and noble-looking lad. He was slender and well built, and fleet of foot
as a young deer. Eve was as beautiful as the dawn, with long golden
tresses, and blue eyes, and cheeks like the rose. They lived in the
loveliest garden that you have ever heard of. There were tall trees in
it, and open meadows where the grass was as smooth as on a lawn, and
clear, murmuring brooks ran through the woods. And there were dense
thickets filled with the perfume of flowers, and the flowers grew in
such profusion, and there were so many different kinds, each more
beautiful than the rest, that it was a perfect feast for the eyes to
look at them. It was so warm that the children never needed to go
in-doors, but at night they would just lie down at the foot of some
great tree and look at the stars twinkling through the branches until
they fell asleep. And when it rained they would find shelter in some
beautiful cavern, spreading leaves and moss upon the ground for a bed.
The garden where they lived was called Paradise. And there were ever so
many animals in it--all kinds of animals--elephants, and tigers, and
leopards, and giraffes, and camels, and sheep, and horses, and cows; but
even the wild animals did them no harm. But the children were not alone
in that garden: their Father lived with them. And every morning when
they woke up their first thought was to go to him and to look up into
his mild, kind face for a loving glance, and every evening before they
went to sleep he would bend over them. And once, as they lay under the
great tree, looking at a star shining through the branches, Adam said to
Eve: "Our Father's eye shines just like that star."
One day their Father said to them: "My children, there is one tree in
this beautiful garden the fruit of which you must not eat, because it is
hurtful to you. You can not understand why, but you know that you must
obey your Father even when you do not understand. He loves you and knows
best what is for your good." So they promised, and for a time
remembered. But one day it happened that Eve was passing near the tree
of the fruit of which she knew she must not eat, when what should she
hear but a snake talking to her. She did not see it, but she heard its
voice quite distinctly. And this is what the snake said: "You poor Eve!
you must certainly have a hard time. Your Father is always forbidding
you something. How stern he is! I am sure that other children can have
all the fruit they want." Eve was frightened at first. She knew that her
Father was kind and good, and that the snake was telling a falsehood. He
did not always forbid things. But still he had forbidden her to eat of
the fruit, and she thought that was a little hard; and she could not
understand at all why he had done so. Then the snake spoke again:
"Listen, Eve! He forbade you to eat only of it. It can do no harm just
to look at it. Go up to it. See how it glistens among the branches! How
golden it looks!" And the snake kept on whispering: "How good it must be
to the taste! Just take one bite of it. Nobody sees you. Only one bite;
that can do no harm." And Eve glanced around, and saw that no one was
looking, and presently with a hasty movement she seized the fruit and
ate of it. Then she said to herself: "Adam, too, must eat of it. I can
never bear to eat it alone." So she ran hastily up to Adam, and said:
"See, I have some of the forbidden fruit, and you, too, must eat." And
he, too, looked at it and was tempted, and ate. But that evening they
were very much afraid. They knew they had done wrong, and their
consciences troubled them. So they hurried away into the wood where it
was deepest, and hid themselves in the bushes. But soon they heard their
Father calling to them; and it was strange, their Father's voice had
never sounded so sad before. And in a few moments he found them where
they were hiding. And he said to them: "Why do you hide from me?" And
they were very much confused, and stammered forth all sorts of excuses.
But he said: "Come hither, children." And he looked into their eyes, and
said: "Have you eaten of the fruit of which I told you not to eat?" And
Adam, who was thoughtless and somewhat selfish, spoke up, and said:
"Yes, but it was Eve who gave me of it; she led me on." And Eve hung her
head, and said: "It was the snake that made me eat." Now the snake, you
know, was no real snake at all; she never saw it, she only heard its
voice. And, you know, when we want to do anything wicked, there is
within every one of us something bad, that seems to whisper: "Just look!
Mere looking will do no harm"; and then: "Just taste; no one sees you."
So the snake was the bad feeling in Eve's heart. And their Father took
them by the hand, and said: "Tomorrow, when it is dawn, you will have to
leave this place. In this beautiful Paradise no one can stay who has
once disobeyed. You, Adam, must learn to labor; and, you, Eve, to be
patient and self-denying for others. And, perhaps, after a long, long
time, some day, you will come back with me into Paradise again."
