FAIR WEATHER FAITH by T. L. Cuyler

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jan 1, 1861

FAIR WEATHER FAITH.

By T. L. Cuyler

BY T. L. CUYLER.

“How did you feel auntie, while the horses were running down hill?” “I trusted to providence till the breechin’ giv’ way, then I shut my eyes and giv’ up for lost! The good woman in question was not the only Christian whose faith held only by a strap. There are thousands who are precisely in this predicament. While business was thriving they trusted in God, and were ready to put some commercial confidence too in their fellow men. When political skies were clear, they could see the Almighty on his throne, and had some faith also in right, in freedom, and in national justice. But now when the great deeps are broken up, when the “Union” is foundering, and one State after another parts its cable, when the evil spirits of cowardice, cupidity, and compromise are all abroad on the air, these very men stand dumbfounded and panic-struck. That their faith in men’s common sense should be somewhat shaken is not strange. But that they so soon lose confidence in the very sheet-anchor of RIGHT, and begin to doubt the overruling, farseeing wisdom and love of their heavenly Father, is at once their disgrace and their danger.

But let us not say harsh things. We are all more or less weak on this very point. It is the easiest thing in the world for us all to exercise fair-weather faith. In times of civil quiet, of mercantile prosperity, of health and happiness, it is easy to trust God. When the wind blows favorably into my swelling canvass, and my well rigged bark flies like the sea-gull over the azure waters, why should I distrust the great disposer of winds and waves? When my business thrives why should I tremble for my daily bread? When the health of my household is perfect; when we can all gather around our table a happy, healthy, hungry group, and do justice to the steaming cakes, redolent of the buckwheat field and the bee-hive, who of us think of the great Physician? We are all believers then (if ever), and our confidence in God as a most kind, loving, and affectionate Father is complete. It costs us nothing to trust him. Neither is a prosperous Christian who walks in the sunshine of God’s favor, and feels the warmth of a clear assurance beaming in through every window of his soul,—neither is such an one often afflicted with distrust. His

danger lies in the opposite quarter. He is in peril of presumption and self-complacency. But not of distrust. We can all trust God in fair weather.

But if the tempest begin to marshal its cloud-squadrons into the skies; if the sun and stars appear not; if the sea lash into foam like an enraged lion; if great, green, greedy caverns open in the sea to swallow up our trembling bark, can we trust God then? Will the cheap confidence of the calm hold through the hurricane? There is the question; there is the true test of faith.

How often had the disciples gone out with the Master on Galilee's bosom, when the boat swam like a swan before the well pulled oar, and they felt no whispering of distrust. What faith had they then! But on that memorable night when the white caps came rolling and rioting from under the black cliffs of Gadara, and leaped into the shivering skiff, then the poor panic-stricken creatures began to shake the sleeping Saviour with the whimpering cry: "Carest thou not Master that we perish?" His rebuke is suited to just such times as these: "Oh, ye fearful ones, why have ye so little faith?"

For what is that trust good for that only abides with us in the bright hours of life? It is just as good as a lantern which should only shine when the sun is up, and then go out in the darkness. It is about as good as an anchor which only holds when the idle ship is swinging on the glassy swells of a quiet harbor. It is about as serviceable as the temperance of those men who are very abstinent when no wine "giveth its color" before their eye; or the patience of those who walk very lightsome when only feather weights are laid on their shoulders. Have we not seen a stout bravery in some pulpits, that threw its shot and shell across the globe into the sins of the Antipodes, and yet was all balm and honey toward the iniquity that sat in "purple and fine linen" in the 100 dollar pew right before the desk? Even of about as much worth is fair-weather faith.

The trust we need is a trust in integrity though every bank fail—a trust in freedom and justice though the Union should burst like a rocket in mid air—a trust in God, though desolation darken our fireside, and death dig a grave right beneath our couch or cradle. As Christians we must "trust God though he slay us." The faith we need is a lantern that will gleam the brighter as the night of trouble grows the darker,—a light unto our timid feet, a lamp unto our broken, up-hill pathway. The trust that honors God is a trust through thick and thin, through noon and midnight, through poverty and reproach, through prosperity and convulsions too, through hard words and hard blows, through threats of base men and the violence of evil spirits tormented before their time. And you, my poor desponding brother, bruised and broken, hanging your head like the bulrush under spiritual discouragement, you can be restored by only one medicine. You want the simple tonic of trust. Nothing else will cure that dyspepsia of the heart and quicken your appetite for God's word, and send a new glow over the wan cheek of your consumptive courage. You are well nigh useless now in your closet, in your home circle, in your church. Your faith has gone out. Cry mightily unto your Saviour: "Lord increase my faith." May God hear you, and give you a trust that will lean on him though the very earth were removed, and the mountains were cast into the midst of the sea. May you have the all-conquering confidence of him who wrote from a prison cell to his far away spiritual son—"the Lord stood with me and strengthened me; and the Lord shall deliver me from every evil work, and will preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever!"

He always wins who trusts in God, To him no trial's lost, God's will is sweetest to him when It triumphs at his cost.

Lord, not my will, but thine be done! My soul—from fear set free, Shall cast her anchor 'neath thy throne, And trust alone in thee.—Independent.