NOT KNOWING by Mary Martin

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Nov 15, 1877

NOT KNOWING.

By Mary Martin

We are told in regard to the “father of the faithful,” that, being called of God, “he went out not knowing whither he went.” The sacred historian does not tell us how he was situated at that time. It was evidently ere life's sun had reached its meridian, and when he was enjoying, perhaps, all that heart could hope or desire, with plans all perfected for the long bright years to come. God calls. Is it to be a wearisome way? Will there be a resting place? Where does the road terminate? He sets forth on his journey “not knowing.” Who may tell the anguish inseparably connected with those words? Until feeling find expression in language yet unknown, its depths shall remain unfathomed.

Lot, in selecting a tarrying place, made choice of a section “well watered:” pecuniary interests were the first consulted. Not so with faithful Abraham. His first thought, the first work of his hands, was to build an altar and call upon the name of the Lord. Each time the providence of God indicated a pathway diverging from the one whose windings had become familiar, he must place his hand in that of Omnipotence and go on “not knowing.”

See him toiling up the mountain side with the intended sacrifice. Had he only known the finale this example would never have been placed on record for us. The agony he there experienced is left unwritten—our language is too meager; but an angel's pen has taken note of all. Can you measure it? Have you ever stood by the bed of the dying whose life seemed a part of your own? As the breath came shorter, fainter, your own timed by extreme sensibility to correspond, till when one ceased the other had to be recalled? It was all, yes, all your humanity could endure. How would it have been had the heavenly mandate gone forth that, with your own hand, you must sacrifice that life? Well earned the title “father of the faithful;” but oh how unworthily we bear the name of children!

Dr. Judson, whose name is ever dear to the true missionary, possessed a spirit of faithfulness akin to that of the patriarch Abraham. Alone upon the treacherous waves he searches for truth, and when it is found decides that God must be obeyed, even at the sacrifice of every earthly friend or hope.

We admire the look of implicit trust expressive of the little child's confidence reposed in a parent, as the upturned face, unquestioning, sanctions that which is most dreaded because father or mother think best. We are commanded: “Be ye followers of God as dear children.”

Faith is not sight, but one step out beyond the precipice whose furthermost edge is the boundary line circumscribed by human vision. God, in his infinite wisdom, veils all the region beyond. We hear many say, Had I known the trials which were before me, I could never have lived to endure them; and many more whose close shut lips reveal naught of the internal fires which are gradually consuming the life, testify that it was infinite love as well as wisdom, which called them forth “not knowing.” The chastening rod falls. None need tell us it is a serpent, for its venomous sting is felt in our inmost souls; but, looking beyond its unsightly proportions, we see the Father's hand; and pressing it to our lips, saying, “Thy will, not mine, be done,” transforms it into a branch of budding beauty.

Almost faithless, we ask for what we scarcely expect, and awaken to hide with shamefacedness and humility as the blessing we desired, but hardly dared hope for, comes gently down.

The pen of inspiration, after recording, in the eleventh chapter of Hebrews, the wonderful examples of faith never to be surpassed in succeeding ages, adds: “Of whom the world was not worthy.” No doubt there were robes of royal purple and crowned heads then; but Heaven draws finer distinctions than mortals know, and “those who wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented,” shall stand high on the roll of honor when earth's proudest dignitaries have long been forgotten. If the thought of that sublime old-fashioned faith overawes us now, how shall it be when the Master comes in to view the guests?

When these earthly mists receding Leave us with the Lord alone, In his kingly garb, not pleading Then before the Father's throne, We shall see, as now we cannot, And shall know as we are known. Shall we quail beneath the sentence Of the great Jehovah's Son, Or accept in joyful silence, Those thrice blessed words, “Well done”?

MARY MARTIN.

West Rindge, N. H.