Sermon II: True Peace May Be Interrupted

It is possible for the saints and people of God to be greatly discouraged and cast down. Though they are ordinarily endued with an inward peace and quietness of soul, that peace may still be interrupted, and they themselves left much discouraged and cast down.

Two words in our text say as much: cast down, disquieted. Three times in this psalm the psalmist says his soul was cast down within him — yet David was ordinarily a man of great peace and comfort.

So it was with David, and so it is, and will be, with other saints. This case is so common that the Holy Spirit has provided a standing psalm, a prayer, on purpose for those in this condition: Psalm 102, whose title reads, "A prayer of the afflicted, when he is overwhelmed, and pours out his complaint before the LORD." In Psalm 119:25 he says, "My soul cleaveth unto the dust" — and that is low indeed. In verse 28, "My soul melteth for heaviness" — he is not only sad and heavy, but his very soul melts for heaviness. In the Song of Solomon, chapter 5, the Bride says, "My soul failed me when he spake" — her heart was gone. And if we turn to Psalm 143:4, the psalmist says, "My spirit is overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate." What do all these many, great expressions say, but this very truth now before us?

To open this more fully, I will labor to show, first, how far it is possible for a good man to be discouraged or cast down; second, how it comes to pass that he is so discouraged; third, how those discouragements can stand together with his grace and goodness; and fourth, how they may be healed and cured.

First. If you ask how far the discouragements of the saints may reach — for someone will say, I know it is possible for the most gracious, holy man to be much discouraged, but not with such discouragements as mine —

1. I answer: what are yours? Are you so far disquieted, discouraged, cast down, as to refuse the word, promise, or consolation that is brought to you? The discouragements of the saints may extend that far. Psalm 77:3, "I remembered God, and was troubled." He does not say, I remembered my sin, and was troubled, but God. And he was not only troubled — "I complained, and my spirit was overwhelmed." But when the promise came, and the mercy came, and the comfort came, did he refuse that too? Yes — verse 2: "My soul refused to be comforted."

2. Are you so far discouraged, disquieted, cast down, that your very body feels the smart of your discouragements — that you refuse not only the promise and all comfort for your soul, but comfort for your body too? Then look into Psalm 102, and see if your case is not paralleled there. Verse 4: "My heart is smitten, and withered like grass; so that I forget to eat my bread." Verse 5: "By reason of the voice of my groaning my bones cleave to my skin." Verse 6: "I am like a pelican of the wilderness; I am like an owl of the desert." Verse 9: "I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping." Verse 10: "Because of thine indignation and thy wrath: for thou hast lifted me up, and cast me down." Verse 11: "My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass." Oh, but I am not only so far discouraged as to refuse comfort for soul and body — my soul refuses duty, and casts off duty too, for the present.

3. It is possible, therefore, that a good and gracious man's discouragements may extend even this far. You will think it strange that I find an instance of this in that holy man Jeremiah — yet if you look into Jeremiah 20:7–9 you will find it made good. "The word," he says, "was as fire in my bones, and I could not forbear." But for a time he resolved to forbear preaching in the name of God, which was his duty, which he had commission to do — for he says, "I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name." This holy, gracious man was under temptation; he was much discouraged, and so he spoke. Yet in verse 13 he says, "Sing unto the LORD, praise ye the LORD: for he hath delivered the soul of the poor from the hand of evildoers." But then mark the very next words: "Cursed be the day wherein I was born: let not the day wherein my mother bare me be blessed." "Cursed be the man who brought tidings to my father, saying, A man child is born unto thee." What a sudden change was this, even in one of the best of the saints — from encouragement to discouragement in a breath! But I have not only cursed the day of my birth, as Jeremiah did, and wished I had never been born — I am weary of my life, and have sought after my own death. Was there ever a godly, gracious man so discouraged and cast down as that?

Yes. What do you think of Job? "I was weary of my life" — Job 10:1. And in the third chapter, pouring out his complaint concerning himself, he says, verse 20, "Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul?" And verse 21, "Which long for death, but it cometh not, and dig for it more than for hid treasures." Now, you know that those who dig for gold and silver dig industriously and earnestly. So it was with Job — I am so afflicted and distressed, he says, and in such bitterness of soul, that I long for death and dig for it as for hidden treasure.

Oh, what a mighty deep of discouragement the saints and people of God may fall into — and yet be godly, and yet be gracious!

