Part 4

The contrast would be yet more striking were the thoughts thus laid open to view those which had flowed during an hour of public worship. The posture of the body, the words of the mouth, might be the same, but the current of thought would appear as different in individuals, as the pestilential drainage from a marsh from the clear brooklet bearing health and fertility wherever it flows. It is impossible for us to obtain this glimpse of the stream, this knowledge of the thoughts in the minds of others, but have we ever endeavoured to gain it as regards our own? Have we tried to retrace the windings of the current for one single hour, and so enabled ourselves to estimate more correctly whether God's grace has in any degree purified "the issues of life," and imparted to our souls some measure of "holiness unto the Lord"?

Is such purity of thought actually requisite for—actually indispensable to a true Christian? To judge by the standard of the world, even that which is called the religious world, we should at once conclude that it is not. The pre-eminently spiritual Christian stands almost as singular amongst his brethren as did the high priest of Israel amongst the sons of Levi. But is not this because Christians live below their privileges, so that comparatively few let their light so shine before men that God is glorified in His saints? Let us, ere we close our meditations on Aaron's mitre and its inscription, earnestly, prayerfully, revolve the solemn exhortation addressed to the servants of Christ: "Follow peace with all men, and HOLINESS, without which no man shall see the Lord."

XIII.

Balaam's Staff.

IT is with a sigh that we look on aught that reminds us of Balaam, the highly honoured, the highly gifted—he "which heard the words of God, and knew the knowledge of the Most High, which saw the vision of the Almighty, falling into a trance, but having his eyes open." In Balaam we behold a mournful example of light without heat, knowledge without practical wisdom, the gift of prophecy without that more excellent gift of charity.

Here is the staff which Balaam grasped when eagerly setting forth upon his unholy errand, desiring to curse those whom he knew that his God had blessed. What was in the heart of the seer, when, with repeated blows from that staff, he strove to urge forward the reluctant, frightened ass which he rode? Not jealousy for the honour of God—not impatience to carry the blessing of religious knowledge to Moab; but one absorbing desire for his own advancement—his own profit, though at the cost of the misery and the ruin of God's chosen people! Most forcible is the expression used by one of our most talented writers to describe a character utterly selfish, such as that of Balaam appears to have been: "A selfish man's heart is 'just the size of his coffin;' it has room to contain but himself." A description which presents to us an image not only of narrowness, but of death.

Balaam was one whose conduct belied his words. He was as a branch drawn back by main strength, but as soon as the outward pressure is removed, returning—springing back into its natural position. Fear was to him as a strong force drawing him back from sin, but only as long as the pressure remained. "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!" Such was the aspiration on the lips of the prophet; but thoughts of covetousness, followed by an act of sin and the shameful death to which it led, make the history of Balaam a terrible warning to inconsistent professors of religion throughout all ages.

It is, then, possible that a man may preach to others, and yet be himself a cast away; that he may be admired, followed, looked up to as a leader in religion, and yet have no real life in his faith. He may guide others to wealth, yet be himself miserably poor! There is an analogy between the fate of such a man and that of Rose and Dietz, two explorers in North America, who discovered a creek so rich in gold, that its treasures have, for four years in succession, maintained more than sixteen thousand people, some of whom have left the country with large fortunes. *

* "The North-West Passage by Land," by Milton and Cheadle.

Surely those whose feet first trod this land of gold—those who led the way where thousands have triumphantly followed, must have turned their knowledge into boundless wealth, and have been amongst the richest of mankind! So we might well conjecture, till we read the record of their fate. Dietz returned unsuccessful to Victoria, where he was struck down by fever, and obliged to receive help from charity. The fate of Rose was sadder still. He "disappeared for months; and his body was found at length by a party of miners in a journey of discovery, far out on the wilds. On the branch of a tree hard by hung his tin cup, and scratched upon it with the point of a knife, was his name and the words, 'Dying of starvation!'" Did visions flit before the eyes of the famishing man of the vast wealth which he had discovered, but never enjoyed—of thousands feasting on the golden harvest to which he had guided them, while not a single crumb was his portion to save him from a terrible death!

Darker must have been the thoughts of Balaam, if time for thought was left, as his life-blood ebbed away where he lay involved in the fate—as he had been in the guilt—of the enemies of the Lord! To him had been revealed mysterious treasures of knowledge—his eyes had been opened, his mind enlightened. To him the Almighty had spoken—to him an angel had appeared—to him had been vouchsafed a prophetic glimpse of the Star that should come out of Jacob, the Sceptre that should rise out Of Israel. If knowledge had power to secure, or spiritual privileges to save, Balaam surely would never have perished.

