Shut in
by J. R. Miller
There are many people who belong to the "shut-ins." They
are found in fine city mansions—and in quiet country homes. They are found
in the dwellings of the rich—and in the cottages of the poor. They are
invalids who because of their broken health cannot any longer run the
race with the swift, or fight the battle with the strong They have found
have been wounded in the strife, and have fallen out of the ranks.
Passers-by on the street, sometimes see their faces at the window, pale and
bearing marks of suffering—but they no longer mingle with the hurrying
throngs nor take their places with the busy toilers. They are "shut in."
They represent many degrees of invalidism. Some of
them are almost entirely helpless. Here is one who for many years has not
lifted a hand nor moved a finger by her own volition. Here is one only
partially powerless, unable to walk—but having the use of hands and arms.
Here is another who has not sufficient strength for any active out-door
duty—but can move about the house and perform many a sweet ministry of love.
Thus these "shut-ins "embrace all degrees of suffering and of
helplessness—but they are alike in their inability to join the ranks of the
busy workers outside. They must stay indoors. In a sense, they are
prisoners in this great bright world, no longer free to go where they
would, or to do what they earnestly crave to do.
This book may find its way into the hands of some of
these "shut-ins," and it ought to have its message for them. The message
ought also to be one of cheer and gladness. I would like to
write for such "prisoners of the Lord"—a word that may carry comfort
and strength, that may be to them like a little flower sent in
from the outside—a token of sympathy laden also with fragrance from
the garden of the Lord.
In the account of the entering of Noah into the ark,
before the Flood came, we read that "the Lord shut him in." For quite
a year Noah and his family were "shut-ins," but it must have been a comfort
for them to know that the shutting of the door was not accidental—that
the Lord had done it. There was another comfort—it was very much better
inside than outside. Outside, there were great storms, wild
torrents and terrible destruction. No man could live in the rushing waters.
Within, there was perfect safety. Not a drop of rain dashed in; no wild
tempest swept through the door. The ark was a chamber of peace,
floating quietly and securely in the midst of the most terrible ruin the
world ever saw! The Lord's shutting in of his people was to save
them.
May we not say of every shut-in child of God, "The
Lord shut him in!" What the Lord does for his own people, can never be
unkindness, whatever it may seem to be. It is an infinite
comfort, therefore, to a Christian who is kept within doors by invalidism,
or other like cause—to be able to say, "It was the Lord who shut me in!" May
we not go a step farther and say of such "shut-ins" that the Lord has shut
them in—because it is better for them to be within than outside? No doubt
there is protection in such a condition. These prisoners of the Lord
are not exposed to the storms; it is always warm and safe where they are.
They are dwelling under the shadow of God's wing. They miss many of the
struggles with temptation, and many of the sterner conflicts of life—by
being shut in.
The ark was guided by an unseen Hand over the
trackless waters of the Deluge. It had no rudder, no pilot, no sail, no
chart—yet it struck no rock, was whelmed in no wild billows, moved in no
wrong course, and bore its "shut-ins" in safety to the shores of a new
world. May we not say that in like manner—all the "shut-ins" of God's people
are God's peculiar care? Are they not of those whom he gathers in his arms,
and carries in his bosom?
We are told that the Lord knows how to deliver the godly
out of temptation. May we not say that one of the ways he delivers from
temptation, is by shutting his people away from the rough blasts? No doubt
many a soul has been saved from the evil influences of worldliness, by being
called from the midst of the excitements and strifes of active life—into the
quiet shelter of invalidism. The chamber of suffering proves a
sanctuary rather than a prison.
But there are other comforts. It is a great deal better
to be shut in—than to be shut out! There are pictures of both classes in the
New Testament. In one of the parables of our Lord, the door was shut, and it
excluded some who came too late to be admitted; but the same door also shut
in with Christ, those who had entered in time. No condition could be more
suggestive of blessedness, than to be shut in with the Master! The closed
doors are pledge that there can be no interruption of the communion.