Secondly. But why does God allow his own people, his dearest children, to be discouraged this way, and their peace interrupted? Someone will say, I know that all our present joy and comfort is but a creature, and so it may be eclipsed; and that Satan is near to the best of God's children, thrusting and pushing them forward into these discouragements, that they may be made like himself, a discouraged spirit — but why will God allow it to be so?

In general, it is for their good. For their good they have their peace and comfort, and for their good they sometimes want it. The star that led the wise men to Christ did not always go before them — sometimes it appeared, sometimes it was hidden from them — but both its appearing and its hiding were for their benefit. Its first appearance invited them to Christ; its withdrawal made them more diligent in seeking him. So when Christ hid himself from his mother Mary, she sought him all the more, and when she found him, she rejoiced all the more. Both his absence and his presence, her fear and her comfort, were for her good — his absence drew out her desire, and his presence drew out her joy. When God is absent from us, we have proof of our love for God in our desire after him; when he is present, we have proof of his love for us in the shining of his countenance. So whether God shines on us or not, whether we have comfort or not, both are for our good. That is the general answer — but more particularly:

1. It is God's way to deal with the children of men according to their own dispositions, stooping and condescending to their infirmities. The prophet Hosea says, "He draws us with the cords of a man" (Hosea 11:4). Now it is man's disposition to come to God at second hand. As long as a man can find fullness in some creature, he will not come to God; but first he must see the emptiness of the creature, the duty, the ordinance — and then he says, oh, what fullness is in God himself, in Christ himself! "The widow that is desolate trusteth in God" (1 Timothy 5:5) — though a widow, if she were not desolate she would not always trust; and so God allows a desolation to come upon her widowhood. When David's men took up stones to stone him, then, says the text, "he encouraged himself in the LORD his God" (1 Samuel 30:6). As long as a man has encouragement elsewhere, he will not encourage himself in the Lord his God. Because this is man's nature, and because God has a design of love upon his own children, he allows a damp and discouragement to pass over all their comforts — their peace interrupted, their hearts disquieted, their souls discouraged — so that they may learn to encourage themselves in God alone.

2. This inward peace and quietness of soul is so great a commodity that God means to see its price raised. Common and ordinary blessings, once lost and found again, become extraordinary. It is a common mercy that a man sits in his shop and goes about his trade — but if he falls sick a while, loses his health, and cannot look into his shop for five or six weeks, then, if he can get down for just one day, oh, he says, what an extraordinary mercy this is, that I should go down again! The interruption of an ordinary blessing raises it to an extraordinary one. As long as a man has his health and strength, though he can walk forty, fifty, sixty miles in a day, he thinks little of it — but let him be sick a while, at death's door, and then begin to recover, and though he can only lift his hand or stir his leg, he blesses God and says, oh, friends, I can move myself in my bed, I can stir my hand, my leg — what an extraordinary mercy this is! So it is here. As long as a man has inward peace and quietness of soul without interruption, he looks on it as a common blessing; but if his peace is interrupted a little, and his soul is buffeted by Satan, and then he recovers his peace — oh, he says, what an extraordinary mercy is this! God will sometimes raise the price of this commodity from an ordinary blessing to an extraordinary one, and so he allows his own children, his dearest servants, to be discouraged this way, their peace interrupted.

3. God is a tender Father, and he wants all the love of his children. He does not want his children to love their nurse more than himself. Our joy, our peace, our comfort — these are but the nurse of our graces. When God sees that his children have fallen more in love with the nurse than with himself, he removes the nurse, and lets their peace be suspended and interrupted. He will not have the nurse loved more than himself.

4. Sometimes God allows this cloud to rise over the peace and comfort of his people so that he may train them up to greater maturity. Comfort is the children's milk — you may notice that the weaker Christian sometimes has more lively, sensible comfort than the stronger Christian does. Why? Because this inward joy and peace is the milk and sweet honey by which they are first drawn off from the pleasures of the world. And as these comforts wean us from the world's comforts, so we need in turn to be weaned from these weaning-comforts themselves — which God sometimes does by restraining them, and so we grow up toward greater maturity.

