Part 1
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
THOMAS NELSON & SONS LONDON, EDINBURGH AND NEW YORK
HOUSE BEAUTIFUL;
OR,
The Bible Museum.
By
A. L. O. E.
Authoress of "The Shepherd of Bethlehem," "Exiles in Babylon," "Rescued from Egypt," & c.
LONDON: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. ———————— 1868.
THE narrative portions of the Holy Scriptures are full of striking biographies of those whose virtues are set before us as examples, or whose errors as warnings. We are led, as it were, into a Gallery of Portraits, drawn with faultless accuracy by a sunbeam. But besides these portraits, there are many objects of deep interest for the student of Scripture, the accounts of which have been "written for our learning," objects which we are intended to contemplate with earnest attention, and from which we may draw rich spiritual lessons. Such are Noah's Ark, the Brazen Serpent, the Manna from Heaven, which have been commented upon by apostles, and by our Saviour Himself. If the biographies in the Bible form the Portrait Gallery of Scripture, such objects as those to which I have referred—gathered together for our contemplation—suggest the idea of a Museum, and we are reminded of the instruction which Bunyan represents to have been gained from such in House Beautiful. I have never yet met with a work in which a number of such objects have been specially collected for the contemplation of Christians, and it has occurred to me that such a volume of reflections might assist us more vividly to realize much of what is contained in the Word of God.
Come then with me, my Christian reader, and let us examine together some of those ancient objects rescued by the inspired writers from oblivion, and undimmed by the dust of many ages. Let us not handle them with superstitious reverence as relics, but make use of them to raise our minds from the absorbing cares and pleasures of the present, to holy musings on the past. May the Spirit of Wisdom and Truth assist us in our meditations, and increase our deep reverence for those sacred Scriptures in which these objects of interest are preserved.
A. L. O. E.
I. FORBIDDEN FRUIT
II. CAIN'S OFFERING
III. NOAH'S OLIVE LEAF
IV. ABRAHAM'S TENT
V. HAGAR'S BOTTLE
VI. JACOB'S PILLOW
VII. THE COAT OF MANY COLOURS
VIII. THE ARK OF BULRUSHES
IX. PHARAOH'S CHARIOT
X. THE TABLES OF STONE
XI. THE HIGH PRIEST'S MITRE
XII. THE HIGH PRIEST'S MITRE,—_Continued_
XIII. BALAAM'S STAFF
XIV. RAHAB'S SCARLET CORD
XV. GIDEON'S EPHOD
XVI. THE JAWBONE OF AN ASS
XVII. RUTH'S BARLEY-EARS
XVIII. JOB'S SACKCLOTH
XIX. DAGON'S STUMP
XX. SAUL'S SPEAR
XXI. JONATHAN'S BOW
XXII. DAVID'S HARP
XXIII. ABSALOM'S HAIR
XXIV. SEED CORN FROM BARZILLAI'S GIFT
XXV. TEMPLE LILY WORK
XXVI. THE WIDOW'S CRUSE
XXVII. ELIJAH'S LETTER
XXVIII. JONAH'S GOURD
XXIX. THE FETTERS OF MANASSEH
XXX. THE DEED OF PURCHASE
XXXI. JEHOIAKIM'S KNIFE
XXXII. THE RAGS OF EBEDMELECH
XXXIII. THE GOLDEN SCEPTRE
XXXIV. A VESSEL OF THE TEMPLE
XXXV. THE TRUMPET OF NEHEMIAH
XXXVI. WRITING TABLE OF ZACHARIAS
XXXVII. THE MANGER
XXXVIII. THE APOSTLES' NET
XXXIX. THE BED OF THE PARALYTIC
XL. THE CROSS
XLI. THE STONE AT THE SEPULCHRE
THE QUEEN AND THE TWELVE NAMES
HOUSE BEAUTIFUL
I.
Forbidden Fruit.
