Affliction in Christian preaching highlights the refining and shaping work God accomplishes through trials and suffering, producing spiritual growth and deeper faith (Romans 5:3-5). Illustrations often use images of fire refining metal, storms shaking trees, or broken vessels to portray how affliction purifies believers and reveals their true character (James 1:2-4).
A father agonizes over choosing which son to save from execution, showing deep affliction.
History informs us, that a father went to the agents of a tyrant to endeavor to redeem his two sons, military men, who, with some other captives of war, were appointed to die. He offered as a ransom to surrender his own life and a large sum of money. The soldiers who had it in charge to put them to death, informed him that this equivalent would be accepted for one of his sons, and for one only, because they should be accountable for the execution of two persons: he might therefore choose which he would redeem. Anxious to save even one of them, thus, at the expense of his own life, he yet was utterly unable to decide which should die, and
# AFFLI
# 13. Benefits of Affliction.
A bookseller grieves over his dying child, revealing the pain of affliction and love.
Many years ago, a pious and devoted clergyman entered the shop of a prosperous London bookseller, with whom he was on terms of intimate and Christian friendship. He inquired for his friend, and when told that he was at home, but particularly engaged, sent a messenger to him to the effect that he wanted an interview with him, if but for a few minutes. This message being delivered, the clergyman was invited to walk up stairs, into the bookseller's sitting room. He entered the room, and found his friend sitting by his child's cot. The child was dying, but, with affection strong in death, it had clasped its father's hand, and was holding it with a convulsive grasp.
remained in the agony of his dilemma so long, that his sons were both slain.
Mr. Dod finds comfort that sanctified affliction promotes spiritual growth amid persecution.
While the eminent Puritan minister, Mr. Dod, resided at Hanwell, (Eng.) he was the subject of much persecution and sorrow. Going once to see his relative, the Rev. Mr. Greenham, of Dry-Drayton, and lamenting the state of his mind to him, the worthy minister replied, "Son, son, when affliction lieth heavy, sin lieth light." This saying conveyed great comfort to Mr. Dod, who rejoiced that God could make affliction the means of his sanctification; and used afterwards to say, that, "sanctified afflictions are spiritual promotions."
A widow testifies that God's chastening kept her faithful and restored her to Him.
Sarah Howard, a poor old widow who had been bedridden fourteen years, when visited by her minister, thus spoke of her afflictions:—"I can set to my seal, that 'the Lord has chastened me sore, but he hath not given me over unto death,' Psalm cxviii. 19. I have been chastened in my person, and am quite helpless, by long and severe illness; I have been chastened in my circumstances ever since I was left a widow; yes, I know what oppressing a widow, what bad debts, and hard creditors are: I have been chastened in my family, by a son, whom I was dotingly fond of, running away and going to sea. Besides all these, I have been chastened in mind, 'walking in darkness and having no light:' yet after all, I trust I can say with David, 'Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept thy word.' And I hope I can say that I am now returned to the Shepherd and Bishop of souls," 1 Pet. ii. 25.
A diseased limb saved a young man from folly and drew him closer to God and hope.
A young man, who had been long confined with a diseased limb, and was near his dissolution, was attended by a friend, who requested that the wound might be uncovered. When this was done, "There," said the young man, "there it is, and a precious treasure it has been to me; it saved me from the folly and vanity of youth; it made me cleave to God as my only portion, and to eternal glory as my only hope: and
I think it has now brought me very near to my Father's house."
Affliction can glorify God through patient submission and praise despite suffering.
Ann Meiglo, a poor distressed woman in the parish of Portnook, when visited by Mr. Ebenezer Erskine, said to him, "O, sir, I am just lying here a poor useless creature." "Think you?"
said he. "I think, sir, what is true, if I were away to heaven, I would be of some use to glorify God without sin."—
"Indeed, Annie," said Mr. Erskine, "I think you are glorifying God by your resignation and submission to his will, and that in the face of many difficulties and under many distresses. In heaven the saints have no burdens to groan under; your praises, burdened as you are, are more wonderful to me, and I trust acceptable to God."
Suffering exposes false beliefs and leads to repentance and renewed faith in Christ.
A New England divine, who was preaching on the benefit derived from affliction, said: I once knew a young man, who was a student in one of our universities, who, by reading Dr. Combe's works and others, had become very skeptical on some important points—the doctrine of prayer, total depravity, regeneration, and the special influences of the Holy Spirit. Though he professed religion and was studying for the ministry, he had lost all religious enjoyment, and was fast going down an inclined plane into the abyss of infidelity. During a vacation in midwinter, he was travelling on business among the Germans in the interior of Pennsylvania, when he was prostrated on his bed with a dangerous disease—hundreds of miles from home, "a stranger in a strange land." When he began to think of dying, he found himself all unprepared. His new sentiments hovered like dismal clouds around his sick-bed, that not a star of hope shone through. There was little time for logic then: but one species of short-hand logic swept away his skeptical notions like chaff. He reasoned from effect to cause. "Embracing these new sentiments has evidently brought my mind into this wretched condition; and as the fruit is bad, the tree must be bad also. 'He that followeth me,' says Christ, 'shall not walk in darkness;' therefore, as I am walking in darkness, it must be because I have been led astray from him. These new opinions must, therefore, be erroneous, and I will renounce them forever, embrace, in all humility and simplicity, the truths of the Gospel, as I embraced them at the first." Right speedily did he put his resolve into action; and he soon found his way back to the fold of Christ, to the Shepherd and Bishop of souls. He recovered from his sickness and returned home, rejoicing to tell his friends what God had done for his soul. And that young man, my hearers, is preaching to you to-day! I have many blessings for which to thank God, for He has shown my way with the gifts of His providence; but for the blessing of that afflicting illness, I sometimes feel as if I ought to praise and thank Him most. And if I am ever so happy as to get home to heaven, I know I shall remember that affliction with gratitude still! It will be a theme on which I shall love to linger, one which shall prompt many anthems of my rejoicing there.
