GEHAZI.
The name Gehazi means “valley of vision,” and is appropriate enough if we think of what Gehazi saw as to the nature of wickedness when the prophet opened his eyes.
Let us note what points there are in this case which illustrate human life as we now know it. In this way we shall test the moral accuracy of the story—and that is all we are now principally concerned about.
Gehazi was “the servant of Elisha, the man of God.” Surely, then, he would be a good man? Can a good man have a bad servant? Can the man of prayer, whose life is a continual breathing unto God of supreme desires after holiness, have a man in his company, looking on and watching him, and studying his character, who denies his very altar and blasphemes against his God? Is it possible to live in a Christian house and yet not be a Christian? Can we come so near as that, and yet be at an infinite distance from all that is pure and beautiful and true?
If so, then we must look at appearances more carefully than we have been wont to do, for they may have been deceiving us all the time.
Surely, every good man’s children must be good, for they have had great spiritual advantages. They have, indeed, had some hereditary benefits denied to many others. Their house has been a home, their home has been a church, and surely they must show by their whole spirit and tone of life that they are as their father as to all spiritual aspiration and positive excellence.
Is it not so?
If facts contradict that theory, then we must look at the theory again more carefully, or we must examine the facts more closely, because the whole science of Cause and Effect would seem to be upset by such contradictions. There is a metaphysical question here, as well as a question of fact. A good tree must bring forth good fruit; good men must have good children; good masters must have good servants. Association in life must go for something.
So we would say—emphatically, because we think reasonably.
But facts are against such a fancy.
What is possible in this human life? It is possible that a man may spend his days in building a church, and yet denying God. Does not the very touch of the stones help him to pray? No. He touches them roughly; he lays them mechanically, and he desecrates each of them with an oath.
Is it possible that a man can be a builder of churches and yet be a destroyer of Christian doctrine and teaching generally? Yes.
Let us come closer still, for the question is intensely interesting and may touch many.
It is possible for a man to print the Bible and yet not believe a word of it. On first hearing this shocking statement we revolt from it. We say it is possible for a man to handle type that is meant to represent the greatest revelation ever made to the human mind without feeling that the very handling of the type is itself a kind of religious exercise. Yet men can debauch themselves in the act of printing the Bible; can use profane language while putting the Lord’s Prayer in type; can set up the whole Gospel of John without knowing that they are putting into visible representation the highest metaphysics, the finest spiritual thinking, the most tender religious instruction.
Let us come even closer. A man can preach the Gospel and be a servant of the devil. Who, then, can be saved? It is well to ask the question. It is a burning inquiry; it is a spear-like interrogation. We would put it away from us if we dare.
Now, let this stand as our first lesson in the study of this remarkable incident, that Gehazi was the servant of Elisha, the man of God, and was at the same time the servant of the devil. He was receiving wages from both masters. He was a living contradiction; and in being such he was most broadly human. He was not a monster; he was not a natural curiosity; he is not to be accounted for by quietly saying that he was an eccentric person. He represents the human heart, and by so much he brings against ourselves an infinite impeachment.
It is in vain that we shake our skirts as if throwing off this man and all association with him and responsibility for him; this can not be done. He anticipated ourselves; we repeat his wickedness. The iniquity is not in the accident, in the mere circumstances, or in the particular form; the iniquity is in the heart—yea, in the very heart itself. Marvel not that Christ said: “Ye must be born again.”
Gehazi did not understand the spirit of his master. He did not know what his master was doing. How is it that men can be so far separated from one another? How is it that a man can not be understood in his own house, but be thought fanciful, fanatical, eccentric and phenomenally peculiar? How is it that a man may be living among men, and yet not be of them; may be in the world and yet above the world; may be speaking the very language of the time, and yet charging it with the meaning of eternity? See here the differences that still exist, and must ever exist, as between one man and another:
Elisha—living the great spiritual life, the grand prayer-life and faith-life.
