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I suppose all of us know what it is to be comforted in this way; and we know what it is to want to share our comfort. A very dear comfort came to me recently after a day of some burden about one whose path just then led through the Second Wood.
This brought to mind the Second Storm.
When for the first time the disciples found themselves sorely tried by wind and raging water, their Master was with them in the boat; and it was only evening, not night, which made it much easier, even though He was asleep and even though the waves beat into the ship. The Second Storm was different. “It was now dark, and Jesus was not come to them.”
“And only heaven is better than to walk with Christ at midnight over moonless seas,” yes, with Christ—with Christ one’s all but visible Companion. I think few of us would hesitate to go through anything if only we could see our Lord Jesus in the room with us, albeit asleep on a pillow. But the second test of faith is sharper than the first; the later must always be sharper than the earlier. This is the law of life. The story is a picture of life—as it feels, as it appears.
A great wind blowing, raging sea,
And rowers toiling wearily,
Far from the land where they would be.
And then One coming, coming nearer every minute. They were still many furlongs distant from the land (so some manuscripts read). They were still toiling in rowing. Just when they needed Him most “they see Jesus walking on the sea and drawing nigh unto the ship.”
And then One coming, drawing nigh;
They care not now for starless sky.
The Light of Life says, “It is I.”
They care not now for toil of oar,
For lo, the ship is at the shore,
And their Beloved they adore.
Lord of the Lake of Galilee,
Who long ago walked on the sea,
My heart is comforted in Thee.
The peace that is in this story sank softly into my heart that day, and afterwards I heard how “Jesus walking on the sea” had drawn nigh to him for whose sake I had been burdened. There was an operation which he had always dreaded (most of us have our private and peculiar dreads in such matters), and now he had heard that this particular operation was required. “And there wasn’t the least dread. It had all gone,” he said jubilantly. Quite evidently it had. And he told me of the word that had been given. “This also cometh forth from the Lord of hosts, which is wonderful in counsel and excellent in working.” Was it not just like our Father to give that word? “He led them on safely, so that they feared not; and they dreaded not,” is Rotherham’s rendering. Sometimes we would hardly admit to fear and yet we have a dread. God knows all about our dreads, and how to disperse them by a word of power and peace.
This little tale of today is told because so often we darken our woods by sadness over one dear to us whom we long to see relieved or released, and all the time the Lord of Light is shining on that heart, and speaking words that will never be forgotten, and which, handed on to others like a lighted torch, will travel, who can tell how far? We must learn to look on and see the far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory that is being prepared for our beloved.
Does St. Paul regret the thorn in the flesh that drew forth words that have comforted countless millions? Do the men for whom the winds were contrary wish they had been spared the storm that brought their Lord to them walking on the sea and caused Him to speak that immortal It is I: be not afraid! Could we wish to skirt a wood where our Master waited to give us a word to lighten the dark woods of others? No, not even now, while the pressure is upon us, would we choose, if we might, to escape from this which is but for a moment, and which worketh that which is eternal.