RESTING NOT RUSTING by Cuyler

Publishing Committee · Battle Creek, Mich. · May 14, 1861

RESTING NOT RUSTING.

By Cuyler

WHEN Christ promises to the believer a rest on earth as well as an enduring rest in heaven, he means something more than relief from the galling burdens of sin. He promises the repose of blessed activity in contrast with the repose of selfish indolence. In other words, the normal state of a healthy Christian is resting—not rusting.

We could hardly say of the waters of the dismal swamp that they are at rest; for theirs is anything else than the normal condition of that chrystal element as it came from the Creator's hand. That fetid mass of sluggish liquid, scummed over with green slime—stirred by no breeze and polished by no sunbeam—breeding malaria and death, is a vivid emblem of a selfish soul in the stagnation of a godless existence. But a running brook leaping to its own silvery music, prattling over the shining gravel, and sliding in and out over the sandy shallows—is not such a happy stream at rest? Stop it for a moment by throwing some obstruction across its flow, and it is at once in unrest, foaming and boiling its rage against the unwelcome hindrance. That stream is only at rest when running with obedient feet its heaven appointed course. Such is a healthy Christian's rest—the rest of willing, joyful obedience.

Perhaps my reader has seen that exquisitely constructed steam engine by which the dies are stamped at the United States mint in Philadelphia; it is the perfect poetry of mechanism. Would that machine be at rest if allowed to lie still until the devouring rust had corroded every wheel and gnawed away every spring and cunning valve? That would be only decay and destruction. But just look for a moment at the large fly-wheel of that matchless engine when at the top of its mazy speed. See—it swimming around so smoothly, so evenly, so silently on its polished axle that you can scarcely be sure that it is moving at all. You must watch it closely in order to detect its whirl. If you doubt it, just thrust a bar of wood or iron into its flying spokes, and the very havoc you make shows the violence you are doing to the natural and beautiful uniformity of its motion.

A converted heart is God's consummate moral mechanism, restored and re-arranged by the power of his grace. Left to prayerless inactivity, that soul would soon be overspread with rust. The affections would lose their luster. Faith would grow dim. Zeal for serving God and saving souls would slowly rot away. Covetousness would eat out the very life of devotion. Courage would give place to cowardice; indolence would palsy every sinew; selfishness would silently overspread with its hateful rust the unopened purse, the silent tongue, the unlifted hand, the unloving heart. On the other hand, that same converted man, if violently hindered in his free and holy activities, would feel—as Paul and John and Peter felt—wronged and persecuted. His whole spiritual power would rise up against and resent such opposition. For he is no more at rest in forced inaction than he would be in voluntary indolence. Neither one of them is his normal state as a healthful, happy child of God. There is no rest for him but in the full, steady flow of blessed activity.

The Bible abounds in paradoxical descriptions of the Christian. He is strong when he is weak. He is the most rich when he is "poor in spirit." He is loftiest when lying the lowest in the dust. So he is only at rest when he is thoroughly busy in God's service. This rest has been very happily styled the rest of equilibrium. For a redeemed soul's powers are at their right balance, and find their normal condition realized, only when in full play. You cannot give repose to a live Christian by tying up his hands or chaining him down on his back. Such a man can only reach a perfect serenity of spirit when in the full sail of godly activity—just as the swallow on the wing, while cleaving the air like an arrow, yet seems at rest, so gracefully poised is it on its outspread pinions.

Toil that is unfelt is no toil. Rather is it pleasure and joyful recreation. Study to an enthusiastic student is exquisite delight. Put Frederick Church or George L. Brown on the top of mount Washington just as the rising sun is lifting his golden horn over the peak of Katahdin, and begins to kindle every granite crag with glory, and the hardest labor would be for one of those children of genius to keep hands off the canvas. Whereas, every hour spent in transferring that gorgeous landscape with the pencil would be a joy beyond words.

Set it down, then, that no Christian is in a healthy spiritual state who does not find his purest rest in working for Jesus. To such a person the hardest work should be the finding nothing that he can do. As well might a true child of God try to be happy in the hold of a slave-ship as in a rusting, wretched state of do-lessness in the church. Blessed be the man who has found his work, and has surrendered himself to it! If he have toiled so unsuccessfully in any one line of labor that it has become a tiresome disappointment and drudgery, then, like Peter, let him "girt his fisher's coat about him," and go back to his Master for fresh orders. That Master will tell him where to cast his net; and as he draws in the glittering spoil upon the strand, he is ready to cry out "Lord, thou knowest that I love thee—and love thy work."

One of the best methods for a Christian to prevent either friction or corrosion in his spiritual work is to choose that line of activity for which he is best fitted, and in which his powers can find the freest and the fullest play. Then let him get his rest in his spiritual employments; let him blend his work and worship in the same routine of diligent and delightful duties. It will

then be as good as "meat and drink" to him to do his heavenly Father's will. The "oil of joy" will so lubricate all his mental powers that they will work smoothly and without friction; commonly until a good old age the healthy heart will be propelling the active brain and the busy hand. How beautiful are the lives thus spent in sweet harmony with the Creator's will!

Nor know we anything more fair Than is the smile upon their face; Flowers laugh before them on their beds, And fragrance in their footing treads.

These christian biographies are the most refreshing and instructive to us which have in them the most of rest and the least of rust. The life of him who said, "For me to live is Christ," is a shining example. Paul could rest, but he could not rust. He never grew weary, for in the congenial nature of his labors he found a perpetual repose. And what is the rest of heaven but the exaltation of the soul beyond the reach of sin, and the occupation of the soul in the loftiest ministries of God's praise? The "many mansions" which Christ hath prepared at such infinite cost for his redeemed ones are no more lounging-places for celestial indolence—no Mohammedan paradise of sensuous delights. Every hand shall be busy. Every voice will find its part. Every faculty shall be engrossed. For the inspired delineator of heaven tells us that there "his servants shall serve him," and that "day and night" their ministries shall not cease. Unhampered by bodily weakness and untouched by bodily decay, the glorified saint shall pass through a cycle of never-ending activities, so exhilarating and delightful, so unwearying and so ever-fresh, that the Holy Spirit can use no term so descriptive as to style them "the REST that remaineth for the people of God." Reader, may it be yours and mine forever!—Cuyler.