The Project Gutenberg eBook of Women in white raiment, by John Lemley

Title: Women in white raiment

Author: John Lemley

Release Date: October 1, 2022 [eBook #69085]

Language: English

Produced by: Juliet Sutherland, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

It has long been in our mind to write this book, in which we seek to set forth the beautiful lives of representative women of the Bible. There has been much written about prophets, kings and priests, about our Lord and His Apostles, about scenes, of different types of character, customs and manners of Oriental life, but so far as we know, nothing has been written about the womanhood of the Bible. We believe a study of these lovely Princesses of God will be both profitable and instructive.

That we may have a suitable background for our pen pictures of these Daughters in Israel, and also, by way of contrast, show what the Bible has done for womanhood, let us briefly take a glance into countries where the Bible has been a sealed book, for the position of women among the Hebrews has always afforded a pleasing contrast with that of their heathen sisters. The position of Jewish women is just what we would expect among a people who were indebted for their laws to the Creator.

It has always been Satan’s shrewdest trick to degrade motherhood, and to cause her to be treated with contempt, knowing that she it is who stands at the fountain head of the race, and her hand always shapes the life and forms the civilization, hence the universal oppression of womanhood in all heathen lands.

The effect of religion (for all nations worship something) upon the people affords overwhelming evidence of its origin. In all heathen lands the people are exceedingly religious. In India alone they worship 360,000,000 gods, but they know nothing about morality. Their religion offers no light in life and no hope in death. The condition of women in India is indescribable. If a man speaks of his wife he never says[8] “wife,” but “family”; and if away, he never speaks of going home, but he is going to his house. There is no home life, as we look upon it, in all that heathen land. Women are considered by the Hindus as a thing that exists solely for their use. She is given away like a lifeless thing to the man who is to be her husband, but who does not consider her his equal. He is commanded by his religion to “enjoy her without attachment,” and never to love her or put his confidence in her. Some women are set apart religiously for the use of the men of all classes and castes. They are consecrated and “married” to the idols in the temples, and are brought up from their girlhood to live as prostitutes. Hindoo sacred law reaches its climax of cruelty and degradation in the rules it lays down for the control of a woman after her husband has died. She may be young and beautiful, she may belong to a wealthy and powerful family; it matters not; custom is as relentless as death in its weight of woe to crush her completely down.

One of the Hindoo sacred books says: “It is unlawful for any man to take a jewelless woman,” whose eyes are like the weeping cavi-flower; being deprived of her beloved husband, she is like a body deprived of the spirit. She may have only been a betrothed infant or a child of a few years. It makes no difference. The Shasters teach that if a widow burns herself alive on the funeral pile of her husband, even though he had killed a Brahmin, that most heinous of deeds, she expiates the crime. For long centuries widows have been a literal burnt offering for the redemption of husbands.

Another law is laid down after the following fashion: “On the death of their attached husbands, women must eat but once a day, must eschew betel and a spread mattress, must sleep on the ground, and continue to practice rigid mortification. Women who have put off glittering jewels of gold must discharge with alacrity the duties of devotion, and neglecting their persons, must feed on herbs and roots, so as barely to sustain life within the body. Let not a widow ever pronounce the name of another man.”

[9]There are, in India, twenty-three millions of widows, of these fourteen thousand are baby widows under four years of age, and sixty thousand girl widows between five and nine years of age. Nearly one-fourth of the whole number of widows are young. Besides, there are many millions of deserted wives, whose condition is as bad, and in some cases worse, than that of the widows. The lives of many millions of these poor women are made so miserable that they prefer death to life, and thousands commit suicide yearly.

And all these helpless women have never heard the message of salvation from God’s Holy Word.

It so happens in these days of missionary work among the heathen that now and then the light of the Gospel finds its way into these benighted hearts. Such was the case of a Brahmin widow, who had lived in the home of her uncle, but, for a fancied offence, was beaten and turned into the street naked. She was a woman of commanding manner and appearance, such as few suffering widows possess. She was tall, elegant of bearing, and attractive. Her story, in short, is this: “I was married when only five years of age. I soon became a widow, and then my father and mother took care of me, though I was kept secure in their home. My father and mother died, and since I was fifteen years of age I have been with their relatives, who let me work in the fields and earn an honorable living. Then my mother’s own brother came along, and persuaded me to come to his house. I hoped for kindness, but I have been their slave from that day.”

When asked whether she had been led astray, she replied, “I might have been, and sat with jewels on my neck and arms, with a frontlet on my brow, and gems would have bedecked my ears had I yielded to the machinations of my uncle and the desires of his friends to betray me into a life of glittering slavery! Because I would not, I am in rags, and now turned homeless into the streets.”

Such is the suffering of women in India. And the saddest of all is, the only heaven they look for after this world, is a[10] place where they can be their husband’s servants. Sad and terrible is their state!

The condition of womanhood in China is but little better. In fact she is unwelcome at her birth. If she is suffered to live, she is subjected to inhuman foot-binding. The feet are supposed to merit the poetical name of “golden lilies.” But how sad it is to discover that such a result is produced by indescribable torture, and that the part of the foot that is not seen is nothing but a mass of distorted or broken bones!

This binding process commences when the girl is about six years old. There is a Chinese proverb that says, “For every pair of bound feet has been shed a kong full of tears.” And yet, the most important part of a Chinese girl’s dress is her tiny shoe of colored silk or satin, most tastefully embroidered, with bright painted heels just peeping beneath the neat pantalets. Missionary ladies tell us how they themselves have seen three strong women holding a little girl by force to compel her to submit to this awful torture. It is not an uncommon thing for a mother to get up in the night and beat a poor child of seven or eight for keeping her awake by her stifled sobs from the terrible pain produced by the bandages. Through the weary summer days, instead of romping and enjoying the fresh air and sports with brothers, the poor little girl will lie, restless with fever, upon her little couch, and when the cold nights of winter come, she is afraid to wrap her limbs in any covering, else they grow warm and the suffering becomes more intense.

At last the much desired smallness is obtained, the feet are deformed for life and she is greatly admired by all her friends. If she is not betrothed until she is ten or more years of age, one of the first questions is, “What is the length of her feet?” Three inches is the correct length of the fashionable shoe, but some are only two.

But this has respect only to those girl-babies who are suffered to live. The horrors of heathenism permits the new-born girl baby to be disposed of. There is outside the city walls of Fuchan, China, a structure of stone without doors, but[11] with two window-like openings. This well-known and frequently visited building is the baby tower—not a day nursery for the care of the infants of the poor, not an orphanage where the little waifs are clothed and fed and educated, but a place where girl-babies can be thrown and left to die. In larger cities, such as Pekin, carts pass through the streets at an early hour of the day and gather up the babies abandoned to the streets by their inhuman parents.

Women in the common walks of life are the slaves of their husbands. The wife rises early in the morning, does the housework for the day, and prepares the morning meal for her husband, who always eats it by himself while she serves. Having finished her own meal, after her husband has eaten his, she cleans up the dishes, and then hastens to the fields to toil all day under a burning sun. The husband, meanwhile, spends the day in sleeping, or gambling, or when opportunity occurs, in thieving or marauding. Sometimes, frequently indeed, the women are carried off by other tribes while out in the fields, and are only released at a price, varying with the excellencies of the woman in question. And yet, if any one were to offer to relieve these women of their work, their offer would be rejected, for this life of toil is what they have been brought up to and trained in, and they know of nothing better. They especially like to be in the fields by themselves, for then they are alone, and are free from the hated presence of man (curiously enough they are said to hate their men), and surely no one would grudge them their liberty.

In dark Africa, where lives one-sixth of the heathen population of the globe, human sacrifice is something awful. And the saddest of all is, the victims are mostly from the ranks of women. Of the languages and dialects, five hundred have never been reduced to writing. What scenes of horrors are locked up in oblivion among these wild tribes of that dark land. Almost daily, the numerous wives of the rulers, as they die, are buried alive in their graves, being compelled to hold the dead bodies of their husbands on their[12] laps, until they themselves are relieved by death. The witch doctors annually slay thousands of innocent women. Among the Masai, a woman has a market value equal to five glass beads, while a cow is worth ten of the same.

Woman’s life in the harem of the Mohammedan is but little better. The code of morals is a very loose one, and the degradation of women beyond our pen to describe. The women of the harems are divided into three classes: The Rhadines, or legitimate wives. The Ikbals, or favorites, out of whose ranks the Rhadines are chosen, and Ghienzdes or “women who are pleasing to the eye of their lord,” and who have the chance to advance to the rank of Ikbals. If the wife of a Turkoman asks his permission to go, and he says, “go,” without adding, “come back,” they are divorced. If he becomes dissatisfied with the most trifling acts of his wife, and tears the veil from her face, that constitutes a divorce. In the streets, if a husband meets one of his numerous wives, he never recognizes her, or ever introduces her to a male friend. A Mohammedan never inquires after the female portion of the household of his friend. The system is full of cruelty and despotism. In Mohammedan countries women suffer from the low opinion held of them by men. The prophet said: “I stood at the gates of hell, and lo! most of its inhabitants were women!” And yet, strange to say, while the religion of Islam denies that woman has a soul, it teaches a sensual paradise.

In fact, in all nations where the Bible is unknown, woman is the slave of man’s lust. She is a drudge or a toy, whose reign is as short-lived as her personal charms. She may not be trusted out of sight of her guardians, though the masculine members of the family are anything but choice in their associations. Indeed, in some countries a woman can not visit even her own mother without being carried in a palanquin or guarded by slaves.

One of the strangest, saddest sights we ever saw was at Mersina, in the Levant. Passing a field one day there were six native women (noble in form and of beautiful olive complexion)[13] hoeing what looked to be cucumbers, while a step or two in their rear stood a negro, a full-blooded Nubian, with a long stick, like an ox-goad, in his hand, evidently their master.

In Ceylon, when it was proposed by a missionary to teach women to read, one native said to another, “What do you think that man is talking about? He wants to teach the women to read! He’ll be wanting to teach the cows next!”

Such is the disrespect in which women are held by heathen people. Five words describe the biography of women in all lands where the Bible is not known: Unwelcomed at birth; untaught in childhood; uncherished in widowhood; unprotected in old age; unlamented when dead.

Such, in brief, is the treatment of womanhood in lands where the Bible is a sealed book, and truly, in comparison with their heathen sisters, women living under the blessed teachings of Christianity are “clothed in white raiment.”

But, perhaps, we ought not to think it so very strange that men who dishonor God, and who want Him blotted out of their thoughts, should abuse God’s best gift to man. This much we know, that God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, “Have dominion over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.” When the Pharisees, in their malignity, framed the question, “Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause?”—a problem beset with many difficulties, our Lord very promptly asked a counter question, “What did Moses command you?” Instead of entering into their vexed question, He appeals at once to the law and the testimony, and requires them to recite the provision made by Moses for such cases; not as settling the difficulties, but as presenting the true status quaestionis, which was not what the Scribes taught or the Pharisees practiced, but what Moses meant and God permitted. They said, “Moses suffered to write a bill of divorcement, and to put her away.” Quickly[14] Jesus replied, “For the hardness of your heart he wrote you this precept.” The substance of our Saviour’s answer was, Moses gave you no positive command in the case; he would not make a law directly opposite to the law of God; but Moses saw the wantonness and wickedness of your hearts, that you would turn away your wives without any just and warrantable cause; and to restrain your extravagancies of cruelty to your wives, or disorderly turning of them off upon any occasion, he made a law that none should put away his wife but upon a legal cognizance of the cause and giving her a bill of divorce. “From the beginning,” that is, in the very act of creation, God embodied the idea of equality. Capricious divorce is a violation of natural law.

What a beautiful picture Solomon gives us of womanhood. “Her price,” he says, “is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.” After the grace of God in the soul, a good wife, one planned on the Divine model, is the Lord’s best gift. To the husband who has such a woman to stand at the head of his home, nothing can measure her value. His heart rests safely in her integrity. He has no need to add to his wealth by spoils, for she will do him good and not evil all the days of his life. She is industrious. She not only works into comfort the wool and flax that are at hand; she seeks to add to her store from the outside world. She does not ask to be kept in idleness. She worketh willingly with her hands. Not content to be a consumer, she becomes a producer. Not satisfied with home production, she brings suitable comforts and luxuries from afar into her home. She is careful in the use of her time. She is not feebly self-indulgent. She riseth while it is yet night to look after her domestic affairs. She is a business woman, knowing the laws that underlie the rise and fall of real estate. She considereth a field, and buyeth it. Then with her hands she planteth a vineyard.

[15]She does not produce inferior goods, neither is she cheated in a bargain. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good. She loves to share her husband’s business burdens, that he may share her society; and they twain are one in service and one in recreation. Like our Lord, she delights not to be ministered unto, but to minister. She is benevolent. Being a recognized producer, she has the luxury of giving of her own means to the poor. She provides well for her household, keeping her dependents in comfort, and even in luxury. As the Revised Version puts it, “She maketh herself carpets of tapestry.” Her own clothing is of the best.

The husband of such a wife has the gentle manners that belong with such a home, and he can but succeed in life. He is known and honored among the best in the land. As her business grows, her products become finer and more expensive; and as she puts them upon the market, her profits increase. This woman is clothed with strength and honor. She has no anxiety about the future. She knows that though her beauty may fade, and her social charms become a thing of the past, her strength and honor will become richer and more glorious as the years go by. “In her tongue is the law of kindness.” She is too busy with her own affairs to look after those of her neighbors. In heathen countries it is a great disgrace for a woman’s voice to be heard in the presence of men. Where women are held back from the real interests that concern them and for which they have so often proved themselves fully qualified, what else could take up their active minds but the pettiness of gossip?

Such are the beautiful tributes paid to women by Solomon, the wisest of men. Nor are the prophets behind in acknowledging the worth and quality of women. Eight hundred years before the Christian era, the prophet Joel wrote, “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams: and on my servants and on my handmaidens I will pour out in those[16] days of my Spirit; and they shall prophesy.” In the Christian dispensation, the daughters as well as the sons were to be filled with the Spirit of God, and the Spirit would use their lips in the declaration of His truth as certainly as the lips of men, and Paul defined prophecy to be speaking “unto men to edification, and exhortation, and comfort.” It has been one of the devices of the evil one to padlock the lips of that half of the race who are most loyal to God and who have the most helpful knowledge of human nature.

Aside from all these high social and spiritual relations of the Hebrew women, they had a legal status. The rights of the Jewish wife were carefully guarded. Her husband was not allowed to go to war for a year after they were married; and though the eastern institution of polygamy was not utterly prohibited, yet it was so restricted that it must not in any way invade the rights and privileges of the wife. If a husband became jealous of his wife’s fidelity, the legal presumptions were all in her favor. The husband was not allowed to inflict summary punishment; but she was subjected to an ordeal which could by no possibility work injury to her, unless through the guilt of her own conscience or the interposition of divine Providence.

As a mother, the Jewish woman must be honored by her children. As a daughter, she had rights and an inheritance. If the wife or daughter uttered rash and foolish vows, the husband or father had a right to disannul them, provided he did it from the day it came to his knowledge. Even the Gentile woman taken captive by a young Israelite warrior must have been surprised to receive treatment so strangely different from that received by captives in her own country, or even among modern nations who profess to be civilized. Her captor could not offer her an insult; she must be taken, not to a prison, but to his home, where she must neither be abused nor outraged, but treated with patient consideration; and she could not be taken, even as a wife, until a full month had elapsed, during which he might secure her affections or reconsider his determination. And if after her marriage she[17] was discontented and made herself disagreeable, she could never again be held as a servant, but must be allowed to go free. Widows, who in heathen lands have been degraded and sometimes murdered or burned, were to be treated with the utmost tenderness. They shared in the tithes, and were admitted to the public festivities. They had a right to glean in the fields and gather up the forgotten sheaves, to gather which the owner was not allowed to go back. Injustice against widows was treated with fearful punishment. “Thou shalt not take the widow’s raiment to pledge” (Deut. xxiv, 17), was a benevolent law which can not be paralleled in any modern code. The command to lend to an Israelite in his poverty was imperative, but no pledge of raiment could be exacted from a widow.

Thus in a variety of ways was the Lord pleased to manifest his kindness and compassion for the fatherless and the widow, and in consequence womanhood was honored and honorable in the Jewish nation, beyond anything known in the heathen world. From the vile and degrading orgies of heathenism the women of Israel were exempt. They feared the Lord, and at his hand received blessings and mercies without number.

Thus it is seen that Hebrew women had rare privileges. They tower like desert palms above the women in pagan lands. In her home she is honored and respected. In India a woman eats her first and last meal with her husband on her wedding day. In the Hebrew home her children are like “olive plants” round her table. In China they may kill their little daughters by the thousands. She has legal rights in her Hebrew home. In all Mohammedan lands a man has the same power over the life of his wife that he has over the life of his horse.

What makes this difference? We answer, It is God’s thought of womanhood, for there was nothing in the Hebrew men to bring about such thoughtful consideration. There were periods in the history of the Hebrew nation when they departed from God, and sank into the vices of the heathens[18] around them. It was during these periods that womanhood was degraded to that of their pagan sisters. There were times when the Hebrews had taken on heathen manners to such an extent as to regard it a disgrace for a rabbi to recognize his wife if he met her on the street. It was commonly said that he was a fool who attempted the religious instruction of a woman, and the words of the law had better be burned than given to a woman.

So it was not Hebrew manhood that saved the daughters of Israel from the suicidal injustice practiced among the heathens, but the sure Word of God. Under its wise provisions and recognized equality they became prophetesses, leaders of armies, and judges. And they taught a pure morality, trained their children according to principles of justice and righteousness, and lived in expectation and hope of the coming of the Messiah in whom all the nations of the earth were to be blessed.

And above all, Christ was the true Friend of womanhood. No teacher in any age of the world or in any land ever taught woman as He did, when He came that glorious morning to Jacob’s well, or in the house of Simon the Pharisee, when the sin-stained woman of the street, who had unobserved entered the banquet hall, and taken up her position at the feet of Jesus, and there poured out the great sorrow of her heart in a paroxysm of humble and grateful love, and bathed His feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, anointing them also with ointment, when He personally addressed her and said, “Thy sins are forgiven.” How beautiful is all this, and how grandly these women showed their gratitude and appreciation by following Him and ministering unto “Him of their substance.” They were last at the cross and first at the tomb, and first to publish the Saviour’s resurrection.

From that day to this, women owe their spiritual elevation and their opportunities of usefulness to the recognition Christ gave them in His ministry. In all places untouched by Christian light they are not sure that they have souls. Where[19] the light shines clearly they have equal rights with the men by whose side they are privileged to labor for God’s glory. This being so, how ought they to love God, and in every way possible, spread the light of Christianity through all the earth. We would say to every woman who loves her Lord, the field is wide enough, and opportunities present themselves in every passing hour, therefore, if you have a message which will help and bless some struggling soul heavenward, tell it.

With these brief, introductory words, we come to our subject proper. And should you, dear woman, whom we seek to glorify in the following pages, be blessed and comforted in the unfolding of God’s love towards womanhood, and your own faith take a firmer hold upon the Father’s thought of you, do not, after reading this book, put it away in your book-case, but place it in the hands of some tempted, discouraged, struggling soul, and thereby let others become sharers of the same helpful words, and, possibly, in so doing, you may not only save precious souls, but add many stars to your own crown of life.

As ever, respectfully,
THE AUTHOR.

    Albany, N. Y.

[20]

Perhaps there never lived a woman who has been “talked about” so much as this first woman in White Raiment, for who has not said, If Eve had not been beguiled into a violation of the one commandment by partaking of the fruit of the forbidden tree, we would all be as happy and sinless as was she and her husband before that act of disobedience. But we shall miss the great lesson Eve’s experience intended to convey if we fail to recognize that God put humanity on probation, and the fact of the first temptation is the symbol of every temptation; the fact of the first fall is the symbol of every transgression; the great mistake that lay in the first sin is the symbol of every effect of sin.

After the Lord God had formed man, we read that He “planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there He put the man.” What pen could describe the garden of the Lord’s planting? There were splashing fountains. There were woodbine, and honeysuckles, and morning-glories climbing over the wall, and daisies, and buttercups, and strawberries in the grass. There were paths with mountain mosses, bordered with pearls and diamonds. Here and there cooling streams sparkled in the sunlight or made sweet music as they fell over ledges and rippled away under the overstretching shadows of palm trees or fig orchards, and their[22] threads of silver finally lost amid the fruitage of orange groves. Trees and shrubs of infinite variety added their beauty to the many picturesque scenes everywhere spread out. In the midst of the overhanging foliage were all the bright birds of heaven, and they stirred the air with infinite chirp and carol. Never since have such skies looked down through such leaves into such waters. Never has river wave had such curve and sheen and bank as adorned the Pison, the Havilah, the Gihon and the Hiddekel, even the pebbles being bdellium and onyx stone. What fruits, with no curculio to sting the rind! What flowers, with no slug to gnaw the root! What atmosphere, with no frost to chill and with no heat to consume! Bright colors tangled in the grass. Perfume filled the air. Music thrilled the sky. Great scenes of gladness and love and joy spread out in every direction.

We know not how long, perhaps ever since this man had been created in the “image” of his God, he had wandered through this Eden home, had watched the brilliant pageantry of wings and scales and clouds, and may have noticed that the robins fly the air in twos, and that the fish swim the waters in twos, and that the lions walk the fields in twos, and as he saw the merry, abounding life of his subject creatures, every one perfectly fitted to its environment, and each mated with another of the same instincts and methods of living, he felt the isolation of his own self-involved being, and, possibly, a shadow of loneliness may have crept into his face, and God saw it. And so He said, “It is not good that the man should be alone.” So “He caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam,” as if by allegory to teach all ages that the greatest of earthly blessings is sound sleep.

When he awoke, a most beautiful being, the crowning glory of creation, stood beside him, looking at him with heaven in her eyes, her exquisite form draped with perfect feminine grace and strength. As Adam looked into the face of this immaculate daughter of God, this Woman in White Raiment, he said, “This is now bone of my bones, and flesh[23] of my flesh. She shall be called Woman” (Hebrew Isha), because God had clothed in separate flesh the gentler and more conscientious part of Adam’s nature, that it might share the work and bliss of Paradise.

How long that first married pair lived in Paradise we are not informed. The story of their disastrous disobedience is given in as few words as possible. Eve may have sauntered out one beautiful morning and as she looked up at the fruit of the various trees of the garden must have recognized “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” and doubtless she had heard Adam say that this was the forbidden tree, and possibly may have cautioned her, “For,” said he, the Lord had said, “in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.” As she looked up at the tree and saw the beautiful fruit hanging on the branches, she may have admired its bright, fresh color without any thought of evil in her heart. It is the characteristic of woman to admire the beautiful. Indeed her finer feelings can better appreciate than man, the blendings of color and shadings that combine to give expression to the beautiful.

But it was Satan’s moment. We do not know how long he had been in hiding among the recesses of the garden waiting for just such an opportunity. Quickly he entered a serpent, which, it is declared, “was more subtle than any beast of the field,” and came up to Eve as she admired the tree and its fruit, and in most questioning surprise said, “Yea hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” The query is very cautiously made, expressing great surprise: Yea, truly, can it be possible? The query, with its questioning surprise, had in it now a yes, and now a no, according to the connection. This is the first striking feature in the beginning of the temptation. The temptation of Christ, in the wilderness, was very similar to this. Satan twice challenged our Lord on the point of his divine Sonship: “If thou be the Son of God.” As if he had said, “You claim to be the Son of God, I doubt it, and challenge the claim. If you are, prove it by doing what I suggest.”[24] This was also a blow at the confession of God Himself, “This is My beloved Son.” So here, Satan, in the most cautious manner, would excite doubt in the mind of Eve. Then the expression also aims to awaken mistrust at the goodness and wisdom of God, and so weaken the force of the temptation. As if he had said, “What, not eat of every tree of the garden? I doubt it. Such a prohibition seems unreasonable.”

Here Eve would assure the tempter that she was not mistaken in regard to the prohibition. “We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden. But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die.” Notice the Italic words are added by Eve to the command of God concerning the tree. No doubt, as she stood there admiring the tree, the monitor of her heart kept saying, “Don’t touch it, don’t touch it,” and, in her guileless simplicity, she adds the words to the prohibition. And yet by this very addition does her first wavering disguise itself under the form of an overdoing obedience. The first failure is her not observing the point of the temptation, and allowing herself to be drawn into an argument with the tempter; the second, that she makes the prohibition stronger than it really is, and thus lets it appear that to her, too, the prohibition seems too strict; the third that she weakens the prohibition by reducing it to the lesser caution. God had said, “Thou shalt surely die.” She reduces it to “lest ye die,” thus making the motive of obedience to be predominantly the fear of death.

Her tempter, who could quote Scripture to our Lord in his second temptation, after he had failed in the first, was quick to take up the woman’s rendering of the prohibition, and makes answer, “Ye shall not surely die!” What an advance over the first suggestion, “Yea, hath God said.” No doubt he had noted her wavering, and, instead of turning promptly away from the author of her wavering, saw her disposed to inform him of what God had said concerning this “tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” and he promptly steps out from the area of cautious craft into that of a reckless denial[25] of the truth of God’s prohibition, and a malicious suspicion of its object. Eve had not repeated the words of the prohibition, and of the penalty, in its double or intensive form, but Satan repeats it, in blasphemous mockery, as though he had heard it in some other way, and stoutly denies the truth of the threatening, that is, the doubt becomes unbelief.

The way, however, is not prepared for the unbelief without first arousing a feeling of distrust in respect to God’s love, His righteousness, and even His power. So the tempter denies all evil consequences as arising from the forbidden enjoyment, whilst, on the contrary, he promises the best and most glorious results from the same. “Instead of your eyes closing in death,” he said, “they shall be opened.” The tempter would have the woman believe that, in eating of the fruit, she would become wonderfully enlightened, and, at the same time, raised to a divine glory—“shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” And so, in like manner, is every sin a false and senseless belief in the salutary effects of sin.

We tremble for Eve at this point of her interview with her tempter. It is an awful moment, a moment in which her own happiness and that of her husband’s and all the generations of earth are in the balances.

“And when the woman saw.” She was now looking at the tree and its fruit from a far different standpoint from that in the morning. She beheld it now with a look made false by the distorted application of God’s prohibition by her tempter. In fact, she had become enchanted by the distorted construction put upon God’s plain commandment. The satanic promises seemed to have driven the threatening of that prohibition out of her thought. Now she beholds the tree with other eyes. Three times, it is said, how charming the tree appeared to her.

But where has Adam been all this time? Doubtless he was busy with his duties, for God had set him “to dress and to keep” the garden in which he had been placed. He may have seen Eve passing down one of the beautiful paths of the garden in her morning walk, beguiled by the splash of[26] the fountains, the song of the birds, and the beauty of the flowers at her feet. He may have observed her stay longer than usual, and so turned aside from his duties to see what had become of her, and following down the path over which he had last seen her disappear among the trees and shrubbery of the garden, soon came to the place where “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil” stood, and then, from the lips of his own pure, sweet wife, learned what had taken place. Possibly she was holding the very fruit of which she had said, “neither shall ye touch it,” in her hands, admiring its beauty and wondering how it tasted. And, while examining the fruit, she told her husband what had passed between her and her tempter, and as she finished her story she said, “I do not think there can be any harm in my just breaking the rind of it, to see how it looks inside.” Prompted by womanly curiosity, she broke open the fruit, and, before she was really conscious, she “did eat!” “Why, how nice!” she exclaimed, at the same time handing the other half to her husband. As a good gardener, he would naturally share the curiosity of his wife to taste this fruit, “and he did eat!”

The next statement we have, “And the eyes of them both were opened.” But how were they opened? Each of them had two good eyes before eating the fruit; in fact, Eve had been admiring the fruit as it hung among the branches of the tree, and as she had turned it over in her hands. Before they tasted they saw with their natural eyes. Now they see with a higher knowledge of sense—there is added a con-sense—a conscience or self-consciousness. In the relation between the antecedent here and what followed there evidently lies a terrible irony. The promise of the tempter becomes half fulfilled, though, indeed, in a sadly different sense from what they had supposed. They had attained, in consequence, to a moral insight. Self-consciousness was awakened with their knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil. It belongs to the very beginning of moral cognition and development.

[27]How strange it all is. Eden full of trees, fruits of every kind, luscious and satisfying, but, excited by false and wicked statements in respect to the prohibition of the fruit of one tree, she straightway desires to taste for herself, and that curiosity blasted her and blasted all nations. And thousands in every generation, inspired by unhealthful inquisitiveness, have tried to look through the keyhole of God’s mysteries—mysteries that were barred and bolted from all human inspection—and they have wrenched their whole moral nature out of joint by trying to pluck fruit from branches beyond their reach.

We may also learn that fruits which are sweet to the taste may afterward produce great agony. Forbidden fruit for Eve was so pleasant she invited her husband also to take of it; but her banishment from paradise and years of sorrow and wretchedness and woe paid for that luxury.

Sometimes people plead for just one indulgence in sin. There can be no harm to go to this or that forbidden place just once. Doubtless that one Edenic transgression did not seem to be much, but it struck a blow which to this day makes the earth stagger. To find out the consequences of that one sin you would have to compel the world to throw open all its prison doors and display the crime, throw open all its hospitals and display the disease, throw open all the insane asylums and show the wretchedness, open all the sepulchres and show the dead, open all the doors of the lost world and show the damned. That one Edenic transgression stretched chords of misery across the heart of the world and struck them with dolorous wailing, and it has seated the plagues upon the air and the shipwrecks upon the tempest, and fastened, like a leech, famine to the heart of the sick and dying nations. Beautiful at the start, horrible at the last. Oh, how many have experienced it! Beware of entertaining temptations to first sins! Turn away and flee for thy life to the sure and only Refuge—Christ Jesus.

In the cool of the day, as the evening hours drew on, Adam and Eve “heard the voice of the Lord God walking[28] in the garden.” They were used to hearing that voice walking in the garden in the cool of the day. Eden had become a dear spot to the heart of their Father, and doubtless He often came down to converse with them. So now He seeks companionship with the majestic human masterpieces of His creation. And why should he not?

But, passing strange! instead of running to Him out of their Eden home, as doubtless they had been wont to do, “Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden.” This act, no doubt, was prompted by self-consciousness and the shame and guilt which it brought. So we clearly see that sin separates from God. They had pronounced judgment upon their transgression by their very conduct. Instead of meeting God as they had been doing, a feeling of distrust and servile fear entered their hearts, and a sense of the loss of their spiritual purity, together with the false notion that they can hide themselves from God. And so it has come to pass that ever since the first transgression men have been hiding from God, running away from his presence.

“And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?” The Lord is the first to break the silence; the first to seek erring humanity. Not for His own sake does God direct this inquiry, for He knew where Adam was, but that Adam might take courage and open his mouth in confession—it was an invitation to tell the whole sad story. But, instead, he multiplies the difficulties by his answer, “I was afraid, because I was naked.” That is to say, Adam, instead of confessing the sin, sought to hide behind its consequences, and his disobedience behind his feeling of shame. His answer to the interrogation is far from the real cause of the change that had come over his conduct, which was sin, and made his consciousness of nakedness to be the reason. To still make Adam see the true reason for his hiding, God farther asked, “Hast thou eaten of the tree whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldst not eat?” Observe this question is so framed as to[29] contain in it the eating and the tree from which he ate, and could have been answered with, “Yes!” How easy God made it for Adam to confess. But, alas! How far from it. He answered, “The woman whom thou gavest unto me, she gave me of the tree and I did eat.” How deep the root of sin had taken hold upon Adam’s heart. What does he say in this answer? Why this, he acknowledged the guilt, but indirectly charges God as the author of the calamity. Eve is referred to as “the woman” who is the author of his sin, and, since she was given to him by the hand of the Lord, therefore it is the Lord’s fault, for if He had not given her to Adam, he would not have partaken of the forbidden tree! How passing strange is all this. And yet that is just what men are doing after six thousand years of experience with sin. Instead of breaking away from it, they say, God put it before them, and they could not resist the temptation to sin. The loss of love that comes out in this interposing of the wife is, moreover, particularly observable in this, that he grudges to call her Eve (Isha—married) or my wife.

Failing to return unto God by way of confession, the Lord next deals with Adam in judgment. “Cursed is the ground for thy sake ... thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.” The very soil he had been sent to cultivate, and to carry forward in a normal unfolding, to imperishable life and spiritual glory, is now cursed for his sake, and therewith changed to that of hostility to him. Referring to the curse upon mankind, in consequence of the fall, Hugh MacMillan has called attention to the remarkable fact that weeds, the curse of the cultivator, accompany civilization. “There is one peculiarity about weeds which is very remarkable,” says this writer, “namely, that they only appear on ground which either by cultivation or for some other purpose, has been disturbed by man. They are never found truly wild, in woods or hills, or uncultivated wastes far away from human dwellings. They never grow on virgin soil, where human beings have never been. No weeds exist in those parts of the earth that are uninhabited, or[30] where man is only a passing visitant.” And what is true of mother earth is in a sense true of the human heart. The youthful mind no sooner awakes to thought and reason, than it gives evidence of abundance of weeds. In surprise the mother asks where the little one has learned disobedience and questions how so young a mind can assert such strong opposition to wholesome discipline.

And now, lest a worse calamity should fall on Adam and his wife, by stretching forth their hands “and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever,” God “drove out the man” from Eden, and placed “cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.” The act of driving Adam and Eve out of Eden has always been looked upon as a harsh measure. If, however, we stop to reflect what awful consequences would have followed the rash act of eating of the tree of life, we shall see that it was an act of mercy. For, after placing himself under the law of sin, what endless sorrow would have come upon the race, if men could not be removed by death. Think of such human monsters as history has time and again produced. Men and women degraded by thousands of years in sin would indeed be dangerous characters. So God cut off this possibility by guarding the tree of life.

But there came a great change over all life. Beasts that before were harmless and full of play put forth claw and sting and tooth and tusk. Birds whet their beak for prey, clouds troop in the sky, sharp thorns shoot up through the soft grass, blastings are on the leaves. All the chords of that great harmony are snapped. Upon the brightest home this world ever saw our first parents turned their back and led forth on a path of sorrow the broken-hearted myriads of a ruined race.[31]

THE ACCEPTED OFFERING.

When Eve looked into the face of her first-born, she remembered the words of the Lord, in His judgment upon Satan, “I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shalt bruise thy head and thou shalt bruise his heel,” and, misunderstanding the meaning of the promise, she called him Cain, meaning, “I have gotten a man from the Lord,” mistaking him for the Redeemer. But how bitter must have been her disappointment as she saw the child grow up, saw his characteristics manifest themselves in acts of hatefulness and revenge. However, but little is said of Cain and his younger brother Abel, until they bring their offerings to the Lord. We read that Abel was a “keeper of sheep,” and Cain was a “tiller of the ground.” While it is not stated, we must believe[32] these brothers knew what was, and what was not, an acceptable offering to the Lord, that Cain could easily have exchanged his fruits of the soil for a lamb of Abel’s flock. Evidently Cain was lacking in that fine moral insight which would lead him to have respect as to the nature of the sacrifice necessary to atone for sin. There must be the shed blood of the victim, for, “without shedding of blood,” there is no remission. Either Cain did not regard himself a sinner, or, if he did, he thought one sacrifice as good as another, and so he brings “of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the Lord.” God could not accept this act of disobedience. Because his offering was rejected, and seeing Abel’s offering accepted, Cain rose up and slew his brother. He failed to shed the blood of a lamb for his sin, but was quick to shed the blood of his brother, and thereby add to his sin. But what a crushing blow was this to the hopes of the mother heart who had supposed that her first-born was the promised “seed.” How she must have broken down under her sorrow, as she saw the blood dripping from Cain’s fingers, and that, too, the blood of his own brother. And sadder still as she looked upon the face of death for the first time. However she might have understood the lying words of her tempter, “Ye shall not surely die,” she now sees in the lifeless body of her second child, the awful reality of death. And when the first grave was made, how she must have daily wept over the precious mound, not only over this her first experience in bitter bereavement, but also over the circumstances under which it was brought about, and as she plants the flowers on the tomb, she fancies she hears the blood of the innocent victim continually crying unto heaven to be avenged. Oh, the bitter, bitter fruits of disobedience, who can know to what misery they bring us?

And then also observe Cain’s conduct in this awful crime. God’s arraignment of this fratricide was analogous to that of Adam and Eve. But Cain evades every acknowledgment of it. He not only tells a barefaced falsehood, but in a most impudent manner asks, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”[33] What a fearful advance on the timid explanations of Adam’s transgression as he spoke to the Lord out of his hiding place. How men should tremble at the very thought of sin.

But the sorrowing Eve took heart once more in the birth of Seth, “for,” said she, “God hath appointed another seed instead of Abel.” So hope in the heart, like the perpetual altar fires in the sacrifices of the temple, seemed to sing a sweet song of comfort, and every child born seemed to outweigh the bitter disappointments in the realization of the promised Redeemer.

With this hope in the heart of Eve, and this beautiful language upon her lips, the Scripture account closes. How long she lived after the birth of Seth we are not informed, but of this we are assured, she believed God in His promise of the Messiah. That she misunderstood when that promise was to be realized, is quite evident, but there is every reason to believe she died in the faith of its ultimate realization, for she judged God to be righteous in the promise.

What is the lesson the loss of Paradise has for us? Plainly this: The perverted use of things good in themselves. Eve saw that the tree was pleasant to the eyes. From that day to this there have been women who would throw their health, their home happiness, their chance of training their children for God, their life, their honor, their hope of heaven, into a cauldron out of which might be brought something pleasant to the eyes. Eyes are good, useful and necessary, but we need to make a covenant with them not to see more than is good for our souls.

After she saw, she “desired.” This would seem to imply that the real source of all sin is in the spirit of our own desires. The last of the Ten Commandments strikes down to the very tap-root of all evil, “Thou shalt not covet.” All sin commences with the kindling of desire. The apostle James gives us the pedigree, “Every man is tempted when he is turned away of his own lust and enticed; then, when lust and desire hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin, and[34] sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.” The secret of victory, therefore, is not to allow the mind and heart to dwell for a moment upon any forbidden thing. The whole modern life is terribly fitted to stimulate unholy desire. The little child is taught from infancy to covet the vain and glittering attractions of the world—dress, equipage, pleasure, praise, fashion, display and a thousand worldly allurements. The city bill boards are covered with nude harlots. There are no less than 200,000 houses for these social outcasts in our fair land. These open gateways to immorality, where the virtue of the nation is ground out, are not only guarded by police force, but young girls by the 100,000 a year are stolen from country homes by the paid agents, and sold into these open dens of vice and crime, where these poor girls die in a short time, the average length of this life of sin being only five years. And still the people have not a word to say for the suppression of these crime-breeding dens of vice, but legalize and protect them by law to the ruin of our homes. These are the things that are eating out the spiritual life of the nation, and for that reason many do not want to retain the thought of God in their hearts. Hence the responsibilities of life are pressing upon us. As you have seen the child trundling its little hoop by touching it on both sides alternately to keep it from either extreme, so God teaches us both with warning and with promise, as our spiritual condition requires. Sometimes it is warning we need, and He shouts in our ear the solemn admonition, as a mother would cry to her babe in wild alarm if in danger of falling over the precipice. But, again, when we are in danger of being too much depressed, He speaks to us with notes of encouragement and promise, and tells us there is no real danger of our failing utterly, and that He will never suffer us to be tempted above what we are able. And so we hear Him saying on one hand, “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall;” but immediately after adding on the other side, “God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able, but will,[35] with the temptation, make a way of escape that ye may be able to bear it.”

We are also impressed with the influence woman has for good or evil. What we need as a nation is consecrated womanhood. When at last we come to calculate the forces that decide the destiny of nations, it will be found that the mightiest and grandest influence came from home, where the wife cheered up despondency and fatigue and sorrow by her own sympathy, and the mother trained her child for heaven, starting the little feet on the path to the celestial city, and the sisters, by their gentleness, refined the manners of the brother, and the daughters were diligent in their kindness to the aged, throwing wreaths of blessing on the road that led father and mother down the steep of years. God bless our homes. And may the home on earth be the vestibule of our home in heaven.

From the prominence given to Eve in connection with the temptation and the overwhelming disasters which followed the loss of the Eden home in Paradise, we are surprised the Sacred historian passes over a period of about two thousand years without giving us any record of women. The names of good men are mentioned. Enoch walked before God for over three hundred years, and the walk was such a perfect one, and it pleased God so well, that He translated Enoch. Noah also “found grace in the eyes of the Lord,” and he was “a just man and perfect in his generations,” and “walked with God,” doubtless as Enoch had done. No doubt there were others who lived clean, pure lives. Of this number was Lamech, the father of Noah, for he was comforted in the birth of his son, saying, he “shall comfort us concerning our work and toil of our hands, because of the ground which the Lord hath cursed.” Surely such men must have had good mothers to train them, and good wives for companions. But nothing is said about these women that walked in White Raiment in that dark and sinful age, when “all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth,” until Sarah, the fair wife of Abraham, is reached.

We find this beautiful princess willing to leave her home and her people in the land of Ur of the Chaldees and journey[37] for more than a thousand miles to the land of Canaan. However, this journey was not a continuous one, for a long stop was made at Haran, in Mesopotamia, perhaps half way between Ur and Palestine.

Of her birth and parentage we have no certain account in Scripture. In Gen. xx, 12, Abraham speaks of her as “his sister, the daughter of the same father, but not the daughter of the same mother.” The Hebrew tradition is that Sarai is the same as Iscah, the daughter of Haran. This tradition is not improbable in itself, and certainly supplies the account of the descent of the mother of the chosen race.

The change of her name from Sarai to Sarah was made on the establishment of the covenant of circumcision between Abraham and God, and signifies “princess,” for she was to be the royal ancestress of “all families of the earth.”

The beautiful fidelity of this noble woman is shown in her willingness to accompany her husband in all the wanderings of his life. Her home in Mesopotamia was gladly and willingly exchanged for a tent, and that tent was often taken down and set up during the nomadic life which formed the basis of the patriarchal age. God intended to set forth in Abraham not only the thought that here man has no continuing city, but also the life of faith. And this faith of Abraham is distinguished from the faith of the pious ancestors in this, that he obtained and held the promises of salvation, not only for himself, but for his family; and from the Mosaic system, by the fact that it expressly held the promised blessing in the seed of Abraham, as a blessing for all people. But this faith had not only to be developed, but also tested. It is beautiful to read that Abraham believed God, but his faith when he went down into Egypt was far from that when he went “into the land of Moriah” to offer up Isaac. Nothing is plainer in the Bible than that a man’s faith is not a matter of indifference. He can not be disobedient to God’s calls, and yet go to heaven when he dies. This is not an arbitrary decision. There is and must be an adequate ground for it. The rejection of God’s dealings with us is as[38] clear a proof of moral depravity, as inability to see the light of the sun at noon is a proof of blindness.

Now let us look at a few of these testings or trials of faith that came into the life of this woman in White Raiment, this princess in Israel. She was asked to give up her native land. How dear the fatherland is to the heart, only those who have passed through the experience can realize. This was not all. She was asked to give up her kindred. To move away from all the associations of childhood and youth, requires a brave heart. But she was also asked to give up her home, and what is dearer to a woman’s heart than her home? We have no doubt Sarah’s home by the beautiful streams that flow down from the high table-lands of Armenia into the rich valleys of Mesopotamia, was a lovely one, and to exchange it for tent-life was a brave sacrifice. Her love to God must have been deep and constant.

After a long, weary journey through the desert sands, the land of promise is finally reached, only to find it afflicted with a famine. How often Sarah must have longed for one look out over the fig orchards, the olive yards and waving grain fields ripening in the summer’s sun of her native Mesopotamia, as she looked out over the barren hills, burned-up fields, and dried-up water courses of Palestine. Night after night, Abraham’s tent is pitched, only to be taken down in the morning, in quest of pasturage for their herds and flocks, until the wilderness in the southern extremity of Canaan is reached. How all this must have tested their faith. Had they not mistaken the call of God? Is it possible that this parched land is the land of promise? How disappointments and failures test our faith, and the heart of poor Sarah must have been sorely tried.

But there was yet another test, and a humiliating one at that, and it seems to look as if their united faith was wavering. She was a beautiful woman, and they were now upon the very borders of Egypt, and there was no other alternative but to perish with famine or to go down into the land of the Pharaohs. Both Abraham and Sarah seemed to realize[39] the hazard they were running, for, possibly, the bloom and beauty of Sarah’s face might cost Abraham’s life. So they agreed between them that Sarah should say that she was his sister, lest he should be killed. The declaration was not false. She was his half-sister, but it was not the whole truth, and it would seem, from their present conduct, that their faith, tested by the famine, was now wavering, for, why not appeal their cause to God, instead of taking it into their own hands? The reason for resorting to this deception was, if she was regarded as his wife, an Egyptian could only obtain her, when he had first murdered her husband. But if she was his sister, then there was a hope that she might be won from her brother by loving attentions and costly gifts, or, if her beauty came to the notice of Pharaoh she would be taken to his harem by arbitrary methods. They had not reasoned in vain. The princes of the land saw her, “and commended her before Pharaoh,” and “Sarah was taken into Pharaoh’s house.”

It is hard for us to understand what a trial of her faith this harem life must have been to the pure-minded Sarah. How often her mind must have gone out over the stretches of desert wastes to her own land abounding with streams and fertility. And to be conscious that the charms of her person were the centre of attraction in the court of Egypt.

But all this time God’s eye was a witness to all that was passing. When we get to the end of self, He always comes to our rescue—our extremity is His opportunity. In her resided the religious disposition in the highest measure, and just at a time when the nations appeared about to sink into heathenism, hence her faith must be saved to the race, so “the Lord plagued Pharaoh with great plagues,” that is to say, God administered “blow on blow,” and these were of such a nature as to guard Sarah from injury. At length the ruler of the land, whose heart does not seem to be hardened like the later kings, concludes that his punishment is for the sake of Sarah, and restores her to Abraham.

[40]After Abraham had separated from Lot, the Lord again appeared unto him, at which time Abraham complained for the want of an heir. So the Lord leads Abraham out of his tent, under the heavens as seen by night, and in that land of blue skies, the night heavens are beautiful indeed. God had promised at first one natural heir, but now the countless stars which he sees, should both represent the innumerable seed which should spring from this one heir, and at the same time be a warrant for his faith.

