Submission in Christian preaching emphasizes yielding to God's authority and will, recognizing His sovereignty over all aspects of life. Illustrations often use imagery of obedience and respect, such as a pilot respecting gravity, to convey the necessity and wisdom of humble compliance (James 4:7; Hebrews 13:17).
Grumbling reveals a heart lacking submission to God’s will.
Unfortunately, even among Christians there are those who are chronic grumblers. A woman of this type grumbled at everything and everybody. But at last the preacher thought he had found something about which she could make no complaint-the lady's crop of potatoes was certainly the finest for miles around. "Ah, for once you must be pleased," he said with a beaming smile as he met her in the village street. "Everyone is saying how splendid your potatoes are this year." The lady glared at him as she answered, "They're not so poor. But where's the bad ones for the pigs?" If the mouth is given to grumbling, then the heart is lacking in submissiveness to God. The Chronic Complainer
A certain father was a chronic growler. He was sitting with his family in the presence of a guest in the parlor one day when the question of food came up. One of the children, a little girl, was telling the guest very cleverly what food each member of the family liked best. Finally it came to the father's turn to be described. "And what do I like, Nancy?" he asked laughingly. "You," said the little girl slowly, "well, you like most anything we haven't got."
Respecting God's sovereign will is like a pilot respecting gravity—ultimately unavoidable.
A good pilot must have a healthy fear of gravity. This respect is not in the conscious mind of most pilots, but it forms the foundation of everything they do. When a headstrong pilot comes up against gravity, gravity will win-no matter how strongly the pilot opposes it. A pilot who does not respect gravity is not around to tell us about it. In a sense, this healthy respect of gravity is similar to our living in submission to God's sovereign will. Ultimately, whether or not we choose to accept it, God's will wins out.
Patiently enduring correction shows a humble submission to authority.
It is said of Ælian, that after having been long absent from his father, being asked what he had learned, he answered, he should know that ere long;
and, in the mean time, his father correcting him, he took it in good part, and said, "Sir, you see
I have learned somewhat to bear with your anger, and patiently to endure what you please to inflict upon me."
— Spencer
Voluntary submission to God brings peace superior to disorderly freedom.
If the barbarian ambassador came expressly to the Romans, to negotiate, on the part of his country, for permission to be their servants, declaring that a voluntary submission to a foreign power was preferable to a wild and disorderly freedom, well may the Christian triumph in the peace to be obtained by an unreserved submission to Him who is emphatically called the God of order.
True obedience requires dying to self-will and submitting fully to God's authority.
The first rule of the order which St. Francis founded was implicit submission to the superior. The legend says, that one day a monk proved refractory, and must be subdued. By order of St. Francis, a grave was dug deep enough to hold a man: the monk was put into it; and his associates began to shovel in the earth, while the superior looked on, stern as death. When the mould reached the knees of the stubborn monk, St. Francis, stooping down, asked him, "Are you dead yet? is your self-will dead? do you yield?" There was no answer. In the grave, there seemed to stand a man with a will as iron as his own. The burial continued, to the middle, to the shoulders, to the lips. Once more St. Francis bent down to repeat his question, "Are you dead yet?" The suffocating monk saw no relenting in the stern countenance of his superior. Resistance was useless. A few moments more, and the earth would cover him. Then the iron will was broken: the funeral was stayed, and the submissive monk replied, "I am dead." The monk is the type of many, some of whom yield in the last extremity, and others go into eternity still raging against the Supreme.
Submission in sickness means accepting God's will and doing one's part faithfully.
A revival was progressing in a church, of which a certain Christian was an influential member. Severe illness prevented any active work. A friend calling mentioned the fact complainingly. The sufferer cheerfully replied, "My part is to lie here and cough."
Cheerful submission finds strength in recognizing God's care amid trials.
Rev. Ephraim Peabody was attacked with bleeding at the lungs, and was obliged to resign his pastoral duties. His only child was laid in the grave; his young wife had temporarily lost the use of her eyes; his home was broken up; and his prospects were very dark. They had sold their furniture, and went to board in a tavern. One day, as he came in from a walk, his wife said to him, "I have been thinking of our situation here, and have determined to be submissive and patient."—"Ah!" said he, "that is a good resolution: let us see what we have to submit to. I will make a list of our trials. First, we have a home: we will submit to that. Secondly, we have the comforts of life: we will submit to that. Thirdly, we have each other. Fourthly, we have a multitude of friends. Fifthly, we have a God to take care of us."—"Ah!" said she, "I pray you to stop, and I will say no more about submission."
