PEACE ON EARTH by T. L. Cuyler

Seventh-Day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Thursday, January 29, 1880

FromThe Review and Herald, Vol. 55, No. 5

PEACE ON EARTH.

By T. L. Cuyler

“PEACE I leave with you; my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you.” Who said that? Who is so bold as to set himself up in superiority to the whole world? He is the meekest man in all Jerusalem, and one of the poorest. Not a rood of real estate does he hold the deed of; he has not probably a single silver shekel in his scrip. His attendants are a handful of fishermen, publicans, and others of like humble rank. Within twenty-four hours even they will all “forsake him and flee.”

Yet this homeless person, under the ban of the Sanhedrim as an impostor, makes the most royal legacy that was ever bequeathed to mortals! An emperor can bequeath his crown; but Sedan destroys the crown, and a savage’s spear impales the heir. A millionaire bequeaths his vast treasures; but his chief legacy is perverted to other uses, and even his bones find no rest in their sepulcher. Such mockeries do last wills and testaments often prove to be. But Jesus Christ bequeaths not only what he owns in fee simple, but is able to confer and secure in everlasting possession.

“My peace” is what Jesus gives to every one who is willing to accept it. It was his own peace,—such deep tranquillity of soul as he maintained amid all the trials, humiliations, and bitter oppositions which he had to encounter. None of these things moved him, and the peace which many of Christ’s heirs enjoy, is secured to them under the sharpest stress of afflictions. One of them enjoys it on a bed of torturing pain; another sings her sweet psalm of contentment in a garret, or in the ward of an infirmary; still another keeps it as a calm strengthener under insult and reproach. It gives soft sleep after a day of trial; it often breaks out in songs in the night.

The peace which Jesus bequeaths to every true believer may be said to comprise all needful good; so comprehensive is it in its blessings, so rich and abundant in its bestowments. First of all, it is the gift of an approving conscience. Nothing torments like sin. A guilty conscience can fill a palace with specters (as it did Herod’s) and can drive slumber from a bed of down. When conscience is brought into harmony with God, it is a wonderful comforter. Then, too, Christ can subdue unruly passions; his grace can check unhallowed desires. It is the gnawing of unsatisfied desire which devours some people’s souls like a vulture. The sweetest, richest peace of all is peace with God, and this is conferred by the crucified Saviour in its fullness. What can compare with the tranquillity of a soul justified before God? To such a man there is no condemnation. His sins are blotted out; his guilt is taken away; his title to Heaven is secure as long as he holds fast to his omnipotent Lord. No good thing will God withhold from him as long as he walks uprightly. Everything works for good in the end, unto him who loves God and is called unto his high calling. He rolls his burdens on Christ, and is relieved from distressing anxieties. In short, all things—i.e., all the real things, all the best things—are his, and he is Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.

Well might the legacy-giver of Calvary say that “not as the world giveth give I unto you;” for this world bestows very meagerly. It promises much, and gives but little. When the richest man who has died in New York within my memory, was on his dying bed, he asked his attendants to sing for him. They sang the familiar old revival hymn, “Come, ye sinners, poor and needy.” The dying millionaire said to them, in a plaintive tone, “Yes, please sing that again for me. I am poor and needy.” Ah! what could fifty millions of railway securities and bank stocks do for him on the verge of eternity? One verse out of the fourteenth chapter of John could bring him more peace than all the mines of California, multiplied by all the bonds in the National Treasury. “Poor and needy” was he! I count that one of the most pathetic sayings that ever fell from dying lips.

This world gives very deceitfully. It pretends that it can satisfy the soul, and then cheats every one who trusts it. Instead of giving solid contentment, it only gives restless, feverish desire for more. Its medicines only increase the fever; its draughts inevitably increase the thirst. Whenever I see a little marble ball tossed up on the jet of a fountain, and as often as it drops, caught up again and tossed anew, I say to myself: There is a picture of the life of a money-worshiper or a greedy place-hunter. Never at rest one moment. In one hour up, in the next one down, and in his highest point never secure from a tumble. Yet tens of thousands are choosing just such a restless, wretched life, and wondering all the while why they cannot succeed in being happy. Would to God that all the worshipers of Mammon, and all the pleasure-seekers who throng the saloons of mirth, would only give ear to that calm, divine voice which says, “My peace I am ready to give unto you. Not as this poor, lying, deceitful world gives; for what I bestow, can never be taken away.”

The whole methods and results, as practiced by Christ, are just the opposite of those attempted by the world. The policy of the worlding is to get rich by accumulation. The policy of Christ’s followers is to get rich by renouncing. Get all you can, and keep what you’ve got, is the world’s motto. Christ’s maxim is, “He that is not willing to leave all and follow me cannot be my disciple. It is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” I have always observed that a human soul gets rich not “by what it takes up, but by what it gives up.” True peace of mind belongs only to the self-renouncing spirit. This world’s boasted successes often prove to be wretched failures; but no genuine godly life was ever a failure. Its losses are turned into gains; its crosses are wrought into crowns of glory. The peace which sin promises is a mockery. The peace which Jesus bestows passeth all understanding, and is insured beyond all contingencies. Old Matthew Henry sums up the difference between the legacy which Christ offers, and that which the worldling covets, in these terse words, “This world’s peace begins in ignorance, consists with sin, and ends in endless sorrows. Christ’s peace begins in grace, consists with denial of all sin and lust, and ends in everlasting joy and blessedness.”

The will and testament made by the atoning Saviour never can be set aside or broken. All the powers of hell cannot cheat the humblest child of Jesus out of his legacy. Every human being, lofty or lowly, prince or pauper, is invited to become an heir. The estate is large enough to supply a universe of sinners with an eternity of bliss. At Christ’s right hand are treasures and pleasures forevermore. But if I am an heir to all this untold wealth, what a grateful creature I ought to be! How ready to consecrate my time, labor, and influence to the service of my Divine Benefactor! And the more entirely I can consecrate everything to Him, the more of Heaven’s glorious peace I shall enjoy in advance.—T. L. Cuyler, in Independent.