PART VII.
SABBATH AND REST.
See, for that the Lord hath given you the Sabbath.—Ex. xvi. 29.
At the close of our last open evening, I promised some of you, dear girl friends and correspondents, that I would take Sunday and Rest as the subject of one of our talks. I find that the minds of many amongst you are much exercised as to “the right way of keeping Sunday.”
“I shall be very glad if you will some time say a little about Sundays, and perhaps give us some little rule to help us to keep them holy,” wrote one. “People have such different ideas about what is right and wrong to do on Sunday.”
I do not wish to take that word “people” in too wide a sense.
Our twilight gathering is a large one, and now includes members of widely differing ages and positions in life. I hope we all rejoice in knowing that so many older friends have been drawn within our circle, and are in full sympathy with us.
Still, I love best of all to picture myself as “the old mother sitting surrounded by a countless family of girls, my adopted children of the twilight hours,” and between whom and myself links have been formed which will last through the life of this world and beyond it.
During our talk I should like to use the old sweet Bible word Sabbath, which can alone suggest its real subject. I want us all to feel its importance to ourselves as belonging to those who profess and call themselves Christians. We have not to consider how those spend the day of rest who are living without God in the world, and to whom the Sabbath and its ordinances are less than nothing; but how we can best use and enjoy the privileges it brings, and help others to do likewise.
What is the Sabbath?
If you were really within hearing, I could imagine most of you would reply, “Why do you ask such a question? Everybody knows the difference between it and other days.” And you would probably describe all its distinctive features. The open churches, the closed places of business, worshippers hurrying in one direction, holiday-makers in another. Or perhaps some would tell of joy experienced in meeting with fellow Christians in the House of God, or of happy family gatherings under the home roof, impossible on other days, but delightful on that precious day of rest.
After hearing all, and sympathising with your joys, I should ask you to turn your thoughts from the present, and go back with me to the first chapter of the world’s history for the answer to my question, “What is the Sabbath? What was its beginning?”
It is God’s first gift to mankind, bestowed when His work of Creation was completed by the instalment of the first human pair in the garden “eastward in Eden,” which He had planted as a fitting abode for them.
The Divine Creator of the universe consecrated the Sabbath by His example, and gave it to be a continuous blessing throughout endless ages.
It is beautiful to note the wisdom of God in dealing with the first human pair, and the lesson He taught them is for us to-day. Paradise or Eden was not to be the abode of idleness. By daily work rest was to be earned, and only by means of work could rest be enjoyed, and its preciousness realised in any great degree.
I may note, in passing, that the idle, self-indulgent time-killers are the persons who complain most of weariness. They are tired with doing nothing, yet not having earned the right to rest, they cannot enjoy it.
People often allude to the Sabbath as if it were a merely Jewish institution. Forgetting the earliest Bible record, they dwell on the time of Israel’s wanderings in the desert, on the double supply of manna bestowed on the sixth day to meet the wants of the seventh also; the disobedience of some, and the words which followed, addressed by the Lord to Moses:
“See, for that the Lord hath given you the Sabbath, therefore He giveth you on the sixth day the bread of two days.” The Fourth Commandment, given from Mount Sinai, and engraved on stone, was the renewal and confirmation of that first inestimable gift of a day of rest.
Now, dear ones, I want you to think how a gift can alone fulfil the giver’s object in bestowing it. It must be willingly and gratefully accepted, valued, and used in accordance with the intentions of the giver.
Even gifts are often received without being welcome, and for various reasons. We may fear to cause pain by refusing them, or we may be afraid of future loss if we do so. We may dislike the idea of being indebted to the person who offers the gift. The article itself may be one on which we set no value, and so on. Or, as often happens, gifts are prized at first for their novelty, then unused, hidden away and forgotten, together with the giver.
I have a very dear friend who is constantly receiving tokens of affectionate remembrance. He is one who never loses an opportunity of brightening a dark path or smoothing a rough one, of helping to relieve an overweighted back of some part of its burden, of saying a cheery or comforting word, or of doing a kindness at the right time and in the right way—always an unostentatious one.
This is a great deal to say of any man, but how delightful to be able to say it with absolute truth! Many of the little souvenirs that reach my friend are of small intrinsic value and seem almost out of place amongst the beautiful ornaments and works of art in his home. But whenever the donor of the humblest gift is a guest in that house, the little token of affection or gratitude is sure to be in evidence, and the sight of it adds to the pleasure of host and visitor. The former can only show a small number of these carefully-kept presents at one time, but they come out in turns, and prove that none have been thrown aside or forgotten.
