Part 7

The sums of money lavished on dress (nor is the reproach confined to the weaker sex) is also a disgrace to Christian profession in a land where poverty abounds. I have heard that a lady (I am glad to say not British) boasted that she spent a thousand a year on dress. She would hardly have uttered that boast had she realized that upon her at that moment was resting the eye of Him who said to the rich young ruler, "Sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven."

It is, indeed, impossible to fix a rule as to how much it is lawful to spend upon dress, as the amount must necessarily vary according to means and station in life; it would be well, however, to determine never to spend money on any mere ornament of the person, without giving at least an equal sum to purchase plain articles of clothing for the poor, to be bestowed "personally." Were this simple plan adopted, one may safely aver that the flannel and serge would be found to bring far more pleasure than the jewel, the lace, or the plume; and luxuries would be gradually relinquished, and that with no feeling of regret, for the richer luxury of clothing the shivering forms of the poor.

"Love of the world" is another evil to which those are peculiarly exposed whose attractions dispose the world to love them. To them there is an added gloss to pleasure; scenes of amusement are brightened by the ready welcome which they ever receive there. The ornaments of society need even more than others to watch and pray lest they enter into temptation, and to seek that grace which alone can keep them "unspotted from the world."

For the "love of admiration" is in many minds not unlike the feverish craving for intoxicating liquor which possesses the habitual drunkard. Eager is the longing for the sweet poison of flattery, the excitement caused by a sense of power over human hearts. And this leads to very serious evil. I am not referring only to the dark descent to actual vice, to which, in thousands of cases, the love of admiration has led; but would earnestly protest against that common effect of it which makes trifling with the happiness of others the favourite amusement of the vain of both sexes, under the name of flirting. One who would not willingly set foot on a worm will often feel actual pleasure in inflicting the keenest pangs. Selfish vanity must be gratified at any cost to others, ungenerous as it is to desire to engross affection which cannot be returned. The man who prides himself on being a "lady-killer," or the beauty who complacently counts up the number of her "conquests," is making an unworthy and sinful use of the endowments of nature. I might quote to such the homely advice of the great Marquis of Montrose,—

"Let no one to more love pretend Than he has hearts in store; True love begun should never end— Love one, and love no more."

But I would rather take higher ground. This pride of beauty, this selfishness of vanity, is "utterly inconsistent" with a Christian character; it is incompatible with the adoption of that spirit of Christ without which we "are none of His." God's people are called to glorify Him in their bodies as well as their souls; and where the beauty which He has bestowed becomes a cause of vanity, selfishness, and folly, its possessor may one day have reason to regret not having been a cretin or a dwarf.

There are two special antidotes to the spiritual poison which is constantly offered to those in whom the world delights. The first is a realization of the transitory nature of that beauty which passes away like a flower; the second is meditation on that beauty which will abide for ever. One great poet has, as it were, written the first on a skull; he preaches his sermon in the churchyard. But it is more pleasant, and at least as profitable, to turn our thoughts from the dust "sown in dishonour" to what it shall be when "raised in glory." We cannot but think that outward beauty will then correspond with that which before was inward; that they who have borne most of the Saviour's image in their hearts will bear most of that image visibly when we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.

Oh, what marvellous changes will appear on the day of the resurrection! The wrinkled face, the decrepit form, the blemish, and the deformity, will then, in God's saints, be exchanged for the brilliancy of immortal beauty, beyond what thought can conceive! But how then will an Absalom appear? Let Nature's favoured ones turn from the looking-glass to God's Word, and test by that mirror of truth both what they are and what they are likely to be; whether their goodliness be but as "the flower of grass which passeth away," or be the faint, dim type of that beauty with which God will clothe His redeemed, who, though now in the world, and perhaps admired and sought after there, are yet (like their Master) "not of the world," nor look for their happiness in its vain pleasures or empty applause.

XXIV.

Seed Corn from Barzillai's Gift.

TWICE is the aged Barzillai brought before us in Scripture. On the first occasion, when David, fleeing from his unnatural son, had with his faithful followers crossed over Jordan, the Gileadite, himself too old to join in the approaching conflict, brought valuable help to those who were to bear the burden and heat of the day.

Let us notice the minuteness with which every article of the old man's gift is noted down in the Word of God, not even the homeliest omitted. "Barzillai the Gileadite of Rogelim brought beds, and basons, and earthen vessels, and wheat, and barley, and flour, and parched corn, and beans, and lentiles, and parched pulse, and honey, and butter, and sheep, and cheese of kine, for David, and for the people that were with him, to eat: for they said, The people is hungry, and weary, and thirsty, in the wilderness." Considerate kindness was shown; the mind of the old man had revolved what would be most needed, and therefore most welcome; his was a freewill offering, a timely offering, gladly accepted, and afterwards royally requited.