CAN this object, so small, so beautiful, be yet through its effects more deadly than any weapon of war ever forged for man's destruction, more deadly than the poison-flask, the dagger, or the thunderbolt! It lies before us fresh and fair as when, nearly six thousand years ago, it hung amongst the green foliage of Paradise, more beautiful than any fragrant peach on which the last ripening sunbeam glows in a now fallen world.
On the fruit of Eden, which could so lightly yield to Eve's touch, and be marked by the soft pressure of her fingers, we see not the trail of the serpent; it is goodly to look upon, and what mortal dare say that had he been in the place of our first parents, the fair but fatal fruit would have hung untasted on the bough? In looking on it, how awful a lesson we learn of the poisonous nature of what we dare to call "little sins!"
Who amongst us, beholding Eve in her beauty plucking the fruit which tempted her eye, would not have been ready to have echoed the first lie ever breathed on our planet, "thou shalt not surely die." Bright, guileless, and, until now, sinless being; God will not severely judge thee, He has threatened, but He will not perform.
Is not the same deluding idea at the bottom of all our carelessness, our neglect of duty, our grasping at forbidden pleasure? "Thou shalt not surely die" has been the whisper of the Tempter from Eve's time till now. Let us answer him by pointing to that fruit. Was not the death of myriads enclosed, as it were, in its rind? Could the stain left by its fatal juice be washed out by floods of tears or rivers of blood? Had no sin but that one sin of plucking it been ever committed upon earth, could that sin have been atoned for by anything less than the sacrifice of an Incarnate God?
Sin stands not alone by itself: as the seed is contained in the fruit, so one transgression is the parent of many. Coveting what God had withheld, longing for a luxury forbidden, ambitiously aiming at gaining knowledge which should make her independent as a God, Eve at once received into her heart "the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life." They came as guests—to remain as tyrants. When we feel their influence within ourselves, when covetousness, love of pleasure, or pride of intellect would draw us from our lowly allegiance to God, from our simple obedience to His word, let us look on the forbidden fruit and tremble—let us look on it, and watch and pray.
The fruit of knowledge still, Plucked by pride, may death distil.
When we make of intellect an idol; when we exalt reason above revelation, and would draw down God's hidden mysteries to the level of our finite comprehension, we are putting forth our hand, like Eve, to pluck and taste the forbidden fruit; forgetful of the warning of the Saviour: "He that receiveth not the kingdom of heaven as a little child shall in no wise enter therein."
II.
Cain's Offering.
MORE of the fruits of the earth are here, though no longer the fruit of Eden. These, too, are rich and beautiful, and a special interest attaches to them, for they are the offering made to God by the first man who was ever born into a sinful world.
Have we ever realized the feelings with which Adam and his wife must have watched the dawn of intellect in their firstborn son, or the mingled grief, shame, and hope, with which they would tell him the history of the Fall, and the mysterious promise linked with the sentence passed upon them by the righteous Judge? Did young Cain share the hope, which appears at one time to have been his mother's, that he should be the one to whom it would be given to set his foot upon the Serpent's head, and crush the Enemy of his race? We know not whether such thought as this ever passed through the mind of the boy, but he never seems to have entered, like his younger brother, into the solemn meaning of sacrifice for sin.
Cain was not one to neglect all forms of religion; he had his thank-offering for the God of Nature. It is possible that when he looked around him on swelling fruits and ripening grain, and found the earth beneath the labour of his hands yield thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold, a feeling both of adoration and of gratitude may have stirred within his soul. "Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the Lord."
But the offering was not accepted. And wherefore was it not? Let us search a little more deeply into this matter, and see, if God help us to understand, wherefore that sacrifice of Cain was rejected, and if there be any danger that ours may be even as his.
It is clear that the case of Cain differs from that of the man utterly indifferent to religion; the man who cares not to make any offering at all. There are those, bearing the name of Christians, whose purses (readily enough opened at any call of pleasure or pride) are kept systematically shut when God's service or His people's need require their contributions. It may well be a startling thought for such that they do "less than Cain."
