When Jesus foresaw the great trial that was coming on Peter, during the night of his betrayal, he could easily have saved him from it if he had thought it best and wisest to do so. Before leaving the upper chamber in Jerusalem where he kept the Passover for the last time with his disciples, he could have sent Peter on some errand or could have given him something to do that would have occupied him till the next day. Then he would not have been exposed to the temptation of denying his Master. This could easily have been done. But Jesus did not do this. And the reason was he knew very well that though the trial would be very painful to Peter, and would cause him to shed many bitter and sorrowful tears, yet it would be useful to him in the end, and would help to make him a better minister than he could have been without it. It would show him his own weakness, and teach him how to sympathize with others in their troubles and to be kind and tender in his dealings with them. And this is what Jesus meant when he said to Peter after telling him about this coming trial: “And when thou art converted, _strengthen thy brethren_.” And no doubt Peter had this sorrowful event in his mind, and the benefit he had derived from it, when, in one of his epistles, he compares the trials through which God causes us to pass to the fire into which the jeweler puts his gold when he desires to have it purified. I. Peter i: 17. He was a more useful minister for having passed through this trial than he ever could have been without it. The benefit of it followed him through all his life. And this was the reason why Jesus did not save him _from_ that trial, but saved him _in_ it. And in the same way God intends to do us good by all the trials through which he causes us to pass. It is not for _his_ pleasure, but for our profit that these trials are allowed to come upon us; and the profit will surely follow if, as Paul says, we are rightly “exercised thereby.” It would be easy enough to give many illustrations of this important lesson, but there is room for only one. We may call it: “The Marble-Block; or, The Sculptor’s Lesson.” “One of my scholars,” says a Sunday-school teacher, “had a little sister who was lame. Her name was Annie. I often called to see her, and pitied her as I saw her sitting by the window watching the other children on the playground. In addition to her lameness she was sometimes so sick that she could not sit at the window. One bright spring day I bought for her some oranges and candies and a pretty picture-book, and hoped to comfort her with these. I gave her the oranges and candies, and read to her from the little book; but still she seemed sad. “‘Why are you so sad to-day, Annie, dear?’ I said. “‘Oh, ma’am,’ she replied, ‘I don’t see why God should afflict me, and yet let other children be so well and happy. But if I only knew that God was not angry with me I shouldn’t care so much.’