The Project Gutenberg eBook of House beautiful
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: House beautiful
or, The Bible museum
Author: A. L. O. E.
Release date: September 4, 2024 [eBook #74370]
Language: English
Original publication: London: T. Nelson and Sons, 1868
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE BEAUTIFUL ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: THE OLIVE LEAF]
[Illustration: HOUSE BEAUTIFUL BY A • L • O • E]
[Illustration: THE ARK OF BULRUSHES]
THOMAS NELSON & SONS
LONDON, EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK
[Illustration]
HOUSE BEAUTIFUL;
OR,
The Bible Museum.
By
A. L. O. E.
Authoress of "The Shepherd of Bethlehem," "Exiles in Babylon,"
"Rescued from Egypt," & c.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
————————
1868.
[Illustration: PREFACE]
THE narrative portions of the Holy Scriptures are full of striking
biographies of those whose virtues are set before us as examples, or
whose errors as warnings. We are led, as it were, into a Gallery of
Portraits, drawn with faultless accuracy by a sunbeam. But besides
these portraits, there are many objects of deep interest for the
student of Scripture, the accounts of which have been "written for our
learning," objects which we are intended to contemplate with earnest
attention, and from which we may draw rich spiritual lessons. Such
are Noah's Ark, the Brazen Serpent, the Manna from Heaven, which have
been commented upon by apostles, and by our Saviour Himself. If the
biographies in the Bible form the Portrait Gallery of Scripture, such
objects as those to which I have referred—gathered together for our
contemplation—suggest the idea of a Museum, and we are reminded of the
instruction which Bunyan represents to have been gained from such in
House Beautiful. I have never yet met with a work in which a number of
such objects have been specially collected for the contemplation of
Christians, and it has occurred to me that such a volume of reflections
might assist us more vividly to realize much of what is contained in
the Word of God.
Come then with me, my Christian reader, and let us examine together
some of those ancient objects rescued by the inspired writers from
oblivion, and undimmed by the dust of many ages. Let us not handle them
with superstitious reverence as relics, but make use of them to raise
our minds from the absorbing cares and pleasures of the present, to
holy musings on the past. May the Spirit of Wisdom and Truth assist us
in our meditations, and increase our deep reverence for those sacred
Scriptures in which these objects of interest are preserved.
A. L. O. E.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
I. FORBIDDEN FRUIT
II. CAIN'S OFFERING
III. NOAH'S OLIVE LEAF
IV. ABRAHAM'S TENT
V. HAGAR'S BOTTLE
VI. JACOB'S PILLOW
VII. THE COAT OF MANY COLOURS
VIII. THE ARK OF BULRUSHES
IX. PHARAOH'S CHARIOT
X. THE TABLES OF STONE
XI. THE HIGH PRIEST'S MITRE
XII. THE HIGH PRIEST'S MITRE,—_Continued_
XIII. BALAAM'S STAFF
XIV. RAHAB'S SCARLET CORD
XV. GIDEON'S EPHOD
XVI. THE JAWBONE OF AN ASS
XVII. RUTH'S BARLEY-EARS
XVIII. JOB'S SACKCLOTH
XIX. DAGON'S STUMP
XX. SAUL'S SPEAR
XXI. JONATHAN'S BOW
XXII. DAVID'S HARP
XXIII. ABSALOM'S HAIR
XXIV. SEED CORN FROM BARZILLAI'S GIFT
XXV. TEMPLE LILY WORK
XXVI. THE WIDOW'S CRUSE
XXVII. ELIJAH'S LETTER
XXVIII. JONAH'S GOURD
XXIX. THE FETTERS OF MANASSEH
XXX. THE DEED OF PURCHASE
XXXI. JEHOIAKIM'S KNIFE
XXXII. THE RAGS OF EBEDMELECH
XXXIII. THE GOLDEN SCEPTRE
XXXIV. A VESSEL OF THE TEMPLE
XXXV. THE TRUMPET OF NEHEMIAH
XXXVI. WRITING TABLE OF ZACHARIAS
XXXVII. THE MANGER
XXXVIII. THE APOSTLES' NET
XXXIX. THE BED OF THE PARALYTIC
XL. THE CROSS
XLI. THE STONE AT THE SEPULCHRE
THE QUEEN AND THE TWELVE NAMES
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
HOUSE BEAUTIFUL
I.
Forbidden Fruit.
CAN this object, so small, so beautiful, be yet through its effects
more deadly than any weapon of war ever forged for man's destruction,
more deadly than the poison-flask, the dagger, or the thunderbolt! It
lies before us fresh and fair as when, nearly six thousand years ago,
it hung amongst the green foliage of Paradise, more beautiful than any
fragrant peach on which the last ripening sunbeam glows in a now fallen
world.
On the fruit of Eden, which could so lightly yield to Eve's touch, and
be marked by the soft pressure of her fingers, we see not the trail of
the serpent; it is goodly to look upon, and what mortal dare say that
had he been in the place of our first parents, the fair but fatal fruit
would have hung untasted on the bough? In looking on it, how awful a
lesson we learn of the poisonous nature of what we dare to call "little
sins!"
Who amongst us, beholding Eve in her beauty plucking the fruit which
tempted her eye, would not have been ready to have echoed the first
lie ever breathed on our planet, "thou shalt not surely die." Bright,
guileless, and, until now, sinless being; God will not severely judge
thee, He has threatened, but He will not perform.
Is not the same deluding idea at the bottom of all our carelessness,
our neglect of duty, our grasping at forbidden pleasure? "Thou shalt
not surely die" has been the whisper of the Tempter from Eve's time
till now. Let us answer him by pointing to that fruit. Was not the
death of myriads enclosed, as it were, in its rind? Could the stain
left by its fatal juice be washed out by floods of tears or rivers of
blood? Had no sin but that one sin of plucking it been ever committed
upon earth, could that sin have been atoned for by anything less than
the sacrifice of an Incarnate God?
Sin stands not alone by itself: as the seed is contained in the fruit,
so one transgression is the parent of many. Coveting what God had
withheld, longing for a luxury forbidden, ambitiously aiming at gaining
knowledge which should make her independent as a God, Eve at once
received into her heart "the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh,
and the pride of life." They came as guests—to remain as tyrants. When
we feel their influence within ourselves, when covetousness, love of
pleasure, or pride of intellect would draw us from our lowly allegiance
to God, from our simple obedience to His word, let us look on the
forbidden fruit and tremble—let us look on it, and watch and pray.
The fruit of knowledge still,
Plucked by pride, may death distil.
When we make of intellect an idol; when we exalt reason above
revelation, and would draw down God's hidden mysteries to the level of
our finite comprehension, we are putting forth our hand, like Eve, to
pluck and taste the forbidden fruit; forgetful of the warning of the
Saviour: "He that receiveth not the kingdom of heaven as a little child
shall in no wise enter therein."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
II.
Cain's Offering.
MORE of the fruits of the earth are here, though no longer the fruit
of Eden. These, too, are rich and beautiful, and a special interest
attaches to them, for they are the offering made to God by the first
man who was ever born into a sinful world.
Have we ever realized the feelings with which Adam and his wife
must have watched the dawn of intellect in their firstborn son, or
the mingled grief, shame, and hope, with which they would tell him
the history of the Fall, and the mysterious promise linked with the
sentence passed upon them by the righteous Judge? Did young Cain share
the hope, which appears at one time to have been his mother's, that he
should be the one to whom it would be given to set his foot upon the
Serpent's head, and crush the Enemy of his race? We know not whether
such thought as this ever passed through the mind of the boy, but he
never seems to have entered, like his younger brother, into the solemn
meaning of sacrifice for sin.
Cain was not one to neglect all forms of religion; he had his
thank-offering for the God of Nature. It is possible that when he
looked around him on swelling fruits and ripening grain, and found
the earth beneath the labour of his hands yield thirty, sixty, or a
hundredfold, a feeling both of adoration and of gratitude may have
stirred within his soul. "Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an
offering unto the Lord."
But the offering was not accepted. And wherefore was it not? Let us
search a little more deeply into this matter, and see, if God help us
to understand, wherefore that sacrifice of Cain was rejected, and if
there be any danger that ours may be even as his.
It is clear that the case of Cain differs from that of the man utterly
indifferent to religion; the man who cares not to make any offering
at all. There are those, bearing the name of Christians, whose purses
(readily enough opened at any call of pleasure or pride) are kept
systematically shut when God's service or His people's need require
their contributions. It may well be a startling thought for such that
they do "less than Cain."
But what was it that marred the offering of Adam's firstborn son? Why
were those mellow fragrant fruits less acceptable to God than the
bleeding lamb presented by Cain's younger brother? We have the answer
in the words of inspiration. "By faith" Abel offered unto God a more
excellent sacrifice than Cain. And what was this acceptable faith? We
cannot think that it consisted in a mere belief in the existence of
God as the Creator and Preserver of mankind, that vague belief which
now satisfies so many who deem it a proof of higher intellect and more
liberal thought to reject the peculiar doctrines of Christianity.
Doubtless Cain held such belief, yet his offering was "not" the
offering of faith.
Abel came before God in God's appointed way, as a transgressor,
seeking grace through the medium of a sacrifice. We know not how far
he understood the meaning of the rite; whether it was revealed unto
him, more or less distinctly, that the promised seed of the woman was
also to be the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world; but
whether the light granted to Abel was dim or bright, he walked by it in
faith. The fruits gathered by the hand of Cain showed no recognition of
guilt—no consciousness of needing mercy—no hope of grace to be received
through a heaven-sent deliverer. And the offering was not accepted.
If the touchstone contained in the words "by faith" were applied to
a multitude of the gifts now placed upon the altar of God, would not
many—would not most of them be found to be offerings like those of
Cain? Pause, dear reader, and think over your own. Have you helped to
raise churches, or to ornament them, to provide for orphans, to assist
needy widows, is your name on many a subscription list—your gold often
seen on the collection-plate? Do you give the fruits of your intellect
to religious work, the best of your time to charitable labours? Are you
counted an active and useful member of the church to which you belong?
All this may be, and yet it is not impossible that you are presenting
the offerings of Cain.
Are you standing in your own righteousness, labouring in your own
strength, not deeming yourself a sinner needing forgiveness, but a
saint entitled to reward? Search well your motives, look closely at
your own heart. We shall not be judged according to the verdict of the
world, that sees the action but scans not the motive, but by Him who
reads the secret thought and intent.
Herod raised a magnificent temple to the Lord God of Israel, and his
liberality may have been lauded to the skies, yet, surely, his was the
offering of Cain. Let us be fully persuaded that no sacrifice of ours
can be acceptable but as made "for" Christ, and offered through Christ,
that we need "the blood of sprinkling" both on ourselves and on our
works, if we would not find that sacrifice—these works, however great,
however highly extolled—rejected at last!
And there is another way in which we may cause our gifts to be
accounted worthless by the Lord, even when we believe them to be
offered in faith—when the proud spirit of malice, jealousy, hatred,
which was especially the spirit of Cain, is suffered to pollute even
that which we bring unto God. Theological hatred has become proverbial
for bitterness: so fierce are the disputes upon subjects of religion,
that the nature of that "faith that worketh by love" seems to be often
entirely forgotten.
If we would not tread in the steps of the first murderer, let us follow
the command of our Lord. "If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and
there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; leave there
thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy
brother, and then come and offer thy gift."
Of the deepest importance is it to all who come not empty-handed
before their Creator and Judge, to examine whether faith hallows or
self-righteousness mars what they bring, whether theirs be the accepted
sacrifice of Abel or the rejected offering of Cain.
[Illustration]
III.
Noah's Olive Leaf.
PRECIOUS little leaf, symbol of hope and of peace; well worthy art
thou of being thus preserved for thousands of years, to be viewed by
generation after generation of the sons of men as a pledge of God's
lovingkindness! Far more valuable art thou, leaflet once borne in the
bill of a bird, than the glittering diadem worn by Solomon in all his
glory. With what delight wert thou once hailed by all that survived
of mankind, by the whole Church enclosed in the ark; and we can well
believe that even in Paradise the spirit of Noah dwells with pleasure
on the recollection of that moment when he first looked upon thee!
To conceive what must have been the joy felt by the patriarchs at the
sight of the first leaf from a renovated world, let us try to realize
their position when the dove flew back with that leaf in its bill.
When Noah and his family first took refuge in the ark, and the windows
of heaven were opened, and the fountains of the great deep broken up,
their emotions were doubtless those of thankfulness for deliverance and
safety, when the great judgment, so long threatened, so long expected,
had come at length on the earth. While the storm raged around them,
they were secure; the waves that swept over a guilty world could
but lift their floating home nearer to heaven! With their emotions
of thankfulness would be mixed those of sorrow, pity, regret, for
neighbours, perhaps friends and relatives, who had been warned in vain,
then perishing beneath the terrible flood. Had not God Himself shut him
in, how often would Noah have thrown wide open the door of the ark to
receive the poor struggling, drowning wretches, whose dying eyes would
be turned to that refuge which they had rejected and despised until it
was too late to seek it.
But when the flood had fulfilled its terrible mission; when no cries
of the drowning were borne on the blast; when the cataract of rain
had ceased, and the dashing of waters was heard no more; then the
excitement, the strong emotions of the family in the ark must also
have sunk into comparative rest. As the wild raging of the tempest was
exchanged for the stillness of death, and the great vessel floated
tranquilly over placid waters, and week after week, month after month
passed, without bringing a change, great and probably wearisome
monotony would pervade the life of the inmates of the ark. That which
they had at first rejoiced in as a refuge, would gradually, but
increasingly, become to them like a prison. How long were they to be
confined within its narrow bounds; when would they be permitted again
freely to tread the earth, and partake once more of its fresh produce?
If the Israelites bitterly recalled to memory the riches of the gardens
of Egypt—the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks and the onions—would no
such regrets be felt by the family of Noah? Would not woman sigh for
the flowers that she had been wont to cherish, and an inexpressible
yearning oppress all, a yearning to look once more on the green,
smiling face of nature? For how many more months, or years, were
weary eyes to rest on the same objects, counting the beams above or
the planks below of the now familiar prison? A fear might even arise
that the supply of provisions, however large at first, might fail,
and privation and want ensue. The venerable Noah may have waited with
unshaken faith and calm submission for the hour of freedom, but it
is more than probable that the younger members of his family grew
impatient under the restraint of lengthened confinement.
At last Noah opened the window of the ark and sent forth a raven. In
the monotonous routine of the life which he led, this was an event
thought worthy of record; the creature appears to have been sent as a
messenger, and its return must have been anxiously awaited. But never
again did the dark bird re-enter the ark which he once had quitted.
Again Noah sent forth a bird, a dove; but in the beautiful language of
Scripture, "the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and she
returned unto him into the ark, for the waters were on the face of the
whole earth: then he put forth his hand, and took her, and pulled her
in unto him into the ark."
Not yet had come the signal for release; patience had not yet had its
perfect work; the fathers of mankind, the inheritors of the world, must
wait longer ere entering into possession. Seven times the sun rose and
set ere the dove was sent forth again by Noah. But this time the gleam
of the silver wing was to bring joy to the waiting patriarch: "The
dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive
leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the
earth." When was earthly treasure ever received with the rapturous
welcome given to that leaf; the first brought from a world new-born, as
it were, from the dead!
If we regard the Church of Christ as the ark floating now on the
troublous waters of the world, the story of Noah's olive leaf becomes
a beautiful parable. "How long, Lord, how long," has been for ages the
weary cry of the people of God, waiting and watching for the final
deliverance and restitution of all things. They are "safe," for they
rest in Christ, but the heirs of the new heaven and the new earth may
seem to wait in vain. Unbelief suggests the discouraging thought,
"since the fathers fell asleep all things continue as they were from
the beginning of the creation." Virtue still suffers; evil still
spreads; sin and sorrow, like the waters of the flood, are covering the
face of the earth.
But there is an olive leaf still for the family of God in the ark.
It is the Saviour's promise, "I will come again and receive you unto
Myself." To find it and bear it home is not granted to mere human
reason, however keen of eye and strong of wing: the raven brought not
the emblem of hope. It is the Dove, the Heavenly Comforter alone who
brings to the waiting Church, to each weary individual heart, the
pledge and promise of a glorious inheritance, when Christ shall return
to throw wide open the bolted door, and bid His redeemed come forth to
rejoice and to reign for ever!
Has the Dove, dear Reader, brought that olive leaf to your soul; have
you rejoiced in the promise? Are you eagerly looking for Him, whom,
not having seen, you have loved; and is His word, "I will come again,"
more precious to you than thousands of silver and gold? Well may the
Christian, looking to the promise, adopt the language of the poet,— *
Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom,
Did not Thy Heavenly Dove
Come brightly bearing through the gloom
A peace-branch from above!
Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray,
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
* Slightly altered from Moore.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IV.
Abraham's Tent.
WE experience natural pleasure in visiting spots celebrated in history.
Though corn may wave, and fruit ripen over the scene of some celebrated
battle, we cannot look with indifference on the scene where was once
held a world-famous struggle for freedom. No modern palace would have
the interest which would be attached to the ruin of one which had been
trodden by famous monarchs of old. Were there buildings remaining of
which it could be said, "here Alexander planned his conquests;" or
"there Cyrus administered justice;" we should regard such buildings,
however crumbling and defaced, as places gilded by memories which time
could never destroy.
But no palace of monarch, no fortress of hero, could ever wake in us
such feelings of reverence as a tent of black goat's hair, such as
those which the nomade descendants of Abraham now pitch on the sands
of Arabia, if it could be certified to us,—"here dwelt the father of
the faithful; he who in Scripture is called the friend of God. In that
doorway sat the venerable patriarch in the heat of the day, when,
raising his eyes, he beheld three mysterious visitors from Heaven stand
before him. Behind yon curtain Sarah listened with eager interest to
the conversation between her lord and the angel, laughing to herself
at tidings which she would not at first believe. There also, when time
had rolled on, she laughed with joy over the babe, the promised gift
of God; the child from whom should descend a race as the stars in the
sky or the sands by the sea for number. It was there that Abraham first
embraced his Isaac, and blessed God for the fulfilment of that promise
which faith had grasped, when the aged man had 'against hope believed
in hope.'"
Though the patriarch's tent was most unlike our own habitations, and
though the dwelling of a wealthy sheik would contain fewer comforts
than many an English cottage, we turn to it for lessons of what a home
should be in all climates, and through all ages. Not that it can be
altogether a model even as regards the conduct of its inmates; Sarah's
chidings, Hagar's scorn, and Ishmael's mockings must not be forgotten;
but in four respects, at least, the tent of Abraham offers a scene
which we may contemplate with reverence and profit.
Firstly, it was the dwelling of faith. Wherever its stakes were driven
in, its cords stretched, its curtains spread, there rose a habitation
in which God was truly worshipped. The ground upon which it stood
became in a manner holy. Could that tent speak, of what fervent
prayers, what wrestling faith, what earnest adoration, could it tell,
and that at a time when idolatry had spread over almost all the earth!
In the midst of darkness a bright light shone from that tent; a light
which has never been, and never will be, extinguished.
Are our homes thus centres of light? Is God, the God of Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob, thus constantly honoured in them? Could the word spoken of
the patriarch be also spoken, reader, of thee? "I know him, that he
will command his children and his household after him, and they shall
keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment." Had thy walls a
voice, what witness would they bear to earnest pleadings in secret, or
humble devotion in family prayer?
Again,—Abraham's tent was the abode of conjugal, parental, and filial
affection. Sarah, with all her faults, is held up to us as a model
wife. Though, even in advanced life, celebrated for exquisite beauty,
Sarah's adorning appears to have been no "outward adorning of plaiting
the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; she
obeyed Abraham, calling him lord," yielding loving reverence to her
husband. Isaac was brought up in the nurture and admonition of the
Lord; and his obedience to God, and submission to his aged parent,
were alike shown when he suffered himself to be bound, an unresisting
victim, on the altar of sacrifice.
In these days, when a spirit of lawless independence sometimes pervades
even the nursery, and wives too often forget that they have vowed to
honour and obey as well as to love, it is well that we should let our
thoughts dwell awhile in the tent of Abraham, to see that a home should
be as a monarchy, governed by laws of love, the husband and father a
wise beneficent ruler, emphatically a power "ordained of God."
Again: Abraham's tent reminds us of the duty of hospitality—that
hospitality without grudging, which alone is worthy of the title; not
that interchange of worldly courtesies—that asking in order to be asked
again—that ostentation which consumes at one luxurious meal what would
suffice to feed starving multitudes. Never let the name of hospitality
be profaned by being applied to such entertainments as these. But the
hearty welcome given even to strangers, the readiness to spread the
meal for the guest who may never be able to return the kindness, these
we learn from the patriarch. Abraham "entertained angels unawares;" and
the same may be said of many of those who exercise hospitality in a
spirit like his. In one sense the Lord of angels visits the dwellings
of those who welcome His servants for His sake. It is a privilege and
an honour to entertain the humblest of His saints; for He hath said,
"Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these My brethren, ye did it
unto Me."
Lastly, let us regard our dwellings, as Abraham did his, as a
tabernacle rather than as a settled home. Here we have no continuing
city, but we seek one to come. Let not our hearts cling too closely to
an earthly habitation, as if it were to be ours for ever, but let us
rather remember that, like the family of Abraham, we are strangers and
pilgrims on the earth:
"Here in the body pent,
Absent from Heaven we roam,
But nightly pitch our wandering tent,
A day's march nearer home."
Yes; for not only our dwellings, but even these our mortal bodies are
but tabernacles, to be taken down and laid aside, to be exchanged for a
building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.
In the meantime let us pray that they may be the abodes of peace and
joy and love, and that the Holy Spirit may be our guest, not as one who
tarries but awhile and departs, but as one who comes to abide with us
always.
[Illustration]
V.
Hagar's Bottle.
AN empty skin-bottle is before us, such as is used by Orientals to the
present day to carry what they emphatically term "the gift of God;" a
title to which our Saviour appears to have alluded when He said to the
woman of whom He had asked water, "If thou knewest the gift of God;"
seeking to raise her thoughts from the earthly well to the heavenly
Fountain.
Of the value of water in the wilderness, we, in our moist climate,
can scarcely form an adequate conception. Let me briefly quote from
a description of travelling in an Arabian desert, given by a graphic
author: * "On either hand extended one weary plain in a black monotony
of lifelessness . . . A dreary land of death, in which even the face
of an enemy were almost a relief amid such utter solitude . . . Day
after day found us urging our camels to their utmost pace, for fifteen
or sixteen hours together out of the twenty-four, under a well-nigh
vertical sun . . . Then an insufficient halt for rest or sleep, at
most of two or three hours, soon interrupted by the often repeated
admonition, 'If we linger here we all die of thirst.'"
* Palgrave.
But the scene which rises before us, the wilderness of Beersheba, is
not peopled with pilgrims and travellers urging on their weary camels;
there are but two figures in it—an exhausted, grief-stricken woman, and
the fainting lad at her side. That skin-bottle is in her hands—empty.
She has watched it shrinking as the precious fluid within was gradually
used, or wasted by evaporation; dry and parched as is her own tongue,
she has feared to relieve her burning thirst lest she should too soon
exhaust the priceless treasure. With a sickening feeling of fear Hagar
has given the last draught to her Ishmael; and then, with faint hope,
squeezed the skin hard with her feverish hands, trying to press out one
more drop—but in vain. She looks anxiously around her, but can see no
means of refilling that empty bottle.
Then, in anguish, Hagar turns from the parched shrub under which she
has cast her son; she wanders away—but let the account be given in the
touching words of Scripture: "She went and sat her down over against
him a good way off, as it were a bowshot: for she said, Let me not see
the death of the child. And she sat over against him, and lift up her
voice, and wept."
While Hagar was weeping, her son appears to have been praying; for
it is written, "God heard the voice of the lad." Ishmael's cry was
answered: "The angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven, and said
unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar? fear not; for God hath heard the
voice of the lad where he is. And God opened her eyes, and she saw a
well of water; and she went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave
the lad drink." When the cool bubbling liquid filled out the swelling
skin-bottle in the hand of the rejoicing, thankful mother, as she bent
eagerly over the well, far more emphatically than the first supply was
it to her—the gift of God.
There are times when life appears to us as the wilderness of Beersheba
did to Hagar and Ishmael. Our troubles may have been of our own making;
like the proud youth who had mocked at his brother, we may, perhaps, be
able to trace our sorrows to their source in our sin; but whether it
be so or not, we stand in a dry, thirsty land, where no water is; we
seem to have drained our last drop of earthly enjoyment—our lips are
parched—our bottle is empty—we feel that we can but lie down and die!
Few pass the meridian of life, perhaps few reach it, without knowing
something of this desolation of heart, this emptiness of all joy.
Blessed to Ishmael was the trouble which made him cry unto the Lord;
blessed to us these disappointments which dry up our cherished
supplies, if in our baffled thirst for happiness we turn to our Saviour
in prayer. The same God who gave to Hagar a well in the desert has
also a message of mercy for us: "Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye
to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea,
come, buy wine and milk without money and without price." Would we
seek more specific direction to the Fountain that bursts forth in the
desert, to change that desert to an Eden, and supply our deep thirst
for peace and joy? The Saviour Himself repeats the invitation; "If any
man thirst, let him come unto Me and drink."
What do we need, dear brethren in affliction, to make us come unto Him
in whom the weary find refreshment, and the broken-hearted peace? We
need that by the Spirit "our eyes should be opened." The Fountain is
near us, but we see it not until then. We view the bare waste around
us, the withered hopes that strew it; we vainly try to press out one
more drop of pleasure from the earthly vessel which once held it, and
find the bottle utterly empty and dry. In such moments of dreariness,
O Thou who art the Comforter indeed, Thou who canst fill up the empty
void, and satisfy the aching soul with abundance, come to us, speak
to us, open our eyes to behold the depths of Thy lovingkindness; lead
us beside the still waters, and let the promise of our Redeemer be
graciously fulfilled unto us: "He that cometh unto Me shall never
hunger, and he that believeth on Me shall never thirst."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VI.
Jacob's Pillow.
LET us linger before this ancient stone, used first by the benighted
patriarch as a resting-place for his head; then raised and anointed by
his hands in the morning, as a solemn memorial of a night to be much
remembered by him through all his mortal life, and beyond it. If we may
judge of the previous spiritual state of Jacob by his conduct towards
his father and brother, we shall be inclined to date his conversion to
God, the new birth of his soul, to that midnight hour when the wanderer
dreamed his glorious dream.
Some of the ideas suggested by Jacob's pillow have been embodied in a
beautiful hymn.
"If, in my wanderings,
My sun go down,
Darkness encompass me,
My rest a stone,—
Still in my dreams I'll be
Nearer, my God, to Thee—
Nearer to Thee!
"Then let my ways appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me,
In mercy given;
Angels to beckon me,
Nearer, my God, to Thee—
Nearer to Thee!
"Then, with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethels I'll raise;
Still by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee—
Nearer to Thee!"
But a yet deeper meaning seems to be given to the sacred dream by the
words of our Saviour, if it be indeed to Jacob's ladder that they
allude as type. "Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye shall see
heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the
Son of man." What the patriarch beheld in a dream, faith views as a
glorious reality. Christ, by His incarnation, linked heaven with earth;
by His ascension, joined earth to heaven. He formed a pathway of light,
by which the angels ascend and descend. Wherever we receive first into
our hearts this glorious truth—first look unto the Saviour as the Way,
the Truth, and the Life—that place becomes to us as memory's holy
ground, and we can say, as the patriarch said, "This is none other but
the house of God—this is the gate of heaven."
