Yes; as that bright, warm day in winter, soon to be succeeded by frosts and storms, was in regard to the long, glorious summer, so was the happiness of Judaea under the sway of her first Asmonean princes, compared to the glory which will be hers when her many ages of tribulation shall be ended. In the time of Maccabeus and his successors, the "discrowned queen" had arisen from the dust; but she has not yet, even at this late period, mounted her throne. More fearful judgments, more terrible desolation, were to succeed an interval of prosperity and freedom in the history of Zion. The Romans, more formidable even than the Syrians, were to give Jerusalem's sons to the sword and her Temple to the flames; and God's ancient people were to be scattered throughout all nations, to be a by-word and a hissing amongst them. But the glory is not departed for ever. We may—or our descendants must—see the Vine brought out of Egypt, budding into new beauty and life at the breath of the promised Spring.
"He comes, he comes! Maccabeus, our hero!" Such were the shouts which burst from every side as the war-worn victors appeared, with palm branches in their hands. Was not exultation in the heart of Maccabeus at that moment? Perhaps not. Perhaps he would gladly have exchanged the shouts of all the people for a loving welcome from one dear voice. Judas caught a glimpse of Zarah. Hers were the only eyes in all the crowd that were not fixed upon himself. She was eagerly looking at the form of one a little way in the rear of the chief—-the form of her betrothed husband, the Gentile proselyte whom she loved.
The conquerors entered the Temple of Zion. They came, not only to worship, but to purify. No sacrifice could be offered in the sanctuary till what the heathen had denied the Hebrew should cleanse. With indignant horror Maccabeus and his followers beheld the image of Jupiter, which for years had desecrated the Temple. Since the departure of Antiochus, no worshipper indeed had bowed down before the idolatrous shrine: the edifice had been deserted and left to neglect. The place had now an appearance of wildness and desolation, as if the curse of God were upon it, and presented such a contrast to what it had been in former days as struck sadness into the hearts of Maccabeus and his warriors. In the words of the historian: "When they saw the sanctuary desolate, and the altar profaned, and the gates burned up, and shrubs growing in the courts as in a forest or in one of the mountains, yea, and the priests' chambers pulled down, they rent their clothes and made great lamentations, and cast ashes upon their heads, and fell down to the ground upon their faces, and blew an alarm with the trumpets, and cried towards heaven."
But no long time was given to lamentations. With all the energy of his nature, Maccabeus at once set about the work of restoration. He chose out the most zealous and virtuous of the priests to cleanse the sanctuary, destroy every vestige of idolatry, carry away even the stones that had been defiled, and pull down the altar which had been profaned. New vessels were made, shew-bread and incense were prepared, all in the renovated sanctuary was made ready, for the joyful Feast of Dedication, This festival was appointed by Judas Maccabeus to be annually held; and it was from thenceforth celebrated from year to year for more than two centuries—till her darkest, most lengthened trial came upon Jerusalem. Who shall now keep the Feast of the Dedication of the Temple when that glorious Temple has itself become a thing of the past?
[1] Answering to December. Of this time of the year, Dr. Kitto tells us: "Gumpenberg in Jerusalem, on the 6th, 10th, 11th, and 16th, experienced weather which he describes as almost equal to that of May in our latitudes."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE FEAST OF DEDICATION.
Loud was the burst of joyous music from citherns, harps, and cymbals—Mount Zion rang with songs of gladness—when in the early morning the worshippers of the Lord of Hosts appeared in His Temple, to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving! The front of the building was decked with crowns of gold, and with shields; and, in the forcible language of the ancient historian, "thus was there very great gladness among the people, for that the reproach of the heathen was put away."
Then—emblem of thanksgivings from thousands of hearts—rose clouds of delicious fragrance from the altar of incense. Judas Maccabeus stood beside it—more pale and pensive, perhaps, than seemed to suit the occasion—watching the light curling smoke as it ascended and lost itself in the perfumed air. Presently the prince took something from his arm, and cast it into the flame. The movement was so quiet that it was noticed but by few by-standers; and none knew what that was which blazed brightly for a moment, and then left not even visible ashes behind. It was but a few threads of flax, which had bound up flowers long since withered; it seemed a worthless sacrifice indeed; but when, a few years later, Judas Maccabeus poured out his life's-blood on the fatal field of Eleasa, the steel which pierced his brave heart inflicted not on him so keen a pang.
And here will I close my story, leaving the hero of Judah a victor over his enemies, and a victor over himself. Let the picture left on the reader's mind be that of Jerusalem in the hour of her triumph and rejoicing—when the Lord had turned again the captivity of Zion, and her exulting citizens were like unto them that dream!