'They went forth to go into the land of Canaan, and into
the land of Canaan they came.'--GENESIS xii. 5.
I
The reference of these words is to Abram's act of faith in leaving
Haran and setting out on his pilgrimage. It is a strange narrative of a
journey, which omits the journey altogether, with its weary marches,
privations, and perils, and notes but its beginning and its end. Are
not these the main points in every life, its direction and its
attainment? There are--
'Two points in the adventure of the diver,
One--when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge,
One--when, a prince, he rises with his pearl.'
Abram and his company had a clear aim. But does not the Epistle to the
Hebrews magnify him precisely because he 'went out, not knowing whither
he went'? Both statements are true, for Abram had the same combination
of knowledge and ignorance as we all have. He knew that he was to go to
a land that he should afterwards inherit, and he knew that, in the
first place, Canaan was to be his 'objective point,' but he did not
know, till long after he had crossed the Euphrates and pitched his tent
by Bethel, that it was the land. The ultimate goal was clear, and the
first step towards it was plain, but how that first step was related to
the goal was not plain, and all the steps between were unknown. He went
forth with sealed orders, to go to a certain place, where he would have
further instructions. He knew that he was to go to Canaan, and beyond
that point all was dark, except for the sparkle of the great hope that
gleamed on the horizon in front, as a sunlit summit rises above a sea
of mist between it and the traveller. Like such a traveller, Abram
could not accurately tell how far off the shining peak was, nor where,
in the intervening gorges full of mist, the path lay; but he plunged
into the darkness with a good heart, because he had caught a glimpse of
his journey's end. So with us. We may have clear before us the ultimate
aim and goal of our lives, and also the step which we have to take now,
in pressing towards it, while between these two there stretches a
valley full of mist, the breadth of which may be measured by years or
by hours, for all that we know, and the rough places and green pastures
of which are equally hidden from us. We have to be sure that the
mountain peak far ahead, with the sunshine bathing it, is not delusive
cloud but solid reality, and we have to make sure that God has bid us
step out on the yard of path which we _can_ see, and, having secured
these two certainties, we are to cast ourselves into the obscurity
before us, and to bear in our hearts the vision of the end, to cheer us
amid the difficulties of the road.
Life is strenuous, fruitful, and noble, in the measure in which its
ultimate aim is kept clearly visible throughout it all. Nearer aims,
prescribed by physical necessities, tastes, circumstances, and the
like, are clear enough, but a melancholy multitude of us have never
reflected on the further question: 'What then?' Suppose I have made my
fortune, or won my wife, or established my position, or achieved a
reputation, behind all these successes lies the larger question. These
are not ends but means, and it is fatal to treat them as being the goal
of our efforts or the chief end of our being. There would be fewer
wrecked lives, and fewer bitter and disappointed old men, if there were
more young ones who, at starting, put clearly before themselves the
question: 'What am I living for? and what am I going to do when I have
secured the nearer aims necessarily prescribed to me?'
What that aim should be is not doubtful. The only worthy end befitting
creatures with hearts, minds, consciences, and wills like ours is God
Himself. Abram's 'Canaan' is usually regarded as an emblem of heaven,
and that is correct, but the land of our inheritance is not wholly
beyond the river, for God is the portion of our hearts. He _is_ heaven.
To dwell with Him, to have all the current of our being running towards
Him, to set Him before us in the strenuous hours of effort and in the
quiet moments of repose, in the bright and in the dark days, are the
conditions of blessedness, strength, and peace.
That aim clearly apprehended and persistently pursued gives continuity
to life, such as nothing else can do. How many of the things that drew
us to themselves, and were for a while the objects of desire and
effort, have sunk below the horizon! The lives that are not directed to
God as their chief end are like the voyages of old-time sailors, who
had to creep from one headland to another, and steer for points which,
one after another, were reached, left behind, and forgotten. There is
only one aim so great, so far in advance that we can never reach, and
therefore can never pass and drop it. Life then becomes a chain, not a
heap of unrelated fragments. That aim made ours, stimulates effort to
its highest point, and therefore secures blessedness. It emancipates
from many bonds, and takes the poison out of the mosquito bites of
small annoyances, and the stings of great sorrows. It gleams ever
before a man, sufficiently attained to make him at rest, sufficiently
unattained to give the joy of progress. The pilgrims who had but one
single aim, 'to go to the land of Canaan,' were delivered from the
miseries of conflicting desires, and with simplicity of aim came
concentration of force and calm of spirit.