What is it all for? To teach us to fly, to exercise our half-fledged
wings in short flights, that may prepare us for, and make it possible
to take, longer ones. Every event that befalls us has a meaning beyond
itself; and every task that we have to do reacts upon us, the doers,
and either fits or hinders us for larger work. Life as a whole, and in
its minutest detail, is worthy of God to give, and worthy of us to
possess, only if we recognise the teaching that is put into picturesque
form in this text--that the meaning of all which God does to us is to
train us for something greater yonder. Life as a whole is 'full of
sound and fury, signifying nothing,' unless it is an apprenticeship
training. What are we here for? To make character. That is the aim and
end of all--to make character; to get experience; to learn the use of
our tools. I declare it seems to me that the world had better be wiped
out altogether, incontinently, unless there is a world beyond, where a
man shall use the force which here he made his own. 'Thou hast been
faithful in a few things; behold I will make thee ruler over many
things.' No man gets to the heart of the mystery of life or has in his
hand the key which will enable him to unlock all the doors and
difficulties of human experience, unless he gets to this--that it is
all meant as training.
If we could only carry that clear conviction with us day by day into
the little things of life, what different things these, which we call
the monotonous trifles of our daily duties, would become! The things
may be small and unimportant, but the way in which we do them is not
unimportant. The same fidelity may be exercised, and must be brought to
bear, in order to do the veriest trifle of our daily lives rightly, as
needs to be invoked, in order to get us safely through the crises and
great times of life. There are no great principles for great duties,
and little ones for little duties. We have to regulate all our conduct
by the same laws. Life is built up of trifles, as mica-flakes, if there
be enough of them, make the Alpine summits towering thousands of feet
into the blue. Character may be manifested in the great moments, but it
is made in the small ones. So, life is meant for discipline, and unless
we use it for that, however much enjoyment we get out of it, we misuse
it.
III. Lastly, there is here a calming thought as to the variety of God's
methods with us.
'As the eagle stirreth up his nest.' No doubt the callow brood are much
warmer and more comfortable in the nest than when they are turned out
of it. The Israelites were by no means enamoured with the prospect of
leaving the flesh-pots and the onions and the farmhouses that they had
got for themselves in Goshen, to tramp with their cattle through the
wilderness. They went after Moses with considerable disinclination.
Here we have, then, as the first thing needed, God's loving compulsion
to effort. To 'stir up the nest' means to make a man uncomfortable
where he is;--sometimes by the prickings of his conscience, which are
often the voices of God's Spirit; sometimes by changes of
circumstances, either for the better or for the worse; and oftentimes
by sorrows. The straw is pulled out of the nest, and it is not so
comfortable to lie in; or a bit of it develops a sharp point that runs
into the half-feathered skin, and makes the fledgling glad to come
forth into the air. We all shrink from change. What should we do if we
had it not? We should stiffen into habits that would dwarf and weaken
us. We all recoil from storms. What should we do if we had them not?
Sea and air would stagnate, and become heavy and putrid and
pestilential, if it were not for the wild west wind and the hurtling
storms. So all our changes, instead of being whimpered over, and all
our sorrows, instead of being taken reluctantly, should be recognised
as being what they are, loving summonses to effort. Then their pressure
would be modified, and their blessing would be secured when their
purpose was served.
But the training of the father-eagle is not confined to stirring up the
nest. What is to become of the young ones when they get out of it, and
have never been accustomed to bear themselves up in the invisible ether
about them? So 'he fluttereth over his young.' It is a very beautiful
word that is employed here, which 'flutter' scarcely gives us. It is
the same word that is used in the first chapter of Genesis, about the
Spirit of God '_brooding_ on the face of the waters'; and it suggests
how near, how all-protecting with expanded wings, the divine Father
comes to the child whose restfulness He has disturbed.
And is not that true? Had you ever trouble that you took as from Him,
which did not bring that hovering presence nearer you, until you could
almost feel the motion of the wing, and be brushed by it as it passed
protectingly above your head? Ah, yes! 'Stirring the nest' is meant to
be the precursor of closer approach of the Father to us; and if we take
our changes and our sorrows as loving summonses from Him to effort, be
sure that we shall realise Him as near to us, in a fashion that we
never did before.
That is not all. There is sustaining power. 'He spreadeth abroad his
wings; he taketh them; beareth them on his wings.' On those broad
pinions we are lifted, and by them we are guarded. It matters little
whether the belief that the parent bird thus carries the young, when
wearied with their short flights, is correct or not. The truth which
underlies the representation is what concerns us. The beautiful
metaphor is a picturesque way of saying, 'In all their afflictions He
was afflicted; and the Angel of His presence saved them.' It is a
picturesque way of saying, 'Thou canst do all things through Christ
which strengtheneth thee.' And we may be very sure that if we let Him
'stir up our nests' and obey His loving summons to effort, He will come
very near to strengthen us for our attempts, and to bear us up when our
own weak wings fail. The Psalmist sang that angels' hands should bear
up God's servant. That is little compared with this promise of being
carried heavenwards on Jehovah's own pinions. A vile piece of Greek
mythology tells how Jove once, in the guise of an eagle, bore away a
boy between his great wings. It is foul where it stands, but it is
blessedly true about Christian experience. If only we lay ourselves on
God's wings--and that not in idleness, but having ourselves tried our
poor little flight--He will see that no harm comes to us.
During life this training will go on; and after life, what then? Then,
in the deepest sense, the old word will be true, 'Ye know how I bore
you on eagle's wings and brought you _to Myself_'; and the great
promise shall be fulfilled, when the half-fledged young brood are
matured and full grown, 'They shall mount up with wings as eagles; they
shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.'