FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Casting all your cares upon Him, for He careth for you.—1 Pet. 5, 7.
Casting all your cares upon Him, for He careth for you.—1 Pet. 5, 7.
In that wonderful book which, next to the Bible, has been most extensively circulated in the English language,viz., Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," there is a scene which is most impressive. It represents to us Christian fleeing from the cityof this world, with a large bundle upon his shoulders. He comes to a place somewhat elevated; upon that place stands a cross, and a little below there is a sepulcher, and as he comes up with the cross, the bundle looses from off his shoulders and rolls away, till it comes to the mouth of the sepulcher, where it rolls in and he sees it no more. How many as they have read or seen the picture of the quaint old story have wished that it might be so with them as it was with Christian, that the load which they are bearing might slip off their backs, leaving the heart light and spirit free. And there is no reason why it may not, provided they take it, like Christian, to the proper place. What is set forth in the allegory, that, according to St. Peter in the text, may be experienced in reality and in truth. God grant that with the Holy Spirit's aid we may acquire the art. Three thoughts are set before us:I. That every child of man has a burden to bear;II. what he should do with it; III.why he should so dispose of it.
A distinguished German preacher, speaking on the Gospel of this Sunday, remarked that man in this world has a solemn companion that follows him whithersoever he goeth. Like a shadow, it will cling to his footsteps, dogging his every movement and occupying his every moment. In the silence of the chamber it will steal through the keyhole, and when slumber is about to fall upon his weary eyelids, it will whisper rest-disturbing messages into his ear. No spot is too desolate, no mind immune against its perplexing assaults. The German calls the name of this dreary attendant "Sorge." Our text calls it "Care," meaning anxious care, solicitude, distracting fear. That, as stated, is the burden of every child of Adam. It may not externally appear so,—it may be hidden behind silken tapestry or marble apartments,—but it is there. People look at a king; they gaze upon a rich mansion, see its occupants, driving forth in an elegant equipage. They think, "What a favored lot is theirs!" They realize not the dark shadow of care sitting behind the coachman, and realize not what the poet expresses thus: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." Nor can it be said that it has lessened. We have made mighty advancement; never was the world so rich in material things, never did we possess so many devices for lightening human toil and tasks, and yet due likely to the speed at which we have to move, the high pressure at which we have to live, the complexity of thesocial organism of which we form a part, it is a matter of fact that the man and the woman of to-day are getting more nervous and highly strung, less able to bear their burdens calmly and patiently. Worry, constant distraction, and disquietude are wearing out many people before their time. And what are they worrying about? What is the burden of their care? Various. With some it is the burden of ill health, bodily indisposition. That's an extremely heavy burden, one that takes the color out of the sky and the sweetness out of life, to spend most or a great deal of our time in bed or on a sofa,—no taste for food, a throbbing head, a laboring heart, constant and gnawing agony, nights often filled with sleeplessness and days with weariness. This is trying, indeed. With others it is business burdens. Rivalry is keen, competition acute, thousands are the things to harass and perplex and annoy the man of industry. The Lord, in the Gospel, mentions a whole array of burdens that rise from the question: "What shall we eat, what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed?" Worldly sustenance, the apprehension of poverty, of future years, of loss of property, of health, of coming deaths and sorrow in the family, the changes and disasters that might come, the miscarrying of our plans, the possible ill success of our labors,—these things are the burdens that make men full of worrying cares.
And what can you do to rid yourself of this? There are those who would drown their worry. They take to the intoxicating cup. It's a miserable expedient, a ruin to body and soul; and oh! for the shame and remorse added to the load of ills. Others turn to the gay and glittering world, to some place and company where men and women are apparently happy. For a time the thing may work well. As the child of care goes up and down within the great dance-hall and through the illuminated gardens, where the merry voices of laughter and song ring out, and instruments are discoursing sweet music, it may seem wise to have disposed of the burden that way. But—what when the entertainment is over, and your wraps carefully labeled with your name are handed back to you? Then back come the old sorrows, perhaps with new ones added.—And one other expedient might we think of: Have some one bear the burden with you. There is good reason and sound sense in this. Men in trouble instinctively seek human sympathy; a sorrow shared is a sorrow lessened. Fortunate the person that has an ear and aheart to which he can apply for comfort and strength. But there also is danger. Friendship is an uncertain thing; it is often too delicate to bear much handling, it evaporates under pressure. Few are the friends that care, or are able to bear, the burdens of others; and again, there are friends who are not really such, who will betray your confidence, secretly rejoice over your ill fortune, and even use it to harm you. Beware of a man whose breath is in his nostrils.
