wives; and the name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the
other Peninnah, and Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none."
Hannah, from the story, appears to have had one of those intense
natures, all nerve and sensibility, on which every trouble lies with
double weight. The lack of children in an age when motherhood was
considered the essential glory of woman, was to her the climax of
anguish and mortification. Nor was there wanting the added burden
of an unfriendly party to notice and to inflame the hidden wound by
stinging commentaries; for we are told that "her adversary provoked
her sore, to make her fret." And thus, year by year, as the family
went up to the sacred feast at Shiloh, and other exultant mothers
displayed their fair sons and daughters, the sacred feast was turned
into gall for the unblest one, and we are told that Hannah "wept and
did not eat." "Then said Elkanah unto her, Hannah, why weepest thou?
and why eatest thou not? and why is thy heart grieved? Am I not
better to thee than ten sons?"
Hannah was one of a class of women in whom genius and a poetic
nature are struggling with a vague intensity, giving the keenest
edge to desire and to disappointment. All Judæan women desire
children, but Hannah had that vivid sense of nationality, that
identification of self with the sublime future of her people, that
made it bitter to be excluded from all share in those hopes and
joys of motherhood from which the earth's deliverer was to spring.
She desired a son, as poets desire song, as an expression of all
that was heroic and unexpressed in herself, and as a tribute to the
future glories of her people. A poet stricken with paralysis might
suffer as she suffered. But it was a kind and degree of sorrow, the
result of an exceptional nature, which few could comprehend. To some
it would afford occasion only for vulgar jests. Even her husband,
devoted as he was, wondered at rather than sympathised with it.
It appears that there rose at last one of those flood-tides of
feeling when the soul cries out for relief, and _must_ have a
Helper; and Hannah bethought her of the words of Moses, "What nation
is there that hath their God _so nigh_ unto them as the Lord our
God is unto us, for all that we call unto him for?" It is precisely
for such sorrows--intimate, private, personal, and not to be
comprehended fully by any earthly friend--that an All-seeing, loving
Father is needed. And Hannah followed the teachings of her religion
when she resolved to make a confidant of her God, and ask of him the
blessing her soul fainted for. She chose the sacred feast at Shiloh
for the interview with the gracious Helper; and, after the festival,
remained alone in the holy place in an ecstasy of fervent prayer.
The narrative says: "And she was in bitterness of soul and prayed
unto the Lord and wept sore. And she vowed a vow and said, O Lord of
Hosts, if thou wilt indeed look on the affliction of thine handmaid,
and remember me, and not forget thine handmaid, but will give unto
thine handmaid a man-child, then will I give him unto the Lord all
the days of his life. And it came to pass as she continued praying
before the Lord, that Eli marked her mouth. Now Hannah she spake
in her heart, only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard;
therefore Eli thought she had been drunken."
He--dear, kind-hearted, blundering old priest--reproved her with
about as much tact as many similar, well-meaning, obtuse people use
nowadays in the management of natures whose heights and depths they
cannot comprehend. Hannah meekly answers: "No, my lord, I am a woman
of a sorrowful spirit; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink,
but have poured out my soul before the Lord. Count not thy handmaid
for a daughter of Belial, for out of the abundance of my complaint
and grief have I spoken hitherto. Then Eli answered and said, Go in
peace, the God of Israel grant thee thy petition thou hast asked of
him. And she said, Let thine handmaid find grace in thy sight. So
the woman went her way and did eat, and her countenance was no more
sad."
This experience illustrates that kind of prevailing prayer that
comes when the soul, roused to the full intensity of its being by
the pressure of some anguish, pours itself out like a wave into the
bosom of its God. The very outgush is a relief; there is healing in
the very act of self-abandonment, as the whole soul casts itself
on God. And though there be no present fulfillment, yet, in point
of fact, peace and rest come to the spirit. Hannah had no voice
of promise, no external sign, only the recorded promise of God to
hear prayer; but the prayer brought relief. All the agony of desire
passed away. Her countenance was no more sad. In due time, the
visible answer came. Hannah was made the happy mother of a son, whom
she called Samuel, or "Asked of God."
