C. Those who had served God early; those who had given to Him the best of their youth; those who had been kind to others and helped the needy for His sake; those who had turned to Him in truth, and clave to Him with a humble penitence.
F. What was the end of the careless servants?
C. It is an awful end, which our blessed Saviour Jesus Christ speaks of thus: “Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” [148a] And, again, “These shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal.” [148b]
The Prophet’s Guard.
It was the very earliest morning. The day was not breaking as it does in this land of England, with a dewy twilight and a gradual dawning—first a dull glow all over the east, then blood-red rays, catching any fleecy cloud which is stealing over the sky, and turning all its misty whiteness into gold and fire;—but day was breaking as it does in those eastern countries—sudden, and bright, and hot. Darkness flew away as at a word; the thick shadows were all at once gone, and the broad glaring sun rose proudly in the sky, rejoicing in his strength. The people of the town woke up again to life and business. Doors were flung wide open, and some were passing through them; the flat roofs of the houses began to be peopled—on one was a man praying, on others two or three standing together; but most of the people were hastening here and there to get through their necessary work before the full heat of the day came on; numbers were passing and repassing to the clear dancing fountain, the cool waters of which bubbled up in the midst of a broad square within that city.
And now, what is it which one suddenly sees, and, after gazing at it for a while, points out to another, and he to a third? As each hears, they look eagerly up to the hill, which rises high above their town, until they gather into a knot; and then, as one and another are added to their company, grow into almost a crowd. Still it is in the same quarter that all eyes are fixed; their water-vessels are set idly down, as if they could not think of them. Those which were set under the fountain have been quite full this long time, but no one stooped to remove them; and the water has been running over their brimming sides, while its liquid silver flew all round in a shower of sparkling drops. But no one thinks of them. What is it which so chains all eyes and fixes the attention of all?
The hill is quite full of armed men. There were none there overnight: they have come up from the vale silently and stealthily during the darkness, while men slept, like some great mist rising in stillness from the waters, and they seem to be hemming in the town on every side. Look which way you will, the sun lights upon the burnished points of spears, or falls on strong shields, or flashes like lightning from polished and cutting swords, or is thrown a thousand ways by the rolling wheels of those war-chariots. “Who are they?” is the question of all; and no one likes to say what all have felt for a long time—“they are our enemies, and we are their prey.”
But there is no use in shutting the eyes any longer to the truth. The morning breeze has just floated off in its airy waves that flag which before hung down lifelessly by the side of its staff. It has shewn all. They are enemies; they are fierce and bitter enemies; they are the Syrians, and they are at war with Israel.
But why are they come against this little town? When they have licked up it and its people like the dust from the face of the earth, they will be scarcely further on in their war against Israel. Why did not they begin with some of the great and royal cities? Why was it not against Jerusalem, or Jezreel, or even against the newly rebuilt Jericho? Why should they come against this little town?
Then one, an evil-looking man of a dark countenance, one who feared not God and loved not His servants, whispered to those around him, and said, “Have you not heard how Elisha the prophet, who dwells amongst us, has discovered to the king of Israel the secrets of the army of the king of Syria? No doubt it is because Elisha is dwelling here that the king of Syria has come upon us. And now shall we, and our wives, and our sweet babes, and our houses, and our treasures, become the prey of the king of Syria, for the sake of this Elisha. I never thought that good would come from his dwelling here.”
Now, fear makes men cruel and suspicious, and fills their minds with hard thoughts; and many of these men were full of fear: and so, when they heard these words, they began to have hard bad thoughts of God’s prophet, and to hate him, as the cause of all the evils which they were afraid would very soon come upon them.
Just then the door of another house opened: it was the prophet’s house, and his servant came forth with the water-vessels to fill them at the fountain. He wondered to see the crowd of men gathered together, and he drew near to ask them what was stirring. He could read upon their dark scowling faces that something moved them exceedingly; but what it was he could not gather. He could not tell why they would scarcely speak to him, but looked on him with angry faces, and spoke under their breath, and said, “This is one of them.” “’Twere best to give them up.” “They will destroy us all.” Then the man was altogether astonished; for his master had been ever humble, and kind, and gentle; no poor man had ever turned away without help when he had come in his sorrows to the prophet of the Lord. And yet, why were they thus angry with him, if it were not for his master’s sake?
