Now, that symbol of incense is thus used in many places in Scripture. I
need only remind you of one or two instances. You remember how, when the
father of John the Baptist went into the Holy Place, as was his priestly
duty at the time of the offering of the evening oblation, the whole
multitude were in the Outer Court praying; he in the Inner Court,
presenting the symbolical worship, and they, without, offering the real.
Then, if we turn to the grand imagery of the Book of the Revelation,
where we find the heavenly temple opened up to our reverent gaze, we
read that the elders, the representatives of redeemed humanity, have
'golden bowls full of odours, which are the prayers of the saints.' So
there is no fancifulness in interpreting the incense of the ancient
ritual as meaning simply the prayers of devout hearts. Of course there
has been a great deal of nonsense talked about the symbolical
signification of these Old Testament rites, and there is need for sober
sense to put the rein upon a vivid imagination in interpreting these;
still clear utterances of Scripture as well as this verse itself remove
all need for hesitation to accept this meaning of the symbol.
Now, let me remind you of the place which the Altar of Incense occupied.
The Temple was divided into three courts, the Outer Court, the Holy
Place, and the Holiest of All. The Altar of Incense stood in the second
of these, the Holy Place; the Altar of Burnt Offering stood in the court
without. It was not until that Altar, with its expiatory sacrifice, had
been passed, that one could enter into the Holy Place, where the Altar
of Incense stood. There were three pieces of furniture in that Place,
the Altar of Incense, the Golden Candlestick, and the Table of the
Shewbread. Of these three, the Altar of Incense stood in the centre.
Twice a day the incense was kindled upon it by a priest, by means of
live coals brought from the Altar of Burnt Offering in the Outer Court,
and, thus kindled, the wreaths of fragrant smoke ascended on high. All
day long the incense smouldered upon the altar; twice a day it was
kindled into a bright flame.
Now, if we take these things with us, we can understand a little more of
the depth and beauty of this prayer, and see how much it tells us of
what we, as the priests of the most High God--which we are, if we are
Christian people at all--ought to have in our censers.
I need not dwell upon the careful and sedulous preparation from pure
spices which went to the making of the incense. So we have to prepare
ourselves by sedulous purity if there is to be any life or power in our
devotions. But I pass from that, and ask you to think of the lovely
picture of true devoutness given in that inflamed incense, wreathing in
coils of fragrance up to the heavens. Prayer is more than petition. It
is the going up of the whole soul towards God. Brother! do you know
anything of that instinctive and spontaneous rising up of desire and
aspiration and faith and love, up and up and up, until they reach Him?
Do you realise that just in the measure in which we set our minds as
well as our affections, and our affections as well as our minds, on the
things which are above, just to that extent, and not one hairsbreadth
further, have we the right to call ourselves Christians at all? I fear
me that for the great mass of Christian professors the great bulk of
their lives creeps along the low levels like the mists in winter, that
hug the marshes instead of rising, swirling up like an incense cloud,
impelled by nothing but the fire in the censer up and up towards God.
Let us each ask the question for himself, Is my prayer '_directed_'--as
is the true meaning of the Hebrew word--'before Thee as incense'?
Remember, too, that the incense lay dead, unfragrant, and with no
capacity of soaring, till it was kindled; that is to say, unless there
is a flame in my heart there will be no rising of my aspirations to God.
Cold prayers do not go up more than a foot or two above the ground; they
have no power to soar. There must be the inflaming before there can be
the mounting of the aspiration. You cannot get a balloon to go up unless
the gas within it is warmer than the atmosphere round it. It is because
we are habitually such tepid Christians that we are so tongue-tied in
prayer.
Where was the incense kindled from? From coals brought from the Altar of
Burnt Offering in the outer court; that is to say, light the fire in
your heart with a coal brought from Christ's sacrifice, and then it will
flame; and only then will love well upwards and desires be set on the
things above. The beginning of Christian fervour lies in the habitual
realising as a fact of the great love which 'loved me and gave itself
for me.' There is no patent way of getting a vivid Christian experience
except the old way of clinging close to Jesus Christ the Saviour; and in
order to do that, we have to think about Him, as well as to feel about
Him, a great deal more than I fear the most of us do.
Further, does not this lovely symbol of my text suggest to us a glorious
thought, the acceptableness even of our poor prayers, if they come from
hearts inflamed with love because of Christ's great redeeming love? The
Psalmist, thinking humbly of himself and of the worth of anything that
he can bring, says, 'Let my prayer come before Thee as incense,' an
'odour of a sweet smell, acceptable to God'; yes, even our prayers will
be sweet to Him if they are prayers of true aspiration and mounting
faith, leaping from a kindled heart, kindled at the great flame of
Christ's love.
