04.08. Volume 4 cont'd
It was said of a great artist that he carried a lyre in his hand as he wrought on his canvas. The music inspired him for his art. Those who can sing have a special mission in cheering and encouraging others as well as themselves. Music inspires us, quickens our pulses, makes us rejoice. Armies march better and fight better—when bands of music are playing. Christian song has a wondrous power in inspiring to courage and heroism. David’s harp drove away Saul’s insanity, and music has been driving away many ugly moods and bitter passions ever since. Songs breaking upon despairing hearts—have saved men and women from suicide.
People who can sing have a gift by which they can do great service for Christ. They can go in little companies and sing in prisons or in hospitals or asylums, and their songs will give cheer and courage, and perhaps carry a thought of God’s love to sad, penitent, and weary hearts. They can sing in sick-rooms, and the sweet notes will be like angel voices. They can sing in their own homes as they work, cheering weary ones beside them. The ministry of consecrated song is a wonderful one, and leaves untold joy and blessing in the world.
There is a charm about first things—which is lacking in things that come after. There is never quite such a home to us as the home of our childhood. There is never any other Church with which we may be connected that is quite so dear to our hearts—as the Church where we first were saved. These older men did not find in the new building, the beauty of the former one. "Many of the . . . men, who had seen the first house , . . wept." They wept because they thought the new temple could not be so beautiful as the old one had been. It was natural for them to feel so, and yet we cannot praise their conduct.
There are some people who always find the discouraging side of life, not the happy, cheerful side. Their eyes seem to have a peculiar faculty for seeing defects, blemishes, flaws, and faults. This is a very unhappy peculiarity. These people miss the lovely features in every landscape, in every garden spot, in every bright scene. Where others see roses—they see only thorns. While others are filled with rapture—they go about in gloom. While others sing—they murmur and complain. The world is all wrong for them. Then not only do they spoil life for themselves by this pessimistic way of seeing things—but they spoil it for others. Instead of adding to the happiness of those about them—they mar their pleasure. Anyone who has fallen into this miserable habit—should instantly and determinedly begin to get away from it! It is worth a fortune to be able to see all life—through happy cheerful eyes—and to see habitually the bright, lovely things—instead of the gloom, shadows, and thorns.
There is a tendency also among some older people to think that nothing is quite so good now—as it used to be in their early days. Distance lends enchantment, and sometimes old people are saddened by their loneliness, possibly, too, by their infirmities, and have not the bright spirit of their earlier days. Besides, the old people’s eyes are a little dim and misty, and see far-away things in a glow which does not belong to things that are near. Then what we find anywhere, in any person or place—really depends upon our own mood or attitude. Our hearts—make our world for us. It is not wise to say that the former days were better than our own. Of course, many things are different—but in the truest sense—the present is the best time the world has ever seen. The people of the country, the Samaritans, who had been there since the Israelites were carried into captivity, were excited by what was going on—the return of the former inhabitants and their efforts to rebuild their old temple. The Samaritans were a mixed people, made up of colonists who had been brought by the Assyrians from Babylon and other places, and placed in the cities of Samaria which had been emptied by the carrying away of the people as captives. They had brought their national gods with them. One of the captive priests was sent to teach them how they should worship the Lord. They adopted the Jewish ritual—but their worship was not pure.
Perhaps the Samaritans were sincere in wishing to unite with the Jews in the work of rebuilding the temple. "Let us build with you," they said. More likely, however, they wanted to be allowed to help that they might hinder. They professed to be loyal to God—but almost surely they were not. They did not want the temple to go up again, for they knew the holy worship would be resumed with the holy teaching. This would interfere with their sinful lives. They wished, therefore, to get their hands upon the work that they might keep it back, or at least make it harmonize with their own evil desires. That is what the world is always trying to do. It dreads and hates holiness, and tries to leaven it with worldliness, so as to make it less objectionable to itself; that is—less true and holy. Religion always has this temptation—the world wants to be taken in. The answer of the builders was: "You have no part with us in building a temple to our God. We alone will build it for the LORD." Some people would call this narrow-mindedness, bigotry. "Why did they not accept the help of these well-to-do neighbors? It would have put the work forward rapidly. But it looks as if the refusal of this help and cooperation was really a noble and patriotic thing to do. These were the world’s people, not true lovers of God. To accept their fellowship and aid—would have been to compromise with the world.
We need to take the lesson. We are to be in the world—but not of the world. In our religion, we must not accept the world’s companionship and the world’s spirit. The world may be very willing to come with us in part of our work for God—but it would corrupt, degrade, and vitiate our service!
Dedicating the Temple
There was much delay in the building of the temple. There was bitter opposition from the inhabitants of Samaria. "The people of the land weakened the hands of the people of Judah, and troubled them." They wrote to Artaxerxes, king of Persia, to protest against the building, maligning the Jews and alleging that Jerusalem had been a rebellious and wicked city. The work of rebuilding was thus interrupted for a time. Under Darius, however, the decree of Cyrus was again found and the work on the temple was resumed and finished. The prophets Haggai and Zechariah encouraged the people. They probably would not have finished the work at all—if it had not been for the cheer given by these prophets. We are all apt at some time in life to get disheartened. Things go wrong with us. The burdens are heavy, the way is hard, opposition is fierce. Many people faint and give up in times of trouble, because no one has a word of cheer for them. But if someone comes with glad heartening, they take fresh courage to go on to finish their work or fight their battle through to the end.
Haggai and Zechariah did not themselves work on the walls, and yet without their part, the building would not have gone on to completion. You may by your good cheer, be the means of accomplishing noble and wonderful results, which would never have been accomplished but for the stimulating influence of your words. This is an important part of the preacher’s work every Sunday. The people come to the services weary after their hard work. Sometimes the week has not been a prosperous one. Business had not been successful. Money has been lost. Labor has not yielded good returns. It has been hard to make ends meet. Or there has been sickness, and the loved one is not out of danger. Or someone in the family has not been doing well. Or the discouragement may be personal. Temptation may have been too strong—and the battle may have been lost. Duty has been too hard or too large. There is not a Sunday when the pastor does not face disheartened people sitting in the pews, needing his good cheer. If he speaks brave, hopeful words—he will help many a weary one to a victorious week. This is part of his work, quite as really as preaching the gospel of salvation and life. All of us, wherever we go, are continually meeting those whose hands hang down, and whose knees are trembling—and it is our privilege and duty to lift up the one, and strengthen the other. Helping by encouragement is one of the very best of all ways of helping.
Thus cheered, the people wrought with energy and enthusiasm upon the building. They had both divine and human help. They had the commandment of God to impel them, and they had also the decrees of Cyrus and Artaxerxes to protect them and aid them. Cyrus, Darius, and Artaxerxes did their part. Then there was Zerubbabel and Joshua, besides Haggai and Zechariah, with hundreds more whose names are not recorded. The obscurest helper helped in some way, and record was made of what he did. The man who felled trees in the forests of Lebanon, the man who worked in the quarry, the man who mixed the mortar—all did their part. Without the humblest helpers—the most skilled workman and the greatest could not do their conspicuous portion. So it is in all the Lord’s work in this world—there is something for every one. Each one has something to contribute toward the Lord’s work, and the lowliest thing done on God’s temple—is full of highest honor.
There is a tradition that a certain artist sought permission to do the ornamenting and adorning of the great doors of the English Parliament House. If this work could not be given to him, he asked that he might be allowed to decorate one panel. If he could not have this privilege, he begged that at least he might be permitted to hold the brushes for the artist who should do the work on the great doors. Even that humble office, he felt, would be an honor worthy to be sought. Just so, the lowliest task in the building of God’s great spiritual temple—is honor enough for the noblest of mortals. To put one line or touch of beauty in a life—is to work with God. To give a little comfort, cheer, or encouragement to a sad or weary spirit, thus helping a life heavenward, is better than to build a huge pyramid that never blesses anybody. The smallest ministry to a human life or even to one of God’s lowliest creatures. redeems a life from commonness and makes it divine. At last every part of the work was done, and the time came for the dedication. It was a glad occasion when that completed building stood there on the sacred mount. It had risen out of ruins. It had cost great sacrifice and toil. It had been built up amid many discouragements and hindrances. Tears had fallen on many a stone as it was lifted to its place. Things we do through cost, self-denial, hardship, and hindrance—are far dearer to us and more sacred—than things we do with ease, without feeling the burden or the cost. Churches built by poor, struggling congregations, whose people have to sacrifice, pinch, and deny themselves to gather the money—yield far more joy to their builders when finished—than beautiful and costly churches reared by the rich. The former represent human love, life, blood, and tears. They are built out of people’s hearts. The latter may be grander in men’s eyes—but in heaven’s sight the former shine in the radiant splendor of love. Our joy in doing God’s work and in making gifts to God—is measured by the real cost of the things we do and give. The more heart’s blood there is in them—the more precious they will be to us and also to God, and the greater will be their value to others. The truest joys of earth are transformed sorrows. The richest treasures of our lives are those which have cost us the most. The dedication day was a day of great gladness. The offering consisted of a hundred bullocks, two hundred rams, and four hundred lambs. The people were poor—but they spared nothing that day. They gave God the best they had. The animals in the great sacrifice were of no special worth in the services, except as they represented love and devotion to God. They stood for the people’s own lives.
"Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship." Rom 12:1. The ancient sacrifices were killed—but it is a living sacrifice which we are to present. That means that we are to dedicate our bodies to be God’s temples—places for God to dwell in. We are to live for God in the very best sense, giving Him all our powers, keeping our lives unspotted and holy for Him, and devoting them to His service in all sweet ways. Too many of us give to God only the broken remnants of tired days—the fragments that are left over—after we have served our own selfishness with the best. We need to learn to give Christ the best of everything we have.
"Every one in his place and to every one his work", is the law of God’s Church. The priests had their duties and the Levites had theirs, and when all were set where they belonged, the worship could go on. In every Christian Church the same adjustment is necessary. It is the duty of one to preach, of others to be elders and deacons; of others to be teachers, others secretaries and librarians. Thus to every member, there is some allotment of duty and service. There is not a little child who cannot be of use in some way in Christ’s work. A Church is complete only when every one is doing something, filling some place. The services of the temple were resumed at once after the building was dedicated. The Passover feast was held again at the proper time. The Passover was to the Jews, very much like what the Lord’s Supper is to Christians. It was in remembrance of the days when they were in bondage and when God brought them out. Now a second time they had been brought out of bondage, and it was especially and doubly proper that they should now keep the Passover feast. It was a memorial of their own release from captivity.
There is a story of a stranger who appeared one day on the streets of an Eastern city. Passing where many birds in cages were exposed for sale, he stopped and looked with tender pity at the little captives. At length asking the price of one of the birds, he paid it and, opening the cage, let it go free. Thus he went on until all the birds had been liberated. Flying up a little way, they caught a glimpse of the mountains far off, which were their native home, and flew quickly toward them. When the stranger was asked why he had done this, he answered, "I too have been a captive—and now I know the sweet joy of liberty." We who have known the bitterness of sin’s captivity and are now free, made free by Christ’s deliverance, should gladly seek to open the prisons of other captives and let them go free!
Ezr 8:21-32
EZRA is an interesting character. He was a priest and scribe who was commissioned to return from Persia to Jerusalem, and so took an active part in the civil and religious affairs of the Jews at Jerusalem. He led a fresh company of exiles back with him. A royal edict had been issued by Artaxerxes, clothing Ezra with authority. He was the bearer of offerings for the temple made by the king and by the Jews. He led a caravan. He was influential in enforcing the Mosaic law among the people, who had become indifferent to many features of it. Before setting out, he gathered his company together and spent three days in making preparation for the journey. The first thing he did was to seek God’s guidance. He says, "I proclaimed a fast, so that we might humble ourselves before our God and ask him for a safe journey for us and our children, with all our possessions." We should begin every new journey, every new undertaking, every new piece of work—by asking God to show us the way. The Bible very significantly begins with the words, "In the beginning God." At the beginning of everything, God should be recognized and honored. No friendship ever reaches its best—unless God is in it and God’s blessing is on it. No business ever can have the fullest success—unless the hand of God is in it and God’s guidance be sought. The things we cannot ask God’s blessing upon—we would better not do. The place into which we cannot ask God to guide us—we never should enter. Ezra asked the Lord to show him a safe journey to Jerusalem. We need always to seek guidance of God, for only He can show us the right way.
Ezra is very frank in giving the reason why he cast himself so completely upon God. He was seeking the honor of God, and wished therefore, as far as possible, to be independent of human help. "For I was ashamed to ask of the king a band of soldiers and horsemen to help us against the enemy in the way." He had told the king that the hand of God would be upon all them that sought Him for good, and he wished to give the king proof of this in his own experience. It was a dangerous journey upon which he and his company were about to set out. No doubt the king, with his kindly interest in the expedition, would have furnished an escort if Ezra had asked for it. But Ezra felt that this would be dishonoring God. A life of faith—is a life of dependence upon God. Part of our witnessing for God before the world—is showing that our trust is not in human strength—but in God Himself. We say, "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not be in want." Do we prove our faith in this confession? When need is upon us, do we show ourselves trustful because the Lord is our Shepherd! We say, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." We sing the words with a measure of triumph in our voices. But do we live as if God were indeed our refuge, as if He were indeed a very present help in all trouble? Many of us are too easily frightened in time of danger or trouble. With such a God as ours—we ought to be ashamed to be afraid of anything. We ought not to turn to the world’s help after we have declared so strongly that God is our defense and our refuge. We should show by the way we meet difficulties, dangers, losses, sorrows, that there is a divine reality on which we are leaning.
Ezra was taking up with him a great quantity of silver and gold and the sacred vessels for the house of God. He took special care for the safety of these treasures. He set apart twelve of the chiefs of the priests . . . and weighed unto them the silver, and the gold, and the vessels." First, these were godly men, honest and trustworthy, whom Ezra selected. This was important. Sometimes sufficient care is not taken in choosing those who are to be the custodians of money belonging to others. In this case, the money and the treasures were all carefully weighed and the amount set down. Again, at the end of the journey, the men were required to account for everything they had received. Some people are very careless about money matters. Young people should learn that it is part of their religion—to be strictly honest. If others put money into their hands for any purpose—it should be accounted for to the last cent. In societies of different kinds, there is money to be handled, and certain people have to act as treasurers. Those who accept this position should realize their responsibility. No matter if only a few cents a month are to be handled, there should be the same careful putting down of the amount and the same accuracy in accounting for it at the end as if the sum were thousands of dollars. The charge of Ezra to these men who were entrusted with the treasures, is worthy of careful study. He said unto them, "You as well as these articles are holy to the LORD. The silver and gold are a freewill offering to the LORD, the God of your fathers. Guard them carefully until you weigh them out in the chambers of the house of the LORD in Jerusalem before the leading priests and the Levites and the family heads of Israel." The men themselves were holy; that is, they had been set apart to a holy service. The treasures entrusted to them were holy. The money and the vessels did not belong to any man—but to God. The men were now to carry them safely through all the dangers of the thousand-mile journey. They would be held responsible for their safe-keeping, until they deposited them in the house of God in Jerusalem. Then the treasures would be weighed again, to see that they had been carefully guarded and that nothing, not even a fraction of an ounce, had been lost. This was a very solemn trust. But every one is continually receiving trusts which he is to guard amid the world’s dangers, and deliver at last at God’s feet. A Christian convert in a missionary country said of something he was guarding with special care, "It is God’s—but I am in charge of it." This is a true statement of our position regarding many of our responsibilities. It is true not only of the religious funds entrusted to our custody—but just as really of money of any society or institution or corporation or business that may be entrusted to us. It is true of anything for which we may be responsible. Our own life is a sacred trust committed to us, for which we must give account.
