'Then Gideon built an altar there unto the Lord, and called it
Jehovah-shalom [God is peace].'--JUDGES vi. 24.
I need not tell over again, less vividly, the picturesque story in this
chapter, of the simple husbandman up in the hills, engaged furtively in
threshing out a little wheat in some hollow in the rock where he might
hide it from the keen eyes of the oppressors; and of how the angel of
the Lord, unrecognised at first, appeared to him; and gradually there
dawned upon his mind the suspicion of who He was who spoke. Then follow
the offering, the discovery by fire, the shrinking of the man from
contact with the divine, the wonderfully tranquillizing and
condescending assurance, cast into the form of the ordinary salutation
of domestic life: 'And the Lord said unto him Peace be unto thee!'--as
any man might have said to any other--'fear not! thou shalt not die.'
Then Gideon piles up the unhewn stones on the hillside into a rude
altar, apparently not for the purpose of offering sacrifice, but for a
monument, to which is given this strange name, strange upon such
warrior lips, and strange in contemplation of the fierce conflict into
which he was immediately to plunge, 'the Lord is peace.'
How I think that this name, imposed for such a reason and under such
circumstances, may teach us a good many things.
I. The first thing that it seems to me to suggest is the great
discovery which this man had made, and in the rapture of which he named
his altar,--that the sight of God is _not_ death, but life and peace.
Gideon was a plain, rude man, with no very deep religious experience.
Apparently up to the moment of this vision he had been contentedly
tolerating the idolatrous practices which had spread over all the
country. He had heard of 'Jehovah.' It was a name, a tradition, which
his fathers had told him. That was all that he knew of the God of
Israel. Into this hearsay religion, as in a flash, while Gideon is busy
about his threshing floor, thinking of his wheat or of the misery of
his nation, there comes, all at once, this crushing conviction,--'the
_hearsay_ God is beside you, speaking to you! You have personal
relations to Him, He is nearer you than any human being is, He is no
mere Name, here He stands!'
And whenever the lightning edge of a conviction like that cuts its way
through the formalisms and traditionalisms and hearsay repetitions of
conventional religion, then there comes what came to Gideon, the swift
thought, 'And if this be true, if I really do touch, and am touched by,
that living Person whose name is Jehovah, what is to become of me?
Shall I not shrivel up when His fiery finger is laid upon me? I have
seen Him face to face, and I must die.'
I believe that, in the case of the vast majority of men, the first
living, real apprehension of a real, living God is accompanied with a
shock, and has mingled with it something of awe, and even of terror.
Were there no sin there would be no fear, and pure hearts would open in
silent blessedness and yield their sweetest fragrance of love and
adoration, when shone on by Him, as flowers do to the kiss of the
sunbeams. But, taking into account the sad and universal fact of sin,
it is inevitable that men should shrink from the Light which reveals
their evil, and that the consciousness of God's presence should strike
a chill. It is sad that it should be so. But it is sadder still when it
is not so, but when, as is sometimes the case, the sight of God
produces no sense of sin, and no consciousness of discord, or
foreboding of judgment. For, only through that valley of the shadow of
death lies the path to the happy confidence of peace with God, and
unless there has been trembling at the beginning, there will be no firm
and reasonable trust afterwards.
For Gideon's terror opened the way for the gracious proclamation, which
would have been needless but for it--'Peace be unto thee; fear not,
thou shalt not die.'
The sight of God passes from being a fear to a joy, from being a
fountain of death to a spring of life, Terror is turned to tranquil
trust. The narrow and rough path of conscious unworthiness leads to the
large place of happy peace. The divine word fits Gideon's condition,
and corresponds to his then deepest necessity; and so he drinks it in
as the thirsty ground drinks in the water; and in the rapture of the
discovery that the Name, that had come down from his fathers to him,
was the Name of a real Person, with whom he stood in real
relationships, and those of simple friendship and pure amity, he piles
up the rough stones of the place, and makes the name of his altar the
echo of the divine voice. It is as if he had said with rapture of
surprise, 'Then Jehovah _is_ peace; which I never dreamed of before.'
Dear friends, do you know anything of such an experience? Can you build
your altar, and give it this same name? Can you write upon the memorial
of your experiences, 'The Lord is my peace'? Have you passed from
hearsay into personal contact? Can you say, 'I have heard of Thee by
the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee'? Do you know the
further experience expressed in the subsequent words of the same
quotation: 'Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes'?
And have you passed out of that stormy ocean of terror and
self-condemnation into the quiet haven of trust in Him in whom we have
peace with God, where your little boat lies quiet, moored for ever to
the Rock of Ages, to 'Jehovah, who is Peace'?
In connection with this rapturous discovery, and to Gideon strange new
thought, we may gather the lesson that peace with God will give peace
in all the soul. The 'peace with God' will pass into a wider thing, the
'peace of God.' There is tranquillity in trust. There is rest in
submission. There is repose in satisfied desires. When we live near
Him, and have ceased from our own works, and let Him take control of us
and direct us in all our ways, then the storms abate. The things that
disturb us are by no means so much external as inward; and there is a
charm and a fascination in the thought, 'the Lord is peace,' which
stills the inward tempest, and makes us quiet, waiting upon His will
and drawing in His grace. The secret of rest is to cease from self,
from self as guide, from self as aim, from self as safety. And when
self-will is cast out, and self-dependence is overcome, and
self-reliance is sublimed into hanging upon God's hand, and when He,
not mine own inclination, is my Director, and the Arbiter of my fate,
then all the fever of unrest is swept wholly out of my heart, and there
is nothing left in it on which the gnawing tooth of anxiety or of care
can prey. God being my peace, and I yielding myself to Him, 'in
quietness and confidence' is my 'strength.' 'Thou shalt keep him in
perfect peace whose mind is stayed upon Thee, because he trusteth in
Thee.'
