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MY REDEEMER

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International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Apr 14, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 15.

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MY REDEEMER.

THERE is one word full of meaning from which we collect the truth of sympathy. It is that little word of appropriation, "my" Redeemer. Power is shown of God's attention to the vast sympathy, by his condescension to the small. It is not the thought of Heaven's sympathy which impresses us when we gaze through the telescope on the mighty world of space, and gain an idea of what is meant by infinite. Majesty and power are there, but the very vastness excludes the thought of sympathy. It is when we look into the world of insignificance which the microscope reveals, and find that God has gorgeously painted the atoms of creation and exquisitely furnished all that belongs to minutest life, that we feel that God sympathizes and individualizes.
When we are told that God is the Redeemer of the world, we know that love dwells in the bosom of the Most High; but if we want to know that God feels for us individually and separately, we must learn by heart this syllable of endearment, "my Redeemer." Child of God, if you would have your thought of God something beyond a cold feeling of his presence, let faith appropriate Christ. You are as much the object of God's solicitude as if none lived but yourself. He has counted the hairs of your head. In Old Testament language, he has put your tears into his bottle. He has numbered your sighs and your smiles. He has interpreted the desires for which you have not found a name nor an utterance yourself. If you have not learned to say, "my Redeemer," then just so far as there is anything tender or affectionate in your disposition, you will tread the path of your pilgrimage with a darkened and lonely heart; and when the day of trouble comes there will be none of that triumphant elasticity which enabled Job to look down, as from a rock, upon the surges which were curling their crests of fury at his feet, but could only reach his bosom with their spent spray.
—Rev. F. W. Robertson.