There are many applications of this principle. Other people are continually putting into our hands the gold and silver of their love, their confidence, their friendship, trusting us with things which we are to guard and keep for them. Do you ever think, for example, of the responsibility of being a friend? One confides in you and comes under your influence. How careful must you be lest you harm the life that thus entrusts itself to you. We accept friendships and confidences eagerly, and sometimes perhaps thoughtlessly, not asking ourselves if we can care for them, guard them, keep them. We forget that we must answer to God for every touch and teaching and for every impression we put upon any other life. Our own good name also is a trust committed to us to be kept unspotted. We must guard it and live so every day that no stain may ever fasten upon it through any act or conduct of ours, or any association with evil. So the good names of others are in our keeping. We must be careful never to tarnish another’s name by any careless word we may speak concerning the person.
Ezra testifies to the faithfulness of God in caring for him and his company on the way. "Then we departed . . . and the hand of our God was upon us, and He delivered us from the hand of the enemy." At the beginning of his journey Ezra committed the care of himself and other pilgrims, to the good hand of God. He was glad to say that without any help from the king, without escort of soldiers to guard them, they had come to the end of the long journey, through manifold dangers—yet without harm.
We never know how much good we owe every day and every night to the good hand of God that guards us amid life’s dangers. We think we are keeping ourselves by our own tact or shrewdness, or that we owe our safety in our journeys to the perfection of the railways and vessels on which we travel, or to some sort of chance that favors us. We leave God out too often when we are thinking of our safety, our protection, our comfort, the countless favors of our lives. Always the eye of God is upon us and the good hand of God is over us. This is our Father’s world, and we have children’s care in it.
Nehemiah’s Prayer
Nehemiah was a captive. There is a tradition that he belonged to the royal family. Probably he had been educated in the land of captivity. At least he occupied a position of great importance in the king’s court. He speaks of himself as the king’s cup-bearer—but this title does not mean that he was merely a servant. The position was one of importance and of much influence.
Evidently Nehemiah was a man of strong character, who could not be swayed by the enervating influences about him. Robert Ogden tells of once discovering a wonderful little flower on the Rocky Mountains. In a deep fissure, one day in midsummer, he found the snow lying yet unmelted, and on the surface of it he saw this flower. Looking to learn where its roots grew, he perceived that a long, delicate stem came up through the snow. The root was in the crevice of the rock underneath. Like that flower in the cold snow—are the lives that are found growing up in the midst of the world’s temptations, and yet are beautiful and true in spite of all that would naturally tend to destroy them. The secret is that they are rooted in the cleft of the Rock of Ages.
Nehemiah was in Shushan the palace; that is to say, at the very center of a great heathen capital. Yet it was while occupying a position there, that there came into his heart the desire to honor God and help in restoring His land. Let no young man say, after reading the story of Nehemiah, that it is not possible to be a true and earnest Christian wherever God may place him. If he is compelled to live among the ungodly, exposed to all manner of evil influences, he can still be true to God. All he needs is to be sure that his heart is fixed upon Christ, and that the roots of his faith are kept alive through prayer, communion with God, and the study of God’s Word. It is possible for a young man to rise in the world as Nehemiah did, to prosper in business, to win honor and influence among his fellow-men, and yet keep his heart pure, his life clean, himself unspotted from the world.
One day, while Nehemiah was engaged in his accustomed occupations, he was visited by his brother Hanani. Hanani had been visiting the Jews who had returned to their own land, and Nehemiah asked him concerning the condition of things at Jerusalem. Many people who are happily fixed themselves, do not give much thought to their friends who are less fortunate. Nehemiah, however, though himself living in luxury, did not forget his brethren, who were enduring hardship and suffering, nor did he cease to remember his country in its time of distress. This quality in Nehemiah should not be overlooked in our study of his character. In our days of prosperity, we should not forget those who are in circumstances of suffering and need. That man cannot call himself a Christian—who never thinks beyond the circle of his own little life. When one Christian suffers, all his fellow-Christians should feel the pain. The strong should help the weak. The fortunate should not forget the unfortunate. The well should sympathize with the sick. In the homes of gladness, with the circle unbroken, there should be deep sympathy with the household next door where there is grief. Nehemiah showed a brotherly spirit.
Nehemiah was greatly affected by what he had heard concerning the condition of things at Jerusalem—but his feelings led him to action. "It came to pass, when I heard these words, that I sat down and wept . . . and prayed before the God of heaven." Some men weep easily—their tears lie near the surface; but these are not usually men of deep and strong nature. They are emotional, and often their emotions never become acts. Nehemiah was not a man of that kind—he was stalwart and strong. His tears, therefore, did not show weakness. It is not unmanly to weep when there is such cause for weeping as there was that day. Nehemiah wept over the sorrows of his people, over the calamities which had befallen them. Jesus Himself wept when He stood on the brow of the Mount of Olives and looked down upon that same Jerusalem, over the report of whose desolation Nehemiah now wept. Country, home, and religion are dearer to a true man—than place, power, honor, and riches. We should be moved with compassion, when we think of the lost souls about us. But tears are not enough. Nehemiah at once carried the burden to God in prayer. That is what we should do with all our anxiety for others. The greatest achievements in this world—have been made through prayer. The first way to help others—is to pray for them. Until we have begun to pray—we shall not do much for them. Yet praying is not always the whole of our duty. Nehemiah wept; then prayed; then set to work in behalf of his people. He left his luxurious place in the king’s court, journeyed to Jerusalem, and took earnest hold with his own hands, giving of his influence and energies to the cause. More than tears or prayers—are needed in our serving of others. Too many people weep over distress and pray earnestly for the relief that is needed—yet do nothing themselves. Nehemiah’s way is better—first sympathy, then prayer, then work.
There is something very noble in Nehemiah’s prayer. "Let Your ear now be attentive, and Your eyes open, that You may hearken unto the prayer of Your servant." Not only is God represented as listening to the prayers of His children—but also as looking in sympathy upon them in their need. His eyes are ever turned toward the earth, as if to see who is bending the knee or looking up with penitence and desire. There is no fear that God will ever fail to see anyone who prays. No matter how dark the night may be—His eye beholds. No matter how lonely the place—He will not fail to catch sight of the suppliant bowing in penitence.
One who was wrecked at sea and floated for many hours on a piece of spar before being picked up, said afterwards that the most terrible feeling he had ever experienced, was the thought that in all that vast waste of waters about him—there was no ear to hear his cry and no eye to see his condition. But he was wrong. There really was an eye that could see and did see, and an ear that could hear and did hear, even there on the wide sea, his cries for help.
Nehemiah prayed that God would direct him in his plea before the king. "Prosper, I pray You, Your servant this day, and grant him mercy in the sight of this man." Nehemiah did wisely. Before going to the king with his request he went to God, asking Him to open His way with the king. Since so much depended upon the king’s answer, he asked God to prepare his heart to listen sympathetically. In everything we undertake, we should ask God to prosper us. We cannot do this if we are engaged in any wrong or dishonest business or plan. But when our heart is right and the thing we would do is part of God’s will, we may freely ask Him to direct us. When our errand is for other people and its success depends upon their willingness to help us, we should ask God, before we go to them—to give us favor with them and to prepare them to be interested in our plea. The prayer of Nehemiah was answered. One day as he was engaged in his duty, the king noticed sadness in his face and, touched with sympathy, asked him what was troubling him. Nehemiah told him of the condition of his people, of the desolation of their holy city, and asked permission to go to Jerusalem to rebuild it. The king granted his request. Nehemiah’s arrival encouraged the people. The new governor showed great energy and capacity. There were enemies outside who plotted against the rebuilding. Some of the people themselves were faint-hearted and became discouragers, finding fault. Hinderers also came in from the Jewish settlements outside.
Amid all this discouragement Nehemiah remained brave and confident. He also sought to encourage the people. "Fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your houses." The motive which Nehemiah suggested: fighting for one’s home and loved ones —is among the strongest motives that can appeal to the human heart. Every man with a spark of manhood in him—will fight to the death for his own. We are all so tied up together, that this motive is always present when we are defending the right. We must seek the purity and the safety of the town in which we live, because our own family is in it—and peril to the population is peril to ours. We must seek a wholesome water supply and good drainage and clean streets for the city, because our children and friends live in it. So with the moral and religious influences in a community—the welfare of our sons and daughters, our brothers and sisters is involved. In all movements for education and reform, there is the same motive. A distinguished man was speaking at the opening of a reformatory for boys, and remarked that if only one boy was saved from ruin by the institution it would pay for all the cost and labor. After the exercises were over, a gentleman asked the speaker if he had not put it a little too strongly when he said that all the cost of founding such an institution would be repaid if only one boy should be saved. "Not if it were my boy," was the quiet answer.
Reading the Law
Neh 8:1-18 The work of Nehemiah had been well done. In spite of opposition and all hindrance the walls had been rebuilt and the city had come into a measure of prosperity. Then under the divine direction Nehemiah gathered together the nobles, the rulers, and the people, that their genealogical records might be made up. After this there was called a great assembly to listen to the reading of the Holy Scriptures. The people came eagerly. They wanted to hear what God would say to them. We should be eager to respond to the call which summons us to God’s house to a Church service. It is the divine command that we should do this. Yet there are reasons for the requirement.
We need to hear continually the words of God, that we may not forget them. We need to look frequently into God’s face to have a glimpse of His holiness as the ideal for our own living. We need to be reminded continually of our sins, then of our duties. Besides, we have sorrows, and we need the comfort which comes to us only through God’s Word. We have a Scripture injunction which exhorts us not to forsake the assembling of ourselves together. When the people had come together, Ezra the priest brought out the roll of parchment of the law and read the words to the people. Everybody was there that day. They came as one man. The men did not leave all the church-going to the women, as some men are disposed to do in our modern days. Nor were the children left at home while their parents went—they were there, too. The service that day seems to have been like a great Sunday-school. The law of Moses was the book used, and Ezra and the other teachers read it to the people and explained its meaning to them. The Bible is the one book for all who want to know the essential things of life. There is no other book for the penitent sinner desiring to be saved, or for the sorrowing one seeking comfort. Other books have their message and may do very well when the joy is full—but in life’s great crises—there is only one book that meets all needs. There is no other book for the death. "Bring me the book!" said Sir Walter Scott, when he was approaching the closing hour. "What book?" one asked. "There is but one book!" replied Sir Walter. There were thousands of books in his great library—but there was only one book for that hour. The Bible tells us how to live—and then shows us how to die. The people were eager to hear the Word of God. Perhaps they had not heard it read for a long time, and now it was a joy to have it read to them again. There was silence in the great throng as the reading began and as it proceeded. "The ears of all the people were attentive unto the book of the law." The trouble with many people, old as well as young, is that they are not attentive when the Scriptures are read. Some ministers complain that the people do not listen to the sermons they preach to them. Some teachers find difficulty in getting the ears of their scholars when they seek to explain the lessons. If only we would remember, that it is God who is speaking to us when His Word is read—we would listen eagerly and attentively.
Ezra’s sermon that day was very long—from dawn to noon; yet no one seems to have got tired. We read that in Wycliff’s days, when portions of the Bible which he had translated into English and had written out with a pen were carried among the people, so eager were they to hear the Word of God in their own language that they would gather in groups round the fires and would listen ofttimes all night, drinking in the precious sentences. The Book is so common now, and we hear its words so frequently, that it has not the interest to our hearts it should have. When Ezra unrolled the parchment—all the people stood up. Thus they showed their respect and reverence for the Holy Book from which the good priest was about to read. The words to which they were to listen, were God’s Words, and they rose up to do God honor. Standing was a posture of respect. Men stood before a king. Angels stood before God’s throne. It is not a superstitious regard for the Bible, that we should cherish. The mere honoring of the Book itself amounts to nothing. Some people wear a crucifix around their neck—and yet show none of the humility and worshipful spirit of Christ in their lives. Some people handle the Bible with seeming reverence—who have little of the Bible in their hearts, not following its teachings, nor heeding its counsels and warnings. True reverence for God’s Word is not superstitious—but is sincere and earnest.
What Ezra and his assistants did that day is what all teachers of the Word of God should do for those who listen to them. "They read in the book of God distinctly; and they gave the sense, so that they understood the reading." The business of the preacher and the teacher, is to make the sense of God’s Word so plain that those who hear, whether old or young, shall understand. People come together on Sunday to worship God, and part of this worship should always be to hear what God will say to them. The teaching should be simple, clear, definite, and plain. The effect of the teaching that day was uplifting and inspiring. Nehemiah said to the people, "Go and celebrate with a feast of choice foods and sweet drinks, and share gifts of food with people who have nothing prepared." God loves to have us enjoy His blessings. We are to eat our food with thankfulness and with rejoicing. He wants us to get the very best we can from life—to eat the fat and drink the sweet. He would have us to be happy.
Then, He wants us also to share our blessings with others. When we have plenty, we should send a portion to those who have nothing. Our joy must not be selfish. Having a good time all alone—is not the ideal of Christian gladness. When we are prosperous, we should not forget those who are poor. When we are happy in our home of love, with unbroken circle, we should not forget the families about us that are in sorrow and bereavement. The good things which God gives us are not meant for ourselves alone—they are given to us to be shared. Only in the sharing do we get the best of them ourselves. People who eat the fat and drink the sweet in their own homes, at their own well-covered tables, and never think of the hungry and needy outside, are not the kind of children God wants His people to be. The people were not to think about their sorrows that day, nor let their troubles cast a shadow over the brightness. "Neither be grieved; for the joy of Jehovah is your strength!" If we would be strong, we must have the joy of the Lord in our hearts. The sad heart tires in a little while. If we would be strong for service, for endurance, if we would always do our best, we must cultivate the joyful spirit. Some Christians are always worrying about something. If they do not have a real trouble they hunt up an imaginary one. They hang up on the walls of their hearts, pictures of all the unpleasant things that happen—but not the pictures of cheerful and happy things. No duty is urged in the Bible more earnestly and more repeatedly, than the duty of Christian joy. Of course, we must make sure that it is the joy of the Lord that we have. This world’s joy is not enough to make anyone permanently happy. The joy of Christ is from Christ Himself. It is joy that comes from heavenly sources. It does not depend on the happenings of the hour, for then it would come and go with the changes in our circumstances. The joy of the Lord is from a deep well that is not affected by any sort of weather. Nehemiah wanted the people that day to rejoice, because of what the Lord had done for them, and to put away all care and all anxiety. The people caught the spirit of the great teacher and obeyed his exhortation. "So the people went away to eat and drink at a festive meal, to share gifts of food, and to celebrate with great joy because they had heard God’s words and understood them." That is a fine illustration of what always should be the effect of teaching or preaching God’s Word. The people understood the words and let them into their hearts. Then straightway they went forth to do as they had been exhorted to do.
We will always find new things in the Bible if we will read it over and over. No matter how many times we have gone through it—when we go through it again, we shall come upon passages we have not seen before, or at least which have not fixed themselves in our minds at any former reading. On the second day of this great Bible reading service, the Levites came upon the commandment appointing the Feast of Tabernacles. Evidently this command had been overlooked and this festival neglected. But it is delightful to find them entering at once upon the observance of the great Harvest Home. This was a feast of remembrance. They were to live in booths, recalling the years of their wandering in the wilderness. It is said that the Jews in these wonderful days made the branches of their booths thin so that they could see the blue sky and the stars through them. So should we build our houses, with roofs through which heaven’s light will shine. Whatever hides God from us—cuts us off from blessing.