5. Sometimes, again, God sees his children growing vain, light, frothy, wanton, and secure under their peace and comfort, and then he withdraws himself, hides his face, and so they lose their comfort. This was the case in the Song of Solomon 5, where the Bride says, "My soul failed me" (verse 6). But why? "I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone." And why had he withdrawn himself? He came and offered his love, verse 2, and she would not have it — verse 3: "I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?" That is, I am now laid down to sleep — words that speak of a false security. Because of her security he withdraws himself, and being withdrawn, her soul fails within her. It is often the same with the children of God in their own lives — the Lord sees them grow secure, vain, frothy, and wanton under their peace and comfort, and then he withdraws himself, and their peace fails.

6. Our Lord and Savior Christ is a tender surgeon, who has set every bone that we ourselves have broken by our sins. You know that a wise and honest surgeon, though he wants his patient healed quickly, will still take off the plaster again if he sees it is not lying right — it is not laid right, he says, and so it must come off. So Christ does the same. He sees that the comforts of his people are sometimes not rightly laid, and so, though he desires this poor wounded soul to be cured quickly, because this comfort, this promise, this experience is not lying right, it must be taken off again. The comforts of the saints are sometimes laid in such a way that the very laying of them breeds discomfort — just as in the sowing of seed, it is not enough for the seed to be good; it must be well sown, or the very sowing of it may raise weeds. So though light is sown for the righteous, sometimes it is sown in such a way that the very sowing of it breeds the weeds of fear and discouragement, so that you might say — and not as prophecy but as plain observation — here is a soul that, though full of comfort now, will before long be much discouraged.

But this is a hard thing to say — can you foretell a man's discouragements even in the midst of his comfort? Is there anyone among the saints, however comforted, of whom you might say beforehand, surely this man will be much discouraged again?

When a good man rests his spiritual comfort on outward blessings, you may say beforehand that his comfort will never hold — before long he will be much disquieted. This is why the saints of the Old Testament so often labored under discouragement: because they measured the love of God too much by outward blessings. Psalm 143:4, "Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me." Why so? Verse 3: "For the enemy hath persecuted my soul." He measured God's love too much by outward things, and so when the enemy broke in upon him, he thought God did not love him, and so he was overwhelmed. It is the same with all outward blessings. If you see a man raising his persuasion of God's love from the smiles of any creature, you may say of him beforehand — this poor soul, before long, will be in the dark, under discouragement.

When a man is unthankful for true peace, and unhumbled for false peace, he cannot hold his peace for long. Before a man is converted he has a peace within him — "for when the strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace" — but it is a false peace. After a man is converted he has a peace within him too, and this is a true peace. God expects that a man be humbled for his former false peace, and thankful for his present true peace. When God sees a man both unhumbled for his false peace and unthankful for his true peace, the Spirit of the Lord is grieved and withdraws, and the soul is left comfortless.

When a man raises his comfort only from something he finds within himself — from grace within, and not from grace without; from Christ within, and not from Christ without — then his comfort will not hold. What is perpetual is what has a perpetuating cause. Grace without us is perpetual; Christ's own personal obedience, in the merit of it, is perpetual. But the actings of grace within us are not perpetual, nor perpetually visible even where they are, and so they cannot perpetually comfort us. Indeed, our grace within, our obedience, is in some respects a cause of our peace: first, a cause without which we can have no comfort at all, for a godly man can have no comfort if he has no obedience; second, a cause that removes what hinders our comfort, namely our sin; third, a witnessing cause, for there are three that bear witness — the Spirit, the water, and the blood — and the water, which is our sanctification, is one; fourth, a confirming cause, for by our obedience and sanctification our justification is confirmed, and our sense of it. So obedience is one cause of our peace, but not the only cause, nor the principal one. When you see the stream of a man's comfort running only, or mainly, in this channel — raised from his obedience, from the acting of grace within him — you may say, though the stream runs full now, wait a little, and before long you will see it run dry, and this man will be much discouraged.