It is a free rendering, I admit. I have filled in the details so as to
bring it down to the level of children's minds, but the outlines, I
think, are there. The points I have developed are all suggested in the
Bible. The temptation begins when the snake says with characteristic
exaggeration: "Is it true that of _all_ the fruit you are forbidden to
eat?" Exaggerating the hardships of the moral command is the first step
on the downward road. The second step is Eve's approach to look at the
fruit--"and she saw that it was good for food, and pleasant to the
eyes." The third step is the actual enjoyment of what is forbidden. The
fourth step is the desire for companionship in guilt, so characteristic
of sin--"and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat."
The next passage describes the working of conscience, the fear, the
shame, the desire to hide, and then comes the moral verdict: You are
guilty, both of you. You have lost your paradise. Try to win it back by
labor and suffering.
NOTE.--I would add to what has been said in the text, that the
pupils are expected to return to the study of the Bible, to read
and re-read these stories, and to receive a progressively higher
interpretation of their meaning as they grow older. If in the above
I have spoken in a general way of a Father and his two children, it
will be easy for the Sunday-school teacher to add later on that the
Father in the story was God.
_Cain and Abel._
In teaching the story of the two brothers Cain and Abel the following
points should be noted. The ancients believed that earthly prosperity
and well-being depended on the favor of God, or the gods, and that the
favor of the gods could be secured by sacrifice. If any one brought a
sacrifice and yet prosperity did not set in, this was supposed to be a
sign that his sacrifice had not been accepted. On the other hand, to say
of any person that his sacrifice had been accepted, was tantamount to
saying that he was happy and prosperous. Applying this to the story of
Cain and Abel, we may omit all mention of the bringing of the
sacrifices, which presents a great and needless difficulty to children's
minds, and simply make the equivalent statement that Abel was prosperous
and Cain was not.
Again, Cain is not represented as an intentional murderer. The true
interpretation of the story depends on our bearing this in mind. It is
erroneous to suppose that a brand was fixed on Cain's forehead. The
passage in question, correctly understood, means that God gave Cain a
sign to reassure him that he should not be regarded by men as a common
murderer. With these prefatory remarks the story may be told somewhat as
follows:
Long ago there lived two brothers. The name of the elder was Cain, and
of the younger Abel. Cain was a farmer. He toiled in the sweat of his
brow, tilling the stubborn ground, taking out stones, building fences.
Winter and summer he was up before the sun, and yet, despite all his
labor, things did not go well with him. His crops often failed through
no fault of his. He never seemed to have an easy time. Moreover, Cain
was of a proud disposition. Honest he was, and truthful, but taciturn,
not caring much to talk to people whom he met, but rather keeping to
himself. Abel, on the other hand, was a shepherd. He led, or seemed to
lead, the most delightfully easy life. He followed his flocks from one
pasture to another, watching them graze; and at noon he would often lie
down in the shade of some leafy tree and play on his flute by the hour.
He was a skillful musician, a bright, talkative companion, and
universally popular. He was a little selfish too, as happy people
sometimes are. He liked to talk about his successes, and, in a perfectly
innocent way, which yet stung Cain to the quick, he would rattle on to
his brother about the increase of his herds, about his plans and
prospects, and the pleasant things that people were saying of him. Cain
grew jealous of his brother Abel. He did not like to confess it to
himself, but yet it was a fact. He kept comparing his own life of
grinding toil with the easy, lazy life of the shepherd--it was not quite
so lazy, but so it seemed to Cain--his own poverty with the other's
wealth, his own loneliness with Abel's popularity. And a frown would
often gather on his brow, and he grew more and more moody and silent. He
knew that he was not in the right state of mind. There was a voice
within him that said: "Sin is at thy door, but thou canst become master
over it." Sin is like a wild beast crouching outside the door of the
heart. Open the door ever so little, and it will force its way in, and
will have you in its power. Keep the door shut, therefore; do not let
the first evil thought enter into your heart. Thus only can you remain
master of yourself. But Cain was already too far gone to heed the
warning voice. One day he and Abel were walking together in the fields.
