HEART-PEACE BEFORE MINISTRY.
"Like the star
That shines afar,
Without haste
And without rest,
Let each man wheel, with steady sway,
Round the task that rules the day,
And do his best."
--GOETHE.
Peace in the heart is one of the conditions of good work. We cannot do
our best in anything if we are fretted and anxious. A feverish heart
makes an inflamed brain, a clouded eye, and an unsteady hand. The
people who really accomplish the most, and achieve the best results,
are those of calm, self-controlled spirit. Those who are nervous and
excited may be always busy, and always under pressure of haste; but in
the end they do far less work than if they wrought calmly and steadily,
and were never in a hurry.
Nervous haste is always hindering haste. It does faulty work, and does
but little of it in the end. Really rapid workers are always
deliberate in their movements, never appearing to be in any hurry
whatever; and yet they pass swiftly from task to task, doing each duty
well because they are calm and unflustered, and, with their wits about
them, work with clear eye, steady nerve, and skilful hand.
An eminent French surgeon used to say to his students, when they were
engaged in difficult and delicate operations, in which coolness and
firmness were needed, "Gentlemen, don't be in a hurry; for there's no
time to lose."
The people in all lines of duty who do the most work are the calmest,
most unhurried people in the community. Duties never wildly chase each
other in their lives. One task never crowds another out, nor ever
compels hurried, and therefore imperfect, doing. The calm spirit works
methodically, doing one thing at a time, and doing it well; and it
therefore works swiftly, though never appearing to be in haste.
We need the peace of God in our heart just as really for the doing well
of the little things of our secular life as for the doing of the
greatest duties of Christ's kingdom. Our face ought to shine, and our
spirit ought to be tranquil, and our eye ought to be clear, and our
nerves ought to be steady, as we press through the tasks of our
commonest day. Then we shall do them all well, slurring nothing,
marring nothing. We want heart-peace before we begin any day's duties,
and we should wait at Christ's feet till we get his quieting touch upon
our heart ere we go forth.
It is especially true in spiritual work that we must know the secret of
peace before we can minister either swiftly or effectively to others in
our Master's name. Feverishness of spirit makes the hand unskilful in
delicate duty. A troubled heart cannot give comfort to other troubled
hearts; it must first become calm and quiet. It is often said that one
who has suffered is prepared to help others in suffering; but this is
true only when one has suffered victoriously, and has passed up out of
the deep, dark valley of pain and tears to the radiant mountain-tops of
peace. An uncomforted mourner cannot be a messenger of consolation to
another in grief. One whose heart is still vexed and uncalmed cannot
be a physician to hearts with bleeding wounds. We must first have been
comforted of God ourselves, before we can comfort others in their
tribulations.
The same is true of all spiritual ministry. We need a steady hand to
touch the work of Christ's kingdom. One of our Lord's earlier miracles
furnishes an illustration of this truth. Jesus was called to heal a
woman who lay sick of a great fever. One of the Gospels describes the
cure in these striking words: "He touched her hand, and the fever left
her; and she arose and ministered unto them." We readily understand
this record in its primary reference to the physical cure that was
wrought by our Lord. We know, of course, that the woman could not
minister to others while the fever was on her. When sore sickness
comes, the busiest, fullest hands must drop their tasks. No matter how
important the work is, how essential it may appear, it must be laid
down when painful illness seizes us. We must be healed of our fever
before we can minister.
But there are other fevers besides those which burn in men's bodies.
There are heart-fevers which may rage within us, even when our bodies
are in perfect health. We find people with feverish spirits--unhappy,
discontented, fretted, worried, perhaps insubmissive and rebellious.
Or they may be in a fever of fear or dread. These inward fevers are
worse evils than mere bodily illness. It is better in sickness to have
our heart's fever depart, even though we must longer keep our pain,
than to recover our physical health, meanwhile keeping our fretfulness
and impatience uncured.
We cannot minister while heart-fever of any kind is on us. We may go
on with our work, but we cannot do it well, and there will be little
blessing in it. Discontent hinders any life's usefulness. Jesus loved
Martha, and accepted her service because he knew she loved him; but he
plainly told her that her feverishness was not beautiful, and that it
detracted from the worth and the full acceptableness of the good work
she did; and he pointed her to Mary's quiet peace as a better way of
living and serving. Anxiety of any kind unfits us in some degree for
work. It is only when Christ comes and lays his hand upon our heart,
and cures its fever, that we are ready for ministering in his name in
the most efficient way.