Severe affliction can restore a backslider’s heart and faith through God’s discipline.
REAVED AND RESTORED.—A young lady, who belonged to a church in the city of New-York, married a young man who was not a Christian. He was a merchant, engaged in a lucrative business, and the golden stream of wealth flowed in upon him till he had amassed a large fortune. He accordingly retired from business and went into the country. He purchased a splendid residence; fine trees waved their luxuriant foliage around it; here was a lake filled with fish, and there a garden full of rare shrubbery and flowers. Their house was fashionably and expensively furnished; and they seemed to possess all of earth that mortal could desire. Thus prospered, and plied with an interchange of civilities among her gay and fashionable neighbors, the piety of the lady declined, and her heart became wedded to the world. And it is not to be wondered at, that her three children, as they grew up, imbibed her spirit and copied her example.
"A severe disease," it is said, "demands a severe remedy," and that God soon applied. One morning intelligence came that her little son had fallen into the fish-lake and was drowned. The mother's heart was pierced with the affliction, and she wept and murmured against the providence of God. Soon after, her only daughter, a blooming girl of sixteen, was taken sick of a fever and died. It seemed then as if the mother's heart would have broken. But this new stroke of the rod of a chastening Father seemed but to increase her displeasure against his will.
The only remaining child, her oldest son, who had come home from college to attend his sister's funeral, went out into the fields soon after, for the purpose of hunting. In getting over a fence, he put his gun over first to assist himself in springing to the ground, when it accidentally discharged itself and killed him! What then were that mother's feelings? In the extravagance of her grief, she fell down, tore her hair, and raved like a maniac against the providence of God. The father, whose grief was already almost insupportable, when he looked upon the shocking spectacle and heard her frenzied ravings, could endure his misery no longer. The iron entered into his soul, and he fell a speedy victim to his accumulated afflictions. From the wife and mother her husband and all her children were now taken away. Reason returned, and she was led to reflection. She saw her dreadful backslidings, her pride, her rebellion; and she wept with the tears of a deep repentance. Peace was restored to her soul. Then would she lift her hands to heaven, exclaiming, "I thank thee, O Father! The Lord hath given, the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord." Thus did her afflictions yield the peaceable fruit of righteousness, and her heavenly Father chasten her, "not for His pleasure, but for her profit, that she might become partaker of His holiness."
Unexpected affliction can protect us from greater harm by God’s providential care.
A merchant was one day returning from market. He was on horseback, and behind him was a valise filled with money. The rain fell with violence, and the good old man was wet to his skin. At this he was vexed, and murmured because God had given him such bad weather for his journey.
He soon reached the borders of a thick forest. What was his terror on beholding on one side of the road a robber, with levelled gun, aiming at him and attempting to fire! But the powder being wet by the rain, the gun did not go off, and the merchant, giving spurs to his horse, fortunately had time to escape.
As soon as he found himself safe, he said to himself: "How wrong was I, not to endure the rain patiently as sen.
by Providence. If the weather had been dry and fair, I should not, probably, have been alive at this hour, and my little children would have expected my return in vain. The rain which caused me to murmur, came at a fortunate moment, to save my life and preserve my property." And thus it is with a multitude of our afflictions; by causing us slight and short sufferings, they preserve us from others far greater, and of longer duration.
Repeated afflictions can break worldly attachments and lead to joyful repentance.
A Christian whom God had prospered in his outward estate, and who lived in ease and plenty on his farm, suffered the world to encroach so much upon his affections, as sensibly to diminish the ardor of his piety. The disease was dangerous, and the Lord adopted severe measures for its cure. First, his wife was removed by death; but he still remained worldly-minded. Then a beloved son; but, although the remedy operated favorably, it did not effect a cure. Then his crops failed and his cattle died; still his grasp on the world was not unloosed. Then God touched his person, and brought on him a lingering, fatal disease; the world, however, occupied still too much of his thoughts. His house finally took fire;
and as he was carried out of the burning building, he exclaimed: "Blessed be God, I am cured at last." He shortly after died happy in the anticipation of a heavenly inheritance.
Affliction can teach deeper spiritual truths than years of study and ministry.
