Chapter 1
Why This Book Has Been Written

"My heart is indicting a good matter; I speak of the things which I have made touching the king."

I was once talking on the subject of religion with an intelligent agnostic, whom I very much wished to influence, and after listening to me politely for a little while, he said, "Well, madam, all I have to say is this.  If you Christians want to make us agnostics inclined to look into your religion, you must try to be more comfortable in the possession of it yourselves.  The Christians I meet seem to me to be the very most uncomfortable people anywhere around.  They seem to carry their religion as a man carries a headache. He does not want to get rid of his head, but at the same time it is very uncomfortable to have it.  And I for one do not care to have that sort of religion." This was a lesson I have never forgotten, and it is the primary cause of my writing this book.

I was a very young in the Christian life at the time of this conversation, and was still in the first joy of my entrance into it, so I could not believe that any of God's children could be as uncomfortable in their religious lives as my agnostic friend had asserted.  But when the early glow of my conversion had passed, and I had come down to the dullness of everyday duties and responsibilities, I soon found from my own experience, and also from the similar experiences of most of the Christians around me, that there was far too much truth in his assertion, and that the religious life of most of us was full of discomfort and unrest.  In fact, it seemed, as one of my Christian friends said to me one day when we were comparing our experiences, "as if we had just enough religion to make us miserable."

I confess that this was very disappointing, for I had expected something altogether different.  It seemed to me exceedingly incongruous that a religion, whose fruits were declared in the Bible to be love, and joy, and peace should so often work out practically in an exactly opposite direction, and should develop the fruits of doubt, and fear, and unrest, and conflict, and discomforts of every kind; and I resolved if possible to find out what was the matter.  Why, I asked myself, should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable religious lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light?  Why are we tormented with so many spiritual doubts, and such heavy spiritual anxieties?  Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us, and why is it that we never seem able to believe long at a time in His kindness and His care?  How is it that we can let ourselves suspect Him of forgetting us and forsaking us in times of need?  We can trust our earthly friends, and can be comfortable in their companionship, and why is it then that we cannot trust our heavenly Friend, and that we seem unable to be comfortable in His service?

I believe I have found the answer to these questions, and I should like to state frankly that my object in writing this book is to try to bring into some troubled Christian lives around me a little real and genuine comfort.  My own idea of the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ is that it was meant to be full of comfort.  I feel sure any unprejudiced reader of the New Testament would say the same; and I believe that every newly converted soul, in the first joy of its conversion, fully expects it.  And yet, as I have said, it seems as if, with a large proportion of Christians, their religious lives are the most uncomfortable part of their existence.  Does the fault of this state of things lie with the Lord?  Has He promised more than He is able to supply?

A writer has said, "We know what over advertisement is.  It is a twentieth century disease from which we all suffer.  There are posters on every billboard, exaggerations on every blank wall, representations and misrepresentations without number.  What visions we have seen of impossible fruits and flowers grown from Mr. So-and-So's seeds. Everything is over advertised.  Is it the same with the kingdom of God?  Do the fruits which we raise from the good seed of the kingdom verify the description given by Him from whom we obtained that good seed?  Has He played us false?  There is a feeling abroad that Christ has offered in His Gospel more than He has to give.  People think that they have not exactly realized what was predicted as the portion of the children of God. But why is this so?  Has the kingdom of God been over advertised, or is it only that it has been under believed; has the Lord Jesus Christ been overestimated, or has He only been under trusted?"

What I want to do in this book is to show, in my small measure, what I firmly believe, that the kingdom of God  could not possibly be over advertised, nor the Lord Jesus Christ overestimated, for eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him; and that all the difficulty arises from the fact that we have under believed and under trusted. I want, therefore, to show as best I can the grounds there are in the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ for that deep and lasting peace and comfort of soul, which nothing earthly can disturb, and which is declared to be the portion of those who embrace it.  And I want further to tell, if this is indeed our rightful portion, how we are to avail ourselves of it, and what are the things that hinder.  There is God's part in the matter, and there is man's part, and we must look carefully at both.

A wild young fellow, who was brought to the Lord at a mission meeting, and who became a rejoicing Christian and lived an exemplary life afterward, was asked by someone what he did to get converted. "Oh," he said, "I did my part, and the Lord did His."

"But what was your part," asked the inquirer, "and what was the Lord's part?" "My part," was the prompt reply, "was to run away, and the Lord's part was to run after me until He caught me."  A most significant answer; but how few can understand it! God's part is always to run after us.  Christ came to seek and to save that which is lost. "What man of you," He says, "having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders rejoicing."  This is always the divine part; but in our foolishness we do not understand it, but think that the Lord is the one who is lost, and that our part is to seek and find Him.  The very expressions we use show this.  We urge sinners to "seek the Lord," and we talk about having "found" Him. "Have you found the Savior?" asked a too zealous mission worker of a happy, trusting little girl.

With a look of amazement, she replied in a tone of wonder, "Why, I did not know the Savior was lost!"

It is our ignorance of God that does it all.  Because we do not know Him, we naturally get all sorts of wrong ideas about Him.  We think He is an angry Judge who is on the watch for our slightest faults, or a harsh Taskmaster determined to exact from us the uttermost service, or a self-absorbed Deity demanding His full measure of honor and glory, or a far-off  Sovereign concerned only with His own affairs and indifferent to our welfare. Who can wonder that such a God can neither be loved nor trusted?  And who could expect Christians, with such ideas concerning Him, to be anything but full of discomfort and misery?

But I can assert boldly, and without fear of contradiction, that it is impossible for anyone who really knows God to have such uncomfortable thoughts about Him.  Plenty of outward discomforts there may be, and many earthly sorrows and trials, but through them all the soul that knows God cannot but dwell inwardly in a fortress of perfect peace. "Who so hearkeneth unto me," He says, "shall dwell safely; and shall be quiet from fear of evil."  And this is a statement that no one dare question.  If we would really hearken unto God, which means not only hearing Him, but believing what we hear, we could not fail to know that, just because He is God, He cannot do other than care for us as He cares for the apple of His eye; and that all that tender love and divine wisdom can do for our welfare, must be and will be unfailingly done.  Not a single loophole for worry or fear is left to the soul that knows God.

"Ah, yes," you say, "but how am I to get to know Him.  Other people seem to have some kind of inward revelation that makes them know Him, but I never do; and no matter how much I pray, everything seems dark to me.  I want to know God, but I do not see how to manage it."

