I Heard a Voice Behind Me

-George Matheson

"I heard a voice behind me, as of a trumpet" -Revelation 1:10

I heard a voice behind me;
On the road I had passed it by;
It was lost in the way of the garish day;
It was powerless while it was nigh;
It was like the ram in the thicket
That Abraham did not find
Till he turned his back on the coming track,
And looked on the days behind.

And so, my soul, it is ever
With the blessings round thy head;
They are not known till the bird is flown,
And the bloom of the flower is dead.
Thou art pressing on to the future,
And the past is out of mind
Till the hour of pain calls thee back again
To dwell in the days behind.

Thou art asking a revelation

Of thy Father's guiding love,
And it seems to thee that thy light shall be
From the things that are stored above,
But the path whereon now thou movest
Is itself with mercy lined,
And the brightest gleam of the upper stream
Shall be caught from the days behind.

0 Father of light and leading,
From the top of each rising bill
Let me cast my eye on the road gone by
To mark the steps of Thy will!
For the clouds that surround the present
Shall leave this heart resigned,
When the joy appears in the path of tears
That led through the days behind.

God's will is better seen in retrospect than in prospect, or so it seems to me. It's by casting our "eye on the road gone by" that we most clearly "mark the steps of (his) will."

God has an itinerary for each of us, I believe; a "course" that we must run.[1] Our route is charted in the councils of heaven and rooted in the sovereign purposes of God. Yet our choices are not irrelevant. We make decisions every day, large and small, many of which have life-altering consequences. The question then-forgoing the confounding mystery of God's sovereignty and human free will-is this: How can we, in our choices, correctly reflect his will?

The answer is clear to me, now that I'm older and have more of the past to see. It is by looking back that I see my Father's guiding love. I may not have seen it in process, but I see it now: Love and Wisdom have led me all the way.

So...though clouds "surround the present" and much uncertainty lies ahead, my heart is duly resigned. The "Father of light and leading" will be faithful to show me the way. My task is to follow Him in love and obedience, and leave the next step to Him.

And how will I know the next step? I do not know. I do know, however, that I shall know it when I need to know. "My light shall be from the things that are stored above." On what basis do I make that assertion? By "dwelling on the days behind."

DHR

[1] Cp., Acts 20:24 and 2 Timothy 4:7 Paul's word, dromon, means "a race course."

DIVINITY

By George Herbert

As men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod
And trip at night, have spheres[1] suppli'd;
As if a star were duller than a clod,
Which knows his way without a guide:

Just so the other heav'n they also serve,
Divinity's transcendent sky:
Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve.
Reason triumphs, and faith lies by.[2]

Could not that wisdom, which first broacht[3] the wine,
Have thicken'd it with definitions?
And jagg'd[4] his seamless coat, had that been fine,
With curious questions and divisions?

But all the doctrine, which he taught and gave,
Was clear as heav'n, from whence it came.
At least those beams of truth, which only save,
Surpass in brightness any flame.

Love God, and love your neighbor. Watch and pray.
Do as ye would be done unto.
O dark instructions; ev'n as dark as day!
Who can these Gordion knots undo?

But he doth bid us take his blood for wine.
Bid what he please; yet I am sure,
To take and taste what he doth there design,
Is all that saves, and not obscure.

Then burn thy Epicycles,[5] foolish man;
Break all thy spheres, and save thy head.
Faith needs no staff of flesh, but stoutly can
To heav'n alone both go, and lead.

Herbert was a contemporary of philosopher René Descartes who, allegedly, was looking for a way to ground the Christian faith in reason, but, in a striking instance of the Law of Unintended Consequence, set in motion the so-called Cartesian Revolution, a movement away from faith to rationalism.[6] Herbert, aware of Descartes' growing influence, may have penned this poem in response.

He begins with astronomers' efforts to map the skies and develop constructs for the movement of the stars. Presumably, they did so to serve "Divinity's transcendent sky," the world of spiritual realities. They "cut and carved" with human wit (wisdom), but only darkened wise counsel with words. Reason triumphed and faith was laid aside.

