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Sunday, May 10, 2015

A WOMAN OF GREAT FAITH



A WOMAN OF GREAT FAITH

Harry Foster

"And she answered, It is well." 2 Kings 4:26

IT has been my experience that some practical acquaintance with resurrection forms an abiding principle in our life and work for God. What has been given by Him so often has to go down into death and be raised up by a further divine miracle if it is to function fully for Him.

The Bible is full of this principle and from the many examples I have chosen the experience of this unnamed woman of Shunem whose simple faith made possible the greatest of Elisha's many miracles. As to her faith, what can be nobler and more inspiring than her reply to the question about her family circumstances that all was well. This is surely one of the most eloquent uses of the great Bible word Shalom -- peace. Our versions translate it by the words, 'It is well', but the N.I.V. makes it even more vivid and emphatic by its rendering, "Everything is all right!" Her story will repay closer examination.

Her name is not given, but she is described as a great woman. It could have been her size, though that is doubtful. It could have referred to her possessions and is sometimes rendered "wealthy", but there is little in the story to support that idea. It could even be a reference to her status, though even that seems unlikely for she was, after all, a farmer's wife. One thing we do know, however, and that is that when the crucial test was applied to her, she proved to be a woman great in faith. She was like another nameless woman of the New Testament who was commended by the Lord Jesus in the words, "O woman, great is thy faith" (Matthew 15:28). This is surely the most desirable greatness, and both cases encourage us, men as well as women, to know that it is something which can be true of anyone of us.

There are many stories related about Elisha's demonstrations of the Spirit's power and, as with the Gospel miracles, the chief value for us is the spiritual lessons which we can learn from them. This story of resurrection is not meant to suggest that our beloved dead can be brought back to life again (though it does remind us of the infinite capacity of our God to do this), but rather to illustrate for us a basic principle of our life and ministry, namely, that "we should not trust in ourselves but in God which raiseth the dead" (2 Corinthians 1:9). What are we to do in those situations when God-given responsibilities die on our hands? How shall we react when that which was truly brought into being by the power of God seems threatened by complete failure? Perhaps the great woman of Shunem can show us.

The story opens with an explanation of how she met God. Elisha, the man of the double portion of the Spirit, dropped in to have a meal at her home and was clearly invited to come again, and did so. He was a man of miraculous spiritual gifts but, so far as we know, she had not been informed of this and did not witness any of his wonders. Though called a prophet, he seems to have been a man of few words and we are not told that he gave any special spiritual instruction during those recurring meal times, yet, to use her own words, she came to "perceive" that this occasional visitor was "a holy man of God".

She had made a discovery. What did it mean? I suggest that it implies that on meeting Elisha, she found that she was meeting God. This is not fanciful. There are times when one goes into an assembly of God's people and experiences there a direct encounter with the Lord. Paul suggests [114/115] that this is how a church gathering should affect people (1 Corinthians 14:25). Moreover there are homes into which one goes and somehow, in the simplicity of that home life, the presence of God becomes much more real. I have heard this repeatedly stated concerning a certain home. 'It is different,' people have said, 'You sense the Lord's presence in the very atmosphere.' And sometimes -- though not often -- one encounters individuals who carry around with them something of the fragrance of God's holiness, not by any effort of theirs but simply by a spontaneous ministration of the divine presence. Such an awareness may bring comfort or it may bring a guilty unease, but there is no hiding the fact that the woman or man concerned has a habit of dwelling in the secret place of the Most High. Elisha was such a man. What was registered by his presence in the home at Shunem was not through any conscious effort on his part but because he gave an Old Testament foretaste of what Paul calls, "a sweet savour of Christ" (2 Corinthians 2:15).

Having been struck by this fact, the Shunammite woman consulted her husband as to how they could make provision for a more constant divine visitation in their home: "Let us make, I pray thee, a small roof chamber with walls; and let us set for him there a bed ...; and it shall be, when he cometh to us, that he shall turn in hither". The spiritual emphasis seems obvious, that is, that we should be careful to enjoy as much of the Lord's presence as possible, and make every effort to welcome Him into our homes and into our hearts. This simple couple did just that.

