06.08. The Peace That Guards
Chapter 8 The Peace That Guards
CLOSELY associated with the resurrection song is the resurrection peace. On the evening of that first Easter Day the Master’s first words were of the peace which He had won a new power to speak, through those wounds which He showed on His deeply scarred flesh. "He stood in the midst, and said unto them, Peace be unto you."
It was the old Hebrew salutation, familiar to the patriarchs in that world of which echoes still linger in the speech of the wild Bedawin of the desert; and the high priest, fresh from the very presence-chamber of Jehovah, with the glow of the Shekinah on his face, uttered it in his threefold blessing, for which the congregation had waited patiently. But the words were new-minted when the Lord spoke them amid the rapture of that Easter night. He had promised to give them His peace as His last bequest, but it was only as the Holy Ghost nestled as a dove in the heart of the Church that the full wealth of sacred meaning hidden in the words began to be unraveled and disclosed. It was needful that Rom. 5. should be written to show that the foundation of that peace lay in the agony and blood of the cross, and is only possible to the soul that has been justified by faith in Him who died and rose again. It was needful that Col. 1. should be penned to show that the peace made through the blood of Christ should spread through the universe of God, until it had subdued all rule and authority and power. It was needful that the Book of Revelation should be added to teach the Church, by many an exquisite symbol, such as the palm-bearing crowds, the tranquillity of the sea of glass, the calm of the vales through which the Shepherd leads His flock, the music of the harps, what that peace is which is the heritage of the saints. But nowhere in the office of this peace more clearly indicated than when the apostle says, "The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall guard our hearts and thoughts in Christ Jesus." The word guard is unique, and indicates the patrol of the sentry who passes to and fro before the outer gate, examining each intruder, and preventing the entrance of any whose presence would menace the well-being of the inmates of the home. It is a sublime conception that God’s sweet angel Peace the child and daughter of His deepest Self, the symbol of His own unutterable repose, should undertake to keep the hearts and minds of His children from the molestation of those passionate emotions and perturbing anxieties which sweep human life, as the winds fling themselves in passion on landlocked lakes, stirring the waters into the fury of storm. The sentry stands between the doorway and the crowd that would break upon the sacred precincts, and wards the people off, who with their clamor and ruthless hands would spoil and destroy. No thief may pass to steal; no foulmouthed ruffian to fill the air with his reviling, or defile the ears of gentle women or little children; no tyrant bandit may enter to assume the headship of the home, and gratify his insolence or passion. Whatever tumult or violence is without, the billow breaks helplessly upon the barrier of soft sand, and beyond, the fields of peace are enameled by the flowers of joy, safe from the intrusion of the turbulent wave. What the coral reef is to the sweet islands of the Pacific, protecting their dainty tropic luxuriance from the mighty billows of the ocean, that God’s peace is to the hearts that nestle within its inclosing walls.
It keeps the heart, the apostle says. Now the heart is the seat of the emotions; the center of our affections; the hearth whose ruddy glow sheds light and heat throughout man’s nature; the shrine of the love which we give to God and man. It is there that the furnace of life is hidden, moving its machinery with irresistible impulse. It is there we treasure the memory of voices now hushed, of the touches of vanished hands now still. It is a chamber around whose walls hang the pictures of those who have loved us, and whom we have loved ever since love awoke within us. And just because the affections of our nature are so mighty in their all-pervasive influence upon us, they are the object of Satan’s direst attacks.
We love right objects wrongly with the idolatry of love, with the unreasonableness that sacrifices their well-being to the gratification of our own passion, or with an absorbing selfishness that unfits us for life’s other claims. We love wrong objects, casting a wealth of affection on those whom God has placed beyond our reach. Even when we love rightly, it is through our affections that we are visited with those anxieties and fears that fill us with alarm, that ruffle our serenity, and impede our progress in grace, and veil the face of God. This is specially the temptation of youth and age. Of youth, because the young heart is so susceptible to impression, so retentive of the face, the eye, the act, which has won its confidence, and so prone to intrust all its stores in the slight bark of another’s life. Of age, because when the heart has been often widowed, and has seen one by one its treasures engulfed before its gaze, and has discovered that all the stores of honor and wealth given by material things are not to be compared with the gold, myrrh, and frankincense of love, it clings with fond tenacity to its dwindling circle, hearing in every footfall the step of the destroyer, and detecting in every zephyr the portent of the storm that shall engulf the residue of its possessions.
