Thread: "Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live?" (Heb. 12:9).
"Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live?" (Heb. 12:9).
Posted : 24 Oct, 2011 02:19 AM
God's revealed will is that his child should meekly and silently bow to his chastening hand. And when the tried and afflicted believer "hear[s] of the rod and him who appointed it" (Mic. 6:9) and with a humble and filial acquiescence justifies the wisdom, the love, and even the tenderness that sent it�surely such a soul is a rich partaker of God's holiness. In all these particulars, there is a surrender of the will to God, and consequently a close approximation to the holiness of his nature.
Dear reader, the point we are now addressing is one of great moment. It as much involves your own holy and happy walk as it does the glory of God. We put the simple questions�can there be any advance of sanctification in your soul when your will is running counter to God's will? And can you walk happily when there is a constant opposition in your mind to all the dealings of your God and Father? Oh no! Holiness and happiness are closely allied. And both are the offspring of a humble, filial, and complete surrender of the will in all things to God.
I do not speak of this as an attainment in holiness quickly or easily gained. Far from it. In many, it is the work of years. In all, it is the fruit of painful discipline. It is not on the high mount of joy, but rather in the low valley of humiliation, that this precious and holy surrender is learned. It is not in the summer day, when all things smile and wear a sunny aspect. Then it would be easy to say, "Your will be done." But it is when a cloudy and a wintry sky looks down upon you�it is when the chill blast of adversity blows, when health fails, when friends die, when wealth departs, when the heart's fondest endearments are yielded, when the Isaac is called for, when the world turns its back, when all is gone, and you are like a tree of the desert, over which the tempest has swept, stripping it of every branch, when you are brought so low that it would seem that you could not be lower. Then to look up with filial love and exclaim, "My Father, your will be done"�oh, this is holiness, this is happiness indeed!
It may be that God�your God and Father�is dealing thus with you now. Has he taken from you health? Has he asked for the surrender of your Isaac? Have riches taken to themselves wings? Does the world frown? Ah! Little do you think how God is now about to unfold to you the depths of his love, and to cause your will sweetly, filially, and entirely to flow into his.
Let me repeat the observation�there cannot be a higher degree of sanctification than a will entirely swallowed up in God's. Earnestly pray for it. Diligently seek it. Be jealous of the slightest opposition of your mind. Watch against the least rebellion of the will. Wrestle for an entire surrender�to be where, and to be what, your covenant God and Father would have you; and so shall you be made a partaker of his holiness.
by Octavius Winslow, 1856 (edited for
today's reader by Larry E. Wilson, 2010)
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
holy his will abideth;
I will be still whate'er he doth;
and follow where he guideth:
he is my God: though dark my road,
he holds me that I shall not fall:
wherefore to him I leave it all.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
he never will deceive me;
he leads me by the proper path;
I know he will not leave me:
I take, content, what he hath sent;
his hand can turn my griefs away,
and patiently I wait his day.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
though now this cup, in drinking,
may bitter seem to my faint heart,
I take it, all unshrinking:
my God is true; each morn anew
sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart,
and pain and sorrow shall depart.
Whate'er my God ordains is right:
here shall my stand be taken;
though sorrow, need, or death be mine,
yet am I not forsaken;
my Father's care is round me there;
he holds me that I shall not fall:
and so to him I leave it all.
(Samuel Rodigast, 1675; tr. Catherine Winkworth, 1829-1878)
