“When a brother is revolted away, it is from a city of strength; and contentions are like the bars of a citadel.” The whole meaning is, that one “brother,” “revolted away” from another, is “revolted from a city of strength,” that being what one is to all the rest. In other words, brothers are a shelter to brothers, and quarrels lock up that resort. . . . Notice, that a brother is not only a commoner defence, but a “citadel;” and a “bar” to that keep shuts a man out of his best earthly dependence. It is a fine adage, even for this world . . . but when applied to our Great Brother, and to our God and King, it is one of the noblest of inspired texts. He who offends our Brother Prince shuts a high tower (Psa. xviii. 2). He who quarrels with our Surety snaps to the lock of a citadel; and then, alas, it shall be, just as the wild rush of embittered enemies should have roused him to enter in.—Miller.
The sweeter the wine the sharper the vinegar; accordingly, the greater the love implanted by nature, the more bitter the hate when this love is violated.—Zeltner.
The matter of fact is here stated—and there are natural enough reasons to account for it. More is justly expected from a brother than from a stranger—more of affection, gratitude, kindly treatment, fidelity, and trustworthiness. When such expectations are disappointed, the wound in the spirit is proportionately deeper, and more difficult of healing—the breach wider, and harder of being made up. Besides, the slower a person is to take offence—the longer he forbears—the more he forgives—the more difficult it is fairly to overcome the yearnings of affection, and break the bonds of brotherhood—the more inveterate may the spirit of resentment be; the more sullen and distant the alienation, when it is actually produced.—Warren.
Whether it be a brother by race, place, or grace; those oft that loved most dearly, if once the devil cast his club between them, hate most deadly. . . . As for brethren by profession, and that of the true religion too, among Protestants, you shall meet with many divisions, and those prosecuted with a great deal of bitterness. No war breaks out sooner, or lasts longer, than that among divines, or that about a sacrament; a sacrament of love, a communion, and yet the occasion, by accident, of much dissension.—Trapp.
The original word here used is a brother revolting or departing by disloyalty; or else a brother offended by disloyal departing. For such ought to be the command of love between brethren, that he that breaks it is a disloyal rebel unto it. And surely they that need to be firmly tied, because, being divided, they are so hardly joined. For as that which being whole is most strongly united, being broken is farthest from being made whole; and as a stick of hard wax, being broken, may more easily be conjoined than a stick of hard wood, so are the divisions of brethren more hardly composed than the contentions of others.—Jermin.
main homiletics of verses 20 and 21.
The Power of the Little Member.
Solomon again and again reverts to the mighty influences for good and evil which flow from the use of the tongue—that “little member” upon which such great issues often depend. He here notices—
I. The power of words over the man who utters them. He declares that the state of the inward man—its rest or unrest, its gladness or its gloom—depends very much upon the use that is made of the tongue. A little thought and observation will convince us that this is true. Beginning with the familiar intercourse of every-day life, how true it is that the utterance of kindly words of sympathy, and advice and warning, have a tendency to make sunshine in the heart of him who utters them, while censorious, hasty, harsh words embitter and darken the spirit of their author. Going beyond these to utterances which have a wider influence, the proverb is no less true. The painter that has conceived a picture in his mind, and then, seeing it upon canvas, thinks of the many eyes who will gaze upon it with interest, and of those who perchance will be elevated and instructed by it, feels a satisfaction in the thought that it owes its existence to him—that without the working of his brain and hand it would not have been. “He is filled with the increase” of his skilful hand. So the man whose words are listened to and waited for by other men—whether he be the skilful barrister, or the powerful statesman, or the preacher of the Gospel, has a satisfaction in being able to put forth his conceptions as to give to his fellow-men new ideas—to show them things in a light in which they might never have seen them but for this power which he possesses. He has joy in being the originator of fresh and living thoughts, and in being able by clothing them in words to impart them to others. But upon the moral quality of the “fruit of his mouth” will depend the length and depth of his satisfaction. The single power to influence men by speech will gratify for the moment—but if the increase of the lips is to be an abiding source of contentment there must be a consciousness that the power has been used to benefit mankind in some way or other—that the skilful pleading has been on the side of right, that the powerful logic has been used to expose the false and to defend the true, or the brilliant oratory has had for its aim the moral enlightenment and strengthening of the listeners. If it be not so, the fruit of man’s mouth will be like the roll given to the apocalyptic seer, “in the mouth as sweet as honey,” but afterwards “bitter” (Rev. x. 10). How sad must be the reflections of those who have possessed this God-given power for good or ill when they have had to look back upon its misuse.
II. The power of words over those who hear them. The tongue in its mighty influence is a king having the power of life and death. No other member of the human body can lay claim to such wide-spread and regal authority. The eye can influence men, but not so powerfully as the tongue, nor can its influence reach so many at once. The hand can strike down the body of a single foe, or two or three at once. But the tongue can reach a thousand hearts at one time, and make men its slaves, not in twos and threes but in masses. As it sways the affections and takes a man’s will captive, it wields the power of life and death not over the body of the man but over the man himself. The tongue of the tempter can drag its victims down, body and soul, to hell, while the tongue which is touched with a living coal from off the altar of God can be the means of persuading men to be reconciled to their Heavenly Father, and so of making them partakers of eternal life. Seeing, then, what issues of life and death are dependent upon this king, it is manifest that men should keep him in absolute control; if so much depends upon his action he ought to be under the strictest supervision. If one member of the body politic, by the position which he holds and the ability which he possesses, is able to exercise a very powerful influence in the kingdom for weal or for woe, men watch him narrowly and jealously to see how he uses his power, and if they are anxious for the well-being of the State they endeavour to restrain him when he is going wrong and stimulate him when he is using his influence for the right. So ought every man to watch and guard his own tongue; seeing that life, and death are in its power, he ought to bring all his words to the bar of conscience and try them there, severely condemning them if they have not been such as would minister life to the hearers, and remembering that his Master has said, “By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned” (Matt. xii. 37).