But what was it that marred the offering of Adam's firstborn son? Why were those mellow fragrant fruits less acceptable to God than the bleeding lamb presented by Cain's younger brother? We have the answer in the words of inspiration. "By faith" Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain. And what was this acceptable faith? We cannot think that it consisted in a mere belief in the existence of God as the Creator and Preserver of mankind, that vague belief which now satisfies so many who deem it a proof of higher intellect and more liberal thought to reject the peculiar doctrines of Christianity. Doubtless Cain held such belief, yet his offering was "not" the offering of faith.
Abel came before God in God's appointed way, as a transgressor, seeking grace through the medium of a sacrifice. We know not how far he understood the meaning of the rite; whether it was revealed unto him, more or less distinctly, that the promised seed of the woman was also to be the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world; but whether the light granted to Abel was dim or bright, he walked by it in faith. The fruits gathered by the hand of Cain showed no recognition of guilt—no consciousness of needing mercy—no hope of grace to be received through a heaven-sent deliverer. And the offering was not accepted.
If the touchstone contained in the words "by faith" were applied to a multitude of the gifts now placed upon the altar of God, would not many—would not most of them be found to be offerings like those of Cain? Pause, dear reader, and think over your own. Have you helped to raise churches, or to ornament them, to provide for orphans, to assist needy widows, is your name on many a subscription list—your gold often seen on the collection-plate? Do you give the fruits of your intellect to religious work, the best of your time to charitable labours? Are you counted an active and useful member of the church to which you belong? All this may be, and yet it is not impossible that you are presenting the offerings of Cain.
Are you standing in your own righteousness, labouring in your own strength, not deeming yourself a sinner needing forgiveness, but a saint entitled to reward? Search well your motives, look closely at your own heart. We shall not be judged according to the verdict of the world, that sees the action but scans not the motive, but by Him who reads the secret thought and intent.
Herod raised a magnificent temple to the Lord God of Israel, and his liberality may have been lauded to the skies, yet, surely, his was the offering of Cain. Let us be fully persuaded that no sacrifice of ours can be acceptable but as made "for" Christ, and offered through Christ, that we need "the blood of sprinkling" both on ourselves and on our works, if we would not find that sacrifice—these works, however great, however highly extolled—rejected at last!
And there is another way in which we may cause our gifts to be accounted worthless by the Lord, even when we believe them to be offered in faith—when the proud spirit of malice, jealousy, hatred, which was especially the spirit of Cain, is suffered to pollute even that which we bring unto God. Theological hatred has become proverbial for bitterness: so fierce are the disputes upon subjects of religion, that the nature of that "faith that worketh by love" seems to be often entirely forgotten.
If we would not tread in the steps of the first murderer, let us follow the command of our Lord. "If thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift."
Of the deepest importance is it to all who come not empty-handed before their Creator and Judge, to examine whether faith hallows or self-righteousness mars what they bring, whether theirs be the accepted sacrifice of Abel or the rejected offering of Cain.
III.
Noah's Olive Leaf.
PRECIOUS little leaf, symbol of hope and of peace; well worthy art thou of being thus preserved for thousands of years, to be viewed by generation after generation of the sons of men as a pledge of God's lovingkindness! Far more valuable art thou, leaflet once borne in the bill of a bird, than the glittering diadem worn by Solomon in all his glory. With what delight wert thou once hailed by all that survived of mankind, by the whole Church enclosed in the ark; and we can well believe that even in Paradise the spirit of Noah dwells with pleasure on the recollection of that moment when he first looked upon thee!
To conceive what must have been the joy felt by the patriarchs at the sight of the first leaf from a renovated world, let us try to realize their position when the dove flew back with that leaf in its bill.
