Let me speak to you, how kind a fellow-prisoner is Christ to me! Believe me, this kind of cross (that would not go by my door, but would needs visit me) is still the longer the more welcome to me. It is true, my silent, Sabbaths have been, and still are, as glassy ice whereon my faith can scarce hold its feet, and I am often blown on my back and off my feet with a storm of doubting. Yet truly, my bonds all this time cast a mighty and rank smell of high and deep love in Christ. I cannot, indeed, see through my cross to the far-end; yet I believe I am in Christ's books, and in his decree (not yet unfolded to me), a man triumphing, dancing and singing on the other side of the Red Sea, and laughing and praising the Lamb, over beyond time, sorrow, deprivation, prelates indignation, losses, want of friends, and death. Heaven is not a fowl flying in the air (as men used to speak of things that are uncertain); nay, it is well paid for. Christ's comprisement lieth on glory for all the mourners in Zion, and shall never be loosed. Let us be glad and rejoice that we have blood, losses and wounds to show our Master and Captain at his appearance, and what we suffered for his cause. [Samuel Rutherford]
Labels: Samuel Rutherford
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