_THE NEW TEMPLE._
EZRA ii. 68-iii.
Unlike the historian of the exodus from Egypt, our chronicler gives no
account of adventures of the pilgrims on the road to Palestine,
although much of their way led them through a wild and difficult
country. So huge a caravan as that which accompanied Zerubbabel must
have taken several months to cover the eight hundred miles between
Babylon and Jerusalem;[21] for even Ezra with his smaller company
spent four months on their journey.[22] A dreary desert stretched over
the vast space between the land of exile and the old home of the Jews
among the mountains of the West; and here the commissariat would tax
the resources of the ablest organisers. It is possible that the
difficulties of the desert were circumvented in the most prosaic
manner--by simply avoiding this barren, waterless region, and taking a
long sweep round by the north of Syria. Passing over the pilgrimage,
which afforded him no topics of interest, without a word of comment,
the chronicler plants us at once in the midst of the busy scenes at
Jerusalem, where we see the returned exiles, at length arrived at the
end of their tedious journey, preparing to accomplish the one purpose
of their expedition.
[21] _I.e._, if the route was the usual one, by Tadmor (Palmyra). The
easier but roundabout way by Aleppo would have occupied a still longer
time.
[22] Ezra vii. 8, 9.
The first step was to provide the means for building the temple, and
contributions were made for this object by all classes of the
community--as we gather from the more complete account in
Nehemiah[23]--from the prince and the aristocracy to the general
public, for it was to be a united work. And yet it is implied by the
narrative that many had no share in it. These people may have been
poor originally or impoverished by their journey, and not at all
deficient in generosity or lacking in faith. Still we often meet with
those who have enough enthusiasm to applaud a good work and yet not
enough to make any sacrifice in promoting it. It is expressly stated
that the gifts were offered freely. No tax was imposed by the
authorities; but there was no backwardness on the part of the actual
donors, who were impelled by a glowing devotion to open their purses
without stint. Lastly, those who contributed did so "after their
ability." This is the true "proportionate giving." For all to give an
equal sum is impossible unless the poll-tax is to be fixed at a
miserable minimum. Even for all to give the same proportion is unjust.
There are poor men who ought not to sacrifice a tenth of what they
receive; there are rich men who will be guilty of unfaithfulness to
their stewardship if they do not devote far more than this fraction of
their vast revenues to the service of God and their fellow-men. It
would be reasonable for some of the latter only to reserve the tithe
for their own use and to give away nine-tenths of their income, for
even then they would not be giving "after their ability."
[23] Neh. vii. 70-72.
After the preliminary step of collecting the contributions, the
pilgrims proceed to the actual work they have in hand. In this they
are heartily united; they gather themselves together "as one man" in a
great assembly, which, if we may trust the account in Esdras, is held
in an open space by the first gate towards the east,[24] and therefore
close to the site of the old temple, almost among its very ruins. The
unity of spirit and the harmony of action which characterise the
commencement of the work are good auguries of its success. This is to
be a popular undertaking. Sanctioned by Cyrus, promoted by the
aristocracy, it is to be carried out with the full co-operation of the
multitude. The first temple had been the work of a king; the second is
to be the work of a people. The nation had been dazzled by the
splendour of Solomon's court, and had basked in its rays so that the
after-glow of them lingered in the memories of ages even down to the
time of our Lord.[25] But there was a healthier spirit in the humbler
work of the returned exiles, when, forced to dispense with the king
they would gladly have accepted, they undertook the task of building
the new temple themselves.
[24] 1 Esdras v. 47.
[25] Matt. vi. 29.
In the centre of the mosque known as the "Dome of the Rock" there is a
crag with the well-worn remains of steps leading up to the top of it,
and with channels cut in its surface. This has been identified by
recent explorers as the site of the great Altar of Burnt-offerings. It
is on the very crest of Mount Moriah. Formerly it was thought that it
was the site of the inmost shrine of the temple, known as "The Holy
of Holies," but the new view, which seems to be fairly established,
gives an unexpected prominence to the altar. This rude square
structure of unhewn stone was the most elevated and conspicuous object
in temple. The altar was to Judaism what the cross is to Christianity.
