Of Nature, and though poor, perhaps, compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers; his to enjoy
With a propriety which none can feel
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say, 'My Father made them all.'"
Secondly, there is a special promise of the gift of "wisdom" to the
humble: "The meek will He guide in judgment: and the meek will He teach
His way." This wisdom, "which is from above," is shown in various ways,
by those whose powers of mind are otherwise very limited, as well as by
the highly intellectual Christian. Those taught of God's Spirit have
the wisdom to set a right value on the things of eternity as compared
with the things of time; to choose the good and refuse the evil, to
prefer what is perfect and imperishable to the glittering baubles of
earth. This is higher, more sublime, wisdom than any mere intellectual
training can bestow.
And the wisdom of the meek is constantly shown in their way of
receiving rebuke from a fellow-creature, or chastening from the Most
High. The word of counsel or of reproof which only stirs up anger in
the breast of the proud, is often of the utmost service to the meek:
"He that heareth reproof getteth understanding. A reproof entereth more
into a wise man than an hundred stripes into a fool."
The chastenings of God likewise, under which the proud spirit rebels,
become blessings indeed when received with that meekness of wisdom
which can say, "It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good; His
will, not my will, be done." Surely such a spirit of true wisdom is a
most precious earnest of that spirit of perfect wisdom which will be
the portion of the blessed!
Thirdly, the meek have "peace;" not perfect, indeed, but as it were
gleanings, of the heavenly harvest: "The meek shall inherit the earth;
and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace." Theirs is
the soft answer which turneth away wrath; "only by pride cometh
contention." The meek "overcome evil with good," and so show themselves
followers of Him whose title is PRINCE OF PEACE.
And lastly, it is in the hearts of the lowly that the Lord deigns to
make His abode: "For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth
eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with
him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit
of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones."
Surely contentment, wisdom, peace, and a sweet sense of the Saviour's
presence, are rich golden grains gleaned here of that harvest of light
which has been sown for the children of light, which they will enjoy in
perfection when the Church, the Heavenly Bride, is raised from grace
to glory! Only gleanings, indeed, yet precious gleanings, and to be
gathered by those who are ready, like Ruth, to stoop, to labour, and to
endure.
The foot of Pride crushes these golden grains; Humility bends down,
grasps them by faith, and carries them home in her bosom. "Learn of He,
for I am meek and lowly," said the Lord of the harvest; and it is for
the meek and lowly that the treasures of the harvest are laid up above.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XVIII.
Job's Sackcloth.
WHAT an aching, what a bursting heart throbbed under this, the garment
of sorrow chosen by him who could once say, in the sincerity of his
soul, "I put on righteousness, and it clothed me: my judgment was as a
robe and a diadem."
To the history of Job, God's afflicted people have constantly turned
in their hours of anguish. This sackcloth has, as it were, helped to
dry up the tears of thousands; for who can say, "My sorrows have been
greater than those of Job!" Whose have equalled his—and yet the Lord
loved him through all, and out of all delivered him. So great was the
variety of the afflictions of Job, that under almost any burden that
presses down the spirit, we can look to Job in his sackcloth and say,
"He also was crushed by the weight of this cross."
Is poverty our trial, and poverty rendered more painful by contrast
with former prosperity? On Job it came with fearful suddenness, like
successive shocks of an earthquake. He had been a wealthy man. He had
multitudes of camels and oxen; the valleys were whitened with the
thousands of his sheep. All his property was swept away from him, he
was left poor and bare upon earth. Yet could the ruined man meekly say,—
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of
the Lord!"
Or are we weeping sorely for the loss of one who was to our eyes as
the sunshine; are we in bitterness of soul because some sweet voice is
silenced in our home, and there is a blank left in our aching hearts
which we feel that time can never fill up? Job lost all his children
at once! Those whose successive births had given him fresh joy, new
precious ties to earth; those who had sported round him in childhood,
and in youth received his counsels; those in whose happiness he had
been happy;—all reft from him by one stroke! Not one left to soothe his
anguish by sharing it! Is it not a marvel that reason endured it, that
the patriarch's heart did not break indeed?
But we may lose those whom we have loved by a separation far worse than
that caused by death. This was a cross which almost crushed the spirit
of Job: "My friends scorn me: my kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar
friends have forgotten me. My breath is strange to my wife, though I
intreated for the children's sake. All my inward friends abhorred me:
and they whom I loved are turned against me!" Where is the burden of
family trial endured by a Christian now that can weigh in the balance
against such a mountain of sorrow as this?
Is our cross that of sickness and pain? We behold Job suffering all the
tortures which the malice of a fiend could inflict, stretched on the
rack of most acute suffering, and that for no brief space of time: "I
am made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed
to me. When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be
gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.
My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat."
