A child finds peace singing, "My father knows all about this." Should we not find even greater comfort knowing that our dearest Friend—the tender Bridegroom of our souls—knows everything about us?

First, he is the Physician. And if the Physician knows all, there is no need for the patient to know! Hush, you silly, fluttering heart, prying, peeping, and suspecting! What you don't know now, you shall know hereafter. Meanwhile Jesus, the beloved Physician, knows your soul in all its adversities. Why should the patient analyze every medicine or estimate every symptom? That's the Physician's work, not mine! Mine is to trust; his is to prescribe. If he writes his prescription in strange characters I cannot read, why should that trouble me? I will rely on his unfailing skill to make all plain in the result, however mysterious in the working.

Second, he is the Master. His knowledge serves in place of ours—we are to obey, not to judge. "The servant does not know what his master is doing." Does the architect explain his blueprints to every laborer on the site? If he knows his plan, isn't that enough? The clay on the potter's wheel cannot guess what shape it will become—but if the potter knows his art, what does the clay's ignorance matter? My Lord must not be cross-questioned anymore by one so ignorant as I am.

Third, he is the Head. All understanding centers there. What judgment has the arm? What comprehension has the foot? All power to know lies in the head. Why should any member need a brain of its own when the head fulfills every intellectual office for it?

Here, then, must the believer rest his comfort in sickness—not that he himself can see the end, but that Jesus knows all. Sweet Lord, be forever our eyes, our soul, our head, and let us be content to know only what you choose to reveal.