This year, when the family went up to Shiloh, Hannah remained with
her infant; for she said to her husband, "I will not go up until
the child be weaned; and then will I bring him that he may appear
before the Lord, and there abide forever." The period of weaning
was of a much later date among Jewish women than in modern times;
and we may imagine the little Samuel three or four years old when
his mother prepares, with all solemnity, to carry him and present
him in the temple as her offering to God. "And when she had weaned
him she took him up with her, with three bullocks, and one ephah of
flour, and a bottle of wine, and brought him unto the house of the
Lord in Shiloh; and the child was young. And they slew a bullock,
and brought the child to Eli. And she said, O my lord, as thy soul
liveth, my lord, I am the woman that stood by thee here praying
unto the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord hath given me
my petition which I asked of him. Therefore also have I lent him to
the Lord; as long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord. And she
worshiped the Lord there."
And now the depths of this silent woman's soul break forth into
a song of praise and thanksgiving. Hannah rises before us as the
inspired poetess, and her song bears a striking resemblance in theme
and in cast of thought to that of Mary the mother of Jesus, years
after. Indeed, there is in the whole history of this sacred and
consecrated child, a foreshadowing of that more celestial flower of
Nazareth that should yet arise from the Judæan stock. This idea of
a future Messiah and King permeated every pious soul in the nation,
and gave a solemn intensity to the usual rejoicings of motherhood;
for who knew whether the auspicious child might not spring from
her lineage! We see, in the last verse of this poem, that Hannah's
thoughts in her hour of joy fix themselves on the glorious future of
the coming King and Anointed One as the climax of her joy.
It will be interesting to compare this song of Hannah with that of
Mary, and notice how completely the ideas of the earlier mother
had melted and transfused themselves into the heart of Mary. Years
after, when the gathering forces of the Church and State were
beginning to muster themselves against Martin Luther, and he stood
as one man against a world, he took refuge in this song of the happy
woman; printed it as a tract, with pointed commentaries, and spread
it all over Europe; and in thousands of hamlets hearts were beating
to the heroic words of the Judæan mother:--
"My heart rejoiceth in Jehovah,
My horn is exalted in Jehovah;
My speech shall flow out over my enemies,
Because I rejoice in thy salvation.
There is none holy as Jehovah:
For there is none beside thee:
Neither is there any rock like our God.
Talk no more so exceeding proudly;
Let not arrogance come out of thy mouth:
For Jehovah is a God of knowledge,
By him are actions weighed.
The bows of mighty men are broken,
But the weak are girded with strength.
The rich have hired out for bread;
But the hungry cease from want.
The barren woman hath borne seven;
The fruitful one hath grown feeble.
Jehovah killeth and maketh alive;
He bringeth down to the grave and bringeth up.
Jehovah maketh poor and maketh rich;
He bringeth low, and lifteth up.
He raiseth the poor out of the dust,
He lifteth the beggar from the dunghill,
To set them among princes,
To make them inherit the throne of glory;
For the pillars of the earth are Jehovah's,
He hath set the world upon them.
He will keep the feet of his saints,
The wicked shall be silent in darkness;
For by strength no man shall prevail.
The adversaries of Jehovah shall be broken to pieces;
Out of heaven shall he thunder upon them.
Jehovah shall judge the ends of the earth;
He shall give strength unto his King,
And exalt the horn of his Anointed."
This song shows the fire, the depth, the fervency of the nature of
this woman, capable of rising to the sublimest conceptions. It is
the ecstasy of the triumph of conscious weakness in an omnipotent
protector. Through her own experience, as it is with every true
soul, she passes to the experience of universal humanity; in her
Deliverer she sees the Deliverer and Helper of all the helpless and
desolate; and thus, through the gate of personal experience, she
comes to a wide sympathy with all who live. She loves her God, not
mainly and only for what he is to her, but for what he is to all.
