Part 5

So the imprisoned Bunyan did not sit down in his prison despairing, murmuring forth, "Had I but 'liberty,' I would declare God's truth;" nor, in our own times, Moon * exclaim, "Had I but 'sight,' I would be useful in my generation." No, the imprisoned and the blind both worked with brave, hopeful resolution; and both have been enabled to do more for God's glory and the welfare of mankind than have tens of thousands of Christians possessing the advantages lacked by these servants of God.

* This blind man has given portions of the Scriptures in embossed letters to those afflicted like himself in "fifty-six languages!"

Hope is classed by St. Paul with faith and charity: it is closely connected with both. Christian Hope, born of Faith in the truth, the power, and the mercy of God, gives energy to Charity in all her active labours of love. "Our Lord can make a weak instrument strong, a worthless instrument effectual; He could bless even 'that'!" whispers Hope, as she points to the jawbone so mighty in the hand of Faith.

And thus still may the weary worker, disheartened by difficulties, "faint, yet pursuing," drink in refreshment, and gain vigour for new efforts, like Samson, from the bone of an ass.

XVII.

Ruth's Barley-ears.

MEEKLY stooped Ruth to gather up these scattered grains of the golden harvest which the servants of Boaz, the "mighty man of wealth," were bearing home to his garners. But not the gleanings alone, but the fulness of the harvest also was to be Ruth's, by her union with the lord of the land; the fields in which the young widow in loneliness toiled, were to become the possession of the bride.

"Blessed are the neck, for they shall inherit the earth." This is a peculiar promise, made to the lowly, of whom Ruth, bending down to glean in the barley-field, may be regarded as a type. In what especial manner that promise is to be fulfilled in a future state we know not, but it is an interesting subject for our musings to consider how the meek are now "gleaning," as it were, some ears of the rich harvest of which the full enjoyment will one day be their own.

It is the more needful for us to turn our thoughts to this subject, from meekness being little valued on Earth, though highly esteemed in Heaven. Men are apt to class it with a cringing, cowardly spirit; forgetting that Moses, who faced boldly both the wrath of the tyrant and the fury of the people, firm and lofty in soul as he was, is yet called the meekest of men.

But in what way do the meek, like Ruth, now glean the first ears of a plenteous harvest reserved for their possession hereafter?

In the first place, by that "contentment" which is proverbially better than riches, the tranquil enjoyment of what God has bestowed instead of the misery caused by cankering envy and restless ambition. While the covetous man cannot be said to enjoy anything which he does not himself actually possess, and looks with pain rather than pleasure on the rich beauties of property not his own, the meek already "inherit the earth" by "the right of the eye." The delight afforded to the Christian by the fair landscape spreading before him, has been well described by Cowper:—

"He looks abroad into the varied field Of Nature, and though poor, perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, Calls the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the resplendent rivers; his to enjoy With a propriety which none can feel But who, with filial confidence inspired, Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, And smiling say, 'My Father made them all.'"

Secondly, there is a special promise of the gift of "wisdom" to the humble: "The meek will He guide in judgment: and the meek will He teach His way." This wisdom, "which is from above," is shown in various ways, by those whose powers of mind are otherwise very limited, as well as by the highly intellectual Christian. Those taught of God's Spirit have the wisdom to set a right value on the things of eternity as compared with the things of time; to choose the good and refuse the evil, to prefer what is perfect and imperishable to the glittering baubles of earth. This is higher, more sublime, wisdom than any mere intellectual training can bestow.

And the wisdom of the meek is constantly shown in their way of receiving rebuke from a fellow-creature, or chastening from the Most High. The word of counsel or of reproof which only stirs up anger in the breast of the proud, is often of the utmost service to the meek: "He that heareth reproof getteth understanding. A reproof entereth more into a wise man than an hundred stripes into a fool."

The chastenings of God likewise, under which the proud spirit rebels, become blessings indeed when received with that meekness of wisdom which can say, "It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good; His will, not my will, be done." Surely such a spirit of true wisdom is a most precious earnest of that spirit of perfect wisdom which will be the portion of the blessed!

Thirdly, the meek have "peace;" not perfect, indeed, but as it were gleanings, of the heavenly harvest: "The meek shall inherit the earth; and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace." Theirs is the soft answer which turneth away wrath; "only by pride cometh contention." The meek "overcome evil with good," and so show themselves followers of Him whose title is PRINCE OF PEACE.

And lastly, it is in the hearts of the lowly that the Lord deigns to make His abode: "For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones."

