Comfort in Christ speaks to the deep solace and joy believers find amid trials, rooted in God's abiding presence as 'Immanuel' (Isaiah 7:14). Christian preaching often uses images of light in darkness and warmth in cold to illustrate how divine comfort surpasses all earthly pleasures (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).
The Bible meets every need, providing comfort, strength, guidance, and joy in all circumstances.
When I am tired, the Bible is my bed;
Or in the dark, the Bible is my light;
When I am hungry, it is vital bread;
Or fearful, it is armor for the fight.
When I am sick, 'tis healing medicine;
Or lonely, thronging friends I find therein.
If I would work, the Bible is my tool;
Or play, it is a harp of happy sound.
If I am arrogant, it is my school.
If I am sinking, it is solid ground.
If I am cold, the Bible is my fire;
And it is wings, if boldly I aspire.
Should I be lost, the Bible is my guide;
Or naked, it is raiment rich and warm.
Am I imprisoned, it is ranges wide;
Or tempest-tossed, a shelter from the storm.
Would I adventure, 'tis a gallant sea;
Or would I rest, it is a flowery lea.
Does gloom oppress? The Bible is a sun,
Or ugliness? It is a garden fair.
Am I athirst? How cool its currents run!
Or stifled? What a vivifying air!
Since thus thou givest of thyself to me,
How should I give myself great Book to thee!
Believing God is with us brings joy even in captivity and hardship.
Two missionaries were captured and imprisoned in the same cell but forbidden to speak to each other. Christmas came.
One of the missionaries, shivering and silent, sat on the floor covered with hay. As he was playing with bits of hay around him, he thought that he discovered a silent way of communicating with his friend. He spelled out the word Immanuel. As soon as his friend saw the word, immediately he lit up with joy. They were captives, but they both believed that God was with them and that ultimate triumph would be theirs.
This Christmas let us find a variety of ways of showing to others that God is indeed Immanuel, God with us.
Jesus specially comforts the discouraged Peter to restore his hope after failure.
The angel said, "Tell His disciples and Peter," but why "and Peter?" He was one of the disciples. Why single him out from among all the rest? Was he any better? No, he was, if anything, a little worse. He had denied his Lord-three times and with oaths. And he was feeling very bad about it. He was cast down, heartsick, almost overwhelmed. And Jesus knew it full well, and it was just like Him to send a special word of comfort to him. It must have cheered the Apostle beyond words to be told that Christ had mentioned him especially as one to be given the news of His resurrection.
Christ's grace is sufficient to comfort even in the deepest personal loss.
A man stood up in a meeting and facing the preacher who had spoken about the sufficiency of God's grace, said: "You can talk like that about Christ-that He is dear to you, that He helps you-but if your wife were dead as my wife is, and you had some babies crying for their mother who would never come back, you could not say what you are saying." A little later the preacher lost his wife in an accident. After others had conducted the funeral service, he stood by the casket, looked down into the face of the silent wife and mother and said, "The other day when I was preaching, a man said I could not say Christ was sufficient if my wife were dead and my children were crying for their mother. If that man is here, I want to tell him that Christ is sufficient. My heart is broken, my heart is crushed, my heart is bleeding, but there is a song in my heart, and Christ put it there. And if that man is here, I tell him though my wife is gone and my children are motherless, Christ comforts me today." That man was there, and down the aisle he came and stood beside the casket and said, "Truly, if Christ can help in a time like this, I surrender to Him." Not Rejected
Once a large and beautiful block of marble was brought from the Greek island of Paros. Out of this marble it was planned to chisel a statue of the great Napoleon. The famous sculptor, Canova, surveyed it with critical eyes before commencing work upon it and discovered a slight red mark traversing the block. To the unskilled it was an insignificant matter, but Canova said, "I cannot work upon this; it has a flaw. It is not perfectly pure and white. I will not lay my chisel upon it." Therefore he rejected it. Think what imperfections the omniscient eye of God detects in the purest of human characters. Yet, He does not reject us on this account. How humbling, indeed, is this thought!
Even the least spiritual comfort from God surpasses the greatest worldly joy.
