|
PETER
WALKING ON THE SEA
Delivered By C. H. Spurgeon
At the Metropolitan
Tabernacle, Newington
and stenographically
recorded for future publication.
"And Peter
answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee
on the water. And he said, Come. And when Peter
was come down out of the ship, he
walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous,
he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save
me."-Matthew xiv. 28-31
A few reflections will be sure to cross
the mind of any thoughtful reader of this narrative.
I. The Mixed Character of the Believer's
Experience is here very palpably suggested to us.
Peter was undoubtedly a bold believer in
Jesus Christ. He addresses his Master devoutly, calling him
"Lord"--a name of reverence, the use of which evidences the change that had been wrought
in his character, and the obedient spirit it had produced. But the misgivings
implied in that "if" -- "if it be thou" -- savours rather of unbelief,
and yet we find this hesitancy immediately followed by an expression of
such strong confidence that we marvel at the request he uttered,
"Bid me come to thee on the water." Then cheered by the Lord's prompt answer,
"Come," we find him showing his courage by descending from the vessel, setting
foot on the sea, and actually walking on the water. Thus did he participate in
the wonder which Christ worked, and share in the miracle of subduing the
elements. His valour, however, soon evaporates; for "when he saw that the
wind was boisterous, he was afraid."
The faith that buoyed him up gave place to
a fear that bowed him down. He who was walking the liquid wave one
instant is sinking beneath the surge the next. The gallant cry, "Bid me come
to thee on the water," is quickly exchanged for the grievous wail,
"Lord, save me." So great his pluck, so dire his panic! And is this a common
experience? Are all God's people thus subject to changes; alternating between
calm trust and craven fear? Can they be neither one thing nor the other
completely -- neither altogether believing nor totally unbelieving? We think it is
even so. We will not say how much frailty of the creature is mixed up with
fealty to Christ in the best of men; nor how far the grace of God may protect
us from the guilt of double-dealing in the conduct of our lives.
But we do mournfully confess that in our
own experience the good and the evil contend for the mastery, and sometimes it
seems but the turning of a hair which shall vanquish. Fully assured,
though we are that the new life which has been implanted in us will ultimately
gain the victory, not less fully conscious are we that disasters and
defeats are constantly occurring on our path to triumph. Our trophies are never
won without troubles. He that knows anything, it seems to me, of what it is to
live by faith, will find throughout his earthly career a continual
conflict. He may never fall so low as to doubt his interest in Christ; yet he
may sometimes wet his couch with tears, and wonder if God has forgotten to
be gracious. He may be enabled to hold on his way for years without a slur
on his character; yet will he often have to engage in such terrible struggles
against inbred sin, and to endure such sore pressure from troubles without,
that he is constrained to cry out, "O wretched man that I am, who shall
deliver me from the body of this death?"
One day you may be on Tabor's summit
witnessing your Master's transfiguration, and another day you may
be in the Valley of Humiliation, groaning in spirit, minished and brought
low through oppression, affliction, and sorrow. One day you may be as strong
as a giant, and all things seem possible to you; and another day you may
be as weak as a baby, and weep for the joys that are fled. You may one day
"surname yourself by the name of Israel," and another day call
yourself "the worm Jacob," fearing lest you should be trodden down by the common ills
of life, and utterly crushed. Our way to heaven is up hill and down dale.
Our life is made of chequered materials; it is not all of one fabric.
Sometimes full of hope we bound forward with elastic step; anon the sun
ceases to shine, the big rain-drops fall, the vapours rise, and we sit down
with folded arms and fixed eyes, wearing a sad, leaden cast. As in our
experience, so in our eyes, wearing a sad, leaded cast. As in our experience, so
in our nature, good and evil meet, but cannot blend; they are at
constant variance.
I mention this well-known fact because it
may serve to comfort some of the younger sort who but of late have begun to
go on pilgrimage. They fancied that since they were born again, and were
enlisted in Christ's army, they would never afterward have to fight with
sin within; that, though perhaps they might be tempted, their soul would
never given any consent to it. They boasted when they put on the harness, as
though they had put it off. They sowed today, and they expected to reap
their harvest tomorrow. They had scarce got loose from the shore, yet they
expected soon to reach the port.
