He is Our Peace.

But there is something here finer yet by far than this.  Everything God provides for us is personal.  There is always the personal touch and presence.  Do you remember that during the earlier days of the recent war with Spain this occurrence frequently took place?  In the Caribbean waters a Spanish merchantman would be overtaken by an American warship.  A few shots were sent over the bows of the merchantman with a demand for surrender.  And then the Spanish flag was seen to drop from the merchantman’s masthead in token of surrender.

Then this was the method of procedure.  A prize crew, consisting of an officer with a few ensigns, was lowered from the American boat, pulled across, and taken aboard the captured boat.  The moment the prize crew stepped aboard they were masters of the boat in their government’s name.  Their presence signified the surrender of the foreigner, and the forced peace now between the two boats.

On a much higher plane this is what takes place with us.  There has been flying at my masthead a flag with a big I upon it.  As quickly as I drop it in token of my surrender to Somebody else, a prize crew is sent aboard to take possession, and assume control.  Who is the prize crew?  The Holy Spirit, whom Jesus the Master sends to represent Himself.  He steps aboard at once.

He paces the deck as the ship’s Master.  His presence is peace.  “He is our peace.”  “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace.”  And while He occupies the captain’s quarters, with full cheery obedience on board, there is ever the fine aroma of peace everywhere, and the fullness of power.

The Master’s Touch.

One morning a number of years ago in London a group of people had gathered in a small auction shop for an advertised sale of fine old antiques and curios.  The auctioneer brought out an old blackened, dirty-looking violin.  He said, “Ladies and gentlemen, here is a remarkable old instrument I have the great privilege of offering to you.  It is a genuine Cremona, made by the famous Antonius Stradivarius himself.  It is very rare, and worth its weight in gold.  What am I bid?” The people present looked at it critically.  And some doubted the accuracy of the auctioneer’s statements.  They saw that it did not have the Stradivarius name cut in.  And he explained that some of the earliest ones made did not have the name.  And that some that had the name cut in were not genuine.  But he could assure them that this was genuine.  Still the buyers doubted and criticised, as buyers have always done.  Five guineas in gold were bid, but no more.  The auctioneer perspired and pleaded.  “It was ridiculous to think of selling such a rare violin for such a small sum,” he said.  But the bidding seemed hopelessly stuck there.