Refusing to submit to God's will can lead to greater sorrow and consequences.
A fond father, expecting the death of an infant son, was exhorted to submit to the divine will. He said, "I cannot give him up. I pray God to spare this child to me, whatever may be the consequences." The child was spared, but was a constant grief to his father, became a hardened wretch, and paid the penalty of his crimes upon the gallows.
Accepting defeat joyfully trusts that God's ordering is best.
James H., after his defeat at La Hogue, expressed his satisfaction thereat, because what God orders is best, and nothing is well done which is not done by him.
Willingness to accept God's will, even in hardship, shows true submission.
Hay, an eminent English surgeon of high prospects, when injured apparently for life, said, "If it be the will of God that I should be confined to my sofa, and he command me to pick straws during the remainder of my life, I hope I shall feel no repugnance to his good pleasure."
Loss can lead to valuable growth through submission and study of virtue.
Zeno lost all his goods by shipwreck; yet he counted it the best voyage he ever made, because it drove him to the study of virtue and philosophy. Seneca says he enjoyed his relations as one that was to lose them, and lost them as one who had them still in possession. Buck.
True submission acknowledges pain and does not pretend suffering is pleasure.
When the brave man gives his shattered arm to the surgeon's knife, will may prevent even the quiver of an eyelid; but no will and no courage can reverse his sensations, or prevent the operation from inflicting pain. When the heart is raw, and smarting from recent bereavement, let there be the deepest and most reverential submission to the highest will, is it possible not to wince? Can any cant demand for submission extort the profession that pain is pleasure?
— F. W. Robertson
Submission is necessary before fellowship or acceptance can occur.
This may be illustrated by the following incident in the life of Nelson: In time of war, a French officer was once brought into his presence. He went boldly up to the great admiral, and held out his hand. Nelson drew back. "Give me your sword," said he, "and then I will take your hand."
In tragedy, prompt submission to God's will brings peace.
At the siege of Barcelona, a ball struck off the head of an officer's son, a fine young man of twenty years. The father, lifting his eyes from his headless child to heaven, only said, "Thy will be done."
Proper submission means yielding to God's power and seeking His mercy.
When that monster-taming Hercules overcame all in the Olympics, Jupiter at last, in an unknown shape, wrestled with him: the victory was uncertain, till at length Jupiter deserted himself, and Hercules yielded. No striving with supreme powers: we must submit ourselves unto the mighty hand of God, acknowledge our offences, call to him for mercy. If he strike, as it is with them that are wounded with the spear of Achilles, he alone must help.
— Burton
True prayer requires heartfelt submission to God's will, not just repeating words.
"What occasions that melancholy look?" said a gentleman to one of his young favorites, one morning. He turned away his face, to hide a tear that was ready to start from his eyes. His brother answered for him, "Mother is very angry with him," said he, "because he would not say his prayers last night; and he cried all day, because a sparrow died of which he was very fond. The little mourner hastily turned round, and looking at me exclaimed, "I could not say thy will be done, because of my poor bird." The gentleman took him by the hand, and pointing to his school-fellows, "Mark the observation," said he, "from the youngest present, only six years old; for it explains the nature of prayer, of which, perhaps, some of you are ignorant. Many persons repeat words, who never prayed in their lives. My dear boy, I am very glad to find you were afraid to say to God what you could not say truly from your heart; but you may beg of him to give you submission to his will."
A deaf boy shows holy resignation accepting God's will despite his disability.
A clergyman once paid a visit to a deaf and dumb asylum in London, for the express purpose of examining the children in the knowledge they possessed of Divine truth. A little boy, on this occasion, was asked in writing, "Who made the world?" He took up the chalk, and wrote underneath the question, "in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." The clergyman then inquired in a similar manner, "Why did Jesus Christ come into the world?" A smile of delight and gratitude rested on the countenance of the little fellow, as he wrote, "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptance, That Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners." A third question was then proposed, eminently adapted to call his most powerful feelings into exercise: "Why were you born deaf and dumb, while I can hear and speak?" "Never," said an eyewitness, "shall I forget the look of holy resignation and chastened sorrow which sat on his countenance as he took up the chalk and wrote, 'Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight.'"
