The King's Table.
It was midnight in London, in the year 1665. The houses were closed and
barred, but strange lurid fires were lighted in every street, a stifling
odour of burning pitch and sulphur filled the air, and from time to time
came the heavy rumble of wheels, as a terrible cart, with its awful
load, passed by in the darkness of the night. With the cart came a cry;
so loud, so clear, so piercing, that it could be heard in all the closed
houses of the street. 'Bring out your dead, bring out your dead!'
Then, one door after another was hurriedly opened, and from the
plague-stricken houses one body after another was brought out, and was
thrown hastily into that awful dead cart.
_Bring out your dead_! what a solemn, terribly solemn cry! How it
must have filled with awe and dread all who heard it! And if that call
were repeated, if the holy angels of God were to go through the length
and breadth of our land, and, stopping before each house, were to cry to
those within, 'Bring out your dead, bring out your dead,' not your dead
bodies, but your dead souls; bring out all in your house who are not
alive unto God, who are dead in trespasses and sins, how many would
have to be carried out of our houses? Should we ourselves be left
behind? Are we alive or dead?
The angels have not yet come to sever the dead from the living, but the
time for that great separation is drawing daily nearer, when the Son of
man shall send forth His angels, and they shall gather out of His
kingdom all things that offend; all the loathsomeness of death, and
decay, and impurity shall be collected by angel hands, and, we read,
they shall cast them, not into a vast pit such as was dug in London in
the time of the plague, but into a furnace of fire, there shall be
wailing and gnashing of teeth.
Surely, then, it is worth while to find out whether our soul is alive or
dead. What test then shall we use? How shall we settle the matter
clearly and definitely?
There is one thing, and one thing only, which proves that a man has
life. A man apparently drowned is brought out of the water. He does not
speak, or see, or move, or feel. He is rubbed and warmed, but no sign of
life can be perceived. Can we therefore conclude that the man is dead?
Nay, we will put him to the test. Bring a feather, hold it before his
mouth, watch it carefully, does it move? A crowd of anxious bystanders
gather round to see. Soon a cry of joy is heard, the feather moves.
The man lives, for he _breathes_, and the breath in him is the
unmistakable sign of life.
How then shall I know if my soul lives? Does it breathe? That is the
all-important question. But what is the breath of the soul? The breath
of the soul is prayer. As the old hymn says--
'Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air.'
Saul of Tarsus, with all his outward religion, was a dead soul, till the
Lord met him and gave him life. What then is the first thing we find
Saul doing? 'Behold he prayeth.' As soon as he is alive, he breathes, he
prays.
Here then is the test for us to apply to our own souls. Do I know
anything of real prayer? Do I love to hold communion with my God? Am I
ever lifting up my heart to Him? If I live in the atmosphere of prayer,
then I am alive unto God; if, on the other hand, I feel prayer a
weariness, and know not what it is for my heart to hold unseen
intercourse with my Lord, then indeed I am dead in sin, having no
breath, and I have consequently no life.
Nehemiah, the great Rab-shakeh, was a living soul, for he loved to pray.
No sooner had he heard the sad news about Jerusalem, than he went to his
private apartments in the palace, and began to plead with God. He feels
that all the trouble that has come upon his nation has been richly
deserved, so he begins with a humble confession of sin.
'Let Thine ear now be attentive, and Thine eyes open, that Thou mayest
hear the prayer of Thy servant, which I pray before Thee now, day and
night, for the children of Israel Thy servants, and confess the sins of
the children of Israel, which we have sinned against Thee.' And then,
coming nearer home, he adds, 'both I and my father's house have sinned.'
Was it some special sin which he confessed before God then? Can his sin,
and the sin of his father's house, have been the refusing twelve years
ago to leave home and comforts behind them, and to return with Ezra to
Jerusalem?
Then Nehemiah pleads God's promises to His people in time past, and ends
by definitely stating his own special need and request (Neh. i. 8-11).
By day and by night Nehemiah prays, and nearly four months go by before
he does anything further.
The next step was not an easy one. He had determined to speak to the
great Persian monarch--to bring before him the desolate condition of
Jerusalem, and to ask for leave of absence from the court at Shushan, in
order that he might go to Jerusalem, and do all in his power to restore
it to something of its former grandeur.
It is not surprising that Nehemiah dreaded this next step. The Persian
kings had a great objection to being asked a favour. Xerxes, the husband
of Queen Esther, when on his way to Greece with his enormous army,
passed through Lydia in Asia Minor. Here he was feasted and entertained
by a rich man named Pythius, who also gave him a large sum of money for
the expense of the war, and furnished five sons for the army. After this
Pythius thought he might venture to ask a favour of the Persian monarch,
so he requested that his eldest son might be allowed to leave his
regiment, in order that he might stay at home to be the comfort and
support of his aged father. But, instead of granting this very natural
request, Xerxes was so much enraged at having been asked a favour, that
he commanded the eldest son to be killed and cut in two, and then caused
his entire army to file between the pieces of the body.