"Take heed and beware of covetousness." The warning is addressed to all, but it should come with peculiar force to those who are called on—in however narrow a sphere—to deliver the message of God. Their lips must not teach one thing, and their lives another; they must not guide others to the glorious land, and themselves wander away to perish. If they stand in a clearer light than most men, greater is their guilt and their condemnation if they sin against that light.

Covetousness is a snare into which the enlightened, the honoured, the privileged have fallen; it has ruined a Balaam amongst the prophets, a Judas amongst the apostles. And yet how few dread its power over themselves! To be in haste to grow rich, is perhaps the leading characteristic of men in this age: they are impatient of obstacles in their way, as Balaam at the stumbling of the beast that he rode; they see not the opposing angel that stands before them with the warning: "They that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil."

XIV.

Rahab's Scarlet Cord.

NO fragile cord this, the "scarlet thread" which Rahab fastened in her window. Its firm twist has borne the weight of the two Israelite spies whom this woman of a doomed race, strong in faith, saved from the pursuit of their enemies. It was a moment of deep anxiety when Rahab led the spies to the casement in the darkness of night, and ere they descended by that scarlet cord, earnestly pleaded with them for the family whom she loved.

"Now therefore, I pray you, swear unto me by the Lord, since I have shewed you kindness, that ye will also show kindness unto my father's house, and give me a true token: and that ye will save alive my father, and my mother, and my brethren, and my sisters, and all that they have, and deliver our lives from death!"

"Our life for yours," answered the men to their brave and generous preserver. "Behold," they afterwards said, "when we come into the land, thou shalt bind this line of scarlet thread in the window which thou didst let us down by: and thou shalt bring thy father, and thy mother, and thy brethren, and all thy father's household, home unto thee. And it shall be, that whosoever shall go out of the doors of thy house into the street, his blood shall be upon his head, and we will be guiltless; and whosoever shall be with thee in the house, his blood shall be on our head, if any hand be upon him."

They were gone, those men of Israel; Rahab had faithfully performed the duties of hospitality, of mercy, and now she remained awaiting in trembling hope, the fulfilment of the promise which they had made. There hung the scarlet line from her window over the wall of the doomed city: on it was now suspended the safety of herself and her household. We picture to ourselves Rahab watching from that window the miraculous passage of the Jordan by Israel's hosts under Joshua; the priests descending into the bed of the river, bearing with them the Ark of the Covenant; and the waters standing on a heap to let the Lord's people go over dry-shod. She beholds the multitudes of Israel,—warriors and women, flocks and herds—streaming across the dry channel of the once rapid river, a countless, an irresistible force, because under the immediate guidance of Him who is omnipotent. We know what was the effect of the marvellous passage on the minds of the people of Canaan: "their heart melted, neither was there spirit in them any more." Rahab might tremble like the rest; but when she looked on that scarlet cord she would yet thank God and take courage. Those terrible hosts of Israel came not as enemies to her.

Then followed the siege of Jericho, the city on whose wall stood the dwelling of Rahab. Day after day the woman of Canaan beheld that mysterious march of the Israelites round the city. Strange and terrible must have appeared the solemn procession which for seven days moved round its walls. First came the seven priests with their trumpets, preceding the Ark of God. The warriors of Israel followed in stern silence; there was no sound of voice from the hosts whose glittering arms were consecrated to the terrible work of executing the sentence passed by a righteous God upon His guilty creatures. Despair would have oppressed the soul of Rahab, who knew but too well that Jericho was given into the hands of its foes, but for that scarlet line, the pledge and token of mercy to her and all in her house.

The seventh day dawned, the last that the city of Jericho—as it then stood—ever should see. Seven times the march of the Israelites encircled the walls. Then with what terror must the household, gathered together in the dwelling on the wall, have heard the blast of the trumpet, followed by that thundering shout before which crashing fell bulwark and battlement—all Jericho's pride and strength! Fearful sounds succeeded; slaughter was raging in the streets; the swords of Israel were bathed in blood! Rahab and her family could not but have experienced emotions of pity and horror, as shuddering they listened to those sounds; but they needed to have no feelings of personal fear: that scarlet cord was to them a surer defence than strongest bulwark or loftiest tower; a surer defence than a phalanx of spears bristling around them. There was no danger to Rahab from falling wall or from enemy's sword; there was no stain on her threshold, no dying cry in her home. By faith, she perished not with them that believed not. She lived to be a mother in Israel, by adoption one of the people of God, if, as is supposed, it was this Rahab who became the wife of Salmon, and the mother of Boaz of Bethlehem, and thus an ancestress of the blessed Saviour Himself.

