I. We may by indiscretion close a door which we have ourselves opened. There are many things which are pleasant and wholesome occasionally, which become not only unwelcome, but annoying, if we have too much of them. We do not desire to hear the sweetest song every day and all the day long—that which is refreshing and delightful now and then become wearisome if constantly repeated. We must apply this rule to ourselves in relation to our fellow-men. While we rejoice to feel that there are those who love us so well as to desire our presence upon all occasions, we must remember that most of our acquaintances will not set so high a value upon us, and that to be seen too often where we should be welcome if seen but seldom, is by our own act to shut our neighbour’s door upon us.
II. Our neighbour’s objection to our constant visits may rise from no unkindly feeling. Men who have work to do in the world cannot give all their time, or much of it, to the entertainment of visitors. There are those who, living to no purpose themselves, forget that others feel themselves accountable to God for the use they make of their lives, and such idle people often sorely vex and hinder their busy neighbours by their thoughtless and unseasonable visits. The man who enters a house and takes from a diamond necklace one precious stone after another until he has taken the whole, is doubtless no friend, but a thief and a robber, and is punishable by the law of the land; but the man who enters his neighbour’s house and robs him of hour after hour, steals property which probably cannot be redeemed, or redeemed only by encroaching upon the hours which ought to be given to rest. So that such a thoughtless intruder steals not only his neighbour’s time, but indirectly his health and power to work. Surely such pests of society ought not to have the name of friend bestowed upon them, but deserve to be branded with a name more befitting their character, and more in accordance with their actions.
For Homiletics of verse 18, see on chap [xii. 18], page 274.
main homiletics of verses 19 and 20.
Misplaced Confidence and Unseasonable Songs.
The day of adversity is, as we saw on chap. [xxiv. 10], a testing time for the man who is the subject of the calamity, and it is also a season in which he tests the worth of those who have called themselves his friends in the time of his prosperity. These verses deal with two varieties among many who intensify his affection and deepen his grief, instead of bringing him help and comfort. There is—
I. The faithless friend. This phrase is a contradictory one, but it is used for want of a better. The word friend, in its highest and best sense, denotes one who is worthy of trust and who never fails in the hour of trial. But there are many who assume the name who are unworthy of it, and whose failure when they are most needed is one of the most bitter drops in the cup of calamity. If the cable breaks in a calm sea the vessel and the crew may escape serious injury; but if it gives way amid storm and tempest, the consequences are most disastrous. It is hard to find a professed friend failing us when we are sailing in calm waters, but it may then be borne without entirely crushing the spirit. But when such a discovery is first made in the day of trouble, it is enough to break the stoutest heart.
II. The undiscerning friend. There are many real friends who lack the ability to discern how best to help the sorrowful and heavy hearted. They sing a song with the intention of giving cheer when tears, or at least silence, would be far more acceptable to the wounded spirit. Songs of gladness, such as are doubtless here intended, fit the spirit when it is walking in the sunlight, but they aggravate the suffering of those who are in darkness of soul. He who aspires to the name of friend must learn to rejoice with those who rejoice and to weep with those that weep.
outlines and suggestive comments.
Verse 19. The greatest disaster, in proportion to the number of men engaged, that befel our arms in the Eastern insurrection, was the direct result of confidence in an unfaithful man. At Arrah-on-the-Ganges three or four hundred soldiers were sent to attack a body of the rebels, and relieve some British residents who were in danger there. A native was employed to ascertain the position of the enemy. In consequence of his report, the man left the river and made a night march into the interior. The messenger was false. The little army fell into an ambush prepared for them in the jungle. Two-thirds of their number were shot down in the dark by unseen foes. The remnant escaped to their ship when the day dawned. As they lay in that fatal valley getting their wounds in the dark, and helplessly wishing for the day, how exquisitely bitter must have been the reflection that a too ready trust in a faithless man had wrought them all this woe.—Arnot.