the Christian's soul. The convictions of his heinous guilt almost drive
him to despair. He asks himself, How can mercy reach so vile a sinner?
how can such iniquity as mine be pardoned? Vainly does he look within
himself for any thing to hope for. Ashamed and speechless, he has no
satisfaction for the law's demands. That law condemns him, conscience
condemns him; but faith discovers deliverance in the atonement of the Lord
Jesus. The covenant breaks upon his soul--his Saviour has died for him.
His guilt is fully atoned for; and there is the bow of the covenant
promises lighting up the cloud. "I will set my bow in the cloud," says
God, and when Sinai thunders in the soul I will arch its summit with the
iris from the cross.
Again, how do the clouds of temptation sometimes thicken over the
Christian's way--temptations from within and without. And what
discouragements press upon him from the rising corruptions of his heart
and the onsets of the world. How often does he groan under his own
weakness, and ask, Can such a one ever get through to heaven? But lo, in
the covenant there are promises exactly meet for his condition, that he
shall be held up to the end; and faith discovers bows in all these
clouds, which whisper to him of final triumph.
In those clouds of temporal disappointment which frequently overshadow
him, marked by the failure of business enterprises, want of success in one
and another undertaking, and which doom him to the lot of toil and
poverty--in those clouds which stamp the seal of failure upon his mere
earthly life, God sets his bow to comfort all his people. It is the
promised inheritance of heaven; the recompense of the reward--the
treasures which wax not old. Here is the Christian's comfort under the
reverses of earthly fortune, and the clouds soften and break while faith
gazes upon the bow above them.
When life's blackest clouds gather, in the forms of bereavement and death,
there are promises enough in the covenant to gild them all. "It shall come
to pass when I bring a cloud over the earth, that the bow shall be seen in
the cloud." This is God's covenant promise to his people. And would you
know how faithfully he keeps it, contemplate the experience of God's true
people in trials, when the world was dim with shadows. Call to mind your
own experience, faithful one. Did you not find treasured in the promises
of grace such comforts as you never knew before--a power in prayer, a
drawing near to Christ, a witness of the Spirit--all producing a peace and
resignation which kept you from despair?
In all this discipline of trials, God reveals his resources to his people;
and in the abundant consolations provided for them, and which Christian
faith appropriates, in the strength given in trials, in the clear shining
of the promises athwart the clouds of adversity, they discover the
beautiful significancy and the actual fulfilment of Jehovah's pledge and
token to the patriarch, that he would set his bow in the cloud, and when
he should bring a cloud over the earth, the bow should be seen in the
cloud.
Have you, my friend, a vital interest in that covenant of grace, which
arches life's stormiest days with the bow of peace, and contains the
pledge of salvation in the future life? These blessings are _covenant_
blessings. They come not to us naturally, as a matter of course. They are
secured only by a special stipulation--an arrangement which God has made
through Jesus Christ, as a Saviour and a Mediator. They belong to us only
by faith in Him who purchased them. Have you accepted the conditions of
grace: repented, sought forgiveness, given your heart to God, solemnly
embraced the covenant? Only by so doing can you enjoy the benefits. Only
by resting under the everlasting covenant can you look up and see the bow.
Ah, you may stubbornly persist in impenitence, but you will find dark days
ere long. Ere life be through, the skies will grow dark and troubled.
Clouds of divine wrath will hang overhead. Clouds black as those which
gloomed on Sinai's summit, will marshal their fearful elements, and fill
you with alarm. Persist in impenitence, and you will hear naught from them
but thunder-voices of a violated law, and see naught but vivid flashes of
retributive justice. No promises of deliverance fringe their edges with a
thread of silver light; no sunshine of hope breaks between them to
scatter them; no bright bow of safety spans the firmament, and publishes
Jehovah's pledge of reconciliation. Outside the covenant they are clouds
of wrath, portending an eternal deluge of fiery indignation which shall
devour the adversaries of God. Fly then for refuge; fly to the shelter of
the covenant. Come to Christ Jesus for salvation. Come before the storm
breaks in fury. Come where you can stand and see the bow when life's
tempests sweep; when the heavens are dark; when the night of death
settles.