Surely contentment, wisdom, peace, and a sweet sense of the Saviour's presence, are rich golden grains gleaned here of that harvest of light which has been sown for the children of light, which they will enjoy in perfection when the Church, the Heavenly Bride, is raised from grace to glory! Only gleanings, indeed, yet precious gleanings, and to be gathered by those who are ready, like Ruth, to stoop, to labour, and to endure.

The foot of Pride crushes these golden grains; Humility bends down, grasps them by faith, and carries them home in her bosom. "Learn of He, for I am meek and lowly," said the Lord of the harvest; and it is for the meek and lowly that the treasures of the harvest are laid up above.

XVIII.

Job's Sackcloth.

WHAT an aching, what a bursting heart throbbed under this, the garment of sorrow chosen by him who could once say, in the sincerity of his soul, "I put on righteousness, and it clothed me: my judgment was as a robe and a diadem."

To the history of Job, God's afflicted people have constantly turned in their hours of anguish. This sackcloth has, as it were, helped to dry up the tears of thousands; for who can say, "My sorrows have been greater than those of Job!" Whose have equalled his—and yet the Lord loved him through all, and out of all delivered him. So great was the variety of the afflictions of Job, that under almost any burden that presses down the spirit, we can look to Job in his sackcloth and say, "He also was crushed by the weight of this cross."

Is poverty our trial, and poverty rendered more painful by contrast with former prosperity? On Job it came with fearful suddenness, like successive shocks of an earthquake. He had been a wealthy man. He had multitudes of camels and oxen; the valleys were whitened with the thousands of his sheep. All his property was swept away from him, he was left poor and bare upon earth. Yet could the ruined man meekly say,—

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!"

Or are we weeping sorely for the loss of one who was to our eyes as the sunshine; are we in bitterness of soul because some sweet voice is silenced in our home, and there is a blank left in our aching hearts which we feel that time can never fill up? Job lost all his children at once! Those whose successive births had given him fresh joy, new precious ties to earth; those who had sported round him in childhood, and in youth received his counsels; those in whose happiness he had been happy;—all reft from him by one stroke! Not one left to soothe his anguish by sharing it! Is it not a marvel that reason endured it, that the patriarch's heart did not break indeed?

But we may lose those whom we have loved by a separation far worse than that caused by death. This was a cross which almost crushed the spirit of Job: "My friends scorn me: my kinsfolk have failed, and my familiar friends have forgotten me. My breath is strange to my wife, though I intreated for the children's sake. All my inward friends abhorred me: and they whom I loved are turned against me!" Where is the burden of family trial endured by a Christian now that can weigh in the balance against such a mountain of sorrow as this?

Is our cross that of sickness and pain? We behold Job suffering all the tortures which the malice of a fiend could inflict, stretched on the rack of most acute suffering, and that for no brief space of time: "I am made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me. When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat."

Nor were Job's sufferings those of the body alone: his was the wounded spirit, the tormented mind, oppressed with fear, with temptation, and with mysterious terrors: "Thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions: so that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my life. I loathe it; I would not live alway! The arrows of the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit: the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me. Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery, and life unto the bitter in soul; which long for death, but it cometh not?" Truly the spirit of Job, as well as his tortured body, was clothed in the sackcloth of mourning!

The question naturally arises, "Why was so good a man as Job thus overwhelmed with affliction; almost, as it would seem, abandoned for a while to the malice of the Enemy? God had Himself said of Job, 'There is none like him on the earth, a perfect and an upright man.'"

It cannot be that Job was thus chastened only to show forth his patience in the sight of men and devils; great as was that patience, we know that it wavered in the trial. Nor do we suppose that Job's miseries were permitted only that he might be thoroughly humbled before God; still less that he suffered only that his history might be for the lasting instruction of the Church. All these advantages, indeed, followed; but the more we reflect on the subject, the more clearly we see that some great, personal, and lasting benefit must have accrued to Job from every pang that he endured. There was a proportion between his anguish and his subsequent joy. It is delicate ground on which we now enter: it would be a perilous error to hold that sorrow of itself sanctifies; that because a man suffers much here, he must necessarily rejoice hereafter. So is it a perilous error to hold that any good works of men's doing can ever earn Heaven.

But how clearly and forcibly the Rev. Mr. Arnot places before us the blessed effects of good works, not as a means of salvation, but as a precious evidence of grace! "As ciphers added one by one in an endless row to the 'left' hand of an unit are of no value, but on the 'right' hand rapidly multiply in power; so, although good works are of no avail to make a Christian, yet a Christian's good works are both pleasing to God and profitable to men."

