Executions in the East are often very prompt and arbitrary. In many cases the suspicion is no sooner entertained, or the cause of offence given, than the fatal order is issued. The messenger of death hurries to the unsuspecting victim, shows his warrant, and executes his orders that instant, in silence and solitude. Instances of this kind are continually occurring in the Turkish and Persian histories. Such executions were not uncommon among the Jews under the government of their kings. Solomon sent Benaiah as his capidgi, or executioner, to put to death Joab, the commander-in-chief of the forces during the reign of his father. A capidgi likewise beheaded John the Baptist, and carried his head to the court of Herod. To such silent and hasty executioners the royal Preacher seems to refer in the proverb. From the dreadful promptitude with which Benaiah executed the commands of Solomon on Adonijah and Joab, it may be concluded that the executioner of the court was as little ceremonious, and the ancient Jews nearly as passive, as the Turks or Persians. The prophet Elisha is the only person on the inspired record who ventured to resist the bloody mandate of the sovereign (2 Kings vi. 32). But if such mandates had not been too common among the Jews, and in general submitted to without resistance, Jehoram had scarcely ventured to despatch a single messenger to take away the life of so eminent a person as Elisha.—Paxton’s Illustrations.
outlines and suggestive comments.
Verse 15. As the wise man before teacheth subjects to fear the king’s wrath, and to seek his favour, so here he teacheth kings to join the light of mercy, the softness of clemency, unto the hardness and severity of wrath. Or else we may thus meditate upon the words—the true favour of a king is not only to shine with a cheerful countenance upon them whom he affecteth, but sometimes to look through a thick cloud upon them. For as the light of the sun giveth life to the fruits of the earth, but the cloud of latter rain giveth bigness and fulness unto them, so the light of the king’s countenance giveth life to the fruits of earthly honour, but it is the dewy cloud of his wise displeasure, when things are amiss, that giveth fulness of worth unto them whom his favour honoureth. The latter rain many times does them more good and sheweth in the king greater favour to them than his former sunshining countenance. But to apply the verse unto a fuller profit. The light of the countenance of the King of heaven is Jesus Christ our Lord, who is the brightness of His glory; and in this light there is life indeed. For as He is light and in Him is no darkness, so He is life, and in Him is no death. It was in the latter time that He was clouded with the veil of our flesh, and that He became a heavenly cloud of the latter rain unto us, pouring out the glorious dew of His precious blood for us, that so, we being watered therewith might even swell in grace, and grow to a fulness of glory in heaven. . . . In Judea usually about harvest time there are evening clouds which, yielding a sweet rain, do much increase the largeness of the fruits; and in the evening of the world, when the harvest was great, this heavenly cloud was sent upon us, whereby the fruit of God’s Church, confined before to Judea, was enlarged throughout the world.—Jermin.
For Homiletics on verse 16, see chap. [viii. 10, 11], page 107.
outlines and suggestive comments.
Not wisdom, but “to get wisdom.” Wisdom itself is glorious. Wisdom in God is above all praise. It will be the gem of Paradise. It will be the grand opulence of the family of the skies. But what the great Preacher would confine us to in the language of the text is, our getting wisdom as the evangelical condition; our getting it, moreover, in time, like “the latter rain,” so as to be in season for the crop; for, as a former sentence urges (chap. iv. 7), “As the chiefest thing in wisdom, get wisdom.” Because, “what shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world,” if God is his “King,” and “the wrath of the King” makes all His providences but as messengers of gloom (ver. 14).—Miller.