Gehazi—grubbing in the Earth and seeking his contentment in the dust.
These contrasts exist through all time, and are full of instruction. Blessed is he who observes the wise man, and copies him; who looks upon the fool, and turns away from him, if not with hatred yet with a desire not to know his spirit.
Gehazi had a method in his reasoning. Said he, in effect:
“To spare a stranger, a man who may never be seen again; to spare a beneficiary, a man who has taken away benefits in the right hand and in the left; to spare a wealthy visitor, a man who could have given much without feeling he had given any thing; to spare a willing giver, a man who actually offered to give something and who was surprised, if not offended, because his gift was declined! There is no reason in my master’s policy.”
It never occurred to Gehazi that a man could have bread to eat that the world knew not of. It never occurs to some men that others can live by faith, and can work miracles of faith by the grace of God.
Are there not minds that never had a noble thought? It is almost impossible to conceive of the existence of such minds, but there they are. They never went beyond their own limited location; they never knew what suffering was on the other side of the wall of their own dwelling place. They were never eyes to the blind, or ears to the deaf, or feet to the lame; they never surprised themselves by some noble thought of generosity. How, then, can they understand the prophets of the times?
Yet how noble a thing it is to have among us men who love the upper life, and who look upon the whole world from the very sanctuary of God, and who say:
“A man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth, but a man’s life consists of his faith, love and charity.”
We can not tell how much the prophets are doing to refine their age, to give a new view to all human duty, to inspire those who otherwise would fail for the lack of courage.
We can not tell where the answers to prayer fall, or how those answers are given, but we feel that there is at work in society a mystic influence, a strange, ghostly, spectral action, which keeps things together, and now and again puts Sabbath day right in the midst of the vulgar time.
There are facts of a high and special kind, as well as what we commonly call facts, which are often but appearances and dramatic illusions. What about the secret ministry, the unnamable spiritual action, the holy, elevating and restraining influence? What is that hand which will write upon palace walls words of judgment and keep the world from plunging into darkness infinite?
Surely, God is in this place, and I knew it not. This—wherever it be, garden or wilderness—is none other than the house of God and the gate of Heaven.
Gehazi prostituted an inventive and energetic mind. He had his plan: “My master hath sent me, saying: ‘Behold, even now there be come to me from Mount Ephraim two young men of the sons of the prophets. Give them, I pray thee, a talent of silver and two changes of garments.”
The case was admirably stated. It was stated, too, with just that urgency which increases the likelihood of that which is declared.
Elisha spent his time among the sons of the prophets. They all looked to him as a father, as he had once looked to Elijah. He was the young man’s friend—the young minister’s asylum. They all knew the gracious, gentle, Christ-like Elisha—the ante-type of the Messiah; and what was more likely than that two of them, in the course of their journeying, should have called on Elisha unexpectedly?
It was a free and gracious life that the old ministers lived. They seemed to have rights in one another. If any one of them had a loaf, that loaf belonged to the whole fraternity. If one of them, better off than another, had a house or part of a house, any of the sons of the prophets passing by could go and lodge there.
It was a gracious masonry—a true brotherhood.
Gehazi was no model man in a moral sense. His invention was a lie; his cleverness was but an aspect of depravity; his very genius but made him memorable for wickedness.
But Gehazi was successful. He took the two talents of silver in the two bags, with the two changes of garments. He brought them to the tower, and bestowed them in the house. Then he sat down—a successful man! Now all is well; lust is satisfied, wealth is laid up. Now the fitness of things has been consulted, and harmony has been established between debtor and creditor, and Justice nods because Justice has been appeased.
Were the test to end with the twenty-fourth verse of the fifth chapter of the second Book of Kings, we should describe Gehazi as a man who had set an example to all coming after him who wished to turn life into a success.
Who had been wronged?
Naaman pursues his journey all the more happy for thinking he has done something in return for the great benefit which has been conferred on him. He is certainly more pleased than otherwise. The man of God has at last been turned, he thinks, into directions indicated by common sense.
