or our "character;" how was it with David? The man to whom he had
rendered most essential services sought to ruin him, to blacken his
fame; again and again Saul attempted his life; the king drove David
from his home, hunted him like a partridge on the mountains, slew
those who had shown him kindness, and wounded him most cruelly in his
affections by giving his wife to another! Beside such a mountain of
accumulated wrongs, how small and trivial appear the injuries which
we may have had to sustain! If David, who had never heard the command
breathed from the lips of Him who Himself prayed for His murderers,
"Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you," if David could
forgive even Saul, how can any Christian make excuse for harbouring
resentment against any whom he thinks have done him a wrong!
If we look beyond second causes to the one first cause, the ordering of
Him who maketh all things work together for good to them that love Him,
we shall see that no enemy can injure us, unless by drawing us into
sin; that no wrong but will prove a blessing, save a wrong which "we
will not forgive."
If our enemy seem to mar our worldly prospects, he is as the thorny
hedge planted by God to keep us from wandering out of the strait path
which leads through the valley of humiliation. If by a thousand petty
acts of unkindness, he try our temper and mar our peace, he is the file
in the hand of Him who maketh the wrath of man to praise Him; a file
whose roughness is to shape, polish, and prepare the living stones for
God's temple. If our enemy assail our character, then is his malice the
cross which God bids us carry after the Saviour, who, though without
spot or taint of sin, was accused of many things, condemned, and led
forth as a malefactor.
Those who, through God's grace, can forgive freely as they themselves
ask to be forgiven, will find at length that the thorny hedge will
blossom into fragrance and beauty, the file prove but an instrument of
good, the cross bring them more close unto Him in whose favour is life,
peace, and joy!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXI.
Jonathan's Bow.
THERE is pathetic interest in this memorial of Jonathan, prince of
Israel. When the mental eye rests on the unstrung bow once grasped in
his strong firm hand, we recall the touching lament of David over him
who fell on the mountain of Gilboa. "How are the mighty fallen in the
midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places.
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thou
been unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women!"
There are few characters in the Old Testament that stand before us in
more life-like reality than that of Jonathan, few that so much attract
our sympathy and love. We think of him less as the hero, attacking
almost alone the Philistine garrison, or falling, covered with wounds,
at the fatal battle of Gilboa, as the faithful friend, in close
communion with one whom he loved as his own soul. We think of him going
forth into the field at Ramah with his bow in his hand, to give warning
to David, then lying concealed behind the stone Ezel; sadness on the
prince's brow, stern sorrow in his spirit, but unchanging love in his
heart. Touching is the account of that stolen interview between the
prince and his persecuted friend, when they kissed one another, and
wept one with another, till David exceeded.
In the love between David and Jonathan we see an exquisite picture of
what friendship should be; and as Jonathan's constancy was put to a
far sharper test than that of the man whom he loved, let us for our
own instruction examine a little into the leading characteristics of
the friendship of the prince of Israel. There are few amongst us so
desolate or so cold-hearted as not to have friendship for at least
one being upon earth; let us now try its strength and its nature by
comparing it with the deep, disinterested attachment of Jonathan for
one who was preferred before him, one who was to supersede him, the
shepherd lad who was chosen to sit upon the throne to which the king's
son seemed the natural heir.
In the first place, Jonathan's friendship had a "religious basis," the
only one which can ensure stability. It was when David had appeared
before Saul as a conqueror through faith, that the soul of Jonathan
was knit with the soul of David. Theirs was peculiarly friendship "in
the Lord." In the last solemn meeting which was ever to be theirs upon
earth, when Jonathan by the wilderness of Ziph sought out David in the
wood, he gave religious encouragement to his friend, he strengthened
his hand in God.
Is not that friendship wanting in the noblest attribute of which the
bonds only regard this brief state of being? Are we indeed friends to
those with whom we never interchange thoughts on the highest subjects,
those whom we have never made the slightest attempt to draw closer to
the Lord? Affection is a most powerful lever; have we made use of it
to elevate the character of those whom we love? Or do we flatter their
foibles, foster their vanity, make their very affection towards us act
as a clog to their souls? There are times when unselfish attachment
is best seen in not only "strengthening, in the Lord," but tenderly
rebuking.
