Even when the blood-hounds were
dogging Him in the streets of Jerusalem, He turned to His disciples
and offered them, as a last legacy, "My peace." Nothing ever for
a moment broke the serenity of Christ's life on earth. Misfortune
could not reach Him; He had no fortune. Food, raiment,
money--fountain-heads of half the world's weariness--He simply did
not care for; they played no part in His life; He "took no thought"
for them. It was impossible to affect Him by lowering His reputation.
He had already made Himself of no reputation. He was dumb before
insult. When he was reviled, He reviled not again. In fact, there
was
Nothing that the world could do to him
that could ruffle the surface of His spirit.
Such living, as mere living, is altogether unique. It is only
when we see what it was in Him that we can know what the word Rest
means. It lies not in emotions, or in the absence of emotions.
It is not a hallowed feeling that comes over us in church. It is
not something that the preacher has in his voice. It is not in
nature, or in poetry, or in music--though in all these there is
soothing. It is the mind at leisure from itself. It is the perfect
poise of the soul; the absolute adjustment of the inward man to
the stress of all outward things; the preparedness against every
emergency; the stability of assured convictions; the eternal calm
of an invulnerable faith; the repose of a heart set deep in God.
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