Your trouble is that you have got a wrong idea of what knowing God is, or at least the kind of knowing I mean.  For I do not mean any mystical interior revelations of any kind. Such  revelations are delightful when you can have them, but they are not always at your command, and they are often variable and uncertain.  The kind of knowing I mean is just the plain matter-of-fact knowledge of God's nature and character that comes to us by believing what is revealed to us in the Bible concerning Him.  The apostle John at the close of his Gospel says, regarding the things he had been recording:  "And many other signs truly did Jesus in the presence of His disciples which are not written in this book: but these are written that ye might believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that, believing, ye might have life through his name."  It is believing the thing that is written, not the thing that is inwardly revealed, that is to give life; and the kind of knowing I means in the knowing that comes from believing the things that are written. I mean, to be practical, that when I read in the Bible that God is love, I am to believe it, just because "it is written," and not because I have had any inward revelation that is true; and when the Bible says that He cares for us as He cares for the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, and that the very hairs of our head are all numbered, I am to believe it, just because it is written, no matter whether I have any inward revelation of it or not. It is of vital importance for us to understand that the Bible is a statement, not of theories, but of actual facts; and that things are not true because they are in the Bible, but they are only in the Bible because they are true.  A little boy, who had been studying at school about the discovery of America, said to his father one day, "Father, if I had been Columbus I would not have taken all that trouble to discover America."

"Why, what would you have done?" asked the father.

"Oh," replied the little boy, "I would have just gone to the map and found it."  This little boy did not understand that maps are only pictures of already known places, and that America did not exist because it was on the map, but it could not be on the map until it was already known to exist.  And similarly with the Bible.  It is, like the map, a simple statement of facts; so that when it tells us that God loves us, it is only telling us something that is a fact, and that would not be in the Bible if it had not been already known to be a fact.

It was a great discovery to me when I grasped this idea.  It seemed to take all uncertainty and all speculation out of the revelation given us in the Bible of the salvation of the Lord Jesus Christ, and to make all that is written concerning Him to be simply a statement of incontrovertible facts.  And facts we can believe, and what is more, we do believe them as soon as we see that they are facts.  Inward revelations we cannot manage, but anyone in his senses can believe the thing that is written.  And although this may seem very dry and bare to start with, it will, if steadfastly persevered in, result in very blessed inward revelations, and will sooner or later lead us out into such a knowledge of God as will transform our lives.  This kind of knowing brings us convictions; and to my mind convictions are far superior to any inward revelations, delightful as these last are.  An inward revelation may be upset by the state of one's health, or by many other upsetting things, but a conviction is permanent.  Once convince a man that two and two make four, and no amount of dyspepsia, or liver complaint, or east winds, or anything else, but actual lunacy, can upset his conviction.  He knows it just as well when he has an attack of dyspepsia as he does when his digestion is in good working order.  Convictions come from knowledge, and no amount of good feelings or bad feelings, of good health or ill health, can later knowledge.

It is to try to help my readers to come to a knowledge of God in the plain matter-of-fact sort of way of which I have spoken, and to the convictions which result from this knowledge, that this book is written.  I shall first try to show what God is, not theologically, nor doctrinally, but simply what He is in actual, practical reality, as the God and Father of each one of us.  And I shall also point out some of the things that seem to me the principal hindrances to becoming really acquainted with Him. I am so absolutely certain that coming to know Him as He really is will bring unfailing comfort and peace to every troubled heart that I long unspeakably to help everyone within my reach to this knowledge.  One of Job's friends said, in his arguments against Job's bitter complaints, "Acquaint now thyself with God, and be at peace"; and our Lord in His last recorded prayer said: "This is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou has sent."  It is not a question of acquaintance with ourselves, or of knowing what we are, or what we do, or what we feel; it is simply and only a question of becoming acquainted with God, and getting to know what He is, and what He does, and what He feels.  Comfort and peace never come from anything we know about ourselves, but only and always from what we know about Him. We may spend our days in what we call our religious duties, and we may fill our devotions with fervor, and still may be miserable.  Nothing can set our hearts at rest but a real acquaintance with God; for, after all, everything in our salvation must depend upon Him in the last instance; and, according as He is worthy or not of our confidence, so must necessarily be our comfort.  If we were planning to take a dangerous voyage, our first question would be as to the sort of captain we were to have.  Our common sense would tell us that if the captain were untrustworthy, no amount of trustworthiness on our part would make the voyage safe; and it would be his character and not our own that would be the thing of paramount importance to us.

If I can only say this often enough and in enough different ways to bring conviction to some troubled hearts, and lift them out of their sad and uncomfortable religious lives into the kingdom of love, and joy, and peace, which is their undisputed inheritance, I shall feel that my object in writing this book has been accomplished.  And I shall be able to say, Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation; and my pen has tried to tell it.

It must, however, be clearly understood that my book does not propose to touch on the critical or the theological aspects of our religion.  It does not undertake to deal with any questions concerning the authenticity of the Bible.  Other and far abler minds can deal with these matters.  My book is written for people, who, like myself, profess to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and who accept the Bible simply as the revelation of Him. Putting aside all critical questions, therefore, I seek only to tell such believers of what seems to me the necessary result of their belief, and how they can personally realize this result.

Mistakes in the telling there may be, and for these I ask the charity of my readers.  But the thing I want to say, and to say in such a way that no one can fail to understand it, is not a mistake; and that thing is this, that our religious lives ought to be full of joy, and peace, and comfort, and that, if we become better acquainted with God, they will be.
 

"And Moses said unto God, Behold, when I come unto the children of Israel, and shall say unto them, The God of your fathers hath sent me unto you; and they shall say to me, What is his name? What shall I say unto them?"

The vital question of all ages and of every human heart is here expressed, "What is his name?"

The whole fate of humanity hangs on the answer to this question. As we know, the condition of a country depends upon the character of its rulers.  The state of an army depends upon the officers who command it.  And the more absolute the government, the more is this necessarily the case.

We can see how it must be, therefore, that everything in a universe will depend upon the sort of creator and ruler who has brought that universe into existence, and that the whole welfare of the human beings who have been placed there is of necessity bound up with the character of their Creator.  If the God who created us is a good God, then everything must of necessity be all right for us, since a good God cannot ordain any but good things. But if He is a bad God, or a careless God, or an unkind God, then we cannot be sure that anything is right, and can have no peace or comfort anywhere.