When the vessel is a little buffeted and
heaved to and fro by contrary winds, they cannot understand it. Beloved, it is
so with all of us. Those saints of God who appear to you to be favoured
with perpetual sunshine could tell you quite another tale. Some whom God
highly honours in public he often deeply humbles in private. He has a way of
taking his children behind the door, and making them see some of the
abominations within them, while at the same time he is giving them to see the
beauties of Christ, and enabling them to feed on him. Do not think that yours is
an extreme case, because your spiritual life is one of much contest with
sin. So far from being extreme, I believe it is but a specimen of the way in
which the Lord deals with all his own beloved ones.
There I leave that first observation.
Peter is at one moment confident, another instant he is dismayed; at one
moment he is treading the waves like a miracle-worker, and the next instant he is
sinking like an ordinary being.
And so it is with us-sometimes aloft, and
anon crying out of the depths, "Lord, save me." Proceeding to a
then cast down; sometimes rejoicing with joy unspeakable, and second reflection, we
observe that:--
II. Faith Loves Venturesome Service Peter, when full of faith, said to his
Master, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come to thee upon the water."
Faith
seems to have a secret instinct revealing her military and royal
character. In the old wars of Troy we read of one who, being told by the prophet that
the war would not be to his honour, sought to escape from the Greek
ranks, and hid himself among the daughters of the king; but he was
discovered by Ulysses, who sent a pedlar, or one disguised as such, to sell various
wares, and while the maidens at the gate came to buy the various trinkets in
which they delighted, there was placed in the basket a trumpet, or a
sword, and the young hero, disguised as he was, yet let out his taste and chose
the warlike implement. It was his nature to do so, and he was discovered by
the choice.
Now, amidst ten thousand allurements,
faith is quite certain to choose that which appertains to boldness and to
venturesomeness. John is full of love, he stops in the vessel; but Peter abounds
in faith, and he must be doing some high action congruous to the nature of
faith, and therefore he says, "Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on
the water." That is the kind of thing for faith to do. Anybody can walk on
the land, but faith is a water-walker. She can do, and act, and
work where others fail. Remember it is not said in Scripture that faith will
pluck up mustard-seeds, or that it will remove mole-hills. These little
things are not the sphere for faith, but it is written, "Ye shall say unto
this mountain, Be thou removed hence; or this sycamore tree, Be plucked up by
the roots."
Faith loves to deal in great things; in
marvelous adventures; in projects beyond human power. We are not to come to
God and ask him to do for us what we can do for ourselves. There is no room
for the exercise of faith where reason and human strength will suffice.
Faith is a vessel expressly built for the deep seas. She is not a coaster,
to keep close to the shore; she pushes out where she can neither see the
shore nor fathom the depth; for she has a compass on board, and she looks up
to the stars which God has fixed for her guidance; she has, too, a blessed
Pilot, so she feels herself secure, and all at home in the wild waste of waters,
with no human eye to gaze upon her, and no human hand to help. "If it be
thou," said Peter, "let me come to thee on the water." If you have faith in
God, and that faith is in active exercise, I am persuaded you will feel an
instinct within you prompting you to dare something more than others have
ventured to attempt, eager to honour Jesus Christ more than anyone else would
think possible who had little faith or no faith at all.
What a blessed instinct it is which impels
some of our brethren, as it frequently has done, to leave their native
country and go out to preach the gospel in regions beyond the sea! not
building upon another man's foundation, but, like the bold Apostle, seeking to
extend the bounds of Emanuel's kingdom. How blessed it is when some
brother finds it in his heart to consecrate more of his substance than is
ordinary to the Lord's work, not grudging what he can spare, but glorying
over what he can sacrifice! Yea, and blessed it is when faith kindles to
furnace-heat and stimulates one to undertake a work for which he alone would
be incompetent. God preserve such a man!