"A summer's sun, even when beclouded, yields more comfort and warmth to the earth than a winter's sun that shines brightest." The comforts of the Spirit at their lowest are far superior to the joys of the world at their highest pitch. When saints are mourning, their inward peace is still superior to that of worldlings, when their mirth and revelry overflow all bounds. Lord, I had rather take the worst from thee than the best from thine enemy. Only do thou graciously shine within me, and let mine outward condition be as dull as thou pleasest.
Without God’s presence, all earthly comforts fail to bring true joy or light.
"When the sun is gone all the candles in the world cannot make it day." Vain would be the attempt, though we should kindle a mountain of wax. So when the Lord denies comfort to a man, neither wealth, nor honour, nor power can enlighten the darkness of his mind. We can procure our own sorrow, but we cannot produce our own comfort. A secret curse eats out the heart of earthly joys when God does not smile upon them. Without God the world is, says Manton, "a deaf nut, which we crack, but find nothing in it but dust." Vanity of vanities, all is vanity, till the Lord becomes our all in all. Reader, do you know this by personal experience?
ARE THEY HAPPY? "Do you account him a happy man who is condemned to die, because he hath a plentiful allowance till his execution? Or him a happy man that makes a fair show abroad and puts a good face upon his ruinous and breaking condition, while at home he is pinched with want and misery, which is ready to come upon him like an armed man, one who revels in all manner of pleasure to-day, but is to die at night? Then those who remain in the guilt of their sins may be happy." If we view unpardoned sinners aright we shall heartily pity them. Let their condition be what it may, at this present the wrath of God abideth on them, and they are "condemned already"; and as for the future, it is black with certain doom. Alas for the unhappy man against whom God sets his face! What misery can be greater than to be reserved against the great day of the wrath of God? We wonder at the mirth of men condemned to hell, their infatuation is terrible to behold. Hence we cannot join with them in their carnal mirth. Sinners may dance, but it will not be to our piping. They may revel and riot, but we dare not countenance them in their jollity, for we know that their day is coming. Let no desire to share their base delights lurk in your mind if you be indeed a child of God. Be not envious at the transgressors. Who would envy a criminal about to be executed his last draught of wine? Let not their frivolities attract you. Every sensible man pities the wretch who can dance under the gallows. Sinners on the road to hell sporting and jesting are worse than mad, or their singing would turn to sighing.
Christ carries His children safely through trials like a father carrying them across a river.
"We must look upon Christ as a father carrying all his children on his back, or lapped up in his garment, through a deep river, through which they must needs pass, and, as it were, saying to them, Fear not, I will set you safe on land. Look upon Christ wading with all his children through the floods of death and hell, and saying, Fear not, worm Jacob, fear not, poor souls, I will set you safe." This is not very poetically put. It is the old Christopher story in a more common dress. The good Lord waits at the river to bear us over, lest the water-floods prevail against us. He hath made, and he will bear, even he will carry. Here is our safety: He shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom. O my gracious Lord, be pleased to carry me among thine own in life and in death. Yea, set me safe on the further shore to sing for ever of thy saving power.
Christ's presence transforms trials into joy and comforts the soul like sunshine after rain.
"A little sunshine enliveneth the poor creatures, the birds fall a-singing that were melancholy and sad before in cloudy weather; all things are cheered and comforted when the sun shines." Just so. How often have we seen the change which is wrought by clear shining after rain! It has seemed as though heaven had come down in love to dry earth's tears and bedeck her with raiment of fair colours. Spiritually, the type is carried out in delightful fashion. The Lord's appearing sheds a glory upon our infirmities, and transforms our trials into triumphs. His presence removes the dulness which else hangs like a cloud on the best of our conditions, and in this way lightens all our glooms. His countenance is to his saints as a morning without clouds, it brings with it a surprise of joy. Till Jesus communed with me I did not know that I could be so happy. I heard more birds singing in my soul than I had ever dreamed could have dwelt within me. Never had my sad soul imagined that human life was half as capable of divine bliss, or earth within a thousand leagues so near to heaven. Truly it is worth while to have lived, if for nothing more than to have had an hour's fellowship with the Well-beloved. Earthly joy is no more to be compared with it than a lamp in a coal-mine can be likened to the sun in the heavens. Oh, my God, I thank thee for having made me, because thou hast made me able to walk in the light of thy countenance. Now thou dost shine upon me my summer-tide has come.
