people go, but they must not go far." Why was that? For the very
human reason that he wanted the privilege of getting them back. He
said, for instance, "I will obey God, but I do not want to promise to
make my obedience permanent." You have seen plenty of instances of
that. Here is a man who has decided to be a Christian, but he won't
join the church. He wants to see how he gets along first. Such a man
is already making provision for going back. "Take up thy bed," said
the Master to the paralyzed man whom He had healed. He ever wants us
to make a complete break with the past.
But the plagues grow worse. Pharaoh is becoming more and more
frightened. While the scare is on he promises again and again that he
will obey the Lord unconditionally. There was a terrible storm, you
remember. The hail stones fell like shrapnel and the lightning dropped
from the clouds and fairly played along the earth, and terror gripped
the King's heart. And he sends for Moses. When Moses comes he tells
him, all atremble, "I have sinned this time. I will let the people
go." But when the storm ceases and the sun shines out he is quite
ashamed of his weakness. He is so ashamed that he forgets altogether
the promise that he made when the fear of death was upon him.
This is a side of human nature that is a bit disgusting, yet we dare
not shut our eyes to it. There are scores listening to me at this very
moment who have acted for all the world as Pharaoh acted. And you have
done so with all the light that he had and far more. I do not know of
a man that is in greater danger of being ultimately lost than that man
who never cares for religion except when he is scared. Because the
truth of the matter is that a man of that kind does not care for
goodness or for God at all. Not even in his moments of most abject
terror does he want to be truly saved. He simply wants to escape the
results of his sin. He does not want to pay the penalty for wrong
doing. He wants to defeat the ends of justice. He is not interested
in being good and pure and true. He is simply interested in keeping
out of hell.
How patient God was with Pharaoh. We are amazed at it till we think
how infinitely patient He has been with ourselves. By storm, by black
night, by adversity after adversity, God is doing His best to fight
Pharaoh back from the Bed Sea. He is doing all He can to turn him away
from committing suicide in body and suicide in soul. But Pharaoh, as
some of ourselves, seemed absolutely greedy for damnation. He seemed
completely bent on working out his own utter destruction.
After the king had broken one vow after another and lied and lied and
lied again, God brought the last dark providence into his life. He
made one final effort to save him from his ruin. Pharaoh was called to
kneel by the coffin of his first born. And his hard heart seemed
softened at last. By the grave of the Crown Prince he made a solemn
vow that he would obey God. And he set about putting the vow into
execution at once. And the children of Israel were not only allowed to
go, but they were hurried out of Egypt.
At last, at last, we say, with what infinite expense the man is brought
to obey. But would you believe it the grass had not yet grown green
upon the grave of his boy till he forgot his vow and turned back to the
old life again. Oh, what a grip sin gets on us. Oh, how blind we
become if we persistently refuse to follow the light. So Pharaoh
brushed his tears out of his eyes, gathered his army and set out after
the departing children of Israel.
I see the bustle and hurry of the setting out. I see the look of hate
on the king's face as he comes within sight of his one time slaves. He
laughs a mirthless laugh as he sees their predicament. They are shut
in on either side. The sea is in front and he and his army in the
rear. What a sweet revenge he is going to have.
But look. Something has happened. There is a path through the sea.
These hunted slaves are marching in. But it doesn't matter. Wherever
Israel can go, the Egyptians can go. So he and his army march in
behind. They keep the Israelites in sight. Now in the distance they
see that the last Israelite has reached dry land.
And then there is a great shriek that is quickly choked. The waters
have come together again. The sea waves roar about these struggling
soldiers like liquid hate. The King is forgotten. His men are madly
trying to save themselves. A jeweled hand flashes in the light for a
moment. There is an oath, a cry for help, a gulp, and silence. And
the hungry sea has its prey.