How I rejoice at every mention of our
brother Muller at Bristol! What lessons of trust in God's promise and his
providence has lie taught to Christians and Christian churches! How
graciously has Christ made him to walk on the water! How securely has he
sped his course these many years as safe on the flowing current of
subscriptions as if he was proceeding on the solid basis of a rich endowment! How
wonderfully his orphanage has been supported! He walks on waves in very
truth. This sole dependence upon the eternal providence of a faithful God is
indispensable to us. I trust we are not entire strangers to it in our measure
and degree. It is no novelty to us to put our foot down on what we thought to
be a cloud, and find that God had placed a rock there; to walk right on in
the dark, and see the midnight turn to noonday; to rest on the invisible, and
prove it to be more substantial than the visible; to depend upon the naked
promise of the covenant-keeping God, and reap greater riches than all the
treasures that could come from relying on an arm of flesh. Faith, then,
is a venturesome thing, and if any of you have not ever yet been nerved with
courage because you believed, I pray that your faith may grow till you
feel compelled to attempt more than of your own unaided strength you can possibly
do.
Brethren, undertake something for Christ.
Is there a brother here who ought to preach, but is too timid? I hope his
faith will overcome his diffidence. Is there a sister here who ought to take a
class in the school, but she is shy and hesitant? I hope her faith in the
Saviour will get fresh impetus from her love to souls. "Such trust
have we through Christ to Godward." Oh! that you may all be urged by strong
convictions to attempt something in his service; that you may be taught by the
Holy Spirit to set about it wisely, and that you may be enabled by that
sufficiency which is of God to do it effectually! Though you may often have
stumbled in plain paths, you shall be able to walk on the water in safety when
and where Jesus bids you. I say this advisedly, for, venturesome as
Peter's faith was, he would not make a move without first having the Master's
leave. "If it be thou, bid me."
We must not fondly imagine that we can do
whatever we choose; but we may fairly expect that whenever God allots us
a work, he will give us grace adequate to accomplish it. Peter walking
on the sea without divine permission would be presumption to
attempt, and an impossibility to perform; but Peter, with Christ's assent, might
have walked across the Atlantic itself if his faith had not failed. So it is with
you. If your Lord has called you to a work, rely upon him for the power to
achieve it; he will not forsake you; but if it is merely your own whim or
caprice which has thrust you into a position for which you are not qualified,
you have no right to reckon upon the divine aid to speed your false steps.
Blessed is he who goes to his Father and asks his counsel, for he shall
always find that where God gives us guidance he will give us grace. But:--
III. Faith Really Does Work Wonders
This is our third observation. Peter came
down from the vessel. I think I see him bounding over the bulwarks. How
strange he must have felt when that water in which he had been so often
swimming became as solid marble under his feet! How elated he must have felt-a man
with his temperament naturally would so feel-when he began to walk, and
found the water like a sea of glass beneath his tread! It was a marvelous
thing to do. Others have made their way through the sea, but Peter walked over
it. The laws of gravitation were suspended for his support. Picture the
scene. What Jesus was doing Peter was doing. Faith made Peter to be like his
Lord. There were two walking, the one by his own infinite power, the
other by the power imparted to him-the power of faith.
Remember that faith will make any of us
like Christ. "He that believeth on
me, the works that I do shall he do
also," said the Master, "and greater
works
than these shall he do, because I go
unto my Father." It does often seem impossible in certain conditions to
act in a Christ-like spirit; but faith can make you walk the waves of the
sea. Your Lord was patient in poverty; faith can make you walk that
wave, and be patient and contented too.
Christ was loving and gentle under the
most fearful and multiplied provocations; faith can give you that same
gentleness of spirit and lowliness of mind; you can walk those billows too.
Our Lord, in the midst of prosperity, refused worldly honour; when
they sought to make him a king, he hid himself from the temptation. And you
in the high places of the earth, tempted by wealth, with flattery poured
into your ears, may still walk, as Jesus did, safely through it all, if you
have but faith in God, faith in the blessed Spirit, faith in him who is ever
with you, even to the end of the world.