Broken sentences were all that he could gather; but, by little and little, he learned what they feared and what they threatened; he saw, also, the hosts of armed men gathered all around the city; and his heart, also, was filled with fear. He believed that it was for his master’s sake that they were there; he saw that all around him were turned against his master, and he trembled exceedingly. For some time he stood amongst the rest, scarce knowing what to do, neither liking to remain nor daring to go; until at last, as some more stragglers joined themselves to the company, he slunk away like one ashamed, without stopping even to fill the water-vessels he had brought.
And so he entered his own door, heavy-hearted and trembling; and he went to the prophet’s chamber, for he deemed that he still slept. But the man of God was risen; and he knew, therefore, where he should find him—that he would be upon the flat roof of his house, calling upon the name of the Lord his God, who had made another morning’s sun to rise in its glory.
So he followed his master to the housetop; and there, even as he had supposed, he found the holy man. It was a striking sight, could any one have seen the difference between these two men. The one pale and trembling and affrighted, like a man out of himself, and with no stay on which to rest his mind; the other calm and earnest, as, in deep and solemn prayer, with his head bowed and his hands clasped together, his low voice poured forth his thanksgiving, or spake of his needs; he also, as it seemed, was out of himself, but going out of himself that he might rest upon One who was near to him though his eye saw Him not, and who spake to him though his outward ear heard no voice of words.
Thus he continued for a season, as if he knew not that any man was nigh unto him; as if he knew not that there were, in the great world around him, any one besides his God with whom he communed, and his own soul which spake unto his God. All this time his servant stood by him, pale and trembling, but not daring to break in upon that hour of prayer; until at length the prophet paused, and his eye fell upon the trembler; and he turned towards him, and said kindly, “What ails thee, my son?” Then the servant answered, “O my father, look unto the hill.” And he stood gazing in the prophet’s face, as though he expected to see paleness and terror overspread it when his eyes gathered in the sight of those angry hosts. But it was not so. No change passed over his countenance; his brow was open as it was before; the colour never left his cheeks; and, with almost a smile, he turned unto the servant, and said, “And why does this affright thee?” “It is for thee they seek, my father—it is for thee they seek; and the wicked men of the town are ready to fall upon thee and deliver thee into their hands. Even now, as I walked along the street, they looked on me with fierce and cruel eyes; and they breathed threats which these lips may not utter, and said, that thou hadst brought this trouble upon them, and their wives, and their little ones; and I feared that they would curse thee and thy God.” But the prophet was not moved by his words, for he only answered, “Fear them not; they that are with us are more than they that are against us.” Then did the servant cast his eyes to the ground, and he spake not, yet his lips moved; and if any one had heard the words which he whispered, they might perhaps have heard him ask how this could be, when they were but two, and their enemies were so many and so mighty.
Now the prophet’s eye rested upon him, and he read all his secret thoughts; and he pitied his weakness, for that holy man was full of pity for the weak: so he chid him not; but, bowing his knees again on that flat roof, he prayed unto his God to open the eyes of his affrighted servant. His prayer was heard. For there fell from them as it were films; and now, when he looked out, he saw a glorious sight. All the mountain was full; and they were a wonderful company which filled it. The dark hosts of the Syrians, and their glancing swords and clashing chariots, now looked but as a mere handful; for the whole mountain round them was full of that heavenly army. Chariots of fire and horsemen of fire thronged it in every part. High up into the viewless air mounted their wheeling bands: rank beyond rank, and army beyond army, they seemed to stretch on into the vastness of space, until the gazer’s wearied eye was unable to gaze on them. And all of these were gathered round his master. They were God’s host, keeping guard over God’s servant. And they who would injure him must first turn aside those flashing swords, must break up that strong and serried array, and be able to do battle with God’s mighty angels.