Jacob's pillow and his mysterious dream naturally suggest to us
meditation on the ministry of angels, of which glimpses are given to us
ever and anon in Holy Writ. The bright tenants of a world unseen may be
hovering near us, when we have little thought of their presence.
How wondrous was the scene that opened on the servant of Elisha, when,
at a time of imminent peril, the prophet's prayer, "Lord, open his
eyes, that he may see," was granted! With chariots and horses the
fierce enemy was encompassing the city; but lo! Above, a defence,
before invisible, was seen to girdle round the prophet: horses and
chariots of fire, the legions of Heaven, guarded the servant of God,
and no puny arm of flesh had power to hurt one hair of his head. Were
our eyes thus enabled to behold the spirits of light, we might see
bright winged visitors entering, as familiar guests, the lowly cottage,
the attic, the cellar—abodes which proud, luxurious sons of dust would
not stoop to enter; we might see angels still encouraging a Peter in
prison, refreshing a weary Elisha, rejoicing over a repentant sinner,
or bending with celestial smiles over a dying Lazarus, waiting for
the signal to welcome a seraph new-born to the skies. But on whatever
missions of love these bright beings may come to our earth, we owe
their ministry to the Lord of angels: they are "descending upon the Son
of man."
And we have our "ascending" angels too—those whose upward flight we
fain would follow—blest ones, whom we dare not even wish to detain, as
they mount:
"Onward to the glory,
Upward to the prize,
Homeward to the mansions
Far beyond the skies!"
Our eyes are dim with tears, as in vain we try to track their course,
lost in a haze of glory; but this we own, with thankful hearts—they owe
their exaltation to the King of saints alone: angels are "ascending,"
as well as "descending, upon the Son of man."
In the dark, bitter gloom of bereavement, we rest our aching heads on
the tombstone which covers the relics of one most dear, peacefully
sleeping in Jesus. Like Jacob, we feel benighted and alone. But if, in
the midnight of sorrow, God reveal Himself to us as He revealed Himself
to the patriarch, even that stone will become to us as a Bethel. Does
it bear the dear name of our dead—no, rather a name that is written,
we trust, in God's Book of Life! Above the stone rises the ladder of
light; its foot may rest in the grave, but its summit is hidden in the
radiance of Heaven.
[Illustration]
VII.
The Coat of Many Colours.
A MOURNFUL relic this, all torn and stained, defiled with dust, and
blood, and tears! We seem to hear the wail of the miserable father, as
with anguish he gazed upon the once goodly garment. "It is my son's
coat; an evil beast hath devoured him! Joseph is without doubt rent in
pieces!"
In the excess of his grief, "Jacob rent his clothes, and put sackcloth
upon his loins, and mourned for his son many days."
In vain they who had inflicted the deep wound in a parent's heart,
hypocritically attempted to heal it. His traitor sons "rose up to
comfort him;" but Israel refused to be comforted. "And he said, For I
will go down into the grave unto my son mourning. Thus his father wept
for him."
How bitterly the marred garment of many colours recalled to the mind of
Jacob the joy and pride with which he had placed it on his favourite
son—the son of his old age, whom he loved more than all his children!
Joseph, beauteous in person, gifted in mind, virtuous in character,
was well fitted to be the pride and delight of his parent. We marvel
not that the son of the beloved Rachel—he who inherited his mother's
outward attractions, with the piety of his father—should have been to
the heart of Jacob peculiarly dear.
And yet, perhaps, the first thought which this part of Joseph's history
suggests to the mind is, how great an evil is partiality shown by a
parent! How it draws upon its object many dangers!—Envy, enmity from
without, with the yet greater peril arising from fostered vanity and
pride within. Had Joseph remained with his doting father, wearing
the distinctive garment with which partial affection had robed him,
his noble character might have been utterly marred. Presumption,
self-righteousness, and vanity, might, and probably would, have sorely
tempted his soul. Joseph's Heavenly Father loved him as tenderly as
did his earthly father, but with a far wiser love. God gave the bitter
antidote to the sweet poison bestowed by a parent's hand. Oh, that
those whose blind and cruel partiality is sowing the seed of discord in
their families, and that of pride in the hearts of their best beloved,
would earnestly consider the history of Jacob and Joseph! How terrible
were the trials which the old patriarch's partiality drew upon his boy!
His weak affection tended to injure its object: God knew that, and
divided—for how many long and bitter years divided—the father from the
son!
Again, in yonder torn and bloody garment we see a terrible comment on
the inspired declaration, "he that hateth his brother is a murderer."
How many thoughts of envy, how many glances of malice, how many bitter
words, must there have been in the family of Jacob, before hatred in
Joseph's brethren ripened into the horrible crime which deprived a
brother of his freedom, almost of his life, and nearly brought the gray
hairs of a father with sorrow to the grave! Was there not a time when,
if it could have been foretold to the elder sons of Jacob that they
would sell their own brother into slavery, and then, by an acted lie
of the most cruel kind, try to conceal their guilt by almost breaking
their parent's heart—could this have been foretold to them, would not
each have exclaimed, in the language of Hazael, "Is thy servant a dog
that he should do this thing?"
Let us be watchful against the appearance of envy, even in its least
startling form. If we see the crocodile's egg, let us crush it; nor let
the destroyer come forth and gain strength, so that it get the mastery
over us. The slightest stirring of ill-will towards one more favoured
than ourselves, should place us at once on the watch. The humility that
is content with a lowly place—the love that rejoices in the exaltation
of a brother—these are the guardians of the soul against envy; and,
where these are wanting, can the Spirit of God be said to dwell?
Once more, by Joseph's coat of many colours, rent and blood-stained,
we are reminded of the marvellous way in which God's providence brings
good out of evil, and makes the darkest events in His servants' lives
links in a chain of mercies. The beautiful garment given by paternal
love, and worn perhaps with some pride, was torn indeed from the
persecuted Joseph—first to be replaced by the scanty apparel of a
slave, then afterwards by the garb of a criminal in prison; but it
was from wearing the dress of humiliation that Joseph was raised to
power and honour. It was not the garment made by his father that he
put off, in order to assume robes of high office in the court of King
Pharaoh. Had Joseph remained in his home at Hebron, unharmed by malice,
untouched by persecution, he would never have been the ruler in Egypt,
the benefactor of a nation, the friend of a king, the earthly preserver
of all Israel's race. It has been said that "evil is good in the
making;" so, even from the malice of Joseph's brethren, the grief of
his father, and his own anguish when "the iron entered into his soul,"
God brought forth blessings unnumbered to the man who feared and obeyed
Him.
We cannot leave the stained vestment of the ancient patriarch without
turning our thoughts to Him of whom it is written, that "He was clothed
in a vesture dipped in blood: and His name is called The Word of God."
In Joseph we see a remarkable type of our blessed Redeemer, sent by His
Father to visit man, as Joseph was sent to his brethren in Shechem.
"He came unto His own, and His own received Him not." For envy, the
chief priests delivered Christ into the hands of the Gentiles; and the
betrayer received money for Him whom the children of Israel did value,
even as their fathers sold Joseph for twenty pieces of silver.
But it is in his subsequent exaltation to be a prince and deliverer—it
is in his exercise of boundless liberality and free pardoning
grace—that Joseph is especially a type of our Lord. "God sent me before
you to preserve you a posterity in the earth, and to save your lives
by a great deliverance," said the patriarch to his penitent brethren,
who owed preservation from famine to him. And it was to those whom He
deigned to call brethren that Christ addressed the gracious assurance,
"I go to prepare a place for you."
To Him the sun, and the moon, and the stars pay homage; to Him all the
world shall bow down; in His hands is the bread of life; and His word
is still, "Look unto Me, and be ye saved, all ye ends of the earth."
Once sinners parted Christ's garments amongst them, and upon His
vesture did they cast lots; but the hour is approaching when they shall
look upon Him whom they pierced, and behold His glory,—
"Whose native vesture bright,
Is the unapproached light,
The sandal of whose foot the rapid hurricane!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
VIII.
The Ark of Bulrushes.
A FRAIL bark, indeed, this cradle of woven bulrushes, to bear so
precious a freight! We read of the boat which carried Cæsar and his
fortunes; if we measure human greatness by the extent and durability
of a man's influence over his kind, the mighty Roman is dwarfed beside
Moses, and his "fortunes" appear comparatively a thing of a day. Many
ages have passed since Cæsar exercised sway in the world; all that
remains of him is a mighty name: Moses, who lived some fourteen hundred
years before him, is still a living power on earth. The nation which
Moses was the instrument of delivering reverence his laws to this day,
while myriads of Christians, yea, all who to the latest time will study
the Word of God, will honour Moses as a prophet, obey him as a teacher,
and drink in wisdom from his inspired writings.
Cæsar raised a Babel structure of grandeur, cemented not with slime
but with blood, and it has not left even a ruin behind it. The work of
Moses, heaven-guided as he was, resembled more one of the everlasting
hills which the Almighty Himself hath planted and made firm, from which
flow, and to the end of time will flow, pure streams to fertilize
earth, and which from age to age remain unchanged in their calm
majestic beauty. Cæsar was a great conqueror. Moses stands before us in
dignity of a loftier kind; so glorious as deliverer, lawgiver, prophet,
that we almost forget that he was a mighty conqueror also. Cæsar
climbed up to a point where a halo of fame shone around him. Moses
soared high above it; the glory which beamed from his countenance was
glory derived directly from God.
Did the hopes of Jochebed venture to picture anything like this, as
she laboured at forming this little ark, twining in and out every
green bulrush with a prayer for her helpless babe? A scene of touching
domestic interest rises before the imagination as we think of the home
of Amram the Levite, near the bank of the Nile, in these old, old
days which the Scripture narratives bring so freshly before us. There
is Jochebed, in a retired part of her dwelling, anxiously pursuing
her labour of love, working and weeping, and praying as she works,
trembling lest a cry from her hidden infant should betray the secret
of his existence to any Egyptian ear. Perhaps little Aaron disturbs
her ever and anon with innocent prattle, lisping in his childish
simplicity dangerous questions which the mother knows not how to
answer; while Miriam, the future prophetess, of an age to share her
parent's anxieties and guard their secret, watches to give notice of
the approach of any stranger, her child-face already stamped with the
impress of care too natural to one brought up in the house of bondage.
The story of Jochebed and her little ark of bulrushes seems to be one
especially recorded for the comfort of mothers. Though in our peaceful
land such perils as those which surrounded the cradle of Moses are
unknown, yet every parent who watches by a baby boy may learn a lesson
from the Israelite mother who, strong in faith, twined that green nest
for her little darling. For every infant born into this world of danger
and trouble an ark should be woven of many prayers. In two points of
view we may regard every such infant as in a position not unlike that
of Jochebed's babe, when found by Pharaoh's daughter in his little
floating cradle.
The child has been born to danger, and under the doom of death; he is
redeemed, adopted, and may be destined to great usefulness and exalted
honour. Should a mother's eye rest on these pages, let her follow out
with me a subject which can scarcely fail to be one of deep interest to
her heart.
Your child, my Christian sister, has, like Moses, "been born to danger,
and under the doom of death." You have transmitted to him a fallen
nature; he has first opened his eyes to the light in a world of which
Satan is the prince—that Pharaoh whose wages is death, that tyrant
who seeks to destroy the babe whom you so tenderly love. You cannot
keep your little one from all the perils and temptations which, if he
live to manhood, will certainly surround him. You cannot prevent his
being exposed to trials as perilous to his soul as the waters of the
Nile were to the body of the infant Moses. What can you do to guard
your child from dangers in which so many have perished? Like Jochebed,
strong in faith, make him a little ark of your prayers.
And to turn to the brighter side of the subject—if you have to share
Jochebed's fears, may you not inherit her hopes also? It is no earthly
princess, but the gracious Saviour Himself who has raised your child
from his low estate, reversed his doom, adopted him as His own, and
placed him as a little Christian in your arms, with the words, "Take
this child away, and nurse it for Me, and I will give thee thy wages."
The destiny which may await your babe, is one which is more great,
more glorious, than your imagination can conceive. Can the human mind
grasp all that is contained in the titles, "Member of Christ, child of
God, inheritor of the kingdom of Heaven?" You are tending an immortal
being; a future seraph may be cradled in your arms! Those soft lips,
pressed so closely to your own, may hereafter utter words that shall
influence the destiny of souls through the countless ages of eternity;
to that mind, which can scarcely yet hold even the sweet assurance
of a parent's love, may be unfolded mysteries into which the angels
desire to look. If care and anxiety press on your soul when you think
of what your child is—feeble, helpless, born to trouble as the sparks
fly upward—there is deep rapture in the thought of what that child may
be. Oh! Dedicate him now to his God; ask for him not fame, power, or
wealth, not the riches of Egypt, but ask for him grace to follow the
Lord fully, to choose "the reproach of Christ;" ask for him the spirit
of humility, faith, and love, which was given to Jochebed's favoured
son. In view of the glorious destiny to which he is called, as well as
of the perils which beset him, make him a little ark of your prayers.
An honoured woman was Jochebed, mother of Moses, Aaron, and Miriam,
all peculiarly favoured by God; and thrice blessed is every Christian
parent, whether her offspring live for usefulness below, or be early
taken to bliss above, who at the last day shall appear with an unbroken
family before the Heavenly King! "Thou whose blood hath redeemed me and
mine, and whose grace has preserved us—lo! Here am I, and the children
whom Thou hast given me!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
IX.
Pharaoh's Chariot.
IT is much more than three thousand years since the mighty wall of
waters fell crashing and thundering on Pharaoh and his host; since over
his chariots and his horsemen swept the huge billows of the sea. We
will not, however, look on his chariot as drawn from the watery waste,
where it lay perhaps imbedded in coral, with the dank sea-weeds wrapped
around it, pierced by the ship-worm, with the finny inhabitants of the
deep gliding under the decaying axle, or over the broken wheel. We
will survey Pharaoh's chariot in all its pomp of colour and gilding;
as it was when the tyrant mounted it to pursue after Israel, a chariot
meet for one of the mightiest of monarchs, one of the proudest of men.
We will look on it as it was when powerful and fiery horses bore it
rapidly onward, under the guidance of the skilful charioteer, and armed
multitudes followed on its track.
What stern and terrible emotions must have darkened the countenance
of Pharaoh as he set his foot on that chariot, which was to bear him
on, as he deemed, to his revenge! He was the tyrant from whom the
captives were escaping; the lion from whom his prey had been torn; the
bereaved father whose bitterness of anguish was turned into thirst
for vengeance. To Pharaoh, every forward bound of his horses, every
revolution of those massive wheels, seemed to brine him nearer to
what he most eagerly desired: "The enemy said, I will pursue, I will
overtake, I will divide the spoil; my lust shall be satisfied upon
them; I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them!"
The speed of the royal chariot would appear too slow for the impatience
of the monarch within it. And yet to what goal was Pharaoh so eagerly
rushing, to what was he pressing on with such fiery haste? Death and a
watery grave! In a few hours he was to be a gasping, struggling, dying
man in that chariot, or to be swept out of it like a whirling straw on
a cataract by the power of the mighty waves!
As was his chariot to Pharaoh, so is ambition to those whose
all-absorbing object is to advance in the course of worldly
distinction. There are many, not only in the higher but in the lower
ranks of life, whose one great wish and aim might be expressed in
the words "to get on in the world." Rapid advancement is their grand
object; and they are not careful as to what they crush under their
chariot wheels. If conscientious scruples come in their way, they pass
over them; regard for the interests of others cannot stay them in their
career; success is the goal towards which they eagerly drive, though
that success with each individual may take a different shape. With one
it may be an empire, with another a thriving business; the soldier's
highest mark may be a marshal's baton, while the village girl's dream
of distinction is to become one day a lady. With one the chariot of
ambition is more richly gilded, more gorgeously emblazoned, than
with another, but in some form it is mounted by all who seek worldly
advancement in this life as their chief end and goal.
Doubtless there is something exhilarating in the rapid motion; the
feeling that every turn of the wheel brings the eager aspirant to rank,
or power, or wealth, or fame, nearer to what he desires. This feeling
is not confined to hardened sinners like Pharaoh. The world does not
judge ambition severely, it rather admires the gilded chariot if it
bear a man onward to success. But if any one of my readers should be
tempted to mount it, let him first look forward calmly and thoughtfully
to that point where, to all earthly ambition, it will be said,
"hitherto shalt thou come, but no further."
The waters of death lie before us, high and low; monarch and slave
alike are swallowed up there, as the waves of the Red Sea made no
distinction between mighty Pharaoh and the meanest of his host. What
will the proudest earthly success matter to us when once those waters
close over us?
"Can storied urn, or monumental bust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice awake the silent dust,
Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?"
There is another chariot mentioned in Scripture, which affords the
most striking contrast to that of Pharaoh. Its circling wheels woke
no echoes amongst the rocks, left no impression upon the sands. It
was prepared for a poor and weary man, whose feet had long trodden a
thorny path of trial. I allude to Elijah's chariot of fire—the noblest
car into which a son of Adam was ever permitted to mount. It came from
Heaven, and Heaven was its bourne. In that chariot, borne above the
waters of death, which might not so much as wet the sole of his foot,
in Elijah the corruptible assumed incorruption, and the mortal put on
immortality!
The subject is a very sublime one, but the lesson which we may draw
from it is practical. If Pharaoh's chariot be an emblem of ambition, we
may regard Elijah's as the emblem of a spirit of devotion. It descends
from Heaven; it is sent by our God to bear His servants upwards towards
Him. Not all the waters of death shall quench or dim its glory, for it
is immortal like Him who bestowed it.
Reader, a choice is before us: one of these chariots may receive us,
but into whichever we enter, it must be by turning away from the other.
The man whose first aim and desire is to push himself forward in the
world, to press over whatever impediments conscience may place in his
way, though he may possess shining qualities, cannot be a true disciple
of the meek and lowly Redeemer. While he who has given himself heartily
unto Christ, in a spirit of earnest devotion, cannot rest his chief
hopes upon any object, however grand, of mere earthly ambition. "The
pride of life" is not of the Father, but of the world. "If any man love
the world, the love of the Father is not in him."
What, then, is the direction of our most earnest desires? Is it onwards
or upwards? Is the goal towards which we are pressing below the skies
or above them? If the career before a man be but that of self-seeking
pride, however rapid may be his promotion, however swiftly he may sweep
on in the path of distinction, with the gaze of an admiring or an
envying crowd fixed upon him, every turn of the wheel but brings him
nearer to the dark goal of destruction, where his vain ambition, like
the chariot of Pharaoh, must perish with the life of its possessor!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
X.
The Tables of Stone.
BROKEN; alas! Shivered and broken! The gift of the Most High—the tables
inscribed with the Law which was uttered in the thunders of Sinai,
with the commandments which Israel had thrice vowed to keep—all broken
through the baseness of man!
But man is not willing to own this. He has gathered the broken
fragments together, as the shivered pieces of a precious ancient vase
were once gathered, and has placed them together, fitting bit to bit,
and has fastened them firmly, as he deems, with the cement of his own
self-righteousness. He believes that there are few particles missing.
Perhaps, indeed, he has not kept the Fourth Commandment in all its
integrity; perhaps some fragments are wanting in the Tenth; but still,
on the whole, he believes that he can present fair, almost faultless,
tables, on which God will look with approval, and fellow-creatures
with applause. When the Pharisee's eye rested on the tables of the
Commandments—that proud eye detected no flaw—he cried, "God, I thank
Thee that I am not as other men!" When the young ruler was questioned
by the Lord, he, too, marked no breach in the heaven-given Law: "all
these things have I kept from my youth up," was the complacent answer
of a conscience at rest.
The Lord Jesus, the Source and Fountain of Light, threw such radiance
on the Law of God, which man had broken, that the flaws and fractures
in it became terribly manifest to every unblinded eye. Christ showed
that the Commandment extends to the words of the lip and the thoughts
of the heart. How self-righteousness melts under the burning power of
that declaration from the Saviour, which sums up all the Commandments
in two! "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with
all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is
the First Commandment. And the Second is like, namely this, Thou shalt
love thy neighbour as thyself." No one, but Him who gave the Law, could
keep that Law unbroken!
Yet still, even to the present day, man takes self-righteousness to
cement the fragments, and in his secret soul believes his work to be
successful. He regards the Tables of Stone as holy; he knows that they
were given by God; and his object, sometimes secret, but sometimes
even avowed, is to make of them stepping-stones in the way to Heaven,
so that he may pass the river of death without fear. He says, in his
heart, that he has so carefully kept the Commandments, that he may
safely rest upon them, and so receive the reward of obedience.
But woe to man, guilty man, if he trust his safety to that which has
been broken again and again, and which never can be effectually joined
together again by human effort. Not to his faithfulness in keeping
God's Commandments, can the highest saint look for salvation. He knows
that he might as well place his foot on a foam bubble floating on a
torrent, and trust to that bubble to keep him from sinking, as rest
on the broken Law to save him from being swept away to everlasting
destruction.
They who have tried most carefully to keep the Law, are most ready to
own this truth. Well does the Church of England make her children's
response to each Commandment a petition for "mercy." Then at the close
of all comes a prayer that God would write His Laws in our hearts, in
allusion to His own gracious promise: "I will put My laws into their
mind, and write them in their hearts; and I will be to them a God, and
they shall be to Me a people."
When our Lord sojourned upon earth, a sinner was brought before Him
who had notoriously broken the Law. Christ appealed to the consciences
of her accusers, and conscience convicted them all of having, likewise
transgressed God's Commandment. Twice on that memorable occasion,
"Jesus stooped down, and with His finger wrote upon the ground." No
action of the Lord recorded in Scripture can be without significance.
If we humbly try to penetrate the meaning of this one, may we not find
that the Lord would remind man, that though scribe, Pharisee, and those
whom they condemned, had all broken the Law contained in the Tables
given through Moses, yet that Christ could write that Law so indelibly
in dust and ashes, "with the Spirit of the living God, not in tables of
stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart," that it should ever remain
there? Thus every true believer becomes, in the forcible language of
St. Paul, the epistle of Christ; the Law being inscribed therein by
"the finger of God," not as a ground of acceptance, but as a token of
adoption.
And let us never forget that what is written in the heart will
assuredly be read in the life; none will so earnestly endeavour to
keep the Commandments in thought, and word, and deed, as he who has
received them in the spirit as well as the letter, "whose obedience is
the cheerful heart-service of the man whose transgression is pardoned,
whose sin is covered."
[Illustration]
XI.
The High Priest's Mitre.
A VERY remarkable scene is brought before us in the history of
Alexander the Great. During his career of conquest, he had been
offended by the Jews, then subject to his enemies the Persians. Unlike
the Samaritans, who had sent troops to the aid of Macedon's mighty
king, the Jews remained faithful to their allegiance to Darius.
Alexander, little accustomed to have his imperious will opposed,
resolved that as soon as he should have conquered Tyre, to which he was
then laying siege, he would march against the Jews, and let them also
feel the weight of his wrath.
Tyre fell, merciless slaughter ensued, the city was given to the
flames, and many of its inhabitants to the sword; while, with yet
more horrible cruelty, Alexander caused two thousand of the miserable
Tyrians to be crucified along the sea-shore! Such was the conqueror who
was now to march against defenceless Jerusalem!
Let me give the account of what followed in the words of Rollin,
the historian: "In this imminent danger, Jaddus, the high priest,
who governed under the Persians, seeing himself exposed, with all
the inhabitants, to the wrath of the conqueror, had recourse to the
protection of the Almighty, gave orders for the offering up of public
prayers to implore His assistance, and made sacrifices. The night
after, God appeared to him in a dream, and bid him to cause flowers to
be scattered up and down the city; to set open all the gates; and go,
clothed in his pontifical robes, and all the priests dressed also in
their vestments, and all the rest clothed in white, to meet Alexander,
and not to fear any evil from that king, inasmuch as He would protect
them. This command was punctually obeyed; and, accordingly, this grand
procession, the very day after, marched out of the city to an eminence,
where there was a view of all the plain, as well as of the temple and
city of Jerusalem."
Here the high priest and his company awaited the approach of the
terrible conqueror surrounded by his victorious bands. The boldest
amongst the Jews might well tremble before the destroyer of Tyre. But
great was the astonishment, both of the Macedonians and the Jews, at
the scene which ensued, when the victorious monarch met the unarmed and
defenceless Jaddus.
"Alexander was struck by the sight of the high priest, on whose mitre
and forehead a gold plate was fixed, on which the name of God was
written. The moment the king perceived the high priest, he advanced
towards him with an air of the most profound respect, bowed his body,
adored the august Name upon his front, and saluted him who wore it
with a religious veneration . . . All the spectators were seized with
inexpressible surprise; they could scarcely believe their eyes. . .
Parmenio, who could not yet recover from his astonishment, asked the
king how it came to pass that he, who was adored by every one, adored
the high priest of the Jews.
"'I do not,' replied Alexander, 'but the God whose minister he is;
for whilst I was at Dia in Macedonia, my mind wholly fixed on the
great design of the Persian war, as I was revolving the methods how
to conquer Asia, this very man, dressed in the same robes, appeared
to me in a dream, exhorted me to dismiss every fear, bid me cross the
Hellespont boldly, and assured me that God would march at the head of
my army, and give me the victory over that of the Persians.' Alexander
having thus answered Parmenio, embraced the high priest and all his
brethren; then, walking in the midst of them, he arrived at Jerusalem,
where he offered sacrifices to God in the temple, after the manner
prescribed to him by the high priest."
Let us now see placed before us in the Scriptures the mitre, as
appointed by God Himself to be worn by the high priest of Israel: "Thou
shalt make a plate of pure gold, and grave upon it, like the engravings
of a signet, HOLINESS TO THE LORD. And thou shalt put it on a blue
lace, that it may be upon the mitre; upon the forefront of the mitre it
shall be. And it shall be upon Aaron's forehead . . . And they made the
plate of the holy crown of pure gold, and wrote upon it a writing, like
to the engravings of a signet, HOLINESS TO THE LORD." It was before
such a mitre as this, or rather before Him whose Name appeared on the
mitre, that the proud head of earth's mightiest conqueror was bowed low
in adoration.
We know that there was a solemn meaning in the various portions of the
high priest's garments, and the words inscribed on his "holy crown"
leave us in no doubt as to what it symbolized. He who appeared before
the Majesty of Heaven to plead for Israel, and to offer the appointed
sacrifices, must be holy unto the Lord. Yet how often must the weak,
fallible high priest, have been humbled by the very dignity of his
office, when he contrasted his own infirmity and sin with the spotless
purity symbolized by his mitre!
With heavy heart must an Aaron or an Eli have bound that holy crown on
their brows, when conscious of having fallen under the displeasure of
the Most High! When we think of the sacred emblem being proudly worn
by a Caiaphas, its being polluted by contact with that man of blood,
our Lord's image of the "whited sepulchre" rises vividly before us; how
fair, pure, holy, that which was without, while the dark mind within
was festering corruption!
There was but one High priest who could appear before God in innate
purity, "holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners." It was He
who wore on His bleeding temples the crown of thorns instead of the
mitre; He who had HOLINESS TO THE LORD not borne aloft on His brow, but
woven into every action of His life. What Aaron symbolized, that was
the Lord Jesus Christ.
Before Him, arrayed in the majesty of His spotless purity, every knee
shall bow, earth's proudest kings shall fall down and adore Him.
"Wherefore He is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto
God by Him, seeing He ever liveth to make intercession for them."
[Illustration]
XII.
The High Priest's Mitre—_Continued._
THE high priest's mitre affords to us another, and a very wide field
for meditation.
