The Peace of the Godly
"Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I will yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God." - Psalm 42:11
In these words, you read about the deep discouragement of a godly spirit, along with the remedies he applied and used against it. The discouragement is expressed in two words, through two comparisons: cast down and disquieted. Just as a man is bowed or cast down under the weight of some heavy burden, so you are cast down, O my soul, says David. And just as the sea during a storm is greatly disturbed, so you are also disquieted within me, O my soul. The remedies he uses against this discouragement are two: self-rebuke and self-instruction. First, he scolds himself for his lack of confidence and distrust in God. Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? He rebukes and corrects himself for it. Second, he instructs and calls on himself to wait on and hope in God. Hope in God. Why? First, because I will yet be delivered: For I will yet praise him. Second, because salvation belongs to him alone: He is the health of my countenance, or the salvation of my countenance. Third, because he is in covenant with me, and I with him: He is my God, the health of my countenance, and my God.
I begin with the first part of this verse, where you can observe these three things. First, there is an inward peace and quietness of soul that the saints and people of God ordinarily possess. This is implied. Second, it's possible for this peace to be interrupted, to the point where God's people may be greatly discouraged, cast down, and disquieted. Third, the saints and people of God have no reason for their discouragement, whatever their condition may be. Why are you cast down? And why are you so disquieted within me? You have no reason for it.
The last of these three points is my main goal. But since the first two provide a helpful foundation for understanding the third, and they're worth considering in their own right, I'll address them in order. For now, let me focus on the first one: There is an inward peace and quietness of soul that God's saints and people normally possess.
That's why David asks here, "Why are you cast down, and why are you troubled within me?" Clearly, this wasn't his usual state. His pulse didn't always race with this kind of discouragement. Normally, he had peace and quiet within. So I'm saying this: there is an inward peace and quietness of soul that God's saints and people normally possess. They're usually dressed in white, as they're described in Revelation. "What are these who are dressed in white robes?" (Rev 7:13). They are those "who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb" (Rev 7:14).
I admit this phrase sometimes refers to a person's purity and holiness, as in "You have a few names even in Sardis who have not defiled their garments, and they will walk with me in white, for they are worthy" (Rev 3:4). But usually it indicates the joyfulness and comfort of our condition, as in Revelation 7, where the saints are shown in white not only because of their purity and cleanness but because of their joy. So I'm saying that normally God's saints and people go in white. They have peace and rest within. "Great peace have those who love your law, and nothing will offend them" (Ps 119:165). "But glory, honor, and peace to everyone who does good, to the Jew first and also to the Gentile" (Rom 2:10). Whoever he may be, if he's godly, if he does what is good, glory, honor, and peace will be on him. Not just an outward peace, but an inward peace he will have.
How could it be any different? The saints and people of God walk with Him, they talk with Him, they know Him personally. If you look at Job 22:21, you'll find that this personal knowledge brings rest and peace: "Acquaint now thyself with him, and be at peace." God's people are, if I can put it this way, part of His inner circle, and that's why they have peace. They walk with Him and share life with Him. They have fellowship with the Father, and He is the God of all comfort. They have fellowship with the Son, and He is the Prince of peace. They have fellowship with the Spirit, and He is the Comforter. They have fellowship with the Father, the Son, and the Spirit through the gospel, and the gospel is the word of peace, the message of peace. How could it be, then, that God's saints and people wouldn't normally have peace within?
But let me explain this more fully. Consider how the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit (with whom the saints and people of God have fellowship) are all committed to their peace.
The Father is committed to giving them peace. He's committed by His authority, by His command, by His promise, by Christ's purchase, and by the discipline He gives His saints. He's committed by His authority. Kings and princes will defend their royal prerogatives, as you know. And this is the great prerogative of God the Father: to give peace, inward peace. "I create the fruit of the lips, peace, peace." He's called the God of peace, the God of comfort. Not the God of anger, not the God of war, but the God of peace. This is the great prerogative of God the Father: to give peace to His people.
God is also committed to this work by virtue of His command. Look at Isaiah 40:1-2, and you'll find that He commands the prophets and ministers to preach comfort: "Comfort, comfort my people, says your God" (v. 1). "Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, for she has received from the Lord's hand double for all her sins." Suppose someone's affliction or temptation is very great. God has commanded us to comfort, and comfort twice: "Comfort, comfort"—not once, but twice.
He's also committed by His promise. Look at Psalm 29, and you'll see what the Lord has promised in verse 11: "The Lord will give strength to His people; the Lord will bless His people with peace." There's the promise: the Lord will bless His people with peace. And if you turn to Isaiah 26, you'll find that the Lord has promised to keep His people's peace for them, in verse 3: "You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You."