Then was the weak heart strong. Then did the poor trembler see that he was safe; and know that he who is on God’s side can never want companions and defenders.
The Brothers’ Meeting;
or,
The Sins of Youth.
A large company was winding its way slowly out of the vale in which the river Jordan runs. The sun was just beginning to strike hotly upon them, and make them long for rest and shelter, as they toiled up the open sandy hills and amongst the great masses of rock with which that country was strewn.
It was a striking sight to see those travellers. First went three troops of kine, lowing as they went; camels with their arched necks, stooping shoulders, and forward ears; asses with their foals; ewes and lambs; and goats with their kids, which mounted idly upon every rock that lay by their road-side, and then jumped as idly down again; and before and after these, drivers in stately turbans and long flowing robes, keeping the flocks and herds to their appointed way. Then came large droves of cattle, and sheep, and goats, and asses, stirring up with their many feet the dust of the sandy plain, till it fell like a gentle shower powdering with its small grains all the rough and prickly plants which grew in tufts over the waste. Then was there a space; and after that were seen two bands of camels,—the best they seemed to be of all the flock, those which came last especially,—and on them were children and women riding, over whom hung long veils to shelter their faces from the hot breath of the sandy desert through which they had travelled. And after all these came one man, with his staff in his hand and a turban on his head, walking slowly, as one who walked in pain and yet walked on, following those who went before.
If you had stood near to that man, you might, perhaps, have heard him speaking to God in prayer and thanksgiving; you might have heard him saying to himself, “with my staff passed I over this Jordan, and now I am become two bands:” or you might have heard him earnestly calling upon the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac his father, to keep him safe in the great danger which now lay close before him. His mind was certainly very full of that danger; for he kept looking up from the sand on which his eyes were often fixed, and gazing as far as he could see over the hills before him, as if he expected to see some great danger suddenly meet him on his way, and as if, therefore, he wished to be quite ready for it.
If you looked into his face, you could see at once that he was not a common man. He was not a very old man; his hair was not yet grey upon his head; and yet it seemed, at the first glance, as if he was very old. But as you looked closer, you saw that it was not so; but that many, many thoughts had passed through his mind, and left those deep marks stamped even on his face. It was not only sorrow, though there was much of that; nor care, though he was now full of care; but besides these, it seemed as if he had seen, and done, and felt great things—things in which all a man’s soul is called up, and so, which leave their impress behind them, even when they have passed away.
He had seen great things, and felt great things. He had seen God’s most holy angels going up to heaven, and coming down to earth upon their messages of mercy. He had heard the voice of the Lord of all, promising to be his Father and his Friend. And only the night before, the Angel of the covenant had made himself known to him in the stillness of his lonely tent, and made him strong to wrestle with him for a blessing, until the breaking of the day. So that it was no wonder, that when you looked into his face, it was not like the face of a common man, but one which was full of thought, which bore almost outwardly the stamp of great mysteries.
But what was it which now filled this man with care? He was returning home from a far land where he had been staying twenty years, to the land where his father dwelt. He had gone out a poor man; he was coming home a rich man. He was bringing back with him his wives, and his children, and his servants, and his flocks, and his herds; and of what was he afraid? Surely he could trust the God who had kept him and blessed him all these twenty years, and who had led him now so far on his journey?
Why should he fear now, when he was almost at his father’s tent?
It was because he heard that his brother was coming to meet him. But why should this fill him with such fear? Surely it would be a happy meeting; brothers born of the same father and of the same mother, who had dwelt together in one tent, kneeled before one father’s knees in prayer, and joined together in the common plays of childhood,—surely their meeting must be happy, now that they have been twenty years asunder, and God has blessed them both, and they are about to see each other again in peace and safety, and to shew to each other the children whom God had given them, and who must remind them of their days of common childhood. And why then is the man afraid? Because when he left his father’s house this brother was very angry with him, and he fears that he may have remembered his anger all these twenty years, and be ready now to revenge himself for that old quarrel.
