Monday, April 11, 2011

Praise in the Midst of Trouble


"Let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually" - Heb.13:15

A city missionary, stumbling through the dirt of a dark foyer, heard a voice say, "Who's there, Honey?" Striking a match, he caught a vision of earthly want and suffering, of saintly trust and peace, "cut in ebony" - calm, appealing eyes set amid the wrinkles of a pinched, black face that lay on a tattered bed. It was a bitter cold night in February, and she had no fire, no fuel, no light. She had had no supper, no dinner, no breakfast. She seemed to have nothing at all but rheumatism and faith in God. One could not well be more completely exiled from all pleasantness of circumstances, yet the favorite song of this old creature rung:

"Nobody knows de trouble I see,
Nobody knows but Jesus;
Nobody knows de trouble I see--
Sing Glory Hallelujah!

"Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down,
Sometimes I'm level on the groun',
Sometimes the glory shines aroun'
Sing Glory Hallelujah!"

And so it went on: 
"Nobody knows de work I does, Nobody knows de griefs I
has," the constant refrain being the "Glory Hallelujah!" 

until the last verse rose:
"Nobody knows de joys I has,
Nobody knows but Jesus!"
 
Troubled on every side, yet not distressed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed. It takes the good book to tell the cheer of that old black gospel song.
Remember Martin Luther on his sick-bed. Between his groans he managed to preach on these wise words: 
"These pains and trouble here are like the type which the printers set; as they look now, we have to read them backwards, and they
seem to have no sense or meaning in them; but up yonder, when the Lord God prints us off in the life to come, we shall find they make brave reading."
 
Only we do not need to wait till then. Remember Paul the apostle walking the hurricane deck amid a boiling sea, bidding the frightened crew "Be of good cheer," Martin Luther, the old black spiritual - all of them human sun-flowers.  -Wm. G. Garnett