IX.
The Smoking Furnace and Burning Lamp.
AND IT CAME TO PASS, THAT WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN, AND IT WAS DARK,
BEHOLD A SMOKING FURNACE, AND A BURNING LAMP THAT PASSED BETWEEN THOSE
PIECES. GEN. 15:17.
The scene here described between Jehovah and the patriarch is one of awful
and mysterious interest. Long ago, when he came out of Ur of the Chaldees,
God promised blessings to Abram and his posterity. But as yet there were
no signs of the fulfilment. Many years had since rolled by, years of
fluctuations and trials. The stirring events of the war of the four kings
and the deliverance of Lot were brought to a close; and Abram had once
more retired to a quiet pastoral life, rich, honored, powerful among the
surrounding tribes.
But though he had grown great, there was one corroding care which preyed
upon his heart. Ah, what condition of human life is there, which has not
its secret sorrow? What house so bright as never to have a shadow across
its hearth? Abram was treading along the vale of years, childless and a
stranger. Eliezer of Damascus seemed likely to inherit his vast
possessions.
At this period, when Abram's anxiety deepened, and hope began to grow
impatient, God appeared again to him in vision, and renewed his covenant
promises. And in answer to the patriarch's request for some outward sign
or ratification, the Most High directed him to slay a heifer, a she-goat,
and a ram, and divide the parts, and set them the one over against the
other, that one might pass between the parts.
In ancient times the ratification of covenants was attended by the most
solemn rites, in which the contracting parties participated. In the 34th
chapter of Jeremiah there is an explicit reference to a ceremony like the
one here described: "And I will give the men that have transgressed my
covenant, which have not performed the words of the covenant which they
made before me, when they cut the calf in twain and passed between the
parts thereof--the princes of Judah, and the princes of Jerusalem, the
eunuchs, and the priests, and all the people of the land, which passed
between the parts of the calf--I will even give them into the hand of
their enemies." In these solemnities the contracting party or parties
passed between the parts of the slain victim, in token of their full
assent to the stipulations made, imprecating upon themselves a most bitter
curse if they should violate them. The ceremony was of the nature of a
most solemn oath.
Nor was it confined to the Israelitish nation alone, but similar rites
were observed among other people. In the third Book of the Iliad, Homer
describes the solemn ratification of the covenant between the Greeks and
the Trojans, according to the terms of which Menelaus and Paris were to
determine the great quarrel between them in single combat. Victims were
slain, their heads distributed among the chiefs of the hostile parties,
their palpitating limbs placed opposite to each other on the ground, while
the officiating priest uttered a prayer to Jupiter, accompanied by a most
awful imprecation upon any one who should break the solemn oath. Livy
also, the Roman historian, records a like solemnity on the occasion when
the Roman and Alban nation agreed to settle their contest by the combat of
the three Horatii and the three Curiatii. Then too the Roman priest slew
the victim, and called Jupiter to witness their vows, and strike the
violator as he struck the victim.
In this fifteenth chapter of Genesis, the sacred writer describes a sacred
institution, which Homer, a thousand years later, found among the Greeks;
and the Roman historian, still later, records as in use among his
countrymen. The intent, or meaning of the solemnity, was evident. Abram
well understood it; for without any particular instruction recorded, he
prepared the sacrifice.
It must have been a day of overwhelming interest to the patriarch. Early
in the morning God directed him to make his preparations. He obeyed with
promptness, and slew the animals, and arranged their parts upon the
ground. Having passed between them himself, thus acknowledging his
obligations in the covenant, he sat down alone to wait for Jehovah to
signify his presence. What strange, unearthly thoughts revolved in his
anxious mind! What a condition for a creature to be in--a lonely man
watching for God to come!
The day wore by; the sun was far down the west; the shadows were deepening
on the earth: the weary patriarch dropped his head upon his breast, and
slept. A horror of great darkness fell upon him; and then came a vision
and a voice, which revealed to him the future. When this had passed, night
had set in; and in the darkness the weary watcher waited, near the limbs
of his slain victims, for Jehovah to reveal his presence and seal his
promises, till at length, through the thickening gloom and spectral
silence, the Shechinah is discovered, moving in awful majesty near the
sacrifice. A smoking furnace and a burning lamp passed between those
pieces.
