. But amid the unseen realities of life it is often quite\notherwise. In the religious life desire is sometimes strangely ineffective.\nIt is static, if that be not a contradiction in terms. In many a life-story\nit stands written: One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I dream\nof, that will I hope for, that will I wait for. Many things help to explain\nthis attitude, and, explaining it, they condemn it also. We allow our\nsurroundings to pass judgement on our longings. We bring the eternal to the\nbar of the hour, and postpone the verdict. Or it may be in the worldliness\nof our hearts we admit the false plea of urgency and the false claim of\nauthority made by our outward life. And perhaps more commonly the soul\nlacks the courage of its desires. It costs little to follow a desire that\ngoes but a little way, and that on the level of familiar effort and within\nsight of familiar things. It is another thing to hear the call of the\nmountains and to feel the fascination of some far and glittering peak. That\nis a call to perilous and painful effort. And yet again, high desire\nsometimes leaves life where it found it because the heart attaches an\nintrinsic value to vision. It is something to have _seen_ the Alpine\nheights of possibility. Yes, it is something, but what is it? It is a\ngolden hour to the man who sets out to the climb; it is an hour of shame\nand judgement, hereafter to be manifest, to the man who clings to the\ncomforts of the valley.\n\n_One thing have I desired._ When a man speaks thus unto us, we have a right\nto ponder his words with care. We naturally become profoundly interested,\nexpectant, and, to the limit of our powers, critical. If a man has seen one\nthing that he can call simply and finally the desire of his heart, it ought\nto be worth looking at. We expect something large, lofty, inclusive. And we\nfind this: '_That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my\nlife, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple._' Let\nus examine this desire, And, first of all, we must free our minds from mere\nliteralism. If we do not, we shall find in this desire many things that are\nnot in it, and miss everything that is in it. This is not the longing for a\ncloistered life, the confession of one who is weary of this heavy world,\ndoubtful of its promises and afraid of its powers. 'The house of the Lord'\nis not a place, but a state, not an edifice, but an attitude. It is a fair\nand unseen dwelling-place builded by the hands of God to be the home, here\nand hereafter, of all the hearts that purely love and worship Him. We read\nof one who, a day's march from his father's house, lay down and slept; and\nin his sleep God spake to him, and lo, out in a wild and lonely place,\nJacob said, 'This is none other but the house of God.' For every one to\nwhom the voice of God has come, and who has listened to that voice and\nbelieved in its message, the mountains and valleys of this fair world, the\nbreath of every morning and the hush of every evening, are instinct with a\nPresence. Wordsworth dwelt in the house of the Lord all the days of his\nlife. And if the wonder and beauty of the earth lift up our hearts unto our\nGod in praise and worship, we dwell there also.\n\nYes, but this world is a world of men. In city or on hillside the great\npersistent fact for us, the real setting of our life, is not nature, but\nhumanity. Life is not a peaceful vision of earthly beauty. Our experience\nis not a dreamy pastoral. There are shamed and broken lives. The world is\nfull of greed and hate and warfare and sorrow. Nature at its best cannot by\nitself build for us a temple that humanity at its worst, or even at\nsomething less than its worst, cannot pull down about our ears. For the\nPsalmist, probably David himself, the temple was symbolic of all heavenly\nrealities. It stood for the holiness and the nearness and the mercy of God,\nand for the sacredness and the possibility of human life. In the light and\npower and perfect assurance of these things he desired to dwell all the\ndays of his life. For us there is the life and word of One greater than the\ntemple. Jesus of Nazareth dwelt in the house of the Lord. Between Him and\nGod the Father there was perfect union. And no one ever saw the worth of\nhuman life as Jesus saw it. And no one ever measured the sacred values of\nhumanity as He measured them. And now, in the perfect mercy of God, there\nis no man but may dwell in the house of God alway and feel life's\nsacredness amidst a thousand desecrations, and know its preciousness amidst\nall that seeks to obscure, defile, and cheapen it.\n\n_To behold the beauty of the Lord._ It is only in the house of the Lord,\nthe unseen fane of reverence, trust, and communion, that a man can learn\nwhat beauty is, and where to look for it. Out in the world beauty is held\nto be a sporadic thing. It is like a flower growing where no one expected a\nblossom. It is an unrelated and unexplained surprise. It is a green oasis\nin the desert of unlovely and unpromising things. But for the dweller in\nthe house of the Lord beauty is not on this wise. Said one such dweller,\n'The desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose.' He looked across the\nleagues of burning sand and saw the loveliness of Carmel by the sea, and of\nSharon where the lilies grow. To the artist beauty is an incident, to the\nsaint beauty is a law of life. It is the thing that is to be. It is the\npositive purpose, throbbing and yearning and struggling in the whole\nuniverse. When it emerges and men behold it, they behold the face of truth;\nand if it emerges not, it is still there, the fundamental fact and the\nvital issue of human life. To dwell in the Divine Presence by faith and\nobedience; to live so near to God that you can see all about yourself and\nevery human soul the real means of life, and straight before you the real\nend of life; to know that though so often the worst is man's dark choice,\nyet ever the best is his true heritage; and to learn to interpret the whole\nof life in the terms of God's saving purpose,--this is to behold the beauty\nof the Lord.\n\n_And to inquire in His temple._ The Psalmist desired for himself an inward\nattitude before God that should not only reveal unto him the eternal\nfitness of all God's ways and the eternal grace of all His purposes, but\nshould also put him in the way of solving the various problems that arise\nto try the wisdom and strength of men's lives. Sometimes the first court of\nappeal in life, and always the last, is the temple court. When all the\nworld is dumb, a voice speaks to them that worship. Reverential love never\nloses its bearings. In this world we need personal and social guidance, and\nthere must be many times when both shall be wanting unless we have learned\nto carry the burden of our ignorance to the feet of the Eternal Wisdom. And\nperhaps a man can desire no better thing for himself than that the\nreverence and devotion of his life should be such as to make the appeal to\nGod's perfect arbitrament an easy thing.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nEYES AND FEET\n\n\n  Mine eyes are ever toward the Lord,\n  For He shall pluck my feet out of the net.\n\n  Ps. xxv. 15.\n\nIn any man's life a great deal depends upon outlook. In some ways we\nrecognize this fact. We do not by choice live in a house whose windows\nfront a blank wall. A little patch of green grass, a tree, a peep of sky,\nor even the traffic of a busy street--anything rather than a blank wall.\nThat is a sound instinct, but it ought to go deeper than it sometimes does.\nThis outlook and aspect question is important when you are building a\nhouse, but it is vastly more important when you are building a character.\nThe soul has eyes. The deadliest monotony is that of a dull soul. Life is a\npoor affair for any man who looks out upon the blind walls of earthly\ncircumstance and necessity, and cannot see from his soul's dwelling-place\nthe pink flush of the dawn that men call hope, and who has no garden where\nhe may grow the blossoms of faith and sweet memory, the fair flowers of\nholy human trusts and fellowships. Only the divinity of life can deliver us\nfrom the monotony of living. 