A minister was recovering of a dangerous illness, when one of his friends addressed him thus:
"Sir, though God seems to be bringing you up from the gates of death, yet it will be a long time before you will sufficiently retrieve your strength, and regain vigor enough of mind to preach as usual." The good man answered:—
"You are mistaken, my friend; for this six weeks' illness has taught me more divinity than all my past studies and all my ten years' ministry put together."
Illness can deepen a preacher’s evangelical passion and spiritual effectiveness.
It used to be said of Dr. Chandler, that, after an illness, he always preached in a more evangeli cal strain than usual. A gentleman who occasionally heard him said to one of his constant auditors: "Pray, has not the doctor been ill lately?" "Why do you think so?" "Because the sermon was more evangelical than he usually preaches when he is in full health."
God’s providence can redirect our paths for ultimate good despite apparent setbacks.
A few years since, says a writer in the Pastor's Journal, I was engaged in a wholesale mercantile business in the city of New-York; but ill health and other circumstances compelled me to close it and remove to the country. My young men were most of them from pious families; some were warm-hearted Christians, and all of them succeeded in finding eligible situations but one. S. was my youngest clerk; his talents were respectable; his conduct, as far as I could judge, was irreproachable; but my best efforts, and those of his friends, could not secure him a situation. After months spent in vain endeavors to find an opening in the business of his choice, and a year occupied on a foreign voyage without success, he returned to the country and engaged reluctantly in a mechanical business, which his father followed, near the place where I had settled. I saw him but seldom; but when I met him as his friend, I was treated with marked coldness. I was at a loss to account for it, and at length demanded an explanation, when I found the whole family considered me culpably to blame in not procuring him a situation in New-York, after I had no longer occasion for his services. It was indeed a mystery even to myself, that the path to manhood chosen by S. and his friends, should be so hedged up as to compel him to walk in another. S. however continued his mechanical pursuits, and, in the providence of God, was directed to the neighborhood of a protracted meeting. He was the child of many prayers, and had more than once lived through an awakening unchanged, though not unaffected. He was now drawn, by an impulse he could not resist, to attend this meeting, feeling that it might be the last strivings of the Spirit. With trembling he took his place on the anxious seat, and, overwhelmed with emotion, he retired from the meeting to a field, where he gave himself away to his Savior, and the
Spirit spake peace to his soul. It was but a few days after this happy event,
S. returned to our village, (where his parents still reside,) and the humble, meek, and gentle air which his manly countenance had assumed, in place of the haughty, discontented form, was apparent to every one. I was confined to my house by indisposition, and was delighted to welcome him who had scarcely entered my dwelling since his return from the city. He modestly gave me an account of the change in his feelings and happiness, in presence of some members of my family, and solicited a private interview. On retiring with him, he said to me, with tears in his eyes: "My mind has been sorely troubled by the recollection of some things I did in your store. I was tempted to take sundry small articles, for my own use, without your knowledge or consent, amounting, I should think, to five dollars, and I cannot rest until I have paid you for them!" A crowd of reflections rushed into my mind. I felt overwhelmed for a moment with a sense of the goodness of God, in so counteracting all his plans as to save him from the vortex which was opening before him.
He had begun to rob his employer, and, as the progress in vice is rapid downward, had not a kind Providence interposed, S. would, in all probability, have become, ere this, a tenant of the state prison, and brought down the gray hairs of his parents with sorrow to the grave.
I pointed out to him, as I trust, faithfully and profitably, the finger of God in his rescue, and encouraged him to persevere unto the end. It is now nearly two years since this interview, and S. has continued to give evidence of the sincerity of the change, and bids fair to become an ornament to society and a pillar in the church of Christ.
# 14. Gratitude for Affliction.
God’s grace brings spiritual healing and joy even amid severe suffering and slavery.
In the Southern section of the
United States, an African slave, whose name was Jenny, was observed to fail in her labor, and indications of some distress were visible in her countenance. She was asked for the cause; she replied, "Jenny's heart is sick." She was sent from the field, to the house, to obtain relief; but none was gained. She spent her days in silence; only saying, "Jenny's heart is sick." One day she met her mistress, who was very anxious for her case, in the yard, and cried out, "O mistress, Jenny is going to die, and be lost. Who will take care of Jenny's baby when she is gone?" Such was her distress at that moment, that she sunk under its weight motionless at her mistress's feet, who had her taken kindly to her house, and attended with care. Thus she continued for some days, scarcely able to walk. But one day, having got a short distance into a forest, she there cried to God in her distress, and God graciously heard her mourning voice, and poured into her sick heart the balm of Gilead, which gave her immediate relief. On this occasion, when the light broke in on her afflicted soul, and the pardoning love of God in Christ was seen by faith, she said, "All the trees around cry, Glory! and all the angels cry, Glory! and Jenny cry Glory, too!" She now said, when Jenny was in her native country, she had no God, she knew no God! But in America, Jenny has learned there is a God, and that he is hers. In Africa, Jenny had no Jesus, she had no one to tell her of Jesus. But she thanks God that she was ever brought to America to hear of a Savior. In Africa, Jenny was ignorant of sin, and the wrath of God; but in this favored land she has been made acquainted with her sinful and dangerous state, and the way of salvation through a precious Redeemer. Now Jenny lived, and sang, and looked forward to the hope of glory, as the end of sorrows, and certain reward of all who, through faith and patience, wait for the coming of our Lord Jesus unto eternal life, Happy affliction! Blessed African!