Abel, no doubt, was chatting in his usual gay and thoughtless manner.
The world was full of sunshine to him; and he did not realize in the
least what dark shadows were gathering about his brother's soul. Perhaps
the conversation ran somewhat as follows: He had just had an addition to
his herd, the finest calf one could imagine: would not Cain come to
admire it? And then, to-morrow evening he was to play for the dancers on
the green, at the village feast: would not Cain join in the
merry-making? When the solitary, embittered Cain heard such talk as this
the angry feeling in his heart rose up like a flood. Overmastered by his
passion, with a few wild, incoherent words of rage he turned upon his
brother and struck him one fierce blow. Ah, that was a relief! The
pent-up feeling had found vent at last. The braggart had received the
chastisement he deserved! And Cain walked on; and for a time continued
to enjoy his satisfaction. He had just noticed that Abel, when struck,
had staggered and fallen, but he did not mind that. "Let him lie there
for a while; he will pick himself up presently. He may be lame for a few
days, and his milk-white face may not be so fair at the feast, but that
will be all the better for him. It will teach him a lesson."
Nevertheless, when he had walked on for some distance he began to feel
uneasy. He looked around from time to time to see whether Abel was
following him, and the voice of conscience began to be heard, saying,
"Cain, where is thy brother?" But he silenced it by saying to himself,
"Am I my brother's keeper? Is he such a child that he can not take care
of himself--that he can not stand a blow?" But he kept looking back more
and more often, and when he saw no one coming, he came at last to a dead
halt. His heart was beating violently by this time; the beads of
perspiration were gathered on his brow. He turned back to seek his
missing brother. Then, as he did not meet him, he began to run, and
faster and faster he ran, until at last, panting and out of breath, with
a horrible fear hounding him on, he arrived at the place where he had
struck the blow. And there he saw--a pool of blood, and the waxen face
of his brother, and the glazed, broken eyes! And then he realized what
he had done. And it is this situation which the Bible has in view in the
words, "Behold, thy brother's blood cries up from the earth against
thee." And then as he surveyed his deed in stony despair, he said to
himself, "I am accursed from the face of the earth"--I am unworthy to
live. The earth has no resting-place for such as I. But a sign was given
him to show him that his life would not be required of him. He had not
committed willful murder. He had simply given the reins to his violent
passion. He must go into another land, where no one knew him, there
through years of penance to try to regain his peace of soul. The moral
of the story is: Do not harbor evil thoughts in the mind. If you have
once given them entrance, the acts to which they lead are beyond your
control. Cain's sin consisted in not crushing the feeling of envy in the
beginning; in comparing his own lot with that of his more favored
brother and dwelling on this comparison, until, in a fit of insane
passion, he was led on to the unspeakable crime which, indeed, he had
never contemplated, to which he had never given an inward assent. The
story also illustrates the vain subterfuges with which we still seek to
smother the consciousness of guilt after we have done wrong, until the
time comes when our eyes are opened and we are compelled to face the
consequences of our deeds and to realize them in all their bearings. The
story of Cain and Abel is thus a further development of the theme
already treated in simpler fashion in the story of Adam and Eve, only
that, while in the latter case the filial duty of obedience to parents
is in the foreground, attention is here directed to the duty which a
brother owes to a brother. It is a striking tale, striking in the
vividness with which it conjures up the circumstances before our minds
and the clearness with which the principal motives are delineated; and
it contains an awful warning for all time.
The question here presents itself, whether we should arrange the
biblical stories according to subjects--e. g., grouping together all
those which treat of duty to parents, all those which deal with the
relations of brothers to brothers, etc.--or whether we should adopt the
chronological arrangement. On the whole, I am in favor of the latter. It
is expected that the pupils, as they grow older, will undertake a more
comprehensive study of the Bible, and for this they will be better
prepared if they have been kept to the chronological order from the
outset. Another more practical reason is, that children tire of one
subject if it is kept before their minds too long. It is better,
therefore, to arrange the stories in groups or cycles, each of which
will afford opportunity to touch on a variety of moral topics. It will
be impossible to continue to relate _in extenso_ the stories which I
have selected, and I shall therefore content myself in the main with
giving the points of each story upon which the teacher may lay stress.