Haman’s Plot Against the Jews Est 3:1-15 and Est 4:1-17 The Book of Esther opens a window into Oriental life. It shows us also something of the sadness and debasement of woman’s condition in those days. At first thought, Esther seems to have had an enviable experience in being chosen because of her beauty, to be the queen of Xerxes. But when we understand better what her position really was, we see that she was not to be envied—but pitied rather. Esther’s story in the light of Christianity, is a sad one. Nor can we hold her up as an ideal woman. Yet there is value in the study of her story, as it shows by contrast—what Christianity has done for woman. The book in its introduction tells the story of the deposing of Vashti, the former queen. Our sympathies are with the wronged queen. We can have only condemnation and contempt for the heathen king. We learn also how it was undertaken to find another beautiful woman to take Vashti’s place. In all the provinces of the kingdom the fairest virgin was sought for the king. Esther appeared to win a great prize—but no lowly Christian girl today, would want to exchange places with her.
Mordecai is the real hero of the Book of Esther and the deliverer of the Jews. Not much is told of him. He was of the tribe of Benjamin. He was a captive and lived in Shushan, or Susa, the Persian capital. Esther had been brought up by Mordecai as his own child. Yet Esther was forbidden to reveal in the palace either her relation to Mordecai or her nationality. Mordecai was in close communication with the palace. He discovered a plot against the king and defeated it, his name being recorded in the chronicles.
We do not know what Haman had done to win the king’s favor. He was rich, and possibly had been liberal with his gifts to the king. For some reason, at least, the king wished Haman honored, and wherever he went every one bowed down to him—everybody but one man. Mordecai did no reverence to the proud official. Mordecai was a Jew—and Haman was an Amakelite; hence probably the bitter enmity between these two men. All the attendants and courtiers did honor to the grand official as he passed backward and forward—all except this Jew, who refused to bend the knee to him. Haman, writhing under the insult continually repeated, determined upon revenge and conspired to kill not Mordecai only—but all the Jews in the realm. He obtained the king’s signature to the decree, and it was promulgated and the time fixed for the extermination of the hated race. Mordecai sent to Esther a copy of the edict, informing her of the plot, and charged her to go in unto the king and plead for her people.
Esther reminded Mordecai at once of the difficulties in the way. She referred to the custom observed in such matters. "All the king’s servants ... do know, that whoever, whether man or woman, shall come unto the king into the inner court, who is not called, there is one law for him, that he be put to death." The only people admitted to the king were those for whom he himself sent, and Esther had not been invited. "I have not been called to come in unto the king these thirty days." The fact that she had not been invited to come for so long a time, was disheartening. "There must be some reason for it," she thought. Esther would better not have stopped at all to think about these difficulties in the way. Considering the perils in our way—is apt to make us grow faint-hearted. Ofttimes, as it proved in Esther’s case, the perils will vanish if we go forward.
Mordecai was not disposed to release Esther from her obligation. So he sent a messenger reminding her that her own life was in bond in this matter. "Think not with yourself that you shall escape in the king’s house, more than all the Jews." She might meet death if she ventured into the king’s presence; certainly she would meet death if she sat still where she was and did nothing. She was one of those upon whom the sentence had been pronounced in the king’s decree, and even the palace and the royal robes she wore, would not protect her. Many people hesitate to come to Christ. They fear He will not receive them. They think it will be hard to live a Christian life. They count the crosses, the self-denials, the duties, and the long way of struggle and battle. But suppose they do not come to Christ at all—what then? Is there no danger in staying away? If you sit still where you are, will you be saved?
Sometimes silence is very costly. Often, no doubt, silence is better than speech. The old proverb says that while speech is silvern, silence is golden. Many times we will sin—if we speak. But here is one time when it was a sin not to speak. So in every life there are times when to be silent—is to fail in duty. We are to speak out on all occasions when the glory of Christ requires it. We should never be afraid to speak a word of warning to one who is in danger. We should never hesitate to speak boldly in confession of Christ, when all about us are Christ’s enemies. We have many cautions about watching our speech and withholding words that are not good—but we must beware of silence about the eternal things. We scarcely ever lack words when the themes are light and trivial; let us not fail amid the light and trivial talk to speak earnest words which shall not be forgotten.
Mordecai reminded Esther further that she was not God’s last resort. "If you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?" If one messenger proves unworthy of the trust reposed in him, another is found, and the purpose moves on to its fulfillment—but he who has faltered is trodden down by the marching hosts behind him. The only safe way in life’s thronging field—is straight on in the path of duty. No danger of the battle is so great as the danger of halting and turning back. No duty, however hard, should be feared half so much—as failure in the duty. We should never shrink half so much from responsibility which seems too great for us as from the shirking of the responsibility. In the end it is always easier and infinitely safer to do our duty, whatever the cost—than not to do it. God can get along without us—but we cannot get along without Him, and to fall out of the line in life’s crowded pathway, is to lose everything. To neglect opportunities, is to throw away honors and crowns.
Mordecai went a step farther and reminded Esther that probably she had been born and raised up for this very task. "Who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?" Every one is born for something, some particular duty or task. Someone speaks of Stephen as having been born and trained that he might make one speech of thirty minutes in length. God has His people ready in their place when He wants to use them. If we are true to God, doing His will day by day—we are always in the place where He wants us, and wherever we are—He has some work for us to do. When we find ourselves in the presence of any human need or sorrow, we may say, "God sent me here just now to bring relief or to give help or comfort to this person."
We sometimes wonder at the strange ways of Providence, by which we are carried into this place or that. Is there not a key here to this mystery? It certainly was a strange Providence that led Esther, the lowly, simple-hearted maiden, into the palace of the great Xerxes to be his queen—but there was a divine purpose in it. She was placed there—because she would be needed there by and by. When God by some strange providence brings us into peculiar circumstances or associations, it is because there will be some time a need for us just there. At last Esther rose to the call of duty. She determined to go into the king’s presence. "So will I go in unto the king—and if I perish, I perish!" She took the risk. There are times when the best thing we can do with our life—is to give it up. There are times when to save one’s life—is to lose it, when the only way to save it—is to sacrifice it. Life that is saved by shrinking from duty—is not worth saving!
Esther Pleading for Her People
There was great sorrow everywhere among the Jews. Mordecai rent his clothes and sat in the king’s gate, clothed with sackcloth. He sent word to Esther, imploring her to go to the king and plead for her people. The story of her venturing is familiar to all. Her plea with the king was successful. Haman was made very happy by being present by invitation at Esther’s first banquet, and went home exultant. That night the carpenters were busy erecting a gallows for Mordecai. But the same night something else happened. The king could not sleep, and the chronicles of his reign were read to him. There the fact that the king owed his life to Mordecai was recorded, and the further fact that Mordecai’s deed had not been publicly recognized. The picture of Haman conducting his enemy through the streets next day as the man the king would honor, is most striking. The tide had turned.
Haman was dead on the gallows he had set up for Mordecai—but the decree for the destruction of all the Jews still stood, and the terrible day was drawing near, when all the Jews should be slain. Unless the decree could be reversed or recalled—they could not be saved. It was at the cost of life, that Esther brought before the king the request that the decree should be revoked.
We get here, a lesson on courage in duty. We learn also that we have a responsibility for others as well as for ourselves. Sometimes the best use one can make of his life—is to sacrifice it, to give it up, that others may be delivered or helped. This is so when the engineer by losing his own life can stop his train and save the lives of the passengers. We learn also that God puts us into places and relationships for the very purpose of meeting some need, performing some service. Esther had been brought into her place at this particular time—that she might do just this particular service for her people. Think what might have happened, if she had failed. Think what may happen—if we fail in any time of duty.
Esther, unaware of the provision of the Persian law that no decree can be recalled, implored the king to reverse the letters devised by Haman, and learned that the reversal was impossible. Far more broadly than we may think this is true in life. We cannot recall any word we have spoken. It may be a false word or an unkind word—a word which will blast and burn! Instantly after it has been spoken—we may wish it back and may rush after it and try to stop it—but there is no power in the world that can unsay the hurtful word—or blot it out of the world’s life! It is so with our acts. A moment after we have done a wicked thing, we may bitterly repent it. We may be willing to give all we have in the world—to undo it, to make it as though it never had been. But in vain. A deed done takes its place in the universe as a fact—and never can be recalled.
"Don’t write there, sir!" said a boy to a young man in the waiting-room of a railway station, as he saw him take off his ring and begin with the diamond in it to scratch some words on the mirror. "Don’t write there, sir!" "Why not?" asked the young man. "Because you can’t rub it out." The same is true of other things besides those words written upon glass with a diamond point. We should be sure before we speak a word or do an act, that it is right, that we shall never desire to have it recalled, for when once we have opened our lips or lifted our hand—there will be no unsaying or undoing possible.
Haman had built the gallows for Mordecai—but in the strange and swift movements of justice—Haman was hanged upon it himself! Injustice and wrong recoil upon the head of him whose heart plotted the evil. "Curses, like young chickens, come home to roost." "Ashes fly back in the face of him who throws them." "If one will sow thorns—he would better not walk barefoot." "Whoever digs a pit shall fall therein; and he that rolls a stone, it shall return upon him." The decree of the king could not be recalled or reversed. But another decree was sent out which in a measure counteracted the former. We have seen that life’s words and deeds are irrevocable. We cannot recall anything we have done, neither can we change it. But by other words and deeds, we may in some measure modify the effect of that which we cannot blot out. Paul could not undo his persecutions of Christians—but by a life to devotion to Christ’s cause he could in a sense make reparation for the terrible harm he had done. We cannot undo the wrong things we have done—but we should strive to set in motion other influences which may at least compensate in some sense for the harm they have wrought. We cannot unsay the sharp word which wounds our friend’s heart—but we can by kindness and loyal devotion—yet bring good and blessing to his life!
Isaiah’s Call to Service
Isaiah knew the very day and hour when he saw this wonderful vision. It was in the year that king Uzziah died. The vision had made such an impression on his mind—that he never could forget it. It had meant so much to him as an experience, that he could never cease to look back to the day as his spiritual birthday. That was a memorable year. Uzziah was one of the greatest of Judah’s kings. He had reigned fifty years with high honor, and then suddenly he was smitten with leprosy. He had gone into the temple and attempted with his own hands to burn incense. On his forehead appeared at once the white spot which was the mark of divine judgment, and the king was thrust out and dwelt in a leper house until his death. The year in which king Uzziah died, was therefore more than a date. That was the year of Isaiah’s vision.
There are one or two dates in nearly every earnest life, which are always remembered. Sometimes it is a loss or a sorrow which has made its indelible record. Sometimes it is the coming of a great joy into the heart—the first meeting with a new friend, for example. Sometimes it is the day when Christ was revealed too the heart. We may be very sure that Andrew and John never forgot the day when they first saw Jesus and when He took them to His own lodgings for a long talk. It is good for us to keep records of the great days in our life. The prophet in his vision, saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up. It is a great thing when such a vision as this fills one’s life. Too often it is this world—which most largely blocks the soul’s view. Men see visions of wealth, power, fame, or pleasure—but see not a gleam of heaven nor a hint of the shining of God’s face. But earthly visions do not exalt our life. They make us no better. When we have visions like Isaiah’s, in which God fills all our field of view—we are lifted up in spirit, in character, in hope and joy. One who sees God—is never the same man afterwards. He is set apart now for holy life and service. He is dominated ever after by a new influence. He has seen God—he must therefore be holy; he must walk softly and reverently; he must be true to God.
There is something unusual and very impressive in the description of the seraphim in this vision. "Each one had six wings!" Wings are for flight—it is the mission of angelic beings to fly on God’s errands. The six wings would seem to signify special readiness to do God’s will. But they suggest here, more than their normal use—to fly. The modern Christian would probably use them all for flying—and would be intensely active. We live in an age when everything inspires to activity. We are apt to run, perhaps too greatly, with our ’wings’. But we should notice that two of the seraphim’s wings were used in covering his face when before God—teaching reverence. Two of them also were used in covering his feet—humility. The other two were used in flying—activity. Reverence and humility—are quite as important qualities in God’s service as activity! The song of the seraphim, as they veiled their faces and covered their feet, indicated praise, worship. One choir sang, "Holy, holy, holy, is Almighty Jehovah!" and the other responded, "The whole earth is full of His glory!" What we owe to God always is holiness, for everywhere is His glory. Yet many people never see any of God’s glory in the earth. They think of glory as something bright and dazzling, like the burning bush, the pillar of fire, or the transfiguration. But there is as much glory in a tree laden with sweet blossoms—as there was in the flaming bush at Horeb; and as much glory in a face shining brightly with love—as there was in Stephen’s. We read of Christ’s first miracle that He thus "manifested His glory." It was the glory of kindness and helpfulness which this miracle showed. Everywhere God’s glory shines in all nature—and in all true Christian living, in lowly homes where prayer is offered. The prophet stood now face to face with God, and the effect on him was a sense of his own sinfulness. "Then said I: Woe is me I for I am undone! Because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips! For my eyes have seen the King, Almighty Jehovah!" We do not know our own unworthiness until we have had a glimpse of God. In the light of the divine holiness—we see our own unholiness!
One of the most remarkable incidents in the Gospels, is that in which Peter begged Jesus to depart from him. It was after a great miracle. Peter was awed by the manifestations of power in Jesus. Only a divine being could do such work. The effect on him was that he shrank away from the presence of such a holy being! He was not worthy to stand before Christ. "Depart from me—for I am a sinful man, O Lord!" When the light of God’s face shines into our heart—we see how unworthy we are. All pride and self-conceit vanish—when we stand in the presence of the divine glory. The mercy of God is ever instant in its response to human penitence and confession. "Then one of the seraphim flew unto me, having a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with the tongs from off the altar; and he touched my mouth with it, and said: Lo, this has touched your lips; and your iniquity is taken away, and your sin forgiven!" The act of bringing the coal and touching the prophet’s lips, was very suggestive. The altar was the place of sacrifice. It was holy fire that burned there. All this must be kept in mind as we think of the meaning of this act. Not any common coal of fire would have done. It represented fire from heaven, the fire of the Holy Spirit. As the coal touched the lips of the prophet—they were made pure and clean. No sooner had the prophet’s lips been cleansed—than the call for service came. "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" God is always wanting errand-runners. Angels fly swiftly and eagerly. There is not an angel in glory, who would not gladly come to earth on any mission, however lowly. A legend tells of one of the highest angels sent to earth one day with two commissions—to deliver a king from the power of some temptation; and to help a little struggling ant home with its burden of food. The latter errand was done just as dutifully and joyously by the great angel—as the former. But God wants men as well as angels for messengers in this world. He is always asking this question, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" The Suffering Savior
One picked up an old book—and found it fragrant. The secret was that a sweet flower had been put in among the leaves by someone, and its fragrance had permeated the whole volume. So the fragrance of Jesus has perfumed the Bible from beginning to end. We do not find the name Jesus until we reach the beginning of the New Testament—but the sweetness of the name is everywhere. We find it even in the earliest pages of the Old Testament. No sooner were the gates of Eden closed on our first parents—than the gospel was given. True, the language was dim, not like the clear sentences of the Gospels; yet the promise is there in Eden—as the bud of a very lovely flower which, by and by, opens out under the increasing warmth of progressing revelation; until in the later prophets, especially in Isaiah, it appears in rare beauty. No other chapter in the Old Testament has been a greater revealer of Christ, than has the fifty-third of Isaiah. Its words are almost as familiar as those of the Twenty-third Psalm. They are repeated at Communion services in thousands of churches, and are read in secret by countless devout believers, who love to sit in the shadow of the cross. The best that can be done in brief space with the fifty-third chapter, is merely to indicate a few of its truths. The first verse has a tone of discouragement. "Who has believed our message?" That has always been the discouragement of the bearers of spiritual good tidings. If news comes that gold has been discovered in some far-away place, people believe it and flock by thousands to the spot. But when God’s messengers deliver their messages, although they tell of the most glorious things, people are slow to believe. The second verse reminds us that Christ’s earthly beginnings were unpromising. "He grew up before Him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground." These figures are striking—a tender plant shooting up from a dry stem which seems dead, a root growing in a desert place. The field was not promising. But the root was not dry or dead—but living, and it grew into rich beauty. It became a great tree whose branches reach now over all the earth, with cool shade in which the weary rest, and rich fruits for men’s hunger. The description goes on. "He was despised, and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." The saddest thing about the life of Christ—was that men despised and rejected Him. He came with a great love in His heart. He came to do men good, and save them, to draw them away from their sins, to make them love God, to lead them to heaven. He came in love—and yet men despised and rejected Him. It is the same still.