Again old Barzillai comes before us in Scripture, but not this time as bringing aid to a fugitive, but as welcoming a king at the head of victorious forces. David was returning to reign when the venerable Gileadite went over Jordan with the king. Then were the old man's loyal services acknowledged and richly rewarded; his was the kiss, and the blessing, and the promise, "Whatsoever thou shalt require of me, that will I do for thee." That was a day of honour and of rejoicing to the faithful Barzillai when his royal master returned in peace to his own.

A few thoughts are suggested to the mind by the parallel between the position of David's followers in their time of need, and that of Christ's soldiers now struggling in warfare against the powers of evil, especially as regards missionaries in heathen lands. This is a time when many of the followers of our heavenly King are called, as it were, into the wilderness. The missionary quits home and country, and goes forth to do battle with idolatry in the dark places of the earth. We read of the brave devotion of Ittai, who, when David would have dismissed him from sharing his perils, exclaimed, "As the Lord liveth, and as my lord the king liveth, in what place my lord the king shall be, whether in death or life, there will thy servant be!" and we feel that such is the spirit which should animate the Christian missionary. But we need our Barzillais also, to strengthen the hands of those whose perils and hardships they are unable to share.

"What have I done to aid the missionary cause?" is a question which each should solemnly ask his conscience. We rest in our comfortable homes, on our tables are the honey and the butter, in our barns the barley and the wheat. Have our offerings to our King, in the persons of His servants, been proportioned to the means bestowed upon us by the rich bounty of God?

How much lies in that word "proportioned!" The widow with her two mites gave, we know, more than all the rich who cast into the treasury. What proportion does what we bestow on the cause of missions bear to what we spend on our pleasures? Are there not many who would be startled by the idea of its being their duty to subscribe to missions a sum equal to what they would, without a scruple, lavish on a single entertainment, a picture, or an article of plate?

The question of "systematic beneficence" rises before us. Some urge on us the duty of devoting a tenth of all that we possess to the Lord; others would have us not mete out our charity thus, but would bid us give as we have the power, whenever our help is required. It seems that the adoption of either mode of giving should greatly depend on the character of the individual, and that we should study our own dispositions, to know which we should make our own. There are some Christians whose zeal is so warm, whose hearts so liberal, that the idea of fixing upon any proportion as a rule would only chill and cramp their charity. When St. Paul was delighting to spend and to be spent, who would have suggested to him that he should lay aside a "tenth" of his earnings for God! We do not measure out the waters of the overflowing river that pours its rich treasures through the land; we should but mar its beauty by attempting to curb its windings and bring it to a uniform width. Let it contract here, or expand there; it is ever flowing onward, a type of the "cheerful giver," whom God loveth.

But the bounty of many—perhaps of most men—is not so full or so free. If we have not the river, let us dig the canal,—that is, adopt the rule of systematic beneficence, mete out boundaries and fix embankments, not to prevent the waters of charity from overflowing, but to prevent their being encroached upon by the sand of selfishness, the mud of worldliness. Thus has God walled in His Sabbaths, not to confine devotion to one in seven, but (amongst other reasons) to insure a given space for its exercise, from which earthly concerns should be carefully excluded.

The Christian makes his business arrangements as if the week held but six days, and inconveniences are thus avoided which would otherwise often arise. If he were in like manner to count but nine-tenths of his income as his own, and systematically consider the remaining portion as not his, but God's, he would, in most cases, no more miss the tenth of his earnings than he now does the seventh of his days, and the consecrated gold, like the consecrated Sabbath, would, with God's blessing upon it, yield a rich harvest through ages eternal.

The ease with which systematic beneficence enables us to give, is not the only advantage accruing from it. It necessitates an increase in charity proportioned to increase in our wealth. This is a point too much neglected. It might appear that a man whose income is doubled would naturally also double the amount of his alms; that he who had a thousand a year would give much more largely upon its being increased to two. But it is to be feared that this is seldom "practically" the case. Wants expand in more than equal ratio to the means of satisfying them. The larger residence, the increased establishment, the better style of entertaining, place the richer man still in the position of living quite up to his income; the "stereotyped guinea" in the missionary report has not at the end of the year become two, though systematic beneficence might have raised it to a hundred without any sensible difficulty. The channel of the canal was not deepened and widened "at once," and the new supplies are sunk and lost in daily household expenditure, or evaporate in ostentation.