Pharaoh, why are you here? And if those dead lips could speak he would
say, "I am here because I persistently refused to obey God. He offered
me the best and I spurned it and spurned it again till at last He threw
me here. He did it because I made it impossible for Him to do anything
else." And as I look at this wreck I think how different the story
might have ended. This man might have had a part in the making of a
great people. He might have been associated with Moses in giving to
the world a new nation. He might even now be in the fellowship of
Moses among the tall sons of the morning. For the difference between
this man and the great man Moses is not in the fact that God purposed
evil for the one and good for the other. It is in this, that one was
obedient unto the heavenly vision, that one could say, "The grace that
was bestowed upon me was not in vain," and the other resisted and kept
resisting till he ran by every blockade that God could put in his path
and plunged headlong into destruction.
IX
A SON OF SHAME--JEPHTHAH
_Judges 11:35_
"I have opened my mouth unto the Lord and I cannot go back." I like
these big words. There is a ring of sterling strength in them. They
have a robust masculinity that grips my heart. They are not the words
of a weakling. They have absolutely no savor of softness or moral
flabbiness. They are not cheap. They are high priced words. They are
words made costly by a plentiful baptism of tragedy. They are words
literally soaked in blood and tears.
This man Jephthah has made a vow. And now the hour is upon him in
which it is his duty to make the vow good. His vow involves far more
than he ever expected. But that fact does not cause him to be untrue.
He has given his promise. Pay day has come. His promise involves
measureless sacrifice. To keep it is to put out every star in his sky.
It is to pluck up every flower in his garden. It is to change life's
music into discord. It is to take from him the one he loves far better
than he loves his own life. But even though the price is big, he will
not refuse to pay it. Even though his promise is hard, he will keep
it. "I have opened my mouth unto the Lord and I cannot go back."
Jephthah has had many hard things said about him. He has been wronged
since before he was born. I do not think that justice has been done to
his memory. Frankly, I think he is one of the most heroic souls of Old
Testament history. It is true that he would not fully measure up to
all our modern ideals, but remember this, he lived in the morning of
human history. He lived when the light was dim. And he was true to
the light that he had. He was true with a rugged fidelity that will
cause him to rise up in the day of judgment and condemn many of us.
Jephthah, I say, has been greatly wronged. He never had a fair chance.
He was wronged in his very birth. He was the son of a father who was
unfaithful to his marriage vows. Jephthah was a child of shame. His
father had chosen to sacrifice upon the wayside altar. His father had
had his fling. He had sown his wild oats, and of necessity there was a
harvest. His father suffered, but sad to say, he was not the only
sufferer.
How we need to be reminded again and again that no man ever sins alone.
No man ever walks from the path of virtue without he walks upon bruised
and bleeding feet. He himself suffers, but what is sadder still, he
causes somebody else to suffer. I cannot go to hell alone. I cannot
plunge out into the dark without involving another soul, at least in
some measure, in my tragedy. This father sinned. It meant suffering
for him. It also meant suffering for one who was altogether blameless.
It meant suffering for his boy.
Not only did Jephthah have as part of his life tragedy an unclean
father, but he had an unclean mother as well. Jephthah's mother was
not one of those unfortunate souls, more sinned against than sinning,
who had made one false step for the sake of the man she loved. She was
a professional outcast. She was a woman who made it her business day
by day to sell herself over the counters of iniquity. She was one of
those whose feet in all ages take hold on hell.
So Jephthah had a bad chance. He was the fragment of a home that never
was. He had no father that dared to own him. And the first eyes into
which he looked were the eyes of an unclean woman. And the first lips
that kissed him were lips soiled and stained by years of sinful living.
Poor little baby. Poor little foundling. Poor little outcast. How
much he missed.
What are the most precious memories in your life to-night? What are
the scenes to which you look back with deepest love and tenderness? I
know. They are the scenes of your childhood's home.
"How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection, presents them to view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot that my infancy knew."
But the secret of the fascination of those dear scenes is this, that we
saw them by the glow of the light of love. We think tenderly of our
early homes because they were presided over by a father and mother who
knew God. And the one cord that has failed to snap between us and a
good life is the cord that ties us still to the faith of our fathers
and our mothers.