May I suggest that although no doubt every bit of furniture in that simple room was important, it was the bed which proved to be of special significance in the story. Can this be because in some way it became a symbol of the rest of faith? "Is it well with the child?" the anguished mother was asked and, because the dead body of her son now lay on Elisha's bed, she was able to reply, "It is well. Everything is all right."

From that same bed, the prophet gave the woman promise of a miraculous gift from God. Like many of us, she felt that though she had everything else needed for a full life, there was one great lack which she could never hope to have remedied. When the man of God gave her the promise that God would give her this most desired experience, she was so incredulous that she rebuked him for trying to raise her hopes to the impossible. She rebuked him for attempting to mislead her. This could never be! It was an impossibility! But our God is the God of the impossible and, so great was Elisha's confidence in that fact, he did not need to strive in prayer or go through any kind of religious performance, but could lie back on his bed and quietly tell the woman standing in his doorway that when the time came round, it would happen. And "at that season, when the time came round, as Elisha had said to her", the son was born.

Came the happy years of fulfilment, which we can all appreciate when they come to us, and then came the day of seeming calamity, which bewilders us when it happens in our case. Through the morning hours of that day she held in her arms the dying child whom God had given to her and who was her heart's delight. It must have seemed like the end of the world. Many of us in our own ministry have endured the same agony. Spiritual hopes and expectations which once seemed so high, have gone down into apparent death. We have felt overwhelmed by the tragedy of it all. The work which God Himself had given us and for which we felt He had added such help and encouragement looked as if it were crumbling to ruin before our very eyes. It was as though, instead of enjoying the living evidence of God at work, we were now embracing a corpse. In the case of the Shunammite, it went on all the morning. Those hours must have seemed like an eternity. She clasped him; she willed him to live; but at noon he died.

Her next action is of great significance. There were three beds on which she might have laid that precious little body. She could have put him on his own bed -- a death-bed -- and resigned herself to despair. Most of us are vulnerable to the suggestions that what had been happening was too good to be true, too good to last, and that after all we might have known that the promise of God was a deceit. If she had laid the precious burden on his own bed, she would have succumbed to that temptation. But she did not do so. Nor did she lay him upon her own bed. Had she acted in this way, seeking to grapple with the problem in her own energy, she would hardly have sent back the message of peace to her puzzled husband. No, she would have said that things were bad but that she was going to plead with Elisha and do her utmost to get his help in this intolerable burden which lay on her bed. [115/116]

Often we have done just that. We have wrestled with the matter, imagining perhaps that we needed to wrestle with God as Jacob thought he had to do. We have sent out the frantic message to others that we were determined yet to try to salvage something from the threatening disaster and often tried to implicate them in our struggle for survival. We could no longer carry the matter on our lap but we have retained it on our bed as we went hither and thither in our vain attempts to recover the situation for God.

She avoided this mistake also. In one symbolic act of faith's committal, she went up to that prophet's chamber, laid the child on the bed of the man of God and shut the door (v.21). This was not despair or resignation: it was active faith. She proved this by requesting an animal on which she could "run to the man of God, and come again".

The whole thing was a mystery. Even the discerning Elisha, who had a divine gift for seeing through any situation as he showed on other occasions, had to confess that this time it was something that the Lord had hid from him and not told him (v.27). If he could not understand it, the Shunammite certainly was unable to do so. Her mind was uninformed and her inner soul was bitterly distressed. And yet -- and this to me is the crux of everything -- she still insisted that everything was all right. She had no peace in her emotions; she had no peace in her mind; but she had peace in her spirit, for she had placed her charge on the bed of the man of God, and it was now up to Him, so her answer to the enquiry not only about herself and her husband, but also about the child was "Shalom" -- "Everything is all right".

