The Empty Chair

“WHEN I come to see you I always find myself looking at the picture which hangs by that window,” said a friend of mine one day.
“Why does it interest you so much?” I asked.
“Because,” replied my friend, “it reminds me of something.”
“Does it?” I said. “Then I must tell you that the picture reminds me of something, too. When I look at that empty chair I think of another seat, as yet unoccupied—an empty seat, not in a picture, but in a place more beautiful than any you have ever seen.”
“Where is that empty seat?” asked my friend, eagerly. “In some magnificent mansion?”
“No.”
“In the Queen’s palace?”
“No.”
“Before I tell you where that empty seat is,” I replied, “you must know that numbers of people are bidden to the joys of the beautiful place where the empty seats are.”
“What kind of people are invited?”
“All those who like to come. It does not matter who they are.”
“All who like to come!” repeated my friend, quite astonished. “Do you think He would have me?”
“Oh, yes, for He has invited everybody. He wants His house to be quite full, and will have no empty seats there.”
My friend looked at me, and said, “I must first know what kind of person the owner of that empty seat is. Do you know him?”
“Yes; I have known Him for many years. He is kind, and gracious, and full of love—it is none other than God Himself, who bids you welcome, who invites you to come in and to enjoy the blessings He has provided. Garments of salvation, all that is required, are prepared without money and without price for all such as receive the invitation to the empty seat.”
Dear children, I will end my little story by asking one question of each of you. Have you accepted God’s invitation? The Bible says, “Yet there is room.” Today you may receive all the blessings of the Father’s house. But when Jesus comes to take His people home, the door will be closed. You will not be able to enter in then—it will be too late. “Now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” J. B.
The Plagues of Egypt.
THE EIGHTH PLAGUE.
IT is a vain thing for man to fight against God. Many times in the world’s history great nations have boasted in their gods against Jehovah, only to learn in their discomfiture and defeat, the greatness of His majesty.
Some three or four weeks after the plague of thunder, the wheat and spelt attained to their perfection, the gardens of the land of Egypt blossomed again, and once more these flower-loving people were able at their feasts to present their guests with nosegays, and to ornament their altars with garlands. The vines and fruit-bearing trees, however had been broken for the season.
Jehovah’s messengers were silent. Not that it is in any degree likely that Moses and Aaron were idle. No doubt the whole of the nation of Israel was already being assembled upon the Canaanitish borders of Goshen ready for their exodus, now near at hand. But Pharaoh was determined, and Israel remained his slaves.
Once more the servants of the Lord appeared before Pharaoh. Their words were abrupt and sever. “Thus saith the Lord God of the Hebrews, How long wilt thou refuse to humble thyself before Me? Let My people go, that they may serve Me. Else, if thou refuse to let My people go, behold, tomorrow will I bring the locusts into thy coast.”
Having delivered his message, Moses waited not far an answer, but “turned himself, and went out from Pharaoh.” Pharaoh’s great men trembled at those awful words, “the locusts,” especially at the thought of the appalling results which Jehovah declared this plague should bring upon their half-destroyed land. So Moses and Aaron were sent for in order that terms might be arranged, but, after a parley, “were driven from Pharaoh’s presence.”
Then “the Lord said unto Moses, Stretch out thine hand over the land of Egypt for the locusts, that they may come up upon the land of Egypt, and eat every herb of the land, even all that the hail hath left.”
No line was to divide Goshen now. Israel would soon be out of Egypt, and the green things there, the fruits and herbs, would not be required by them anymore. The locusts were to destroy every green thing “through all the land of Egypt.” Israel was to leave that land barren and desolate as the sands of the desert which surround it.