At this point the human element again seeks to aid in bringing about the realization of the divine promise. The childless state of Abraham’s house was its great sorrow, and the more so, since it was in perpetual opposition to the calling, destination, and faith of Abraham, and was a constant trial of his faith. Sarah herself, doubtless, came gradually more and more, on account of her barrenness, to appear as a hindrance to the fulfillment of the divine promise, and as Abraham had already fixed his eye upon his head servant, Eliezer of Damascus, so now Sarah fixes her eye upon her head maid, Hagar the Egyptian. It must be this maid not only had mental gifts which qualified her for the prominent place she occupied in the household, but also inward participation in the faith of her mistress. So Hagar is substituted, for, in the substitution, Sarah hopes to carry forward the divine purpose of the family. In this she certainly practiced an act of heroic self-denial, but still, in her womanly excitement, anticipated her destiny as Eve had done, and carried even Abraham away with her alluring hope. Though she greatly erred in this effort to assist God in bringing in the realization of the promise, and thereby revealed a lack of faith in the divine appointments, yet we have here a beautiful exhibition of her heroic self-denial even in her error. Perhaps, viewed from the human standpoint, we should here bring into our narrative also, the fact, that they had been already ten years in Canaan, and Sarah was now seventy-five years of age, waiting in vain for the heir, through whom the great blessing was to come to all the families of the earth.

[41]However, in all this, Sarah, the noble generous hearted, had not counted upon the conduct Hagar would assume in her new relation. As an Egyptian, Hagar seemed to have regarded herself as second wife, instead of recognizing her subordination to her mistress. This subordination seems to have been assumed by Abraham, and hence the apparent indifference probably was the source of Sarah’s sense of injury, when she exclaimed, “My wrong be upon thee.” She felt that Abraham ought to have redressed her wrong—ought to have seen and rebuked the insolence of the maid. Beyond a doubt, looking at the pride and insolence of Hagar, from Sarah’s standpoint, it was very trying. The Hebrews regarded barrenness as a great evil and a divine punishment, while fruitfulness was held as a great good and a divine blessing. The unfruitful Hannah received the like treatment with Sarah, from the second wife of Elkanah. It is still thus, to-day, in eastern lands. With almost the tenderness of Elkanah to the sorrowing Hannah, Abraham says, “Behold the maid is in thy hand.” He regards Hagar still as the servant, and the one who fulfills the part of Sarah. But now the overbent bow flies back with violence. This is the back stroke of her own eager, overstrained course. Sarah now turns and deals harshly with Hagar. How precisely, we are not told. Doubtless, through the harsh thrusting her back into the mere position and service of a slave. But Hagar, it appears, would not submit to such treatment. She, perhaps, believed that she had grown above such a position, and fled from the presence of Sarah.

What need was there for Sarah to learn the lesson of the patience of faith. God had promised her great honors and blessings. There was in her nature much that needed toning up by the grace of patience, and God would take his own best time in developing her life. Her haste to anticipate the blessing promised, not only delayed its realization, but brought sorrow to her own heart, and untold trouble to her posterity, for Ishmael’s hand has been “against every man, and every man’s hand against him.” The Ishmaelites,[42] it is said, “dwelt from Havilah unto Shur,” and it is certain that they stretched in very early times across the desert to the Persian Gulf, peopled the north and west of the Arabian peninsula, and eventually formed the chief element of the Arab nation, which has proved to be a living fountain of humanity whose streams for thousands of years have poured themselves far and wide. Its tribes are found in all the borders of Asia, in the East Indies, in all Northern Africa, along the whole Indian Ocean down to Molucca, they are spread along the coast to Mozambique, and their caravans cross India to China. These wandering hordes of the desert have always and still lead a robber life. They justify themselves in it, upon the ground of the hard treatment of Ishmael, their father, who, driven out of his paternal inheritance, received the desert for his possession, with the permission to take whatever he could find. Mohammed is in the line of Ishmael, and the followers of Islam, in their pride and delusion, claim that the rights of primogeniture belong to Ishmael instead of Isaac, and assert their right to lands and goods, so far as it pleases them. Vengeance for blood rules in them, and the innocent have often fallen victims to their horrible massacres. So that the disaster which overtook the race in this premature anticipation of divine Providence is second only to the disaster that overtook Eve in the temptation and the loss of Paradise. Could Sarah have foreseen all the sad consequences of her unseemly haste to pluck the unripened promise God meant to give her, she certainly would have cultivated the patience of faith.

But the years passed on—fifteen of them nearly—since the child Ishmael had been in the home of the patriarch, and the visit of the angels under the Oaks in the plain of Mamre. During this time God had once more renewed his promise to Abraham, and also the rite of circumcision had been established, and, doubtless, the symbolical purification of Abraham and his house, opened the way for the friendly appearance of Jehovah in the persons of the angels, or men, as the patriarch at first thought them to be, as he looked up,[43] while seated in his tent door through the heat of the noontide hours.

When he saw the angels, “he ran to meet them,” and, it seems, instantly recognized among the three the one whom he addressed as the Lord, and who afterwards was clearly distinguished from the two accompanying angels. “If now,” Abraham asks, “I have found favor in Thy sight, pass not away.” This cordial invitation, while it has in it the marked hospitality of Orientals, to the inner consciousness of Abraham it had a deeper meaning, the covenant relation between himself and Jehovah, that is, he hopes this relation is still continued. His humble and pressing invitation, his zealous preparations, his modest description of the meal, his standing by to serve those who were eating, are picturesque traits of the life of faith as it here reveals itself, in an exemplary hospitality. This is the custom still in Eastern lands, and is referred to by our Lord in that passage where He speaks of His second coming, and shall find His people watching, for He will “make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them” (Luke xii, 37), and seems to be one of the countless instances where, in the web of the Holy Scriptures, the golden threads of the Old Testament are interwoven with those of the New, and form, as it were, one whole. And the fact that this beautiful custom of hospitality is still observed among the Bedouins, as we can speak from personal knowledge, is remarkable, and impresses us with the thought that the covenant blessings, like some sweet, heavenly fruitage, refuses to be lost out of the lives of that ancient people.

The meal having been served in this beautiful Oriental manner, the Lord asks, “Where is Sarah?” Abraham made answer, “Behold, in the tent.” Then the Angel of the Lord, not only renews the promise, but that it should be fully realized in the birth of Isaac within a year. Sarah, behind the tent door, hears this unqualified assurance, but, viewing it from nature’s standpoint, rendered doubly improbable from her life-long barrenness, “laughed within herself.”[44] We can not regard this as a laugh of unbelief, or the scoff of doubt, as some do, but as a laugh falling short in her conception of God. The thing which was impossible according to the established laws of nature, her faith had not yet grasped as being possible with God. But the Lord, nevertheless, observed Sarah’s laugh, and this divine hearing on the part of the Angel of the Lord, startled her, and had its part in the strengthening of her faith. It prepared the way for the question, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” To her own mind one thing, namely, that she should be a mother at ninety years of age, seemed too hard. And so the question had to do with this very thought, and must be settled on the side of her faith. And she grandly and heroically asserted her belief that nothing, not even the seeming insurmountable obstacle which nature interposed, was too great for God to overcome, and her faith was strengthened, for we read, “through faith Sarah received strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age, because she judged Him faithful who had promised” (Heb. xi, 11). The trial of her patience of faith was a long struggle. It took twenty-five years to bring her up to the point where her faith could grasp the truth that nothing was too hard for the Lord to perform. But this blessed woman at length stood in right relation to God, for, without faith, be it observed, it is impossible to please God, or to receive anything at His hands.

In due time Isaac was born. It was the great event in Sarah’s life. As the mother looked down into the face of the son of her bosom she breaks forth in an exultant song of thankfulness, not unlike that of Mary, the blessed virgin. The little song of Sarah, it has beautifully been said, is the first cradle hymn. Our Lord reveals the profoundest source of this joy, when, in addressing the Pharisees, who held Abraham to be their father, said, “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day.” Sarah, in the birth of Isaac, is the ancestress of Christ. Spiritually viewed, the birthday of Isaac becomes the door or entrance of the day of Christ,[45] and the day of Christ the background of the birthday of Isaac.

Another beautiful incident in connection with the childhood of Isaac is, that Sarah, his mother, even at her advanced age and exalted station in life, did not deem it a burden to nurse him. Calvin has well said, “Whom God counts worthy of the honor of being a mother He at the same time makes a nurse; and those who feel themselves burdened through the nursing of their children, rend, as far as in them lies, the sacred bond of nature, unless weakness, or some infirmities, form their excuse.”

But along with the growing child is the mocking Ishmael. He was fourteen years of age at the birth of Isaac, and therefore in the first years of Isaac, appears as a playful lad, and true to his nature, doubtless developed a characteristic trait of jealousy which would not escape the ever watchful eye of Sarah, as she observed his dancing and leaping, and now and then making hateful faces at the mother’s darling, mocking his childish fears and appeals to the mother for protection. This seems to have been endured by Sarah until the great feast day, held to celebrate the weaning of Isaac. Seeing special attention paid to Isaac by all the invited guests, his jealousy suddenly developed into envy, and this, in turn, found expression in mockery. Sarah could endure these mockings no longer, for to her sensitive nature, Ishmael’s mocking the child of promise was but the outward expression of his unbelief in the faith of his parents, and therefore the word and purpose of God. His conduct revealed his unbelief, and hence was unworthy and incapable of sharing in the blessing, which then, as now, was secured only by faith, and which had already cost her so much. Hence she said to Abraham, “Cast out this bondwoman and her son.” The treatment may seem harsh, but there could be no peace or happiness in that household until the mocking Ishmael was out of it. This mother, whose spiritual faith had been quickened in a marvelous manner, was clear-sighted enough to see that the purposes of God in reference[46] to Isaac could only become actual through this separation. The fact that the prompt, sharp determination that “the son of this bondwoman shall not be heir” with Isaac, “was very grievous in Abraham’s sight,” shows that his prejudice in favor of the rights of the natural first-born needed correction. And God confirmed the judgment of Sarah. For the exclusion of Ishmael was requisite not only to the prosperity of Isaac and the line of the promise, but to the welfare of Ishmael himself. And the man of faith, who should later offer up Isaac, must now be able to offer up Ishmael also.

After the sending away of Hagar and her son Ishmael, there is but one incident recorded in the life of Abraham, namely the treaty or covenant of peace with Abimelech, King of Gerar, though probably several years passed away between the departure of Hagar and the last great test or trial of Abraham in the offering up of Isaac on Mt. Moriah.

The son of promise had grown to be a lad of sixteen or seventeen years of age, when the voice of the Lord called unto Abraham, saying, “Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.” It would seem that this message came to Abraham while asleep—in a dream as we would say—and therefore all the more trying as such a revelation, under such circumstances might well be questioned. Upon waking out of his sleep he might reasonably question the import of such a dream, especially since Isaac was his only child, and the son of promise. But it appears that Abraham did not stop to explain away this command, and we must believe that he did not even inform Sarah of this heart-crushing revelation, for neither she nor Isaac knew at the time the special object of the journey. Promptly Abraham made the necessary preparations, and set out on the three days’ journey. His obedience is absolute. There is not even a question raised as to his correctly understanding the duty required of him. To suppose that Abraham did not have the bleeding heart of a father in this great[47] trial, would be to destroy the force of this testing of his faith. And the fact that he had three days’ time in which he could change his purpose, made the conflict within him all the harder.

The lad and the mother could easily see from the wood, and the fire, and the knife, that he went not merely to worship, but to sacrifice. The testing was still more heart-breaking when, at the end of the journey, at the foot of Moriah, while Abraham is in the act of laying the wood upon the obedient Isaac, the heir of promise said, “My father, behold the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” How the bleeding heart of the father must have been touched afresh as he looked upon Isaac as “the lamb,” yet, as if the hour for the fuller revelation had not yet come, made answer, “My son, God will provide Himself a lamb.”

And so the two, the father and the son, slowly climb the rugged sides of Moriah to its very summit, and Abraham built an altar, as he so often had done before, for, wherever Abraham had a tent, God had an altar, and in the building of this altar we may well believe the loving, obedient Isaac assisted. Then the wood was laid upon it. All was ready for “the lamb!” But God had not yet provided the victim.

What passed between father and son the Sacred record has not revealed. However, we must believe it was the Gethsemane struggle with Isaac, and that in the end he said to Abraham, as Christ, under similar circumstances, said to His heavenly Father, “Thy will be done.” And, perhaps, this loving self-surrender of Isaac made it all the harder for the father’s heart. But, somehow, we can not understand it, only in the light of complete self-surrender to the will of God, he “bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood,” and, nerving himself for the last great act, he “stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.”

But God, during this scene on Mount Moriah, was an interested spectator. He saw that the obedience of faith—the complete self-surrender of Abraham’s will—was perfect.[48] “And the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven, and said, ‘Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou anything unto him, for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son, from me.’”

It is worthy of observation that, while the command to offer up Isaac came in a dream, and therefore open to misgiving, the command to stay his hand is spoken by the angel of Jehovah out of heaven. Abraham was perfect in his faith, and how far it reached into the great love for God and self-surrender to His will, we shall never know. Paul, speaking of this wonderful victory over self, said that Abraham accounted that God was able to raise up Isaac, “even from the dead; from whence also he received him in a figure.” Though all his hope, humanly speaking, perished out of his heart when he took up the sacrificial knife on Moriah, yet his faith overleaped human limitations into the infinite ability of God to raise up Isaac out of the ashes upon his altar.

Such faith was possible for Abraham, for God asks no impossibilities at the hands of men, and what was possible for this man of faith is possible for any of us, if we are willing to pay the price. Let no one think, however, that such fruits of righteousness drop into the lap of the faithless.

But through this severe testing, Sarah nowhere appears on the scene. It may be, infinite love would spare the mother’s heart. It may be, also, the last great trial of her faith took place in the tent, stretched under the oaks, in the plain of Mamre. There is a Jewish tradition that when Sarah fully learned the nature of the journey to Moriah, and the scene which there took place, the shock of it killed her, and Abraham found her dead on his return home. This may do as a tradition, but not as the finale of God’s dealing with His people. The potter, as he fashions the vessel upon the wheel, does not seek to break it. So God does not test us beyond our capacity to endure. Then, also, if Isaac was born when Sarah was ninety years of age, and she died at[49] the age of one hundred and twenty-seven, and the scene on Moriah took place when Isaac was a lad of sixteen or seventeen, she lived for twenty years after that event, to be a comfort and a blessing in her home.

At length this princess in Israel, tested and tried, and found true, died at Hebron at the good age of one hundred and twenty-seven years, and Abraham wept over her, and well he might, for she had shared his trials and was a good and faithful wife, and she was a mother, even more than a wife.

Abraham purchased the cave of Machpelah of Ephron, the Hittite, and tenderly laid the remains of this lovely woman to rest in one of the chambers of the cave. It is the first burial mentioned in the Sacred records. And the tomb remains unto this day, hallowed in the eyes of Jews, Christians and Mohammedans alike, and was visited by the writer.

The lesson which God would teach us in the life of this woman in White Raiment is that testings are necessary to the development of faith, and that these testings come to us in the most ordinary events of our daily lives. All Christians surely know by experience that events which seemed all darkness at first have ultimately brought them nearer to the light. The much-dreaded cloud has proved to be only a veil under which God hides His mighty power. His gracious query, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” has comforted us, and has turned what we thought to be a curse into a blessing. O, can we not trust Him in the darkness as well as in the light, knowing that He can bring calm out of storm, and that he often chooses the darkness and the cloud as a special medium by which to reveal himself? Could we climb to heaven by some other way, and escape the shadows and the storms of life, how much should we miss of the blessed manifestations of God’s revelations of His power.

God speaks to listening ears and waiting hearts as truly to-day as He did before the tent door under the oaks in the plain of Mamre. He may speak to us through his providence,[50] through the voice of a friend, through a book or a sermon; but perhaps He does so most frequently in the little details of everyday life, in which we can not fail to see His dealings with us if our hearts are turned expectantly toward him. Only let us be admonished by Sarah’s sad mistake. That she made it, proves that she was human. But let us be afraid of sin. The door once open, none of us can tell into what endless labyrinths of sorrow it will lead us. God wants a tried people, not only for their own sake but that they may be a blessing to others.

And now we come to a most beautiful scene in Sacred History. While, as a whole, the Bible gives the drama of human sin and divine redemption, yet it pauses in its wonderful revelations to let us look into the homes of the people who lived ages ago. It somehow touches human life on all its sides. Other books which are held sacred by eastern nations, give woman only contemptuous mention. This one recognizes the dignity and beauty of her life and work. It tells in seven verses the story of Enoch, who walked with God three hundred and sixty-five years and who was holy enough to escape death, while it gives sixty-six verses to the wooing and wedding of Rebekah and Isaac. In the pictures which the Sacred Record opens to us of the domestic life of the patriarchal age, perhaps this is the most perfectly characteristic and beautiful idyl of a marriage, and how it was brought about. In its sweetness and sacred simplicity, it is a marvelous contrast to the wedding of our modern fashionable life. And surely, since God’s Book gives so much time and space to the domestic life of women, the daughters of modern Christianity ought to regard themselves and their affairs of the utmost importance. For the sake of Him who gave them such prominence and recognition, they ought to love Him.

Abraham, the friend of God, understood fully that it would never do to have the heir of promise fall into the hands of a heathen wife. He could not bear the thought of taking one of the corrupt Canaanites into his family, with the[51] chance of her leading Isaac into the abominable worship of her gods.

Parents often frustrate the grace of God and mar His plans irreparably by being careless of the worldly associations and affinities of their children.

Sarah, the beautiful and beloved, had been tenderly laid away in the cave of Machpelah, and Isaac is now forty years of age. Forty years, however, in those good old times, is yet young, when the thread of mortal life ran out to a hundred and seventy-five or eighty years. As Abraham has nearly reached that far period, his sun of life is dipping downwards toward the evening horizon. He has but one care remaining—to settle his son Isaac in life before he is gathered to his fathers.

The scene where Abraham discusses the subject with his head servant sheds a peculiar light on the domestic and family relations of those days.

Calling Eliezer, his most trusty servant, he discloses to him his purpose, and makes him take an oath that he will faithfully carry out his wishes. But Abraham’s steward saw the difficulties of such a proxy wooing, and expressed a fear that the young woman would object to so hazardous a journey to share the home of a man whom she had never seen and of whom she had possibly never before heard. So, to make matters sure, he asks if it would not be better to take Isaac with him? To this request the patriarch replied, “Beware thou that thou bring not my son thither again.” Abraham saw that there was too much risk in allowing Isaac to go back to the old home. He might have to be scourged out of it as was Jacob, the next in the line, a few years later. He must do right and trust God. So he told his steward, “The Lord, before whom I walk, will send his angel before thee and prosper thy way, and thou shalt take a wife for my son of my kindred and of my father’s house.” Then, as he saw the ever-present contingency with which human free agency may frustrate even Divine Providence, he added, “And if the woman will not be willing to follow thee, then[52] thou shalt be clear from this thine oath; only bring not my son thither again.”

The picture of the preparations made for this embassy denotes a princely station and great wealth. “And the servant took ten camels of the camels of his master, and departed; for all the goods of his master were in his hand; and he arose and went to Mesopotamia, unto the city of Nahor.”

Now comes a quaint and beautiful picture of the manners of those pastoral days. He made his camels to kneel down without the city by a well of water, at the time of the evening when the women go out to draw water. With the kneeling camels around the well, the aged Eliezer uncovers his head in the evening twilight, and with closed eyes and face raised towards heaven, he talks to God in this simple and yet eloquent way, “O, Lord God of my master Abraham, I pray thee, send me good speed this day, and show kindness unto my master Abraham. Behold! I stand here by the well of water; and the daughters of the men of the city come out to draw water: And let it come to pass that the damsel to whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say, Drink and I will give thy camels drink also: let that same be she that Thou hast appointed for Thy servant Isaac; and thereby shall I know that Thou hast shewed kindness unto my master.” It is to be observed that this aged servant talked to God with all the simplicity and directness of a child with its mother. He told the Lord where he stood, and it was in the most likely place about an Oriental city at evening time, for all the damsels come out to the well at that hour of the day to draw water. He did not doubt that there was a bride for Isaac in the town; and he wanted to find the right one immediately. The care of Abraham’s affairs pressed him, and he wanted to get through the matter with as little waste of time and sentiment as possible. That he might not make any mistake in his delicate mission, he tells the Lord of a little test he thought of using. He needed a sign from God to[53] select the bride from among the women who should come to the well. He used his own judgment as far as it went; but it stopped short of a decision. He specified that the chosen one should be industrious, hospitable, deft, courteous. She should be qualified to stand at the head of a princely establishment.

His prayer was speedily granted, for thus the story goes on, “And it came to pass, before he had done speaking, that, behold Rebekah came out, who was born to Bethuel, son of Milcah, the wife of Nahor, Abraham’s brother.”

It is noticeable, how strong is the sensibility to womanly beauty in this narrative. This young Rebekah is thus announced: “And the damsel was very fair to look upon, and a virgin, and she went down to the well, and filled her pitcher, and came up.” Drawn by the bright eyes, and fair face, the old servant hastens to apply the test, doubtless hoping that this lovely creature is the appointed one for his young master.

“And the servant ran to meet her, and said, Let me, I pray thee, drink a little water of thy pitcher. And she said, Drink, my Lord; and she hastened, and let down her pitcher upon her hand, and gave him drink.”

She gave with a will, with a grace and readiness that outflowed the request, and then it is added: “And when she had done giving him drink, she said, I will draw water for thy camels also, until they have done drinking. And she hastened and emptied her pitcher into the trough, and ran again unto the well to draw water, and drew for all his camels.” Let us fancy ten camels, all on their knees, in a row, at the trough, with their long necks, and patient, care-worn faces, while the pretty young damsel, with cheerful alacrity, is dashing down the water from her pitcher, filling and emptying in quick succession, apparently making nothing of the toil; the gray-haired old servant, looking on in devout recognition of the answer to his prayer, for the story says: “And the man, wondering at her, held his peace, to[54] wit (know) whether the Lord had made his journey prosperous or not.”

There was wise penetration into life and the essentials of wedded happiness in this prayer of the old servant. What he asked for his young master was not beauty, or talent, but a ready and unfailing outflow of sympathy and kindness. He asked not merely for a gentle nature, a kind heart, but he asked for a heart so rich in kindness that it should run even beyond what was asked, and be ready to anticipate the request with new devices of helpfulness; the lively, lighthearted kindness that could not be content with waiting on the thirsty old man, but with cheerful alacrity took upon herself the care of all the ten camels. This was a gift beyond that of beauty, yet when it came in the person of a maiden exceedingly fair to look upon, no marvel that the old man wondered joyously at his success.

Instantly, as the camels had done drinking, he produced from his treasury golden earrings and bracelets with which he adorned the maiden. We can easily imagine the maidenly delight with which she ran to exhibit the gifts of jewelry that thus unexpectedly descended upon her.

Nor does Eliezer fail to offer up a prayer of thanksgiving for divine guidance. In this he set a worthy example to all who seek direction from God. He said, “I, being in the way, the Lord led me.” A free translation would be, “I used my own judgment as far as it would go, which was a long distance from a safe conclusion, and the Lord led me the rest of the way.”

Bethuel, when he saw the gifts and heard the words of Rebekah, hastened to the well and said to Eliezer, “Come in, thou blessed of the Lord; wherefore standest thou without? for I have prepared the house, and room for the camels. And the man came into the house: and he ungirded the camels, and gave straw and provender for the camels, and water to wash his feet, and the men’s feet that were with him. And there was set meat before him to eat: but he[55] said, I will not eat, till I have told my errand. And he said, Speak on.”

He then related the purport of his journey, of the prayer that he had uttered at the well, and of its fulfillment in a generous-minded and beautiful young maiden, and thus he ends his story: “And now, if ye will deal kindly and truly with my master, tell me: and if not, tell me; that I may turn to the right hand or to the left.”

Bethuel answered, “Behold, Rebekah is before thee; take her, and go, and let her be thy master’s son’s wife, as the Lord hath spoken.”

“And it came to pass, that when Abraham’s servant heard their words, he worshipped the Lord, bowing himself to the earth.”

And now comes a scene most captivating to female curiosity. “The servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and raiment, and gave them to Rebekah; he gave also to her brother and to her mother precious things.” The scene of examining jewelry and garments and rich stuffs in the family party would have made no mean subject for a painter. No wonder such a suitor sending such gifts found welcome entertainment. So the story goes on: “And they did eat and drink, he and the men that were with him, and tarried all night; and they rose up in the morning and he said, Send me away unto my master. And her brother and her mother said, Let the damsel abide with us a few days, at the least ten, and after that she shall go.”

“And he said unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the Lord hath prospered my way; send me away, that I may go to my master. And they said, We will call the damsel and inquire at her mouth. And they called Rebekah, and said unto her, Wilt thou go with this man? And she said, I will go.” Her prompt reply to this important question was an index to her character. The Divine approval of her ready obedience gave her a grand prophetic Messianic promise that thousands of millions should be gathered into His Kingdom from the conquest “of those which hate them.” This[56] extra Hebrew prophecy was a flash of God’s light on the fact that our Lord should be the Saviour, not only of the Jews, but of the entire world.

Thus far this wooing seems to have been conceived and conducted in that simple religious spirit recognized in the words of the old prayer, “Grant that all our work may be begun, continued and ended in thee.” The Father of nations has been a never-failing presence in every turn.

“And Rebekah arose, and her damsels, and they rode upon the camels, and followed the man; and the servant took Rebekah, and went his way.”

It was a long way from the city of Nahor, in Mesopotamia to Hebron in the southern borders of Palestine, and between the Euphrates and the land of promise stretched leagues of hot desert sands, through which the camels slowly and patiently toiled day after day with their precious burden. But at length Damascus with its refreshing streams, and Mt. Hermon with its dome lifted among the clouds, were passed, and, towards evening of the last day, just as they reached the head of the valley of Eschol, from the summit of which opens a magnificent view through the whole length of the valley, “Rebekah lifted up her eyes, and when she saw Isaac she lighted off the camel. For she had said unto the servant, What man is this that walketh in the field to meet us? And the servant had said, It is my master; therefore she took a veil and covered herself.”

Doubtless for days Isaac had walked the mile and a half from his mother’s tent to where the valley of Eschol forms a junction with the plain of Mamre, from whence he could look up the narrow valley and view the approaching caravan at a considerable distance. The expectant bridegroom, brought up with the strictest notions of filial submission, waits to receive his wife dutifully from his father’s hand, and yet, we fancy, day after day he goes out to meet her, and now the long-expected caravan, with Eliezer, his father’s most trusted servant, at its head, is approaching at eventide, and he quickens his step to meet his bride.

[57]From what we have already seen of Rebekah, she is lively, lighthearted, kind, possessed of an alert readiness, prompt to see and do what is to be done at the moment. No dreamer is she, but a wideawake young woman who knows her own mind exactly, and has the fit word and fit action ready for each short turn in life. She was quick, cheerful and energetic in hospitality. She was prompt and unhesitating in her resolve; and yet, at the moment of meeting, she knew the value and propriety of the veil. She covered herself that she might not unsought be won.

“And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent.” Tent life in the days of Abraham, in our estimation, must have been not only desirable, but grand and glorious. Living, as they did, so closely in contact with nature, as God made it, fresh, pure air, babbling brooks, rippling streams, and blue skies, theirs was a happy life. They were not confined in crowded cities, surrounded by dismal walls, but on the hillsides, the open valleys and the unbounded plains. Their tent was pitched in a clump of oaks, near a living stream, and overlooked the plain of Mamre—a beautiful picture of freedom, ease and comfort. To such a place he took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death. So ends this most charming story of domestic life in the patriarchal age. For beauty, simplicity and directness it has no equal. We also see, in the closing words, one of those delicate and tender natures that find repose first in the love of a mother, and when that stay is withdrawn, lean upon a beloved wife.

So ideally pure, and sweet, and tenderly religious has been the whole inception and carrying on and termination of this wedding, that Isaac and Rebekah have been remembered in the wedding ritual of Christian churches as models of a holy marriage according to the divine will.

Though for nineteen years Rebekah was childless, yet retained she her husband’s love. This may have been a trial to Isaac, since the line of the blessing was to pass through him. That he thought much about it is evident,[58] for, at length, he “entreated the Lord for his wife,” and his intercession was based upon a divine foundation in Jehovah’s promise. And, possibly, even Isaac had to be educated up to this point, namely, that the seed of promise must be sought from God, so that it should be regarded, not as the fruit of nature, but as the gift of divine grace.

In due time Esau and Jacob were born, and they were twins, but with natures and characteristics marked more for their contrasts than similarity. Beyond the bare statement, “And the boys grew,” nothing is said of their childhood and youth—the formative periods of their lives.

When they had grown to manhood’s estate, we are informed that “Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; and Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents.” The free and easy life in the chase developed in Esau a robust appearance, and for that reason, and also “because he did eat of his venison,” Isaac loved Esau. Jacob is represented to us as of a more delicate make-up and naturally appealed more to the mother heart. “Rebekah loved Jacob.” From merely a parental standpoint, both were wrong. Even though the characteristics of these boys were wide apart, the parents should have been united in their love, and impartially discharged their duties, and let God, in his own good time, make His selection. But here, as in the lives of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah delayed the blessing God designed they should have, and brought sorrow into their own lives. It is evident that the ardent Rebekah, by her animated, energetic declarations, formed a very significant complement to Isaac, confiding more in the divine declarations as to her boys than Isaac did, and therefore better able to appreciate the deeper nature of Jacob. But when Isaac shows his preference for Esau to be the heir, the courageous woman forgets her vocation, and with artifice counsels Jacob to steal the blessing from Isaac—a transgression for which she had to atone in not seeing her favorite son after she sent him away, out of reach of his brother’s anger. She had only Esau left, and he must have made her[59] feel that it was her partiality that had robbed him of what he prized most highly. His heathen wives had been a “grief of mind” to her. She said, in her diplomatic effort to get Jacob off to a place of safety, “I am weary of my life because of the daughters of Heth. If Jacob take a wife from the daughters of Heth, such as these which are the daughters of the land, what good shall my life do me?” Probably Esau did not mend matters by adding to his family the Ishmaeltish woman.

Rebekah’s habit of managing affairs may be more common than we think. It is the fault of energetic souls. She loved Jacob with the passionate, tropical strength of her fervid heart. She would not trust God to give him what she believed he ought to receive. It is very hard for such as she to wait patiently for the Lord when His delays are developing faith.

However, viewed from a human standpoint, her faith in the divine purposes was much more clear-sighted than that of Isaac. Consenting to be laid on the altar as a sacrifice to God, Isaac had the stamp of submission early and deeply impressed on his soul. Hence, in the spiritual aspect of his character, he was the man of patience, of acquiescence, of susceptibility, of obedience. Rebekah, on the other hand, was energetic, intensely active, self-confident, a most excellent manager, even tricky, but nevertheless capable and efficient. She had the faults which usually go with such traits of character. Taking things into her own hands, she even meddled with Providence.

But was she not provoked to this act by Isaac himself? Isaac’s willful act does not consist alone in his arbitrary determination to present Esau with the blessing of the theocratic birthright, although Rebekah received that divine sentence respecting her children before their birth, and which, no doubt, she had mentioned to him, but the manner in which he intends to bless Esau. He arranges to bless him in unbecoming secrecy, without the knowledge of Rebekah and Jacob. The preparation of the venison, in its main[60] point of view, is an excuse to gain time and place for the secret act. In this point of view, the act of Rebekah appears in a different light. His well-calculated prudence was skillfully caught in the net of Rebekah’s shrewdness.

A want of divine confidence may be recognized through all his actions. Rebekah, however, has so far the advantage of him that she in her deception has the divine assurance that Jacob was the heir, while Isaac has only his human reason without any inward spiritual certainty. Rebekah’s error consists in thinking that she must direct divine Providence by means of human deception. The divine promise would have been fulfilled without her assistance. Of course, when compared with Isaac’s fatal error, she was right. Though she deceived him greatly, misled her favorite son, and alienated Esau from her, there was yet something saving in her action according to her intentions. For to Esau the most comprehensive blessing might have become only a curse. He was not fitted for it.

Viewed from Rebekah’s point of view, the lesson for us is, we are not to do evil, that good may come. The sinful element in her act was the wrong application of her assurance of faith, for which she suffered, perhaps, many long years of melancholy solitude.

Had this noble woman in White Raiment not erred she would not have been human. As a whole, she has a beautiful character—beautiful in its generous helpfulness, in its prudence, in its magnanimity, and in her theocratic zeal of faith.

Here Rebekah obviously disappears from the stage of life. It has been conjectured that she died during Jacob’s sojourn in Padan-aram, whither she had sent him to escape the tragic consequences of her hasty conduct, for she is not mentioned when Jacob returned to his father, nor do we hear of her burial till it is incidentally mentioned by Jacob on his deathbed. She was buried in the cave of Machpelah, by the side of Sarah.

After Jacob had obtained the theocratic birthright he fled from his father’s home in Beer-sheba to Padan-aram, or the[61] city of Haran, in Mesopotamia. Haran was situated about four hundred and fifty miles north-east from Beer-sheba. If the young man walked thirty miles a day, for he performed this long journey over the mountains and through the desert on foot, it took him fifteen days. No doubt, as he drew near the well, before the city, he was footsore, dust-covered, homesick, and greatly depressed in mind, for the occasion of his sudden departure and the anger of his brother Esau were still fresh in memory.

But what a quaint, picturesque scene of Oriental life is presented to our view. It is yet early evening. The shepherds, with their flocks, are moving from various points over the plain to one common centre. Three of the shepherds had already arrived, and Jacob salutes them, and asks, “My brethren, whence be ye?” And they answered, “Of Haran.” Then he inquired, “Know ye Laban?” They made reply, “We know him,” then, pointing to a shepherdess slowly leading her flock over the plain towards the well, said, “Behold Rachel, his daughter, cometh with the sheep.” While he was yet talking with the shepherds, Rachel drew near “with her father’s sheep.” Jacob saw his opportunity, for the great stone over the mouth of the well had not been removed, and, though it was the work of three men to remove the stone, he hastens to perform this task for the beautiful shepherdess alone, and does for her what his mother had done for Eliezer’s camels, watered her flock. Clearly, it was love at first sight. Rachel must have deeply impressed him. And what could have been her thoughts as she stood by her flock and saw this youth pour bucketfull after bucketfull into the stone troughs for her sheep? It was certainly an impressive introduction.

The sheep watered, and before he made himself known, he stepped up to the bewitching shepherdess, and kissed her. This story of Rachel, the pretty shepherdess of the plains of Mesopotamia, who took with a glance the heart of the loving, homesick Jacob, and held it to the end of her days, has always had a peculiar interest, for there is that in it which[62] appeals to some of the deepest feelings of the human heart. The beauty of Rachel, the deep love with which she was loved by Jacob from their first meeting by the well of Haran, when he showed to her the simple courtesies of the desert life, and kissed her and told her he was Rebekah’s son; the long servitude with which he patiently served for her, in which the seven years “seemed to him but a few days, for the love he had to her;” their marriage at last, after the cruel disappointment through the fraud which substituted the elder sister in the place of the younger; and the death of Rachel “in the way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem,” when she had given birth to Benjamin, and had become still more endeared to her husband; his deep grief and ever-living regrets for her loss—these things make up a touching tale of personal and domestic history which has kept alive the memory of Rachel through all the long centuries down to the present time. Her untimely death has been likened to a “bunch of violets pulled up by the roots, with the soil clinging to them—their exquisite perfume reminding one of the leafy nook in which they grew.”

What a mystery is love! We can not define it. It can only be unlocked by the key of experience. Love is not a product of the reason. It is the free play of the spiritual sensibilities in the possession of its object. And if human love is inexplicable, divine love is an ocean too deep for the plummet of man, and by far too broad to be bounded by the thought of the loftiest intelligence in the universe.

Chaste human love is a beautiful thing, by which conjugal love is afterwards more and more strengthened and confirmed. And, in this scene at the well, we have emphasized the fact that virtuous maidens do not need to attend large, exciting assemblies or popular resorts, to get husbands. If they are true to themselves, they can safely trust God, who is able to give them pious, honorable and upright husbands.

As soon as Rachel learned that Jacob was her father’s nephew, and that he was Rebekah’s son, “she ran and told[63] her father.” When Laban heard Rachel’s story, he hastened to meet Jacob, and brought him to his house.

After a short stay as the guest of the family, it seemed best to Laban that wages should be given to Jacob for his services, but instead of wages he desires Rachel, and, instead of service for an indefinite time, he promises a service of seven years. Jacob’s service, it is thought by some writers, represents the price which was usually paid for the wife. Doubtless, Rachel was worth to Jacob the years of service he paid, but doubtless then, as now, prices varied according to age and beauty, and in some Eastern countries the prices are higher than in others. The custom still exists. A man without means serves from three to seven years for his bride. To Jacob, these years of service seemed but a few days. His love for Rachel made his long service a delight to him. He was cheerful and joyful in hope.

At the end of the years of service Laban made a great nuptial feast. These Oriental weddings last seven days. Doubtless Laban arranged this feast, the better to facilitate Jacob’s deception by the coming and going of guests, and the general bustle and noise characteristic of such occasions. The deception was also possible through the custom, namely, the bride was led veiled to the bridegroom and the bridal chamber. Laban probably believed, as to the base deception, that he would be excused, because he had already in view the concession of the second daughter, so Leah, the elder daughter, was substituted. The motive for this is not stated. Perhaps Laban recognized a skillful and useful shepherd in Jacob. He may also have acted from regard to his own interest, especially since he knew that Jacob possessed a great inheritance at home.

The substitution of Leah for Rachel is the first retribution Jacob experienced for the deceitful practices of his former days. He had, through fraud and cunning, secured the place and blessing of Esau—he, the younger, in place of the elder. Now, by the same deceit, the elder is put upon him in the place of the younger. God has somehow so[64] arranged the affairs of men, that what a man sows, that shall he also reap. Sin is often punished with sin.

When Laban was asked for an explanation of his conduct, he replied that it was not the custom in his country to give the younger into marriage before the first-born, a bit of information he should have given Jacob when he first made suit for Rachel. His excuse does not justify in the least his deception, but there was, however, a sting for Jacob in his reply, namely, in the emphasis of the right of the first-born.

There was, therefore, nothing left for Jacob but to give another seven years’ service for Rachel. So, at the end of the marriage week or feast of Leah, the second wedding followed, and the years of service were rendered afterwards. We do not know why Rachel was affectionately loved, while Leah held but an indifferent place in Jacob’s heart. But then there is no accounting for, or explaining, love. Leah, it is said, was “tender-eyed,” that is to say, weak-eyed. This, however, does not necessarily mean she was sore-eyed or blear-eyed, but simply they were not full, clear, and sparkling, not in keeping with the Oriental idea of beauty, though otherwise she might have been comely. But to an Oriental, black eyes, clear, lustrous, full of life and fire, especially, when in addition to all these, the eye is expressive, are considered the principal part of female beauty. Rachel was the fortunate possessor of all these charming qualities of Eastern beauty, and so must have charmed, captivated, and held Jacob in spite of all other obstacles.

That Leah tried to win his affections is evident from what she says in connection with the birth of Reuben, her first born. “Now therefore,” she says, “my husband will love me.” No doubt, during the seven years that Jacob was in the home of Laban, her love for him became deep and strong, which had, no doubt, induced her to consent to Laban’s deception. So, after the birth of the first son, she hoped to win, through her child, Jacob’s love in the strictest sense. After the birth of the second, she hoped to be put on a footing of equality with Rachel, and to be delivered from[65] her disregard. After the third one, she hoped at least for a constant affection. At the birth of the fourth, she looked entirely away from her surroundings to Jehovah by calling him Judah—praised be Jehovah.

If Rachel obtained Jacob’s affections because of her beauty and loveliness, and he refused to bestow upon Leah that affectionate consideration for which she was grieving her life away, it may be a comfort to those who suffer as Leah did, to know that God does not look for beauty from man’s standpoint, and that the sweet graces of mind and heart go farther than personal charms, for He certainly conferred more honor upon her than He did upon Rachel. He gave her more children than to Rachel. She was also, through her posterity, the mother of Moses, David, John the Baptist, and the greatest honor of all, was the mother of our precious Lord Jesus Christ. Leah was not an idolator, so far as we know, while the beautiful Rachel was tainted with this abomination, and it seems to have clung to her posterity, for it was the tribe of Ephraim that led Israel in the sin of idol worship. So that while Leah may not have been as beautiful as her fair sister, she was more loyal to God, and doubtless was, on that account, so greatly honored of Him.

But the fair, clear-eyed, beautiful Rachel, like the lovely Sarah and sprightly Rebekah, was barren and childless, and because of this became very much dejected, and exclaimed, “Give me children or else I die!” From this expression we are to understand, she would die from dejection. Doubtless this dejection led to the substitution of her maid Bilhah. Her jealous love for Jacob is overbalanced by her envy of her sister. The favored Rachel desired children as her own, at any cost, lest she should stand beside her sister childless. The ambition to be among the progenitors of the Messiah made Hebrew women eager to have children. Rachel was not willing to leave the founding of the people of God to her sister only, but wished also to become an ancestress, as well as Leah, but in very deed, not until Joseph’s birth, her very own, could she say, “Now God has taken away my reproach.”

[66]At length, after a service of twenty years or more, God called Jacob to return to his own people. Laban had been a hard master, not only to Jacob, but to his own daughters. “Are we not counted of him strangers?” said they in their conference with Jacob concerning the return. He had sold them as strangers, more as slaves, for the service of their husband. Hence they had nothing more to hope for from him, for this very price, that is, the blessing resulting from Jacob’s service, he had entirely consumed. The daughters had received no share of it. Hence it is evident that they speak with an inward alienation from their father, and are quite willing to go with Jacob to the land of promise.

The time set for the departure was the feast of sheep-shearing. Either Laban had not invited Jacob to this feast, or Jacob took the opportunity of leaving, in order to visit his own flocks. As the sheep-shearing lasted several days, the opportunity was very favorable for his flight.

“But Rachel had stolen the images,” the Penates or household gods, which were honored as guardians, and as oracles. From this incident we may infer that she was not altogether free from the superstitions and idolatry which prevailed in the land whence Abraham had been called, and which still, to some degree, infected even those families among whom the true God was known. It is thought she was actuated to steal them with the superstitious idea that her father, being prevented from consulting them as oracles, would not be able to pursue Jacob. This act, however, as also the well-planned and ready dexterity and presence of mind with which she concealed her theft, and prompt denial to her father, reveals a cunning which is far more befitting the daughter of Laban than the wife of the prudent patriarch.

Jacob continued his journey without interruption until the fords of the Jabbok were reached. While at Mahanaim he sent messengers to Esau, with a view of bringing about a reconciliation with his grieved brother. When he reached the Jabbok the messengers returned and brought the alarming intelligence that Esau was coming to meet him, and four[67] hundred men were with him. This greatly distressed Jacob, and led him to divide his family and his flocks, and to send them in bands before him. Once more, in a critical time, when he expected an attack from Esau, his discriminate regard for Rachel is again shown by placing Leah and her children in the place of danger, in advance of Rachel and her child.

JACOB’S STRUGGLE AT THE JABBOK.

Having thus disposed of his family and his flocks, Jacob remains behind to pray. It was the great struggle of his life. And the burden of that midnight cry was, “Deliver me, I pray Thee, from the hand of my brother, from the[68] hand of Esau; for I fear him, lest he will come and smite me, and the mother with the children.” At length the angel of the Lord said, “Let me go, for the day breaketh!” But Jacob, as if his life hung on the issue, which it doubtless did, replied, “I will not let Thee go, except Thou bless me!”

God heard his prayer and delivered him out of the hands of his brother, Esau.

As Jacob passed over the Jabbok “the sun rose upon him,” and he set forward on his journey a changed man.

In due time Jacob reached the Jordan at Succoth, thence to Shechem, and then to Bethel. At each of these places he halted.

It seems that for a considerable time after the return to Palestine, the images, or household Penates, which Rachel had stolen from her father, remained in the family, perhaps connived at by Jacob, till, on being reminded by the Lord of the vow which he had made at Bethel when he fled from the face of Esau, and being bidden of Him to erect an altar to the God who appeared to him there, Jacob felt the glaring impiety of thus solemnly appearing before God with the taint of idolatry cleaving to his beloved Rachel, said, “Put away the strange gods from among you.” After thus casting out the polluting things from his house, Jacob, at Bethel, amidst its sacred associations, received from God an emphatic promise and blessing.

After his spirit had been purified and strengthened by communion with God, by the assurance of the divine love and favor, by the consciousness of evil put away and duties performed, it was, as he journeyed away from Bethel, that the chastening blow fell and Rachel died. Doubtless the blessings that came as a result of the cleansing and purging from idolatry at Bethel had their effect in bringing Rachel to a higher sense of her relation to that Jehovah in whom her husband, with all his faults of character, so firmly believed.

Five miles south of Jerusalem, and a mile and a half from Bethlehem, in the way to Hebron, is a beautiful chapel, sacred to the memory of Rachel. This is the place where[69] beautiful Rachel surrendered her own life for the life of her second son, whom she named Ben-oni (son of my pain). The wish she had uttered at Joseph’s birth, that God would give her another son, now, after a long period, perhaps sixteen or seventeen years, is at last realized.

Rachel held Jacob’s love to the last, and even down to his old age he mourned her loss. The stone pillar which he set up at her grave is the first recorded instance of the setting up of a sepulchral monument; caves having been up to this time spoken of as the usual places of burial. The tomb of Rachel is one of the shrines which Mohammedans, Jews and Christians unite in honoring, and concerning which their traditions are identical. At the time of our visit, it happened to be the time of new moon, when the chapel was open and all lighted up with olive oil lamps, and the chapel and crypt filled with weeping women. The lamentations were real and sincere, and, had we remained very long, we should have wept out of very sympathy for the grief-stricken mourners of this princess of Israel. The thought that here this lovely woman in White Raiment sacrificed her own life for another was in itself depressing. This first mortuary monument, sacred to the memory of a great love and a great sorrow, has come down to us through more than three thousand years. One may see it “but a little to come to Ephrath.”