More than that, the Lord is committed by purchase. Christ has purchased peace for His people, and whatever Christ has purchased for them, God the Father is committed to give to them. Read about the purchase in Ephesians 2:13-14: "But now in Christ Jesus, you who were sometimes far off are made near by the blood of Christ. For He is our peace, who has made both one, and has broken down the middle wall of partition between us."
But let's go further, and you'll see that just as the Father is committed, the Son is also committed to giving peace—inward peace and quietness of soul—to His servants. He is committed to this work by the very qualifications and gifts He received from God His Father for exactly this purpose. "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me," He says, "and He has anointed me." Why? So that I might comfort those who mourn.
He's also bound by His own character: His sweet, loving, and tender nature. Yes, He's a Lion from the tribe of Judah, but not the roaring lion that prowls around seeking to destroy. Yes, He's a King, but He comes gently, riding on a donkey's colt. He doesn't raise His voice in the streets. When our Lord and Savior Christ was about to leave the world, He told His disciples, "My peace I give to you; my peace I leave with you: not as the world gives peace, but my peace I give to you." And as soon as Christ rose from the dead and met with His disciples again, what did He say to them? "Peace be with you." It was His last word when He left them, and it's the first word He speaks when He sees them again.
Just as the Father and the Son are committed to giving peace and quietness to the saints and people of God, so too is the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, committed to giving them peace. For He is, in a sense, the great executor of Jesus Christ. When Christ died, He made His will and gave a legacy to His disciples: "My peace I give to you." Then He sent the Comforter, the Spirit from heaven, specifically to create peace within their souls.
Yes, the Holy Spirit is not only this executor, seeing that Christ's will is fulfilled, but He is also, in a sense, our advocate. We do have only one Advocate, and that is Christ. But I'm saying we have, in a sense, two advocates: one in heaven above, and one in our hearts. When a person sins, Satan accuses him in heaven. That's why John says, "If anyone sins, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous." But when a godly person sins, Satan also accuses him to himself. That's why the apostle says we have the Spirit within us, making intercession.
So if you consider all the commitments (the Father committed, the Son committed, the Holy Spirit committed) for the peace and quiet of God's children, don't you have to conclude this point and doctrine and say: Surely, there is an inward peace and quietness of soul that God's people are ordinarily given?
Objection: But our experience seems to say the opposite, for there are many of God's own people who don't have peace and quiet within them, but are full of doubts and fears about their eternal condition.
Answer: The Second Doctrine addresses this directly: it's possible for this peace to be interrupted.
Objection: But some people have never experienced peace in all their days. "Oh!" someone says, "I've been afflicted and troubled for a long time—two, four, six years—and I've never yet had peace and quiet within me. Either this doctrine isn't true, or I'm not truly godly."
Answer: Everything you're describing may be true, and yet this doctrine can still be true. General rules always have some exceptions. Though the garment that the saints ordinarily wear is white, here and there some do go in black, and remain that way for a long time. But so that no one stumbles over this matter, I want you to consider with me a few important distinctions.
First, you need to understand that there is a fundamental peace that the saints and people of God have, and there is an additional peace. The fundamental peace naturally arises and flows from their justification: "Being justified by faith, we have peace with God" (Rom 5:1). Then there is an additional peace, which arises from the sense of their justification. A child of God may lose the latter for a long time, but he will never lose the former.
Think of a woman who has a large inheritance. She goes on a journey and meets with thieves who take away all the money she has with her. But she says, "Though they've taken away my spending money, they can't take away my estate. I haven't lost my estate." In the same way, the saints may sometimes lose their spending money—they may lose the peace that arises from the sense of their justification. But as for the peace that arises and flows from their justification itself, the first peace, that they will never lose. Peace is the church's estate, and that peace they will never lose.
Second, you need to understand that there's a significant difference between peace, comfort, and joy. A person can have peace without comfort. A person can have comfort without joy. Each one builds on the previous one, rising to a higher level. Think of it this way: daylight can exist even when the sun isn't shining brightly. The sun can shine without it being high noon. Someone might have peace yet lack much comfort, simply resting on God. Someone might have comfort yet lack much joy. But here's the problem: many troubled souls assume that because they have no joy, they must have no comfort. And because they don't have much comfort, they conclude they have no peace at all. Work to understand the distinctions between these three.