Abram understood it all: God's visible presence was before him; Jehovah
had ratified his covenant; the deed was done. The patriarch was satisfied.
He had not been imposed upon by his fancy; he had not been deceived by
some _ignis fatuus_. It was Jehovah's presence he had looked upon; it was
Jehovah's own doings, making his covenant sure to him.
Yet all he saw was a smoking furnace and a burning lamp pass between the
pieces. He heard no voice; he saw no living personal form: but that
appearance before him was Jehovah's sign. He doubted not a moment; he
asked for nothing more. It is evident that the manner in which God
signified his presence on this occasion had a peculiar significance in it,
that there was a peculiar fitness in the form which he assumed--_a smoking
furnace and a burning lamp_--rather than some other visible form.
We believe that these signs indicated not only that Jehovah was there, but
who that Jehovah was. They exhibit God as _hiding, and yet revealing_
himself. The smoking furnace, dimly visible, and followed by the burning
lamp, presents the side which the Almighty turns towards us, marked by
_obscurity, and light_. The Most High is known, and yet unknown; revealed
to us, and yet concealed.
And we believe that a correct view of God, as exhibited to us in his word
and providence, will correspond with the view which the patriarch had of
him in the loneliness and darkness of that night, when He sealed His
covenant with him.
We hold that in the goings forth of his providential government for
thousands of years, and in the utterance of his word, there are the same
traces of light and obscurity, of concealment and illumination, which were
symbolized to Abram; and the same God who passed between the pieces of his
sacrifice under the form of a smoking furnace and a burning lamp, is still
passing before us all in a like manner.
Such is the Almighty whenever he turns himself towards us. And while I
gaze with the patriarch upon the awful solemnities of that hour, that
smoking furnace and burning lamp seem to move, not only across that spot,
but over the ages and the world, and indicate the presence and the doings
of God in all the conduct of his government.
Turn first to the _written revelation_ which he has made to us through
prophet and evangelist. In the very first promise made to man after the
fall, so dim yet cheering, did he not pass before Adam much as he did
before the patriarch? In that promise of the seed of the woman bruising
the serpent's head, so vague, so indefinite and obscure, there seems at
first only the smoking furnace; but while we steadily look at it, it
brightens into a burning lamp, which beckons faith to look down the future
and hope for deliverance from the curse.
In all that God has revealed of himself and his purposes in his word, he
passes before us in mystery as well as light. He lifts the veil but a
little way; he allows us to see but a part of his plans and doings.
The prophetic parts of the Old Testament Scriptures illustrate this
blending of obscurity and light. The predictions of a coming Messiah were
clear, and yet mysterious; so that the Jews failed utterly to interpret
them aright, or to recognize Him when He appeared as "He of whom Moses and
the prophets did write." Those predictions now appear plain to us, for we
study them in the clear light of their fulfilment.
In like manner, other prophecies of great events which have already been
accomplished--as the Babylonish captivity, the overthrow of ancient cities
and kingdoms, and the destruction of Jerusalem--now seem to us most
graphic and distinct, because history and facts have thrown their light
upon them. But of those prophecies which yet await their fulfilment, how
true is it that a veil of obscurity still rests upon them. How various and
conflicting have been the theories of those who have anxiously studied
them. The restoration of the Jews, the destruction of antichrist, the
second coming of Christ, the millennium reign--these and the like subjects
have taxed the ingenuity of the learned for ages. Yet all have failed to
find out the Almighty's specific programme, or to tell beforehand what
shall be the exact fulfilment. The God of prophecy passes before us as a
smoking furnace, and a burning lamp.
