Quietness is Sustained by God's Promises

The grace of quietness of spirit is sustained by faith in God’s promises. The man of true faith is very far from considering the afflictions of God’s people the same thing with their being cast off and rejected. On the contrary, relying on God’s promises, he has not a doubt, that their trial will in due season be changed into redemption, and their mourning into victory. Abraham had his long day of trial; but his hopes deferred were ultimately satisfied and made rich in the gift of Isaac, “the son of promise.” The patriarch Joseph endured the severe trial of his faith in exile and imprisonments and in false accusations; but at length, in the language of the author of the Mute Christian, “he changed his iron fetters into chains of gold, his rags into royal robes, his stocks into a chariot, his prison into a palace.” David also was afflicted in his youth; but was victorious in age. He, who dwelt in caverns and made his pillow upon a rock, was at last seated upon the throne of Israel. Once the humble keeper of his father’s sheep, and known only in the solitudes of his native vallies, he became, in God’s time, the shepherd and ruler of a mighty people; great in his renown, great in his achievements, and greater still in being able to bear testimony to the favor and faithfulness of God. The man of faith understands this. He knows it all. It is written in letters uneffaceable on the centre of his heart. And is it strange, therefore, marking as he does the bow of promise in the dark cloud that overhangs him, that he should be resigned and quiet in spirit? “The steps of a good man,” says the Psalmist, “are ordered by the Lord; and he delighteth in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand.”

— from The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 13.

The Basis of Inward Quietness is Faith

The basis of this remarkable and interesting state of mind [that is, inward quietness] is FAITH. 

In the first place, it is faith, operating by love. That is to say, a faith in the character of God, which results in the restoration of love to God. Those, who believe God, love God; those, who believe him much, love him much; those, who believe perfectly, love perfectly. The sequence of love to faith, both in fact and degree, is not a mere matter of arbitrary choice or volition; but may rather be regarded as the result of a permanent and unchangeable law, a law which is true now and true always, which exists on earth and exists every where else. 

And we may add, that those, who love God as they ought to love him, cannot love other things otherwise than they ought to. The love of God in the heart, existing in accordance with the commandment, viz., thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, cannot fail to bring every desire, every affection, which has relation either to ourselves or to others, into subjection. Every desire, every affection, every tendency of our nature which is susceptible of a moral character, resumes, from that memorable moment, its true position. And when order is thus restored to the mind, by the reduction of every thing to its proper place, quietness of spirit exists and prevails as a necessary result. It is true it is no common love, which can effect this; and consequently it is no common degree of faith which gives rise to such love. But a grace so eminent as that of true quietness of spirit cannot be expected to exist where faith is weak.

In the second place, the grace of quietness of spirit is sustained by faith in God’s providences; or perhaps we should say more specifically, by faith in God’s presence in his providences. We have already had occasion to refer to this great practical doctrine, that, in the succession of God’s providences, God himself is hidden in the bosom of every event. He is there, although he is not always seen. He is there to watch and control, if he is not there to originate. So that we can truly say, that no event in his providence happens, without bringing God with it, and without laying his hand upon us. The man of faith, therefore, knows, (and he cannot know it without bringing it home to his own case,) that he, who is impatient with events, is impatient with God; he who frets at events frets at God; he, who is not acquiescent in events, is at war with God. In such a position he cannot, he dare not place himself.

— from The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 13.

Quietness Disturbed: Quietness in Semblance

Quietness of spirit is sometimes disturbed by our desires and efforts to do good. The danger from this source is undoubtedly less imminent than that from some other sources. It is true, however, that it really exists. Truly pious persons sometimes defeat their own object and do considerable injury by permitting the suggestions of grace to be controlled by the unbelieving zeal of nature, instead of being chastened and regulated by the oversight of grace added to grace. 

We admit that from time to time we meet with something, which looks like quietness of spirit, with something which is a semblance of it; which, nevertheless, has no foundation in the true and sanctified adjustment of the inward state. The inactivity of nature, to which we have reference in making this remark, is a very different thing, both in its origin and its manifestations, from the calm rest of grace. 