God takes His beloved from us, and we can find peace knowing they are with Him.
A nobleman had a spacious garden, which he left to the care of a faithful servant, whose delight it was to train the creepers along the trellis, to water the seeds in the time of drought, to support the stalks of the tender plants, and to do every work which could render the garden a paradise of flowers. One morning, he rose with joy, expecting to tend his beloved flowers, and hoping to find his favorites increased in beauty. To his surprise, he found one of his choicest beauties rent from its stem, and, looking around him, he missed from every bed the pride of his garden, the most precious of his blooming flowers. Full of grief and anger, he hurried to his fellow-servants, and demanded who had thus robbed him of his treasures. They had not done it, and he did not charge them with it; but he found no solace for his grief, till one of them remarked, "My lord was walking in the garden this morning, and I saw him pluck the flowers, and carry them away." Then truly he found he had no cause for his trouble. He felt it was well that his master had been pleased to take his own; and he went away, smiling at his loss, because his lord had taken them.
Relief in bereavement comes from nature, new life, and Christian hope of reunion.
First, there are reliefs arising from our constitution. There is a self-healing principle in nature. Break a branch from a tree, &c., wound the body, cut the flesh, or break a limb, and you see the self-healing power exude and work. It is so in the soul. Thought succeeds thought, like the waves of the ocean; and each tends to wear out the impression its predecessor had made. Secondly, there are incidental reliefs. New events, new engagements, new relationships, tend to heal the wound. Thirdly, there are Christian reliefs, — the assurance of afterlife, the hope of a future reunion, &c. Such are the reliefs. These, like the flowers and shrubs of a lovely garden, spring up around our hearts, and cover the grave of our sorrows and trials with the shadow of their foliage. Yes; though we have our trials, we have still our blessings.
"Life's drearliest path has some sweet flower,
Its clondiest day some sun." Dr. Thomas.
God’s love guides believers safely through life’s trials like songs guiding fishermen home.
There is, it is said, an island in a distant sea, from whose shores the fishermen sail in tiny crafts to procure the treasures of the deep. During their absence, thick mists often descend and cover highland, cliff, and beacon with so thick a veil, that these hardy mariners are left without a mark by which to steer their laden barks. But in these dull hours they are not left to wander unguided on the pathless sea. When the time for their return arrives, the women of the islet—mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters—descend to the shores, and raise the voice of song. Borne on the quiet air, their voices soon fall sweetly on the ears of the loved ones on the sea. Guided by the well-known sounds, they steer their boats in safety to the shore. And thus to thee, O Christian! comes the voice of love from the celestial shore, as thou wanderest, a bewildered child of tribulation, on the misty sea of life.
Children who die are like remittances sent ahead to heaven before we arrive.
Mr. Newton of London, one day said to a gentleman who had lately lost a daughter by death, "Sir, if you were going to the East Indies, I suppose you would like to send a remittance before you. This little girl is just like a remittance sent to heaven before you go yourself. I suppose a merchant on 'change is never heard expressing himself thus: 'O my dear ship! I am sorry she has got into port so soon: I am sorry she has escaped the storms that are coming.' Neither should we sorrow over children dying."
God removes earthly supports so we may rest more firmly on Him.
"See, father!" said a lad who was walking with his father, "they are knocking away the props from under the bridge: what are they doing that for? Won't the bridge fall?"—"They are knocking them away," said the father, "that the timbers may rest more firmly upon the stone piers, which are now finished." God only takes away our earthly props, that we may rest more firmly upon him.
God bridges death by taking loved ones, teaching us to trust Him between life and eternity.
When engineers would bridge a stream, they often carry over at first but a single cord; with that next they stretch a wire across; then strand is added to strand, until a foundation is laid for planks; and now the bold engineer finds safe footway, and walks from side to side. So God takes from us some golden-threaded pleasure and stretches it hence into heaven; then he takes a child, and then a friend: thus he bridges death, and teaches the thoughts of the most timid to find their way hither and thither between the shores. Beecher
Even in death, the Bible's words bring comfort and hope to the believer.
