At one time John Wesley found himself on a ship with some Moravian believers in the midst of a terrifying storm at sea. His life was dramatically impacted by observing in them an inexplicable peace amidst otherwise intense panic. Not unlike Paul and Silas who (at midnight in a prison cell) were praying and singing hymns to God, these Spirit filled believers were singing the high praises of God in the midst of the storm.

Wesley wrote in his journal:

“In the midst of the Psalm wherewith their service began, the sea broke over, split the main-sail in pieces, covered the ship and poured in between the decks, as if the great deep had already swallowed us up. A terrible screaming began among the English. The Germans calmly sung on. I asked one of them afterwards; ‘Were you not afraid?’ He answered, ‘I thank God, no.’ I asked: ‘But were not your women and children afraid?’ He replied mildly: ‘No, our women and children are not afraid to die.’” The storm was boisterous, but the Moravians kept praising God. Finally, the storm subsided.”

John Wesley was never the same, and he would eventually come to know this same peace that he had observed in those Moravian brethren.

A.W. Tozer once said, “’A scared world needs a fearless church.” By the power of the Holy Spirit in these last days, may the world behold in us the beauty of a peace which passes understanding, a calm that cannot be explained, a love that casts out all fear. May they see in us evidence of a citizenship that is in heaven—not of this world. And may this cause them to long not only for this peace, but for the Author of peace Himself, the God who has purchased us by the blood of His Son.

As the return of Jesus the Rightful Ruler of this world draws near, and as the birth pains increase, may our attention be not on the storms but on the One who the winds and the waves obey. As Oswald Chambers once said, “On the top of those very billows which look as if they would overwhelm us, walks the Son of God.”

May the Holy Spirit give us eyes for Jesus only.

May the Lamb receive the reward for His sufferings in our lives.

The idea that if you are filled with the Spirit you are immediately going to be an outstanding success is totally contradicted by our Lord.

Do you know He died out of longing for you, and He longs to be longed for. He wants to be wanted, not for anything He will bring or give, but just for Himself. He made us for Himself.

“His thoughts said, The way is rough.

His Father said, But every step bringeth thee nearer to thy home.

His thoughts said, The fight is fierce.

His Father said, He who is near to his Captain is sure to be a target for the archers.

His thoughts said, The night is long.

His Father said, But joy cometh in the morning.”

— Amy Carmichael

“Let it come to you now as from Jesus. Forget that it is spoken by the minister, or written in the text. Hear it only as spoken by Jesus, by that same Jesus who has redeemed you from death and hell by his most precious blood. He addresses it to you rather than to others…

I want the enquiry to come to my own soul and to yours this morning, as if Jesus really stood before each one of us, and again said, “Lovest thou me?”…No outward religiousness renders this enquiry needless. Are we professors of religion, are we very constant in attending to outward forms of worship? Do we enter very heartily into all the public exercises of God’s house? Yes, but there are thousands who do that, hundreds of thousands who do that every Lord’s-day, and yet they do not love Christ!

…We know others to whom the end-all and be-all of religion is an orthodox statement of doctrine. So long as the preaching is according to the confession of faith, and every word and act is piously correct, they are well pleased; but no love to Jesus ever stirs their bosoms; religion to them is not an exercise of the heart at all — it is mere brain work, and hardly that. They know nothing of the living soul going out towards a living person, a bleeding heart knit to another bleeding heart, a life subsisting on another life and enamoured of it. We know brethren who carry this very far, and if the preacher differs from them in the merest shade, they are overwhelmed with pious horror at his unsoundness, and they cannot hear him again: even if he preach Christ most preciously in all the rest of his discourse, it is nothing, because he cannot sound their “Shibboleth.”

What is orthodoxy without love, but a catacomb to bury dead religion in. It is a cage without a bird; the gaunt skeleton of a man out of which the life has fled. I am afraid that the general current of church life runs too much towards externals, and too little towards deep burning love to the person of Christ.

If you preach much about emotional religion, and the heart-work of godliness, cold-blooded professors label you as rather mystical, and begin to talk of Madame Guyon and the danger of the Quietist school of religion. We would not mind having a little spice of that, even if we were blamed for it, for after all the realizing of Christ is the grand thing. The faith which is most blessed is faith which deals most fully with the person of Jesus Christ, the truest repentance is that which weeps at a sight of his wounds, and the love which is most sweet is love to the adorable person of the Well-beloved.

I look upon the doctrines of grace as my Lord’s garments, and they smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia. I look upon his precepts as his sceptre, and it is a rod tipped with silver; and I delight to touch it and find comfort in its power. I look upon the gospel ordinances as the throne upon which he sits, and I delight in that throne of ivory overlaid with pure gold; but oh, his person is sweeter than his garments, dearer than his sceptre, more glorious than his throne; he himself is altogether lovely, and to love HIM is the very heart’s core of true religion.

…You may have all the externals of outward religiousness, and yet the secret of the Lord may not be with you. It will be vain…to love the wedding-feast but not the Bridegroom. Do you love HIM? that is the question. “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?”

 — Charles Haddon Spurgeon, 1876.

“Once near Kailas, I asked directions to the nearest village. Out of spite, the villagers deliberately sent me down a dangerous jungle path. As night came on, I came to a river that blocked my path..I could hear the sounds of wild animals nearby. With no way to cross the river, I sat down and prayed, thinking that the end of my life was at hand.