This is the moment for faith to triumph, the moment when the mind is perplexed and the heart deeply troubled. We are not 'know-alls' -- far from it. "Did I not say, Do not deceive me?" she asked the man of God. "It seemed a good dream then and it seems a very bad dream now. My mind is in a turmoil. I cannot understand God's ways." How true to life this is! How strange and inexplicable are God's ways with those whom He loves and who love Him! We who have opened ourselves to Him in glad devotion and done our best to carry the responsibilities committed to us, find ourselves completely baffled when things go wrong.

We are not 'know-alls', nor are we made of steel, or professionals, glad to succeed if that can be, but philosophical if we have to face defeat. No, the responsibilities which God has given to us become our very hearts. This woman was deeply distressed, broken-hearted we would say, as she lay clutching at the prophet's feet in her anguish. Yet this was the same woman who had just given the answer of "Peace". She had no peace in her mind, no comfort in her emotions, but she was resting all on God.

Peace, perfect peace, with sorrows surging round?
   In Jesus' presence naught but calm is found.
Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?
   Jesus we know, and He is on the throne.

*    *    *

THERE is, of course, much more to be said. How the woman would not accompany Gehazi, but persisted in staying with Elisha. How the child could not be raised by Gehazi, even though he used the authority of Elisha's staff in his efforts to recover life. How Elisha arrived at the home to find the child lying on his special bed, and shut himself in that prophet's chamber with the problem, getting on to the bed with it. My Bible tells me that he "stretched himself upon him" (v.34), but the margin gives me a better alternative, "he bowed himself". If ever a translation were unrealistic this is, for a grown man could never by any possible reasoning have to stretch himself to measure up to a small boy, who could sit on his mother's lap. The man did not have to stretch himself, what he had to do was rather to contract himself in order to be intimately identified with him. I notice that Ronald Knox gives the translation, "bending down close", a picture, surely, of the Saviour's complete identification with us in our mortal need. Elisha repeated this action seven times (v.35 margin) (forget all about the "sneezing"); and so the miracle happened. Elisha was proved indeed to be a man of God, and the woman's faith affirmation that "everything was all right" was fully vindicated.

Once more the woman was found bowed to the ground at the feet of Elisha, this time in wondering worship. Those who so bow as they cast their burdens on the Lord and look in faith to Him will always find such a gracious response that they will be overwhelmed by a similar sense of adoring wonder. It may take time. It will probably involve a real test of patience. The principle, [116/117] however, is absolutely certain, namely that what God has given to us as a solemn and privileged trust may (and probably will) have to go right down into death so that it may be established in the power of resurrection. Have we left our dead hopes on their own bed and given up in despair? Have we kept them on our own bed and given ourselves to fruitless efforts of recovery? Or have we obeyed the Lord's command to cast all our burdens upon Him? Paul told the Corinthians that he himself had to learn this lesson, so it is not surprising if we have not yet learned it. But it is there to be learned, and the Shunammite mother may help us to grasp the principle.


Friday, May 8, 2015

Pleasing Meditation






By A.W. Tozer



      The worldly man can never rest. He must have 'somewhere to go' and 'something to do.'  This is a result of the fall, a symptom of a deep-lying disease, yet a blind religious leadership caters to this terrible restlessness instead of trying to cure it by the Word and the Spirit. If the many activities engaged in by the average church led to the salvation of sinners or the perfecting of believers they would justify themselves easily and triumphantly; but they do not. My observations have led me to the belief that many, perhaps most, of the activities engaged in by the average church do not contribute in any way the accomplishing of the true work of Christ on earth. 

I hope I am wrong, but I am afraid I am right. Our religious activities should be ordered in such a way as to leave plenty of time for the cultivation of the fruits of solitude and silence. It should be remembered, however, that it is possible to waste such quiet periods as we may be able to snatch for ourselves out of the clamorous day. Our meditation must be directed toward God; otherwise we may spend our time of retiral in quiet converse with ourselves. This may quiet our nerves but will not further our spiritual life in any way.