When Noah and his family first took refuge in the ark, and the windows of heaven were opened, and the fountains of the great deep broken up, their emotions were doubtless those of thankfulness for deliverance and safety, when the great judgment, so long threatened, so long expected, had come at length on the earth. While the storm raged around them, they were secure; the waves that swept over a guilty world could but lift their floating home nearer to heaven! With their emotions of thankfulness would be mixed those of sorrow, pity, regret, for neighbours, perhaps friends and relatives, who had been warned in vain, then perishing beneath the terrible flood. Had not God Himself shut him in, how often would Noah have thrown wide open the door of the ark to receive the poor struggling, drowning wretches, whose dying eyes would be turned to that refuge which they had rejected and despised until it was too late to seek it.
But when the flood had fulfilled its terrible mission; when no cries of the drowning were borne on the blast; when the cataract of rain had ceased, and the dashing of waters was heard no more; then the excitement, the strong emotions of the family in the ark must also have sunk into comparative rest. As the wild raging of the tempest was exchanged for the stillness of death, and the great vessel floated tranquilly over placid waters, and week after week, month after month passed, without bringing a change, great and probably wearisome monotony would pervade the life of the inmates of the ark. That which they had at first rejoiced in as a refuge, would gradually, but increasingly, become to them like a prison. How long were they to be confined within its narrow bounds; when would they be permitted again freely to tread the earth, and partake once more of its fresh produce?
If the Israelites bitterly recalled to memory the riches of the gardens of Egypt—the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks and the onions—would no such regrets be felt by the family of Noah? Would not woman sigh for the flowers that she had been wont to cherish, and an inexpressible yearning oppress all, a yearning to look once more on the green, smiling face of nature? For how many more months, or years, were weary eyes to rest on the same objects, counting the beams above or the planks below of the now familiar prison? A fear might even arise that the supply of provisions, however large at first, might fail, and privation and want ensue. The venerable Noah may have waited with unshaken faith and calm submission for the hour of freedom, but it is more than probable that the younger members of his family grew impatient under the restraint of lengthened confinement.
At last Noah opened the window of the ark and sent forth a raven. In the monotonous routine of the life which he led, this was an event thought worthy of record; the creature appears to have been sent as a messenger, and its return must have been anxiously awaited. But never again did the dark bird re-enter the ark which he once had quitted.
Again Noah sent forth a bird, a dove; but in the beautiful language of Scripture, "the dove found no rest for the sole of her foot, and she returned unto him into the ark, for the waters were on the face of the whole earth: then he put forth his hand, and took her, and pulled her in unto him into the ark."
Not yet had come the signal for release; patience had not yet had its perfect work; the fathers of mankind, the inheritors of the world, must wait longer ere entering into possession. Seven times the sun rose and set ere the dove was sent forth again by Noah. But this time the gleam of the silver wing was to bring joy to the waiting patriarch: "The dove came in to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive leaf pluckt off: so Noah knew that the waters were abated from off the earth." When was earthly treasure ever received with the rapturous welcome given to that leaf; the first brought from a world new-born, as it were, from the dead!
If we regard the Church of Christ as the ark floating now on the troublous waters of the world, the story of Noah's olive leaf becomes a beautiful parable. "How long, Lord, how long," has been for ages the weary cry of the people of God, waiting and watching for the final deliverance and restitution of all things. They are "safe," for they rest in Christ, but the heirs of the new heaven and the new earth may seem to wait in vain. Unbelief suggests the discouraging thought, "since the fathers fell asleep all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation." Virtue still suffers; evil still spreads; sin and sorrow, like the waters of the flood, are covering the face of the earth.
But there is an olive leaf still for the family of God in the ark. It is the Saviour's promise, "I will come again and receive you unto Myself." To find it and bear it home is not granted to mere human reason, however keen of eye and strong of wing: the raven brought not the emblem of hope. It is the Dove, the Heavenly Comforter alone who brings to the waiting Church, to each weary individual heart, the pledge and promise of a glorious inheritance, when Christ shall return to throw wide open the bolted door, and bid His redeemed come forth to rejoice and to reign for ever!