Christ's "shut-ins" have abundant opportunity for loving fellowship with
him. Their sick rooms are not prisons—but Bethels where Christ
comes to meet with them and to bless them! It is not strange, therefore,
that many of the quiet rooms where Christ's disciples are shut in—are places
of great joy. Faith triumphs over pain. The darkness brings out the
stars of promise, and they shine in radiant beauty. Because of
infirmity—the power of Christ rests in especial measure upon his suffering
ones, and they are enabled to rejoice in their very tribulations!
Their joy is rich and deep. It is not the rippling
surface-happiness of those outside, who have no pain and are free to
go where they will—and to do as they desire. It is heart-joy
which does not depend upon external things, and is therefore unaffected by
external experiences.
One great sufferer will remain as permanent enrichment of
the characters of those who loved her. One effect of her suffering, was in
the influence of her sweet patience. She never murmured; her faith was never
clouded for an instant; she was gentle, thoughtful, joyous, even in the
sorest pain. Thus she was preaching perpetually sermons without words,
on the power of the love and grace of God, and thus became a blessing to
everyone who entered her room and looked upon her radiant face.
From very humble life, there comes this moving incident
which illustrates the same truth: In a pottery, there was a workman
who had one small invalid child at home. The man wrought at his trade with
exemplary fidelity. He managed, however, to bear each evening to the bedside
of his "wee lad" a flower, a bit of ribbon or a fragment of crimson
glass—anything which would give color to the plain room. He never went home
at night without something which would make the ashen face light up with joy
at his return. Eventually, the other potters were drawn into real though
unconscious sympathy with him. They made curious little jars and cups, and
painted pictures on them, and burnt them in their kilns. One brought some
fruit, and another some engravings in a scrapbook. Not one of them whispered
a word, for this solemn thing was not to be talked about. They put their
little gifts in the old man's hat, and he found them there and understood it
all. The entire pottery of men, of rather harsh tempers by nature, grew
gentle and kind as the months passed; some stopped swearing as the weary
look on their patient fellow worker's face, told them beyond mistake, that
the inevitable death of his son was drawing nearer. Every day someone did a
piece of work for him, so that he could start later and leave earlier. And
when the death-bell tolled and the little coffin came out of the lonely
door, there stood a hundred stalwart workingmen from the pottery with their
clean clothes on, losing their wages from work, for the privilege of
following to the grave, that little child whom probably not one of them had
ever seen.
This incident illustrates the refining, softening
influence which went out from even a child's sick room and touched a hundred
men.
All over the country, there are other chambers of
suffering, from which there goes out continually, a power which makes men
and women quieter, gentler, more thoughtful and kind. Thus God's "shut-ins"
are means of grace ofttimes to whole communities.
It is known to many, that there is a most helpful system
of communication established among invalids over this country, with these
objects: 1. To relieve the weariness of the sick room by sending and
receiving letters and other tokens of remembrance; 2. To testify of the love
and presence of Christ in suffering and privation; 3. To pray for one
another at set times; 4. To stimulate faith, hope, patience and courage in
fellow sufferers by the study and presentation of Bible promises. This
simple exchanging of consolation among hundreds and thousands of "shut-ins"
throughout the country, is in itself a ministry whose helpfulness never can
be estimated. Whatever tender comfort one finds, is passed to others, that
they may share it. Strong friendships are formed between those who have
never met. The hearts of all the great scattered company are drawn into
loving sympathy, as they think of and pray for one another.
Those who are happy and strong, rejoicing in health and
in physical freedom, should never forget these "shut-ins." There are some of
them in every community. There are many ways in which strength and comfort
may be sent to them. A kindly letter now and then, full of cheer and
affection, may be like an angel's visit to a weary sufferer. Or the
thoughtfulness may be shown by sending a book, or some flowers, or a little
basket of fruit, or other token of love. In some cases, personal visits are
also practicable. There is some way, at least, in which everyone may do a
little to lighten the burden of invalidism, in some weary sufferer; and
surely of all such Jesus will say, "You did it unto me!"