Under the Jewish dispensation, the priesthood was confined to one
tribe, and the sacred crown was worn by one man; but since the
rending of the veil that shrouded the Holy of Holies, all Christ's
servants, even the lowly woman, even the feeble child, become "a royal
priesthood," as well as "a peculiar people." The "crown of life" is for
those—for all those who love the Lord Jesus supremely. The song of the
redeemed is a chorus of thanksgiving unto Him who "hath made us kings
and priests unto God and His Father." Surely it is in allusion to the
inscription upon Aaron's mitre that it is written of the blessed in the
kingdom of Christ, "His name shall be in their foreheads," according to
His own gracious promise, "I will write upon him the name of My God."
There is, even in this world, a sealing, a marking of the servants of
Christ, which conveys an idea both of dignity and of consecration. Very
remarkable is that passage in Ezekiel which records the vision granted
to the seer of the mysterious One whose "likeness was as the appearance
of fire;" and the six, each with a slaughter-weapon in his hand, who
signify the ministers of God's vengeance: "The glory of the God of
Israel was gone up from the cherub, whereupon He was, to the threshold
of the house. And He called to the man clothed with linen . . . And
the Lord said unto him, Go through the midst of the city, through the
midst of Jerusalem, and set a mark upon the foreheads of the men that
sigh and that cry for all the abominations that be done in the midst
thereof. And to the others He said . . . Go ye after him through the
city, and smite . . . but come not near any man upon whom is the mark."
The ministers of wrath were to spare God's people, marked as those who
in the midst of a sinful generation mourned for the general corruption,
and by doing so, showed that they at least valued and desired "holiness
unto the Lord."
This inscription, the sentence graven upon Aaron's mitre, is, then,
what all God's servants should wear—it is for them a distinguishing
mark. But does this appear to be the case; is "holiness unto the Lord"
the visible sign and seal of the Christian's high calling? There are
many who are recognized as active, honourable, useful, zealous servants
of God, but how few could we single out as being eminent for holiness!
And how, it may be asked, can holiness be defined? As that purity of
thought and heart which the Spirit alone can bestow; that abhorrence
of sin which is something far higher than mere abstinence from sin.
The man who bears the stamp of holiness, will detect and grieve over
the lightest stain upon conscience; the coarse allusion, however
witty, the drunkard's song, or the scoffer's jest, will never raise a
smile on his lips: nor are they so likely to be heard in his presence;
for the world, like Alexander, is often constrained to pay homage
where holiness is legibly inscribed, and the silence of one whose
habitual walk is with God, impresses more than the open rebuke of a
more inconsistent believer. Deep reverence for God and God's Word is
an accompaniment of "holiness unto the Lord;" the heavenly-minded
Christian will not jest with sacred things, nor lightly use quotations
from Scripture.
It is the holy Christian, or to use the much abused, yet most
expressive Scripture term, the "saint," who earnestly endeavours to
"bring into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ." How
marvellous is that constant current of thought flowing through every
mind, silently, secretly, like a narrow stream between banks so steep
that we cannot catch a glimpse of its course, and can but trace it
by the vegetation on either side, as our usual current of thought is
judged of by our words and our actions! How often, when seated amongst
silent companions—as, for instance, when travelling with strangers—have
we reflected how interesting it would be, could we gain a glimpse of
that stream of thought passing unceasingly through each brain; could
we know whether it sparkles with hope, or "flows deeply and darkly"
in shadow; whether it bears along golden grains of holy meditation,
or mere bubbles of folly to break at a touch, or if the current be
fetid and polluted with ideas that the lips would not dare for shame
to form into words! Could the thoughts of the travellers in one
railway-carriage, during a single hour of silence, be so photographed
as to become visible to all, how marvellous would appear the difference
between those of the worldling and those of the saint; though, alas!
the musings of the holiest child of Adam would be found no pure and
untainted stream, reflecting Heaven perfectly within its crystal depths.
The contrast would be yet more striking were the thoughts thus laid
open to view those which had flowed during an hour of public worship.
The posture of the body, the words of the mouth, might be the same, but
the current of thought would appear as different in individuals, as
the pestilential drainage from a marsh from the clear brooklet bearing
health and fertility wherever it flows. It is impossible for us to
obtain this glimpse of the stream, this knowledge of the thoughts in
the minds of others, but have we ever endeavoured to gain it as regards
our own? Have we tried to retrace the windings of the current for
one single hour, and so enabled ourselves to estimate more correctly
whether God's grace has in any degree purified "the issues of life,"
and imparted to our souls some measure of "holiness unto the Lord"?
Is such purity of thought actually requisite for—actually indispensable
to a true Christian? To judge by the standard of the world, even
that which is called the religious world, we should at once conclude
that it is not. The pre-eminently spiritual Christian stands almost
as singular amongst his brethren as did the high priest of Israel
amongst the sons of Levi. But is not this because Christians live
below their privileges, so that comparatively few let their light so
shine before men that God is glorified in His saints? Let us, ere we
close our meditations on Aaron's mitre and its inscription, earnestly,
prayerfully, revolve the solemn exhortation addressed to the servants
of Christ: "Follow peace with all men, and HOLINESS, without which no
man shall see the Lord."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIII.
Balaam's Staff.
IT is with a sigh that we look on aught that reminds us of Balaam, the
highly honoured, the highly gifted—he "which heard the words of God,
and knew the knowledge of the Most High, which saw the vision of the
Almighty, falling into a trance, but having his eyes open." In Balaam
we behold a mournful example of light without heat, knowledge without
practical wisdom, the gift of prophecy without that more excellent gift
of charity.
Here is the staff which Balaam grasped when eagerly setting forth upon
his unholy errand, desiring to curse those whom he knew that his God
had blessed. What was in the heart of the seer, when, with repeated
blows from that staff, he strove to urge forward the reluctant,
frightened ass which he rode? Not jealousy for the honour of God—not
impatience to carry the blessing of religious knowledge to Moab; but
one absorbing desire for his own advancement—his own profit, though
at the cost of the misery and the ruin of God's chosen people! Most
forcible is the expression used by one of our most talented writers to
describe a character utterly selfish, such as that of Balaam appears to
have been: "A selfish man's heart is 'just the size of his coffin;' it
has room to contain but himself." A description which presents to us an
image not only of narrowness, but of death.
Balaam was one whose conduct belied his words. He was as a branch
drawn back by main strength, but as soon as the outward pressure is
removed, returning—springing back into its natural position. Fear was
to him as a strong force drawing him back from sin, but only as long
as the pressure remained. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and
let my last end be like his!" Such was the aspiration on the lips of
the prophet; but thoughts of covetousness, followed by an act of sin
and the shameful death to which it led, make the history of Balaam a
terrible warning to inconsistent professors of religion throughout all
ages.
It is, then, possible that a man may preach to others, and yet be
himself a cast away; that he may be admired, followed, looked up to
as a leader in religion, and yet have no real life in his faith. He
may guide others to wealth, yet be himself miserably poor! There is an
analogy between the fate of such a man and that of Rose and Dietz, two
explorers in North America, who discovered a creek so rich in gold,
that its treasures have, for four years in succession, maintained more
than sixteen thousand people, some of whom have left the country with
large fortunes. *
* "The North-West Passage by Land," by Milton and Cheadle.
Surely those whose feet first trod this land of gold—those who led the
way where thousands have triumphantly followed, must have turned their
knowledge into boundless wealth, and have been amongst the richest of
mankind! So we might well conjecture, till we read the record of their
fate. Dietz returned unsuccessful to Victoria, where he was struck down
by fever, and obliged to receive help from charity. The fate of Rose
was sadder still. He "disappeared for months; and his body was found at
length by a party of miners in a journey of discovery, far out on the
wilds. On the branch of a tree hard by hung his tin cup, and scratched
upon it with the point of a knife, was his name and the words, 'Dying
of starvation!'" Did visions flit before the eyes of the famishing
man of the vast wealth which he had discovered, but never enjoyed—of
thousands feasting on the golden harvest to which he had guided them,
while not a single crumb was his portion to save him from a terrible
death!
Darker must have been the thoughts of Balaam, if time for thought was
left, as his life-blood ebbed away where he lay involved in the fate—as
he had been in the guilt—of the enemies of the Lord! To him had been
revealed mysterious treasures of knowledge—his eyes had been opened,
his mind enlightened. To him the Almighty had spoken—to him an angel
had appeared—to him had been vouchsafed a prophetic glimpse of the Star
that should come out of Jacob, the Sceptre that should rise out Of
Israel. If knowledge had power to secure, or spiritual privileges to
save, Balaam surely would never have perished.
"Take heed and beware of covetousness." The warning is addressed to
all, but it should come with peculiar force to those who are called
on—in however narrow a sphere—to deliver the message of God. Their lips
must not teach one thing, and their lives another; they must not guide
others to the glorious land, and themselves wander away to perish. If
they stand in a clearer light than most men, greater is their guilt and
their condemnation if they sin against that light.
Covetousness is a snare into which the enlightened, the honoured, the
privileged have fallen; it has ruined a Balaam amongst the prophets,
a Judas amongst the apostles. And yet how few dread its power over
themselves! To be in haste to grow rich, is perhaps the leading
characteristic of men in this age: they are impatient of obstacles in
their way, as Balaam at the stumbling of the beast that he rode; they
see not the opposing angel that stands before them with the warning:
"They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into
many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and
perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIV.
Rahab's Scarlet Cord.
NO fragile cord this, the "scarlet thread" which Rahab fastened in
her window. Its firm twist has borne the weight of the two Israelite
spies whom this woman of a doomed race, strong in faith, saved from the
pursuit of their enemies. It was a moment of deep anxiety when Rahab
led the spies to the casement in the darkness of night, and ere they
descended by that scarlet cord, earnestly pleaded with them for the
family whom she loved.
"Now therefore, I pray you, swear unto me by the Lord, since I have
shewed you kindness, that ye will also show kindness unto my father's
house, and give me a true token: and that ye will save alive my father,
and my mother, and my brethren, and my sisters, and all that they have,
and deliver our lives from death!"
"Our life for yours," answered the men to their brave and generous
preserver. "Behold," they afterwards said, "when we come into the land,
thou shalt bind this line of scarlet thread in the window which thou
didst let us down by: and thou shalt bring thy father, and thy mother,
and thy brethren, and all thy father's household, home unto thee. And
it shall be, that whosoever shall go out of the doors of thy house into
the street, his blood shall be upon his head, and we will be guiltless;
and whosoever shall be with thee in the house, his blood shall be on
our head, if any hand be upon him."
They were gone, those men of Israel; Rahab had faithfully performed
the duties of hospitality, of mercy, and now she remained awaiting in
trembling hope, the fulfilment of the promise which they had made.
There hung the scarlet line from her window over the wall of the doomed
city: on it was now suspended the safety of herself and her household.
We picture to ourselves Rahab watching from that window the miraculous
passage of the Jordan by Israel's hosts under Joshua; the priests
descending into the bed of the river, bearing with them the Ark of the
Covenant; and the waters standing on a heap to let the Lord's people
go over dry-shod. She beholds the multitudes of Israel,—warriors and
women, flocks and herds—streaming across the dry channel of the once
rapid river, a countless, an irresistible force, because under the
immediate guidance of Him who is omnipotent. We know what was the
effect of the marvellous passage on the minds of the people of Canaan:
"their heart melted, neither was there spirit in them any more." Rahab
might tremble like the rest; but when she looked on that scarlet cord
she would yet thank God and take courage. Those terrible hosts of
Israel came not as enemies to her.
Then followed the siege of Jericho, the city on whose wall stood the
dwelling of Rahab. Day after day the woman of Canaan beheld that
mysterious march of the Israelites round the city. Strange and terrible
must have appeared the solemn procession which for seven days moved
round its walls. First came the seven priests with their trumpets,
preceding the Ark of God. The warriors of Israel followed in stern
silence; there was no sound of voice from the hosts whose glittering
arms were consecrated to the terrible work of executing the sentence
passed by a righteous God upon His guilty creatures. Despair would have
oppressed the soul of Rahab, who knew but too well that Jericho was
given into the hands of its foes, but for that scarlet line, the pledge
and token of mercy to her and all in her house.
The seventh day dawned, the last that the city of Jericho—as it
then stood—ever should see. Seven times the march of the Israelites
encircled the walls. Then with what terror must the household, gathered
together in the dwelling on the wall, have heard the blast of the
trumpet, followed by that thundering shout before which crashing fell
bulwark and battlement—all Jericho's pride and strength! Fearful
sounds succeeded; slaughter was raging in the streets; the swords of
Israel were bathed in blood! Rahab and her family could not but have
experienced emotions of pity and horror, as shuddering they listened
to those sounds; but they needed to have no feelings of personal fear:
that scarlet cord was to them a surer defence than strongest bulwark
or loftiest tower; a surer defence than a phalanx of spears bristling
around them. There was no danger to Rahab from falling wall or from
enemy's sword; there was no stain on her threshold, no dying cry in her
home. By faith, she perished not with them that believed not. She lived
to be a mother in Israel, by adoption one of the people of God, if,
as is supposed, it was this Rahab who became the wife of Salmon, and
the mother of Boaz of Bethlehem, and thus an ancestress of the blessed
Saviour Himself.
We naturally suppose that the scarlet cord would be preserved as an
heirloom in the family at Bethlehem; that the gentle Ruth, herself a
daughter of Abraham by adoption, looked with peculiar interest upon
this relic of her husband's Gentile mother; and that young David often
gazed with reverential awe on this memorial kept in his father's home
of her who, in faith, preserved the Israelitish spies. We can scarcely
conceive that such a family relic as this would lightly be cast away.
There is much that reminds us of Christ's Church, in the position of
the pale, anxious woman of Jericho, watching from her casement the
Israelites encircling the city doomed to destruction, she herself
secure in a promise, saved by faith, reserved for blessedness and
honour. A thousand years with the Lord is but as a day, and for nearly
six such periods has the silent, solemn march of events, brought nearer
the grand consummation before us. The Church knows that "the day of the
Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall
pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent
heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned
up." She is listening with trembling expectation for the sound of the
"shout, and the voice of the archangel," and "the trump of God," when
the earth shall reel to and fro, and the mountains shall shake, and
the mighty cities shall fall! She has nothing to fear in that day: the
blood of Christ is her salvation—the angel of destruction will see the
token of living faith, and touch not the redeemed of the Lord.
Yes, faith in Christ is our scarlet cord, and there are two lessons
which we may learn from the type. Rahab's cord was not left in her
dwelling a useless coil; it was employed in God's service, and it was
shown forth in sight of the world. What would the mere possession of
a scarlet line have availed to Rahab, if she had not used it in doing
God's work? Was not Rahab "justified by works, when she had received
the messengers, and had sent them out another way"? Nor was her scarlet
cord hidden from men; it hung from her window over the wall. So should
the Christian's profession of faith be open: he should not only believe
in Christ, but serve Him—not only serve Him, but confess Him.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XV.
Gideon's Ephod.
WE doubt whether the high priest of Israel, in all the glory of his
festival robes, wore so costly an ephod as this. His was, indeed, to be
of gold and blue and scarlet and fine twisted linen; gold beaten into
plates and cut into wires, with engraved jewels in ouches of gold to
rest on the shoulder-pieces, very fair to the eye. But a heavier mass
of magnificence is before us than even the consecrated garment of Aaron
appears to have been; a marvellous weight of gold, such as a Crœsus or
a Darius might have worn to dazzle the eyes of their subjects.
Had we asked one of the men of Ophrah in the days of Gideon concerning
this gorgeous ephod, his answer might have been something like this:
"Behold a nation's offering of gratitude to the hero who burst the
bonds of Midian, and made Israel to triumph over their oppressors!
Gideon, the favoured of Heaven, the honoured of men! He to whom signs
and miracles have been vouchsafed; he whose faith hath made him the
deliverer of a nation, yet who hath refused to become its king;—Gideon
formed this ephod. 'I would desire a request of you,' said our hero to
his warriors: 'That ye would give me every man the ear-rings of his
prey.'
"And the warriors made reply: 'We will willingly give them.'
"A garment was spread to receive this tribute of gratitude to our
chief, and thereon was cast mighty store of jewels and gold, and the
purple raiment that had been upon the necks of the kings of Midian.
Then made Gideon this ephod from the spoils of the conquered foe. Those
who look upon it shall hold his triumph in remembrance; it shall be as
a monument to his honour, worthy of him whose valour hath won it."
Such might have been the reply of one of the followers of Gideon,
dazzled with the glory of his leader. Very different appears the
ephod of gold in the light thrown on it by this brief sentence from
Scripture: "Which thing became a snare unto Gideon, and to his house."
It is difficult, at this distance of time, to know exactly the motive
of Gideon in making the ephod, or in what way it became a cause of
sin. It has been suggested that it was a symbol of Levitical worship
set up by Gideon at Ophrah, which drew away the people from Shiloh,
the appointed holy place, where the high priest abode in charge of the
ark of God. Whether it were this irregularity, or whether a race prone
to idolatry actually worshipped the ephod, has not been clearly made
known. We are simply told that the ephod was "a snare." The hundreds of
shekels of gold, the purple raiment and jewels, were no real blessing
to Gideon; he was less safe when he had become the idol of a nation,
than when employed in threshing corn beside the wine-press to hide it
from Midianite oppressors.
Popularity, however honourably won, is too apt to become, to fallen
man, like the ephod of Gideon; the garment of glory is often "a
snare." If it led astray a man of character so pious, so noble, so
disinterested as Gideon, how much need have all God's servants, when
placed in a position of distinction, to take to themselves the warning,
"Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."
Those who have earned for themselves an honoured name in what is
called "the religious world," are in a situation of peculiar danger.
The popular preacher, the eloquent author, the active philanthropist,
may, like Gideon, find a snare even in their nobly won honours. Howard
shrank from the idea of a statue being raised to him; he was not a man
to form jewels into an ephod, he would pour them all into the treasury
of the Lord; but in most cases celebrity and distinction are very
intoxicating to human nature, even when that nature has been renewed by
grace. To be listened to as an oracle, and appealed to as a judge; to
be welcomed in high circles, flattered by the gifted and followed by
the good, is fraught with peril; all the more real because it is not of
a nature to startle conscience, but rather to soothe it to sleep. Those
of whom all pious men think well, are naturally tempted also to think
well of themselves. It is desirable for such to keep before their eyes
the golden ephod; "which thing became a snare unto Gideon."
Even in the comparatively narrow sphere of home there is some danger
to him who is the idol of the family, the pope in the dwelling, to him
whose will is law to those who love him, and in whose conduct partial
eyes can see nothing that is wrong. Love has its own sweet flattery,
and he who is constantly exposed to its influence, without the
wholesome antidote of the contradiction and opposition to be met with
in the world, may seriously suffer from its effects. In the peaceful
seclusion of private life, in a pious home from which temptation might
appear to be almost shut out, there may be need to remember the golden
ephod; "which thing became a snare unto Gideon."
And in the inmost recesses of the heart lurks peril. When a Christian
has long maintained, through God's grace, a successful struggle against
the world, the flesh, and the devil; when the spiritual hero has
resisted outward temptations and overcome inward corruptions, and is
conscious that, like Gideon, he has triumphed nobly through faith,—then
let him stand on his guard. How strong must be the temptation to form
the ephod out of spiritual trophies, when even St. Paul needed a thorn
in the flesh to preserve him from being exalted above measure through
the abundance of the revelations vouchsafed him! Christian, in Bunyan's
allegory, fought bravely in the valley, but slept in the arbour on the
hill. Gideon gloriously triumphed in time of war, but in time of peace
made the ephod, which became unto him a snare.
The Christian's motto, in the days of spiritual prosperity as well as
the dark days of trouble, should be: "God forbid that I should glory,
save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XVI.
The Jawbone of an Ass.
A GREATER contrast could scarcely be found than that presented to view
between the last object of our contemplation and this. The golden ephod
is gorgeous and fair; here we look on an unsightly bone, a relic of
the despised animal that crops the thistle, bears the burden and the
blow. The jackals might reject it, the passenger's foot kick it aside.
It has in itself no beauty, no dignity, no value; and but for finding
it carefully preserved in Scripture, we would not pause to give it a
thought.
The practical lesson suggested by this bone contrasts well with that
drawn from the ephod: if the latter showed us the weakness of human
nature even in the noblest of men, the former teaches us what God
can make of the most common—most humble instrument. Through Him, the
jawbone of an ass became a more terrible weapon than the keenest steel
had ever been in the hand of the strongest man. Samson, after the
victory which he had won single-handed, exclaimed: "With the jawbone
of an ass, heaps upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass have I slain a
thousand men!" And then, as if even he despised the instrument which he
had used, when he had made an end of speaking, he cast the jawbone away.
But that which man threw aside, God had chosen for peculiar honour.
Samson was to feel his own weakness in the midst of his strength. He
who had slain a thousand found himself ready to perish for lack of a
draught of water. The proud boast of Samson was soon followed by humble
prayer:
"Thou hast given this great deliverance into the hand of Thy servant:
and now shall I die for thirst, and fall into the hand of the
uncircumcised?"
God heard the cry, and answered it by a miracle. The dead bone became
a spring of living refreshment: "God clave an hollow place that was in
the jaw, and there came water thereout."
Once more the despised thing was eagerly raised by the hand of the
mighty Samson. "When he had drunk, his spirit came again, and he
revived: wherefore he called the name thereof Enhakkore," which is,
"The well of him that cried."
The wonders accomplished by means of this jawbone illustrate the
declaration of St. Paul, which proud man is so slow to receive: "God
hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and
God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things
which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are
despised, hath God chosen." There is encouragement to the lowliest in
these words, and they may also serve as a rebuke to those who act in
the spirit of the man in the parable, who, possessing but one talent,
hid it; that hopeless, apathetic, listless spirit, which those who
foster it are too apt to mistake for humility of soul.
We have seen the danger of self-exaltation, but there is a danger on
the opposite side; there is a cowardly shrinking from performance of
duty from a sense of our own deficiencies. Even Moses fell into this
error: "I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue," cried he, seeking
an excuse for not undertaking the mission on which God would send him.
And the Lord said unto him, "Who hath made man's mouth? or who maketh
the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the Lord?"
And when Moses persisted in declining the office of which he felt
himself to be unworthy, "the anger of the Lord was kindled." For
whatever work God gives His people to do, He will provide them with
an instrument. There are those who say in their hearts, "Had I but
wealth, how largely would I give! How much good would I do!" or, "Had
I but strength, how actively would I engage in the work of the Lord!"
Had Samson been like these, he might have exclaimed, "Oh, had I but a
sword in my hand, I would put these Philistines to flight!" But Samson
uttered no such idle exclamation; he caught up the nearest weapon at
hand; he used what he found, though it was but an ass's jawbone, and
God made it effectual to put to flight the army of the aliens.
So the imprisoned Bunyan did not sit down in his prison despairing,
murmuring forth, "Had I but 'liberty,' I would declare God's truth;"
nor, in our own times, Moon * exclaim, "Had I but 'sight,' I would be
useful in my generation." No, the imprisoned and the blind both worked
with brave, hopeful resolution; and both have been enabled to do more
for God's glory and the welfare of mankind than have tens of thousands
of Christians possessing the advantages lacked by these servants of God.
* This blind man has given portions of the Scriptures in embossed
letters to those afflicted like himself in "fifty-six languages!"
Hope is classed by St. Paul with faith and charity: it is closely
connected with both. Christian Hope, born of Faith in the truth,
the power, and the mercy of God, gives energy to Charity in all her
active labours of love. "Our Lord can make a weak instrument strong, a
worthless instrument effectual; He could bless even 'that'!" whispers
Hope, as she points to the jawbone so mighty in the hand of Faith.
And thus still may the weary worker, disheartened by difficulties,
"faint, yet pursuing," drink in refreshment, and gain vigour for new
efforts, like Samson, from the bone of an ass.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XVII.
Ruth's Barley-ears.
MEEKLY stooped Ruth to gather up these scattered grains of the golden
harvest which the servants of Boaz, the "mighty man of wealth," were
bearing home to his garners. But not the gleanings alone, but the
fulness of the harvest also was to be Ruth's, by her union with the
lord of the land; the fields in which the young widow in loneliness
toiled, were to become the possession of the bride.
"Blessed are the neck, for they shall inherit the earth." This is a
peculiar promise, made to the lowly, of whom Ruth, bending down to
glean in the barley-field, may be regarded as a type. In what especial
manner that promise is to be fulfilled in a future state we know not,
but it is an interesting subject for our musings to consider how the
meek are now "gleaning," as it were, some ears of the rich harvest of
which the full enjoyment will one day be their own.
It is the more needful for us to turn our thoughts to this subject,
from meekness being little valued on Earth, though highly esteemed
in Heaven. Men are apt to class it with a cringing, cowardly spirit;
forgetting that Moses, who faced boldly both the wrath of the tyrant
and the fury of the people, firm and lofty in soul as he was, is yet
called the meekest of men.
But in what way do the meek, like Ruth, now glean the first ears of a
plenteous harvest reserved for their possession hereafter?
In the first place, by that "contentment" which is proverbially better
than riches, the tranquil enjoyment of what God has bestowed instead of
the misery caused by cankering envy and restless ambition. While the
covetous man cannot be said to enjoy anything which he does not himself
actually possess, and looks with pain rather than pleasure on the rich
beauties of property not his own, the meek already "inherit the earth"
by "the right of the eye." The delight afforded to the Christian by the
fair landscape spreading before him, has been well described by Cowper:—
"He looks abroad into the varied field
Of Nature, and though poor, perhaps, compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers; his to enjoy
With a propriety which none can feel
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say, 'My Father made them all.'"
Secondly, there is a special promise of the gift of "wisdom" to the
humble: "The meek will He guide in judgment: and the meek will He teach
His way." This wisdom, "which is from above," is shown in various ways,
by those whose powers of mind are otherwise very limited, as well as by
the highly intellectual Christian. Those taught of God's Spirit have
the wisdom to set a right value on the things of eternity as compared
with the things of time; to choose the good and refuse the evil, to
prefer what is perfect and imperishable to the glittering baubles of
earth. This is higher, more sublime, wisdom than any mere intellectual
training can bestow.
And the wisdom of the meek is constantly shown in their way of
receiving rebuke from a fellow-creature, or chastening from the Most
High. The word of counsel or of reproof which only stirs up anger in
the breast of the proud, is often of the utmost service to the meek:
"He that heareth reproof getteth understanding. A reproof entereth more
into a wise man than an hundred stripes into a fool."
The chastenings of God likewise, under which the proud spirit rebels,
become blessings indeed when received with that meekness of wisdom
which can say, "It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good; His
will, not my will, be done." Surely such a spirit of true wisdom is a
most precious earnest of that spirit of perfect wisdom which will be
the portion of the blessed!
Thirdly, the meek have "peace;" not perfect, indeed, but as it were
gleanings, of the heavenly harvest: "The meek shall inherit the earth;
and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace." Theirs is
the soft answer which turneth away wrath; "only by pride cometh
contention." The meek "overcome evil with good," and so show themselves
followers of Him whose title is PRINCE OF PEACE.
And lastly, it is in the hearts of the lowly that the Lord deigns to
make His abode: "For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth
eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with
him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit
of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones."
Surely contentment, wisdom, peace, and a sweet sense of the Saviour's
presence, are rich golden grains gleaned here of that harvest of light
which has been sown for the children of light, which they will enjoy in
perfection when the Church, the Heavenly Bride, is raised from grace
to glory! Only gleanings, indeed, yet precious gleanings, and to be
gathered by those who are ready, like Ruth, to stoop, to labour, and to
endure.