So may it be with the sufferings which saints are called to endure—not self-inflicted pangs, but trials appointed by God. Numerous passages in Holy Writ lead us to such a conclusion: "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

Yes; there is a mystery in suffering which we do not fully understand, nor perhaps ever will, until suffering is exchanged for bliss everlasting. Preeminence in pain appears to be connected with preeminence in glory. What was the answer of our Lord to those who asked for the highest places in Heaven? "Ye know not what ye ask. Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?" We cannot fathom the depth of meaning contained in the words that even He, the Captain of our salvation, was made "perfect through suffering," but we know that the cup which He drained was one of unutterable woe. The very description of the saints in bliss seems to be the fulfilment of the blessing on them that mourn: "These are they which came out of great tribulation." To them God hath appointed "beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."

The fearful afflictions of Job remind us of the saying, that God, like a human general, gives His best soldiers the most difficult post, places them under the hottest fire. There is a striking passage in the Book of Proverbs, which, it has been observed, makes a distinction between two metals, both precious, but one of nobler nature than the other: "The fining pot is for silver, and the furnace for gold." Both are exposed to the heat of tribulation, but the furnace-glow, the hottest trial, is that which the gold undergoes. If it be indeed thus, how should long-continued prosperity exercise our humility as well as our gratitude! What the world regards as proofs of God's favour, may be rather signs of His indulgence for the weakness of His feebler saints! He keeps on easy garrison-duty those whose faith is not yet equal to the greater hardships and perils, to be followed by the greater glories, of the battlefield of life. What a high post of honour was assigned by Him to the veteran Job! We look upon his sackcloth as the warrior's uniform covered with decorations by the King of kings!

This view of the secret connection, in the case of the redeemed, between present pain and future pleasure, the "evil things" here, and the "good things" hereafter, throws some light on the otherwise almost inexplicable mystery of the sufferings of idiots and of infants. These sufferings can neither be chastenings for wilful sin nor exercises of patience, yet they are permitted by a God of love who "doth not afflict willingly." How solacing to the affection, how strengthening to the faith of parents witnessing the pangs of the innocent, to feel that, in some way that we understand not, God makes the seed sown in tears rise into the harvest of joy; that not one cry of pain from a baby's lips is uttered in vain!

Thus we may believe, dear afflicted brethren, that ye have indeed cause to rejoice in tribulation; that poverty, bereavement, depression, pain, through Him who led the way on the path of suffering, will all be found to enhance the joy and the glory of Heaven. Perhaps the depth of the pit of woe may bear some proportion to the height of the monument to God's love, for which its very mire and clay will furnish materials in a future state of bliss. Therefore sorrow not as those without hope; nay, let your hope become brighter through your very sorrow, like the rainbow on the cataract which owes its beauty to the waters which seem in their furious washings to seek to sweep it away.

XIX.

Dagon's Stump.

CONQUERORS are wont to hang up trophies of victories, the arms the standards won from the enemy; it is as such a trophy that this mutilated, unsightly idol, or rather fragment of an idol, is preserved in the Scripture collection, a witness to the power of the God of salvation, by whom at length all idols shall be utterly abolished, when the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth, as the waters cover the sea.

The Philistines had won a great victory at Ebenezer; their foes had fled before them: there had been a very great slaughter; thirty thousand of the warriors of Israel had fallen on that fatal day, and a terrible wail of woe had risen from the dwellings of Shiloh. The rejoicings of the victors were the more exultant from the fears which had beset them before the fight began. The worshippers of Dagon had a dread of the power of the God of the Hebrews. The Ark of the Covenant had, before the battle, been brought into the camp of Israel, and had been welcomed there as a pledge of certain victory. All Israel had shouted with a great shout, so that the earth rang again; and the sound of that exulting cheer had reached the camp of the Philistines, and spread there a feeling of foreboding and alarm. The Philistines had been afraid, and they had said, "God is come into the camp! Woe unto us! for there hath not been such a thing heretofore. Woe unto us! who shall deliver us out of the hand of these mighty Gods? Be strong, and quit yourselves like men, O ye Philistines, that ye be not servants unto the Hebrews, as they have been to you: quit yourselves like men, and fight!"

Thus with something like the courage of despair had the Philistines entered on the conflict. Victory seems to have taken them by surprise, and the more unexpected, the more welcome must it have been. Glorious tidings were borne to Askelon, loud were the rejoicings in Gath; Israel had been signally defeated, the Ark of the Lord had been taken, the Hebrew priests had fallen while vainly defending it. There was wild exultation in England after a Cressy, or an Agincourt, but there was an element in the triumph of the Philistines which was wanting to swell the joy of our ancestors; the victory of Ebenezer was not merely success in a hard-fought battle between rival hosts or races—it was deemed the triumph of Dagon, the fish-god, over the God of Israel. It was into the temple of Dagon that the Ark of the Covenant was exultingly brought, the noblest trophy of victory, a token of the conquering might of him whom the Philistines worshipped.