Men do not like to look upon suffering. They can see no beauty in it. Pain is ugly to the human sense. Anciently it was thought that sickness was a mark of divine disfavor. The weak were looked at with scorn. Even yet we have not learned to see blessing hidden in suffering. The Servant of the Lord came in weakness, and He was rejected. He came to the needy and the sinful, with treasures of life and glory, which He offered to all. But men paid no heed to His knocking and His calls, and He had to pass on with His blessings.
We learn the object of the sufferings of Christ. The ancients thought that when a man suffered he was being punished for sin. We have this thought here in the words, "We did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted." That is the way Job’s friends judged him. But here it is taught, that not for His own sin—but for ours, was the Messiah suffering. "Surely He has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows." A Japanese Christian illustrated what Jesus did for sinners, by this story: A mother was crossing a great prairie with her baby in her arms. She saw flames coming in the dry grass. She could not escape by flight, so swiftly were the fiery billows rolling on towards her. So with her hands she speedily dug a hole in the soft ground, laid her baby in it, and then covered it with her own body. She was burned to death in the wave of fire that rolled over her—but the child was safe, unhurt. The Christian explained, "Just so did give Christ Himself—to save us."
We have a picture, also, of those whom Jesus seeks to save. "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and Jehovah has laid on Him the iniquity of us all." This verse tells us that all are sinners. Of course, we all believe this, or admit it in a general way. But do we really admit it as a close, personal matter? "Like sheep!" Sheep are miserably foolish. They are always straying away, going wherever they can find a tuft of grass to nibble at, until at last they are far from the fold and do not know how to find the way back again. Like sheep, we have all gone astray. Every one has turned to his own way instead of going in God’s way, the way of truth and holiness. The Servant of the Lord was a silent sufferer. It is not common for men to remain silent in pain. But here it is said: "He was oppressed—yet when He was afflicted, He opened not His mouth; as a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and as a sheep that before its shearers is silent—so He opened not His mouth." One of the highest qualities in him who is called to suffer—is silence in endurance.
Another quality in the suffering of the Servant of the Lord, is its injustice. "By oppression and judgment He was taken away, and as for His generation, who among them considered that He was cut off out of the land of the living for the transgression of My people to whom the stroke was due?" The forms of law were not observed. "By a forced and tyrannous judgment He was taken." Then they gave Him a convict’s grave. They made His grave with the wicked, although He had done no violence, neither was deceit in His mouth.
Such perversion of justice seems so terrible, that men might ask, "Where is God, that this cruel wrong is permitted?" But the answer is, "It pleased Jehovah to bruise Him!" In the Hebrew, the word has not the harshness it seems to have in the English. God did not delight in the bruising—but His purpose was in it. "Yet it pleased Jehovah to bruise Him; He has put Him to grief: when You shall make His soul an offering for sin—He shall see His seed, He shall prolong His days, and the pleasure of Jehovah shall prosper in His hand."
Then we have a vision of the glorious outcome of the sufferings of the Messiah. "He shall see of the travail of His soul—and shall be satisfied." He is not sorry now that He endured the cross and all its shame. He does not regret His sufferings and sacrifices on the earth. The blessings which have come from His humiliation, have more than satisfied Him. He sees countless millions of souls saved, which must have perished forever, if He had not gone to the cross to redeem them. The life of the Son of God seemed a tremendous price to pay for the ransom of the lost—but it will appear in the end that the price was not too great. We do not know the worth of human souls, nor can we begin to estimate it until we try to understand how much Christ paid to redeem us.
You say that a certain professed Christian is a very unworthy one, with scarcely a line of spiritual beauty in him. "Christ will never have any comfort from him," you say. "He will never make a saint." "But wait!" says the patient Master. "My work on this man—is not yet finished. He is very imperfect now, and I am not satisfied with him. But wait until My work on his life has been completed. By and by he shall wear the full image of My face, and I shall be satisfied as I see in him—the blessed prints of all My sorrows and My love." The Gracious Invitation
Isa 55:1-13 The Bible seeks in every possible way—to make men know the divine love and mercy. A great novelist in one of his stories tells of a child who ran away from her home. Every night when it grew dark a candle was set in the window of the old home and left to burn there all night, that the lost one, if ever she crept back, repentant, desiring to return—might see the light and know that it meant a welcome for her, that love’s place was kept for her within. The Bible is like a great palace standing on some mountain top in the center of a dark world. It has a thousand windows in it opening on all sides, and in every one of them a bright light shines, to tell earth’s lost and weary ones, wandering in the gloom—of a home where they may find a welcome—if they but come to its door. The fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah is one of these Bible windows. The chapter opens with a call which falls on the ear of the lost like sweet music. "Ho! Every one who thirsts, come!"
There is a story of a thirsty traveler wandering in the desert. He had a compass in his hand—but knew not whether its needle pointed toward a place of refreshment, or to a spot in which he must lie down and perish. He was utterly in despair. Turn which way he would, he seemed to be only wandering farther and farther away from hope. He had sunk down in the sands of despair, when a little leaf came, wafted by a passing breeze, and fell beside him. He picked it up, and new hope took possession of his heart. The leaf told him of life. It could not have come far, for it was still fresh and green. At the place from which it came—there must be water, shade, and food. He knew the direction, too, for the breeze had borne it. So with the little leaf firmly clutched in his feverish hand—he rose and hastened in the direction whence the leaf had come, and soon was resting in the shelter of a green tree and quenching his thirst from the springs that gushed at the tree’s roots! Like that little green leaf, dropping out of heaven, comes the call from God, of the opening words of this chapter to those who are weary and thirsty in spirit. Where it comes from—there must be water, food, and rest! It is divine love that sends it! The call for attention, "Ho!" is a call to life. It commands attention. It would arrest the most careless, those who are heedless and indifferent. It has a message, too; it is not an empty call. "Come to the waters! And he who has no money—come!" The invitation is universal. "Every one." It is to the poor as well as to the rich. "He who has no money." It meets the universal human need. It fits the actual craving of men. "Every one that thirsts!" Who does not thirst? Who has not deep needs burning in his soul? The blessing offered is precisely adapted to the need. "Come to the waters!" What water is to physical thirst—Christ is to men’s spiritual needs. This world’s vanities do not satisfy—but what Christ gives, quenches all their thirst!
Then there is more than water, more than refreshing. "Wine and milk!" These are symbols of nourishment and exhilaration. All is free, too! "Without money!" Nothing has to be paid for these blessings. Indeed, no money could purchase them. Only earth’s baubles can be bought with gold or silver. Yet, although free, there is a very real sense in which these blessings of salvation must be bought. "Buy, and eat." Money will not buy them—but like the man who sold all he had, to purchase the field with the hidden treasure in it—we must give up everything to get Christ. We must pay ourselves, our life—to win Him.
One of the saddest things in human life, is the wild search for things which will not satisfy men’s real needs. "Why do you spend money for that which is not bread?" It does seem strange indeed, that men never learn the folly of trying to find bread for their spiritual nature—in what this world has to give. They have deep cravings and they try to satisfy them with money, power, pleasure, or fame. But these things are not bread for the soul—and immortal lives cannot feed upon them. A hungry man is not satisfied by finding gold or pearls—it is bread he wants. What can money do—for one who is in deep spiritual distress, or when remorse embitters his life, or when he sits in deep sorrow by the coffin of his dead; or when, facing death himself, he looks into eternity? Nothing but Christ will do in such moments! An angel cannot be fed upon earth’s viands. Just so, a human soul finds no satisfaction in the possession of this world’s trinkets!
What the gospel offers is real bread, because it satisfies the heart’s cravings. God’s blessing comes to us through God’s Word. "Hear—and your soul shall live!" We are to listen to the invitations of divine grace. But there is a time when we must give heed to these divine calls—or it will be too late. "Seek Jehovah while He may be found; call upon Him while He is near!" The candle burns now in the window—but it will not always burn there. "Whoever will—may come," runs the Bible invitation—but there will come a time when it will be too late to answer the call—a time when God may not be found, when He will not be near—when the door will be shut!
There is only one way of accepting the invitation. We cannot take it—and keep our sins. "Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto Jehovah." We cannot be saved—and still keep our evil thoughts in our hearts and go on in our evil ways. God is very willing to take our sins, putting them away forever—but He will not take our sins, without ourselves. We must give up our evil ways, even our wrong thoughts, and must serve God.
Men’s hearts by nature are hard, like trodden fields. But even the hardest heart, God’s grace can soften. "As the rain comes down and the snow from heaven ... so shall My word be." We all know how the rain softens the dry and hardened ground. Its drops go to the roots of the withering grass and the fading flowers—and soon new life appears everywhere. So it is when God’s Word falls upon a human life. It makes the barren life, fruitful. Sometimes it lies like snow on the earth, not melting for a time. The results of holy teaching do not always appear at once. But as at last the snows melt and fill streams and rivers; so God’s Word in a life—will some day find its way down into the heart and bless it. Heavenly lessons have lain for scores of years, producing no effect; yet, at last, when the warm love of God touched the life—it brought forth beautiful fruits.
Daniel’s Principles
There is something very noble in the picture of Daniel which we have in the first chapter of the Book of Daniel. He was only a lad. He had been torn away from the godly restraints and influences of his own home. He was now at liberty to do as he pleased, so far as parental control was concerned. He was among heathen people, and no one would blame him if he would disregard the rules of his home religion. Indeed, nobody there would know it! Besides he was a mere boy, with a partially formed character, at an age at which convictions usually rest lightly—and when removal from the restraints of home frequently is the sign for the cutting of the moorings which thus far, have held the life from drifting.
All of these considerations heighten the beauty and nobleness of Daniel’s conduct. He knew what his duty was, for he had been instructed at home. This duty was the same in Babylon, as in Jerusalem. Change of location and of surroundings, makes no change in the principles of right and wrong. What was wrong in the holy city, under the shadow of the temple, in the sacredness of a saintly home—could by no sophistical moral metamorphosis, be made right in heathen Babylon! There was nothing uncertain about Daniel’s attitude toward duty.
"Daniel purposed in his heart." The heart is the place to settle all questions of principle. There was no long puzzling in Daniel’s case, about his duty. He did not go around asking advice from his friends. He did not try to find a back door out of the perplexity in which he was placed. He did not ask: "How will this affect my future condition here in this royal court? May it not interfere with my personal advancement? Will it not make it harder for me to get along as a captive?" He met the question on the grounds of moral right, and settled it instantly, and never reopened it. One who thus lives—never needs to ask what others say or think—or how such and such a course will affect one’s prosperity. It is a very heroic thing to be able to stand alone, to dare to be peculiar—and not to do as others do. To be true to God, ofttimes requires us to stand entirely alone—and even to be laughed at and sneered at by others! Decisions should always be made in just this way—and when made—they should be adhered to in spite of all opposition and danger.
One of the tests of character which came to Daniel in his captivity, was in connection with the food and drink allotted to him as a student. A daily portion of the king’s dainties and of the king’s wines was appointed for the young princes. But Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not defile himself with these things. So the temperance question, is quite an old question. Of course, it is easy to say that Daniel did not settle his course upon what we call modern temperance principles. It is easy to say that he was controlled by old ceremonial laws now obsolete, or by superstitious notions concerning what had been offered to idols. Nevertheless the principle remains the same. Daniel believed it to be wrong to partake of the king’s dainties and drink of his wine—that he would be defiled by them if he touched them, and, so believing, he was firm in his determination not to use them.
"God made Daniel find kindness and compassion in the sight of the prince." This was very important to Daniel’s success. Had this officer been harsh or indifferent, the story would have been ended right here—perhaps in the martyrdom of the heroic boy. It is very important that we should act—so as to win friends for ourselves. Sometimes people profess not to care what other people think about them—but such indifference is surely very foolish! None of us know how much we owe to our friends, to the favor which we gain in their minds—to the kind words they speak to us, and to the influence they exert on our behalf. No one can ever rise in the world to any important place—except through the confidence and esteem of others.
We see here also, how God can make friends for one whom He wishes to promote. The Bible elsewhere tells us that the king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord. Again, we read, "When a man’s ways please the Lord—He makes even His enemies to be at peace with Him." So it is right for us to ask God to give us friends; but when we offer this prayer we must be very careful—that we do our own part to be worthy of the friends whom we wish to win.
One who is cross, selfish, and rude—will have but few friends and, when the time of need comes, will find himself left alone, without human sympathy and help. Evidently it was not hard to love Daniel: his character was so beautiful, his disposition so gentle, his manner so winning. Christians who wish to win favor and rise in the world, should cultivate the same qualities, and, thus making themselves attractive, they will win friends wherever they go. The prince who was in charge of the young captives, feared to go contrary to his instructions. He felt quite sure that the boys would suffer in their appearance from their abstinence from the rich food and stimulating drinks provided for them—and shrank from taking the responsibility of permitting it. Daniel showed his tact by suggesting a ten day trial. "Prove your servants, I beseech you, ten days; and let them give us only vegetables to eat, and water to drink." A good many people have about the same impression with regard to luxurious diet and drinks that this Babylonian prince seems to have had. They imagine that if they were to live plainly and temperately, that they would suffer in health or in brightness and sparkle. Probably in all such cases, a plain diet would be very much better for them. There is a vast amount of gluttony in the world—even among Christians. Not many people would suffer from coming down to plain fare for a time. Certainly as regards alcoholic drinks, the experiment cannot fail to prove—that abstinence is better every way for body, mind and soul—than indulgence.
It is interesting to have the result of this experiment given in God’s Word. We are not to suppose that there was anything supernatural about this. No miracle was wrought—to favor the use of the plain food and simple drink. The steward’s fears were groundless. The countenances of the Hebrew boys were fairer and they were healthier than those who had partaken of the king’s dainties.
These Hebrew youths showed their superiority in other ways. "God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom." God is able to help young people even at school. Of course, they were not helped—except through their own industry and application. No doubt they worked hard as students, applying themselves diligently to every lesson. It will not do when the lessons are hard—just to pray to God to teach them to us—and then go out on the playground and waste our time, expecting to be divinely helped. God’s help is never meant to bolster up our laziness. We are not to pray that God will do for us—anything we can do for ourselves. But God gives help—only to those who earnestly help themselves. If a student applies himself with all diligence to the study of his lessons—he has a right also to pray to God to help him, to make difficult things plain, to throw light upon obscure things, to make his mind alert and clear—and God will do it!
