PatienceDo all things without murmurings — Phil. 2:14
We may all have in our natural dispositions a tendency to repine, to grumble, to bemoan afflictions which come to us, even in the service of the Truth; but as we become more and more developed in Christlikeness the Lord will surely expect of us that we shall gradually attain more and more to that standard which He sets for us; in which the trials and difficulties of the present will be more than offset, more than overbalanced by His Spirit, and by the witness of His Spirit, that all these things are working together for good to us, working out for us the greater glory by preparing us for it—Z '02, 40 (R 2947). God's people are not to sympathize with, nor condone wrongs in teaching or practice. Nor are they to sit quietly by and let sin and error abound and have free course. Thus Jesus, the Apostles, the faithful Prophets, evangelists, pastors or teachers and others of God's faithful people have been dissatisfied with and protested against them. Such dissatisfaction and protests are not to be considered "murmuring" in the sense of this verse. The kind of dissatisfaction and protests that this text calls murmuring are complaints made at one's lot, experiences, opportunities, difficulties, trials, sufferings, humiliations and the Lord's providences as these affect oneself or others. These indicate that one's will is not dead but quite alive; and the person so doing is opposing God and living for self—P 33, 163. Parallel passages: Psa. 37:7-9; Lam. 3:26, 27; Luke 8:15; 21:19; Rom. 2:7; 5:3, 4; 8:25; 12:12; 15:4, 5; 2 Cor. 6:4, 5; 12:12; Gal. 6:9; Eph. 4:1, 2; Col. 1:11; 1 Thes. 1:3; 2 Thes. 3:5; Heb. 6:12; 10:36; 12:1; Jas. 1:3, 4; 5:7, 8. Hymns: 4, 20, 34, 78, 91, 114, 196. Poems of Dawn, 100: Mortally Wounded. Tower Reading: Z '13, 312 (R 5332). Questions: What have been this week's experiences as to patience? How were they met? What was helpful or hindersome therein? In what did they result? |
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MORTALLY WOUNDED
I LAY me down to sleep,
With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here—or there!
A bowing, burdened head,
Only too glad to rest,
Unquestioning upon
A loving breast.
I am not eager, bold,
Nor strong—all that is past!
I'm willing not to do,
At last, at last!
My half-day's work is done,
And this is all my part:
To give a patient God
My patient heart;
And grasp His banner still,
Though all its blue be dim;
These stripes, no less than stars,
Lead after Him.
Weak, weary and uncrowned,
I yet to bear am strong;
Content not e'en to cry,
"How long! How long!"
I LAY me down to sleep,
With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here—or there!
A bowing, burdened head,
Only too glad to rest,
Unquestioning upon
A loving breast.
I am not eager, bold,
Nor strong—all that is past!
I'm willing not to do,
At last, at last!
My half-day's work is done,
And this is all my part:
To give a patient God
My patient heart;
And grasp His banner still,
Though all its blue be dim;
These stripes, no less than stars,
Lead after Him.
Weak, weary and uncrowned,
I yet to bear am strong;
Content not e'en to cry,
"How long! How long!"