Probably what I have said of my friend has put a new thought into the minds of many of you, and I hope it has suggested a way of giving pleasure to the humblest friend, which may not have struck you before. Above all, I trust it will lead each of you to ask, “Have I thankfully accepted, valued, and used in the right way God’s first precious gift of one day in seven for the rest and refreshment of mind and body, and the good of my soul?”
No mere rule will ever make any of us use this gift worthily. We must rejoice in it as a part of our divine inheritance. Surely, when we think that God has given us life and breath and all things, that from Him every good and perfect gift has come, a new glow of glad thankfulness should fill our hearts, as we remember that He did not omit to fix the periodical day of rest.
Well for us, dear ones, that we were not left to depend on any ordinance of man for the right to this blessing. Think what the world would be without it! The Sabbath is often abused, ignored, neglected, almost always undervalued. But would the most careless, or even the most irreligious, like it to be wholly abolished?
I daresay some, probably most, of you have read that amongst the horrors of the French Revolution the Sabbath was abolished together with all the services of religion.
I do not wish to enter into detail or to picture the horrible scenes which followed, but as there is a tendency amongst a large class of persons to undervalue the Sabbath in its hallowed character, it is well for us to glance at the state of France during its abolition. Listen to a few words only. “The services of religion were now universally abandoned. The pulpits were deserted through all the revolutionised districts; baptisms ceased; the burial service was no longer heard; the sick received no Communion; the dying no consolation. A heavier anathema than that of papal power pressed upon the peopled realm of France—the anathema of Heaven, inflicted by the madness of her own inhabitants. The village bells were silent; Sunday was obliterated; infancy entered the world without a blessing; age left it without a hope. On every tenth day a revolutionary leader ascended the pulpit and preached Atheism to the bewildered audience. On all the public cemeteries the inscription was placed, ‘Death is an eternal sleep.’”
I should not like to shock your ears or to leave with one of our twilight gatherings such memories as would haunt you, were I to continue my quotation; so I have only given a faint glimpse of a country without a Sabbath and its gracious Giver. May the little help us to realise more fully the preciousness of His first gift to mankind.
I wonder if you, my dear girl friends, have ever thought of a fact which establishes the Divine origin of the Sabbath. You know how we measure our years, calendar months and days, and how these periods are accounted for by the journeying of the earth round the sun, and other movements and positions which regularly recur. But there is nothing to divide week from week, or to mark a definite period of seven days, save the Divine example and the Divine command, as recorded in the Bible.
The story of God’s creative work during six days, and of His resting and sanctifying the seventh, the commandment, “Six days shalt thou labour and do all thy work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God,” are our only warrant for the division of time which we call a week. The lunar month divided by four will not give fully seven days. The calendar months are of unequal lengths, and even the year cannot be divided into so many exact weeks.
This fact may be already known to most of you, but you may have gone over the figures many a time without saying to yourselves, “The movements of the earth and her attendant moon mark various periods, but never an exact term of seven days. For this division we must refer to God’s word and His command to give six days to work and the seventh to rest.”
Are you saying to yourselves that I am dwelling too long on the institution itself, whereas you want to know how best to keep it in these days of varied opinions and many temptations? Forgive me if I have stepped aside a little from the path you asked me to tread. I longed—I cannot tell you how earnestly—to impress upon your minds, first of all, a sense of God’s love in bestowing the day of rest and the infinite benevolence it manifests. We can neither value nor use such a gift as we ought to do, unless we feel that it was bestowed for our good and to make us both better and happier. Having once realised this, how can we help thanking God for it and feeling anxious to use it aright, so that we may derive from it all the benefit intended for us?
Most people, however irreligious and indifferent to the sanctified part of the Sabbath, practically acknowledge it as the best day of the seven. If they do not, why should it be the day for clean raiment, for the best clothes to be worn, the best food to be provided, and all done that can be done, according to the lights of different individuals, to make it stand out as being unlike the other six days?
It ought to be the brightest and happiest day of the week, and I, for one, have no sympathy with those who would make it a day of gloom and weariness to the young. On the other hand, I have as little sympathy with those who would leave God out of it, and dedicate it wholly to what they call pleasure, but which often results in over-wearied bodies, unrefreshed souls and unfitness to begin the work of the six days that follow.
To enjoy our Sabbath we must feel glad of and thankful for it, and we shall not be satisfied unless our immortal part is refreshed and strengthened, as well as our body, by the opportunities it gives.