When a good man rests his comfort more on the coming-in of the word than on the word itself — suppose a man opens his Bible and lands on some promise, and for the moment is greatly refreshed and comforted; or suppose he does not open the Bible or read the Scripture at all, but sitting in a dark condition, some promise comes to his mind that he had not been thinking of, and at its coming his heart is raised, warmed, comforted, so that he concludes, now I am a child of God, now I know God loves me, now I know I have a share in Christ — such a man raises his comfort either from the word itself or from its mere coming-in. If from the word itself, how can his comfort die? If only from the bare coming-in of the word, how can his comfort live? For when the word does not come, his comfort fails. We read in Psalm 16 that "he shall multiply the sorrows of those who hasten after another." Your translation reads it, "Their sorrows shall be multiplied that hasten after another god" — but the word "God" is not in the underlying Hebrew there; it has been supplied by the translators. The whole verse is the voice of Christ. What does he say in verse 2? "O my soul, thou hast said unto the LORD, thou art my Lord: my goodness, my holiness, my righteousness, is not for thee, but for the saints that are in the earth, and for the excellent, in whom is all my delight." But, Lord our Savior, what if we do not come to your goodness, your holiness, your righteousness, and rest on that alone? He answers: "Their sorrows shall be multiplied that hasten after another." And is this not exactly what it means to hasten after another — when men rest on the bare coming-in of the word, or on the impressions it makes on the heart? Where, in all the Scripture, from one end of the Bible to the other, do we find that Christ has appointed any such way of comfort as this — that a man should raise his comfort from where his eye happens to fall on opening the book? If I land on a promise today and so have comfort, may I not land on a threatening tomorrow, and so have no comfort at all? Where has Christ appointed any such way as this — that I should measure God's love, or judge my everlasting condition, by which word happens to come to mind? Indeed, God sometimes does, by his providence, cause our eye to fall on some promise on opening the Bible, and that is a providential comfort. He sometimes sends a particular word to steady and bear up a soul in a particular distress or affliction. But that is not the same as saying I should measure his everlasting love, or judge my condition, by whatever word happens to come in. To do so is indeed to hasten after another — and how many sorrows are multiplied in the hearts of God's people this way! How many poor souls walk in just this path! God our Father sees that the plaster is not laid right, and so he must take it off again — but all from a design of love, to lay it right in the end. These, then, are the reasons why God allows his own people to be much discouraged.

Thirdly. But how can all this stand together with grace? Can a man be comforted and discouraged, discouraged and then comforted again — carried to and fro like this in his comfort, and yet be in Christ, yet be gracious, yet be holy?

Yes. For though there is much evil in this being tossed up and down, yet in the saints there remains always some mixture of grace along with their discouragements. Take the saints and people of God — though they are much discouraged and cast down, they still mourn after God; and though they cannot wait as patiently as they would like, they can say in truth, if they only knew that God would come at last, they would wait all their lives. There is grace in that. And though they cannot mourn as they should for sins already past, which trouble them most, yet they dare not willingly put out their hand to any sin in the present. I have read of one man so troubled and cast down that he said — and thought — I find so little comfort in my soul that I would willingly let my body burn in fire until Christ's coming, if only I might have the assurance of God's love and favor; and though I am persuaded I shall go to hell, yet my hope is that my sufferings here will be lessened there. Yet in all this trouble, says the one who told me of him, nothing in the world could persuade him to do anything willingly that would displease God. This man was comforted at last, and would often say afterward, the devil took advantage of my sorrow over evil things to make me unthankful for good things. I mention this to show that the saints are never so discouraged but that some grace remains mixed in — they dare not sin. And though, through their very discouragements, they sin against the gospel in unbelief, yet by those same discouragements they are kept from sinning against the law — these discouragements serving like the lees that preserve the wine.

And though they rest too much on their own righteousness, so that their feet sink in various sloughs, it is because they long to be more obedient to God their Father — and in the midst of all their discouragement they can say in truth, I would give the whole world for the presence of God. There is grace in that too, a mixture of grace throughout. No wonder, then, that such discouragements can be found even in a godly, gracious man.

But is there no evil, then, in being tossed to and fro this way, comforted and then discouraged? Is there no evil in these discouragements?

Much — very much. I will not go into all the particulars, but consider this: how can such a soul make the best use of Christ while in this condition? As long as a man's title to his land is in question, he cannot sow his ground or build his houses — and if you ask him why not, his answer is ready: I dare not lay out the cost while my title is in question. So it is here. As long as a man's title to Christ is in question, he cannot make the use of Christ that he should. If a man sets out on a journey and does not know his way, he loses much of his road, and much of the comfort of it, in stopping to ask whether he is right or wrong. When he comes to three or four turnings he stands there, though he might have ridden a mile in that time; and when he comes out into open country and sees a shepherd in the distance, he rides up to ask whether he is on the right way — and all day long he is thinking about his road, wondering whether he is right, when, if he knew his way, he might instead have been thinking precious thoughts of God and of his word. So it is here. While a man is doubting and fearing, not knowing whether he is on the way to heaven, how much precious time is lost — thoughts of Christ lost, thankfulness for mercy lost! Scripture calls an unbelieving heart an evil heart — and when men's hearts are discouraged and cast down, are they not unbelieving? Who, then, would not take care to avoid these discouragements, and the interruption of their peace?