'Mine eyes are ever toward the Lord.' This man\nhas an infinite outlook. It matters not whether he looked out through\npalace windows or lived in the meanest house in Jerusalem's city. It is the\neye that makes the view. This man had a fairer prospect than ever man had\nwho looked seaward from Carmel or across the valleys from the steeps of\nLibanus. It was his soul that claimed the prospect. From the window of the\nlittle house of life he saw the light of God lying on the everlasting\nhills. That is the real deliverance from the monotony of things. The man\nwho is weary of life is the man who has not seen it. The man who is tied to\nhis desk sometimes thinks everything would be right if only he could\ntravel. But many a man has done the Grand Tour and come back no better\ncontented. You cannot fool your soul with Mont Blanc or even the Himalayas.\nSo many thousand feet, did you say?--but what is that to infinity! The cure\nfor the fretful soul is not to go _round_ the world; it is to get _beyond_\nit.\n\n_Mine eyes are ever toward the Lord._ That is the view we want. We gaze\ncontemptuously on the little one-story lodge just inside the park gates,\nand fail to get a glimpse of the magnificent mansion, with its wealth of\nadornment and treasure, that lies a mile among the trees. No wonder that\nmen grow discontented or contemptuous when they mistake the porch for the\nhouse. If a man would understand himself and discover his resources and put\nhis hand on all life's highest uses, he must look out and up unto his God.\nThen he comes to know that sunrise and sunset, and the beauty of the earth,\nand child-life and old age, and duty and sorrow, and all else that life\nholds, are linked to the larger life of an eternal world.\n\nThat is the true foresight. They called him a far-seeing man. How did he\nget that name? Well, he made a fortune. He managed to make use of the ebb\nand flow of the market, and never once got stranded. He was shrewd and did\nsome good guessing, and now, forsooth, they say he is 'very far-seeing.'\nBut he has not opened his Bible for years, and the fountains of sympathy\nare dried up in his soul. He can see as far into the money column as most\nmen, but the financial vista is not very satisfying for those who see it\nbest. The Gospel of St. John is a sealed book to him, and that is in God's\nhandwriting and opens the gates of heaven. Far-seeing? Why, the man is in a\ntiny cell, and he is going blind. 'Mine eyes are ever toward the Lord.'\nThat is the far-sighted man. He can see an ever larger life opening out\nbefore him. He can see the glory of the eternal righteousness beneath his\ndaily duties and the wonder of eternal love in the daily fellowships and\nfulfilments of the brotherhood. This is measuring life by the heavenly\nmeasurement. This is the vision we need day by day and at the end of the\ndays. For interest in some things must wane, and life must become less\nresponsive to all that lies about it, and many an earthly link is broken\nand many an earthly window is darkened, and the old faces and old ways\npass, and the thing the old man cherishes is trodden under foot by the\nimpetuous tread of a new generation, and desire fails. Then it is well with\nhim whose eyes have already caught glimpses of 'the King in His beauty,'\nand 'the land that is very far off.'\n\nBut think for a moment of the present value of the divine outlook upon\nlife. It brings guidance and deliverance. Set side by side the two\nexpressions 'eyes unto the Lord,' and 'feet out of the net.' Life is more\nthan a vision; it is a pilgrimage. We see the far white peaks whereon rests\nthe glory of life, but reaching them is not a matter of eyes, but of feet.\nHere, maybe, the real problem of godly living presents itself to us. Here\nour Christian idealism lays a burden on us. It is possible to see distances\nthat would take days to traverse. Even so we can see heights of spiritual\npossibility that we shall not reach while the light holds good unless we\nfoot it bravely. And it is not an easy journey. There are so many snares\nset for the pilgrims of faith and hope. There are subtle silken nets woven\nof soft-spun deceits and filmy threads of sin; and there are coarse strong\nnets fashioned by the strong hands of passion and evil desire. There are\nnets of doubt and pain and weakness. But think of the man whose eyes were\never towards the Lord. He came through all right. He always does. He always\nwill. He looked steadily upward to his God. When we get into the net we\nyield to the natural tendency to look down at our feet. We try to discover\nhow the net is made. We delude ourselves with the idea that if only we take\ntime we shall be able to extricate ourselves; but it always means getting\nfurther entangled. It is a waste of time to study the net. Life is ever\nweaving for us snares too intricate for us to unravel and too strong for us\nto break. God alone understands how they are made and how they may be\nbroken. He does not take us round the net or over it, but He does not leave\nus fast by the feet in the midst of it. He always brings a man out on the\nheavenward side of the earthly difficulty. Look upward and you are bound to\ngo forward.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\nTHE SAFEGUARDED SOUL\n\n\n  The Lord shall keep thee from all evil;\n  He shall keep thy soul.\n\n  Ps. cxxi. 7.\n\nOne of the great offices of religion is to help men to begin at the\nbeginning. If you wish to straighten out a tangle of string, you know that\nit is worth your while to look patiently for one of the ends. If you make\nan aimless dash at it the result is confusion worse confounded, and\nby-and-by the tangle is thrown down in despair, its worst knots made by the\nhands that tried in a haphazard way to simplify it. Life is that tangle;\nand religion, if it does not loosen all the knots and straighten all the\ntwists, at least shows us where the two ends are. They are with God and the\nsoul. God deals with a man's soul. We cannot explain the facts of our\nexperience or the fashion of our circumstance save in as far as we can see\nthese things reflected in our character. The true spiritual philosophy of\nlife begins its inquiry in the soul, and works outward into all the\npuzzling mass of life's details. And the foundation of such a philosophy is\nnot experience, but faith. It is true that experience often confirms faith,\nbut faith interprets experience. Experience asks more questions than it can\nanswer. It collects more facts than it can explain. It admits of many\ndifferent constructions being put upon it. It puts us first of all into\ntouch with the problem of life rather than the solution. If the gentle,\npatient words of the saint are the utterance of one who has suffered, so\nalso are the bitter protests of the disappointed worldling. The fashion of\nthe experience may be the same in each case. It is faith that makes the\nlesson different. It is a want of faith that makes us expect the lower in\nlife to explain the higher, the outward to shed light upon the inward. We\npluck with foolish, aimless fingers at this strange tangle of human life.\nWe judge God's way with us as far as we can see it, and we think we have\ngot to the end of it. We draw our shallow conclusions. Faith teaches us\nthat God's way with us is a longer and a deeper way, and the end of that\nway is down in the depths of our spirit, hidden in the love of our\ncharacter. It is not here and now. It is in what we shall be if God have\nHis will with us.\n\nAll the true definitions of things are written in the soul. It was here\nthat the Psalmist found his definition of evil. 