The Jews were commanded to devote a tenth of their property to God; and it seems clear that a Christian cannot be required to do "less" than a Jews who knew not, as we do, the "grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes He became poor, that we through His poverty might be rich." There are many persons, indeed, who cannot maintain even their independence without a painful struggle; to speak of systematic beneficence to such, would appear but mockery; "faith" must be their wealth, their offerings their "prayers;" but we have our Barzillais amongst us, who, having enough and to spare, are bound by every consideration of gratitude and duty to give freely—liberally—joyfully.

The time is coming when our King will return in triumph to His own. Then will the Shimeis who rejected Him and despised His cause fall down in terror before Him; and the wondering Barzillais find that their gifts of love, even to the "lentiles and parched pulse and honey," nay, even to the "cup of cold water" given for the sake of their King, have all been registered, and will be a thousand-fold requited by Him. Then will the deep adoring gratitude of the redeemed far exceed that expressed in the words of the Gileadite: "Why should the king recompense me with such a reward!"

XXV.

Temple Lily Work.

IN the porch of King Solomon's magnificent temple stood two mighty pillars of brass, nearly thirty feet in height: to the one he gave the name Jachin, "He shall establish;" to the other Boaz, "strength." Thus would the royal preacher seem to teach all generations that to the house of prayer we should come to be firmly established in sound doctrine, and to receive strength to stand fast in the faith.

But we are not only told of the size and material of those stately columns, but of their ornaments also: "The chapiters that were upon the top of the pillars were of lily work in the porch." Such details were not deemed too insignificant to find a place in the Word of God. Now, the question of the amount of ornament to be desired in a church is not one into which I desire to enter, believing that where a devout congregation worship God in spirit and in truth, it is of minor importance whether the edifice in which they meet be fair as Solomon's temple, or plain as the "upper room" in which the disciples assembled. Let us rather consider the beautiful lily work on the pillars as a type of that which is lovely crowning that which is lofty; the spirit of kindly sympathy towards our fellow-worshippers forming a complement and addition to exalted devotion towards God.

Were we to ask the use of churches, we might receive the reply, "They are buildings set apart for prayer, praise, and preaching, and the celebration of the sacraments ordained by our Lord." This might be a correct, but it would not be a complete answer, unless it conveyed the idea of social worship, brethren meeting as brethren in the house of their Father, lovingly uniting their hearts and voices, as they hope to do in their home above. Much is it to be regretted that there is so little of this spirit of religious sympathy; that we have, as it were, the pillars of brass without the lily work round them. There is often a chilling formality in places of worship, that makes us painfully feel that the world has brought its distinctions and its vanities even into the house of prayer. We see, perhaps, the large pew with its solitary occupant, while weary women are standing in the aisle; it is the piece of silver that admits to the seat, and those who are unable to bribe are treated as strangers, almost as intruders, in the place where, beyond all others, they should find themselves welcome. Is it not constantly the man "in goodly apparel," the woman "in gay clothing," to whom it is virtually said, "Sit thou here in a good place;" while the poor must obey the implied though unuttered command, "Stand thou there, or sit here under my footstool?"

"Hospitality in church" is not a subject likely to be treated of in either religious or moral essay; the very name might provoke a smile; but I had once a practical sermon preached to me on the subject, which sank deeper into my memory than almost any sermon which I ever heard, which makes me venture to mention the trivial incident.

Many years since, I entered as a stranger a church in Brighton. The preacher was a very popular one, and I knew that I might have difficulty in obtaining a seat, so I took the first which I saw vacant; it was a free seat, close to a wall. I soon found that my position was a very undesirable one as regarded comfort; a large air-hole was directly in front, probably intended to warm the church with hot air, but that which rose up, almost under my feet, was the chilling breath of November.

I merely state the circumstance to introduce mention of the conduct of two ladies, perfect strangers to me, between whom I chanced to be seated. The one on my left hand surprised me by offering to change places with me: as there was no reason why she should be exposed to the chilling draught rather than myself, I of course declined her offer. I know not whether the lady on my right was related to the other, but she was at least her sister in kindness; for she lent to me, an utter stranger, her handsome fur tippet to place over my knees, to protect me from cold.

"A very trivial incident indeed," may be said; but when I consider its effect upon my own mind, I cannot look upon it as so trivial: often and often has the example of those ladies recurred to me in church. I heard an eloquent sermon on that November day in Brighton; but I derived at least as much benefit from the conduct of two of the congregation. I asked myself why they should be so kind to me, a stranger, and concluded that they were not of those who merely attend church to keep up a cold, heartless form of devotion, but that they had felt the "genial" influence of Christianity while uniting in social prayer. With them the pillars of brass lacked not the lily work on the chapiter.