Among the dead of one of the battle-fields before Richmond was a rebel soldier, who lay unburied several days after the conflict. Already the flesh had been eaten by the worms from his fingers; but underneath the skeleton had lay an open copy of the Bible, and the fingers pressed upon those precious words of the Twenty-third Psalm, "Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
Reading John 14 brings comfort and a sense of personal restoration at life's end.
the Only Book. Sir Walter Scott just before his death desired to be drawn into his library, and placed by the window, that he might look down upon the Tweed. To his son-in-law he expressed a wish that he should read to him. "From what book shall I read?" said he. "And you ask?" Scott replied. "There is but one."—"I chose," said his biographer, "John xiv. He listened with mild devotion, and said, when I had done, 'Well, this is a great comfort. I have followed you distinctly, and I feel as if I was to be myself again.'" Life of Scott.
God, the Good Shepherd, selects the best lambs, comforting grieving parents.
A shepherd was mourning over the death of his favorite child, and, in the passionate and rebellious feelings of his heart, was bitterly complaining that what he loved most tenderly, and was in itself most lovely, had been taken from him. Suddenly a stranger of grave and venerable appearance stood before him, and beckoned him forth into the field. It was night, and not a word was spoken till they arrived at the fold, when the stranger thus addressed him: "When you select one of these lambs from the flock, you choose the best and most beautiful among them. Why should you murmur because I, the Good Shepherd of the sheep, have selected from those which you have nourished for me the one that was most fitted for my eternal fold?" The mysterious stranger was seen no more, and the father's heart was comforted.
True comfort and happiness come from beholding God's presence, not from shadows or self.
When a man walketh in the sun, if his face be towards it, he hath nothing before him but bright shining light, and comfortable heat; but, let him once turn his back to the sun, what hath he before him but a shadow? And what is a shadow but the privation of light, and heat of the sun?
Yea: it is but to behold his own shadow, defrauding himself of the other. Thus there is no true wisdom, no true happiness, no real comfort, but in beholding the countenance of
God: look from that, and we lose these blessings. And what shall we gain? a shadow, an empty image,—instead of a substantial, to gain an empty image of ourselves, and lose the solid image of God.
— Spencer
God's comfort revives the sorrowful, bringing life and thanksgiving instead of despair.
But so have I seen the sun kiss the frozen earth, which was bound up with the images of death, and the colder breath of the north; and then the waters break from their enclosures, and melt with joy, and run in useful channels; and the flies do rise again from their little graves in walls, and dance a while in the air, to tell that there is joy within, and that the great Mother of creatures will open the stock of her new refreshment, become useful to mankind, and sing praises to her Redeemer. So is the heart of a sorrowful man under the discourses of a wise comforter. He breaks from the despairs of the grave, and the fetters and chains of sorrow;
he blesses God, and he blesses thee, and he feels his life returning; for to be miserable is death, but nothing is life but to be comforted. And
God is pleased with no music from below so much as in the thanksgiving songs of relieved widows, of supported orphans, of rejoicing and comforted and thankful persons.
— Bp. Taylor
God's comfort empowers believers to endure opposition and death with inner strength.
Give me the comforts of God, and I can well bear the taunts of men. Let me lay my head on the bosom of Jesus, and I fear not the distraction of care and trouble. If my God will give me ever the light of his smile, and glance his benediction, it is enough. Come on, foes, persecutors, fiends, ay, Apollyon himself; for "the
Lord God is my sun and shield." Gather, ye clouds, and environ me, I carry a sun within;
blow, wind of the frozen north, I have a fire of living coal within; yea, death, slay me, but
I have another life,—a life in the light of
God's countenance.
— Spurgeon
God understands our weak prayers and grants help through the Spirit's compassionate meaning.