Leah probably lived for some years after Jacob reached Hebron. Whether she ever found grace in his sight is not stated. However, in Jacob’s differences with Laban both[70] Leah and Rachel appeared to be attached to him with equal fidelity, while later, in the critical moment, when he expected an attack from Esau, his discriminate regard for the several members of his family was again shown by his placing Rachel and her child hindermost, in the least exposed situation, Leah and her children next, and the two hand-maids, with their children, in front. Of her death nothing is said. From the expression, “There I buried Leah,” (Gen. xlix, 31), we are led to believe that she died at Hebron before Jacob went down into Egypt. She was buried in the family sepulchre, “in the field of Machpelah, which is before Mamre.” Since Hebron is only twenty-five miles from Rachel’s tomb, near Bethlehem, it is quite strange that Jacob did not bury his beloved Rachel in the family sepulchre, along with Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Leah, and where he was himself finally buried.

The history of the human race runs on from the tomb of Rachel for over four hundred years without bringing to our notice any woman in White Raiment until Jochebed, the mother of Moses, is reached. In the meantime, the dreams of Joseph are told, his wandering in the fields of Shechem, and the finding of his brethren in Dothan, the heartless transaction with the Midianites, who, in turn, sold Joseph into Egypt, his prison life followed by his elevation next to the throne and a seven years’ famine, when Jacob and his sons, as Abraham had done before them, went down into Egypt, the years of favor in the house of Pharaoh, and the bondage, bitter and hard, all are told. But, in spite of all, the suffering Israelites, because blessed of God, prospered and “increased abundantly, and multiplied, and waxed exceedingly mighty; and the land was filled with them.”

The reigning Pharaoh became alarmed at this state of affairs, and, to repress the Israelites, “made their lives bitter with hard bondage, in mortar, and in brick, and in all manner of service in the field.” But, as a stream in a spring freshet bursts through every obstruction, so the Israelites overleaped every barrier thrown in their way by the Egyptian taskmasters. At length a decree was issued that every son born to the Israelites should be cast into the Nile.

[72]But there was at least one woman in the house of bondage who feared the Lord more than she feared Pharaoh. Her name was Jochebed, which means, whose glory is Jehovah. If ever a name had attached with it the characteristic of the person bearing it, it was Jochebed, the wife of Amram, and daughter of Levi. That the glory of this woman in White Raiment was Jehovah, is evident from the fact the hard circumstances in which she was placed by the command of Pharaoh could not make her lose faith in God. Others might obey the unwarranted and heartless, as well as wicked decree, she would not, for she believed it was better to obey God rather than man, and to this belief her faith was anchored, and held steady amid the awful wail of bereaved motherhood as it ascended into the ear of God from the fields of Goshen.

Jochebed was already the mother of Miriam and Aaron, and, since Aaron was three years older than Moses, the decree that all Hebrew male children should be cast into the Nile could not have been in force at Aaron’s birth, or at least had not reached its dangerous climax. As a member of the house of Levi, Jochebed shows the daring and energetic boldness for which her tribe had become distinguished, and indicated the qualities needful for the future priesthood. That the child was so fair, she recognized in it as a good omen. Josephus traces this intuition of faith, which harmonized with the maternal feeling of complacency and desire to preserve his life, to a special revelation. The means of preservation chosen by Jochebed is especially attributed to her genius and courage. It was all the more daring, since in the use of it she seemed to have, from the outset, the daughter of Pharaoh in mind.

Prompted by an heroic faith, this poor Hebrew slave woman, in the house of a cruel and heartless bondage, dared to disobey the royal decree, trusting in God to carry her through the perilous enterprise of saving the life of her well-favored child. The chrism of hot tears which fell on the babe’s forehead, set him apart to the tremendous task of[73] leading up to nationhood a race of degraded slaves whose hands were horny with unpaid toil, whose faces had grown scowling and knotted under the overseer’s lash.

THE ISRAELITES IN BONDAGE.

Jochebed held the boy hard against her heart when she found she could no longer hide him, and said, more to herself and God than to any human helper, “My baby shall not die.” The resolution once formed in the mother’s heart, the next task was to carry it into effect. Then came the gathering of the papyrus leaves, the getting of the bitumen, the building of the little ark, and the finding of the best place for it among the flags of the Nile.

[74]At length the little craft, with many a scalding tear mingled with the bitumen, was found waterworthy. Then, with many a prayer and heartache, and no small faith in the righteousness of her act, the dear child of promise, with many a passionate kiss, such as mothers only can give, was laid asleep in as soft a nest as the loving hands of mother could devise. Then the little craft, baby and all, was carried to the great river of Egypt, “and she laid it in the flags by the river’s brink.” Quickly the mother walked away, though her heart was crushed and bleeding, for how could she look upon her child if any disaster should overtake his small boat on the bosom of the mighty Nile? But her faith in God was sure. Her good sense had done its best. Her courage made her equal to facing the anger of the king; and she would leave the care of her little darling to the God of her fathers.

But the mother-love could not wholly abandon the little craft to its fate, without at least knowing how it fared with the child. So, back a little from the river, where the tall flags formed a gracious shade over the little brother, and her body concealed in the rank grass, the large, bright eyes of Miriam were fixed on the babe’s hiding-place, and the swift feet of the sister were ready to run to tell the mother whatever might happen.

Pretty soon the watchful eyes of Miriam saw a royal retinue issue from the palace gate, and as it drew near the river’s brink she discerned that it was Thonoris, the daughter of Pharaoh, and her maidens, come down to the Nile to bathe in the open stream, as was the custom of ancient Egyptians. As the princess and her maidens walked along the river’s side, she saw the little ark among the flags, and sent one of the maids to fetch it. And when she saw the child she had compassion on it, and said, “This is one of the Hebrew’s children.” But the eyes of Miriam, the faithful sister, closely watched the scene, and when the little ark was safely drawn to shore by the maids of Thonoris, she ran up to the Egyptian princess and said, “Shall I go and call to[75] thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for thee? And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, Go. And the maid went and called the child’s mother.”

MOSES RESCUED FROM THE NILE.

The compassion of the princess towards the beautiful child led her to adopt him; and when she did so, making him, therefore, prospectively an Egyptian, she did not need, we may well believe, to educate him secretly. The taking of the child into the royal household, doubtless rendered the cruel edict less severe, if not wholly inoperative.

All this reads like a fairy tale, but there is no end of the wonders wrought by our God on behalf of those who trust His love and power.

[76]“And the child grew.” Of course it would under the watchful care of such a nurse. One can easily see how during those years in which Jochebed was nursing her boy as the adopted son of the Egyptian princess, she made the most of her opportunity. In a tongue not understood in the palace she taught the child of Him who should redeem the race. She held him loyal to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Her instruction had been careful, thorough, and direct from her father, Levi, the son of Jacob; and she was true to her faith from her very heart’s core. So that, with the very life of his mother, the growing boy had drank in the Hebrew spirit.

At first it must have been a surprise to the young heir to the Egyptian throne when his Hebrew nurse unfolded to him the secret of his descent. That while legally and formally he was the son of the Princess Thonoris, inwardly he was the son of another mother, and belonged to another race, not of the dominant, but of the servile, race; not a worldly, but a spiritual prince. Probably he had the usual struggle with self. It was no easy matter to lay aside the flattering prospect of one day sitting on the throne of Egypt, to forever renounce the glory and glitter of an earthly court, and to identify himself with the slave people whose lives were made bitter in all manner of service. Surely, Jochebed must not only have been a loving mother, but a wise spiritual teacher to thus gain the surrender of all that was dear to her child of the earthly life, that he might gain the heavenly. He must have been completely regenerated when he refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, but chose to suffer affliction with the people of God. Only a personal knowledge of the Redeemer could have brought him to esteem the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt.

No better compliment could have been paid Jochebed than the fact that in that corrupt, magnificent, heathen court she was able to do her work so well. Her son’s flawless choice of the Divine will made him the greatest man, the Son of God excepted, ever veiled in human flesh. That was the[77] best possible sign and seal of her capability and faithfulness.

When her child had passed beyond the years of childhood, and, as a nurse, could no longer retain him, “she brought him unto Pharaoh’s daughter,” and Thonoris, with almost infinite care, completed the boy’s education by instructing him in all the wisdom of Egypt; hence Moses was prepared both negatively and positively for his life work. Positively by his great-hearted mother, Jochebed; negatively by the Egyptian princess Thonoris, thereby, by her own hand, brought up the deliverer and avenger of the oppressed Israelites.

At this point Jochebed is lost to view. She drops out of history, and nothing more is known of her. Hers emphatically was a work of faith, for in all probability she died while Moses was under discipline in the land of Midian. Her people, for whom she had wrought so heroically, were still serving “with rigor” in building for Pharaoh the “treasure cities Pithom and Raamses.” The son from whom she had hoped so much as the crown prince of the land was in exile in the back side of the desert; yet her faith held steady as she said with her parting breath, “God will deliver His people. He saved Moses from the wrath of Pharaoh and from the reptiles of the Nile; He will yet bring him back to lead Israel out of this cruel bondage.”

How many a mother has gone down to her grave in sorrow without realizing the fruit of her toil, perhaps broken-hearted, as Jochebed may have done, when she saw her son hastening into the desert to escape the vengeance which would surely have overtaken him for smiting the Egyptian. Doubtless she never again saw his face, and may have wondered to what purpose was all her labor. It is difficult to conceive of a grander purpose in motherhood than that of sending out into the world young men spiritually, morally and physically healthy, with correct principles and holy purposes; and it is one of the saddest spectacles in life when these preparations are cast aside by ungrateful or wayward acts. All human help is vain, her sorrow and her anguish[78] are too deep to be reached by sympathy. God alone is her refuge. She is often at the throne of grace with strong cries and tears, and with a faith that will not shrink. Doubtless such were the last days of the brave, the courageous, the heroic Jochebed, as she saw the form of her beloved Moses disappear in the desert of Midian. But God honored her faith as no woman’s faith had ever been honored in the life and works of Moses, the great law-giver, and leader of Israel’s hosts out of the land of bondage.

But though Moses had fled from the face of Pharaoh because, in his effort to defend a Hebrew who was being smitten by an Egyptian, slew the oppressor, he had not gone into the land of Midian so far but His eye followed the young refugee.

Away in the south-eastern part of Arabia, toward the close of what we may well believe to have been a long day’s travel through the burning sand of that arid country, the young refugee sat down under the grateful shade of a cluster of palm trees that flourished by the side of a well. As he sat there resting, possibly quite homesick, the daughters of Jethro, a Midianite sheik and priest, came with their father’s flock to the well to water them. The fact that it took seven of these daughters to lead the flock to the well, shows that the Midianite was wealthy. These maidens lowered their buckets into the well and then drew them up brimming full of water, and poured it out into the stone troughs. They did this again and again, while Moses was a silent observer. It does not appear that he in any way interrupted the work.

But scarcely had the panting nostrils of the flocks begun to cool a little in the brimming troughs than some rough Bedouin shepherds came with their flocks and drove the maidens and their flock from the well. This was too much[79] for Moses. His face began to color up, and his eyes flash with indignation, and all the gallantry of his nature was aroused. He naturally had a quick temper, as he demonstrated in the case of the Egyptian oppressing an Israelite, and as he showed afterward when he broke all the Ten Commandments at once by shattering the two granite slabs on which the law was written. Hence the harsh treatment of the girls sets him on fire. The injustice of these Bedouin shepherds was more than he could bear, and he came to the rescue of the maidens of the Midianite sheik. Driving the shepherds away, he told the daughters of Jethro to gather their flock once more and bring them again to the watering troughs. Here the beautiful character of Moses comes out, and shows that the careful training of his faithful mother had not been in vain. Though brought up as a prince in the court of Egypt, he takes hold of the water buckets and draws water from the well, and waters the immense flock which had taken seven maidens to drive to the well! What a sight it must have been to these daughters of the priest of Midian as they stood by and saw this brave, unselfish act. What wonder that Zipporah fell in love with such a young man?

Hard as the task must have been, it was quickly finished and the flock early sheltered in the fold. So much so that Jethro asked of his daughters, “How is it that ye are come so soon to-day?” They answered, “An Egyptian delivered us out of the hand of the shepherds, and also drew water enough for us, and watered the flock.” Jethro further inquired, “Where is he? Why is it that ye have left the man?”

We confess it was a somewhat ungrateful act on the part of these girls not to invite the young man to their father’s home, but it only shows that they were so modest as to be too bashful to make such an advance.

So Moses was invited to the home of the Midianite sheik, and in due time Zipporah was given to him in marriage, and she became the mother of his two sons, Gershom and Eliezer.

[80]The Bible does not record much of Zipporah’s life, but, evidently from the fact that she was a shepherdess, she was industrious, notwithstanding the great wealth and influence of her father. What was the use of Zipporah’s bemeaning herself with work when she might have reclined on the hillside near her father’s tent, and plucked buttercups, and dreamed out romances, and sighed idly to the winds, and wept over imaginary songs to the brooks. But no. She knew that work was honorable, and that every girl ought to have something to do, and so she led her father’s flock to the fields, to the watering troughs, and to the safe shelter of the fold. In how many households are there young women without practical and useful employments? Many of them are waiting for fortunate and prosperous matrimonial alliance, but some lounger like themselves will come along, and after counting the large number of father Jethro’s sheep and camels will make proposal that will be accepted; and neither of them having done anything more practical than to chew chocolate caramels, the two nothings will start on the road of life together, every step more and more a failure. Not so with the daughter of the Midianite sheik. Moses found her at the well drawing water. And Zipporah soon learned that Moses could also draw water. Ye daughters of idleness, imitate Zipporah. Do something helpful. The reason that so many men now condemn themselves to unaffianced and solitary life is because they can not support the modern young woman—a thousand of them not worth one Zipporah. There needs to be a radical revolution among most of the prosperous homes of America, by which the elegant do-nothings may be transformed into practical do-somethings. Let useless women go to work and gather the flocks. The stranger at the well may prove to be as good a man as was Moses to Zipporah.

Still further, watch this spectacle of genuine courage. No wonder when Moses scattered the rude shepherds he won Zipporah’s heart. Sense of justice fired his courage; and the world wants more of the spirit that will dare almost anything[81] to see others righted. There are many wells where outrages are practiced, the wrong herd getting the first water. Those who have the previous right come in last, if they come it at all. Thank God we have here and there a strong man to set things right!

This child of the desert, full of industry and energy, very naturally had a quick temper, and, for once at least, it came out in her life. Moses was on his way to Egypt, as the deliverer of Israel. Zipporah and sons set off to accompany him, and went part of the way. While stopping for the night at a wayside inn the Lord suddenly withstood Moses. It appears, for some reason, possibly because Zipporah opposed it, their sons, Gershom and Eliezer, had not been circumcised. And, since the neglect of this rite would cut them off from God’s covenanted people, the Lord suddenly afflicted Moses so that his life must have been despaired of by the wife and mother. In her distress, to save the life of her husband, she herself performs this rite. The expression, “took a sharp stone,” means a sharp stone-knife (more sacred than a metallic knife, on account of the tradition). Under the trying ordeal, and notwithstanding the life of her husband was still in the balance between life and death, she was unable to conceal her ill-humor, and charged him with being “a bloody husband.” Which may mean that the rite of his people was distasteful to her, and doubly so since she had to perform it with her own hand to save the life of Moses.

It appears, probably on account of the performance of this rite upon their two sons, she had to return to her father’s house, as the children would not be in a condition to continue the journey into Egypt, and Moses had to perform the remainder of the way alone.

The only other incident recorded in Zipporah’s life is the bringing of herself and her two sons to Moses by her father, when the host of Israel had reached the Peninsula of Sinai, after they had departed out of the land of Egypt.

It has been suggested that Zipporah was the Cushite (A. V. Ethiopian) wife who furnished Miriam and Aaron[82] with the pretext for their attack on Moses. (Num. xii, 1). The death of Zipporah is not mentioned, but undoubtedly it occurred before Moses took the Cushite to be his wife.

It has also been thought that Jethro and his house, before his acquaintance with Moses, was not a worshipper of the true God. Traces of this appear in the delay which Moses had suffered to take place in respect to the circumcision of his sons. But the fact that Zipporah started from her home in Midian to accompany her husband upon his mission in Egypt, and of her joining him when he had reached the wilderness, upon his return, shows that she was in sympathy with his work, and, doubtless, if up to the time the Lord suddenly withstood Moses at the wayside inn, she was not fully in accord with him in her faith, that this incident fully established her in the true faith. There is a legend which, if not true, is characteristic of the priest of Midian. This Midrash tale relates that Jethro was a counselor of Pharaoh, who tried to dissuade him from slaughtering the Israelitish children, and consequently, on account of his clemency, was forced to flee into Midian, but was rewarded by becoming the father-in-law of Moses.

The wife of so excellent and remarkable a man as Moses, and one who possessed so many womanly qualities as did this shepherdess whom Moses found by the well in Arabia, in the faithful discharge of her duties, deserves a place in the galaxy of Women in White Raiment.

The hospitality, freehearted and unsought which Jethro at once extended to the unknown, homeless wanderer, on the relation of his daughters that he had watered their flock, is a picture of Eastern manners no less true than lovely, and gives us a fine view of the quaint habits and honest simplicity of the Oriental people.

We now pass to the daughter of Jochebed, namely, Miriam. She first came to our notice when the little ark of Moses was placed among the flags of the Nile. Her mother set her to watch the little craft as it floated on the bosom of the great river. When the princess Thonoris, Pharaoh’s daughter, discovered[83] the child and sent her maid to rescue him from his perilous surroundings, Miriam, then probably a young girl, appeared before the Egyptian princess, and asked if she should call a nurse for the child. In reply to this question, Thonoris said to her she might find for her a nurse. And Miriam hastened to the home of her parents, “and called the child’s mother.”

This act shows that Miriam was not only quick-witted, but had the courage to carry her convictions into effect. Though very human, as fully demonstrated in after years, she was faithful to her mother when she watched the boat woven of river plants and made water-tight with asphaltum, carrying its one passenger. And was she not very courageous and did she not put all the ages of time and of a coming eternity under obligation when she defended her helpless brother from the perils of the Nile? She it was that brought that wonderful babe and its mother together, so that he was reared to be the deliverer of his nation. What a garland for faithful sisterhood!

What part Miriam took in the care of her illustrious brother while in the arms of his mother-nurse, we are not told, but we may well believe her sisterly love was strong and unwavering during the years while the precious charge was in the care of the mother.

But there was a long period of eighty years between the infancy of Moses and his return from the desert of Midian, so that the clear-eyed and sprightly girl had grown away from the buoyancy of youth during the years of his exile, and must have been nearly, if not quite, a hundred years old, when God’s chosen people were led out of the iron furnace of bondage, a fact we must not lose sight of in the brief narrative of this noble woman in White Raiment. Her age may, in part at least, account for the high position given her. “The sister of Aaron,” is her biblical distinction which she never lost. In Numbers xii, 1, she is placed before Aaron, and in Micah vi, 4, reckoned as one of the three deliverers of God’s chosen people, “I sent before thee Moses[84] and Aaron and Miriam.” Hence it is quite evident that she had no small part in the redemption of the house of Israel from the land of oppression. Whether or not the prejudices of that day gave her full honor, the Lord admitted her to the triumvirate of deliverance, the three children of the brave, faithful Jochebed.

She was also the first person in her father’s house, and the first woman in the history of God’s people to whom the prophetic gifts are directly ascribed. “Miriam the prophetess,” is her acknowledged title in Exodus xv, 20. She stood, as the leader of Hebrew women, appropriately by the side of the future conductor of the religious service.

MIRIAM’S SONG OF TRIUMPH.

[85]In the song of triumph which the children of Israel sang after their passage of the Red Sea, Miriam, with cymbal in hand, led the women in their part of the glad song of deliverance. It does not appear how far the Hebrew women joined in the song, that is, the part led by Moses, but in the antiphony, Miriam repeats the opening words, in the form of a command to the women, saying, “Sing ye to Jehovah, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath He thrown into the sea.”

Miriam must have been exempt from the infirmities of age to a remarkable degree, to be able at her advanced years to lead the host of Hebrew women and maidens in the music and songs of triumph and general rejoicings over the mighty deliverance out of the hand of Pharaoh on the farther shores of the Red Sea. The victory, however, was such a marked one, and the deliverance so great as to cause old age, for the time being, to be swallowed up in the youth of praise and thanksgiving.

Taking up their line of march from the shores of the Red Sea, we do not learn anything farther concerning Miriam until Hazeroth is reached. Here she seems to have been[86] the instigator of an insurrection against Moses. In some respects it must have been grievous to him, all the more so, from the fact that Aaron had also suffered himself to be carried away by his sister’s fanaticism. By virtue of their office as prophet and prophetess, in the minds of the people, they held almost equal rank with Moses.

The occasion of this insurrection was a marriage which Miriam regarded as objectionable, though, notwithstanding, she had the example of Joseph, who married an Egyptian woman, before her, and which marriage did not prove to be antitheocratic. Moses had married a Cushite. It is true the prohibition to marry with the daughters of other than their own people had special reasons of religious self-preservation, and for that reason the High Priest was allowed to marry only a Hebrew virgin, but that was a limitation belonging to his symbolic position. The prophetic class, on the other hand, had the task of illustrating the greatest possible letting down of legal restraint. The union of Moses with this Cushite may have symbolized the future calling of the Gentile nations, a sort of first fruit, as Rahab and Ruth later on proved to be, and it offers a remarkable parallel that the next greatest man of the law, Elijah, lived for a considerable time as the table companion of a heathen widow of Zarephath.

It is manifest that Moses endured in silence the domestic obliquity which his sister drew down upon him, patiently committing his justification to God, until her would-be pious zeal assumed a more alarming aspect. Since Aaron had made common cause with Miriam, Aaron, who wore the breast-plate, Urim and Thummim, and Miriam, who, as a prophetess, had already led the chorus of the women of Israel, must have held high places in the minds of the people; hence, when they raised the question, “Hath the Lord indeed spoken only by Moses? hath he not spoken also by us?” there is no telling where this sedition of Miriam and Aaron might have ended, had not the Lord Himself taken it promptly in hand.

[87]But the Lord heard that complaint, which implied that the prophetic gift was exercised by them also, that they were prophets, vested with authority, and if they even suffered Moses, since his objectionable marriage, to remain in the prophetic college, they could at least outvote him. So Moses, Aaron and Miriam were suddenly cited to the tabernacle of the congregation. When the three presented themselves at the place appointed, the Lord came down in a cloud at the door of the tabernacle, and “called Aaron and Miriam” apart from Moses, and there, at the door of the tabernacle, administered a stern rebuke to both of them. They had lived with Moses so long, and yet knew so little of his exalted position. As a brother he stood too near to them, and they themselves, with their self-consciousness, stood too much in their own light.

“And the cloud departed from off the tabernacle.” As Aaron saw the cloud lifting up and moving off, he must have been inwardly crushed at this punishment. The fires on his altar went out, the pillar of smoke no longer mounted up as a token of grace, the divine presence was withdrawn, and it was as if an interdict of Jehovah lay on the services of the Sanctuary. But this was not all. “Miriam became leprous, white as snow.” There seems to be a singular connection between the punishment of Aaron as the representative of the Church, and Miriam, who had thought herself and Aaron above Moses, snow-white in righteousness, while she looked down on him as unclean. She would dominate the Church, for she dominated Aaron, and now, as a leper, she must be excluded from the Church.

When Aaron looked upon his afflicted sister, though High Priest, the Lord having withdrawn the symbol of his favor from the altar of sacrifice, was as helpless as Miriam, and he now implores Moses, as his superior, to intercede. Here only the spiritual high priesthood of a divine compassion can deliver the helpless High Priest himself and his unfortunate associate in the prophetic office. In his appeal, Aaron almost speaks as if Moses could heal the leprosy. Moses,[88] however, understood it as an indirect request to intercede for Miriam.

“And Moses cried unto the Lord, saying: Heal her now, O God, I beseech thee.” The Lord granted the request, accompanied with a sharp reproof, “If her father had but spit in her face, should she not be unclean seven days?” The figurative expression compares her, who desired to be the prophetic regent of the nation, to a dependent maiden in whose face her father had spit on account of unseemly behavior. Such a one must conceal herself seven days on account of her shame. The same treatment was dictated for Miriam, and she was “shut out from the camp seven days.” The silent grief of the nation must have been profound, for the people remained encamped at Hazeroth during the seclusion of Miriam, and not until she was pronounced clean, and the prescribed sacrifices required on her reception back again, were made, did the Lord’s host depart from their encampment. All these are proofs of the high place she held in the affections of the people.

This sad stroke, and its most gracious removal, is the last public event of Miriam’s life. She died toward the close of the wilderness wanderings at Kadesh, and was buried there. According to Jewish tradition, the burial took place with great pomp on a mountain in the edge of the wilderness of Zin, and the mourning of the whole camp of Israel lasted for thirty days, Jerome tells us that her tomb was shown near Petra.

According to Josephus she was the wife of Hur and the grandmother of Bezaleel, the inspired artisan of the Tabernacle. According to the Targum, the miraculous supply of water at Rephidim was given in her honor. It failed when she died at Kadesh, and was restored only at the second stroke of Moses’ rod, and later, by the digging of the princes with their staves of office, while the people sang a hymn of praise and faith.

These traditions are of but little value except to show in what high esteem she was held.

[89]A long, beautiful, eventful, inspired life—one of patient waiting, intense activity, deep enthusiasm and triumphant faith—transformed the brave little slave girl into the mighty princess and leader of the Lord’s hosts. But for the one assumption of unwarranted authority at Hazeroth, her record would have come down to us untarnished.

After the death of Miriam at Kadesh, on the borders of Zin, and the death of Aaron on Mount Hor, and of Moses on lofty Pisgah, Joshua “sent out of Shittem two men to spy secretly, saying, Go, view the land, even Jericho. And they went, and came into an harlot’s house, named Rahab, and lodged there.”

The occupation of this woman has called out much comment, and many attempts have been made to clear her character of the stains of vice by affirming that she was only an inn-keeper, and not a harlot. No doubt there is much truth in this statement, for we can not entertain the thought that two pure-minded young men sent out by a leader like Joshua would pass by an inn and purposely seek an house of ill repute. It is also possible that to a woman of the age in which she lived, such a calling may have implied a far less deviation from the standard of morality than it does with us, with nearly two thousand years of Christian teaching. We must not forget that Rahab was a heathen; and the heathen knew very little of the simplest principles of truth and purity. In the first chapter of Paul’s Epistle to the Romans he gives a life picture of pagan morals. Even among the polished Greeks, loyalty to their religion made personal purity impossible.[91] The Canaanites were so vile that, in the emphatic language of Scripture, the land vomited them out. The glimpse we catch of Lot’s neighbors may show in what a cesspool of vice Rahab was brought up. But even if we judge this woman by our modern standards, and admit that she was all that is implied in the opprobrious term, the fact that she is listed among God’s elect women shows the wondrous power of divine grace. God can save a great sinner just as easy as a small one. Notwithstanding she carried the double disability, that of being a heathen and a great sinner, her story is told in full. She has honorable mention by the Apostle James as an illustration of the works that show strong faith; and by the spirit of inspiration in the Epistle to the Hebrews, giving her a place among the mighty heroes and heroines who wrought marvels through confidence in God.

At the time when the Israelites were encamped in Shittem, ready to cross the Jordan and enter the land of promise, Jericho was the strongest fortified city in Canaan, and, as the key to Western Palestine, commanded the two mountain passes which led into the land that was to be possessed. It was to be taken; but how? Joshua sent two of his most trusted men to spy out the land, remembering, no doubt with much trepidation, the failure of forty years before, which made them go back and die in the desert.

The life of the spies, the success of the enterprise, and the courage their report would give the Israelites, all turned on the faith and skill of Rahab. She saved to God’s people the battle they had lost forty years before. No wonder that Hebrew writers have thrown the glamor of romance over her story.

Her house was situated on the wall, probably near the city gate, so as to be convenient for persons coming in and going out of Jericho. She seems not only to have kept an inn for wayfaring men, but also to have been engaged in the manufacture of linen and the art of dyeing, for which the Phœnicians were early famous, since we find the flat roof of her house covered with stalks of flax, put there to dry,[92] and a stock of scarlet or crimson line in her house, a circumstance which, coupled with the mention of Babylonish garments as among the spoils of Jericho, indicates the existence of a trade in such articles between Phœnicia and Mesopotamia. It also appears she had a father and mother, brothers and sisters, who, if they were not living in the same house with her, were dwelling in Jericho.

Traders coming from Mesopotamia, or Egypt to Phœnicia, would frequently pass through Jericho, situated as it was near the fords of the Jordan, and, according to the customs of the times, these travelers would seek a public inn.

These men, coming and going, would naturally enough carry the news of current events with them. Rahab therefore had opportunity to be well informed with regard to the events of the Exodus. As we learn from her own story, she had heard of the passage through the Red Sea, of the utter destruction of Sihon and Og, and of the irresistible progress of the Israelitish host. The effect upon her mind had been what one would not have expected in a person of her way of life. It led her to a firm faith in Jehovah as the true God, and to the conviction that He purposed to give Canaan to the Israelites. She may have thought long and deeply on these strange events, and, possibly, her better nature may have loathed the vices of her people, in which she herself had become involved, and longed for the pure worship of the wonder-working God of whom she had heard.

When, therefore, the two spies sent out by Joshua, who must have been men of moral character and worthy of so important a commission, came to Jericho, no doubt they were divinely directed to her house, who alone, of the whole population, was friendly to their cause. Her heart, at all events, was prepared to receive the message with which they intrusted her, and she gave them the information they sought. And such faith had she in the purposes of God to give the land to the hosts of Joshua that she made a covenant with these representatives of his army, to save her and her family when the city fell into their hands.

[93]The coming of these spies, it seems, was quickly known, and the king of Jericho, having received information of it while at supper, according to Josephus, sent that very evening to require her to deliver them up. It is very likely that, her house being a public one, some one who resorted there may have seen and recognized the spies, and at once reported the matter to the authorities. But not without awakening Rahab’s suspicions, and she was courageous enough to hide them under the flax on the roof, and throw the officers off their suspicion, while she let the Hebrews down over the wall and hurried them away to the mountains, to stay till the hunt was given up and the guards had come back from the fords of the Jordan, thus allowing them to escape across the river to their camp.

For her kindness to them she had asked that when the city should be taken, her life and the lives of all that belonged to her should be spared, and it was agreed that she should hang out her scarlet line at the window from which the spies had escaped.

The event proved the wisdom of her precautions. The pursuers returned to Jericho after a fruitless search, and the spies reached the encampment of Israel in safety. The news they brought of the terror of the king and citizens of Jericho doubtless inspired the Israelitish host with fresh courage, and, within three days of their return, the passage of the Jordan was effected.

No one could have been more interested than Rahab during those eventful days. Perhaps, from the window of her dwelling on the city wall, she saw the waters of the Jordan piled on each other, and stretching back over the plain as far as the eye could see—a sight she had never seen, and equal to the dividing of the Red Sea. Toward evening she saw the advance guards of Joshua’s host, and then the white-robed priests bearing the ark, followed by the army and people, and encamping at Gilgal, within two miles of Jericho, and in full view of the city.

[94]After having carefully reviewed her household to assure herself that her father and mother, brothers and sisters, were all there—for this was the covenant she had made with the spies—she probably seated herself at the window from which hung the scarlet cord, to watch the strange procession that marched around the city seven days. Each morning it came filing up from Gilgal in solemn silence, except as the white-robed priests blew their trumpet-blasts.

No one can tell what risk Rahab took, or what indignities she suffered in convincing her relatives that they must be in the covenanted place when the city fell. On her part it was a beautiful faith. Perhaps she recounted to them the ten awful plagues that fell on the Egyptians, the deliverance of His people from the house of bondage, the disaster to Pharaoh and his army at the Red Sea, the opening of streams in the desert, the nightly dewfall of food, the lofty column of cloud that shaded and led by day, and the pillar of fire that kept them safe from night enemies, human and bestial. All this she told to the assembled household as the ground of her faith, with which she would inspire them. No doubt this woman of Jericho, sick at heart on account of her own past life, and the wickedness of her city, thirsted for a fuller knowledge of the true and holy God whose name she hardly dared to take on her sin-polluted lips, and yet, strange as it may seem, she had the strength and honesty to succeed in the preaching of righteousness to her friends.

Day after day she watched the strange procession marching around the closely shut and guarded city. Joshua and the soldiers were at its head; then came the priests with their trumpets, and after them the Ark of the Covenant, hid from view with coverings, and carried reverently on men’s shoulders, while soldiers guarded it from real dangers.

Jericho breathed a little more freely when it saw that the strange desert people marched around the city day after day without striking a blow; but Rahab’s faith held steady, and the scarlet cord swung from her window. That cord may have meant to her the blood of the Redeemer cleansing[95] from sin. No doubt, like Moses, she knew the meaning of the “reproach of Christ.”

The seventh day she was found early at her window, with a sense of completeness in her obedience and faith. Again the Hebrews filed forth from their camp and marched around the city; but this time they kept on till they had gone around the wall six times. The seventh round, the voice of the old captain at the head of the host rang along the line—“Shout! for Jehovah hath given you the city.”

THE FALL OF JERICHO.

Before Rahab fully realized the meaning of this strange command, her ears were filled with the crash of falling walls.[96] In the dust and din, the cries, the shrieks, the terror, but little could be distinctly remembered, only that the desert soldiers who were taking the town were leading her and her kindred forth to a place of safety.

The narrator adds, “and she dwelleth in Israel unto this day,” meaning, the family of which she was reckoned the head, continued to dwell among the Lord’s people. May not the three hundred and forty-five “children of Jericho,” mentioned in Ezra ii, 34, and “the men of Jericho” who assisted Nehemiah in rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem, have been the descendants of her kindred?

As regards Rahab herself, we learn from Matt, i, 5, that she became the wife of Salmon the son of Naasson, and the mother of Boaz, the grandfather of Jesse. It has been conjectured that Salmon may have been one of the spies whose life she saved, and that gratitude for so great a benefit led to their marriage. But, however this may be, it is certain that Rahab became the mother of the line from which sprang David, and eventually Christ.

Distasteful as it may be to goody-good people, the fact remains that Rahab believed God, and when He delivered her out of her heathen surroundings, she entered upon a pure life. Whom God pardons, He justifies. Whom he justifies, He brings to that relation with Himself that would have been held if the sin had never been committed. He does not doom man or woman to life-long penance for sins that have been washed away by the blood of the Lamb.

It is not accidental that Matthew traces the Saviour’s genealogy through four women, namely Thamar, Rachab, Ruth, and Bathsheba, who were not of the Israelitish stock, three of whom were of doubtful morals, and one, Rachab, who carried a double disability. Christ came to save humanity, and that He might be an all-sufficient Saviour, He abased Himself—took us at our worst—that no human soul, however sunk in sin, might despair. And Rahab the harlot was transformed into Rahab the saint, cleansed and purified, and clothed in White Raiment.

[97]From the thrilling incidents just related, the history of God’s chosen people runs on for a hundred years or more before Deborah comes to view on the stage of life. In the meantime Joshua had led the Israelitish hosts to victory, had subdued the several kings, and divided the land among the tribes. Then came years of rest and prosperity, and, strange to say, a turning away from the Author of all their blessings. These departures from their national faith brought down upon them the judgments of God.

The Israelites were now ruled by judges, and at the time Deborah comes to our notice, Barak seems to have been the executive head of the nation.

Deborah was probably a woman of the tribe of Ephraim. Her tent was spread under the palm-tree between Ramah and Bethel in Mount Ephraim, and she was a prophetess, in whom was combined both poetry and prophecy. Deborah stands before us in strong contrast with the customs and prejudices of her time. God’s people were being oppressed by the Canaanites. In the midst of this great national crisis she was called to stand at the head both of statesmanship and the terrible exigencies of war.

Sisera, the general of Jabin’s army, with nine hundred iron war chariots, and a multitude had assembled in the western extremity of the great plain of Jezreel, near the brook Kishon that flows along the northern base of Mount Carmel. Barak, the executive head, was either so timid or apprehensive that the campaign would fail, and thus fasten the tyrant’s chain yet more strongly, that the people looked to Deborah for judgment. She tried to arouse Barak’s courage. She even appealed to the prejudices that were strong in those times, namely, that the victory would be given to a woman if he refused to go. But in vain. He would not move without her. She knew, far better than he, that the battle was not theirs, but God’s. The Lord alone could give victory. Faith was easier to her than to Barak, for she had the spiritual insight that knows the utter nothingness of human help.

[98]For twenty years God’s people had been oppressed by their enemies. At last they had repented of the sins that made necessary their captivity, and the Lord had inspired Deborah to rally them to resist their oppressors. Perhaps Barak hesitated, because, viewed from a human standpoint, he may have felt the utter inadequacy of the Hebrew army to cope with the Syrians and their nine hundred iron war chariots. But just there lies the secret of all success. Only when we are weak, are we strong. This is the victory, even our faith. We have not that faith till we get to the end of our own resources and trusts.

But while Deborah put Barak at the head of the army, she bravely stood by him with her counsels, her prayers, her faith, and her wholesome reproof, for Deborah was a practical and sensible woman. Her name signifies “the bee,” and she was well provided with the sting as well as the honey, and knew how to stir up Barak by wholesome severity as well as encourage him by holy inspiration. He is a very foolish man who refuses to be helped by the shrewd intuitive wisdom of a true woman, for while her head may not be so large, its quality is generally of the best; and her conclusions, though not reasoned out so elaborately, generally reach the right end by intuitions which are seldom wrong. Woman’s place is to counsel, to encourage, to pray, to believe, and pre-eminently to help. This was what Deborah did.

Barak, however, was not always weak. As soon as he had recovered himself from the surprise of the unexpected call to lead the little army of ten thousand against the myriads of Sisera, he consented on condition that the courageous Deborah go with him. By this timidity he lost not a little of the honor that he might have won, and his sharp and penetrating leader plainly told him that the victory should not be wholly to his credit, for God should deliver Sisera into the hands of a woman; and so there were really two women in this struggle for liberty, and Barak was sandwiched in between them. With Deborah in front, and Jael in the rear, and Barak in the midst, even poor, weak Barak became one[99] of the heroes of faith who shine in the constellation of eternal stars, upon which the Holy Spirit has turned the telescope of the eleventh chapter of Hebrews.

How the inspiring faith of Deborah must have nerved Barak for heroic action. Her message to him is all alive with the very spirit and innermost essence of the faith that counts the things that are not as though they were. “Up,” she cries, as she rouses him by a trumpet call from his timorous inactivity; “for this is the day,” she adds, as she shakes him out of his procrastination, “in which the Lord hath delivered Sisera into thine hand.” She goes on to say, as she reckons upon the victory as already won, “Is not the Lord gone out before thee?” She concludes, as she commits the whole matter into Jehovah’s hands, and bids him simply follow on and take the victory that is already given.

Is it possible for faith to speak in plainer terms, or language to express with stronger emphasis the imperative mood or the present tense of that victorious faith, for which nothing is impossible?

Again, we have here the lesson of mutual service. This victory was not all won by any single individual, but God linked together as He loves always to do, many co-operating instruments and agents in the accomplishment of His will. There was Deborah representing the spirit of faith and of prophecy. There was Barak representing obedience and executive energy. There were the people that willingly offered themselves; the volunteers of faith. There were the yet nobler hosts of Zebulun, and Naphtali, that jeoparded their lives unto the death, the martyrs who are the crowning glory of every great enterprise. And there was Jael, the poor heathen woman away out on the frontiers of Israel, who gave the finishing touch, and struck the last blow through the temples of the proud Sisera, while high above all were the forces of nature, and the unseen armies of God’s providence; for the stars in their courses fought against Sisera, and the flood of the Kishon rolled down in mountain torrents and swept the astonished foe away.

[100]Sisera’s iron chariots were broken and scattered; but his will and prowess would soon have another army in the field, more terrible than the first. To answer fully the faith that took hold of God’s strength, the Canaanitish general must die. But not by the hand of Barak. His wavering faith had forfeited that honor. That last act which should bring victory to the army of Israel would be performed through the courage of a woman. The woman who was to complete the deliverance was the wife of an Arab sheik, of a family descended from Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law.

The tribe of Jael and of her husband, Heber, was encamped under the “Oak of the Wanderers.” These Arabs were on good terms with both Hebrews and Syrians; but Jael must have had the spiritual sense to see that the Lord had taken in hand the freeing of Israel, and she must use the opportunity to further His plans. So when Sisera left his unmanageable chariot and escaped from the battle on foot, he came to her tent worn out with the fatigue of the fight and flight, and she gave him the hospitality for which he begged; but while he was in the deep sleep of exhaustion, she drove a tent pin into his temple. His death made impossible the rallying of the host against God’s people. Better far that one man should die, than that thousands of both Hebrews and Syrians should fall on the battlefields of prolonged warfare.

Jael has honorable mention in Deborah’s superb song of triumph. Stanley says of that pæan of victory: “In the song of Deborah we have the only prophetic utterance that breaks the silence between Moses and Samuel. Hers is the one voice of inspiration (in the full sense of the word) that breaks out in the Book of Judges.”

Jael is the only woman mentioned in the Bible who ever took a human life. We confess that the exploit seems unwomanly, but we must not forget there is no sex in right or wrong-doing, though it may be long before we can rid ourselves of the habit of requiring a higher morality in a woman than in a man.

[101]In this heroic effort on the part of Deborah to throw off the yoke of a cruel oppressor, we see the curse of neutrality, and the pitiful spectacle, which seems always to be present, of the unfaithful, ignoble and indifferent ones who quietly looked on while all this was happening, and not only missed their reward, but justly received the curse of God’s displeasure and judgment. And so, in the Song of Deborah, we hear of Reuben’s enthusiastic purposes, but does nothing. We see her fiery scorn for those who strayed among the bleatings of the sheepfolds, rather than the trumpet of the battle. We see her sarcasm strike the selfish men of Gilead who abode beyond Jordan; the careless Danites who remained in their ships, and men of Asher who, secure in their naval defences, stayed away up yonder on the seashore, and took refuge in their ports and inland rivers, while, above all the echoes of her denunciations, rings out the last awful curse against the inhabitants of Meroz, a little obscure city that probably had taken refuge in its insignificance, because its inhabitants had refused to come up to the help of the Lord against the mighty.

Finally, this scene is a pattern page from God’s book of remembrance. Some day we shall read the other pages and find our names recorded either with the inhabitants of Meroz and Reuben, or with the victors of faith who stood with Deborah, and Barak, and Jehovah, in the battles of the Lord. Oh, shall we shine now like stars in the night, and then like the sun in the kingdom of our Father?

Passing on in our narrative from the brave deeds of Deborah, we next come to one of the most heroic daughters in Israel, and her great act of utter abnegation to save a father’s vow is so beautiful that, like the good Samaritan in our Lord’s touching parable, uttered in answer to the question, Who is my neighbor? the name is lost in the fragrance of the deed. She is simply Jephthah’s daughter.

It was during that stormy period in the history of Israel, when again and again they had fallen into the idolatrous practices of their heathen neighbors around them. These[102] unlawful acts had often called down the judgments of God upon them. In the time of Jephthah, the Israelites were smarting under the oppression of an Ammonitish king. The unsettled character of the age was such that the elders of the people sought in vain for a suitable leader, who could command the confidence of his countrymen.

There was one man, however, a native of Gilead, who was a brave and successful leader. This was none other than Jephthah, but, because he had been born a child of misfortune, his brethren disowned him, and had cast him out. In most persons such treatment develops a spirit of misanthropy and bitterness which often find expression in revenge.

But Jephthah seemed to have possessed a much sweeter disposition than his brethren. His faith seems to have been anchored to God, and, as is usually the case, when all else forsook him then the Lord took him up, and, trusting in Jehovah, he lived to have a glorious revenge upon his unkind people by bringing them a blessing instead of the curse that they had given him.

We have a little touch of his character in the name he gave his new home. He called it the land of Tob. Tob means “good,” and this is but a little straw to tell how the wind blew in Jephthah’s life.

And so the day came when Jephthah’s brothers were glad to send for him to be their deliverer, and Jephthah had the high honor of returning good for evil, and saving the people that once despised him. He consented to become their leader on the condition, which was solemnly ratified before the Lord in Mizpah, that in the event of his success against the Ammonitish king he should still remain as their acknowledged head. This is the way that God loves to vindicate us, to make us a blessing to those that hated us and wronged us. His promise is, “I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know that I have loved thee.”

When Jephthah responded to their appeal, and came for their help, we see in his very words and acts the spirit of godliness and a lofty faith. We are told explicitly that all[103] his words to his own people were “before the Lord.” He spoke as in Jehovah’s presence. He also went against his adversaries in the name of Jehovah God. The battle was not his, but the Lord’s, and such faith never can be confounded. It was not long before Jephthah returned in triumph from the slaughter of his enemies. His country was delivered, his claims vindicated, and his enemies were destroyed.

But now we come to the great trial in Jephthah’s life, which shows not only the loftiest faith, but the sublimest faithfulness. In the hour of peril he had vowed a vow unto Jehovah, pledging that when he returned in victory the first object that he met should be dedicated to the Lord, an offering to Him. As he came back amid the acclamations of universal triumph, the first who met him when he approached his home was his beautiful daughter, and as he realized all that his vow had meant, he was overwhelmed for a moment with the deepest emotion. But not for an instant did he hesitate in his firm and high purpose, nor once did that dear child shrink back from the sacrifice imposed upon her, but stood nobly with her father, demanding that he should fulfill his vow to the utmost.

The scene is very graphically described: When “Jephthah came to Mizpah unto his house, behold, his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and with dances; and she was his only child; beside her he had neither son nor daughter. And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent his clothes and said, Alas, my daughter! thou hast brought me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble me, for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I can not go back.”

This noble child of faith certainly was equal to her father’s trial, and lovingly replied, “My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth.”

There has been much discussion as to the real meaning of Jephthah’s vow, and the real fate of his lovely, obedient[104] daughter. That the daughter of Jephthah was really offered up to God in sacrifice, slain by the hand of her father and then burned, is a horrible conclusion, and contrary to all we know of his life, upon which we have dwelt at some length in order to bring out its characteristics. With such a sweet trust and confidence in God as is manifest in his every act, we can not believe that either Jephthah meant to make a human sacrifice, or that his daughter so understood it. There are several passages and constructions which can leave no doubt in the mind of the candid reader that such was not the literal intention, and that this fair child of faith and obedience was not to be slain upon the altar like the children of Ammon before their god of fire, but that her fresh life was given in all its purity as a living sacrifice of separation and life of service to Jehovah.

In the eighteenth chapter of Deuteronomy we find the most solemn warnings given to Israel against imitating in the least degree the cruel and wicked rites of the Ammonites, especially in offering human sacrifices. Now these Ammonites were the very people against whom Jephthah had gone forth to war, and as godly follower of Jehovah he must have been familiar with the commandments of the book of Deuteronomy. For him, therefore, to directly disobey these solemn injunctions would have been to prove false to all his character and all the meaning of his victory in the name of Jehovah.