Nor were Job's sufferings those of the body alone: his was the wounded
spirit, the tormented mind, oppressed with fear, with temptation, and
with mysterious terrors: "Thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest
me through visions: so that my soul chooseth strangling, and death
rather than my life. I loathe it; I would not live alway! The arrows of
the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit:
the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me. Wherefore is
light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul;
which long for death, but it cometh not?" Truly the spirit of Job, as
well as his tortured body, was clothed in the sackcloth of mourning!
The question naturally arises, "Why was so good a man as Job thus
overwhelmed with affliction; almost, as it would seem, abandoned for a
while to the malice of the Enemy? God had Himself said of Job, 'There
is none like him on the earth, a perfect and an upright man.'"
It cannot be that Job was thus chastened only to show forth his
patience in the sight of men and devils; great as was that patience,
we know that it wavered in the trial. Nor do we suppose that Job's
miseries were permitted only that he might be thoroughly humbled before
God; still less that he suffered only that his history might be for
the lasting instruction of the Church. All these advantages, indeed,
followed; but the more we reflect on the subject, the more clearly we
see that some great, personal, and lasting benefit must have accrued
to Job from every pang that he endured. There was a proportion between
his anguish and his subsequent joy. It is delicate ground on which we
now enter: it would be a perilous error to hold that sorrow of itself
sanctifies; that because a man suffers much here, he must necessarily
rejoice hereafter. So is it a perilous error to hold that any good
works of men's doing can ever earn Heaven.
But how clearly and forcibly the Rev. Mr. Arnot places before us the
blessed effects of good works, not as a means of salvation, but as a
precious evidence of grace! "As ciphers added one by one in an endless
row to the 'left' hand of an unit are of no value, but on the 'right'
hand rapidly multiply in power; so, although good works are of no avail
to make a Christian, yet a Christian's good works are both pleasing to
God and profitable to men."
So may it be with the sufferings which saints are called to endure—not
self-inflicted pangs, but trials appointed by God. Numerous passages in
Holy Writ lead us to such a conclusion: "Our light affliction, which
is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal
weight of glory."
Yes; there is a mystery in suffering which we do not fully understand,
nor perhaps ever will, until suffering is exchanged for bliss
everlasting. Preeminence in pain appears to be connected with
preeminence in glory. What was the answer of our Lord to those who
asked for the highest places in Heaven? "Ye know not what ye ask.
Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?" We cannot fathom the depth
of meaning contained in the words that even He, the Captain of our
salvation, was made "perfect through suffering," but we know that the
cup which He drained was one of unutterable woe. The very description
of the saints in bliss seems to be the fulfilment of the blessing on
them that mourn: "These are they which came out of great tribulation."
To them God hath appointed "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for
mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."
The fearful afflictions of Job remind us of the saying, that God, like
a human general, gives His best soldiers the most difficult post,
places them under the hottest fire. There is a striking passage in the
Book of Proverbs, which, it has been observed, makes a distinction
between two metals, both precious, but one of nobler nature than the
other: "The fining pot is for silver, and the furnace for gold." Both
are exposed to the heat of tribulation, but the furnace-glow, the
hottest trial, is that which the gold undergoes. If it be indeed thus,
how should long-continued prosperity exercise our humility as well as
our gratitude! What the world regards as proofs of God's favour, may be
rather signs of His indulgence for the weakness of His feebler saints!
He keeps on easy garrison-duty those whose faith is not yet equal
to the greater hardships and perils, to be followed by the greater
glories, of the battlefield of life. What a high post of honour was
assigned by Him to the veteran Job! We look upon his sackcloth as the
warrior's uniform covered with decorations by the King of kings!
This view of the secret connection, in the case of the redeemed,
between present pain and future pleasure, the "evil things" here, and
the "good things" hereafter, throws some light on the otherwise almost
inexplicable mystery of the sufferings of idiots and of infants. These
sufferings can neither be chastenings for wilful sin nor exercises of
patience, yet they are permitted by a God of love who "doth not afflict
willingly." How solacing to the affection, how strengthening to the
faith of parents witnessing the pangs of the innocent, to feel that, in
some way that we understand not, God makes the seed sown in tears rise
into the harvest of joy; that not one cry of pain from a baby's lips is
uttered in vain!
Thus we may believe, dear afflicted brethren, that ye have indeed cause
to rejoice in tribulation; that poverty, bereavement, depression, pain,
through Him who led the way on the path of suffering, will all be found
to enhance the joy and the glory of Heaven. Perhaps the depth of the
pit of woe may bear some proportion to the height of the monument to
God's love, for which its very mire and clay will furnish materials in
a future state of bliss. Therefore sorrow not as those without hope;
nay, let your hope become brighter through your very sorrow, like the
rainbow on the cataract which owes its beauty to the waters which seem
in their furious washings to seek to sweep it away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XIX.