'The Lord shall keep thee\nfrom all evil; He shall keep thy soul.' Then evil is something that\nthreatens the soul. It is not material, but spiritual. It is not in our\ncircumstances themselves, but in their effect upon the inward life. The\nsame outward conditions of life may be good or evil according to their\ninfluence on our character. Good and evil are not qualities of things. They\nhave no meaning apart from the soul. The world says that health and wealth\nare good, and that sickness and poverty are evil. If that were true the\nline that separates the healthy from the sick, the rich from the poor,\nwould also separate the happy from the miserable. But we find joy and\nsorrow on both sides of that line. We are drawn to look deeper than this\nfor our definition of good and evil. We have to make the soul the final\narbiter amid these conflicting voices. Here we must find the true\ndefinition of evil. The first question we ask when we hear of a house\nhaving been burnt down is this: 'Was there any loss of life?' All else lies\non a vastly lower plane of interest and importance. So must we learn to\ndistinguish between the house of circumstance, or the house of the body,\nand the soul that dwells in it. The only real loss is the 'loss of life,'\nthe loss of any of these inner things that go to make the soul's strength\nand treasure. The man who has lost everything except faith and hope has,\nmaybe, lost nothing at all. There are some among the pilgrims of faith\nto-day who would never have been found there had not God cast upon their\nshoulders the ragged cloak of poverty; and if you know anything about that\nband of pilgrims you will know that the man who outstrips his companions is\noften a man who is lame on both his feet.\n\nO sceptic world, this is the final answer to your scepticism, an answer\nnone the less true because you cannot receive it: _The Lord keepeth the\nsouls of His saints._ Have you not seen men thinning out a great tree,\ncutting off some of its noblest branches and marring its splendid symmetry?\nAnd very likely you have felt it was a great shame to do so. But that work\nof maiming and spoiling meant light and sunshine and air in a close and\ndarkened room. It meant health to the dwellers in the house over which the\ntree had cast its shadow. It is much to have tall and stately trees in the\ngarden of life. But by-and-by that great oak of vigour begins to darken the\nwindows of faith, and God lops some of the branches. We call it suffering,\nbut it means more light. Or it may be that those firs of lordly ambition\nhave grown taller than the roof-tree, and God sends forth His storm-wind to\nlay them low. We call it failure, but it means a better view of the stars.\nAh, yes, we are over-anxious about the trees in the garden. God cares most\nof all that the light of His truth and the warmth of His love and the\nbreath of His Spirit shall reach and fill every room in the house of life.\n\n_He shall keep thy soul._ That is a promise that can fold us in divine\ncomfort and peace, and that can do something towards interpreting for us\nevery coil of difficulty, every hour of pain. But if this is to be so, we\nmust ourselves be true to the view of life the promise gives us. We must\nthink of the soul as God thinks of it. We live in a world where souls are\ncheap. They are bought and sold day by day. It is strange beyond all\nunderstanding that the only thing many a man is not afraid of losing is the\none thing that is really worth anything to him--his soul. Sometimes the\nlusts of the world drag down our heart's desire, and we have to confess\nwith shame to moments in our experience when we have not been at all\nconcerned with what became of our soul so long as the desire of the hour\nwas fulfilled or satisfied. We need to seek day by day that the masterful\nand abiding desires of our heart may be set upon undying good, and that our\naspiration may never fold its wings and rest on anything lower than the\nhighest. This shall not make dreamers of us. It shall stand us in good\nstead in the thick of the world. The man who gets 'the best of the bargain'\nis always the man who is most honest; for the most precious thing that a\nman stands to win or lose in any deal is the cleanness of his soul. The man\nwho gets the best of the argument is always the man who is most truthful;\nfor a quiet conscience is better than a silenced opponent. The man who gets\nthe best of life is the man who keeps the honour of his soul; for Jesus\nsaid: 'What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his\nown soul?'\n\nSo then, amid the manifold uncertainties of human life and the\never-changing forms and complexions of human experience, one thing is\npledged beyond all doubt to every man who seeks the will of God and the\npromise for the safeguarding of his soul. He may write this at the top of\nevery page in the book of life. He may take it for his light in dark days,\nhis comfort in sad days, his treasure in empty days. He may have it on his\nlips in the hour of battle and in his heart in the day of disappointment.\nHe may meet his temptations with it, interpret his sufferings with it,\nbuild his ideal with it. And it shall come to pass that he shall learn to\nlook with untroubled eyes upon the outward things of life, nor fear the\ntouch of its thousand grasping hands, knowing that his soul is in the hands\nof One who can keep it safe in all the world's despite, even God Himself.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nA PLEA FOR TEARS\n\n\n  They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.\n  He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed,\n  Shall doubtless come again with rejoicing,\n  Bringing his sheaves with him.\n\n  Ps. cxxvi. 5, 6.\n\nIt is almost impossible to recall the joys and sorrows of life without\nhaving some thought of their compensative relation. We set our bright days\nagainst our dark days. We weigh our successes against our failures. When\nthe hour through which we are living is whispering a bitter message, we\nrecall the kindlier messages of other hours and say that we have much for\nwhich we ought to be thankful. And such a deliberate handling of\nexperience, such a quiet adjustment of memories, is not without its uses.\nAny view of life that will save a man from whining is worth taking. Any\nreckoning that will prevent a man from indulging in self-pity--that\nsubtlety of selfishness--is worth making. There is, moreover, something\nvery simple and obvious in this way of thinking and judging. To make one\nkind of experience deal with another kind, to set the days and the hours in\nbattle array--or shall we say to arrange a tourney where some\ngaily-caparisoned and well-mounted Yesterday is set to tilt with a\nblack-visored and silent To-day--is a way of dealing with life which seems\nto have much to commend it. But it has at the best serious limitations, and\nat the worst it may issue in a tragedy. The wrong knight may be unhorsed.\nThe award may go to him of the black plume. Pitting one experience against\nanother has gone to the making of many a cynic and not a few despairing\nsouls. The compensative interpretation of joy and sorrow may bring an\nanswer of peace to a man's soul, or it may not. But in this matter we are\ndealing with things in which we cannot afford to risk an equivocal or a\ndespairing answer. We must win in every encounter. It is not an hour's joy,\nbut a life's outlook that is at stake. No hour's fight was ever worth\nfighting if it was fought for the sake of the hour. The moments are ever\nchallenging the eternal, the swift and busy hours fling their gauntlets at\nthe feet of the ageless things. The real battle of life is never between\nyesterday and to-day; it is always between to-day and the Forever.\n\nTo isolate an experience is to misinterpret it. We may even completely\nclassify experiences, and yet completely misunderstand experience. To\nunderstand life at all we must get beyond the incidental and the\nalternating. Life is not a series of events charged with elements of\ncontrast, contradiction, or surprise. It is a deep, coherent, and\nunfaltering process. And one feels that it was something more than the\nchance of the moment that led the singer of old to weave the tears and the\nrejoicings of men's lives into a figure of speech that stands for unity of\nprocess, even the figure of the harvest.\n\n_They that sow in tears shall reap in joy._ The sweep of golden grain is\nnot some arbitrary compensation for the life of the seed cast so lavishly\ninto the ground, and biding the test of darkness and cold. It is the very\nseed itself fulfilled of all its being. Even so it is with the sorrows of\nthese hearts of ours and the joy unto which God bringeth us. He does not\nfling us a few glad hours to atone for the hours wherein we have suffered\nadversity. There is a deep sense in which the joys of life are its ripened\nsorrows.