Church is a place that often affords opportunity for the exercise of the little courtesies of life. The proffered scat, the church-book lent, the place in the hymn-book found for the deaf, the guiding hand held out to the blind,—these are trifling things in themselves, but they warm the heart of strangers, and make devotion itself more earnest by contact with Christian kindness. In church, selfishness and pride are peculiarly repulsive; we should feel the connecting link which binds together those who are one in Christ; we should see that our religion is one of humility and love. Solomon's noble pillars would have looked cold and hard but for the graceful lily work which crowned them; it might not, indeed, add to their strength, but it greatly enhanced their beauty.

XXVI.

The Widow's Cruse.

WHO, on first glancing at this homely piece of earthen-ware, an oil-cruse, with nothing to distinguish it from thousands used in the dwellings of the poor, would connect it with a miracle? Yet day after day, for the space of years, was it mysteriously supplied, while the prophet Elijah, the widow and her son, were fed on the store never failing.

We know not whether the oil within multiplied itself like the bread in the hands of the Lord's disciples, or whether an angel, pleased to be employed on such a mission of mercy, each night replenished an empty cruse. How the miracle was wrought matters not to us; the widow who had obeyed the word of the man of God, who had been willing to share her little with him, found that little increased to an inexhaustible supply.

What hallowed meals must have been those partaken of in the cottage at Sarepta, where Elijah was the guest, and where every morsel of the food on the board was a pledge of the peculiar favour of God!

The widow of Sarepta was evidently a woman of faith, and we believe that her grace was renewed day by day, like the oil in her cruse. Yet it is not impossible that her faith, like that of the Israelites when they were fed by manna from Heaven, like our own amid a thousand proofs of the watchful providence of God, may have known times of wavering and weakness. The widow would but have resembled others, if at some time she had looked with anxious fear even at this cruse so constantly supplied, and had thought, "How small it is, how unable to contain more than enough for the wants of a day! It is true that I have never yet found it empty, but what if it should fail at last! The heavens are still like brass, and the earth like iron; no rain has fallen—or is likely to fall; others wealthier far than me are perishing around me! If this oil and meal should fail, whither could I turn, to whom could I go? I should see my only son wasting with hunger before my eyes! Oh, how fearful would be the fate before us if the oil in this cruse should fail!"

We can at once see the unbelief, ingratitude, and folly of such fears, if ever the widow entertained them; but are not such fears common guests within our own bosoms? What had the widow's hopes to rest on? "Experience" and a "promise." And have not we the same? Have we not experienced that God can and will help us; that He has brought us through past troubles; that He has known how to fill the cruse in time of need, though He may not cause it to overflow, nor give more than sufficient for the wants of the day? And have we not His promise, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added to you. Take no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take care for the things of itself?"

We are slow to trust God's providence and love. We would have visible stores laid up for the future; we are not content with the cruse. While we torture ourselves with the thought, "What if at last it should fail?" We need the Saviour's reproof, "Ye of little faith, wherefore did ye doubt?"

"Give us this day our daily bread." There is a lesson conveyed in these words of the prayer put by our Lord Himself into the mouths of His servants. We ask—not for luxuries—but "bread;" we ask not for stores, but for "this day's" supply. It is more difficult for us, in our artificial state of society, to exercise the simplicity of faith as expressed in this prayer, than it was for the first disciples. We multiply our wants, and are discouraged if they be not abundantly supplied. It is no common attainment to be able from the heart to say with the apostle, "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content."

It is not only for the supply of our earthly need that we should look with calm trust to God. There are those who have never known what it is to want anything that money can buy, who yet require to reflect on the widow's cruse in order to strengthen their faith. We are oppressed with fears for the future: "If that trouble come upon me, how shall I meet it? If that sorrow be sent, how shall I bear it? Will not grace fail under such a temptation?"

"Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: far I shall yet praise Him."

Hath He not said, "As thy days, so shall thy strength be?" May we not "come to Him boldly, for grace to help in time of need"? We are indeed but weak and frail, earthly vessels that have held but little; but the blessing of God, if vouchsafed to us, will make us even as the cruse at Sarepta—grace will secretly be supplied, by means of which the world knows nothing.

And let us remember that the famine time will not last for ever; the day draws near when there will be a sound of an abundance of rain. "Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness: let the earth open, and let them bring forth salvation, and let righteousness spring up together; I the Lord have created it." Grace and peace will not then be meted out, as it were, drop by drop, but flow as the river, and as the waves of the sea; the supply in the cruse will be exchanged for measureless joy, the handful of meal for the banquet prepared in the mansions of bliss!

XXVII.

Elijah's Letter.