Artaxerxes, the king whom Nehemiah served, was considered one of the
gentlest of Persian monarchs, and yet even he was guilty of acts of
savage cruelty, of which we cannot read without a shudder. For example,
when he came to the throne, he found in the palace a certain eunuch
named Mithridates, who had been concerned in his father's murder. He
condemned this man to be put to death in the most horrible and cruel
way. He was laid on his back in a kind of horse-trough, and strongly
fastened to the four corners of it. Then another trough was put over
him, leaving only his head and hands and feet uncovered, for which
purpose holes were made in the upper trough. Then his face was smeared
with honey, and he was placed in the scorching rays of the sun. Hundreds
of flies settled on his face, and he lay there in agony for many long
days. Food was given him from time to time, but he was never moved or
uncovered, and it was more than a fortnight before death released him
from his sufferings.
It was the very king who had put one of his subjects to this death of
awful torment before whom Nehemiah had to appear, and of whom he had to
make a request. No wonder, then, that he dreaded the interview, and that
he felt that he needed many months of prayer to make him ready for it.
It was in the month Chisleu (December) that Hanani had arrived, it was
not until Nisan (April) that he made up his mind to speak to the king.
Before leaving his room that morning, he knelt down, and put himself and
his cause in the Lord's hands, Neh. i. 11.
Then, attired in his official dress, the Rab-shakeh sets forth for the
state apartments of the palace. The central building of that magnificent
pile in which the king held court was very fine and imposing, as may be
seen to-day from the extensive ruins of Shushan. In the centre of it was
the Great Hall of Pillars, 200 feet square. In this hall were no less
than thirty-six pillars, arranged in six rows, and all sixty feet high.
Round this grand hall were the beautiful reception rooms of the king,
and these were carefully arranged, in order to ensure perpetual coolness
even in the hottest weather. There was no room on the hot south side of
the palace, but on the west was the morning room, in which all the
morning entertainments were held, whilst the evening banqueting hall was
on the eastern side. By this arrangement the direct rays of the sun were
never felt by those within the palace. Then, on the cool northern side
was the grand throne room, in which the king sat in state, and through
which a whole army of soldiers, or an immense body of courtiers, could
file without the slightest confusion, entering and leaving the room by
stone staircases placed opposite each other. The steps were only four
inches in depth and sixteen feet wide, and were so built that horsemen
could easily mount or descend them.
Into one of the grand halls of the palace Nehemiah the cup-bearer
enters. The pavement is of coloured marble, red, white, and blue;
curtains of blue and white, the Persian royal colours, drape the windows
and are hanging in graceful festoons from the pillars; the fresh morning
breeze is blowing from the snow-clad mountains, and is laden with the
scent of lemons and oranges, and of the Shushan lilies and Persian roses
in the palace gardens.
There is the royal table, covered with golden dishes and cups, and
spread with every dainty that the world could produce.
There is the king, a tall, graceful man, but with one strange
deformity--with hands so long that when he stood upright they touched
his knees, from which he had received the nickname of Longimanus, the
long-handed.
He is dressed in a long loose robe of purple silk, with wide sleeves,
and round his waist is a broad golden girdle. His tunic or under-garment
is purple and white, his trousers are bright crimson, his shoes are
yellow, and have long pointed toes. On his head is a curious high cap
with a band of blue spotted with white. He is moreover covered with
ornaments: he has gold earrings, a gold chain, gold bracelets, and a
long golden sceptre with a golden ball as its crown.
The king is sitting on a throne, in shape like a high-backed chair with
a footstool before it. The chair stands on lion's feet, and the stool on
bull's feet, and both are made of gold.
By the king's side sits the queen; her name was Damaspia, but we know
little more of her in history, except that she died on the same day as
her husband. Behind the king and queen are the fan-bearers, and
fly-flappers, and parasol-bearers, who are in constant attendance on
their royal majesties, and around are the great officers of the
household.
Fifteen thousand people ate the king's food in that palace every day,
but the king always dined alone. It was very rarely that even the queen
or the royal children were allowed to sit at the king's table, which is
probably the reason why Nehemiah mentions the fact that the queen was
sitting by him. Perhaps he hailed the circumstance as a proof that the
king was in good humour that day, and would therefore be more likely to
listen to his petition. But no one who was not closely related to the
king was allowed to sit at the royal table, even the most privileged
courtiers sat on the floor and ate at his feet.
The feast has begun, and it is time for the Rab-shakeh to present the
wine to the king. He takes the jewelled cup from the table in the king's
presence, he carefully washes it, then he fills it with a specially rare
wine, named the wine of Helbon, which was kept only for the king's use.