But Jephthah missed all this. His father was unfaithful. His mother
was an unclean woman. There were no tender and holy associations that
made it easy for him to be good. There were no memories to come in
after years and whisper old half forgotten prayers. There were no fond
recollections to lay their hands upon him with angelic tenderness and
lead him away from his City of Destruction. He was a child of sin, a
child of blackness and of night, a child bereft of the inspiration of a
good mother's life and the sweet uplift of a pious home.
And not only was this man wronged in what he missed, he was equally
wronged in what he suffered. Early he was branded with a shame not his
own. I know of few places where society has been so unjust and unkind
as it has in its condemnation of those innocent ones who are the
victims of another's sin. We forget that every child comes into the
world with the Father's kiss upon its clean soul regardless of the
circumstances of its birth. We forget also that that child is no more
to blame for those circumstances than it is to be blamed for the
currents of the sea or for the darkness of the night.
But Jephthah was blamed. Ugly names were flung at him before he was
old enough to know their dark and sinister meaning. He was forbidden
to go to the big house of his father before he knew why he was not
allowed to go. He was excluded from the games of those more
fortunately born than he, when he could no more understand why he was
excluded than he could keep back the bitter tears of childish
disappointment. I can see him as he watches his half brothers and
sisters play in the distance, and his little heart is lonely and he is
hungry for a playmate. And the gate is shut in his face, the gate of a
shame not his own.
By and by youthhood comes, and early manhood. The parental estate is
to be divided. Jephthah is disinherited. He is driven from among his
people. He is forced to flee for his life. And he goes to take refuge
in Tob with its mountain fastnesses and with its rude heathens who are
less unkind than those kinsmen of his who claim to be worshippers of
Jehovah.
So we have here the material out of which this young man is called on
to build a life. He has no parentage. He has no kindred. He has no
friends. Nobody believes in him. Everybody expects him to go wrong.
It seems even at times as if everybody wanted him to go wrong. They
said, "Oh, yes, I know him. I used to know his mother. She died in
the gutter. You can't expect anything of him."
And it is not at all difficult to go down when everybody expects you to
go down. It is a great thing to have somebody to trust you. That is a
tremendous help. As long as you feel that there is somebody who counts
on you, who believes in you, you are not without an anchor. I read the
other day of a little newsboy who was given a quarter that he might get
change. And on his way back he was run over and crushed by an auto.
And the last word he said was, "Be sure and hunt him up and give him
back the change. He trusted me." But here is a young fellow exiled,
robbed, persecuted and mistrusted. And out of this charred and ugly
material he is called upon to build a life.
And what is the result? Well, he refused to surrender. He said, "If
nobody else will believe in me I will believe in myself. Since nobody
else will help me, I will help myself. If I am to be robbed of my
inheritance I will make a way of my own." And so he set to work. He
did not spend his time hunting up his neighbors to tell them of his
misfortunes. He did not put in his time boasting of what he would do
if he were as well off as his half brothers down in Israel. He went to
work to build his fortune in the here and now. And little by little he
won.
And then one day a runner came to him in the field and said, "Jephthah,
you have company at your house." And the man looked up in surprise and
said, "Company! Who is it?" "A committee of elders from Israel." And
Jephthah is astonished. He is filled with wonder. He is trying to
guess why they came. And with the problem unsolved he goes to meet his
guests.
These elders greet him like a long lost son. They tell him how they
rejoice in his prosperity. They informed him how they had always known
that he would make good. They let him know that they would never have
sent him out of Israel if they had had their way about it. And then at
last they gather courage to tell him their errand. And they say,
"Israel is being besieged by the Ammonites and we want you to come and
be the commander-in-chief of our armies."
Well, now that was a shock. Here was a young fellow who began with
nothing, and worse than nothing. But instead of whining, instead of
quitting, instead of complaining that he had no chance, instead of
putting in his time wishing that he was somewhere else, he did his duty
where he was. And folks found it out and came to kneel at his feet and
ask him for help. And I am not saying, young man, that every man gets
his just deserts, but I do say that in the overwhelming majority of
cases, if a man is really any account, sooner or later somebody will
find it out. It may be true that
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
But I doubt if any gem of real human worth ever lies permanently
concealed. I seriously question if any radiant flower of human
character ever wastes its sweetness on the desert air. Learn to do
something that the world needs to have done and men will make a path to
your door even if you live in a desert.