\n\n_They that sow in tears.... He that goeth forth and weepeth._ These are not\nthe few who have been haunted by apparent failure, or beset with outwardly\npainful conditions of service. They are not those who have walked in the\nshadow of a lost leader, or toiled in the grey loneliness of a lost comrade\nor of a brother proved untrue. For apparent failure, outward difficulty and\nloneliness, often as we may have to face them, are, after all, only the\naccidents of Godward toil. And if the bearer of seed for God's great\nharvest should go forth to find no experience of these things, still, if he\nis to do any real work in the fields of the Lord, he must go forth weeping.\nHe must sow in tears. Let a man be utterly faithful and sincere, let him\nopen his heart without reserve to the two great claims of the ideal and\nsympathy, and he shall come to know that he has not found the hidden\nmeaning of daily service, nor learned how he can best perform that service,\nuntil he has tasted the sorrow at the heart of it. The tears that are the\npledge of harvest are not called to the eyes by ridicule or opposition.\nThey are not the tears of disappointment, vexation, or impotence. They are\ntears that dim the eyes of them that see visions, and gather in the heart\nof them that dream dreams. To see the glory of God in the face of Jesus\nChrist and the blindness of the world's heart to that glory; to see\nunveiled the beauty that should be, and, unveiled too, the shame that is;\nto have a spiritual nature that thrills at the touch of the perfect love\nand life, and responds to every note of pain borne in upon it from the\nmurmurous trouble of the world,--this is to have inward fitness for the\nhigh work of the Kingdom. Yes, and it is the pledge that this work shall be\ndone. There is such a thing as artistic grief. There is the vain and\nlanguorous pity of aestheticism. Its robe of sympathy is wrapped about\nitself and bejewelled with its own tears. And it never goes forth. You\nnever meet it in 'the darkness of the terrible streets.'\n\n_He that goeth forth and weepeth._ It is his tears that cause him to go\nforth. It is his sorrow that will not let him rest. True pity is a mighty\nmotive. When the real abiding pathos of life has gripped a man's heart, you\nwill find him afield doing the work of the Lord. You will not see his\ntears. There will be a smile in his eyes and, maybe, a song on his lips.\nFor the sorrow and the joy of service dwell side by side in a man's life.\nIndeed, they often seem to him to be but one thing. It were a mistake to\nrefer the whole meaning of the words about a man's coming 'again with\nrejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him' to some far day when the reapers\nof God shall gather the last great harvest of the world. Through his tears\nthe sower sees the harvest. Through all his life there rings many a sweet\nprophetic echo of the harvest home.\n\n_He that goeth forth and weepeth._ No man ever wept like that and went not\nforth, but some go forth who have not wept. And they go forth to certain\nfailure. They mishandle life, and with good intent do harm. But that is not\nthe worst thing to be said about these toilers without tears. It is not\nthat they touch life so unskilfully, but they touch so little of it. It is\nonly through his tears that a man sees what his work is and where it lies.\nTearless eyes are purblind. We have yet much to learn about the real needs\nof the world. So many try very earnestly to deal with situations they have\nnever yet really seen. For the uplifting of men and for the great social\ntask of this our day we need ideas, and enthusiasm, and all sorts of\nresource; but most of all, and first of all, we need vision. And the man\nwho goes farthest, and sees most, and does most, is 'he that goeth forth\nand weepeth.'\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nDELIVERANCE WITH HONOUR\n\n\n  He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;\n  I will be with him in trouble:\n  I will deliver him, and honour him.\n  With long life will I satisfy him,\n  And show him My salvation.\n\n  Ps. xci. 15, 16.\n\n_He shall call upon Me._ He shall need Me. He shall not be able to live\nwithout Me. As the years pass over his head he shall learn that there is\none need woven into human life larger and deeper and more abiding than any\nother need--and that need is God. Thus doth divinity prophesy concerning\nhumanity. Thus doth infinite foresight predict a man's need.\n\nWe peer in our purblind fashion into the future and try to anticipate our\nneeds. We fence ourselves in with all sorts of fancied securities, and then\nwe comfort ourselves with the shrewdness and completeness of our\nforecasting and provision-making. And sometimes it is just folly with a\ngrave face. 'He shall call upon Me.' A man has learned nothing until he has\nlearned that he needs God. And we take a long time over that lesson. It has\nsometimes to be beaten into us--written in conscience and heart by the\nfinger of pain. How the little storehouse of life has to be almost stripped\nof its treasures, how our faith in the things of the hour has to be played\nwith and mocked, ere we call upon God in heaven to fill us with abiding\ntreasure and fold us in eternal love.\n\n_He shall call upon Me, and, I will answer him._ But I have called, says\none, and He has not answered. I called upon Him when my little child was\nsick unto death, and, spite my calling, the little white soul fluttered\nnoiselessly into the great beyond. My friend, you call that tiny green\nmound in the churchyard God's silence. Some day you will call it God's\nanswer. Our prayers are sometimes torn out of our hearts by the pain of the\nmoment. God's answers come forth from the unerring quiet of eternity. 'He\nshall call upon Me.' 'He shall ask Me to help him, but he does not know how\nhe can be helped. He is hedged about by a thousand limitations of thought.\nHis life is full of distortions. He cannot distinguish between a blessing\nand a curse. I cannot heed the dictations of his prayers, but I will answer\nhim.' This is the voice of Him to whom the ravelled complexities of men's\nminds are simplicity itself; who dwells beyond the brief bewilderments and\nmistaken desirings and false ideals of men's hearts.\n\nOh these divine answers! How they confuse us! It is their perfection that\nbewilders us; it is their completeness that carries them beyond our\ncomprehension.\n\nThere is the stamp of the local and the temporary on all our asking. The\nanswer that comes is wider than life and longer than time, and fashioned\nafter a completeness whereof we do not even dream.\n\n_I will be with him in trouble._ Trouble is that in life which becomes to\nus a gospel of tears, a ministry of futility. This is because we have\ngrasped the humanity of the word and missed the divinity of it. We are\nalways doing that. Always gathering the meaning of the moments and missing\nthe meaning of the years. Always smarting under the sharp discipline and\nmissing the merciful design: 'With Him in trouble.' That helps me to\nbelieve in my religion. Trouble is the test of the creeds. A fig for the\northodoxy that cannot interpret tears! Write vanity upon the religion that\nis of no avail in the house of sorrow. When the earthly song falls on\nsilence we are disposed to call it a pitiable silence. Not so. Let us say a\ndivinely opportune silence, for when the many voices grow dumb the One\nVoice speaks: 'I will be with him in trouble,' and the man who has lost the\neverything that is nothing only to find the one thing that is all knows\nwhat that promise means.\n\n_I will deliver him._ What a masterful, availing, victorious presence is\nthis! How this promise goes out beyond our human ministries of consolation!\nHow often the most we can do is to walk by our brother's side whilst he\nbears a burden we cannot share! How often the earthly sympathy is just a\ncommunion of sad hearts--one weak hand holding another! 'I will deliver\nhim.' That is not merely sympathy, it is victory. The divine love does not\nmerely condole, it delivers.\n\nYou cannot add anything to this promise. It is complete. The time of the\ndeliverance is there, the manner of it is there, the whole ministry of help\nis there. You say you cannot find anything about time and manner. You can\nonly find the bare promise of deliverance. My friend, there are no bare\npromises in the lips of the Heavenly Father. In the mighty, merciful\nleisure of omnipotence, in the perfect fitness of things, in a way wiser\nthan his thinking and better than his hoping and larger than his prayer, 'I\nwill deliver him.'