How high and splendid were these conceptions and experiences that
visited and hallowed the life of the simple and lowly Jewish woman
in those rugged and unsettled periods, and what beautiful glimpses
do we get of the good and honest-hearted people that lived at that
time in Palestine, and went up yearly to worship at Shiloh!
After this we have a few more touches in this beautiful story. The
little one remained in the temple; for it is said, "And Samuel
ministered before the Lord, being a child, girded with a linen
ephod. Moreover, his mother made him a little coat and brought it to
him from year to year, when she came up with her husband to offer
the yearly sacrifice." How the little one was cared for the story
does not say. In some passages of the Bible, we have intimations
of an order of consecrated women who devoted themselves to the
ministries of the temple, like Anna the prophetess, "who departed
not from the temple, but served God with fasting and prayer, night
and day." Doubtless from the hands of such were motherly ministries.
One rejoices to hear that the Gracious Giver blessed this mother
abundantly more than she asked or thought; for we are told that a
family of three sons and two daughters were given to her.
We cannot forbear to add to this story that of the sacred little
one, who grew fair as the sheltered lily in the house of God. Child
of prayer, born in the very ardor and ecstasy of a soul uplifted
to God, his very nature seemed heavenly, and the benignant Father
early revealed himself to him, choosing him as a medium for divine
messages. One of the most thrilling and poetic passages in the Bible
describes the first call of the Divine One to the consecrated child.
The lamps burning in the holy place; the little one lying down to
sleep; the mysterious voice calling him; his innocent wonder, and
the slow perception of old Eli of the true significance of the
event,--all these form a beautiful introduction to the life of the
last and most favored of those prophetic magistrates who interpreted
to the Jewish people the will of God. Samuel was the last of the
Judges,--the strongest, the purest, and most blameless,--the worthy
son of such a mother.
[Illustration: RUTH]
RUTH THE MOABITESS.
The story of Ruth is a beautiful idyl of domestic life, opening to
us in the barbarous period of the _Judges_. In reading some of the
latter chapters of that book, one might almost think that the system
of Moses had proved a failure, and that the nation was lapsing back
into the savage state of the heathen world around them; just as,
in reading the history of the raids and feuds of the Middle Ages,
one might consider Christianity a failure. But in both cases there
were nooks and dells embosomed in the wild roughness of unsettled
society, where good and honest hearts put forth blossoms of immortal
sweetness and perfume. This history of Ruth unveils to us pictures
of the best people and the best sort of life that were formed by the
laws and institutes of Moses,--a life pastoral, simple, sincere,
reverential, and benevolent.
The story is on this wise: A famine took place in the land of Judah,
and a man named Elimelech went with his wife and two sons to sojourn
in the land of Moab. The sons took each of them a wife of the
daughters of Moab, and they dwelt there about ten years. After that,
the man and both the sons died, and the mother, with her two widowed
young daughters, prepared to return to her kindred. Here the scene
of the little drama opens.
The mother, Naomi, comes to our view, a kind-hearted, commonplace
woman, without any strong religious faith or possibility of heroic
exaltation,--just one of those women who see the hard, literal
side of a trial, ungilded by any faith or hope. We can fancy her
discouraged and mournful air, and hear the melancholy croak in
her voice as she talks to her daughters, when they profess their
devotion to her, and their purpose to share her fortunes and go with
her to the land of Israel.
"Turn again, my daughters; why will ye go with me? Are there yet any
more sons in my womb, that they may be your husbands? Turn again, my
daughters, go your way, for I am too old to have an husband. If I
should say that I have hope to-night that I should have an husband,
and bear sons, would ye tarry for them till they were grown? Would
ye stay from having husbands? Nay, my daughters, it grieveth me for
your sake that the hand of the Lord hath gone out against me."
This pre-eminently literal view of the situation seemed to strike
one of the daughters as not to be gainsaid; for we read: "And
they lifted up their voices and wept again, and Orpah kissed her
mother-in-law, but Ruth clave unto her."