Dagon's Stump.
CONQUERORS are wont to hang up trophies of victories, the arms the
standards won from the enemy; it is as such a trophy that this
mutilated, unsightly idol, or rather fragment of an idol, is preserved
in the Scripture collection, a witness to the power of the God of
salvation, by whom at length all idols shall be utterly abolished, when
the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover
the sea.
The Philistines had won a great victory at Ebenezer; their foes had
fled before them: there had been a very great slaughter; thirty
thousand of the warriors of Israel had fallen on that fatal day, and
a terrible wail of woe had risen from the dwellings of Shiloh. The
rejoicings of the victors were the more exultant from the fears which
had beset them before the fight began. The worshippers of Dagon had a
dread of the power of the God of the Hebrews. The Ark of the Covenant
had, before the battle, been brought into the camp of Israel, and had
been welcomed there as a pledge of certain victory. All Israel had
shouted with a great shout, so that the earth rang again; and the sound
of that exulting cheer had reached the camp of the Philistines, and
spread there a feeling of foreboding and alarm. The Philistines had
been afraid, and they had said, "God is come into the camp! Woe unto
us! for there hath not been such a thing heretofore. Woe unto us! who
shall deliver us out of the hand of these mighty Gods? Be strong, and
quit yourselves like men, O ye Philistines, that ye be not servants
unto the Hebrews, as they have been to you: quit yourselves like men,
and fight!"
Thus with something like the courage of despair had the Philistines
entered on the conflict. Victory seems to have taken them by surprise,
and the more unexpected, the more welcome must it have been. Glorious
tidings were borne to Askelon, loud were the rejoicings in Gath; Israel
had been signally defeated, the Ark of the Lord had been taken, the
Hebrew priests had fallen while vainly defending it. There was wild
exultation in England after a Cressy, or an Agincourt, but there was
an element in the triumph of the Philistines which was wanting to
swell the joy of our ancestors; the victory of Ebenezer was not merely
success in a hard-fought battle between rival hosts or races—it was
deemed the triumph of Dagon, the fish-god, over the God of Israel.
It was into the temple of Dagon that the Ark of the Covenant was
exultingly brought, the noblest trophy of victory, a token of the
conquering might of him whom the Philistines worshipped.
But God then, as ever, over-ruled the brief triumph of His enemies to
His own glory. When the priests of Ashdod arose early in the morning,
to their horror they beheld their idol prostrate on the earth before
the Ark of the Lord. Surely this might have proved to them the folly
of bowing down to that which had fallen before the symbol of God's
presence. But the evident helplessness of Dagon seems to have made no
change in the infatuation of his priests. They set him in his place
again; he was still the god of the Philistines!
Yet more signally was the worthlessness of the idol to be proved in
the sight of his priests. When they arose early on the morrow, behold,
Dagon was fallen on his face to the ground before the Ark of the Lord;
and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands were cut off upon
the threshold; only the stump (or fishy part) of Dagon was left.
Here was evidence calculated to convince even the most superstitious
of the folly of idolatry. The head—the supposed seat of knowledge
and wisdom—was wanting; the hands—the emblems of power—were broken
off. Dagon had evidently no means of helping either himself or his
worshippers. Might we not have expected that conviction of the
absurdity of adoring such an image would have flashed across the minds
of the priests and people of Ashdod; that the temple would have rung
with the shout, "The Lord, He is God! the Lord, He is God!" Nay; the
idol was broken indeed, but the stump remained to be venerated still!
The very threshold on which it had lain prostrate was for its sake
treated with respect. The miserable relic of superstition was still
spoken of as "Dagon our god!"
Such infatuation might well surprise us, did we not so frequently see
its counterpart now. The human heart still sets up its idol; the young,
full of hope and joy like the Philistines after their victory, pay
homage to the world, and expect from it those pleasures and delights
which it is ever promising to bestow. Dagon has a lofty shrine, and
many bow down before it. Then comes some providential dispensation of
sorrow, that opens the eyes to the fact that the world and the things
of the world have no power to secure our peace. Have we not known such
a moment, when Dagon is seen prostrate on earth, and we feel that he is
indeed but an idol?
Happy for us if the knowledge make us turn to One who is over all, God
exalted for ever!
But it is not always that sorrow and disappointment wean the soul
from the world. We too often find Dagon set up again on his shrine,
and as ardently worshipped as ever. Yes, even the gray-headed, the
weary-hearted, who from repeated trials know the hollowness of the
world and its sinful pleasures—who have, as it were, but the stump of
the idol left—too often, even to the last, fondly worship that stump!
The dreary lament may be heard,—
"My days are in the yellow leaf—
The flower, the fruit of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Remain alone!" *
Without one sigh of true penitence, one upward look towards Him who can
give rest to the heavy-laden.