"Daniel continued even unto the first year of king Cyrus." For more than seventy years he held high positions in that heathen court. All that while—his life was godly and beautiful. He was faithful to God, noble in character, and loyal to truth. He began well, and never swerved from his purpose to follow God fully, and do his duty. In Daniel’s life—we have a wonderful illustration of the value and of the power of home training and teaching. So well was Daniel taught, so deeply was the influence of that home impressed upon his heart—that when he was borne away as a captive to a heathen land—no power of heathendom, no temptation, no threat of danger could make him swerve!
Nebuchadnezzar’s Dream
Dreams have an important place in the Bible. There is no doubt that dreams were really means of divine communication, as in Jacob’s ladder, in the dreams of Pharaoh, and in that of Nebuchadnezzar. The account of this dream and its interpretation is very interesting. The king’s strange forgetting of it—gave additional opportunity for the glorifying of the true God. Babylon’s ’wise men’ could not tell the king, what he had forgotten. Then Daniel came.
There is a suggestion in the king’s forgetting. Does God never come to us with some revealing, some glimpse of His holiness, some lesson, some vision of truth—which we immediately forget? Some of us forget sermons—before we get home from church! Sometimes we can hardly even remember the minister’s text! Sometimes impressions that are vivid and distinct at the time they are made—pass almost entirely from the mind in a little while! The king could not recall any part of the dream which had troubled him so. He demanded of his wise men, that they tell him first what the dream was—and then what it meant. When all his wise men failed to be able to do this, Daniel sent the king word that his God was a revealer of secrets, and that he would make known Nebuchadnezzar’s dream. He then told him what the dream was, and afterward made known its message.
Daniel said, "You, O king, are king of kings—unto whom the God of heaven has given the kingdom." The point to be specially noted here—is that all earthly power is from God. He gives it to whoever He will. Kings are appointed to rule for Him and receive their authority from Him. The same is true of all who bear authority, of whatever kind. This gives a sacredness to power, whether it be the parent’s, the teacher’s, the magistrate’s, the overseer’s. All human power and authority—is only God’s power entrusted. We must use it reverently, in faithfulness, in love.
Napoleon, when he became emperor, took the crown in his own hands and put it on his head, implying that he made himself ruler. Later he learned that power belongs to God; that He puts one down and sets another up.
Daniel proceeded to indicate in detail—the meaning of the vision. "You are the head of gold. And after you shall arise a kingdom inferior to you, and another third kingdom. And the fourth kingdom shall be as strong as iron, forasmuch as iron breaks in pieces and subdues all things." Thus history ever reads. One kingdom gives place to another. The greatest kingdoms are pushed aside—and thrust down by the less. Not only among nations is this true; we see the same in families and among individuals. The rich of one generation, are the poor of the next. The high in rank today, are forgotten tomorrow. Thrones built by human hands crumble. God can humble the proudest whenever He desires. He can destroy the head of gold; and crush the arms of silver; and break the legs of brass; and demolish the feet of iron and clay! "The snowflakes of Russia humbled Napoleon’s pride, and the raindrops at Waterloo sent him into exile!"
Then Daniel went on to describe the element of glory in the vision—the setting up of the kingdom that never should be destroyed. "The God of heaven set up a kingdom which shall never be destroyed, nor shall the sovereignty thereof be left to another people; but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and it shall stand forever!" Right in the midst of the glory of Rome—came Jesus Christ, to set up the kingdom of His Father in this world. This kingdom differed in many ways from those world kingdoms which were pictured in the vision. It was not established by war, by military conquest—but by moral force alone. Christ had no armies of soldiers marching forth with Him to crush opposition. He came not to destroy men’s lives—but to save them!
There is a story of an emperor in whose realm, there was a rebellion. Certain of his subjects were in revolt. The emperor was setting out to the scene of the uprising, and said to his nobles, "Come with me and see me destroy those rebels!" But when he reached the province he showed only kindness to those in revolt. He treated them with gentleness and affection. The result was that they laid down their arms—and became his most loyal subjects. His nobles reminded him of his words to them, "Come and see me destroy my enemies!" He replied, "I have destroyed my enemies; I have made them my friends!" This illustrates Christ’s conquest—and the way He extends His kingdom. It is set up not by force of arms—but by love; it rules our hearts!
"The God of heaven will set up a kingdom that will never be destroyed, nor will it be left to another people. It will crush all those kingdoms and bring them to an end—but it will itself endure forever!" Dan 2:44 There are four things said here about the kingdom of Christ:
First, it never shall be destroyed! The kingdoms of this world have their day—and then cease to be. One destroys another. The strongest earthly kingdom has in it, the elements of decay—clay mingled with its iron—and is thus doomed to destruction! Nothing earthly is indestructible. But the kingdom of Christ shall never be destroyed.
Second, it shall never pass to another king! No one king long occupies any earthly throne. Human life is short, and no hand can long hold the scepter. Even dynasties are short-lived. But Christ is a King out of whose hands the scepter shall never drop; on whose brow the diadem shall never lose its luster!
Third, this kingdom of Christ shall go on conquering—until all earth’s kingdom’s have submitted to its sway! Unto Christ every knee shall bow—and every tongue shall confess that He is the Lord of all!
Fourth, the kingdom of Christ shall be eternal! When all earth’s thrones have crumbled into dust, Christ’s throne shall appear in the clouds, shining in glory! The interpretation of the dream closed in a wonderful picturing of the glorious coming of the kingdom of Christ. "This is the meaning of the vision of the rock cut out of a mountain, but not by human hands—a rock that broke the iron, the bronze, the clay, the silver and the gold to pieces. The great God has shown the king what will take place in the future. The dream is true and the interpretation is trustworthy!" The rock was Christ. It came from heaven, from God. Its origin was supernatural, "Not by human hands." It smote the image, and broke in pieces the iron, the clay, the silver, the gold. So shall the kingdom of Christ continue to grow and extend—until it shall fill all the world and absorb all power! Whatever is wrong—shall be broken to pieces; and holiness shall fill all things.
"The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He will reign for ever and ever!" Rev 11:15 The Fiery Furnace
"As soon as you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipes and all kinds of music—you must fall down and worship the image of gold that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up! Whoever does not fall down and worship—will immediately be thrown into a blazing furnace." Dan 3:5-6
Every child knows this story. It is one of the classics of Christian households. It were well if all our modern Christians had the sublime moral courage of these "three Hebrew children." We will never have to meet precisely the same trial of faith, that these young men had to meet; but we need just as heroic a spirit—in order to be faithful.
Imposing images are set up even now in many a place—and all are expected to bow down to them—and woe to him who does not kneel!
We all have chances enough to be heroic. The popular religion is inclined to limpness of the knees. We have grown wonderfully tolerant in these days! We bow to almost anything—if it happens to be fashionable. It would not do us any harm if we were to take a good lesson from the example of these "three Hebrew children." As Nebuchadnezzar grew great—he grew proud. He knew no God. There was no one to whom he thought of bowing down. He exalted himself as God. He demanded that all men should pay homage to him. That is the meaning of this strange story of folly. His people obeyed his command. "Therefore, as soon as they heard the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp and all kinds of music—all the peoples, nations and men of every language fell down and worshiped the image of gold that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up." But there were some whose knees did not bend! Quickly the king was informed by anxious spies, that certain Jews did not worship the golden image he had set up. Then Nebuchadnezzar in his rage and fury, commanded to bring Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Here we see a great king—in a very bad temper! That was certainly an unkingly mood. No man is fit to rule others—who has not learned to rule his own spirit. Peter the Great made a law that if any nobleman beat his slaves—he should be looked upon as insane, and a guardian should be appointed to take care of his person and his estate. This great monarch once struck his gardener, who then died in a few days. Peter, hearing of the man’s death, exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, "Alas! I have civilized my own subjects; I have conquered other nations; yet have I not been able to conquer or civilize myself!"
There are Christian people who would do well to think a little of this matter. Self-control is the mark of completeness in Christian culture. It is the lesson of peace perfectly learned. Bad temper is always a sad blemish in disposition and conduct. To get into a rage—is a mark of lingering barbarism in the character. Self-mastery is Christlike.
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were all young men who were in peculiar circumstances. They were away from home, out from under parental influence and restraints, and exposed to very strong temptation. They had now their choice between duty—and the fiery furnace! We should study this lesson for its example of heroic devotion to duty, regardless of consequences. Even yet, the world’s promotion is obtainable ofttimes—only at the price of a trampled conscience!
There are several things to note in these young men.
Note their calmness; they displayed no excitement, no heat of passion. The peace of God ruled in their hearts.
Note also, their sublime courage. They had a contempt of death. They feared only one thing—sin.
Note also, their trust in God. They committed the matter utterly into His hands. They did not know what He would—but they were sure it would be the right thing. The king did not want to destroy these young men, and repeated his command. "Now when you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, pipes and all kinds of music, if you are ready to fall down and worship the image I made—very good. But if you do not worship it, you will be thrown immediately into a blazing furnace! Then what god will be able to rescue you from my hand?" The king wanted to give them another chance, as he preferred not to burn such useful servants; but they told him there was no need for a second opportunity. They would have no other answer to give. They could make no possible change in their decision. The thing that was demanded of them was contrary to the plain law of their God—and that settled it forever. There was no room for discussion or for deliberation or for persuasion—when it was the law of God that was concerned. They could burn—but they could not turn!
It would save many people a great deal of weighing, balancing, and discussion of fine points—if they would act always on this principle—that the Word of God is final in all matters of duty. When a thing is forbidden in the Word—that should be the end of it. But too many people keep questions of duty open, waiting for new light, secretly hoping that by some logical process it may become possible for them to avoid making the sacrifice, and to do the thing that now appears to be wrong. So they parley with the matter, and weigh the pros and cons, and wonder if they are mistaken in their sense of duty—and usually end in yielding to sin. It is never safe to parley with temptation! There is no need for it. Duty is final, and no process of reasoning can change it. There is no new light possible on a divine command. It would save many of us much trouble if we fixed it in our mind—that God’s Word settles some things, settles them finally and forever, and that we have no need to consider them—but should obey them without parley or question! The answer of the young men was given promptly. "If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace." There is a wonderful majesty in these words. About the whole of the creed of these men was in the words, "Our God." God was theirs—and they were God’s. He was taking care of them, and therefore they had no need to concern themselves about their own safety.
It is a great thing to be able to call God OURS, and to say, "God is our refuge!" "The Lord is my Shepherd." When we can really say this—we are ready for anything. No danger can terrify us. It is not the assurance of personal safety which gives us confidence; it is the fact that we are in God’s hands, that we belong to Him, and that He is taking care of us! We do not need to know just what He will do with us—or for us; whether He will deliver us—or let us suffer. The ground of the confidence is that we are in His hands—and that He will do the right thing. It is not the highest trust that merely believes in being brought out of the trouble—or being delivered from danger. Perhaps we shall not be delivered. God may permit us to suffer. Very well—our trust does not depend on deliverance. It has no condition. It is simply trust without stipulation or suggestion. The highest confidence is that which suggests nothing—but lies in God’s hands, and leaves Him to decide the manner of the care and the blessing. The next three words are almost equally important: "Whom we serve." There are plenty of people who like to cry to God in time of trouble or danger—but they have never been willing to obey or serve Him—when there is danger. They even scoff at Him in the sunshine; but when the storm arises—they fall down on their knees and pray to Him!
These Hebrew young men were not of this class. They could cast themselves upon God’s protection in this time of danger without shame, because they had been God’s loyal friends and had been serving Him before the danger came. If we want to be able to call God ours and commit ourselves to His care when trial or peril comes—we must not only believe in Him—but must obey His will.
True religion is not all creed; it has also a very practical side, and we ought not to overlook this word "serve." We must serve God—as well as trust Him. We must be willing to serve Him, too, even if it costs and hurts and burns. We must continue to serve Him though He brings no earthly deliverance. "The Christian who lazily looks for nothing but His personal comfort—will never look at fiery furnaces with composure." So if we would be without fear in the day of danger—we must be God’s loyal and faithful servants without condition.
Then comes the expression of the faith of these men. Our God is able to deliver us!" They did not say He would deliver them from the fiery furnace. They did not know that He would. They knew that He could—and that if it were best—He would. There they rested the matter.
God’s power ought to be a strong comfort to us in trouble or danger. He is able to deliver us—there is no doubt about that. No combination is too strong for Him. He can easily do whatever He pleases. Men say there are no miracles in these days—but God can always find a way to work any deliverance He desires to work for His people. He is never handicapped in His own world. And since He is our Father, and loves us and is taking care of us—we should know that if it is best that we should be delivered—He will surely do it. If He does not deliver us—we should know that it is because it is better for us and for His glory that we should suffer. True Christian faith is willing to leave to God—just whatever He shall do, confident in God’s power and in God’s love.
"But if not." They made no condition of loyalty to God. They would obey Him just as loyally—if He did not deliver them. There are some people who call themselves Christians who never get above self-interest even in their religion. They believe it will be best for them in the end—if not just at present, to be Christians and to be faithful to God. Their consolation in losses and sacrifices is that God will more than compensate them in some way. They like to quote, "To those who love God—we know that all things work together for good." This is true. We shall never lose anything in the long run—by doing right. God’s service brings great reward. Yet even this should not be the condition of serving God. We should serve Him for Himself, even if we know that serving Him will bring loss that never can be made up to us.
There is a legend of one in the old times, who walked the streets of Alexandria bearing in one hand a torch and in the other hand a vessel of water, crying, "With this water I will put out hell, and with this torch I will burn up heaven—that God may be served for Himself alone." It surely is not the highest kind of faith—which always thinks of the benefit to ourselves; it is far higher if we say, as these men said, "Whether God shall deliver us or not from the furnace—we will serve Him!" Or as Job, "Though He slays me—yet will I trust in Him!" The king was angered by the quiet determination of the young Hebrew children, and commanded that no time should be lost, and that their punishment should be as terrible as possible. "So these men, in their trousers, robes, head coverings, and other clothes—were tied up and thrown into the furnace of blazing fire!"
There are furnaces burning yet all over the world, and faithful ones are continually being cast into them.
There are furnaces of physical pain and suffering, in which saintly ones lie, sometimes for years. But they are not destroyed by the fire. The only result is—that they become more saintly. The sin and the earthliness are burnt out of their lives—and the pure gold remains.
There are furnaces of trial, too, in which men suffer loss for being true and loyal to God. We must not suppose that a holy life is always an easy one. Says one: "God’s judgments—it may be the very sternest and most irremediable of them—come, many a time, in the guise, not of affliction—but of immense earthly prosperity and ease."
Daniel in the Den of Lions
Daniel was a wise man, and his wisdom and faithfulness made him a very valuable man in the affairs of the empire. When the new king appointed his officers—he put Daniel at the head of those who were set to rule. This made the other officers envious. They could not bear to see Daniel so honored. So they determined to find some way to drag him down. First, they sought to find something wrong with his official record. If they could only discover some dishonesty or some injustice they would soon get him put down.
There still is envy in the world after all these centuries of Christian teaching and life. Those who excel in any line or department are sure to suffer in some way for their excellence. Watkinson has a very suggestive chapter in one of his books on "The Sorrows of Superiority." The business man who succeeds above his competitors almost certainly incurs dislike and sometimes is made to suffer. It is so in school and even in the home. Envy was the cause of the hatred of Joseph’s brothers. There are men in politics who are envious of those who have got above them, and this old Babylonian wickedness—searching into a man’s record just to find some weak or questionable act in order to destroy him—is quite well understood.