After Obedience - What?






By Oswald Chambers

      And straightway He constrained His disciples to get into the ship, and to go to the other side... ."   '
      Mark 6:45-52

      We are apt to imagine that if Jesus Christ constrains us, and we obey Him, He will lead us to great success. We must never put our dreams of success as God's purpose for us; His purpose may be exactly the opposite. We have an idea that God is leading us to a particular end, a desired goal; He is not. The question of getting to a particular end is a mere incident. What we call the process, God calls the end.

      What is my dream of God's purpose? His purpose is that I depend on Him and on His power now. If I can stay in the middle of the turmoil calm and unperplexed, that is the end of the purpose of God. God is not working towards a particular finish; His end is the process - that I see Him walking on the waves, no shore in sight, no success, no goal, just the absolute certainty that it is all right because I see Him walking on the sea. It is the process, not the end, which is glorifying to God.

      God's training is for now, not presently. His purpose is for this minute, not for something in the future. We have nothing to do with the afterwards of obedience; we get wrong when we think of the afterwards. What men call training and preparation, God calls the end. 

God's end is to enable me to see that He can walk on the chaos of my life just now. If we have a further end in view, we do not pay sufficient attention to the immediate present: if we realize that obedience is the end, then each moment as it comes is precious.


Andrew Murray - Praying in the Power of the Holy Ghost - The Spiritual Life (7 of 16)

Vain is the Help of Man





Encouragements to Patient Waiting: Chapter 2 - Vain is the Help of Man



      "Do not put your trust in mortal men, in whom there is no help."--Psalms 146:3

      In one sense we are very dependent on each other. How does the infant cling to the arm of its mother! and how do we in sickness trust to the care and kindness of a faithful attendant! In every relation of life we are comforted, upheld, sustained by those around us--and especially is this the case in the family of Christ. Every member feels it is his solemn duty to support the weak--to gladden the sorrowful--to console the mourner. If he does not, he has not the mind of Christ--he has not been drinking in the spirit of Him who came "to bind up the broken-hearted, and to pour the balm of consolation into the wounded spirit."

      The help we are sometimes privileged to give one another is very precious. The kindly look--how often has it chased sadness from the brow, even as the bright ray of sunshine chases the dark cloud from the heavens! The word of sympathy--how often has it sounded in the secret chambers of the soul--awakening gladness, where all was silence and gloom! And who shall tell how often God's sweet promises, whispered gently by the sick-bed, have calmed and tranquilized the troubled soul, even as of old the words of Jesus, "Peace, be still," soothed the tempestuous billows, so that "immediately there was a great calm."

      But in another and higher sense, it is true that "vain is the help of man." We can only effectually help each other when we are "instruments in God's hand." He makes use of us as His servants, and when we feel and realize our responsibility as such, then our feeble efforts are blessed, and we become "sons of consolation." Apart from this, of what avail is it that the physician prescribes; or that the minister visits the chamber of sickness? Health will not return at the bidding of the one, nor comfort flow from the exhortations of the other. It matters not that there is the exercise of the highest skill, and the utterance of the most thrilling eloquence. Still the burden of disease will bear down the body, and the load of anxiety oppress the spirit. But when the Divine blessing is given, and the Spirit pours forth His promised influence, all is changed. The pulse beats again with health--the soul is freed from its agitations and alarms.

      Shall I, then, "trust in the son of man?" No, rather, shall I not trust in Him who alone "has the issues of life and death"? My heart may be filled with gratitude and love to those who have been the "instruments in God's hand," and they may become dear to me--even as my own flesh; but I will not "put my trust" in them--I will look higher far--to Him who has promised to watch over me with a Father's care, and whose power nothing can withstand. I will look to Him who is seated as my Advocate and Elder Brother at the Father's right hand, and who has promised to 'undertake for me,' and to plead, in my behalf, the merits of His own most precious blood. I will look to Him who alone can carry home the truth to my heart, even the Comforting Spirit--at whose bidding doubt and fear must vanish, and hope and joy take possession of my soul.