There is nothing Christ did, except the
great atoning work, which his people shall not do, in and through him, by the
exercise of their faith. What a blessing it would be if God's people
really did believe the power that lies in them by the energy of faith! So many of
us give up, succumb, lie down, as if we were weak; but we are not weak. When
we are weak in ourselves, then are we strong. This is no empty fiction,
but a certain fact; we are strong in the Lord and in the power of his might.
Let not, therefore, the believer think that he can only do what another man
can do. He is of a nobler race.
God dwelleth in him. Oh! what a glorious
thought that is-God dwelling in a man! That wonderful word
"enthusiasm"-so often turned to ridicule and used as a term of reproach-what does it mean
but God in a man? Enthusiasm! When God is thoroughly in a man, and the man
knows it, then he is not cowed or put back by difficulties, or daunted by
sneers. He is not so mindful of his feebleness as to excuse himself from
effort, or to imagine that he can do nothing. In the confidence of that power
which inspires him, he marches boldly on, fully assured that victory
awaits him, and that victory he rests not till he realizes; it is given to his
confidence.
So doth God requite and reward the man
that puts his trust in him. May we always have enough of faith to be doing
wonders. Some poor souls have enough faith to carry them to heaven; others have
just enough faith to maintain a decent character; but he shall be honoured
of God who hath such implicit, and such heroic, and such enduring faith that
he can dare jeopardies, do exploits, and bear sufferings, because his
Lord is with him. We must attempt some things which look like
impossibilities, or we shall never keep up the esprit of the true soldiers of the cross.
We pass on to make a fourth remark.
IV. Into the Soul of the Most Faithful and
Confident Disciple Unbelief Generally Finds Some Door or Other For
Entrance.
Peter had looked at the waves, and his
faith was just strong enough to believe that Jesus could make him walk on
the sea; but he had never taken the winds into his calculation. Had he thought
of the winds as well as the waves, and reposed upon Jesus for the
whole, I have no doubt his faith would have held out, and not have so fearfully
given-way. The first two or three steps on the water had exhilarated him,
and made him feel what wonders he was doing; but there came a rough blast which
threatened to overthrow him, and as he could scarcely stand against so rude a
wind upon so slippery a floor he began to be afraid. Something occurred
which he had not foreseen, and in strange surprise he yielded to blank
unbelief. Thus it often comes to pass with us. We arrange our faith according to
our estimate of the perils and perplexities that lie in our path; we even
plan the events that will probably happen to us, and we feel sure that we can
trust God in all these circumstances; but a fresh contingency
arises upon which we had never reckoned, a wind which we had not thought
of, and forthwith our courage fails; we do not trust God for that.
I wish we had a faith which was free from
arithmetic and totally independent of weights and measures; a faith that
trusted God for ten thousand things as readily as for one; that would rest upon
God for a century as securely as for a day; a faith that would just cast
itself, sink or swim, into the sea, believing in God that whether the winds
were blowing or not, whether the waves were raging or not, everything is
easy to omnipotence, and nothing can compromise the faithfulness of the Most
High.
But, alas! my brethren, we are always
being startled by some new prodigies. Perhaps we are too fond of calculating
chances, predicting probabilities, and forestalling the future. Hence comes our
chagrin when we are baulked or disappointed. If we walked on, leaving
everything to his divine decree and watchful Providence, confiding in our
heavenly Father's wisdom and his love, we need never be amazed or bewildered; our
faith would be equal to any rumour or riot that might arise. Just as unbelief
introduced into Peter's mind a terror of the wind, and upset him at once,
so the devil has ways of finding some point or other upon which to
overthrow our faith.
I have been sometimes full of joy in the
Lord, and I have usually noticed that depression of spirits almost
invariably follows, and that from some circumstances which at other times would
have caused me the slightest disturbance. Satan knows how to use any
trivial thing to spoil the lustre of our faith and the placidity of our joy.
