Part 10

But we conceive yet stronger indignation excited in the breasts of Jewish exiles, when the sacred vessels were brought forth to add to the magnificence of the feast of King Belshazzar, when the heathen in riotous mirth quaffed wine out of those splendid chargers, and praised their own gods of silver and gold, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of stone! It was a sacrilegious hand that Belshazzar laid on the golden cup before us, a blasphemous lip that pressed its brim; and God at once avenged the insult to His Majesty. Part of a man's hand appeared writing on the wall terrible mysterious characters that no one present could read, and the king's countenance was changed, he trembled, his knees smote one another with fear. On that night was proud Babylon taken by the Persians under that Cyrus who subsequently restored to the Jews the vessels of their Temple, to be once more devoted to the service of the one true God.

The image of a vessel is repeatedly employed in the New Testament to represent human beings. St. Paul writes of God making known the riches of His glory on the vessels of mercy which He had before prepared unto glory; he describes a believer as "a vessel unto honour, sanctified, meet for the Master's use," and he was himself spoken of by the Lord as "a chosen vessel." It does not appear improbable that in each instance the idea was suggested by the vessels of the Temple. It seems as if some light might be thrown by the use of this simile upon the subjects of baptism and conversion.

In baptism every Christian adult or child becomes a vessel solemnly consecrated to God, even like the treasures of the Temple dedicated by Solomon to the Lord. Happy those who are never suffered to fall into the hand of the Enemy! What myriads of babes will there be in Heaven, little vessels of mercy that have never been defiled by wilful sin, but which have been safely laid up in the treasury above! But there are many baptized beings whose history is like that of the golden charger on which the mental eye now rests. They were indeed once solemnly devoted to God, but the world has them now, Satan has carried them away, they are no longer used in the Master's service. They are given to idols, they are filled with iniquity, and though some in the sight of men may be precious and beautiful still, they are no longer "vessels unto honour." They need to be washed, and cleansed, and given back—restored to their lawful Owner, and to their rightful use, and when God's grace has accomplished this, we call the blessed restoration "conversion."

It is therefore with feelings of grief, yet not unmingled with hope (like those which the Jews of old must have experienced in regard to their Temple plate), that believers should look upon the unconverted around them. It is not with loathing and contempt that the drunkard or the thief should be thrust aside; it is not with proud disgust that the Christian should turn from the multitude whose daily course of life proves them to be under the dominion of the Prince of this world, though they were baptized in childhood. These are all precious vessels, once dedicated to God, and which may be restored to His service still. They are in Babylon now, but they may be rescued from thence; that which has been filled with iniquity may yet overflow with grace; saved from the idol temple, snatched from the revel and the riot, they may yet be reserved to shine in glory amongst the jewels of their Lord.

What marvellous instances of such conversion have formed themes for the songs of rejoicing angels! Such men as John Newton and Vine Hall, and many others besides, were as vessels grasped by Satan himself and held up on high in unhallowed triumph: but they were to be wrenched from his hold, filled with grace and filled with glory, and made chosen vessels of the heavenly Temple which is built not by man but by God.

Fervent should be our prayers for the unconverted, whether they be those whom the world condemns or the world admires. There are some amongst them whose characters seem to bear no dark stain or spot: all acknowledge the metal to be precious and the form to be fair: they are so goodly—so bright—that it is hard to believe that they are not "vessels of honour." But alas! If they be not truly devoted to God's service and receiving His grace, they are like the golden chargers of the feast of Belshazzar, they are yet but "vessels of wrath." They are like beautiful chalices made to hold the wine of blessing, but taken from the church to the godless banquet. It is profanation when any baptized being is given up to the service of the world; the familiar sound of his own Christian name should remind him that he has once been devoted to God.

Let us close our meditation with the words of the apostle: "Every one of you should know how to preserve his vessel in sanctification and honour . . . And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly, . . . faithful is He that calleth you, who also will do it."

XXXV.

The Trumpet of Nehemiah.

THE trumpet of Nehemiah is one of the objects in what we may call the sacred museum of Scripture, on which the mind rests with pleasure. It tells of earnestness and unanimity in a great work; its sound was a call to God's servants to help one another in a time of difficulty and of danger, when the Jews, after their return from Babylonish captivity, rebuilt the wall of their Zion. What a scene of anxious and yet joyful labour rises before us as connected with that trumpet!