In our favored country plagues of insects arc almost unknown. We remember a few years ago seeing a loose, dusky cloud, through which the sun shone, pouring as it were brown drops of rain, upon the country, and presently the sea-coast turned to a reddish hue, and the roads and fields were covered with myriads of ladybirds. Whence these little creatures had come, or why they had taken their way over the sea to the shores of England, none could tell. The Creator had called them up in His wisdom, His wind bore them to our shores, and they covered the earth where they fell, Of late years in parts of America countless grasshoppers have descended upon the growing cornfields and eaten up everything, and the more destructive beetle has in its innumerable multitudes devoured whole fields of potatoes. In the East the dreaded locust is at this day a terrible plague. There arises a dark cloud upon the horizon. Up it rolls with the wind, dense and thick, hiding the light of the sun, and darkening the day. Suddenly a few of the swiftest of the army alight upon the ground, and leap forward with rapid bounds, and in a short time the whirring of the wings and deafening buzz and clatter of the myriads of the devouring host is heard. On, on they come, mass upon mass. There is a grinding, crushing sound of their hungry jaws as they hurry over vineyard and garden, stripping every leaf from every tree, and every blade of green from the face of the earth. Man is utterly powerless against them—his arm is useless. Among the “four sore judgments” of the Lord, namely, the sword, the famine, the noisome beast, the pestilence, the noisome beast is one of the most terrible.
And now as suddenly as they came, the insect hosts are gone. The luxuriant country which but a few hours ago so richly promised plenty is more desolate than a wintry desert. The shady trees are stripped of every leaf; the scented fields are brown and bare; there is not a flower nor a blade of grass left—no, not one—and from the cloudless sky the summer’s sun scorches the face of the fruitless earth, and famine stares man in the face.
That you may form a faint notion of what a cloud of locusts is, we will give a few examples.
About 100 years ago a flight was seen in South Africa, which covered an area of 2000 square miles, and which, when driven into the sea by the wind, formed a bank of bodies upon the shore some four feet high and some 50 miles long. Less than 100 years since part of Europe was visited by an army of locusts. It advanced through the sky in several columns, each of which was several hundred fathoms wide, and in one place the dense black cloud was four long hours passing by. In India, only a few months ago the increasing multitudes of these insects swarmed in such numbers over a portion of the Madras Railway that the train was stopped by them, just as it might have been stopped by running into a snow-drift. It may also be interesting to know that, in 1848, a few locusts visited England and Scotland. In some places on the coast they were supposed to be flying fish, and in at least one locality their numbers were sufficient to do some slight damage to the crops.
But to return to the locusts sent upon Egypt. They were, Jehovah said to Pharaoh, to be such as “neither thy fathers, nor thy fathers’ fathers have seen, since the day that they were upon the earth unto this day.” (v. 6.)
Then the Lord commanded an east wind, which blew all that day and night, and when it was morning the east wind brought the locusts. They went up over all the land of Egypt. The sun was darkened. They ate every green thing which the hail had left, and so terrible were they, that never before were such locusts, and never again shall there be such.
In a short time they had rendered the whole land, from Goshen to its Ethiopian borders, a desert, and, having eaten leaves and herbs, they would have begun to gnaw the bark of the trees, and thus within a few more hours every tree must also have perished. Then Pharaoh cried out, “Take this death from me?” The Lord heeded Pharaoh’s cry, and sent a mighty strong west wind, which swept them all away into the Red Sea, and there remained not one locust throughout the whole of Egypt.
Thus His hand which had called up the plague removed it as wondrously as He had brought it upon the land. Does it not seem strange that after this Pharaoh should still harden himself against Jehovah, the God of Israel, the Almighty?
H. F. W.
William Farel.
(Continued from p. 155.)