Natural quietude is the result of darkness; spiritual quietude is the child of light. The one does nothing, because it is too indolent and too selfish to do any thing, and its rest, therefore, bears the fatal mark of being a rest in its own will. The other, which does nothing in its own choice, does all things in God’s will, so that its rest is in God and not in itself. The one is the rest of a man, who, unconscious of his danger, is walking blindfolded on the brink of a precipice. The other is the conscious rest of a glorified spirit, who walks in peace, and with open vision, on the golden pavements of the New Jerusalem.

— from The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 13.

Inward Quietness & Outward Trials

It is hardly necessary to speak of the results of quietness of spirit, in relation to the various outward trials, to which all persons are subject in the present life. The very term itself implies, that these trials shall be met, not only without a murmur, but with entire acquiescence and even cheerfulness. “Fret not thyself,” says the Scripture, “because of evil doers.” 

If moral evils exist in the world to a very great extent, as they obviously do, if sin abounds in various forms, oftentimes undisguised and shameless in its affrontery, if Christians are less decided and less watchful against it than they ought to be, it will still remain true, both now and in all time to come, that this state of things, trying as it is to a truly devout heart, will be more likely to be corrected by the efforts of a meek and resigned, than by those of a fretful and rebellious state of soul. The person of a meek spirit understands this; and he cannot allow the sins, which he witnesses, to produce in his own mind a state of feeling, which would be prejudicial to himself without being beneficial to others.

Inward Quietness & Harmony

The state of mind, which is described as meekness or quietness of spirit, is characterized, in a very high degree, by inward harmony. When the judgment is rendered clear by religious influences, when the appetites are subdued, when the various propensities and affections, once rebellious and conflicting, are each and all in their place, operating where they ought to operate and not operating where they ought not to operate, the mind not only presents the aspect of rest or quietness but is obviously in harmony with itself; without which, indeed, the state of rest could not exist. The love of God is restored to its position, as the supreme, the controlling principle; and every natural desire and affection is exercised in subordination to it. There is not that inward jarring, which had formerly existed, thought in conflict with thought, passion contending with passion, and conscience asserting rights which it could not maintain. 

“Disorderly passions,” says Mr. Henry in his interesting Discourse on Meekness and Quietness of Spirit, “are like stormy winds in the soul; they toss and hurry it, and often strand or overset it. They move it, ‘as the trees of the wood are moved with the wind;’ it is the Prophet’s comparison, and is an apt emblem of a man in passion. Now MEEKNESS restrains these winds, says to them, PEACE, BE STILL, and so preserves a calm in the soul and makes it conformable to Him, who has the winds in his hand, and is herein to be praised, that even the stormy winds fulfil his word.” [A Discourse on Meekness and Quietness of Spirit, by Rev. Matthew Henry (1662-1714), New York Ed. p. 34.]

— from The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 13.

Inward Quietness

In attempting to give some account of the influences of faith on man’s inward nature, we cannot well forget, that one of its most marked and pleasant results is the grace of a meek and quiet spirit. That state of mind, which the Apostle Peter describes as an ornament, which is “not corruptible,” and which in the sight of God is “of great price.”

Of the grace of inward quietness, as of other Christian graces, we find some striking illustrations in the scriptures, particularly in the characters and lives of Abraham, Moses, Samuel, Daniel, the Apostle John; and more than all, and above all, in the character and the life, in the labors and the trials of Jesus Christ. It is this trait of the Savior’s character, which seems to be particularly indicated in the prophetic passage in Isaiah, where it is said of him, “He shall not strive, nor cry; neither shall any man hear his voice in the streets.” And still more strikingly, where it is said; “he was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth.”

God Worshipped in His Works

"The heavens declare the glory of God: and the firmament showeth his handy work. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard." — Ps. 19. 1, 2, 3.

Men use a different speech in different climes,
But Nature hath one voice and only one.
Her wandering moon, her stars, her golden sun,
Her woods and waters, in all lands and times,
In one deep song proclaim the wondrous story.
They tell it to each other in the sky,
Upon the winds they send it sounding high,
Jehovah's wisdom, goodness, power, and glory.
I hear it come from mountain, cliff, and tree,
Ten thousand voices in one voice united;
On every side the song encircles me,
The whole round world reveres and is delighted.
Ah! why, when heaven and earth lift up their voice,
Ah! why should man alone nor worship nor rejoice!

— The Religious Offering (1835) XXVI.