With what subtlety he will assail you! A difficulty you have been labouring
under may have been removed by God's providence; you may be very
grateful, and ready to set up your stone of thankfulness, and to praise the name of
the Lord. Anon a new difficulty will be suggested. While you are blessing God
for all his mercy, on a sudden some trouble like a squall occurs; it may not
be worth mentioning, but it will assume such strange proportions that it
covers up all your joys and leaves you a prey to unbelief. How watchful we
ought to be against unbelief, for of all sins this is one of the most heinous.
Like Jeroboam, of whom we read that he sinned himself and made Israel to
sin, unbelief is itself a sin, and becomes the parent of all sorts of sins.
We sometimes talk to one another about our doubts and fears as if they were
infirmities to be pitied rather than crimes to be loathed, but we seldom
talk to each other about the delinquencies of our conduct, such as
angry tempers, hasty words, harsh judgments, unbecoming levity, or lax
conversation.
No; we should be ashamed to confess
transgressions that are far too common among people professing godliness. Why is
it that we do not blush to acknowledge our doubts that mistrust God,
and our fears that stagger at his promise? Are they not quite as much sins
against the commandment of the Lord and the duty of every faithful Christian
as drunkenness, or dishonesty, or any offence against the moral law? To
doubt the faithfulness of God is atrocious. Who can estimate the amount of
virus there is in the sin of unbelief? It would stab at the very heart
of God; it would pluck the crown from the head of Jehovah. Let us hate
unbelief with all our hearts, and watch against it. Remember that it can
attack us from any quarter of the compass unless we keep perpetual guard.
Those of us who have been boldest in the Lord's battle, and foremost in his
service, may yet be overtaken with this sin, succumb to its debasing
influence, and be left in the rear, shorn of honour and covered with shame. And now
for a fifth reflection.
V. If at Any Time Faith Seems to be
Overturned by an Invasion of Unbelief, it Then Shows its True Conquering
Character.
Peter was soon made to doubt, but with
what ease did he begin to pray! I like to think of the spontaneous character
of Peter's prayer. He begins to sink, and he prays in a minute. He no
sooner finds himself going down, than he says, "Lord, save." This
shows what a living thing his faith was. It might not walk the water always, but it
could always pray, and that is the better thing of the two. Your faith may
not always make you rejoice, but if your faith can always make you trust the
precious blood, that is all you need. Your faith may not always take you
to the top of the mountain, and bathe your forehead in the sunlight of
God's countenance, but if your faith enables you to keep in the straight road
that leads to eternal life, you may bless God for that. To walk the water is
not an essential characteristic of faith, but to pray when you begin to sink
is. To do great wonders for Christ is not indispensable to your soul's being
saved, but to have the faculty of always turning the heart to him in time of
distress is one of the sure marks of divine grace in the soul. I am sure
Peter did not intone his prayer on that occasion. I am quite certain that he
did not believe in having to search for music to which to set that
prayer. It just came up from his heart.
And are not these the very best prayers,
that well up from the soul, flowing forth from the lips freely because the
heart compels the tongue to speak?
The heart, knowing its own bitterness,
reveals it unto the Most High. Beloved, are you prayerful in such a
respect as that? I do think it is a blessed plan to set apart times for
prayer, and so to take your half-hour, or your hour, as you may be able, for secret
devotion, but better than the set time for prayer is the spirit of prayer.
While a regular habit of prayer is a great help to piety, the spirit of
prayer promotes habitual, unintermitting communion with God.
I once asked, down at Wootton-under-Edge,
where Mr. Rowland Hill's study was, and they told me that was a question which
they could not answer. "Why, how is that? Did he never study his
sermons?" Oh! yes; he was always studying his sermons; it did not matter whether he
was in the parlour or in the paddock, attending to his correspondence,
or looking after the cows, going out into the village to buy goods, or
walking in the garden amidst flowers and fruits; he was always studying his
sermons, so that he was one of the readiest of preachers. That is one of the
best habits that a man can cultivate. So they said it was with his
prayers. He was not a man who shut himself up for prayer, but he seemed to be
always praying wherever he was. He would be often heard ejaculating true
prayers when others fancied his mind must be full of other thoughts.