Like as a father having a young infant sick of a sore disease, and unable to speak a word, is ready to help it; or if it can speak yet unintelligibly, yet, if the mother can but guess at the meaning, she will do as much as if it had been spoken very plainly; yea, though it should say one thing, and mean another, she would give it according to the meaning of it,—even so the Lord, who is filled with bowels of compassion towards us far above any father or mother, granteth not so much our words as the meaning of his Spirit, which is plentiful in us.
— Cawdray
Christ's sacrifice brings peace that overcomes the bitterness of death for believers.
My faithful Saviour! It should not distress me though all the birds of the air were daily and hourly to sing and discourse to me of my mortality.
The nectar I sip from thy dripping wounds swallows up the few bitter drops which death pours out to me from his cup at my departure from this world. What, Lord Jesus, should I long for more than to depart and be with thee?
— Gothold
Christians can rejoice and trust God even amid the terrors of death and judgment.
In a fearful storm at sea, when all hope was lost, and it seemed every moment that the ship would sink, a pious sailor cried out, "Blessed be God, all is right!" and began to sing. Thus, amidst the storms of life, on the dark ocean of death, and amidst the terrors of the judgment-day, the Christian may exultingly exclaim, "Blessed be God, all is right!"
A prince learns that everyone mourns, highlighting the universality of grief and need for comfort.
"I will restore your daughter to life again, provided you are able to engrave on her tomb the names of three persons who have never mourned," said an Eastern sage to a prince who was mourning immoderately for the loss of a child. The prince made diligent search in vain, and was silenced.
Doing good to others brings true life and joy to a troubled soul.
In the Holy Land lived a man called Eliab, whom God had blessed with earthly goods; he was also cunning in all the wisdom of the East. But all this could not bring peace to his heart: he was often full of sorrow, and wished to die. Then a man of God came to him, and showed him an herb possessed of wonderful powers of healing; but Eliab said, "What is that to me? My body lacks not health: my soul is diseased. It were better for me to die."—"The herb will do thy heart good," said the man of God. "Take it, and heal seven sick men, and then thou mayest die, if thou wilt." Eliab did as he was desired, and sought out misery in its abiding-places. He healed seven sick people, and succored the poor with his riches. Then the man of God came again to him, and said, "Here is an herb of death: now thou mayest die." But Eliab cried, "God forbid! My soul longeth no more for death; for now I comprehend the meaning and use of life." Krummacher.
A believer finds joy and peace in Christ's presence during illness and death.
One of Christ's lambs, in her last illness felt Christ always near, and the everlasting arms underneath her. When all about her were sad, she felt very happy that she was going to Jesus. She prayed much, and praised God greatly for temporal comforts, and for her hope of glory.
Experience is what makes life pleasant and comfortable.
Lassus, one of the wise men of Greece, being asked what would render life most pleasant and comfortable, replied, "Experience."
Christians can be truly happy because God protects and surrounds them always.
It was once said by Solon, "No man ought to be called a happy man till he dies," because he does not know what his life is to be; but Christians may always call themselves happy men here, because, wherever their tent is carried, they cannot pitch it where the cloud does not move, and where they are not surrounded by a circle of fire. "I will be a wall of fire round about them, and their glory in the midst." They cannot dwell where God is not householder, warder, and bulwark of salvation.
— Spurgeon
Faith in Christ brings peace and happiness even amid severe suffering.
In passing through the hospitals at Fredericksburg, Mr. Stuart was attracted by the remarkably happy face of a wounded soldier, and said, "You seem happy, my friend. I trust it is because your faith in Christ is firm."—"Yes: I took him with me to the army." Deceived by the soldier's cheerfulness, Mr. Stuart said, "I trust you are not much hurt;" when the brave heart rolled down the covering, and showed him that both his legs were gone. He died in the same marvellous peace.
Christ's presence brings joy and peace to the suffering and dying believer.
A sergeant, who had a leg carried away by a shell in the second Bull-Run battle, declared himself, though suffering, and hopelessly wounded, to be "the happiest man you ever saw." He lay on the field all night, engaged in prayer. He said, "I prayed; and Christ seemed to come and stand by my side all night: and he comforted me. I felt sure that my sins were all washed away in his blood; and I do tell you, chaplain, that I forgot all about my wounds for the moment. It was the happiest night of my life." In this frame of mind, he passed the few remaining days of life, and then sweetly fell asleep in Jesus.