The strictly doctrinal portions of God's word exhibit him to us in this
twofold attitude of obscurity and of light. Plainly enough has he revealed
to us our duty. Clear and authoritative is his voice, speaking to us in
the Decalogue. The burning lamp shines clear and steady through all the
preceptive deliverances of the Scriptures; but ah, the great questions and
paradoxes which have perplexed the human soul in all ages, the unsolved
problems of natural religion over which thought has wearied and despaired,
are left unanswered. How sin could be allowed to enter a moral system; the
harmony of the divine foreknowledge with human freedom; the election of
grace; man's moral helplessness and responsibility--these and such like
subjects remain unexplained. Revelation does not attempt to lift the
mysterious cloud which still hangs over them. Jehovah condescends to no
explanation of his doings; nor by a single word does he seek to vindicate
the infinite wisdom of his administration. Clouds and darkness are round
about him. With none of us does he take counsel. The great truths of
revelation reach beyond our grasp. We see but in part, and we know but in
part. The gospel brings us near to God; but even there he covereth the
face of his throne. The intermingling of obscurity and light which was
symbolized by the smoking furnace and the burning lamp, characterizes the
entire field of the Almighty's revelations.
2. God, as manifested in his _providential_ government, is properly
exhibited to us in the imagery of the text. His ways are past finding out.
When we contemplate the world at any particular period, we are lost in
confusion and perplexity. We feel assured that the Almighty governs; but
his purposes are hidden. Mankind seem scarcely to notice his presence.
Seldom can we detect his controlling hand. It is only by extending our
observation over a wider field, and taking in the grand sweep of
providence through successive generations, that we attain to the clear
conceptions of his moral government. At first view, we see little of his
movements, and they are indefinite and obscured, like the dim smoking
furnace passing by us; but by a more patient and careful study we are
enabled to discover that all the events which take place in the world are
under the Almighty's superintendence, and that, back of all the
derangement and confusion of human affairs, there is an unseen but mighty
hand bending the current of events, which by the interposition of checks
and restraints and judgments makes the wrath of man to praise him.
Thus in the midst of all the darkness of providence, there is discoverable
a plan of infinite wisdom. And he who humbly and devoutly meditates upon
the progress of human events, detects the presence of the Almighty,
ofttimes indeed vaguely, like the feeble glimmerings of the smoking
furnace, but often distinctly and clearly, like the burning lamp. Thus
does Jehovah, in his providence, move through the ages in much the same
manner as he appeared to the patriarch, when the furnace and the lamp
passed between the pieces of his sacrifice.
But why need we range abroad? Why look far away? Who that devoutly studies
the ways of Providence towards himself, who that habitually contemplates
what he has passed and is passing through, does not discover the Almighty
wrapped in the same mysterious drapery which he wore when he appeared to
Abram?
Yes; the smoking furnace and the burning lamp still pass before us, and
shape our lives. How many times has God touched the hidden springs of
action, and turned the current of our history! How often has he
mysteriously hedged up our way, and disappointed us; made our surest
calculations fail, our favorite plans miscarry! How has he led us by a way
we knew not, and caused us to stand perplexed, bewildered, and alarmed at
his unlooked-for interpositions! What sudden calamities have befallen us;
what sore chastisements have come upon us! How many times has God's face
been hid in clouds! How often have we asked, What can his doings mean? Why
does he scatter our possessions? Why is health prostrated, and we left to
languish amid pains and sicknesses? Why did he let death make those little
graves in the churchyard, where our darlings are sleeping, who used to
fill our homes with sunshine, and paint rainbows in the clouds of life's
pilgrimage? Oh how many times are we perplexed at the Almighty's doings!
In such seasons of disappointment and affliction, we think upon God and
are troubled. He passes before us in the thick gloom and darkness of the
night of sorrow: about all we can see of him is a smoking furnace, with
its smouldering embers, scarcely emitting from within a pale, faint,
spectral gleam, while dim wreaths of clouds whirl and roll above it. God's
ways seem dark and impenetrable. Such are our first impressions.
But while we continue to gaze upon his doings, and follow out his
providences to their conclusions; when, after Time with his soothing balm
has assuaged the first sharp pangs of our wounded hearts, we study
carefully the tendencies and results of God's dispensations with us, Oh
how often do the clouds break and scatter, and the deep mysteries of his
dealings receive a new interpretation.
