THOUGHTS FOR SILENT HOURS by Rev. Ray Palmer, D. D.

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jul 15, 1880

THOUGHTS FOR SILENT HOURS.

By Rev. Ray Palmer, D. D.

THE CHRISTIAN PARADOX.

"As having nothing, and yet possessing all things." 2 Cor. 6:10.

I AM a creature of many wants. Whenever I withdraw myself from the occupations and excitements of the active world and begin to commune with my own thoughts, I become intensely conscious of it. I have, it is true, many inestimable blessings in my possession. God has not only given me existence and marvelously endowed me, but has also daily met me with rich gifts. If I would count up these, they are more in number than the sands upon the shore. I accept these mercies as from him, and enjoy them, recognizing, not without thankfulness, I trust, the goodness that has bestowed them. It is essential to my well-being that this goodness should be continued. No wisdom or power of mine can secure to myself even the most ordinary things on which my comfort and happiness depend. My wants for this outward, earthly life, however, are numerous and are perpetually returning.

But then, beyond all this, I have a world of inward needs that are distinctly and deeply felt. With all the intellectual and moral faculties on which I am naturally disposed to pride myself, I cannot shut my eyes against the fact that, in many respects, I am weak and helpless and dependent. I perceive myself to be a creature of yesterday, frail, mortal, a traveler through a world of illusions from which I am soon to pass to the great realities of the eternal future. In these circumstances a thousand questions are ever pressing on my mind. Apprehensions and anxieties arise. Hopes, fears, wishes, longings, continually fill my heart. Often with the dearest and tenderest friends about me I feel a certain loneliness of soul, an indefinable homesickness—like what one feels in a foreign land. It is something that no earthly companionships nor pleasurable conditions can remove. The world about me is full of interesting objects. I see and admire its order and beauty and its grand and imposing scenes; but neither these nor all the pursuits in which mankind naturally most delight, avail to satisfy my desires, so restless, so intense. On the contrary, they serve rather to suggest ever anew conceptions of things more pure and perfect, more exalted and sublime, and to awaken earnest aspirations towards them.

With this ever-recurring and painful sense of my pressing wants, I open the Bible and learn that I may pray. Yes, for me, a creature—and yet more, a sinful creature—there is free access to the infinite and eternal Father of the universe. I am allowed to come to him without embarrassment and to speak to him without fear. I need not feel that he is immeasurably removed from me by the grandeur of his being. The little child that seeks him is just as truly embosomed in his love as the first archangel. It is a part of his inconceivable perfection that he feels himself as nigh the least as the greatest of his creatures, and finds it as easy to attend to the one as to the other.

In Christ, moreover, I find him brought within my reach even after a human manner. God, in Christ and through his redeeming work, has become to me indeed a Father, accessible, tender, and ever ready to bless. Placing himself thus as if upon a level, he calls me to him, and I may speak with him as a man speaketh with his friend. He knows how to make me conscious of his presence, and to enable me to see love beaming in his eyes, and, as it were, to feel the beating of his heart. With this unlimited freedom of approach he grants permission to tell him all my wants, and even all my wishes—every secret thought and emotion of my soul; and binds himself, by the most explicit pledges, to grant me the richest blessings in answer to my requests. It is wonderful—this free access to God! It is just the thing I need. It would seem impossible for me to live with any degree of comfort if my heart might not effectually unburden itself in some way—if I must carry ever unrelieved the consciousness of my necessities. Yet I cannot open the inmost chambers of my soul to any, even to the dearest of fellow creatures. They can neither comprehend nor help me; but the Ever-blessed can do both. He can enter perfectly into all my circumstances, and appreciate every impulse of desire, every affection that arises or struggles for expression in my breast. He knoweth me altogether. It is the certainty of this that makes it easy to approach him in all my conscious need.

Yes, O Jesus, Lord! Thou hast at once infinite knowledge, power and love, and human experience and sensibility. Thou art the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express image of his person. Thou hast said: "Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name he will give it you; ask and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full!" Thou, thyself, in thy days of humiliation and mortal weakness, didst habitually pray. All thy faithful ones in every period of the world have prayed. It is permitted me to pray! I may speak to thee daily—hourly—as I will. Inestimable privilege! Without it the burden of my wants, my infirmities, my cares, were more than I could bear. Since thou hast said, Seek ye my face, my heart saith unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek!—Rev. Ray Palmer, D. D.