"They could find no corruption in him, because he was trustworthy and neither corrupt nor negligent." It is well when a man has lived so blamelessly, that even envy cannot touch any act of his life. This same wretched work of envy is done too among boys and girls at school. Many times have efforts been made to hurt the record of the most successful pupil. Envy is a very ugly passion. Before we get through with this story, we shall see that it usually harms most the person who indulges it. When they failed to find anything to hurt Daniel in his record, they thought of his foreign religion, and decided to arrange a plot that could not fail to get him out of their way. So they prepared the decree that for thirty days no one should make any petition to any god or man—but to the king.
They asked the king to sign the decree, and in his pride and weakness he did as they wished. "Now when Daniel learned that the decree had been published, he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward Jerusalem. Three times a day he got down on his knees and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before."
Let us linger a moment at Daniel’s window and watch him at prayer. His regular habits of devotion should be noted. He had set hours for praying. This is the only way to maintain a life of prayer. People may sneer at clockwork devotion—but clockwork has its essential place in all godly living. Wholesome habits are nine-tenths in business, in study, in friendship, in character. They are just as necessary in religion. One who has no regular habits of praying—will soon not pray at all.
Notice, also, that Daniel paid no heed whatever to the king’s decree. Yet he was loyal and obedient to the king, never disregarding his commands. But there are some things with which the law of the land, has nothing whatever to do. God’s law is to be the first guide of our life, and if the law of a country requires us to deviate from that, we have only one choice. A law forbidding us to pray to God, or read our Bible, or meet with others for God’s worship, would have no authority at all over us. It was on this principle that Daniel acted.
It might be said that Daniel did not need to pray before the open window. Was there not a little unnecessary bravado in this? But this is answered by the words "just as he had done before." That was the way he had always prayed, and to draw a curtain that day would have shown fear and would not have been a loyal confession.
Daniel’s enemies were watching, and when they saw the young Hebrew kneeling before his window in prayer, they lost no time in reporting the matter to the king. The king was angry with himself for having fallen into the trap set by Daniel’s enemies. It grieved him that he could not save Daniel—but his courtiers reminded him that no decree which the king established could be changed. He felt himself compelled therefore to have Daniel cast into the den of lions. "Then the king commanded, and they brought Daniel, and cast him into the den of lions." An incident told of Palissy, the Huguenot potter, illustrates the position of king and prisoner here. Palissy was in the prison for his devotion to the Protestant faith, and the king of France, who had a high regard for him, visited the prisoner in his dungeon. He told him of his friendship—but said that unless Palissy would comply with the established religion he should be forced, however unwillingly, to leave him in the hands of his enemies. "Forced! Sire!" replied the noble old martyr. "Forced! This is not to speak like a king. But they who force you cannot force me. I can die!" The king was distressed that he had to cast his favorite minister and friend to the lions. He went to his palace—but could not sleep. "Then the king returned to his palace and spent the night without eating and without any entertainment being brought to him. And he could not sleep." No wonder. How could a man eat or sleep after such an act?
We see here, in the palace, what remorse does for a man. It turned the king’s royal bed-chamber into a chamber of horrors. By way of contrast we may look into the lions’ den which was Daniel’s bedroom that night. So far as physical surroundings were concerned, the king had far the better of it—with his luxurious apartment, his rich furniture, his soft couch, with all that the world could give him of pleasures; while Daniel had only a dark, filthy cavern, with wild beasts round him. But while the king was wretched, consumed with remorse, Daniel was in sweet peace. We can imagine him sleeping in the den, amid the lions, as quietly as ever he had slept in his own house. The fierce animals lay about him, as harmless as lambs, because God’s angel was among them. This is a picture of the safety and peace which are the portion of those who trust God and do His will. The king must have had a hope that in some way Daniel had been kept unhurt in the den through the night. His cry in the morning, "Daniel, servant of the living God, has your God, whom you serve continually, been able to rescue you from the lions?" showed that he knew of Daniel’s religion and hoped that God had delivered him. "Yes," said Daniel, from within the den, "my God has sent His angel, and has shut the lions’ mouths, and they have not hurt me." Of course, we are not to conclude from this, that in all cases of much danger God protects His own children from bodily harm. Many times since that day Christian martyrs have been thrown to the lions and have been torn to pieces by them. Yet this is no evidence that these were not godly men, or that God was not able to deliver them. Sometimes the best use that can be made of a noble life—is to have it offered to God for death, sacrificed for the truth. The king’s joy was very great. Then his thought turned to those who had brought about the attempt to destroy Daniel. "The king commanded, and they brought those men that had accused Daniel, and they cast them into the den of lions." We need not consider the question of right in this case. No doubt these conspirators deserved death, since they had deliberately and wickedly plotted against the life of Daniel. The point to be marked, is the doom which comes upon envy. These men conspired against Daniel, securing an edict by which he should be torn to pieces by lions. The outcome of the conspiracy, is that Daniel is preserved alive and is promoted to still higher honor in the kingdom for the remainder of his life—while the men themselves who envied him and sought his destruction, to get him out of the way of their own promotion, were themselves cast into the den they had prepared for him. The principle is that envy always brings back the curse upon itself.
Sin, the Cause of Sorrow
Hosea was one of the prophets of the Ten Tribes, near the end of the Northern Kingdom. Most of his prophecies refer to the condition and destiny of his kingdom. Little is known personally of the prophet. The first three chapters of the book contain a history or parable of the prophet’s marriage, in which the love of God for Israel is graphically depicted, and the treatment of Him by His people is shown in all its blackness. The remaining portion of the book contains prophecies against the people’s sins. In the chapter for our present study, we are reminded of the splendid opportunities Israel had had, and of the reckless misuse or abuse of these opportunities. "Israel is a luxuriant vine." The picture is of a vine that makes a great show in leaves—but in the time of fruit has no grapes on it. It represents a life of much religious profession—yet lacking in the fruits of righteousness, of character.
We understand its meaning as referring to Israel in Hosea’s time. The nation made a great show of religion—but its religion was idolatrous. Possibly, too, we could find people or Churches in these very modern days that might have sat for the picture. It will be of more practical help to ourselves and a fitter use of the Bible, if we make careful scrutiny of our own personal lives to see whether this vine with luxurious leaves and no fruit—is in any sense a picture of US.
We profess to be good people. There is a great deal of religious privilege and profession in our lives. We have had fine opportunities. Have we the fruits of the Holy Spirit? Have we the love, joy, peace, long-sutfering, gentleness, goodness, meekness, faith—which are given as samples of these fruits! Are we pure in heart, lowly in spirit, meek, peacemakers, as the Beatitudes paint the true Christian life? Have we the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians in our heart and disposition and life? The secret of this failure in the true results of life, is given in the words, "Their heart is divided." They thought they were very pious, with great show of devotion. But it was not really worship. They were only half-hearted, at the best. A divided heart is an abomination to the Lord. We remember what our Lord said about it. Indeed, what he really said was that a divided heart was an impossibility. That is, only part of a heart—does not count at all with God. Unless the heart is His altogether, it is not His at all. "No man can serve two masters." "You cannot serve God and mammon!"
There is room in a human heart for a great many things—but there is not room for two Gods. If one loves father or mother or son or daughter or anything else—more than Christ, he is not worthy of Him. We need to look carefully into this matter for ourselves—not troubling ourselves much at present about the ancient Israelites. Are OUR hearts divided between Christ and something else? Is our worship sincere and spiritual? The ancient emblem of prayer was fragrance. The incense that was burned on the golden altar was rich in its perfume. God spoke of smelling a sweet savor from acceptable sacrifices. Does God find our worship fragrant? Is there love in it? Is there hearty praise? Is there sincere penitence? A nation without God is like a ship adrift, without a rudder on the sea. This was the condition of the nation of Israel at this time. They were facing great perils—and had no Pilot. They had cut themselves off from God by their own sin. They had a king in name—but what could their king do for them in their danger? He could not save them from their enemies. There are many people who give up God—for a human friend, or for money, or honor, or place. But in time of sore trial, what can their friend, or their money, or their fame do for them? This world’s trusts are frail and poor dependences, when sore need comes. They are refuges of lies, even the best of them. What could Israel’s king do to save his people from the Assyrians? What can friend or gold or honor do for a human soul in time of great struggle, in temptation, in sorrow, in the hour of death, in the day of judgment? A man was found dead at the foot of a precipice. He had fallen from the top. In his hand, clutched tightly, was a dried blade of grass. In his fall he had grasped this—but of what help was it to him? Of no more use will earth’s trusts be to him who in life’s great and sore needs clutches at them. They will be only dry straws in his hand. It is a fearful thing to give up God.
They thought they had gods—but they were only calves of gold. They had a very elaborate ritual of worship—but it was all only an empty form. There was no might, no heart of love, no power to help in these calves. Indeed, they could not even take care of themselves, and the people were now in dread lest their enemies should carry away their very deities. "The people who live in Samaria fear for the calf-idol. Its people will mourn over it, and so will its idolatrous priests, those who had rejoiced over its splendor, because it is taken from them into exile." Instead of turning to their gods for deliverance in their danger, they were in terror lest the gods might be carried away. There is something even ludicrous in the picture the prophet here paints—yet it is so true that it has its startling lesson for us. Anything that can be carried away into captivity—is not fit to be a god to an immortal soul. Israel’s calf-diol was to be carried to Assyria as a present to the king. Think of one’s god being given as a present to one’s enemy.
Toward the close of the chapter, comes a call to repentance. God yearns over His apostate people with all tenderness. He pleads with them to do what is right. "Sow for yourselves righteousness, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your unplowed ground; for it is time to seek Jehovah, until He comes and showers righteousness on you." It is never too late to repent. At least God never shuts the door—on this side of the grave. Here amid the predictions of ruin and sorrow—the prophet breaks off to call the people to repentance, and paints for them a vision of hope. Even yet God would have mercy upon them—if they would but return to Him. But the returning must be sincere and real. They must sow righteousness, if they would reap mercy. Mercy never can come to the sinner—until he comes to God in the way of holiness. The fallow ground must be broken up, before there can be any harvest. The hard heart must be broken with penitence, to receive the good seed of the kingdom. "It is time to seek Jehovah." Surely it is! The prophet reminds them of what their sin had brought upon them. "But you have planted wickedness, you have reaped evil, you have eaten the fruit of deception. Because you have depended on your own strength and on your many warriors." "Whatever a man sows—that shall he also reap," is as sure and fixed a law of the spiritual as of the natural kingdom. Those who sow righteousness, shall reap mercy. Then it is just as true, that they who sow wickedness, shall reap iniquity; and that they who sow lies, shall reap a harvest of lies. No man should hope to live in sin, doing wrong things—and then have the reward of the godly man, peace, joy, and blessing. No one should hope to be untruthful, false, faithless—and then have a name of honor, to be trusted and believed by others. One who forms the habit of lying—must expect to be regarded as a liar in the community where he lives. As a general rule, we get about what we deserve from our fellow-men, in the way of reputation. Especially in God’s distributions, we may be sure that sooner or later that we shall reap—as we have sown! The prophet warned the people of Israel of the doom that was coming upon them if they went on in their evil way. "The roar of battle will rise against your people, so that all your fortresses will be devastated— as Shalman devastated Beth Arbel on the day of battle, when mothers were dashed to the ground with their children. Thus will it happen to you, O Bethel, because your wickedness is great. When that day dawns, the king of Israel will be completely destroyed." Thus the coming of the calamity was foretold. Judgment was sure. Judgment is sure likewise, for every one who is living in sin! It may be delayed, for God is very merciful and waits to be gracious. But it will surely come.
Israel Often Reproved
Amos probably was a Judean. He was a small farmer and shepherd. He cultivated a few sycamore trees whose fruit was lightly esteemed. He owned a little flock of sheep, sheep of a peculiar breed which yielded an excellent kind of wool. He pastured his sheep in the wilderness of Judea.
Bethel, the ecclesiastical capital of the Northern Kingdom, was the principal scene of his preaching. "Go to Bethel and sin!" cried the prophet. Bethel was their place of worship—but every time they came there, they sinned because their worship was sin. Instead of bowing before the true God and adoring Him, they bowed before idols and gave them the honor which belonged to God alone. The more devout they were, therefore, the more they dishonored the Lord. Their great zeal, as shown in their sacrifices and tithes and free-will offerings, only multiplied their sin and heaped up sorer judgment against them. "Go to Bethel and sin; go to Gilgal and sin yet more. Bring your sacrifices every morning, your tithes every three years. Burn leavened bread as a thank offering and brag about your freewill offerings— boast about them, you Israelites, for this is what you love to do!" declares the Sovereign LORD." Amo 4:5-6 Their religion was all a pious farce, and the more there was of it—the more of an abomination it was unto God. God cannot be pleased with mere forms of worship and with ceremonials. The more we multiply these, the more do we grieve Him—if our heart is not in them. We may say we have no idols now in our churches; but are we sure of this? Do we truly worship God in our church services? When we sing the hymns, are our hearts fixed upon God? When we pray, are we really talking to God? When we confess sins, is the confession sincere? When we sit in God’s house, are we truly in God’s presence, breathing out our heart’s love and worship to Him? If not, what or whom are we adoring, praising, worshiping? Empty religious forms—must have some idol at the heart of them. The prophet told them very plainly what was in their hearts. "This is what you love to do!" You love this! You love to make a great display in your religion. This display of piety—is just to your taste. You like to cover up your sins—with forms of worship, appearing as saints before the world, though in secret cherishing and practicing all manner of wickedness! This is God’s own picture of these ancient ’worshipers’. We need to look honestly at it—to see if it is OUR picture. God looks at the heart! No external appearances are of any value—unless they are genuine expressions of what is in the heart! Pirate ships carry reputable flags to cover their dishonorable character. Religious hypocrisy often puts at its masthead, the colors of devout saintliness. But God cannot be deceived.
Someone told of past sorrows, sorrows which were sent with blessing, messengers bringing good in their hands—but which were rejected, turned away, resented as enemies, though they came as friends. When we sin against God—He sends penalties. Suffering always follows sin—but these penalties come to us really as friends, to save us from sinning again. God had sent penalties to the people of Israel—but they had not minded them. "I gave you empty stomachs in every city and lack of bread in every town—yet you have not returned to Me," declares Jehovah." The Lord had not let them alone in their sins. He had not merely allowed them to go on in their evil ways, without any effort to save them. In these verses we learn of judgment after judgment which God says He sent upon His people.
First there was "empty stomachs"—famine, lack of bread. Next He had withheld rain from their land. To make it yet more clear to them that the hand of God was in this withholding, He had caused it to rain in one place and not in another, so that while on one piece of ground everything was green and fresh, on another piece near by—all life was withered and dead. Then He had sent blasting and mildew, hot winds and blight, to destroy what the drought had left.
After these, He had sent palmer-worms to eat up the vineyards and gardens which were watered by artificial means and thus escaped the previous judgments. Having thus destroyed their gardens and crops and vineyards, He had then sent a plague upon the people themselves, sweeping away many of them. War had followed pestilence, and their young men had been slain. After all these terrible things, an earthquake had come, overthrowing and destroying many.
There are lessons here, which we must not lose. We must not misinterpret God. No doubt some of these people, when pursued by trouble, said that God was hard and cruel and unkind—to send so many losses and sufferings upon them. So it seemed. But here we are permitted to look into God’s heart—and see a motive of love in all these sore troubles which He sent upon His people. They had gone far away from Him, and He would bring them back again. One affliction failed, and then He sent another and another and another. These sore troubles were all God’s angels of love sent to try to save God’s children. We ought to fix this lesson in our hearts, for some time we may need its light.