The story that is related of him at Mr.
George Clayton's chapel in York Street, you will most of you remember, for
I have repeated it several times. After he had been preaching, he lingered
about the building so long that the pew-opener went to him and told him that
it was time to close the place. The old gentleman was found tottering round
the pews singing to himself:--
"And when I shall die,
'Receive me,' I'll cry,
For Jesus hath loved me, I cannot tell
why;
But this thing I find,
We two are so joined,
That he won't be in glory and leave me
behind."
This peculiar practice of conversing, as
it were, with oneself; of repeating texts of Scripture or verses of hymns; the
propensity to pray with the heart and lift up the thoughts continually to
God-well, it seems to me an indication of spiritual-mindedness above
any common level. "Know," says David, "that the Lord hath set apart
him that is godly for himself." But how should the man thus set apart behave
himself? The Psalmist will tell you, "Commune with your own heart upon
your bed, and be still."
Oh! for a mind ever active, never
stagnant, always tranquil! Oh! for the wings of a dove! Take a pigeon; put it
away in a cage; send it to a distance in the country; keep it there awhile;
then, on a certain day, let it loose; you will soon know where its home is; for
it mounts up, flies its circuit, takes its bearings, surveys its course,
and then away it pursues its trip through the air till it reaches the dear
old dove-cote. Does your soul make its way to the ark, and return to its rest
with a like sacred instinct? All through the day you may be taken up with
many cares. The shop or the warehouse, the nursery or the kitchen, may
be your cage. There comes a moment when you are let loose and you get
free. Where does your soul fly?
Flies it off, like a dove, to its
resting-place? When I see the crows on the wing, if anybody asked me what trips they
were taking, I could not tell them, but if they would wait till evening I
would quickly solve the riddle, for then they would be quite sure to be
seeking their nests. Does your heart in the time of trouble fly away to God? Does
your spirit in the hour of distress seek the rock of refuge, and
speed to the Great Deliverer? Then are you like Peter. You may not always walk on
the waves, but you can always say, "Lord, save me." Canst thou
say that from they very soul, resting on the Saviour's mighty arm, then hast though
got the essence of a faith which will lead thee through growth in grace up
to the perfection of glory.
VI. Our Lord Jesus Christ is Equally Kind,
Both to Strong Faith and to Little Faith.
Strong faith says, "Bid me come to
thee on the water." Now Christ sometimes refuses to answer prayer after its own
kind. The prayer of anger, in which James and John entreated that fire might
come down from heaven to destroy the Samaritans, he rejected. The prayer of
ambition, when the two sons of Zebedee craved a place, one on his right
hand and the other on the left, in his kingdom, was denied. But the prayer of
faith, though it looked bold and venturesome, our Lord received graciously,
and answered speedily. "Bid me
come to thee on the water."
"Come," said Jesus. Is strong
faith represented here by any of you? If you ask a great thing of God, you shall have
it. If thou hast but faith in Jesus, though shalt ask what thou wilt,
and it shall be done unto thee; for the desire of the righteous shall be
granted. "Delight thyself also in the
Lord, and he shall give thee the desires
of thine heart." Hast thou a great plan of usefulness? Hast thou an intense
anxiety for soul-winning? Hast thou a strong yearning for the
evangelization of thy district? Believe, fear not to tempt fortune, for all things are
possible to him that believeth. The hands of Christ are pledged to faith. He
will honour the trust thou reposest in him. If thou wilt but repose in him, he
cannot, will not deny thee. True faith is his own work. If he has wrought
the prayer in thee, he will surely answer it. Go forth, then, in this thy
might of faith, and the Lord be with thee.
But perceive ye not how kind he also was
to little faith? No sooner does Peter begin to sink and cry, "Save
me, " than there is manifest good will and quick help in the Saviour's movement.