So, then, we are shut up to one effective resource, and that is the course given in the text: "Casting all your cares upon Him." What does that mean? It means two things: In the first place, it means trust in God's providence. There is a Providence which has brought us into this world and is taking us through it. And it is for us to practically, not only theoretically, believe this. Theoretically, we may hold very correct views on the subject, but it is practically, in the application to the affairs and scenes of our own life, that we may fall short. And alas! that many of those who call themselves Christians do fall short. Else why these perplexing anxieties, this tormenting solicitude? If they believe in God, who has pledged that He will ever provide for them, and without whose permission not a hair of their head can fall, why do they yield to the same unbelieving fears as the worldling?
We Christians believe in an almighty Maker and Provider, that He has given us these bodies, our families and all. We furthermore believe that He knows what our wants really are, and we hold that it is in His power to supply our wants. Besides, He has pledged Himself by His almighty character to supply them. Surely, it is a great inconsistency and unbelief to find Christians showing the spirit of worldly carefulness, losing the comfort of trust in God amidst a host of distracting cares. If there is a word more expressive of Christian character than any other, it is this one, trust,—trust in God, trust in Jesus to save, in His Spirit to sanctify, in His providence to provide; trust amidst perplexity and mystery, for the future, the present, in life and in death,—in all things trust in God.
Yes, dear child of affliction and sorrow, God loves you. He has redeemed you by the blood of His own dear Son. He cares for you. He knows your ailments, and He would not permit His children to suffer anything to their hurt. Believe that. To give way to contrary feeling and expressions is to dishonorand provoke God. When a father knows that he can uphold a child in any threatening danger, he does not like to hear the continual expression of that child's fears and apprehensions. It vexes him. When we have chosen a pilot, he would be offended, were he to find us trembling as to the safety of the ship; he would throw up the helm, and tell us to guide for ourselves, since we had no confidence in His skill. It is doubting our heavenly Father's wisdom, it is distrusting His power and goodness, and contradicting His gracious powers and pledges to be overanxious. The thing is to look up to, and confide in Him: "God never does forsake in need the soul that trusts in Him indeed." And with this trust goes something else, and that something else is prayer.
"Be careful for nothing," says the Apostle in another place, "but in everything by prayer and supplication let your requests be known to God." Prayer: What is there to it? Nothing, if you have never tried it; and since ours is such a prayerless age, it is such an anxious age. Would they be cured of the evil, they must follow the Apostle's direction, so simple and yet so effective. Prayer is God's specific, His antidote, against care. In one of two ways God answers the request of every care-worn soul. Sometimes He takes away the thing that troubles it. Sometimes He still allows them to remain, but fills the soul itself with such grace and strength that it learns to smile at its old fears, and refuses to be fretted and worried any more. Try it, thou anxious, distracted, worried soul, go to the Lord, speak out in His ear whatsoever gives thee worry,—anxiety for worldly sustenance, illness, concern of family, solicitude for those who are at a distance, and how many moments of dejection you might save yourself. As an old commentator says: "Care cannot live in the presence of prayer; but prayer extinguisheth care as water extinguisheth fire."
To conclude, there will always be burdens, and anxieties will never fail, but we have God's instruction as to how to treat them. Let us commit to memory such a text as this. Let us in moments of gloom repeat it over and over again, and oh! how like Christian in "Pilgrim's Progress" anxious cares will roll off your shoulders; distrust, impatience, and fear will yield to holy hope, prayerful committal, humble and peaceful trust. God bless and impress His Word to that effect! Amen.