\n\n_And honour him._ It will be no scanty, obscure, uncertain deliverance.\nThere shall be light in it, glory in it. The world battles with its\ntroubles and seems sometimes to be successful, until we see how those\ntroubles have shaken its spirit and twisted its temper; and see, too, how\nmuch of the beautiful and the strong and the sweet has been lost in the\nfight. 'I will deliver him' with an abundant and an honourable\ndeliverance--he shall come forth from his tribulations more noble, tender,\nand self-possessed. Hereafter there shall be given him the honour of one\nwhom the stress of life has driven into the arms of God.\n\nOh how we miss this ministry of ennoblement! We reap a harvest of\ninsignificance from the seeds of sorrow sown in our hearts. We let our\ncares dishonour us. The little cares rasp and fret and sting the manliness\nand the womanliness and the godlikeness out of us. And the great cares\ncrush us earthward till there is scarcely a sweet word left in our lips or\na noble thought in our heart. A man cannot save his _soul_ in the day of\ntrouble. He cannot by himself make good the wear and tear of anxieties and\ngriefs. He can hold his head high and hide his secret deep, but he cannot\nkeep his life sweet. Only Christ can teach a man how to find the nameless\ndignity of the crown of thorns. The kingship of suffering is a secret in\nthe keeping of faith and love. If a man accepts this deliverance of his God\nfolded in flashes of understanding, ministries of explanation, revivals of\nfaith, and gifts of endurance, he shall find the honour that is to be won\namong life's hard and bitter things.\n\n_With long life will I satisfy him, and show him My salvation._ We have\nseen a grey-headed libertine, and we have missed from among the\nclean-hearted and the faithful some brave young life that was giving itself\nvigorously to the holy service. But perhaps we have had the grace not to\nchallenge the utter faithfulness of God. The measure of life is not written\non a registrar's certificates of birth and death. There is something here\nthat lies beyond dates and documents. Life here and hereafter is one, and\ndeath is but an event in it. Who lives to God lives long, be his years many\nor few. It is reasonable to expect some relationship between godliness and\nlongevity. But we are nearer the truth when we see how that faith and\nprayer discover and secure the eternal values of fleeting days.\n\n_And show him My salvation._ That is the whole text summed up in one\nphrase. That is the life of the godly man gathered into the compass of the\ndivine promise. For every one who goes the way of faith and obedience, life\nin every phase of it, life here and hereafter, means but one thing and\nholds but one thing, and that is _the salvation of the Lord_.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nPETITION AND COMMUNION\n\n\n  Hear me speedily, O Lord....\n  Cause me to hear ...\n  For I lift up my soul unto Thee.\n\n  Ps. cxliii. 7, 8.\n\nYou will notice that the first verse begins 'Hear me,' and the second\nbegins 'Cause me to hear'; and the second is greater than the first. Let us\nlook, then, at these two attitudes of a man in his hour of prayer.\n\n_Hear me._ The Psalmist began, where all men must begin, with himself. He\nhad something to utter in the hearing of the Almighty. He had something to\nlay before his God--a story, a confession, a plea. His heart was full, and\nmust outpour itself into the ear of Heaven. 'Hear me speedily, O Lord.' We\nhave all prayed thus. We have all faced some situation that struck a note\nof urgency in our life, and all your soul has come to our lips in this one\ncry that went up to the Father, 'Hear me.' A sudden pain, a surprise of\nsorrow, a few moments of misty uncertainty in the face of decisions that\nhad to be made at once, times when life has tried to rush us from our\nestablished position and to bear us we know not where--and our soul has\nreached out after God as simply and naturally as a man grasps at some fixed\nthing when he is falling.\n\nThere are times, too, when prayer is an indefinable relief. We all know\nsomething about the relief of speech. We must speak to somebody. Our need\nis not, first of all, either advice or practical help. We want a hearing.\nWe want some one to listen and sympathize. We want to share our pain. That\nis what 'Hear me' sometimes means. Whatever Thou shalt see fit to do for\nme, at least listen to my cry. Let me unburden my soul. Let me get this\nweight of silence off my heart. This fashion of relief is part of the true\noffice of prayer. Herein lies the reasonableness of telling our story in\nthe ear of One who knows that story better than we do. We need not inform\nthe All-knowing, but we must commune with the All-pitiful. We make our life\nknown unto God that we may make it bearable unto ourselves.\n\nBut let us look at the attitude of mind and heart revealed in this second\nposition, _Cause me to hear_. Now we are coming to the larger truth about\nprayer, and the deeper spirit of it. Prayer is not merely claiming a\nhearing; it is giving a hearing. It is not only speaking to God; it is\nlistening to God. And as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are the\nwords we hear greater than the words we speak. Let us not forget this. Let\nus not pauperize ourselves by our very importunity. Maybe we are vociferous\nwhen God is but waiting for a silence to fall in His earthly temples that\nHe may have speech with His children. We talk about 'prevailing prayer,'\nand there is a great truth in the phrase. All prayer does not prevail.\nThere is that among men which passes for prayer but has no spiritual grip,\nno assurance, no masterful patience, no fine desperation. There is a place\nfor all these things, and a need for them, in the life of prayer. We need\nthe courage of a great faith and the earnestness that is born of necessity.\nWe need to be able to lift up our faces toward heaven in the swelling joys\nand the startling perils of these mortal hours and cry, 'Hear me,' knowing\nthat God does hear us and that the outcrying of every praying heart rings\nclear and strong in the courts of the Heavenly King. But we need something\nmore; we need a very great deal more than this, if we are to enter into the\ntrue meaning of prevailing prayer. The final triumph of prayer is not ours;\nit is God's. When we are upon our knees before Him, it is He, and not we,\nthat must prevail. This is the true victory of faith and prayer, when the\nFather writes His purpose more clearly in our minds, lays His commandment\nmore inwardly upon our hearts. We do not get one faint glimpse into the\nmeaning of that mysterious conflict at Peniel until we see that the\nnecessity for the conflict lay in the heart of Jacob and not in the heart\nof God. The man who wrestled with the Angel and prevailed passes before us\nin the glow of the sunrise weary and halt, with a changed name and a\nchanged heart. So must it be with us; so shall it be, if ever we know what\nit is to prevail in prayer. Importunity must not become a blind and\nuninspired clamouring for the thing we desire. Such an attitude may easily\nset us beyond the possibility of receiving that which God knows we need. We\nmust not forget that our poor little plea for help and blessing does not\nexhaust the possibilities of prayer. Our words go upward to God's throne\ntwisted by our imperfect thinking, narrowed by our outlook, sterilized by\nthe doubts of our hearts, and we do not know what is good for us. His word\ncomes downward into our lives laden with the quiet certainty of the\nEternal, wide as the vision of Him who seeth all, deep as the wisdom of Him\nwho knoweth all.