Affliction can prevent pride and lead to deeper trust in God’s wise purposes.
Mary had learned to read, and at an early age took great delight in her Bible; but before she was eighteen years old, her sight began to fail her, and in a very short time she became totally blind. This, it will be thought, must have been a severe trial, at such an age, under any circumstances, but more especially to one who had always derived her chief pleasure and enjoyment from her little stock of books. Mary, however, had learned from her Bible, that "God doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men;" and she felt assured that he would, in some way or other, make this affliction tend to her eternal good. "Many people pity me," she said one day, to a lady who was talking with her, "and say, it is hard to be blind; but I don't think it at all hard. Perhaps, if I had not lost my sight, I should have grown proud. I was very fond of reading, and I should perhaps have thought too much of knowledge; I might have been puffed up, and therefore the temptation was mercifully taken from me. The Lord knew that I needed some trial, and he chose this for me. I am glad he did, for I should not have known what to have chosen for myself; I am sure I should not have chosen this. What, he blind! No; for then I should not be able to read, or to go about. I should not have chosen any thing that was painful. I sometimes think," she continued, "how many trials this keeps me from, which I should not have known how to bear!"
Loss can be a hidden blessing that leads to salvation and joy in the gospel.
A blind boy, who belonged to the Institution in Dublin, when dying, assured a correspondent of the Tract Magazine that he considered it as one of the greatest mercies of Heaven that he had been deprived of his sight; because this was the means the Lord employed to bring him under the sound of the gospel, which was now the joy and rejoicing of his soul. So much wisdom and truth is there in the beautiful language of the poet:—
"Good, when he gives, supremely good,
Nor less when he denies;
E'en crosses, from his sovereign hand,
Are blessings in disguise"
Martin Luther thanked God for earthly poverty, trusting Him to provide and preserve.
In the last will and testament of this eminent reformer occurs the following remarkable passage:—"Lord God, I thank thee, that thou hast been pleased to make me a poor and indigent man upon earth. I have neither house, nor land, nor money, to leave behind me. Thou hast given me wife and children, whom I now restore to thee. Lord, nourish, teach, and preserve them, as thou hast me."
Affliction can lead to salvation and gratitude even toward those who cause suffering.
It is related of one, who, under great severity, had fled from the worst of masters to the best, (I mean he had sought rest in the bosom of Jesus Christ, the common friend of
# AGED
# 15. Conversion of the Aged.
Enduring severe suffering with patience and hope in a place without death or sorrow.
A negro named Robert, a sugar-boiler, was dreadfully afflicted for several years; his affliction arose, as was supposed, from a drop of boiling sugar falling on his arm when he was at work. The place broke out, and the sore spread, so that his fingers fell off.
The disorder ascended into his head, and his eyes fell out, as also pieces of
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A man found physical disease a relief from the torment of an idle, restless mind.
A tradesman who had acquired a large fortune in London, retired from business, and went to reside in Worcester. His mind, without its usual occupation, and having nothing else to supply its place, preyed upon itself, so that existence became a torment to him. At last he was seized with the stone; and a friend, who found him in one of its severest attacks, having expressed his condolence, "No, no, sir," said he, "do not pity me; for I assure you what I extensively, he states that whilst such immense multitudes, and a large proportion of all ages and conditions in life were powerfully wrought upon, and driven to seek refuge from the wrath to come, unconverted professors stood alone unmoved.
# ENESS.
now feel is ease compared with the torture of mind from which it relieves me."
A man’s excessive idleness led to melancholy and fatal diseases by age thirty-six.
"When I visited a country neighbor of mine" (says Lord Clarendon) "in the morning, I always found him in bed; and when I came in the afternoon, he was asleep, and to most men besides myself, access was denied. Once walking with him, I doubted he was melancholy, and, by spending his time so much in bed, and so much alone, that there was something that troubled him otherwise that it could not be that a man upon whom God had poured so many blessings should be so little contented as he appeared to be. To which he answered, 'that he thought himself the most happy man alive in a wife who was all the comfort he could have in this world; that he was at so much ease in his fortune, he did not wish it greater; but he said he would deal freely with me, and tell me, if he were melancholy, (which he suspected himself of,) what was the true cause of it; that he had somewhat he knew not what to do with; he knew not how to spend his time; which was the reason he loved his bed so much, and slept at other times, which he said he found did him already no good in his health.'" Lord Clarendon adds, that the unhappy gentleman's melancholy daily increased with the agony of his thoughts, till he contracted diseases which carried him off at the age of thirty-six.
A shipwrecked sailor's suffering led him to reflect on God and his soul's condition.