Again, in the twelfth chapter of Exodus, it is clearly taught that the first-born of Israel were all to be recognized as the Lord’s, and liable, therefore, to death, like the Egyptian first-born. But, instead of their lives being literally required, they were redeemed by the blood of a lamb, and the Paschal lamb was offered instead of the life of the Hebrew, and that life was still regarded as wholly the Lord’s, given to Him in living consecration, of which the whole tribe of Levi was regarded as the type, and therefore it was separated unto the service of the Lord as a substitute for the lives of the first-born.

[105]In all this was clearly taught the lesson that what God required from His people was not a dead body, but a “living sacrifice.” It is much harder to live for God than to die for God. It takes much less spiritual and moral power to leap into the conflict and fling a life away in the excitement of the battle than it does to live through fifty years of misunderstanding, pain and temptation. It would have been easier for Jephthah’s daughter to have lain down amid the flowers of spring, the chants and songs of a religious ceremonial, the tears and songs of the people who loved her, and know that her name would be forever enshrined, than to go out from the bright circle of human society and all the charms of youth and beauty and domestic and social delight, and live as a recluse for God alone, giving up the dearest hope of every Hebrew woman, not only to be a mother, but to be the mother of the promised Christ; giving up also, along with her father, the fond desire of a son to share his honor and his sceptre, to prolong his name. All this it meant. This was the sacrifice she made. And so we read that she did not go aside to bewail her approaching death, but she went aside for two months to bewail her “virginity,” the loneliness of her own life, then gladly gave her life a living sacrifice to God.

There are several other considerations that might be added if necessary to establish this construction of the passage. It is enough to briefly refer to the fact that the phrase in the eleventh chapter of Judges, verse thirty-nine, is in the future tense, and refers to her future virginity and not her past, and also that the translation of the fortieth verse in one of our versions, is that the daughters of Israel went yearly “to talk” with the daughter of Jephthah four times in a year. It is not necessary to pursue the argument further. Enough for our present purpose that we catch the inspired lesson. That lesson is supreme, unqualified, unquestioning fidelity to God.

How tender and beautiful the lesson which this passage gives to the young as well as the old! Just as Isaac stands[106] out in the older story in a light as glorious as Abraham in yonder sacrifice on Mount Moriah, so Jephthah’s daughter’s sacrifice must not be forgotten in the honor we pay her father. Sweet child of single-hearted consecration! God help her sisters and her followers to be as true. Oh, beloved, do not wait until desire shall fail and age chill the pulses of ardent youth, and the world fall away from you itself. But when the flowers are blooming, and the cup is brimming, and the heart beats high with earthly love and joy and hope, then it is so sweet, it is so wise, it is so rare, to pour all at His blessed feet, as Mary poured her ointment on His head, and some day to receive it back amid the bloom and peals of yonder land, where they that have forsaken friends and treasures, fond affections and brightest prospects for His dear sake, shall receive a hundredfold, and shall have the still richer joy of knowing that they have learned His spirit and understood His love.

Following the story of Jephthah’s daughter and her heroic self-sacrifice, we next come to the touching scenes and incidents related in the life of Ruth and her mother-in-law, Naomi. This is, confessedly, one of the sweetest idyls ever written. As a singular example of virtue and piety in a rude age and among an idolatrous people; as one of the first fruits of the Gentile harvest gathered into the Church; as the heroine of a story of exquisite beauty and simplicity; as illustrating in her history the workings of Divine Providence, and the truth of the saying, “the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous;” for the many interesting revelations of ancient domestic and social customs which are associated with her story, Ruth has always held a foremost place among the Women in White Raiment.

The story begins at Bethlehem, so dear to the Christian heart. A famine had occurred, and even the fertile plains of Bethlehem Ephratah (the fruitful) failed to give sufficient food to its inhabitants. On this account Elimelech, an Ephrathite, left his home with his wife and two sons and went to sojourn in the land of Moab, the hilly region south-east[107] of the Dead Sea, where the descendants of Lot dwelt. Here Elimelech died, and Naomi, his wife, was left a widow with her two sons, Mahlon and Chilin.

The young men, when grown, took them wives of the women of Moab. Probably this was another severe trial to Naomi, for she had doubtless warned them that it was contrary to God’s law that they should marry daughters of the heathen. Other strokes came quickly upon her, for her two sons died also. Naomi, notwithstanding her nationality, had won the respect and warmest attachment of her sons’ wives; and now, when death had desolated their homes and laid in the dust the strong men to whom they had clung, they only drew the closer to each other.

At the end of ten years, and having heard that there was plenty again in Judah, Naomi resolved to return to Bethlehem. Orpah and Ruth also purposed to accompany her. We can imagine the sad farewell visit to the graves of the beloved dead, and then together set out on foot for the land which the Lord had blessed.

After they had gone on their way for some distance, Naomi, with heartfelt acknowledgment of their fidelity to her, endeavored to persuade them to return to their own kindred. But they both declared that they would cleave to her. And so they trudged on until probably the borders of Moab were reached, when Naomi once more urged them to return to their people. Orpah this time yielded to Naomi’s urgent request, and giving her a kiss of farewell, returned to her people. Ruth, however, still clave to Naomi, with self-sacrificing love. Pointing to the form of Orpah, Naomi entreated Ruth to follow her sister’s example.

This was the crisis in Ruth’s life, on which her future destiny was to turn. But the clinging nature of Ruth refused to be separated from the warm heart of Naomi, and no one can fail to be moved by the pathos of her reply, “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God;[108] where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.” This tender loyalty and undying love must have touched the strong, brave heart of Naomi, for Ruth’s noble plea covered every possible condition in life through which they might be called to pass, and refused to be separated even in death.

RUTH THE FAITHFUL FRIEND.

The decision was so firmly, so solemnly stated that there was nothing more to be said, and Naomi, doubtless glad in her loneliness to retain the treasure of such a true and loving[109] heart, made no further effort to alter her purpose, and so the two journeyed on together towards Bethlehem.

There were two things in conflict, one with the other, at this stage in the experience of these women. 1. Ruth had learned to know and to love the true God, and we must believe she loved him with the intensity of her nature. The opportunity was offered, and she determined to forsake her heathen idols, and to unite herself with the people of Jehovah, and to rest within the shadow of the wings of the God of Israel, regardless of trials or poverty that might await her in the future. 2. On the other hand, Naomi was brave to take Ruth with her, for she knew the law that excluded the Moabite, and it is marvelous that Ruth was received into the Hebrew nation, for her people were specially interdicted, and doubtless this was the reason why Naomi sought and urged Orpah and Ruth to turn back.

At length, after days of travel, the two lone women, weary and footsore, arrived at Bethlehem, and all the city was moved about the event, and as they looked into the face of the elder woman and saw the deep lines of sorrow, they said, “Is not this Naomi?” Yes, it was Naomi (which means delightsome), in her youth, before her life became blasted with sorrow and want. In her destitution her name seems to her to be a mockery, and she exclaims, “Call me Mara!” that is, bitterness. She went out with her husband and sons full of hope, now she has returned with only the bitter recollection of three graves in the land of Moab, and herself in abject poverty.

No one seemed to have helped Naomi in her sorrow and distress. But Ruth, true to her declaration, clung to Naomi, and bravely took it upon herself to provide for both. It was the time of the barley harvest, and the brave girl went out into the fields to glean after the reapers, a privilege that the law of Moses allowed to the poor of the land.

“Her hap” was to enter the field of Boaz. It was a “hap” so far as Ruth was concerned, but back of it was the ordering of Him who is the husband of the widow and the Father[110] of the fatherless. Boaz came into the field, and after the good manners of those times, exchanged pious and kindly salutations with his reapers. Now Boaz was a near kinsman of Ruth’s deceased husband, and a man of wealth and consideration, but of course knew nothing about this Moabitess. However, having learned that she was the companion of Naomi, he generously permitted her to glean among the sheaves, and instructed his reapers to let drop a handful now and then on purpose for her.

And so this loving heart gleaned through the hot hours of the day until evening, and then she beat the barley from the straw, and the result proved she had “about an ephah” (over a bushel) of barley.

With the result of her day’s labor under her arm, she hastened home, and when Naomi saw it, she asked, “Where hast thou gleaned to-day?”

Ruth replied that the name of the man in whose field she had gleaned was Boaz.

Naomi loved her beautiful, widowed daughter-in-law; and she was eager for her to have a happy home, claiming in Israel the inheritance of the departed, and so she told Ruth of the relation in which Boaz stood to her, and instructed her to claim at the hands of Boaz that he should perform the part of her husband’s near kinsman, by purchasing the inheritance of Elimelech, and taking her to be his wife. But there was a nearer kinsman than Boaz, and it was necessary that he should have the option of redeeming the inheritance for himself. He, however, declined, fearing to mar his own inheritance. Upon which, with all due solemnity, Boaz took Ruth to be his wife, amidst the blessings and congratulations of their neighbors.

The most sweetly primitive and poetic touch of all this story is the blessing of the women upon Naomi, when the babe that had been given Ruth after her marriage to Boaz was laid in the mother-in-law’s bosom: “Blessed be the Lord, which had not left thee this day without a kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel. And he shall be[111] unto thee a restorer of thy life, and a nourisher of thine old age; for thy daughter-in-law, which loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven sons, hath borne him.”

Ruth, by birth, was a heathen. As such, she was excluded from God’s covenanted people. But, in her case, love was mightier than law. In the fullness of time it was shown to be the fulfillment of law. Though her people were specially interdicted, she was admitted to the first rank and led by Providence into the line of the world’s nobility. Her life shows how God values beautiful, loving character even more than great deeds. As her name indicates, she was a “faithful friend.” It was what she was, rather than what she did, that brought her the high honor of being the mother of Obed, and the ancestress, not only of David and Solomon, the greatest Jewish kings, but of Christ Himself. To a believing people like the Hebrews, who lived for the future, that was the climax of Divine approval.

What amazing results have been accomplished by women of faith. It will be well for us to study and emulate the sweet, obedient faith of this beautiful Moabitess. We must remember that it is not the quantity, but quality, of our service that pleases most our heavenly Father; not what we do, but what we are. We may never do great things, but, through grace, we can all be faithful. We may pass from the stage of action, but the splendid deeds wrought in faith will remain, shedding their influence across the bosom of a sinful world, like so many beacon lights guiding a guilty race back to a Father’s love, and the world’s final redemption.

We now come to Hannah, the last woman in White Raiment under the Theocracy. The mother of the great and good Samuel will ever stand in history as among the purest of women. It often happens that the mother is lost sight of in the fame of her son. This is quite true in the life of Samuel. He stands out the great Reformer of his time, lifting his people out of the Dark Ages of the Old Testament and leading them into the Golden Age of David’s kingdom and Israel’s pre-eminence among the nations.

[112]But while Samuel ranks with Joseph, and Joshua, and Daniel, in the blamelessness of his life, let us not forget that back of that great life was a woman’s broken heart, a woman’s tears, a woman’s life made bitter by disappointment and humiliation, made so by a polygamous system whose fruit must ever be jealousy and sorrow—ever a sign of a low condition of social morality.

Poor, heart-broken Hannah was one of the two wives of Elkanah, an Ephrathite. However, the record does not show that she was unloved by her husband. Indeed, it appears that he tried to comfort her, gallantly asking her if he were not more to her than ten sons. But her sorrow that she had no children made her countenance sad, and took away her appetite for food. At length, however, out of her crushed heart came the believing prayer that brought her victory and consolation.

It was the fixed habit of Elkanah to go with his family “yearly to worship and to sacrifice unto the Lord of Hosts in Shiloh.” On one of these yearly visits, Hannah poured out her prayer in great sobs and tears. She was very definite in her petition. She asked for a son, not that she might know the joy of motherhood, but that God might be glorified. She promised that she would “give him unto the Lord all the days of his life.” And so earnest was she in pressing her suit, that Eli the priest thought her drunk, and reproved her for her conduct. But she bravely told him her story. She said she was a “woman of a sorrowful spirit.” She had drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but had poured out her soul before the Lord.

The spirit of prophecy came upon the good old man, and though he knew nothing of the nature of her prayer, he promised its fulfillment. “Go in peace: and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast asked of Him.” Hannah believed, and she “went her way, and did eat, and her countenance was no more sad.”

After her beautiful boy was born, and began to show his charming baby ways, she trembled under his dainty caresses,[113] and the kisses of his pure, sweet mouth, for she remembered her vow; but she was true and faithful.

It is a brave, strong, submissive mother who can give up without a murmur the child that God takes to Himself; but to know that he is alive somewhere, and at that very hour may be grieving for lack of the love and care that only a mother can give, O how that ordeal must rend the heart! Just that was the test of Hannah’s loyalty. In just that severe balance of obedience and trust was she weighed, and she was not found wanting.

When her child was old enough to be left without a mother’s watchful care she took him to the Tabernacle and gave him to Eli, to be brought up as a child of the sanctuary. “I have lent him to the Lord,” she said, “and as long as he lives he shall be lent unto the Lord.” Not for a few days or weeks did she give him up, but she gave him wholly and with a sacrifice that only a mother could understand, she consented that the little feet for whose pattering she had longed should be heard no more in her cottage, that the prattle for whose music her lonely heart had waited a lifetime should sound no more in her ears, but that she should live on till the end alone, glad to know that he was all the Lord’s, and was giving back to God the blessing which he had brought to her. This is love and this is the difference between the love of earth and the love of heaven. Earthly love loves for the pleasure it can find in loving. Heavenly love loves for the blessing it can give to the loved one. Hannah knew that her sacrifice was best for Samuel, and that in giving him to God she was getting more for him than a mother’s selfish fondness could ever have bestowed.

And yet there was still the sweet thought behind it all that he was hers. She was not losing him but lending him, and God counted her sacrifice a real service, and some day would restore the loan with infinite and eternal additions.

When Hannah had triumphed over her own heart, and her boy was safely under the care and instruction of Eli, to be used to the utmost in the Lord’s service, she sung her song of[114] thanksgiving for the birth of her son. Her hymn is in the highest order of prophetic poetry. Its resemblance to that of the Virgin Mary has been noticed by Bible students, and is specially remarkable as containing the first designation of the Messiah under that name. Though written in the days of scant literary attainment, the song of Hannah is an exquisite piece of composition. It is full of keen insight and superb power. Besides what was written by Moses, men wrote but little poetry in that early time. The hymns of Miriam, Deborah and Hannah have rare beauty. It was the daughters rather than the sons who prophesied in song.

But while the child Samuel, “girded with a linen ephod,” “ministered before the Lord,” in the Tabernacle, in Shiloh, the loving mother heart, in her home, was stitching her beautiful thoughts year after year into the little coat which she annually brought to him, “when she came up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.” And we may well believe that Hannah’s loyalty and good sense made plain, serviceable garments, so that the mind of the young Samuel was not diverted from his Tabernacle duties to gay and bright colors in his tunics, and so his young heart was kept from the blight of pride. This was the lad’s high privilege. He was always a holy child. He never knew the defiling breath of wickedness. This may be the privilege of your child, Christian mother. God help you to protect your innocent babe from the foul breath of sin’s contamination and always to shelter that trusting life under the protecting wings of God. This may be your privilege, happy Christian child, who perchance may read these lines to-day. Oh, let God have your earliest years and may you never know the mystery of iniquity and the memories of sin and shame which, though they may be forgiven, yet come back to defile and distress the heart.

But Samuel was not holy and good by natural birth or disposition. It was not because that he was good anyhow by temperament. The keynote of his life was, “Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.” At first even he made some mistakes[115] and misunderstood the voice that spake to him so gently in his little chamber. Three times it called to him in vain, and he thought it was the old priest’s message, but even when he understood not he still responded and sprang to his feet, ready instantly to obey.

The very peculiarities of Samuel’s call lingered in his later life in his messages to Saul, “Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and to hearken than the fat of rams.” All his blessings had come to him by hearkening and obeying, and all Saul’s calamities had come to him because he willfully took his own way and refused to listen to God.

From Hannah’s consecration of her child we may learn two excellent lessons, embodying the greatest principles that underlie the human side of the redemption of the race: First, the mother’s power; and second, the child’s ability to know God. She had so thoroughly lent Samuel to the Lord that he held true to God in the degeneracy of Eli’s judgeship and the slackness of the priesthood, as illustrated in the family of Eli. The social condition of the age was a shocking exhibition of low sensuality, licentiousness and cupidity that would disgrace even the grossest heathenism. Eli himself, while a just and holy man in his own private character, was weak and inefficient as a judge and a priest, and utterly failed to restrain his ungodly family or exercise any just administration of public affairs. The whole nation was, therefore, in a most pitiable condition, at the mercy of its foreign oppressors and so enfeebled that a few years later we find there was not a sword in Israel, and they had even to go to the grindstones of the Philistines in order to grind their plough coulters for the ordinary operations of husbandry. It was at such a time as this that God called Samuel to be at once the pattern and deliverer of his country.

In the very outset, the Lord had some very unpleasant work for Samuel to do, which must have tested his obedience. While yet quite young he had a hard, sad message to deliver to his old friend and instructor, and it was no easy task to go to Eli and tell him all that God had spoken against his[116] house. It was the hard test which often came again in his later ministry as the messenger of God to sinful man. Again and again did he have to go to those he loved and say to them the thing which nearly broke his heart.

When this child of promise finally passed from under the watchful care of the devoted Hannah, we are told, “the Lord was with Samuel,” and he “let none of his words fall to the ground, and all Israel knew that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord.”

The life of Samuel marks a transition period in the history of Israel from the time of the Judges to the kingdom of Saul and David. His was an epoch life like Abraham’s, Joshua’s and John the Baptist’s.

He also enjoyed the distinguished honor of being the founder of the school of the prophets and the first in that glorious succession of holy men who spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost, and who formed the only unbroken line of truth and righteousness in the history of God’s ancient people. From the days of Samuel the prophets formed a distinct class, and had a regular school of training, corresponding somewhat to our theological seminaries and training institutes, and Samuel had the pre-eminence of being the founder of these prophetic schools. Later in his life he went about the country as a pastor and overseer, visiting the towns and villages, holding conventions, from place to place and instructing the people in the law of God and the schools of the prophets in the principles of the kingdom.

But, above all his public ministries and even his national influence, Samuel was himself a beautiful and spotless character. In an age of almost universal corruption he lived a life of blameless piety, and at a later period, when bidding farewell to the nation as their judge, he could truly call upon them to witness to his uprightness and integrity. “Behold,” he said, “I am old and gray-headed, and I have walked before you from my childhood unto this day. Behold, here I am; witness against me before the Lord and before His anointed. Whose ox have I taken? or whose ass have[117] I taken? or whom have I defrauded? whom have I oppressed? or of whose hand have I received any bribe to blind mine eyes therewith? and I will restore it to you.” And they said, “Thou hast not defrauded us nor oppressed us, neither hast thou taken aught of any man’s hand.”

Samuel stands forth as one of the blameless lives of sacred history; human no doubt in his infirmities, but no fault has been recorded against him, and his personal character is the most eloquent testimony of all his history.

We have been permitted to trace this beautiful life to its source. Some characters, like Elijah’s suddenly burst upon our vision and we only know them in the public and closing chapters of their history. Some, however, are like a beautiful river that you can trace to its crystal fountain and follow all through its winding channel until, like our own Hudson, it pours its volume into the sea. Thus we have been permitted to stand by Samuel’s cradle and even to know something of his prophetic future before his very birth. We enter into the joys and sorrows and the believing prayers of Hannah, the devoted mother, who was the real fountain, not only of his natural life, but also of his piety and holy power. And we walk side by side with him through his childhood and his youth until, at last, we meet him in the busy activities of his manhood and follow him until he lays down his ministry and passes to his honored rest.

What a touching story is the life of Hannah of motherly consecration of herself and her Samuel. If all who wear the crown of motherhood were as noble, as loyal, as self-giving and trustful as Hannah was, and brought up their children to know and obey the voice of the Lord, what a world this would be. O that our land were filled with Hannahs, then would we have more Samuels.

Passing out from under the Theocracy, or rule of the Judges, the first woman in White Raiment that appears on the page of the Sacred Record is Abigail. She was the wife of Nabal, a wealthy owner of goats and sheep in Carmel, not the Mount Carmel of Central Palestine, between the maritime plain of Sharon on the south, and the great inland expanse known as the plain of Esdraelon on the north, but a town in the mountainous country of Judah, to the west of the lower end of the Dead Sea. She was a woman of good understanding and of a beautiful countenance—a fit combination.

Her character had written its legend on her face. The two things do not always go together. There are many beautiful women wholly destitute of good understanding, just as birds of rarest plumage are commonly deficient in the power of song. But a good understanding, which is moral rather than intellectual, casts a glow of beauty over the plainest features.

But Abigail’s husband was a churl. The great establishment over which she presided would be called, in our modern times, a sheep ranch, and, under the management of such a man as Nabal, the servants doubtless often echoed the ill-temper of their master, and her wits would be often sharpened to the utmost to keep all within the limits of safety and comfort.

[119]Evidently, at her birth, Abigail had been a welcomed child in a happy home, amid plenty and even luxury, such as the times in that rude age of the world could give. Her parents named her “Source of joy.” She had grown up in a glad, breezy confidence that made her equal to any emergency. Since God has floods of glory for the gloomiest souls, why will not parents keep their children in the clear, warm sunshine of joyful love? Many drudge early and late to provide culture and comfort; but they withhold a better, richer gift. They becloud hopelessly the dear young lives with their own disappointments, and foredoom them to despondency.

This sprightly, happy, beautiful Abigail at length married the selfish, churlish Nabal. When we look over society to-day, it is remarkable how many Abigails get married to Nabals. God-fearing women, tender and gentle in their sensibilities, high-minded and noble in their ideals, become tied in an indissoluble union with men for whom they can have no true affinity, even if they have not an unconquerable repugnance. In Abigail’s case this relationship was, in all probability, not of her choosing, but the product of the Oriental custom which compelled a girl to take her father’s choice in the matter of marriage. As a mere child she may have come into Nabal’s home, and become bound to him by an apparently inevitable fate. In other ways which involve equally little personal choice, compelled by the pressure of inexorable circumstances, misled by the deceitful tongue of flattery, her instinctive hesitancy overcome by the urgency of friends, a woman may still find herself in Abigail’s pitiful plight. To such a one there is but one advice—you must stay where you are. The dissimilarity in taste and temperament does not constitute a sufficient reason for leaving your husband to drift. You must believe that God has permitted you to enter on this awful heritage, partly because this fiery ordeal was required by your character, and partly that you might act as a counteractive influence. It may be that some day your opportunity will come, as it came to[120] Abigail. In the meantime do not allow your purer nature to be bespotted or besmeared. You can always keep the soul clean and pure. Bide your time; and, amid the weltering waste of inky water, be like a pure fountain rising from the ocean depths.

But if any young girl of good sense and earnest aspirations, who reads these lines, secretly knows that, if she had the chance, she would wed a carriage and pair, a good position, or broad acres, irrespective of character, let her remember that to enter the marriage bond with a man, deliberately and advisedly, for such a purpose, is a profanation of the Divine ideal, and can end only in one way. She will not raise him to her level, but she will sink to his.

There came a time when Nabal had an opportunity to show kindness, to pay back, in part at least, his appreciation for the protection David and his men had given Nabal’s shepherds from Bedouin and other desert robbers. It was sheep-shearing time, a season of gladness and of feasting. David and his men were shut up in the wilderness of Engedi, driven thither by the persecutions of Saul. Doubtless they were in need of food, and David thought that the owner of three thousand sheep, and a thousand goats, in the very midst of the sheep-shearing festivities, could send him a token of remembrance in his hunger and need. So David sent ten of his young men with salutations of peace and prosperity, and a request for any favor he felt disposed to give. But Nabal answered the young men saying, “Who is David? and who is the son of Jesse? there be many servants nowadays that break away every man from his master. Shall I then take my bread, and my water, and my flesh that I have killed for my shearers, and give it unto men, whom I know not whence they be?”

The young men returned to David with the message of Nabal, and, naturally enough, David felt insulted and outraged. Taking a band of four hundred men, he resolved to impress upon Nabal who the “son of Jesse” was, and to make him pay dearly for his foolhardy conduct.

[121]But, in the meantime, one of Nabal’s servants told Abigail how David’s young men had been treated. Evidently this thoughtful and prudent servant knew the excellency of his mistress, and could trust her to act wisely in the emergency which was upon them. So he told her all. Told how David and his men had been “a wall” unto the shepherds “both by night and by day,” and for all this kindness Nabal, his master, had “railed” upon David’s messengers.

THE BEAUTIFUL ABIGAIL MEETING DAVID.

Abigail immediately grasped the situation and at once despatched a small procession of provision-bearers along the[122] way David would come. In this she did not even take Nabal into her counsel, and she prepared to pay bountifully for the conduct of her foolhardy husband.

The band had scarcely started when she followed after, and, as she expected, met the avenging warriors by the covert of the mountain, and the interview was as creditable to her woman’s wit as to her grace of heart. The lowly obeisance of the beautiful woman at the young soldier’s feet; the frank confession of the wrong that had been done; the expression of thankfulness that so far he had been kept from blood-guiltiness and from avenging his own wrongs; the depreciation of the generous present she brought as only fit for his servants; the chivalrous appreciation of his desire to fight only the battles of the Lord and to keep an unblemished name; the sure anticipation of the time when his fortunes would be secured and his enemies silenced; the suggestion that in those coming days he would be glad to have no shadow on the sunlit hills of his life, no haunting memory—all this was as beautiful and wise and womanly as it could be, and brought David back to his better self. Frank and noble as he always was, he did not hesitate to acknowledge his deep indebtedness to this lovely woman, and to see in her intercession the gracious arrest of God. “And David said to Abigail, Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, which sent thee this day to meet me; and blessed be thy wisdom, and blessed be thou, which has kept me this day from blood-guiltiness, and from avenging myself with my own hand.”

What a revelation this is of the ministries with which God seeks to avert us from our evil ways! They are sometimes very subtle and slender, very small and still; sometimes a gentle woman’s hand laid on our wrist, the mother reminding us of her maternity, the wife of early vows, the child with its pitiful, beseeching look; sometimes a thought, holy, pleading, remonstrating. Ah, many a time we have been saved from actions which would have caused lasting regret. And above all these voices and influences there has been the gracious arresting influence of the Holy Spirit, striving with[123] passion and selfishness, calling us to a nobler, better life. Blessed Spirit, come down more often by the covert of the hill, and stay us in our mad career, and let us not press past thee to take our own wild way, and we shall have reason for ceaseless gratitude.

Only ten days after Abigail’s womanly intercession Nabal died by the judgments of God.

When David heard of Nabal’s death, he was very grateful indeed that he had been restrained by the prudent words of Abigail, and sent messengers to her at Carmel, asking her hand in marriage. And this is the touching reply she sent back to David, “Behold, let thine handmaid be a servant to wash the feet of the servants of my lord.”

“And Abigail hasted, and arose, and rode upon an ass, with five damsels of hers that went after her; and she went after the messengers of David, and became his wife.” After her marriage, she accompanied David in all his fortunes; and no doubt her shrewd business sense was of great service to her husband. The words she told David while he was sinking under discouragement from Nabal’s ingratitude, that he would be “bound in the bundle of life with the Lord his God,” became prophetic of her own after life. She proved that—

We next come to Michal. As Abigail had saved the life of Nabal, so Michal had saved the life of David. She was the younger of the two daughters of Saul, the first king in Israel. David had been very successful in the slaughter of the Philistines, and on his return the women came out singing songs of welcome, in which they chanted, “Saul hath slain thousands, and David ten thousands.” Saul was highly displeased with this popular welcome to David and said, “What can he have more but the kingdom?”

But, with a view of exposing the life of David, Saul promised his elder daughter, Merab, in marriage, if he[124] would fight his battles. However, in this Saul had missed his calculations, for the Philistines were not able to take the life of David. So, no doubt, in order that he might have one more opportunity of exposing David to the dangers of war, he gave Merab to Adriel, the Mehoathite, to wife. It was a treachery such as Saul frequently practiced upon David. So he offered Michal, the second daughter, in marriage, fixing the price for her hand at no less than the slaughter of a hundred Philistines. David, by a brilliant feat, doubled the tale of his victims, and Michal became his wife.

Michal was not averse to the good luck of David, for she had so appreciated him that she had fallen violently in love with the young hero. It was not long, however, before the strength of her affections was put to the proof. After one of Saul’s attacks of frenzy, in which David had barely escaped being transfixed by the king’s spear, Michal learned that the house was being watched by Saul’s soldiers, and that it was intended on the next morning to attack her husband as he left his door. Michal seemed to have known too well the vacillating and ferocious disposition of her father when in these demoniacal moods, so, like a true soldier’s wife, she met stratagem by stratagem. She first provided for David’s safety by lowering him out of the window by means of a rope. To gain time for him to reach the residence of Samuel at Ramah, she dressed up the bed as if still occupied by him, by placing a teraphim in it, its head enveloped, like that of a sleeper, in the usual net used for protection from gnats—a sore pest in Palestine.

It happened as Michal feared. Her father sent officers to take David. Michal made answer that her husband was ill and could not be disturbed. At last Saul would not be longer put off, and ordered his messengers to force their way into David’s apartment, when they discovered the deception which had been played so successfully, Saul’s rage knew no bounds, and his fury was such that Michal was obliged to resort to another deception by pretending that David attempted to kill her.

[125]When Michal let David down by a rope through a window on that memorable night in which she saved his life, it was the last time she saw her husband for many years. When the rupture between Saul and David became open, Saul gave Michal in marriage to Phaltiel, of Gallim, a village not far from the royal residence at Gibeah.

After the death of Saul, Michal and her new husband moved with the royal family to the east of Jordan.

It was at least fourteen years since she had watched David’s disappearance down the rope into the darkness of the night and had imperilled her own life to save his. During all these years, it would seem, his love for his absent wife had undergone no change, for he was eager to reclaim her when the first opportunity presented itself. That opportunity came when Abner revolted from Ishbosheth. Important as it was to him to make an alliance with the court of Ishbosheth, established at Mahanaim, and much as he respected Abner, he would not listen for a moment to any overtures till his wife was restored. And David sent messengers to Ishbosheth saying, “Deliver me my wife Michal.” There seemed to be no alternative, and Michal was taken from Phaltiel. That she had equally won the love of Phaltiel is manifest from the sad scene when she was taken from him, and now under the joint escort of David’s messengers and Abner’s twenty men, en route from Mahanaim to Hebron, he followed behind, bewailing the wife thus torn from him, and would not turn back until commanded to do so by Abner.

But when Michal was received into the royal home, then at Hebron, she was not the affectionate companion of David’s youth. And, doubtless, he was no longer to her what he was before she had bestowed her love upon another. They were no longer what they had been to each other. The alienation was probably mutual. On her side must have been the recollection of the long contest which had taken place in the interval between her father and David; the strong feeling in the palace at Hebron against the house of Saul, where every[126] word she heard must have contained some distasteful allusion, and where at every turn she must have encountered men like Abiather the priest, or Ismaiah the Gibeonite, who had lost the whole or the greater part of their relatives in some sudden burst of her father’s fury. And more than all, perhaps, the inevitable difference between the husband of her recollections and the matured and occupied warrior who now received her. The whole must have come upon her as a strong contrast to the affectionate Phaltiel, whose tears had followed her along the road over Olivet until commanded to return home.

It also seems she did not enter into David’s religious sympathies. When he brought the Ark of Jehovah into Jerusalem, after the seat of government was transferred from Hebron to that city, Michal watched the procession approach from the window of the royal palace, and when she saw David in the triumphal march, “she despised him in her heart.” It would have been well if her contempt had rested there; but it was not in her nature to conceal it, and when the last burnt offering had been made, and the king entered his house to bless his family, he was received by his wife not with the congratulations which he had a right to expect and which would have been so grateful to him, but with a bitter taunt which showed how incapable she was of appreciating either her husband’s devotions, or the importance of the service in which he had been engaged. David’s answer showed that they were as wide apart religiously as he and her father had been politically. He said, “It was before the Lord, which chose me before thy father, and before all his house, to appoint me ruler over the people.” This reproof gathered up all the differences between them which made sympathy no longer possible.

We must think of Michal what she was to David in her youth, and what she might have been had she not been given to another, perhaps against her own will. Thus David lost her womanly affection, which he so much needed, and Michal lost his brave, heroic but devout spirit, which[127] would greatly have helped her to a correct knowledge of God, for, from the fact that she had a teraphim in her house, would indicate she was not wholly free from idolatry, and this doubtless accounts for her lack of sympathy with David in his religious nature, for his devotions to God were unquestioned. Her surroundings from childhood were bad every way, and her want of religious sympathy was not so much the want of faith as the lack of opportunity to know God. We give her a place here for what she was in her youth, in saving the life of David, and what she would have been could she have grown up under the religious influences of David.

Upon the death of Saul, the first king in Israel, Rizpah, a secondary wife, and mother of his two sons Armoni and Mephibosheth, appears on the stage of action. After Saul was defeated and met with death on Mount Gilboa and the Philistines occupied the country west of the Jordan, the seat of government was transferred from Gibeah to Mahanaim for greater protection, and Rizpah accompanied the inmates of the royal household to their new residence.

Ishbosheth, the youngest of Saul’s four legitimate sons, and his rightful heir to the throne, had been proclaimed king in place of his father. Abner, Saul’s uncle, however, had command of the army, and had much to do in administering the affairs of the kingdom; and, because of this relation, and for reasons not stated, he seemed to have had frequent consultations with Rizpah, and this excited Ishbosheth’s jealousy. Among those primitive people, to take the widow of a deceased king was to aspire to the throne. Ishbosheth accused Abner of that ambitious design, and the captain, in his resentment, replied, “Am I a dog’s head, which against Judah do shew kindness this day unto the house of Saul thy father, to his brethren, and to his friends, and have not delivered thee into the hands of David, that thou chargest me to-day with a fault concerning this woman?” Abner was so wroth that he left Ishbosheth and went over to David—a piece of spite which led first to[128] Abner’s death through Joab’s treachery, and ultimately to the murder of Ishbosheth himself.

We hear nothing more of Rizpah till the three years’ famine made it necessary to settle an old score against the house of Saul for that king’s wicked dealings with the Gibeonites. According to the crude, rough justice of the times, they demanded the death of seven of Saul’s descendants. The two sons of Rizpah and five of Saul’s grandsons were handed over to them for crucifixion.

Here Rizpah’s love, and endurance is brought to our notice. The seven crosses to which her two sons and her five relatives were fastened, were planted in the rock on the top of the sacred hill of Gibeah. The victims were sacrificed at the beginning of barley harvest—the sacred and festal time of the Passover—and in the full blaze of the summer sun they hung till the fall of the periodical rain in October. During the whole of that time Rizpah remained at the foot of the crosses on which the bodies of her sons were exposed. She had no tent to shelter her all those months from the scorching sun which beats on that open spot all day, or from the drenching dews of night, but she spread on the rock summit the thick mourning garment of black sackcloth, which, as a widow, she wore, and, crouching there, she kept off bird and beast till their bodies could have honorable burial.

At length the heroic actions of Rizpah were brought to the notice of David, who, with his usual kindness, had the bodies of Saul and his friend Jonathan brought from Jabesh-Gilead, and the bodies taken from the crosses and sepulchred in the family tomb of Kish.

Rizpah, by birth was a Hivite, and probably had not the sustaining grace which God alone can give. She had trained her sons for the splendors of a court. They were cut off in their prime, and her desolate heart had only its pride to sustain her during her superhuman anguish and endurance. Her loving, passionate nature was a bright light in a rude, dark age. With such a beautiful example before us, we need never say the circumstances of our life forbid the possibilities[129] of living for God. The blacker the cloud the brighter may be the rainbow. The harder our situation the more can our life become a protest against it. The lighthouse needs the midnight darkness and the storm-beaten shore to bring out its value and its purpose, and there is no situation so trying and difficult but God can sustain us in it, and when we have learned our lesson enable us to triumph over it.

Rizpah’s loving fidelity has placed her in the front ranks of Bible women whose holy ministries have made them famous. She may very justly be characterized as the Mater Dolorosa of the old dispensation. Her fidelity to the memory of departed loved ones has no equal in the history of the world. And all this without the sustaining grace of God, for it must be remembered poor Rizpah was but a heathen woman, in a rude, dark age of the world. How glad we should be, that in a world where there is so much to sadden and depress, we have a Saviour to go to who knows all about our sorrow, and is touched with the feeling of our infirmities, and have blessed communion with Him in whom is the one true source and fountain of all true gladness and abiding joy! In a world where so much is ever seeking to unhallow our spirits, to render them common, how high the privilege of entering into the secret of His pavilion, and there, by consecration and prayer, receive strength for days to come. Such was not Rizpah’s privilege, hence her devotion is all the more remarkable.

The history runs on. David had established his throne, and the visit of the Queen of Sheba marks the climax of the greatness of that kingdom, and the glory and wisdom of Solomon. It is a remarkable proof of the new spirit that had come upon the nation. Hitherto the people of Israel had been wholly agricultural. The great peculiarity of their country was its isolation, situated in the very midst of the nations of the earth, yet it was curiously shut in and shut out. A seaboard without a single navigable river, with a vast desert on the south, a lofty mountain range on the north, and that strange descent of the Jordan valley in the east[130] going down more than a thousand feet below the level of the sea. But Solomon changed all that. His enterprise did not exhaust itself in building the Temple and palace of Jerusalem. He actually crossed the great desert to the south and at the head of the gulf that runs up to the east of the Arabian peninsula he made a harbor and himself superintended the building of a fleet of ships, and sent them to traffic in the east, and brought home the sandalwood and many of the treasures of the Indies, with which he enriched the palace and the garden.

SOLOMON’S MERCHANT SHIPS.

[131]Thus his merchants went away to strange lands, carrying with them wherever they went the tidings of their great king, of the Temple that he had built to Jehovah, the God of Israel; of the palace splendors; of his throne of state in the cedar Judgment Hall, a throne of ivory with golden lions on each step, and a footstool of gold.

Now of the countries that they visited one was famous for its gold and frankincense and precious stones. It was the land of Sheba to the south. Thither came the captains and crews of Solomon’s ships, and the queen heard of the strangers who had come to trade with them in their vessels from afar, men of a strange language. She sent for them to the court to hear from their own lips the wonderful things they had to tell of their great king, and of their God, and of Jerusalem.

The mere pageantry of the visit to Jerusalem has hidden from us the true queenliness and spirit of this woman. It was no idle curiosity that prompted a journey involving so much risk and difficulty. Her very throne itself was imperilled by her departure and long absence. It is a proof of how firmly she was set in the affections of her people that she could venture to leave the land; a proof of her courage that she should dare set out on such a journey. Hearing of the wisdom of Solomon, hearing of the great things he had done for his people, hearing above all that he had brought such prosperity to the land that every man could sit safely under his own vine and fig-tree, she formed her purpose to go. If she could learn to do so much for her own people it were worth everything.

When the merchants had gone we can see her turn to her statesmen, every inch a queen, and full already of her lofty purpose, address them thus, “If I could but secure such well-being for this nation of mine, I should count it cheaply earned if I went to the ends of the earth to get it.”

It is also worthy of observation that this queen of the south was not content with hearing about Solomon. She did not listen to the tale these merchants told, and straightway[132] forgot it all, as if it were of no further concern. She made up her mind, there and then, that if such a one lived she would go to him and ask such questions as he, and only he, could answer, that would give her peace and be a blessing to her people.

So important was this matter that she did not send an ambassador to the king. To her they were so real and sacred she must go herself, and go she did.

Oh, the misery of it is that such hosts among us are content with hearing about these blessings of God. Alas, there are thousands of people who think all this is only to be preached about, never to be sought after; only to be heard about, never really found.

She had a long way to go. We read, she came from the uttermost parts of the earth. Distances were immense in those days. It was a journey for camels, by no means a comfortable method of traveling. Soldiers must guard her, for there were many robbers; servants must go to wait upon her, for her state must be in keeping with the greatness of the foreign court. She must take with her a load of the most splendid gifts. Then there were long stretches of hot, wind-swept deserts to be crossed, in which many had perished in the sand storms. But she was not daunted, she was not to be turned aside. She had made up her mind, and bravely faced all the dangers.

And then, also, we must not overlook the fact she had no invitation. She did not know how he might receive her. These great kings were jealous of strangers. Upon some pretence that she came to spy out the land, he might have her seized as a prisoner, and held her and her servants to be ransomed at some enormous cost of money. Such things were common enough; and, if he received her, was it not likely that he would look with contempt upon her? Even civilized people like the Greeks were accustomed to regard those as barbarians whose language and ways were foreign to themselves. But this brave woman will risk it all, and with a splendid courage, the courage of a woman, she comes.

[133]So the Queen of Sheba came to see King Solomon, and the scene of her coming was one of the utmost splendor. It was a tribute indeed to the far-reaching fame of Israel, which king and people alike may well have sought to turn to the fullest account.

THE QUEEN OF SHEBA.

At the city gate Solomon came forth to meet the queen in all his glory, with flashing crown of pure gold, and royal robes of costliest magnificence. About him are the great officers of state in their gorgeous apparel, the old wise counselors, the chief captains of his army. Everywhere are the vast crowds of citizens, thronging every house roof and city wall,[134] and clustering on every point of vantage. The music of his singing men and singing women fills the air with glad welcome.

And now, seated at his side, in the chariot of cedar with its tapestried curtains, and drawn by the horses of Egypt all richly caparisoned, they go on their way. Solomon points out to her the Temple which he was seven years in building, and which Josephus likened to a “mountain of snow, covered with plates of gold, whose brightness made those that looked upon it turn away their eyes.” He told her there were used “talents” of gold, of silver, and of brass in its construction valued at the enormous sum of $34,399,110,000. The worth of the jewels placed at figures equally as high. The vessels of gold, according to Josephus, were valued at 140,000 talents, which reduced to money, was equal to $2,821,481,015. The vessels of silver were still more valuable, being set down at $3,231,720,000. Priests’ vestments, and robes of singers, at $10,050,000. He told her ten thousand men hewed cedars, seventy thousand bore burdens, and eighty thousand hewed stones, and it required three thousand three hundred overseers. Surely it was the wonder of the world. Then he pointed out to her the Judgment Hall, the house of the forest of Lebanon, and many other stately edifices.

And now they reach the palace, with its luxurious gardens filled with treasures from all lands. And, seated at the great banquet which the king had spread in her honor, she sees his wealth, the vastness of his possessions, the hosts of his servants, the cupbearers at his side, the banqueting hall, itself a marvel of splendor, the “ascent by which he went up unto the house of the Lord.” As she saw all this, we read, “there was no more spirit in her.” She was overwhelmed by the sight of such boundless wealth and the vision of such glory.

The Queen of the South communed with Solomon, we are told, of all that was in her heart. Simply and earnestly she told of her longings for her people and of the difficulties that beset her. She communed with him of the mystery of life,[135] how to reach the highest and best. She asked him of many a matter that perplexed her. Graciously the king listened, and wisely he answered her. We can easily imagine the words which showed his skill in answering her questions. There may have been and doubtless was the keen wit, the brilliant saying, the flashes of wisdom, the glow of poetry, the genius like that which settled the dispute between the two mothers. Never did she dream of wisdom like that, and she exclaimed, “Behold, the half was not told me!” What she saw and heard excited her wonder to such a degree that it seemed to her directly imparted by the God of Solomon, whom he adored, and for whom she became filled with reverence. The light of heaven seemed to break on her soul when she exclaimed, “Blessed be the Lord thy God, which delighted in thee, to set thee on the throne of Israel.”

She gladly acknowledged the truth of all that she had heard. “It was a true report that I heard in my own land of thy acts and of thy wisdom.” It was not mere learning, the answering of hard questions, the solution of metaphysical problems, but his works, appointments, the sitting of his servants, and the attendance of his ministers, the civil officers who sat at the royal table, convinced the queen of his great wisdom, in which she recognized the working of a peculiar power and grace imparted by God. It was also a practical or life-wisdom, such as Solomon himself describes, “a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her, length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honor.” Such wisdom, which rests upon the foundation of the knowledge and love of God, “is more precious than rubies, and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her.”

But the queen was not content with the words of praise and thanks. She makes proof of her gratitude by means of great and royal gifts. “She gave the king an hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices very great store, and precious stones.” The presents which she made consisted of those articles in which her land most abounded, and for which it was most famous. The spices were principally the[136] celebrated Arabian balm, which was largely exported, and the shrub of which is said to have been introduced into Palestine by the Queen of Sheba.

How high the significance which has always been attached to this visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon is shown by the fact that the remembrance of it has been preserved outside of Palestine for thousands of years, and that two ancient peoples, the Arabians and Abyssinians, regard her as the mother of their line of kings. And when the Lord, from out the treasure of the Old Testament history, chooses this narrative, and presents it for the shaming of the Pharisees and Scribes, this presupposes that it was known to and specially esteemed by all other nations. Sheba was reckoned to be the richest, most highly favored and glorious land in the ancient world, and therefore was given the unique name of “The Happy.” Now when the queen came with a splendid retinue to visit this distant land, and from no political design, but merely to see and hear the famous king; and when she, the sovereign of the most fortunate country in the world, declared that what she had seen and heard exceeded all her expectations; this surely was the greatest homage Solomon could have obtained. The visit of the Queen of Sheba marks, therefore, the splendor and climax of the Old Testament Kingdom, and marks an essential moment in the history of the covenant as well as of Solomon, and when our Lord said, “The Queen of the South shall rise up in the judgment with this generation and shall condemn it; for she came from the uttermost part of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon, and behold a greater than Solomon is here,” He recognized the prophetical and typical meaning of our narrative. It is said in the prophetical descriptions of the peaceful Kingdom of Messiah, “The Kings of Sheba and Seba (Meroe) shall offer gifts; yea, all kings shall fall down before him; all nations shall serve him.” The Queen of Sheba, who came from afar, is a type of the kings who, with their people, shall come from afar to the everlasting Prince of Peace, the King of kings, and shall do Him[137] homage. Her visit is an historical prophecy of the true and eternal Kingdom of peace.