Both for us and for the Jews what is most vital and precious in
religion is the dark mystery of a sacrifice. The first work of the
temple builders was to set up the altar again on its old foundation.
Before a stone of the temple was laid, the smoke of sacrificial fires
might be seen ascending to heaven from the highest crag of Moriah. For
fifty years all sacrifices had ceased. Now with haste, in fear of
hindrance from jealous neighbours, means were provided to re-establish
them before any attempt was made to rebuild the temple. It is not
quite easy to see what the writer means when, after saying "And they
set the altar upon his bases," he adds, "for fear was upon them
because of the people of those countries." The suggestion that the
phrase may be varied so as to mean that the awe which this religious
work inspired in the heathen neighbours prevented them from molesting
it is far-fetched and improbable. Nor is it likely that the writer
intends to convey the idea that the Jews hastened the building of the
altar as a sort of Palladium, trusting that its sacrifices would
protect them in case of invasion, for this is to attribute too low and
materialistic a character to their religion. More reasonable is the
explanation that they hastened the work because they feared that their
neighbours might either hinder it or wish to have a share in it--an
equally objectionable thing, as subsequent events showed.
The chronicler distinctly states that the sacrifices which were now
offered, as well as the festivals which were established later, were
all designed to meet the requirements of the law of Moses--that
everything might be done "as it is written in the law of Moses the man
of God." This statement does not throw much light on the history of
the Pentateuch. We know that that work was not yet in the hands of the
Jews at Jerusalem, because this was nearly eighty years before Ezra
introduced it. The sentence suggests that according to the chronicler
_some_ law bearing the name of Moses was known to the first body of
returned exiles. We need not regard that suggestion as a reflection
from later years. Deuteronomy may have been the law referred to; or it
may have been some rubric of traditional usages in the possession of
the priests.
Meanwhile two facts of importance come out here--_first_, that the
method of worship adopted by the returned exiles was a revival of
ancient customs, a return to the old ways, not an innovation of their
own, and _second_, that this restoration was in careful obedience to
the known will of God. Here we have the root idea of the Torah. It
announces that God has revealed His will, and it implies that the
service of God can only be acceptable when it is in harmony with the
will of God. The prophets taught that obedience was better than
sacrifice. The priests held that sacrifice itself was a part of
obedience. With both the primary requisite was obedience--as it is the
primary requisite in all religion.
The particular kind of sacrifice offered on the great altar was the
burnt-offering. Now we do occasionally meet with expiatory ideas in
connection with this sacrifice; but unquestionably the principal
conception attached to the burnt-offering, in distinction from the
sin-offering, was the idea of self-dedication on the part of the
worshipper. Thus the Jews re-consecrated themselves to God by the
solemn ceremony of sacrifice, and they kept up the thought of renewed
consecration by the regular repetition of the burnt-offering. It is
difficult for us to enter into the feelings of the people who
practised so antique a cult, even to them archaic in its ceremonies,
and dimly suggestive of primitive rites that had their origin in
far-off barbaric times. But one thing is clear, shining as with
letters of awful fire against the black clouds of smoke that hang over
the altar. This sacrifice was always a "whole offering." As it was
being completely consumed in the flames before their very eyes, the
worshippers would see a vivid representation of the tremendous truth
that the most perfect sacrifice is death--nay, that it is even more
than death, that it is absolute self-effacement in total and
unreserved surrender to God.
Various rites follow the great central sacrifice of the
burnt-offering, ushered in by the most joyous festival of the year,
the Feast of Tabernacles, when the people scatter themselves over the
hills round Jerusalem under the shade of extemporised bowers made out
of the leafy boughs of trees, and celebrate the goodness of God in the
final and richest harvest, the vintage. Then come New Moon and the
other festivals that stud the calendar with sacred dates and make the
Jewish year a round of glad festivities.