We naturally suppose that the scarlet cord would be preserved as an heirloom in the family at Bethlehem; that the gentle Ruth, herself a daughter of Abraham by adoption, looked with peculiar interest upon this relic of her husband's Gentile mother; and that young David often gazed with reverential awe on this memorial kept in his father's home of her who, in faith, preserved the Israelitish spies. We can scarcely conceive that such a family relic as this would lightly be cast away.

There is much that reminds us of Christ's Church, in the position of the pale, anxious woman of Jericho, watching from her casement the Israelites encircling the city doomed to destruction, she herself secure in a promise, saved by faith, reserved for blessedness and honour. A thousand years with the Lord is but as a day, and for nearly six such periods has the silent, solemn march of events, brought nearer the grand consummation before us. The Church knows that "the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night; in the which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat, the earth also and the works that are therein shall be burned up." She is listening with trembling expectation for the sound of the "shout, and the voice of the archangel," and "the trump of God," when the earth shall reel to and fro, and the mountains shall shake, and the mighty cities shall fall! She has nothing to fear in that day: the blood of Christ is her salvation—the angel of destruction will see the token of living faith, and touch not the redeemed of the Lord.

Yes, faith in Christ is our scarlet cord, and there are two lessons which we may learn from the type. Rahab's cord was not left in her dwelling a useless coil; it was employed in God's service, and it was shown forth in sight of the world. What would the mere possession of a scarlet line have availed to Rahab, if she had not used it in doing God's work? Was not Rahab "justified by works, when she had received the messengers, and had sent them out another way"? Nor was her scarlet cord hidden from men; it hung from her window over the wall. So should the Christian's profession of faith be open: he should not only believe in Christ, but serve Him—not only serve Him, but confess Him.

XV.

Gideon's Ephod.

WE doubt whether the high priest of Israel, in all the glory of his festival robes, wore so costly an ephod as this. His was, indeed, to be of gold and blue and scarlet and fine twisted linen; gold beaten into plates and cut into wires, with engraved jewels in ouches of gold to rest on the shoulder-pieces, very fair to the eye. But a heavier mass of magnificence is before us than even the consecrated garment of Aaron appears to have been; a marvellous weight of gold, such as a Crœsus or a Darius might have worn to dazzle the eyes of their subjects.

Had we asked one of the men of Ophrah in the days of Gideon concerning this gorgeous ephod, his answer might have been something like this: "Behold a nation's offering of gratitude to the hero who burst the bonds of Midian, and made Israel to triumph over their oppressors! Gideon, the favoured of Heaven, the honoured of men! He to whom signs and miracles have been vouchsafed; he whose faith hath made him the deliverer of a nation, yet who hath refused to become its king;—Gideon formed this ephod. 'I would desire a request of you,' said our hero to his warriors: 'That ye would give me every man the ear-rings of his prey.'

"And the warriors made reply: 'We will willingly give them.'

"A garment was spread to receive this tribute of gratitude to our chief, and thereon was cast mighty store of jewels and gold, and the purple raiment that had been upon the necks of the kings of Midian. Then made Gideon this ephod from the spoils of the conquered foe. Those who look upon it shall hold his triumph in remembrance; it shall be as a monument to his honour, worthy of him whose valour hath won it."

Such might have been the reply of one of the followers of Gideon, dazzled with the glory of his leader. Very different appears the ephod of gold in the light thrown on it by this brief sentence from Scripture: "Which thing became a snare unto Gideon, and to his house."

It is difficult, at this distance of time, to know exactly the motive of Gideon in making the ephod, or in what way it became a cause of sin. It has been suggested that it was a symbol of Levitical worship set up by Gideon at Ophrah, which drew away the people from Shiloh, the appointed holy place, where the high priest abode in charge of the ark of God. Whether it were this irregularity, or whether a race prone to idolatry actually worshipped the ephod, has not been clearly made known. We are simply told that the ephod was "a snare." The hundreds of shekels of gold, the purple raiment and jewels, were no real blessing to Gideon; he was less safe when he had become the idol of a nation, than when employed in threshing corn beside the wine-press to hide it from Midianite oppressors.

Popularity, however honourably won, is too apt to become, to fallen man, like the ephod of Gideon; the garment of glory is often "a snare." If it led astray a man of character so pious, so noble, so disinterested as Gideon, how much need have all God's servants, when placed in a position of distinction, to take to themselves the warning, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."

Those who have earned for themselves an honoured name in what is called "the religious world," are in a situation of peculiar danger. The popular preacher, the eloquent author, the active philanthropist, may, like Gideon, find a snare even in their nobly won honours. Howard shrank from the idea of a statue being raised to him; he was not a man to form jewels into an ephod, he would pour them all into the treasury of the Lord; but in most cases celebrity and distinction are very intoxicating to human nature, even when that nature has been renewed by grace. To be listened to as an oracle, and appealed to as a judge; to be welcomed in high circles, flattered by the gifted and followed by the good, is fraught with peril; all the more real because it is not of a nature to startle conscience, but rather to soothe it to sleep. Those of whom all pious men think well, are naturally tempted also to think well of themselves. It is desirable for such to keep before their eyes the golden ephod; "which thing became a snare unto Gideon."