Christ In You, The Hope Of Glory





By G. Campbell Morgan


... to whom God was pleased to make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory...Colossians 1:27


The text is part of a great argument. The words describe the central of three mysteries, which yet are not three but one. By way of introduction, let us notice the relation of these words to the context.

The Apostle in this epistle deals preeminently with the glories of Christ, and with these as at the disposal of the Church. The principal declarations of the epistle are, firstly, "It pleased the Father that in Him should all fulness dwell"; and, secondly, "Ye are complete in Him."

In the paragraph in which the text occurs the Apostle uses the word "mystery" three times. In verse 24, he says, "I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and fill up on my part that which is lacking of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for His body's sake, which is the Church"; omitting verse 25, which as to argument is in parenthesis, we read again in verse 26, "Even the mystery which hath been hid from ages and generations." Then, in verse 27, the words of our text, "God was pleased to make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory." Then, in the second chapter, and the second verse, "Unto all riches of the full assurance of understanding, that they may know the mystery of God, even Christ."

First, the Church, the mystery hid from the ages; secondly, this mystery, Christ in you, the hope of glory; finally, the mystery of God, even Christ. The word "mystery" has a uniform sense in the New Testament, and that sense has been most lucidly expressed by Dr. Handley Moule: "A mystery is a truth undiscoverable, except by revelation. Never necessarily, as our popular use of the word may suggest, a thing unintelligible or perplexing in itself. In Scripture a mystery may be a fact which, when revealed, we cannot understand in detail, though we can know it and act upon it. A mystery is a thing only to be known when revealed." If that definition of the use of the word "mystery" in the New Testament be accepted, the Apostle speaks of the Church as hidden in past ages, and never discovered until revealed.

He then passes behind the mystery of the Church and comes to the words of my text, "Christ in you, the hope of glory." The Church consists of souls in whom Christ has had a personal advent, and in whom He lives. This is another mystery, never to be explained by the unspiritual, never to be perfectly explained by the spiritual. The mystery of individual souls in whom Christ dwells lies at the back of the mystery of the Church.

Then, presently, he passes on, still following his argument, until he comes to the yet deeper mystery, the mystery of God, which is Christ. In order to see the connection let us take these in the other order. The first great mystery of God is Christ Himself. The central mystery of Christianity is that of Christ formed in individual souls. The final mystery is that of the Church of God fulfilling high and holy functions throughout all ages.

Now, out of the great sweep of that argument we take the central words, and turn from the things introducing, and the things issuing, that we may consider the central mystery of the Christian faith, which is thus expressed by the Apostle, "Christ in you, the hope of glory."

The first and second advents of our Lord initiate and perfect this mystery of the realization of Christ in the individual life of the trusting soul. In His first advent He came to atone, to make possible His entrance. At His second advent He will come to perfect His possession of individual life. I share in the atonement of the first advent and the perfecting of the second advent if he have His advent in my personal life.

Our rejoicing in His first advent, and our gladness in the hope of the second advent, are alike due to the mystery of His personal coming into our own life. Let us consider that central advent, first as to the fact suggested, then as to the experience resulting. First, "Christ in you"; and, secondly, "the hope of glory."

"Christ in you." It is significant that at this point the Apostle uses the title rather than the name of our Lord. This indicates the inclusion of the Person and His work. There is no one perfectly sure of Jesus Christ in history unless he is sure of Him in experience. No one can have a final demonstration of truth concerning the nature of Christ or His work save as he can say, I know Christ because He is in me. It may be said that this is mystical, and cannot be explained to the scientific age in which we live. That is perfectly true. That is what the Apostle says. It is a mystery; this presence in the individual life of Christ Himself in all the marvelous glory of His Person as Very God and Very Man. Human sympathy, human love, human purity, and human power, all surcharged with those infinite resources of God, which made Him as man perfect Victor, are present in all in whom He is formed, eventually and through processes, to make them equally victorious with Himself. It is a mystery, but if it be a mystery that cannot be explained to the scientific age it is a fact known in the lives of countless multitudes.