A ship, says Rev. John Blain, was wrecked amongst the rocks, near Cape Horn. While the winds fiercely blowed, and the foaming billows dashed the timbers in pieces, one seaman reached a lonely, barren rock. The day passed slowly away. He stretched his eye to the east and west, to the north and south, over the deep, dark, and ever restless waters—but no friendly sail appeared! The sun disappeared, and he sat down to pass in solitude the lonely night. His shipmates were cold and silent in their watery graves. The waves dashed against the rock, the winds passed swiftly onward, the lamps of night shed their dismal light on the bosom of the deep—but no human voice sounded in his ear, no brother's hand administered to his wants. Hunger and thirst made strong demands, but he had no means to relieve them. The bread and the water were entombed with his companions. Nor had he any consolation to draw from a future world. The Bible and the Redeemer had been neglected, and he was strangely indifferent. Another day came and passed, and another night. On the third night, as he lay on his back, gazing into the starry heavens, he began to think about God and eternity, his past life, and the interests of his soul. But all was dark. His skin was peeling from his face, his teeth all loose, his thirst almost intolerable, and death seemed to stand by his side. He had never prayed, nor did he know how to pray. A single commandment was all he remembered, and that commandment his dear mother taught him when a child. And how should he meet that mother and his God in a future world? His sins passed in review, and pressed on his guilty conscience, while bitter tears of repentance began to roll down his scalded cheeks. Without knowing what the Lord required of him, he rose, stood on his knees, lifted his feeble hands towards heaven, and there on that lonely rock, far, far away from home and friends, he submitted all to God, and most solemnly promised, if his life was spared, he would learn and do whatever God required. From that consecrated and blessed hour, peace flowed into his soul—Christ was his Savior, and hope entered within the vail. The next day the life-boat from a passing ship took him from the Bethel rock. He landed in Boston, found the sailor's friend, and the sailor's home, and listened to the gospel of peace. Father Taylor gave him a Bible, which he read with prayerful attention. He came to New-York—visited different churches, searched for truth, remembered his solemn vow, and in February, 1843, while I was preaching in the Baptist Tabernacle, he offered himself to the church. On hearing his experience, every heart felt—every eye wept. Bro. Wm. W. Everts baptized him, welcomed him to the church, and he went on his way rejoicing.
A dying youth finds joy and hope in Christ despite poverty and suffering.
The Rev. H. Venn once told his children, that he would take them to see one of the most interesting sights in the world.
He would not tell them what it was;
but in the evening led them to a miserable hovel, whose ruinous walls and broken windows showed an extreme degree of poverty and want. "Now,"
said he, "my dear children, can any one that lives in such a wretched habitation as this be happy? Yet this is not all; a poor young man lies there on a miserable straw bed, dying of disease,
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at the age of nineteen, consumed with fever, and afflicted with nine painful ulcers." "How wretched!" they all exclaimed. He then led them into the cottage, and addressing the poor dying young man, said, "Abraham Midwood, I have brought my children here to show them that it is possible to be happy in a state of disease, and poverty, and want: now, tell them if it is not so." The dying youth, with a sweet smile, replied, "Oh! yes, sir; I would not change my state with that of the richest person on earth, who has not those views which I have. Blessed be God! I have a good hope, through Christ, of being admitted into those blessed regions where Lazarus now dwells, having long forgotten all his sorrows and miseries. Sir, this is nothing to bear whilst the presence of God cheers my soul, and whilst I can have access to him, by constant prayer, through faith in Jesus. Indeed, sir, I am truly happy, and I trust to be happy through eternity; and I every hour thank God, who has brought me from a state of darkness into marvelous light, and has given me to enjoy the unsearchable riches of his grace."
A woman praises God's wisdom in appointing her to bear her affliction with ease.
An aged and pious lady, who lost the use of her arm by a fall in winter, said to a friend, smiling, that she had just been considering the circumstances of all her acquaintances, but had not been able to fix upon one who could with less inconvenience sustain such a loss than she could. She, therefore, admired the Divine wisdom and goodness in appointing her to bear that affliction rather than any other person.
Adversity humbles believers and draws them closer to God as their true refuge.
In prosperity men forget God but in adversity they can find no other refuge. Blessed the affliction that brings one to his knees before the throne
Suffering can glorify Christ by proving Him as the Light to others through trials.
Is it worth while to go through life blind for the glory of Christ? Tedious afflictions may be consecrated to Him. Blind man's trial resulted in proving Jesus the Light of the world to many souls
God uses affliction to bring believers to confess sin and fulfill His righteous purpose.
In times of testing when believers think themselves wronged by men, may learn that God has a righteous purpose—possibly to bring out confession of sin (v. 16)
Trials often precede spiritual promotion and honor from God.
In the ancient times, a box on the ear given by a master to a slave meant liberty, little would the freedman care how hard was the blow. By a stroke from the sword the warrior was knighted by his monarch, small matter was it to the new-made knight if the royal hand was heavy. 'When the Lord intends to lift his servants into a higher stage of spiritual life, he frequently sends them a severe trial; he makes his Jacobs to be prevailing princes, but he confers the honour after a night of wrestling, and accompanies it with a shrunken sinew. Be it so, who among us would wish to be deprived of the trials if they are the necessary attendants of spiritual advancement?