Could not the wisdom that "broacht" (opened) the wine at Cana have supplied an explanation for the miracle and "thickened it with definitions"? Jesus could have, but chose not to, nor has he explained everything else that puzzles us. The universe is shrouded in paradox, contradiction and mystery, a phenomenon Rutgers' philosopher, Colin McGinn, calls the Mysterion Position: the notion that our minds are simply incapable of knowing all there is to know. There are absolute limitations to the human intellect that cannot be overcome.

God does draw lines, but, as George MacDonald said, his lines are very thin, and often invisible. To draw hard lines everywhere, therefore, is futile. Worse yet, hard lines divide us and become occasion for acrimonious debate. Hence the old cliché, "No one damns like the orthodox."

For this reason, as I've grown older, my list of absolutes has grown correspondingly shorter. There are essentials of which I have no doubt, but much is mystery to me. I ponder these puzzles periodically, but they don't bother me anymore. I know "there are more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of in (my) philosophy." This is what "saves my head."

This is the sentiment echoed by George MacDonald's father in a letter to his son about the long-standing, divisive debate over God's sovereignty and our free will: "[I cannot] bear to see that which is evidently gospel mystery torn to pieces by those who believe that there is no mystery in the Scriptures and therefore attempt to explain away what it is evidently for the honor of God to conceal. I see so much of mystery in nature, and so much of it in myself, that it would be proof to my mind that the Scriptures were not from God were there nothing in them beyond the grasp of my own mind." [7]

That being said, our Lord did not leave us in the dark with regard to the things that matter, but has given instruction that is "clear as heav'n from whence it came." He has revealed "beams of truth, which only save (sanctify)." These he enumerates: "To love God, and love your neighbor. Watch and pray. Do as ye would be done unto"-simple directives Herbert describes, with subtle irony, as Gordion knots,[8] and "dark instructions; ev'n as dark as day!" To love and to pray and to do good to others-a few things I know I must do. This is the more excellent way.

Mark Twain said, "It's not the things I don't understand in the Bible that concern me, but the things I do understand."[9] Exactly. It is my prayer that I, at last, may do those things that matter.[10]

DHR

[1] spheres: Concentric hollow globes that were thought to rotate around the earth and carry heavenly bodies, according to the Ptolemaic astronomy of Herbert's day.
[2] lies by: is unused
[3] broacht: opened
[4] jagg'd: torn
[5] Epicycles: In Ptolmaic astronomy, each of the seven planets was thought to move in a circle, the center of which rotated around the earth. Circles within circles, ad infinitum.
[6] Another contemporary, Blaise Pascal, said, "I cannot forgive Descartes. In all his philosophy he would have been quite willing to dispense with God. But he had to make Him give a fillip to set the world in motion; beyond this, he has no further need of God."
[7] In a letter to his son, May 31, 1850
[8] The Gordian Knot is a legend associated with Alexander the Great and is a metaphor for an intractable problem. The irony lies in the fact that this "knot" can be untied by anyone and the darkness of these instructions is "as dark as day(light)."
[9] Mark Twain and Scottish preacher and poet George MacDonald were friends. I do hope MacDonald's gracious Jesus, at some point, found his way into Mark Twain's heart.
[10] Cf., Philippians 1:10. Paul's verb, diaphero, here translated "matter," means, "to make a difference."

A Call to Failure

By George Matheson

I had a call to a mission,
Signed in my heart and sealed,
And I felt my success was certain,
And the end seemed already revealed;
The sea was without a murmur,
Unwrinkled its even flow,
And I heard the master commanding,
And I was constrained to go.

But, out from the peaceful haven,
There woke a terrible storm,
And the waves around were in chaos,
And the land appeared without form
And I stretched my hands to the Father
And cried in a chilling fear-
"Didst not Thou pledge Thy presence!
And naught but failure is here!"

Then in the midst of the thunder
There rose a still, small voice,
Clear through the roar of the waters,
Deep through their deafening noise:
"Have I no calls to failure!
Have I no blessing for loss!
Must not the way to thy mission
Lie through the path of thy cross!"