We shall need no special command, no hard and fast rule to direct us. Our grateful hearts will incline us to turn our steps towards the house of God once during the day, if it be possible for us to do so. And, if not, we can mark the day in the quiet of home by devoting an hour to special study of God’s word, prayer, thanksgiving and self-examination.
There are many waking hours in our day. Let us ask ourselves whether, when prevented from joining in public worship, we habitually dedicate one in the way I have named.
I once heard a girl say, “I do like to take a bit of Sunday to talk myself over.”
It was her way of alluding to her weekly self-examination, and, whilst feeling conscious that I needed to “look within” much more frequently, I rejoiced to hear from young lips that the “talking herself over” was habitual.
Supposing that circumstances prevent one visit to the house of God, and there are only mother and daughter, mistress and maid, in the house, why should not these claim and enjoy the blessing promised in the words of Jesus, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them”?
I know by experience how very sweet and profitable such household services can be, even when there are literally only the two or three to share in them. And how very small is the fragment they take out of the day of rest, whilst sweetening and purifying the whole of it.
If our Sunday observances are not influenced by thankfulness for God’s gift, anxiety to use it rightly, and love for the Giver, they are generally fitful and, to a great extent, dependent on our immediate surroundings. For instance, when we are at home we may be regular in our attendance at church. We should feel ashamed were the friends who worship under the same roof with us to see our seats vacant week after week from any cause except illness or absence from home. Are we equally regular in our attendance when amongst strangers, or in a new neighbourhood? When taking holiday, do we not sometimes regard it as part of the holiday to excuse ourselves from going to church and say, “We want the fresh air and change of scene. We must make the most of our opportunities.” By so doing we show plainly that there is no heart in our ordinary worship, no realisation of the value of the Sabbath, or the needs of our spiritual nature.
I heard some young people talking together of a Continental tour they were about to take and the pleasure it would give them. They were unused to travel and were discussing the amount of luggage they must take: what articles must go, what could be done without.
An old friend listened to them with interest and amusement. He had travelled much and wished that he could renew past pleasure by witnessing the enjoyment of these bright girls amid new scenes and experiences. His opinion was often asked as to what might be called necessaries and what luxuries. At length he said—
“I have noticed that so many people forget one thing which they seem to value at home, but leave behind, though they could take it with them and have no extra cost for luggage.”
“What is that?” was the eager question.
“Sunday.”
No other word was needed. The girls understood their old friend’s meaning. They had heard their travelled acquaintances speak of Sundays spent in other lands, and knew how easily they had been induced to fall in with the ways of those amongst whom they found themselves.
One of yourselves told me that when abroad last summer the party of tourists found there was no English service in the town where they were, so it was settled they should travel on Sunday to their next stopping-place. “I,” wrote my girl friend, “had kept the last month’s Twilight Talk to read in the train at the time that, had I been in England, I should have been at church.” Then she related an incident that followed and brought with it a temptation to do something which would have put self before others; but, she added, “with the words I had been reading fresh in my mind, I had the strength to overcome my selfishness.”
It was very delightful to know that, even when so far from home, a dear member of our circle had been influenced for good by reading our last talk, and I am sure she will forgive my quoting this little incident, because it will give pleasure to us all and be helpful also.
You no doubt remember the Bible phrase, “a Sabbath day’s journey,” which surely suggests Sunday travelling, you will say.
It is wonderful how often we hear an expression without finding out its meaning, so there may be some of you who do not know that a Sabbath day’s journey meant seven and a half furlongs, rather less than a mile.
Now, in these days it would be impossible to confine travelling to such narrow limits, but I do venture to protest against the needless journeying on Sunday, which helps to keep many people at work who sorely need the day of rest that God ordained for them.
When, many years ago, the dear partner of my happiest days and I were travelling together, we always rested on the Sunday, if possible, in some place where we could attend church; if not, where we could spend the day peacefully, and claim the blessing promised to the “two or three.” We reaped the benefit, when we resumed our journey, in the sense of freshness and vigour, which gave keener enjoyment to every new scene and experience.
Apart from all religious sentiment, we were in these abundantly repaid for our observance of the Sabbath.
I have more to say on this subject, but it must wait until our next meeting, when we will take such glimpses of the Sabbaths of Jesus as the Bible gives us in the picture of His Manhood. We shall also have more to say about “Rest.”
(To be continued.)
[THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.]
By ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc.