'Nevertheless, afterward' is a great word of glowing encouragement for
all sad hearts. 'Fools and children,' says the old proverb, 'should not
see half-done work '; at least, they should not judge it. When the
ploughshare goes deep into the brown, frosty ground, the work is only
begun. The earth may seem to be scarped and hurt, and, if one might
say, to bleed, but in six months' time 'you scarce can see' the soil
for waving corn. Yes; and sorrow, as some of us could witness, is the
forecast of purest joy. I have no doubt that there are men and women
here who could say, 'I never knew the power of God, and the blessedness
of Christ as a Saviour, until I was in deep affliction, and when
everything else went dark, then in His light I saw light.' Do not some
of you know the experience? and might we not all know it? and why do we
not know it?
Jesus Christ, even here and now, gives these blessed results of our
sorrows, if they are taken to the right place, and borne in right
fashion. For it is they 'that mourn in Zion' that He thus blesses.
There are some of us, I fear, whose only resource in trouble is to
fling ourselves into some work, or some dissipation. There are people
who try to work away their griefs, as well as people who try feverishly
to drink them away. And there are some of us whose only resource for
deliverance from our sorrows is that, after the wound has bled all it
can, it stops bleeding, and the grief simply dies by lapse of time and
for want of fuel. An affliction wasted is the worst of all waste. But
if we carry our grief into the sanctuary, then, here and now, it will
change its aspect and become a solemn joy.
I say nothing about the ultimate result where every sorrow rightly
borne shall be represented in the future life by some stage in grace or
glory, where every tear shall be crystallised, if I might say so, into
a flashing diamond, which flings off the reflection of the divine
light, where 'there shall be no sorrow nor sighing, nor any more pain,
for the former things are passed away.' When the lesson has been
learned, God burns the rod.
But, brethren, there is another sadder transformation. I have been
speaking about the transformation of sorrow into joy. There is also the
transformation of joy into sorrow. I spoke a little while ago about the
'laughter' in which the heart is 'sorrowful,' and the writer from whom
I quoted the words goes on to say, 'The end of that mirth is
heaviness.' 'Thereof cometh in the end despondency and madness.' I saw,
on a hilltop, a black circle among the grass and heather. There had
been a bonfire there on Coronation Night, and it had all died down, and
that was the end--a hideous ring of scorched barrenness amidst the
verdure. Take care that your gladnesses do not die down like that, but
that they are pure, and being pure are undying. Union with Jesus Christ
makes sorrow light, and secures that it shall merge at last into 'joy
unspeakable and full of joy.' I believe that separation from Christ
makes joy shallow, and makes it certain that at last, instead of a
garland, shall be ashes on the head, and that, instead of a festal
robe, the spirit shall be wrapped in a garment of heaviness.