The ground of faith, and comfort in suffering.

What this letter is. A letter of comfort in affliction, written 20 July 1733 to Christiana Maria Griesenbeck — the ninth in this run of letters to her — when she was carrying some heavy "burdens and afflictions." Its whole method is to give her something to pray. Tersteegen writes very little in his own voice; instead, after wishing that Christ, "the most precious Friend of man," would comfort her Himself, he tells her: "Be comforted in the Lord in everything, and sing with David, Psalm 31" — and then hands her a prayer, drawn out of that psalm, to make her own. The bulk of the letter is that prayer, spoken in the first person as if she were saying it.

And it is one of the most beautiful things in the whole correspondence — a model of faith holding on when feeling gives way. It begins by admitting the darkness honestly: "the creatures bring me only suffering; in and of myself, too, I have but poor comfort." No consolation from without, none from within. And then the pivot on which everything turns: "but Thou art nevertheless good — and the eternal Good." The soul lets go of its search for comfort in creatures and in its own feelings, and rests instead on God's unchanging goodness. From there the prayer becomes almost unbearably tender: God "lookest upon my misery with motherly compassion"; He "knowest my soul … even in the midst of all misery, as Thine own." Even when "I know not myself," He knows me, and "knows how I mean it." The heart of faith is not that I understand or feel God, but that He knows and holds me — "and I too will know no other than Thee alone, in all my need."

After the prayer, a few words of counsel and a promise. "So suffer, and so pray, and rejoice in the Lord!" — the three together, suffering and prayer and joy. "Lift up your faint spirit in Him, who remains unchangeable, blessed, glorious, and good." And the image the letter is remembered for, on how small our sorrow is beside God's goodness: "His goodness can far sooner swallow up your misery than a glowing iron a single drop" of water — as a drop hissing onto hot iron simply vanishes. He signs with a blessing in the key of Christmas that never quite leaves him: "May the little Child of love live, and bless you!"

A few words and echoes.

• "The ground of faith." The letter's theme (Glaubensgrund) — the solid footing that holds when feelings fail: not comfort found in creatures or in oneself, but God's own unchanging goodness.
• Psalm 31. The whole prayer is an exposition of David's psalm — especially verse 7: "I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities." Tersteegen simply lets the sufferer pray it in her own voice.
• "But Thou art nevertheless good." The turning-point of the prayer — the deliberate act of faith that clings to God as "the eternal Good" precisely when every other comfort has failed (an echo of "God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever," Psalm 73:26; and "Good and upright is the Lord," Psalm 25:8).
• "Motherly compassion." God's tenderness in suffering, pictured as a mother's (Isaiah 66:13; 49:15) — He "lookest upon my misery" not sternly but with "a help-willing heart."
• "Thou knowest my soul as Thine own." The letter's deepest comfort — that faith rests not on self-knowledge or feeling but on being known by God, even when "I know not myself."
• "Suffer, and pray, and rejoice." The threefold counsel — an echo of "Rejoice in the Lord alway" (Philippians 4:4); joy is not the absence of suffering but its companion in God.
• "A glowing iron and a single drop." The closing image — as a drop of water instantly vanishes on red-hot iron, so God's goodness swallows up all our misery: our sorrow is real, but infinitely smaller than His good.