The Queen of Sheba had everything that pertains to temporal prosperity, high rank, honor and wealth. But all these satisfied not her soul. She spared no expense or hardships, in order to satisfy the longing of her heart for the Word of Life. She said not, “I am rich, and have an abundance, and need nothing,” but she felt she still needed the highest and the best. How superior is this heathen woman to so many in Christian lands, who hunger and thirst after all possible things, but never after a knowledge of truth and wisdom, after the Word of Life. And then we do not need to journey on camels through burning deserts to Jerusalem to find Him who is greater than Solomon, for He has promised, “I am with you forever, until the end of the world,” and can be found by “whosoever” will seek after Him.

The glory of the united kingdom of Israel, described in the last chapter, in a few years departed as a dream of the night. It was rent in twain, and Ahab, the wicked king, was on the throne of the northern kingdom, with the seat of government in Samaria. He had married Jezebel, the daughter of Ethbaal, King of Sidon, and she had introduced into the kingdom of Israel the heathen abominations of the Sidonians. She had even torn down God’s altars, and persecuted his prophets to the death. And it seems that too many of the Israelites raised little or no protests against these wicked acts of Jezebel. Indeed, one of the reasons why the kingdom, after the death of Solomon, was wrenched from Rehoboam, his son, was the people worshipped Ashtoreth, the goddess of the Sidonians.

So grievous had these abominations of the Sidonians become, that God was about to visit the nation with judgment. But, as He always sends warnings, and gives a season to repent, so he sent Elijah, the Tishbite, from the hill country of Gilead down to Ahab in Samaria, with this message, “As the Lord God of Israel liveth, before whom I stand, there shall not be dew nor rain these years, but[139] according to my word.” And James tells us, “it rained not upon the earth for the space of three years and six months.”

During these years of famine, the Lord directed Elijah to a widow in Sarepta, after the waters of the brook of Cherith had dried up. Sarepta (or Zarephath) was a city of Phœnicia. But the distress of the famine in Israel was felt even here, for Israel was the great grain field for Phœnicia. And this explains why Elijah, when he came to the city gate of Sarepta, found a poor woman, a widow, gathering a few sticks, that she might bake the last morsel of bread and share it with her child, after which there was nothing more to hope for. The famine was doing its awful work among the cities of the coast. The hills back of Sarepta were scorched, and the beautiful valleys on either side of the city were cracked in great fissures. In her distress this widow, in her person had wasted to a skeleton, faltering, trembling, as she staggered out to gather a few sticks to bake her last cake for self and child, and then to die. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes hollow, and her nerves seem never to have known what rest meant. As she walked she staggered; when she stood she reeled. She was leaning against her gate, the sticks in her arms when the Tishbite saluted her with the request, “Fetch me, I pray thee, a drink of water.”

In a moment she was going toward her water pot. “Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thy hand,” the prophet called after her while on the way to get the water.

“Bread!” Distressed and sorely tried, the poor woman breaks down, and discloses the sad condition of her home in the ever-memorable words, “As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but a handful of meal in a barrel and a little oil in a cruse, and behold, I am gathering two sticks that I may go and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it and die.”

She may or she may not have been an Israelite. She may have been one of the seven thousand who had not bowed unto Baal, and possibly knew who it was who addressed her. At all events she must have heard of this[140] “lighted fire-brand, fallen out of the clouds, and hurled by the hand of Jehovah” at the wicked Ahab. She may even have heard that in the midst of the drought Ahab had divided the country between himself and Obadiah, to seek if possible, amidst its former fountains and brooks a little “grass to save his horses and mules alive,” though it did not matter to this hardened wretch of a king if his subjects died by the thousands. So this demand of Elijah must have been a real trial to her faith. Nor did her distressed condition change the demand of the Tishbite. “Do as thou hast said,” he commanded, “but bake me a little cake first!” What, serve this stranger from Gilead before her starving child? Surely how could she, with her mother heart, obey such an order? But, noble woman, staggering under the request, she placed the gathered sticks on the fire, went to the barrel and took out the last handful of meal, and poured the last drop of oil from the cruse, and baked for God’s prophet the cake, and served him first! Was there ever such unselfish self-surrender? But for her poverty and her appearance, she might have passed for an angel who had strayed away from heaven, got caught in the famine and could not find her way back. If God had not been behind this exorbitant demand of the prophet it had been simply heartless. But, along with the demand were the words, “for the Lord God of Israel hath said it.” If God said it, that was the end of all questionings, this angel in human form, reduced in her poverty, staggered off to meet the demand. There may have been no small stir in heaven when it became known that she had gone to bake her last cake for the man of God, and then to die without tasting it herself. If the jasper walls had that moment let down around her, and all the glorified had gathered about that oven, she would have felt perfectly at home without a change of raiment. But that “last cake” was never baked. As the trembling widow stood by the heated oven, in sublime obedience to God’s requirement, even as Abraham once stood by his altar fires on Moriah, with the bound Isaac upon it,[141] there came the gracious “Fear not!” She had gone to a point in her faith where God always breaks down. He saw it all, and out of divine compassion He answered, “The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth.” And the record goes on to say that she, and the prophet, and her house, had enough through the years of the famine. There was so much meal and oil that even the widow’s poor and starving relations came to partake thereof. That is the way God blesses—it always overflows upon others.

How this incident at Sarepta glorifies God, whom the Scripture teaches us to know in His unapproachable greatness and in His affable mercy and condescension! As we sat by the little brook in Sarepta, amid the noontide glow of an Oriental sun, and read afresh this charming story, and then raised our eyes to look on the little chapel which the crusaders had erected on the reputed site of the widow’s home, the thought of such a God flooded us with His precious nearness, for, in our human needs, we love to feel His comforting presence in our hearts. The Jehovah, the Almighty God, the maker of worlds, the ruler of systems beyond human vision, whose perfect will is done in heaven by angels, who holdeth the dew of heaven, the rain in the clouds, the waters of the oceans in His hands, who gives and withholds the needed bread and water, He is our Father, and exercises a father’s care, so that the individual is not forgotten of Him. He holds not only the whole, but the single parts; He looks not only into the palace of kings, but into the cottages of poverty. The need and misery of a poor widow are not too insignificant for Him; He observes her sighs and tears, and her silent, desolate cottage is for Him a place worthy of the revelation of His glory and goodness.

Matchless widow of Sarepta! As long as the name of Elijah lives, with its imperishable renown, so long shall thine be found side by side with it in the unfading annals of the church of God!

[142]But our story runs on. The wicked Ahab had died, and Jehoram, his son, reigned in his stead. The great hero, prophet of the kingdom of the ten tribes, had also passed over the Jordan, and somewhere among the valleys, overshadowed by the lofty dome of Nebo, the “chariot of fire and horses of fire” came down and translated the first and greatest of the prophets. His mantle, however, fell upon Elisha, the son of Shaphat. Elisha had scarcely returned from the land of Moab, whither he had gone to relieve the armies of Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, out of the horrors of a water famine, when there met him a certain widow of the wives of the sons of the prophets, and cried unto him in her distress. Of what particular prophet she was the widow the record does not state, nor is her name given. Josephus and the rabbis will have it that she was the widow of Obadiah, who, they think, had exhausted his fortune in the provision for the persecuted prophets in the time of the drought, in the reign of Ahab, when, faithful to God, amidst the splendors of Ahab’s corrupt court, he hid such of the prophets as escaped out of the hands of Jezebel, the wicked queen, hid them in caves, feeding them on bread and water through the sore distress of the three years’ famine, and so had fallen into debt, basing their claim upon the woman’s statement that her husband “feared the Lord,” which is also stated in respect to Obadiah. But whether she was the widow of Obadiah or not, she was greatly in need, and, in her distress, appealed to Elisha, who was the acknowledged head of the prophetic school.

But what a calamity had come into her widowhood! Her husband had not only been taken from her by death, but now, after bravely struggling to provide for her family, the creditors had come to take her two sons to be bondsmen. If that will not touch a mother’s heart we do not know what will. And so she hastens away to relieve her burdened heart in the ears of the sympathizing prophet. He listened to her story, and then asked, “What hast thou in the house?”

[143]What a question to ask a mother whose sons were about to be sold into slavery for debts! What could she have of value she would not gladly dispose of to save her children?

She answered, “Thine handmaid hath not anything in the house!” Not anything? Oh yes, there is “a pot of oil.” She was in a more deplorable condition than the widow of Sarepta, for she, aside from the cruse of oil, had a “handful of meal.” But this one was entirely destitute, even of the oil so essential in the preparation of food—she had only a little pot for anointing purposes. But even this was enough for God and faith to work on.

“Go,” said Elisha, “borrow thee vessels abroad of all thy neighbors, even empty vessels; borrow not a few.” Comforted in her heart, she went home and told her anxious sons what the prophet had said. “It is vessels you want, is it mother?” “Yes,” she answered, the prophet said, “borrow not a few!”

So all that morning, and far into the afternoon, the widow’s sons were calling on their neighbors for empty vessels, crocks, great waterpots, casks, firkins, in short, anything that would hold oil. As the boys were going empty-handed down the streets and returning loaded with vessels, the people began to wonder what that poor widow of the prophet should want of so many vessels, especially as it was known that she had nothing in her house. But the boys kept at their work until every neighbor was borrowed empty, and her house looked more like a depot for freight, than a poor woman’s cottage. All the rooms were filled, the open court was filled, and all the approaches were filled. The widow’s sons, if their industry in borrowing and carrying home vessels would save them from being sold into slavery, they certainly would escape out of the hands of their mother’s creditor, for was there ever such a sight of empty vessels! And not until there were no more to be borrowed did they cease from their work.

And now the supreme moment came. The prophet had told her, after the vessels were all in, she should shut the door upon herself and upon her sons. Only her boys should be[144] witnesses to the mighty deliverances of God. The locking of the door had no other object than to keep aloof every interruption from without. The action in question was not an ordinary, simply external, operation, but an act which was to be performed by the command of the man of God, and with the heart directed towards God, that is, in faith, so that it was to be completed, not in the noise and distraction of everyday life, but in quietness and solitude. And we may also well believe she first asked God’s blessing upon her undertaking, so far carried on in faith, for though her house was full of vessels, they were all as yet empty.

The prayer ended, she took down her ointment jar—and Oh, it was such a very little pot! Holding it in her hand, she told her oldest son to bring one of the smallest jars, for how could the little vessel in her hand fill even the smallest of the borrowed utensils? As she tipped the little pot, the golden stream began to flow, and it kept on flowing until the vessel was filled to the brim, to the utter astonishment of herself and sons. This one filled, another was quickly brought. And as the oil flowed, the poor woman’s faith grew, and the sweat was now rolling down the faces of her sons as they brought up the empty vessels, and removed the full ones. Her face fairly shone as she filled the last vessel, and in her excitement cried out, “Bring me yet a vessel!” “Why, mother,” both the sons speaking at once, “there is not a vessel more!” So when the last was filled to the brim, “the oil stayed.”

As she looked over the sea of vessels all filled to the brim with golden oil, out of the gladness of her heart she hastened to tell Elisha what had happened at her house. She had oil in her vessels and thanksgiving in her heart, and she must tell it out, and who was better prepared to share her joy than the prophet who had listened to the story of her distress.

And he said, “Go, sell the oil, and pay thy debt.” The religion that comes from heaven looks well after its creditors. The debt was paid, her sons were spared to her, and a surplus was left for them to live upon.

[145]What a beautiful lesson of faith! We suppose if any of her neighbors had known that all these empty borrowed vessels were for the purpose of experimenting with a little pot of anointing oil, it would have created a sensation. Some, doubtless, would have said, the creditor, in threatening to take her sons, has driven that poor widow out of her mind. Why, such a thing as filling these pots, and firkins, and great casks of ten and fifteen gallon capacity, with a little pot of oil has never been heard of in Israel, and we can’t understand who could have put such an absurd idea into the poor woman’s head. Indeed, there was good reason for shutting the world out, for, if they had seen her take down the little pot of oil and attempted to pour into the vessels, they would have laughed her to scorn. But then, we Christian people should know that the things which are impossible with men, are perfectly possible with God. Yea, He loves to multiply the impossibilities of men, that no flesh may glory in His presence.

Then also the number of vessels borrowed speak well for the faith of this woman. Our Lord tells us, over and over, according to our faith shall it be done unto us. If her faith had been small, and she had been content with a few vessels, the oil would have ceased to flow when the last vessel was filled. If our heavenly Father is ever pleased with the action of His earthly children, it must be over the audacious faith of a poor woman who, in her poverty and distress, borrows of her neighbors empty vessels for Him to fill out of His gracious benevolence.

But not all women, in the time of the prophets, were widows and poor, but even the rich needed the consolations God only can give in times of trouble. And so our story runs on from the widow of Sarepta and the widow who, in her extremity, appealed to Elisha, to the rich woman of Shunem.

Over against Jezreel, under the base of Jebel Duhy (the so-called “Little Hermon”) amid luxuriant gardens of lemon, orange and fig trees, which cast their refreshing shades over the hot and sultry bridle-path, is the village of Sulem, in which we recognize the ancient Shunem, rendered so dear to[146] every lover of the Bible by the beautiful, sweet story of the rich Shunammite woman who prepared a prophet’s chamber in her house, where Elisha often found a shelter from the oppressive heat of the noontide sun as he passed that way.

The little city, in the division of the land, under Joshua, was allotted to the tribe of Issachar, and is three miles north of Jezreel, five miles from Mount Gilboa, about four miles from Nain, where our Lord raised the widow’s son, and is in full view of the sacred spot on Mount Carmel. In the southern section of the village, at the base of the hill Moreh, flows out a transparent stream of sparkling water, which renders the fields green and beautiful, said to be the finest in the world.

Amid these enchanting and picturesque scenes lived the Shunammite. The Bible gives her no name. She needs none. She is simply “a great woman.” Standing in her doorway, in three directions, she could look out over the fields of grain, and see the slow movements of the heavily loaded camels drudge up from the seaport of Acre, or down through the great plain of Esdraelon from the mountains of Naphtali or the hill country of Gilead, beyond the Jordan. If Elisha came from Carmel, he would approach Shunem by the Acre road. Accompanied by Gehazi, one of the sons of the prophets, she could see them trudging along the dusty camel path at a great distance, and she said to her husband, “Behold now, I perceive that this is an holy man of God.” So much for the personal appearance of Elisha. He carried a good face, which commended itself even to this discerning woman. Prompted by the manly bearing of the prophet, he had scarcely reached the gate when she stood before him, and pointing to her home, “she constrained him to eat bread.”

It appears that Elisha passed frequently through Shunem. No doubt Carmel, which lay in the middle of the northern part of the kingdom, was the place where the faithful worshippers of Jehovah, who lived in the north, came together from time to time, and were strengthened in their faith, and instructed by the prophet. This would call Elisha to pass up from Carmel to Shunem and the north. “And so it was,[147] that as oft as he passed by, he turned in thither to eat bread.” Happy household! Most gracious hospitality! That sweet home, amid the olive groves of Shunem, ever afterwards became the resting place of the good Elisha.

The pious, but keen-sighted woman, who at the first recognized in Elisha “an holy man of God,” was not deceived or disappointed when she became more fully acquainted with him in his frequent stops. Indeed, she must have been very favorably impressed with his bearing, for she proposed to enlarge her hospitality. She said to her husband, “Let us make a little chamber, I pray thee, on the wall,” that is, upon the flat roof of the house, with walls which would be a protection against storms, “and let us set for him there a bed, and a table, and a stool and a candlestick.” Beautiful and thoughtful provision. In such a room Elisha would be protected from every interruption, such as it was hardly possible to avoid entirely in the house, and there he might pass his time in quietness.

Elisha wished to make some return to his hostess, who had received and entertained him so liberally and so often, but he did not know what would be acceptable to her a woman of wealth. In order to learn this, he does not address himself directly to her, but directs his servant to ask the necessary questions, that she may express herself with less embarrassment and less reserve. He asks, “What is to be done for thee? Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the host?” This question presupposes that Elisha at that time stood in favor and respect at court. The king, in this instance may have referred to Jehu, whom Elisha caused to be anointed. The commander of the army is named in connection with the king as the most powerful and most influential man at court.

This excellent woman sent a most beautiful reply to the prophet. “And she answered, I dwell among my own people.” She asks no recompense for the good she had done. She wishes to have nothing to do with the court of the king, and the great ones of the world. She had no favors to ask,[148] and desired no political honors. Hers was a contented life. Perhaps, in this reply, she wished to show, at the same time, that she had not entertained the prophet for the sake of any return, but for his own sake, and for the sake of God. She had received him in the name of a prophet, and not for the sake of a reward, or any temporal gain. She loved God, and therefore loved His servant, and she showed him kindness, because this was the law God had written upon her heart. Although she lacked that which was essential to the honor and happiness of an Israelitish wife, namely, a son, yet she was contented, and no word of complaint passed her lips—a sign of great humility and modesty.

But the noble-hearted Elisha could not endure the thought of receiving all these favors without making some return, and he felt all the more bound to do something for her. To be barren, in those days, was regarded as a disgrace, so the prophet summoned her into his presence. But out of modesty and respect she only came to the door. Elisha announced to her that her home is to be blessed in the birth of a son. There were the disabilities of nature, and the woman regarded the announcement as improbable of realization, and, in true Oriental language, replied, “Nay, my lord, thou man of God, do not lie unto thine handmaid,” that is, do not deceive me, by exciting vain hopes in me. The Lord, however, according to His grace and truth, remembers even the desires which we cherish in silence, as no doubt this woman had done, but did not express, and He often gives to those who yield to His holy will without murmurs or complaints just that which they no longer dared to hope for. It makes a great difference whether we doubt of the divine promises from unbelief, or from humility or want of confidence in ourselves, because we consider the promises too great and glorious, and ourselves unworthy of them.

But God remembered this noble woman of Shunem, who had shown such kindness to His servant, and, according to the promise, a son was born into the great woman’s home. A ray of sunshine had indeed broken through the parted[149] clouds and entered that home—sunshine such as had never been there before, and such as outshone all her estates.

Below the village, stretching away towards the south and east, were the wheatfields, and the child, as children sometimes will, slipped out from under the mothers watchful care, into the field where the reapers were at work. Absorbed in the work of the reapers, neither the father nor the son realized the intense heat pouring down out of a clear sky upon the field at the hottest season of the year. Presently, this child of promise, which had gladdened the hearts of his parents and brought such joy and sunshine to their home, came up to his father and said, “My head, my head.”

It was scarcely barley harvest when we crossed this plain with the glare of the sun out of a clear sky shining in our face, and with blood heated and thirsty withal, and the danger of a sun-stroke, we thought of the words of the child, and ever since they have had a new meaning. At once the father directed a lad to carry the child “to his mother,” and when the lad had brought him “he sat on her knees till noon, and then died.” All the mother’s hope turned to ashes, and her joy into grief, made all the more bitter because it was her only child. As she sat in her house with the dead child folded to her bosom, her soul cried out: “What is life?” Though passing fair, it is but as

[150]The grief-smitten mother carried the body of her precious child into the upper chamber and tenderly laid it on the “bed of the man of God, and shut the door upon it.” Doubtless, for the present, she intended to keep the death of the child from the husband and father. Evidently she cherished the secret hope that the prophet, who had promised her a son in the name of Jehovah, and had not deceived her, could help to restore him. At all events she acted promptly. She called her husband to send a young man out of the field to make ready with all haste to go to Mount Carmel, and when ready she said to the servant, “Drive, and go forward; slack not thy riding for me, except I bid thee.”

Elisha, from his outlook on mount Carmel, saw a cloud of dust in the plain of Esdraelon, and he called the attention of Gehazi to the flying figures at the head of it. On swept the riders over the plain. Elisha once more put his hand up to shade his eyes from the glare of the sun, and said, “Behold, it is the Shunammite; run now,” and ask, “Is it well with thee? is it well with thy husband? is it well with the child?” By sending his servant to meet her, Elisha showed how highly he esteemed this woman. However, to the salutation of Gehazi, she returned only the short, indefinite answer, “It is well,” in order, doubtless, not to be detained by further explanations. She would at once hasten to the prophet himself. When she came near him, overcome by grief, which she had repressed until then, she threw herself at his feet, in the manner of Orientals, and sobbed out her great sorrow, at the same time imploring his assistance. Gehazi could not understand it. He thought her conduct in clasping his master’s feet an offence against his dignity, and “came near to thrust her away.” But Elisha said, “Let her alone.” Give the poor grief-stricken woman a chance to compose herself and to tell her trouble.

Presently, the stricken mother called the prophet’s attention to his own promise, meaning to say thereby, I did not complain of my childlessness, and did not demand a son;[151] now, however, I am grief-smitten, for it is better never to have a child than to have one and lose it.

The grief and the lamentation of the woman moved the compassionate heart of the prophet so much that he desired to bring her relief as soon as possible. He therefore said to Gehazi, “Gird up thy loins, and take my staff in thine hand and go thy way; if thou meet any man, salute him not.” This shows that he was to go as quickly as possible. He was even to refrain from saluting any one. It is well known that salutations are far more ceremonious in the Orient than with us, and inferiors always remain standing until persons of higher rank pass by, and thus annoying delay was often occasioned. This command to hasten would draw off the attention of the mother from her excessive grief, and, possibly, Elisha may have hoped that life had not yet entirely left the child, and that utter decease might yet be prevented by swift interference. But the importunity of the woman, that Elisha himself should come, proceeded from the conviction that the child was already completely dead, and that now not Gehazi, but only the prophet himself, who had promised her the son, could help. To this deep confidence he promptly responded.

Gehazi carried out his commission by hastening on to Shunem, and placing the prophet’s staff upon the face of the child, and, by means of the divine power, of which the staff was the symbol, he was to execute a prophetical act in awakening the child out of the death-sleep.

Before Elisha, with the sorrowing mother, arrived at Shunem, Gehazi had discharged his commission, although in vain, and was on his way back again, when he met the prophet, and said, “The child is not awaked.” Though he had the external symbol of the prophet’s power, yet it lacked the spirit of Jehovah, which was the special gift of God, and which even Elisha might not delegate, according to his own will and pleasure, to his servant.

The want of success of Gehazi’s commission spurred on the prophet all the more to do what he could in order to restore[152] the child to life. Having reached the house of sorrow, and the little chamber where the loving hands of the mother had laid the body of her child, Elisha shut the door, and “prayed unto the Lord.” In that awful hour of a mother’s heart-crushing suspense, God heard His servant’s cry, and gave back the precious child to life again.

The closing scene is very beautiful indeed. The mother having been called, when she reached the chamber, Elisha said, “Take up thy son!” We are not told whether the mother heart first leaped to embrace the child, or, out of modest gratitude, she first fell at the prophet’s feet in a flood of grateful thanksgiving. The bread of kindness she had been casting upon the waters, in honoring God’s servant, now all returned to her. She certainly was reaping with tears of joy, and, had she lived in this gospel age, she could have heard the Lord of life saying, “Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these My servants, ye did it unto Me.” Marvels of marvels, that prophets’ homes do not dot our land in this day of gospel light.

Immortal woman of Shunem! Home-builder for the prophets of the Lord; the saints in glory salute thee to-day, and the saints on earth are thrilled with thy worthy example. There is scarcely a story in the Old Testament which is more beautiful than the one related of this “great woman” in White Raiment, who built a prophet’s chamber in her own house at Shunem, where the servant of the Lord might turn in out of the glare of the noontide sun and find rest.

From the incidents connected with the beautiful life of the rich woman of Shunem, to the time of Queen Esther, there is a period of about four hundred years, and they are years of turbulance on the part of the people and admonitions on the part of God, until finally He suffered them to be led away into captivity.

[153]The scene of our next woman in White Raiment is in the reign of Ahasuerus, son of Xerxes, who lived B. C. 462. After several severe conflicts he was settled in peaceable possession of the Persian Empire, and, in honor of his victory, appointed a feast in the city of Shushan, which continued for one hundred and eighty days, after which he gave a great feast to all the princes and people who were in Shushan for seven days.

HADASSAH IN THE PERSIAN COURT.

Queen Vashti, at the same time, made a like feast, in her apartment for the women.

[154]On the seventh day of the feast, Ahasuerus commanded the seven chamberlains to bring Queen Vashti before him, with the crown royal on her head, that he might show to the princes and people her beauty.

This she refused, for the act would be contrary to the usage of Persia, very indecent and unbecoming a lady, as well as the dignity of her station. Whereupon the king was incensed, and fearing the influence among the people of the realm in encouraging women to disobey their husbands, called a council of seven, to determine what should be done. The council advised putting away the queen, and she was removed from her high position as queen, and a collection of virgins was ordered throughout the realm for the selection of a successor.

There lived at this time in Shushan a Jew named Mordecai, a descendant of Babylonish captives and who was a porter at the royal palace. Mordecai, not having children, brought up Hadassah, his uncle’s daughter. Her life opened like a cactus flower on the thorny stem of the captivity, but nevertheless is an exquisite jewel with a royally superb setting, and gleams and sparkles in Hebrew history.

Her mother named her Hadassah, for the myrtle tree, which was not only beautiful, with its glossy, dark-green leaves and luxuriant clusters of white bloom, but was useful for perfumery and spice. It was the emblem of justice, and bearing it may have added strength to her character. Her Persian name was Esther, for the planet Venus. Orientals held the myrtle sacred to the goddess of Love.

Esther, being fair and beautiful, was made choice of among other maidens in this collection of virgins which had been ordered, and was carried to the king’s palace and there committed to the care of Hegai, and was assigned to the best apartments.

This captive young woman was discreet. Those who have great beauty do not always have discretion. Depending upon the power of their personal charms, they neglect to cultivate the mind and soul. Physical beauty, like fruit, begins[155] to decline as soon as it reaches its best. Mental and spiritual beauty grow with the years as long as the hygienic laws of grace are obeyed. But she was not only discreet, but also amiable. Amiability costs only self-control and unselfish love, and it is the best possible investment. Genuine amiability is God’s gift to those who trust Him to cleanse them from all that is contrary to love.

Then also this Hebrew maiden must have known severe discipline. She showed its effect in the gentle deportment that won the favor of the officers that guarded the king’s harem. She submitted her taste in dress and ornament to the one who had the responsibility of preparing her for the royal presence, and in the docility with which she heeded the advice of Mordecai.

These graces of mind and heart commended her to the king’s favor and she was advanced to higher honor, and subsequently, when Queen Vashti was deposed, Esther was crowned in her stead. Thus she was raised at once to the highest place that the world could give a woman at that day—as the queen and favorite of the mightiest monarch of his time.

This event was celebrated by a great feast which the king made to all his princes, called Esther’s feast, and which was attended with high honor, and by the presentation of gifts, “according to the state of the king.”

About this time Haman, the chief minister or vizier of King Ahasuerus, was promoted, so that his seat was “above all the princes.” The Targum and Josephus interpret the description of Haman, the Agagite, as signifying that he was of Amalekitish descent, the sworn enemies of the Israelites in their march through the desert, and the sparing of whom cost Saul, the first king of Israel, his crown. This Haman was the king’s favorite, and all the under officers and servants were required to pay reverence unto him.

But there was one man who would not bow. This was Mordecai, the porter at the royal palace. He would not salute Haman, the idolatrous descendent of the old enemies of his people. This greatly displeased Haman, but he[156] scorned to lay hands on Mordecai, and knowing him to be a Jew, resolved to destroy him and his people. He took council and determined by lot on the day for the accomplishment of his purpose.

To do this successfully he must deceive the king and entrap him to do a wicked act. So he said to Ahasuerus, “There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the people in all the provinces of thy kingdom; and their laws are diverse from all people; neither keep they the king’s laws; therefore it is not for the king’s profit to suffer them. If it please the king, let it be written that they be destroyed; and I will pay ten thousand talents of silver to the hands of those that have the charge of the business, to bring it into the king’s treasuries.” And so this hateful Amalekite, by offering to pay into the king’s treasury more than $10,000,000, obtained the royal decree to put all the Israelites in the hundred and twenty-seven provinces of Ahasuerus, extending from India to Ethiopia, to death.

When Mordecai heard of the decree, he and the Hebrews made great lamentation, and he made Queen Esther acquainted with the plot to destroy her people, and entreated her to go in unto the king and make supplication for their rescue. At first she excused herself, but being led to understand that she, too, was included in the decree, she put her life on the hazard for the safety of her countrymen. It was no light matter for the beautiful young queen to risk her life to save her people. Surrounded as she was by the luxury and elegance of that magnificent Persian court, keenly alive to the charm of all lovely things, it meant much for her to go down to the grave in the brilliant morning of her youth.

But when Mordecai turned to her for help, he reminded her that she had come to the kingdom for such a time as that. His faith asserted that God would deliver His people; and, if she failed to do her part, she and her father’s house would perish. She said she would make the attempt. “If I perish, I perish,” was her wail of submission.

[157]However, in her great undertaking, she displayed a humble dependence upon the God of Israel; she also showed great prudence and wisdom. She asked her people to fast and pray three days; and all her maidens—who were selected, no doubt, on account of their sympathy with her faith—would also fast and pray. When the books are opened it may appear that the Hebrews were led, through the deliverance that she wrought for them, to the penitence that made it possible for God to take them back to the fatherland.

ESTHER PLEADING FOR HER PEOPLE.

[158]At the end of the fast she put on her royal apparel and went unto the king while he was seated upon his throne. The first gleam of hope lighted up her distressed heart when Ahasuerus held out his golden sceptre.

It has been said that men’s hearts are reached through their stomachs. Whether this was true of Ahasuerus, or whether Esther knew of this avenue or not, she certainly showed great tact when she desired to make a banquet for the king and his favorite prince, Haman, which the beautiful queen would prepare, where he could then hear her request.

It would have been a most natural thing to do, after Esther had risked her life by going uncalled into the presence of the king, and when she found him graciously disposed to partake of her feast, to throw herself at once upon his mercy, and beg for her life and the lives of her people. But no. She must have great power over him to get him to undertake the difficult task of setting aside one of his own decrees. Probably her faith in God was not yet strong enough for her to make a sure move. She saw that she was not yet sure of her ground, nor firm in her faith; so, when he made the great offer even of dividing his kingdom with her, she simply asked that he and Haman should honor her with their presence at another banquet.

Doubtless, as she sat at the second banquet with the perfect self-control that they have who rely only on God, having used every device to fortify her position in the good graces of the capricious despot, her keen Hebrew insight weighed every light expression from his lips, although she knew a sword of doom hung over her jewel-crowned head, and yet she was calm and self-contained, as if she had no thought but to please him. Thus she led the king on until her power over him was at its height, and when he again offered her half the kingdom, she asked only for her life and the lives of her people.

It must be that, although Haman was present at this banquet, he did not hear the request of Queen Esther, for he went forth from the feast “that day joyful and with a[159] glad heart.” But when he saw Mordecai, in the king’s gate, and that he still refused to bow to him, “he was full of indignation.”

So when he reached his own residence, he called his friends, and took counsel with them, and they advised him to cause a gallows to be built, eighty feet high, and to ask the next morning to have the king order Mordecai to be hanged thereon.

But matters had taken a different turn at the palace. The king could not sleep that night. To pass the long, wakeful hours, he called for the reading of the records of the kingdom. As they were reading before the king, it was found written in the chronicles of the conspiracy of Bigthan and Terish, and that Mordecai had discovered the plot, and that nothing had been done for him as a reward.

In the meantime the morning drew on, and Haman had entered the court of the palace to confer with the king about the hanging of Mordecai. We can well believe the mind of Ahasuerus was in a bad frame to talk about hanging the man who had saved his life by discovering the plot of the king’s chamberlains. But the king did not know what dark deeds were in the heart of Haman as he ordered him to be called. When Haman came into the presence of Ahasuerus, the king asked what should be done with the man whom he wanted to honor.

The king’s favorite, who had just shared two private banquets with the king, was so inflated with himself that he did not think there was another man in the Persian empire in whom Ahasuerus would be so delighted to honor as himself, so he advised that the royal apparel be brought forth and the king’s horse and his crown, and given to one of the noble princes to array the man whom the king delighted to honor, and take him through the city on horseback with a proclamation, “This is the man whom the king delighteth to honor.”

The command was given to Haman to thus honor Mordecai, which he did, with not very good grace, for, when he had finished his task, he “hasted to his house mourning,[160] and having his head covered,” and related his mortification to his wife and friends.

After all, for the moment at least, it must have seemed to Haman and his friends as a strange act on the part of the king, for while they were yet talking over the humiliation, the king’s chamberlains came, requesting Haman to hasten and come to the banquet Esther had prepared. It must have seemed to Haman that Esther had really gone into the banqueting business, so frequently had he been honored of late.

When the king and Haman sat down to the banquet the king again asked Esther what was her petition. Whereupon she humbly prayed the king that her life might be given her and her people, for a design was laid for the destruction of her and her kindred. At which the king asked with much anger who it was that durst do this thing. She told him that Haman, then present, was the author of the wicked plot, and she laid the whole scheme open to the king. Who can tell how much her own chance of salvation depended on her courage, self-control and tact? A look, even the droop of an eye-lid, might have betrayed her into the hands of the most cringing and unscrupulous of royal favorites, and sent her and her whole race to their death. But God held her steady in nerve and growing in faith, as He does all who put their whole trust in Him.

The king rose up with much wrath from the banquet and walked out into the garden.

Haman saw his opportunity. Quickly he stood up to plead for his life. Perceiving that there was evil determined against him by the king, he prostrated himself before the queen upon the couch on which she was sitting to supplicate for his life; in which position the king found him on his return.

The motive for Haman’s unhappy attitude before the queen was misunderstood by the king, and he spoke in great passion, “What, will he force the queen before me in the house!”

[161]At which words the servants present immediately covered Haman’s face, as was the usage to condemned persons, and the chamberlain, who had called Haman to the banquet, acquainted the king with the gallows he saw in his house there prepared for Mordecai, who had saved the king’s life.

The king ordered Haman should be forthwith hanged thereon, which was accordingly done. A feast was then consecrated in commemoration of the deliverance of the Jews, called the feast of Purim.

This story of Esther, which has in it the real romance of life, has also a consummate blending of works and faith. Preparing a banquet of every luxury that could please a dangerous tyrant, and at the same time fasting and praying in heart-humbling agony for Divine deliverance.

Isaiah, looking adown the ages to the coming of Christ’s Kingdom, likened it to waters breaking out in the wilderness and streams in the desert. For centuries there was no voice of prophet in Israel or revelation from God to His chosen people, when suddenly the long silence was broken. It was in the days of Herod the Great, when sin and misery had reached their climax, and when the yearning for Messiah’s appearance was more intensely felt than ever. The Temple, so often the scene of the manifestation of the glory of God, became again the centre, whence the first rays of light secretly break through the darkness.

One of the priests, named Zacharias, while performing his duty in the service of the sanctuary, burning incense before the Lord, had a vision, in which he was assured that his prayer was heard, and great distinction conferred upon him in a twofold answer: First, the Messiah shall indeed appear in his days; and, secondly, that he shall himself be the father of the forerunner, who is to prepare His way—an honor he could not have ventured to anticipate. What human tongue could have foretold it to him, or how could he have ventured to hearken to the voice of his own heart, without direct revelation? Zacharias sought first the[163] Kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all other things were added to him.

In the service of the sanctuary the burning of incense before the Lord was considered exceedingly important and honorable. The people were accustomed to unite in the outer court in silent supplication, while the priest in the sanctuary offered the incense, which was ever regarded as the symbol of acceptable prayer.

Remaining longer in the sanctuary than was strictly necessary, the people, who were waiting in the outer court of the Temple, feared that some misfortune, or sign of the divine displeasure, had befallen him, for they “marveled that he tarried so long.” And when he finally appeared “he could not speak.” While standing before the altar, awaiting the signal to sift the precious incense, a heavenly messenger appeared unto him. When Zacharias saw the angel he was troubled, and fear fell upon him. The heavenly messenger quickly answered, “Fear not, Zacharias, for thy prayer is heard; and thy wife Elizabeth shall bear thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John.”

Both Zacharias and Elizabeth were of the priestly race, and he himself was a priest of the course of Abia, and she was of the daughters of Aaron. Both, too, were devout persons, walking in the commandments of God, and waiting for the fulfillment of His promise to Israel. But in the midst of the glorious revelations the angel had made, strange to say, Zacharias had asked for some sign or confirmation of the glad tidings. The angel answered, “I am Gabriel” (the Might of God) “and, behold, thou shalt be dumb.” As faith is to be the chief condition of the new covenant, it was needful that the first manifestation of unbelief should be emphatically punished, but the wound inflicted becomes a healing medicine to the soul. The aged priest was constrained to much silent reflection, and, according to the counsel of God, the secret was still kept for a time.

There is here a remarkable coincidence between Zacharias and Abraham on the one side, and Elizabeth and Sarah on[164] the other; not only in the fact of their lack of an heir during so many years, but also in the frame of mind in which they at length received the heavenly message. In these parallel histories, the man of the olden times is strong in the faith, the woman weak; while under the new covenant it is the man whose faith falters. On the very threshold of the new dispensation woman, in the person of Elizabeth, takes her place in the foreground by the heroism of a living faith. It is also quite in keeping with Divine wisdom that in this case unbelief in view of the rising sun of the gospel salvation is much more severely punished than under the old dispensation.

THE ANGEL’S MESSAGE.

[165]The sight of Zacharias struck dumb awakened among the people an expectation of some great and heavenly event; soon will “the things” done in the priest’s house be “noised abroad throughout all the hill country of Judea,” and the voice of “him that crieth” shall soon resound over hill and valley.

The sacred duties performed, retirement was next in order. As a priest, in the “course of Abia,” the twenty-four courses in the services of the temple relieved each other weekly, each course ministering during a whole week. So Zacharias and Elizabeth leave Jerusalem for their home among the picturesque hills of Judea, south-west of Bethlehem. How beautiful are the pictures of these Israelitish homes into which the Bible bids us so often to look. The familiar vine and fig-tree; the flower-planted courts; the waterpots filled for quenching thirst; the basin and towel and servant to bathe the heated, often dust-covered, feet; the domestic scene morning and evening in the grinding of the food in the familiar hand-mill, the work always performed by the women; the delightful views from the housetops in the cool of the evening; the maidens busy in filling the waterpots; the halting of visitors in the outer court, waiting for some damsel to open the door; the thousand little touches of real life which are always so charming to the observer. In addition to these outward signs, the good manners and propriety, the atmosphere of true courtesy; the youth rising up before the hoary head; the child learning at his mother’s knee, or inquiring of father or elder; a joyousness, such as a mind at peace with God only can exert, are all manifest in these Bible pictures which ages can not dim. Yet most striking are the proofs that in every household children were desired, and gladly welcomed.

Notwithstanding a barren wife in an Israelitish home was often a cause for divorce, Zacharias was pre-eminently a man of hope. As a pious husband and lover, he had faithfully and tenderly clung to his beloved Elizabeth through the long years of youth and middle age, and even after hope had died out of their longing hearts. Both had learned[166] “the patience of unanswered prayer”—a lesson not easily mastered by the bravest of us. But now the hope was to be realized, the “reproach among men” was to be taken away. In that home among the hills of Judea was to be a child in the arms of its mother. The name of the child, and he a son, was to be John (Jehovah shows grace). Many homes would rejoice in his birth, and he would be God’s man, eating nothing to inflame carnal passions, and filled with the Holy Spirit, he would become prophet and reformer. The grossly literal hope of the people for Elijah’s appearance in the flesh would be spiritually fulfilled, for Elizabeth’s son was to have the spirit and the power of the Tishbite; and thus gifted of the Almighty, was to be the forerunner of the Christ. All that was spoken of the Messiah’s messenger by Isaiah, as “the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make His paths straight,” and by Malachi, “Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me,” were fulfilled in this son of many prayers.

In due time he was born, and on the eighth day, in conformity with the law of Moses, was brought to the priest for circumcision, and, as the performance of this rite was the accustomed time for naming a child, the friends of the family proposed to call him Zacharias after the name of his father. The mother, however, required that he should be called John—a decision which Zacharias, still speechless, confirmed by writing on a tablet, “his name is John.” The judgment on his want of faith was then withdrawn, and the first use which he made of his recovered speech, was to praise Jehovah for his faithfulness and mercy, a proof that the cure had taken place in his soul also.

A single verse contains all that we know of Elizabeth’s child of promise for the space of thirty years—the whole period which elapsed between his birth and the commencement of his public ministry. The record is, “The child grew and waxed strong in the spirit, and was in the desert till the day of his showing unto Israel.” But we must not forget that through his childhood and youth he was under[167] the care of a wise, loving mother. Elizabeth’s unfaltering faith and prudent counsel, we must believe, exerted a lasting influence over this child of the desert.

The child thus supernaturally born, was surely a sign that God was again visiting His people. His providence, so long hidden, seemed once more about to manifest itself in the person of Elizabeth’s son, who, doubtless must be commissioned to perform some important part in the history of the chosen people. Could it be the Messiah? Could it be Elijah? Was the era of their old prophets about to be restored? With such grave thoughts were the minds of the people occupied, as they mused on the events which had been passing under their eyes, and said one to another, “What manner of child shall this be?”

So when John passed out from under the wise training of Elizabeth, his reputation for extraordinary sanctity, and the generally prevailing expectation that some great one was about to appear, were sufficient to attract to him a great multitude from “every quarter.” Brief and startling was his first exhortation to them, “Repent ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” His preaching of repentance, however, meant more than a mere legal ablution or expiation, it meant a change of heart and life. While such was his solemn admonition to the multitude at large, he adopted towards the leading sects of the Jews a severer tone, denouncing Pharisees and Sadducees alike as “a generation of vipers,” and warning them of the folly of trusting to external privileges as descendants of Abraham. He plainly told them, “the axe was laid to the root of the tree,” that formal righteousness would be no longer tolerated. Such alarming declarations produced their effect, and many of every class pressed forward to confess their sins and to accept John’s ministry.

This son of Elizabeth is one of the most striking characters in the Bible. Destined from before his birth to be a prophet, his life was worthy of his high office. Pure, unsullied, earnest, fearless, humble, he much resembled his great[168] predecessor, Elijah. Like him, he was an ascetic, and like him, he had his time of fearless outspeaking and of reproval of kings, and hypocrites; and like him, also, a time of depression, as when he sent to Christ to ask, “Art thou He that should come, or shall we look for another?”

A noble example of the fearless manner in which he proclaimed the truth is illustrated in the denunciation of the unlawful marriage of Herod Antipas, the Tetrarch. He had married a daughter of Aretas, King of Petra, but seeing Herodias, the wife of his half brother, Philip, he became infatuated with her, divorced his own wife and married Herodias, who abandoned Philip to marry him. Herodias was a grand-daughter of Herod the Great. This unprincipled woman wrought the ruin of Herod Antipas. Aretas, angry at the treatment of his daughter, made war upon Herod. John reproved Herod for all this, and he evidently had not minced words. Neither had he spoken in such low whispers that he might seem to others to disapprove the crime, but still escape the notice of the king. He thundered out his denunciations in a way to make even the royal couple alarmed, and caused them to shut John up in prison, lest his growing popularity should undermine the security of Herod’s throne. And then Herodias secured the execution of John, which angered the Jews, for they counted John as a prophet and held the subsequent defeat of Herod by Aretas as a judgment upon him for this wicked deed.

Such, in brief was the son of the most highly and signally honored Woman in White Raiment in sacred history, Mary, the mother of Jesus, only excepted. The strong faith of the pious Elizabeth, as developed in her noble son, has been a blessing to the whole race of man. The clear shining faith to grasp the promises of God are most beautifully exemplified in the pure, self-sacrificing, and devoted life of Elizabeth.

Closely related to the events in the life of Elizabeth, as just narrated, is the birth of our blessed Lord.

There is no person in sacred or in profane literature around whom so many legends have been grouped as around[169] the Virgin Mary, and there are few whose authentic history is more concise. Doubtless the very simplicity of the sacred narrative has been one cause of the abundance of the legendary matter of which she forms the central figure. According to the genealogy given by Luke, which is that of Mary, her father’s name was Heli. She was, like Joseph, her husband, of the tribe of Judah, and of the house and lineage of David. We are informed that at the time of the angel’s visitation she was betrothed to Joseph and was therefore regarded by the Jewish law and custom as his wife, though he had not yet a husband’s rights over her.

The angel Gabriel, who had appeared to Zacharias in the Temple, appeared to her and announced that she was to be the mother of the long-expected Messiah; that in Him the prophecies relative to David’s throne and kingdom should be accomplished; and that his name was to be called Jesus. He further informed her, perhaps as a sign by which she might convince herself that his prediction with regard to herself would come true, that her relative Elizabeth was about to be blessed in the birth of a child.

It appears that Mary at once set off to visit Elizabeth in her home in the hill country of Judea. When she had reached her destination, and immediately on her entrance into the house, she was saluted by Elizabeth as the mother of our Lord, and had evidence of the truth of the angel’s saying with regard to her cousin Elizabeth, Mary then embodied her feelings of exultation and thankfulness in the hymn known under the name of the Magnificat. The hymn is founded on Hannah’s song of thankfulness (1 Sam. ii, 1-10), and exhibits an intimate knowledge of the Psalms, prophetical writings and books of Moses, from which sources almost every expression in it is drawn.

In approaching this exquisite bit of Hebrew poetry uttered by Mary we may profitably consider, first, its beauty of expression; and second, its nobility and grandeur of sentiment. The hymn consists of four stanzas of four lines each,[170] and its literary character is best brought out by a translation which so arranges it. The first stanza reads:

In this stanza three points of parallelism appear in the first two lines. In the first occurs the word “soul,” and in the second the word “spirit,” which we understand to be but different designations of the same elements of our natures. Whatever difference in the use of these terms in other places it is evident that here according to the ordinary requirements of Hebrew poetry, the two words are chosen because of their similarity in meaning. The other synonymous terms are the words “magnify” and “rejoice;” “the Lord” and “God my Saviour.” Thus is introduced the so-called Magnificat. The characteristic of Hebrew poetry is not that it is arranged in rhyme and measured feet, but in the grander rhythm belonging to parallelisms of thought. Such a rhythm has far more freedom and force than that which consists of mere similarity of measure and sound. Hence it is that the poetry of the Bible is so readily translated into other languages, and loses so little of its force in the process; whereas poetry which depends upon the peculiarities of any given language is incapable of translation. The essential thing in Hebrew poetry is sublimity of thought and diction, accompanied by a substantial repetition of the sentiment in terms that are nearly synonymous. The thoughts are thus held before the mind till it can fully see their grandeur and beauty, and receive those shades of impression which come from repeated efforts at statement.