Has the Dove, dear Reader, brought that olive leaf to your soul; have you rejoiced in the promise? Are you eagerly looking for Him, whom, not having seen, you have loved; and is His word, "I will come again," more precious to you than thousands of silver and gold? Well may the Christian, looking to the promise, adopt the language of the poet,— *
Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom, Did not Thy Heavenly Dove Come brightly bearing through the gloom A peace-branch from above!
Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray, As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day.
* Slightly altered from Moore.
IV.
Abraham's Tent.
WE experience natural pleasure in visiting spots celebrated in history. Though corn may wave, and fruit ripen over the scene of some celebrated battle, we cannot look with indifference on the scene where was once held a world-famous struggle for freedom. No modern palace would have the interest which would be attached to the ruin of one which had been trodden by famous monarchs of old. Were there buildings remaining of which it could be said, "here Alexander planned his conquests;" or "there Cyrus administered justice;" we should regard such buildings, however crumbling and defaced, as places gilded by memories which time could never destroy.
But no palace of monarch, no fortress of hero, could ever wake in us such feelings of reverence as a tent of black goat's hair, such as those which the nomade descendants of Abraham now pitch on the sands of Arabia, if it could be certified to us,—"here dwelt the father of the faithful; he who in Scripture is called the friend of God. In that doorway sat the venerable patriarch in the heat of the day, when, raising his eyes, he beheld three mysterious visitors from Heaven stand before him. Behind yon curtain Sarah listened with eager interest to the conversation between her lord and the angel, laughing to herself at tidings which she would not at first believe. There also, when time had rolled on, she laughed with joy over the babe, the promised gift of God; the child from whom should descend a race as the stars in the sky or the sands by the sea for number. It was there that Abraham first embraced his Isaac, and blessed God for the fulfilment of that promise which faith had grasped, when the aged man had 'against hope believed in hope.'"
Though the patriarch's tent was most unlike our own habitations, and though the dwelling of a wealthy sheik would contain fewer comforts than many an English cottage, we turn to it for lessons of what a home should be in all climates, and through all ages. Not that it can be altogether a model even as regards the conduct of its inmates; Sarah's chidings, Hagar's scorn, and Ishmael's mockings must not be forgotten; but in four respects, at least, the tent of Abraham offers a scene which we may contemplate with reverence and profit.
Firstly, it was the dwelling of faith. Wherever its stakes were driven in, its cords stretched, its curtains spread, there rose a habitation in which God was truly worshipped. The ground upon which it stood became in a manner holy. Could that tent speak, of what fervent prayers, what wrestling faith, what earnest adoration, could it tell, and that at a time when idolatry had spread over almost all the earth! In the midst of darkness a bright light shone from that tent; a light which has never been, and never will be, extinguished.
Are our homes thus centres of light? Is God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, thus constantly honoured in them? Could the word spoken of the patriarch be also spoken, reader, of thee? "I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment." Had thy walls a voice, what witness would they bear to earnest pleadings in secret, or humble devotion in family prayer?
Again,—Abraham's tent was the abode of conjugal, parental, and filial affection. Sarah, with all her faults, is held up to us as a model wife. Though, even in advanced life, celebrated for exquisite beauty, Sarah's adorning appears to have been no "outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; she obeyed Abraham, calling him lord," yielding loving reverence to her husband. Isaac was brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord; and his obedience to God, and submission to his aged parent, were alike shown when he suffered himself to be bound, an unresisting victim, on the altar of sacrifice.
In these days, when a spirit of lawless independence sometimes pervades even the nursery, and wives too often forget that they have vowed to honour and obey as well as to love, it is well that we should let our thoughts dwell awhile in the tent of Abraham, to see that a home should be as a monarchy, governed by laws of love, the husband and father a wise beneficent ruler, emphatically a power "ordained of God."