In order to listen to His voice we must be in possession of both liberty and rest. If you are not in repose, you cannot give Him an audience. I do not mean to deny for a moment that there is a previous exercise connected with the silencing of the natural cravings, the fading of other sounds which were ready to fill the ear of the soul. But this is the putting to death of what intrudes, in order that the disengaged ear may be turned without distraction to Him, instead of the things which a morbid heart that wastes a weary, restless life away by feeding on itself.
There is a repose in the person who listens well, that is very blessed to witness. There was something of it in Mary, when she sat at Jesus’ feet, and heard His word. Her very attitude was restful; she sat, and heard.
I do not deny the activity of life, either in its earnestness to obtain, or its readiness to surrender; but I contend it ought to be restful activity — an activity which is kept alive and sustained by an object outside itself.
“As ground, when parched with summer heat,
Gladly drinks in the welcome shower;
So would we, listening at His feet,
Receive His words, and feel His power.”
Abstraction and Absorption
I shall here note one or two results of listening in this spirit.
First, such a one is abstracted from all but the object of the soul. Other sounds which otherwise might influence, now fail to interest such a one. The ear is turned to catch every note of the voice of the Charmer; and, oh, what a voice that is! Even His enemies declared that “never man spake like this man.”
The bride (when the day of union had not as yet dawned and whose affection is restless) is spell-bound as she listens in the twilight, and announces with rapture “the voice of my beloved” . . . “my beloved spake” — her whole soul turns to hear what the bridegroom of her heart has to say.
Next to abstraction is absorption, entire occupation of soul; the ear, not only bent to hear, but taking in every expression of His voice; and that, too, not as one who is apart from me, but One to whom I am united.
‘Tis His voice that chains my heart;
‘Tis His hand that draws apart;
‘Tis the music that I hear.
Rivets, presses me more near;
Every other sound has gone;
Float I down the stream alone:
All the universe above,
Like a mirror for His love.”
W. T. Turpin, (adapted)