In the second couplet of the above stanza Mary gives the reason for her rejoicing. She was of humble origin, and, before her neighbors and friends, was to be humbled still further. But, as is so often the case, what was Mary’s extremity was God’s opportunity, and He was to glorify Himself by making the weak things of the earth confound the mighty. As He brought Moses from the wilderness and[171] David from the sheepfold, so was He to bring Mary from the seclusion of Nazareth and the humiliation in the stable at Bethlehem to a position of honor attained by no other woman, and all generations were henceforth to call her blessed.

The second stanza reads:

Here the great things spoken of as done to Mary (in the first line) correspond, or rather constitute, the mercy (of the third line) which flows forth from the gospel from age to age; and the holiness of His name mentioned in the second is that characteristic of God which evokes the fear mentioned in the fourth line.

The third stanza may be literally rendered as follows:

In this, as all through the hymn, we have the flavor of Hebraistic forms of speech. In their poetical conceptions they did not think of God as an abstract being, but as having a mighty arm with which He swayed the nations and dashed their foolish plans in pieces, as one might break a potter’s vessel with a rod of iron. How little do men know the flimsiness of the schemes which they organize against the Lord and His anointed! The third and fourth lines of this stanza contain a double parallelism and a twofold antithesis. He casts down the kings and lifts up the lowly people; He fills to fullness the hungry, and sends the rich away empty.

In the fourth stanza we read:

[172]What a glorious conception this is of Israel, the hero of God, and who was not a servant, but a son, for that is the true meaning of the word rendered “servant.” The word is also one of endearment. And so we are reminded, in the second line, of His tender mercy. The only mercy of which He could have spoken to our fathers was His own, expressing itself in the whole scheme of salvation as revealed in the Bible. It was a peculiar plan of mercy revealed to Abraham and his spiritual descendants.

Such, in brief, are the noble conceptions and the lofty figures of speech of this exquisite hymn of Mary. And we ask involuntarily, Whence comes it that so humble a maiden should thus in the beauty of her diction and the sublimity of her conceptions have rivaled, if not eclipsed, all the poets both of ancient and modern times?

It might seem a short answer to this question to say that Mary was inspired. But such an answer does not satisfy the reasoning mind. God in His wisdom does not ordinarily see fit to disregard the secondary causes which He has created. We are led to look, therefore, to the character and condition of Mary herself as a partial explanation of the character of this piece of literature. And, upon examining the hymn, we find that it is largely composed of sentences from the Old Testament, embodying the Messianic expectations of the Jewish people. It sounds like an echo, not only of David’s and Hannah’s, but also of Miriam’s, and of Deborah’s harps; yet independently reproduced in the mind of a woman, who had laid up and kept in her heart what she had read in Holy Scripture. Out from the large body of sacred literature which was the rare heritage of her people, she had extracted that which was best and noblest and most appropriate. We do not, however, deny the direct inspiration of this hymn; but we would emphasize the broader conceptions of Providence, how the Holy Spirit can use a mind well stored with the deep things of God, as evidently was the mind of Mary, for, from beginning to end, this hymn assumes a sympathizing acquaintance with the history of the[173] Jewish people, and of all the noble conceptions of the Deity with which the history of that people has made the world familiar.

The unity of God is assumed without question. It is the Lord Jehovah that her soul magnifies. It is the only true God her Saviour in which her spirit rejoices. Nor is it a God of mere power, but a God of love and tenderness, whom she adores. It is one who has regard not for men alone and the great ones of the earth, but for the humble woman who occupies the most contracted sphere that falls to the lot of any. And in this the power of the God she adores appears pre-eminent, for he is able to make great things out of small. It was He who took Israel as a little vine and made him a great nation. It was He that multiplied the widow’s cruse of oil and handful of meal till she had a superabundance. It was He who lifted Rahab out of her wicked and heathen surroundings and placed her in the line of royal women in whom all the families of earth were to be blessed. It is He that notes the sparrow’s fall, that numbers the hairs of our heads, that hears the prayers we offer in secret when the door is shut, and that rewards us openly. It is He that can exalt the humblest life and make it gleam with the sunshine of His own glory. “Not many mighty, not many noble, are called ... but ... God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty ... yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought the things that are.”

Only such a God could lift on high so humble a maiden, and turn upon her the gaze of all the nations of the earth. But the God of Israel well might do it, for He is the Mighty One, and able to do great things, and His mercy is upon them that fear Him from generation to generation. In Israel’s deliverance from Egypt and in all their subsequent history, He had shown the strength of His arm. The wrecks of the nations that opposed Him strew the whole pathway of history. And as He raised Joseph from prison and exalted Daniel from the lion’s den, so should He ever[174] lift up the meek, and help His servant Israel, and remember His promises to Abraham and His seed forever. Only one who is familiar with such a history could write such a hymn. Surely it is a great thing to be educated into such thoughts as these. To breathe in such sentiments in the very atmosphere of one’s home and in the social circles in which one daily moves is the highest of earthly privileges. It is only in such a hymn as this of Mary that we get a proper conception of the grandeur and nobleness of the thoughts underlying Hebrew history. In her Magnificat, Mary breathed the thoughts of those that surrounded her. From the days of pious Hannah down to those of Elizabeth, the women of Israel had been moved by such longings and animated by such hopes as have never been possible to any other people. They had the promise made in Eden that the seed of the woman should bruise the head of the serpent who led the world astray. And now to her, to this humble virgin of Israel, had the fulfillment of this promise come, and truly blessed was she among women. For here was the performance of those things which had been told her from the Lord. The great crisis of the world’s history had arrived, and she was the chosen channel through which the hope of the nations was come.

O, blessed Woman in White Raiment, may thy hymn of praise, divinely inspired, be often upon our lips, and the sweetness of its precious truths continually in our hearts!

The words of the angel in respect to Elizabeth having been confirmed by this personal visit of Mary to her home in the hill country of Judea, she returned to Nazareth.

Soon after this the decree of Augustus, the Roman emperor, that all the world should be taxed, was promulgated, and Joseph and Mary traveled to Bethlehem to have their names enrolled in the registers of their tribe. It would seem that the Israelites still clung to their genealogies and tribal relations, and, though the undertaking was a severe strain upon Mary, and notwithstanding, according to the Roman custom, her name could have been enrolled without[175] her personal presence, this woman, who was to be the most blessed of women, greatly preferred to accompany her husband on this journey of over seventy miles, much of the way up and down steep, rocky hills. Traveling in the East, under its most favorable conditions, is a slow, tiresome affair, especially for women. But Mary drudged along the mountain path, in company with her husband, all the way from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Her love for the city of David seems to have overcome all difficulties. Possibly a contemplative mind like hers may have perceived that this decree of Cæsar Augustus was but an instrument, in the hand of Providence, to fulfill ancient prophecy with respect to the birthplace of the Messiah, for Micah had declared that out of Bethlehem Ephratah, though little among the thousands of Judah, “yet out of thee shall He come forth unto Me that is to be ruler in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.” So, while it would seem that an arbitrary decree decided where Christ is to be born, God had manifested His wisdom in the choice of the time, place and circumstances, and was faithful in the fulfillment of the word of prophecy, ever carrying out His plans through the free acts of men. In this instance the great Roman Cæsar, even without his knowledge, became an official agent in the kingdom of God.

So it came to pass, in the fullness of time, and in the beloved city of David, Bethlehem Ephratah, Mary brought forth the Saviour of the world, and humbly laid Him in a manger. Here, amid these humble surroundings, in the stall of an inn, among the beasts, was the advent of the Son of God, the Saviour of the world. And, behold, the Life which was to lift “empires off their hinges” and turn the “stream of centuries out of its course”—a life which was to revolutionize the world and transform humanity—had begun.

The place where the inn stood is now occupied by an enormous pile of buildings, known as the “Church of the Nativity.” Down in the crypt of this church, reached by[176] fifteen stone steps, and in the eastern wall of it, is a silver star, around which are the words: “Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est”—“Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.” One can not with indifference behold such a spot as this. To us it was a sacred and hallowed place, and we felt subdued and reverent while beholding the place where began the greatest life earth has ever contained. To the Christian, Bethlehem stands first among the holiest places on the face of the globe, and we were hushed into reverence by its sacred associations and charmed by its natural beauty.

The “inn,” the scene of the nativity, stood on the crest of a hill that rapidly falls away to a valley seven hundred feet below. At its base is the “well” for the waters of which David so greatly longed. On the opposite side is a hill still more precipitous than the one on which Bethlehem stands. The little valley between the hills gradually opens out eastward, where once stood the wheatfields of Boaz, in which Ruth gleaned after the reapers. Just beyond this, scarcely a mile from the “city of David,” is the field where the shepherds were “keeping watch over their flock by night, when lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them,” with this glad proclamation, “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.” Then suddenly night was turned into day by the radiant brightness of a multitude of the heavenly host, filling earth and sky with their song:

The visit of the shepherds to the inn, the circumcision and presentation in the Temple, the visit and adoration of the wise men who saw His star in far off Persia, the cruel massacre of the children of Bethlehem by Herod, and the flight into Egypt, are rather scenes in the life of Christ than that of his mother, and are fully described in “The Christ Lifted Up.”

However, in passing, it may be well to pause long enough to observe how the presentation in the Temple brings the limited circumstances of Joseph and Mary to our notice.[177] The custom of ceremonial purification by a Jewish mother in the sanctuary with a sacrifice is fully stated in Lev. xii. Two offerings were required, a burnt and a sin offering. When Mary presented herself with her babe in the court of the women, in the Temple, the proper offering was a lamb for a burnt offering, and a young pigeon or a turtle-dove for a sin offering; but with that beautiful tenderness which is so marked a characteristic of the Mosaic law, those who were too poor for so comparatively costly an offering were allowed to bring instead two turtle-doves or two young pigeons. Mary, instead of the lamb and dove, brought the offering of the poor—two doves. With this offering in her hand, she presented herself to the priest.

One incident more occurs in the presentation in the Temple. At the moment when Mary had completed her consecration, an old man came tottering through the throng. It was the aged Simeon, “just and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel.” Taking from Mary’s arms her precious infant, and, as with face aglow and eyes kindled with heavenly fire, in speaking his holy rapture, one passage is specially directed to her, “Yea, a sword shall pierce through thine own soul also.” This “sword,” we must believe, entered her heart as later she saw her Son on the cross.

In the return from Egypt after the death of Herod the Great, it appears to have been the intention of Joseph to have settled at Bethlehem at this time, as his home at Nazareth had now been broken up for a year or more, intending there to rear the infant King, at his own royal city, until the time should come when he would sit upon David’s throne and restore the fallen kingdom to its ancient splendor. But “when he heard that Archelaus did reign in Judea,” he turned aside into Nazareth, as well he might, if he knew the life and character of the new prince, thinking, no doubt, the child’s life would be safer in the tetrarchy of Antipas than in that of Archelaus.

Henceforward, until the beginning of our Lord’s ministry, so far as is known, Mary lived in Nazareth, in a humble[178] sphere of life, the wife of Joseph the carpenter, pondering over the sayings of the angels, of the shepherds, of Simeon, and those of her Son, as the latter “increased in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man.” Two circumstances alone, so far as we know, broke in on the otherwise even flow of her life. One of these was the loss of Jesus out of the company of the homeward journey, when he remained behind at Jerusalem upon the occasion of His first visit to the Temple. His mother is the first to speak. “Son,” she said, “why hast thou thus dealt with us?” His reply gave the keynote of His life, “Wist ye not that I must be about my Fathers business?” The other was the death of Joseph. The exact date of this last event we can not determine. But it was probably not long after the other.

From this time on Mary is withdrawn almost wholly from sight. Four times only is the veil removed, which is thrown over her, and surely not without reason.

1. The first is at the marriage of Cana. It is thought from the interest Mary took in it that the bride or bridegroom, were friends, if not relatives of the family. “And Jesus was called, and His disciples.” The disciples were invited out of respect for their Lord. This unexpected addition to the company may have been the cause of Mary’s evident embarrassment, and she appeals to her Son by saying, “They have no wine.” It is impossible to know all that was in her heart. Possibly from the Jordan had come wonderful news concerning her Son which had inspired her with the hope that now at least, after so long waiting, the time of His manifestation was at hand. What if He should use the present opportunity to show His power! Might she not at least mention it to Him? But, mark His answer, “Woman, what have I to do with thee?” While His reply, in the original, does not have in it the severity it has in the plain English, yet He would have her understand that in His divine character He could not acknowledge her, nor be influenced by her suggestions. Henceforth there must be room between her and Him for His Father. And so He told[179] her with all the tenderness that words and looks could convey that the matter she hinted at was a matter between Him and His Father. Mary quickly acceded to this. By woman’s enlightened intuition she perceived His meaning, and so she said to the servants, “Whatsoever He saith unto you do it.” In confident expectation, she believed He would supply the need. Her beautiful faith in Him was unshaken.

2. The second time Mary comes to view is in the attempt which she and others made to speak with Jesus in the midst of His conflict with the Scribes and Pharisees at Capernaum, when they sought to destroy His good name and influence by applying that most horrible and loathsome epithet, “He had Beelzebub.” We can hardly realize what satanic forces were massed against Jesus at that time. And Mary, who probably, with some friends, stood on the outside of the crowd, became alarmed, and would rescue Him from the malice of His enemies. So she sent a message, which probably was handed on from one person to another, begging Him to allow His friends to speak to Him. Again He refuses to admit any privilege on account of their relationship. “Who is my mother, and who are my brethren?” He loved His mother, but infinite wisdom saw best that she must in no way influence His divine work, which He could not share with another and be the Saviour of the world. He must tread the winepress of men’s malice alone.

3. The third time Mary comes to our notice is at the foot of the cross. She was standing there with Mary Magdalene, Salome, and other women, having no doubt followed her Son as she was able throughout that terrible morning of our Lord’s several trials. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and He was about to expire. Standing near the company of the women was John, and, with almost His last words, Christ commended His mother to the care of this disciple. And from that hour, John assures us, he took her to his home. If, by “that hour,” John means immediately after the words were spoken, Mary was not present at the last scene of all. The sword had sufficiently pierced her[180] soul, and she was spared the hearing of the last loud cries and the sight of the bowed head. However we might have understood His relation to Mary, while the great scheme of human redemption was being wrought out, He now turns in beautiful and touching tenderness to her, who tenderly loved Him, even when she could not fully understand His work.

4. The fourth and last time Mary is brought to our view is in the company of the one hundred and twenty believers, assembled at Jerusalem, waiting for the descent of the Holy Spirit. This is the last view we have of her. The Word of God leaves her engaged in prayer in the “upper room,” with the women, and with His brethren. From this point forward we know nothing of her. It is very probable the rest of her life was spent in the home of John, cherished with the tenderness which her sensitive soul would have specially needed, and which she undoubtedly found in him who had borne the distinction of “that disciple whom Jesus loved.”

When the disciples “were scattered abroad” after the martyrdom of Stephen, and the apostles assumed the charge of important centres, we read of John being minister of the church at Ephesus. No doubt Mary removed with John to Ephesus, where, tradition says, she died, and where she was buried. Probably she died before John was banished to Patmos. While at Ephesus, we visited her sepulchre. It is on the north side of Mt. Prion, half way up the mountain side. The tomb is cut out of the solid rock, and in full view of the church, which doubtless she loved so well.

We have already dwelt at considerable length upon the beautiful character of Mary in connection with her song of rejoicing in the house of Elizabeth and known as the Magnificat. So far as Mary is portrayed to us in the Scripture, she is, as we should have expected, the most tender, the most faithful, humble, patient and loving of women, but a woman still, and how she herself regarded her relation to her divine Son is best expressed in her own words:

[181]

THE MINISTRY AT EPHESUS.

No doubt she was a comfort in the home of John. The dark shadows of the cross were dissipated when she saw Jesus alive after His resurrection, and communed with Him, and, doubtless, saw Him ascend to heaven in a cloud, and had heard the angels assure His disciples, as they had seen Him depart, in like manner He would come again. She was comforted in the wonderful scene at Pentecost, when three thousand acknowledged Jesus as their Saviour as well as her Saviour. She lived to see the Gospel spread through Judea and Samaria, and the great centres in Asia Minor. She had nobly done her work at Jerusalem and at Ephesus—had[182] told, as none could tell it, the sweet story of the infant Jesus and her glorified Saviour. On account of her presence there was a strange interest about the services of the great church at Ephesus, because the mother of Jesus was among the worshippers. Even the life and ministry of the beloved John was made richer because of her helpful presence.

But now she is growing old. Her earthly mission is drawing to a close. She can not stay longer to bless the people who had learned to love her. Indeed, her affections had already stolen away and preceded her upward. The glad day has come for her to go. Her weary feet will soon stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem. The low murmur of voices and the subdued sobbing of loved ones around her she heeds not, as a strange light breaks upon her, and she hears celestial symphonies from the glory shore. White-winged messengers—jasper walls—pearly gates—golden streets—life’s river—and she is with Him in the land where swords can never enter stricken hearts!

We can not close this chapter without making mention of Anna the Prophetess. It would seem that at the coming of the Saviour into the world, earth and sky clapped their hands for joy, and the mountains and hills broke forth into singing. Not only did Zacharias prophesy, saying “Blessed be the Lord the God of Israel;” and Mary sing her hymn of praise, in which she exclaimed, “My soul doth magnify the Lord;” and the angels who sang, “Glory to God in the highest;” and the aged Simeon, who, coming into the Temple, and taking the child in his arms, burst forth in doxology, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy word, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation,” but also Anna the Prophetess. Scarcely had the sweet strains of the aged Simeon ceased, when the prophetess, coming into the court of the women, in the Temple, and seeing Mary presenting herself with her babe, caught the meaning of the scene and added her voice of praise, “and spake of Him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.”

[183]It was very fitting that women should have such a prominent part in these human and angelic songs over the nativity of Him who, in after years, proved women’s best friend. Who alone, of all earth’s great teachers, wept with and over woman’s broken heart; who alone pitied woman taken in sin; who alone stood up in defence of woman against cruel criticism; who alone placed in contrast a poor penitent woman over against a well-washed, and we had almost said, “white-washed,” Pharisee; who, on the way to the cross, had words of comfort for womanhood, in the ever-memorable exclamation, “Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for Me!” And why should not these daughters weep for one who had elevated them to their true position? Surely, they might well weep, for they had never had such a friend.

Anna was a daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher, and of very great age—eighty-four years. Her age is specially mentioned, to show that, though she had passed but few years in the married state, she had reached this advanced age as a widow; a fact redounding to her honor in a moral sense, and ranking her among the comparatively small number of “widows indeed,” whom Paul especially commends. It is somewhat remarkable that the name of Anna’s father should be mentioned, and not that of her husband. Perhaps her father survived her husband, and may also have been known as one who waited for the consolation of Israel. The pious words Anna uttered in the presence of Mary and her child in the court of the women can not be the only reason of her being called a prophetess. Such an appellation must have been caused by some earlier and frequent utterances, dictated by the Spirit of prophecy, by reason of which she ranked among the list of holy women who, both in earlier and later times, were chosen instruments of the Holy Spirit. If the spirit of prophecy had departed from Israel since the time of Malachi, according to the opinion of the Jews, the return of this Spirit might be looked upon as one of the tokens of Messiah’s advent.

[184]In Simeon and Anna we see incarnate types of the expectation of salvation under the Old Testament, as in the child Jesus the salvation itself is manifested. At the extreme limits of life, they stand in striking contrast to the infant Saviour, exemplifying the Old Covenant decaying and waxing old before the New, which is to grow and remain. Old age grows youthful, both in Simeon and Anna, at the sight of the Saviour; while the youthful Mary grows inwardly older and riper, as Simeon lifts up before her eyes the veil hanging upon the future. Joseph and Mary marveled at the revelations, not because they learned from Simeon’s prophecy anything they had not heard before, but they were struck and charmed by the new aspect under which this salvation was presented.

There is something very beautiful in this aged Anna, the prophetess, who “departed not from the Temple, but served God with fastings and prayers night and day.” And the reason given for this consecrated devotion is, she “looked for redemption in Jerusalem.” This aged saint, into whose obscure but loyal keeping the spirit of true religion has always retired in times of a degenerate and formal faith, under the Divine Spirit, refused to depart from the courts of the sanctuary day nor night. Many a long and weary year she had waited for redemption in Jerusalem, and had watched with eager eyes the long procession of fathers and mothers as they presented, according to custom, their first-born at the altar steps. But the Child for whose coming she had waited with such spiritual patience had not come.

At length the supreme day of her life had dawned, and with an unusual expectancy she goes early to her accustomed vigil. As the humble Joseph and Mary draw near, unheralded of men and with no sign of lineage or worth beyond the rank and file of common people, the clear vision of the aged prophetess discovers the King, and with a joy that blossomed into song, she unites with the devout Simeon, who like herself, was also “waiting for the consolation of Israel,” the praises that redemption had at last come to Jerusalem.[185] There was providential coincidence in her coming in just at “that instant,” when Simeon was prophesying and when the babe was in the Temple, for a divine propriety, so to speak, seemed to require that the new-born Saviour should first receive the homage of the elect of Israel.

ANNA, THE PROPHETESS.

With this temple scene, the aged Anna comes into and goes out of history, but in its light certain great facts are made luminous forever, namely, that Jesus the Christ comes into our common humanity along no royal road, but through the great common gateway of common people. Jesus touches life at its majority points, meeting our needs and our weakened nature with a brotherhood that loves us and lifts us up. Christ’s first welcome into the world was not through Herod, nor the famous Council of the Seventy, nor through the wise[186] Scribes, or great Pharisees, but through the trembling arms of an aged man and woman.

To pause upon the romantic fitness of this temple scene were easy, when the heart of the old and the new, the beginning and the end of life throb together, but rather we turn to the mission of Christ to old age as embodied in this incident of Simeon and Anna. Age is to a well-spent life what the fruit is to the vine, the garnered and best part of it. That ripeness of experience, of mind, of judgment, which comes alone from long and patient drudging on until the mile-posts are many, that calm which comes at the sunset—these are the crowns that come to the soul as it stands on the delectable mountains with the Celestial City in full view. Youth is clear-visioned and hopeful, early life is busied with palpable ambitions, and later on is occupied with the harvesting of ventures and the fruitage of success. But age has nothing but a memory and a hunger, therefore it was a fitness and a providence that Simeon and Anna should reach out their trembling hands in initial welcome to the Son of God.

Again, Anna stands as the type of the spiritually-minded, to whom in old age are vouchsafed the revelations of God. Her attitude was very significant. She “departed not from the Temple,” that is, she was watchful. She served God “with fastings and prayers,” peculiarly expressive of Old Testament piety, with its minute attention to precept and ceremony. That to this woman it was permitted, under the Spirit’s guidance, that morning to come into the court of the women at the “instant,” indicates a perpetual spiritual condition, rather than a sudden impulse or illumination—the habit of one who walked and talked with God “night and day.” These reveal the spiritual qualities of the prophetess of Jehovah, where an obedient will and loving heart are linked to far-sighted spiritual vision in the discernment of the providence and truth of God. To such elect souls revelations are always coming, because of spiritual affinities and the unerring insights of love. Therefore it was no accident, this coming into the courts of the Temple at the “instant,”[187] but in accord with a world-wide and unbroken law of spiritual discernment, for spiritual truths are spiritually discerned.

She that desires this spiritual sense must do as Anna did, wait upon God in prayer. She “served God.” She was spiritually-minded. An intense desire always precedes possession. Our Lord said, “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.” Do we hunger after righteousness, with a hunger that joins a great longing with a strong will? Then shall we possess it, for these powers of the mind and heart wait with sure benediction upon the prayers of earnest souls. This desire lies at the threshold of spiritual-mindedness. It is synonymous with love. Do I love God? Is my eye single and my heart pure? If so, I shall see Him. If not in the court of the women, as Anna did, in the inner courts of an unending eternity.

The other factor that enters into this spiritual life is abiding. Anna “departed not from the Temple.” She waited patiently. Go back to that night in Shiloh, ere the lamps of God had gone out, and note how Samuel the child became Samuel the prophet by waiting on God in a listening attitude and prompt obedience. Follow Paul from the vision on Anti-Lebanon to the prisons of Nero, and the roadway of his Christian life is literally paved with waiting and prompt obedience, and both the seer and the apostle give us the rule of spiritual expansion, and set the step for all the regiments of the heavenly-minded. An eminent divine has said, “Every duty we omit obscures some truth we should have known,” and a greater than this divine has said, “He that doeth truth cometh to the light.” The secret of all soul degeneracy, of a seared conscience and a blunted moral sense, alas! we all know too well, is disobedience to the heavenly visions. Like Eli, our eyes are grown dim, and like Paul’s fellow-travelers to Damascus, we hear a sound, but no articulate voice of call. “To obey,” said the great and good Samuel to the disobedient Saul, “is better than sacrifice.” It is because of disobedience to the clear visions[188] of duty there is so much of moral “near-sightedness” in the modern Christian life. The options of spiritual life or death are always with us, to see or not to see, to know or not to know. Here is the power and the peril of the Church our Saviour purchased at the price of His own blood; here is her strength and her weakness; for the dominant danger in the Church of our time, with its wealth, its average moralities and its social compromises, is unspirituality, when the lines of division between a refined worldliness and a perfunctory Christianity are so vague that both seem so near alike to many professed followers of Jesus as not to know where worldliness ends and the Christian rule commences. An unspiritual life is the real apostacy which clogs the chariot wheels of God and dims the eye to the King in His excellent glory.

Do you wonder at the high honor heaven conferred upon this aged prophetess, who “departed not night nor day from the Temple,” lest she should miss the opportunity of a lifetime, of making her the first woman to witness for Christ? It was in perfect keeping with God’s eternal plan of exalting the humble of this world who have loyal hearts. Rebekah, with cheerful alacrity, watered the ten camels of Eliezer, the servant of Abraham, when he called her to be the bride of Isaac; Rachel was driving her father’s sheep to the well in Haran when she won the heart of Jacob, the heir of promise; Miriam watched the little craft among the rushes of the Nile, before she led the women in triumphal song at the Red Sea; Ruth gleaned in the fields of Bethlehem to relieve her own and Naomi’s necessities, when she attracted the attention of Boaz; Esther lived a modest, retired life in the house of Mordecai, the porter at the royal palace, when she was called to be queen over the Persians. Poverty and homely toil are no hindrance to holy zeal in Christian service; nor are they hindrance to high communion with the Eternal.

These are truths attested by revelation and by history. We are sometimes tempted to question humility as a stepping-stone to exaltation, and to complain of our lot; tempted[189] to think ourselves hemmed in and circumscribed, thus to lack all opportunity for large service or large vision, or large attainments of any kind. Nothing is more common among those whose life is crowded with what is termed coarse and common toil, who are loaded down with many cares, and confined in what seem to them narrow bounds, to count others vastly more highly favored than themselves, and to regard themselves as out of range of all spiritual visions or special divine communications! Let her who is left to think such thoughts, or to place such estimate on her lot in life, remember that no eye of Scribe or Pharisee, of priest or king, saw or recognized the Son of God that day when Mary presented Jesus in the Temple. Such vision was reserved for the aged prophetess, who was looking for redemption in Jerusalem.

What is the lesson? This, that the waiting and the morally qualified are the chosen channels of divine communication; that to such the revelations of God unfold wonderful visions. Heaven and earth meet where the truly devout are found watching “night and day” by the altars of prayer. If doxologies of the soul are to be rendered in the ear of mortals, they shall hear them whose hearts are open towards the throne of grace, and whose longings are for “redemption in Jerusalem!” and who are “waiting for the consolation of Israel.”

We now come to the beautiful ministries of womanhood during our Lord’s earthly mission. No teacher had ever lived who sought to elevate women as did the Saviour. The most casual reader of our Lord’s acts of mercy as He moved among the people, must have noticed how often He wrought some of His most wondrous works among women. He talked with a woman of questionable character by the wayside, He stretched out his hands over one whose very touch was considered unclean, and tenderly said, “Thy sins are forgiven!” He called another, whose shrinking fear, after she was healed, caused her to sob out her confession, “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.” What a sweet picture that is of the mothers who bring their little children to Him that “He should touch them,” and their faith was rewarded not by a mere “touch,” but He took the mothers’ darlings in His arms and blessed them. With a yearning of divine pity He brings back to life three persons that motherhood and sisterhood might be comforted. Surely womanhood must have been precious in His sight, and there is a peculiar force in the word precious as of God’s own choosing. When He speaks of precious things, or permits in His inspired servants such ardent language, we may be assured there is a deep meaning in the expression, and that whatever is spoken of, is of great value, costly and rare. “I know the thoughts that I think toward you,” says the dear Lord,[191] “thoughts of peace and not of evil.” And they are so continuous! “How great is the sum of them? If I should count them they are more in number than the sand!” We have walked the wide beach, as it stretches on for miles and miles in one unbroken line of white sand. Could we count a single rod of it? Yet these thoughts of our Lord outnumber the sand on the shore of the sea. And how precious they are, because begotten of pure love; and royal with kindness; and tender with compassion; and fragrant with blessings; exquisite with sweetness; infinite, incessant, immeasurable.

In our love, we mainly dwell upon the thought of what God is to us, and so are apt to forget what we are to Him. “He has chosen Israel for His peculiar treasure.” “The Lord’s portion is His people.” Does He so esteem us? Does He hold us close to His heart, and say, I love thee “since thou wast precious in My sight!” The mother thinks of her child, the wife of her husband, the lover of his beloved. And how sweet are these thoughts of our dear ones. Unbidden they crowd upon the soul; comforting, tenderly cherished and precious are the thoughts of the absent for one another! Memories of form and feature, look and smile, word and deed, affection and purpose, are ever present. Does God, the Infinite, thus think of us! Oh, wondrous alchemy of grace that can turn such poor unworthy souls into gems so beautiful, so priceless, so dear to the Infinite heart of God; so highly esteemed that if even the least were lost, it would be a loss to Him. Then, also, the trial of our faith is “much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire.” If we bear this in mind, we shall better understand the Saviour’s acts as we read the story of His love for womanhood. Oh, ye tired, troubled ones, put into God’s crucible, did you ever feel that you were forgotten, overlooked, too long or too severely tested? God is watching with an eye that never slumbers. The trial going on is precious to Him. He tempers the heat when too strong, and adds fuel when too light. He creates the smith to blow the coals; and here, be sure, He makes no mistake. You[192] would not have chosen as He has; and yet the process must go on, for it is a precious one; so much so that our Beloved can not trust it to other hands than His own. He will not let you be harmed. “Many shall be purified and made white and tried.” Are you not glad He has chosen you among these? The trial is painful to you, but precious to Him, and “will be found unto praise and honor, and glory,” walking with Him in White Raiment, as those who “are worthy.”

Through human personality is God best made known. There is a revelation in nature; the movements of planets, the return of seasons, the regularity and uniformity of natural laws, reveal a fixed order in the universe; the balanced relationship, the correspondences and adaptations in nature reveal mind as the centre of activities; wisdom speaks out in the organizations, kingdoms and beneficent purposes of nature, while beauty shines from the splendor of the world. All this is very good, but it is not conclusive. It is written of the Son of God, that He endured the cross for the joy that was set before Him. He recognized the sore need of humanity, and the Father’s plan to meet that need, and gave Himself a willing offering. Christ is the living manifestation of God’s love. To be “able to save to the uttermost all who come unto God by Him,” was the joy set before Him for which He endured the cross and now ever liveth to make intercession for us. Surely His thoughts of us must have been most precious, and, in view of the great price He paid for our redemption, let us never minify our lives however humble our lot:

[193]If we partake of the Divine nature, we will want to share in His work of saving, and thus enter into the joy of our Lord. To be able to touch life hopefully, and to see it expand and grow day by day into the similitude of the All-perfect, is to experience a joy not of earth. Womanhood has come into her kingdom in the sense of having reached a place of large opportunity, in the use of her God-given power. Our Saviour has honored woman by giving her a place in his heart and work, and most loyally does she “lay her hands to the distaff and with her hands hold the spindle” in the making of the great fabric of human destiny.

CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD.

[194]How womanhood, in the days of the Saviour’s incarnation, manifested her appreciation, will be amplified in this and the next chapter, and her loving ministry does credit to her head and heart, for we read, as He journeyed with his disciples from place to place, “Certain women, which had been healed of infirmities, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and many others, ministered unto Him of their substance.” How beautiful is all this. Women actually following Jesus, as disciples, and out of their means ministering to His physical necessities. Heathenism has no place, socially for women, as we have shown in our introductory. Christ sought to bless and elevate womanhood.

The skill of our Lord’s wayside teaching is beautifully brought out in the scene at Jacob’s well. In one of His tours through Samaria our Lord reached Jacob’s well, in the neighborhood of Sychar, about noon, and being weary, sat down upon the stone seat in the little alcove erected over the well. It offered a shelter from the glare of the noontide sun. John, in his gospel, tells us that Jesus, “being wearied with His journey, sat thus on the well.” The words in the original imply that He was quite tired out with His journey, and doubtless overcome with the extreme heat. In His exhaustion, He seems to be quite anxious, if possible, to obtain a little rest, while the disciples had left Him, to procure in the nearby city, the necessary bread.

The disciples had scarcely departed, when a lone woman, with face veiled, and on her head a great stone waterpot, came to the well to draw water. It was an unseasonable hour, for morning and evening only would the well be thronged by women, whose duty it is to carry the water for household use. For some reason, possibly because she was in no good repute, this woman avoided the throng at the well in the morning or evening hours, and availed herself of this unseasonable time to come for water.

The scene before us is pathetically picturesque. The Son of God resting in the refreshing shade of the little alcove, and a woman of doubtful character coming in out of the[195] noontide glare and heat of the sun to draw water. We almost wonder if our Lord, in His exhausted and fevered condition, had not been casting around in His mind how He might obtain a cup of refreshing water from the depth of the well. And now is His opportunity. With the nicest tact and politeness He asks, “Give me to drink!” To ask for a drink of water in the East is a proffer of good-will. Under no circumstances would an Oriental ask or receive water or bread of one with whom he was unwilling to be on good terms. So when Jesus said to the woman, “Give me to drink,” it was as if He had said, “I wish you well; I feel kindly towards you and yours.”

We are somewhat surprised at the conduct of the woman after such kindly salutation. Instead of quickly offering Him a drink, she proceeds to ask, “How is it that thou being a Jew askest drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria?” She would recognize the nationality of Jesus by His dress. The color of the fringes on the Jewish garments was white, while those of the Samaritans were blue. Possibly His appearance and accent in His speech would also identify Him. However, in explanation of her conduct, she goes on to say, “the Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.” So that while this non-intercourse between the two people was not absolute, a request of such a nature might surprise a Samaritan. And yet we must confess she is more ready to conduct a religious discussion with the Son of God Himself than to offer cups of cold water.

But with what wonderful tact Jesus drew the mind of this woman away from the religious differences between Jews and Samaritans. He was not to be drawn off from the main point at issue. He had asked for water, for He was really thirsty. She had come to the well for water, for it supplied a need. When she came to the well her aspirations reached no farther than a pitcher of water. So, with water for a text, Jesus proceeds to tell this Samaritan that good as the well was, and great as Jacob was, all who drank of that water would thirst again. The best the world had to offer could[196] never satisfy her thirst. She could not help but see the truth of these words. They were but the echo of her daily experience.

Now the divine Teacher proceeds to uncover another well to this woman. “Whosoever,” Jesus proceeded to say, and the whosoever included all Samaritans and the world as well, “drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst; for the Holy Spirit that I shall put in him shall be a well of water springing up into everlasting life—it shall satisfy his thirst and he shall be continually refreshed.”

How deftly Jesus turned this conversation into a spiritual channel! It was done so easily that the woman was not conscious of the change. She thought he was talking about literal water, though the seriousness in his tones had awakened her utmost attention. She knew what it was to thirst, and the labor of coming to the well to carry away pitchers full on her head, only to repeat the labor with each returning day. He had awakened in her a desire, though that desire was no higher than water, and she said, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come hither to draw.” Though the woman did not understand His words, she was really, in her mind, struggling with the great problem of not thirsting any more, and of doing away with the necessity of daily coming to Jacob’s well. How the Lord delights to lead inquiring minds to the higher things of life! He saw, doubtless, by supernatural intuition, the sinful blemishes in her life, as well as the deeper aspirations of her soul which His words had awakened. How shall He get at the plague-spot which corrupted the fountain of her life?

In a tender, pathetic tone he said to the woman, “Go, call thy husband!” It was a painful request to make of this poor woman, but He could not trifle. He must be faithful. The request had its desired effect. It drew off the woman’s attention from her desire for fountains of water, to see the wretched condition of her life.

Yet, with a frankness that showed an honest soul, she replied, “I have no husband!”

[197]Ah! that was the point this wisest of Teachers was bringing her to. He did not want to see her husband, but He wanted her to see herself. His words probed to the plague-spot in her soul. She admitted her guilt, but could not quite bring her will to give up her manner of life.

When Jesus told her that she was living with the fifth man, and he not her husband, she perceived that He was a prophet, and was ready with another batch of theological questions. “I know I am not what I ought to be,” she said in effect, “but then there are some things I don’t understand, and now, since you are a prophet, perhaps you can inform me. We Samaritans claim that our way is right, and you Jews claim that your way is right. Both can’t be right; tell us what we are to do?” Referring to her Samaritan ancestors, she continued, “Our fathers worshipped in this mountain,” pointing to Mt. Gerizim, under the shadow of which they almost stood, and which had a special sacredness as the mount of blessing. It was also claimed by the Samaritans that their worship was earlier, and, therefore, older than that at Jerusalem. However, it is not clear that she meant to urge this as one of the reasons in favor of Mt. Gerizim, on the summit of which the Samaritan Temple stood. In the Scriptures which the Samaritans possessed (the Pentateuch) the name of Gerizim had been inserted in the place of the holy city of the Jews. On the other hand, the claim of the Jews was exclusive. Men must worship in Jerusalem. If the woman regarded the supremacy of Gerizim or Jerusalem an open question, it showed her candor and a willingness to accept the revelation of the truth, whatever it might be.

But see how our Lord sweeps the idol of locality from this inquirer’s mind, “Believe me,” he said, “the hour cometh when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.” Men have ever looked upon their places of worship as sacred. Islamism has its Mecca, the heathenism of India its Baneras and Ganges, the idolaters of China their sacred mountains, the apostates of modern[198] times their holy shrines. Jesus abolishes local limitations, and announces that what one worships is of more importance than where; that God is a Spirit, and that true worship is unlimited by time, place or form.

THE NOONTIDE HOUR AT JACOB’S WELL.

Such wonderful words had never fallen upon the ears or entered the heart of this woman. No priest or scribe had ever uttered such sublime conceptions of our relations to God. She had thought him a “prophet,” but such utterances are almost divine. She thinks of the Messiah, and answers, “I know that when Messias cometh, which is called Christ; when He is come, He will tell us all things.” This was in accordance with the Samaritan view of Christ.[199] While showing a desire for a fuller knowledge she thinks of a higher authority of the expected Messiah. In this He did not rebuke her. He lets her question, yet is never turned from His purpose. Step by step His love lifted this inquiring mind, until at last she was ready for such an avowal of His nature and office as He had never given to Scribe or Pharisee or disciple, “I that speak unto thee am He!”

Wonderful news! Filled with surprise and joy, she “left her waterpot” on the well, and ran into the city, forgetting all about her own need, as well as the request of the Saviour for a drink of water. Her haste shows how absorbed she had become in the wonderful words from the lips of Him who declared Himself the long-expected Son of God. And He, the blessed Lord, was so intent on saving a soul that He had forgotten all about His thirst and His weariness.

Just as she had left the well, the disciples came, having made the necessary purchase of food, and “marveled that He talked with the woman,” yet were mysteriously restrained from asking Him why He did so. Presently they spread their noonday meal, but observing that Jesus did not share with them their meal, they urged Him, saying, “Master, eat.” But great was their surprise when He answered, “I have meat to eat that ye know not of.” They could not understand that the chance to help an inquiring soul was more to Him than food or drink, and said to one another, “Hath any man brought Him ought to eat?” He astonished His inquiring disciples yet more, when knowing the thoughts uppermost in their minds, said, “My meat is to do the will of Him that sent Me,” and to carry out the mission for which I am in the world.

In the meantime the flying feet of the woman had reached the city, and she hastened from street to street delivering her message, “Come, see a Man who told me all that ever I did. Is not this the Christ?”

The theological questions over which Jews and Samaritans contended, whether Jerusalem or Gerizim was the place where “men ought to worship,” had dropped entirely out of[200] her mind. But she proved an excellent evangelist, for presently the people came flocking out of the city in the direction of Jacob’s well, pouring out of every gate, and led over the fruitful plain by the woman.

It must have been a grand sight, and showed that Jesus was not mistaken when, looking into the face of the woman, He saw a pearl of great beauty and worth beneath the rough exterior of this semi-heathenish, yet quick-witted, sprightly and susceptible Samaritan.

As the Saviour lifted up His eyes over the plain and saw the approaching multitude, He was evidently well satisfied in withgoing His weariness and thirst while talking to this Samaritan Magdalene as she came with her water-pitcher to the well, and not only was He satisfied with the results of His labors, but He seems also to have been pleased, for, as the host filled the plain, He called the attention of his disciples to the beautiful sight, and exclaimed, “Say not ye, there are yet four months, and then cometh harvest!” Doubtless this was true in the physical world, but spiritual conditions do not have to depend upon the slow processes of the natural world, and the well-sown seed amid the glare of the noontide, was already ripening unto the harvest. Behold the thronging people! said our Lord. “Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to the harvest.”

As the people thronged the well to hear and see the Man who had revealed the hidden life of the woman, He must have taught this people with wise, loving words, for they[201] forgot all about their prejudices and hate and begged Him, though of a race with whom the Samaritans had no dealings, to stay among them. And He graciously complied with their request, and it took Him two whole days to harvest that whitened field. And the record is, “Many of the Samaritans of that city believed on Him for the saying of the woman.”

But what a testimony is all this to that Samaritan woman. What, if her previous life had not been of good repute? What though she was a social outcast? One thing she discovered that noonday, as she came out to draw water from Jacob’s ancient well, that the Man who laid open her inner life in such modest words and patient forbearance, was none other than the long-expected Messiah, and she was altogether too generous-minded to lock up the glad tidings in her heart, but at once, without commission or priestly authority, witnessed for Christ, published the glad tidings of salvation through the streets of Sychar, and brought her whole city to a knowledge of her Saviour. And so this woman became the first gospel preacher in Samaria. That was before church councils had decided women may not speak for Jesus.

Jacob’s well is no longer used, and the grain fields, which “Stood dressed in living green” before the Saviour’s eyes, have long been trodden under foot of Islam’s hordes, yet the living spring of water which our Lord opened there to the poor, sinful, yet penitent woman, is as deep and fresh as ever, and has flowed on and out over the earth to remotest nations, and will quench the thirst of souls to the end of time.

We see also in this beautiful scene at Jacob’s well that Christ’s intercourse with women was marked by freedom from Oriental contempt of womanhood, and a marvelous union of purity and frankness, dignity and tenderness. He approached this woman as a friend who wished her well, and yet as her Lord and Saviour. And, to the good sense of womanhood be it said, when the light of truth broke over her inquiring mind, she believed! And behold how she[202] loved Him! Forgetting her errand to the well, yea, even leaving her pitcher, she hastened to publish the glad news. Surely the Saviour “must needs go through Samaria,” on His way from Judea to Galilee, and His resting in the little alcove of Jacob’s well, for the moment sheltered from the glare of an Oriental midday sun, was more than a geographical “must.” It was the necessity of love laid upon His heart to meet and to help that woman who came with an empty stone pitcher to the well at the same hour of the day, but went away with a heart filled with “living water ... springing up into everlasting life.”

Some time after this, on one of those days while Jesus was teaching in lower Galilee, a Pharisee, by the very common name of Simon, invited our Lord to a feast. Why he invited Him is not stated. Possibly he may have been impressed with the character and teaching of Christ, and disposed, in a social way, and at his own table, to give Him a further hearing, thinking, perhaps, by coming in personal contact with our Lord, aside from the throngs which attended upon His ministry, he could the better satisfy himself as to the merits of this new Teacher in Israel, and so invited Jesus to dine with him. Our Lord had not yet broken with the Pharisees, and was still anxious, if possible, to conciliate them, if by any means He might win them, and withal, willing to show his good-will, accepted the invitation.

However gracious the invitation may have been given, it is quite clear that the hospitality was meant to be qualified. These Pharisees who loved the uppermost seats at feasts, knew how to entertain. But in this feast, all the ordinary attentions which were usually paid to honored guests were strangely omitted. There was no servant with basin of water and towel for the weary and dust-covered feet, no anointing of the head, no kiss of welcome upon the cheek, nothing but a somewhat ungracious admission to a vacant place at the table, and the most distant courtesies of ordinary intercourse, so managed that this Guest from among the common people might feel that he was receiving honors[203] in the house of a rich and influential Pharisee. Many a poor man’s head has been turned by such feigned and mock courtesies. It would have been a thousand times better to the head and heart of Simon if he had never invited the Lord, than to assume in His presence what he was not at heart.

Our Lord must have keenly felt these omissions. But, since he had been invited, He made the best of this empty show at hospitality, only we may be quite sure He was clothed in His usual gentleness and modest dignity. We may well believe our Lord showed no signs of being piqued at the slights put upon Him, nor embarrassed in the presence of His host and the distinguished guests present. While Jesus cared little for show or etiquette, yet it was but natural that He should have keenly felt these omissions so gracefully shown to the others at this feast.

But before us rises another scene. “Behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster box of ointment.” How thoughtful these women are! This one was not satisfied with merely following the throng, but she takes with her the most costly gift at her command. What a contrast between her and Simon, who haughtily thought within himself that anything was good enough for this lowly Prophet of Nazareth.

When this woman, whose character seemed to have been well known, too well indeed for her own comfort, reached Simon’s house, she found the door thronged by a crowd of people who had doubtless followed Jesus, and now stood, and looked, and listened—for privacy seems a thing impossible in the free and easy life of Orientals. For a moment she lingered amidst the throng. While there, men, as they passed in to the feast, gathered their robes as they passed her, lest by a passing touch she should defile them. As she sees the scanty preparations, the cold reception, her woman’s heart is made indignant. “Would that I were worthy to ask Him beneath my roof, or would that I could bid Him[204] come and sit at meat with me; all that I have were His to minister in any way to His comfort. But I, alas, am so far down and He so holy—there is no chance for me.” So she thinks.

