Chapter 20: Christ Calms Surging Waves — His Voice Quiets the Troubled Soul

Christ with a word can surging Waves appease; His Voice a troubled Soul can quickly ease.

OBSERVATION.

When the Sea works, and is tempestuous, it is not in the power of any Creature to appease it. When the Egyptians would by their Hieroglyphicks express an Impossibility, they did it by the Picture of a Man treading upon the Waves. It is storied of Canute, an ancient Danish King, That when a mighty storm of Flattery arose upon him, he appeased it by shewing that he could not appease the Sea: But one of his Courtiers told him, as he rode near the Sea-side, That he was Lord of the Sea, as well as Land. Well, said the King, we shall see that by and by: and so went to the Water-side, and with a loud Voice cried, O you Seas and Waves, come no further, touch not my feet. But the Sea came up, notwithstanding that charge, and confuted the flattery. But now Jesus Christ has the command of them indeed: It is said of him, Matthew 8:26. That he rebuked them. And Mark 4:38. He quiets them with a word, Peace, be still: as one would hush a Child, and it obeyed him.

APPLICATION.

Conscience, when awakened by the terrors of the Lord, is like a raging tempestuous Sea; so it works, so it roars; and it is not in the power of all the Creatures to hush or quiet it. Spiritual Terrors, as well as spiritual Consolations, are not known till felt. O when the Arrows of the Almighty are shot into the Spirit, and the Terrors of God set themselves in array against the Soul; when the Venome of those Arrows drink up the Spirits, and those Armies of Terrours charge violently and successively upon it, as Job 6. 4. What Creature then is able to stand before them! Even God's own dear Children have felt such Terrours, as have distracted them, Psalm 81:15. Conscience is the seat of Guilt. It is like a Burning-glass, so it contracts the Beams of the Threatnings, twists them together, and reflects them on the Soul, until it smoke, scorch, and flame. If the wrath of a King be like the roaring of a Lion, then what is the Almighties wrath! which is burning wrath, Job 19. 11. Tearing wrath, Psalm 50:22. Surprizing wrath, Job 20. 23. And abiding wrath, Job 3. 36.

In this case no Creature can relieve, all are Physicians of no value; some under these terrors, have thought Hell more tolerable, and by a violent hand have thrust themselves out of the World into it, to avoid these gnawings: Yet jesus Christ can quickly calm these mystical Waves also, and hush them with a word; indeed, he is the Physician, and no-other. It is the sprinkling of his Blood, which, like a cooling Fomentation, allays those heats within: That Blood of sprinkling speaks Peace, when all other have practised upon the Soul to no purpose; and the reason is, because he is a Person in whom God and Man, Justice and Mercy meet, and kiss each other, Ephesians 2:14. And hence Faith fetches in peace to the Soul, Romans 5:1.

REFLECTION.

Can none appease a troubled Conscience, but Christ? Then learn, O my Soul, to understand, and daily more and more to savour that glorious Name, even Jesus, that delivers not only from the wrath to come, but that which is felt here also. Oh if the foretaste of Hell be so intolerable, if a few drops let fall on the Conscience in this life, be so scalding and insufferable; what is it to have all the Vials poured out to Eternity, when there shall be nothing to divert, mitigate, or allay it?

Here men have somewhat to abate those Terrours, some hopes of Mercy, at least a possibility; but there is none. O my Soul! how are you loaded with Guilt! And what a Magormissabib would you be, should God rouze that sleepy Lion in your bosom▪ My condition is not at all the better, because my Conscience is quiet. Ah, the day is coming, when it must awake, and will lighten and thunder terribly within me, if I get not into Christ the sooner. O Lord, who knows the power of your wrath? O let me not carry this guilt out of the World with me, to maintain those everlasting flames? let me give no sleep to mine eyes, nor slumber to my eye-lids, till I feel the comfort of that Blood of Sprinkling, which alone speaks Peace.

THE POEM.

Among the dreadful works of God, I find

No Metaphors to paint a troubled Mind.

I think on this, now that, and yet will neither

Come fully up, though all be put together.

'Tis like the raging Sea, that casts up mire,

Or like to Aetna, brea[•]hing smoke and fire;

Or like a rouzed Lion fierce and fell,

Or like those Furies that do howl in Hell.

O Conscience! Who can stand before your power,

Endure your gripes and twinges but an hour?

Stone, Gout, Strapado, Racks, whatever is

Dreadful to Sense, is but a toy to this.

No Pleasures, Riches, Honors, Friends can tell

How to give ease: in this 'tis like to Hell,

Call for the pleasant Tymbrel, Lute, and Harp;

Alas! The Musick howls, the pain's too sharp

For these to charm, divert or lull asleep:

These cannot reach it, no, the wound's too deep.

Let all the Promises before him stand,

And set a Barnabas at his right hand;

These in themselves no comfort can afford,

'Tis Christ, and none but Christ, can speak the word.

And he no sooner speaks, but all is still,

The storm is over, and the mind tranquil.

There goes a power with his Majestick Voice,

To hush the dreadful'st storm, and still its noise.

Who would but fear and love this glorious Lord,

That can rebuke such Tempests with a Vvord?