\n\nSo, however much it may be to say 'Hear me,' it is vastly more to say\n'Cause me to hear.' However much I have to tell Him, He has more to tell\nme. This view of prayer will help to clear up for us some of the\ndifficulties that have troubled many minds. We hear people speak of\nunanswered prayer; but there is no such thing, and in the nature of things\nthere cannot be. I do not mean by that, that to every prayer there will\ncome a response some day. To every prayer there is a response now. In our\nconfused and mechanical conception of the God to whom we pray, we separate\nbetween His hearing and His answering. We identify the answer to prayer\nwith the granting of a petition. But prayer is more than petition. It is\nnot our many requests, it is an attitude of spirit. We grant readily that\nour words are the least important part of our prayers. But very often the\npetitions we frame and utter are no part of our prayers at all. They are\nnot prayer, yet uttering them we may pray a prayer that shall be heard and\nanswered, for every man who truly desires in prayer the help of God for his\nlife receives that help there and then, though the terms in which he\ndescribes his need may be wholly wide of the truth as God knows it. So the\nreal answer to prayer is God's response to man's spiritual attitude, and\nthat response is as complete and continuous as the attitude will allow it\nto be. The end of prayer is not to win concessions from Almighty Power, but\nto have communion with Almighty Love.\n\n'Cause me to hear'; make a reverent, responsive, receptive silence in my\nheart, take me out beyond my pleadings into the limitless visions and the\nfathomless satisfactions of communion with Thyself. Speak to me. That is\ntrue prayer.\n\n  In the quietness of life,\n  When the flowers have shut their eye,\n  And a stainless breadth of sky\n  Bends above the hill of strife,\n  Then, my God, my chiefest Good,\n  Breathe upon my lonelihood:\n  Let the shining silence be\n  Filled with Thee, my God, with Thee.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\nHAUNTED HOURS\n\n\n  Wherefore should I fear in the days of evil,\n  when iniquity at my heels compasseth me about?\n\n  Ps. xlix. 5.\n\nIniquity _at my heels_. Temptation is very often indirect. It is compact of\nwiles and subtleties and stratagems. It is adept at taking cover. It does\nnot make a frontal attack unless the obvious state of the soul's defences\njustifies such a method of attempting a conquest. The stronger a man is,\nthe more subtle and difficult are the ways of sin, as it seeks to enter and\nto master his life. There are many temptations that never face us, and\nnever give us a chance of facing them. They follow us. We can hear their\nlight footfall and their soft whisperings, but the moment we turn round\nupon them they vanish. If they disappeared for good, they would be the\neasiest to deal with of all the ill things that beset our lives. But they\ndo not. The moment we relax our bold, stern search for the face of the\nenemy, there the evil thing is again--the light footfall and the soft\nvoice. It is terrible work fighting a suggestion. There are the thoughts\nthat a man will not cherish and cannot slay. They may never enter the\nprogramme of his life, but there they are, haunting him, waiting, so to\nspeak, at the back of his brain, till he gets used to them. When he seeks\nto grapple with these enemies his hands close on emptiness. One straight\nblow, one decisive denial, one stern rebuke, one defiant confession of\nfaith will not suffice for these things. They compass a man's heels. He\ncannot trample them down. The fashion of the evils that compass us\ndetermines the form of the fight we wage with them. Preparations that might\namply suffice the city in the day when an army with banners comes against\nit are no good at all if a plague has to be fought. So there is a way we\nhave to take with 'the iniquity at our heels.' It calls for much patience\nand much prayer. If we cannot prevent sin from following us, we can at\nleast prevent ourselves from turning and following it. A man can always\nchoose his path if he cannot at every moment determine his company. And as\na man goes onward and upward steadfastly toward the City of Light, the evil\nthings fall off and drop behind, and God shall bring him where no evil\nthing dare follow, and where no ravenous beast shall stalk its prey.\n\nThe battle with sin is not an incident in the Christian life; it is the\nabiding condition of it. While there are some temptations that we have to\nslay, there are others we have to outgrow. They are overcome, not by any\none supreme assertion of the will, but by the patient cultivation of all\nthe loftiest and most wholesome and delicate and intensely spiritual modes\nof feeling and of being.\n\nAgain, let me suggest that iniquity at our heels is sometimes an old sin in\na new form. You remember the difficulty that Hiawatha had in hunting down\nPau-puk Keewis. That mischievous magician assumed the form of a beaver,\nthen that of a bird, then that of a serpent; and though each in turn was\nslain, the magician escaped and mocked his pursuer. Surely a parable of our\nstrife with sin. We smite it in one form and it comes to life in another.\nOne day a man is angry--clenched fingers and hot words. He conquers his\nanger; but the next day there is a spirit of bitterness rankling in his\nheart, and maybe a tinge of regret that he did not say and do more when his\nheart was hot within him and fire was on his lips. The sin he faced and\nfought yesterday has become iniquity at his heels. Having failed to knock\nhim down, it tries to trip him up. Maybe many waste their energies trying\nto deal with the _forms_ of sin, and never grapple with the _fact_ of sin.\nHence the evil things that compass men's souls about with their dread\nministries of suggestion, and flutter on unhallowed wings in the wake of\nlife. The sin that confronts us reveals to us our need of strength, but the\nsin that dogs our steps has, maybe, a deeper lesson to teach us--even our\nneed of heart-deep holiness. Good resolution will do much to clear the path\nahead, but only purity of character can rid us of the persistent haunting\nperil of the sin that plucks at the skirt of life. The deliverance God\noffers to the struggling soul covers not only the hour of actual grappling\nwith the foe, but all the hours when it is the stealth and not the strength\nof evil that we most have cause to fear.\n\n_Iniquity at my heels._ These words remind us that sin is not done with\nafter it is committed. God forgives sin, but He does not obliterate all its\nconsequences, either in our own lives or in the lives of others. A man may\nhave the light of the City of God flashing in his face, and a whole host of\nshameful memories and bitter regrets crowding at his heels. We do not know\nwhat sin is till we turn our backs on it. Then we find its tenacity and its\nentanglement. What would we not give if only we could leave some things\nbehind us! What would we not do if only we could put a space between\nourselves and our past! The fetters of evil habit may be broken, but their\nmarks are upon us, and the feet that bore the fetters go more slowly for\nthem many days. The hands that have been used to grasping and holding do\nnot open without an effort, even though the heart has at last learned that\nit is more blessed to give than to receive.\n\nYes, and our sins come to life again in the lives of others. The light word\nthat ought to have been a grave word and that shook another's good\nresolution, the cool word that ought to have been a warm word and that\nchilled a pure enthusiasm--we cannot have done with these things. Parents\nsometimes live to see their sins of indulgence or of neglect blighting the\nlives of those to whom they owed a debt of firmness and kindness. It is\niniquity at the heels. These passages of carelessness and unfaithfulness\nhaunt men, be their repentance never so bitter and their amendment never so\nsincere and successful. But all this is for discipline and not for despair.\nIt casts us back upon God's mercy. It keeps the shadow of the cross upon\nall our path. It has something to do with the making of 'a humble, lowly,\npenitent, and obedient heart.' The memory of the irreparable is a sorrow of\nthe saints.\n\n  Saint, did I say? With your remembered faces,\n    Dear men and women whom I sought and slew!\n  Ah, when we mingle in the heavenly places,\n    How will I weep to Stephen and to you!