Then lo, that face is lifted, the eyes meet hers. He, all pitiful, reading her heart looks an invitation that she can not resist. And then in the presence of the Pharisees, as they start with horror, every man shrinking from this infamous intruder, every face filled with scorn, she hurries across to the side of the Lord Jesus and falls at His feet. She pours forth her penitence in a flood of tears; then, startled that she should thus have bathed His feet, she loosens her hair and wipes them with reverent hands, and tenderly kissing His feet, she draws from the folds of her dress a pot of unguent, and pours its fragrance upon them.

Who she was or how she had come to know Jesus, or when she had been moved by his preaching and converted by the grace of His words we do not know. It is quite likely, having been attracted like others to be one of His auditors somewhere, she had heard His gracious words of love and pity, and had gladly on her part accepted their healing influences.

But when the Pharisee saw the marked attention of this woman of the street to his Guest, he commenced talking to himself in his heart, “This man, if He were a prophet,” he muttered to himself, “would know who and what manner of woman this is that is thus lavishing her love upon His feet, for she is a sinner, whose very touch is pollution.” No doubt Simon was shocked beyond measure, especially when he saw Jesus allowed it, and was glad at that moment that his cold caution at the commencement of the feast had prevented him from giving Jesus too cordial a welcome. “I am glad now I did not compromise my honor or forfeit the good opinion of those of my set; that I wasted none of my perfume upon His head; that I gave Him no kiss of welcome; yea, even that I did not bid a servant wash His feet. Such acts of hospitality would, in a measure at least, have[205] committed me, in the eyes of the people, to Him as a friend, and would have exposed me to the criticisms of my brethren. I fear I have already gone too far, but will get out of it as quickly as possible, and when I extend another invitation He’ll know it. In my opinion, He is not only no prophet, but is altogether too free with the common people to make Him desirable among my fellow Pharisees.”

To be sure, Simon did not utter these thoughts aloud, but his frigid demeanor, and the contemptuous expression of countenance, which he did not take the trouble to disguise, showed all that was passing in his heart. He little realized that Jesus had read his thoughts as unerringly as if he had written them upon the walls of his dining-room, and at once proceeded to lay open the heart of His host to himself in a manner he had never thought it possible, and He did it by first relating a little parable, and thus addressed the Pharisee:

“Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee!”

“Master, say on,” was the somewhat constrained reply.

“There was a certain creditor who had two debtors. The one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty; and when they had nothing to pay he freely forgave both. Tell me, then, which of them will love him most?”

The construction of this parable is marvelous for its conciseness, naturalness and simplicity. In its application Jesus makes Simon condemn himself for his uncharitable judgment. He is compelled to admit the whole force of the great scheme of salvation by pardoning grace. It doubtless never entered Simon’s poor, proud, but sinful heart that he, too, was a debtor and needed to be as freely forgiven as the woman whose touch he considered pollution, and yet this is one of the lessons taught by the comparison here drawn between the abandoned woman and the proud Pharisee. It is pitiable to see the bitterness of the world towards a lost woman. And yet why should not her companion in sin suffer as much as she? But he never does. Let us be fair. Cast her out, if you feel called on to be her judge, but at least do the same by him.

[206]The fact remains that this poor woman knew she was an outcast. No one would forgive her. Never could she regain her social standing. But Simon? Ah! Simon was really quite a model man. As the world judges worth, she stood at one extreme and he at the other. Simon was eminently respectable. As a Pharisee he belonged to one of the first families; he was recognized in Church and State; he had social position which introduced him to the refined and educated. If he met a public speaker of eminence, or a man of reputation, he honored him by inviting him to dinner. Let us not too severely pass upon the conduct of Simon. He was undoubtedly a worthy man. Christ’s reference to him in the parable implies that his outward life was not that of a hypocrite or a mere formalist. But this parable makes him a bankrupt debtor. He can no more pay his fifty pence than the woman her five hundred pence. So both were sinners, and both needed to be forgiven. Here there was no difference. Both had broken the law of God, and both were in need of a Saviour.

We see again that penitence breaks down the wall that separated from God. This poor woman saw her dreadful sin and turned from it in an agony of repentance. She sought the Lord. He was the only friend to whom she could turn in her need. She was sure of His sympathy and help. She desired forgiveness and found it. She had been alienated from God, but through her penitence had reached a comprehension of Christ’s character impossible to the self-satisfied Pharisee. She was far more at one with God, as He was revealed in Christ, than was the dignified gentleman, indignant at her presence in his house.

This woman felt a great need. She was sin-burdened, and needed a divine deliverer, and the Saviour proved to be an all-sufficient helper. How was it with Simon? Why, he relied on himself. He felt no need of Christ’s help. He was self-satisfied—a very good man in his own opinion. The woman had expressed her gratitude in many touching ways, but Simon had no sense of gratitude. He had given[207] no kiss of welcome, had provided no water for the feet, had failed to anoint the Saviour’s head.

Beyond a doubt there are a great many excellent people to-day of Simon’s stamp. They are quite courteous, if their social position is not compromised thereby. They will spread a feast, and invite the Lord to dinner. And yet, they feel no need of Christ. The whole show of hospitality is a cold, heartless formality, with no tenderness of emotion towards Him. They feel no longing to make sacrifices for His sake as expressive of their love. And so, while treating Christ respectfully, they do not treat Him lovingly. They think too well of themselves. They need to recognize more fully their position of danger and their dependence upon Christ.

There is also a wonderful picture in this narrative of Christ’s love for us. How considerate His treatment of this penitent and broken-hearted woman! He was not supercilious. He had no feeling of pride that resented her touch. It was not necessary that He avoid her in order to vindicate His own purity.

Hitherto Jesus had said nothing to the woman, though it must have thrilled her soul when she heard what had been said to Simon in the application of the parable. She was first indirectly assured of the grace of God in respect to herself, and of the principle on which her forgiveness was vouchsafed. She knew that He was not ashamed of her, and, finally, she heard Him say in so many words, “Her sins which are many are forgiven her.”

Having said so much to Simon concerning her, Jesus now turned to the woman herself, laid His hand tenderly upon the bowed head, for He would not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, He would not by bitterness drive her from Him, but as her Defence and Deliverer, personally addressed her, and said, “Thy sins are forgiven!” There now remained not a doubt in her mind. She had His word personally addressed to her, and this was the ground of her assurance.

[208]

THE UNINVITED GUEST.

Now see what followed. “They that sat at meat with Him began to say, within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also?” Simon and his friends were offended because there was no sympathy in their hearts for Christ and His works of mercy. They did not desire the salvation of this woman who had come in to their feast. It did not once occur to them that Christ could know the character of the woman and yet be willing to let her approach Him that He might forgive her sin. They saw only a man, and said, “Who is this that forgiveth sins also?” Only God could do that. But she saw a Saviour before her, and our Lord fearing the cavil of the Pharisees might distress the woman, He said to her, “Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace!” He would get her away from the doubting Pharisees as quickly as possible.

[209]It is worthy of observation that, notwithstanding the beautiful exhibition this woman gave of her love and affection, it was her “faith,” not her love, that saved her.

Tradition identifies this woman as Mary Magdalene, a native, it is thought of Magdol, the modern Mejdel, a town on the west shore of the Sea of Galilee, and south of the plain of Gennesaret. The present village lies close to the water’s edge, and, Tiberias excepted, is the only place on the western coast of Galilee which survives the wreck of time.

Much is said by the Talmudists of her wealth, her extreme beauty, her braided hair, but all we know of her from Scriptures is her enthusiasm of devotion and gratitude which, henceforth, attached her, heart and soul, to her Saviour’s service. For we read, “And it came to pass afterward,” after this feast in the house of Simon the Pharisee, that Jesus “went through” the cities and villages of Galilee “preaching and showing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God,” and “certain women, which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary Magdalene, out of whom went seven devils, and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod’s steward, and Susanna, and many others,” “ministered unto Him of their substance.” Thus we find this woman, with others, ministering to the temporal necessities of our Lord.

In the last journey of Christ to Jerusalem, Mary Magdalene accompanied the women who were in the company. She was also among the women on the day of crucifixion who “stood afar off, beholding these things” during the closing hours of the agony on the cross, and remained till all was over, waited till the body was taken down, and wrapped in the linen cloth and placed in the sepulchre of Joseph of Arimathea. Thus, this loving, faithful woman, true to her nature, clung to her Lord to the very last.

On the morning of the resurrection, Mary Magdalene was among the women who found the tomb of our Lord empty. Instantly she hastened to inform the disciples. While she was gone, the remaining women saw the angels, who asked,[210] “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” And instructed them to tell his disciples. So when Mary returned to the sepulchre, she was alone. She was also ignorant of what the angels had said to the other women, and the poor woman’s heart could no longer retain her pent-up grief, and stood at the open sepulchre weeping. Presently she saw a man, and supposing him to be the gardener, said, “Sir, if thou hast borne Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take Him away.”

While she is speaking to the supposed gardener, Jesus addressed her by her given name, “Mary!” Behold, it was her Lord, and she exclaims, “Rabboni!” It was the strongest word of reverence which a woman of Israel could use, and, in her joy, would have fallen on His neck, had He not restrained her. But what honor the Lord conferred upon her. She was the first human messenger to the world of a risen Saviour!

Such was the beautiful pearl our Lord saw in the woman who poured out her penitence in a flood of tears at His feet in the house of Simon the Pharisee. While it was her faith that saved her, surely it can truthfully be said of her, “She loved much.”

It was after Jesus had begun His new method of teaching by parables, the keynote of which was, “Take heed how ye hear,” and had, at the close of a hard day’s labor, sailed over the Sea of Galilee, and spent the night in the region of Decapolis, in the hope of getting away from the multitudes to obtain a little rest, that, on the following morning as he returned to Capernaum, the people, from the hillsides were watching for His return, and as soon as they recognized the sail of the little vessel, and long before he reached land, great throngs had lined the shore to welcome His return.

Notwithstanding the prejudices of the Scribes and Pharisees had already been aroused against Christ, there was, on the shore, nervously moving among the people, a very prominent citizen of Capernaum, by the name of Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue. From the deep lines of anxiety visible on[211] his face, he was evidently in great mental distress. And well he might be, for his beautiful twelve year old daughter had been given up by the physicians and was dying. As a last resort, he hastened to find Jesus, who already had performed many cures in his city, and so when he learned that our Lord had passed over the Sea of Galilee, he could do no better than wait His coming. No sooner had the little vessel touched the landing than Jairus pushed his way through the crowd, and when he got near enough fell at Jesus’ feet, and in great agony of heart besought Him, saying, “My little daughter lieth at the point of death; I pray Thee come and lay Thy hands on her, that she may be healed.” There was no calmness in this appeal. On the other hand, it was full of agitation and fear, mingled with fancies that the Lord must first lay His hands upon his dying child. There is a striking similarity between this appeal of Jairus, and that of the nobleman who came to Jesus in the early part of His ministry, and cried out, “Come down ere my child die.” Then the Lord told the nobleman to go his way, his child should live, but here His divine compassion went out to the distressed father. Doubtless Jesus saw the weakness of his faith, but He also saw his sincerity, and so He “went with him.”

But the daughter of Jairus was not the only sufferer in that city. We read, there was “a certain woman which had an issue of blood twelve years, and had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse.” Surely she was in a sorrowful condition, had suffered many things, besides the disease which was wasting her life away, for medicine in that age was but imperfectly understood, and diseases were often exorcised by charms, and, doubtless her “many physicians” practiced all sorts of charms and resorted to every kind of omen, until her money was gone, and she was not only poverty-stricken, but daily growing worse under her affliction. One almost wonders, since Jesus had now been for a year and a half a resident of Capernaum, that she had not sooner appealed to Him for[212] help. Perhaps his work had been in another part of the city, or she may have been deterred from asking His help because of the nature of her malady, or she may have thought within herself that she could do in the throng what she had not the courage to do openly, for she said, “If I may but touch His garment, I shall be whole.” And now was her opportunity, for “much people followed Him, and thronged Him.” Besides, on this occasion, Jesus may have passed through the street on which she lived, since He has such a way of passing by the door of helpless, suffering humanity, for He is “touched with the feeling of our infirmities.”

This woman at first does not impress us as having a very exalted idea of the Saviour or faith in His ability to heal. Doubtless she shared the superstition of her people, and imagined that Christ healed by a sort of magic or magnetism, for, as she mingled in the throng, she said to herself, if I come “in the press,” if I can only get near enough to “touch the hem of His garment,” I will be healed. These seem to be the thoughts passing through her mind as she ventured out on her errand of being healed. It is important, however, though difficult, to realize her situation, for she had become impoverished, diseased, and almost helpless. Once she was possessed of health, and some means at least, and, no doubt moved in respectable society. Her changed relations to her former surroundings made it all the harder to be publicly recognized, and so she timidly permits herself to be absorbed by the multitude as they pressed their way through the crowded street that morning. There may be another reason of which she was fully conscious, namely, according to the Mosaic law, such a sufferer was unclean, and was required, after the cure was wrought, to bring an offering for purification. Orientals had a perfect abhorrence of such a person, for her very touch would render them unclean. Perhaps could we know all the circumstances which shaped her actions, the wonder would be, that she came at all, and that her courage was greater than her faith.

[213]At length, and as unobtrusively as possible, she came up, in the press of the people, behind Jesus, and stretched out her trembling hand, and in such a modest way touched the hem of His garment that no one saw it, not even His disciples, who were nearest the Saviour. Since no one saw her act, she thought no one needed to know it. Perhaps she was so careful that she even thought Jesus was not conscious of it. But to our Lord there was a difference between the touch of faith and the touch of the crowd. She was all too deeply conscious of her great need. She was carried along with the multitude, because she believed if she could get near enough to Jesus to touch Him, she would receive that which all her physicians were unable to bestow, namely, restoration to health. She was there for a blessing. The crowd was there through idle curiosity. They wanted nothing, only to see. They pushed through the thronged highway together, and as they did so talked about the simplicity of the great Man in their midst, were interested in Him because of His fame, discussed His origin, wondered at the growing opposition of the Scribes and Pharisees, but hoped some good would come of Him to the nation. The woman believed she would personally receive new life from Him. In this she was not disappointed, for “straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague.” To her there was an inward consciousness, which could not be mistaken, of the staunching of a wound through which her life, for long years, had been slowly and yet surely ebbing, and she felt the rising tide of new existence and a return to wholeness.

But now the scene changes. The great throng came to a halt. What has happened? one inquired of another. See! Jesus has turned around “in the press” and is sharply looking into the faces of those nearest Him, and demanding, “Who touched my clothes?”

To the disciples this seemed a strange inquiry, and they could not understand its meaning, and replied, “Thou[214] seest the multitude thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?” To appreciate the astonishment of the disciples one must see an Oriental throng pushing its way through a narrow street of an Eastern city. There is no resisting its onward rush. Like some mighty river which, fed by a thousand spring freshets, irresistibly bears everything before it, so is an Eastern crowd, and the wonder is that Jesus could stay at all. But He immediately knew in “Himself that virtue had gone out of Him.” He was conscious that He had put forth power for the woman’s healing. He would there and at once correct any superstition that there was any healing virtue in His clothes. Not in the touch of the garment, for the people pressed Him on all sides, and experienced nothing of His healing power, even though one or another might have had a concealed disease, simply because this conscious need of help was lacking in them, and so it was her own faith had saved her, even though in the beginning it was not wholly free from superstition.

But what a trial this stop must have been to the woman, especially when there was such urgent haste, and this seeming leisurely way of calling out all the circumstances of the case, even after all disavowed touching Him, and His looking “round about to see her that had done this thing.” She must have thought to herself, “I will surely be discovered.” And timidly shrank back in the crowd, her face burning with confusion, for doubtless she was not only alarmed at the delay, but also mortified and afraid on account of the nature of her malady, disturbed by the consciousness of impropriety, as having, while Levitically unclean, dared to mingle with the people, and even touch the great Teacher Himself. We wonder, in the sweep of the Saviour’s eye over the multitude “to see her,” as she caught sight of His beneficent face, possibly for the first time, she did not see something in it that calmed her fears and inspired hope? It would seem so, for even while yet “fearing and trembling” she came promptly out from among the throng, “fell down before Him,” and, hard as it must have been for her to tell her shame in the[215] ears of the multitude, woman-like, she bravely “told Him all the truth!” Confessed the whole sad story of her life, and twelve long years of suffering. Oh, the touch of loyalty to truth and honor in this woman, prostrate at the feet of Jesus, pleading for mercy and forgiveness! How His own heart must have been touched by it. He would not break the bruised reed, even in this necessity for the good of her faith, to have her openly confess the great blessing she had received. Doubtless the Lord constrained her to make this confession, partly to seal her faith and to strengthen her recovery, and partly to present her to the world as healed and cleansed.

But while she is sobbing out her confession at the Saviour’s feet, He graciously addresses her, “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace!” Had ever such endearing words fallen upon human ears! To the woman in the house of Simon the Pharisee, He had said, “Thy faith hath saved thee!” To this one He says, “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole!” That endearing appellation, “daughter,” must have sounded as a lost note out of heaven in the ear of this woman. Could it be possible that she, who, under the Levitical law, had been held by her people as unclean, is called “daughter” by the pure, sinless Son of God? Did ever heaven come down to earth in such graciousness, and rescue from the mire of uncleanness and elevate womanhood to be a princess of the sky? Surely these were days of heaven upon earth, and we may well believe that “daughter” arose from her prostrate attitude at the feet of the Lord of life and glory, “a new creature” in Christ.

Early ecclesiastical legends have garlanded this woman with many beautiful fancies. Her birthplace, according to tradition, was Paneas (the modern Banias), located at the sources of the Jordan. Here, in the front of her residence, she caused a monument to be erected to her Deliverer. She must also have been in the company of women who followed Jesus to Jerusalem at the last Passover, for, at the several[216] trials of our Lord she is made to appear under the name of Veronica, and is said, in the presence of Pilate, to have proclaimed, in a clear, loud voice, the innocence of our Lord, and after he was condemned to be crucified, on the way to Calvary, wiped His face with her own handkerchief.

Whatever value or genuineness there may be attached to these traditions, they certainly show in what reverence she was held in Christian antiquity, and how highly the faith and the hope of this sufferer were esteemed.

But, above all these traditionary legends, we behold the glory and majesty of our Lord in that, in the midst of the multitude, He displayed no traces of excitement, but that in calm consciousness He was ready to receive any impression from without. Of this there is the clearest evidence, when, in the midst of the excited crowd, He perceived that one timid, shrinking woman, in the agony of her faith touched the fringe of His garment; and when He stopped to comfort and confirm the trembling believer, whom His power and grace had restored, He had recognized, even in a throng, that faith which was unperceived by men, and only found expression in the inmost desires of the one who was not even known to the crowd. He alone could develop and strengthen this unobtrusive and shrinking “daughter” until she breaks forth in open and public profession.

There are also reasons why Christ ascribes to faith the deliverance which He alone works: 1. Faith alone can receive the needed deliverance. 2. Shrinking modesty, and even a feeling of unworthiness, need no longer be kept back by any sense of uncleanness, from the full exercise of that faith. 3. God’s gifts are not alone for the rich and those high in the ranks of social life, for even this ruler of the synagogue had to give place to this timid woman, therefore faith may be exercised by those in the humblest walks of life. 4. Jesus would convert the act of faith into a life of faith. This woman was not hid from the searching glance of Christ, but His gracious act of healing was concealed from the world until He brought her before Him in her public confession.

[217]If there is anything that can grieve the heart of Christ it must be the person who absorbs like a sponge all the gifts of grace, but never gives any of them out to others. If every one acted thus, Christianity would be blotted from the face of the earth in a single generation. Hence the wisdom and justice in requiring believers to be witnesses and confessors. If you have received any good, tell it out, that others may be blessed and God glorified.

It was now becoming manifest that the opposition of the Pharisees was deepening, and, because they were bitterly offended at the Saviour’s work, shortly after the healing of the woman with a bloody issue, Jesus withdrew from Capernaum to the “borders of Tyre and Sidon.” Only a little before this so many were coming and going that our Lord and His disciples “had no leisure so much as to eat,” and because of these throngs upon His public ministry, He had said to the apostles, “Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile.” So they sailed for the farther shore, to find a safe retreat in the sheltered uplands in the dominion of Herod Philip. But the people, who seemed to be always on the watch, when they saw the little vessel sailing out from Capernaum, and knew, by the direction it was taking, they quickly spread the news of His departure, and thronged out of Capernaum, Bethsaida, Chorazin and other cities, and hastened on foot around the shores of the sea, and outran the vessel and reached His contemplated place of retirement in advance of the little craft, and there was no rest, but a great multitude to be instructed, and healed, and fed, for it was on this occasion that He spread a table in the desert, and five thousand, besides women and children, sat down to eat. And so there was nothing but a hard day’s work, and a night on the desolate mountain in prayer. So obviously His journey to the “borders of Tyre and Sidon,” was to find seclusion and rest, which He had sought, but in vain, in the “desert place.” But even here, down by the coast of the Mediterranean, “He could not be hid,” although, when He had reached the “borders” of the[218] land, He “entered into a house and would have no man know it.”

To our mind this is one of the most remarkable incidents in our Lord’s ministry. In the house of some sheltering friend, on the remote frontier of Galilee, He hoped to escape popular attention and to be relieved from the demands of the crowds, who had even deprived Him of the needed time to eat, but “He could not be hid.” A woman, a Syro-Phœnician, that is to say, one of the mixed race, in whom the blood of the Syrians and Phœnicians mingled, and for that reason doubly despised by the Jews, this woman had observed His presence, and was soon “at His feet.” From the fact that she was a Gentile, and of a mixed race at that, made her coming to Jesus an act of heroic faith. She came not only without invitation, or a single promise to warrant her coming, but in the face of heart-breaking discouragements. We have been trained to believe, from the clear teaching of Scripture, that when we come to Christ with our burdens of sorrow, be they ever so heavy, and ask for help, our prayers must always be subject to His will. And indeed He set us a beautiful object-lesson in His own great agony in Gethsemane. But here it would seem as if the process had been reversed, and as if this poor Syro-Phœnician woman had succeeded in imposing her will on the Son of God. Did He not say, “Be it unto thee even as thou wilt?” And is there not in this the appearance, at least, of the monarch abdicating in favor of the subject? Strange, indeed, that any one should get their own way and will with the Sovereign of all, for the sin that is in us so dyes the color of our will and deflects it, that we can seldom think of it as being other than a crooked piece of bent or twisted iron. It is very wonderful that this woman’s faith was able to get deliverance for her daughter possessed of an “unclean spirit.” Somehow she believed beforehand in His love to her, a poor Gentile mother, and this was great faith indeed. All the miracles of Christ were wrought in response to faith, either in the sufferers who besought His aid, or in their friends. There must be faith by[219] which, as over a bridge, the divine help might pass into the nature of man. Faith is the unfurled petal, the opened door, the unshuttered lattice. And so, in this case, it was through the mother’s faith that God’s delivering help passed to the child.

Upon a careful study of the secret of this woman’s faith, we shall discover that her faith was severely tested. Christ gave her four tests, each of which was necessary to complete her education; and by each, with agile foot, she climbed the difficult stairway, which some would say was of upward ascent, but which in point of fact was one of downward climbing, until she got low enough to catch the waters which issue from the threshold of the door of heaven’s mercy.

The first test was that of silence. “She cried unto Him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.” The effects of these unclean spirits are described in the instance where the distressed father brought his demoniac boy to be healed. And while the father is bringing him, the poor child is seized with paroxysms of his malady, having fallen to the ground at the feet of Jesus, foaming at the lips under the violent convulsions. When the father was asked how long the boy had thus been possessed, he answered, “Of a child, and ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the water to destroy him;” and whenever the spirit “taketh him, he teareth him, and he foameth, and gnasheth with his teeth and pineth away.” Such was the demon this poor mother’s daughter was possessed with, and grievously tormented. But to her appeal for help, Jesus “answered her not a word.” He alone had the power to help, but the agonizing mother awakened no response. And yet, His very silence is a testing of her faith. Often it has happened that God’s answer which has best met our need was the silence which has not been a refusal, but has given time for us to reach a condition of lowliness and helplessness before God. He always lets the fruit upon His trees ripen before He plucks it. Through the silence of the winter the sap is touching again its mother[220] earth, and becoming reinforced by her energy for its work in the blossoms of May and the fruit of September. The mind reaches its clearest, strongest conclusion by processes carried on in its depths during hours of silence and repose. It is in the long, silent hours, when the heart waits at the door, listening for the footstep down the corridor in vain, that processes are at work that shall make it more able to hold the blessedness which shall be poured out from the chalice of a Father’s pity.

Again. She was sorely tested in the conduct of the disciples. They were eager to rid themselves of the worry of this woman’s crying, and, as the quickest solution—a solution which we are all ready enough to imitate—advised Christ to give her what she wanted and send her off. They thought a miracle to Christ was not more than a penny to a millionaire. They did not see that Christ’s hands were tied until the conditions of blessing were fulfilled in the suppliant. He loves us too well to give His choicest boons to those who have not complied with the lofty spiritual conditions which are part of the standing orders of the kingdom of heaven. Much of our charity is sheer selfishness. We would rather grant the request any day than have an unsightly beggar intrude into our bowers of selfish repose. “She crieth after us,” the disciples said; “her misery is unpleasant; heal it.”

But Christ was tied by the terms of His commission. She had appealed to Him as Son of David, and He said that He had been sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. She belonged to one of the alien races. She was not even a “sheep” of the house of Israel, much less a “lost” one. The question was, “Could He, even for once, transcend His commission, and grant the request of this weary soul which had traveled so far to find the Christ?” As Messiah, she had no claim on Him, for, in that capacity, He had been commissioned to the house of Israel only.

Once again. Her faith was tested in His farther refusal to her pleadings, when He said, “It is not meet to take the children’s bread, and cast it to the dogs.” Somehow her[221] quick woman’s instinct perceived a way up what had seemed to be the unscalable path of Christ’s refusal. If she had no claim on Him as Messiah, was He not something more? Was He not Lord and Master? Did not deity blend with humanity in that nature, which, whilst His voice repelled her, yet fascinated and attracted her? It would almost seem as if the Holy Spirit whispered, “Accost Him as Lord;” “Touch Him on the side of His universal power;” “Speak to Him as Son of Man.” So she acted upon His suggestion, and, throwing herself at His feet, said, “Lord, help me.” To this appeal Christ gave answer that seemed churlish enough. But the bitter rind encased luscious fruit. The nut had only to be cracked to disclose the milk, sweeter than that of the cocoanut in the desert waste. He compared the Jews to children, Himself to bread, and this woman to a dog. But for the word “dog” he used the tender diminutive, which was not applicable to the wolfish, starving animals that prowl and snarl through the streets of Eastern towns, but was used for the little dogs brought up with the children in the home. Now, hope once again sprang up in her heart. Jesus had talked about dogs, and little house dogs, the playthings of the children. He said it was not proper to cast the children’s bread to dogs. If by children he meant the “sheep of the house of Israel,” then she must belong to the household after all.

She was quick to see her opportunity. “Truth, Lord!” she exclaimed, “Yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table!” When she said that, her lesson was learnt. In her former reply she had given the Lord His right place; in this she took her own as a little dog. You are not a child of Abraham’s stock! Truth, Lord. You are a Syro-Phœnician, and, for that reason, doubly unfit to be called a child! Truth, Lord. All I do for you must be of grace, and not of merit! Truth, Lord. She admitted all and accepted His most discouraging statements concerning herself. But, after the worst that can be said about dogs, they “eat of the crumbs.” All these seeming objections are[222] in favor of her request. She only wants a little crumb of His mercy, which will take nothing from others.

Jesus could stand such pleadings no longer, and he answered and said, “O, woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.” She had come for crumbs, but the Lord handed to her the key of the storehouse, and said, “Have your way, go in and help yourself to all its stores.” She would have been content with the crumbs that fell beneath the table on the floor, but she finds herself seated at the table itself, and feasting like a daughter of the king on its rich and bountiful provision. No longer a dog, she proves herself to be one of those other sheep which shamed the lost sheep of the house of Israel by docility and purity and grace.

This woman had many graces. She had wisdom, humility, meekness, patience, perseverance in prayer; but all these were the fruits of her faith; therefore, of all graces, Christ honors faith most. The perseverance of this woman may well be considered as every way calculated to teach us the power and efficacy of faith, and the greatness of her faith consisted in this, that in spite of all discouragements she continued her plea. Many a blessing has been lost out of our lives just because we lacked these graces of the soul.

The sisters of Bethany, Martha and Mary, come to our view three times during our Lord’s Judean ministry. The first view we have of them is recorded in Luke x, 38-42, where these sisters entertain our Lord after a long, weary day’s teaching. The second is recorded in John xi, 1-46, and relates to the sickness and raising from the dead their brother Lazarus. The third is the anointing of Jesus by Mary, the account of which is found in Matt. xxvi, 6-13; also in Mark xiv, 3-9, and John xii, 1-8. Though these three events are each distinct, yet a careful study will discover a close connection between the deep, underlying truths in each, the attitude taken by Jesus, and the results in the circumstances of everyday life.

A great deal has been said and written about these sisters of Bethany, some regarding Martha at fault, while others think Mary did not do the right thing to leave her sister do all the work. It is related of three theologians that they were talking together about these two women, and at last made their discussions concrete by questioning each other as to which of the women they would like to have married. The first said he would rather take Martha, to have his home looked well after; the second said he would much prefer to have married Mary, the tender and the loving; and the third, who had been silent up to this point, said, “I should like Martha before dinner and Mary after.” We think there is a great deal in this statement. There are excellencies in each, and it is impossible for us to do without our busy Marthas[224] in our homes and churches, but we must remember at the same time that our Lord’s estimate is that Mary had chosen the better part which was not to be taken from her.

The location of Bethany is most picturesque and charming. It is scarcely two miles from Jerusalem, yet, by its situation on the south-eastern side of a lateral spur of Olivet, is completely hid from view. Here, amid the olive yards and fig orchards, lived this happy family in comfortable circumstances, and, we think, were possessed of considerable property, and ranked well among the learned and affluent. Jesus had been slowly journeying from Galilee down the east borders of Samaria to Jerusalem. Those who are familiar with that journey will remember how replete it was with incidents, wayside sermons, parables and miracles. At length, late in the afternoon, we may well believe, He arrived at Bethany weary with the long journey, exhausted by the labors which attended it, and glad to get away from the multitudes which thronged Him. That there should be some stir in the pious household at the coming of such a guest is perfectly natural, and that Martha, the busy, eager-hearted, and no less affectionate hostess, should hurry to and fro with somewhat excited energy to prepare for His proper entertainment, is not to be wondered at, for, in all probability, she had had no information of His coming, and along with Him twelve disciples to be provided for. The wonder is she was as self-contained as she was.

There can be no doubt but Martha was a good housekeeper. She kept everything straight, clean and neat. And when Jesus came, it upset her somewhat, and she ran out into the kitchen, at the back of the house to get the supper; not a single thing must be left undone, everything must be there. She is so eager about it, coming in and out of the little guest-chamber where the Master is sitting, hurrying here and there with this one thought in her heart, that the Lord must have her best, nothing must be left unturned to give Him comfort. And, of course, there is a good deal of excitement and possible anxiety. The disarranged[225] furniture is hastily put to rights, the table had to be freshly laid with clean white cloths, and the dining-room made presentable, for it must be remembered Christ did not come alone. He had a group of twelve disciples with Him, and such an influx of visitors would throw any village home into perturbation. Then, no doubt, the day’s labor had been a good appetizer. The kitchen department that day was a very important department, and probably Martha had no sooner greeted her guests than she fled to that room. No doubt she was a good cook. Mary had full confidence that her sister could get up the best dinner of any woman in Bethany, for Martha was not only a hard-working and painstaking woman, but also a good manager, ever inventive of some new pastry, or discovering something in the art of cookery and housekeeping.

On the other hand, Mary had no worriment about household affairs. She seemed to say, “Now, let us have a division of labor. Martha, you cook, and I’ll sit down and be good.” So you have often seen a great difference between two sisters. Mary is so fond of conversation she has no time to attend to the household welfare. So by this self-appointed arrangement, Mary is in the parlor with Christ, and Martha is in the kitchen. It would have been better if they had divided the work, and then they could have divided the opportunity of listening to Jesus; but Mary monopolizes Christ while Martha swelters at the fire. It was a very important thing that they should have a good dinner that day. Christ was hungry, and He did not often have a luxurious entertainment. Alas! if the duty had devolved upon Mary, what a repast that would have been! But something went wrong in the kitchen. Perhaps the fire would not burn, or the bread would not bake, or Martha scalded her hand, or something was burned black that ought only to have been made brown; and Martha lost her patience, and forgetting the proprieties of the occasion, with besweated brow, and, perhaps with pitcher in one hand and tongs in the other, she rushes out of the kitchen into the presence of Christ,[226] saying, “Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?”

Now look at Martha, but while you look, do not get out of patience with her. She is cumbered and growing fretful. Her service is getting too much for her, she can not get things done as well as she would like. And being fretful and tired she goes wrong herself. First she is cumbered; the next thing she feels cross with Mary; “Mary is sitting there at the feet of Jesus, and I am so busy getting the supper. What right has she down there when I am so busy?” The third thing she gets cross with Jesus, and she says, “Dost not Thou care that my sister hath left me to serve?” Cumbered in her own spirit, angry with her sister, reflecting upon her Master, and putting the blame on him of her weariness. Dear soul, how she loved and wanted that supper to be all that it ought to be, but she had forgotten that service only was acceptable which was filled up with communion with the Lord.

How tenderly the Lord deals with Martha! There was nothing acrid in His words. He knew that she had almost worked herself to death to get Him something to eat, and so He throws a world of tenderness into His intonation as He seems to say, “My dear woman, do not worry, let the dinner go; sit down on this ottoman beside Mary, your younger sister. Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful.” Is there not a volume of love and sympathy expressed in these words? And may not the Marthas of to-day learn wisdom from them and seek in Jesus that Friend who can be touched with the feelings of our infirmities, “that good part which shall not be taken away?” The Saviour looked with love and pity upon the troubled Martha, for He realized that she was not only cumbered with many cares, but she was also anxious for His personal comfort. He was her Guest. Though the Lord of Glory, He was also man, having human wants. He hungered and thirsted as other men, and it was the duty of these sisters to provide for Him the necessary food. If at the last[227] day it will be a matter of condemnation to any one that he has seen one of Christ’s disciples an hungered or athirst and did not minister unto him, how much more guilty would they be who would suffer Christ Himself to go without food when He was hungry, and that too in their own house!

Martha was right, therefore, in seeing that a suitable meal was prepared for her guests. Her mistake was that she set an undue importance upon the matter. She represents that large class of Marthas which emphasizes fidelity to temporal cares and subordinates the devotional and spiritual. Mary represents that side which magnifies the devotional and spiritual, and which subordinates the temporal and physical things, making them subserve the other. The one is serving Christ in our own way and according to our own zeal; the other is humbly waiting at His feet for direction. Martha must needs get up a great entertainment. She must have a needless variety of dishes, show thereby the skill and resources of her art as a housekeeper. Instead of thinking mainly of what her distinguished Guest might do for her, of the infinite store of blessing that hung upon His lips, she was wholly intent upon what she might do for Him. While thus absorbed and fretted with cares of how she might give her table a more comely appearance, she was losing the heavenly manna which Jesus came to dispense, and which she so much needed for her soul. Not only did she throw away this priceless opportunity of hearing the words of eternal life directly from her Lord, but she was unreasonably vexed at Mary for not being as foolish as herself.

The thoughts and purpose of her heart were as open to Him as were those of the gentle, loving Mary; and while one revealed care and anxiety for the perishing things of this life the other told of perfect love and trust in her adored Lord; of earnest longing for the knowledge of the truth, of deep humility, of self-forgetting devotion, of that quiet courage which fears neither ridicule nor opposition.

There may have been some truth in Martha’s complaint against her sister. Very possibly Mary may have been so[228] absorbed with the “good part” which she had chosen, as to be really negligent of her household duties, and to throw upon Martha burdens which should have been shared equally by the sisters. Had Mary, sitting at the Master’s feet and drinking in the precious doctrine that fell from His lips, been puffed up thereby, and said to Jesus, “Speak to my sister Martha, that she stop her household cares, and come and sit with me in this devout frame of mind,” very likely the rebuke would have fallen in the other direction.

Observe, Jesus did not meet Martha’s words against her sister with a denial, or with an apology. He simply vindicated Mary’s religious integrity, by testifying that she had “chosen the good part.” She was a faithful, humble, loving disciple, and delighted to sit at His feet and receive instruction. That which Jesus calls “that good part” must be of priceless value, a treasure well worth obtaining in this changing, perishing world; for it is to be enduring, “it shall not be taken away.” Like the favored Mary, we may not literally sit at the Master’s feet, yet He is speaking to every humble child of God, in and by His Word. We may choose the world with all its vanities which perish with the using, or we may choose Christ as our portion, both for time and eternity. O! how many troubled Marthas there are in these modern times that need to choose the “good part,” that need to sit humbly at the dear Saviour’s feet, to be nourished by His love, cheered by His council, and approved by the divine “well done!” The lowly life of humble sacrifice is the only life worth living.

The next view we have of this beautiful Bethany home the scene is all changed. The sunshine is all gone out and great clouds of sorrow and distress have rolled into the sky of its happiness. Prosperity has given place to the bitterest adversity, the brightness and gladness are banished, and the sisters are right down under the deepest, darkest shadow of sorrow that ever settled on their home. The well-beloved brother, Lazarus, is ill unto death, and Jesus is far away, and in the very midst of His Peræan ministry. In their[229] distress, the first thought of these sisters was of Jesus. “If He only knew our brother was sick,” they doubtless said one to the other, He would sympathize with us, and at once restore him to health. And so they sent him the simple message, “He whom Thou lovest is sick.”

Our first thought is when the messengers, bearing the sad intelligence, had informed the Lord, He would have at once promptly responded to this cry of help coming from the home where he had been so heartily welcomed and so bountifully entertained. But how different was His reception of the message from what we naturally expected. So far as is known, He did not even return an answer. Could they have been mistaken? Did not Jesus love Martha and her sister, and was not the very message couched in the words, “He whom thou lovest?” Would He dishonor the confidence they had reposed in Him?

For two whole days He continued His Paræan ministry “in the same place where He was.” To us this conduct is most surprising. O, how often the Lord does so with us, even when we cry after Him in our sorrow He does not come. But always right in front of the statement, that He does not come, we have “Jesus loved.” How it added to their sorrow. Lazarus dying, Christ not coming, and at last Lazarus is dead and in the tomb, and yet the Master has not come. Surely the dense gloom of bereavement has settled down over the home, but a little while ago so full of sunshine and beauty.

Heartbroken, the sisters keep their vigil by the sepulchre, but among the friends coming and going to tender their sympathy, the Friend does not appear. He came not to save; He comes not to weep. The fact must have added poignancy to their grief. But wait in your judgment. Right through these dark hours Jesus loved these sisters. Do not lose sight of this fact. It may comfort you some day. He refrained from bestowing a small favor only that He might have an opportunity to bestow a greater. If he had healed Lazarus by a word, Martha and Mary would have been[230] grateful and satisfied, but by waiting He could give them a greater blessing, and one which might be shared by sorrowing ones in all ages to come.

But Jesus is coming. Lazarus is dead, but Jesus is come at last, and is halting on the brow of the hill, just outside of the village. The news of His arrival reach the stricken sisters. How does the intelligence of His presence affect them? “Then Martha,” the dear woman, “as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him; but Mary sat still in the house.” What a contrast. Martha hastens along the village road to the brow of the hill where the Saviour had halted, doubtless that He might meet the sisters apart from the crowd, which had come in accordance with Jewish custom, to mourn with them, and as she comes running to meet Him, she exclaims, “Lord, if Thou hadst been here my brother had not died.” He certainly understood that. But in her blind grief she could not understand how, if He loved her and her sister, He could delay His coming until it was too late. In her words there was almost the accent of rebuke and reproach, “If Thou hadst been here my brother had not died.” But how graciously He deals with her. He comes to her in her argumentative state and with words the most comforting said, “Thy brother shall rise again.”

Martha could hardly believe her ears, as she certainly did not comprehend the meaning of these words with her heart, and replied, “I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” She believed in the life everlasting, but she was going to put off being comforted until “the last day.” In that Martha has many sisters.

But how patiently our Lord recalls the mind of Martha from the resurrection of the last day to Himself. He said, “I am the resurrection, and the life; he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die!” He is master of the thing that fills her heart with dread, and patiently He deals with her. Was not that beautiful?

[231]Comforted in her heart, Martha hastened back to her home, and called Mary her sister secretly, saying, “The Master is come, and calleth for thee.” He wanted to meet Mary apart from the public mourners, as He had met Martha. The custom was for the comforters to do as the mourners. If they were silent, to remain so; if they wailed, to wail with them. The shrieks of Oriental mourners are often ear-piercing. Our Lord wanted to avoid this, and so no doubt, although it is not chronicled, He had commissioned Martha to bear the tidings of His arrival, and she went and quietly and said, “The Master wants you, Mary.”

Mary “rose quickly, and came unto Him.” But mark her coming. Unlike her sister, “when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw Him, she fell down at His feet, saying unto Him, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.” That’s what Martha said. Yes, but what effect did it produce upon Him when Mary said it? “When Jesus therefore saw her weeping,” and the company of mourners who had followed her soon after she left the house, “also weeping” with her, “He groaned in the spirit and was troubled,” no doubt, at the empty platitude on the part of those miserable comforters. But at the sepulchre, where lay the mortal remains of the loved Lazarus, He wept. The Son of God in tears! His great heart sharing another’s sorrow. This scene is the most precious and comforting in the record of the Saviour’s life so far as the revelation of His heart is concerned.

Martha gets His teaching, Mary gets His tears. Martha said exactly what Mary said. When Mary said it, what a difference! Which do you think was the better thing, to run after Him and get His teaching, or wait till sent for and get His tears? The reasoning mind will receive the Master’s teaching; the broken, weeping heart, His tears. Bright and luminous as were His words with resurrection glory, Mary got to deeper depths in the heart of God when she came than Martha, because she drew His tears of deepest sympathy with her sorrow.

[232]Why did Jesus weep? Because Lazarus died? No, He is going to call Him back for a definite purpose. He knows that bereavement has broken the hearts of these two sisters, and though He is going to heal sorrow’s wound, He sympathized with their grief, and His heart went out in their distress. Every wounded heart that belongs to a child of God, the Master is going to heal by and by; yet He suffers with you in the wounding, and enters by tears with you into the sacrament of your sorrow. And so He wept when these women wept. There are times in our lives when the tears of sympathy speak greater comfort than the most eloquent words. Beloved, when you go to your friend sitting in the shadow of her deepest sorrow, spare your words, but freely mingle your tears with hers. Job’s comforters sat in silence for seven days before they spoke. But if you are not delivered out of your bereavement, may this scene in the life of our Lord comfort you with the thought that He has something better for you. The best thing came to these sisters, right after the bitter weeping.

In the third and last view we have of this blessed Bethany home, we see some of the scenes of the first view coming up to us. It is the same home, only, because of better accommodations, the feast is held in the house of Simon, but the same people are in it. But what a change there is here! Let us get the humanness as well as the divinity out of it. Look at those people, what are they doing? Sitting at the table. A lovely place for us men to sit. But Martha served. Do not miss that. She is doing what she did before,—getting supper ready. She is bustling about in her earnestness, but she has lost her grumbling. She gets through the entertainment with smiles from first to last. She is no less busy, but she is at rest in her mind. She is cumbered, but is not angry with Mary, and is not reflecting on Jesus Christ. She had learned something in the day of sorrow and darkness. It has not altered her power to serve, but the matter and the manner of her service.

[233]What about Mary? If you have carefully studied the last few days of our Lord’s life upon the earth you have noticed that He was a lonely man, and that even His disciples failed to enter into sympathy with His suffering as it overshadowed His life. Take the story of those last six days and our Lord’s journey to Jerusalem, and you will find that it is an awful picture. He has the shadow of the cross upon Him, and He keeps calling these men to Him saying, “I am going to Jerusalem to suffer, to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will crucify Me.” His disciples broke in upon that awful revelation by asking, “Master, who is the greatest among us?”

But there was one soul that saw the cross—Mary. Never forget it, you men; it was a woman that saw the cross and went into the shadow of it with Christ, as it was a woman who became the first human preacher of the resurrection when He came back again. So while He “sat at meat,” in the house of Simon the leper, with the man whom He had cured of the most terrible of diseases upon one side, and the man whom He had raised from the dead on the other, and the disciples on either side of these, Mary looks into the faces of the guests, and they all were happy, as men usually are with a feast spread before them, and even Christ, though fully conscious of his approaching death, and all the humiliation accompanying it, did not abandon Himself to melancholy feelings or looks, yet with that deep intuition that is only born of the highest and the holiest love, she sees what no one else sees, that on His heart is the shadow of a great sorrow. And she is thinking, “What can I do? Can I do anything that will let Him see I know something of His pain? Can I go into the darkness with Him and share in that sorrow?” And when love does this kind of thinking it is always extravagant. She slipped away from her sister’s side in serving, hastened to her room, where the precious treasure was kept, and seizing the alabaster box of spikenard, for which she had paid more than 300 pence, she hastened back to the feast, saying to herself, “I will give[234] Him this; it is the choicest thing I can get hold of, and I want to pour it out upon Him, for He knows I can see His sorrow and pain.” So speaking, she fell at His feet and poured the perfume on His head and feet. It was a lavish waste of love—nearly $1,000 expressed in our money now. But nothing is wasted that is done in love for our Lord. Some murmured, others “had indignation,” and Judas spoke right out, “Why this waste?” Poor Mary, she had never thought of there being any waste to her act of love. “Three hundred pence!” Judas had quickly ciphered out the contents of the broken alabaster box, and just now, at the expense of Mary, was very benevolent. The unbroken box of ointment might have been sold, and the money “given to the poor.”

But, in a moment they were hushed. “Let her alone,” said Jesus. How fortunate for Mary that she had a more righteous Judge to pass sentence upon her action. “Against the day of My burying hath she kept this.” Nobody else understood it. The motive determines the act. “Nothing can be wasted that love pours upon Me, because love enters into My suffering and sorrow, and that is what it meant.”

“She hath done what she could.” O, what a precious revelation! Jesus is fully satisfied with the limit of our ability to serve Him. And the sequel showed that she met her Lord’s future as no other of His disciples had been able; anointed His brow for the thorns, and his feet for the nails, that both thorns and nails may draw blood in the perfume of at least one woman’s love.