IT happened one day in the following spring 1 that the priests of Montbéliard made a procession in honor of St. Anthony. Two priests went first, carrying the image of the saint; behind walked other priests in gorgeous dresses, choristers, girls and boys in various colors, carrying banners, candles, and flowers. As they crossed the bridge of the Allan a man stood before them. That red beard and those flashing eyes were well known in the little town. He stepped forward, took the image from the shoulders of the priests, and hurled it over the bridge into the river below. “Poor idolaters!” he said, “will you never turn from your idols?” The priests and the people stood dumb with consternation, but after a few moments they made a rush upon Farel. At that minute a cry was raised that a whirlpool had appeared in the river, and the image was drowning. All eyes were directed to the rushing water. When again they turned to seize Farel he was gone. He had walked away, none having laid hands upon him. Perhaps he was thinking of John Leclerc. Certainly he was thinking of Him by whom one day all idols shall be utterly abolished. The violence of the priests, and of the messengers from the Swiss cantons seems, after this, to have had some effect upon Duke Ulric.
Farel was soon after driven from Montbéliard. The duke, though he consented to his banishment, remained his friend. The priests had power enough to raise a strong party against the gospel. The gospel, however, could not be banished, though Farel could be. To this day popery has never been able to regain possession of Montbéliard. Farel seems first to have gone back to Basle to see his friend Hausschein, but he was not allowed to remain there. During the few days he spent with Hausschein a messenger arrived from the town of Schaffhausen, bringing him some very sad news. His dear friend Anemond had been suddenly taken ill at Schaffhausen, from drinking cold water when he was overheated. He knew he was dying, and had sent off his servant to tell William Farel. Up to the last he had been diligently employed in printing and sending into France Testaments and tracts. William set off to see him, but arrived too late. Anemond’s loss was a very bitter sorrow to him, and he grieved deeply also at the loss the people of God would suffer now that so faithful a servant had been called home. Young Laurence de Châtelbard was very grateful to William for having been such a devoted friend to his beloved brother.
William now returned to his kind friends at Strasbourg, and what was his joy to find there one whom he little expected to see—dear Master Faber himself! Gerard Roussel too, was there, and other old French friends who had fled, like Master Faber, from the persecutions of Louise, Duprat, and Bedier. A good man, called Capito, who might have been called—like Gains—the host of the whole Church, took them all to live in his house, and others besides, whose names had been cast out as evil, for Christ’s sake. What a happy party it must have been! Master Faber was at first afraid to be known in the town, and therefore he took the name of Anthony Pilgrim, and Gerard Roussel took the name of Solnin; but the old man was soon known by every one, old and young, and even the children bowed respectfully when they met him in the street. He was cheered and delighted to find that the gospel he had first preached at Paris—when there were none who believed it—was now preached freely in the churches at Strasbourg; and of readings, prayer meetings, and godly converse there were enough to last from morning to night. The old doctor was lost in wonder, love, and praise. He encouraged his dear William to go on preaching boldly, but he could not himself cast off all his fears and his “prudence of the flesh;” or, rather, he had not the faith to do it. “We can do all things through Christ, who strengthens us.”
William was much better pleased to see his old master an outcast and an exile than to think of him working hand in hand with the Bishop of Meaux. At Strasbourg, at least, Master Faber could stand aloof from priests and masses; but like the hare that returns to the field from which it has been hunted, Master Faber was ready to go back to his old path when it was no longer dangerous to do so. William had not been hunted forth. When the Lord brings His people out of evil, “with a high hand brings He them out of it.” But it may be that William had grace and patience to bear with the infirmities of his master, whilst others could only blame him. Young Peter Toussaint, who often took upon himself to advise and lecture Farel, was very much disgusted with Master Faber.
“He is utterly devoid of energy,” he said; “let him wait, and temporize, and dissimulate as long as he pleases, he will never be able to separate the offense of the cross from the preaching of the gospel.” This was very true, but it is true also that the Lord commanded Timothy not to rebuke an elder, and it is a bad sign when a young believer thus cries down an old one, especially for infirmities and timidity. Like Peter, who said, “Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee in any wise,” this other Peter, in later years, was himself tempted to deny the Lord; and in his case it was want of heart, not want of courage, which made him yield, in a great measure, to the temptation. Master Faber was, no doubt, happier at Strasbourg than ever before or after. He delighted in the company of so many earnest believers. Sometimes he wished that many more would come to the Bible-readings to learn the blessed truth in which lie found such joy and peace.