The true ground for peace and comfort is only to be found in the sort of God we have. Therefore, we need first of all to find out what is His name, or, in other words, what is His character - in short, what sort of a God He is.

In Bible language name always means character.  Names are not given arbitrarily there, as with us, but are always given with reference to the character or work of the person named.  Creden in his Concordance says that the names of God signify that which He really is, and are used throughout the Bible to express His attributes, and His purposes, His glory, His grace, His mercy, and His love, His wisdom, and power, and goodness.  A careful study of His names will make this plain.

When, therefore, the children of Israel asked, "What is his name?" they meant, "Who and what is this God of whom you speak?  What is His character; what are His attributes; what does He do?  In short, what sort of a being is He?"

The psalmist says, "They that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee."  And again he says, "The name of the Lord is a strong tower, the righteous runneth into it and is safe."  "They that know thy name will put their trust in thee."  They cannot do anything else, because in knowing His name they know His character and His nature, that He is a God whom it is safe to trust to the uttermost.  And there can be no doubt that a large part of the unrest and discomfort in so many Christian hearts comes simply from the fact that they do not yet know His name. "Some trust in chariots and some in horses: but we will remember the name of the Lord our God.  They are brought down and are fallen, but we are risen and stand upright."  In all that we read concerning Israel of old we find this constant refrain, that all they were and all they had depended upon the fact that their God was the Lord.  "Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord; and the people whom he hath chosen for his own inheritance."  "O Lord, there is none like thee, neither is there any God beside thee, according to all that we have heard with our ears.  And what one nation in the earth is like thy people: to make thee a name of greatness and terribleness, by driving out nations from before thy people, whom thou hast redeemed out of Egypt?  For thy people Israel didst thou make thine own people forever, and thou, Lord, becamest their God."  "Happy is that people that is in the Lord."

Blessed is that nation, happy is that people whose God is the Lord!  All the blessing and happiness of Israel arose from the fact that their God was the Lord.  Nothing else was of sufficient importance to be mentioned in the recapitulation of their advantages.  The fact that their God was the Lord Jehovah was enough to account for every good thing they possessed.

The question of all questions for each one of us, therefore, is this one, "What is his name?"  To the Israelites God Himself answered this question.  And God said unto Moses, "I am that I am"; and He said, "Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I Am hath sent me unto you."  And God said, moreover, unto Moses:  "Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, the Lord God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob hath sent me unto you; this is my name forever, and this is my memorial unto all generations."

In the Gospel of John Christ adopts this name of "I am" as His own.  When the Jews were questioning Him as to His authority, He said unto them:  "Verily, verily, I say unto you, before Abraham was I am."  And in the Book of Revelation He again declares:  "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty."

These simple words, I am, express therefore eternity and unchangeableness of existence, which is the very first element necessary in a God who is to be depended upon.  No dependence could be placed by any one of us upon a changeable God.  He must be the same yesterday, today, and forever, if we are to have any peace or comfort. But is this all His name implies, simply "I am"?  I am what? - we ask.  What does this "I am" include?

I believe it includes everything the human heart longs for and needs.  This unfinished name of God seems to me like a blank check signed by a rich friend given to us to be filled in with whatever sum we may desire.  The whole Bible tells us what it means. Every attribute of God, every revelation of His character, every proof of His undying love, every declaration of His watchful care, every assertion of His purposes of tender mercy, every manifestation of His loving kindness - all are the filling out of this unfinished "I am."

God tells us through all the pages of His Book what He is.  "I am," He says, "all that my people need": "I am their strength"; "I am their wisdom";  "I am their righteousness'; "I am their peace"; "I am their salvation"; "I am their life"; "I am their all in all."

This apparently unfinished name, therefore, is the most comforting name the heart of man could devise, because it allows us to add to it, without any limitation, whatever we feel the need of, and even "exceeding abundantly" beyond all that we can ask or think. But if our hearts are full of our own wretched "I am's" we will have no ears to hear His glorious, soul satisfying "I am."  We say, "Alas, I am such a poor weak creature," or "I am so foolish," or "I am so good-for-nothing," or "I am so helpless"; and we give these pitiful "I am's" of ours as the reason of the wretchedness and discomfort of our religious lives, and even feel that we are very much to be pitied that things are so hard for us.  While all the time we entirely ignore the blank check of God's magnificent "I am," which authorizes us to draw upon Him for an abundant supply for every need.

If you are an uncomfortable Christian, then the only thing to give you a thoroughly comfortable religious life is to know God.  The psalmist says that they that know God's name will put their trust in Him, and it is, I am convinced, impossible for anyone really to know Him and not to trust Him.  A trustworthy person commands trust; not in the sense of ordering people to trust him, but by irresistibly winning their trust by his trustworthiness.

What our Lord declares is eternally true, "I, if I be lifted up, will draw all men unto me." When once you know Him, Christ is absolutely irresistible.  You can no more help trusting Him than you can help breathing.  And could the whole world but know Him as He is, the whole world, sinners and all, would fall at His feet in adoring worship.  They simply could not help it.  His surpassing loveliness would carry all before it.

How then can we become acquainted with God?

There are two things necessary: first, God must reveal Himself; and second, we must accept His revelation and believe what He reveals.

The apostle John tells us that "no man hath seen God at any time," but "the only begotten Son which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him."  Christ, then, is the revelation of God.  We have none of us seen God, and we never can see Him in this present stage of our existence, for we have not the faculties that would make it possible. But He has incarnated Himself in Christ, and we can see Christ, since He was a man like one of us.

A man, who should want to talk with ants, might stand over an anthill and harangue for a whole day, and not one word would reach the ears of the ants.  They would run to and fro utterly unconscious of his presence.  As far as we know, ants have no faculties by which they can receive human communications.  But if a man could incarnate himself in the body of an ant, and could go about among them, living an ant's life and speaking the ants' language, he would make himself intelligible to them at once.  Incarnation is always necessary when a higher form of life would communicate with a lower.

Christ revealed God by what He was, by what He did, and by what He said.  From the cradle to the grave, every moment of His life was a revelation of God.  W must go to Him then for our knowledge of God, and we must refuse to believe anything concerning God that is not revealed to us in Christ.  All other revelations are partial, and therefore not wholly true.  Only in Christ do we see God as He is; for Christ is declared to be the "express image" of God.