God can transform heavy trials into sources of heavenly joy.
Our afflictions are like weights, and have a tendency to bow us to the dust, but there is a way of arranging weights by means of wheels and pulleys, so that they will even lift us up. Grace, by its matchless art, has often turned the heaviest of our trials into occasions for heavenly joy. "We glory in tribulations also." We gather honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock.
Affliction reveals the true character and faith of Christians.
When the green leaves bedeck the trees and all is fair, one cannot readily find the birds' nests, but when the winter lays bare the trees, anyone, with half-an-eye, may see them. Thus amid the press of business and prosperity the Christian may scarcely be discerned, his hidden life is concealed amid the thick and throng of the things of earth; but let affliction come, a general sickness, or severe losses in the family, and you shall see the Christian man plainly enough in the gracious patience by which he rises superior to trial. The sick bed reveals the man; the burning house, the sinking ship, the panic on the exchange, all these make manifest the hidden ones. In many a true believer, true piety is like a drum which nobody hears of unless it be beaten.
Believers value their trials as treasures because of Christ's sanctifying power.
Our crosses are not made of iron, though painted sometimes with iron colours; they are formed of nothing heavier than wood. Yet they are not made of pasteboard, and will never be light in themselves, though our Lord can lighten them by his presence. The Papists foolishly worship pieces of wood supposed to be parts of the true cross; but he who has borne the really true cross, and known its sanctifying power, will value every sliver of it, counting his trials to be his treasures, his afflictions argosies of wealth, and his losses his best gains.
Believers long for heaven but face painful struggles in their earthly bodies.
Have you never seen a caged eagle with its breast or wing bleeding from blows received by dashing against the wire of its cage? The poor creature dreamed of the forest and the craggy rock, and, filled with aspirations for sublimest flight, it stretched its wings and flew upward, only to bring itself into sharp contact with its prison. Even thus the new-born nature, stirred in its inmost depths with longings suitable to its celestial origin, aspires after the joys of heaven, stretching all its wings to soar towards perfection; but alas! we who are in this body do groan, we find the flesh to be a prison, and so the more we long the more we pine, and pining we sigh and cry, and wound our hearts with insatiable desires and bleeding discontents. The pangs of strong desire for the presence of the Lord in glory, who among believers has not felt them? Who among us has not found our flight upward brought to a painful pause by the stern facts of flesh and blood, and earth and sin?
Affliction drives us to trust God as our unshakable rock and source of light.
The bow of trouble shot David like an arrow towards God! It is a blessed thing when the waves of affliction wash us upon the rock of confidence in God alone, when darkness below gives us an eye to the light above.
Affliction prunes and quickens believers, making their prayers more effective and fruitful.
Your affliction quickened your prayers. There is a man trying to write with a quill pen; it will not make anything but a thick stroke; but he takes a knife and cuts fiercely at the quill till it marks admirably. So we have to be cut with the sharp knife of affliction, for only then can the Lord make use of us. See how sharply gardeners trim their vines, they take off every shoot, till the vine looks like a dry stick. There will be no grapes in the spring, if there is not this cutting away in the autumn and winter. God quickens us in our afflictions through His Word.
In sorrow, we descend into the depths of God's love and comfort.
The nautilus, when disturbed, folds up its sails and sinks into the depths, and even so in every hour of storm, we descend into the depths of divine love.
Repeated afflictions refine believers’ character to priceless perfection.
At some famous pottery works a visitor selected for purchase an exquisite model of Dante and Beatrice. The price was, however, far greater than he anticipated, being treble what had been asked for some other specimens of the potter’s handiwork. “Why is this so much more expensive?” he asked. “Because it has passed more often through the furnace,” was the reply.
God sends His children sometimes through repeated furnaces of affliction in order that their characters may attain a rare and priceless perfection. (Text.)
Suffering can produce a beautiful, fragrant spirit that blesses others.
The editor of _The United Presbyterian_ writes thus:
On a recent evening during a severe hailstorm we opened our door to observe the progress of the storm, and were surprized to find the air laden with the odor of nasturtiums. There were porch-boxes containing nasturtiums, geraniums and other flowering and foliage plants. Beds of nasturtiums were by the street’s side and at the side of the lawn, and into these the hail had fallen, beating down and breaking the vines until the porch floor and the ground beneath the boxes and the vines were covered with ends of broken sprays, leaves and bright bits of yellow and gold, scarlet and maroon of the mangled flowers. But the air was full of the sweetness of the crusht and wounded vines. They were returning good for evil in the misfortune that had come upon them. For every wound that the hail had made they were giving out the fragrance of a beautiful spirit. Tho bruised and broken, they were filling the whole atmosphere with an aroma which was in beautiful contrast to the adverse rain of hail that still rattled on the roofs and walks and fell among the prostrate vines. Blest is that life which can yield its sweetest fragrance when the storms are at their highest. We have all known men and women who, when lacerated with pain, prostrate under the hand of God, have made the very atmosphere of the sick-room redolent with the incense of Christian hope and trust.