And yet, why should this make such an one to fear? Even if his brother be still angry with him, and have cruel and evil thoughts against him, cannot God deliver him?—cannot the same God who has kept him safely all these twenty years of toil and labour, help and save him now? Why then does he fear so greatly? He has not forgotten that this God can save him—he has not for a moment forgotten it; for see how earnestly he makes his prayer unto Him: hear his vows that if God will again deliver him, he and all of his shall ever praise and serve him for this mercy. Yet still he is in fear; and he seems like a man who thought that there was some reason why the God who had heard him in other cases should not hear him in this.
What was it, then, which pressed so heavily upon this man’s mind? It was the remembrance of an old sin. He feared that God would leave him now to Esau’s wrath, because he knew that Esau’s wrath was God’s punishment of his sin. He feared that Esau’s hand would slay his children, as God’s chastisement for the sins of his childhood. He remembered that he had lied to Isaac his father, and mocked the dimness of his aged eyes by a false appearance; now he trembled lest his father’s God should leave the deceiver and the mocker to eat the bitter fruit of his old sin. It was not so much Esau’s wrath, and Esau’s company, and Esau’s arms, which he feared—though all these were very terrible to this peaceful man,—as it was his own sin in days long past, which now met him again, and seemed to frown upon him from the darkness before him. In vain did he strive to look on and see whether God would guide him there, for his sin clouded over the light of God’s countenance. It was as when he strained his eyes into the great sand-drifts of the desert through which he had passed: they danced and whirled fearfully before him, and baffled all the strivings of his earnest gaze.
But the time of trial was drawing very near. And how did it end? Instead of falling upon him and slaying him and his; instead of making a spoil of the oxen, and the asses, and the camels, and giving the young children to the sword, Esau’s heart melted as soon as they met; he fell upon his brother’s neck and kissed him; he looked lovingly upon the children who had been born to him in the far land; he spake kindly of the old days of their remembered childhood, of the grey-haired man at home; and he would not take even the present which his brother had set apart for him.
Jacob knew who it was that had turned his brother’s heart, and he felt more than ever what a strong and blessed thing prayer and supplication was. Nor did he forget his childhood’s sin against his God. It had looked out again upon him in manhood, and reminded him of God’s holiness, of his many past misdeeds, and made him pray more earnestly not to be made to “possess the iniquities of his youth.”
* * * * *
Father. What should we learn from this account of Jacob’s meeting Esau?
Child. That God remembers and often visits long afterwards the sins of our childhood.
F. Does not God, then, forgive the sins of children?
C. Yes, He does forgive them, and blot them out for Christ’s sake.
F. Why, then, do we say that He visits them?
C. Because He often allows the effects of past sins to be still their punishment, even when He has forgiven them.
C. To shew us how He hates sin.
F. What should we learn from this?
C. To watch against every sin most carefully, because we never can know what may be its effects; to remember how God has punished it, often for years, in His true servants; to pray against sin; to think no sin little.
F. What should we do, if we find the consequences of past sin coming upon us?
C. Take our chastisement meekly; humble ourselves under God’s hand; pray for deliverance, as, “Remember not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions: according to thy mercy remember thou me for thy goodness’ sake, O Lord” (Ps. xxv. 7).
F. What should be the effect on us when God hears our prayer, and delivers us?
C. It should make us more humbly remember our sins and unworthiness, and strive to shew forth our thankfulness, “not with our lips only, but in our lives.”
london:
printed by gilbert & rivington,
St. John’s Square.
Footnotes:
[6] Rev. xxii. 2.
[45a] Lover of God.
[45b] Wanderer.
[45c] Timid.
[46] Help.
[49a] Prov. ii. 19.
[49b] Ps. cxix. 9.
[76] Isaiah xlii. 16.
[79a] Isaiah xxxv. 3, 4.
[79b] Ps. cxix. 67.
[80] Isaiah xxxv. 9.
[95a] Bold, or Rash.
[95b] Tender.
[96] Faith.
[148a] Matt. xxv. 30.
[148b] Ib. xxv. 46.