Were you ever in a Roman Catholic cathedral? Did you ever see there the
little boys that carry the censers, swinging them backwards and forwards
every now and then, and by means of the silver chains lifting the
covers? What is that for? Because the incense would go out unless the
air was let into it. So a constant effort is needed in order to keep the
incense of our prayers alight. We have to swing the censer to get rid of
the things that make our hearts cold; we have to stir the fire, and only
so shall we keep up our devotion. Remember the incense burned all day
long on the altar; though perhaps but smouldering, like the banked-up
fires in the furnaces of a steamer that lies at anchor, still the glow
was there; and twice a day there came the priest with his pan full of
fresh glowing coals from the altar in the Outer Court, and kindled it up
into a flame once more. Which things are thus far an allegory that our
devotion is to be diffused throughout our lives in a lambent glow, and
if it is, it will have to be fed by special acts of worship day by day.
You hear people talk of not caring about times and seasons of prayer,
and of the beauty of making all life a prayer. Amen! I say so too. But
depend upon it that there will never be devotion diffused through life
unless there is devotion concentrated at points in the life. There must
be reservoirs as well as pipes in order to supply the water through the
whole city. So the incense is perpetually to be heaped on the Altar of
Incense, but also it is to be stirred to a fragrant blaze and fed,
morning and evening, by fresh coals from the altar.
II. Now let me say a word about the other thought here--the sacrifice of
the empty-handed.
'The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice.' In accordance
with the genius of Hebrew poetry the same general idea is repeated in
the second member of the parallelism, but with modifications. What is
implied in likening the uplifted empty hands to the evening sacrifice?
First, it is a confession of impotent emptiness, a lifting up of
expectant hands to be filled with the gift from God. And, says this
Psalmist, 'Because I bring nothing in my hand, Thou dost accept me, as
if I came laden with offerings.' That is just a picturesque way of
putting a familiar, threadbare truth, which, threadbare as it is, needs
to be laid to heart a great deal more by us, that our true worship and
truest honour of God lies not in giving but in taking. 'He is not
worshipped with men's hands, as though He needed anything, seeing that
He giveth to all life, and breath, and all things.' That one truth, Paul
felt on Mars Hill, was sure enough to make all the temples and statues
by which he was surrounded crumble into nothingness. But it does not
merely destroy idolatry. It cuts up by the root much of what we call
Christian worship. How many people worship because they think they
ought? How many people talk about Christian worship as being a
duty--'Our duty we have now performed'? How many have never had a
glimpse of this thought, that God wills us to draw near to Him, not
because it pleases Him but because it blesses us, and that we are to
worship, not in order that we may bring anything, either the sacrifices
of bulls and goats, or the more refined ones that we bring nowadays, but
in order that, bringing our emptiness into touch with His infinite
fulness, as much of that fulness as we need to make us full, and as much
of that blessedness as we need to make us blessed, may pass into our
lives. Oh! if we understand 'the giving God,' as James calls Him in his
letter; and if we had learned the old lesson of that fiftieth Psalm, 'If
I were hungry I would not tell thee.... Will I eat the flesh of bulls
and drink the blood of goats? He that offereth praise glorifieth Me, and
to him that ordereth his conversation aright will I show the salvation
of God'--if we had learned that, and laid it to heart, and applied it to
our own worship and our lives, mountains of misconception would be
lifted away from many hearts. In our service we do not need to bring any
merit of our own. This great principle destroys not only the gross
externalities of heathen sacrifice, and the notion that worship is a
duty, but it destroys the other notion of our having to bring anything
to deserve God's gifts. And so it is an encouragement to us when we feel
ourselves to be what we are, and what we should always feel ourselves to
be, empty-handed, coming to Him not only with hearts that aspire like
incense, but with petitions that confess our need, and cast ourselves
upon His grace. See that you desire what God wishes to give; see that
you go to Him for what He does give. See that you give to Him the only
thing that He does wish, or that it lies in your power to give, and that
is yourself.
Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy Cross I cling.
'Let the lifting of my hands be as the evening sacrifice'; as the
Psalmist has it in another place, 'What shall I render to the Lord for
all His benefits?'--it is not a question of rendering, but 'I will
_take_ the cup of salvation.' Taking is our truest worship, and the
lifting up of empty, expectant hands is, in God's sight, as the evening
sacrifice.