A disabled surgeon humbly submits to God's will, accepting a limited future service.
Mr. Hey, an eminent surgeon, early in the year 1774, received a stroke upon his thigh, which threatened the complete suspension of his professional labors. The remedies applied under his own directions, and those of his medical friends, proved altogether unserviceable; and it appeared in the highest degree probable to himself and them, that he would never regain the power of walking. He was the father of a large family, and was soon to be the parent of the eleventh child. He was in full business, and had the most reasonable prospect of distinction and emolument, as creditable to himself as advantageous to his family. Mr. Hey felt this afflictive dispensation of Divine Providence as every considerate man in similar circumstances would feel it—he was deeply affected by it; but his language and conduct were constantly expressive of the most humble submission, and meek acquiescence in the Divine will. To an intimate friend, who was lamenting the apparent consequences of a disorder which extinguished all his prospects of future usefulness, he replied, "If it be the will of God that I should be confined to my sofa, and he command me to pick straws during the remainder of my life, I hope I should feel no repugnance to his good pleasure."
Fenelon refuses to oppose God's will even to restore his beloved pupil to life.
A most remarkable instance of Christian resignation was discovered on one particular occasion, in the conduct of Archbishop Fenelon. When his illustrious and hopeful pupil, the Duke of Burgundy, lay dead in his coffin, and the nobles of his court, in all the pomp of silent sadness, stood round, the archbishop came into the apartment, and having fixed his eyes for some time on the corpse, broke out at length in words to this effect: "There lies my beloved prince, for whom my affections were equal to the tenderest regard of the tenderest parents. Nor were my affections lost; he loved me in return with all the ardor of a son. There he lies; and all my worldly happiness lies dead with him. But if the turning of a straw would call him back to life, I would not for ten thousand worlds be the turner of that straw in opposition to the will of God."
A sick woman defers her choice of life or death entirely to God's pleasure.
There was a good woman, who, when she was ill, being asked, whether she was willing to live or die, answered, "Which God pleaseth."
"But," said one standing by, "if God should refer it to you, whether would you choose?"
"Truly," said she, "if God should refer it to me, I would even refer it to him again."
John Brown accepts all life's circumstances gratefully, only wishing for less sin.
"No doubt," said the late Mr. Brown of Haddington, "I have met with trials as well as others; yet so kind has God been to me, that, I think, if God were to give me as many years as I have already lived in the world, I would not desire one single circumstance in my lot changed, except that I wish I had less sin. It might be written on my coffin, Here lies one of the cares of Providence, who early wanted both father and mother, and yet never missed them."
A father submits to God's will even after his son's sudden death in battle.
During the siege of Barcelona, in 1705, Captain Carleton witnessed the following affecting fact, which he tells us in his memoirs:—"I saw an old officer, having his only son with him, a fine man about twenty years of age, going into their tent to dine. Whilst they were at dinner, a shot took off the head of the son. The father immediately rose up, and first looking down upon his headless child, and then lifting up his eyes to heaven, while the tears ran down his cheeks, only said, 'Thy will be done.'"
410. Submission, Want of.
A mother's refusal to submit to God's will contrasts with a pastor's prayerful submission.
In a parish in the county of Gloucester, the widow of a gentleman resided with her only son, a lad about twelve years of age. Mrs. — had unhappily taken great prejudice against the doctrines preached by her pastor, which carried her so far, as not only to induce her to break off all communications with him, but even to absent herself from his ministry. The clergyman adopted every method of lawful conciliation, but in vain; and he was left to regret what he could not remedy. About this period, the boy was taken seriously ill, and the clergyman thinking that the mother's mind might be softened by the affliction, called to inquire after the sufferer, and offer his ministerial services. The lady admitted him to the house, and after he had endeavored to point her to the great Controller of all events, and the object of his fatherly chastisements, he proposed that they should kneel down to prayer. The mother acquiesced in the proposition, but the feeling with which she did so will be seen by the sequel.
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