Evening and Morning
By Charles Haddon Spurgeon
August 17
Morning
"The
mercy of God."—Psalm 52:8.
Meditate a little on this mercy of the Lord. It is tender
mercy. With gentle, loving touch, He healeth the
broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds. He is
as gracious in the manner of His mercy as in the matter of it. It is great
mercy. There is nothing little in God; His mercy is like Himself—it
is infinite. You cannot measure it. His mercy is so great that it forgives
great sins to great sinners, after great lengths of time, and then gives great favours and great privileges, and raises us up to great
enjoyments in the great heaven of the great God. It is undeserved mercy,
as indeed all true mercy must be, for deserved mercy
is only a misnomer for justice. There was no right on the sinner's part to the
kind consideration of the Most High; had the rebel been doomed at once to
eternal fire he would have richly merited the doom, and if delivered from
wrath, sovereign love alone has found a cause, for there was none in the sinner
himself. It is rich mercy. Some things are great, but have little
efficacy in them, but this mercy is a cordial to your drooping spirits; a golden
ointment to your bleeding wounds; a heavenly bandage to your broken bones; a
royal chariot for your weary feet; a bosom of love for your trembling heart. It
is manifold mercy. As Bunyan says, "All the flowers in God's garden
are double." There is no single mercy. You may think you have but one
mercy, but you shall find it to be a whole cluster of mercies. It is abounding
mercy. Millions have received it, yet far from its being exhausted; it is
as fresh, as full, and as free as ever. It is unfailing mercy. It will
never leave thee. If mercy be thy friend, mercy will
be with thee in temptation to keep thee from yielding; with thee in trouble to
prevent thee from sinking; with thee living to be the light and life of thy
countenance; and with thee dying to be the joy of thy soul when earthly comfort
is ebbing fast.
Evening
"This
sickness is not unto death."—John 11:4.
From our Lord's words we learn that there is a
limit to sickness. Here is an "unto" within which its ultimate end is
restrained, and beyond which it cannot go. Lazarus might pass through death,
but death was not to be the ultimatum of his sickness. In all sickness, the
Lord saith to the waves of pain, "Hitherto shall
ye go, but no further." His fixed purpose is not the destruction, but the
instruction of His people. Wisdom hangs up the thermometer at the furnace
mouth, and regulates the heat.
1. The
limit is encouragingly comprehensive. The God of providence has limited the
time, manner, intensity, repetition, and effects of all our sicknesses; each
throb is decreed, each sleepless hour predestinated, each relapse ordained,
each depression of spirit foreknown, and each sanctifying result eternally
purposed. Nothing great or small escapes the ordaining hand of Him who numbers
the hairs of our head.
2. This
limit is wisely adjusted to our strength, to the end designed, and to the
grace apportioned. Affliction comes not at haphazard—the weight of every
stroke of the rod is accurately measured. He who made
no mistakes in balancing the clouds and meting out the heavens, commits no
errors in measuring out the ingredients which compose the medicine of souls. We
cannot suffer too much nor be relieved too late.
3. The
limit is tenderly appointed. The knife of the heavenly Surgeon never cuts
deeper than is absolutely necessary. "He doth not afflict willingly, nor
grieve the children of men." A mother's heart cries, "Spare my
child"; but no mother is more compassionate than our gracious God. When we
consider how hard-mouthed we are, it is a wonder that we are not driven with a
sharper bit. The thought is full of consolation, that He
who has fixed the bounds of our habitation, has also fixed the bounds of our
tribulation.