How many of our doubts and questions find an answer. How do future months
and years vindicate the wisdom of those doings which we once thought could
not be vindicated. How do we afterwards see that when God took away some
blessings which we dearly loved, it was to make room for greater ones to
come. When he stopped our way in some favorite pursuit of life, and
beckoned us against our will in another path, he saved us from ruin and
disasters which we were blind to. When he snatched our loved one away to
heaven, he broke up the sinful idolatry which was ensnaring us, and called
us heavenward too. When he dashed from our hand the cup of worldly
prosperity we were pressing to our lips, it was because we were growing
delirious under its draughts.
It is thus, while we calmly trace through successive years God's doings,
we begin to see the furnace grow luminous, and close behind it the burning
lamp lights up the Almighty's footsteps. We may not indeed comprehend the
whole. We cannot clear up all the mystery that surrounds him. But though
the furnace still continues to move and smoke before us, yet the lamp is
ever going with it; and its cheering rays relieve the gloom, so that faith
and hope can follow.
Such is the method of God's dealings with us all. He passes before us in
mingled mystery and light. The longer we trace his doings, the clearer is
the light. A hasty, superficial study of his providence leaves us in
painful gloom and doubt. But a patient and humble attention to his plans
reveals much to relieve our fears and inspire in a Christian a steady,
trusting, joyous confidence.
We must never expect to arrive at a full and undimmed prospect here. We
see but in part. But ah, I think I can see something in the gradual
unfoldings of God's providence, and in the steps the believer now passes
through, which heralds a coming period when we shall see the whole. Even
now the shadows grow fainter the longer we gaze. A grey light streaks the
field of vision which was once in total darkness. Even now, when faith
turns her eye out long and steady, night seems softening into morning. And
from these phenomena I expect yet to see the whole. Even now, while I
watch year after year, the furnace smokes less and less, the lamp burns
stronger, brighter. And a little way beyond me heaven waits to welcome
me, where I shall see as I am seen, and know as I am known. Oh blessed
hope!
A little longer we follow where the furnace and the lamp lead the way; but
when we arrive at yonder world the furnace will be left behind. No cloud
and smoke there to obstruct our vision; but the lamp of fire alone
remains. It is God's unvailed glory illuminating the realms of bliss. Oh,
weary pilgrim, keep close to the furnace as it moves before you like the
pillar with which Jehovah led the twelve tribes in the desert, and it will
guide you home. And then it will smoke no more; but the lamp of fire will
never go out, for in its exhaustless splendor you shall spend an eternity
of joy.
Our subject thus presented, furnishes materials for a few profitable
reflections.
1. In this blending of mystery and light which characterizes God's present
manifestations, he has in view the promotion of _his own glory_. For the
pure and unfallen inhabitants of heaven, it may be proper for him to
unvail himself and his doings, and allow them to contemplate him in
cloudless majesty; but when he turns himself to sinful creatures like us,
it is becoming in him whom we have offended not to allow us to approach
too near. A jealous reticence marks his revelations. His infinite glory
and majesty impress our minds as deeply by what he hides from us, as by
what he shows us. His silence is sometimes as awfully eloquent as his
speech. The dim, smoking furnace often conveys to us ideas of his
incomprehensible might and majesty and greatness as deeply as does the
burning lamp.
2. The Most High has designed this obscure and mixed economy of his to be
a source of _moral discipline_ to us all.
It serves to check our arrogance and presumption, and promotes true
humility. It teaches us that he has ways that are past our finding out,
and that all our boasted wisdom is folly when compared with his. It tells
vain man that he cannot tread in the Almighty's footsteps, nor fathom his
deep designs.
Our entire dependence too is thrust upon our convictions by this mode of
the Almighty's working. Often we are forced to feel that we cannot rely
upon our own forecast and prudence. Our own will is not strong enough to
shape events and make them subserve our wishes. God's unseen hand is ever
interfering, and reminding us that without his blessing we can do nothing.
And how too is faith _tried and encouraged_ by this economy: _tried_ when
all we can see of God, many times, is like a smoking furnace, dark and
obscure, when reason asks and gets no answers; and anon encouraged, when
through the mystery there shines the burning lamp.