The marrow of Job's comfort lies in that little word "my." Not just "Redeemer," but "MY Redeemer." And not just any redeemer, but one who LIVES.

Oh, to get hold of a living Christ! We must get a property in him before we can enjoy him. What good is gold still buried in the mine? Men are beggars in Peru and beg their bread in California. It's gold in my purse that will satisfy my necessities, by purchasing the bread I need.

So a Redeemer who does not redeem ME, an avenger who will never stand up for MY blood—of what avail were such? Rest not content until by faith you can say, "Yes, I cast myself upon my living Lord, and he is MINE."

Maybe you hold him with a feeble hand. Maybe you half think it presumption to say, "He lives as MY Redeemer." Yet remember—if you have but faith as a grain of mustard seed, that little faith entitles you to say it. Say it!

But there's another word here, expressive of Job's strong confidence: "I KNOW." To say "I hope so, I trust so" is comfortable, and there are thousands in the fold of Jesus who hardly ever get much further. But to reach the essence of consolation, you must say, "I know."

Ifs, buts, and perhapses are sure murderers of peace and comfort. Doubts are dreary things in times of sorrow. Like wasps they sting the soul! If I have any suspicion that Christ is not mine, then there is vinegar mingled with the gall of death. But if I KNOW that Jesus lives for me, then darkness is not dark—even the night is light about me.

Surely if Job, in those ages before the coming and advent of Christ, could say "I know," we should not speak less positively. God forbid that our positiveness should be presumption. Let us see that our evidences are right, lest we build upon an ungrounded hope. And then let us not be satisfied with the mere foundation, for it is from the upper rooms that we get the widest prospect.

A living Redeemer, truly mine, is joy unspeakable.