"Who speaks not needed truth, lest he offend,
Hath spared himself, but sacrificed his friend."
Jonathan's friendship was perfectly "free from selfishness." Had there
been in him the taint of ambition, covetousness, or envy, he would
rather have been inclined, like his father, to hate than to love the
young shepherd. Jonathan was of royal descent, the eldest son of a
king; he must have been accustomed from youth to hear the voice of
flattery, and to receive the homage of respect. Few readily part with
dignity; but the son of Saul, without a murmur, apparently without a
feeling of regret, yielded place to the son of Jesse.
And Jonathan was not only a prince but a hero; he had deservedly won
both popularity and fame. David eclipsed him in both. In the song of
the women of Israel— "Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his
ten thousands," there seems not to have been even an allusion to the
distinguished courage of Jonathan. How a proud heart would have chafed
under such neglect! What drops of bitter jealousy would have poisoned
the friendship of most men in the position of the prince! Can we see a
friend of lowlier birth pass before us in the race of honour without an
envious pang? Are we perfectly content to let his fame eclipse our own;
and do we feel nothing but pleasure in listening to praises bestowed
upon him? Then is our unselfish friendship worthy indeed of the name!
Jonathan's attachment to David was "firm under difficulties." The
prince had duties to balance; he had to be submissive to the father who
persecuted the friend. In a very remarkable manner Jonathan combined
filial respect to Saul with fidelity to David. His mild but earnest,
and for awhile successful, pleading with his father, his remaining
with that guilty parent even after the tyrant had attempted his life,
so that in death they were not divided, are beautiful traits in the
prince. Saul was a persecutor—a murderer; his conduct must have wrung
the heart of his pious son; but in life, as well as in death, that son
seems to have kept near to his parent, without for one moment betraying
the cause of his injured friend.
And, lastly, Jonathan's friendship was "tried in trouble." He was no
summer-day lover, but a "brother born for adversity," who clung the
more closely to David as the tempest raged the more fiercely around
him. Jonathan's was love strong as death. If our hearts be warmed with
friendship, is it holy, unselfish, generous, unchanging friendship such
as his?
We are inclined, with David, to mourn over Jonathan, and feel that his
fate was a hard one; that he suffered for sins not his own. But let us
remember that the Lord reserves for those who love Him a far brighter
crown than that which Jonathan was not permitted to wear, and that it
was doubtless in mercy that he was called to close on Gilboa his brief
but glorious career, so that he survived not to witness the ruin of his
house. *
* It is interesting to observe that while the family of Saul may be
compared to a blighted tree, the branch of Jonathan in later days
bloomed into vigorous life. He left, as we know, but one little lame
son; yet, centuries after Jonathan's death, we find his descendants
numerous. The names of twenty-five of them are given in the Book of
Chronicles, and of one of these it is written, "The sons of Ulam were
mighty men of valour, archers, and had many sons and sons' sons,
an hundred and fifty." It is very probable that the descendants of
Jonathan may be living still upon earth. Is it quite impossible that
Saul, the Apostle, the most illustrious of all the tribe of Benjamin,
may have been descended from another Saul through the prince whom in
his warm, self-denying affection he so mush resembled?
Jonathan's bow was as a type of himself. He was not as a weapon left to
hang idle in a royal armoury, he was taken into the field of strife,
he was bent in the hand of the Lord; but the hand that bent supported
him still; his affections were strained like the tightened cord, but
they were strengthened to bear the sore strain; and the bending and
the straining were but to send the arrow of his hopes above an earthly
sceptre or diadem, and fix them on higher joys, a crown that fadeth not
away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXII.
David's Harp.