The foot of Pride crushes these golden grains; Humility bends down,
grasps them by faith, and carries them home in her bosom. "Learn of He,
for I am meek and lowly," said the Lord of the harvest; and it is for
the meek and lowly that the treasures of the harvest are laid up above.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XVIII.
Job's Sackcloth.
WHAT an aching, what a bursting heart throbbed under this, the garment
of sorrow chosen by him who could once say, in the sincerity of his
soul, "I put on righteousness, and it clothed me: my judgment was as a
robe and a diadem."
To the history of Job, God's afflicted people have constantly turned
in their hours of anguish. This sackcloth has, as it were, helped to
dry up the tears of thousands; for who can say, "My sorrows have been
greater than those of Job!" Whose have equalled his—and yet the Lord
loved him through all, and out of all delivered him. So great was the
variety of the afflictions of Job, that under almost any burden that
presses down the spirit, we can look to Job in his sackcloth and say,
"He also was crushed by the weight of this cross."
Is poverty our trial, and poverty rendered more painful by contrast
with former prosperity? On Job it came with fearful suddenness, like
successive shocks of an earthquake. He had been a wealthy man. He had
multitudes of camels and oxen; the valleys were whitened with the
thousands of his sheep. All his property was swept away from him, he
was left poor and bare upon earth. Yet could the ruined man meekly say,—
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of
the Lord!"
Or are we weeping sorely for the loss of one who was to our eyes as
the sunshine; are we in bitterness of soul because some sweet voice is
silenced in our home, and there is a blank left in our aching hearts
which we feel that time can never fill up? Job lost all his children
at once! Those whose successive births had given him fresh joy, new
precious ties to earth; those who had sported round him in childhood,
and in youth received his counsels; those in whose happiness he had
been happy;—all reft from him by one stroke! Not one left to soothe his
anguish by sharing it! Is it not a marvel that reason endured it, that
the patriarch's heart did not break indeed?
But we may lose those whom we have loved by a separation far worse than
that caused by death. This was a cross which almost crushed the spirit
of Job: "My friends scorn me: my kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar
friends have forgotten me. My breath is strange to my wife, though I
intreated for the children's sake. All my inward friends abhorred me:
and they whom I loved are turned against me!" Where is the burden of
family trial endured by a Christian now that can weigh in the balance
against such a mountain of sorrow as this?
Is our cross that of sickness and pain? We behold Job suffering all the
tortures which the malice of a fiend could inflict, stretched on the
rack of most acute suffering, and that for no brief space of time: "I
am made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed
to me. When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be
gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.
My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat."
Nor were Job's sufferings those of the body alone: his was the wounded
spirit, the tormented mind, oppressed with fear, with temptation, and
with mysterious terrors: "Thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest
me through visions: so that my soul chooseth strangling, and death
rather than my life. I loathe it; I would not live alway! The arrows of
the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit:
the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me. Wherefore is
light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul;
which long for death, but it cometh not?" Truly the spirit of Job, as
well as his tortured body, was clothed in the sackcloth of mourning!
The question naturally arises, "Why was so good a man as Job thus
overwhelmed with affliction; almost, as it would seem, abandoned for a
while to the malice of the Enemy? God had Himself said of Job, 'There
is none like him on the earth, a perfect and an upright man.'"
It cannot be that Job was thus chastened only to show forth his
patience in the sight of men and devils; great as was that patience,
we know that it wavered in the trial. Nor do we suppose that Job's
miseries were permitted only that he might be thoroughly humbled before
God; still less that he suffered only that his history might be for
the lasting instruction of the Church. All these advantages, indeed,
followed; but the more we reflect on the subject, the more clearly we
see that some great, personal, and lasting benefit must have accrued
to Job from every pang that he endured. There was a proportion between
his anguish and his subsequent joy. It is delicate ground on which we
now enter: it would be a perilous error to hold that sorrow of itself
sanctifies; that because a man suffers much here, he must necessarily
rejoice hereafter. So is it a perilous error to hold that any good
works of men's doing can ever earn Heaven.
But how clearly and forcibly the Rev. Mr. Arnot places before us the
blessed effects of good works, not as a means of salvation, but as a
precious evidence of grace! "As ciphers added one by one in an endless
row to the 'left' hand of an unit are of no value, but on the 'right'
hand rapidly multiply in power; so, although good works are of no avail
to make a Christian, yet a Christian's good works are both pleasing to
God and profitable to men."
So may it be with the sufferings which saints are called to endure—not
self-inflicted pangs, but trials appointed by God. Numerous passages in
Holy Writ lead us to such a conclusion: "Our light affliction, which
is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory."
Yes; there is a mystery in suffering which we do not fully understand,
nor perhaps ever will, until suffering is exchanged for bliss
everlasting. Preeminence in pain appears to be connected with
preeminence in glory. What was the answer of our Lord to those who
asked for the highest places in Heaven? "Ye know not what ye ask.
Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?" We cannot fathom the depth
of meaning contained in the words that even He, the Captain of our
salvation, was made "perfect through suffering," but we know that the
cup which He drained was one of unutterable woe. The very description
of the saints in bliss seems to be the fulfilment of the blessing on
them that mourn: "These are they which came out of great tribulation."
To them God hath appointed "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for
mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."
The fearful afflictions of Job remind us of the saying, that God, like
a human general, gives His best soldiers the most difficult post,
places them under the hottest fire. There is a striking passage in the
Book of Proverbs, which, it has been observed, makes a distinction
between two metals, both precious, but one of nobler nature than the
other: "The fining pot is for silver, and the furnace for gold." Both
are exposed to the heat of tribulation, but the furnace-glow, the
hottest trial, is that which the gold undergoes. If it be indeed thus,
how should long-continued prosperity exercise our humility as well as
our gratitude! What the world regards as proofs of God's favour, may be
rather signs of His indulgence for the weakness of His feebler saints!
He keeps on easy garrison-duty those whose faith is not yet equal
to the greater hardships and perils, to be followed by the greater
glories, of the battlefield of life. What a high post of honour was
assigned by Him to the veteran Job! We look upon his sackcloth as the
warrior's uniform covered with decorations by the King of kings!
This view of the secret connection, in the case of the redeemed,
between present pain and future pleasure, the "evil things" here, and
the "good things" hereafter, throws some light on the otherwise almost
inexplicable mystery of the sufferings of idiots and of infants. These
sufferings can neither be chastenings for wilful sin nor exercises of
patience, yet they are permitted by a God of love who "doth not afflict
willingly." How solacing to the affection, how strengthening to the
faith of parents witnessing the pangs of the innocent, to feel that, in
some way that we understand not, God makes the seed sown in tears rise
into the harvest of joy; that not one cry of pain from a baby's lips is
uttered in vain!
Thus we may believe, dear afflicted brethren, that ye have indeed cause
to rejoice in tribulation; that poverty, bereavement, depression, pain,
through Him who led the way on the path of suffering, will all be found
to enhance the joy and the glory of Heaven. Perhaps the depth of the
pit of woe may bear some proportion to the height of the monument to
God's love, for which its very mire and clay will furnish materials in
a future state of bliss. Therefore sorrow not as those without hope;
nay, let your hope become brighter through your very sorrow, like the
rainbow on the cataract which owes its beauty to the waters which seem
in their furious washings to seek to sweep it away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIX.
Dagon's Stump.
CONQUERORS are wont to hang up trophies of victories, the arms the
standards won from the enemy; it is as such a trophy that this
mutilated, unsightly idol, or rather fragment of an idol, is preserved
in the Scripture collection, a witness to the power of the God of
salvation, by whom at length all idols shall be utterly abolished, when
the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover
the sea.
The Philistines had won a great victory at Ebenezer; their foes had
fled before them: there had been a very great slaughter; thirty
thousand of the warriors of Israel had fallen on that fatal day, and
a terrible wail of woe had risen from the dwellings of Shiloh. The
rejoicings of the victors were the more exultant from the fears which
had beset them before the fight began. The worshippers of Dagon had a
dread of the power of the God of the Hebrews. The Ark of the Covenant
had, before the battle, been brought into the camp of Israel, and had
been welcomed there as a pledge of certain victory. All Israel had
shouted with a great shout, so that the earth rang again; and the sound
of that exulting cheer had reached the camp of the Philistines, and
spread there a feeling of foreboding and alarm. The Philistines had
been afraid, and they had said, "God is come into the camp! Woe unto
us! for there hath not been such a thing heretofore. Woe unto us! who
shall deliver us out of the hand of these mighty Gods? Be strong, and
quit yourselves like men, O ye Philistines, that ye be not servants
unto the Hebrews, as they have been to you: quit yourselves like men,
and fight!"
Thus with something like the courage of despair had the Philistines
entered on the conflict. Victory seems to have taken them by surprise,
and the more unexpected, the more welcome must it have been. Glorious
tidings were borne to Askelon, loud were the rejoicings in Gath; Israel
had been signally defeated, the Ark of the Lord had been taken, the
Hebrew priests had fallen while vainly defending it. There was wild
exultation in England after a Cressy, or an Agincourt, but there was
an element in the triumph of the Philistines which was wanting to
swell the joy of our ancestors; the victory of Ebenezer was not merely
success in a hard-fought battle between rival hosts or races—it was
deemed the triumph of Dagon, the fish-god, over the God of Israel.
It was into the temple of Dagon that the Ark of the Covenant was
exultingly brought, the noblest trophy of victory, a token of the
conquering might of him whom the Philistines worshipped.
But God then, as ever, over-ruled the brief triumph of His enemies to
His own glory. When the priests of Ashdod arose early in the morning,
to their horror they beheld their idol prostrate on the earth before
the Ark of the Lord. Surely this might have proved to them the folly
of bowing down to that which had fallen before the symbol of God's
presence. But the evident helplessness of Dagon seems to have made no
change in the infatuation of his priests. They set him in his place
again; he was still the god of the Philistines!
Yet more signally was the worthlessness of the idol to be proved in
the sight of his priests. When they arose early on the morrow, behold,
Dagon was fallen on his face to the ground before the Ark of the Lord;
and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands were cut off upon
the threshold; only the stump (or fishy part) of Dagon was left.
Here was evidence calculated to convince even the most superstitious
of the folly of idolatry. The head—the supposed seat of knowledge
and wisdom—was wanting; the hands—the emblems of power—were broken
off. Dagon had evidently no means of helping either himself or his
worshippers. Might we not have expected that conviction of the
absurdity of adoring such an image would have flashed across the minds
of the priests and people of Ashdod; that the temple would have rung
with the shout, "The Lord, He is God! the Lord, He is God!" Nay; the
idol was broken indeed, but the stump remained to be venerated still!
The very threshold on which it had lain prostrate was for its sake
treated with respect. The miserable relic of superstition was still
spoken of as "Dagon our god!"
Such infatuation might well surprise us, did we not so frequently see
its counterpart now. The human heart still sets up its idol; the young,
full of hope and joy like the Philistines after their victory, pay
homage to the world, and expect from it those pleasures and delights
which it is ever promising to bestow. Dagon has a lofty shrine, and
many bow down before it. Then comes some providential dispensation of
sorrow, that opens the eyes to the fact that the world and the things
of the world have no power to secure our peace. Have we not known such
a moment, when Dagon is seen prostrate on earth, and we feel that he is
indeed but an idol?
Happy for us if the knowledge make us turn to One who is over all, God
exalted for ever!
But it is not always that sorrow and disappointment wean the soul
from the world. We too often find Dagon set up again on his shrine,
and as ardently worshipped as ever. Yes, even the gray-headed, the
weary-hearted, who from repeated trials know the hollowness of the
world and its sinful pleasures—who have, as it were, but the stump of
the idol left—too often, even to the last, fondly worship that stump!
The dreary lament may be heard,—
"My days are in the yellow leaf—
The flower, the fruit of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Remain alone!" *
Without one sigh of true penitence, one upward look towards Him who can
give rest to the heavy-laden.
* Byron.
Our last subject of thought was sanctified sorrow, that sorrow which
must be succeeded by joy as—
"Morning is ever the daughter of Night;" †
but it is well to remember that there is also a "sorrow of the world,"
that "worketh death." If God throw down our idols, it is not that we
should raise them again and adore them all broken and mutilated as they
may be.
† Tupper.
Rather be ours the prayer of the Christian poet:—
"The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from Thy throne,
And worship only Thee!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XX.
Saul's Spear.
REPEATEDLY do we read in the Bible of the javelin or spear of King
Saul: it is, of course, impossible for us to know whether it is the
same identical weapon that is mentioned on each occasion; we may,
however, take this for granted, as the mental eye rests upon this
ancient weapon, once grasped in the hand of Israel's first monarch, the
unhappy Saul.
On three occasions that iron barb would have been stained with innocent
blood, had not the king in his blind fury missed his aim. As David,
the hero-minstrel, sat playing before the king, the evil spirit came
upon Saul, and, in a sudden paroxysm of jealous hatred, he attempted to
smite David to the wall. But the intended victim evaded the blow, and
escaped from the fury of the king.
After this proof of the malice and hatred of Saul, it is a sign of the
trustfulness of David's character that we find him again attempting
to soothe with music the deep melancholy of the king. Once more David
narrowly escaped with his life from the javelin, which, aimed at his
body, struck the wall by which he had been placed.
Many events had occurred between Saul's two attempts upon the life of
David. The son of Jesse had distinguished himself in fight against the
Philistines; he had won the hand, as he had gained the affections of
Michal, daughter of the king; Jonathan had by his influence induced
Saul to swear that David's life should be safe in his hands; yet that
javelin was again raised by the furious tyrant against his faithful
subject, the beloved husband of his child.
Once more that weapon was hurled by the king, and with yet more
unnatural cruelty, this time against his own son, the noble Jonathan,
whose crime in the eyes of his father was fidelity to his friend. Never
had Saul more cause to thank God for undeserved mercy than when he
received back that javelin unstained, not wrenched from the corpse of a
murdered son. It was as though the weapon refused to be the instrument
of unnatural crime.
The last occasion on which we hear of the spear of Saul is one of
singular interest. Before us rises the hill of Hachilah, with the dark
shroud of night around it, where Saul the king and his chosen thousands
lie stretched in deepest sleep. The spear of the slumbering monarch is
stuck into the ground close to his pillow. We almost wonder that Saul
with a conscience so stained by guilt, he being at the time actually
engaged in an attempt to hunt David to the death, can sleep so soundly.
He does not see the forms that have approached the spot where he lies,
he does not hear the sound of their footsteps nor the stern whisper of
Abishai, who stands with David beside him, "God hath delivered thine
enemy into thine hand this day: now therefore let me smite him, I pray
thee, with the spear even to the earth at once, and I will not smite
him the second time." Saul's weapon may now be grasped by a hand that
will not miss its aim, and be wielded with a deadly force that shall
make no second blow needful. Surely the hour of vengeance is come! It
is but just retribution that he who has thrice attempted murder with a
javelin should by a javelin be smitten to the earth.
So human nature might reason, so human resentment would urge; yet
David spares his enemy and reverences his king. "The Lord forbid that
I should stretch forth mine hand against the Lord's anointed!" David
only takes the spear and the cruse of water from the bolster of the
king, and bears them away as tokens that his foe has been in his power,
but that he has abstained from injuring one who has inflicted the most
deadly wrongs upon him.
As forgiveness is one of the most difficult of all graces to exercise,
and yet is indispensable to the Christian, it is well for us all, as in
the sight of God, to search and try our hearts as regards our feelings
towards those who have offered us injury or insult. We may take it
for granted that no real Christian will deliberately seek revenge,
and that there are few who habitually use the petition, "forgive us
our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us," who will
actually refuse pardon if entreated.
But I fear that we shall find that when the first ebullition of anger
has boiled over, and all appears quiet again, there is a residue
of "malice" left behind in many a heart that is no stranger to the
fear of the Lord. "I forgive, but I cannot forget," is a very common
expression, and we may generally infer from it that dregs of ill-will
remain, readily stirred up to embitter the spirit, and often to colour
the language and conduct.
There are few who have not something to forgive, few whose comfort has
not been assailed by the selfishness or envy of another. Have you, dear
reader, suffered wrong? Perhaps you may reply, "grievous wrong;" but
calmly weigh what you have borne from the malice of men with what David
had to endure; with that spear before you as a reminder, think on what
he could suffer, and yet so forgive that not only did he twice spare
his enemy when in his power, but he poured forth a touching elegy to
his honour, in which not one of the errors of Saul was mentioned, not
one of his own wrongs recalled.
When we receive injury, it is usually in our "prospects," our "peace,"
or our "character;" how was it with David? The man to whom he had
rendered most essential services sought to ruin him, to blacken his
fame; again and again Saul attempted his life; the king drove David
from his home, hunted him like a partridge on the mountains, slew
those who had shown him kindness, and wounded him most cruelly in his
affections by giving his wife to another! Beside such a mountain of
accumulated wrongs, how small and trivial appear the injuries which
we may have had to sustain! If David, who had never heard the command
breathed from the lips of Him who Himself prayed for His murderers,
"Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you," if David could
forgive even Saul, how can any Christian make excuse for harbouring
resentment against any whom he thinks have done him a wrong!
If we look beyond second causes to the one first cause, the ordering of
Him who maketh all things work together for good to them that love Him,
we shall see that no enemy can injure us, unless by drawing us into
sin; that no wrong but will prove a blessing, save a wrong which "we
will not forgive."
If our enemy seem to mar our worldly prospects, he is as the thorny
hedge planted by God to keep us from wandering out of the strait path
which leads through the valley of humiliation. If by a thousand petty
acts of unkindness, he try our temper and mar our peace, he is the file
in the hand of Him who maketh the wrath of man to praise Him; a file
whose roughness is to shape, polish, and prepare the living stones for
God's temple. If our enemy assail our character, then is his malice the
cross which God bids us carry after the Saviour, who, though without
spot or taint of sin, was accused of many things, condemned, and led
forth as a malefactor.
Those who, through God's grace, can forgive freely as they themselves
ask to be forgiven, will find at length that the thorny hedge will
blossom into fragrance and beauty, the file prove but an instrument of
good, the cross bring them more close unto Him in whose favour is life,
peace, and joy!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXI.
Jonathan's Bow.
THERE is pathetic interest in this memorial of Jonathan, prince of
Israel. When the mental eye rests on the unstrung bow once grasped in
his strong firm hand, we recall the touching lament of David over him
who fell on the mountain of Gilboa. "How are the mighty fallen in the
midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places.
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou
been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women!"
There are few characters in the Old Testament that stand before us in
more life-like reality than that of Jonathan, few that so much attract
our sympathy and love. We think of him less as the hero, attacking
almost alone the Philistine garrison, or falling, covered with wounds,
at the fatal battle of Gilboa, as the faithful friend, in close
communion with one whom he loved as his own soul. We think of him going
forth into the field at Ramah with his bow in his hand, to give warning
to David, then lying concealed behind the stone Ezel; sadness on the
prince's brow, stern sorrow in his spirit, but unchanging love in his
heart. Touching is the account of that stolen interview between the
prince and his persecuted friend, when they kissed one another, and
wept one with another, till David exceeded.
In the love between David and Jonathan we see an exquisite picture of
what friendship should be; and as Jonathan's constancy was put to a
far sharper test than that of the man whom he loved, let us for our
own instruction examine a little into the leading characteristics of
the friendship of the prince of Israel. There are few amongst us so
desolate or so cold-hearted as not to have friendship for at least
one being upon earth; let us now try its strength and its nature by
comparing it with the deep, disinterested attachment of Jonathan for
one who was preferred before him, one who was to supersede him, the
shepherd lad who was chosen to sit upon the throne to which the king's
son seemed the natural heir.
In the first place, Jonathan's friendship had a "religious basis," the
only one which can ensure stability. It was when David had appeared
before Saul as a conqueror through faith, that the soul of Jonathan
was knit with the soul of David. Theirs was peculiarly friendship "in
the Lord." In the last solemn meeting which was ever to be theirs upon
earth, when Jonathan by the wilderness of Ziph sought out David in the
wood, he gave religious encouragement to his friend, he strengthened
his hand in God.
Is not that friendship wanting in the noblest attribute of which the
bonds only regard this brief state of being? Are we indeed friends to
those with whom we never interchange thoughts on the highest subjects,
those whom we have never made the slightest attempt to draw closer to
the Lord? Affection is a most powerful lever; have we made use of it
to elevate the character of those whom we love? Or do we flatter their
foibles, foster their vanity, make their very affection towards us act
as a clog to their souls? There are times when unselfish attachment
is best seen in not only "strengthening, in the Lord," but tenderly
rebuking.
"Who speaks not needed truth, lest he offend,
Hath spared himself, but sacrificed his friend."
Jonathan's friendship was perfectly "free from selfishness." Had there
been in him the taint of ambition, covetousness, or envy, he would
rather have been inclined, like his father, to hate than to love the
young shepherd. Jonathan was of royal descent, the eldest son of a
king; he must have been accustomed from youth to hear the voice of
flattery, and to receive the homage of respect. Few readily part with
dignity; but the son of Saul, without a murmur, apparently without a
feeling of regret, yielded place to the son of Jesse.
And Jonathan was not only a prince but a hero; he had deservedly won
both popularity and fame. David eclipsed him in both. In the song of
the women of Israel— "Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his
ten thousands," there seems not to have been even an allusion to the
distinguished courage of Jonathan. How a proud heart would have chafed
under such neglect! What drops of bitter jealousy would have poisoned
the friendship of most men in the position of the prince! Can we see a
friend of lowlier birth pass before us in the race of honour without an
envious pang? Are we perfectly content to let his fame eclipse our own;
and do we feel nothing but pleasure in listening to praises bestowed
upon him? Then is our unselfish friendship worthy indeed of the name!
Jonathan's attachment to David was "firm under difficulties." The
prince had duties to balance; he had to be submissive to the father who
persecuted the friend. In a very remarkable manner Jonathan combined
filial respect to Saul with fidelity to David. His mild but earnest,
and for awhile successful, pleading with his father, his remaining
with that guilty parent even after the tyrant had attempted his life,
so that in death they were not divided, are beautiful traits in the
prince. Saul was a persecutor—a murderer; his conduct must have wrung
the heart of his pious son; but in life, as well as in death, that son
seems to have kept near to his parent, without for one moment betraying
the cause of his injured friend.
And, lastly, Jonathan's friendship was "tried in trouble." He was no
summer-day lover, but a "brother born for adversity," who clung the
more closely to David as the tempest raged the more fiercely around
him. Jonathan's was love strong as death. If our hearts be warmed with
friendship, is it holy, unselfish, generous, unchanging friendship such
as his?
We are inclined, with David, to mourn over Jonathan, and feel that his
fate was a hard one; that he suffered for sins not his own. But let us
remember that the Lord reserves for those who love Him a far brighter
crown than that which Jonathan was not permitted to wear, and that it
was doubtless in mercy that he was called to close on Gilboa his brief
but glorious career, so that he survived not to witness the ruin of his
house. *
* It is interesting to observe that while the family of Saul may be
compared to a blighted tree, the branch of Jonathan in later days
bloomed into vigorous life. He left, as we know, but one little lame
son; yet, centuries after Jonathan's death, we find his descendants
numerous. The names of twenty-five of them are given in the Book of
Chronicles, and of one of these it is written, "The sons of Ulam were
mighty men of valour, archers, and had many sons and sons' sons,
an hundred and fifty." It is very probable that the descendants of
Jonathan may be living still upon earth. Is it quite impossible that
Saul, the Apostle, the most illustrious of all the tribe of Benjamin,
may have been descended from another Saul through the prince whom in
his warm, self-denying affection he so mush resembled?
Jonathan's bow was as a type of himself. He was not as a weapon left to
hang idle in a royal armoury, he was taken into the field of strife,
he was bent in the hand of the Lord; but the hand that bent supported
him still; his affections were strained like the tightened cord, but
they were strengthened to bear the sore strain; and the bending and
the straining were but to send the arrow of his hopes above an earthly
sceptre or diadem, and fix them on higher joys, a crown that fadeth not
away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXII.
David's Harp.
IT has been beautifully observed, "In the Book of Psalms we have, if I
may reverently say it, the very prayer-book of our divine Lord Himself;
which He inspired, which He Himself made use of, and has bequeathed as
His own book to the Church." We might also, speaking metaphorically,
say,—The sacred harp on which David first played has never since been
silent; as the breath of God's Spirit breathed through its chords,
its music has been the joy and the comfort of the Church through all
generations; its mysterious sound was heard even in the awful hours of
the Crucifixion; * and never will it be silent, never will one golden
string be broken, till all the redeemed of the Lord join in the chorus
of Heaven.
* Compare Matt. xxvii. 46 with Ps. xxii. 1.
Let us recall some of the various periods when the now familiar psalms
of David first burst from his lips as he touched his harp. The son of
Jesse probably acquired his skill on the instrument by practice, as
he sat watching his sheep in the pastures by Bethlehem, when he was a
beautiful ruddy-checked boy. David's fleecy charge may have been his
only auditors when first the sweet strain arose which has since been
echoed by millions of human hearts. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall
not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me
beside the still waters."
But the first occasion on which we have certain knowledge of David's
playing on his favourite instrument, is when his skill soothed the deep
depression of the half-mad king. "David took an harp, and played with
his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit
departed from him." Gladly would we know what words were joined to the
exquisite music which had such power to lighten deep gloom; perhaps
no words were then heard, yet how often has a perturbed spirit been
soothed by such breathings as these: "Why art thou cast down, O my
soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I
shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."
David appears to have taken his harp with him into the gloomy recesses
of Adullam, as the companion and solace of his flight; for this is the
strain of his psalm "when he fled from Saul in the cave."
"Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth
in Thee: yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until
these calamities be overpast . . . Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery
and harp: I myself will awake early."
Under very different circumstances did the monarch of Israel strike the
sounding chords of his harp when the Ark of God was carried in triumph
from Kirjathjearim: "And David and all Israel played before God with
all their might and with singing, and with harps, and with psalteries,
and with timbrels, and with cymbals, and with trumpets." Then indeed
rose a sound of rejoicing. "The singers went before, and the minstrels
followed after; in the midst were the damsels playing on the timbrels."
According to David's own striking metaphor, he who had "lien among the
pots" had become as "the wings of a dove, covered with silver, and
her feathers with yellow gold;" and the harp of the king swelled the
glorious chorus, "Let God arise, let His enemies be scattered: let them
also that hate Him flee before Him!"
But dark shadows were to succeed the glorious sunshine. Happier was
David as the fugitive in the cave than as the king in the palace. When
the guilty but penitent psalmist bent over his harp, the tears of the
stricken sinner, the bereaved father, may have fast dropped on its
strings as he uttered the cry for pardon and grace:
"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Thy lovingkindness: according
to the multitude of Thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions!"
Could we be permitted to possess any visible relic of King David,
and to choose what that relic might be, it would not be the crown of
Rabbah, that was set on his head, the weight of which was a talent of
gold; it would not be even the sword of Goliath, though with David we
might say of that weapon, "there is none like that;" no, surely it
would be the harp of the sweet singer of Israel that we would choose
as the most precious relic of him whom God's Holy Spirit inspired. But
were that harp visibly before us, would it not appear almost sacrilege
to lay a hand on its strings; would the mightiest or most gifted of
mortals presume to waken its chords? Far, far better for us to have its
divine music preserved for us in the Scriptures, where the little child
can make it sound, and yet be not guilty of presumption; where it is
accessible to all—to the dying pauper on her sick-bed, as well as to
the crowned queen or mitred archbishop. The ragged child's Psalter is
truly more precious than the identical harp of King David would be.