They came and asked Jephthah for help. It is a humiliating experience.
Now, I suppose those half brothers of Jephthah's down in Israel, those
fellows who had scorned him in his childhood, those fellows who had
robbed him of his share in the estate,--I suppose they did some loud
talking about the general being a kinsman of theirs. Oh, they are very
much like we are. We seldom boast of our relationship to an outcast,
but if we are one hundred and first cousin to somebody who is prominent
we are mighty apt to go about telling it.
Jephthah heard their request and promised to help them. I think that
was fine of him. It would have been so easy for him to have said, "Oh,
yes, you kicked me out when I was a little helpless waif. When I
needed help you would not give it. When I needed help you laughed at
my childish tears. Now you need help, I will laugh at you." But there
was nothing of revenge in him. Wronged as he had been, he would not
nurse his wrongs. He would not allow his bitter treatment to make him
bitter.
I wish we all were so wise. You were injured years ago by somebody.
That somebody perchance was in the church. And so you have never had
any use for the church since. You have never had any use much for
anybody since. You have been snarling and snapping. Do you remember
Miss Harrisham in "Great Expectations"? She was to be married. All
arrangements were made. The wedding cake was on the table. But at
twenty minutes to nine a cruel note came telling her that the groom was
not coming. Therefore, the clocks were all stopped at twenty minutes
to nine. The cake stood upon the table till it rotted. The blinds
remained drawn and no sunlight was ever allowed in the house again.
And life for her stopped at twenty minutes to nine. One disappointment
wrecked her, embittered her, made her throw her life away. But
Jephthah refused to be embittered.
He consented to go. But before he undertook the campaign he stood
beside the altar of God. This man had lived for years among heathens,
but they had not heathenized him. He still stood true by the altar.
Circumstances were against him, but religion is not simply for the easy
situations in which we find ourselves. Your test, as one has said, is
not how good you can be if you have a devoted saint on either side of
you down at the office. Your test is what your religion can do for you
in the midst of a godless crowd. Daniel's God was tested not in the
pleasant situations of his early home life. The test was among his
foes. It is amidst the horrors of a lion's den that the king's
question echoes, "Oh, Daniel, servant of the living God, is thy God
whom thou servest continually, able to deliver thee?"
Jephthah went to battle from the altar of prayer. As he went he made a
vow. It is the vow for which he has been most severely criticized. It
is a vow that has caused his name among some to be branded with shame.
He vowed that if God would give him the victory he would offer to Him
whatever first came out of the door of his house to meet him on his
return. It was a rash vow, I am ready to admit. Yet rash as it was, I
do not find it in my heart to be severely critical of him. I rather
join with Dr. Peck in my admiration. You know what is the matter with
a great many of us smug church members? We are so prudent. We have
such admirable possession of all our faculties. We are in danger of
dying of self-control. This man in the white heat of his enthusiasm
made a solemn pledge to the Lord of that which was destined to be
infinitely the most precious thing in his life. But some of us in our
prudence will not even make a pledge of a few dollars. We say we do
not know how well we will be fixed next week or next month or next year.
You have heard of the man who subscribed $50 and refused to pay it,
saying that he was too religious that day to look after his own
interests. Some of us never get that religious. But all the encomiums
throughout the Word of God are uttered upon those who are utterly rash
in their giving. The widow foolishly gave away all that she had. And
Mary squandered a whole box of ointment when a few drops would have
been amply sufficient. But it was their mad recklessness that made
them immortal.
Jephthah made his vow and went to battle. He went confidently. He
went believing that inasmuch as he had put himself and what he had at
God's disposal, that God would put Himself at his disposal. And God
did not disappoint him. He won the fight. And now the victorious army
is marching home. The soldiers are rejoicing. But there is a strange
tenseness and anxiety in the general's face that the soldiers do not
understand. Nobody understands but God and Jephthah. At last they
round the bend in the road and the general comes in sight of his own
home. And then suddenly his bronze face goes deadly pale. He reels
upon his horse. For out from the door of his home has come a lovely
girl with dark hair and sunny face, and she is singing a song of
welcome.