Just what God would have said and done under the circumstances, that Christ said and did.  "I do nothing of myself," was His continual assertion.  "I say nothing of myself; the Father that dwelleth in me he doeth the works"; "I and my Father are one"; "He that seeth me seeth my Father".

Words could not tell us more plainly than the Bible tells us that in order to know God we have only to look at Christ; we have only to "receive the testimony" of Christ. Over and over we are assured that God and Christ are one.  When the Jews came to Christ, as He was walking in the porch of Solomon's Temple, and asked Him to tell them plainly who He was, He answered, "I and my Father are one."  And to His disciples, at His last supper with them, He said, in answer to their questions:  "If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also, and from henceforth ye know him and have seen him."  But Philip could not understand this, and said, "Lord, show us the Father, and it sufficeth us."  And then Jesus repeated His former statement even more strongly:  "Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me Philip?  He that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father?"

Nothing is more emphatically stated in the New Testament than this fact, that we are to behold the "light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ," and that we can behold it fully nowhere else.

If we would know then the length, and breadth, and height, and depth of what God meant when He gave to Moses that apparently unfinished name of "I am," we shall find it revealed in Christ.  He and He alone is the translation of God.  He and He alone is the image of the invisible God.

It is evident, therefore, that we must never accept any conception of God that is contrary to what we see in Christ, and most utterly reject any view of His character or of His acts, or any statement of His relations with us as human beings, no matter how strongly upheld, which is at variance with what Christ has revealed.

We are all aware that the Old Testament revelation of God seems sometimes to contradict the revelation in Christ, and the question arises as to which we are to receive as the truest.  In view of the fact that God Himself tells us that in these last days He has spoken to us by His Son, who is the "brightness of his glory and the express image of his person," we may not dare reject Christ's testimony, but must look upon the Old Testament revelation, where it differs from the revelation in Christ, as partial and imperfect; and must accept as a true setting forth of God only that which we find in Christ.  Christ alone tells us the true and genuine name of God.  In His last wonderful prayer He says:  "I have manifested thy name unto the men whom thou gavest me out of the world, and they have known that all things whatsoever thou hast given me are of thee, for I have given unto them the words which thou gavest me; and they have received them, and have known surely that I came out from thee, and they have believed that thou didst send me."

Could we ask for greater authority than this?

In the whole life of Christ nothing is plainer or more emphatic than the fact that He claimed continually to be a full and complete manifestation of God.  "The words that I speak unto you," He says, "I speak not of myself; but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works."  Over and over He asserts that He says only what the Father tells Him to say.  "I speak to the world those things which I have heard of him."  "I do nothing of myself, but as my Father hath taught me I speak these things."

The apostle declares most emphatically that it "pleased the Father" that in Christ should "dwell all the fullness of the Godhead bodily."  And although we may not understand all that this means theologically, we at least cannot fail to see that if we want to know God, we need only to become acquainted with Christ's ways and Christ's character in order to become acquainted with God's ways and God's character.  "He that hath seen me,"  He says, "hath seen the Father."  And again He declares that "neither knoweth any man the Father save the son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him."  This settles it beyond the possibility of cavil.  We may, and we do, have all sorts of thoughts of God, we may conjecture this or imagine that, but we are wasting our energies in it all.  We simply cannot know, no man can, except through the revelation of Christ.

We may know a good many things about Him, but that is very different from knowing Him Himself, as He really is in nature and character.  Other witnesses have told us of His visible acts, but from these we get often very wrong impressions of His true character. No other witness but Christ can tell us of the real secrets of God's bosom, for of none other can it be said, as it is of Him, that "the only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him."  It will make all the difference between comfort and discomfort in our Christian lives, whether or not we believe this to be a fact. If we do believe it to be a fact, then the stern Judge and hard Taskmaster whom we have feared, even while we tried to follow Him, and whose service we have found so irksome and so full of discomfort, will disappear; and His place will be taken by the God of love who is revealed to us in "the face of Jesus Christ," the God who cares for us as He cares for the sparrows, and for the flowers of the field, and who tells us that He numbers even the hairs of our head.

No human being could be afraid of a God like this.

If we have been accustomed, therefore, to approach God with any mistrust of the kindness of His feelings toward us; if our religious has been poisoned by fear; if unworthy thoughts of His character and will have filled our hearts with suspicions of His goodness; if we have pictured Him as an unjust deposit of a self-seeking tyrant; if, in short, we have imagined Him in any way other than that which has been revealed to us in "the face of Jesus Christ," we must go back in all simplicity of heart to the records of that lovely life, lived in human guise among men, and must bring our conceptions of God into perfect accord with the character and ways of Him who declares that He came to manifest the name of God to men.

In reply then to the question, "What is His name?" I have only this one thing to say, Ask Christ.  We are told He was "God manifest in the flesh," and that whoever sees Him sees the God who sent Him; therefore it is perfectly plain that, if we want to know the name, we have only to read the  manifestation.  And this means simply that we must study the life, and words, and ways of Christ, and must say to ourselves, he that seeth Christ seeth God, and what Christ was on earth that God is in Heaven.  All the darkness that enshrouds the character of God will vanish if we will but accept the light Christ has shed on the matter, and believe the "manifestation of His name" that Christ has given us, and will utterly refuse to believe anything else.

When Nicodemus came to Jesus by night to ask Him how the things He was saying could possibly be true, Jesus told him that, whether he understood them or not, they still were true, and said with greatest emphasis:  "Verily, verily, I say unto thee, we speak that we do know, and testify that we have seen."  No one who believes in Christ at all can doubt that He knew God; and no one can question whether or not we ought to receive His testimony.  He has assured us over and over again that He knew what He was talking about, and that what He said was to be received as the absolute truth, because He had come down from Heaven, and therefore knew about heavenly things.

We none of us would dare openly to question the truth of this; and yet practically a great many of God's children utterly ignore Christ's testimony and choose instead to listen to the testimony of their own doubting hearts, which tells them it is impossible that God could be as loving in His care for us, or as tender toward our weakness and foolishness, or as ready to forgive our sins, as Christ has revealed Him to be.  And yet I must repeat again and again, at the risk of being accused of useless repetition, what so few people seem to realize, that if there is one thing taught in the Bible more plainly than any other, it is that the name, or, in other words, the character of His Father which Christ gave, must be His real name and character.  He declares of Himself over and over that He was a living manifestation of the Father; and in all He said and did He assures us that He was simply saying and doing that which the Father would have said and done had he acted directly out of Heaven, and from off His heavenly throne.