And we have a key to the divine harmonies of the psalms which those who
first stood listening around David did not possess. The blessed name
of Jesus sounds to us thrilling through all the deepest chords of his
music. If the Psalmist's strain be mournful, a Saviour's sufferings
are its theme. "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me? . . . The
assembly of the wicked have inclosed Me: they pierced My hands and My
feet."
If it burst into a loud song of triumph, its keynote is still the name
of our Lord. "Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of
Thy kingdom is a right sceptre. Thou hast loved righteousness, and
hated iniquity: wherefore God, Thy God, hath anointed Thee with the oil
of gladness above Thy fellows."
It would be deeply interesting could we know how far King David himself
understood the meaning of his own songs when, guided by the inspiring
Spirit, he uttered dark sayings to the sound of his harp.
Let us not quit this subject without alluding to the fact that the
harp is the only instrument which is mentioned in Revelation as adding
to the music of Heaven. * The elders beheld by St. John around the
throne of the Lamb had "every one of them harps," when "they sung a new
song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals
thereof: for Thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by Thy blood
out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation; and hast made
us unto our God kings and priests: and we shall reign on the earth."
* The trump of God, which shall awaken the dead, cannot be spoken of
under such a term.
And again, recording his bright vision of the blessed above who bear
God's name written on their foreheads, thus writes the beloved Apostle:
"I heard a voice from Heaven, as the voice of many waters, and as the
voice of a great thunder: and I heard the voice of harpers harping with
their harps." There again, we believe, will the voice of the son of
Jesse blend with the notes of a nobler instrument than that which he
played upon earth; there may even we—the weak, the wayward, we whose
lips have been so cold in praise and whose hearts in thanksgiving—lift
up our voices with his!
"Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,
Unworthy though I be,
For me a blood-bought, dear reward—
A golden harp for me.
'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,
And formed by grace divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name than Thine!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXIII.
Absalom's Hair.
IT is not without a cause that a record is preserved in those
Scriptures "which are written for our learning," of the magnificent
growth of Absalom's hair, which, like a golden harvest, was cut by him
every year, and weighed, in the pride of his heart. It is remarkable
that this very hair, this mass of rich beauty, was, through God's
judgment, the instrument of Absalom's destruction.
When the prince fled on his mule before the troops of his injured
father, as Absalom was passing beneath a thick oak, the branches caught
his head, and suspended him between the heaven and the earth, while his
mule passed on through the wood; and there in agony and terror hung the
miserable sinner, unable to release himself from the fetters of his own
luxuriant hair, till death came in the form of a merciless kinsman, and
three darts were thrust by Joab through the heart of Absalom as he was
yet alive in the midst of the oak.
There is no one in Scripture whose mortal beauty, is more vividly
described than Absalom's. "In all Israel there was none to be so much
praised as Absalom for his beauty: from the sole of his foot even to
the crown of his head there was no blemish in him." And there are few
whose characters are represented to us as so loathsome and black with
sin. This suggests a natural inquiry, Was the extraordinary beauty of
Absalom in any way a snare to his soul; was it a bane to him throughout
his life, as well as the immediate cause of his death?
In a certain subordinate degree, perhaps, we may find that it was
so. Absalom's great personal attractions probably increased the
weak, doating partiality of David for his unworthy son, while they
made it more easy for the prince to attain the object of his guilty
ambition—"he stole the hearts of Israel."
Should we then represent beauty as a thing to be despised? Far from
it. Beauty is the stamp which God hath set upon the wondrous works of
His creation; deformity only entered this world with sin, and in the
realms where sin is unknown, all will again be perfect beauty. Personal
charms, like rank or wealth, are a talent, for they undoubtedly bestow
influence; and a blessed thing is influence used for God. There is no
fairer sight than that of youth and loveliness united with "the beauty
of holiness," and devoted to the service of Christ.
The subject naturally opens out into that of personal appearance in
general, and a little reflection upon it may not be unprofitable to
those who possess few attractions, as well as those gifted with many.
To appear well is a common wish, confined to neither sex, nor to any
station or age. As beauty has its advantages and responsibilities, let
us consider for a brief space, with Absalom's rich locks before us,
what are some of the temptations to which it exposes its possessor.
They seem to be chiefly these—love of dress, love of the world, love of
admiration.
The first of these, "love of dress," may seem to be a folly better
attacked by playful satire than by serious rebuke. It is not very often
noticed from the pulpit, though it can be very little pleasure to an
earnest-minded pastor to see the pews like a tulip-bed before him,
where, instead of being dressed with modesty and "shamefacedness,"
Christian women seem to study how to evade the command to wear a
covering on their heads in the house of prayer, by making that covering
as slight and as fantastic as may be. Even painting the skin is not
unknown amongst the women of England, though she of whom it is recorded
that "she painted her face and tired her head," is assuredly one of
the last whom our matrons or maidens would wish to resemble. A bold
style of dress is so utterly repugnant to all our ideas of Christian
devotion, that we can hardly even imagine it to have been ever worn by
the holy women who ministered to our Lord.
The sums of money lavished on dress (nor is the reproach confined to
the weaker sex) is also a disgrace to Christian profession in a land
where poverty abounds. I have heard that a lady (I am glad to say
not British) boasted that she spent a thousand a year on dress. She
would hardly have uttered that boast had she realized that upon her
at that moment was resting the eye of Him who said to the rich young
ruler, "Sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have
treasure in heaven."
It is, indeed, impossible to fix a rule as to how much it is lawful
to spend upon dress, as the amount must necessarily vary according to
means and station in life; it would be well, however, to determine
never to spend money on any mere ornament of the person, without giving
at least an equal sum to purchase plain articles of clothing for the
poor, to be bestowed "personally." Were this simple plan adopted, one
may safely aver that the flannel and serge would be found to bring far
more pleasure than the jewel, the lace, or the plume; and luxuries
would be gradually relinquished, and that with no feeling of regret,
for the richer luxury of clothing the shivering forms of the poor.
"Love of the world" is another evil to which those are peculiarly
exposed whose attractions dispose the world to love them. To them there
is an added gloss to pleasure; scenes of amusement are brightened by
the ready welcome which they ever receive there. The ornaments of
society need even more than others to watch and pray lest they enter
into temptation, and to seek that grace which alone can keep them
"unspotted from the world."
For the "love of admiration" is in many minds not unlike the feverish
craving for intoxicating liquor which possesses the habitual drunkard.
Eager is the longing for the sweet poison of flattery, the excitement
caused by a sense of power over human hearts. And this leads to very
serious evil. I am not referring only to the dark descent to actual
vice, to which, in thousands of cases, the love of admiration has led;
but would earnestly protest against that common effect of it which
makes trifling with the happiness of others the favourite amusement
of the vain of both sexes, under the name of flirting. One who would
not willingly set foot on a worm will often feel actual pleasure in
inflicting the keenest pangs. Selfish vanity must be gratified at any
cost to others, ungenerous as it is to desire to engross affection
which cannot be returned. The man who prides himself on being a
"lady-killer," or the beauty who complacently counts up the number of
her "conquests," is making an unworthy and sinful use of the endowments
of nature. I might quote to such the homely advice of the great Marquis
of Montrose,—
"Let no one to more love pretend
Than he has hearts in store;
True love begun should never end—
Love one, and love no more."
But I would rather take higher ground. This pride of beauty, this
selfishness of vanity, is "utterly inconsistent" with a Christian
character; it is incompatible with the adoption of that spirit of
Christ without which we "are none of His." God's people are called
to glorify Him in their bodies as well as their souls; and where the
beauty which He has bestowed becomes a cause of vanity, selfishness,
and folly, its possessor may one day have reason to regret not having
been a cretin or a dwarf.
There are two special antidotes to the spiritual poison which is
constantly offered to those in whom the world delights. The first is a
realization of the transitory nature of that beauty which passes away
like a flower; the second is meditation on that beauty which will abide
for ever. One great poet has, as it were, written the first on a skull;
he preaches his sermon in the churchyard. But it is more pleasant, and
at least as profitable, to turn our thoughts from the dust "sown in
dishonour" to what it shall be when "raised in glory." We cannot but
think that outward beauty will then correspond with that which before
was inward; that they who have borne most of the Saviour's image in
their hearts will bear most of that image visibly when we shall be like
Him, for we shall see Him as He is.
Oh, what marvellous changes will appear on the day of the resurrection!
The wrinkled face, the decrepit form, the blemish, and the deformity,
will then, in God's saints, be exchanged for the brilliancy of immortal
beauty, beyond what thought can conceive! But how then will an Absalom
appear? Let Nature's favoured ones turn from the looking-glass to God's
Word, and test by that mirror of truth both what they are and what
they are likely to be; whether their goodliness be but as "the flower
of grass which passeth away," or be the faint, dim type of that beauty
with which God will clothe His redeemed, who, though now in the world,
and perhaps admired and sought after there, are yet (like their Master)
"not of the world," nor look for their happiness in its vain pleasures
or empty applause.
[Illustration]
XXIV.
Seed Corn from Barzillai's Gift.
TWICE is the aged Barzillai brought before us in Scripture. On the
first occasion, when David, fleeing from his unnatural son, had with
his faithful followers crossed over Jordan, the Gileadite, himself too
old to join in the approaching conflict, brought valuable help to those
who were to bear the burden and heat of the day.
Let us notice the minuteness with which every article of the old man's
gift is noted down in the Word of God, not even the homeliest omitted.
"Barzillai the Gileadite of Rogelim brought beds, and basons, and
earthen vessels, and wheat, and barley, and flour, and parched corn,
and beans, and lentiles, and parched pulse, and honey, and butter, and
sheep, and cheese of kine, for David, and for the people that were
with him, to eat: for they said, The people is hungry, and weary, and
thirsty, in the wilderness." Considerate kindness was shown; the mind
of the old man had revolved what would be most needed, and therefore
most welcome; his was a freewill offering, a timely offering, gladly
accepted, and afterwards royally requited.
Again old Barzillai comes before us in Scripture, but not this time
as bringing aid to a fugitive, but as welcoming a king at the head of
victorious forces. David was returning to reign when the venerable
Gileadite went over Jordan with the king. Then were the old man's loyal
services acknowledged and richly rewarded; his was the kiss, and the
blessing, and the promise, "Whatsoever thou shalt require of me, that
will I do for thee." That was a day of honour and of rejoicing to the
faithful Barzillai when his royal master returned in peace to his own.
A few thoughts are suggested to the mind by the parallel between the
position of David's followers in their time of need, and that of
Christ's soldiers now struggling in warfare against the powers of
evil, especially as regards missionaries in heathen lands. This is a
time when many of the followers of our heavenly King are called, as it
were, into the wilderness. The missionary quits home and country, and
goes forth to do battle with idolatry in the dark places of the earth.
We read of the brave devotion of Ittai, who, when David would have
dismissed him from sharing his perils, exclaimed, "As the Lord liveth,
and as my lord the king liveth, in what place my lord the king shall
be, whether in death or life, there will thy servant be!" and we feel
that such is the spirit which should animate the Christian missionary.
But we need our Barzillais also, to strengthen the hands of those whose
perils and hardships they are unable to share.
"What have I done to aid the missionary cause?" is a question which
each should solemnly ask his conscience. We rest in our comfortable
homes, on our tables are the honey and the butter, in our barns the
barley and the wheat. Have our offerings to our King, in the persons of
His servants, been proportioned to the means bestowed upon us by the
rich bounty of God?
How much lies in that word "proportioned!" The widow with her two mites
gave, we know, more than all the rich who cast into the treasury. What
proportion does what we bestow on the cause of missions bear to what we
spend on our pleasures? Are there not many who would be startled by the
idea of its being their duty to subscribe to missions a sum equal to
what they would, without a scruple, lavish on a single entertainment, a
picture, or an article of plate?
The question of "systematic beneficence" rises before us. Some urge on
us the duty of devoting a tenth of all that we possess to the Lord;
others would have us not mete out our charity thus, but would bid us
give as we have the power, whenever our help is required. It seems
that the adoption of either mode of giving should greatly depend on
the character of the individual, and that we should study our own
dispositions, to know which we should make our own. There are some
Christians whose zeal is so warm, whose hearts so liberal, that the
idea of fixing upon any proportion as a rule would only chill and cramp
their charity. When St. Paul was delighting to spend and to be spent,
who would have suggested to him that he should lay aside a "tenth"
of his earnings for God! We do not measure out the waters of the
overflowing river that pours its rich treasures through the land; we
should but mar its beauty by attempting to curb its windings and bring
it to a uniform width. Let it contract here, or expand there; it is
ever flowing onward, a type of the "cheerful giver," whom God loveth.
But the bounty of many—perhaps of most men—is not so full or so free.
If we have not the river, let us dig the canal,—that is, adopt the rule
of systematic beneficence, mete out boundaries and fix embankments,
not to prevent the waters of charity from overflowing, but to prevent
their being encroached upon by the sand of selfishness, the mud of
worldliness. Thus has God walled in His Sabbaths, not to confine
devotion to one in seven, but (amongst other reasons) to insure a given
space for its exercise, from which earthly concerns should be carefully
excluded.
The Christian makes his business arrangements as if the week held but
six days, and inconveniences are thus avoided which would otherwise
often arise. If he were in like manner to count but nine-tenths of his
income as his own, and systematically consider the remaining portion
as not his, but God's, he would, in most cases, no more miss the
tenth of his earnings than he now does the seventh of his days, and
the consecrated gold, like the consecrated Sabbath, would, with God's
blessing upon it, yield a rich harvest through ages eternal.
The ease with which systematic beneficence enables us to give, is not
the only advantage accruing from it. It necessitates an increase in
charity proportioned to increase in our wealth. This is a point too
much neglected. It might appear that a man whose income is doubled
would naturally also double the amount of his alms; that he who had a
thousand a year would give much more largely upon its being increased
to two. But it is to be feared that this is seldom "practically" the
case. Wants expand in more than equal ratio to the means of satisfying
them. The larger residence, the increased establishment, the better
style of entertaining, place the richer man still in the position
of living quite up to his income; the "stereotyped guinea" in the
missionary report has not at the end of the year become two, though
systematic beneficence might have raised it to a hundred without any
sensible difficulty. The channel of the canal was not deepened and
widened "at once," and the new supplies are sunk and lost in daily
household expenditure, or evaporate in ostentation.
The Jews were commanded to devote a tenth of their property to God;
and it seems clear that a Christian cannot be required to do "less"
than a Jews who knew not, as we do, the "grace of our Lord Jesus
Christ, who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes He became poor,
that we through His poverty might be rich." There are many persons,
indeed, who cannot maintain even their independence without a painful
struggle; to speak of systematic beneficence to such, would appear but
mockery; "faith" must be their wealth, their offerings their "prayers;"
but we have our Barzillais amongst us, who, having enough and to
spare, are bound by every consideration of gratitude and duty to give
freely—liberally—joyfully.
The time is coming when our King will return in triumph to His own.
Then will the Shimeis who rejected Him and despised His cause fall down
in terror before Him; and the wondering Barzillais find that their
gifts of love, even to the "lentiles and parched pulse and honey,"
nay, even to the "cup of cold water" given for the sake of their King,
have all been registered, and will be a thousand-fold requited by
Him. Then will the deep adoring gratitude of the redeemed far exceed
that expressed in the words of the Gileadite: "Why should the king
recompense me with such a reward!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXV.
Temple Lily Work.
IN the porch of King Solomon's magnificent temple stood two mighty
pillars of brass, nearly thirty feet in height: to the one he gave
the name Jachin, "He shall establish;" to the other Boaz, "strength."
Thus would the royal preacher seem to teach all generations that to
the house of prayer we should come to be firmly established in sound
doctrine, and to receive strength to stand fast in the faith.
But we are not only told of the size and material of those stately
columns, but of their ornaments also: "The chapiters that were upon
the top of the pillars were of lily work in the porch." Such details
were not deemed too insignificant to find a place in the Word of
God. Now, the question of the amount of ornament to be desired in a
church is not one into which I desire to enter, believing that where a
devout congregation worship God in spirit and in truth, it is of minor
importance whether the edifice in which they meet be fair as Solomon's
temple, or plain as the "upper room" in which the disciples assembled.
Let us rather consider the beautiful lily work on the pillars as a type
of that which is lovely crowning that which is lofty; the spirit of
kindly sympathy towards our fellow-worshippers forming a complement and
addition to exalted devotion towards God.
Were we to ask the use of churches, we might receive the reply, "They
are buildings set apart for prayer, praise, and preaching, and the
celebration of the sacraments ordained by our Lord." This might be a
correct, but it would not be a complete answer, unless it conveyed the
idea of social worship, brethren meeting as brethren in the house of
their Father, lovingly uniting their hearts and voices, as they hope
to do in their home above. Much is it to be regretted that there is so
little of this spirit of religious sympathy; that we have, as it were,
the pillars of brass without the lily work round them. There is often a
chilling formality in places of worship, that makes us painfully feel
that the world has brought its distinctions and its vanities even into
the house of prayer. We see, perhaps, the large pew with its solitary
occupant, while weary women are standing in the aisle; it is the piece
of silver that admits to the seat, and those who are unable to bribe
are treated as strangers, almost as intruders, in the place where,
beyond all others, they should find themselves welcome. Is it not
constantly the man "in goodly apparel," the woman "in gay clothing," to
whom it is virtually said, "Sit thou here in a good place;" while the
poor must obey the implied though unuttered command, "Stand thou there,
or sit here under my footstool?"
"Hospitality in church" is not a subject likely to be treated of in
either religious or moral essay; the very name might provoke a smile;
but I had once a practical sermon preached to me on the subject, which
sank deeper into my memory than almost any sermon which I ever heard,
which makes me venture to mention the trivial incident.
Many years since, I entered as a stranger a church in Brighton.
The preacher was a very popular one, and I knew that I might have
difficulty in obtaining a seat, so I took the first which I saw vacant;
it was a free seat, close to a wall. I soon found that my position
was a very undesirable one as regarded comfort; a large air-hole was
directly in front, probably intended to warm the church with hot air,
but that which rose up, almost under my feet, was the chilling breath
of November.
I merely state the circumstance to introduce mention of the conduct
of two ladies, perfect strangers to me, between whom I chanced to be
seated. The one on my left hand surprised me by offering to change
places with me: as there was no reason why she should be exposed to the
chilling draught rather than myself, I of course declined her offer.
I know not whether the lady on my right was related to the other, but
she was at least her sister in kindness; for she lent to me, an utter
stranger, her handsome fur tippet to place over my knees, to protect me
from cold.
"A very trivial incident indeed," may be said; but when I consider its
effect upon my own mind, I cannot look upon it as so trivial: often and
often has the example of those ladies recurred to me in church. I heard
an eloquent sermon on that November day in Brighton; but I derived at
least as much benefit from the conduct of two of the congregation.
I asked myself why they should be so kind to me, a stranger, and
concluded that they were not of those who merely attend church to keep
up a cold, heartless form of devotion, but that they had felt the
"genial" influence of Christianity while uniting in social prayer. With
them the pillars of brass lacked not the lily work on the chapiter.
Church is a place that often affords opportunity for the exercise of
the little courtesies of life. The proffered scat, the church-book
lent, the place in the hymn-book found for the deaf, the guiding hand
held out to the blind,—these are trifling things in themselves, but
they warm the heart of strangers, and make devotion itself more earnest
by contact with Christian kindness. In church, selfishness and pride
are peculiarly repulsive; we should feel the connecting link which
binds together those who are one in Christ; we should see that our
religion is one of humility and love. Solomon's noble pillars would
have looked cold and hard but for the graceful lily work which crowned
them; it might not, indeed, add to their strength, but it greatly
enhanced their beauty.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXVI.
The Widow's Cruse.
WHO, on first glancing at this homely piece of earthen-ware, an
oil-cruse, with nothing to distinguish it from thousands used in the
dwellings of the poor, would connect it with a miracle? Yet day after
day, for the space of years, was it mysteriously supplied, while the
prophet Elijah, the widow and her son, were fed on the store never
failing.
We know not whether the oil within multiplied itself like the bread in
the hands of the Lord's disciples, or whether an angel, pleased to be
employed on such a mission of mercy, each night replenished an empty
cruse. How the miracle was wrought matters not to us; the widow who had
obeyed the word of the man of God, who had been willing to share her
little with him, found that little increased to an inexhaustible supply.
What hallowed meals must have been those partaken of in the cottage at
Sarepta, where Elijah was the guest, and where every morsel of the food
on the board was a pledge of the peculiar favour of God!
The widow of Sarepta was evidently a woman of faith, and we believe
that her grace was renewed day by day, like the oil in her cruse. Yet
it is not impossible that her faith, like that of the Israelites when
they were fed by manna from Heaven, like our own amid a thousand proofs
of the watchful providence of God, may have known times of wavering
and weakness. The widow would but have resembled others, if at some
time she had looked with anxious fear even at this cruse so constantly
supplied, and had thought, "How small it is, how unable to contain more
than enough for the wants of a day! It is true that I have never yet
found it empty, but what if it should fail at last! The heavens are
still like brass, and the earth like iron; no rain has fallen—or is
likely to fall; others wealthier far than me are perishing around me!
If this oil and meal should fail, whither could I turn, to whom could
I go? I should see my only son wasting with hunger before my eyes! Oh,
how fearful would be the fate before us if the oil in this cruse should
fail!"
We can at once see the unbelief, ingratitude, and folly of such fears,
if ever the widow entertained them; but are not such fears common
guests within our own bosoms? What had the widow's hopes to rest on?
"Experience" and a "promise." And have not we the same? Have we not
experienced that God can and will help us; that He has brought us
through past troubles; that He has known how to fill the cruse in time
of need, though He may not cause it to overflow, nor give more than
sufficient for the wants of the day? And have we not His promise, "Seek
ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added to
you. Take no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take care for
the things of itself?"
We are slow to trust God's providence and love. We would have visible
stores laid up for the future; we are not content with the cruse. While
we torture ourselves with the thought, "What if at last it should
fail?" We need the Saviour's reproof, "Ye of little faith, wherefore
did ye doubt?"
"Give us this day our daily bread." There is a lesson conveyed in
these words of the prayer put by our Lord Himself into the mouths of
His servants. We ask—not for luxuries—but "bread;" we ask not for
stores, but for "this day's" supply. It is more difficult for us, in
our artificial state of society, to exercise the simplicity of faith
as expressed in this prayer, than it was for the first disciples. We
multiply our wants, and are discouraged if they be not abundantly
supplied. It is no common attainment to be able from the heart to say
with the apostle, "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith
to be content."
It is not only for the supply of our earthly need that we should look
with calm trust to God. There are those who have never known what it is
to want anything that money can buy, who yet require to reflect on the
widow's cruse in order to strengthen their faith. We are oppressed with
fears for the future: "If that trouble come upon me, how shall I meet
it? If that sorrow be sent, how shall I bear it? Will not grace fail
under such a temptation?"
"Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within
me? hope thou in God: far I shall yet praise Him."
Hath He not said, "As thy days, so shall thy strength be?" May we not
"come to Him boldly, for grace to help in time of need"? We are indeed
but weak and frail, earthly vessels that have held but little; but the
blessing of God, if vouchsafed to us, will make us even as the cruse at
Sarepta—grace will secretly be supplied, by means of which the world
knows nothing.
And let us remember that the famine time will not last for ever; the
day draws near when there will be a sound of an abundance of rain.
"Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down
righteousness: let the earth open, and let them bring forth salvation,
and let righteousness spring up together; I the Lord have created it."
Grace and peace will not then be meted out, as it were, drop by drop,
but flow as the river, and as the waves of the sea; the supply in the
cruse will be exchanged for measureless joy, the handful of meal for
the banquet prepared in the mansions of bliss!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXVII.
Elijah's Letter.
OVER this letter a strange mystery hangs, such as is attached to no
other writing of man. This is a letter to King Jehoram, a letter of
stern rebuke, of terrible denunciation: it stands as a death-warrant
issued by the Almighty on the idolater, the oppressor, the murderer,
whose hands were stained with the blood of his six brethren, the sons
of the noble Jehoshaphat.
But by whom was this letter written? The Bible informs us by Elijah;
but—before Jehoram had ascended the throne, or had committed his
fearful crime, Elijah the prophet had gone up to Heaven in a chariot
of fire! Hence arises a difficulty which has perplexed the minds of
the learned, and which has given rise to various conjectures. Some
have imagined that for Elijah we should read Elisha; but, as has been
forcibly remarked, "we have no evidence whatever that any mistake has
been made by the copyists, but all the evidence lies on the other side.
The Septuagint version, which was very early made, and very widely
spread, has it Elias—that is, according to Greek, 'Elijah'; and not
Elisha, which latter word in Greek is 'Eliseus'. Again, the Jewish
historian Josephus, referring to this event, has expressly the word
Elijah."
Krümmacher appears to hold that the mysterious writing actually came
from the world of spirits; that that hand which had never known
corruption had traced the letters denouncing judgment upon a most
wicked king. There is a third conjecture, which seems to bear with it
much of probability; that the prophet, foreknowing both the crimes of
Jehoram and their punishment, wrote the letter before his ascension,
and left it to be delivered in the ripeness of time. If either of these
latter conjectures point to the actual fact, what a solemn interest
attaches to this message from the departed, the letter to a monarch of
earth from one who dwelt upon earth no more!
It is interesting to reflect on the power and influence which writings
may possess after the death of the writer, nay, in consequence of
his death. A parent's letter, received after his departure from this
state of being, may penetrate a heart that was closed against all the
warnings of that parent when alive. We set an especial value upon
"last" messages, "last" words; they are like proofs of an engraving
made more precious from the plate being broken.
An instance is given by the traveller Palgrave of a writing left as
a legacy, in itself so beautiful, and written under circumstances so
interesting, that I cannot forbear transcribing the greater part of it.
The reader will, I trust, forgive what may appear as a digression.
Palgrave received the following account, on the occasion of his visit
to Moharreb, an island on the eastern coast of Arabia, from a learned
Arab named Mogheeth, who was scarcely able to finish his recital from
the emotion which it caused him.
The famous Ahmed el Ghazalee, native of Toos in Persia, a poet who
lived in the twelfth century, said one day to his disciples, "Go and
bring me new and white garments, for the King hath summoned me to his
presence."
They obeyed, and on their return they found their master lifeless.
By the side of the corpse lay a paper, on which were inscribed the
following lines. It is impossible not to be struck with the spirit
breathing through the poetry, which appears not to be Mohammedan, but
Christian. Some of the ideas seem actually to be gleaned from the
writings of the apostles; there is St. Paul's sublime view of death,
St. John's lofty revelation of God as love, though there is no allusion
to the great doctrine of justification by faith. As the religion of
Christ prevailed in early ages in the islands of the Persian Gulf, we
cannot but think that it left traces behind, as the "garden flower
grows wild" where it once was carefully cultivated, springing up in
congenial soil, though no longer tended by man. These are the lines by
which the dead Ahmed el Ghazalee spake, as if from the realm of spirits:
"Tell my friends who behold me dead,
Weeping and mourning my loss awhile,
Think not this corpse before you myself;
That corpse is mine, but it is not I.
I am undying life, and this is but my body,
Many years my house, and my garment of change.
I am a bird, and this body was my cage;
I have winged my flight elsewhere, and left it for a token.
I am a pearl, and this my shell
Broken open and abandoned to worthlessness.
I am a treasure; this was a spell
Thrown over me, till the treasure was released in truth.
Thanks be to God who has delivered me,
And has assigned me a lasting abode in the highest.
There am I now the day conversing with the happy,
And beholding face to face unveiled Deity;
Contemplating the Mirror wherein I see and read
Past and present, and whatever remains to be."