"Immediately Jesus stretched forth his
hand and caught
him." Our Lord did
not pause to parley. He did not upbraid him, or say, "Peter, you have
dishonoured me by your unbelief." He did not accuse him harshly, rebuke him sternly, or
punish him severely, leaving him to go down twice, and pulling him up the
third time, thus inflicting on him the pangs of death without its extreme
penalty. Ah! no; the prompt help was ready for the pressing emergency. The
sinking one was made to stand. After that he said, "O thou of little
faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"
Christ, giveth liberally and upbraideth
not; or when he does upbraid, it is always after his large generosity has
abated the grievance. He gives the choice portion, and then chastens us for
our profit. He does not make us wait till we are submerged again and
again; but he listens at once to the feeble cry of his sinking servants, and
not till after he has delivered them does he expostulate with them. Aesop tells
a story of a man who saw a boy drowning, and sat upon the shore, and
lectured him upon the imprudence of venturing beyond his depth; and there are
some people who do the same with poor sinking souls. They tell them of what
they ought to have done, of what they cannot do; but they do not stretch
out their hand to help them. They observe the burden which is too heavy to
be borne, but they lift not a finger to lighten it. Our Lord takes off the
burden first, sets his servant on his feet, and then gives him a word of counsel
or of rebuke.
Go to him, then, little faith; go to him
ere thou retirest to thy rest. Tell thy Saviour of the grief that distracts
thee, of the woe that overwhelms thee. Confess thy sins, acknowledge thine
inability to rescue thyself, and cast thyself now upon the gracious promise
of the loving God. Whether thou be strong or weak, my brother, repair to
the same place, for Jesus stands at the gate of mercy's house willing to
receive all those that come to him.
Exposition
by C. H. Spurgeon
Matthew xiv.
25-27.
25. And in the fourth watch of the night
Jesus went unto them, walking on the
sea.
Jesus is sure to come. The night wears on
and the darkness thickens; the fourth watch of the night draws near, but
where is he? Faith says, "He must come." Though he should stay away
till almost break of day, he must come.
Unbelief asks, "How can he
come?" Ah! he will answer for himself: he can make his own way. "Jesus went unto
them, walking on the sea." He comes in the teeth of the wind, and on the fact of
the wave. Never fear that he will fail to reach the storm-tossed baroque:
his love will find out the way. Whether it be to a single disciple, or to
the Church as a whole, Jesus will appear in his own chosen hour, and his
time is sure to be the most timely.
26. And when the disciples saw him walking
on the sea, they were troubled,
saying, It is a spirit: and they cried out
for fear.
Yes, the disciples saw him; saw Jesus,
their Lord, and derived no comfort from the sight. Poor human nature's sight
is a blind thing compared with the vision of a spiritual faith. They saw, but
knew not what they saw. What could it be but a phantom? How could a
real man walk on those foaming billows? How could he stand in the teeth
of such a hurricane? They were already at their wits' end, and the
apparition put an end to their courage.
We seem to hear their shriek of alarm:
"they cried out for fear." We read not that "they were troubled"
before; they were old sailors, and had no dread of natural forces; but a spirit -- ah!
that was too much of a terror. They were at their worst now; and yet, if they
had known it, they were on the verge of their best. It is noteworthy that
the nearer Jesus was to them, the greater was their fear. Want of
discernment blinds the soul to its richest consolations. Lord, be near, and let me
know thee! Let me not have to say with Jacob, "Surely God was in this
place; and I knew it not!"
27. But straightway Jesus spake unto them,
saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.
He did not keep them in suspense:
"Straightway Jesus spake unto them." How sweetly sounded that loving and majestic
voice! Above the roar of waves and howling of winds, they heard the voice of
the Lord. This was his old word also, "Be of good cheer." The
most conclusive reason for courage was his own presence. "It is I; be not
afraid." If Jesus be near, if the spirit of the storm be, after all, the Lord of love, all
room for fear is gone. Can Jesus come to us through the storm? Then we
shall weather it, and come to him. He who rules the tempest is not the devil,
not chance, not a malicious enemy; but Jesus. This should end all fear.
|
