August 14, Evening
C. H. Spurgeon · Modern retelling
"I know their sorrows." — Exodus 3:7 · KJV
The child is cheered as he sings, "This my father knows"; and shall we not be comforted to see that our dear Friend and tender soul-husband knows all about us? He is the Physician, and if He knows all, there is no need that the patient should know. Hush, you silly, fluttering heart, forever prying and suspecting! What you do not know now, you shall know hereafter; and meanwhile Jesus, the beloved Physician, knows your soul in its adversities. Why must the patient analyze every medicine or weigh every symptom? That is the Physician's work, not mine; my business is to trust, His to prescribe. If He writes His prescription in strange characters I cannot read, I will not be uneasy, but rely on His unfailing skill to make all plain in the result, however mysterious in the working. He is the Master, and His knowledge is to serve us instead of our own; we are to obey, not to judge, for "the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth." Shall the architect explain his plans to every laborer on the works? If he knows his own intent, is that not enough? The clay on the wheel cannot guess to what pattern it shall be shaped, but if the potter understands his art, what does the ignorance of the clay matter? My Lord must not be cross-questioned by one so ignorant as I am. He is the Head, where all understanding centers. What judgment has the arm? What understanding has the foot? All the power to know lies in the head; why should the limb have a brain of its own when the head performs for it every act of thought? Here, then, let the believer rest his comfort in sickness — not that he can see the end himself, but that Jesus knows all. Sweet Lord, be forever eye and soul and head for us, and let us be content to know only what You choose to reveal.