Losses

 

In like manner, we do not know the blessedness of fellowship with God until his face is darkened or he seems to have withdrawn himself. Jesus was never so precious to the disciples as when they had him no more. Two of his friends, indeed, never openly confessed their love for him until his body hung on the cross. They had secretly loved him all along, but now, as they saw that he was dead and that they could never, as they supposed, do anything more for him or enjoy his presence again, all their heart’s silent love awoke in them, and they came boldly out and begged his body, gently took it down in the sight of the multitude, and bore it to loving burial. But for his death they would never have realized how much they loved him or how much he was to them.

In like manner, David never knew what God and God’s house were to his soul until he was driven away from his home and could no more enter the sanctuary. As he fled away it seemed as if his very heart would break; yet his deepest sorrow was not for the joys of home left behind – for throne, crown, palace and honors – but for the house of God, with its hallowed and blessed communion. All the other bitter griefs and sorrows of the hour were swallowed up in this greatest of all his griefs – separation from the divine presence. Nor do I believe that the privileges of divine fellowship had ever been so precious to him before while he enjoyed them without hindrance or interruption as now when he looked from his exile toward the holy place and could not return to it.

Does not the very commonness of our religious blessings conceal from us their inestimable value? Luther somewhere says, “If, in his gifts and benefits, God were more sparing and close handed, we should learn to be more thankful.” The very unbroken continuity of God’s favors causes us to lose sight of the Giver, and to forget to prize the gifts themselves. If there were gaps somewhere, we should learn to appreciate the outflow of the divine goodness. Who is there among us all that values highly enough the tender summer of God’s love that broods over us with infinite warmth evermore? Our church privileges, our open Bibles, our religious liberty, our Sabbath teachings and our communings, our hours of prayer, – do we prize these blessings as we would if we were suddenly torn away from them by some cruel fortune and cast in a land where all these are wanting? Do we appreciate our privileges of fellowship with God as we would if for an hour his love should be withdrawn and the light of his presence put out?

 

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Week-Day Religion: Contents