We picture to ourselves the brave men of Judah, with the tool in one hand and the weapon in another, toil-drops beading their sun-burnt faces, labouring from the rising of the morn till the stars appeared; some, as we know, not even putting on their clothes at night, but throwing themselves down in their garments to snatch needful rest, till dawn should rouse them to fresh exertions. We picture to ourselves not only the men bending their strong backs under the burden, and straining their muscles to lift great weights, but the matrons and maidens of Zion, nay, even the little children, lending what help they might, trying to make up by zeal for want of physical power, bringing food and water to the workers; bearing, perhaps, the lighter burdens, or carrying rubbish away, and speaking those words of encouragement which would add new strength to the strong, and energy to the active.

We hear them repeating one to another the rousing call of their leader when bidding them prepare for attack from their foes: "Be not ye afraid of them; remember the Lord, which is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your houses."

At one blast from Nehemiah's trumpet, weapons would have flashed from their scabbards, and a rush have been made to the spot whence the warning note proceeded, for thus writes Nehemiah: "He that sounded the trumpet was by me; and I said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, The work is great and large, and we are separated upon the wall, one from another. In what place therefore ye hear the trumpet, resort ye thither unto us: our God shall fight for us!"

Even such a scene of active, earnest labour is around us now, realized by faith; in the midst of an opposing world, surrounded by difficulties, encompassed by snares, the labourers for God are raising the walls of the spiritual Zion. The Word of the Lord is their trumpet call, bidding them quit themselves like men and be strong; to fight against their own besetting sins, and at the same time to be ready for every labour of love, and especially such labours for souls as are typified by the building of the wall of Jerusalem, that city of the great King.

There is something delightful and exhilarating in the feeling of working together, combining in efforts for God. The labourers are indeed engaged on different parts of the wall, they may be "one far from another," yet is there a union of purpose between them, and the trumpet at any moment may call them to union in action. Not all are fit for the same kind of work; some are employed but to clear away rubbish, others are laying the strong, deep foundations, those prepare mortar, these hew stones, the work of many shows no visible result, whilst beneath the busy hands of their brethren the wall rises with marvellous rapidity. But all are helping in the building for God, and when the bulwark is completed, the glorious task done, how joyfully may the weakest of the workers exclaim: "I, even I, was a labourer too!"

Yes—on this building there is room for the efforts, not of the pastor alone, but of the "people;" not of the men alone, but the women; nay, even of the feeble little child. Something will be found for each to do, if all combine together. And how inspiriting is the feeling of brotherhood and sisterhood between those engaged in working for God! We may regard the great and successful efforts of some highly distinguished Christian, as a Jewish child, bringing but a few pebbles to add to the wall, may have regarded the giant strength of some Samson, heaving up to its place a huge mass, which the boy's feeble arms could not have stirred. The child would admire and rejoice in the strength of the man; and, if humbled, yet not discouraged, by its contrast with his own weakness, would do the little which he could do with the cheering thought, "I, even I, am a labourer too!"

Oh, how far preferable the humblest kind of spiritual work, to the shame of standing all the day idle, while God's people are anxiously toiling around us for Him!

There are very many ways in which we may help to raise the wall of our Zion. Missionary labour amongst heathen abroad and heathen at home is the most lofty kind of building work. The earnest clergyman, the ragged-school teacher, the Bible-woman, the Christian visitor to the haunts of poverty and the dens of sin, are those "directly" engaged in raising stone upon stone. Such need refreshment, encouragement, help; and to give it to them for the sake of the cause is "indirectly" to forward the building.

There is one way in which we can, as it were, bring our little contribution of mortar to fix the stones, which, though a way neglected by many, is beyond the strength of but few—by "the circulation of religious literature." There is, indeed, judgment required in the choice of religious works for such distribution. The mortar should in itself be good, and be "laid" on, not carelessly "thrown" on; but no great courage is usually required, except by novices in the work. In nineteen cases out of twenty, the book or tract which is courteously offered is civilly received, and sometimes thankfully and eagerly accepted.

A Protestant lady, just before entering a French church to see the interior, gave a tract to an old woman who chanced to be near the door. On the lady's leaving the church, the woman—who was doubtless a Roman Catholic—returned the tract, which she probably regarded as heretical trash. The lady, whose English companion did not sympathize with her tract-giving, took back the despised paper with a little feeling of embarrassment, which instantly passed away as a man held out his hand for what the woman had rejected, so that the lady had merely to pass the tract from the one to the other.