All the world through, from that time to this, have been these two
classes of friends. The one weep, and kiss, and leave us to our
fate, and go to seek their own fortunes. There are plenty of that
sort every day. But the other are one with us for life or death.
The literal-minded, sorrowful old woman has no thought of inspiring
such devotion. Orpah, in her mind, has done the sensible and only
thing in leaving her, and she says to Ruth: "Behold, thy sister has
returned unto her people and unto her gods; return thou after thy
sister-in-law."
We see in this verse how devoid of religious faith is the mother. In
a matter-of-course tone she speaks of Orpah having gone back to her
gods, and recommends Ruth to do the like. And now the fair, sweet
Ruth breaks forth in an unconscious poetry of affection, which has
been consecrated as the language of true love ever since: "Entreat
me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for
whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge:
thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest
I will die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and
more also, if aught but death part thee and me."
Troth-plight of fondest lovers, marriage-vows straitest and most
devoted, can have no love-language beyond this; it is the very
crystallized and diamond essence of constancy and devotion. It
is thus that minds which have an unconscious power of enthusiasm
surprise and dominate their literal fellow-pilgrims. It is as if
some silent dun-colored bird had broken out into wondrous ecstasies
of silver song. Naomi looked on her daughter, and the narrative
says, "When she saw that she was steadfastly minded to go with her,
then she left speaking to her." But Ruth is ignorant of the beauty
of her own nature; for Love never knows herself or looks in a mirror
to ask if she be fair; and though her superior moral and emotive
strength prevail over the lower nature of the mother, it is with a
sweet, unconscious, yielding obedience that she follows her.
When they came back to their kindred, the scene is touchingly
described. In her youth the mother had been gay and radiant, as
her name, Naomi, "pleasant," signifies. "And it came to pass that
when they came in, all the village was moved about them, and they
said: Is this Naomi? And she said: "Call me not Naomi, call me Marah
[bitterness]; for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me. I
went out full, and the Lord hath brought me again empty. Why then
call ye me Naomi, seeing the Lord hath testified against me, and the
Almighty hath afflicted me?"
We see here a common phase of a low order of religion. Naomi does
not rebel at the Divine decree. She thinks that she is bitterly
dealt with, but that there is no use in complaining, because it is
the _Almighty_ that has done it. It does not even occur to her that
in going away from the land of true religion, and encouraging her
sons to form marriages in a heathen land, she had done anything to
make this affliction needful; and yet the whole story shows that but
for this stroke the whole family would have settled down contentedly
among the Moabites, and given up country and religion and God. There
are many nowadays to whom just such afflictions are as needful, and
to whom they seem as bitter and inexplicable.
The next scene shows us the barley-field of the rich proprietor,--"a
mighty man, a man of wealth," the narrative calls him. Young men
and maidens, a goodly company, are reaping, binding, and gathering.
In the shade are the parched corn and sour wine, and other
provisions set forth for the noontide rest and repast.
The gracious proprietor, a noble-minded, gentle old man, now comes
upon the scene. "And behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem, and said to
the reapers, The Lord be with you; and they answered, The Lord bless
thee." The religious spirit of the master spread itself through all
his hands, and the blessing that he breathes upon them was returned
to him. The sacred simplicity of the scene is beyond praise.
He inquires of his men the history of this fair one who modestly
follows the reapers, and, finding who she is, says: "Hearest thou,
my daughter, go not to glean in any other field, but abide here with
my maidens. Let thine eyes be upon the field that they reap, and go
after them: have I not charged the young men not to touch thee? and
when thou art athirst, go to the vessels and drink of that that the
young men have drawn." Then she bowed herself and said: "Why have I
found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldst take knowledge of me,
seeing I am a stranger?" And he said: "It hath been fully shown unto
me all that thou hast done to thy mother-in-law since the death of
thy husband; how thou hast left thy father and thy mother, and the
land of thy nativity, and art come to a people that thou knewest not
heretofore. The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given
thee of the God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust."