The Holy Spirit's comfort is genuine, safe, and free from deception or harm.
There have been many, like infants, destroyed by elixirs given to lull them to sleep; many have been ruined by the cry of "Peace, peace!" when there is no peace; hearing gentle things when they ought to be stirred to the quick. Cleopatra's asp was brought in a basket of flowers; and men's ruin often lurks in fair and sweet speeches. But the Holy Ghost's comfort is safe; and you may rest on it. Let him speak the word, and there is a reality about it; let him give the cup of consolation, and you may drink it to the bottom; for in its depths there are no dregs, nothing to intoxicate or ruin: it is all safe. Spurgeon.
Jesus lovingly carries little children in His arms, giving them rest and comfort.
A child of three years old, after some days of convulsions, lay quiet several hours before she died. The nurse asked her if she was tired. "Oh, no!" she said, looking brightly up, alluding to the text which had been taught her on the previous Sabbath, "I shall not be tired: the gentleman told me Jesus carries little children in his arms to heaven."
Bereaved parents are comforted by the image of their child in a peaceful, heavenly place.
High up the mountain-slopes of Chamouni, there is a plain covered with verdure and flowers. Thither the shepherds of the Alps drive their flocks. At one point of the ascent, the rocks rise almost perpendicular. When the flock arrives at this point, none is bold enough to venture; but the shepherds gather the lambs in their arms, and toss them up on the plain: the whole flock clambers after them, and soon is feeding upon the rich herbage, or ruminating beneath the "rose-trees of the Alps." Bereaved parents, the lamb of your love has been carried up, and beckons you to follow where are flowers sweeter than those of the Alps, and air and sunshine purer and brighter than is found up in Chaumani.
The cross of Jesus provides true support and refuge in times of loss and death.
Dr. Grosvenor, on the death of his wife, said, "I have met with an irreparable loss; but the cross of a dying Jesus is my support. I fly from one death for refuge to another." Pliny the Younger, in like distress, says that study was his only relief.
God’s word comforts believers amid trials like a guiding lamp in a storm.
When we buffet with a baffling tempest, how gladdening is the glimmer even of a lamp seen through the drift, telling us of comfort and of home!
When we have long been driven by the waves, and tossed, so that hope has fled, and exertion become paralyzed, how welcome the haven of our rest! When strangers have long been our only associates in a foreign land, where no familiar face was near to greet us with a smile, how pleasant to know
"There is an eye will mark
Our coming, and look brighter when we come"!
And how much more gladdening that word of God which irradiates the path of a believer,
—a pillar of cloud by day, a pillar of fire by night! In joy or sorrow, in youth or in age, in his home, in his place of toil or of business, amid unceasing activities, or when the sands of life are ebbing low, such a man has a directory at every hour of need, a counsellor in every difficulty, — enough to crown his weary life with a portion of the joy of God.
— Dr. Tweedie
Faith provides inner peace and satisfaction despite external storms and hardships.
In some portions of the frigid zones, the inhabitants provide themselves with habitations beneath the surface of the ground. During their brief summer, they convey large stores of food and fuel to these subterranean abodes. When winter comes, they enter, and live peacefully there, indifferent to the desolating storms and dreary snows which fall and rage above their heads. Their home is their winter world, and it contains all their little wants demand. Hence, they live in secure plenty, smiling at the howling storm, which leaves their abode untouched and safe. Very similar is the influence of religion in human life. What if friends are false, health decays, fortune fails, wasting storms drive furiously around her head? Is her happiness lost? Nay, she has her God within herself, and is satisfied. His presence and favor constitute her heaven, though her visible life is filled with discomfort and woe.
— Dr. Wise
Christ's cross provides comfort and refuge amid the deepest personal loss.
Dr. Grosvenor's first wife was a most devout and amiable woman. The Sabbath after her death, the doctor expressed himself from the pulpit in the following manner: "I have had an irreparable loss; and no man can feel a loss of this consequence more sensibly than myself; but the cross of a dying Jesus is my support: I fly from one death for refuge to another." How much superior was the comfort of the Christian divine to that of the heathen philosopher, Pliny the younger, who says, that, in similar distresses, study was his only relief.
