Peace as a River

This is a peace which no man can attain unto except the man who hearkens to the commandment, “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.” But if you hearken to that commandment and believe in the Son of God, you shall have peace and that peace shall be like a river.

The metaphor is full of beauty and not lacking in instructiveness either, by which peace is compared to a river. What does this mean? I think it may suggest several things. Peace like a river, for continuance. Look at it, rising as a little brook among the shingles of that green hill, it comes dashing down a rugged cataract. It flows along that valley yonder, where the red deer wanders and where the child loves to play. It turns the village mill. Hearken to its babblings as it flows onward, sometimes leaping adown the wheel, and at other times flinging carelessly its strength to the winds.

Now it becomes broad and deep, and many a large and heavy craft floats upon it. Then it swells its bosom—bridges with noble arches span it, and then it becomes an estuary, like a great arm of the sea, and pours its torrents into old father Ocean. It continues. It is not a thing of today which is gone tomorrow, but it proclaims its own constancy.

“Men may come, and men may go, But I flow on for ever.”

Forever, throughout all generations, the river speeds to its destined place. Such is the peace of the Christian. He is always at peace. He has not peace like a swollen torrent which is dried up under some hot sun of adversity, but his peace is with him at all times.

Do you inquire for the Thames? You shall find it flowing in its own bed in the thick black night, as well as in the clear bright day. You shall discover the Thames when it mirrors the stars or sends back the sheen of the moon, as well as when multitudes of eyes gaze upon it at midday. You shall see the Thames in the hour of tempest by the lightning’s flash, as well as in the day of calm when the sun shines brightly on it. Ever it is there.

And such is the Christian’s peace. Come night, come day, come sickness, come health, come what will, this peace which passes all understanding will keep the Christian’s heart and mind, through Jesus Christ. Like a river it always flows on—no matter what the scenery on its banks, it does not stop. Here is a hill, and there a dale, here the dry and thirsty sand, and there, again, the fat and laughing fields, but the river is still the same.

And so with the Christian. Today he abounds—tomorrow he is empty. One day he walks with manly stride, erect in health—another day he pines and tosses upon the bed of pain. Today men praise him and every man extols him in song. Tomorrow he is the butt of ridicule, and the subject of caricature, pointed at in the streets, and despised.

Today he lives. Tomorrow he dies. But his peace is still the same. Like a river, no matter what the banks which overlook it, or what the weather which overcasts it, still it is the same. Such is the deep calm which pervades the Christian’s spirit. It is a continual thing, a peace with which the world cannot endow, a peace of which the world cannot deprive, but a peace still unto which the Christian is called, and it abides with him evermore. Since the day I learned to wear in my buttonhole the Heart’s-ease plucked from God’s garden, my soul can laugh all men to scorn who find comfort elsewhere. And this peace is “peace like a river” for freshness too. The water which runs down the Thames, say at Maidenhead, never was there before. It is fresh water, fresh from the hills today, and tomorrow it is the same, and the same the next day—always fresh supplies from the heart of old England to keep her glorious river swelling and abounding.

Now the peace which a Christian has is always fresh, always receiving fresh supplies. We found peace at first through the precious blood of Christ. We have sinned since then, but we have gone anew to the fountain, and have washed again and again. We have had doubts and fears. These at first were dispersed by a sight of Christ—we have fresh views of our glorious Savior and His completed work, and so the river goes on receiving fresh supplies.

The Spirit of God was our Comforter ten years ago. Ah! grey-headed man, he was your Comforter, perhaps, before I was born. Ere this babbling tongue had touched any man’s conscience, you had rested on the cross of Christ, and the Spirit had said, “Peace be unto thee.” The whole of these forty years you have had fresh anointings, fresh unction from on high, and so your continued peace has been like a river. Do not suppose, O you who are strangers to these things, do not suppose that the Christian gets a peace like the striking of a match, which goes out in a moment. Oh! no. It is the steady shining of a fixed star, not the blaze of a meteor in an autumn evening, but the shining of the brightest lamp which never goes out, and never goes down. Happy that Christian who has fresh floods of peace, peace like a river for the freshness of its streams.

And you know, brethren, that a river increases in breadth and its waters augment their volume. You can leap across the Thames, say, at Cricklade or Lechlade—it is so tiny a little brook you may almost take it up in a cup. There is a narrow plank across which laughing village girls go tripping over. But who thinks of laying down a plank across the Thames at Southend or at Grays? Who would imagine that at Gravesend it might be crossed by the tripping girls or by the skipping lambs?