Let us call to mind in word-outline the scene on a spring morning in the city of David, when David’s son was “king in Jerusalem.” Before the portico of the fragrant cedar-house of Solomon, the royal guards, Cherithites and Pelethites, executioners and messengers of the kings’ behests, waited their master’s coming. Impatient steeds from Arabia, or the far-off banks of the Nile, pawed the highway, and shook with pride their plumes and costly accoutrements. Soldiers, with silken standards blazoned with the sacred Name, and throwing back the sunlight from their targets and shields of beaten gold, kept their ranks firm and close, as if the foe were at hand, and the silver trumpets waited but to sound the battle charge. Veterans, grown grey in David’s service, and wearing the laurels of many a hard-fought field, were driven all along the line in their chariots of State, and the grim faces of these old warriors gleamed with satisfaction as they looked about them on the evidences of their nation’s military strength. . . . But now the trumpets sound, and the echoing shout of welcome rises on the morning air. Solomon, arrayed in all his glory, appears, and the cry, “God save the king!” is heard on every side. Children chanting their sweet hosannahs to David’s son and David’s heir strew the path with the lilies of the field, or the roses of Sharon, and the boughs of palms. Others throw their garments upon the dusty highway as the long procession moves to the soft music of Eastern minstrelsy along the narrow streets, and out upon the broader pathway leading to the royal gardens, or the cool retreats of Olivet, each beaming face by the wayside, or peering from latticed balcony, each welcome shout and song from the daughters of Jerusalem, or the trained singers of the temple choirs, attest the affection of a grateful people, and make of the monarch’s morning progress a triumphal ovation. Such was Solomon in all his glory; such the popular acclaim, and we might go on to tell until the tale were tiresome to tell how “Solomon surpassed all the kings of the earth,” in riches, splendour, fame. But was this the principal thing? Had Solomon in getting all this glory, and in winning all this praise, gained that with which his soul was satisfied, and the cravings of his nobler self appeased. Years before. . . . “Give me wisdom and knowledge,” was his prayer. . . . Even in the wishes of one so lately invested with royal power, wisdom in its relation to his Maker, knowledge so far as it concerned his fellow-men, seemed the principal thing. And that prayer was heard in heaven. . . . He to whom God gave such gifts may well direct us to the possession of this principal thing. We need not ask for an earthly teacher with higher qualifications.—Bishop Perry.
Gold is the crown of metals, wisdom is the crown of knowledge. Silver beareth the image of an earthly king, understanding beareth the image of the King of heaven. Gold is the treasure of the purse, wisdom the treasure of the soul. Silver is the price of outward commodities, understanding is the price of inward virtues; by that sought, by that bought. Wherefore by how much knowledge is better than metal, virtue than worldly commodities, the image of God than the image of man; by so much wisdom and knowledge are better than silver and gold. But they are not wisdom and understanding that are here compared with them, there being no comparison between them. But the very getting of wisdom and understanding, the very pains taken in procuring of them, the very honour of being a possessor of them, is better than all the gold and silver in the world.—Jermin.
The question only is written in the book; the learner is expected to work out the answer. We, of this mercantile community, are expert in the arithmetic of time. Here is an example to test our skill in casting up the accounts of eternity. Deeper interests are at stake; greater care should be taken to avoid an error, more labour willingly expended in making the balance true. . . . The question is strictly one of degree. It is not, whether wisdom or gold is the more precious portion for a soul. That question was settled long ago by common consent. All who in any sense make a profession of faith in God, confess that wisdom is better than gold; and this teacher plies them with another problem, How much better? Two classes of persons have experience in this matter—those who have chosen the meaner portion, and those who have chosen the nobler; but only the latter class is capable of calculating the difference suggested by the text. Those who give their heart to money understand only the value of their own portion; those who possess treasures in heaven have tasted both kings, and can appreciate the difference between them. . . . As the man born blind cannot tell how much better light is than his native darkness—as the slave born under the yoke of his master cannot tell how much better liberty is than his life-long bondage—so he who has despised treasures at God’s right hand cannot conceive how much more precious they are to a man in his extremity than the riches that perish in the use. . . . But even these cannot compute the difference. Eye hath not seen it, ear hath not heard it. Wisdom from above, like the love of God, passeth knowledge. . . . How much better is wisdom than gold? Better by all the worth of a soul—by all the blessedness of heaven—by all the length of eternity. But all these expressions are only tiny lines that children fling into the ocean to measure its depth withal. . . In a time of war between two great maritime nations, a ship belonging to one of them is captured upon the high seas by a ship belonging to the other. The captain, with a few attendants, goes on board his prize, and directs the native crew to steer for the nearest point of his country’s shore. The prize is very rich. The victors occupy themselves wholly in collecting and counting the treasure, and arranging their several shares, abandoning the care of the ship to her original owners. These, content with being permitted to handle the helm, allow their rivals to handle the treasure unmolested. After a long night, with a steady breeze, the captured mariners quietly, at dawn, run the ship into a harbour on their own shores. The conquerors are in turn made captives. They lose all the gold which they grasped too eagerly, and their liberty besides. In that case it was much better to have hold of the helm which directed the ship, than of the money which the ship contained. Those who seized the money, and neglected the helm, lost even the money which was in their hands. Those who neglected the money and held the helm, obtained the money which they neglected and liberty too. They arrived at home, and all their wealth with them. Thus they who make money their aim suffer a double loss, and they who seek the wisdom from above secure a double gain. The gold with which men are occupied will profit little, if the voyage of life be not pointed home. If themselves are lost, the possessions are worthless.—Arnot.
main homiletics of verse 17.