In the face of such unqualified assertions as these out of the lips of our Lord Himself, it becomes, not only our privilege, but our bounded duty to cast out of our conception of God every element that could in any way conflict with the blessed life and character and teaching of Christ.  If we would know the real name of God, we must accept the name Christ has revealed to us, and must listen to no other.

Whatever characteristics then we see in Christ, these are the filling out of the "I am" of God.  As we look at the life of Christ and listen to His words, we can hear God saying, "I am rest for the weary; I am peace for the storm tossed; I am strength for the strengthless; I am wisdom for the foolish; I am righteousness for the sinful; I am all that the neediest soul on earth can want; I am exceeding abundantly, beyond all you can ask or think, or blessing, and help, and care."

But here the doubter may say, "Ah yes, this is no doubt all true, but how can I get hold of it?  I am such a poor, unworthy creature that I dare not believe such a fullness of grace can belong to me."

How can you get hold of it, you ask.  You cannot get hold of it at all, but you can let it get hold of you.  It is a piece of magnificent good news declared to you in the Bible; and you only need do with it exactly what you do when any earthly good news is told you by a reliable earthly source.  If the speaker is trustworthy, you believe what he says, and act in accordance.  And you must do the same here.  If Christ is trustworthy when He tells you that He is the manifestation of God, you must believe what He says, and act accordingly. You must take your stand on His trustworthiness.  You must say to yourself, and to your friends if need be, "I am going to believe what Christ says about God.  No matter what the seemings may be, nor what my own thoughts and feelings are, nor what anybody else may say, I know that what Christ says about God must be true, for He knew, and nobody else does, and I am going to believe Him right straight through, come what may.  He says that He was one with God, so all that He was God is, and I will never be frightened of God any more.  I will never again let myself think of Him as a stern Lawgiver who is angry with me because of my sins, nor as a hard Taskmaster who demands from me impossible tasks, nor as a far-off unapproachable Deity, who is wrapped up in His own glory, and is indifferent to my sorrows and my fears.  All such ideas of God have become impossible, now that I know that Christ was the true manifestation of God."

If we will take our stand on this one fact, that Christ and God are one, with an intelligent comprehension of what it involves, and will refuse definitely and unwaveringly to cherish any thought of God that is at variance with what Christ has revealed, life will be transformed for us.

We may often have to set our faces like a flint to hold steadfastly here; for our old doubts and fears will be sure to come back and demand admittance; but we must turn our backs on them resolutely, and must declare that now at last we know the name, or in other words, the character of our God, and know that such things would be impossible to Him; and that therefore we simply refuse point-blank to listen for a moment to any such libels on His character or His ways.

It is unthinkable to suppose that when God told Moses His name was "I am," He could have meant to say, "I am a stern Lawgiver," or "I am a hard Taskmaster," or "I am a God who is wrapped up in my own glory, and am indifferent to the sorrows or the fears of my people."  If we should try to fill in the blank of His "I am" with such things as these, all the Christians the world over would be horrified.  But do not the doubts and fears of some of these very Christians say exactly these things in secret every day of their lives? May God grant that what we shall learn in our consideration of the names of God may make all such doubts and fears impossible to us from this time forth and forevermore.

Jesus is God!  Oh, could I now But compass land and sea, To teach and tell this single truth, How happy I should be! Oh, had I but an angel's voice, I would proclaim so loud -Jesus, the good, the beautiful, Is the image of our God!
 

"Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulations, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God."

Among all the names that reveal God, this, the "God of all comfort," seems to me one of the loveliest and the most absolutely comforting.  The words all comfort  admit of no limitation and no deductions; and one would suppose that, however full of discomforts the outward life of the followers of such a God might be, their inward religious life must necessarily be always and under all circumstances a comfortable life.  But, as a fact, it often seems as if exactly the opposite were the case, and the religious lives of large numbers of the children of God are full, not of comfort, but of the utmost discomfort. This discomfort arises from anxiety as to their relationship to God, and doubts as to His love.  They torment themselves with the thought that they are too good-for-nothing to be worthy of His care, and they suspect Him of being indifferent to their trials and of forsaking them in times of need.  They are anxious and troubled about everything in their religious life, about their disposition and feelings, their indifference to the Bible, their want of fervency in prayer, their coldness of heart.  They are tormented with unavailing regrets over their past, and with devouring anxieties for their future.  They feel unworthy to enter God's presence, and dare not believe that they belong to Him.  They can be happy and comfortable with their earthly friends, but they cannot be happy or comfortable with God.  And although He declares Himself to be the God of all comfort, they continually complain that they cannot find comfort anywhere; and their sorrowful looks and the doleful tones of their voice show that they are speaking the truth.

Such Christians, although they profess to be the followers of the God of all comfort, spread gloom and discomfort around them wherever they go; and it is out of the question for them  to hope that they can induce anyone else to believe that this beautiful name, by which He has announced Himself, is anything more than a pious phrase, which in reality means nothing at all.  And the manifestly uncomfortable religious lives of so many Christians is, I am very much afraid, responsible for a large part of the unbelief of the world.

The apostle says that we are to be living epistles known and read of all men; and the question as to what men read in us is of far more vital importance to the spread of Christ's kingdom than we half the time realize.  It is not what we say that tells, but what we are.  It is easy enough to say a great many beautiful things about God being the God of all comfort; but unless we know what it is to be really and truly comforted ourselves, we might as well talk to the winds.  People must read in our lives what they hear in our words, or all our preaching is worse than useless.  It would be well for us to ask ourselves what they are reading in us.  Is it comfort or discomfort that voices itself in our daily walk and life?

But at this point I may be asked what I mean by the comfort God gives.  Is it a sort of pious grace, that may perhaps fit us for Heaven, but that is somehow unfit to bear the brunt of our everyday life with its trials and its pains?  Or is it an honest and genuine comfort, as we understand comfort, that enfolds life's trials and pains in an all embracing peace?

With all my heart I believe it is the latter.

