"God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." (Psalm 46:1)
How much help and consolation we miss by unconsciously omitting the word "present" when reading the above text. We readily admit that God is a "refuge and strength" to others, and we may even go so far sometimes as to say that He is "our refuge and strength." That is, we believe He has helped us, and that He will help us, if we trust Him. But is it not quite another thing to believe that He is "a present help" in this trouble,--and not only a present help, but a "very present help"?
How natural it is to look back on that long illness or that severe trial in the past and gratefully acknowledge God's care and help through it all, and yet at the same time fear to trust Him in the present emergency! It is so much easier to believe that He has heard us, and that He will hear us, then that He does hear us.
We assent to the fact of a crucified and risen Saviour, and yet how feebly we laid hold upon it! How often we act as though we believed there was no one to pity and no one to save, as though our Saviour were yet buried in Joseph's new tomb! But praise God, He is risen! (Matthew 28:6)
"The Lord is near unto all them that call upon Him, to all that call upon Him in truth. He will fulfill the desire of them that fear Him: He also will hear their cry, and will save them." (Psalm 145:18-19)
A remarkable instance of the fulfillment of this promise is noted in the New York Observer of December 29, 1892. It is in connection with the story of the wrecking of the Spree, the Atlantic steamer on which Mr. D. L. Moody recently took passage for America. He says: "I embarked on the Spree, a vessel about four hundred and ninety feet long, with seven hundred passengers on board representing Great Britain, Germany, Austria, Russia, Hungary and other countries, besides our own.
When about three days on our voyage, as I was lying on my couch I was startled by a terrible crash and shock, as if the vessel had been driven on a rock. I did not at first feel much anxiety--perhaps I was too ill to think much about it. But my son jumped from his berth and rushed on deck. He was back again in a few moments, explaining that the shaft was broken and the vessel sinking. I did not at first believe it could be so bad, but concluded to dress and go on deck. The report was only too true. The captain told the affrighted passengers, who had rushed on deck that there was no danger, and some of the second cabin passengers returned to their berths, only to be driven out again by the inrushing water, leaving everything behind them.
The officers and crew did all they could to save the vessel. But it was soon found that the pumps were useless, for the water poured into the ship too rapidly to be controlled. There was nothing more in the power of man to do. We were utterly, absolutely helpless. We could only stand still on the poor, drifting, sinking ship, and look into our watery graves.
All this time, unknown to the passengers, the officers were making preparations for the last resort. The life-boats were all put in readiness, provisions prepared, life-preservers in hand, the officers armed with revolvers to enforce their orders, and the question was evidently being debated in their minds whether to launch the boats at once, or wait. The sea was so heavy that the boats could hardly have lived in it. Two of the passengers had loaded revolvers ready to blow out their brains if the vessel should go down, preferring death by bullets to death by drowning.
At noon the captain told us he thought he had the water under control, and was in hopes of drifting in the way of some passing vessel. The ships bow was now high in the air, while the stern seemed to settle more and more. The sea was very rough, and the ship rolled from side to side with fearful lurches. If she had pitched violently but once, though bulkheads must have burst, and the end come. The captain tried to keep up hope by telling us we should probably drift in the way of a ship by three o'clock that Saturday afternoon, but the night closed upon us without sign of a sail.
That was an awful night, the darkest in all our lives. Seven hundred men, women, and children waiting for the doom that was settling upon us. No one dared to sleep. We were all together in the saloon of the first cabin--Jews, Protestants, Catholics, and skeptics--although I doubt if at that time there were any skeptics among us. The agony and suspense were too great for words. With blanched faces and trembling hearts the passengers looked at each other, as if trying to read what no one dared to speak. Rockets flamed into the sky, but there was no answer. We were drifting out of the track of the great steamers. Every hour seemed to increase the danger of our situation.
Sunday morning dawned, without help or hope. Up to that time no suggestion of religious services had been made. To have done that would almost certainly have produced a panic. In the awful suspense and dread that prevailed, a word about religion would have suggested the most terrible things to the poor souls. It was necessary to divert their minds, if possible, or they would break under the strain.