Christ in me--and I need hardly apologize for testimony at this point, for speaking rather as a witness than an advocate--Christ in me is the most certain thing in all my personal experience. He is present in my inner life, so that I have not to ascend to heaven to find Him or descend into the depths to bring Him up. Neither have I to go on long pilgrimages to reach Him. Amid the hurry and rush of the day, the Christ is within. He was not always there. He came by the act of the Spirit when I fulfilled the conditions of the Word, but His advent was positive, and His presence is as real as, and more real to me than, the advent long ago in the Judean country far away. The historic is proved by the experimental.

As I have already said, the use of the title suggests not merely the presence of the Person in the life, it suggests also the work of Christ in you. He was at once Prophet, Priest, and King. "Christ in you," the one Prophet and Teacher by whom the whole life is to be governed and ordered, whose philosophy is the only philosophy, whose teaching is the only teaching which the soul trusts. "Christ in you," also as Priest, the one perfect Saviour, operating in the inner shrine of the indivudual life on the altar, and by the way of sacrifice, so that through the intermediation, not of Christ far off, but in me, I have personal and immediate access to the Presence of God, which is both within and encompassing me. Then "Christ in you" also as King, ruling all the life, not by the law of carnal ordinances, written on tables of stone, but by the perpetual inspiration of His indwelling presence.


THE ROMANCE OF FAITH, PETER






Biblical Characters, 3 - THE ROMANCE OF FAITH, PETER
By Clovis G. Chappell

      Matthew 14:28


      "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water." 

I could not tell you how many times I have read this fascinating story. I have turned to it again and again. But in spite of its familiarity it always grips me. I can never read it thoughtfully without a thrill. I can never expose my soul to the vital truth of it without being helped and made a little bit more hopeful and I trust a little bit better.

      Look at the picture. Here is a little ship in the midst of a storm at sea. A dozen men are manning the oars, battling with the tempest, fighting through the long hours of the night with the storm-whipped sea, fisticuffing with death, and yet getting nowhere. It has been long hours since they left the shore. It is now three o'clock in the morning, but they have made very little progress.

      I have a fancy that they have become very tired and very discouraged. And more than once has one said to the other, "I wish the Master were here. If He were here He would know what to do." And then, to add to their terror, they suddenly see their master walking from wave to wave toward them across the sea. But he is not recognized. They take him for a ghost and they cry out in fear.

      This is not an altogether unique experience. Many times Jesus comes to us in a way that makes us rather dread than welcome His approach. Sometimes He comes with demands for the giving up of certain sins or certain pleasures that we do not wish to give up. Sometimes He asks us for services that we do not wish to render. He demands surrenders that we do not at all desire to make. Sometimes He comes to us in the guise of a great disappointment. He comes in the garb of a heartache that wets our faces with tears.

      The disciples, I say, were at first afraid. But Jesus calmed their fears by saying, "It is I. Be not afraid." The Bible seems to have been written in large measure just to still the fears of our timid hearts. Over and over again is that message directed to us, "Fear not." And at once fear was driven from these hearts. And in the place of fear came, to one at least, a glorious and buoyant faith.

      "Lord, if it be thou," shouted Peter, "bid me come to thee on the water." You see the effect the presence of Christ had upon Peter. As soon as he recognized Jesus he ceased to fear and began to hope. As soon as he realized the presence of Christ he gave up doubt and despair and began to believe. The presence of Christ always makes for faith. Peter was gripped by a firm conviction that now that Christ had come impossibilities were transmuted into possibilities.