Thus, we see, the full establishment of religious services precedes
the building of the temple. A weighty truth is enshrined in this
apparently incongruous fact. The worship itself is felt to be more
important than the house in which it is to be celebrated. That truth
should be even more apparent to us who have read the great words of
Jesus uttered by Jacob's well, "The hour cometh when neither in this
mountain, nor in Jerusalem, shall ye worship the Father, ... when the
true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and truth."[26]
How vain then is it to treat the erection of churches as though it
were the promotion of a revival of religion! As surely as the empty
sea-shell tossed up on the beach can never secrete a living organism
to inhabit it, a mere building--whether it be the most gorgeous
cathedral or the plainest village meeting-house--will never induce a
living spirit of worship to dwell in its cold desolation. Every true
religious revival begins in the spiritual sphere and finds its place
of worship where it may--in the rustic barn or on the hill-side--if no
more seemly home can be provided for it, because its real temple is
the humble and contrite heart.
[26] John iv. 21, 23.
Still the design of building the temple at Jerusalem was kept
constantly in view by the pilgrims. Accordingly it was necessary to
purchase materials, and in particular the fragrant cedar wood from the
distant forests of Lebanon. These famous forests were still in the
possession of the Phoenicians, for Cyrus had allowed a local
autonomy to the busy trading people on the northern sea-board. So in
spite of the king's favour it was requisite for the Jews to pay the
full price for the costly timber. Now, in disbursing the original
funds brought up from Babylon, it would seem that the whole of this
money was expended in labour, in paying the wages of masons and
carpenters. Therefore the Jews had to export agricultural
products--such as corn, wine, and olive oil--in exchange for the
imports of timber they received from the Phoenicians. The question
at once arises, how did they come to be possessed of these fruits of
the soil? The answer is supplied by a chronological remark in our
narrative. It was in the second year of their residence in Jerusalem
and its neighbourhood that the Jews commenced the actual building of
their temple. They had first patiently cleared, ploughed, and sown the
neglected fields, trimmed and trained the vines, and tended the olive
gardens, so that they were able to reap a harvest, and to give the
surplus products for the purchase of the timber required in building
the temple. As the foundation was laid in the spring, the order for
the cedar wood must have been sent before the harvest was
reaped--pledging it in advance with faith in the God who gives the
increase. The Phoenician woodmen fell their trees in the distant
forests of Lebanon; and the massive trunks are dragged down to the
coast, and floated along the Mediterranean to Joppa, and then carried
on the backs of camels or slowly drawn up the heights of Judah in
ox-waggons, while the crops that are to pay for them are still green
in the fields.
Here then is a further proof of devotion on the part of the Jews from
Babylon--though it is scarcely hinted at in the narrative, though we
can only discover it by a careful comparison of facts and dates.
Labour is expended on the fields; long weary months of waiting are
endured; when the fruits of toil are obtained, these hard-earned
stores are not hoarded by their owners: they too, like the gold and
silver of the wealthier Jews, are gladly surrendered for the one
object which kindles the enthusiasm of every class of the community.
At length all is ready. Jeshua the priest now precedes Zerubbabel, as
well as the rest of the twelve leaders, in inaugurating the great
work. On the Levites is laid the immediate responsibility of carrying
it through. When the foundation is laid, the priests in their new
white vestments sound their silver trumpets, and the choir of Levites,
the sons of Asaph, clang their brazen cymbals. To the accompaniment of
this inspiriting music they sing glad psalms in praise of God, giving
thanks to Him, celebrating His goodness and His mercy that endureth
for ever toward Israel. This is not at all like the soft music and
calm chanting of subdued cathedral services that we think of in
connection with great national festivals. The instruments blare and
clash, the choristers cry aloud, and the people join them with a
mighty shout. When shrill discordant notes of bitter wailing, piped by
a group of melancholy old men, threaten to break the harmony of the
scene, they are drowned in the deluge of jubilation that rises up in
protest and beats down all their opposition with its triumph of
gladness. To a sober Western the scene would seem to be a sort of
religious orgy, like a wild Bacchanalian festival, like the howling of
hosts of dervishes. But although it is the Englishman's habit to take
his religion sombrely, if not sadly, it may be well for him to pause
before pronouncing a condemnation of those men and women who are more
exuberant in the expression of spiritual emotion. If he finds, even
among his fellow-countrymen, some who permit themselves a more lively
music and a more free method of public worship than he is accustomed
to, is it not a mark of insular narrowness for him to visit these
unconventional people with disapprobation? In abandoning the severe
manners of their race, they are only approaching nearer to the
time-old methods of ancient Israel.