It came as a revelation-
It was worth the price of the gale
To know that the souls that conquer
Must at first be the souls that fail-
To know that where strength is baffled
I have reached the common ground
Where the highest meet with the lowly
Where the heart of man is found

O door of the heart's communion
My Father gave me the key
When he called me out to the ocean,
And summoned the storm to me;
For the wings of the storm that smote me
Were the wings of humanity's breast
As it moved on the face of the waters
And sighed for an ark of rest

Years have gone by since that sadness
And many an hour has come
When the storm in the ships of others
Has signaled me out from home;
Yet I never can see that signal
But I feel how much I owe
To the day that, when called to failure,
My steps were constrained to go.

History is unrepeatable, historians say, but it can be re-lived many times in one's memory. Our successes we like to savor; our failures we'd rather forget. I'm gradually learning, however, "how much I owe to the day that, when called to failure, my steps were constrained to go."

I'm learning that blunders, mistakes and missed opportunities are means of grace and great blessing if we accept them as part of our call. "Souls that conquer must at first be the souls that fail." There is no other way.

Through humiliation our "strength is baffled," we're disabused of our illusions of grandeur and brought low. There, we learn "to meet with the lowly."[1] Our losses enable us "to find the heart of man," i.e., to get "in touch" with its feelings. We can empathize with those who have fallen; we can accept and love them as no other can.

But we must let go of regret. "As long as
we remain [constrained] by things that we wish had not happened, about
mistakes we wish we had not made, part of our heart remains
isolated, unable to bear fruit in the new life ahead of us."[2] Brooding over past disasters intimidates us and turns us away from love; feelings of inadequacy isolate us. We're afraid to venture ourselves again.

But when we accept our failures as simple proof that we're inadequate in the core of our being, God's strength is made perfect in weakness. We have grace to turn outward to others and to do so with greater compassion, wisdom and understanding. Thus our mistakes, by God's grace, are turned into good.

Failure is not ruinous; we are called to failure and owe much to each day that we fail. The lessons that we learn there, "are worth the price of the gale."

DHR

[1] Matheson is thinking here of Romans 12:16 and Paul's admonition to "associate with the lowly."
[2] Henri Nouwen

Nobody Knows My Name

“As unknown, and yet well known…” (2Corinthians 6.9).

Consider those nameless individuals whose stories appear on the pages of scripture: the woman at the well; the boy who offered his loaves and fishes to Jesus; the widow who gave her last mite; the woman who anointed the feet of Jesus; the Good Samaritan; the repentant thief on the cross. All these good folks live in anonymity; nobody knows their names.

Perhaps you too are unknown, one of those unsung workers who toil for years in obscurity, overlooked and unrewarded by family, church or community, while others “make a name for themselves.” Your life is hidden, your work is unrecognized; no one knows your name.

Rejoice! Your name is written in heaven.

God knows who you are and what you’ve done for his sake. Your labor is not in vain. You may receive little or no recognition in this life, but on the day when you stand in our Lord’s presence you will receive unqualified praise (1Corinthians 4:5). He will say to you as he will say to all who have loved and served him, “Well done my good and faithful servant” (Matthew 5:21).

Unknown? You are well–known in the highest circles!

DHR

The Grace of Giving Up

Paul writes, "Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand"(Philippians 4:5).

Disunity comes because we're determined to have our own way. "Only by pride comes contention" (Proverbs 13:10). If we insist on our own rights and
refuse to give ground, controversy and conflict unavoidably follow.

We're not called to sacrifice right principles, of course, and we do have
rights, but for the sake of peace we're called to yield our rights, our
preferences, our opinions, our position, prestige, and power.

What's called for is "gentleness" —epieikes is Paul’s word. It means a
gracious, patient, forbearing spirit—a powerful force that
subdues anger and stubborn self-will.

But, you say, if I don't stand up for my rights I'll lose out. No, "the Lord
is at hand." He is standing by and will never permit his children to suffer
eternal loss. He will give you grace and power for the present and will
compensate you fully for all you have forfeited through courtesy and
kindness. "I tell you the truth," Jesus said "no one who has given up…will
fail to receive many times as much in this age and, in the age to come,
eternal life" (Luke 18:29,30).