* Byron.
Our last subject of thought was sanctified sorrow, that sorrow which
must be succeeded by joy as—
"Morning is ever the daughter of Night;" †
but it is well to remember that there is also a "sorrow of the world,"
that "worketh death." If God throw down our idols, it is not that we
should raise them again and adore them all broken and mutilated as they
may be.
† Tupper.
Rather be ours the prayer of the Christian poet:—
"The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from Thy throne,
And worship only Thee!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XX.
Saul's Spear.
REPEATEDLY do we read in the Bible of the javelin or spear of King
Saul: it is, of course, impossible for us to know whether it is the
same identical weapon that is mentioned on each occasion; we may,
however, take this for granted, as the mental eye rests upon this
ancient weapon, once grasped in the hand of Israel's first monarch, the
unhappy Saul.
On three occasions that iron barb would have been stained with innocent
blood, had not the king in his blind fury missed his aim. As David,
the hero-minstrel, sat playing before the king, the evil spirit came
upon Saul, and, in a sudden paroxysm of jealous hatred, he attempted to
smite David to the wall. But the intended victim evaded the blow, and
escaped from the fury of the king.
After this proof of the malice and hatred of Saul, it is a sign of the
trustfulness of David's character that we find him again attempting
to soothe with music the deep melancholy of the king. Once more David
narrowly escaped with his life from the javelin, which, aimed at his
body, struck the wall by which he had been placed.
Many events had occurred between Saul's two attempts upon the life of
David. The son of Jesse had distinguished himself in fight against the
Philistines; he had won the hand, as he had gained the affections of
Michal, daughter of the king; Jonathan had by his influence induced
Saul to swear that David's life should be safe in his hands; yet that
javelin was again raised by the furious tyrant against his faithful
subject, the beloved husband of his child.
Once more that weapon was hurled by the king, and with yet more
unnatural cruelty, this time against his own son, the noble Jonathan,
whose crime in the eyes of his father was fidelity to his friend. Never
had Saul more cause to thank God for undeserved mercy than when he
received back that javelin unstained, not wrenched from the corpse of a
murdered son. It was as though the weapon refused to be the instrument
of unnatural crime.
The last occasion on which we hear of the spear of Saul is one of
singular interest. Before us rises the hill of Hachilah, with the dark
shroud of night around it, where Saul the king and his chosen thousands
lie stretched in deepest sleep. The spear of the slumbering monarch is
stuck into the ground close to his pillow. We almost wonder that Saul
with a conscience so stained by guilt, he being at the time actually
engaged in an attempt to hunt David to the death, can sleep so soundly.
He does not see the forms that have approached the spot where he lies,
he does not hear the sound of their footsteps nor the stern whisper of
Abishai, who stands with David beside him, "God hath delivered thine
enemy into thine hand this day: now therefore let me smite him, I pray
thee, with the spear even to the earth at once, and I will not smite
him the second time." Saul's weapon may now be grasped by a hand that
will not miss its aim, and be wielded with a deadly force that shall
make no second blow needful. Surely the hour of vengeance is come! It
is but just retribution that he who has thrice attempted murder with a
javelin should by a javelin be smitten to the earth.
So human nature might reason, so human resentment would urge; yet
David spares his enemy and reverences his king. "The Lord forbid that
I should stretch forth mine hand against the Lord's anointed!" David
only takes the spear and the cruse of water from the bolster of the
king, and bears them away as tokens that his foe has been in his power,
but that he has abstained from injuring one who has inflicted the most
deadly wrongs upon him.
As forgiveness is one of the most difficult of all graces to exercise,
and yet is indispensable to the Christian, it is well for us all, as in
the sight of God, to search and try our hearts as regards our feelings
towards those who have offered us injury or insult. We may take it
for granted that no real Christian will deliberately seek revenge,
and that there are few who habitually use the petition, "forgive us
our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us," who will
actually refuse pardon if entreated.
But I fear that we shall find that when the first ebullition of anger
has boiled over, and all appears quiet again, there is a residue
of "malice" left behind in many a heart that is no stranger to the
fear of the Lord. "I forgive, but I cannot forget," is a very common
expression, and we may generally infer from it that dregs of ill-will
remain, readily stirred up to embitter the spirit, and often to colour
the language and conduct.
There are few who have not something to forgive, few whose comfort has
not been assailed by the selfishness or envy of another. Have you, dear
reader, suffered wrong? Perhaps you may reply, "grievous wrong;" but
calmly weigh what you have borne from the malice of men with what David
had to endure; with that spear before you as a reminder, think on what
he could suffer, and yet so forgive that not only did he twice spare
his enemy when in his power, but he poured forth a touching elegy to
his honour, in which not one of the errors of Saul was mentioned, not
one of his own wrongs recalled.