Affliction, like a flood, purifies and fertilizes the soul for spiritual fruitfulness.
The Scriptures say that “It is good to be afflicted,” and experience has her own confirmatory word:
The waters go out over the fields, leaving a waste, where pasture and corn-field had been, and then gradually subside. What have the waters done? Have they ruined the labors of the year? They who do not know Egypt might think so indeed, but the peasants know that to that yearly flood they owe the fertility of the land, that it is that which makes the crops grow and enables them to gather in the harvest. So it is with the river of the grace of God: the waters at times overflow their banks, and one seems to be overwhelmed; the soul is borne down by the flood, all her fruitful land is covered by the waters--waters of desolation, bereavement, affliction. “I am overwhelmed, undone; God has smitten me; my life is all wrong; I shall never smile again.” Nay, the flood which terrifies thee is the water of the river of God. The water is washing away the impurity of thy soul, giving thee fertility; the fruits of love, patience, charity, shall grow now; it is not a flood of desolation, but of blessing and fruitfulness. (Text.)
Trials and afflictions spur spiritual growth, lifting souls to higher, heavenly life.
The naturalist reminds us how the furious eagerness of the winged insects, which seem to be the agents of death, is frequently a cause of life. By an incessant persecution of the sick flocks, enfeebled by hot, damp airs, they insure their safety. Otherwise they would remain stupidly resigned, and hour by hour become less capable of motion until they could rise no more. The inexorable spur of the furious insects knows, however, the secrets of putting the flocks on their legs; tho with trembling limbs, they take to flight; the insect never quits them, presses them, urges them, bleeding, to the wholesome regions of the dry lands and the living waters where their afflictions cease.
On life’s lower plains, living lives of ease and indulgence, the strength and dignity of the soul would perish; but the ills of life disturb us, sting us, incessantly attack and pursue us, until bleeding we find the higher planes of thought and life, until at last we reach the sweet table-lands of which God Himself is sun and moon. The fiery law is a chariot of fire, lifting true souls into heavenly places.--W. L. WATKINSON, “The Transfigured Sackcloth.”
God’s providence can restore even deeply troubled families through wise care and intervention.
See CONCERT, LACK OF.
INSANITY CURED
[Illustration]
An instance of a family of insane dependents illustrates the operation of stress and strain to render a psychopathic family helpless and make it dependent upon the State. This family consists of an inebriate father who married a normal woman with two insane brothers. The father has an insane brother. From this union sprang three children, all of whom have been insane from time to time, and who alternated in residence at a State hospital as committed insane patients, joined at intervals by their uncles, and once by their father. The superintendent of the hospital retained the father in custody until he could put him in good condition, mentally, morally and physically, and discharged him in such form that for the first time in the recollection of the family he has been sober, industrious and kind. He has paid off a mortgage on the farm and is putting money in the bank. The conditions of this family are shown in above chart.
The two sons are working and there is an atmosphere of peace and happiness in the home. Two uncles remained under care, but all the members of one household are out of the hospital. If a wise hospital superintendent can solve such a difficult problem, the result can be duplicated in many instances by field physicians working in consonance with after-care people. Actual prophylactic work will be impossible under close medical and lay organization, and definite results be reached. The discharged patient will return to fewer difficulties. The improved environment will produce fewer patients.
— ALBERT W. FERRIS
Statistical data reveals the widespread affliction of insanity and its societal impact.
The United States Census gives the following facts about insanity in the United States:
Total Insane:
1890 In hospitals 74,028. Total 106,485.
1906 In hospitals 150,151. (Total not given).
1903 Males in Hospital 78,523
Females 71,628
Hospitals:
Public, 226; private, 102.
Twenty-two and one-half per cent. of the insane were persons in some out of door occupation and 16 per cent. in manufacturing or some indoor occupation, but the proportion in each case to the whole number respectively so employed is not given.
The percentage proportioned to population of whites is greater than of blacks. None of the insane reported were under twelve years of age.
Laughter can be a necessary emotional release amid deep personal suffering.
It might be said of Lamb, as of Abraham Lincoln, “laughter was his vent”; if he had not laughed, he would have died of a frenzied brain or of a broken heart. With Lamb the maddest mood of frolic was a rebound from the blackest mood of melancholia; a fact which Carlyle, who did know Lamb’s history, might have remembered before he used the phrase “diluted insanity,” which, in view of that sad history, is nothing less than brutal.--W. J. DAWSON, “The Makers of English Prose.”
A man’s muscles painfully turn to bone, illustrating severe physical affliction and endurance.
The London _Mail_ reports this sad case:
An honored guest at most of the London hospitals is a tall, slim man, with a thin face, who has to move about with extreme care, because if he happened to fall down he might break in several places.
He is literally a fragile man, who has to walk with something of the stiffness of “La Poupée.” A violent fall would be disastrous to him. He is suffering from a rare and painless disease which, in the words of one of the doctors who has seen him, turns him into “a porcelain man.” Alban Rushbrook, aged thirty-five, has for seven years been suffering from _myositis ossificans_; his muscles are turning into bone. He can walk, but he can not sit in a chair, and it is difficult for him to turn his head far to the right or left. The muscles of his chest, back and thighs are all turning to bone. He lies flat in bed. When he desires to rise he is shifted to the edge of the bed, and his rigid body is tipped up till his feet touch the floor. A stick is placed in his hand, and he can then make his way in a straight line ahead.
