More than Conquerors

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Nov 11, 1913

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 40, No. 43.

More than Conquerors

I AM going to have a little chat this morning with my nervous, tired, discouraged sisters—and with them alone. So if none of these adjectives apply to you, my happy, prosperous friend, please do not interrupt us. Perhaps you and I may talk together at another time.

I see I have quite an audience already. Ah, there are so many of you—or “of us” perhaps I might better say! What can I do to cheer and to comfort, to brighten and to bless your lives?—Nothing, absolutely nothing!

Why?—Because, in the first place, I am unable to reach you, on account of distance; and even were I near you, I have such a host of cares and discouragements of my own, that I could offer you but little comfort or consolation.

“Well, then, what are you talking about?” So question a host of weary, dim-eyed little women. “Why do you allow us to build false hopes, and encourage us to believe that help is at hand?”

Wait. Suppose we were all in mid-ocean together, struggling to keep afloat. Would you ask or expect me to help you?—Hardly.

But what if I see a ship in the near distance, and better still, suppose I discover a strong rope in the hands of the captain, and that he is throwing it toward us with all his might. I grasp the rope myself, and test its great strength. I find it sufficient to bear the entire weight of all my sinking companions.

What in reason would you expect me to do? Suppose I began to cry out, “Just see how strong I am, how skilfully I swim, how beautifully I keep afloat!”

Would that be of any help to you?—You would only look upon me with sad, despairing, envious eyes.

But suppose I cry: “Quick, sisters! Look! Do you see the rope? The ship is at hand. The captain is strong. He is sending us help. Hurry! Let go of everything else, and grasp the rope!”

Now, then, we are afloat on the sea of life—all of us together. Some of us are actually sinking. To such I can only cry, “Take hold of the rope!” The rope is God’s blessed word,—His never-failing promises. Shall we turn to it? Shall we take hold of it—you and I?

Let’s find the promise which says, “In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us.” “In all these things”—what things?—“Tribulation,” “distress,” “persecution,” “famine,” “nakedness,” “peril,” “sword.”

The eighth of Romans is one of the most glorious chapters in the Book. Its promises are dazzling. If there were none others in the entire catalogue, these are enough to put courage into the most faint-hearted among us.

Have any of us known tribulation? Have we felt the sharp pangs of distress? Have the cruel fingers of gaunt famine and nakedness clutched at our vitals? Well, then, “in all these things we are more than conquerors.” How?—“Through Him that loved us.” Blessed thought! If it depended upon our love for Him, we might well tremble; for how faint is that love! How often, amid the busy cares of life, we forget Him quite! How many times is He left entirely out of our reckoning! How few times is He the important factor in our busy plans!

But “through Him that loved us,” “we are more than conquerors”—not “shall be,” but “are”—actually are.

“Well,” some one protests, “this sounds fair enough and good enough. But I tell you, I felt like anything but a conqueror this morning when the bread soured, and the fire would not burn, and the children came home for dinner in a hurry, and grandpa had a bad attack of rheumatism. I forgot all about my good resolutions, and sat right down and cried.” Yes; but these things need not separate you from the love of Christ. Through it all, did you lose your faith in Him? If not, if you do not let go the rope, you are still conqueror, and more than conqueror.

“O,” cries another dear little woman, whose eyes are red and swollen with weeping. “O, I could endure those things—indeed, they seem very small to me! But if I only could have kept my babe, my sweet babe! How I long to press the little form close, close to my hungry heart as I used to do! And when I realize that she has gone, gone forever, my aching heart almost rebels against Providence.”

But, dear sister, the thirty-eighth verse of this same precious chapter assures us that even death is not able to separate us from the love of God. O, let this blessed thought comfort and cheer us: Even when we almost forget Him, the love of the Eternal for His children never changes nor weakens for a moment; and just as a mother cherishes the weakest of her children most tenderly, even so the loving Father regards His afflicted sons and daughters.

Conquerors?—Yes, more than conquerors.

Here is another promise—and do not forget that the promises of the Almighty are as sure as His eternal throne. They span the gulf between heaven and earth like mighty cables of love. You and I need not fear to rest our whole weight upon them. Here is the promise:

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

Are we distressed with poverty? Never mind, my sister; there is glory coming. It is on the way. The threadbare garments are going to be exchanged, one of these days, for a robe of dazzling splendor, and gems which outvie those of Golconda.

Are we suffering with disease? “He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.” “Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases.” Yes, thank God, there will not be one left when the immortal body shall be given us.

Are our best-beloved snatched from our side by the grim messenger? Even in this also we are more than conquerors. And even through tear-dimmed eyes we may look up into the face of the kind Father who assures us that “He doth not afflict willingly,” and cry victoriously:

“Neither life nor death shall be able to separate me from the love of God.” “Nay, in all these things, we are more than conquerors.”

Courage, courage, my sister! Soon the glory land will burst before our enraptured vision. Then—

“Brighter than the tint Of sunset’s gleam and glint, Shall shine the glorious tapestry of heaven.”