II. We may look upon this inscription from another point of view, as
suggesting the thought that God's peace is the best preparation for,
and may be experienced in the midst of, the intensest conflict.
Remember what the purpose of this vision was,--to raise up a man to
fight an almost desperate fight, no metaphorical war, but one with real
sharp swords, against real strong enemies. The first blow in the
campaign was to be struck that night. Gideon was being summoned by the
vision, to long years of hardship and bitter warfare, and his
preparation for the conflict consisted largely in the revelation to his
inmost spirit that 'Jehovah is peace.' We might rather have looked for
a manifestation of the divine nature as ready to go forth to battle
with the raw levies of timid peasants. We should have expected the
thought which inspired their captain to have been 'The Lord is a man of
war,' rather than 'The Lord is peace.' But it is not so--and therein
lies the deep truth that the peace of God is the best preparation for
strife. It gives courage, it leaves the heart at leisure to fling all
its power into the conflict, it inspires with the consciousness of a
divine ally. As Paul puts it, in his picture of the fully-armed
Christian soldier, the feet are 'shod with the preparedness of alacrity
which is produced by the gospel of peace.' That will make us 'ready,
aye ready' for the roughest march, and enable us to stand firm against
the most violent charges of the enemy. There is no such preparation for
the conflict of life, whether it be waged against our own inward evil,
or against opposing forces without, as to have deep within the soul the
settled and substantial peace of God. If we are to come out of the
battle with victory sitting on our helmets, we must go into it with the
Dove of God brooding in our hearts. As the Lord said to Gideon, 'Go in
_this_ thy might, and thou shalt save Israel, ... have not I sent thee?'
But, besides this thought that the knowledge of Jehovah as peace fits
us for strife, that hastily-reared altar with its seemingly
inappropriate name, may remind us that it is possible, in the midst of
the deadliest hand-to-hand grip with evil, and whilst fighting the
'good fight of faith' with the most entire self-surrender to the divine
will, to bear within us, deeper than all the surface strife, that
inward tranquillity which knows no disturbance, though the outward life
is agitated by fierce storms. Deep in the centre of the ocean the
waters lie quiet, though the wildest tempests are raging above, and the
fiercest currents running. Over the tortured and plunging waters of the
cataract there lies unmoving, though its particles are in perpetual
flux, the bow of promise and of peace. So over all the rush and thunder
of life there may stretch, radiant and many-coloured, and dyed with
beauty by the very sun himself, the abiding bow of beauty, the emblem
and the reality of the divine tranquillity. The Christian life is
continual warfare, but in it all, 'the peace of God which passeth
understanding' may 'garrison our hearts and minds.' In the inmost keep
of the castle, though the storm of war may be breaking against the
walls, there will be a quiet chamber where no noise of the archers can
penetrate, and the shouts of the fight are never heard. Let us seek to
live in the 'secret place of the Most High'; and in still communion
with Him, keep our inmost souls in quiet, while we bravely front
difficulties and enemies. You are to be God's warriors; see to it that
on every battlefield there stands the altar 'Jehovah Shalom.'
III. Lastly, we may draw yet another lesson, and say that that altar,
with its significant inscription, expressed the aim of the conflict and
the hope which sustains in the fight.
Gideon was fighting for peace, and what he desired was that victory
should bring tranquillity. The hope which beckoned him on, when he
flung himself into his else desperate enterprise, was that God would so
prosper his work that the swords might be beaten into ploughshares, and
the spears into pruning hooks. Which things may stand as an allegory,
and suggest to us that the Christian warfare, whilst it rests upon, and
is prompted by, the revelation of God who is peace, aims in all its
blows, at the conquering of that sure and settled peace which shall be
broken by no rebellious outbursts of self-will, nor by any risings of
passions and desires. The aim of our warfare should ever be that the
peace of God may be throned in our hearts, and sit there a gentle
queen. The true tranquillity of the blessed life is the prize of
conflict. David, 'the man of war from his youth,' prepares the throne
for Solomon, in whose reign no alarms of war are heard. If you would
enter into peace, you must fight your way to it, and every step of the
road must be a battle. The land of peace is won by the good fight of
faith.
But Gideon's altar not only expressed his purpose in his taking up
arms, but his confidence of accomplishing it, based upon the assurance
that the Lord would give peace. It was a trophy erected before the
fight, and built, not by arrogant presumption or frivolous
underestimate of the enemy's strength, but by humble reliance on the
power of that Lord who had promised His presence, and had assured
triumph. So the hope that named this altar was the hope that war meant
victory, and that victory would bring peace. That hope should animate
every Christian soldier. Across the dust of the conflict, the fair
vision of unbroken and eternal peace should gleam before each of us,
and we should renew fainting strength and revive drooping courage by
many a wistful gaze.
We may realise that hope in large measure here. But its fulfilment is
reserved for the land of peace which we enter by the last conflict with
the last enemy.
Every Christian man's gravestone is an altar on which is written 'Our
God is peace'; in token that the warrior has passed into the land where
'violence shall no more be heard, wasting, nor destruction within its
borders,' but all shall be deep repose, and the unarmed, because
unattacked, peace of tranquil communion with, and likeness to, 'Jehovah
our Peace.'
So, dear brethren, let us pass from tradition and hearsay into personal
intercourse with God, and from shrinking and doubt into the sunshine of
the conviction that He is our peace. And then, with His tranquillity in
our hearts let us go out, the elect apostles of the peace of God, and
fight for Him, after the pattern of the Captain of our salvation, who
had to conquer peace through conflict; and was 'first of all King of
Righteousness, and _after that_ also King of Peace.'