Comfort, whether human or divine, is pure and simple comfort, and is nothing else.  We none of us care for pious phrases, we want realities; and the reality of being comforted and comfortable seems to me almost more delightful than any other thing in life.  We all know what it is.  When as little children we have cuddled up into our mother's lap after a fall or a misfortune, and have felt her dear arms around us, and her soft kisses on our hair, we have had comfort.  When, as grown-up people, after a hard day's work, we have put on our slippers and seated ourselves by the fire, in an easy chair with a book, we have had comfort.  When, after a painful illness, we have begun to recover, and have been able to stretch our limbs and open our eyes without pain, we have had comfort.  When someone whom we dearly love has been ill almost unto death, and has been restored to us in health again, we have had comfort.  A thousand times in our lives probably, have we said, with a sigh of relief, as a toil over or burdens laid down, "Well, this  is comfortable," and in that word comfortable there has been comprised more a rest, and relief, and satisfaction, and pleasure, than any other word in the English language could possibly be made to express.  We cannot fail, therefore, to understand the meaning of this name of God, the "God of all comfort." But alas, we have failed to believe it.  It has seemed to us too good to be true.  The joy and delight of it, if it were really a fact, have been more than our poor suspicious natures could take in.  We may venture to hope sometimes that little scraps of comfort may be vouchsafed to us; but we have run away frightened at the thought of the "all comfort" that is ours in the salvation of the Lord Jesus Christ.

And yet what more could He have said about it than He has said: "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted."  Notice the as and so in this passage:  "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you."  It is real comforting that is meant here; the sort of comforting that a child feels when it is "dandled on its mother's knees, and borne on her sides"; and yet how many of us have really believed that God's comforting is actually as tender and true as a mother's comforting, or even half or quarter so real.  Instead of thinking of ourselves as being "dandled" on His knees, and hugged to His heart, as mothers hug, have we not rather been inclined to look upon Him as a stern, unbending Judge, holding us at a distance, and demanding our respectful homage, and critical of our slightest faults?  Is it any wonder that our religion, instead of making us comfortable, has made us thoroughly uncomfortable?  Who could help being uncomfortable in the presence of such a Judge? But I rejoice to say that that stern Judge is not there.  He does not exist.  The God who does exist is a God who is like a mother, a God who says to us as plainly as words can say it, "As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you."

Over and over again He declares this. "I, even I, am he that comforteth you," He says to the poor, frightened children of Israel.  And then He reproaches them with not being comforted.  "Why," He says, "should you let anything make you afraid when here is the Lord, your Maker, ready and longing to comfort you.  You have feared continually every day the 'fury of the oppressor,' and have forgotten me who have stretched forth the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth?  Where is the fury of the oppressor when I am by?"

The God who exists is the God and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the God who so loved the world that He sent His Son, not to judge the world, but to save it.  He is the God who "anointed" the Lord Jesus Christ to bind up the brokenhearted, and to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound, and to comfort all that mourn.  Please notice that all.  Not a few select ones only, but all.  Every captive of sin, every prisoner in infirmity, every mourning heart throughout the whole world must be included in this "all."  It would not be "all" if there should be  a single one left out, no matter how insignificant, or unworthy, or even how feeble-minded that one might be.  I have always been thankful that the feeble-minded are especially mentioned by Paul in his exhortations to the Thessalonian Christians, when he is urging them to comfort one another.  In effect he says, Do not scold the feeble-minded, but comfort them.  The very ones who need comfort most are the ones that our God, who is like a mother, wants to comfort - not the strong-minded ones, but the feeble-minded. For this is the glory of a religion of love.  And this is the glory of the religion of the Lord Jesus Christ.  He was anointed to comfort "all that mourn."  The "God of all comfort" sent His Son to be the comforter of a mourning world.  And all through His life on earth He fulfilled His divine mission.  When His disciples asked Him to call down fire from Heaven to consume some people who refused to receive Him, He turned and rebuked them, and said: "Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of.  For the Son of man is not come to destroy men's lives but to save them."  He received sinners and ate with them. He welcomed Mary Magdalene when all men turned from her.  He refused even to condemn the woman who was taken in the very act of sin, but said to the scribes and Pharisees who had brought her before Him, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her"; and when, convicted by their own consciences, they all went out one by one without condemning her, He said to her, "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more."  Always and everywhere He was on the side of sinners.  That was what He was for.  He came to save sinners.  He had no other mission.

Two little girls were talking about God, and one said, "I know God does not love me.  He could not care for such a teeny, tiny little girl as I am."

"Dear me, sis," said the other little girl, "don't you know that that is just what God is for -to take care of teeny, tiny little girls who can't take care of themselves, just like us?" "Is He?" said the first little girl.  "I did not know that.  Then I don't need to worry any more, do I?"

If any troubled doubting heart, any heart that is fearing continually every day some form or other of evil should read these lines, let me tell you again in trumpet tones that this is just what the Lord Jesus Christ is for - to care for and comfort all who mourn.  "All," remember, every single one, even you yourself, for it would not be "all" if you were left out.  You may be so cast down that you can hardly lift up your head, but the apostle tells us that He is the "God that comforteth those that are cast down"; the comforting of Christ. All who mourn, all who are cast down - I love to think of such a mission of comfort in a world of mourning like ours; and I long to see every cast down and sorrowing heart comforted with this comforting of God.

And our Comforter is not far off in Heaven where we cannot find Him.  He is close at hand.  He abides with us.  When Christ was going away from this earth, He told His disciples that He would not leave them comfortless, but would send "another Comforter" who would abide with them forever.  This Comforter, He said, would teach them all things, and would bring all things to their remembrance.  And then He declared, as though it were the necessary result of the coming of this divine Comforter: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you.  Let not your heart [therefore] be troubled, neither let it be afraid."  Oh, how can we, in the face of these tender and loving words, go about with troubled and frightened hearts.

"Comforter" - what a word of bliss, if we only could realize it.  Let us repeat it over and over to ourselves, until its meaning sinks into the very depths of our being.  And an "abiding" Comforter, too, not one who comes and goes, and is never on hand when most needed, but one who is always present, and always ready to give us "joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

The very words abiding Comforter are an amazing revelation.  Try to comprehend them. If we can have a human comforter to stay with us for only a few days when we are in trouble, we think ourselves fortunate; but here is a divine Comforter who is always staying with us, and whose power to comfort is infinite.  Never, never ought we for a single minute to be without comfort; never for a single minute ought we to be uncomfortable.

