“They are all gone aside.”— Psalms 15:3.
“Return unto Me; for I have redeemed thee.” —Isaiah 44:22.
“He shall cry unto Me, Thou art my Father.” —Psalms 89:26.
SUFFERING and misery are the lot of mankind. Even our poets sing to us of “the orphanage of earth.” Faded flowers, autumn leaves that carpet the ground, heart-rending farewells marking the departure of train and steamer—these are the echoes we hear on every hand, telling of distress and disappointment.
And yet the counsels of God divulge quite another picture—even an enduring spring-time of “natural affection” that nothing should disturb.
But “they are all gone aside,” they have turned away from happiness. Man has severed his link with a beneficent God, and is lost on a troubled sea. Instead of attaining to the independence he sought, he has found himself at the mercy of “the stormy wind which lifteth up the waves” (Psa. 107:26, 27). Had he only remained obedient, his lot would have been a joyful one on the “mountain of myrrh and the hill of frankincense.”
Where are you, reader? Perhaps you hardly know how to answer this question, so let me do it for you. If you have not heard with the ear, and listened from the heart to the voice which calls, “Return,” you are still among those who have “gone aside,” you are like an abandoned orphan; a pitiful lot indeed! Who will come to your aid? The sword is suspended over your head, and no kind father is at hand to ward off the blow.
Listen, then, to the account of one who had a kindred experience. Last year a young girl was suddenly condemned by the physicians to suffer a terrible operation. Lest she should be unduly alarmed, she was, however, kept in ignorance of her fate until the last moment, and her family invented excuse after excuse to explain her removal to the town where the famous surgeon resided. Believing that she was only there to be near her grandmother, the poor child offered no resistance until the moment came for her removal to the hospital. Then her terror knew no bounds, communicated itself to all around her, and unnerved every one. But suddenly, to the surprise of all, she became calm and even smiling. What did it all mean? Outside the door, she had heard—her father’s voice! Unable to reach her sooner, he had just arrived to be present at the operation, and she had recognized his voice. “Oh, I’m not afraid now, my father is there,” she had exclaimed in rapture. “Do what you like, father is here!” And as under the influence of the soporific, she became unconscious, she whispered, “What a boon to have a father!” How many times this has been repeated since her restoration to health it would be difficult to say; the memory of the agony is swallowed up in blissful remembrance of the value of a father in danger’s hour.
And you, unhappy one, “turned aside” from an eternal Father, and with no protection from the fate awaiting you, a fate far more serious than an operation which may be successful? There is no uncertainty about the death to which you are condemned. “Death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned.” Yes, death is before you even as the operation was awaiting Louisa. “And after this the judgment.” But listen: As surely as she heard her father’s voice—a life-giving voice to her—so surely may you hear the word “Return” uttered by a divine voice—the Father who seeks you in order to save you. “Return... for I have redeemed thee,” “not with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot; who verily was foreordained before the foundation of the world” (1 Peter 1:19, 20). “Return,” then, without doubt or fear, for the Saviour has said, “Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.” “Return” to infinite grace, to a perfect work accomplished for the sinner, and then you will reply, “Thou art my Father, my God, and the Rock of my salvation.”
“There’s not a craving in the heart
He does not meet and still;
There’s not a wish the heart can have
Which He does not fulfill.”
M. M.