LECTURE I.—MIDIANITES IN POSSESSION.
For forty years after Deborah had celebrated the triumph over Sisera
in her glorious song, the land of Israel had had rest. This period of
tranquillity receives such brief mention in the Scriptures, that we are
in danger of forgetting for how long a time God granted the blessing of
peace. And thus is it in our own lives, my brethren: times of trouble
stand out, as it were, like rugged crags, shutting out from memory’s view
the vines and the fig-trees, the olive-yards, the green pastures and
still waters, with which our gracious God for long may have blessed us.
Seven years of trouble to Israel succeeded the forty years of repose:
not _causeless_ trouble—such is never known in the experience either of
Israelite or of Christian. But we do not always search out the actual
cause of affliction. With God’s ancient people the punishment was clearly
traced to the sin. When the Midianites, like a swarm of locusts, came up
against them, destroying and wasting, driving the inhabitants of the land
to hide in dens of the mountains, strongholds, and caves, it was because
the stain of idolatry lay upon Israel; and mercy, to save the sinners,
required that justice should chastise the sin.
The Midianites, who were thus made an instrument of punishment to Israel,
were, like themselves, descendants of Abraham, but by his union with
Keturah. When Moses guided God’s people towards Canaan, the Midianites
drew down vengeance on themselves by their too successful efforts to
lead Israel into sin. Then perished the wicked prophet Balaam amongst
the enemies of God’s people. But Midian, though punished, had not been
destroyed; and now, after the lapse of nearly two hundred years, we find
it a very powerful nation, against whose numerous hordes the Israelites
seem to have made no attempt to defend their homes—so completely was the
warlike spirit crushed in the descendants of those who had triumphed
under Moses and Joshua when they fought the battles of the Lord.
When the Israelites were in trouble, then they cried aloud to the God
of their fathers, and He heard and answered their prayer: not yet by
sending a deliverer—the sense of sin must be deepened before the judgment
be removed. A prophet was sent to the people, with a message, not of
promise, but of reproof:
“Thus saith the Lord God of Israel, I brought you up from Egypt, and
brought you forth from the land of bondage, and I delivered you out of
the hand of the Egyptians, and out of the hand of all that oppressed you,
and drave them out from before you, and gave you their land. And I said
unto you, I am the Lord your God; fear not the gods of the Amorites in
whose land ye dwell: but ye have not obeyed My voice.”
The great and glorious deliverance of Israel from Egypt we may regard
as a type of the redemption of Christ’s Church from the dominion of
Satan—the triumph achieved once and for ever by the mysterious sufferings
of our Saviour, His sacrifice offered upon the Cross. This is the
_central truth_ of the Christian religion. But though Egyptian darkness
be left behind—though Christians be received into the enjoyment of
privileges purchased by the death of their Lord—their backslidings, like
those of Israel, often draw upon them heavy troubles, resembling the
devouring hordes of Midian.
I am not, my brethren, speaking of the afflictions and bereavements
which are the common lot of all. During the forty years of blessed
peace, sickness and sorrow must have been known in homes of Israel, and
faithful servants of God have wept over new-made graves. Such trials are
crosses appointed by a heavenly Father—crosses which each and all must
take up at some period of life, if life be not early cut short. But I am
speaking of troubles directly or indirectly brought on us by our sins:
the Midianites who destroy our peace, and bring upon us miseries from
which more earnest faith, more perfect obedience, might have preserved
us. We are accustomed to speak of this life as “a vale of tears;” but let
us search and examine whether the valley owe not the greater part of its
desolation and gloom to foes to our peace whom _we might have kept out_,
and over whom faith may yet give us a victory glorious as that of Gideon.
To explain my meaning more clearly, let me draw your attention to a few
of what we may call chiefs—leaders of hordes of troubles, Midianites
in the heart, that trample down our happiness and destroy our comfort
in life. I shall mention four names but too familiar—Disappointment,
Discontent, Dissension, Distrust. Let us see whether the sufferings which
they inflict are not more severe and perpetual than those brought upon us
by what are called visitations of Providence; whether many griefs which
we term “crosses” are not rather burdens laid upon us by enemies to the
soul, to whose yoke we should never have stooped.
The first Midianite chief whom I shall bring before you is
Disappointment—the intruder who cuts down the green crop of hope, and
leaves a famine in the soul. Whence is it that even the Christian
is constantly subject to disappointment? Is it not from habitual
disobedience to the divine command, _Set your affections upon things
above, not on things beneath_? We eagerly fix our heart on some worldly
object—ambition, pleasure, or gain: like children, we build our houses of
delight on the sand within reach of the tide, which must sooner or later
sweep them away, and then sit down and weep when the flood rolls over the
spot which we had unwisely chosen. Let each of us who in the bitterness
of disappointment has mournfully repeated the words of the Preacher,
_Vanity of vanities, all is vanity_, see whether the idol in the heart
has not been the cause of the Midianites’ invasion; and whether that
faith which builds on the Rock of Ages, beyond the reach of desolation
or decay, may not yet overcome the power of disappointment to harass the
soul. Hopes fixed upon Christ know not disappointment; treasures laid
up in heaven can never be lost; ties formed by faith endure throughout
eternity; the less our joys are of the earth, earthy, the less danger
there is that the spoiler can ever wrest them away from our grasp.