Travellers, while in search of health or amusement, would do well to remember that valuable opportunities may be afforded to them, when thus casually meeting with those whom they never again may see, of helping to build the wall of Zion. They are not likely to behold any effect of their work here; but labour for God, with faith and prayer, is "not in vain in the Lord."

Would that reflection on this subject would induce every reader who may glance at this little volume to form a prayerful resolution never to let "one day" pass without doing something, be it ever so little, towards raising the spiritual wall! How cold is our zeal, how careless our efforts, compared to those of the Jews under Nehemiah! "They" did not sit quietly in their homes, buried in studies, or absorbed by business, while the din of earnest work was going on around them, or the blast of the trumpet summoned all true sons of Abraham to do brave battle for the right. The nobles thought it an honour to be engaged in the work; the governor himself set an example of devoted energy in it. It was a day of triumph for Nehemiah and his companions when their glorious work was finished; when, in the words of the leader, "all our enemies heard thereof, and all the heathen that were about us saw these things, and were much cast down in their own eyes, for they perceived that this work was wrought of God."

But what will be the joy of those who have toiled for Christ, and in His strength, when they gaze on the jasper wall of "the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God," wherein those shall dwell who, ransomed and pardoned by the Saviour, have loved, lived, and laboured for Him! The trumpet in the hand of the archangel shall sound then no summons to conflict. And when the blessed review the time of their sojourn upon earth, with all its mingled trials and blessings while God's work was slowly rising to completion, will it not be one of their sweetest joys then to be able to say, "Unworthy as I was of a privilege so glorious, I, even I, was a labourer too!"

XXXVI.

Writing Table of Zacharias.

THOUGH mentioned but once in Scripture, there are circumstances which invest the writing table of Zacharias with peculiar interest, as on it may be said to have been traced the first written sentence of the Gospel—the fulfilment of the words of the angel, with the name of him of whom the prophet Isaiah had foretold, that he should be "a voice crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord."

As soon as Zacharias had written the words, "His name is John," what a thankful utterance of joy burst from the lips of the aged father! He that had been dumb now spake—his mouth was opened at once to prophesy and to praise. Zacharias was filled with the Holy Ghost, as his venerable wife had been before, and rejoiced in the Day-spring from on high, that was rising to give light to them that had long sat in darkness and in the shadow of death.

As the rosy clouds, flushed with his upward beams, seem to cradle the rising sun, so we find, at the first advent of the Sun of Righteousness, a holy radiance brightening the latter days of four aged saints, who were chosen, as it were, to reflect the first rays of coming glory, and bear witness to the Messiah.

First Elisabeth, then her aged husband, afterwards the venerable Simeon and Anna, gave thanks to the Lord, and spoke of the coming blessing to all them that looked for redemption in Zion. The song of the one seems to have been appropriate to all: "Lord, now let Thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation." With these saints, indeed, was the hoary head a crown of glory, for it was found in the way of righteousness.

The spirit of wisdom granted to these four aged believers reminds us of the words of the poet—

"Both worlds at once they view, Who stand upon the threshold of the new;"

and lead us to reflect upon some of the privileges of a holy old age. When an aged Christian lady was once speaking of the different generations in a family, she remarked, "It is like a ladder—happy those who are near the top!" The observation contrasts strikingly with Moore's melancholy regrets for departed youth, and gloomy views of advancing age—

"Dim lies the path to death before me."

Age is commonly described by the expression, "descending into the vale of years:" with Christians, it should rather be, mounting towards the height of Pisgah; not going "down" into darkness, but "up" into light—nearer to God, and nearer to Heaven.

Thus it was with the four New Testament saints on whom we are reflecting; and the privilege which was granted to them, of witnessing to God's truth and rejoicing in His salvation, seems to be the especial portion of "aged" believers in every generation of mankind.

The old in years can, in a peculiarly forcible manner, witness to the truth and faithfulness of God.

"I have been young, and now am old," said David, "yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."

"Behold, this day I am going the way of all the earth," cried the venerable Joshua; "not one thing hath failed of all the good things which the Lord your God spake concerning you."

Such words had additional weight from the very fact that those who uttered them were aged. When the old tell of the goodness of God—His power to sustain in trouble and to guide in difficulty—they speak, not merely of what they believe, but what they have "experienced." The respect due to the aged is enforced by the command of the Most High: "Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honour the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the Lord."

The law is general; but never do we more strongly feel its force than when the hoary head has the halo of piety around it—when the old man, like Zacharias, stands up as a witness for God. His feeble broken accents may then have more power than the most fervid eloquence of the young, to lead the heart to trust in the love of Him who so fulfils His promise:

"Even to your old age I am He, and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you."