In this act of love done for Jesus she has erected to herself a monument as lasting as the Gospel, for the Master declared, “Verily, verily, I say unto you, wheresoever this Gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall this also, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her.” Mary had loved wiser than she knew, but then it is just like Jesus to pay back into our hands a hundredfold more than the most liberal of us ever bestowed upon Him. The sweet story of that beautiful act of the breaking of the alabaster[235] box will be told as long as there is a Gospel to be preached or a soul to be saved. The wonder of wonders is, that in this world of sin and suffering there are not more Marys to break alabaster boxes over the world’s burdened laborers.

We now pass to notice another beautiful womanly character in White Raiment, namely, Salome. Her name means “peaceful,” and, though she developed considerable womanly ambition, her name quite describes her character. She was the wife of Zebedee, a well-to-do fisherman on the Sea of Galilee, and the mother of James and John, two of our Lord’s best loved disciples; two who, with Simon Peter, one of their business partners, constituted the inner apostolic circle. She had not only given two sons to the ministry, but she herself accompanied Jesus in His Galilean ministry, and, with others, ministered of her substance in meeting the expenses of His journeys. She must, therefore, not only have been a woman of means, but liberal in her use of it. No doubt she was a quiet, home-loving body; but she liked so well to listen to those sayings of our Lord that she was glad to leave her pleasant, comfortable Bethsaida house beside the beautiful “blue sea of the hills,” to go about hither and thither with her sons and drink in the wonderful words of Christ.

Salome is best remembered as coming to our Lord, on His last memorable journey to Jerusalem, with the strange request that her two sons might sit, the one on the right hand of Jesus and the other on the left, in His kingdom. Just as in the Sanhedrin, on each side of the high priest there sat the next highest dignitaries, so here she requested the two highest places for James and John. However, perhaps, this was not a selfish ambition, since the request is made for others. Some one has said, “Plan great things for God, and expect great things from God,” and an apostle has said, “Covet earnestly the best gifts.” O, these mothers, when there are seats of honor to be given out can not only “covet,” but “earnestly” ask for great things for their sons.

These two disciples had already been favored. They were with Jesus when He raised Jairus’ daughter from the dead;[236] they were with our Lord on the Mount of Transfiguration, and, later on, in the Garden of Gethsemane, and witnessed His agony. Though of the inner circle, yet they possessed characteristics of their own. They were more eager for extreme measures for pushing their Master’s cause than was even the tempestuous Peter. Their self-poised love of the truth made them zealous. It was they who rebuked the one who cast out demons in Jesus’ name, because he did not follow them. They requested Christ to call down fire from heaven to burn up the Samaritan village that refused to receive them on account of an old prejudice against the Jews. If these disciples could have had their own way, that village, with all its inhabitants, innocent and guilty, would have speedily been reduced to ashes. How little they understood their Lord, or even themselves. They did not get the idea from their Lord, for He came to save men’s lives, and not to destroy them.

Possibly Salome may have thought her sons had some claim to these honors. The family had some business standing. They had partners and servants. John had some acquaintance with the High Priest, the great head of the Hebrew Church. They had left all to follow Jesus, giving up not only their business prospects, but their friendship with ecclesiastical aristocrats, and now she was looking out for a good place in His kingdom for her sons.

Probably the two brethren had directed this request through their mother, because they remembered the rebuke which had followed their former contention about precedence. She asked simply, directly, humbly, nothing for herself, but what she thought was her due. He gave her no rebuke, as He would have been sure to do if she had asked through any selfish motive. Turning to James and John He questioned them about their fitness for such promotion. Could they drink of His cup and be baptized with His baptism? They thought they were able. They knew better what He meant when Herod beheaded James, and John was banished to Patmos.

[237]Salome remained true to her Lord. When the terrible death-hour came she stood beside the cross, held there by her faith and love through the jeers of the mocking crowd, the dying agony of her Saviour, and the darkness which veiled His terrible suffering.

SEEKING THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD.

After the body was taken down from the cross, Salome, with others, “beheld where He was laid.” O, this loving, faithful woman, true to her nature, how she clung to her Lord to the very last. And on the morning of the resurrection, “as it began to dawn,” we find Salome among the company of women hastening to the sepulchre to complete the[238] anointing of the body of our Lord which had been so hurriedly buried on the evening of the crucifixion. But, upon reaching the garden, these women were amazed to find the tomb open and empty. These women—Salome, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and others with them—came seeking a dead body, but, instead, they found a living angel, who asked, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” “He is risen; He is not here; behold the place where they laid Him!”

What these women, in company with Salome, had seen was enough to fill them with astonishment, and what they had heard from the lips of the angel was enough to fill their hearts with joy. Wonderful that He whom they had mourned as dead was indeed alive again, though they could hardly believe it.

But Salome’s prayer for her sons had sure answer. To James was given the high honor of being the first apostolic martyr. John had the distinction of caring for the Virgin Mary during her last years, and, on Patmos, the little rocky isle of his banishment, where he could hear only the sea-bird’s cry and the melancholy wash of waves, he listened to apocalyptic thunderings that were enough to tear any common soul to tatters. He was permitted to put the capstone on the magnificent column of Holy Scripture, a column that had been forty centuries in building.

Salome, the peaceful and brave, at the last went gladly away to her reward; for she was sure that her sons, having drank of His cup, and been baptized with His baptism, were now seated with Him in the throne of His glory.

In connection with our Lord’s Galilean ministry, we find the name of Joanna mentioned. She was the wife of Chuza, the steward of Herod Antipas. No doubt she followed Jesus, and ministered to Him out of her substance, out of gratitude for having restored her child to health. Her husband was the nobleman who went all the way from Capernaum to Cana, and besought our Lord that He “would come down and heal His son, for he was at the point of death.” Joanna was both at the crucifixion, and is mentioned by[239] name as being one of those who brought spices and ointments to embalm the body of our Lord on the morning of the resurrection.

These women must have possessed means, as well as a spirit of liberality. All this is very beautiful indeed.

The last woman in White Raiment during the ministry of our Lord, is the widow with two mites. Her act of benevolence has associated with it many tender and pathetic touches. The circumstances, so far as they relate to the ministry of our Lord, are inexpressibly sad. He had come down to the last day of His public teaching, and the last hour of that ministry. Indeed the time of His departure from the Temple was at hand. He had taught in their streets, by the wayside, in desert places, in the Temple. He had wept over Jerusalem that had seen so many of His mighty works, and as in mental vision He saw the coming doom, He sobbed out, “Oh if thou hadst known ... the things which belong to thy peace!” But they refused to know, and had finally rejected Him as they had rejected His teaching. The very tears of the suffering Saviour broke out in great sobs of grief in the words, “Ye would not!” So, in the very last act, all efforts having failed, He exclaims, “Behold your house,” it was no longer God’s house, “is left unto you desolate!” As Jesus on that last day, and at the close of the last hour of the day, closed the door of mercy, how that word, “DESOLATE” must have sounded through its God-forsaken courts.

At a time when such a burden of unrequited toil and sorrow was resting upon the grieved heart of Jesus, the touching incident of this poor widow comes to our view. Jesus had left the inner court of the Temple, and, on His way through the court of the women, paused over against the treasury to point out one more beautiful lesson to His disciples. The people were casting their offerings into the thirteen great chests set to receive their gifts. These offerings were gifts of the people, and had no reference to “tithes.” These Jews, though they had utterly failed to comprehend the “day of their visitation,” were, nevertheless, liberal givers.[240] They did not content themselves with giving a tenth of their income. So it was the “freewill offering,” the love gifts, that Jesus was watching. Twice in Exodus, once in Deuteronomy and once in Leviticus had God commanded, “And none shall appear before Me empty.” Three times a year was every Jew required to come before the Lord, and not one time empty-handed. Never was there an exception for rich or for poor, for great or for small. Not a pauper from Dan to Beer-sheba, would have dared to come without his offerings. In these modern times a sickly sentimentality has well-nigh made void the commandment of God. He made no discrimination in favor of the poor. He that had little, gave little. He that had much, gave much. A lamb or a kid was an offering acceptable. If any were too poor to furnish either, “a pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons” might be brought. If this was too much, a few “tablespoonfuls of fine flour” was enough, and any neighbor would furnish them these. The money value of gifts might be brought, but the law was inexorable, “None shall appear before Me empty-handed”—none at these great feasts. At all other times they might be brought, at these they must.

So while the people brought their offerings, “Jesus sat over against the treasury.” He noted carefully each person, and the ability of each one, as the long line of contributors moved forward toward the treasury. No one escaped His notice. The rich, from their mansions of luxury, rulers of the people, clad in costly robes, stately Pharisees, nobles, grand and lordly, jingling with ornaments of their social standing, swept over the tessellated floor to the treasury as if by special training for that particular occasion; and there, from soft white hands whose fingers were decked in gold, cast into the treasure chests such offering as their liberality prompted. Among the throng came a “certain poor widow.” No one knew who she was, or where she came from. Gliding so softly that no ear heard her footfall, and shying so timidly that no eyes but His saw her, until her hand was over the[241] trumpet-shaped mouths through which the money was cast into the chests. She deliberately of her “penury cast in all her living that she had.” How much was that? Mark tells us her offering consisted of “two mites, which make a farthing.” They were the smallest copper coin, and the two were equivalent to two-fifths of a cent of our money. As these two mites slid down the narrow tube of the trumpet-shaped aperture into the chest below, they did not ring as did the gold and silver pieces of the rich, but they rang to the echo in our Lord’s ears.

She was a “poor widow” before this contribution, but now she is an utter bankrupt. If she ever had any financial standing, this rash act of giving swept it all away. She would have to go without her supper, for there was no opportunity, at the Passover time, to earn money. On the contrary, it was a time for spending it. These great conventions absorbed the small earnings of poor people. But such sacrifices never go unrewarded, and that poor widow had her supper through some God-appointed channel.

Jesus was so well pleased with her gift, and the faith which prompted it, that He called the attention of His disciples to this act of benevolence, and said, “This poor widow had cast in more than all they.” Not more money. Two mites can not be more than the “abundance” of the rich. How more, then? All gifts have double value—their commercial and their representative value. They represent the self-denial, the faith and the love of the giver. In the markets of the world the two mites would hardly have been looked at, but in the eyes of the King they represented more than all.

[242]If ever there was an exception, or if ever one could be exempt, surely this widow would have been. She was in the weeds of widowhood; in the depths of poverty; in the extreme of want; with only “two mites” in the world and no bread for the morrow. Her own weary fingers her only means of living; with her earthly all in her hands she freely cast it into the treasury. Jesus was sitting where He saw it all. He who—

Did He stop her? He came to preach the gospel to the poor; did He tell her she was too poor to do as she had done? He brought all His apostles to witness the sight; did He say, “It shall not be so among you?” He was giving laws for His Kingdom for all generations; did He say, as He did in other cases where He intended any modification, “Ye have heard that it was said by them of olden times that ‘none should come before Me empty,’ but I say unto you, that whosoever is poor and needy shall bring no gift into mine house?” Did He say it, or anything like it? Can there ever be another occasion half so thrilling on which to say it?

The contrast between the rich and noble, the grand and lordly, who offered tithes of all their stores, and this shy and shrinking woman, in her garb of widowhood, is very striking. There is not a word of reflection on the gifts or the motives of the rich. “The rich and the poor meet together—the Lord is the maker of them all.” “No respecter of persons” is He. All honor to the rich who bring their treasures into the storehouse of God. All honor to the poor who make “their deep poverty abound unto the riches of their liberality.” May we not from this lesson draw illustrations of consecration?

God requires of every Christian a complete consecration of soul, body, time, talent, means, and everything else. Consecration means giving to God. When a thing is given away, ownership is transferred in the act of giving, or presenting[243] from the giver to the receiver. In consecration the Christian gives himself literally to the Lord, and is henceforth not his own, but the Lord’s. This transaction must be as real as any in life, and divine ownership of all given to God must be recognized.

If we wholly consecrate our souls, our bodies, our time, our several abilities, then God can use us. The Holy Spirit dwelling in the soul will dictate to the eyes where to look, and what to look upon, that the soul may be enriched by seeing. He will direct the feet in paths of safety and usefulness. He will teach the hands to labor skillfully, laying up treasures in heaven. He will give the lips messages of love, comfort and sympathy to speak. He will direct us how to use our time, that the best possible results may be achieved for both God and man, and also for heaven and earth. When such consecration is made, and we recognize fully God’s supreme ownership, then we are in a condition to “bear much fruit.”

Few men would banish God from the universe. Too many worlds are wheeling in their orbits, and their orbits cross and recross each other too often to be left without a guiding hand. Moreover, the one we inhabit is the home of the earthquake and the volcano; hurricanes and tornadoes are born and bred on every continent and island; plague and pestilence ride on every breeze; death and destruction waste at noonday. In the presence of such dangers it is a comfort to know “the Lord reigneth.” But, alas! how many would banish God from their hearts! The clouds are the commissary trains of the nations; who would have them without their driver? Men want God on the throne, but not in their hearts. They would have Him watch the worlds, the clouds, the seasons, but not their actions. As if God was not a discerner of the very thoughts and intents of the heart.

And then this poor widow loved much. And in God’s sight no offering of love is too small. Love is sometimes a babbling brook, leaping, laughing, sparkling, splashing. It is beautiful then. It is sometimes a mighty river—deep,[244] broad, swift and strong, shouldering the burdens of a continent and bearing them without a murmur. It is glorious then. But it is sometimes the boundless ocean—feeding all the brooks and rivers, bearing the commerce of the world, and yet never losing one note in its everlasting lullaby. It rolls against all its shore lines and moans, “If there were no bounds, I’d bring your ships to all your doors.” Love is sublime then. The widow’s love was like the ocean; it rolled against its farthest shore and longed to go farther. “She of her penury” had cast into the treasury all that she had, and therefore had given “more than all they,” for, not what is given, but what is left, marks the grade of self-denial. There may be trust for bread when the storehouse is full, but the faith that empties the storehouse and then trusts for bread, is a purer and diviner faith. This poor widow was a heroine of faith.

This apparently trifling event in the life of our Lord is of inestimable importance. It shows, after He had ended His oppressive day’s labor in the Temple, how he would still pause, in retiring from it, to bless the loving act of a poor widow, rendered unto the Lord in faith, and to adorn even so lowly a head with the crown of honor. We need no other proof for the celestially pure temper in which He left the inner courts of the Temple after He had pronounced His great denunciations against the hypocritical professions of Scribes and Pharisees. It is as if He could not so part, as if at least His last word must be a word of blessing and of peace.

This incident of the poor widow with the two mites is also a new proof of the power of little things, and of the gracious favor with which the Lord looks upon the least offering which only bears the stamp of love and faith. The last object on which our Lord’s eyes rested as He departed from the Temple was the widow’s two mites.

We now come to the blessed ministry of women during the Apostolic age. And the first of these is Tabitha. Her residence was at Joppa. She was a “disciple,” and Luke renders her name, Tabitha, out of the Aramaic into the Greek as Dorcas. We further read that she was “full of good works,” among which that of making clothes for the poor is specifically mentioned. Tabitha had, without doubt, served Christ with her needle for many years, and exercised her faith by performing works of love. But there came a day when the fingers refused longer to ply the needle, and the heart grew faint, and in weariness she laid aside the unfinished garment, just to take a little rest, and when the neighbors and “widows” came in, they quickly saw the flushed cheek, and her critical condition aroused their anxious solicitude to relieve and care for and comfort her. The fear of losing her excited and agonized them. The apprehension of their great loss, in case she should be removed from them, almost drove the little church at Joppa to distraction.

But, notwithstanding the tender ministry of loving hands and aching hearts, Tabitha daily grew worse, and finally yielded up her spirit.

Clasp the hands meekly over the still breast, they have no more work to do; close the weary eyes, they have no more[246] tears to shed; part the damp tresses, they have no more pain to bear. Closed is the ear to love’s kind and gentle voice. No anxious care gathers on the marble brow as you gaze. No throb of pleasure pulsates from the dear, loving bosom, nor mantling flush mounts the blue-veined temple. Can this be death? Oh, if beyond death’s swelling flood there was no eternal shore! If for the struggling bark there were no port of peace! If athwart that lowering cloud sprang no bright bow of promise! Alas for love if this were all, and naught beyond the parting at earth’s portals.

The remains of Tabitha were carefully laid in a retired upper chamber. And now there was hurry and bustle in preparation for the final rites. Friends were sent for, neighbors were present, the funeral arrangements were discussed, the mourning procured, the hospitalities of the house provided for. All was excitement—the loss was not then perceived in all its greatness. But after the preparations were all made, after the bustle had subsided, and the watchers had come for the night, then it was that the friends of Tabitha began to realize what had befallen them. Now the house seemed so still and sepulchral, though in the heart of the city, and though its threshold was still trodden by friendly feet, it seemed so empty. The apartments—how deserted! especially the room where she struggled and surrendered in the last conflict. There are the clothes, the garments and unfinished coat, there was the vacant chair and idle work-basket. During her sickness they had not so much noticed these things, for they were ever hopeful that these things might be used or occupied again. But now it can not be, and they perceive the dreadful vacancy everywhere.

Oh, how dark and cheerless the shadows came down over that home! No moon or stars have ever shown so dimly—no darkness ever seemed so utterly dark. The ticking of the clock resounds like bell-strokes all over the house. Such deep silence! No footsteps now on the stairs, or in the sick-chamber; no nurse to come and say, “she is not so well,” and[247] come and ask for you. No, indeed, only the silent watchers move about with muffled step, and “you may sleep on now and take your rest,” if you can. Ah, poor bereaved hearts! It will be long ere the sweet rest you once knew will visit your couch. Slumber will bring again the scenes through which you have just passed, and you will start from it but to find them all too real. God pity the mourners after the body of the loved one lies unburied “in an upper chamber.”

All the members of the Christian congregation of Joppa appear to have been deeply moved by the loss which they had sustained, and to have entertained the wish in their hearts, although they did not venture to express it, that, if it were possible, Tabitha might be recalled to life, and yet, in sending for Peter, who at this time was at Lydda, ten miles away, they scarcely expected a miracle, and only desired that he would address words of consolation to them. Much is already gained, when they who abide in the house of mourning sincerely desire the consolations of God’s word spoken through human lips. It was only after her death that it became known what a treasure she had been to the church. It is one of the beautiful charms of the Christian life, that in nearly every congregation there is a Tabitha to be found who constitutes, as it were, the central point around which the love that exists in the society, collects. Every love is guided by her hand, and even when she utters no words, she successfully admonishes others.

Such a woman could not well be spared out of the Joppa church, and so, with the sunrising, the little congregation despatched two men, who hastened over the plain of Sharon to Lydda, with a message to Peter, saying, “Delay not to come to us!” There was haste in the matter. The body of Tabitha, in accordance with Oriental usage, could not be long held “in the upper chamber.” Peter seemed to have recognized this, for he at once “arose and went with them.”

As soon as the Apostle, who had made no delay, had arrived at Joppa, the elders of the congregation conducted him to the late home, and to the upper chamber in which[248] the corpse lay. As Peter entered he saw the widows, on whom the deceased had conferred such benefits, standing around the bier of Tabitha, weeping, and “shewing the coats and garments which Dorcas made, while she was with them.” These acts of benevolence which survived their author, were indeed noble testimonials of the deceased woman’s love and charity.

After these weeping widows had told out their sorrow and their gratitude, Peter directed them all to withdraw. Doubtless he made this request that he could more fully engage in prayer when alone. He may also have perceived that some were governed by an idle curiosity. At all events, he did not yet know whether it was the Lord’s will to restore the deceased woman to life. Hence he desired to be alone with the Lord, in order to make known to Him the requests of the disciples.

After having poured out his soul in fervent prayer on his knees, Peter turned toward the body and called to Tabitha, saying, “Arise.” Luke gives us a graphic description of the scene: at first she opened her eyes, then, on seeing Peter, rose and sat up, and, at length, when Peter had given her his hand, stood up.

The Lord having restored Tabitha to life through the prayers of Peter, the Apostle called to the saints and widows, and presented to them the woman, who had been raised up by the power of God.

This great miracle, we are further told, produced an extraordinary effect in Joppa, and was the occasion of many conversions. “Many,” Luke says, “believed in the Lord.”

Doubtless, Tabitha, when she realized what the Lord had done for her, for the remainder of her life, said:

[249]Tabitha, in her good works and alms-deeds, and in her garments that she made, is not a fashion-plate, but a model for every Christian woman. We may learn, in her life, the glorification of little things. She was not rich, at least we are not told that she was, and yet how she glorified her needle, until a whole city is moved to bitter weeping at her death. Her needle brought her unsought fame. Little acts are the elements of all true greatness. They test our disinterestedness. The heart comes all out in them. It matters not so much what we have, as to what use we put that which we have. A man who had made an immense fortune out of a factory in which its builder had sunk $75,000 and failed, said, “I am always here to watch the little things, to pick up a bunch of cotton, to tighten a screw, to turn on a nut, to regulate a machine, to mend a band, to oil a dry place, and so prevent breakages and stopping of the work. These little wastes of material and machinery in time will eat up the profits of any business. These little things I attend to myself. I can hire men to attend the large things.”

This is the secret of success in every department of business and walk of life. The principle is equally applicable to women’s work. Perhaps no class of people ought to look after little things more than the house-wife. Certainly every woman ought to know that careless extravagance, and the little wastes in many ways, destroy the profits. There are a thousand ways in which opportunities for good may be wasted. Never wait for the evil to increase. “A stitch in time saves nine,” saves a rent, and, under the well-trained eye of Tabitha, saved a garment. Heavy doors turn on small hinges. Fortunes turn on pivots. Look out for small things. They are the atoms, the trifles, that make up the large things. A stitch is a small thing, but led by the needle of Dorcas, the garments and coats multiplied.

So of Christian usefulness. The needle in Tabitha’s hand was a very small instrument, but the deeds it wrought, clothed the widows and blessed a church. The two mites of the poor widow were a little sum, but measured by their motive,[250] they were perhaps the largest contribution ever made to Christian charity. It is said that a tract, from the hands of a servant girl, led to the conversion of no less than Richard Baxter. He awoke to a world of usefulness. Among the library of books he wrote was the “Call to the Unconverted.” It fell into the hands of Philip Doddridge. It led him to Christ. Doddridge, too, awoke to a world of usefulness. His “Rise and Progress” was the means of the awakening of William Wilberforce. A book of his writing led to the salvation of Leigh Richmond. He wrote the “Dairyman’s Daughter,” that fell upon the world like a leaf from heaven—all the fruitage of a single tract from the hand of a maid.

“What is that in thine hand?” the Almighty asked Moses while he kept Jethro’s flock in the back side of the desert, and Moses said, “A rod,” a shepherd’s staff, cut out of the thicket near by, with which he guided his sheep. Any day he might throw it away and cut a better one, but God said, “With this rod thou shalt save Israel.”

What is that in thine hand, Sarah? Three measures of meal with which I prepare my dinner. Hasten, knead it, and make cakes upon the hearth, and angels shall sit at thy table to-day. What is that in thine hand, Rebekah? A pitcher with which I carry water. Use it in watering the thirsty camels of Eliezer, and thou shalt be an heir in the house of Abraham? What is that in thine hand, Miriam? Only a timbrel. Use it in leading the women of Israel in the song of triumph over Pharaoh’s hosts. What is that in thine hand, Rahab? Only a scarlet thread. Bind it in the window, and thou shalt save thyself and household. What is that in thine hand, poor widow? Only two mites. Give them to God, and behold, the fame of your riches fills the world. What hast thou, weeping woman? An alabaster box of ointment. Give it to God. Break it, and pour it on thy Saviour’s head, and its sweet perfume is a fragrance in the church till now. What is that in thine hand? A broom. Use it for God. A broom in the hand of a Christian woman[251] may be as truly used for His glory, as was the sceptre of David. What is that in thine hand? A pen. Use it for God. Oh, matchless instrument! Write words of comfort and sympathy that shall echo around the globe. Oh, can you not find some poor soul to-day who does not know Jesus? Can you not tell some wanderer about the Christ? What is in thine hand? Wealth. Consecrate it now to God. What is in thy mouth? A tongue of eloquence. Use it for God. The tongue is the mightiest instrument that God ever made. What is in thine hand? A kindly grasp? Give that to some sad, desponding soul. We need grit and grace to use the common things in the ordinary way in the daily occupations of life. Consecrate the pen, the needle, the tongue, the hands, the feet, and the heart to Jesus. Our Lord gave dignity to labor; the sweat-beads of honest toil stood on His brow.

This is God’s way of working. He chooses to use the least things—even things that amount to nothing—to accomplish His work in the salvation of the race. Use your leisure. Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, comfort the wretched, spread the gospel far and wide. If you have nothing else, use your needle, and the garments will multiply, and the destitutes will be clothed. A poor girl who had nothing but a sewing machine, used it to aid a feeble church; all her earnings above her needs were given towards building a house of worship, and in a year she paid more than a hundred others richer than she. So you can do if you will. If you but knew it, you have Tabitha’s needle in your hand—the simple instrumentality with which to do good. When the pierced hand of our Lord is laid on consecrated needles, on the ordinary means within our reach, on wealth, on learning, on beauty, on culture, on every gift and grace in every relation in life, then the splendor of the millennial dawn will color the eastern sky with its crimson and gold.

From the beautiful home of Tabitha, in Joppa, the Sacred history runs on until Lydia, in the city of Philippi, is reached.

[252]While at Troas, Paul had a remarkable vision in the night, of a man of Macedonia, standing before him and praying, “Come over into Macedonia, and help us.” How Paul knew this man to be a Macedonian is not stated. Perhaps he may have frequently seen Macedonian seamen in Tarsus, his birthplace, which was a flourishing commercial city on the Mediterranean, or he may have recognized him by his speech or national dress. This man entreated him, in the vision, to cross over the sea from Asia into Europe, and come to the aid of the inhabitants of Macedonia. Paul had never been in Europe, and had no thought of going there. On the other hand, he had been delivering the decrees issued by the church council at Jerusalem, through the maritime cities of Asia Minor, and “assayed to go into Bithynia,” but was restrained by the Spirit of God. Being thus convinced, he embarked at Troas, taking with him as fellow-laborers, Silas, Timothy, and Luke.

After a rapid and successful voyage over the peaceful waters of the Ægean Sea, in a direct course to the north-west, they reached the island of Samothrace. The next day they proceeded to Neapolis, situated on the Strymonic Gulf, and a seaport of Thrace. From this point they continued their journey, probably, on foot. Following the ancient well-paved road up the steep Symbolum hills, until they reached the solitary pass through the mountains, at an elevation of 1,600 feet above the sea. Once through this lonely pass and a magnificent view is obtained of the plain in which Philippi is located, and of the Pangæus and Hæmus ranges, which close in the plain to the south-west and north-east. At one point on the summit of Symbolum one can look down into Neapolis on the sea, and into Philippi in the plain. From this point the Apostles descended to the plain below by a yet steeper road than the ascent out of Neapolis. At length, at the end of a twelve miles’ jaunt on foot, finds them in “the chief city of that part of Macedonia,” and they were quite prepared for a good meal and a night’s rest.

[253]The next morning, being the Sabbath day, the Apostles began to look about the city for a synagogue. But there was no synagogue in Philippi, only one of those light, temporary structures, called proseuchæ, which was merely an enclosure without a roof, and was located on the banks of the swiftly-rushing Anghista (not the Strymon, as some writers have it), and so the Apostles hastened “out of the city” to the “river side,” to the proseuchæ, “where prayer was wont to be made.”

THE CITY BY THE ANGHISTA.

This place without the city wall was not a solitary locality, secluded and retired from the endless confusion of city streets, but, on the contrary, it was a market place, especially set apart for the mountain clans of the Pangæus and Hæmus[254] ranges, who came down with their pack animals to trade. No doubt this stream had its fountains high up among the Hæmus hills, and with great force came rushing down the mountain, and spreading out in the plain, gave a plentiful supply to man and beast. It flowed down through the market place; it was within reach of every child’s pitcher; it was enough for every empty vessel. The small birds came down thither to drink; the sheep and lambs had trodden down a little path to its brink. The thirsty beasts of burden, along the dusty road, knew the way to the stream, with its soft, sweet murmur of fullness and freedom. The clear, sparkling river must have reminded the Apostles of the waters of life and salvation, which they were bringing to these Philippians. This stream sometimes may cease to flow, and every other may be dry in the days of drought and adversity, but the heavenly stream whose spring was in Jesus Christ, they well knew, would never cease to flow. And they also well knew that whosoever drank from the river issuing from under the threshold of divine grace, should never thirst.

Amid these surroundings, Paul and his companions sat down in the proseuchæ, “and spake unto the women” who had already assembled in the place of prayer. It would seem that there were no Hebrew men in Philippi, and possibly, for the reason this city was a military, and not a mercantile centre. Even the women may have been few in number, so that the speaker could not deliver a formal address, but only engage in familiar conversation, which could be easier done in a sitting posture, and in a comparatively free and conversational intercourse, thus assuming at once the attitude of teachers.

The gracious words which fell from the lips of Paul in this first attempt to introduce the gospel into Macedonia, are not reported by Luke, but he tells us that the Lord opened the heart of a woman named Lydia. There is something very beautiful in this incident, that God should honor woman with being the first convert in Europe! It was a man who stood[255] before Paul in his vision, praying, “Come over into Macedonia and help us,” but it is a woman who is first willing to be helped. There was, that Sabbath morning, in the proseuchæ, by the rippling waters of the Anghista, one solitary woman who was in a special degree, open to the influence of the truth, and who listened with earnest attention to all that Paul said.

Luke tells us that Lydia was a dealer in purple, and a citizen of Thyatira, Asia Minor, and, as Thyatira was a Macedonian colony, we may the more readily understand that circumstances connected with her trade brought her at this time to Philippi, and was probably only a temporary resident. Thyatira was celebrated, at a very early period, for its purple dyes and purple fabrics. The purple color, so extravagantly valued by the ancients, and even by the Orientals at the present day, included many shades or tints, from rose-red to sea-green or blue. Philippi being the military centre of Macedonia, the military trappings, with all their tinsel and show, made a brisk market for the purple cloth of Lydia, and, no doubt, she was a woman who prospered in her business, and was in good circumstances, and, possibly, possessed of considerable wealth, as she generously offered her home and hospitality to Paul and his companions.

But now see how the words and acts of this noble woman demonstrates the genuineness of her faith. She at once, with her household, presents herself for baptism. While it is quite probable that the baptism was not performed on the spot, it took place, no doubt, at the first opportunity. Having become a member of the household of faith, she addresses the Apostles saying, “If ye have judged me to be faithful,” that is, judged that I am one that believeth in the Lord, “come into my house, and abide there.” What gentleness in her language, “If ye have judged me faithful,” humbly submitting to the experienced judgment of her religious benefactors, yet urgently inviting the Apostle and all his companions to enter her house, and remain there as her guests. This proffered hospitality furnished direct[256] evidence of her love to her Redeemer, which proceeded from faith, and which manifested itself by disinterested and kind attentions to His messengers. She supported her plea by appealing to the judgment which they had themselves pronounced in her case, and without which they would unquestionably have declined to baptize her.

That these messengers of the gospel acceded to the request of Lydia, and entered her house as guests, may be confidently assumed. We also see with what beautiful fidelity she remained true to Paul and Silas when they were persecuted.

It is also interesting to notice that through Lydia, indirectly, the gospel may have been introduced into that very section (Bithynia), where Paul had been forbidden directly to preach it. Whether she was one of “those women” who labored with Paul in the gospel at Philippi, as mentioned afterwards in the Epistle to that place (Phil. iv, 3) it is impossible to say, but from what we know of her history, it would be just like her, for, surely such a royal entertainer in true hospitality, would make a heroic laborer in any gospel field.

We may learn from Lydia’s life that the human heart is closed and barred by sin, so that divine truth can not enter to enlighten the mind, direct the will, or renew the spiritual life forces until divine grace, through operations of the Holy Spirit, opens the heart. When the Lord opens the heart, conversion is possible, but it is actually effected only when the heart, like the prepared field, with willingness receives the seed of divine truth. God calls, and if but few are chosen, it is simply because men choose not to obey the call. The Lord opens only the hearts of those for His spiritual kingdom who are willing to and do accept His conditions.

In the conversion of Lydia we see the Kingdom of Christ in its incipient state strikingly illustrated. In the parable of the grain of mustard-seed, Jesus told his disciples that the gospel in its beginning would be just like that smallest of seeds, but would grow and spread, and finally succeed.[257] Lydia is only one convert, a lone woman in a great military camp of a heathen city, and women, socially, in those days, did not count for much. Humanly speaking, this first European convert appeared about as insignificant as a grain of mustard-seed. And yet this apparently insignificant seed produced a rich and precious harvest in the flourishing congregation of Philippi, in the spread of the gospel over all Europe, and it will soon cover the whole world.

From Lydia’s candid reception of the gospel, her urgent hospitality, her unfaltering and continued friendship to the Apostles, her modest bearing in being accounted worthy of the confidence of her benefactors, we are led to form a high estimate of her character. Though possessed of considerable wealth, and, possibly, of social rank, she had the grace of humility. Her deep humility in the presence of God’s messengers was a clear and sufficient proof of her humility before God, and that it was real; that humility, if not already a resident in her heart, had, with the incoming of divine grace, taken up its abode in her, and become her very nature; that she actually, like Christ, made herself of no reputation, especially when persecution came to Paul and Silas.

When, in the presence of God, lowliness of heart has become, not a posture we assume for a time, but the very spirit of our life, it will manifest itself, as it did in Lydia, in all our bearing towards others. The lesson is one of deep import. The only humility really ours is not that which we assume in our devotions to God, but that which we carry with us in our ordinary conduct. The insignificances of the daily life are the importances of eternity, because they prove what spirit really possesses us. It is in our most unguarded moments we really show what we are. To know the humble woman, to know how the humble woman behaves, you must accept her hospitality as the Apostles accepted the hospitality of Lydia, and follow her to her home, and into the common course of daily life.

Humility before God is nothing if not proved in humility before men. It was when the disciples disputed who should[258] be greatest that Jesus taught the lesson of humility by washing their feet. And this heavenly grace runs all through the epistles of Paul, the spiritual father of Lydia. To the Romans he writes, “In honor preferring one another.” “Set not your mind on high things, but condescend to those that are lowly.” “Be not wise in your own conceit.” To the Corinthians he said, “Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not provoked.” These are all the gracious fruits of humility, for there is no love without humility at its roots. To the Galatians the Apostle writes, “Through love be servants one of another. Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.” To the Ephesians, immediately after the three wonderful chapters on the heavenly life, he writes, “Therefore, walk with all lowliness and meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one another in love;” “Giving thanks always, subjecting yourselves one to another in the fear of Christ.” To the Philippians, “Doing nothing through faction or vain glory, but in lowliness of mind, each counting others better than himself. Have the mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, and humbled Himself.” And to the Colossians, “Put on a heart of compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, long-suffering, forbearing one another, and forgiving each other, even as the Lord forgave you.”

It is in our relation to one another, that the true lowliness of mind and the heart of humility are to be seen. Our humility before God has no value but as it prepares us to reveal the humility of Jesus to our fellow-men. Let us cultivate this beautiful gem of divine grace, which was developed in such a marked degree in the life of Lydia, the first European Christian.

But we hasten on in our narrative, and gather up in a group, as one would gather a handful of flowers, those Women in White Raiment so briefly mentioned in the Sacred records as not to give us enough of their history to write upon.

Among these are the unnamed four daughters of Philip the evangelist, who lived at Cæsarea. These daughters[259] ranked high in the early church. They possessed the gift of prophetic utterance, and who apparently gave themselves to the work of teaching. Though no record is left us of their work, we may well believe their distinguished accomplishments brought them into contact with many people of that busy seaport city on the Mediterranean, where people of all nations came and went.

Phœbe of Cenchrea, one of the ports of Corinth. She must have been a woman of influence, and worthy of confidence and respect. She is not only commended by Paul, but was also a deaconess in the church at Cenchrea. On her was conferred the honor of carrying the letter of Paul from Corinth to Rome. Whatever her errand to Rome may have been, the independent manner of her going there seems to imply (especially when we consider the secluded habits of Greek women) that she was a woman of mature age, and was acting in an official capacity. She was not only a woman of great energy, but possessed of wealth. She evidently was of great service to Paul, and he had confidence in her integrity, for he writes in the very letter of which she was the bearer to the Romans, “I commend you unto Phœbe our sister, which is a servant of the church which is at Cenchrea.”

Priscilla, the wife of Aquila, who had fled from Rome, in consequence of an order of Claudius commanding all Jews to leave Rome. She, with her husband, came to Corinth. In the days of the Apostle, Corinth was a place of great mental activity, as well as of commercial enterprise. Its wealth and magnificence were so celebrated as to be proverbial; so were the vices and profligacy of its inhabitants. But it was just the kind of city Paul delighted in carrying the gospel to. Where vice abounded he would have grace much more abound. Here Priscilla became acquainted with Paul, and they abode together, and wrought at their common trade of making the Cilician tent. This woman, while taking stitches in the haircloth out of which the tents were made, could also conduct a theological school with no less apt a student than that of Apollos, already noted for his eloquence, and who was[260] “mighty in the Scriptures.” But Priscilla, as she heard this eloquent young man, at once discovered there was something wanting in his ministry. It seemed to her that Apollos knew only the baptism of John. She knew of a more excellent way, and so while she was setting stitches, she “expounded unto him the way of God more perfectly.” O, for more Priscillas, versed in heavenly lore and skilled to impart it! Priscilla is certainly a noble example of what a woman in the ordinary walks of life may do for the church.

CORINTH, THE GATE OF THE PELOPONNESUS.

Eunice, the mother, and Lois, the grandmother of Timothy, are beautiful examples of women in the home. These[261] women had such unfeigned faith in the gospel, and so ably instructed Timothy in the Scriptures, that this home scene made a deep and lasting impression upon Paul, and later on, in one of his epistles to Timothy, he writes, “When I call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice, ... I put thee in remembrance (of this excellent home-training, and by reason of its superior advantage) that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in thee.”

Euodias (or rather Eudia) and Syntyche, deaconesses in the church at Philippi. These women afforded Paul active co-operation under difficult circumstance, and in them, as well as other women of the same class, is an illustration of what the gospel, in the Apostolic times, did for women, and also what the women did for the gospel, for the Apostle expressly states that these women labored with him in the gospel, besides many other elect women, the detailed mention of whom fills nearly all of the last chapter of the epistle to the Romans, whose history, if known, would doubtless be as interesting as the history of those whose names and acts have been preserved to us for our study and comfort.

And then there are a host of women whose names are not mentioned, but who, we have every reason to believe, were numbered with the Princesses of God, women whose faith and patience in labor clothed them in White Raiment. Of such we note a few: Noah’s wife and her three daughters-in-law, who must have exercised the same faith as their husbands, and who must have been in full sympathy with their labors; the host of Israelitish women led by Miriam in their song of triumph over the Lord’s deliverance from Pharaoh’s army; the wife of Manoah, the mother of Samson, who was twice visited by the angel of the Lord; Hulda, the prophetess, who lived in the time of King Josiah, to whom Hilkiah, the high priest, had recourse, when the book of the law was found, to procure an authoritative opinion, for, doubtless, in her time she was the most distinguished person for prophetic gifts in Jerusalem; the captive Hebrew maid[262] in the house of Naaman, the Syrian general, who knew all about the prophet in Samaria, and had faith to believe that Elisha would heal him of his leprosy, even though captive as she was, and in a strange land; in the days of Saul and David, when returning from the conquests, “the women” who “came out of all the cities of Israel” to welcome, with tabrets and song, the deliverers of God’s people.

Perhaps we should not fail to briefly mention Tamar, the daughter of David, for she was not only a chaste virgin, but was also remarkable for her extraordinary beauty. Her high sense of honor must ever stand as a memorial of her virtue, especially when we take into account the low standard of morality which prevailed in her time.

Added to her beauty, she had domestic accomplishments. It would almost seem that Tamar was supposed, at least by her perfidious brother Amnon, to have a peculiar art in baking palatable cakes.

With no suspicion of any wicked design, this beautiful princess, at her father’s request, goes to the house of her supposed sick brother to prepare the food she was assured he would relish. So she took the dough and kneaded it, and then in his presence (for this was a part of his fancy, as though there was something exquisite in the manner of performing the work), kneaded it a second time into the form of cakes.

After the cakes were baked, she took them, fresh and crisp, to Amnon to eat. When she fully realized his wicked designs, she touchingly remonstrated, and held up to him the infamy of such a crime “in Israel,” and appealed to his sense of honor, saying, “As for thee, thou shalt be as one of the fools in Israel.” Her indignation after his unnatural designs were accomplished, and she had been thrust out, was even more heroic than her protests. In her agony she snatched a handful of ashes and threw them on her beautiful hair, then tore her royal gown, and, clasping her hands upon her head, rushed to and fro through the streets crying.

While this is one of the most pathetically sad scenes recorded in Bible history, yet it brings out in a remarkable[263] manner, the virtue and high honor of womanhood in those rude ages of the world.

But over against this dark background of Amnon’s conduct the careful home-training of Timothy, under the moulding influence of his mother Eunice, and his grandmother Lois, shines with a brightness that reflects great credit. And if such careful home-training was so far-reaching in its results as to cause Paul, in later years, to remind Timothy of this training as an inspiration to stir up the gift of God in him, what shall be said of motherhood and wifehood of the many noble characters found in the Sacred record? It is a fact that women have great influence in shaping the lives of men. Who can tell how greatly womanhood influenced the lives of such men as Enoch, who walked with God; Noah, whose faith led him to the building of the ark; Abraham, whose wonderful life of trust has made him the father of the faithful in all generations of men; Melchizedek, king of Salem and priest of the most high God; Job, whom adversity could not shake, and who, in the midst of his calamities, exclaimed, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him;” Caleb and Joshua, whose confidence in God’s ability to lead the host of Israel into the promised land, was unwavering under most trying circumstances; Elijah and Elisha, who stood as the defences of God’s people amid idolatrous times; the good King Hezekiah, and his ever faithful counselor, Isaiah, who went up into the Temple and spread out the insulting letter of Sennacherib, and “prayed and cried to heaven;” Daniel and his companions, who walked through the fire and the den of lions, and thus proved their fidelity to truth and righteousness; Nehemiah, who, by moonlight, viewed the ruins of the city of his fathers, and then, with wonderful courage, repaired its broken-down walls and set up its gates that had been burned with fire; and the great host of women mentioned by Paul, who, through faith, “received their dead raised to life again,” and others who “were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection.” Surely such mothers and wives would[264] raise up heroic men. The Spartan mother told her son, when he started for the war, “to return with his shield, or upon it.” But the Hebrew women led armies, subdued kingdoms, and turned to flight the armies of the aliens.

Such is the womanhood of the Bible, and while with her companion, man, she inherited the infirmities brought upon the race in the transgression, yet she is infinitely in advance of the women living in lands where the Bible is unknown. Indeed, the condition of Hebrew women has always presented a marked contrast with heathen women, and for the reason, while the Bible seeks to elevate them, heathendom has sought to degrade them. Heathen oppression of womanhood rests upon the nations where the Bible is not known, like the mountain upon Typho’s heart. Buddhism presents no personal god. He is “eyeless, handless, never sad and never glad.” For sinning man there is no pity, for of all his hundreds of names there is no “Father.” Confucianism, with its backward gaze, teaches no sin, no Saviour, and only China for heaven. Mohammedanism has its creeds, prayers, alms, fastings and pilgrimages. But its creeds were partly written on human bones, its pilgrimages are corrupt and its formal prayers are to “Allah,” who bears little resemblance to the Christian’s God. Not censure, but pity, hovers over these classic religions and the millions who are under the pall of paganism.

[265]The non-Christian religions offer no light in life and no hope in death. The bitter cry of the Hindoo widow’s prayer is, “O God, let no more women be born in this land.” The horrors of heathenism are unknown in Christian lands. What makes the difference? We have clearly shown in these pages that it is the teaching of the Bible, and this one fact alone stamps the book as divine. It has God for its Author, and, from Genesis to Revelation, it blesses and elevates women.

Why does paganism oppress womanhood? Because these monstrous systems are dominated by Satan, and knowing as he must, that woman stands at the fountain of the race, he poisons and corrupts the very sources of life. For the truth of this one needs only to compare Christian with heathen lands. Compare America with its happy Christian homes, with India in whose cloistered zenanas are millions of widows, many of them under ten years of age, and doomed to a living death—must sleep on the ground, feed on herbs, and practice rigid mortification. Before Christianity entered that land, the horrors of the suttee (the burning alive of the widow with her dead husband), the sacrificing of infants to the River Ganges, the slaying of young men and women in Hindu temples to appease Kali, the god of the soil, the “Car of Juggernaut,” rolling over hundreds of beings annually, and crushing them to death, the burning alive of lepers, the hastening of the death of a parent by the children in carrying the former to the River Ganges and there, on the banks, filling the afflicted one’s mouth with sand and water are left to die, the public exhibition of voluntary starvation on the part of Hindu devotees,—all these terrible practices, once so popular in India, have passed away since the missionary has planted his foot upon the soil. To-day none of these things can be found, and India’s voice, as well as the voice of all Christendom, can go up to God in praise that these things no longer exist there. And what has taken place in India, is also fast taking place in China and Africa. Surely, the Christian woman needs to press her Bible to her heart,[266] and love it as she loves her God, for, were it not for this blessed book, her condition would be no better than is the condition of woman in the lands where Buddhism, Confucianism and Mohammedanism have crushed out of her all that is worth having, and even denies that she has a soul. It must be seen that such systems are incapable of elevating womanhood.

The thought uppermost in our mind, when we set out to write these pages was, to show that God created man and woman as equals, that Christ came to save our whole humanity, and that Christianity is the true friend of woman. How beautiful is all this in contrast with the cruelties of heathenism. See how patiently Jesus talks with a lone woman by Jacob’s well, how tenderly he speaks to the woman who sobbed out her sorrow for her sins at His feet, how compassionately He says to the woman for whose blood her accusers had clamored, after He had silenced them, “Go, and sin no more.” And, to the credit of head and heart, be it said, woman has appreciated her Saviour, and in many ways shown her gratitude. Perhaps there is no more beautiful and touching incident in the life of our Lord than that recorded by Luke, where women “ministered unto Him of their substance.”

Finally, if any have been helped to a better understanding and appreciation of the Bible by the perusal of these pages, and have been lifted nearer to the heart of God, we shall feel that our labors have not been in vain.