DHR

A follow-up to my thoughts on silence (Psalm 37)

In Psalm 38 David describes a series of personal attacks by his critics, in
the midst of which he finds no human help:

My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay
far away. (Psalm 38:11).

(Ironic, isn't it: The more needy we are, the less help we naturally attract
from family and friends. Neediness is off-putting to most folks; only the
gospel corrects that injustice.)

So...David is abandoned to his opponents’ efforts to undo him.

Those who seek my life set their traps, those who would harm me talk of my
ruin; all day long they plot deception. (38:12).

Once again, David's reaction is silence:

I am like a deaf man, who cannot hear, like a mute, who cannot open his
mouth; I have become like a man who does not hear, whose mouth can offer no
reply. I wait for you, O LORD; you will answer, O Lord my God (38:13).

There is a direct contrast here between the rants of David's opponents (vs.
12) and his utter stillness (Heb: "But as for me, I am like a deaf man...")--a stillness based on the
fact that God alone would answer his critics in due time, a response that mirrors
our supreme example:

Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that you should follow
His steps: "Who when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He
suffered, He did not threaten, but committed Himself to Him who judges
justly..." (1 Peter 2:21-23).

DHR

I read Psalm 35 this morning and was struck again by the thought that
silence is almost always the best response to criticism. We can and should
correct people when they misrepresent us, but there is great depth and
dignity in meeting disapproval with silence.

David summarizes the actions of his critics in 11-16

Malicious witnesses rise up; They ask me things that I do not know (charge
me with sins and faults I know nothing about).

They reward me evil for good, To the sorrow of my soul (No good deed goes
unpunished, as they say).

But as for me, when they were sick, My clothing was sackcloth; I humbled
myself with fasting; And my prayer would return to my own heart (I kept
praying for them).

I paced about as though he were my friend or brother; I bowed down heavily,
as one who mourns for his mother.

But in my stumbling (at the first sign of weakness) they rejoiced And
gathered together; Cripples (like me) gathered against me, And I did not
know it (It was done behind my back) They tore at me and did not cease
(attacking my character);

Like court jesters (who mock others), They gnashed at me with their
teeth (tore my reputation to shreds).

Does this sound familiar? Those we've suffered with and deeply cared for are
often the very folks that turn against us. (I've never fully understood that
phenomenon, but it may be that loving, pastoral care raises people's
expectations to the point that they (their expectations) become utterly
unrealistic—for some we become the parent they never had—and any slip
becomes a monumental betrayal.) It is worth noting that this psalm is put
into Jesus' mouth and describes the way those he loved turned against him
(John 15:25). It's good to recall that "the servant is not above his master…"

In the face of this scathing critique David put his soul in God's hands for
his judgment and vindication (vs. 22-24) and left it there. He describes
himself as one of the "quiet ones in the land"(20). I love that line!

Here is F. B. Meyers understanding of the process:

In every age God has had his quiet ones. Retired, from its noise and strife,
withdrawn from its ambitions and jealousies, unshaken by its alarms; because
they had entered into the secret of a life hidden in God. We must have an
outlet for the energies of our nature. If we are unfamiliar with the hidden
depths of eternal life, we shall necessarily live a busy, fussy, frothy,
ambitious, eager life, in created with men and things. But the man who is
intent on the eternal, can be quiet in the temporal.

The man whose house is shallow, but one room in depth, cannot help living on
the street. But directly we begin to dwell deep—deep in God, deep in the
watch for the Master's advent, deep in considering the mysteries of the
kingdom—we become quiet. We fill our little space; we get our daily broad
and and content; we enjoy natural and simple pleasures; we do not strive,
nor cry, nor cause our voice to be heard in the street; we pass through the
world, with noiseless tread, dropping a blessing on all we meet; but, we are
no sooner recognized than we are gone.

Get quiet, beloved soul; tell out thy sorrow and complaint to God. Let not
the greatest business or pressure divert thee from God. When men rag about
thee, go and tell Jesus. When storms and high, hide thee in his secret
place. When others compete for fame and applause, and their passion might
infect thee, got into thy closet, and shut thy door, and quiet thyself as a
weaned babe. For if thy voice is quiet to man, let it never cease to speak
loudly and mightily for man in the ear of God.

DHR