Things are not finished — as we see them today. Tomorrow they will appear larger, greater. The bud you see one morning — will be a full-blown rose in a little while. The seed you dropped in your window-box will be a beautiful plant by and by. Wherever there is life — there is growth. Every act has its consequences. We must always take account of the afterward.
The writer of Hebrews speaks of chastening: “My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves.”
People sometimes chafe when they have troubles. They fret and ask, “What have I done that God is punishing me?” But chastening is not punishing. “Our fathers disciplined us as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Afterward, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace.”
Jesus uses the figure of pruning. The wise gardener prunes every fruitful branch, not the unfruitful. Pruning is a mark of divine approval. “Whom the Lord loves — he chastens.” It is not any reckless cutting. The gardener knows what he is doing. It may seem destructive, but it is that it may bear more fruit.
One tells of a visit to a hot-house full of grapes. The owner said, “When my new gardener came, he said he’d cut the vines clear down to the stock; and he did. We had no grapes for two years. But this is the result.” Branches cut and bleeding — afterward, a vine bending under the load of fruit.
It is only when we learn the truth about life — that we are able to live with faith and courage. Many fall into despair amid disappointments and suffering. They see only the pain, the injustice, and the hardship — no light, no comfort. We must stand away from the immediate present and get a view from a remoter distance.
A visitor in Amsterdam went into the church tower to hear the famous chimes. All he heard was clanging noise. Yet at that moment, miles away, others were thrilled by the music. The place to hear chimes is not close — but where the clangor has softened into melody.
So it is with life. When we are in its midst — we hear only the jarring notes. “All chastening for the present seems not joyous but grievous.” But when we gain some distance, the music is sweet.
It is only afterward we understand God’s providences. “Now we see through a glass darkly; afterward we shall see face to face.” The things we think calamitous are blessings still green and bitter — not yet ripened.
Life is a school. All its experiences are lessons. God is educating us. The purpose is not ease — but character. Sometimes we chafe, thinking God harsh. But perhaps we can only attain godly character in the school of severity.
There are plants that would die in warmth — they must be kept in the cold. One paper told of a strange plant in Siberia that grows up out of ice. On the third day the extremities of the anthers show minute glistening specks like diamonds. These are the seeds. Is not this an illustration of Christian lives that grow in hardship into wondrous beauty?
Many of the noblest Christian characters grow in gardens of sorrow. Trial is not meant to stunt our lives. Some lives can never become Christlike without affliction. No hardness is too severe which teaches us to live worthily.
We must not dread the cost of life’s best things. We must have the ploughshare cutting through the ground — if we would have the harvest of golden grain. Every trial comes as the bearer of good. We cannot always see this today. But if not in this life, then in the eternal afterward we shall say, “Now I understand.”
Remember Joseph. Betrayed by his brothers, sold as a slave, imprisoned — yet afterward came honor and influence.
A rabbi once asked a child what she carried in her covered basket. She replied, “If my mother had wished anyone to know, she would not have covered it.” If God meant us to know all his plans, he would not have hidden them beneath sorrow.
We miss much by living only in the present. Hard conditions are part of the process to reach fineness of character, sweetness of spirit, strength, courage. We are short-sighted in trouble. We see only pain — not the mission or the fruit to come.
When trouble comes — it comes to make us better. We should not ask why we suffer, but rather what errand this pain has for us, what lesson it should teach us.
Someone told of the loss of a friend — not by death — but by betrayal. Yet there will be an afterward. You do not know what poison was hidden in the cup you thought filled with happiness. God removed it to spare you a deeper sorrow.
You cannot see it now — but the future is long. Somewhere in the eternal afterward, you will say: “Now I understand.”
J. R. Miller (1840-1912) was a pastor and former editorial superintendent of the Presbyterian Board of Publication from 1880 to 1911. His works are now in the public domain. This is an edited version of his original.
