OUT OF THE DEPTHS
By Silas Durand
All the children of God have learned that the
natural heart is evil, and that they have that evil constantly to contend
against and to mourn in themselves. Whatever of attainments in goodness others may
have to boast, they have only to speak of corruptions in themselves, and of
goodness and mercy in Christ; corruptions not lessened, but appearing greater
and more hateful the more they see and know of Christ and his perfections, and
goodness and mercy appearing higher and more wonderful the more their own
corruptions are manifested. The longer they live in the flesh the wider this
contrast appears, and they never shall be able to boast any perfection but that
which they have by faith in Christ. Their hope is not based upon any goodness
which they have seen in themselves, upon any fancied change in their own
natures. In the first reception of their hope this may sometimes appear to be the case. It often
comes with such a burst of joy, and they find within themselves such aversion
to sin, and such desires after holiness, such a fullness and overflowing of
love and adoration to God, that it seems as though they should never sin again.
as though all the desires and propensities of the heart had become right and
holy. But this error is soon corrected. Soon they find themselves in the
wilderness, beset with fearful temptations. How startled and frightened the
poor soul is to find sin, which he thought destroyed, again making its
appearance within him. Now comes the trial of our hope. If it were really
founded in our own goodness it must perish now, and we must fall before the
tempting doubt of Satan, “If thou be the Son of God." But Christ is near
in this time of our need to show us that he is our hope. He has been in the
wilderness before us, and he now presents himself to our help, the wonderful
merits of his salvation greatly enlarged in our view by the trial from which he
has saved us. So, by every temptation, by every new view of our own weakness
and depravity, new wonders in Christ are revealed to us. Our hope rests upon
him. It was not given to us because of our love and holy desires, for love, and
holy desires, and hope are all the fruit of the Spirit. Sometimes it grows
small to our view, but we can not give it up. No! poor, trembling soul, you can
not lose your hope now any more than you could have obtained it before. Little
and trembling as it seems, you have it “as an anchor of the soul, sure and
steadfast, entering into that within the veil." Thus the children of God
meet together upon the same experience, a company of sinners hoping in the
word, trusting in the grace and mercy of God. They meet as a company of
mourners, for how can they but mourn when they recognize sin in themselves;
they meet as a company of rejoicing victors, for how can they but rejoice when
they see Christ as the Savior from sin, as the Captain who has gotten for them
the victory. So, sorrowing in themselves, yet always rejoicing in Christ, they
love to be together, having the same complaints to make of their own sins and
unfaithfulness, and the same great things to tell of the faithfulness of
Christ.
But there are, for some, times of deeper and severer
trial and affliction; times when we are left to feel sharper stings, when the
hidden evils of our hearts so burst upon our view, so break over all control,
as it appears to us, that we sink in despair; times when we feel as though we
had wandered from the right way far beyond all hope of return. Past troubles
seem light, even pleasant in comparison with this, for them we could tell to
those who were likewise troubled, and receive consolation in the thought of the
mercy and long‑forbearance of God. But now mercy is clean gone forever.
How sharply we upbraid and chide ourselves for our foolishness as we look back
at the way we have left. O that we had been faithful to the commandments of our
King, that we had kept the evil within us under control! then, while we mourned the existence of the
evil, we could have sweetly felt that we had honored our profession, and have
still had the sympathy and fellowship of our brethren in our grief as well as
joy. But now we rather seek to avoid them. Our confusion is ever before us, and
the shame of our face has covered us. We can not but think they see all our
vain and sinful thoughts and actions, and that, looking upon our
unfaithfulness, they consider us a reproach to the cause of truth, and are
troubled by our presence. We could once say, “I am a companion of all them that
fear thee." We could say with sweet and grateful assurance, "They
that fear thee will be glad when they see me, because I have hoped in thy
word." At such times we dwell under the constant impression that our
brethren are grieved with us. We hardly dare address them by the fraternal
title, feeling that it must displease them; and in our deep disturbance of
mind, ‑and our apprehensive feelings, every expression of theirs toward
us is construed into a rebuke. Anguish fills our souls at the thought that we
are a cause of grief to the faithful children of God. But they do well to turn
from us, for surely we have been deceived, and have been walking in a vain
show. No child ever was so far from the right way. Peter denied his Lord, it is
true, but it was under great temptation, and only for a moment, and he repented
with bitter tears. Mercy was shown to him, but can there be any for us? for how
often, and with how little temptation, have we denied him, walking as though we
never knew him. With the Psalmist, we Said, “I will take heed to my ways, that
I sin not with my tongue; I will keep my mouth with a bridle, while the wicked
is before me." How have we kept that vow? Troubles swallow us up as we
think of it. The waves go over our heads. How we cringe with pain as we think
of our transgressions, and of the place we have unworthily held among the
saints. Sleep flies from our eye‑lids, and we have no rest upon our beds.