And whence cometh Discontent, who robs his slave of all his peace?—for
peace and discontent cannot abide in the same soul. Can he who says to
his most bountiful God, not only with his lips but from his heart, “I am
unworthy of the least of Thy mercies,” ever know discontent? Must not
the peevish, envious, rebellious spirit be ever kept far from his gates?
We should deem so; and yet, Christian brethren, do we practically find
that it is so? Are we not too often inclined to compare our lot with that
of others, and, if not openly, yet secretly, repine, as if Providence
had done us a wrong? No true servant of Christ can desire to have his
portion here; and yet does not the inheritor of heaven too frequently
murmur because not all the good things of earth are showered upon him
in addition? How different his spirit from that of the apostle! He who
had _suffered the loss of all things_, yet could affirm, _I have learned
in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content_. Had we also learned
this lesson, we should find it less impracticable to obey his command,
_Rejoice in the Lord alway; and again I say unto you, rejoice_.
“You have not your due,” were the words which I once heard a wife address
to a husband who had been deprived of some advantage which she considered
to have been his right. “Nay, God be praised that I have not my _due_,”
he replied. “What is my _due_ as a sinner before God? what is my due from
a world which I have renounced for His sake? Had I chosen my portion in
this life, then only might I complain of not receiving my due!” Here was
a man whom discontent could not rob of his heritage of peace.
To pass on to Dissension, the third enemy to our happiness, who invades
many a home, and makes goodly dwellings miserable abodes,—to what shall
we trace his invasion? Is it not written in Scripture, _By pride cometh
contention_?—would not the _soft answer_ that _turneth away wrath_
often prove as a strong bar to keep him from entering our habitations?
But here I must guard myself from being misunderstood. It is possible
that dissension may come where the fault lies on one side alone. The
Christian may be—not unfrequently is—called to brave opposition, and draw
upon himself the anger of men by defending the truth, or taking up the
cause of the oppressed. The command, _Live peaceably with all men_, is
qualified by _if it be possible_; for in some cases it is _not_ possible
to preserve harmony without giving up principle. Under such circumstances
the sacrifice of peace is a sacrifice for God, and the cross is one which
is borne for His sake. But in the majority of cases dissension follows
on the footsteps of pride, and is the leader of malice, hatred, and all
uncharitableness. Then, indeed, is he the true Midianite who pours gall
into the very springs of enjoyment, who casts his venomed arrows on every
side, and maketh a wilderness of that which might have been as the Garden
of Eden. _Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith._ Could we, through the grace of God’s Spirit, purge
from our souls all malice, all bitterness and wrath—could we love one
another as Christ hath loved us, what heart-burnings, what heart-achings
might be spared, and how often would the brightness of heaven appear to
be reflected even upon earth!
Disappointment, Discontent, and Dissension have, as we have seen, much
to do with the train of sorrows which have given to God’s fair world the
name of “a vale of tears.” But I believe that the most dangerous enemy
of all to our peace, the one who has most often pressed his iron yoke
on the hearts of my hearers, is the fourth whose name I have mentioned,
Distrust of the love and wisdom of God. This assertion may cause surprise
in those who are unconscious of a doubt; but examine yourselves closely,
my brethren, observe what has most often clouded your brows, saddened
your spirits, drawn the deep sigh from your hearts. Has it been regrets
for the past? Has it been the trials of the present? Has it not rather
been care for the future, fears of what the morrow might bring? Would
not perfect obedience to the injunction of our blessed Redeemer, _Take
no thought for the morrow_, sweep away at once more than half of the
troubles that weigh on our souls?
And why take thought for the morrow? We too often appear to forget
that the future lies in the hand of One “too wise to err, too good to
be unkind.” We act as if we could not, or would not, believe that _all
things work together for good to them that love God_: we are needlessly
restless, anxious, unhappy, and exclaim in our trouble, “How heavy a
rod the Lord lays upon me!” Nay, poor weak unbelieving heart, thou
art smitten less by the rod of thy Father, than by the scourge of the
Midianite within. If faith could drive out mistrust, if thou couldst in
deed and in truth cast thy cares upon Him who careth for thee, then—even
here—might God give thee _beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning,
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness_. Perfect trust would
bring perfect submission, and the peace that passeth understanding.
Gideon, the future deliverer of Israel, first appears before us in
Scripture engaged in threshing corn beside the wine-press in order to
hide it from the rapacious Midianites who held possession of the land.
From the necessity of concealment he cannot employ, after the custom of
the East, his father’s oxen to trample out the wheat; he must himself
wield the flail with the strength of his own right arm. Gideon is
employed in a task of lowly toil, unconscious at first of the presence
of the heavenly Being who has descended to earth, and who is now beside
him under the shadow of the oak at Ophrah. And here for the present we
will pause, and defer till our next meeting the consideration of God’s
merciful promise to Gideon, and the effect which it produced on his soul.
If we regard Faith under the emblem of a tree, we have hitherto viewed
it as such tree may appear in winter, when there is not a blossom on the
bough or a leaf on the spray. There is no outward evidence of life; and
though we hope that spring will draw up the sap, and clothe the bare
branches with beauty, we see no present sign of the change. Such may
have been the state of Gideon’s faith when he thought on the sufferings
of his miserable country. The flail of the Lord was upon it, but we know
from the result that it was not to crush—not to destroy the wheat, but to
separate the chaff from the grain, and so render the latter more fit for
reception into the garner of the Lord.
[Illustration: GIDEON THRESHING CORN.]
[Illustration]