IT has been beautifully observed, "In the Book of Psalms we have, if I
may reverently say it, the very prayer-book of our divine Lord Himself;
which He inspired, which He Himself made use of, and has bequeathed as
His own book to the Church." We might also, speaking metaphorically,
say,—The sacred harp on which David first played has never since been
silent; as the breath of God's Spirit breathed through its chords,
its music has been the joy and the comfort of the Church through all
generations; its mysterious sound was heard even in the awful hours of
the Crucifixion; * and never will it be silent, never will one golden
string be broken, till all the redeemed of the Lord join in the chorus
of Heaven.
* Compare Matt. xxvii. 46 with Ps. xxii. 1.
Let us recall some of the various periods when the now familiar psalms
of David first burst from his lips as he touched his harp. The son of
Jesse probably acquired his skill on the instrument by practice, as
he sat watching his sheep in the pastures by Bethlehem, when he was a
beautiful ruddy-checked boy. David's fleecy charge may have been his
only auditors when first the sweet strain arose which has since been
echoed by millions of human hearts. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall
not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me
beside the still waters."
But the first occasion on which we have certain knowledge of David's
playing on his favourite instrument, is when his skill soothed the deep
depression of the half-mad king. "David took an harp, and played with
his hand: so Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit
departed from him." Gladly would we know what words were joined to the
exquisite music which had such power to lighten deep gloom; perhaps
no words were then heard, yet how often has a perturbed spirit been
soothed by such breathings as these: "Why art thou cast down, O my
soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I
shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God."
David appears to have taken his harp with him into the gloomy recesses
of Adullam, as the companion and solace of his flight; for this is the
strain of his psalm "when he fled from Saul in the cave."
"Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful unto me: for my soul trusteth
in Thee: yea, in the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge, until
these calamities be overpast . . . Awake up, my glory; awake, psaltery
and harp: I myself will awake early."
Under very different circumstances did the monarch of Israel strike the
sounding chords of his harp when the Ark of God was carried in triumph
from Kirjathjearim: "And David and all Israel played before God with
all their might and with singing, and with harps, and with psalteries,
and with timbrels, and with cymbals, and with trumpets." Then indeed
rose a sound of rejoicing. "The singers went before, and the minstrels
followed after; in the midst were the damsels playing on the timbrels."
According to David's own striking metaphor, he who had "lien among the
pots" had become as "the wings of a dove, covered with silver, and
her feathers with yellow gold;" and the harp of the king swelled the
glorious chorus, "Let God arise, let His enemies be scattered: let them
also that hate Him flee before Him!"
But dark shadows were to succeed the glorious sunshine. Happier was
David as the fugitive in the cave than as the king in the palace. When
the guilty but penitent psalmist bent over his harp, the tears of the
stricken sinner, the bereaved father, may have fast dropped on its
strings as he uttered the cry for pardon and grace:
"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Thy lovingkindness: according
to the multitude of Thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions!"
Could we be permitted to possess any visible relic of King David,
and to choose what that relic might be, it would not be the crown of
Rabbah, that was set on his head, the weight of which was a talent of
gold; it would not be even the sword of Goliath, though with David we
might say of that weapon, "there is none like that;" no, surely it
would be the harp of the sweet singer of Israel that we would choose
as the most precious relic of him whom God's Holy Spirit inspired. But
were that harp visibly before us, would it not appear almost sacrilege
to lay a hand on its strings; would the mightiest or most gifted of
mortals presume to waken its chords? Far, far better for us to have its
divine music preserved for us in the Scriptures, where the little child
can make it sound, and yet be not guilty of presumption; where it is
accessible to all—to the dying pauper on her sick-bed, as well as to
the crowned queen or mitred archbishop. The ragged child's Psalter is
truly more precious than the identical harp of King David would be.
And we have a key to the divine harmonies of the psalms which those who
first stood listening around David did not possess. The blessed name
of Jesus sounds to us thrilling through all the deepest chords of his
music. If the Psalmist's strain be mournful, a Saviour's sufferings
are its theme. "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me? . . . The
assembly of the wicked have inclosed Me: they pierced My hands and My
feet."