When we lie down we say, “When shall we arise, and the night be gone?" and
we are full of tossings to and fro till the dawning of the day. Who can help us
in this time of our extremity, and to whom can we make our complaints? We can
not lift up our cries to heaven, and pour them out to God, for surely he is
angry with us forever. We can not make them to our brethren, for we have no
right among them. How peaceful and pleasant a resting‑place the church
now seems to us for those who have proved themselves worthy. But we have
forfeited all right to enjoy that rest, if indeed the right ever was ours. We
have sold our birthright there. Can it be, we question, that any of God's
children have ever gone so far, and found themselves in such straits? How
earnestly and anxiously we search the sacred record, and scan the complaining
words of the saints recorded there. How eagerly we catch at the mourning
exclamations of the Psalmist. How precious to our souls are his complaints of
himself for sins and foolishness, his words of self ‑accusation and self‑abasement,
his bursting grief, his earnest cries for mercy. We search for them as for hid
treasure. We repeat them over and over, we dwell upon them, we fold them up in
our bosom, and press them to our weary heart. Now we are not alone in our grief
in all the universe. Another has gone before us in this depth of trouble, and
his words of lamentation tell the bitterness of our own heaits. The aching pain
within us seems somewhat soothed, the overwhelming sorrow somewhat assuaged, as
we repeat these words that seem so expressly made for us "There is no
soundness in my flesh because of thine anger neither have I any rest in my
bones because of my sin. For mine iniquities have gone over my head, and as a
heavy burden they are too heavy for me;" "My wounds stink and are
corrupt because of my foolishness; "
“ My
heart is sore pained within me, and the terrors of death are fallen upon me.
Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. And
I say, O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at
rest. Lo I then would I wander far off and remain in the wilderness." Why
had we never seen these words before? Surely we have passed them over
unnoticed. Now we repeat them all through the restless hours of the night, and
they seem as the voice of one talking with us in deep sympathy with our grief.
“I am feeble and sore broken; I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my
heart." ,I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim;
I water my couch with my tears." How sweet to our souls the words of his
prayers and supplications. Hardly daring to indite a petition of our own, we
yet can take those of the Psalmist, and with our faces in the dust, let them
rise from our souls where they have found a resting place, if peradventure God
will hear: I “0 Lord, rebuke me not in
thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. Have mercy upon me, 0
Lord; for I am weak; 0 Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed; " "Have
mercy upon me, 0 God, according to thy loving‑kindness; according to the
multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly
from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my
transgressions; and my sin is ever before me; " “ Deliver me from all my transgressions; make me not
the reproach of the foolish." What new light breaks upon us here? Can it be
that he, who had said he would keep his mouth with a bridle while the wicked ‑was
before him, had failed in this, and now cried to God, who alone can avert the
consequences of his heedlessness? And is it possible that the anguish we feel
at the thought that the children of God will suffer reproach on our account was
also felt by him ? Yes, in this also he was troubled as we are, and unto him
who controls all things, and has power to turn away all dangers he cries, “0
God, thou knowest my foolishness, and my sins are not hid from thee. Let not
them that wait on thee, 0 Lord God of hosts, be ashamed for my sake. Let not
those that seek thee be confounded for my sake, 0 God of Israel." Surely
it was for our sakes that these words of supplication, so expressing our own
desire, were recorded. This all is the language of our Savior, which David in
spirit uttered. Now our minds are enlarged, and hope and a glimmering of joy
begin to dawn upon our souls. Can it be that these griefs of ours are among
those that our dear Redeemer bore, that these are a part of the sorrows that he
carried, that this sinfulness of ours is a part of the reproach that fell upon
him? Were these transgressions of ours all laid upon him, and is this bitter
pain and anguish they have caused us but an intimation of the awful suffering
