By J.R. Miller
A great secret of comfort lies in our heartfelt prayer, "Not my will--but Yours, be done." When we can say this and abandon ourselves and all in our life which causes perplexity or care, into the hands of divine wisdom and love, the struggle is over and the peace of God is already keeping our heart in quietness and confidence. This was the secret of the comfort which came to our Lord Himself in Gethsemane. He was face to face with the most terrible experience any soul ever met in this world. The record says He was exceeding sorrowful, even unto death. "Being in agony He prayed." The Holy Sufferer pleaded that the cup of bitter anguish now being held to His lips might pass from Him. Never was more intense prayer offered to the Father. But amid the anguished pleading, was heard the self restraining word of submission, "Not My will--but Yours, be done." There was something more important than the granting of the suppliant's request--it was that the purpose of God for Him that hour should go on unhindered.
It is interesting to trace the course of the Gethsemane prayer, and to see how the note of submission gains the ascendancy over the pleading for relief, until at length the struggle ends in acquiescence and perfect peace. The first supplication was, "O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass away from Me: nevertheless, not as I will--but as You will." A little later Jesus returned again to His pleading and we hear this petition from His lips: "O My Father, if this cannot pass away, unless I drink it--may Your will be done." The fierceness of the struggle in the Sufferer's soul, was being mastered by the spirit of submission to the divine will. Soon the agony was over. The victory had been won. We have at least an echo of the comfort which filled the heart of Jesus in His word to Peter, a little later, when that warm hearted but rash disciple had drawn his sword to resist the betrayal and the arrest of his Master: "The cup which the Father has given Me, shall I not drink it?" There was no word no of supplication for the passing away of the cup. Jesus had made way for His Father's will--and was comforted.
There is no other way by which true comfort can come to any heart in time of sorrow but by acquiescence. So long as we cannot say, "Not my will--but Your be done," the struggle is still going on, and we are still uncomforted. Comfort is peace, and there is no peace until there is acquiescence in the will of God. Whatever the sorrow, therefore, if we would find divine comfort--we must seek to bring our will into complete harmony with our Father's will.
There are reasons why we should do this in every grief or sorrow. One is that God has a plan and a purpose for our life. There is something He would make of us, and something He would have us do. What this divine thought for our particular life is, the divine will discloses. Every time we resist this will and refuse to accept it at any point, we mar the beauty and completeness of our own life. God's purpose for us runs through whatever sorrows or sufferings there may be in our lot. In all our experiences, God's will for us is the bringing out of His image in us. Only by acquiescence in the divine will, can we have our life fashioned after this heavenly pattern.
Another reason why we should let God's will work without resistance, without complaining, in our life--is that God is our King, and has a sovereign right to reign over us. Lack of submission is rebellion. Not only should our submission be complete, without condition and without reserve, in the smallest as well as in the greatest matters; it should also be cheerful and songful. Chafing and murmuring grieve God. The moment we recognize the will of God in either a duty or a sorrow--we should accept it with delight. In no other way can we please God and have His blessing of peace.
Another reason for submitting to the divine will in time of trouble, is that God always seeks our good. He is our Father, and would never send into our life anything which would harm us, nor take from us anything which would leave us poorer or less blessed. We are sure, too, that His wisdom is perfect, and that He knows what really is good for us. We ourselves do not know. We cannot follow the influence of this or that in our life, nor know where such and such a course would lead us. We have no wisdom to choose our own lot, and we would far better let God decide for us what is best.
The thing we are so eager to get, it may be, would do irreparable hurt to our truest life. The joy we so desire to keep, and which we think indispensable to our happiness, perhaps has done its full work for us and in us, and would better now be taken away. God knows what is best for us, and His will is not only perfect wisdom--but also perfect love. To resist it is to do harm to our own life; to reject it and insist upon having our own way--would be to choose evil, not good, for ourselves.
It does not seem to us that sorrow can be the bearer of blessing to us. Yet there is no doubt that every grief or pain which comes, brings a blessing wrapped in its dark folds. There is a marginal reading of a verse of one of the Psalms, which tells us that our burden is a gift--God's gift to us. Every burden which is laid upon us, however it may have become ours, carries, folded up in it, a gift of God. God's gifts are always good. To refuse to accept the burden--would be to reject a gift of love from our Father and to thrust away a blessing sent for the enrichment of our life.
Diamonds are sometimes found in the center of rough stones. It is said that the first discovery of diamonds in South Africa was in some pebbles which were tossed about on the ground by passing feet. A scientific man came upon a group of boys using some of these stones for marbles, and his keen eye detected the gem that was wrapped up in the rough encrusting. So it is that the stern and severe experiences which we call sorrows, conceal within their forbidding exterior, diamonds of God's love and grace. We do not know how we are robbing ourselves, when we refuse to accept the trials which come to us in God's providence. Acquiescence in the divine will is taking into our life the good which our Father is offering to us.
There are those who are called to long years of suffering or of sorrow. It is a comfort for such to think of their pain or grief as a friend sent to accompany them on the way. Mrs. Gilchrist wrote of Mary Lamb, "She had a lifelong sorrow, and learned to find its companionship not bitter." When the sufferer learns to think thus of the pain or the sorrow which stays and does not depart--the bitterness is turned to sweetness and the life finds blessing, inspiration, uplift, purifying in the sacred companionship.
Or it may be that the will of God would take from us something very dear which we would like to keep. We should always remember that God's love is the same, whether He is putting new gifts into our hands, or taking away those we have learned to cherish. The good things which mean so much to us are His, not ours. They have only been lent to us for a time, and for a specific purpose. When their mission is finished God, recalls them, and we may be sure there is blessing in the recalling.
A beautiful story is told of a devout Jewish home in which were twin boys who were greatly beloved. In the absence of the father both boys suddenly died. When the father returned, no knowing of the sorrow in his home, the mother met him at the door and said,
"I have had a strange visitor since you went away."
"Who was it?" asked the father, not suspecting her meaning.
"Five years ago," his wife answered, "a friend lent me two precious jewels. Yesterday he came and asked me to return them to him. What shall I do?"
"Are they his?" asked the father, not dreaming of her meaning.
"Yes, they belong to him and were only lent to me."
"If they are his, he must have them again, if he desires."
Leading her husband to the boy's room, the wife drew down the sheet, uncovering the lovely forms, white as marble. "These are my jewels," said the mother. "Five years ago God lent them to me and yesterday He came and asked them again. What shall we do?"
With a great sob, the father said, bowing his head, "May the will of the Lord be done."
That is the way to find God's comfort. He has a right to take from us what he will, for all our joys and treasures belong to Him and are only lent to us for a time. It was in love that He gave them to us; it is in love that He takes them away. When we cease our struggle, and in faith and confidence submit our will to His, peace flows into our heart and we are comforted.
Thus it is that the secret of divine comfort is found in complete, quiet, and joyful yielding to the will of God. It does not make the pain of the sorrow less; it does not give back the loved one who has been called away--but it brings the heart into full accord with God, and thus gives sweet peace. "Not my will--but Yours, be done," ends all strife and struggle, and the soul rests in undisturbed calm on the bosom of God. We do not try to understand, we ask no more questions; we simply trust and leave all in our Father's hands, and are strangely, sweetly comforted.