Third, you need to recognize that there's a peace that stands in contrast to what you once were, and a peace that stands in contrast to what you want to become. When a godly person, a young Christian, thinks about what they want to be and what they want to have, they find no rest or quiet. But approach that same person differently. Say to them: "Remember the wicked life you used to lead? You were a drunkard, or you were promiscuous. Tell me, would you want to return to that condition?" "Oh no," they'll say, "I wouldn't go back to that condition for anything in the world." Right there, the soul has peace in contrast to what it used to be, even though it doesn't have peace and quiet in contrast to what it wants to become.
Fourth, you need to understand that there's a hidden, dormant peace, and there's an awakened, obvious peace: peace in the seed, and peace in the flower. Consider how it works with many wicked people. Right now they experience great comfort, but when suffering comes, when death arrives, then they face trouble—trouble because of sin. Why? The sin and guilt were in their hearts all along, just lying dormant. Now they've awakened. The same principle applies to a godly person regarding his peace: he may be full of trouble at the moment, but when suffering comes, when the hour of death arrives, then he has peace and comfort. Why? It was there before, lying at the bottom. He just wasn't aware of it. He didn't know it was there.
Ask such a weak Christian who is currently full of fear (you see that drunkard over there, that person swearing, that immoral person): Would you want to be in his condition? Would you be content to trade places with that person? "Oh no," he says, "I wouldn't be in such a condition for all the world." And why does he say this? Because there's a peace and quietness at the bottom, even though he's not aware of it.
It's true that the saints grieve, but they also rejoice that they can grieve. They're troubled by sin, and they find rest and quiet in the fact that they can be troubled by their sin. They have no peace in their sin, but they have peace in this: that they cannot have peace in their sin. Ask them now: Are you troubled that you're troubled? You're grieved for sin to some degree—are you troubled that you're grieved? "No," they'll say, "I'm glad that I'm grieved for sin. And God knows, my trouble is that I can't grieve more. I have quiet and peace in the fact that I am troubled."
Some people have peace in the direct act, and some have peace in the reflected act. Some have it more firsthand, and some have it more secondhand. But consider all these distinctions, and you'll find that there's no godly person who, more or less, in some of these respects, can't be said to have peace within.
But suppose this is true. What's the outcome of this teaching? What does it lead to?
Here's what all this means. Look at what a blessed condition God's people are in! Isn't it a wonderful thing to have peace within yourself, to have quiet, peace, and rest inside? If you have peace within, even though you lack peace in your outward circumstances, you'll be able to bear all your burdens. "The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmities. But a wounded spirit who can bear?" Some people endure fevers and chills; some endure kidney stones, stomach pains, and excruciating torments. But a wounded spirit, who can bear that? Yet the spirit of a person will sustain his weaknesses if he has peace within. If he's whole at heart, as people say, if he has peace within, then he'll be able to bear all his burdens.
You see what kind of times we've fallen into. We can't promise ourselves peace for even a single day. Suddenly a cloud may rise in the night, and all our comforts are plunged into darkness. How good it is, then, to have peace within, to have rest and quiet inside! If I have peace within, I can find relief here against every calamity. What if I have trouble from my friends? Still, I have peace within. What if I'm being slandered? Still, I have peace within. I'm wet on the outside, yes, my clothes are soaked. But I'm not wet to the skin. I'm dry within. I have peace within.
Our Savior said, "Blessed are those that mourn for they shall be comforted." Are those blessed in the present who will be comforted in the future? How much more blessed, then, are those who are already comforted, who already have peace and quiet!
This teaching has something important to say to both the ungodly and the godly. It once spoke so powerfully to a prominent man in Germany that it marked the beginning of his conversion and turning to God: I'm referring to Galeacius Carracciolus. He was a Catholic and a worldly man. One day he happened to hear Peter Martyr preach, and he heard this illustration: When you see people in the distance skipping, leaping, and dancing, you think they're crazy. But when you get closer and hear the music they're listening to, you don't wonder anymore. Instead, you wonder at yourself for having wondered at them in the first place.
In the same way (Peter Martyr said), when you look at godly people from a distance and see them eagerly pursuing worship, frequently using spiritual practices, and rejoicing in God's ways, you think they're insane. You even say they're mad. But if you draw near to a godly life and discover what music these people have within them, you won't say they're mad. Instead, you'll wonder at yourself for having wondered at them.
When the Marquess heard this illustration, he was so struck by it that he began to examine his own spiritual condition, and it became the first step in his conversion. I'll say no more. You who are ungodly, you've now heard what music the saints have within: peace and quietness inside, as a general rule. Yes, there may be some exceptions here and there, but generally speaking, what music they have within! Who wouldn't want to be godly?