* * * *
"I have journeyed on, and left you behind;
How could I make an abode of your halting-place?
Ruin then my house, and break my cage in pieces,
And let the shell go perish with kindred illusions;
Tear my garment, the veil once thrown over me,
Then bury all these, and leave them alike forgotten.
"Deem not death—death, for it is in truth
Life of lives, and goal of all our longings.
Think lovingly of a God whose name is Love,
Who joys in rewarding, and come on secure of fear:
Whence I am I behold you, undying spirits like myself,
And see that our lot is one, and you as I."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXVIII.
Jonah's Gourd.
WE look on a dry and withered thing, killed by the worm, shrivelled
by the heat. Not so appeared the plant when its broad leaves, full of
life and beauty, afforded a cool green shade to the prophet Jonah. The
gourd formed a kind of bower, under the shadow of which the weary could
rest, and was thus a beautiful emblem of that charity which "covereth a
multitude of sins."
It was a worm at the root which destroyed it; and when we read in the
sacred story how, with Jonah himself, charity was so dried up and
withered that God's mercy to thousands could afford him pain instead
of joy, we naturally ask,—What was the worm at the root with him? If
we search a little under the surface, we shall find that the worm was
"pride;" and that, not only with Jonah, but too often with ourselves,
hidden pride eats the life out of charity, and leaves but a dry,
sapless skeleton, worthless in the sight of God and His angels.
There is something to admire, but little to love, in Jonah, as his
portrait stands in the gallery of Scripture, drawn by his own vigorous
hand. We admire the straightforward truthfulness of the man who
softens not one harsh feature, but represents his own defects with
unsparing fidelity. We admire Jonah's calm courage when he bade the
mariners fling him into the raging billows, and save their own lives by
sacrificing his. We admire the faith which sustained him, and made him
look towards God, even When the depth closed him round about, and the
weeds were wrapped about his head.
But we shrink from the severity of character which marked this prophet,
who could contemplate the destruction of a large heathen city with
stern satisfaction, and betray irritation because the mercy of God far
exceeded his own. We imagine that, if Jonah had lived in these days,
though he would have been a man of spotless integrity and unblemished
life, he would probably have appeared as a severe master, or a hard
landlord, far more just than merciful; that little ones, who "cannot
discern between their right hand and their left," would not have clung
to his neck, or smiled up into his face, reading there—as children
intuitively do —the impression left there by a spirit of kindliness.
We contrast the character of Jonah with that of St. Paul; the hardness
of the prophet with the intense desire of the apostle that sinners
might be spared, and his readiness to spend and be spent for others:
"To the weak became I as weak, that I might gain the weak. I am made
all things to all men, that I might by all means save some." Paul's
charity, like the gourd of miraculous growth, spread its glorious
branches far and wide; nor did opposition, cruelty, or ingratitude,
destroy its vigour or wither its leaf.
Perhaps the chief cause of St. Paul's tender indulgence and yearning
sympathy towards sinners, is to be found in his deep sense of personal
sin. When he was a proud, self-righteous Pharisee, we find in him
no trace of mercy towards those who differed from him in religious
opinions. We have no reason to suppose that the perishing state of the
Gentile world ever then cost him a sigh. Saul might have seen a Nineveh
destroyed with as much cold indifference as Jonah himself would have
done. But he who deemed himself the least of saints and the chief of
sinners, loved much, because he had been forgiven much; he delighted
in dwelling on the free grace which had saved his own perishing soul;
he felt that that grace alone had made him to differ from others, and
his heart's desire was that Jew and Gentile should participate in the
blessing.
Now, this deep sense of sin does not appear in Jonah. He confessed,
indeed, to the sailors, that the storm was a judgment upon his flight
from duty; but we discover in him none of the lowly humiliation on
account of sin which marked a David, a Peter, or even a righteous Job.
Perhaps the very nature of his punishment rather fostered the pride
than abased the spirit of the prophet. The elements were moved on his
account; his transgression had raised a storm—his generous sacrifice
quelled it. God wrought a special miracle for his preservation from
death. Then, scarcely had Jonah declared the Almighty's message to
Nineveh, than the whole mighty city repented in dust and ashes. When
did the voice of preacher ever command more sudden, more marvellous
success? Truly, Jonah was set on a very high pinnacle indeed! He was
reverenced by monarch and people as the inspired oracle of God. We
cannot marvel that pride was fostered in the heart of Jonah; and are
less surprised that it had such an effect upon his charity—that, to
maintain his lofty position as a prophet, he would have been content
that the judgments which he had threatened should all be terribly
fulfilled.
How gently did God, in His love and wisdom, deal with the haughty
Jonah! He who had seemed to grasp the thunderbolt was taught that he
was but man—but a weak, sinful man. The bodily frame, once miraculously
preserved, was shown to be subject to pain and fatigue, even like those
of others; the mere force of the wind, the mere heat of the sun, were
sufficient to exhaust its strength. Jonah was ready to faint. The soul
that had been so lofty and firm in the prospect of instant death, was
prostrated and brought to despair by the withering of a gourd!
Where was his courage—where his power of endurance? Jonah, under a
common form of trial, shows, not the dignity of a prophet, but the
impatient querulousness of a child. It must have been with shame that
he afterwards recorded the almost impious complaints which bodily
discomfort drew from his lips.
The story is abruptly ended. Jonah tells not the effect on his own mind
of the gentle rebuke of the Lord; but we may trust that it caused him
to bow down in shame, and search for the worm at the root, and learn to
extend to others that mercy which he found that he so greatly needed
himself.
What are our feelings towards "them that are without," those whom
we deem grievous sinners, like the men of Nineveh? Is there a cold,
self-righteous complacency, in the thought that we are not as they
are-something of satisfaction in the belief, that, though they may
revel in prosperity now, judgment will ere long overtake them? When the
tower of Siloam falls, are we eager to show that those crushed beneath
it were sinners above all that dwell at Jerusalem?
Let us beware of a censorious spirit, ready to judge and to condemn. If
we see the leaf of our charity shrivelling, let us search for the worm
at the root. Many a sorrow and many a fall may God permit His servants
to suffer, in order to humble and to prove them, and to teach them,
as He taught Jonah, that they are but dust. The most exalted saints
have nothing wherein to glory but the Cross of Christ; through which
alone they, as well as the lowest and worst of transgressors, can be
delivered from the righteous judgments of God.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXIX.
The Fetters of Manasseh.
WE bless the Lord for our creation, preservation, and all the
blessings of this life; but how strange are some of the things which
the white-robed saints on high will number amongst these blessings!
There may be heard a Nebuchadnezzar praising for the blessing of
madness; a pardoned thief for the torments of a cross; and a Manasseh,
remembering, in a song of loud thanksgiving, those Babylonish fetters
of which the iron entered into his soul!
Manasseh, King of Judah, had perhaps descended into lower depths of
depravity than any other sinner of whose conversion we read in the
Bible. He might have been thought beyond reach even of the mercy of
God, so deep had he sunk in the pit of iniquity. Dr. Kitto thus sums up
the list of the transgressions of this most wicked man: "The crimes of
all former kings seem light in comparison with those which disgraced
his reign. He upheld idolatry with all the influence of the regal
power, and with such inconceivable boldness, that the pure and holy
ceremonies of the temple were superseded by rites of an idol image, set
up in the very sanctuary . . . The practice which was, of all others,
the most abhorrent to Jehovah, the king sanctioned by his own atrocious
example, for he devoted his own children by fire to strange gods, in
the blood-stained valley of Ben Hinnom. Wickedness reigned on high,
and, as usual, persecuted righteousness and truth; so that, by a strong
but significant hyperbole, we are told that innocent blood flowed in
the streets of Jerusalem." It is said that the prophet Isaiah was
martyred by the command of Manasseh, and underwent a terrible death, by
being sawn asunder!
"God spoke unto Manasseh, and to his people, but they would not
hearken." Who could have marvelled, then, if the sentence had gone
forth, "Manasseh is joined to idols—let him alone?" "He that, being
often reproved, hardeneth his neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and
that without remedy."
But Manasseh, son of Hezekiah, had doubtless been the child of many
prayers, and the Spirit of his heavenly Father yearned still over this
worse than prodigal son. God sent other messengers, to whom Manasseh
could not choose but hearken. The Lord brought on him "the captains of
the King of Assyria, which took Manasseh among the thorns, and bound
him with fetters, and carried him to Babylon." Those chains were as the
cords of love, with which mercy would draw the wretched sinner back
from the gulf of destruction into which he was plunging.
"When he was in affliction, he besought the Lord his God, and humbled
himself greatly before the God of his fathers." The prayer attributed
to Manasseh, though not contained in the inspired record, nor perhaps
written by Manasseh himself, well expresses what must have been
the feeling of his broken and contrite heart. "I have sinned above
the number of the sands of the sea. My transgressions, O Lord, are
multiplied, my transgressions are multiplied, and I am not worthy
to behold and see the height of heaven, for the multitude of my
iniquities. I am bowed down with many iron bands, that I cannot lift
up my head, neither have any release; for I have provoked Thy wrath,
and done evil before Thee. I did not Thy will, neither kept I Thy
commandments. I have set up abominations, and have multiplied offences.
Now, therefore, I bow the knee of my heart, beseeching Thee of grace.
I have sinned, O Lord, I have sinned, and I acknowledge my iniquities.
Wherefore, I humbly beseech Thee, forgive me, O Lord, forgive me, and
destroy me not with mine iniquities . . . For Thou art the God, even
the God of them that repent; and in me Thou wilt show all Thy goodness,
for Thou wilt save me, that am unworthy, according to Thy great mercy."
"The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." The history of
Manasseh is a most striking comment upon such a text as this. If "he"
was saved, who need despair? If "he" was granted true repentance, what
heart so dead in sin that it cannot be quickened by the Spirit of Life!
When God released the prisoner from captivity, and brought him again to
Jerusalem to reign on the throne of his fathers, Manasseh proved the
sincerity of his contrition by the change in his life. "He took away
the strange gods, and the idol out of the house of the Lord, and all
the altars that he had built, and cast them out of the city. And he
repaired the altar of the Lord, and sacrificed thereon peace-offerings
and thank-offerings, and commanded Judah to serve the Lord God of
Israel."
We believe that amongst the ransomed of Christ, Manasseh will at the
last day be found with the pious Hezekiah his father, and the holy
prophet Isaiah, whose inspired words were so touchingly fulfilled in
the case of his own cruel murderer. "Though your sins be as scarlet
they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they
shall be as wool."
The history of Manasseh is fraught with hope and comfort, not only for
those bowed down under the weight of manifold sins, but for parents
enduring that anguish which is only second to that of remorse, grief
for the wickedness of a child. Hezekiah was a man of prayer; he had,
we doubt not, often fervently prayed for his boy, and long after his
own decease his prayers were abundantly answered. The supplications of
Hezekiah may have helped to forge these fetters for Manasseh, they may
have helped to draw the Assyrians upon him.
Let us close our meditations upon this most striking history of God's
abounding grace, in the words of one who was himself a miracle of
pardoning love,—"Godly sorrow worketh repentance not to be repented of.
The wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through
Jesus Christ our Lord."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXX.
The Deed of Purchase.
A LIFE of bitter trial was that of Jeremiah, the messenger of wrath
and of woe, the prophet who announced evil tidings of disgrace and
ruin to a profligate court and a wicked people. Jeremiah stood like
a light-house on a desolate rock, exposed to the fury of the blast
of calumny, the fierce billows of persecution. What would be the
position of a seer, even in these days, who should announce the utter
devastation of our land by famine and sword, who should declare amongst
us that we should become "an execration and an astonishment, a curse
and a reproach," who should pronounce a sentence of death upon monarch
and noble, bid our soldiers sheath their swords, and our volunteers
submit to a foreign foe without so much as a struggle? Jeremiah has
recorded his own sufferings in language which shows how deeply he
felt them. "I am the man that hath seen affliction. He hath made me
desolate. I was a derision to all my people, and their song all the
day."
Nor were hatred and mockery all that the prophet had to endure. His
liberty was taken away; his life was in imminent peril;—it is said that
he fell at last a victim to his countrymen's hatred. When we consider
also that the ruin of his nation was the source of deep affliction
to one who was a patriot as well as a prophet, that—like the blessed
Saviour—Jeremiah wept over Jerusalem while he foretold her destruction,
we shall conclude that amongst God's saints few drank more deeply of
the cup of sorrow and will scarcely wonder that in his anguish Jeremiah
cursed the day of his birth.
But the deed of purchase which we are now contemplating reminds us of
an occasion when a gleam of joy may have shone on the darkened path of
the prophet, a drop of sweetness have been mixed in his cup. The whole
transaction connected with it is very remarkable.
When Jeremiah was shut up in the court of the prison at Jerusalem,—when
the Chaldeans were investing the doomed city which he knew must fall
into their hands—then received he an intimation from God that he should
purchase a field in his native place Anathoth, of which the right of
redemption was his.
"What have I to do with buying land!" may have been the first thought
of the wondering seer; "is this a time to receive olive-yards and
vineyards? I am a prisoner and cannot get forth; Anathoth is now in the
hands of the enemy, and soon will Jerusalem be so also. My people will
be led into captivity; the Gentiles will rule in the land: what profit
can there be in this field to me or to mine!"
But if such a thought arose, Jeremiah's faith suffered it not to
influence his conduct. The purchase was to be made as a pledge and
token that the captivity of Judah was not to last for ever; that the
ransomed of the Lord should return to Zion; that Anathoth of Benjamin
should again belong to the chosen race. Jeremiah would not live to see
the return of his people, but he foresaw it by faith, and in faith
bought the field as the Lord had appointed. We see the prisoner with
calm thankfulness weighing out the seventeen shekels * of silver in the
balances; a small sum, and yet probably deemed by many a desponding
Jew too large to be thrown away upon what might seem to be a worthless
claim. Mocking smiles may have been interchanged between the witnesses
to so strange a transaction, when the prisoner subscribed and sealed
the deed, and gave it to the faithful Baruch to be carefully preserved
for a time yet remote. But Jeremiah had full assurance that such a time
would arrive; for thus said the Lord of hosts to His prophet: "Houses
and fields and vineyards shall be possessed again in this land . . .
for I will cause their captivity to return."
* Not much above forty shillings. See note in D'Oyly and Mant's Bible.
We look upon Jeremiah's deed of purchase as a type of that claim
which both Israel and Judah hold still on the land of their fathers.
Jerusalem, with all the inheritance bestowed by God upon Abraham, is
now in the possession of the followers of the false prophet; Judea,
for the sins of her people is again in captivity, and her sons are
scattered abroad amongst the Gentiles. The olive-yards and vineyards of
Palestine are now—and for many ages have been the spoil of strangers.
But it shall not be so for ever. Not by purchase but by promise is
the whole land reserved for the sons of Abraham. The deed has been
carefully preserved, not—as Jeremiah's—in an earthen vessel, but in
God's own Book. The whole deed is too long for transference to these
pages, but a portion may be transcribed, gathered from various books
of the Old Testament Scriptures; each prophet, as it were, setting his
seal to the precious document.
"I will pour upon the house of David, and upon the inhabitants of
Jerusalem, the spirit of grace and of supplications: and they shall
look upon Me whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for Him, as
one mourneth for his only son, and shall be in bitterness for Him, as
one that is in bitterness for his firstborn." *
"Sing, O daughter of Zion; shout, O Israel; be glad and rejoice with
all the heart, O daughter of Jerusalem. The Lord hath taken away thy
judgments, He hath cast out thine enemy: the king of Israel, even the
Lord, is in the midst of thee: thou shalt not see evil any more." †
"At that time will I bring you again, even in the time that I gather
you: for I will make you a name and a praise among all people of the
earth." ‡
"All nations shall call you blessed: for ye shall be a delightsome
land, saith the Lord of Hosts." §
"For, lo, I will command, and I will sift the house of Israel among
all nations, like as corn is sifted in a sieve, yet shall not the least
grain fall upon the earth. And I will plant them upon their land, and
they shall no more be pulled up out of their land which I have given
them, saith the Lord thy God." ¶
* Zech. xii. 10. † Zeph. iii. 14, 15. ‡ Zeph. iii.20
§ Mal. iii. 12. ¶ Amos ix. 9, 15.
"And the heathen shall know that I the Lord do sanctify Israel, when
My sanctuary shall be in the midst of them for evermore." *
"At that time they shall call Jerusalem the throne of the Lord; and
all the nations shall be gathered unto it." †
"He shall cause them that come of Jacob to take root: Israel shall
blossom and bud, and fill the face of the world with fruit." ‡
* Ezek. xxxvii. 28. † Jer. iii. 17. ‡ Isa. xxvii. 6.
St. Paul, himself a Hebrew of the Hebrews, looked with faith and hope
on this deed, and thus subscribed himself as a witness: "Blindness in
part is happened to Israel, until the fulness of the Gentiles be come
in. And so all Israel shall be saved: as it is written, There shall
come out of Sion the Deliverer, and shall turn away ungodliness from
Jacob: for this is my covenant unto them, when I shall take away their
sins." §
Yes, the time is coming, and now may be near, when it shall be said,
"Rejoice ye with Jerusalem, and be glad with her, all ye that love
her: rejoice for joy with her, all ye that mourn for her"; ¶ when the
gathering of her people shall be "as life from the dead." ║
§ Rom. xi. 25-27. ¶ Isa. lxvi. 10. ║ Rom. xi. 15.
Christian brethren, is this nothing to us? Shall we be cold and
indifferent, nor strive to hasten the time of Israel's restoration by
our prayers, and by such efforts as God may enable us to make? Oh!
"Pray for the peace of Jerusalem, they shall prosper that love thee."
The word of the Lord to Israel still standeth firm, "blessed is he that
blesseth thee!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXI.
Jehoiakim's Knife.
IF the shadow of a curse could ever be said to lie on the inanimate
instrument employed by man to work his evil will, surely it lies upon
this, the first, as far as we know, ever used in the attempt to destroy
a portion of God's holy Word.
On the dethronement of his brother by the King of Egypt, Jehoiakim
had mounted the throne of his father Josiah, and for eleven years he
reigned in Jerusalem. The sins of this wicked monarch drew down upon
himself and his people the wrath of the Lord. For many years had the
Prophet Jeremiah uttered the voice of solemn warning; sadly had he
foretold the coming desolation. "The harvest is past, the summer is
ended, and we are not saved. Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes
a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of
my people! This whole land shall be a desolation and an astonishment,
and these nations shall serve the King of Babylon seventy years."
At the command of the Lord the prophet dictated to Baruch the scribe
all the words of his prophecies against Israel and Judah, and they were
written down upon a roll. The prophet confided the roll to Baruch, and
bade him read it aloud in the ears of the people in the house of the
Lord.
"It may be," said Jeremiah, "they will present their supplication
before the Lord, and will return every one from his evil way: for great
is the anger and the fury that the Lord hath pronounced against this
people."
The solemn announcement of coming ruin, though it led not, as in the
case of Nineveh, to national repentance, yet excited interest and
alarm. The princes of Judah sent for Baruch, and at their desire, he
again, in their presence, read aloud the prophecies of Jeremiah. Fear
fell on the nobles; "we will surely tell the king of all these words,"
said they unto Baruch. But aware of the storm of anger which might be
roused in the monarch's breast, the princes counselled that both the
prophet and the scribe should conceal themselves, and let no man know
their hiding-place.
Then was Jehoiakim informed of the prophecies written against himself
and his guilty land; and he sent Jehudi to fetch the roll, and read it
in his presence where he sat in his winter palace, with all his princes
assembled around.
Striking and solemn must that scene have been! There would be deep
stillness in the royal chamber, broken only by the voice of the reader,
uttering words of living power, which would fall on the ears of such of
the silent listeners as had faith in prophecy, much as the voice of the
judge pronouncing sentence of death falls on the ear of the criminal.
The nobles would watch the effect of the reading on the countenance of
their king; would he, like Ahab, rend his clothes and put sackcloth
on his flesh, and by humbling himself before God avert the threatened
judgments at least for a time? Would he, like Josiah his father, go up
into the house of God, call around him the priests and the people, both
small and great, and read to them the Word of the Lord, honouring it,
and mourning because of the curses written in the Book?
To Josiah a message had been sent, "Because thine heart was tender,
and thou didst humble thyself before God, when thou heardest His words
against this place . . . behold, I will gather thee to thy fathers, and
thou shalt be gathered to thy grave in peace, neither shall thine eyes
see all the evil that I will bring upon this place."
But the spirit of Josiah was not in his son. Instead of repentance
and humiliation, anger and stubborn resistance to the will of the
Almighty might be read on the darkening countenance of the King of
Judea. He would not even suffer Jehudi to read to the end of the roll;
Jehoiakim grasped it, and cut it with his knife, and not satisfied with
this open insult to the Word of God, this defiance of the terrors of
the Almighty, the king flung the mutilated roll into the fire which
was burning before him, as if with the blackening parchment he could
destroy that Word which abideth for ever! In vain two of the nobles
present endeavoured to stay the rash hand of the king, entreating him
not to burn the prophetic roll; the rage of Jehoiakim was not satisfied
by the crime which he had committed, he wished to wreak his fury on
the living witnesses for God, as well as upon His inspired Word; he
commanded the seizure of both Jeremiah and Baruch, but the Lord hid
them from the anger of the king.
What availed it to the wretched Jehoiakim that he had consumed to ashes
the writing of the prophet against him? The Word of the Lord came to
Jeremiah, saying, "Take thee again another roll, and write in it all
the former words that were in the first roll, which Jehoiakim the King
of Judah hath burned, and thou shalt say to Jehoiakim, King of Judah,
'Thus saith the Lord; thou hast burned this roll . . . therefore thus
saith the Lord of Jehoiakim, King of Judah, he shall have none to sit
upon the throne of David; and his dead body shall be cast out in the
day to the heat, and in the night to the frost.' Then took Jeremiah
another roll, and gave it to Baruch, who wrote therein from the mouth
of Jeremiah all the words of the Book which Jehoiakim had burned in the
fire, and there were added unto them many like words."
Such was the result of this first attempt to mutilate the Scriptures,
and stop the free course of the Word of God. It may have been the
first, but it assuredly was not the last effort of that kind.
Jehoiakim's knife and Jehoiakim's fire have but been precursors of
other instruments used for the same unhallowed purpose, notwithstanding
the awful warning which is found almost at the close of the Revelation.
"If any man shall take away from the words of the book of this
prophecy, God shall take away his part out of the book of life."
Superstition has been actively employed from early ages in using the
knife to mar and mutilate the Scriptures; she has tried to cut away
the Second Commandment, to rend from the roll all the texts on which,
as emblazoned in light, are written the doctrine of justification by
faith. Nay, when she has found, like Jehoiakim, the knife insufficient
for the work, she has literally cast the Bible into the flames, and
not only the Book, but the bodies of many of those who counted its
doctrines more precious than life! But superstition has had no power to
destroy one inspired sentence, "The Word of the Lord endureth for ever."
Heresy, also, has diligently plied the knife on various parts of the
sacred roll. Here one would cut away the testimony to the Divinity
of Him "whose goings forth are from everlasting," here another would
deprive us of the consolation to be derived from the truth that Christ
"was in all points tempted as we are" though "without sin." But vain
has been every wild attempt to destroy any part of the sacred Book, let
man or Satan do what they may, "The Word of the Lord abideth for ever!"
In the present day many an eager hand is stretched out to grasp the
knife. Now this part—now that part—of God's truth is fiercely assailed.
Unbelief would cut away the record of miracles, would cast aside much
of those sacred writings of which He who is the Truth itself said,
"Search the Scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and
they are they which testify of Me." Sceptics and unbelievers may, like
Jehoiakim, draw down on themselves a heavy doom; but they will find at
last that the so-called wisdom of man is foolishness with God, and that
they have no more power to destroy His Scriptures than passing clouds
have to extinguish the sun which shineth in glory far far above them!
"The Word of the Lord endureth for ever!"
Is there no danger of our falling into the sin of mutilating Scripture,
though not, like Jehoiakim, with the knife? If we search the Bible in
order to "confirm" our own views on religion instead of to "form" them,
passing lightly over everything there which clashes with our notions,
almost secretly wishing that some passages in sacred Writ were not to
be found there, do we truly honour God's Word? There were parts of
Jeremiah's roll which probably even Jehoiakim would have willingly
preserved. All would gladly keep the promises, could they put out of
sight the warnings and threats.
And so likewise in matters of doctrine: one treasures all the texts
which proclaim free salvation through faith, another lets his mind
only dwell upon such as enforce the necessity of a holy life and good
works. I was once surprised at the dissatisfied feeling with which an
excellent man regarded the Epistle written by St. James, who has been
called "the apostle of duty." The Christian did not seem to realize
the truth which has been well illustrated by one who represented St.
James and St. Paul as soldiers fighting "back to back," under the
same banner, against the same foes to the truth, but necessarily from
their position facing different errors; each soldier strengthening and
supporting his comrade by guarding him from strokes "from behind,"
where the enemy might have taken him at disadvantage.
Let us receive—honour—and keep the Bible in its integrity, deeming no
portion superfluous which God hath thought fit to preserve; waiting for
more light from above to reveal its hidden mysteries, and being assured
that though heavens and earth may pass away, yet "the Word of the Lord
endureth for ever!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXII.
The Rags of Ebedmelech.
WHO can doubt that the God of Love notices the minutest act of
kindness done to His servants, when even these rags of the Ethiopian
are carefully preserved in the Scriptures, memorials of considerate
thoughtful tenderness shown to His afflicted prophet.
Let us review one of the most interesting passages in the history of
Jeremiah.
The miserable Jehoiakim fell into the hands of Nebuchadnezzar, by
whose command he was bound with fetters and ordered to be carried to
Babylon. As no account is given in Scripture of Jehoiakim's death, it
is surmised that the prophecy which foretold that his burial should be
as "the burial of an ass," was fulfilled by his dying on the way to
Babylon, and his corpse being thrown into a ditch, exposed to the heat
of the day and the frost of the night.
For three months Jeconiah (or Coniah), a youth of eighteen, reigned
in the place of his father Jehoiakim. Of him Jeremiah had prophesied,
"Thus saith the Lord . . . I will give thee into the hand of them that
seek thy life, and into the hand of them whose face thou fearest, even
into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, and into the hand of
the Chaldeans."
And even so came it to pass that the young king and his mother, his
officers and princes, and thousands of warriors and artizans were
carried away captive to Babylon, with the vessels of Solomon's Temple.
Zedekiah (the son of Josiah), the last native monarch of Judah, then
mounted the throne of David, to suffer one day a fate even more
terrible than that which had befallen his two brothers and his nephew,
who had successively reigned before him. Zedekiah sought help from
Egypt, and, as it appeared at first, with success, as on the approach
of Pharaoh's army, the Chaldeans, who were besieging Jerusalem,
retired. If the heart of Jeremiah had shared in the joy which this
gleam of returning hope had caused in Jerusalem, it must have been to
him a task all the more bitter to quench that hope in utter darkness.
Anguish must have been his when he thus declared the message of God!
"Behold Pharaoh's army which is come forth to help you, shall return
to Egypt into their own land; and the Chaldeans shall come again, and
fight against this city, and take it, and burn it with fire."