One came to a pastor with sore complainings against God. He had been most unkind, even cruel, he said. The pastor listened to a recital of a long series of bitter experiences—disappointments, sufferings, hardships. It certainly seemed that if these were God’s doings—they were strange expressions of love. But the pastor questioned a little further, as gently as he could, and he learned that his friend had not been living near God during the time of these troubles, and had not been brought nearer to Him through the things which had seemed so hard—he had indeed been drifting farther away all the while, out into the wintry cold of unbelief and rebelliousness.
We may not interpret providences, saying that the history of this friend was the same as that of these ancient people, whom God had chastened to save—but who only went farther away from Him. Yet there is no doubt that the design of God in all His severe dealings with His children is the same—to bring back those who have wandered, or to bring still nearer those who are already near to Him. It is always love, never anger, that comes in the messengers of divine chastening.
"Yet have you not returned unto Me! says the Lord." After each recital of judgment, comes this same sad refrain. God had sent famine to bring them back. "Yet have you not returned unto Me!" He had withheld rain. "Yet have you not returned unto Me!" He had smitten their grain with blasting and mildew, and the palmer-worm had eaten up their vineyards and gardens. "Yet have you not returned unto Me!" He had sent pestilence and war, with terrible loss and devastation. "Yet have you not returned unto Me!" Earthquakes had caused terror over the land, laying much of it in ruin. "Yet have you not returned unto Me!" This recurring refrain is infinitely pathetic. It sounds like the sob of God’s breaking heart. It tells of wonderful love in Him for His people—in spite of all their sin; of love that forbears and waits and pleads and suffers on, never wearying in its eiforts to save. It tells, too, of love’s sorrow—when the erring do not return. It speaks of divine disappointment when even sore judgments fail to bring back the sinning children. It is a wonderful revealing of the heart of God. No one who catches its meaning, can ever again say that God is cruel or unkind in sending troubles upon His people. He wants to save them—not to hurt or destroy them. We learn, too, what we should always do when any chastening falls upon us; we should get nearer to God! No matter how holy our lives may be, there is yet a holier holiness, a nearer nearness, attainable. If we are conscious of specific sins—we should put them away. We disappoint and grieve God when in any chastening, we do not return unto Him.
God reminds the people of how mercifully He had dealt with them. "You were as a brand plucked out of the burning." This is a striking figure. In the overthrow, probably by an earthquake, some seem to have perished. Those who escaped were almost destroyed, coming out of the overthrow injured, barely saved. They were like a brand, a piece of wood, which has passed through the fire, and has been plucked out, not burned up altogether—but scorched and blackened, partly burned, bearing the marks of the fire upon it. The picture is very suggestive. Sin is a fire. Wherever it touches it burns, scorches, wastes, consumes the beauty. Secret sin is like hidden, smoldering fire, which, unseen—yet eats away the life’s substance and defaces the divine image that is on it.
What fire does to the trees when it sweeps through the forests, blackening them, destroying their leaves and all their greenness; sin does to the lives about which its flames flow. We all know lives, once lovely—but now scorched and blackened by sin. If sin is like a fire, human lives are like trees which the fire consumes. Every one of us has been hurt by this fire. Unless plucked out by some hand of love—our lives shall be utterly destroyed by the flames of sin which roll over all this world. But the burning brand may be saved. A gardener saw one day in a pile of burning rubbish, a piece of root that was blackened and scorched, partly charred. But he plucked it out and, taking it away, he planted it, and it grew. It proved to be the root of a valuable species of grapevine, and in a few years the vine springing from it covered a large arbor and in the autumn days hung full of rich purple clusters. Saved lives are brands plucked from the burning. Thousands of them shine now in blessedness, redeemed from destruction, clothed in beauty, covered with the fruits of righteousness and holiness!
It was not by any means an easy task that was given to Jonah—his mission to Nineveh. There was no Board of Missions behind him with ample funds. There were no comfortable missionary quarters in Nineveh to receive him. There were no fine railroads to carry him there. The journey was long, the duty was hard and full of danger. It is quite easy to sit in our pleasant rooms and criticize the prophet; but—would YOU have wanted to go, if you had been in his place?
Jonah suddenly conceived a strong desire to go to Tarshish, instead of to Nineveh. Distinctly it is said he did it—to flee from the presence of Jehovah. Perhaps Tarshish needed a preacher too—but that was not where the Lord wanted Jonah to go at that time. It is never a question of where we want or do not want to go—but of where God wants us to go. A reason for Jonah’s reluctance comes out later. He didn’t believe God would destroy Nineveh; that is, he believed the Ninevites would repent and God would spare them. The fact is, he didn’t want these heathen people to be saved! He wanted God to destroy them. He was an Israelite with strong prejudices, and on principle didn’t believe in foreign missions. He considered the heathen fit only to be destroyed, certainly not fit to be saved in the same company with him!
We will call this a very unworthy attitude for a prophet to have—and surely it was. But does no good, clean, respectable, well-to-do modern Christian, ever have a like feeling toward wicked, dirty, degraded, good-for-nothing sinners? Just think out the answer, and don’t look too far away from home for your facts.
"He found a ship going to Tarshish; and so he paid the fare." He did not want to go to Nineveh, so he thought he would go on a trip in another direction. It is a very sad piece of history. Was there never a young minister, just through the seminary, whom God wanted to go to some heathen country—but who didn’t want to go, and made excuse to go somewhere else in place? Was there never a minister whom God called to some lowly, needy field among the poor or the outcast—but who had a "providential" call about the same time—to a rich or a fashionable church, which he took instead? Are there no good Christian men and women—not prophets or ministers—who have had "calls" to duties which were hard and repulsive, perhaps attended with danger or requiring sacrifice, which they did not accept—running off toward Tarshish instead?
It is well enough to look honestly at Jonah’s sin—but we must not exhaust our vision on him. It is no doubt a great deal easier to be honest with other people’s sins than with our own—but it is with our OWN SINS—that we have the chief business. None of us shall ever be punished for Jonah’s sins—but for our own we shall be—unless we repent of them. The fact is, there is a great deal more running away from distasteful duty—than we dream of; and the condemnation strikes close home with many of us. Do we never shirk a task, that we know in our soul we ought to perform? Do we never make errands for ourselves as excuses for not doing errands that God has assigned to us? Well, that was what Jonah did—he made believe that business called him to Spain, to get clear of going to Nineveh.
"The word of Jehovah came unto Jonah the second time." He had failed dishonorably the first time—but God gave him a second chance to do his work. This shows the divine patience with us. Strict justice would have left Jonah at the bottom of the sea—or in the maw of the great fish; but grace preserved his life and restored him to begin again. He had now gone through a discipline which left him submissive and ready to obey. This is the way God often deals with people in our own days. When they disobey Him, He does not cast them off—but puts them under some discipline, sometimes sore and painful—to teach them obedience, and then tries them again.
Many of us have to be whipped to duty; but God is very patient with us. Most of us owe all we are to His disciplines. By these, even our sins and falls become blessings to us. We should be very thankful to God, too, for these second chances that He gives us—when we have failed to improve the first chance. Very few people make of their lives what God first wanted them to make. Then He sets them another lesson, that they may try again. Perhaps the second is not so beautiful or so noble as the first; still it is good, and if we are diligent and faithful—we can find blessing in it and make something noble even yet of our life. Most of us have to be sent more than once on our errands for God. Happy are we if we go even at the second bidding, although it is far better that we go at the first. The command to Jonah was very definite. "Get up! Go to the great city of Nineveh and preach the message that I tell you!" God knows just how He wants His work done. One of the most important things in a servant—is that he shall do precisely what his master bids him to do. We are too apt to be careless about exactness in obedience. A good many children err at this point in obeying their parents. They obey them perhaps—but they put very liberal construction upon their commands, and so their obedience is very inexact. They should learn the duty of precise obedience. In all business matters there is need for the same lesson. Railroad trains have been wrecked, with terrible loss of life, because a telegraph operator or some other employee obeyed his order inexactly. Wherever we are employed we should train ourselves to do our work just as we are bidden to do it.
One who would tell others how to be saved—must preach just the preaching which God bids His servants preach. Bad advice has wrecked destinies. Wrong sermons, and teaching of spiritual truth has wrecked souls! We are not to put our own construction on God’s Word—and give that to the people. We are not to talk carelessly about the divine thoughts and teachings. We are reverently and faithfully to preach the message that the Lord bids us to preach, without abatement, without addition, without change!
Jonah had learned his lesson and learned it well. This time he arose and went to Nineveh. We are not told where he was after his deliverance—but no doubt he had a quiet time for thought and repenting. He would go over the story of his willfulness and disobedience in the matter of going to Nineveh, and would be ashamed of his conduct. Thus he learned humility and was ready now to do as God might command him. Indeed, he would become eager for another opportunity to do the work which he had first refused to do.
There is a story of a regiment of soldiers which in some war had dishonored itself in some way on a certain battlefield. In a later war the same regiment was again in the service, and at the first opportunity they displayed most heroic courage, thus "burning out the shame" of the former field. So Jonah in his humility, would long for another chance to go for God to Nineveh, that he might wipe out the dishonor of his former disobedience. When the command came a second time—he would rejoice. So we see prompt obedience this time, no parleying, no quibbling, no running away.
He delivered his message. "He cried, and said—in forty days Nineveh shall be overthrown!" The doom was announced, and forty days’ warning was given. God always gives time enough for repentance. He is reluctant to punish. He waits to be gracious. This truthfully represents the heart of God and His dealing with sinners. He is slow to punish—and quick to forgive. "In forty days!" Still it must be noticed that the time for mercy is limited. The message was heard and believed. "The people of Nineveh believed God." They believed what God said through His prophet about their sins—and about the destruction that was swiftly coming upon their city. This is a kind of faith that is needed everywhere just now. God speaks very plainly in His Word about the penalties and consequences of sin—but there are many who do not believe God. They sneer at the thought of judgment or eternal punishment. The king and people entered heartily into the movement. "They proclaimed a fast." They called upon the people of the city to turn every one from his evil way. Their repentance was genuine—so far as it went. They did not merely put on garments of sackcloth and mourning; they turned their faces to God and gave up their evil deeds. They humbled themselves; they confessed their sins; they cleansed their hands of the wickedness they had been committing; they cried to God, supplicating His mercy. It is along the same path that everyone must walk—who would find forgiveness and the turning away of God’s wrath. Sins must be given up—and turned away from. Bible mercy is wonderfully full and blessed—but Bible repentance is also deep and thorough.
"Who knows whether God will not . . . turn away from His fierce anger, that we perish not?" The repentance of Nineveh was from fear, and to escape the judgment pronounced upon them. That was as far as they could go—a mere dim hope that God might turn away from His anger—if they would turn away from their sins. That was all the gospel they had. No promise of mercy had been made to them on any condition, so far as we are told. They were not assured that if they repented—the doom would be averted; they repented on the strength of the dim hope of mercy which their own hearts suggested.
It is different with us. The same message which tells us of our sins, and the penalty which is sure to be visited upon them—points us also to the cross and proclaims eternal salvation and life to every one who will repent and believe on Christ. We are not driven to any such mere "perhaps" when we see our sins and desire to be saved. We know that if we confess our sins—God will forgive them; that if we seek the Lord—we shall be saved.
Mercy was revealed at once. "God saw their works, that they turned from their evil way." God is always watching the earth, every corner of it where a sinful soul is, and wherever there is true penitence He sees it. There is no danger that anyone ever shall repent and weep over sin—and God not know it. There is joy in the presence of the angels when even one sinner repents. The most beautiful and precious thing on this earth in God’s sight, is the penitential tear.
Joshua the High Priest
Zechariah was a contemporary of Haggai. His prophetic career seems to have been brief. His mission was that of an encourager. The people in trying to rebuild Jerusalem had become greatly discouraged. A deep depression had settled on them. Zechariah sought to kindle hope in their hearts and to induce them to undertake the work of building. In visions which are interpreted by the angel, the prophet gives his message. Our passage gives one of the visions. "He showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of Jehovah, and Satan standing at his right hand to be his adversary." This is a strange picture—the high priest in his place before God, and Satan standing beside him. We understand at once that Satan is not there for any friendly purpose. He is never anywhere for a friendly purpose in behalf of a godly man, or for the good of the world. No matter in what guise Satan appears, or what his profession may be—his real object is always sinister and wicked.
Probably if we could see spirits with these eyes of ours—we should many times behold pictures like this—good people in good places with good intent—and Satan standing at their right hand. When we go to church, Satan no doubt keeps near us or has some of his messengers near us, not because he enjoys going to church, nor because he likes to be with us—but because he has some evil design on us. He is always our adversary, whatever he may profess to be—never our friend.
Life is full of insidious dangers. Ofttimes when we think we are safest—we are in the greatest peril. Many of our gravest dangers are unsuspected, because they hide in the sunshine of our sweetest blessings. Prosperity has its perils, which are worse in many cases than what we dread so in adversity or misfortune. Disease is more apt to lurk in a soft, dreamy atmosphere, balmy and pleasant—than in the sharp, chill, wintry air of January. More demons hide in luxurious conditions, than in circumstances of hardship and honest poverty. So it is in spiritual things. Living in a church—would not keep the devil away from one’s ear. The minister in his pulpit or at the communion table—is not sheltered from the assaults of Satan, the adversary. When the priest and the prophet stand before God, Satan always stands beside them!
While Satan was standing beside Joshua, so was the angel of Jehovah. That counteracted the danger. Satan could not harm the godly priest, while the Lord was taking care of him. Satan will no doubt follow us wherever we go, even intruding himself into the holiest places. But if we are where duty calls us or leads us—we know that God is beside us as well as Satan, and that no harm can come to us so long as we trust in Him and are faithful and obedient. If in the picture Satan alone stood, unseen, beside God’s priest—it would be full of alarm, for no mortal is a match for Satan. But while the Lord also is present—there is a safe shelter into which the imperiled soul may flee. "God is our refuge ... a very present help in trouble!" "The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous runs into it, and is safe!" The best way we can answer those who would harm us—is to let God answer for us. "And the LORD said to Satan: I, the LORD, reject your accusations, Satan. Yes, the LORD, who has chosen Jerusalem, rebukes you." The Lord is the friend of His people and will not stand by inactive, when Satan is plotting against any one of them. He is the defender especially of the defenseless. This characteristic of the divine love is revealed in all parts of the Scriptures. God is the God of the weak. In the Mosaic laws, definite provision was made for the widow and the orphan. Something was to be left for them, when the harvests were gathered. The poor were put under special protection, to shield them from the oppression of the rich and the strong. Every child of God is an object of peculiar divine care. The weakest of them all—is as safe in God’s keeping, even amid the greatest dangers—as safe as if they were already in heaven! In a great flood in one of the rivers of the West, some men in a skiff saw an infant’s cradle floating in the middle of the wide, turbulent river, and, rowing to it, found in it a little baby sleeping sweetly, in quiet peace, wrapped warm and dry in its blankets. No harm had come to the child in the wild torrent. Just so does God hold His little ones in the midst of earth’s wildest dangers. No harm can come to one of them—while nestling in His bosom. The form of the rebuke here suggests that we may safely leave our defense in the Lord’s hands—when Satan assails us and when anyone would do us harm.