But God then, as ever, over-ruled the brief triumph of His enemies to His own glory. When the priests of Ashdod arose early in the morning, to their horror they beheld their idol prostrate on the earth before the Ark of the Lord. Surely this might have proved to them the folly of bowing down to that which had fallen before the symbol of God's presence. But the evident helplessness of Dagon seems to have made no change in the infatuation of his priests. They set him in his place again; he was still the god of the Philistines!

Yet more signally was the worthlessness of the idol to be proved in the sight of his priests. When they arose early on the morrow, behold, Dagon was fallen on his face to the ground before the Ark of the Lord; and the head of Dagon and both the palms of his hands were cut off upon the threshold; only the stump (or fishy part) of Dagon was left.

Here was evidence calculated to convince even the most superstitious of the folly of idolatry. The head—the supposed seat of knowledge and wisdom—was wanting; the hands—the emblems of power—were broken off. Dagon had evidently no means of helping either himself or his worshippers. Might we not have expected that conviction of the absurdity of adoring such an image would have flashed across the minds of the priests and people of Ashdod; that the temple would have rung with the shout, "The Lord, He is God! the Lord, He is God!" Nay; the idol was broken indeed, but the stump remained to be venerated still! The very threshold on which it had lain prostrate was for its sake treated with respect. The miserable relic of superstition was still spoken of as "Dagon our god!"

Such infatuation might well surprise us, did we not so frequently see its counterpart now. The human heart still sets up its idol; the young, full of hope and joy like the Philistines after their victory, pay homage to the world, and expect from it those pleasures and delights which it is ever promising to bestow. Dagon has a lofty shrine, and many bow down before it. Then comes some providential dispensation of sorrow, that opens the eyes to the fact that the world and the things of the world have no power to secure our peace. Have we not known such a moment, when Dagon is seen prostrate on earth, and we feel that he is indeed but an idol?

Happy for us if the knowledge make us turn to One who is over all, God exalted for ever!

But it is not always that sorrow and disappointment wean the soul from the world. We too often find Dagon set up again on his shrine, and as ardently worshipped as ever. Yes, even the gray-headed, the weary-hearted, who from repeated trials know the hollowness of the world and its sinful pleasures—who have, as it were, but the stump of the idol left—too often, even to the last, fondly worship that stump! The dreary lament may be heard,—

"My days are in the yellow leaf— The flower, the fruit of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Remain alone!" *

Without one sigh of true penitence, one upward look towards Him who can give rest to the heavy-laden.

* Byron.

Our last subject of thought was sanctified sorrow, that sorrow which must be succeeded by joy as—

"Morning is ever the daughter of Night;" †

but it is well to remember that there is also a "sorrow of the world," that "worketh death." If God throw down our idols, it is not that we should raise them again and adore them all broken and mutilated as they may be.

† Tupper.

Rather be ours the prayer of the Christian poet:—

"The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be, Help me to tear it from Thy throne, And worship only Thee!"

XX.

Saul's Spear.

REPEATEDLY do we read in the Bible of the javelin or spear of King Saul: it is, of course, impossible for us to know whether it is the same identical weapon that is mentioned on each occasion; we may, however, take this for granted, as the mental eye rests upon this ancient weapon, once grasped in the hand of Israel's first monarch, the unhappy Saul.

On three occasions that iron barb would have been stained with innocent blood, had not the king in his blind fury missed his aim. As David, the hero-minstrel, sat playing before the king, the evil spirit came upon Saul, and, in a sudden paroxysm of jealous hatred, he attempted to smite David to the wall. But the intended victim evaded the blow, and escaped from the fury of the king.

After this proof of the malice and hatred of Saul, it is a sign of the trustfulness of David's character that we find him again attempting to soothe with music the deep melancholy of the king. Once more David narrowly escaped with his life from the javelin, which, aimed at his body, struck the wall by which he had been placed.

Many events had occurred between Saul's two attempts upon the life of David. The son of Jesse had distinguished himself in fight against the Philistines; he had won the hand, as he had gained the affections of Michal, daughter of the king; Jonathan had by his influence induced Saul to swear that David's life should be safe in his hands; yet that javelin was again raised by the furious tyrant against his faithful subject, the beloved husband of his child.

Once more that weapon was hurled by the king, and with yet more unnatural cruelty, this time against his own son, the noble Jonathan, whose crime in the eyes of his father was fidelity to his friend. Never had Saul more cause to thank God for undeserved mercy than when he received back that javelin unstained, not wrenched from the corpse of a murdered son. It was as though the weapon refused to be the instrument of unnatural crime.