The bee asks no leave of the flower, but goes about its Maker’s business with a sacred instinct, and the field rejoices in fruitfulness it never labored to produce. So it is with the redeemed soul in whom the life of Christ pulses. The command to go into all the world is not a yoke laid upon the neck, but a nature infused within. Wherever the new heart beats, it scatters the pollen of heavenly truth. It cannot help itself; it must tell of the ransom paid, of the streaming fountains opened in those five wounds, of the great pardon for great sin. That is its work, its element, its joy.
You ask if you have embraced this mission. Examine, then, whether you have first embraced the Master. A bee must feed upon the hive’s own honey before it can build or gather. Has the great forgiveness, according to the riches of His grace, become your own? Do you know what it is to plead, not as a prisoner demanding release because of his small offense, but as one crying, “Pardon my iniquity, for it is great”? That strange, holy logic, urging the greatness of your sin as the very reason for mercy, lest the blood of the Great Substitute be diminished, this is the true beginning. Until you have tasted that the Lord is gracious, your buzzing will be a weary noise and not a living testimony.
But having found that great spoil, that hidden treasure in the field of the Word, you will rejoice, and your rejoicing will be the most natural witness. Do not therefore wait for some grand scheme to unfold. The mountain has often labored and brought forth a mouse; the schemes of dwarfs who dream of giant’s work end in exhaustion. The text reads, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Not great things, but present things. A kind word to a fellow servant, a testimony given while picking the raspberries of your daily labor, a prayer offered in the quiet of the evening for that neighbor whose heart seems hard as stone, these are the simple cells of the honeycomb. You are not called to bridge the ocean in a single span, but to pour the little stream of your influence into it. The stream continues, swells, and by-and-by becomes an estuary, a great arm of the sea. Such is the Christian’s peace and usefulness when he simply hearkens to God’s command to believe and live.
Perhaps you shrink back, saying your own life feels barren, your testimony weak. Remember the God who sends you. He delights to use the rough, bad material of the chief of sinners as a pattern of His mercy. He takes that which is black in its heinousness and bulk, and washes it white, that the sentence of His great tribunal might be justified. Your own transformation is evidence being collected for that great commission of inquiry. Every thought of His name, every faltering word spoken one to another, is recorded. This evidence will stand when the great trumpet sounds. Do not therefore wait until you feel like a great saint. The bee does not pause to calculate the worth of its work; it obeys the nature within.
The world respects a true man. Let the stamp of the Great King be upon you, not by loud profession, but by the honest doing of the work your hand finds. Perhaps you will only see twelve gathered in your season of labor. Do not despise the small hive. Make a church in the heart, nurture that little company, and then move to the next flower, the next opportunity. Attempt great things by doing present things, and great things shall be done, not by might, nor by power, but by the Spirit of the Lord. The summer shower which you fear will be forgotten is exactly what the Divine Husbandman uses to bring the fields to harvest. He does not neglect the dew.
So, go back to your raspberry canes, to the kitchen, to the workshop, to the marketplace. You have your commission. It is not to make yourself great, but to make disciples. Do this, and you will find that the peace you longed for, that great lump of sunshine to sprinkle over all your days and nights, has come to you while you were not looking for it. Do not wait until you get home to ask for it; receive it now. The Master did not disdain to bind up the broken heart. He uses broken things, simple things, everyday things. Go, then, and pollinate. The winter is coming when no man can work, but the harvest will reveal what the bees have done.