Even in the comparatively narrow sphere of home there is some danger to him who is the idol of the family, the pope in the dwelling, to him whose will is law to those who love him, and in whose conduct partial eyes can see nothing that is wrong. Love has its own sweet flattery, and he who is constantly exposed to its influence, without the wholesome antidote of the contradiction and opposition to be met with in the world, may seriously suffer from its effects. In the peaceful seclusion of private life, in a pious home from which temptation might appear to be almost shut out, there may be need to remember the golden ephod; "which thing became a snare unto Gideon."

And in the inmost recesses of the heart lurks peril. When a Christian has long maintained, through God's grace, a successful struggle against the world, the flesh, and the devil; when the spiritual hero has resisted outward temptations and overcome inward corruptions, and is conscious that, like Gideon, he has triumphed nobly through faith,—then let him stand on his guard. How strong must be the temptation to form the ephod out of spiritual trophies, when even St. Paul needed a thorn in the flesh to preserve him from being exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations vouchsafed him! Christian, in Bunyan's allegory, fought bravely in the valley, but slept in the arbour on the hill. Gideon gloriously triumphed in time of war, but in time of peace made the ephod, which became unto him a snare.

The Christian's motto, in the days of spiritual prosperity as well as the dark days of trouble, should be: "God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ."

XVI.

The Jawbone of an Ass.

A GREATER contrast could scarcely be found than that presented to view between the last object of our contemplation and this. The golden ephod is gorgeous and fair; here we look on an unsightly bone, a relic of the despised animal that crops the thistle, bears the burden and the blow. The jackals might reject it, the passenger's foot kick it aside. It has in itself no beauty, no dignity, no value; and but for finding it carefully preserved in Scripture, we would not pause to give it a thought.

The practical lesson suggested by this bone contrasts well with that drawn from the ephod: if the latter showed us the weakness of human nature even in the noblest of men, the former teaches us what God can make of the most common—most humble instrument. Through Him, the jawbone of an ass became a more terrible weapon than the keenest steel had ever been in the hand of the strongest man. Samson, after the victory which he had won single-handed, exclaimed: "With the jawbone of an ass, heaps upon heaps, with the jaw of an ass have I slain a thousand men!" And then, as if even he despised the instrument which he had used, when he had made an end of speaking, he cast the jawbone away.

But that which man threw aside, God had chosen for peculiar honour. Samson was to feel his own weakness in the midst of his strength. He who had slain a thousand found himself ready to perish for lack of a draught of water. The proud boast of Samson was soon followed by humble prayer:

"Thou hast given this great deliverance into the hand of Thy servant: and now shall I die for thirst, and fall into the hand of the uncircumcised?"

God heard the cry, and answered it by a miracle. The dead bone became a spring of living refreshment: "God clave an hollow place that was in the jaw, and there came water thereout."

Once more the despised thing was eagerly raised by the hand of the mighty Samson. "When he had drunk, his spirit came again, and he revived: wherefore he called the name thereof Enhakkore," which is, "The well of him that cried."

The wonders accomplished by means of this jawbone illustrate the declaration of St. Paul, which proud man is so slow to receive: "God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen." There is encouragement to the lowliest in these words, and they may also serve as a rebuke to those who act in the spirit of the man in the parable, who, possessing but one talent, hid it; that hopeless, apathetic, listless spirit, which those who foster it are too apt to mistake for humility of soul.

We have seen the danger of self-exaltation, but there is a danger on the opposite side; there is a cowardly shrinking from performance of duty from a sense of our own deficiencies. Even Moses fell into this error: "I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue," cried he, seeking an excuse for not undertaking the mission on which God would send him.

And the Lord said unto him, "Who hath made man's mouth? or who maketh the dumb, or deaf, or the seeing, or the blind? have not I the Lord?"

And when Moses persisted in declining the office of which he felt himself to be unworthy, "the anger of the Lord was kindled." For whatever work God gives His people to do, He will provide them with an instrument. There are those who say in their hearts, "Had I but wealth, how largely would I give! How much good would I do!" or, "Had I but strength, how actively would I engage in the work of the Lord!" Had Samson been like these, he might have exclaimed, "Oh, had I but a sword in my hand, I would put these Philistines to flight!" But Samson uttered no such idle exclamation; he caught up the nearest weapon at hand; he used what he found, though it was but an ass's jawbone, and God made it effectual to put to flight the army of the aliens.