Father and daughter come face to face. The girl is perplexed, and the
general strains her hard to his heart. He is father and mother to her
at once, and she is all he has. And the cup is bitter almost beyond
the drinking. And he says, "Alas, my daughter, you have brought me
very low." And he tells her his story. And the girl with sweet
resignation understands, and the great sacrifice is made.
Jephthah was a hard man, you say. Do not judge him in the light of the
twentieth century. Judge him in the light of the day in which he
lived. And remember this, that he had the manhood to keep his promise.
Remember that he had the sturdy courage to pay his vow. "I have opened
my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot go back." Oh, the world is saved
by the "cannot" men, by the men who have big impossibilities in their
souls. Joseph says as he faces the temptation of his life, "I cannot
do it." The apostles ordered to keep silent, say, "We cannot." And
Jephthah with breaking heart and tear-wet face, tempted to break his
vow, says, "I cannot go back."
Oh, I know what we would probably have done. We would have said to
ourselves, "Nobody knows that I made that vow anyway, nobody but God.
I made it in the secrecy of my own heart. I never breathed a word into
any human ear. If I go back on it, it will not matter so much. It is
simply a promise that I made to God." This man had not told his vow.
It was a secret between himself and his Lord. He was not driven to the
performance of it by public opinion. He was not urged to it, as flabby
Herod, "for the sake of those that sat with him." He was urged to it
by his own unstained conscience and his sterling manhood.
Or he might have said, "I made the vow, it's true, but I made it under
pressure. A great danger was threatening and a man is not to be held
responsible for a vow he makes in the presence of danger." Did you
ever get frightened when a storm was on and promise God things, and
then go back on it? Of course you have. We have been false to one
another, some of us. How many of us have been false to God! How far
is this old hero ahead of ourselves!
Think of the vows that you have made as members of the church. You
have not even fulfilled the vow you made to your groceryman. Some of
you have not paid for the clothes that you have on, and never will.
Some of you have made pledges to the church and have forgotten them.
And just because the church won't sue you, you are going to break the
promise that you have made, not simply to men, but to God.
And what have you done with your church vows? You have promised to
renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the
world. Have you kept your vow? You have promised to obediently keep
God's holy will and commandments. Have you been honest with God in
this matter? You have promised to be subject to the rules of the
church and to attend upon its services, and some of you have trampled
on those rules flagrantly, openly, knowingly. And remember that when
you took that vow it was not a pledge that you made to me. You opened
your mouth that day unto the Lord.
And you that are here outside the church, may the lord help you to pay
your vows unto the Most High. For there is hardly a single one of you
but that at some time has opened your mouth unto the Lord. What about
that promise you made to God when you were sick? I do not say you made
it into any human ear, but you breathed it in prayer into His ear.
What about the promise you made to God by the coffin of your baby?
What about the promise of consecration you made by the bedside of your
dying mother? May the Lord help us to make this day a pay day. May
the Lord give us the courage to say, "I have opened my mouth unto the
Lord, and I cannot go back."
X
A CASE OF BLUES--ELIJAH
_1 Kings 19:4_
One day you were reading in the New Testament and you came to that
surprising word from James: "Elijah was a man subject to like passions
as we are." And if you were reading thoughtfully you stared at that
sentence in wide-eyed amazement. And then in your heart you said, "It
isn't true. Elijah's story doesn't read a bit like mine."
Then you thought of how he came and put his finger in Ahab's face and
made that face go white. You thought of how he carried Heaven's key in
his pocket for three years and six months. You thought of his lifting
the dead boy into life; of his victory on Carmel; of his quiet walk to
the little station beyond the Jordan where the Heavenly Limited met him
and took him home. And again you felt like saying that James was
altogether mistaken.