We have afterwards the picture of the young gleaner made at home at
the noontide repast, where the rich proprietor sat with his servants
in parental equality,--"And she sat beside the reapers, and he did
reach her parched corn, and she did eat and was sufficed."
There is a delicacy in the feeling inspired by the timid, modest
stranger, which is expressed in the orders given by Boaz to the
young men. "And it came to pass when she rose to glean, that Boaz
commanded his young men, saying: Let her glean even among the
sheaves, and reproach her not; and let fall also some handfuls of
purpose for her, that she may glean them, and rebuke her not."
Gleaning, by the institutes of Moses, was one of the allotted
privileges of the poor. It was a beautiful feature of that system
that consideration for the poor was interwoven with all the acts of
common life. The language of the laws of Moses reminded the rich
that they were of one family with the poor. "Thou shalt not harden
thy heart nor shut thy hand from thy _poor brother_. Thou shalt
surely give to him, and thy heart shall not be grieved when thou
givest, because for this the Lord thy God shall bless thee." "And
when ye reap the harvest of your land thou shalt not wholly reap
the corners of the field, neither shalt thou gather the gleanings
of thy harvest; and thou shalt not glean thy vineyard, neither
shalt thou gather every grape of thy vineyard; thou shalt leave
them for the poor and the stranger. I am the Lord." This provision
for the unfortunate operated both ways. It taught consideration and
thoughtfulness to the rich, and industry and self-respect to the
poor. They were not humbled as paupers. They were not to be beggars,
but gleaners, and a fair field for self-respecting labor was opened
to them. In the spirit of these generous laws the rich proprietor
veils his patronage of the humble maid. Ruth was to be abundantly
helped, as it were, by a series of fortunate accidents.
We see in the character of Boaz the high-minded, chivalrous
gentleman, devout in his religion Godward, and considerately
thoughtful of his neighbor; especially mindful of the weak and
helpless and unprotected. It was the working out, in one happy
instance, of the ideal of manhood the system of Moses was designed
to create.
And now the little romance goes on to a happy termination. The
fair gleaner returns home artlessly triumphant with the avails of
her day's toil, and tells her mother of the kind patronage she
has received. At once, on hearing the name, the prudent mother
recognizes the near kinsman of the family, bound, by the law of
Moses and the custom of the land, to become the husband and
protector of her daughter. In the eye of Jewish law and Jewish
custom Ruth already belonged to Boaz, and had a right to claim the
position and protection of a wife. The system of Moses solved the
problem of woman by allotting to every woman a man as a protector.
A widow had her son to stand for her; but if a widow were left
without a son, then the nearest kinsman of the former husband
was bound to take her to wife. The manner in which Naomi directs
the simple-minded and obedient daughter to throw herself on the
protection of her rich kinsman is so far removed from all our modern
ideas of propriety that it cannot be judged by them. She is directed
to seek the threshing-floor at night, to lie down at his feet, and
draw over her his mantle; thus, in the symbolic language of the
times, asserting her humble right to the protection of a wife. Ruth
is shown to us as one of those artless, confiding natures that see
no evil in what is purely and rightly intended. It is enough for
her, a stranger, to understand that her mother, an honored Judæan
matron, would command nothing which was not considered decorous and
proper among her people. She obeys without a question. In the same
spirit of sacred simplicity in which the action was performed it was
received. There is a tender dignity and a chivalrous delicacy in the
manner in which the bold yet humble advance is accepted.
"And Boaz awoke, and, behold, a woman lay at his feet. And he said,
Who art thou? And she said, I am Ruth, thy handmaid. Spread thy
skirt over me, for thou art my near kinsman. And he said, Blessed
art thou of the Lord, my daughter, for thou hast shown more kindness
at the end than in the beginning, inasmuch as thou followedst not
the young men, poor or rich. And now, my daughter, fear not; I will
do for thee all that thou requirest, for all the city of my people
doth know that thou art a virtuous woman."