Remember simply these two points. It stood, as I have already said, on
one side of the Altar of Incense which was central to everything. It
was daily tended by the priests, and fed with fresh oil. Hence we may
derive some important practical lessons.
To begin with, we note that our light is a derived light, and therefore
can only be kept bright when we keep close to the source from whence it
is derived.
'That was the true Light, which coming into the world lighteth every
man'--there is the source of all illumination, in Jesus Christ Himself.
He alone is _the_ Light, and as for all others we must say of them what
was said of His great forerunner, 'Not that light, but sent to bear
witness of that light'; and again, 'he was a light kindled,' and
therefore 'shining,' and so his shining was but 'for a season.' But
Jesus is for ever the light of the world, and all our illumination
comes from Him. As Paul says, 'Now are ye light in the Lord,' therefore
only in the measure in which we are 'in the Lord,' shall we be light.
Keep near to Him and you will shine; break the connection with Him, and
you are darkness, darkness for yourselves, and darkness for the world.
Switch off, and the light is darkness.
Change the metaphor, and instead of saying 'derived light' say
'reflected light.' _There_ is a pane of glass in a cottage, miles away
across the moor. It was invisible a moment ago, and suddenly it gleams
like a diamond. Why? The sun has struck it; and in a moment after it
will be invisible again. As long as Jesus Christ is shining on my
heart, so long, and not a moment longer, shall I give forth the light
that will illumine the world. Astronomers have a contrivance by which
they can keep a photographic film on which they are seeking to get the
image of a star, moving along with the movement of the heavens, so that
on the same spot the star shall always shine. We have to keep ourselves
steady beneath the white beam from Jesus, and then we, too, shall be
'light in the Lord.'
Our light is fed light. Daily came the priest, daily the oil that had
been exhausted by shining was replenished. We all know what that oil
means and is; the Divine Spirit which comes into every heart which is
open by faith in Christ, and which abides in every heart where there
are desire, obedience, and the following of Him; which can be quenched
by my sin, by my negligence, by my ceasing to wish it, by my not using
its gifts when I have them; which can be grieved by my inconsistencies,
and by the spots of darkness that so often take up more of the sphere
of my life than the spots of illumination. But we can have as much of
that oil of the Divine Spirit, the 'unction from the Holy One,' as we
desire, and expect, and use. And unless we have, dear brethren, there
is no shining for us. This generation in its abundant activities tends
to a Christianity which has more spindles than power, which is more
surface than depth, which is so anxious to do service that it forgets
the preliminary of all right service, patient, solitary, silent
communion with God. Suffer the word of exhortation--let shining be
second, let replenishing with the oil be first. First the Altar of
Incense, then the Candlestick.
III. This golden lampstand tells us of the fatal effect of neglecting
the Church's and the individual's duty.
Where is the seven-branched candlestick of the second Temple? No one
knows. Possibly, according to one statement, it lies at the bottom of
the Mediterranean. Certainly we know that it is pictured on that sad
panel in the conqueror's arch at Rome, and that it became a trophy of
the insolent victor. It disappeared, and the Israel whom it vainly
endeavoured through the centuries to stir to a consciousness of its
vocation, has never since had a gleam of light to ray out into the
world. Where are the seven candlesticks, which made a blessed unity
because Christ walked in their midst? Where are the churches of
Ephesus, Smyrna, Philadelphia, Thyatira, and the rest? Where they stood
the mosque is reared, and from its minaret day by day rings out--not
the proclamation of the Name, but--'There is no God but God, and
Mahomet is His Prophet.' The Pharos that ought to have shone out over
stormy seas has been seized by wreckers, and its light is blinded, and
false lights lure the mariner to the shoals and to shipwreck.
'Take heed lest He also spare not thee.' O brethren! is it not a bitter
irony to call _us_ 'lights of the world'? Let us penitently recognise
the inconsistencies of our lives, and the reticence of our speech. Let
us not lose sight of the high ideal, that we may the more penitently
recognise the miserable falling short of our reality. And let us be
thankful that _the_ Priest is tending the lamps. 'He will not quench
the smoking wick,' but will replenish it with oil, and fan the dying
flame. Only let us not resist His ministrations, which are always
gentle, even when He removes the charred blacknesses that hinder our
being what we should be, and may be, if we will--lights of the world.
'Arise! shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is
risen upon thee.'