All this has come about in the way of business; for nothing that is not customary has been done.
Gehazi is satisfied, and Elisha knows nothing about it. The servant should have something, even if the master would take nothing. It is the trick of our own day. The servant is always at the door with his rheumatic hand, ready to take any thing that may be put into it. We leave nothing with the master; it would be an insult to him.
So far the case looks simple, natural and complete; and we have said Elisha knows nothing about it.
Why will men trifle with prophets?
Why will men play with fire?
When will men know that what is done in secret will be published on the house tops?
When will men know that there can be nothing confidential that is wicked?
Observe Gehazi going in to his master as usual, and look at his face; not a sign upon it of any thing having been done that is wrong. Look at his hands—large, white, innocent-looking hands that never doubled their fingers on things that did not belong to them.
Look at Elisha. Fixing his eyes calmly upon Gehazi, he asks:
“Whence comest thou, Gehazi?”
“Thy servant went no whither.”
Gehazi meant it to be understood that he had been on the premises all the time; always within call; the lifting up of a finger would have brought him.
Then came the speech of judgment, delivered in a low tone, but every word was heard—the beginning of the word and the end of the word—and the last word was like a sting of righteousness.
“Went not mine heart with thee?”
Oh, that heart! The good man knows when wickedness has been done. Christ knows when He enters into the congregation whether there is a man in it with a withered hand.
“Went not mine heart with thee?” Was I not present at the interview? Did I not hear every syllable that was said on the one side and on the other? Did I not look at thee when thou didst tell the black, flat and daring lie?
Then came the infliction of the judgment:
“The leprosy, therefore, of Naaman shall cleave unto thee, and unto thy seed for ever.”
Thou, Gehazi, hast touched the silver, not knowing that it was contagious and held the leprosy; thou didst bring in the two changes of garments, not knowing that the germs of the disease were folded up with the cloth. Put on the coat; it will scorch thee.
“He went out from his presence a leper as white as snow.”
A splendid conception is this silent departure. Not a word was said, not a protest uttered. The judgment was felt to be just. “Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness.” “These shall go away into everlasting punishment.”
Oh, the hush—the solemn silence! The judgment seemed to begin with the sound of trumpets and the rending of things that apparently could not be shaken; at the end there is simply a going away, a silent motion, a conviction that the sentence is right.
See Gehazi as he goes out of Elisha’s presence, and regard him as a specimen of those who, having been judged, on the last day will depart.
Men should consider the price which they really pay for their success.
The grateful Syrian would gladly have pressed upon Elisha gifts of high value, but the holy man resolutely refused to take any thing, lest the glory redounding unto God from this great act should in any degree be obscured. But his servant, Gehazi, was less scrupulous, and hastened with a lie in his mouth to ask, in his master’s name, for a portion of that which Elisha had refused.
The illustrious Syrian no sooner saw the man running after his chariot than he alighted to meet him, and being glad to relieve himself in some degree under the sense of overwhelming obligation, he sent him back with more than he ventured to ask.
Nothing more is known of Naaman.
We afterward find Gehazi recounting to King Joram the great deeds of Elisha, and in the providence of God it so happened that when he was relating the restoration to life of the Shunnammite’s son, the very woman with her son appeared before the king to claim her house and lands, which had been usurped while she had been absent abroad during the recent famine. Struck by the coincidence, the king immediately granted her application.
As lepers were compelled to live apart outside the towns, and were not allowed to come too near to uninfected persons, some difficulty has arisen with respect to Gehazi’s interview with the king. Several answers occur. The interview may have taken place outside the town, in a garden or garden house, and the king may have kept Gehazi at a distance, with the usual precautions which custom dictated. Some even suppose that the incident is misplaced, and actually occurred before Gehazi was smitten with leprosy. Others hasten to the opposite conclusion, and allege the probability that the leper had then repented of his crime, and had been restored to health by his master.