September 13

Peace amid turmoil

“And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Phil. 4:7).
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27).

And there was calm! O Savior, I have proved
That Thou to help and save art really near.
How else this quiet rest from grief, and fear,
And all distress? The cross is not removed;
I must go forth to bear it as before,
But leaning on Thine arm, I dread its weight no more.
—Frances Ridley Havergal.

Nothing for a moment broke the serenity of Christ’s life on earth. Tempest and tumult met Him everywhere, until outwardly His life was one of the most troubled that was ever lived. But the inner life was a sea of glass. The highest tranquility, serenity and peace of mind were always there. It was at the very time when the bloodhounds were dogging Him in the streets of Jerusalem, that He turned to His disciples and offered them, as a last legacy, “My peace.” If the meagerness of human language fails to convey to a blind man the vastness of that ocean which lies in the hollow of the Creator’s hand, how much more is its poverty seen when it attempts to set forth, in an inexperienced soul, all that is meant by God’s perfect peace.


It is the deep tranquility of a soul resting wholly upon God, in contrast with the unrest and anxiety engendered by a self-centered and worldly spirit. Jesus calls it, “My peace,” in contrast with the hollowness of what the world calls peace. The world’s peace is determined by outward things, and is as changeable as external conditions. But the peace of God changes not. It is not fitful and transient, but an abiding and ever-increasing reality. Ecstatic joy fluctuates like the waves of the sea, but peace flows on without interruption, like a river ever flowing and full.
(From New Testament Holiness by Thomas Cook. Used by permission of the Epworth Press).

Like a river glorious
Is God’s perfect peace,
Over all victorious
In its bright increase;
Perfect, yet it floweth
Fuller ev’ry day:
Perfect, yet it groweth
Deeper all the way.
—F. R. Havergal.

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