It is probable that Joshua did not see his adversary standing beside him, and did not see the Lord nor hear His word of rebuke to Satan. This suggests that many a time when we are not aware of our danger—the Lord has saved us from it by His own hand, delivering us from the hand of the adversary. The only true safety for us—is in trusting in God, for ofttimes we do not know when danger is near; and if we have not God to care for us—we must perish! True faith is simply doing our duty—and letting Christ look after the keeping of our life.
"Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?" A "brand" is a piece of wood, charred, almost burned up—but then snatched out of the fire. Though so nearly destroyed, it yet has wood in it and may be capable of noble uses. A "brand plucked out of the fire" may seem hopeless—yet it may have in it the possibilities of great usefulness and beauty. This "remnant" of returned Jews was only a brand plucked from the fire of captivity—but it was not dead, and under God’s gentle culture it would become a nation and be great and strong. We know well what did become of this brand—the Messiah, and at length Christianity. We ought never to despise nor despair of any life that has immortality in it. The vision was suggestive. "Take off his filthy garments." This was an acted parable. We may read a good deal of gospel teaching into it—and yet not wrest the Scripture. The filthy garments were a true picture of Joshua’s moral condition in the eyes of the Lord God. The "adversary" meant to prove that the high priest was not a holy man. The Lord did not question this charge. But He commanded those who stood by—to take off those filthy garments, saying then to Joshua, "See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put rich garments on you!" So the change of clothing meant more than just that. It was a picture of what the redemption of Christ does for all those who trust Him as Savior. It finds them clad in filthy garments. Satan stands by and accuses them. "They are not holy," he says; "not worthy of heaven or everlasting life. Look at their sins!" Very true in one sense. None are holy—none are worthy of heaven. But Jesus died for sinners. He made an atonement for sin. He put away sin by the sacrifice of Himself. And He comes and strips off the filthy garments of the flesh, and clothes those who believe on Him in the beautiful clothing of righteousness. He says, "See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put rich garments on you!" The parable is continued: "So they put a clean priestly turban on his head and dressed him in new clothes." They put upon him the priestly dress. The mitre had a gold plate across the forehead, with the inscription, "Holiness to the Lord." This indicated the sacred character of him who wore it—set apart for God. It also signified that he on whose brow the words were shining, was a forgiven man—unworthy in himself—but cleansed and accepted. The garments were also priestly garments, beautiful and clean.
Christ’s redeemed ones are a "kingdom of priests." When we are received by Him—we are clad in priestly turban and new apparel. We are to be holy. Every Christian life should be a transfigured life. Forgiveness means cleansing. The putting away of sins means not merely acquittal, the remission of penalty. It is the putting away of sin itself out of the life. This wonderful result is accomplished by the entrance into the heart of the Holy Spirit, who, making His dwelling place there, transforms the whole being. A promise of honor and power is given: "If you follow my ways and obey my requirements, then you will be given authority over my Temple and its courtyards. I will let you walk in and out of my presence along with these others standing here." The way to rise to higher places—is to be faithful in the humbler places in which our lot is cast. All promotion depends upon faithfulness. Unless we do well the smaller things which God gives us to do—He will not entrust greater things to us. The man who was faithful and diligent in the use of his two talents—saw the two become four, and found himself put in trust also with new responsibilities.
We are specially concerned with the lesson that faithfulness in the common duties of the passing days—is the most important thing of life with us. We need not seek promotion, nor think of honor or reward; we should desire and strive only to be true and loyal to God and to the duty He gives. Doing this, He will lead us step by step into the larger service or greater usefulness as He may find us ready. The words take a prophetic turn. "I will bring forth, my servant the Branch." Just then the Jewish nation was like the mere stump of a tree which had been cut down. There was no beauty and but little sign of life. The glory of David’s days had failed. The nation was now in captivity. A few of the people had returned to their own old land, and there was a feeble effort made to renew the old national and religious life. But all this seemed very small and unpromising. It did not appear to human eyes—that the ancient glory could ever be seen again. Yet here is a promise that out of this mere stump should come a "Branch," a shoot, which should grow into great luxuriousness of life, far surpassing the splendor of the original tree which once had been so noble and so fruitful. We know how this promise was fulfilled in Jesus Christ, who came of this lowly stock, and whose life and glory now fills earth and heaven.
Prosperity would follow: "In that day each of you will invite his neighbor to sit under his vine and fig tree, declares the LORD Almighty." This is a picture of peace—under the vine and under the fig-tree. It suggests quiet and security, joy and gladness. The gospel brings peace!
Zec 4:1-14 The visions of Zechariah all have a meaning. This one is of a candlestick supplied by olive trees. "Then the angel who had been talking with me returned and woke me, as though I had been asleep." It is a good thing to have anyone wake us up. We ought always to be awake. We will miss a great deal if we are not. It is a good thing to be awakened by an angel. An angel’s touch is soft, gentle, and inspiring. It does not rouse us roughly and rudely. It was an angel that touched Peter and awoke him when he lay sleeping in the prison, between the guards, expecting to be called to execution in the morning. The angels awake us to joy, to gladness, to beauty—not to alarms, to sorrow, to pain, to anxiety. This is a book of visions. We are not prophets, and God does not reveal His will to us as He did to Zechariah. But every earnest soul has visions, glimpses of better things, of nobler life. Whenever we ponder deeply some Word of God—there opens out in it a vision of spiritual beauty. Every time we read the biography of a noble life—we have a vision which should inspire ns to longings for like nobleness. In godly people—we have visions of qualities of character, and acts of self-denying love, which are like visions. We shall be always seeing visions if we live as we may. Heaven lies about us always, close to us; we are on its borders, and we see the rarest beauty at every turn if we will. Really it is a matter of eyes—the beauty is always there, if only we have eyes to see.
"What do you see?" asked the angel. We should learn to see things. The world is full of lovely objects, which only a few people really see. There are those who will walk through gardens and over fields filled with flowers and plants—and yet never see any beautiful thing that makes appeal to them, never have their souls stirred. There are those who walk under the starry skies every night through the years—and are never moved to any sense of wonder or any feeling of admiration, much less of adoration. Moses saw God in the burning bush and took off his shoes. Many people would only have seen a common bush. We should train ourselves to see nature in all its beauty of form and color—the highest beauty that is everywhere in God’s works. When the angel awakened the prophet—he looked and at once saw something which caught his attention. "I have seen, and, behold, a candlestick all of gold." Every Christian should be a light-bearer. God wants us to shine. The world is dark, and we are to pour light into its darkness. There are many ways to do this. The first always is in our own life. Our character must shine. That means, to put it very simply, that we must be holy. A pure, good, loving heart—will make the light shine. Nothing but love shines. We are, therefore, to be obedient, trustful, and reverent toward God—and gentle, unselfish, kind, thoughtful, patient, and helpful toward others. The candle wastes, burns itself up, in shining. We must burn—to shine. It costs to be unselfish, patient, thoughtful, and useful. We must be forgiving; we must bear injuries; we must do good to unworthy people; we must deny ourselves and make personal sacrifices; we must be gentle and kind—when others are rude to us. As the prophet looked the vision became clear and distinct. "I see a candlestick all of gold . . . and seven lamps on it, with seven pipes to the lights. Also there are two olive trees by it." The meaning is that the lamps which burned brightly were supplied with oil—without the help of human hands—from the live olive trees through the golden pipes. The lamps themselves would not give light—they must have oil in them. They must also be continually refilled, so that they will continue to shine.
Just so, our lives are only empty lamps which must be supplied with oil from Christ’s own fullness. That is, we must abide in Christ—so as to receive of His life continually. We can shine—only when the oil of divine love and grace is in us.
"Then I asked the angel: What are these, my lord? What do they mean?" The prophet wished to know the meaning of the vision he saw. He was of an eager, inquiring mind. He was not content to let anything pass, which he did not understand. This is a good rule for all of us. Some people get tired answering children’s questions. They are annoyed by their desire to know what things are for. But children ought to ask questions. The world is all new to them. They have a right to learn what things are—and why they are. We ought to encourage a child’s inquisitiveness and take delight in telling it every new thing we can. Moreover, we should be children ourselves, all through our life, in this—the desire to know the meaning of every new thing we come upon. The answer the angel gave the prophet, contained the whole wonderful meaning of the vision. "So he said to me: This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the LORD Almighty!" If the completion of the temple had depended on human might or power—it never would have been finished. The people were few, poor, and weak—and the work was great, and enemies were on every side. The temple never could have risen from amid the old ruins—if it had depended on the human might that was in the field. But it did not. God’s Spirit was in the work, and there is no power in the universe that can withstand God or successfully resist Him. He could do the work with small means or with great. He could not be hindered by opposition of enemies, for He is omnipotent!
It is still true in God’s world, that it is not by might nor by power—but by the Holy Spirit, that things are done. God does not need human strength to work with Him; He would rather work with human weakness. When He sends us out to do anything for Him—He will always provide the means and open the way, that we may not fail—if only we trust Him. God uses little things to accomplish His great purposes. At this time the people were discouraged. It seemed that their work of building the temple could not go on. Human power was faint. The vision was a revelation of God working with His almighty power to accomplish the work. The candlesticks drew the oil from the olive trees. Human agency was unnecessary. "Not by might, nor by power—says the LORD Almighty!"
Enemies were boasting—but their power would be as nothing before the strength of God. "Who are you, great mountain? Before Zerubbabel, you shall become a plain." Zerubbabel was God’s chosen builder, and before Him all hindrances and obstacles would melt away. Zechariah was an encourager, and he was giving assurance of success in spite of all opposition. All mountains of difficulty which stand in the way of God’s order—shall be leveled down by faith’s advance. When we go anywhere for God—it is as if God Himself went.
Lessons in Giving Mal 1:6-11; Mal 3:8-12 The prophet reproves the people for their lack of loyalty and faithfulness to Jehovah. He had treated them as a father—but they had not given Him a father’s love and honor. "A son honors his father, and a servant his master. If I am a father—where is the honor due me? If I am a master—where is the respect due me? says the LORD Almighty."
Everywhere dishonor to parents is branded as a grievous sin. One who treats a parent unkindly or with neglect—may have many virtues and do many things well—but the one sin dims and blots all. One of the papers tells of a young woman at an old man’s coffin. She kissed him and wept over him. She told the people how good he was. He was old and poor—and she was young and rich. She had ten rooms—but no room for her father. Yet he made room for her, when he had only two. He was not educated. She was, and at his expense. He had fed and clothed and sent her to college—until she grew refined and popular and married a rich man. Now she kissed him and cried by his coffin and buried him handsomely. But everybody said that this did not make up for her lack of kindness, in the years of his old age.
God is our Father. This revelation was made in all its fullness by Jesus Christ. We all love to say that He is our Father, and to talk of His wonderful goodness. Yes—but that is not all the honor we ought to give to such a Father. We ought to hallow His name, to advance His kingdom, and do His will. Does not God many times say to us, "If I am a father—where is My honor?" The people presumed to contend with God, claiming that they had been true to Him. "But you ask—How have we shown contempt for Your name?" Then we have Jehovah’s answer, "You have despised My name by offering defiled sacrifices on My altar!" Still they deny to God that they have in any way dishonored His name or His service. "Then you ask—How have we defiled the sacrifices?" The answer is, "In that you say: The table of Jehovah is contemptible."
We may as well look at our own conduct—while we are hearing God’s charges against His ancient children. That is true Bible reading—which allows the words to search our own heart and life. We should never offer to God—that which we would not use ourselves. Are not too many of our self—denials, only the giving up of things which we do not care for? Do we not too often keep the best for ourselves—and then let God have what we do not wish? The priests had been offering on the altar of Jehovah, sacrifices which were not worthy of His holy name. "When you bring blind animals for sacrifice, is that not wrong? When you sacrifice crippled or diseased animals, is that not wrong? Try offering them to your governor! Would he be pleased with you? Would he be pleased? says the LORD Almighty." The Jewish law required that every sacrifice offered unto God—must be without blemish. No lame, blind, or diseased animal would be accepted. It was an insult to God to bring to His altar anything that was maimed, blemished, or worthless. Yet the people had been taking the best of everything for themselves, and then bringing the refuse—the blind and lame animals—as offerings to God. "Suppose you treat your governor thus," asked the Lord, "what would he think? Would he be pleased?"
Well, how is it again with ourselves? The object in putting these verses in the Bible—was not to get us to condemn the people who lived twenty-three hundred years ago! It was to make us think whether we are doing this base thing ourselves! Do we give God the best of all we have—our best love, our best gifts, our best service? Or do we take the best of all for ourselves—and then give God the blind and the lame? How many people in the church when the collection plate is being passed, pick out the smallest bit of money—to put in the plate! We give our strength to our own work or leisure, and then have only our weariness to bring to God. We save our best things for ourselves, and then have only worthless things to offer our wondrous King! What kind of service are we giving to our glorious Lord? The Lord’s answer to the arrogant defense of the priests is startling. "Oh, that one of you would shut the temple doors, so that these worthless sacrifices could not be offered! I am not at all pleased with you—and I will not accept your offerings! says the LORD Almighty."
People sometimes ask, with a sneer: "Is there anyone to hear you when you pray? Is there anyone to accept the worship you bring?" The Lord says plainly here that there was no one to accept what these ancient worshipers brought. It is said frequently in the Bible, referring to offerings, that God smelled a sweet savor. That is, sincere worship is like fragrance to God. But God assures these ancient worshipers that He has no pleasure in them and will not receive the offerings they bring. This is because they bring Him such unfit and unworthy sacrifices.
What do WE bring to God—when we go through the forms of prayer, when we sing the sacred words of our hymn, when we make our offerings, when we have our "consecration meetings," when we sit down at the Lord’s table? If there is only words, words, words in all our acts of worship—no heart, no love, no real presenting of ourselves to God, no laying of our best on the altar—God has no pleasure in us and will not accept our offerings at our hand. "God is a Spirit—and they that worship Him must worship in spirit and truth." In the third chapter, the prophet prophesies the coming of the Messenger of the covenant and the beginning of His sifting work. The people were suffering from divine judgments. The reason for these, was that they had not been faithful to God. They are asked to return, and they ask, "’How are we to return?" The Lord then charged them with having robbed Him. "How have we robbed You?" and the answer is, "In tithes and offerings."
It seems incredible that anyone should rob God. It is terrible enough that one man should ever rob another man; and how can anyone rob God? Yet the Lord said these ancient people of His had been robbing Him. How? They had not broken into heaven and stolen the gold, silver, and precious stones from the walls and streets. They had robbed God by keeping back from Him the gifts they ought to have brought to Him. They had not paid their tithes, they had not brought the required offering. Not paying what we owe is robbery. Do we never rob God? Of course, we do not break open church offering boxes and steal money that has been given to God. But do we never fail to give to God what belongs to Him? Think of all the promises we make to God in our hymns and prayers. Do we keep them all? We promise to obey Christ and serve Him always, cheerfully, promptly, lovingly. De we do it? We promise to love our fellow-men and to be kind, patient, and helpful to all. Then we go among men with jealousy, envy, bitter feelings, keeping back the love and the ministry of love!
Perhaps we are robbing God even in the matter of money. Are we paying all we owe to God? Someone tells of a man who, speaking of the freeness of the gospel, said he had been a Christian for twenty years—and it had not cost him a penny! There are too many people whose religion does not cost them half enough! They rob God, keeping out of His treasury what is His—and spending it on themselves.
Robbing God brings a curse. An eagle stole a piece of lamb off the temple altar and flew with it to her nest on the crag. But a coal clung to the meat and set fire to the nest and consumed it. So a curse clings to everything stolen from God or withheld from Him, and brings its penalty!