Fourthly. But suppose I have now lost my comfort. There was a time when my soul was full of joy, but now I am utterly discouraged — what should a poor soul do to recover his peace and comfort, so that his uninterrupted peace may be restored?

Some things by way of question, some by way of teaching.

1. Have you forgotten the years of the right hand of the Most High? Have you lost all your past experience too? I know that usually, when our comfort fails, our memory of past experience fails with it — yet not always. The psalmist here says, "My soul is cast down," yet in the same breath, verse 6, he says, "Therefore will I remember thee from the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites, from the hill Mizar." So too in Psalm 77 — the psalmist, having asked in verse 7, "Will the Lord cast off for ever? and will he be favourable no more? Is his mercy clean gone for ever? doth his promise fail for evermore? Hath God forgotten to be gracious?" — adds in the very same breath, "But I will remember the years of the right hand of the most High." You remember what the disciples said: "Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?" (Luke 24:32). Beloved, you have no comfort now — well, but do you remember a time when you were alone in your room, with no one near you, and the Lord came and opened the Scriptures, opened a promise to your soul, so that your heart burned within you? Have you quite forgotten when those Scriptures were opened to you? I do not speak of the burning itself — I suppose that is gone now — but are the Scriptures gone that were opened to you then? Did you not say, in your last trouble and cast-down condition, if the Lord ever appears to me again I will never doubt his mercy anymore — and did he not appear to you, and open that promise to your heart? And have you now forgotten these things? This is your weakness. Why should you not remember the days, the times, the works, the experiences of the right hand of the Most High?

2. Are you not, perhaps, using the means for restoring your comfort in a way that loses it all the more? A man may greatly desire some position that many are competing for, but if he is so eager that he rides over hedge and ditch to get there, he may fall and hurt himself, letting others pass him — and by his very haste he loses the place. So it is sometimes with good people — they hurry so much toward their comfort that they lose it by their hurrying. They would have it sooner if they simply went on waiting on God in the ordinary way, without such headlong haste — but no, they must have it today. Oh, let me know my interest in Christ today, says one, or else I am undone forever. By limiting God to a set time this way, they tempt the Holy One, and so are set further from their comfort, not nearer. The more the child cries and frets under the rod, the longer the rod is continued.

Some seek comfort by way of reasoning, thinking to reason their way out of temptation and into comfort. But, as one has said well, do not dispute with God, lest you be confounded; do not dispute with Satan, lest you be deceived.

Some tire themselves out in duty, neglecting their calling. It is true that prayer is a friend to comfort, and more than the ordinary amount of time should be given to prayer by those troubled in conscience. But when men, under temptation and without comfort, throw off their calling altogether, thinking that nothing is to be done but pray, they only lay themselves open to more of Satan's temptations by neglecting their calling — and they tire out their natural strength in duty until they are flat and lifeless in it, so that their temptations increase and their comfort is pushed further away. So consider whether you might be using the very means of comfort in a way that sets you at a greater distance from it.

3. Have you not, perhaps, reached and strained for some outward comfort so far that you lost your inward comfort in the process? I read of Francis Spira, that when he was in horror of conscience he could not look on his wife and children with any peace, because it was to provide for them that he had denied the truth — and so when they came before him in his distress he cried out in horror, how terrible is the sight of these to me! They had been his comforts before, yet now he could not bear the sight of them. For your sakes, he thought, and to provide for you, I denied the truth and yielded to these errors — and so, how terrible is the sight of these to me! What peace or comfort did Judas have in the sight of his thirty pieces of silver? Whatever outward comfort a man strains his conscience to obtain will become a torment to look upon. We read of David, that when his men had ventured through the enemy's lines for water from the well of Bethlehem, he would not drink it, but poured it out before the LORD, saying, "Why should I drink the blood of these men?" He did not sin in desiring the water, nor did he command his men to risk themselves for it — his words were only a wish: oh, that someone would give me water from the well of Bethlehem! But though he had not sinned in desiring it, once he had it, he poured it out before the LORD and said, God forbid that I should drink the blood of these men. And will you drink the blood of your own conscience? There was a time when you had peace and comfort, and by straining your conscience for outward comfort you have now lost your inward comfort. Will you not, then, take that outward comfort and pour it out before the Lord, saying, God forbid that I should drink the blood of my own peace and comfort? How can any of you have peace while those stolen, unrestored goods still lie beside you?