\n\nOnly let us not be afraid nor wholly cast down. Rather let us say,\n'Wherefore should I fear when the iniquity at my heels compasseth me\nabout?' By the grace of God the hours of the soul's sad memory and of\nclinging regrets shall mean unto us a ministry of humility and a passion of\nprayer. And through them God shall give us glimpses of the gateway of that\nlife where regret and shame and sorrow fall back unable to enter. There is\na place whither the iniquity at a man's heels can no longer follow him, and\nwhere in the perfect life the soul, at last, is able to forget.\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\nTHE WINGS OF THE DOVE\n\n\n  And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove!\n  Then would I fly away, and be at rest....\n  I would haste me to a shelter\n  From the stormy wind and tempest.\n\n  Ps. lv. 6, 8.\n\nThese words are the transcript of a mood. The writer is not unfolding to us\nany of the deep persistent longings of his spirit; he is telling us of a\nthought that shadowed his soul for an hour. Let us look into this mood of\nhis. It is not his in any unique or even peculiar sense. In moods, as in\nmanners, history is wont to repeat itself. The writer of this poem has\nvoiced one of the great common experiences of humanity. But let us be quite\nclear as to what that experience really is. Let us not be misled by the\nmusic and the seeming unworldliness of these words about winged flight from\na world of trouble and strife. The Psalmist was not looking heavenward, but\nearthward, when this plea for wings broke from his heart. He was moved to\nspeak as he did, not by the surpassing charm of a heavenly vision, but by\nthe dark unrest of the earthly outlook. The emphatic note here is that of\ndeparture, not of destination. It is necessary to remind ourselves that\nthis is so, for these words have become the classic of the home-sick soul.\nThey have been used to voice the farthest and most truly divine desires of\nthe human heart. And by virtue of such use they have gathered a meaning\nwhich was not theirs at the beginning. At that meaning we will presently\nlook, but let us first of all look at this longing as it stands in the\npsalm and as it represents an experience that is threaded through the\nhistory of humanity.\n\n_Oh that I had wings ... then would I fly away._ Here the idea of fleeing\naway suggests itself as a possible solution of life; and whenever it comes\nto a man like this it is a source of weakness. It is not a desire to find\nthe joys of heaven; it is a desire to escape the pains of earth. There is\nno vista, no wistful distance, no long, alluring prospect. The soul is\nhemmed in by its enemies, crushed down by its burdens, beset on all sides\nby the frets of the earthly lot; and there comes a vague desire to be out\nof it all. It is not aspiration, it is evasion. It is not response to the\nideal, it is recoil from the actual. It is not the spell of that which\nshall be that is upon the soul, but the irksomeness or the dreadfulness of\nthat which is. This is a mood that awaits us all. No man faces life as it\nshould be faced, but some can hardly be said to face it at all. Their face\nis ever turned towards a seductive vision of quietness. The solution of\nlife for them is not in a fight, but in a retreat. Of course we know there\nis no going back, and no easy deliverance from the burden and the battle,\nbut in the thick of any fight there is a great difference between the man\nwho wants victory and the man who merely wants a cessation of hostilities.\n\nThis plea for wings does not necessarily betoken 'a desire to depart.' It\nrather indicates a desire to remain under more favourable and comfortable\nconditions. Such a mood is not the highest and the healthiest experience of\nthe soul. It is rather something against which we must fight relentlessly.\nVery often the longing for wings results only in lagging footsteps.\nPicturing to ourselves the luxury of laying life down will not help us to\nface the duty of taking life up. The secret of enervation is found not in\nthe poverty of our resources, but in the cowardliness and selfishness of\nour attitude towards life. The battle is half won when we have looked the\nenemy in the face. The burden is the better borne as we stoop under the\nfull weight of it.\n\n_Oh that I had wings like a dove!_ That is a short-sighted and a selfish\ndesire. Supposing you had wings, what would you do? Fly away from the moil\nof the world and find rest and shelter for yourself? Is that the best and\nnoblest thing to desire to do? After all, we know other and loftier moods\nthan this. We know that staying is better than going when there is so much\nto stay for. We know that working is better than resting when there is so\nmuch to do. We have something better to think about than a quiet lodgement\nin the wilderness, we who live in a world where the strength of our hands\nand the warmth of our hearts count for something. To give your tired\nbrother a lift is a vastly more profitable occupation than sitting at the\nroadside and wishing you could fly. Man, you ought to be glad that you can\nwalk--in a world where there are so many cripples that want help.\n\n_Oh that I had wings!... then would I fly away._ That desire has never\ntaken any one to heaven, but it has made them less useful upon earth. The\nbreath of this desire is able to blight the flowers of social service. No\none would be foolish enough to indict suburbanism as a mode of life. The\nday must surely come when few or none will dwell in the smoke-grimed heart\nof the city. But in as far as a man seeks the fairest suburb open to him in\norder that he may see little of, and think little of, 'the darkness of the\nterrible streets,' then the very life that restores health to his body\nshall sow seeds of disease in his soul.\n\nThere is only one way to rest, and that lies right through the heart of the\nworld's work and pain. Rest is not for those who flee away from life's\ndifficulties, but for those who face them. 'Take my yoke ... and ye shall\nfind rest.' It were not well for our own sakes that we had wings. It were\nnot well for us to be able to avoid the burden-bearing and the tale of\ntired days, for God has hidden the secret of our rest in the heart of our\ntoiling. They who come unto the City of God come there not by the easy\nflight of a dove, but by the long, slow pilgrimage of unselfishness.\n\nYet there is a beauty and a fitness in this longing. It is expressive of\nmore than the weariness of a world-worn spirit, or the thinly disguised\nselfishness of one who fears to pay the price of life.\n\nWhen the long working-day of life is wearing away its last hours and\nverging towards the great stillness, the voices of time fall but faintly on\nthe ear, the adorations and ideals and fashions and enthusiasms of the\nworld come to mean little to a man who in his day has followed them as\neagerly as any, and the heart within him asks only for rest.\n\n  God, if there be none beside Thee\n    Dwelling in the light,\n  Take me out of the world and hide me\n    Somewhere behind the night.\n\nWhen, like Simeon the seer with the Christ-Child in his arms, a man feels\nthat for him life has said its last word and shown its last wonder and\nuttered its last benediction, the desire for rest is a pure and spiritually\nnormal thing; it is just the soul's gaze turned upward where\n\n            beyond these toils\n      God waiteth us above,\n  To give to hand and heart the spoils\n      Of labour and of love.\n\nAnd maybe this mood of which we are thinking may have a not unworthy place\nin a strenuous life. As a tired woman pauses amid her tasks and looks out\nof her cottage window to take into her heart the quiet beauty of the woods\nwhere she knows the ground is fair with lilies, so do we find ourselves\nlooking out of life's small casement and thinking upon the fresh, free,\n'outdoor' life the soul will some day live. And such a mood as this is\nsurely a sign of the soul's growth, a testimony of its responsiveness to\nthe divine touch, a sudden sense of its splendid destiny borne in upon it\namong the grey and narrow circumstances of its service.\n\n  Oh that I had a dove's swift, silver wings,\n  I said, so I might straightway leave behind\n  This strife of tongues, this tramp of feet, and find\n  A world that knows no struggles and no stings,\n  Where all about the soul soft Silence flings\n  Her filmy garment, and the vex\u0102\u00a8d mind\n  Grows quiet as there floats upon the wind\n  The soothing slumber-song of dreamless things.