Female Scripture Biography, Volume I

by F. A. Cox

A third consideration, which, doubtless, influenced this contented Shunammite, was, the vanity of the world. The wise have always admitted, that the three principal objects of human desire, pleasures, riches, and honours, when weighed in the balances of truth, are "found wanting," and that, although the misplaced eagerness of mankind attributes to them a thousand charms, they are in reality, but "airy nothings."

"As bubbles blown into the air," says Bishop Hopkins, "will represent a great variety of orient and glittering colours, not (as some suppose) that there are any such really there, but only they appear so to us, through a false reflection of light cast upon them; so truly this world, this earth on which we live, is nothing else but a great bubble blown up by the breath of God in the midst of the air, where it now hangs. It sparkles with ten thousand glories; not that they are so in themselves, but only they seem so to us through the false light by which we look upon them. If we come to grasp it, like a thin film, it breaks, and leaves nothing but wind and disappointment in our hands; as histories report of the fruits that grow near the Dead Sea, where once Sodom and Gomorrah stood, they appear very fair and beautiful to the eye, but, if they be crushed, turn straight to smoke and ashes." If, from general reflections, we descend to the particular details of life, it will still be found, that "while we eagerly pursue any worldly enjoyments, we are but running after a shadow; and as shadows vanish, and are swallowed up in the greater shade of night, so when the night of death shall cast its thick shade about us, and wrap us up in deep and substantial darkness, all these vain shadows will then disappear and vanish quite out of sight."

The vanity of the world arises from the instability and mutation of human affairs, as well as from the comparative insignificance of all its best enjoyments. We say, "What a large estate does that distinguished personage possess!"--vain word and false--he is only a tenant for a day--to-morrow he will become the inhabitant of a sepulchre! What a mansion is yonder!--what a lovely family! what prospects in business! what admirable connexions! what charming society! O what an edifice of human happiness is here!--The Providence of God blows upon the four corners of the house, and it falls! "Here we have no continuing city"--no fixed, unalterable enjoyments--no permanent rest. Mutation is inscribed in characters clear and legible to the eye of reason, upon all terrestrial things; and so uncertain are our property, our health, our enjoyments, our friendships, our ALL upon earth, that, as the thistle-down is scattered by the gentlest breeze, these light and fair possessions may be wafted away by the first wind that rises, or the first touch of unexpected adversity.

The impressive language of Scripture corroborates and illustrates these representations. Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. "He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not." ... "Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days what it is, that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as a hand-breadth, and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily, every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Surely every man walketh in a vain show: surely they are disquieted in vain; he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them." ..." We spend our years as a tale that is told." ... "My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass," ... "As foreman, his days are as grass, as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth; for the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more." ... "Man is like to vanity; his days are as a shadow that passeth away." ... "I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit." ... "What hath man of all his labour, and of the vexation of his heart, wherein he hath laboured under the sun? For all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief, yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night. This is also vanity." ... "Who knoweth what is good for man in this life, all the days of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow! for who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun?" ... "Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity." ... "Go to now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell and get gain; whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and than vanisheth away."

A fourth reason for contentment, and which we cannot doubt influenced the pious woman of Shunem, is to be derived from a view of that future happiness which infinite goodness has provided for the children of God. In the early period to which we are now adverting, "life and immortality" were not so distinctly "brought to light" as they are in the Christian dispensation by "the Gospel;" but from the day of the first promise of a Saviour, the believing mind perceived the grand purposes for which he was to descend into the world, and enjoyed some pleasing anticipations of that paradise, which it was his prerogative to confer upon one of his fellow-sufferers on the cross. If, as we believe, the Shunammite were acquainted with the existence, and, in some degree, with the glory of a future state; if with Job she felt convinced, that "though worms destroy this body, yet in her flesh she should see God;" if she knew any thing of that inexpressible charm which attaches to the blessedness of "a better country," arising from its unfading permanence,--the language of contentment which she uttered, was but the natural expression of a feeling which such discoveries were calculated to excite. It was sufficient, in her apprehension, to all the purposes of real happiness, to "pass the time of her sojourning," among her "own people," without seeking those distinctions which constitute only the vain decorations of a scene that passeth away. Nor did her principles merely promote satisfaction with her lot: they fortified her against the assault of temptation, a temptation presented in the least exceptionable form, and recommended by the sanctity of a prophet, who deliberately proposed to her an interference with the king, or the captain of the host, for her temporal advancement. Her words express an unalterable resolution of mind: "I dwell amongst mine own people."

Every thing earthly possesses a character of insignificance from its transitoriness, while every heavenly object becomes inviting on account of its durability. A single hour may precipitate us from the highest worldly elevation--the proudest laurel that ever decked the brow of the proudest hero quickly fades; and he who sits out upon a journey of discovery to find the extent of human enjoyments, will soon "see an END of all perfection." But religion has laurels which never fade; crowns of glory which pass to no envious successor. Religion does not lay her foundations in the sand, but erecting her temple upon the shores of eternity, bids us enter in, to "go no more out."

An apostle states, that "godliness hath the promise of the life which now is, and of that which is to come;" intimating the certainty of the existence of a future state, the nature of its felicities, and the essential connection between the pursuit and the ultimate possession of it. The value of this promise respecting the life to come, is not a little enhanced by its being accomplished precisely at that critical moment when every earthly hope expires, and every human joy departs. Godliness has, indeed, the promise of the life which "now is;" but, if it had not, the life which "now is" will soon terminate: the successive generations of mankind are hastening to the grave; our breath will soon cease--our possessions must soon be left--our days soon covered with the shadows of the last evening--all we fondly called our own scattered to the winds;--but at such a moment of desolation, the religion of Jesus points to regions of deathless felicity. His voice seems to sound across the gulf of death, in accents soft and sweet as the harps of angels, "I am the resurrection and the life." And the "life to come" is no other than the perfection of the Christian's life which "now is"--a life of love--a life of peace, purity, and praise--a life of incessant activity in the service of the blessed God. Hence his present spiritual life, is a kind of pledge and promise of his eternal life; the pantings and breathings of a holy mind after that world, are proofs that it is his home; and the believer in Christ becomes assured, that as he advances in spiritual attainments here, he is making so many approaches, hastening by so many steps, to the perfection and joy of eternity.

A few brief observations on the advantages resulting from a daily and deep impression of the transitory nature of terrestrial possessions, and keeping the scenes of another life in constant view, shall close the present section.

1. This will tend to moderate our earthly attachments. Affections were not implanted in our nature to be suppressed and extinguished. We may love, but we must not love inordinately. Love must be proportioned to the value of the object, and must be regulated by scriptural principles, otherwise we shall commit offence, and suffer injury. There is a remedy, and but one effectual remedy, for the errors of the heart. It is suggested by an apostle: "Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth."

2. A due impression of the present, and a just conception of the future, will conduce to the purification of our moral principles. Intermixture with the world, its business and concerns, and those solicitudes which occupy the attention in reference to transactions merely temporal, tend to vitiate the mind. In the pursuits of traffic we seem to live, as if we were destined to live here always. The interests of a moment engross and captivate the passions, and kindle ardours which burn with incessant vigour. The mind is brought close to present objects, in consequence of which they assume an unnatural magnitude, filling the whole sphere of vision, and excluding external realities from view. The effect of this is depraving: it contracts the soul, misdirects its energies, and blunts the edge of its spiritual sensibility.