“You seem to be in good spirits, Andrew,” said the servant, who was an old acquaintance. “You sing so well, one would think you had swallowed Lady Armistead’s bullfinch. It’s been missing these two days. I’m going home now, for it’s no use seeking any more. Her ladyship takes on dreadfully about the bird, for it was a great favorite, and a regular tip-topper at singing.”
Then Andrew asked him to go home with him, and said he should find his bird again. As they walked along towards the cottage, Andrew told his friend the story of his troubles; how he had prayed; what God had said to him out of his Book; and how the bullfinch came and cheered his heart; how he had been to the landlord’s, and had got another week to turn round in; “and look you here John Morris, my rent’ll be ready when it’s wanted, as sure as my name’s Andrew; for that bird was sent from my heavenly father, and brought me His message on its wings, ‘for his mercy endureth for ever.’”
So John got the bullfinch and took it home to his mistress. When she heard about it, Lady Armistead sent for the tailor. His simple story moved her to tears. She thought more of her bullfinch than ever, since God had made him a messenger of mercy to one of his suffering children. She gave the tailor money enough to pay his rent, and told him that he should have work from Basford Hall as long as he lived. “God bless your ladyship,” said Andrew, with a grateful heart. Just then the bullfinch struck up its favorite tune, and Andrew joined in the song.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
Lady Armistead smiled with sympathy, and Andrew added—“Yes, yes: Praise the Lord, for his mercy endureth forever.”
Now, however long old Andrew might have lived after that, I think he would never read over that verse in the seventy-second Psalm—“He shall deliver the needy when he crieth,” without remembering the lesson we are here taught by the burial of Christ—and that is, how wonderfully he fulfills his word.
The next lesson we learn from the burial of Christ is about—the working of his providence.
Suppose we are looking at a great clock. Its wheels are moving slowly on. We listen, and hear it going—tick-tick-tick. The hands on the dial plate are getting near to twelve o’clock; and the very moment the minute hand comes over the figure 12, the hammer in the clock starts up, and begins to pound on the bell, and the clock strikes twelve. The maker of that clock arranged every part of its machinery in such a way that it would be sure to keep time and strike the hours as they came.
And the providence of God is just like such a clock. He is the maker of it. And he not only made the wheels of its machinery in the beginning, but he manages them all the time. He has his hand on every part of it. “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son” to die for us. He was willing to have him crucified with wicked men. But he wished to have him buried with rich men. And seven hundred years before Jesus was born into our world he had said that it should be so. And when the time for Christ’s burial came, the clock of his providence struck, just as he said it should do. Joseph of Arimathea was one of the wheels in this clock; and when the right time came, there he was—ready to bury the dead Saviour in his own new tomb. And thus, in the wonderful working of God’s providence, it came to pass that Jesus was—“with the rich in his death.” And as we think of ourselves, as standing by the tomb in which Jesus was buried, and seeing how strangely the prophecy about his burial was fulfilled, we cannot help wondering at the working of God’s providence. It is true indeed, as the hymn says—that
“God moves in a mysterious way,