\n  And lo! there answered me a voice and said,\n  Man, thou hast hands and heart, take back thy prayer;\n  Covet life's weariness, go forth and share\n  The common suffering and the toil for bread.\n  Look not on Rest, although her face be fair,\n  And her white hands shall smooth thy narrow bed.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\nA NEW SONG\n\n\n  O sing unto the Lord a new song.\n\n  Ps. xcvi. 1.\n\nTime and again in the Psalter we find this appeal for a new song. First of\nall, and most obviously, the appeal concerns the contents of the song. It\nreminds us of the duty of making our grateful acknowledgement of God's\ngoodness to us expand with our growing experience of that goodness. It is,\nif, one may so phrase it, a reminder to us that our praise needs bringing\nup to date. A hymn considerably later in date than this psalm exhorts us to\n'count' our 'blessings,' and to 'name them one by one.' This exhortation to\nattempt the impossible is perhaps more worthy of being heeded than the form\nin which it is presented to us might lead some to suppose. There is no\ngetting away from the simple fact that a man's thankfulness has a real and\nproportionate relationship to the things for which he has cause to be\nthankful. If in our daily life the phrase 'the goodness of God' is to have\na deepening and cumulative significance, it must be informed and vitalized\ncontinually by an alert and responsive recognition of the forms in which\nthat goodness is ever freshly manifested to us. Whilst the roots of the\ntree of praise lie deep beneath the surface, and wind their thousand ways\ninto dim places where memory itself cannot follow them, yet surely the\nleaves of the tree are fresher and greener for rain that even now has left\nits reviving touch upon them, and for the sunshine that is even now\nstirring the life in all their veins. The figure is imperfect. We are not\ntrees. We do not respond automatically to all the gracious and cheering\nministries of the Eternal Goodness in our lives. We may easily overlook\nmany a good gift of our God. And though in our forgetfulness and\nunthankfulness we profit by the sunlight and the dew and by each tender\nthought of God for His creatures, yet the full and perpetual profit of all\ngood things is for each of us bound up with the power to see them, the\nwisdom to appraise them, the mindfulness that holds them fast, and the\nheart that sings out its thanksgiving for them. 'O sing unto the Lord a new\nsong.' Bring this day's life into the song. Bring the gift that has come to\nthee this very hour into the song. Look about thee. See if there be but one\nmore flower springing at the path-side. See if the bud of yesterday has but\nunfolded another leaf. Behold the loaf on thy table, feel the warmth of thy\nhearth, yea, feel the very life within thee that woke again and stirred\nitself with the morning light, and say these gifts are like unto the gifts\nof yesterday, but they are not yesterday's gifts. Yesterday's bread is\nbroken, and yesterday's fire is dead, and yesterday's strength is spent. O\nGod, Thy mercies are new every morning! So shall a new song break from the\nheart.\n\nIt is quite possible, in taking what we believe to be a broad view of life,\nto overlook many of the things that go to make life. Too much generalizing\nmakes for a barren heart. The specific has a vital place in the ministry of\npraise. It is true that the highest flights of praise always carry the soul\nbeyond any conscious reckoning with the details of its experience.\nTabulation is not the keystone of the arch of thanksgiving. But to behold\nthe specific goodness of God in each day's life, to review the hours and to\nsay to one's own soul, Thus and thus hath my God been mindful of me, is\nperhaps the surest and the simplest way to deepen and vitalize the habit of\npraise in our life, and to set the new notes ringing in our psalm of\nthanksgiving.\n\nBut in this appeal for a new song of praise to God there is something more\nthan a recognition of new blessings. The new song is not merely the\nresponse to new mercies and the tuneful celebration of recent good. If\nthere is to be ever a new note in the song, there must be ever a new note\nin the singer's heart. And this cometh not by observation, but by\ninspiration. You may change the words of the song and it may still be the\nold song. You may sing the same words and it may yet be a new song. For as\nis the singer, so is the song.\n\n_O sing unto the Lord a new song._ That is a plea for a deeper and a wider\nlife. It is a plea that sounds the depth of the heart and takes the measure\nof the soul. The new song comes not of a truer enumeration of life's\nblessings, but of a truer understanding of the blessedness of life itself.\nThe key to such understanding is character. When by the grace of the clean\nheart and the enlightened and responsive spirit a man can get beneath the\nevents of each day's life and commune with that eternal law of love to\nwhich each one of those events bears some relation--or had we not better\nsay commune with the Eternal Father by whom that law exists?--then is his\nsong of praise ever new. It is something to catch a glimpse of the mercy of\nGod, and to think and feel as one has not thought or felt before about some\npart of life's daily good. But it is vastly more to learn to interpret the\nwhole of life in the terms of the goodness of God. The saint sings where\nthe worldling sighs. And if we find in that song only the apotheosis of\ncourage and resignation, we have neither found the source of the song nor\nthe message of it. The new song comes not from the thrill of peril faced\nand defied, nor from the victorious acceptance of hard and bitter things.\nIt comes from that deep life of the soul in God, a life beyond the threat\nof peril and beyond the touch of pain. It finds its deepest and freshest\nnotes not in contemplating the new gains and good of any day, but in a\ngrowing sense of the timeless gain and eternal good of every day.\n\nAnd if all this be so, it surely follows that the service of praise is not\nsomething unto which we may pass by one effort of the will or that depends\nupon the stimulus of outward experience. It is conditioned rather by our\ncharacter, and by our power to see the unveiled face of life reflecting\nalways the light of perfect love. And it is to produce in us the right\ncharacter and the true insight that God disciplines us all our days. It is\nto set a new song in our hearts. Said a professor of music at Leipzig of a\ngirl whom he had trained for some years and who was the pride of the\nConservatoire, 'If only some one would marry her and ill-treat her and\nbreak her heart she would be the finest singer in Europe.' He missed\nsomething in the song, and knew it could never come there save from the\nheart of the singer. Trouble always strikes a new note in life, and often\nthe deepest note that is ever struck. But, be our experience joyous or\nsorrowful, the true end of it must ever be to deepen our own hearts that\nthere may be in us ever a more catholic recognition of, and response to,\nthe Eternal Love.\n\nThe human soul is not a mere repository of experiences. Memory is not the\ntrue guardian of life's treasure. That treasure is invested in character.\nIn the moral world we _have_ what we _are_. So we may recall that which we\nhave never possessed, and may possess that which we can never recall. And\nit is out of that which we have _become_ by God's grace, rather than out of\nthat which we have received of that grace, that the new song comes.\n\nSo, as day by day we pray for the grace of new thanksgiving, we are seeking\nsomething more than a new power to behold what good things each day brings\nus, a readier way of reckoning the wealth of the passing hours. We are\nseeking for a larger life in God, and for a spirit able, as it were, to\nsecrete from every experience its hidden meed of everlasting blessing. For\nif the heart grow purer, the will stronger, the vision clearer, the\njudgement truer--indeed, if there come to the soul each day some increase\nof life--it shall surely find its way into living praise. And a living song\nis always a new song.","title":"The Threshold Grace: Meditations in the Psalms","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":15408}