If it burst into a loud song of triumph, its keynote is still the name
of our Lord. "Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of
Thy kingdom is a right sceptre. Thou hast loved righteousness, and
hated iniquity: wherefore God, Thy God, hath anointed Thee with the oil
of gladness above Thy fellows."
It would be deeply interesting could we know how far King David himself
understood the meaning of his own songs when, guided by the inspiring
Spirit, he uttered dark sayings to the sound of his harp.
Let us not quit this subject without alluding to the fact that the
harp is the only instrument which is mentioned in Revelation as adding
to the music of Heaven. * The elders beheld by St. John around the
throne of the Lamb had "every one of them harps," when "they sung a new
song, saying, Thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals
thereof: for Thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by Thy blood
out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation; and hast made
us unto our God kings and priests: and we shall reign on the earth."
* The trump of God, which shall awaken the dead, cannot be spoken of
under such a term.
And again, recording his bright vision of the blessed above who bear
God's name written on their foreheads, thus writes the beloved Apostle:
"I heard a voice from Heaven, as the voice of many waters, and as the
voice of a great thunder: and I heard the voice of harpers harping with
their harps." There again, we believe, will the voice of the son of
Jesse blend with the notes of a nobler instrument than that which he
played upon earth; there may even we—the weak, the wayward, we whose
lips have been so cold in praise and whose hearts in thanksgiving—lift
up our voices with his!
"Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,
Unworthy though I be,
For me a blood-bought, dear reward—
A golden harp for me.
'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,
And formed by grace divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name than Thine!"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXIII.
Absalom's Hair.
IT is not without a cause that a record is preserved in those
Scriptures "which are written for our learning," of the magnificent
growth of Absalom's hair, which, like a golden harvest, was cut by him
every year, and weighed, in the pride of his heart. It is remarkable
that this very hair, this mass of rich beauty, was, through God's
judgment, the instrument of Absalom's destruction.
When the prince fled on his mule before the troops of his injured
father, as Absalom was passing beneath a thick oak, the branches caught
his head, and suspended him between the heaven and the earth, while his
mule passed on through the wood; and there in agony and terror hung the
miserable sinner, unable to release himself from the fetters of his own
luxuriant hair, till death came in the form of a merciless kinsman, and
three darts were thrust by Joab through the heart of Absalom as he was
yet alive in the midst of the oak.
There is no one in Scripture whose mortal beauty, is more vividly
described than Absalom's. "In all Israel there was none to be so much
praised as Absalom for his beauty: from the sole of his foot even to
the crown of his head there was no blemish in him." And there are few
whose characters are represented to us as so loathsome and black with
sin. This suggests a natural inquiry, Was the extraordinary beauty of
Absalom in any way a snare to his soul; was it a bane to him throughout
his life, as well as the immediate cause of his death?
In a certain subordinate degree, perhaps, we may find that it was
so. Absalom's great personal attractions probably increased the
weak, doating partiality of David for his unworthy son, while they
made it more easy for the prince to attain the object of his guilty
ambition—"he stole the hearts of Israel."
Should we then represent beauty as a thing to be despised? Far from
it. Beauty is the stamp which God hath set upon the wondrous works of
His creation; deformity only entered this world with sin, and in the
realms where sin is unknown, all will again be perfect beauty. Personal
charms, like rank or wealth, are a talent, for they undoubtedly bestow
influence; and a blessed thing is influence used for God. There is no
fairer sight than that of youth and loveliness united with "the beauty
of holiness," and devoted to the service of Christ.
The subject naturally opens out into that of personal appearance in
general, and a little reflection upon it may not be unprofitable to
those who possess few attractions, as well as those gifted with many.
To appear well is a common wish, confined to neither sex, nor to any
station or age. As beauty has its advantages and responsibilities, let
us consider for a brief space, with Absalom's rich locks before us,
what are some of the temptations to which it exposes its possessor.
They seem to be chiefly these—love of dress, love of the world, love of
admiration.
