When it lifts the camp marches; when it glides down and lies motionless
the march is stopped, and the tents are pitched. The main point which
is dwelt upon in this description of the God-guided pilgrimage of the
wandering people is the absolute uncertainty in which they were kept as
to the duration of their encampment, and as to the time and
circumstances of their march. Sometimes the cloud tarried upon the
Tabernacle many days; sometimes for a night only; sometimes it lifted
in the night. 'Whether it was by day or by night that the cloud was
taken up, they journeyed. Or whether it were two days, or a month, or a
year that the cloud tarried upon the Tabernacle, remaining thereon, the
children of Israel abode in their tents, and journeyed not: but when it
was taken up they journeyed.' So never, from moment to moment, did they
know when the moving cloud might settle, or the resting cloud might
soar. Therefore, absolute uncertainty as to the next stage was visibly
represented before them by that hovering guide which determined
everything, and concerning whose next movement they knew absolutely
nothing.
Is not that all true about us? We have no guiding cloud like this. So
much the better. Have we not a more real guide? God guides us by
circumstances, God guides us by His word, God guides us by His Spirit,
speaking through our common-sense and in our understandings, and, most
of all, God guides us by that dear Son of His, in whom is the fire and
round whom is the cloud. And perhaps we may even suppose that our Lord
implies some allusion to this very symbol in His own great words, 'I am
the Light of the world. He that followeth Me shall not walk in
darkness, but shall have the light of life.' For the conception of
'following' the light seems to make it plain that our Lord's image is
not that of the sun in the heavens, or any such supernal light, but
that of some light which comes near enough to a man to move before him,
and behind which he can march. So, I think, that Christ Himself laid
His hand upon this ancient symbol, and in these great words said in
effect, 'I am that which it only shadowed and foretold.' At all events,
whether in them He was pointing to our text or no, we must feel that He
is the reality which was expressed by this outward symbol. And no man
who can say, 'Jesus Christ is the Captain of my salvation, and after
His pattern I march; at the pointing of His guiding finger I move; and
in His footsteps, He being my helper, I try to tread,' need feel or
fancy that any possible pillar, floating before the dullest eye, was a
better, surer, or diviner guide than he possesses. They whom Christ
guides want none other for leader, pattern, counsellor, companion,
reward. This Christ is our Christ 'for ever and ever, He will be our
guide even unto death' and beyond it. The pillar that we follow, which
will glow with the ruddy flame of love in the darkest hours of
life--blessed be His name!--will glide in front of us through the
'valley of the shadow of death,' brightest then when the murky midnight
is blackest. Nor will the pillar which guides us cease to blaze, as did
the guide of the desert march, when Jordan has been crossed. It will
still move before us on paths of continuous and ever-increasing
approach to infinite perfection. They who here follow Christ afar off
and with faltering steps shall there 'follow the Lamb whithersoever He
goeth.'
In like manner, the same absolute uncertainty which was intended to
keep the Israelites (though it failed often to do so) in the attitude
of constant dependence, is the condition in which we all have to live,
though we mask it from ourselves. That we do not know what lies before
us is a commonplace. The same long tracts of monotonous continuance in
the same place and doing the same duties befall us that befell these
men. Years pass, and the pillar spreads itself out, a defence above the
unmoving sanctuary. And then, all in a flash, when we are least
thinking of change, it gathers itself together, is a pillar again,
shoots upwards, and moves forwards; and it is for us to go after it.
And so our lives are shuttlecocked between uniform sameness which may
become mechanical monotony, and agitation by change which may make us
lose our hold of fixed principles and calm faith, unless we recognise
that the continuance and the change are alike the will of the guiding
God, whose will is signified by the stationary or moving pillar.
III. That leads me to the last thing that I would note--viz. the docile
following of the Guide.
