Now, it may come as something of a shock if I say that the bird that is
selected for the comparison is not really the eagle, but one which, in
our estimation, is of a very much lower order--viz. the carnivorous
vulture. But a poetical emblem is not the less fitting, though, besides
the points of resemblance, the thing which is so used has others less
noble. Our modern repugnance to the vulture as feeding on carcasses was
probably not felt by the singer of this song. What he brings into view
are the characteristics common to the eagle and the vulture; superb
strength in beak and claw, keenness of vision almost incredible,
magnificent sweep of pinion and power of rapid, unwearied flight. And
these characteristics, we may say, have their analogues in the divine
nature, and the emblem not unfitly shadows forth one aspect of the God
of Israel, who is 'fearful in praises,' who is strong to destroy as
well as to save, whose all-seeing eye marks every foul thing, and who
often pounces on it swiftly to rend it to pieces, though the sky seemed
empty a moment before.
But the action described in the text is not destructive, terrible, or
fierce. The monarch of the sky busies itself with tender cares for its
brood. Then, there is gentleness along with the terribleness. The
strong beak and claw, the gaze that can see so far, and the mighty
spread of wings that can lift it till it is an invisible speck in the
blue vault, go along with the instinct of paternity: and the fledglings
in the nest look up at the fierce beak and bright eyes, and know no
terror. The impression of this blending of power and gentleness is
greatly deepened, as it seems to me, if we notice that it is the male
bird that is spoken about in the text, which should be rendered: 'As
the eagle stirreth up _his_ nest and fluttereth over _his_ young.'
So we just come to the thought that we must keep the true balance
between these two aspects of that great divine nature--the majesty, the
terror, the awfulness, the soaring elevation, the all-penetrating
vision, the power of the mighty pinion, one stroke of which could crush
a universe into nothing; and, on the other side, the yearning instinct
of Fatherhood, the love and gentleness, and all the tender ministries
for us, His children, to which these lead. Brethren, unless we keep
hold of both of these in due equipoise and inseparably intertwining, we
damage the one which we retain almost as much as the one which we
dismiss. For there is no love like the love that is strong, and can be
fierce, and there is no condescension like the condescension of Him who
is the Highest, in order that He may be, and because He is ready to be,
the lowest. Modern tendencies, legitimately recoiling from the
one-sidedness of a past generation, are now turning away far too much
from the Old Testament conceptions of Jehovah, which are concentrated
in that metaphor of the vulture in the sky. And thereby we destroy the
love, in the name of which we scout the wrath.
'Infinite mercy, but, I wis,
As infinite a justice too.'
'As the vulture stirreth up his nest,'--that is the Old Testament
revelation of the terribleness and gentleness of Jehovah. 'How often
would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth
her chickens under her wing?'--that is the New Testament modification
of the image. But you never could have had the New unless you first had
had the Old. And you are a foolish man if, in the name of the sanctity
of the New, you cast away the teaching of the Old. Keep both the
metaphors, and they will explain and confirm each other.