If there is a power that can intercept the incidence of what we dread, that can still our hearts’ alarms, that can pacify our anxieties, that can give the hush of God’s own peace to allay perturbing dread! If there is a sentry that can keep the house of our heart free from molesting alarm! If only our affections can be guarded and kept when the storm of passion threatens to rise, or when the margin of moderation is about to be crossed! It were a gift worthy of God upon the one hand, and welcome to man as more indispensable than the very bread of his life.
It keeps the thought. If the heart is most easily perturbed in youth and age, the mind is most deeply exercised in the passage of middle life by the strain of life, the pressure of its responsibilities, and the thronging crowd of its anxieties. Thoughts about the result of past mistakes; thoughts that forbode disaster; thoughts of opportunities that will never return; thoughts which become bewildered by their own complexity; thoughts about the mystery of God and providence and life, which turn back baffled from their flight; thoughts about the reasons of things; thoughts that weary, as a strained eye wearies with attempting to penetrate the distance of the horizon or of the sky; evil thoughts, jealous thoughts, vindictive and passionate thoughts. The vagrant thought of the impulse; the wandering thought, alighting upon the heart as the bird upon the roof-ridge; bad thoughts, flung like missiles flaming hot. The mind is like a hostelry where crowds pass in and out, and the pavement is worn by many feet; or an exchange where the products of every land are handled; or a palace made for a king, but invaded by a mob. Is there anywhere a power that can marshal these thoughts? Resisting the entrance of those that have no right to intrude, and promoting the regulation of those that justly claim admission! The apostle says the peace of God can do it. We should have thought that she was not strong enough for so stern a work. But the apostle quoted from his own experience when he said, "The peace of God shall garrison your hearts and thoughts." When the peace is within, ruling there, it reduces chaos to cosmos, confusion to order, as a gentle mother in a family of boisterous children. A twofold law controls the operation of God’s peace: "In nothing be anxious; but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God." It is not enough to say to men, "Don’t fret, don’t worry;" we must give them something better. Not a bare negative, but a blessed positive. It is not that we are to spend our days in long, entreating prayers; but in the simplest, plainest words, and about everything, however trivial and insignificant, simply to make our requests known. Prayer and supplication, mingled with the fragrance of thanksgiving, must tell out the story of need and desire into the ear of the great Father. Spread the letter before Him; cast the tangled skein at His feet; take to Him the broken fragments of the shivered casket which only yesterday contained the jewels of life; open to Him the wounds from which the bandages have been recently torn, and which are yawning and smarting. It is no use worrying. Do not go about with a melancholy face and whining voice, as if God were dealing more hardly with you than you deserve; do not sit down in despair, as if the joy of your life had fled forever. Just tell Him how things are with you: what you hoped; what you want; what you think would promote your happiness and goodness; what is needed to complete your life: then leave it there. You have committed your cause to the wisest and most tender, to the strongest and truest Friend. Leave there thy gift at the altar. Anoint thy head and wash thy face. Go forth to think and practice whatsoever things are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, gracious, and the peace of God will open the way to the God of peace Himself. Upon the heels of His messenger the King will come. When the palace is permeated by the atmosphere of heaven, the Presence that makes heaven will shed its glory through every apartment of the soul.
These things pass understanding; they belong to the realm of the unseen and eternal. They are part of those thoughts which are higher than our thoughts, and of those emotions that pertain to the nature of God. But though they cannot be understood; or expressed in mortal language; or told by strain of harp, or glint of summer light, or vista of earthly repose and beauty; though words fail, and Imagination drops from her exhausted hand palette and brush, and Hope herself returns as Noah’s dove, bringing but one leaf from a whole world of vegetation--yet these things may be experienced, realized, enjoyed by the heart that is in Christ Jesus. Out of Christ Jesus, perturbation and alarm; in Christ Jesus, the peace of God Himself. And thus we come to participate in the God of peace (Php 4:9). The attribute of the Person leads to the Person. We no longer receive some gift of His ineffable nature; but we have found Him, we possess Him, we are possessed by Him, in whom love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, and goodness have their home.