I have often wondered whether those early disciples realized at all what this glorious legacy of a Comforter meant.  I am very sure the majority of the disciples of Christ now do not.  If they did, there could not possibly be so many uncomfortable Christians about. But you may ask whether this divine Comforter does not sometimes reprove us for our sins, and whether we can get any comfort out of this.  In my opinion this is exactly one of the places where the comfort comes in.  For what sort of creatures should we be if we had no divine Teacher always at hand to show us our faults and awaken in us a desire to get rid of them?

If I am walking along the street with a very disfiguring hole in the back of my dress, of which I am in ignorance, it is certainly a very great comfort to me to have a kind friend who will tell me of it.  And similarly it is indeed a comfort to know that there is always abiding with me a divine, all seeing Comforter, who will reprove me for all my faults, and will not let me go on in a fatal unconsciousness of them.  Emerson says it is far more to a man's interest that he should see his own faults than that anyone else should see them, and a moment's thought will convince us that this is true, and will make us thankful for the Comforter who reveals them to us.

I remember vividly the comfort it used to be to me, when I was young, to have a sister who always knew what was the right and proper thing to do, and who, when we went out together, always kept me in order.  I never felt any anxiety or responsibility about myself if she was by, for I knew she would keep a strict watch over me, and nudge me or whisper to me if I was making any mistakes.  I was always made comfortable, and not uncomfortable, by her presence.  But when it chanced that I went anywhere alone, then I would indeed feel uncomfortable, for then there was no one near to keep me straight. The declaration is that He "comforts all our waste places"; and He does this by revealing them to us, and at the same time showing us how He can make our "wildernesses like Eden," and our "deserts like the garden of the Lord."

You may object, perhaps, because you are not worthy of His comforts.  I do not suppose you are.   No one ever is.  But you need His comforting, and because you are not worthy you need it all the more.  Christ came into the world to save sinners, not good people, and your unworthiness is your greatest claim for His salvation.

In the same passage in Isaiah in which He tells us that He has seen our ways and was "wroth" with us, He assures us that He will heal us and restore comforts to us.  It is just because He is wroth with us (wroth in the sense in which love is always wroth with any fault in those it loves), that therefore He "restores comforts" to us.  And He does it by revealing our sin and healing it.

The avenue to the comfortings of the divine Comforter lies through the need of comfort. And this explains to me better than anything else the reason why the Lord so often allows sorrow and trial to be our portion.  "Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably unto her."  We find ourselves, it may be, in a "wilderness" of disappointment and of suffering, and we wonder why the God who loves us should have allowed it.  But he knows that it is only in that very wilderness that we can hear and receive the "comfortable words" He has to pour out upon us.  We must feel the need of comfort before we can listen to the words of comfort.  And God knows that it is infinitely better and happier for us to need His comforts and receive them, than ever it could be not to need them and so be without them.  The consolations of God mean the substituting of a far higher and better thing we lose to get them.  The things we lose are earthly things, those He substitutes are heavenly.  And who of us but would thankfully be "allured" by our God into any earthly wilderness, if only there we might find the unspeakable joys of union with Himself.  Paul could say he "counted all things but loss" if he might but "win Christ"; and, if we have even the faintest glimpse of what winning Christ means, we will say so too.

But strangely enough, while it is easy for us when we are happy and do not need comforting, to believe that our God is the "God of all comfort," but as soon as we are in trouble and need it, it seems impossible to believe that there can be any comfort for us anywhere.  It would almost seem as if, in our reading of the Bible, we had reversed its meaning, and made it say, not "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," but "Blessed are they that rejoice, for they, and they only, shall be comforted."  It is very strange how often in our secret hearts we almost unconsciously alter the Bible words a little, and so make the meaning exactly opposite to what it actually is; or else we put in so many "ifs" and "buts" as to take the whole point out of what is said.  Take for instance, those beautiful words, God that comforteth those that are cast down," and ask ourselves whether we have never been tempted to make it read in our secret hearts, "God who forsaketh those who are cast down," or, "God who overlooks those who are cast down," or, "God who will comfort those who are cast down if they show themselves worthy of comfort"; and whether, consequently, instead of being comforted, we have not been plunged into misery and despair.

The psalmist tells us that God will "comfort us on every side," and what an all embracing bit of comfort this is.  "On every side," no aching spot to be left uncomforted.  And yet, in times of special trial, how many Christians secretly read this as though it said, "God will comfort us on every side except just the side where our trials lie; on that side there is no comfort anywhere."  But God says every side, and it is only unbelief on our part that leads us to make an exception of our special side.

It is with too many, alas, just as it was with Israel of old.  On one side God said to Zion: "Sing, O heavens, and be joyful, O earth, and break forth into singing, O mountains; for the Lord hath comforted his people, and will have mercy upon his afflicted"; and on the other side Zion said, "The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me."  And then God's answer came in those wonderful words, full forever of comfort enough to meet the needs of all the sorrows of all humanity:  "Forget thee!  Can a mother forget? Yea, perhaps a mother may forget, but I cannot.  I have even graven thee upon the palms of my hands, so that it is impossible for me to forget thee!  Be comforted, then, and sing for you."

But you may ask how you are to get hold of this divine comfort.  My answer is that you must take it.  God's comfort is being continually and abundantly given, but unless you will accept it you cannot have it.

Divine comfort does not come to us in any mysterious or arbitrary way.  It comes as the result of a divine method.  The indwelling Comforter  "brings to our remembrance" comforting things concerning things concerning our Lord, and, if we believe them, we are comforted by them.  A text is brought to our remembrance, perhaps, or the verse of a hymn, or some thought concerning the love of Christ and His tender care for us.  If we receive the suggestion in simple faith, we cannot help being comforted.  But if we refuse to listen to the voice of our Comforter, and insist instead on listening to the voice of discouragement or despair, no comfort can by any possibility reach our souls.