No, the river has grown—how deep! At the mouth of it, I suppose, comparable to the sea—how broad! It is a sort of ocean in miniature. There go the ships and that leviathan might play therein. Not behemoth himself, methinks, would have the presumption to suppose that he could sniff up this Jordan at a draught, for it has grown too great for him.

Such is the Christian’s peace. Pure and perfect though it is at the first, little temptations seem to mar it. Oftentimes the troubles of this life threaten to choke it. Not that they ever do.

“Men may come, and men may go, But it flows on for ever.”

True, it seems little at the point of its rise. But be not deceived. Wait. When the Christian is ten years older, and has meandered a few more miles along the tortuous course of a gracious experience, his peace will be like a broad river. Wait twenty or thirty years, till he has traversed these rich lowlands of fellowship with Christ in His sufferings, and conformity to His death, then his peace will be like a deep river, for he shall know the peace of God which passes all understanding.

And he will have cast all his care upon God, who cares for him. Thus that peace will go on increasing till it melts into the infinite peace of the beatific vision, where— “Not a wave of trouble rolls Across the peaceful breast.”

Well, therefore, may our peace be likened to a river for its perpetual increase. Yet once more, the peace of the Christian is like a river, because of its joyful independence of man. We have heard the story of a simpleton who went to see the reputed source of the Thames, and putting his hand over the little rivulet that came trickling down the ditch, he stopped it, and said, “I wonder what they are doing at London Bridge now that I have stopped the river?”

His idea was that as he had stopped its flow, all the barges were high and dry, the steamers breaking their backs on the sandbanks, and nobody knowing what consequences might ensue, because he had stopped the Thames. But who knew the difference?

A child takes into its hand its cup of water, and blows it, and the whole surface undulates with little waves, but where are the giant lips which could blow the Thames, and cause waves upon its bosom? Steadily, pleasantly, laughingly, the river flows on, gliding beneath the majestic castle of monarchs, and sporting past the bowers of the muses, careless altogether what men of might do or men of intellect think.

A whole Parliament could not make the Thames swell with waves and fifty Parliaments could not lessen the body of its waters. It were well, by the way, if they could preserve its streams from the pollution of those foul and putrid sewers constantly emptied into it. The rivers would be better without the interference of men. Such, then, is the Christian’s peace.

I have watched this river as it broke over the stones of adversity. And when the tide of earthly comfort ran low, it has seemed as if the flow of peace were clearer and more transparent than ever. Some of you may have said, “I wonder whether such a brother will be as peaceful when he is lying on his sick bed, as he used to be when he joined our Sabbath services.”

You go and you will find his peace abounds in the hour of need. Perhaps you hardly expected that another dear friend could bear the loss of his situation, and thus come down, as it were, in the world. But to your amazement he tells you how he is just beginning to learn Habakkuk’s song—“Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will joy in the God of my salvation.” The devil cannot rob us of the peace which comes from God, neither can the world take it away. O Christian, what a comfort it is for you to think that if all the powers of darkness should be in arms against you, they cannot destroy your peace which is in Christ Jesus the Lord. Only let God be with you and your peace of mind would still be like a river. It would still be like a sea of glass, which is not to be ruffled at all.

Glorious in deed and in truth is the Christian’s independence. Some Christians call themselves “Independents.” I believe we are all very dependent upon God, and therefore we shall never be Independents in that respect. But at the same time, every Christian is so entirely independent of man when he leans upon his God, that we may every one of us be Independents. We can afford to defy the world to do its best or its worst to stay the tide of our joy, when He causes our peace to flow like a river. What would some of you give to have such a peace as this—that you could go to bed with peace, and not be afraid of sleeping your last, and wake up with peace fearing no ill. That you could go to business not afraid of evil tidings, because your heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord? What would you give to have a great lump of sunshine put into your bosom, which you might break up and sprinkle over all your days and nights? Yet such peace you shall have if you hearken to God’s commands.

That you have it not is our regret tonight. Alas! alas! for you, that you have not listened to His commandment, which is, “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” For if you had hearkened to it, then the blessing would be yours, and the sweet enjoyment thereof would tranquilize your minds while it caused a tide of pleasure to stir up every grateful emotion of your heart.