This wine was made from a very fine growth of grapes, at a place in the
Lebanon not far from Damascus, named Helbon. Then Nehemiah pours a
little wine into his left hand and drinks it, and then, lightly holding
the cup between the tips of his fingers and thumbs, he gracefully
presents it to the great monarch.
Artaxerxes glances at his cup-bearer as he rises from his knees, and at
once notices something remarkable in his face. Nehemiah is pale and
anxious and troubled; his whole face tells of the struggle going on
within, and the king cannot fail to perceive it. Turning to the
Rab-shakeh he asks: 'Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not
sick? this is nothing else but sorrow of heart.' 'Then,' says Nehemiah,
'I was very sore afraid.' It is no wonder that he was alarmed, for it
was actually a crime, proscribed by law, for any one to look sad or
depressed in the presence of a Persian king. However heavy might be his
heart, however sorrowful his spirit, he must cross the threshold of the
palace with a smiling face, and show no signs in the king's presence of
the trouble within. But Nehemiah's face has betrayed him. What will the
king do? Will he dismiss him from office? Will he degrade him from his
high position? Will he punish him for his breach of court etiquette? Or
can it be that this is a heaven-sent opportunity in which he may make
his request? He answers at once:
'Let the king live for ever: why should not my countenance be sad, when
the city, the place of my fathers' sepulchres, lieth waste, and the
gates thereof are consumed with fire?'
And the king, quite understanding from Nehemiah's speech that he wants
something from him, asks immediately:
'For what dost thou make request?'
Oh, what a critical moment! How much depends on Nehemiah's answer to
this unexpected question! What shall he say? What dare he propose? The
whole future of Jerusalem may hang on his answer to the king's question.
There is a moment's pause, but only a moment's, and then Nehemiah's
answer is given. Only a moment, and yet great things have been done in
that short time. 'I prayed,' says the Rab-shakeh, 'to the God of
Heaven.'
Did he then rush away to his own apartment to pray? Did he kneel down in
the midst of the banqueting hall and call upon his God? No, he spoke no
word aloud, he did not even close his eyes. The king saw nothing, knew
nothing of what was going on; yet a mighty transaction took place in
that short time between the silent man, who still stood holding the cup
in his hands, and the King of Heaven.
We are not told what the prayer was, perhaps it was only, 'Lord, help
me.' But quick as lightning the answer came. His fear fled, wisdom was
given him to answer, and his heart's desire was granted.
How often we hear the complaint, 'I cannot pray long prayers, like the
good people I read of in books. I lead a busy active life, and when work
is done my body is weary and exhausted, and I find it impossible to pray
for any length of time, and sometimes I fear that because I cannot offer
long prayers I cannot therefore be the Lord's.' But surely it is not
long prayers that the Lord requires. Most of the Bible prayers are short
prayers, the Lord's pattern-prayer is one of the shortest. It is the
heathen who think they will be heard for their much speaking. Nehemiah's
was a true prayer, and an answered prayer, yet it was but a moment in
length.
Nor are uttered words necessary to prayer. The followers of Baal cried
aloud, thinking their much shouting would reach the ear of their god,
but Nehemiah speaks not, does not even whisper, and his prayer is heard
in heaven. Surely now-a-days, when there are some who seem to think that
much noise, that loud shouting, that the uplifted voice must needs
pierce the sky, it is well for us to be reminded that God heeds no
language, hears no voice, but the language of the soul, the voice of the
innermost heart.
Nor is posture a necessary part of prayer. Some choose to pray standing,
others prefer to kneel. It is not the posture of body God looks at, but
the posture of the heart. Reverence there must be, but such reverence as
comes from the inner sanctuary of the soul, and which only finds outward
expression in the body. Nehemiah stood with the jewelled cup in his
hands, yet Nehemiah's prayer was heard.
So we see that heartfelt prayer--prayer which is prayer indeed--may be
short, silent, and offered in a strange place and at a strange time, and
yet be heard and answered by God.
Let us try to grasp the full comfort of this thought, for we live in a
world of surprises. We rise in the morning, not knowing what the day may
bring forth. We are walking on a road with many turnings, and we never
know what may meet us at the next step!
All of a sudden we find ourselves face to face with an unexpected
perplexity. What shall we do? What course shall we take? Here is the
little prayer made ready for our use--
Lord, guide me.
Then, at the next turn, comes a sudden temptation. Unjust, cruel words
are spoken, and we feel we must give an angry reply. Let us stop one
moment before we answer, and in that moment put up the short prayer--
Lord, help me.
Or a sudden danger, bodily or spiritual, stares us in the face. At once
we may lift up the heart and cry--
Lord, save me.
There is no need to kneel down, no need to speak aloud, no need to move
from our place. In the office, the workshop, the schoolroom, the place
of business, the railway carriage, the street, wherever we may be and in
whatever company, the short silent prayer may be sent up to the God of
heaven.
Thank God, no such prayer is ever unanswered!