“The disciple whom Jesus loved leaned on His breast” (John xxi. 20).
An American gentleman once visited the saintly Albert Bengel. He was very
desirous to hear him pray. So one night he lingered at his door, hoping to
overhear his closing devotions. The rooms were adjoining and the doors
ajar. The good man finished his studies, closed his books, knelt down for
a moment and simply said: “Dear Lord Jesus, things are still the same
between us,” and then sweetly fell asleep. So close was his communion with
his Lord that labor did not interrupt it, and prayer was not necessary to
renew it. It was a ceaseless, almost unconscious presence, like the
fragrance of the summer garden, or the presence of some dear one by our
side whose presence we somehow feel, even though the busy hours pass by
and not a word is exchanged.
“O blessed fellowship, divine,
O joy, supremely sweet,
Companionship with Jesus here,
Makes life with joy replete;
O wondrous grace, O joy sublime,
I’ve Jesus with me all the time.”