But, you say, all my comfort now lies flat at the feet of my fears — I have no peace at all. What should I do, that my peace and comfort may be restored?

By way of direction, three things.

1. Look at what you would do if you were seeking to be justified, and do the very same thing now. If I were seeking justification, having seen my own sin and my own nature, I would, through grace, come to the righteousness of Jesus Christ, and leave the whole weight of my poor guilty soul upon it — and that very act of faith would justify me, and give me peace. For, says the apostle, "being justified by faith, we have peace with God." And just as faith justifies and gives peace at the first, so the renewing of this same act of faith renews our peace. What is my justifying faith, but this — in the time of temptation, to leave myself and my condition on Christ alone, saying, whether I am godly or ungodly, whether in Christ or not in Christ, I will not dispute that now, but will leave myself on Christ alone? Do this again, and it will bring peace again.

2. You have now lost your comfort, the shining of God's face on you. Either God has withdrawn himself because of your sin, or he has not. If not for your sin, he will return, and soon. If for your sin, labor all the more to find it out, and be humbled for it.

I know you will say, but in this condition I cannot be humbled.

But remember this — in such a condition, what counts as humbling now did not count before, and God will accept as humiliation now what he would not have accepted before. In Psalm 32 David says, "I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the LORD, and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin." He only said he would do it — he had not yet fully done it — and yet God had already forgiven the iniquity of his sin. God accepted his humbling, low as it was. Why? Because, as verses 3 and 4 show, he was under temptation and in great discouragement — "my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long. For day and night thy hand was heavy upon me: my moisture is turned into the drought of summer." Yet how ready God was to receive even a small acknowledgment, a little humbling, from him at that time.

But, you say, what is this to us? This was David's case. No, says David himself — this is not my case alone, for verse 6 says, "For this shall every one that is godly pray unto thee, in a time when thou mayest be found." God will receive even a little when you are greatly discouraged. So either God has withdrawn because of your sin, or he has not — if not, wait only a little, and he will return; if for your sin, labor all the more to be humbled for it, for he will accept a measure of humbling now that he would not accept at any other time.

3. Is all your comfort gone, and would you have it restored? Then read, and read the Scripture much. If you cannot read it yourself, have someone else read it to you. When a man's mind is empty — as it is in temptation, in want of comfort — it is empty of Christ and full of fear, and it grinds on itself like an empty mill grinding one stone against another. The fuller a man's mind is, the freer it is from temptation and fear. Now Scripture is the most filling matter there is. The more you see Christ walking in the sweet shade of divine love toward poor sinners, the sooner your faith will revive and your comfort be restored — and where can you see Jesus Christ walking with poor sinners under the shade of divine love, but in the Scriptures? Stand there a while, and you will see him, and your heart will say, and why not one turn of love with me too, my Savior? Study, read, and read the Scriptures much.

But, you say, if I read the Scriptures, and read them much, I will meet with some promise — perhaps many — but being as discouraged as I am, I will not be able to apply them. I will see the promises, and say, there is an old friend of mine — but now it has become my enemy, the promise will not own me, and I cannot apply it, so it will do me no good.

You cannot know what a promise will do until you come to apply it. A promise never gives out its power and strength until it is put to use — it works when it is put to work, not before. When Moses saw his rod turned into a serpent, he was afraid of it and fled from it — but when he put out his hand and took it by the tail, it became a rod in his hand again, just as before. It may be that you are looking at some promise from a distance, and saying, oh, there is my enemy, it will not help me now, it will sting me, it will undo me — but put out your hand to it again, and it will become a promise once more, a rod in your hand as comforting as it ever was.

And does the promise not come to you? Then go to it. Sometimes the promise comes to us; sometimes we must go to it. When the promise comes to you, you have joy; when you go to it, you have peace — and this peace may last longer than that joy. But remember this as an everlasting rule: it is your very relying on the promise that makes it yours.