      "Bid me come to thee on the water." Peter had no disposition to climb out of that boat before Jesus came. He had no desire to undertake this seemingly mad task while Christ was yonder on the mountain side and the little boat was being battered by the storm. But Christ had begotten within him a beautiful and seemingly utterly reckless faith. That which a moment ago was an impossibility is now altogether capable of being accomplished.

      Christ always inspires such faith in the hearts of those who really know Him. In such faith He takes the keenest delight. There is nothing that so pleases Him as the most daring and reckless and romantic faith. He is never so joyed as when men trust Him with mad abandon. Never once did He praise a prudent and conservative faith. All His encomiums are for those who trust Him with a romantic recklessness.

      Did you happen to meet the woman with the issue of blood as she set out to see Jesus? Well, it is good that you did not or you would have done your best to have discouraged her. Of course you would and so would I. "Sarah," I would have said, "are you going to ask Jesus to help you? Are you going to seek him out and fall on your face before Him in prayer?" "No," she would have answered, "I am not going to pray. I am not going to ask the Master to do anything for me at all. I am simply going to slip up behind Him when the crowd is thronging Him, and touch His garment. I have a shamefaced disease. I want as little attention as possible. Hence I am not going to say a single word to Jesus."

      Then, I would have answered with conviction, "You will never be cured. The Master has made no promise that He will honor a mad faith like yours. When did He say He would heal if you merely slipped up in a mob and touched the fringe of His garment?" But I was not there to throw dashes of cold water upon the fire. She went on her reckless way. And wonder of wonders, she was healed.

      "Lord, bid me come," said Peter. And what was the reply of Jesus? Did He say, "Peter, I am astonished at you. Why do you want to do this foolish and insane and impossible thing? Don't you know that the storm is against you? Don't you know that the law of gravitation is against you? Don't you know that the whole experience of the race is against you? You have been about the sea all your life. When did you ever see anybody walk on the waves? Why do you request, then, to do this absurd and ridiculous and impossible thing?"

      But Jesus did not say that. I never read where He told a single trusting heart that his request was impossible. I do read where He said the very opposite. He said, "All things are possible to him that believeth." He makes all things possible. That is what he is for. He ever attacks men at the point of their impossibilities. He calls on the selfish man to love his neighbor as himself. He calls on the paralytics to rise and walk. And never does He have a rebuke for the man who dares to fling himself blindly upon His power.

      And instead of rebuking Peter He approved him. He encouraged him. He set His sanction upon his request. He said to him, "Come." I am sure if you or I had been there we would have wanted Him to have said far more. We would have wanted Him to explain to us how He would hold us and enable us to walk. But the invitation, "Come," that one word was enough for Peter.

      "Come," said Jesus. What would you have done under those circumstances? What would I? I suppose I know. I would have said, "Lord, I'd like to. I wish I could. I've always wanted to do something magnificent. It has occurred to me again and again as I have read the record of thy dealings with thy saints that the Christian life is not to be a dull and drab and unromantic thing. I have felt a thousand times that the faith of the saints ought to have far more of buoyancy and enthusiasm and daring and romantic adventure in it than it has. So since you have bid me come, Lord, I'd like to come. I'll think it over. Who knows but that I may try it some day?"

      But Peter was made out of more heroic stuff. The spirit of adventure had not died within him. His faith is full of the finest romance. "Come," said Jesus and immediately I see Peter drop his oar and begin to climb down out of the boat to go to Jesus.

      Some of the commentators are very hard on Peter for his boldness and seeming foolhardiness here. But I am frank to say that I like Peter here very much. I suppose most of the critics would have sat very still in the boat. I shouldn't wonder if they would not have put a restraining hand upon Peter. In fact, it would not surprise me if some of his fellow disciples did not do that very thing. I can imagine that Andrew might have gripped him and said, "Peter, sit where you are. You can hardly stay on top of the water now." And Thomas would have said, "Man, are you mad? Nobody ever walked on the water before." But Peter said, "By the help of Christ I will." And with the "storm light in his face" and the spray in his hair and with faith in Christ in his heart he pushes the boat from under his feet.