"God Moves in a Mysterious Way"

Word & Song by Anthony Esolen

Yesterday when I mused upon our Word of the Week, rain, I pointed out that when Jesus says that the Father sends his rain upon the just and the unjust, such rain was a good and blessed thing, because how else are you going to survive in a land as dry as Palestine can be? But now suppose we aren’t talking about the gentle rains that soak the land and swell the trees and bring green things to life. Suppose we are really talking about storms gathering on the horizon. Suppose in fact that the storms come, with thunder and lightning. What do we make of the rain then?

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The poet who composed our Hymn of the Week, William Cowper, knew by experience that the most terrific storms we encounter are not those that rock the ships at sea, but those that gather in the weather of the heart. Why it was that periods of suffering and despair came to him, I don’t know. His mother died when the boy was seven years old, as she gave birth to his brother John, and John and William were the only two of the Cowper children who lived to adulthood. When William was a young man, living in his uncle’s household, he fell in love with his cousin Theodora, but the uncle forbade their wedding, and Cowper never did marry. If he were alive today, perhaps we might have ways of treating his bouts of depression. But that was a rougher time, and Cowper, who sometimes felt sure that he was destined to be damned, had no recourse but to cast himself upon the mercy of God.
But he wasn’t willing to let those storms simply pass by. He wasn’t going to ignore them. Let’s think about Jonah, the prophet despite himself. He thought he could escape from God’s providence by smuggling himself aboard a ship and sleeping down in the hold, while a sudden tempest threatened to send ship and men down to the bottom of the sea. Suppose God had permitted Jonah to get to Tarshish, safe and sound. Would that really have been safe? All skies blue, and faith fading away? But God, who says to Jonah, and we can almost hear the laughter in it, that he wasn’t going to be kept from showering his mercy upon Nineveh, with all those people in it who couldn’t even tell their right from their left, not to mention all the animals — God had something else in mind beyond Jonah’s comfort. It was Jonah’s reclamation. Jonah, the grouch, showing himself unhappy to have been employed by God for the salvation of the Ninevites! It took the withering of the shady bush for him to cry out to God, and we can imagine in our own lives that there may be many a shady bush or a nice snug cubbyhole to snooze away in, that God takes from us to save us.
And that’s what we have in the hymn. Look at the dark clouds above: they are “big with mercy,” though we don’t see it that way. “The bud may have a bitter taste,” says Cowper, and isn’t that the truth? Do we like little green apples? It’s only when the design has come to its fruition, when the eternal plan for us has matured in time, that “sweet will be the flower.” We cannot anticipate God, and we cannot interpret all the events of our lives from an eternal vantage. “God is his own interpreter,” says Cowper at the quiet and confident end of the poem, “And he will make it plain.”
One last comment: if you’ve ever heard somebody say, “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” know that the saying doesn’t come from Scripture. It comes from this poem. Such was the powerful cultural influence of the sacred songs that people sang.

Debra has found a lovely rendition of our hymn for this week. Listen to the lovely Chapel Choir of Selwyn College, Cambridge.

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God works in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break With blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.

Word & Song by Anthony Esolen is an online magazine devoted to reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true. We publish six essays each week, on words, classic hymns, poems, films, and popular songs, as well a weekly podcast for paid subscribers, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. Paid subscribers also receive audio-enhanced posts and on-demand access to our full archive, and may add their comments to our posts and discussions. To support this project, please join us as a free or paid subscriber.

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