After uttering this terrible prophecy, Jeremiah made an attempt to quit
Jerusalem, and return to his native land of Benjamin; but he was seized
as a traitor by a captain of the ward, brought before the princes as
one taken in the act of falling away to the Chaldeans, maltreated, and
thrown into prison. For a time, the rigour of Jeremiah's captivity was
softened by the king, who appears never to have doubted the innocence
of the prophet. But Jeremiah's enemies were not satisfied with his
imprisonment; they were determined to have his life, and to destroy
him by a death of lingering suffering. Abusing the weakness of King
Zedekiah, who delivered the prophet into their hands, the princes of
Judah cast Jeremiah into a dungeon, or rather pit, in the court of the
prison, which had mire at the bottom, in which their victim partially
sank, and there his merciless foes seem to have left him to perish by
inches from hunger and damp.
Such would probably have been the fate of Jeremiah, but for the
intervention of Ebedmelech, not one of his own countrymen, but an
Ethiopian in the service of the king. This African went to Zedekiah,
and roused him to make an effort to save his innocent subject from so
cruel a death. "My lord the king," said Ebedmelech, "these men have
done evil in all that they have done to the prophet, whom they have
cast into the dungeon; and he is like to die for hunger in the place
where he is."
Ebedmelech succeeded in obtaining the king's order that he should take
thirty men, and release the prophet from his dreadful situation. And
here occurs the little trait of womanlike tenderness in the African,
which God hath deemed worthy of record. Ebedmelech knew that Jeremiah
must be drawn out of the pit by cords; he knew that in his probable
state of weakness and emaciation the ropes would be likely to gall and
hurt him. So he "went into the house of the king under the treasury,
and took thence old cast clouts and old rotten rags, and let them down
by cords into the dungeon to Jeremiah. And Ebedmelech the Ethiopian
said unto Jeremiah, Put now these old cast clouts and rotten rags under
thine armholes under the cords." And Jeremiah did so, and was safely
drawn to the top.
The Lord did not fail to requite the deed of the Ethiopian, to whom
was granted a special promise of deliverance in the coming time of
trouble. "Thou shalt not be given into the hand of the men of whom
thou art afraid." And here the African disappears from our view, and
we know nothing further of Ebedmelech; but the soft wrappings which
he collected to put over the rough ropes may afford us a pleasant and
profitable subject for our reflections.
Ebedmelech not only did a substantial service to Jeremiah, but he
did it in a tender considerate way; he did not, as most men would
have done, hurt the prophet even in helping him. The complaint of the
ingratitude of those who have received great benefits is very common in
the world, but we shall often find that ingratitude has been caused by
the want of delicacy in the benefactor who complains; he has supplied
the "ropes" but neglected the "wrappings."
For instance, a sufferer is sunk in the pit of poverty; he has seen
better days, his feelings are tender, the very means used to raise him
are likely to wound him, to gall even while they relieve. But Christian
love must regard the feelings as well as the outward wants of the
sufferer; it should bestow a gift almost as if it were asking a favour;
it should smooth what is rough, soften what is hard, and let down the
wrappings with the rope.
Again, there is the same, and even greater, delicacy to be observed
when he whom we would help is sunk in the pit, not of poverty, but
of sin. We earnestly desire to draw him forth, for we know that if
he stay, he must perish. Fervent exhortation, faithful reproof, may
be as the cords in our hands, and with a prayer for success we use
them; but our efforts will be far more likely to avail, if gentleness,
consideration, and tenderness accompany earnest effort; if, shrinking
from galling pride, or giving one needless pang, we let down the
wrappings with the rope.
Nothing is really insignificant that affects the happiness or the
character of men; a look or a word may awaken far more kindly feeling
than the gift of a purse of gold, and that reproof is usually most
effectual which is uttered in a tone of love.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXIII.
The Golden Sceptre.
VERY different is the object of our present contemplation from the
last—the gold from the tatters, the sceptre of a powerful monarch from
the rags of an African servant—and even so our theme rises from man's
mercy to that of God, from the kindness of Ebedmelech to the free grace
of our Lord.
For it is not on the history of Esther herself that we will now dwell,
except so far as she appears an emblem of the Church, the queen "all
glorious within," whose clothing is "of wrought gold." Let us muse on
how she, and with her every individual believer, dares to approach Him
who is of "purer eyes than to behold iniquity," the great and terrible
God, "who hath measured the waters in the hollow of His hand, and meted
out heaven with the span."
There is, indeed, far too little of reverence in the way in which
we too often enter by prayer the presence of our Lord. The careless
posture, the wandering thought, the hastily-uttered supplication, seem
to denote that Christians little realize how solemn a thing it is to
draw nigh to the King of kings. Not thus did Esther approach the throne
of Ahasuerus. If the traditional account preserved in the Apocrypha be
true, her heart was in anguish for fear, she turned pale, and fainted,
and fell. Not that God wills that such terrors should oppress His
redeemed; they are permitted to "come boldly" to the throne of grace,
they are commanded to draw near with a true heart, "in full assurance
of faith;" but a certain degree of holy awe should be mixed with holy
confidence; "let not thine heart be hasty to utter anything before God;
God is in heaven, and thou upon earth, therefore let thy words be few."
But for the golden sceptre of grace held out to us through the mercy
and merits of Christ, the sentence of death would indeed go forth
against us when we appear before Him. "For our God is a consuming
fire." "The mountains quake at Him, and the hills melt, and the earth
is burned at His presence. Who can stand before His indignation, and
who can abide in the fierceness of His anger?" But the love of Persia's
king for his bride was but a faint shadow of the love of the Lord for
His Church. "What wilt thou, Queen Esther? and what is Thy request? it
shall be even given thee to the half of the kingdom."
Such were the gracious words of Ahasuerus to the trembling supplicant
before him; and so the Church hears the tender assurance of her King,
"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find. Whatsoever ye
shall ask the Father in My name He will give it to you."
And what was it that Esther came to entreat, when the golden sceptre
of Ahasuerus was stretched out towards her? In the first place, the
presence of the king at her banquet, and, beyond this, the preservation
from destruction of herself and her people. Much the same as hers is
the petition of Christ's Church to her heavenly King, only with the
loftier blessings implored their order is reversed. The Church prays
first for salvation, deliverance from death eternal, and then for the
presence of her Lord—not for an hour or a day—but even for ever and
ever.
If Esther, an orphan exile, born to bondage and sorrow, was able in
royal garments to approach her lord, and invite him to a sumptuous
banquet which she had prepared in a palace, the robes which she wore,
the feast which she spread, were all the gifts of his love. She could
but offer him of his own. How strikingly does this exemplify the
position of the Church in regard to her Lord! By free grace He holds
out to her the sceptre of pardoning mercy; by free grace He clothes her
with the royal garments of righteousness; by free grace He enables her
to welcome Him and minister unto Him. He is more ready to hear than she
to pray, more ready to grant than she to implore. He has loved and will
love her for ever, will save her from all her enemies, and crown her
with joy everlasting.
Such are some of the comforting thoughts suggested to us by the golden
sceptre, thoughts of mercy, grace, and love. It is a "sceptre," the
emblem of power and dominion; a "golden" sceptre, reminding us of the
word spoken of Christ our King, "Thy throne, O God, is for ever and
ever: a sceptre of righteousness is the sceptre of Thy kingdom." It
is a token of free salvation; they to whom it is extended shall live
in the presence of God, shall stand accepted before Him; and it is a
sceptre held out to every one who, in lowly faith, approaches Him who
loved and gave Himself for us.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXIV.
A Vessel of the Temple.
BITTER must have been the shame and grief of the Jews when
Nebuchadnezzar, King of Assyria, plundered the glorious building which
they had raised, the Temple which, eleven years later, was itself given
to the flames. Well was it for the good King Hezekiah that he lived
not to see that day when his precious things, his silver and his gold,
with the consecrated gold of the Temple, were carried away to Babylon,
according to the word of the Lord spoken by the Prophet Isaiah. Great
was the quantity of sacred vessels taken from Jerusalem, even if Ezra's
list of those restored comprises them all. Thirty chargers and twenty
basins of gold; a thousand chargers of silver. "All the vessels of gold
and of silver were five thousand and four hundred." It was a humbling
day to the captives from Jerusalem when the treasures of the sanctuary,
the pride of their fathers, were placed as trophies in the idol temple
of the Gentiles.
But we conceive yet stronger indignation excited in the breasts of
Jewish exiles, when the sacred vessels were brought forth to add to
the magnificence of the feast of King Belshazzar, when the heathen in
riotous mirth quaffed wine out of those splendid chargers, and praised
their own gods of silver and gold, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of
stone! It was a sacrilegious hand that Belshazzar laid on the golden
cup before us, a blasphemous lip that pressed its brim; and God at
once avenged the insult to His Majesty. Part of a man's hand appeared
writing on the wall terrible mysterious characters that no one present
could read, and the king's countenance was changed, he trembled, his
knees smote one another with fear. On that night was proud Babylon
taken by the Persians under that Cyrus who subsequently restored to
the Jews the vessels of their Temple, to be once more devoted to the
service of the one true God.
The image of a vessel is repeatedly employed in the New Testament to
represent human beings. St. Paul writes of God making known the riches
of His glory on the vessels of mercy which He had before prepared unto
glory; he describes a believer as "a vessel unto honour, sanctified,
meet for the Master's use," and he was himself spoken of by the Lord as
"a chosen vessel." It does not appear improbable that in each instance
the idea was suggested by the vessels of the Temple. It seems as if
some light might be thrown by the use of this simile upon the subjects
of baptism and conversion.
In baptism every Christian adult or child becomes a vessel solemnly
consecrated to God, even like the treasures of the Temple dedicated by
Solomon to the Lord. Happy those who are never suffered to fall into
the hand of the Enemy! What myriads of babes will there be in Heaven,
little vessels of mercy that have never been defiled by wilful sin,
but which have been safely laid up in the treasury above! But there
are many baptized beings whose history is like that of the golden
charger on which the mental eye now rests. They were indeed once
solemnly devoted to God, but the world has them now, Satan has carried
them away, they are no longer used in the Master's service. They are
given to idols, they are filled with iniquity, and though some in the
sight of men may be precious and beautiful still, they are no longer
"vessels unto honour." They need to be washed, and cleansed, and given
back—restored to their lawful Owner, and to their rightful use, and
when God's grace has accomplished this, we call the blessed restoration
"conversion."
It is therefore with feelings of grief, yet not unmingled with hope
(like those which the Jews of old must have experienced in regard to
their Temple plate), that believers should look upon the unconverted
around them. It is not with loathing and contempt that the drunkard or
the thief should be thrust aside; it is not with proud disgust that
the Christian should turn from the multitude whose daily course of
life proves them to be under the dominion of the Prince of this world,
though they were baptized in childhood. These are all precious vessels,
once dedicated to God, and which may be restored to His service still.
They are in Babylon now, but they may be rescued from thence; that
which has been filled with iniquity may yet overflow with grace; saved
from the idol temple, snatched from the revel and the riot, they may
yet be reserved to shine in glory amongst the jewels of their Lord.
What marvellous instances of such conversion have formed themes for the
songs of rejoicing angels! Such men as John Newton and Vine Hall, and
many others besides, were as vessels grasped by Satan himself and held
up on high in unhallowed triumph: but they were to be wrenched from his
hold, filled with grace and filled with glory, and made chosen vessels
of the heavenly Temple which is built not by man but by God.
Fervent should be our prayers for the unconverted, whether they be
those whom the world condemns or the world admires. There are some
amongst them whose characters seem to bear no dark stain or spot: all
acknowledge the metal to be precious and the form to be fair: they
are so goodly—so bright—that it is hard to believe that they are not
"vessels of honour." But alas! If they be not truly devoted to God's
service and receiving His grace, they are like the golden chargers of
the feast of Belshazzar, they are yet but "vessels of wrath." They are
like beautiful chalices made to hold the wine of blessing, but taken
from the church to the godless banquet. It is profanation when any
baptized being is given up to the service of the world; the familiar
sound of his own Christian name should remind him that he has once been
devoted to God.
Let us close our meditation with the words of the apostle: "Every one
of you should know how to preserve his vessel in sanctification and
honour . . . And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly, . . .
faithful is He that calleth you, who also will do it."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXV.
The Trumpet of Nehemiah.
THE trumpet of Nehemiah is one of the objects in what we may call the
sacred museum of Scripture, on which the mind rests with pleasure. It
tells of earnestness and unanimity in a great work; its sound was a
call to God's servants to help one another in a time of difficulty and
of danger, when the Jews, after their return from Babylonish captivity,
rebuilt the wall of their Zion. What a scene of anxious and yet joyful
labour rises before us as connected with that trumpet!
We picture to ourselves the brave men of Judah, with the tool in one
hand and the weapon in another, toil-drops beading their sun-burnt
faces, labouring from the rising of the morn till the stars appeared;
some, as we know, not even putting on their clothes at night, but
throwing themselves down in their garments to snatch needful rest, till
dawn should rouse them to fresh exertions. We picture to ourselves not
only the men bending their strong backs under the burden, and straining
their muscles to lift great weights, but the matrons and maidens of
Zion, nay, even the little children, lending what help they might,
trying to make up by zeal for want of physical power, bringing food
and water to the workers; bearing, perhaps, the lighter burdens, or
carrying rubbish away, and speaking those words of encouragement which
would add new strength to the strong, and energy to the active.
We hear them repeating one to another the rousing call of their leader
when bidding them prepare for attack from their foes: "Be not ye afraid
of them; remember the Lord, which is great and terrible, and fight for
your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your
houses."
At one blast from Nehemiah's trumpet, weapons would have flashed from
their scabbards, and a rush have been made to the spot whence the
warning note proceeded, for thus writes Nehemiah: "He that sounded the
trumpet was by me; and I said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and
to the rest of the people, The work is great and large, and we are
separated upon the wall, one from another. In what place therefore ye
hear the trumpet, resort ye thither unto us: our God shall fight for
us!"
Even such a scene of active, earnest labour is around us now,
realized by faith; in the midst of an opposing world, surrounded by
difficulties, encompassed by snares, the labourers for God are raising
the walls of the spiritual Zion. The Word of the Lord is their trumpet
call, bidding them quit themselves like men and be strong; to fight
against their own besetting sins, and at the same time to be ready for
every labour of love, and especially such labours for souls as are
typified by the building of the wall of Jerusalem, that city of the
great King.
There is something delightful and exhilarating in the feeling of
working together, combining in efforts for God. The labourers are
indeed engaged on different parts of the wall, they may be "one far
from another," yet is there a union of purpose between them, and the
trumpet at any moment may call them to union in action. Not all are fit
for the same kind of work; some are employed but to clear away rubbish,
others are laying the strong, deep foundations, those prepare mortar,
these hew stones, the work of many shows no visible result, whilst
beneath the busy hands of their brethren the wall rises with marvellous
rapidity. But all are helping in the building for God, and when the
bulwark is completed, the glorious task done, how joyfully may the
weakest of the workers exclaim: "I, even I, was a labourer too!"
Yes—on this building there is room for the efforts, not of the pastor
alone, but of the "people;" not of the men alone, but the women; nay,
even of the feeble little child. Something will be found for each
to do, if all combine together. And how inspiriting is the feeling
of brotherhood and sisterhood between those engaged in working for
God! We may regard the great and successful efforts of some highly
distinguished Christian, as a Jewish child, bringing but a few pebbles
to add to the wall, may have regarded the giant strength of some
Samson, heaving up to its place a huge mass, which the boy's feeble
arms could not have stirred. The child would admire and rejoice in
the strength of the man; and, if humbled, yet not discouraged, by its
contrast with his own weakness, would do the little which he could do
with the cheering thought, "I, even I, am a labourer too!"
Oh, how far preferable the humblest kind of spiritual work, to the
shame of standing all the day idle, while God's people are anxiously
toiling around us for Him!
There are very many ways in which we may help to raise the wall of our
Zion. Missionary labour amongst heathen abroad and heathen at home
is the most lofty kind of building work. The earnest clergyman, the
ragged-school teacher, the Bible-woman, the Christian visitor to the
haunts of poverty and the dens of sin, are those "directly" engaged in
raising stone upon stone. Such need refreshment, encouragement, help;
and to give it to them for the sake of the cause is "indirectly" to
forward the building.
There is one way in which we can, as it were, bring our little
contribution of mortar to fix the stones, which, though a way neglected
by many, is beyond the strength of but few—by "the circulation of
religious literature." There is, indeed, judgment required in the
choice of religious works for such distribution. The mortar should in
itself be good, and be "laid" on, not carelessly "thrown" on; but no
great courage is usually required, except by novices in the work. In
nineteen cases out of twenty, the book or tract which is courteously
offered is civilly received, and sometimes thankfully and eagerly
accepted.
A Protestant lady, just before entering a French church to see the
interior, gave a tract to an old woman who chanced to be near the door.
On the lady's leaving the church, the woman—who was doubtless a Roman
Catholic—returned the tract, which she probably regarded as heretical
trash. The lady, whose English companion did not sympathize with her
tract-giving, took back the despised paper with a little feeling of
embarrassment, which instantly passed away as a man held out his hand
for what the woman had rejected, so that the lady had merely to pass
the tract from the one to the other.
Travellers, while in search of health or amusement, would do well to
remember that valuable opportunities may be afforded to them, when thus
casually meeting with those whom they never again may see, of helping
to build the wall of Zion. They are not likely to behold any effect of
their work here; but labour for God, with faith and prayer, is "not in
vain in the Lord."
Would that reflection on this subject would induce every reader who
may glance at this little volume to form a prayerful resolution never
to let "one day" pass without doing something, be it ever so little,
towards raising the spiritual wall! How cold is our zeal, how careless
our efforts, compared to those of the Jews under Nehemiah! "They" did
not sit quietly in their homes, buried in studies, or absorbed by
business, while the din of earnest work was going on around them, or
the blast of the trumpet summoned all true sons of Abraham to do brave
battle for the right. The nobles thought it an honour to be engaged
in the work; the governor himself set an example of devoted energy in
it. It was a day of triumph for Nehemiah and his companions when their
glorious work was finished; when, in the words of the leader, "all our
enemies heard thereof, and all the heathen that were about us saw these
things, and were much cast down in their own eyes, for they perceived
that this work was wrought of God."
But what will be the joy of those who have toiled for Christ, and in
His strength, when they gaze on the jasper wall of "the holy Jerusalem,
descending out of heaven from God," wherein those shall dwell who,
ransomed and pardoned by the Saviour, have loved, lived, and laboured
for Him! The trumpet in the hand of the archangel shall sound then no
summons to conflict. And when the blessed review the time of their
sojourn upon earth, with all its mingled trials and blessings while
God's work was slowly rising to completion, will it not be one of their
sweetest joys then to be able to say, "Unworthy as I was of a privilege
so glorious, I, even I, was a labourer too!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXVI.
Writing Table of Zacharias.
THOUGH mentioned but once in Scripture, there are circumstances which
invest the writing table of Zacharias with peculiar interest, as on
it may be said to have been traced the first written sentence of the
Gospel—the fulfilment of the words of the angel, with the name of him
of whom the prophet Isaiah had foretold, that he should be "a voice
crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord."
As soon as Zacharias had written the words, "His name is John," what a
thankful utterance of joy burst from the lips of the aged father! He
that had been dumb now spake—his mouth was opened at once to prophesy
and to praise. Zacharias was filled with the Holy Ghost, as his
venerable wife had been before, and rejoiced in the Day-spring from
on high, that was rising to give light to them that had long sat in
darkness and in the shadow of death.
As the rosy clouds, flushed with his upward beams, seem to cradle
the rising sun, so we find, at the first advent of the Sun of
Righteousness, a holy radiance brightening the latter days of four
aged saints, who were chosen, as it were, to reflect the first rays of
coming glory, and bear witness to the Messiah.
First Elisabeth, then her aged husband, afterwards the venerable Simeon
and Anna, gave thanks to the Lord, and spoke of the coming blessing to
all them that looked for redemption in Zion. The song of the one seems
to have been appropriate to all: "Lord, now let Thy servant depart
in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation." With these saints,
indeed, was the hoary head a crown of glory, for it was found in the
way of righteousness.
The spirit of wisdom granted to these four aged believers reminds us of
the words of the poet—
"Both worlds at once they view,
Who stand upon the threshold of the new;"
and lead us to reflect upon some of the privileges of a holy old
age. When an aged Christian lady was once speaking of the different
generations in a family, she remarked, "It is like a ladder—happy
those who are near the top!" The observation contrasts strikingly with
Moore's melancholy regrets for departed youth, and gloomy views of
advancing age—
"Dim lies the path to death before me."
Age is commonly described by the expression, "descending into the vale
of years:" with Christians, it should rather be, mounting towards
the height of Pisgah; not going "down" into darkness, but "up" into
light—nearer to God, and nearer to Heaven.
Thus it was with the four New Testament saints on whom we are
reflecting; and the privilege which was granted to them, of witnessing
to God's truth and rejoicing in His salvation, seems to be the especial
portion of "aged" believers in every generation of mankind.
The old in years can, in a peculiarly forcible manner, witness to the
truth and faithfulness of God.
"I have been young, and now am old," said David, "yet have I not seen
the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."
"Behold, this day I am going the way of all the earth," cried the
venerable Joshua; "not one thing hath failed of all the good things
which the Lord your God spake concerning you."
Such words had additional weight from the very fact that those who
uttered them were aged. When the old tell of the goodness of God—His
power to sustain in trouble and to guide in difficulty—they speak, not
merely of what they believe, but what they have "experienced." The
respect due to the aged is enforced by the command of the Most High:
"Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the
old man, and fear thy God: I am the Lord."
The law is general; but never do we more strongly feel its force than
when the hoary head has the halo of piety around it—when the old man,
like Zacharias, stands up as a witness for God. His feeble broken
accents may then have more power than the most fervid eloquence of the
young, to lead the heart to trust in the love of Him who so fulfils His
promise:
"Even to your old age I am He, and even to hoar hairs will I carry
you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will
deliver you."
But if age has its privileges, it has also its own peculiar trials,
especially in the case of the childless, and those who are encompassed
with many infirmities. Solomon calls theirs "evil days, . . . when thou
shalt say, I have no pleasure in them; . . . when the keepers of the
house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the
grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the
windows be darkened, . . . and fears shall be in the way, . . . and the
grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail." How touching
and how true a picture is here given of decrepit age, bowed down with
feebleness and infirmity! When loneliness is added to all this—when
the childless man has outlived all the companions of his youth, and
the years of his long life have been marked out by gravestones—how
deeply does he claim the sympathy and compassion of his brethren and
sisters in the Lord! He may have a long, tedious time of waiting by the
banks of Jordan, while they who were behind him press on before him;
and though the prospect on the other side of "the narrow stream" be
ineffably fair, on this side it is indeed a dry and barren wilderness
to him.
But there is divine love even in the decree that so often weakens the
powers and dims the faculties of the aged. Very beautiful is the simile
used by a departed authoress, * when, alluding to the decay of sight
and hearing which is natural to extreme old age, she remarks, that God
acts towards His feeble servants as a tender mother towards her child
as the time for rest approaches she draws the curtain to shut out the
light, and stills every sound in the chamber, that, the outer world
excluded, her beloved may more quietly sink into slumber. We may draw
out the parallel further. When the memory ceases to retain its grasp
upon what were once objects of interest, what is it but the same loving
Parent gently taking from the child the toys of life's little day as
the evening shades fall around, and laying aside whatever might keep
the mind restless and awake?
* Mrs. Gaskell. I quote from memory.
God's love is remembered when the things of earth are forgotten. Who
has not heard of the Christian, aged and dying, whose memory had so
failed that he knew none of the friends around him, not even the wife,
so fondly beloved; but when he was asked, "Do you know the Lord Jesus?"
That name was so deeply imprinted in the heart and memory that the
erasing of all besides left it but more distinctly legible, and the
saint, in his second childhood, exclaimed, "Precious Saviour! He is my
only hope." So, to pursue the simile, though the light was darkened and
the room stilled, and all that had once delighted the senses was put
away, God's child felt beneath him the everlasting arms, and knew the
voice of the Parent hushing him to that sleep from which the same voice
should awake him to life and to joy in the dawn of the everlasting day.
Such are a few thoughts suggested by a relic of the aged Zacharias, the
saint well stricken in years, whose latter days were, we doubt not,
his brightest and best. We know nothing of the struggles of his youth
or the efforts of his manhood; but we know that the angel's visit and
the message from God—the father's rejoicing, and the prophetic hymn
inspired by the Holy Spirit—were reserved for the evening of a life
which had been devoted to the service of God.
[Illustration]
XXXVII.
The Manger.
IT is in no spirit of vain superstition that we regard this cradle
of an incarnate God. Were the very manger in which Mary laid her
heavenly Babe to be placed before our bodily eyes, we should not dare
to fall down and worship it. But it is well that faith should linger
by the manger of Bethlehem, and endeavour there to gain a more vivid
perception of the amazing condescension of Him who came to visit us
in great humility. While, therefore, with the shepherds, we adore
the Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger, let us
attempt to raise our thoughts to the divine nature of Him who, in His
poverty and His helplessness, appears to us here so truly human.
"He came unto His own, and His own received Him not." There was no room
for Him in the inn. In one sense we might say that there was no room in
the world for One:
"Whom heaven cannot contain,
Nor the immeasurable plain
Of vast infinity enclose and circle round."
For, while we rejoicing cry, "Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is
given," we must also with awe remember that "His name shall be called
the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father."
Let us glean from the Scriptures a few from the many proofs that He who
was very Man was also very God; that the Babe who lay in the manger
was one with Him who filleth the throne of Heaven. Unless we keep this
"central truth" steadily before us, we shall have a very faint idea of
the love and grace implied in the words, "who for us men, and for our
salvation, came down from heaven."
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word
was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made
by Him." Such is the sublime commencement of the Gospel of the beloved
disciple, upon whom rested the Spirit of Truth.
John had probably been present when the lips of the persecuted Jesus
of Nazareth uttered the mysterious sentence, "I and My Father are
One;" and he heard from the risen Saviour that revelation of Himself,
"I am Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last." Here was the Lord of
Heaven, repeating His own solemn declaration, uttered when He abode
upon earth—that declaration for which the Jews would have stoned Him as
a blasphemer—"before Abraham was, I AM." In that mysterious sentence,
Christ assumed to Himself that incommunicable name by which God made
Himself known unto Moses as the eternal Deity, to whom the past and the
future form but one everlasting present. Eternity, it has been said, is
the lifetime of God.
St. Paul also bears witness to Him who lay in the manger of Bethlehem,
as the Creator and Preserver, as well as the Saviour of the world.
"God . . . hath in these last days spoken unto us by His Son, whom He
hath appointed Heir of all things; 'by whom also He made the world:'
who, being the brightness of His glory, and the express image of His
person, and 'upholding all things by the word of His power,' when He
had by Himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the
Majesty on high." St. Paul quotes from the Psalms the testimony of the
Eternal Father to the dignity of the Redeemer: "Unto the Son He saith,
'Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever!'"
Micah the prophet witnessed of Him who was to be born in Bethlehem,
that "His goings forth have been of old, from everlasting." Zechariah,
in a passage, part of which our Lord Himself quoted, exclaims: "Awake,
O sword, against My Shepherd, and against 'the Man that is My Fellow,'
saith the Lord of hosts smite the Shepherd, and the sheep shall be
scattered." This is He who, "being in the form of God, thought it not
robbery to be equal with God: but made Himself of no reputation, and
took upon Him the form of a Servant,—" yea, even that of a feeble
Infant, lying in a manger, in an obscure corner of the world which He
Himself had created.
Such a mystery as this the understanding of man cannot grasp; but faith
meekly receives it, and reason bids us acknowledge, that He whose
sacrifice was to be of "infinite" merit must needs Himself be infinite;
that no created being could possibly have made satisfaction for the
sins of a whole world, the redemption of which is a work as marvellous
as was its first creation.