Communion with God brings joy and peace even after the loss of a loved one.
Mr. Patrick Macwarth, who lived in the West of Scotland, whose heart the Lord, in a remarkable way, opened, was, after his conversion, in such a frame, so affected with the discoveries of the love of God, and of the blessedness of the life to come, that for some months together he seldom slept, being so taken up in wondering at the kindness of his Redeemer. His life was distinguished for tenderness of walk, and near communion with God. One day, after the death of his son, who was suddenly taken away, he retired alone for several hours, and afterwards appeared so remarkably cheerful, that inquiry was made why he looked so cheerful in a time of such affliction. He replied, 'He had got that in his retirement with the Lord, which, to have it afterwards renewed, he would gladly lose a son every day.'
# 51. The Bereaved Converted.
God uses grief to reveal Christ's surpassing value and bring spiritual comfort.
An impenitent man in Boston was bereaved of a little son. He felt the stroke severely, and his attention was called up to the subject of religion. But his grief at length subsided, and serious impressions wore off. Ere long God took away another little boy from him. His convictions were renewed with his sorrows, and he sought and found comfort in Christ.
Speaking of his experience in a conference and prayer-meeting, he sweetly said, "God in taking away my son, revealed to me his own Son, a thousand times more precious than my own."
Count Oxenstein found true comfort and wisdom in God's love and the Bible.
It is stated, by the celebrated William Penn, that Count Oxenstein, chancellor of Sweden, being visited, in his retreat from public business, by commissioner Whitlock, ambassador from England to Queen Christiana, in the conclusion of their discourse, he said to the ambassador, "I have seen much and enjoyed much of this world; but I never knew how to live till now. I thank my good God, who has given me time to know him and likewise myself. All the comfort I have, and all the comfort I take, and which is more than the whole world can give, is the knowledge of God's love in my heart, and the reading in this blessed book," laying his hand on the Bible. "You are now," he continued, "in the prime of your age and vigor, and in great favor and business; but this will all leave you, and you will one day better understand and relish what I say to you: then you will find that there is more wisdom, truth, comfort, and pleasure, in retiring and turning your heart from the world, in the good Spirit of God, and in reading his sacred word, than in all the courts and favors of princes."
A believer experiences joyful peace and love during prolonged suffering, sustained by God's work.
My letter was interrupted, writes the Rev. R. Watson, by being called to visit an old follower of Jesus Christ. I have been much profited by the interview. I have not been to instruct, but to be instructed. One of his expressions was: "Days, weeks, and months have rolled round during my affliction, and I have scarcely known the night from the day, nor the day from the night, so rapidly and joyfully have the hours escaped me; I have felt nothing but joy and love; not for a moment have I been impatient or weary, or wished it otherwise with me, so marvellously has God wrought in me. This is the hand of God. This never grew in nature's soil."
True joy and strength come from Christ's fullness and the hope of seeing Him in glory.
“Oh, blessed be God that I was born,” said this holy man when dying. “I have a father and a mother, and ten brethren and sisters in heaven, and I shall be the eleventh. Oh, blessed be the day that I was ever born! Oh, that I were where he is! And yet, were God to withdraw from me, I should be weak as water. All that I enjoy, though it be miracle on miracle, would not support me without fresh supplies from God. The thing I rejoice in is this, that God is altogether full; and that in the Mediator, Christ Jesus, is all the fulness of the Godhead, and it will never run out. If there be such a glory in Christ’s conduct towards me now, what will it be to see the Lamb in the midst of the throne! My peace hath been like a river. Blessed be God that I was ever born.”
Knowing God in life makes death a peaceful rest with Him, not something to fear.
The more you are acquainted with God while you live, the more willing you will be to die, to go to him; for death, to a child of God, is nothing else but a resting with God, in whose bosom he hath often been by holy meditation, when he was alive. Dr. Preston, when he was dying, used these words: "Blessed be God, though I change my place I shall not change my company; for I have walked with God while living, and now I go to rest with God."