But, you say, if I read the Scriptures much in this condition, I will meet not only with promises but with threatenings too, and that will discourage me all the more.

Not so. If a threatening only makes way for the promise, and comes forward to meet you so that it may lead you to the promise, is there any harm to you in that? Just as the law was a schoolmaster to bring us to Christ, so sometimes a threatening is a schoolmaster to bring you to the promise. And God sometimes sends the threatening precisely so that it may lead you to the promise. You remember how God appeared to Elijah — first in a wind that shook the mountains and broke the rocks, but God was not in the wind; then in an earthquake, but God was not in the earthquake; then in a fire, but God was not in the fire; and then in a still, small voice — and there was God. So when God comes to a soul, he sometimes sends a threatening first, and shakes the rocks and mountains and hard hearts, and his converting grace may not be found there — but there is a still, small voice behind it, the voice of the promise, and God is there. All that shaking by the threatening is only meant to make way for the still voice of the promise that follows it.

But, you say, if I read the Scriptures much in this condition, I will meet with many other things that have nothing to do with me — histories in Scripture that do not fit my case at all — and so I will find no good or comfort in them.

Do not say so. Christ heals by way of diversion, as you would do for someone who is grieving. If a friend has lost a husband, a wife, or a child, you do not speak of the one lost and say, oh, what a dear friend, or husband, or wife, or child you have lost — instead you speak of something else for a time, and only afterward can that person bear to speak of the one they lost. You first divert their mind from the matter of their grief, and in that way you help to heal it. Christ does the same when he heals a poor, wounded, grieving soul — he does not always speak directly to the matter of grief at hand, but leads the heart for a time into the consideration of other truths, and afterward speaks to the matter that is troubling them. He heals by way of diversion.

Study, then — oh, study the Scriptures much — for by this means the Lord will pour wine and oil into your bleeding wounds, and in due time you will say, as David did, "In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul" (Psalm 94:19).

But suppose the Lord restores to me the joy of my salvation, so that the bones I have broken may rejoice — suppose my peace and joy return — what should I do then?

I need not tell you what then, for you will tell me — you will say, now I must be thankful, now I must believe, now I will never doubt God's mercy and grace again. Only take these few words of advice.

Be sure you understand your comfort rightly, and are not mistaken in it — labor to distill and refine your comfort. As a mixed crowd came up out of Egypt with Israel and set the people murmuring, so a mixed company often comes along with your comfort. Every creature is born into the world with some impurity in it. When you have comfort, labor to find out and separate the dross and the filth from it, and put away that mixed company. Rose leaves do not keep long as leaves — it is the distilled perfume that keeps the longest. So distilled comfort keeps the longest too.

If you would keep Satan out of your territory, go on the attack into his. The way to keep the enemy out of your own country is to invade his. Deal with Satan the same way — do him all the harm you can. Do not simply stand on the defensive — get up, and go on the offensive against him.

If you would keep your comfort, put it all into the hand of Christ to be kept for you. A child who does not know how to keep money safe, if given a penny by a friend, brings it to his father or mother and says, please keep this penny for me. You know from experience that you cannot keep your own comfort — you will lose it and spend it quickly. As Jesus Christ is the treasurer of all our graces, so he is the keeper of all our comfort. So when God is pleased to give you any comfort, go to Jesus Christ and say, Lord, keep this comfort for me, keep my evidences for me, keep my assurance for me. You must depend on Christ not only for grace, but for comfort — for the keeping of it as well as the getting of it.

Whatever spiritual comfort you have from Christ, spend it all for Christ. In earthly things, the way to end up with little is to spend much — but in spiritual things, the more you spend, the more you have. So whatever comfort you have, spend it among the saints. Do as Moses did. When Moses was in Pharaoh's court, in a position of great honor, standing in the presence of the king, he went out to visit his brothers and comfort them under their burdens — "I will go," he said, "and see how it goes with my brethren." Do the same. Has the Lord spoken peace and comfort to your soul? Do you now stand in the presence of the King of kings, with his face shining upon you, all your comfort restored? Then go out to your brothers and sisters, seek out those laboring under some burden, and comfort them with the same comfort you yourself have received — knowing for certain that the more you spend, the more you will have, and the longer you will keep it. This, too, is what Christ expects — that whatever comfort we receive from him, we should spend for him.

And so I have finished with this second argument.