But nowhere do the marvels of that creation strike us with more
overpowering force than when we muse on them beside the manger of
Bethlehem. Let us consider Him who deigned to become a mortal Babe in
the single attribute of power, as displayed in launching into space
this globe in which we live, on which He stooped for a while to dwell,
and which, as compared with the heavenly bodies around it, is but as a
grain of dust in the universe created by Him by whom "all things were
made."
Though the giving motion to our world was but a comparatively "small"
exercise of such power, how overwhelmingly great it appears when set
before us in the scientific page! Let us make an extract from "The
Christian Philosopher": *
"However rapidly a ball flies from the mouth of a cannon, it
is the flight of a body only a 'few inches' in diameter . . .
The earth contains a mass of matter equal in weight to at least
2,200,000,000,000,000,000,000, or more than two thousand trillions
of tons, supposing its mean density to be only about two and a half
times greater than water. To move this ponderous mass a single inch
beyond its position were it fixed in a quiescent state, would require
a mechanical force almost beyond the power of numbers to express. The
physical force of all the myriads of intelligences within the bounds of
the planetary system, though their powers were far superior to those of
men, would be altogether inadequate to the production of such a motion.
How much more must be the force requisite to impel it with a velocity
'one hundred and forty times swifter than a cannon-ball, or sixty-eight
thousand miles an hour,' the actual rate of its motion in its course
round the sun! . . . The ideas of 'strength' and 'power' implied in the
impulsion of such enormous masses of matter through the illimitable
tracts of space are forced upon the mind with irresistible energy far
surpassing what any abstract propositions or reasonings can convey,
and constrain us to exclaim, 'Who is a strong Lord like unto Thee?
Thy right hand is become glorious in power! The Lord God Omnipotent
reigneth!'"
* By T. Dick, L. L. D.
And it was He whose Word could thus launch forth, and for thousands
of years keep the world and the other planets whirling round the sun
at a speed that baffles thought to conceive, it was He who deigned to
inhabit a human form so helpless that a woman's weak arms were needed
even to lift Him out of the manger in which that woman had laid Him!
The thought is overpowering, we can but prostrate our souls in silent
adoration. Well might the angels, bending over the manger, desire to
look into such a mystery; "God was manifest in the flesh"!
O blessed Redeemer, when even a faint glimpse of the riches of Thy
glory falls on the mental eye, it seems to dazzle and blind; and yet,
for our sakes, Thou didst become poor, so poor that the stable was Thy
first earthly dwelling-place, and Thy cradle this manger! Grant unto
us, feeble worms, the grace of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may be able
to comprehend, at least in part, "what is the breadth, and length,
and depth, and height, and to know the love of Christ which passeth
knowledge;" that love which is infinite as Thy power, and everlasting
as Thy existence!
[Illustration]
XXXVIII.
The Apostles' Net.
THERE is a danger, especially to imaginative minds, when meditating on
Scripture, to allegorize what ought to be taken literally, to lose the
clear outlines of fact in a haze of fancy. May we be watchful against
this! But the Bible is full of types and emblems, and many objects of
which we read in Scripture naturally form themselves into such.
The miraculous draught of fishes is at once a fact and an allegory;
the fishes were types of souls; something far beyond a mere present
supply of food was betokened by the abundance in which these fishes
were caught by the apostles. That such was the case is evident from the
Saviour's promise, "I will make you fishers of men." The net therefore
appears to us as a type of what St. Paul calls "the foolishness of
preaching," by which it has pleased God "to save them that believe;"
and it may not be unprofitable to us to pause for awhile by that net,
and to consider some of the characteristics in which it resembles the
teaching of the gospel by the ministers of God.
Two especially suggest themselves to the mind; its imperfection in
itself, and its power when blessed by the Lord.
This net before us is twined of the same homely material as that of
other fishermen, the hemp has undergone the same rough process of
manufacture, toil-hardened hands have with patient labour formed every
knot in its meshes, there is nothing in its appearance to charm the
senses or attract the eye. Yet we do not turn from it because the web
is not silken; we look not—care not for brilliancy of dye in the net
which enclosed the miraculous draught. But how strangely critical are
many amongst us in regard to the preaching of the Word! A blemish in
style, a defect in pronunciation will sometimes mar the effect of an
earnest discourse. The net must be silken to attract us; truth, when
homely, too often offends. The ear and taste must be satisfied, though
heart and conscience be left untouched!
Then, again, the net is not only of common material, but it requires
both cleansing and repairing; we read of the apostles both as washing
and mending their nets. Here the application of the lesson seems to be
rather for the minister than his flock. The popular preacher, to whose
words hundreds—thousands listen with rapt attention, who feels his net
heavy with the richest of prizes, needs constantly to remind himself
of the weakness and imperfection of the instrument which the Lord is
deigning to bless. It was when the apostles were drawing in a multitude
of fishes "that their net brake." When in the midst of their successes,
servants of God suddenly feel their net breaking, when their physical
or mental powers are crippled, so that they need to beckon to their
partners that they should come and help them, is not this sign of the
imperfection of their noblest talents sent to them lest they should
fall into the sin of pride, and, albeit unconsciously, "sacrifice unto
their net, and burn incense unto their drag;" rest complacently in
those powers which at any moment might fail?
But if the net be but a poor instrument in itself, how marvellous its
power when blessed by the Lord! How mysterious the faculty of stirring
souls to their very depths, of sending forth words like arrows, which
God Himself guides to the hearers' hearts! St. Peter, the illiterate
fisherman, must have marvelled at the effect of his first recorded
sermon. Three thousand souls gathered in at once, a number far larger
than appears to have been drawn in during all the years of Christ's
sojourn upon earth by the ministry of Him who spake as never man spake!
What were the emotions of the apostle when his preaching, by the might
of the Spirit, brought into the Church such a harvest of souls? We know
that the miraculous draught made him fall on his knees, humbled and
overpowered under a sense of his own unworthiness, and exclaiming to
the Divine Being who had wrought the miracle, "Depart from me, for I am
a sinful man, O Lord!" May we not believe that St. Peter was far more
humbled by the miraculous draught of souls, the mighty success granted
to one who had, but a few weeks before, so sinned against light and
love!
"What is this honour vouchsafed to me!" Such may have been the
apostle's thought ere he laid down his head to rest that night, with
his soul overflowing with thankful joy: "Have these lips, so lately
polluted with cursing and swearing, these lips that have thrice denied
my Lord, been permitted so to preach the gospel, that thousands are
gathered into the Church! What am I that I should be chosen to enjoy a
privilege so glorious!"
But though on that occasion the confession, "I am a sinful man, O
Lord!" may have been uttered with far deeper consciousness of guilt
than it was in the boat on Gennesaret; the "depart from me!" would
never more be heard from the contrite Peter. His sense of sin would but
make him cling the more closely to Him who taketh away sin; the greater
his guilt, the greater his need that the Saviour should not depart, but
abide with Him for ever!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXIX.
The Bed of the Paralytic.
WHEN was a burden ever lifted more joyfully than this was, when at the
Saviour's command the light bed was raised by the strong arms that had,
but a few moments previously, rested in helpless weakness upon it!
How joyfully did the restored paralytic make his way on his own feet
through that crowd whose presence had rendered it impossible for his
friends to bear him in on his bed! We know not of a single word spoken
by the rejoicing pardoned believer in that hour of intense happiness,
but surely the utterance of his heart must have been like that of the
psalmist.
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits! Who
forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy diseases;
who redeemeth thy life from destruction, who crowneth thee with
lovingkindness and tender mercies, . . . so that thy youth is renewed
like the eagle's!"
We would gladly follow the restored sufferer to his home, and hear him
recounting to eager listeners there what great things the Lord had done
for him; describing his feelings of hope as—borne on that bed—he had
approached the house in which the Master was teaching, then the fear,
the anxiety, the difficulty which had followed when it was found to be
useless to attempt to carry the invalid in. How grateful must he have
felt to those friends whom difficulties would not daunt, especially to
whoever first offered the suggestion to let him down through the roof!
The sufferer could not help his friends in their labour of love, but
how anxiously he had watched it, and, when gently lowered down by kind
hands, with what a trembling hope had he found himself in the immediate
presence of the Redeemer! To hear such scenes described by those who
were the immediate actors in them, may probably be one of the joys
reserved for God's children in Heaven.
How would the restored paralytic in the course of his after-life regard
that bed on which he had lain perhaps for weary year after year! Would
the associations connected with it be those of pain or of pleasure?
Would he dwell on the long wearisome days, the dreary nights which he
had spent on that bed when he had no power to lift himself from it?
Would he sigh when he looked on it from the recollection of all that he
had had to endure? We cannot think this, however long, or painful, or
trying, his illness may have been; it is far more likely that the sight
of that bed would bring to his mind recollections on which memory would
dwell with rapture.
"It was when stretched on that bed that I first looked on my Lord, and
met His glance of ineffable love and compassion! It was when stretched
on that bed that I heard those accents which will thrill delight
through my soul to my dying day, yea, and through all eternity,—'Son,
be of good cheer, thy sins be forgiven thee!' Oh, God be praised that
I ever was sick! I thank, I bless, I adore Him for the weakness, the
helplessness, the disease which brought me so close to my Lord, and
made me a monument thus of His everlasting mercy and grace!"
And thus will many a dear Christian brother or sister, long afflicted
by sickness, look back on the couch of suffering when the Lord has
restored health to the feeble frame, or when—through what man calls
death—He has bidden the pardoned believer "arise," never more to lie
down in pain. Many will doubtless have cause to say, "It was in love
and mercy that sickness and suffering were permitted to chain me down
to my bed; it was from thence that I first looked through faith on
my Saviour—there first I knew that my sins were indeed forgiven. My
weakness made me rest in Christ's strength—my sufferings brought me
to His feet. I would not exchange the lessons learned, the privileges
enjoyed on that sick-bed, for all the wealth of the world!"
The story of the paralytic man is fraught with comfort also to those
in sorrow for loved ones afflicted either in body or in mind. It is
terrible to watch sufferings which we cannot relieve, to seek aid from
physicians but to find that their utmost skill is exerted in vain.
Which of us has not known the wearing anxiety, the sickening suspense,
when a precious life is at stake? Oh! Let us not then rest on earth,
and put down our loved burden in despair. We must "go up higher," we
must carry our friend upwards on the strong arms of prayer, we must lay
him at the feet of the Saviour. The Son of Man hath still power to say,
"Arise, take up thy bed and walk."
Still more earnest should be our efforts when the sickness of him for
whom we pray is that of the soul—the sickness of sin. Bodily health
and strength and beauty may be united with deadly spiritual paralysis.
Some seem as if they would not—could not—come to the Saviour; they have
no power to rise, they are chained down by the cares or pleasures and
follies of the world; when others are pressing in to hear God's Word,
they remain in peril without.
Let us, as it were, carry those who will not or cannot walk, let
us bear the burden on our hearts. God is trying our faith and our
patience. Have we clambered the outward stair, have we toiled to
uncover the roof—to remove as far as we can the obstacles which divide
the paralyzed soul from the Lord? And then, using the bands of love,
the "cords of a man," have we gently placed our burden even at the feet
of our Heavenly Master? He has still power to say to the diseased and
paralyzed soul, "Thy sins be forgiven thee," and to bid it arise to
walk in newness of life, to tread in the paths of holiness, to run with
vigour that blessed race of which Heaven itself is the goal!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XL.
The Cross.
IN the olden times when legends and traditions, like parasites mantling
a tree and hindering its healthy growth, had appeared well-nigh to
choke gospel-truth while meant to adorn it, the day of the supposed
discovery of the true cross was made a festival; * its name was given
to province and city; and fragments, however small, of what was deemed
so inexpressibly sacred, were esteemed amongst the greatest treasures
of princes. Satan would be well pleased to see adoration paid to
pieces of wood, if he could so draw away the minds of the pious from
contemplation of the true cross, as it is preserved for believers in
the Bible alone, to be touched only by Faith as she repeats the words
of St. Paul, "God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of our
Lord Jesus Christ."
* "'Invention of the Cross,' an annual feast solemnized on the 3rd of
May, in memory of Helena's (the mother of Constantine) finding the
(supposed) true Cross of Christ deep in the ground on Mount Calvary,
where she erected a church for the preservation of part of it."
_English Encyclopædia._
With the deepest, most solemn reverence, let us now draw nigh in
spirit to this altar, on which was offered the one "full, perfect, and
sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the
whole world." Let all worldly thoughts be put off; it is on holy ground
that we tread, as the cross—stained with that most precious blood which
alone cleanseth from all sin—draws our contemplation to Him who upon it
agonized and died for mankind.
That Christ "could" suffer proves that He was human; that He could
"so" suffer, proves that He was divine, for Deity alone could so hold
the tortured frame in subjection as to keep it suspended for six hours
in agony upon the cross. A mere man, by the force of strong will,
may give himself up to death—may so overcome the shrinking of nature
as to spring down the chasm, or throw himself into the waves. Many
martyrs have yielded up their lives willingly and cheerfully, "but
who could die as Jesus died?" His was no single effort of will, but
a prolonged exercise of it, hour after hour, amidst sufferings more
excruciating than the mind can conceive. We cannot doubt that He who
is "the mighty God" could at any moment have ended those sufferings;
no nails could have fixed Him to the cross; not the united powers of a
thousand peopled worlds could have kept Him there for an instant! The
unutterable pangs which the Saviour endured were His own deliberate
choice, and it was His own infinite love which made Him sustain them
even to the end. We know this from the Lord's declaration:
"I lay down My life . . . No man taketh it from Me, but I lay it
down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take
it again."
Christ had but to will it, and the cross of shame would instantly have
been exchanged for the throne of glory, and the mocking crowds have
been stretched blackened, blasted corpses before Him! We speak of our
Lord's temptation in the wilderness—what must have been His temptation
"on the cross"? Such as none but Deity could have resisted—none but
God have overcome. A Paul might have consented to be crucified for the
sake of his brethren—but could even a Paul have remained long on the
cross had it needed but an act of volition to release him? Human nature
must have failed under the trial. The fondest of mothers clinging by
her hands to the edge of a precipice, with her infant fastened to her
shoulders, must let go ere long, though conscious that her child as
well as herself will be dashed in pieces by her fall.
The weight of a world's salvation hung on the Redeemer, and He "would
not let go."
"Come down from the cross!" shouted the rabble.
"Come down from the cross!" urged the tempter.
"Come down from the cross!" cried out agonized human nature,—Christ
could, but He would not come down. This was constancy beyond that of
humanity; this was the endurance not of a man but of a God!
There appears to be a mysterious analogy between the great act of
the Creation and that of the Redemption of the world. After the six
days in which the Lord made earth and the things within it, He "did
rest the seventh day from all His works;" and so, after the six hours
of anguish, the Saviour rested in death from the more awful work of
redemption. Another analogy arises in the mind, though it is mentioned
with some hesitation, as Scripture warrant cannot be brought forward
to support it. It is an ancient well-known tradition that the world
will endure six thousand years under our present dispensation, and that
then will come the long Sabbath of rest. If it be so, is it impossible
that each hour on the cross may have had a mysterious relation to each
thousand years—that the two first hours of agony may have expiated
the guilt of the antediluvian race; the succeeding, that of its
successors; the increasing numbers of sinners corresponding with the
tortures which, towards the close of the awful time of sacrifice, would
naturally most fearfully increase?
If such a suggestion be admitted, what a peculiar interest have we, who
live in these latter times, in the dying thirst—the agonized cry, which
appears to have marked the climax in the sufferings of our blessed
Redeemer! The idea links itself on to another. Is it impossible that
before Him who knoweth all things may have passed in prophetic vision
every human being who should enter Heaven through the merit of those
pangs which He at that moment was enduring? That the Lord "waited,"
with arms outstretched, strained muscles and bleeding hands, until the
last, the very last, should be safe; and till—knowing that none, not
the least of His flock should perish—Christ could at length exclaim,
"It is finished", and so bow the head and yield up the ghost?
There is something inexpressibly touching in this thought, especially
if we regard the possibility that some one now breathing on this globe
may have been the last one for whom the Lord waited on the cross!
Perhaps some prodigal for whose soul a mother is now wrestling in
prayer; perhaps some poor heathen slave in a distant land; perhaps
some despised one brought up in haunts of vice, the answer to whose
first cry of faith and repentance, "God be merciful to me a sinner,"
will be the sound of the trumpet announcing that the world's great
suffering-time is ended, and that the last saved soul being gathered
in, the glorious Sabbath shall commence!
Let us pause for a few moments, and with closed eyes and bended knees
attempt to realize the thought,—"the Saviour waited on the cross for
me!" For "me" was that awful thirst, for "me" that intolerable pain.
Christ would not save Himself from a death of torture, because—with all
my coldness, selfishness, sinfulness—He could not, would not, suffer me
to perish!
A few words inscribed under a picture of the Crucifixion were once made
the means of converting a soul; they were as a question from Him who
hung on the cross, these touching words are addressed to us all—what
reply dare we return? "I suffered this for thee; what dost thou for Me?"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XLI.
The Stone at the Sepulchre.
WHO has not known the pang of bereavement,—
"When sorrowing o'er the stone we bend,
Which covers what was once a friend,
And from his hand—his voice—his smile,
Divides us for a little while?"
Let the mourner draw nigh to this stone which closed the sepulchre of
the Lord, and beneath its quiet shadow meditate on the solemn and most
blessed doctrine of the resurrection.
With aching hearts, with drooping heads, the disciples of the crucified
Saviour turned from the sepulchre in which they had seen His sacred
body laid. For Him, indeed, the awful trial was over; He was beyond
reach of the cruelty of soldier, or the malice of priest. Those holy
eyes were clothed in death, no cry of anguish would ever more burst
from those pallid lips, the blood had ceased to flow from the pierced
hands and side. For the Master indeed there was rest, but for the
disciples desolation, for none in that hour of anguish appears to have
believed or understood the re-iterated promise,—
"After three days I will rise again."
What was the world, then, to the followers of Christ, without Him who
had been their Friend and their Guide, the Life and Light of their
souls! That tombstone seemed to shut them out from all that remained to
them of One so deeply reverenced, so tenderly beloved.
And when early in the twilight which preceded the Easter morn, women
drew near to the grave to pay the last honour to the body of the Lord,
this same stone, heavy, sealed and guarded, appeared to their anxious
minds as a barrier between them and Him.
"Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?"
was the perplexed enquiry of those whose love was stronger than their
faith. But the stone had been rolled away by an angel's hand, and had
become the seat of a messenger from Heaven, whose countenance was like
lightning, and his raiment white as snow; at the sight of whose glory
the guards had trembled, and become even as the dead!
The Lord of Life had risen indeed, the first-fruits of them that
sleep; the sepulchre had yielded up its heavenly guest; Christ had
led captivity captive, and by dying abolished death! Thenceforth all
believers could exclaim, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where
is thy victory? Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through
our Lord Jesus Christ!"
This stone stands as a representative of all that shuts out from the
eye of love, from the sunshine of Heaven, the mortal forms that once
held souls that Christ hath redeemed. The little grassy mound in the
churchyard over some babe whose brief span of life—
"Left no trace behind,—save in a parent's breast;"
the heavy monument in the cemetery, the solid walls of the vault, the
earth-covering in the deep pit on the battlefield, the unfathomable sea
which rolls over the dead,—all, all shall yield up their trust!
Again shall an angel of God descend from heaven; again shall the
solid earth tremble and shake; again shall rocks be rent and graves
be opened; and as Christ, the Head, arose, so shall the body—the
Church—arise! Hear the glorious words of Isaiah's prophecy, omitting
the italics which are not in the original text, and which seem to
obscure its meaning:
"Thy dead shall live, My dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing,
ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew the dew of herbs, and the earth shall
cast out the dead."
Oh, joyful Easter morn, for which Faith is watching and waiting! When
the first dawn of its coming light is around us, and the shadows of
night are beginning to flee, well may our Lord address to mourners for
departed saints the question, "Why weepest thou?"
Christ when He rose from the dead was again restored to His loving
followers, but, as regarded visible presence, for only a little space;
but when the graves of His saints shall be opened, when from countless
sepulchres the heavy stones shall be rolled back, it is to no transient
glimpses of the Lord, to no brief moments of blissful intercourse that
they will then be admitted.
"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter
day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body,
yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine
eyes shall behold, and not a stranger—" (marginal reading).
No, NOT A STRANGER! When Mary first beheld her risen Lord, her eyes
were holden that she should not know Him, and as a stranger she
addressed Him! But the saints as they burst from the sod in the morn of
the resurrection shall at once recognize Him, whom not having seen they
have loved! They will know the voice of the Good Shepherd who has led
them through the wilderness of life, and the valley of the shadow of
death!
"And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited
for Him, and He will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for Him,
we will be glad and rejoice in His salvation."
[Illustration]
The Queen and the Twelve Names.
WE find in the seventh chapter of the book of Revelation a description
of the sealed ones, the spiritual Israel, under the names of the
tribes to whom was granted the promised inheritance of Canaan. If
it be, as many believe, that we here behold Christ's Church under
a different symbol, yet identical with her of whom we read in the
forty-fifth Psalm, the twelve names in Revelation beautifully fill
up the description of "the King's daughter, the Queen," who is "all
glorious within," for all these names have meanings. The virgins,
her companions, that shall be brought into the King's palace with
gladness and rejoicings, may be regarded as representing "the multitude
which no man could number, of all nations and kindreds, and peoples
and tongues," who appear to be distinct from, and yet in some degree
sharers in the blessedness of the sealed ones, "the hundred and
forty-four thousand." Let us examine the meaning of the names mentioned
in Revelation vii., and see if they are not as twelve stars in the
crown of the "Church of the firstborn," * placed on her head by Him
whom she worships, because He is the Lord her God.
* Heb. xii. 23.
And, first, we mark what name is "omitted." DAN had a place amongst the
twelve tribes of Israel under the Law, but none amongst the spiritual
Israel. The signification of the word may throw light upon what is
otherwise dark and mysterious. Dan signifies judgment. There was
judgment stern and terrible under the Law, but in the Gospel "mercy
rejoiceth against judgment." The curse has been removed, the penalty
endured by another; Dan is, as it were, absorbed and disappears. It is
remarkable that when Jacob on his death-bed blessed his sons, after
speaking of Dan, "judgment," then, and then alone, he burst forth into
the exclamation, "I have waited for thy salvation, O Lord!"
Following the order in which the names of the tribes are given by St.
John, the first of which we read is:
JUDA, "the praise of the Lord." And so praise unto Him who hath chosen
and redeemed her is, as it were, the first gem, the central star in the
crown of the Church, the spiritual Bride.
REUBEN, "see the Son, or who sees the Son," a name of deep meaning if
we may take it as descriptive of the precious privilege of her whose
"eyes shall see the King in His beauty, the pure in heart" who shall
look upon God.
GAD, "a band," or "happy," or "armed and prepared." * The
interpretation seems to speak for itself. The Church is a chosen "band"
of those who are "happy" in the love of their Lord; who have been
"armed" to fight the good fight, and "prepared" for the coming of Him
whom, not having seen, they have loved. Of such is the spiritual Israel.
* See Cruden's Concordance.
ASER, "blessedness," or "happiness." The Church, when she enters the
palace of her Lord, will shine in blessedness for ever. Immortal
happiness will beam from her countenance, the reflection of the light
of Him in whose presence is the fulness of joy, and at whose right hand
there are pleasures for evermore.
NEPTHALIM, "my wrestling, or one that struggles." Here we are reminded
that they who bear the palms of victory are they that have endured the
conflict. A reference may also be made to earnest wrestling in prayer.
Esther, ere the hour of triumph, might be said to have earned the
name of Naphtali. The Church who will wear the garment of praise, now
appears in the spirit of heaviness, wrestling, struggling, till He with
whom she pleads grant her more than she dares to ask for, or to desire.
MANASSEH, "forgetfulness." This name was given by Joseph to his
firstborn in Egypt; "for God," said he, "hath made me to forget all
my toil, and all my father's house." The patriarch's words sound
like a response to the exhortation addressed to the bride in the
psalm,—"Hearken, O daughter, and consider . . . forget also thine
own people, and thy father's house." The vanities of earth, with its
sorrows and sins, put away and forgotten for ever!
SIMEON, "that hears or obeys." In this word is described a special
attribute of the Church of Christ, the obedience of faith. "He that
hath My commandments and keepeth them, He it is that loveth Me," saith
the Heavenly King. It is the Church that listens to His voice, that
seeks to follow wherever He leads. Of Reuben, the patriarch, it was
said, "unstable as water thou shalt not excel;" but Reuben's name
taken in its hidden meaning may remind us that "even water, hearing
and obeying" the Lord, became as a well at His bidding, or firm as a
pavement under His feet.
LEVI, "joined," or "held and associated." Here is a description of that
union of which, alas! amongst those who are called Christians, we now
see so little. There is too much of the party spirit which cries, "I
am of Paul—I of Apollos," with believers who should be one in Christ.
Should mere form and ceremonies, the colour of a garment, a posture,
or a name, have power to separate those whom God Himself hath joined
together? We need larger Christian charity. The higher we rise towards
Heaven, the wider spreads the horizon around. Not but that purity of
doctrine must ever be jealously guarded, we must earnestly contend for
the faith once given to the saints; but as regards those non-essentials
by means of which the enemy would divide us, and bring discord into the
Church, well may we say,—
Judge not thy differing brother, nor in aught
Condemn; his prayer and thine may rise above,
Though blending not in "unison of thought,"
Yet mingling in the "harmony of love."
ISSACHAR, "price, reward." A touching allusion may here be contained
to the truth that we are not our own, but "bought with a price;" that
the salvation of the Church is the "reward" of a Saviour's merits,
the purchase of a Saviour's blood. To the spiritual Israel comes the
message, "Fear not, for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy
name, thou art Mine."
ZABULON, "dwelling." Under another figure we find the Church
represented as the temple of an indwelling God. "If a man love Me,"
said the Lord, speaking of each individual believer, "he will keep My
words: and My Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make
our abode with him." St. Paul reminded the early Christians of this
high privilege granted to them. "Know ye not your own selves, how that
Jesus Christ is in you, except ye be reprobates? Know ye not that ye
are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?"
JOSEPH, "increase." Here we have in the name of Israel's best beloved
son the description of one of the essential attributes both of the
Church and of each of her members; "growth" in grace, "increase" in
knowledge and brotherly love. The Church is not only a temple but a
living body, that must be nourished and exercised, till "it come in
the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a
perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ."
It is the Spirit of God whose effectual working "maketh increase of the
body unto the edifying of itself in love."
BENJAMIN, "the son of the right hand." The impression conveyed by
such a name as this is that of power, honour, and strength. It is the
name which Jacob substituted for that bestowed on his youngest son by
a dying mother, BENONI, "the son of my sorrow." By birth every child
of Eve "is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward;" as Benonis
we enter into the world, and as Benonis we must have left it, had not
the Father of mercies and God of all comfort changed the nature of His
child, as Jacob with his changed the name; so that the worm * should
"thresh the mountains," and to the feeble be given "power over the
nations." †
* Isaiah xli. 14. † Rev. ii. 26.
This very slight sketch of the features of the Church as drawn in the
names of the tribes of Israel must be considered as little more than
suggestive; an abler hand than mine may fill up the outlines, and so
give us a glimpse of the spiritual beauty of the Queen when she shall
be presented to her Lord "without spot or wrinkle, or any such thing,"
robed in His righteousness, bright with His glory, and blessed in His
love!
[Illustration: FINIS]
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSE BEAUTIFUL ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