There is a little story of a busy woman's life which illustrates this
lesson. She was the mother of a large family, and, being in plain
circumstances, was required to do her own work. Sometimes, in the
multiplicity of her tasks and cares, she lost the sweetness of her
peace, and, like Martha, became troubled and worried with her much
serving. One morning she had been unusually hurried, and things had
not gone smoothly. She had breakfast to get for her family, her
husband to care for as he hasted away early to his work, and her
children to make ready for school. There were other household duties
which filled the poor, weak woman's hands, until her strength was
well-nigh utterly exhausted. And she had not gone through it all that
morning in a sweet, peaceful way. She had allowed herself to lose her
patience, and to grow fretful, vexed, and unhappy. She had spoken
quick, hasty, petulant words to her husband and her children. Her
heart had been in a fever of irritation and disquiet all the morning.
When the children were gone, and the pressing tasks were finished, and
the house was all quiet, the tired woman crept upstairs to her own
room. She was greatly discouraged. She felt that her morning had been
a most unsatisfactory one; that she had sadly failed in her duty; that
she had grieved her Master by her want of patience and gentleness, and
had hurt her children's lives by her fretfulness and her ill-tempered
words. Shutting her door, she took up her Bible and read the story of
the healing of the sick woman: "He touched her hand, and the fever left
her; and she arose and ministered unto them."
"Ah!" said she, "if I could have had that touch before I began my
morning's work, the fever would have left me, and I should have been
prepared to minister sweetly and peacefully to my family." She had
learned that she needed the touch of Christ to make her ready for
beautiful and gentle service.
In contrast with this story, and showing the blessed sweetness and holy
influence of a life that gets Christ's touch in the morning, there is
this account by Archdeacon Farrar of his mother: "My mother's habit
was, every day, immediately after breakfast, to withdraw for an hour to
her own room, and to spend that hour in reading the Bible, in
meditation, and in prayer. From that hour, as from a pure fountain,
she drew the strength and the sweetness which enabled her to fulfil all
her duties, and to remain unruffled by all the worries and pettinesses
which are so often the intolerable trial of narrow neighborhoods. As I
think of her life, and of all it had to bear, I see the absolute
triumph of Christian grace in the lovely ideal of a Christian lady. I
never saw her temper disturbed; I never heard her speak one word of
anger, or of calumny, or of idle gossip. I never observed in her any
sign of a single sentiment unbecoming to a soul which had drunk of the
river of the water of life, and which had fed upon manna in the barren
wilderness. The world is the better for the passage of such souls
across its surface. They may seem to be as much forgotten as the drops
of rain which fall into the barren sea, but each rain-drop adds to the
volume of refreshful and purifying waters. 'The healing of the world
is in its nameless saints. A single star seems nothing, but a thousand
scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.'"
There are many busy mothers to whom this lesson may come almost as a
revelation. No hands are fuller of tasks, no heart is fuller of cares,
than the hands and the heart of a mother of a large family of young
children. It is little wonder if sometimes she loses her sweetness of
spirit in the pressure of care that is upon her. But this lesson is
worth learning. Let the mothers wait on their knees each morning,
before they begin their work, for the touch of Christ's hand upon their
heart. Then the fever will leave them, and they can enter with calm
peace on the work of the long, hard day.
The lesson, however, is for us all. We are in no condition for good
work of any kind when we are fretted and anxious in mind. It is only
when the peace of God is in our heart that we are ready for true and
really helpful ministry. A feverish heart makes a worried face, and a
worried face casts a shadow. A troubled spirit mars the temper and
disposition. It unfits one for being a comforter of others, for giving
cheer and inspiration, for touching other lives with good and helpful
impulses. Peace must come before ministry. We need to have our fever
cured before we go out to our work. Hence, we should begin each new
day at the Master's feet, and get his cooling, quieting touch upon our
hot hand. Then, and not till then, shall we be ready for good service
in his name.