“It is sad we are so few,” he said.
“Do not mind that,” answered William, “numbers are no proof of God’s favor. The devil will always have more scholars than the Lord Jesus.” Thus the peaceful days at Strasbourg passed in Christian fellowship, in reading and preaching the word, and in prayer.
In these clays, when so many untrue stories are written and printed for the amusement of story-readers, it is well to know of a book of true stories, which give us a pleasant picture of those old days at Strasbourg. Having read it, you will be better able to imagine the happy party of believers who were gathered there in the year 1525. Remember, then, the “Tales of Alsace,” of which I told you, published at Nisbet’s.
But bright days and dark days come alike to an end. The year 1526 was to bring many changes to the subjects of Francis I. Early in that year the king was set free from his imprisonment in Spain. He returned to France, to the great joy of his sister Margaret. Not only for his sake and for her own, but for the sake of God’s persecuted people, did Margaret rejoice. Though Francis cared as little for God and for His people as his mother did, yet for Margaret’s sake he would be willing to put a stop to the persecutions of those whom she loved. The parliament had made haste to sentence Louis Berquin to be burnt unless he would say that he had been in error; but the king at once commanded that Berquin should be released from his prison.
One by one the banished preachers were called back to France by the Princess Margaret. Messages came to Strasbourg—to Master Faber, to Gerard Roussel, to all, except only William Farel. The princess would have them all come back and place themselves under her care, all but Farel only; for all the rest were willing to own fellowship with the Church of Rome, though they meant to preach the gospel at the same time. This was just the course that Margaret approved. She liked to hear the gospel, but she did not like the offense of the Cross. One by one the French preachers left Strasbourg. William saw them go with longing eyes. He too would have gone, heart and soul, to carry back the glad tidings to his beloved France, but, dear as was France to his heart, Christ was dearer, and if he were to go back at the cost of giving up the path of separation from evil, rather would he never see France again. So Farel stayed behind, and waited for the Lord to show him where he should go, and what he should do. It was a solemn moment in his history. Perhaps never before had he been so sorely tempted to turn aside from the straight path of simple obedience to God. On the one hand there was France with her perishing millions, and not only might he safely return there, but live under Margaret’s protection in peace, and even in honor. He might preach the glad tidings to his beloved countrymen with Margaret’s full approval. And all this if only he would outwardly conform to the services and ceremonies, which, after all, Master Faber would say, “are but outside things; and who can say,” Master Faber would add, “how soon all those may be reformed, if only we preach the gospel of Christ, and wait for the result. We must endeavor to cleanse the house of God, not to destroy it.” All this William well considered, and there were moments when it sounded well, and the way to France seemed to open before him as if it were the path in which God would have him go. Then on the other hand the weary waiting in a strange land, where he could not preach, because he did not know the language, and where he seemed to be of no use, though he was longing to tell the glad tidings far and wide. Then, besides, he had beseeching letters from France. Peter Toussaint and Gerard Roussel wrote to him entreating him to come back and labor with them. He was just the man, they said, that France needed. He might be the means of saving countless souls. He would have, from them at least, the warmest welcome. Could he refuse them? What should he do? Thus month after month passed by, and of all the French believers William remained alone at Strasbourg. The honor of Christ was at stake, and the longings of his own heart and the entreaties of his friends would not weigh with him against that.
At last Gerard Roussel owned in one of his letters that though he might preach as much as he liked, he was “obliged to keep back half the truths of the Gospel to avoid giving offense.” But he resigned himself to preaching the other half. Farel would rather preach none till the Lord should open the way for his “declaring the whole counsel of God.” And the Lord remembered Farel in his banishment. “Blessed are all they that wait for Him.”
F. B.