When I looked up, I saw a man on the other side of the river beside a fire. He called to me: “Do not be afraid! I am coming to help you.” I was astonished to see him wade purposefully across the swift river. Coming up to me, he said, “Sit on my shoulders and have no fear.” As easily as before, he walked straight across the current with me on his back. He set me down on the far bank, and as I walked beside him, both he and the fire disappeared.”

— Sadhu Sundar Singh

“When you come to the edges of yourself and you see the limits of your love, your generosity, and your willingness to give of yourself…instead of despair, just whisper a prayer to the God who loves you. He’ll do for you, in you, and through you what you cannot do for yourself. He never rolls His eyes or breathes a heavy sigh when it He looks at you. He loves you. May you–right in the midst of your limits and your need–look to Jesus who intends to finish what He started in you. May you focus more on His goodness than on your ‘badness’ because He’s better than you know and loves you more than you can comprehend. Walk freely today, knowing you (like the rest of us) are a work in progress. And you get to be; without the condemnation. Blessings on your day this day!”

— Susie Larson

“One morning I stood outside the large iron gate of a local police court and temporary prison.  There were people waiting there, some out of curiosity, and some because they had a relative inside.

I waited expectedly for the opening of the gate. I heard the shuffling of heavy feet. They came close.  Then I heard sounds of loud voices, and one especially that got louder and more shrill. It was the voice of a woman.

The gates opened wide, and I witnessed a sight, which, if eternity could wash away from my mind, time never can.  It was a woman. Two policeman walked in front and two behind. One stalwart man firmly held the right arm and the other the left.  Her hair was uncombed and matted and disheveled. Her right temple was blackened with bruises.  Clots of dried blood stood upon her left temple. Her clothes were torn and bloodstained.  She tried to wrench her arms from the grasp of the policemen.

The very atmosphere of the morning was laden with her curses and oaths. She tossed her head wildly as the six policemen dragged her down the passageway.

What could I do?  One more moment, and the golden opportunity to be of help would be gone.  Could I offer a prayer?  No, there was not time. Could I sing? It would be absurd. Could I give her money?  She could not take it. Could I quote a verse of Scripture?  She would not heed it.

Whether it was a divine suggestion or not I did not stop to think, but the impulse of a burning desire which filled my heart as she passed made me step forward and kiss her on the cheek.

Whether the police were taken off their guard by my extraordinary action and relaxed their grasp, I do not know, but with one wrench she freed her arms and clasped her hands as the wind spread her matted disheveled hair, and she looked toward the gray skies and said, “My God!”

She looked around wildly for a moment and then said, “My God, who kissed me?  My God, who kissed me? Nobody has kissed me since my mother died.”  Lifting her tattered apron, she buried her face in her hands, and like a little lamb she was led to the vehicle which took her to prison.

Later I went to the prison in the hope of seeing her, and at the door stood the warden.  When I approached the warden, he said, “We think her mind is gone.  She does nothing but pace up and down her cell asking me every time I go in if I know who kissed her.”

“Would you let me go in and speak to her?” I asked.  “I am her only and best friend …”

The door was opened and I slipped in.  Her face was clean, her eyes were large and beautiful, and she said, “Do you know who kissed me?”

And then she told me her story:

“When I was a little girl seven years old my widowed mother died.  She died very poor, although she was of genteel birth. She died in a back basement in the dark.  When she was dying she called me to her, took my little face in her hands, and kissed it, and said to me, ‘My poor little girl, — my defenseless little girl.  O God, have pity on my little girl, and when I am gone protect her and take care of her.’  From that day to this, nobody ever put a kiss upon my face until recently.”

Then again she asked me, “Do you know who kissed me?”

I said, “It was I who kissed you.”

Then I told her of Him whose life was so much more tender than mine could ever be and how He went to the cross and bore our sins upon Himself and was wounded for our transgressions that He might put the kiss of pardon upon our brow.

In Him she found light, and joy, and comfort, and salvation and healing and love.  Before she was released from the prison the warden testified not only to the change in her life, but to its beauty. She was made through Christ the means of salvation to numbers of others who were down as low as she had been and who had been bound with heavy fetters as those with which she herself had been bound.”

— Evangeline Booth

“The others in the house played cards and danced or had what they called a good time until long past midnight. I could not pray with those noises in my ears. To get up early to pray was not the answer, for once I was up, my mind went rushing on to my schoolteaching, which, by the way, I was finding difficult.

At last I hit on the plan of asking the Lord to wake me up at two o’clock in the morning, after the house had settled to quiet, when I would arise for an hour’s prayer and Bible study. This worked wonders. Always a sleepyhead, it was wonderful to me to be awakened each morning, as I was, and in the quiet of that still hour Christ became so real to me that often I felt I could have touched Him, if I but put out my hand.

I was learning what Dr. A. W. Tozer calls “the awareness of His presence.” It satisfied me as nothing on earth had ever done, and filled me with a joy of communion that is inexpressible. It was in this Arabia that I learned fellowship with Christ, a living Person-to-person fellowship which henceforth became dearer than anything else in life to me.”

— Isobel Kuhn