But as that second night came on, we held a prayer-meeting, with the concurrence of the captain. Everybody attended, and I think everybody prayed, skeptics and all. Surely the cries of the dear little children were heard in heaven. With one arm clasping a pillar to steady myself on the reeling vessel, I tried to read the 91st Psalm, and we prayed that God would still the raging of the sea and bring us to our desired heaven. It was a new psalm to me from that very hour. The eleventh verse touched me very deeply. It was like a voice of Divine assurance, and it seemed a very real thing, as I read: "He shall give His angels charge over you to keep you in all your ways." Surely He did it. I read also from the 107th Psalm, versus 20-31. One lady thought those words must have been written for the occasion, and afterwards asked to see the book for herself.
I was passing through a new experience. I had thought myself superior to the fear of death. I have often preached on the subject and urged Christians to realize this victory of faith. During our civil war I had been under fire without fear. I was in Chicago during the great cholera epidemic and went around with the doctors, visiting the sick and dying. Where they could go to look after the bodies of men, I said I could go to look after their souls. I remember a case of small-pox where the flesh had literally dropped away from the backbone, yet I went to the bedside of that poor sufferer again and again with Bible and prayer for Jesus' sake. In all this I had no fear of death.
But on the sinking ship it was different. There was no cloud between my soul and my Saviour. I know my sins had been put away. That was all settled long ago. But as my thoughts went out to my loved ones at home--my wife and children, anxiously waiting for my coming--my friends on both sides of the sea--the schools and all the interests so dear to me--and realized that perhaps the next hour would separate me for ever from all these, so far as this world was concerned, I confess it almost broke me down. It was the darkest hour of my life!
I could not endure it. I must have relief, and relief came in prayer. God heard my cry and enabled me to say from the depths of my soul, "Your will be done." It was all settled. Sweet peace came to my heart. I went to bed and almost immediately fell asleep, and never slept more soundly in all my life. Out of the depths I cried unto the Lord, and He heard me and delivered me from all my fears. I can no more doubt that God gave answer to my prayer for relief, then I can doubt my own existence.
About three o'clock at night I was aroused from my sound sleep by the voice of my son. "Come on deck, father," he said. I followed him, and he pointed toward a far-off light, rising and sinking on the sea. It was a messenger of deliverance to us. It proved to be the light of the steamer Lake Huron, whose lookout had seen our flaming signals of distress, and supposed it was a vessel in flames. Oh, the joy of that moment when those seven hundred despairing passengers beheld the approaching ship! Who can ever forget it?
But now the question is, can this small steamer tow the helpless Spree on a thousand miles to Queenstown? Every movement was watched with intensest anxiety and prayer. It was a brave and perilous undertaking. The two vessels were at last connected by two great cables. If a storm arose these would snap like a thread, and we must be left to our fate. But I had no fear. God would finish the work He had begun. The waves were calmed--the cables held--the steamer moved in the wake of the Huron. There were storms all around us, but they came not near our broken ship.
Seven days after the accident, by the good hand of our God upon us, we were able to hold a joyous thanksgiving service in the harbor of Queenstown--just one week ago today, as I stand here among the friends and neighbors I love so well. The rescuing ship that God sent to us in our distress, had just sufficient power to tow our vessel, and just enough coal to take her into port! There was nothing to spare! Less would have been insufficient. Her captain also is a man of prayer, and besought God's help to enable them to accomplish their dangerous and difficult task. God answered the united prayers of the distressed voyagers and brought them to their desired haven."
Shall we not learn a lesson from those ship-wrecked passengers? Is not our need of a life-boat as great as theirs? If we but realized that need as vividly as they did, and cry as earnestly for help, would we not experience more such deliverances, and join in more such thanksgivings?
Again, it is well to remember to give thanks to God for deliverance from peril; but it is better still to recognize His hand at all times. His care is over us no less in keeping us from accidents than it is in saving our lives when accidents occur.
Two preachers once met at a church, and one said that he had very much to thank God for, because although his carriage had been thrown down an embankment as he was coming, he had escaped injury; it was a miraculous deliverance. Said the other, "My brother I have more to be thankful for than you, because I came over the same road and no accident whatever happened to me or my carriage."
It is the direct personal care of God that keeps us at all times. But for His mercies we should be cut off. So instead of waiting until some great affair takes place, and we experience a remarkable deliverance from danger, let us thank the Lord that His presence keeps us from the presence of danger.--Present Truth, January 26, 1893--Psalm 46:1.