_The Story of Noah and his Sons._
Describe the beauty of the vine, and of the purple grapes hanging in
clusters amid the green leaves. How sweet is this fruit to the taste!
But the juice of it has a dangerous property. Once there lived a man,
Noah, who had three sons. He planted a vine, plucked the grapes, but did
not know the dangerous property of the juice. The second son, on seeing
his father in a state of intoxication, allowed his sense of the
ridiculous to overcome his feeling of reverence. But the eldest and the
youngest sons acted differently. They took a garment, covered their
father with it, and averted their faces so as not to see his disgrace.
The moral is quite important. An intelligent child can not help
detecting a fault now and then even in the best of parents. But the
right course for him to take is to throw the mantle over the fault, and
to turn away his face. He should say to himself: Am I the one to judge
my parents--I who have been the recipient of so many benefits at their
hands, and who see in them so many virtues, so much superior wisdom? By
such reasoning the feeling of reverence is even deepened. The momentary
superiority which the child feels serves only to bring out his general
inferiority.
_The Abraham Cycle._
There is a whole series of stories belonging to this group, illustrating
in turn the virtues of brotherly harmony, generosity toward the weak,
hospitality toward strangers, and maternal love. Abraham and Lot are
near kinsmen. Their servants quarrel, and to avoid strife the former
advises a separation. "If thou wilt go to the left," he says, "I will
turn to the right; if thou preferrest the land to the right, I will take
the left." Abraham, being the older, was entitled to the first choice,
but he waived his claim. Lot chose the fairer portion, and Abraham
willingly assented. "Let there be no strife between us, for we be
brethren." The lesson is, that the older and wiser of two brothers or
kinsmen may well yield a part of his rights for harmony's sake.
Abraham's conduct toward the King of Sodom is an instance of generosity.
The story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah may be introduced by
describing the Dead Sea and the surrounding scene of desolation. The
moral lies in the circumstance that ill treatment of strangers brought
down the doom. Hospitality toward strangers is one of the shining
virtues of the Old Testament heroes. Even at the present day strangers
are still despised and ridiculed by the vulgar, their foreign manners,
language, and habits seeming contemptible; the lesson of hospitality is
not yet superfluous.
The story of _Hagar and her Child_ I should recast in such a way as to
exclude what in it is repellent, and retain the touching picture of
maternal affection. I should relate it somewhat as follows: There was
once a little lad whose name was Ishmael. He had lost his father and had
only his mother to cling to. She was a tall, beautiful lady, with dark
eyes which were often very sad, but they would light up, and there was
always a sweet smile on her lips whenever she looked at her darling boy.
Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, had never been separated; they were all
in all to each other. One day it happened that they walked away from
their home, which was near the great, sandy desert. Ishmael's mother was
in deep distress, there was something troubling her, and every now and
then a tear would steal down her cheeks. Ishmael was sad, too, because
his mother was, but he did not dare to ask her what it was that grieved
her, fearing to give her pain. So they walked on and on, holding each
other's hands in silence. But at last they saw that they had lost their
way; and they tried first one direction, and then another, thinking that
it would bring them back toward home, but they only got deeper and
deeper into the vast, lonely desert. And the sun burned hot and hotter
above their heads, and little Ishmael, who had tried to keep up like a
brave lad, at last became so parched with thirst, and so faint with want
of food, and so tired with walking--for they had wandered about for
many, many hours--that he could go on no farther. Then his mother took
him up in her arms and laid him under a bush, where there was a little
shade. And then, oh then, how her poor heart was wrung, and how she wept
to see her darling in such suffering, and how she cried for help! Then
she sat down on the glaring sand at some distance away, and turned her
face in the direction opposite to where Ishmael was lying; for she said,
"I can not bear to see my boy die." But just as she had given up all
hope, suddenly she saw a noble-looking man, wearing the dress of the
Bedouins, approach her. He had come from behind one of the sand hills,
and it seemed to her as if he had come down straight from the sky. He
asked her why she was in such grief, and when she told him, and pointed
to her little son, he said: "It is fortunate that you have come to this
place. There is a beautiful oasis close by." An oasis, children, is a
spot of fruitful green earth right in the midst of the desert, like an
island in the ocean. And the man took the boy up and carried him in his
arms, and Hagar followed after him. And presently, when they came to the
oasis, they found a cool, clear spring, full of the most delicious
water, and palm-trees with ever so many dates on them, and all the
people who lived there gathered around them. And the man who had been
so kind proved to be the chief. And he took charge of Ishmael's
education, showed him how to shoot with the bow and how to hunt, and was
like a real father to him. And when Ishmael grew up he became a great
chief of the Bedouins. But he always remained true to his mother, and
loved her with all his heart.
