Come Unto Me by I. H. EVANS

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D.C. · Dec 21, 1905

“Come Unto Me”

By I. H. EVANS

“COME UNTO ME, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”

This invitation to rest, which was given by the Master himself, has encouragement to every heart burdened with toil and worrying care. Nor is it alone of physical rest that the Master is speaking; for we are to find rest not only from our labors, but also rest for our souls.

The physical toils of this life are often very severe. Indeed, sometimes it seems that there is no relief from the perpetual grind of toil and worry that falls to the lot of some of the children of men. Misfortunes beset their life's pathway like storm clouds on a chilling autumnal day. From earliest memory they have toiled and labored and drudged, groaning under their heavy burdens, like a galley-slave at his hopeless task. No passing pleasure could lure them from the shadow of their load. The sweetest music from the grandest harmonies of the greatest masters is as nothing to them; all the beauties of sea and land in their ever-changing tints and outlines have no power to charm them. Nay, with “muck-rake” in hand, they dig and delve and worry, and never see the crown of glory shining just above their heads.

Let us pause a moment and ask, Is all this necessary? Why are we to be burdened and pressed down beneath an unbearable load? What is life to bring forth? and what will be the result of the conditions that confront us to-day, if they continue until the close of our life? Have we found that rest for both body and soul promised in our text?

If there were no Christ, no Saviour, no promises of God, no great Burden-bearer, no after-life, no crown of glory to be gained, then indeed must our labors and troubles be endured; but to the Christian, to him who knows his Father's love, and who has tasted of the waters of life, surely there is little reason for all this wearing toil and fretful care. The promise is, Rest.

The Master says, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.”

Surely the invitation is plain enough, “Come.” Does not that word have the ring of welcome in it? Read it again, Come. Over the very doorway of entrance hangs that word written with the blood of Christ, Come. When I read that invitation, Come, I am assured of a hearty reception. A dear friend wrote me the other day, “I am in great trouble: I need counsel; come at once. I must talk with you.” Was there not welcome in that invitation? Says Jesus, “Come unto me, . . . and ye shall find rest.” Then none need tarry for an invitation, for here it is, “Come.”

But, says some soul, where shall I come? I know not how nor where to come. Listen to the invitation, “Come unto me.” The word is not, Come to Jerusalem or Capernaum. It does not say, Come here or there, but simply, “Come unto me.”

Where, O Master, where shall I find thee? Come to me in the chamber of suffering, in the halls of sorrow, on the streets of poverty and want; there you will find me. I am beside the bed where lie the dying, by the couch of pain and weeping, where there is sin and sinning, where the human heart is torn and bruised and bleeding. Come unto me as I wipe the death-damp from yon brow; come, while I open those deaf ears and give sight to those blind eyes; come, while I restore to the paralytic the use of his limbs, and cleanse those lepers, and tell that poor, trembling woman, “Go, and sin no more.” Come, come to me, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.

But, you say, how shall I come? I am broken with toil, so scarred with sin. O child! weary and worn with the cares of this life, tempted and tried on every hand, methinks the Master says, Come as thou art. Why should he say, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden,” if he did not mean that we could come in our labor and just as we are when we labor? He does not say to the lepers, Go and be cleansed and healed of your malady, and then come to me; he does not say to the poor blind man, Go to Jerusalem or Joppa and consult an expert oculist and get your eyes cured, and then come. No, no! It is written, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden.” Then we will come in our labor and with our heavy burdens. We are to come in our trials, and in the very heat of our temptations; we are to come with that consuming sorrow in our hearts, with that sin stain on our brow, in that trial with our brother, with our feelings all crushed and wounded and lacerated. With wearied body and tired nerves we are to come into his presence. There, there we shall find rest to our souls.

“All you that are weary and sad, come! And you that are cheerful and glad, come! In robes of humility clad, come! The Saviour invites you to-day.”

Do you say your own griefs are so great that you can not enter the hall of sorrow and the chamber of suffering, your own poverty is so extreme that you will not enter the streets of penury and want? Nay, my brother, there is the

one place where thy Master can be found. You need not seek him in the halls of pleasure, of luxury and wealth, for there he is not. You must go where he is. The invitation is, “Come unto me.” And as we enter into the sufferings and wants and heart sorrows of our fellow sufferers, the Master lifts the burden from our own hearts; and in laboring and sacrificing for others, we shall find rest to our own souls.

“The healing of his seamless dress Is by our beds of pain; We touch him in life's throng and press, And we are whole again.”

The Master lightens our burdens by laying upon our bending forms the burdens of our fellow travelers. He gives us rest from our labors, by teaching us to labor for others, and in the sympathy of love bestowed upon other griefs than our own, he teaches us to forget our sorrows, and find rest and peace in him.

“Of all our Saviour's tender promises, It seems to me the sweetest one is this,— Sweeter than balm to souls with sin opprest,— ‘Come unto me, and I will give you rest.’”

“‘Come unto me!’ O words divinely sweet! My soul remembers, and my lips repeat, The promise of the hope that follows me Through life, through death, and all eternity.”

I. H. EVANS.