But if age has its privileges, it has also its own peculiar trials, especially in the case of the childless, and those who are encompassed with many infirmities. Solomon calls theirs "evil days, . . . when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them; . . . when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened, . . . and fears shall be in the way, . . . and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail." How touching and how true a picture is here given of decrepit age, bowed down with feebleness and infirmity! When loneliness is added to all this—when the childless man has outlived all the companions of his youth, and the years of his long life have been marked out by gravestones—how deeply does he claim the sympathy and compassion of his brethren and sisters in the Lord! He may have a long, tedious time of waiting by the banks of Jordan, while they who were behind him press on before him; and though the prospect on the other side of "the narrow stream" be ineffably fair, on this side it is indeed a dry and barren wilderness to him.

But there is divine love even in the decree that so often weakens the powers and dims the faculties of the aged. Very beautiful is the simile used by a departed authoress, * when, alluding to the decay of sight and hearing which is natural to extreme old age, she remarks, that God acts towards His feeble servants as a tender mother towards her child as the time for rest approaches she draws the curtain to shut out the light, and stills every sound in the chamber, that, the outer world excluded, her beloved may more quietly sink into slumber. We may draw out the parallel further. When the memory ceases to retain its grasp upon what were once objects of interest, what is it but the same loving Parent gently taking from the child the toys of life's little day as the evening shades fall around, and laying aside whatever might keep the mind restless and awake?

* Mrs. Gaskell. I quote from memory.

God's love is remembered when the things of earth are forgotten. Who has not heard of the Christian, aged and dying, whose memory had so failed that he knew none of the friends around him, not even the wife, so fondly beloved; but when he was asked, "Do you know the Lord Jesus?" That name was so deeply imprinted in the heart and memory that the erasing of all besides left it but more distinctly legible, and the saint, in his second childhood, exclaimed, "Precious Saviour! He is my only hope." So, to pursue the simile, though the light was darkened and the room stilled, and all that had once delighted the senses was put away, God's child felt beneath him the everlasting arms, and knew the voice of the Parent hushing him to that sleep from which the same voice should awake him to life and to joy in the dawn of the everlasting day.

Such are a few thoughts suggested by a relic of the aged Zacharias, the saint well stricken in years, whose latter days were, we doubt not, his brightest and best. We know nothing of the struggles of his youth or the efforts of his manhood; but we know that the angel's visit and the message from God—the father's rejoicing, and the prophetic hymn inspired by the Holy Spirit—were reserved for the evening of a life which had been devoted to the service of God.

XXXVII.

The Manger.

IT is in no spirit of vain superstition that we regard this cradle of an incarnate God. Were the very manger in which Mary laid her heavenly Babe to be placed before our bodily eyes, we should not dare to fall down and worship it. But it is well that faith should linger by the manger of Bethlehem, and endeavour there to gain a more vivid perception of the amazing condescension of Him who came to visit us in great humility. While, therefore, with the shepherds, we adore the Infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger, let us attempt to raise our thoughts to the divine nature of Him who, in His poverty and His helplessness, appears to us here so truly human.

"He came unto His own, and His own received Him not." There was no room for Him in the inn. In one sense we might say that there was no room in the world for One:

"Whom heaven cannot contain, Nor the immeasurable plain Of vast infinity enclose and circle round."

For, while we rejoicing cry, "Unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given," we must also with awe remember that "His name shall be called the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father."

Let us glean from the Scriptures a few from the many proofs that He who was very Man was also very God; that the Babe who lay in the manger was one with Him who filleth the throne of Heaven. Unless we keep this "central truth" steadily before us, we shall have a very faint idea of the love and grace implied in the words, "who for us men, and for our salvation, came down from heaven."

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by Him." Such is the sublime commencement of the Gospel of the beloved disciple, upon whom rested the Spirit of Truth.

John had probably been present when the lips of the persecuted Jesus of Nazareth uttered the mysterious sentence, "I and My Father are One;" and he heard from the risen Saviour that revelation of Himself, "I am Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last." Here was the Lord of Heaven, repeating His own solemn declaration, uttered when He abode upon earth—that declaration for which the Jews would have stoned Him as a blasphemer—"before Abraham was, I AM." In that mysterious sentence, Christ assumed to Himself that incommunicable name by which God made Himself known unto Moses as the eternal Deity, to whom the past and the future form but one everlasting present. Eternity, it has been said, is the lifetime of God.