In the context, the writer does not seem to be able to get away from
the thought that whatever the pillar indicated, immediate prompt
obedience followed. He says so over and over and over again. 'As long
as the cloud abode they rested, and when the cloud tarried long they
journeyed not'; and 'when the cloud was a few days on the Tabernacle
they abode'; and 'according to the commandment they journeyed'; and
'when the cloud abode until the morning they journeyed'; and 'whether
it were two days, or a month, or a year that the cloud tarried they
journeyed not, but abode in their tents.' So, after he has reiterated
the thing half a dozen times or more, he finishes by putting it all
again in one verse, as the last impression which he would leave from
the whole narrative--'at the commandment of the Lord they rested in
their tents, and at the commandment of the Lord they journeyed.'
Obedience was prompt; whensoever and for whatsoever the signal was
given, the men were ready. In the night, after they had had their tents
pitched for a long period, when only the watchers' eyes were open, the
pillar lifts, and in an instant the alarm is given, and all the camp is
in a bustle. That is what we have to set before us as the type of our
lives. We are to be as ready for every indication of God's will as they
were. The peace and blessedness of our lives largely depend on our
being eager to obey, and therefore quick to perceive, the slightest
sign of motion in the resting, or of rest in the moving, pillar which
regulates our march and our encamping.
What do we need in order to cultivate and keep such a disposition? We
need perpetual watchfulness lest the pillar should lift unnoticed. When
Nelson was second in command at Copenhagen, the admiral in command of
the fleet hoisted the signal for recall, and Nelson put his telescope
to his blind eye and said, 'I do not see it.' That is very like what we
are tempted to do. When the signal for unpleasant duties that we would
gladly get out of is hoisted, we are very apt to put the telescope to
the blind eye, and pretend to ourselves that we do not see the
fluttering flags. We need still more to keep our wills in absolute
suspense, if His will has not declared itself. Do not let us be in a
hurry to run before God. When the Israelites were crossing the Jordan,
they were told to leave a great space between themselves and the
guiding ark, that they might know how to go, because they had 'not
passed that way heretofore.' Impatient hurrying at God's heels is apt
to lead us astray. Let Him get well in front, that you may be quite
sure which way He desires you to go, before you go. And if you are not
sure which way He desires you to go, be sure that He does not at that
moment desire you to go anywhere.
We need to hold the present with a slack hand, so as to be ready to
fold our tents and take to the road, if God will. We must not reckon on
continuance, nor strike our roots so deep that it needs a hurricane to
remove us. To those who set their gaze on Christ, no present, from
which He wishes them to remove, can be so good for them as the new
conditions into which He would have them pass. It is hard to leave the
spot, though it be in the desert, where we have so long encamped that
it has come to feel like home. We may look with regret on the circle of
black ashes on the sand where our little fire glinted cheerily, and our
feet may ache, and our hearts ache more, as we begin our tramp once
again, but we must set ourselves to meet the God-appointed change
cheerfully, in the confidence that nothing will be left behind which it
is not good to lose, nor anything met which does not bring a blessing,
however its first aspect may be harsh or sad.
We need, too, to cultivate the habit of prompt obedience. It is usually
reluctance which puts the drag on. Slow obedience is often the germ of
incipient disobedience. In matters of prudence and of intellect, second
thoughts are better than first, and third thoughts, which often come
back to first ones, better than second; but in matters of duty, first
thoughts are generally best. They are the instinctive response of
conscience to the voice of God, while second thoughts are too often the
objections of disinclination, or sloth, or cowardice. It is easiest to
do our duty when we are at first sure of it. It then comes with an
impelling power which carries us over obstacles as on the crest of a
wave, while hesitation and delay leave us stranded in shoal water. If
we would follow the pillar, we must follow it at once.
A heart that waits and watches for God's direction, that uses
common-sense as well as faith to unravel small and great perplexities,
and is willing to sit loose to the present, however pleasant, in order
that it may not miss the indications which say, 'Arise, this is not
your rest,' fulfils the conditions on which, if we keep them, we may be
sure that He will guide us by the right way, and bring us at last to
'the city of habitation.'