In this clangour and clamour at Jerusalem the predominant note was a
burst of irrepressible gladness. When God turned the captivity of
Israel, mourning was transformed into laughter. To understand the
wild excitement of the Jews, their pæan of joy, their very ecstasy, we
must recollect what they had passed through, as well as what they were
now anticipating. We must remember the cruel disaster of the overthrow
of Jerusalem, the desolation of the exile, the sickness of weary
waiting for deliverance, the harshness of the persecution that
embittered the later years of the captivity under Nabonidas; we must
think of the toilsome pilgrimage through the desert, with its dismal
wastes, its dangers and its terrors, followed by the patient work on
the land and gathering in of means for building the temple. And now
all this was over. The bow had been terribly bent; the rebound was
immense. People who cannot feel strong religious gladness have never
known the heartache of deep religious grief. These Israelites had
cried out of the depths; they were prepared to shout for joy from the
heights. Perhaps we may go further, and detect a finer note in this
great blast of jubilation, a note of higher and more solemn gladness.
The chastisement of the exile was past, and the long-suffering mercy
of God--enduring for ever--was again smiling out on the chastened
people. And yet the positive realisation of their hopes was for the
future. The joy, therefore, was inspired by faith. With little
accomplished as yet, the sanguine people already saw the temple in
their mind's eye, with its massive walls, its cedar chambers, and its
adornment of gold and richly dyed hangings. In the very laying of the
foundation their eager imaginations leaped forward to the crowning of
the highest pinnacles. Perhaps they saw more; perhaps they perceived,
though but dimly, something of the meaning of the spiritual
blessedness that had been foretold by their prophets.
All this gladness centred in the building of a temple, and therefore
ultimately in the worship of God. We take but a one-sided view of
Judaism if we judge it by the sour ideas of later Pharisaism. As it
presented itself to St. Paul in opposition to the gospel, it was stern
and loveless. But in its earlier days this religion was free and
gladsome, though, as we shall soon see, even then a rigour of
fanaticism soon crept in and turned its joy into grief. Here, however,
at the founding of the temple, it wears its sunniest aspect. There is
no reason why religion should wear any other aspect to the devout
soul. It should be happy; for is it not the worship of a happy God?
Nevertheless, in the midst of the almost universal acclaim of joy and
praise, there was the note of sadness wailed by the old men, who could
recollect the venerable fane in which their fathers had worshipped
before the ruthless soldiers of Nebuchadnezzar had reduced it to a
heap of ashes. Possibly some of them had stood on this very spot half
a century before, in an agony of despair, while they saw the cruel
flames licking the ancient stones and blazing up among the cedar
beams, and all the fine gold dimmed with black clouds of smoke. Was it
likely that the feeble flock just returned from Babylon could ever
produce such a wonder of the world as Solomon's temple had been? The
enthusiastic younger people might be glad in their ignorance; but
their sober elders, who knew more, could only weep. We cannot but
think that, after the too common habit of the aged, these mournful old
men viewed the past in a glamour of memory, magnifying its splendours
as they looked back on them through the mists of time. If so, they
were old indeed; for this habit, and not years, makes real old age. He
is aged who lives in bygone days, with his face ever set to the
irreparable past, vainly regretting its retreating memories,
uninterested in the present, despondent of the future. The true elixir
of life, the secret of perpetual youth of soul, is interest in the
present and the future, with the forward glance of faith and hope. Old
men who cultivate this spirit have young hearts though the snow is on
their heads. And such are wise. No doubt, from the standpoint of a
narrow common sense, with its shrunken views confined to the material
and the mundane, the old men who wept had more reason for their
conduct than the inexperienced younger men who rejoiced. But there is
a prudence that comes of blindness, and there is an imprudence that is
sublime in its daring, because it springs from faith. The despair of
old age makes one great mistake, because it ignores one great truth.
In noting that many good things have passed away, it forgets to
remember that God remains. God is not dead! Therefore the future is
safe. In the end the young enthusiasts of Jerusalem were justified. A
prophet arose who declared that a glory which the former temple had
never known should adorn the new temple, in spite of its humble
beginning; and history verified his word when the Lord took possession
of His house in the person of His Son.