I am strongly in favor of omitting the story of the _Sacrifice of
Isaac_. I do not think we can afford to tell young children that a
father was prepared to draw the knife against his own son, even though
he desisted in the end. I should not be willing to inform a child that
so horrible an impulse could have been entertained even for a moment in
a parent's heart. I regard the story, indeed, as, from an historical
point of view, one of the most valuable in the Bible; it has a deep
meaning; but it is not food fit for children. A great mistake has been
made all along in supposing that whatever is true in religion must be
communicated to children; and that if anything be very true and very
important we ought to hasten to give it to children as early as
possible; but there must be preparatory training. And the greatest
truths are often of such a kind as only the mature mind, ripe in thought
and experience, is fitted to assimilate.
One of the most charming idyls of patriarchal times is the story of
_Rebecca at the Well_. It illustrates positively, as the story of Sodom
does negatively, the duty of hospitality toward strangers. "Drink, lord,
and I will give thy camels drink also," is a pleasant phrase which is
apt to stick in the memory. Moreover, the story shows the high place
which the trusted servant occupied in the household of his master, and
offers to the teacher an opportunity of dwelling on the respect due to
faithful servants.
_The Jacob Cycle._
What treatment shall Jacob receive at our hands, he, the sly trickster,
who cheats his brother of his birthright and steals a father's blessing?
Yet he is one of the patriarchs, and is accorded the honorable title of
"champion of God." To hold him up to the admiration of the young is
impossible. To gloss over his faults and try to explain them away were a
sorry business, and honesty forbids. The Bible itself gives us the right
clew. His faults are nowhere disguised. He is represented as a person
who makes a bad start in life--a very bad start, indeed--but who pays
the penalty of his wrong-doing. His is a story of penitential
discipline.
In telling the story, all reference to the duplicity of Rebecca should
be omitted, for the same reason that malicious step-mothers and cruel
fathers have been excluded from the fairy tales.
The points to be discussed may be summarized as follows:
_Taking advantage of a brother in distress._--Jacob purchases the
birthright for a mess of pottage.
_Tender attachment to a helpless old father._--Esau goes out hunting to
supply a special delicacy for his father's table. This is a point which
children will appreciate. Unable to confer material benefits on their
parents, they can only show their love by slight attentions.
_Deceit._--Jacob simulates the appearance of his older brother and
steals the blessing. In this connection it will be necessary to say that
a special power was supposed to attach to a father's blessing, and that
the words once spoken were deemed irrevocable.
_Jacob's penitential discipline begins._--The deceiver is deceived, and
made to feel in his own person the pain and disappointment which deceit
causes. He is repeatedly cheated by his master Laban, especially in the
matter which is nearest to him, his love for Rachel.
_The forgiveness of injuries._--Esau's magnanimous conduct toward his
brother.
_The evil consequences of tale-bearing and conceit._--It is a
significant fact that Joseph is not a mere coxcomb. He is a man of
genius, as his later career proves, and the stirrings of his genius
manifest themselves in his early dreams of future greatness. Persons of
this description are not always pleasant companions, especially in their
youth. They have not yet accomplished anything to warrant distinction,
and yet they feel within themselves the presentiment of a destiny and of
achievements above the ordinary. Their faults, their arrogance, their
seemingly preposterous claims, are not to be excused, but neither is
the envy they excite excusable. One of the hardest things to learn is to
recognize without envy the superiority of a brother.