It is very possible for even a mother to lavish in vain all her stores of motherly comfort on a weeping child.  The child sits up stiff and sullen, and "refuses to be comforted."  All her comforting words fall on unbelieving ears.  For to be comforted by comforting words it is absolutely necessary for us to believe these words.  God has spoken "comforting words" enough, one would think, to comfort a whole universe, and yet we see all around us unhappy Christians, and worried Christians, and gloomy Christians, into whose comfortless hearts not one of these comforting words seems to be allowed to enter.  In fact, a great many Christians actually think it is wrong to be comforted.  They feel too unworthy.  And if any rays of comfort steal into their hearts, they sternly shut them out; and like Rachel and Jacob, and the psalmist, their souls "refuse to be comforted." The apostle tells us that whatsoever things are written in the Scriptures are for our learning, in order that we "through patience and comfort of the Scriptures may have hope."  But if we are to be comforted by the Scriptures, we must first believe them. Nothing that God has said can possibly comfort a person who does not believe it to be really true.  When the captain of a vessel tells us that his vessel is safe, we must first believe him to be telling the truth, before we can feel comfortable on board that vessel. When the conductor on a railway tells us we are on the right train, before we can settle down comfortably in our seats, we must trust his word.  This is all so self-evident that it might seem folly to call attention to it.  But in religious matters it often happens that the self-evident truths are the very ones most easily overlooked; and I have actually known people who insisted on realizing God's comfort while still doubting His words of comfort; and who even though they could not believe His comforting words at all, until they had first felt the comfort in their own souls!  As well might the passenger on the railway insist on having a feeling of comfortable assurance that he is on the right train, before he could make up his mind to believe the word of the conductor.  Always and in everything comfort must follow faith, and can never precede it.

In this matter of comfort it is exactly as it is in every other experience in the religious life.  God says, Believe, and then you can feel."  We say, "Feel, and then we can believe." God's order is not arbitrary, it exists in the very nature of things; and in all earthly matters we recognize this, and are never so foolish as to expect to feel we have anything until we first believe that it is in our possession.  I could not possibly feel glad that I had a fortune in the bank, unless I knew that it was really there.  But in spiritual things we reverse God's order (which is the order of nature as well), and refuse to believe that we possess anything until we first feel as if we had it.

Let me illustrate.  We are, let us suppose, overwhelmed with cares and anxieties.  It often happens in this world.  To comfort us in these circumstances the Lord assures us that we need not be anxious about anything, but may commit all our cares to Him, for He careth for us.  We are all familiar with the passages where He tells us to "behold the fowls of the air," and to "consider the lilies of the field" and assures us that we are of much more value than they, and that, if He cares for them, He will much more care for us.  One would think there was comfort enough here for every care or sorrow all the wide world over.  To have God assume our cares and our burdens, and carry them for us; the Almighty God, the Creator of Heaven and earth, who can control everything, and foresee everything, and consequently can manage everything in the very best possible way, to have Him declare that He will undertake for us; what could possibly be a greater comfort?  And yet how few people are really comforted by it.  Why is this?  Simply and only because they do not believe it.  They are waiting to have an inward feeling that His words are true, before they will believe them.  They look upon them as beautiful things for Him to say, and they wish they could believe them, but they do not think they can be true in their own special case, unless they can have an inward feeling that they are; and if they should speak out honestly, they would confess that, since they have no such inward feeling, they do not believe His words apply to them; and as a consequence they do not in the least expect Him actually to care for their affairs at all.  "Oh, if I could only feel it was all true," we say; and God says, "Oh, if you would only believe it is all true!" It is pure and simple unbelief that is at the bottom of all our lack of comfort, and absolutely nothing else.  God comforts us on every side, but we simply do not believe His words of comfort.

The remedy for this is plain.  If we want to be comforted, we must make up our minds to believe every single solitary word of comfort God has ever spoken; and we must refuse utterly to listen to any words of discomfort spoken by our own hearts, or by our circumstances.  We must set our faces like a flint to believe, under each and every sorrow and trial, in the divine Comforter, and to accept and rejoice in His all embracing comfort. I say, "set our faces like a flint," because, when everything around us seems out of sorts, it is not always easy to believe God's words of comfort.  We must put our wills into this matter of being comforted, just as we have to put our wills into all other matters in our spiritual life.  We must choose to be comforted.

It may seem impossible, when things look all wrong and uncared for, to believe that God really can be caring for us as a mother cares for her children; and, although we know perfectly well that He says He does care for us in just this tender and loving way, yet we say, "Oh, if I could only believe that, of course I should be comforted."  Now here is just where our wills must come in.  We must believe it.  We must say to ourselves, "God says it, and it is true, and I am going to believe it, no matter how it looks."  And then we must never suffer ourselves to doubt or question it again.

I do not hesitate to say that whoever will adopt this plan will come, sooner or later, into a state of abounding comfort.

The psalmist says, "In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul."  But I am afraid that among the multitude of our thoughts within us there are far too often many more thoughts of our own discomforts than of God's comforts.  We must think of His comforts if we are to be comforted by them. It might be a good exercise of soul for some of us to analyze our thoughts for a few days, and see how many thoughts we actually do give to God's comforts, compared with the number we give to our own discomforts.  I think the result would amaze us!

One word I must add in conclusion.  If any of my readers are preachers of the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, I would like to ask  them what they are commissioned to preach. The true commission in my opinion is to be found in Isaiah 40:1,2: "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God.  Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned; for she hath received of the Lord's hand double for all her sins."  "Comfort ye my people" is the divine command; do not scold them.  It if is the Gospel you feel called to preach, then see to it that you do really preach Christ's Gospel and not man's.  Christ comforts, man scolds.  Christ's Gospel is always good news, and never bad news.  Man's gospel is generally a mixture of a little good news and a great deal of bad news; and even where it tries to be good news, it is so hampered with "ifs" and "buts," and with all sorts of man-made conditions, that it utterly fails to bring any lasting joy or comfort.

The only Gospel that, to my thinking, can rightly be called the Gospel is that one proclaimed by the angel to the frightened shepherds, who were in the field keeping watch over their flocks by night: "Fear not," said the angel, "for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is Christ the Lord."

Never were more comfortable words preached to any congregation.  And if only all the preachers in all the pulpits would speak the same comfortable words to the people; and if all the congregations, who hear these words, would believe them, and would take the comfort of them, there would be no more uncomfortable Christians left anywhere.  And over the whole land would be fulfilled the apostle's prayer for the Thessalonians:  "Now our Lord Jesus Christ himself, and God, even our Father, which hath loved us and hath given us everlasting consolation and good hope through grace, comfort your hearts, and stablish you in every good word and work."