that he bore, who was stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted for us? Can we
believe that, when his soul was sorrowful even unto death, what we have now
been suffering was a part of the heavy burden of agony which weighed him down,
and caused him to sweat great drops of blood, falling to the ground? And can we
receive these precious words of grief, and self‑reproach, and sore
mourning, and supplications, as recorded of him to bring him near to us in our
extremity, to show that in all our afflictions he was afflicted, and to thus
make him a very present help in this time of trouble? On our behalf, as our
Savior, were these prayers and supplications offered up with strong crying and
tears? 0 doubly precious words! Let us treasure them up in our hearts. Let them
dwell with us forever. 0 thou dear, suffering Savior! precious, adorable
Redeemer! how can we speak thy praise ? How can we extol thy merits? How
magnify thy name? 0 that we should ever have forgotten thee I that we should
ever for a moment have turned aside from thy footsteps Forbid that we should
ever again wander. "Thou hast
delivered my soul from death ‑ wilt thou not deliver my feet from
falling, that I may walk before Gad in the light of the living?" May thy
praise be continually in our mouth. In thee may we boast all the day long, and
praise thy name forever. What words can tell of thy great goodness? How
precious also are thy thoughts unto us, 0 God! how great is. the sum of them!
With tears now we can cry unto him, and tell him in his own words all our
troubles. They are all known to him. “Lord, all my desire is before thee, and
my groaning is not hid from thee." "My heart panteth, my strength
faileth me; the light of mine eye, it also is gone from me. " “ Bow down thine ear, 0 Lord, hear me ; for I am poor
and needy."
Our spirit comes back, our strength is renewed, the joys of God's salvation are restored unto us. But we are not as before. These afflictions have broken down our confidence in our own strength. The secret pride and self‑confidence of our heart is broken and departed. All the vain complacency with which we may have regarded our own walk before the world, and our position among our brethren, is taken away. “When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth." In our selves we are feeble and sore broken; we have no beauty remaining. Our Savior is all to us now, all our boast, all our delight. Like Hezekiah raised from the bed of death, we look at the state we were in and say, “Like a crane or a swallow so did I chatter: I did mourn as a dove: mine eyes fail with looking upward: 0 Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me. What shall I say? He hath both spoken to me, and himself hath done it; I shall go softly all my years in the bitterness of my soul." “Behold, for peace I had great bitter ness but thou hath in love to m soul delivered it from the pit of corruption ‑ for thou hast cast all my sins behind thy back." Very softly indeed do we feel that we would walk. We need no exhortations to humility now. How earnestly we seek for the lowest place. We would only be where we can kiss the Savior's feet, where we can speak of the wonders of his love. To lie down in the lowest nook in the valley of humiliation suits our feelings now. We can not lift up our heads, but to declare the praises of our Redeemer. Less than the least of all saints we know ourselves to be, and because we feel so, and not because humility is a Christian grace, we seek and desire to find the lowest place. O, what gratitude swells our heart towards our God, for his long‑forbearance and tender mercy toward us! How safely he has turned us aside from dangers into which we were recklessly rushing, not leaving us to the fatal consequences of our own foolishness. How plainly now we see that his kind, protecting hand has been over us in our thoughtless, unguarded moments, and saved us from imminent peril. As we contemplate his unbounded goodness toward us, as we think of his tender compassion, and remember his marvelous loving kindness, and forgiving mercy, unspeakable love and thankfulness fill our heart, and we long to be free from the trammels of earth, that we may, in heavenly strains “sing of the mercy of the Lord forever;" for we count that moment lost in which we are not sounding the high praises of our God.
“Lo, all these things worketh God oftentimes with man, to bring
back his soul from the pit, to be enlightened with the light of the living;
" Job, xxxiii, 29, 30. “O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his
name together."
January ,1886
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