Having bread under stress is nearly as hard as having none, showing burdens of provision.
While her husband was still lying in prison for debt, the Archbishop of York asked Susannah Wesley:
“Tell me, Mrs. Wesley, whether you were ever really in want of bread?”
“My lord,” she answered, “strictly speaking, I never did want bread. But then I had so much care to get it before it was eaten, and to pay for it after, as has often made it very unpleasant to me; and I think to have bread under such terms is the next degree of wretchedness to having none at all.”--W. H. FITCHETT, “Wesley and His Century.”
Adversity often strengthens virtues and character more than times of ease.
In sylviculture the growth and fiber qualities of young conifers are artificially improved by shutting off the sunlight and leaving the trees in very dark places.
There are many virtues in human character that seem to develop more robustly and come to finer strength in the shadows of adversity.
Suffering can lead to despair but also to recovery and renewed strength.
A terrible shadow in Coleridge’s life was the apparent cause of most of his dejection. In early life he suffered from neuralgia, and to ease the pain began to use opiates. The result on such a temperament was almost inevitable. He became a slave to the drug habit; his naturally weak will lost all its directing and sustaining force, until, after fifteen years of pain and struggle and despair, he gave up and put himself in charge of a physician, one Mr. Gillman, of Highgate. Carlyle, who visited him at this time, calls him “a king of men,” but records that “he gave you the idea of a life that had been full of sufferings, a life heavy-laden, half-vanquished, still swimming painfully in seas of manifold physical and other bewilderment.”--WILLIAM J. LONG, “English Literature.”
Small daily annoyances can be harder to endure than great calamities.
James Drummond, in “Parables and Pictures,” says:
We have heard of a battle against cannibals gained by the use of tacks. They had taken possession of a whaling vessel and bound the man who was left in care of it. The crew, on returning, saw the situation, and scattered tacks upon the deck of the vessel, which penetrated the bare feet of the savages, and sent them howling into the sea. They were ready to meet lance and sword, but they could not overcome the tacks on the floor. We brace ourselves up against great calamities. The little tacks of life, scattered along our way, are hard to bear.
Slow, persistent troubles can be more damaging than sudden crises.
Gerald Gould expresses in verse a sentiment that many will indorse:
It is the slow and softly dropping tears
That bring the furrows to man’s face; the years,
Falling and fall’n vain,
That turn the gold to gray upon his head;
And the dull days to disappointment wed,
And pain that follows pain
That make life bitter in the mouth, and strew
The dead with roses, but the quick with yew.
Better a wide and windy world, and scope
For rise and downfall of a mighty hope,
Than many little ills;
Better the sudden horror, the swift wrong,
Than doubts and cares that die not, and the long
Monotony that kills:
The empty dawns, pale stars, and narrow skies,
Mean hopes, mean fears, mean sorrows, and mean sighs.
(Text.)--_The Spectator._
A SENIOR CITIZEN'S LAMENT
Thought I'd let my doctor check me
'Cause I didn't feel quite right.
All those aches and pains annoyed me,
And I couldn't sleep at night.
He could find no real disorder,
but he wouldn't let it rest.
What with Medicare and Blue Cross
it wouldn't hurt to do some tests.
To the hospital he sent me
though I didn't feel that bad.
He arranged for them to give me
every test that could be had.
I was fluoroscoped and cystoscoped,
my aging frame displayed,
Stripped upon an ice-cold table
while my gizzards were X-rayed.
I was checked for worms and parasites,
for fungus and the crud,
While they pierced me with long needles
taking samples of my blood.
Doctors came to check me over,
probed and pushed and poked around,
And to make sure I was living,
they wired me for sound.
They have finally concluded
(their results have filled a page)
What I have will someday kill me:
my affliction is OLD AGE.
#4265
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Perhaps the greatest secret of the saints of old was their ability to praise God amid the afflictions of life.
Saint Francis de Sales (1567 - 1622) once wrote to a friend who was undergoing stresses at home, saying, “The many troubles in your household will tend to your edification, if you strive to bear them all in gentleness, patience, and kindness. Keep this ever before you, and remember constantly that God’s loving eyes are upon you amid all these little worries and vexations, watching whether you take them as He would desire. Offer up all such occasions to Him; and if sometimes you are put out and give way to impatience, do not be discouraged, but make haste to regain your lost composure.”
Do you have an area of frustration, fear, fretting, pain, or stress? Don’t be ashamed about it, but glorify God in the midst of it and let Him use it for the edification of your soul.
Special Quote: You had better make up your mind to accept what you cannot alter. You can live a beautiful life in the midst of your present circumstances. - J. R. Miller
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David Jeremiah; source: Turning Point Daily Devotional
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[Original illustration at this number was a duplicate of HolwickID #1933]