The first of these, "love of dress," may seem to be a folly better
attacked by playful satire than by serious rebuke. It is not very often
noticed from the pulpit, though it can be very little pleasure to an
earnest-minded pastor to see the pews like a tulip-bed before him,
where, instead of being dressed with modesty and "shamefacedness,"
Christian women seem to study how to evade the command to wear a
covering on their heads in the house of prayer, by making that covering
as slight and as fantastic as may be. Even painting the skin is not
unknown amongst the women of England, though she of whom it is recorded
that "she painted her face and tired her head," is assuredly one of
the last whom our matrons or maidens would wish to resemble. A bold
style of dress is so utterly repugnant to all our ideas of Christian
devotion, that we can hardly even imagine it to have been ever worn by
the holy women who ministered to our Lord.
The sums of money lavished on dress (nor is the reproach confined to
the weaker sex) is also a disgrace to Christian profession in a land
where poverty abounds. I have heard that a lady (I am glad to say
not British) boasted that she spent a thousand a year on dress. She
would hardly have uttered that boast had she realized that upon her
at that moment was resting the eye of Him who said to the rich young
ruler, "Sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have
treasure in heaven."
It is, indeed, impossible to fix a rule as to how much it is lawful
to spend upon dress, as the amount must necessarily vary according to
means and station in life; it would be well, however, to determine
never to spend money on any mere ornament of the person, without giving
at least an equal sum to purchase plain articles of clothing for the
poor, to be bestowed "personally." Were this simple plan adopted, one
may safely aver that the flannel and serge would be found to bring far
more pleasure than the jewel, the lace, or the plume; and luxuries
would be gradually relinquished, and that with no feeling of regret,
for the richer luxury of clothing the shivering forms of the poor.
"Love of the world" is another evil to which those are peculiarly
exposed whose attractions dispose the world to love them. To them there
is an added gloss to pleasure; scenes of amusement are brightened by
the ready welcome which they ever receive there. The ornaments of
society need even more than others to watch and pray lest they enter
into temptation, and to seek that grace which alone can keep them
"unspotted from the world."
For the "love of admiration" is in many minds not unlike the feverish
craving for intoxicating liquor which possesses the habitual drunkard.
Eager is the longing for the sweet poison of flattery, the excitement
caused by a sense of power over human hearts. And this leads to very
serious evil. I am not referring only to the dark descent to actual
vice, to which, in thousands of cases, the love of admiration has led;
but would earnestly protest against that common effect of it which
makes trifling with the happiness of others the favourite amusement
of the vain of both sexes, under the name of flirting. One who would
not willingly set foot on a worm will often feel actual pleasure in
inflicting the keenest pangs. Selfish vanity must be gratified at any
cost to others, ungenerous as it is to desire to engross affection
which cannot be returned. The man who prides himself on being a
"lady-killer," or the beauty who complacently counts up the number of
her "conquests," is making an unworthy and sinful use of the endowments
of nature. I might quote to such the homely advice of the great Marquis
of Montrose,—
"Let no one to more love pretend
Than he has hearts in store;
True love begun should never end—
Love one, and love no more."
But I would rather take higher ground. This pride of beauty, this
selfishness of vanity, is "utterly inconsistent" with a Christian
character; it is incompatible with the adoption of that spirit of
Christ without which we "are none of His." God's people are called
to glorify Him in their bodies as well as their souls; and where the
beauty which He has bestowed becomes a cause of vanity, selfishness,
and folly, its possessor may one day have reason to regret not having
been a cretin or a dwarf.
There are two special antidotes to the spiritual poison which is
constantly offered to those in whom the world delights. The first is a
realization of the transitory nature of that beauty which passes away
like a flower; the second is meditation on that beauty which will abide
for ever. One great poet has, as it were, written the first on a skull;
he preaches his sermon in the churchyard. But it is more pleasant, and
at least as profitable, to turn our thoughts from the dust "sown in
dishonour" to what it shall be when "raised in glory." We cannot but
think that outward beauty will then correspond with that which before
was inward; that they who have borne most of the Saviour's image in
their hearts will bear most of that image visibly when we shall be like
Him, for we shall see Him as He is.