Having thus brought his review down to his own day, in the concluding passage of the prayer the author appeals to God with reference to the present troubles of His people. In doing so he first returns to his contemplation of the nature of God. Three Divine characteristics rise up before him,—first, majesty ("the great, the mighty, the terrible God"); second, fidelity (keeping "covenant"); third, compassion (keeping "mercy").[236] On this threefold plea he beseeches God that all the national trouble which has been endured since the first Assyrian invasion may not "seem little" to Him. The greatness of God might appear to induce disregard of the troubles of His poor human children, and yet it would really lead to the opposite result. It is only the limited faculty that cannot stoop to small things because its attention is confined to large affairs. Infinity reaches to the infinitely little as readily as to the infinitely great. With the appeal for compassion goes a confession of sin, which is national rather than personal. All sections of the community on which the calamities have fallen—with the significant exception of the prophets who had possessed God's Spirit, and who had been so grievously persecuted by their fellow-countrymen—all are united in a common guilt. The solidarity of the Jewish race is here apparent. We saw in the earlier case of the sin-offering that the religion of Israel was national rather than personal. The punishment of the captivity was a national discipline; now the confession is for national sin. And yet the sin is confessed distributively, with regard to the several sections of society. We cannot feel our national sin in the bulk. It must be brought home to us in our several walks of life.
After this confession the prayer deplores the present state of the Jews. No reference is now made to the temporary annoyance occasioned by the attacks of the Samaritans. The building of the walls has put an end to that nuisance. But the permanent evil is more deeply rooted. The Jews are mournfully conscious of their subject state beneath the Persian yoke. They have returned to their city; but they are no more free men than they were in Babylon. Like the fellaheen of Syria to-day, they have to pay heavy tribute, which takes the best of the produce of their labour. They are subject to the conscription, having to serve in the armies of the Great King—Herodotus tells us that there were "Syrians of Palestine" in the army of Xerxes.[237] Their cattle are seized by the officers of the government, arbitrarily, "at their pleasure." Did Nehemiah know of this complaint? If so, might there not be some ground for the suspicion of the informers after all? Was that suspicion one reason for his recall to Susa? We cannot answer these questions. As to the prayer, this leaves the whole case with God. It would have been dangerous to have said more in the hearing of the spies who haunted the streets of Jerusalem. And it was needless. It is not the business of prayer to try to move the hand of God. It is enough that we lay bare our state before Him, trusting His wisdom as well as His grace—not dictating to God, but confiding in Him.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE COVENANT.
Nehemiah x.
The tenth chapter of "Nehemiah" introduces us to one of the most vital crises in the History of Israel. It shows us how the secret cult of the priests of Jehovah became a popular religion. The process was brought to a focus in the public reading of The Law; it was completed in the acceptance of The Law which the sealing of the covenant ratified. This event may be compared with the earlier scene, when the law-book discovered in the temple by Hilkiah was accepted and enforced by Josiah. Undoubtedly that book is included in Ezra's complete edition of The Law. Generations before Ezra, then, though nothing more than Deuteronomy may have been forthcoming, that vital section of The Law, containing as it did the essential principles of Judaism, was adopted. But how was this result brought about? Not by the intelligent conviction, nor by the voluntary action of the nation. It was the work of a king, who thought to drive his ideas into his subjects. No doubt Josiah acted in a spirit of genuine loyalty to Jehovah; and yet the method he followed could not lead to success. The transient character of his spasmodic attempt to save his people at the eleventh hour, followed by the total collapse of the fabric he had built up, shows how insecure a foundation he had obtained. It was a royal reformation, not a revival of religion on the part of the nation. We have an instance of a similar course of action in the English reformation under Edward VI., which was swept away in a moment when his Catholic sister succeeded to the throne, because it was a movement originating in the court and not supported by the country, as was that under Elizabeth when Mary had opened the eye of the English nation to the character of Romanism.
But now a very different scene presents itself to our notice. The sealing of the covenant signifies the voluntary acceptance of The Law by the people of Israel, and their solemn promise to submit to its yoke. There are two sides to this covenant arrangement. The first is seen in the conduct of the people in entering into the covenant. This is absolutely an act of free will on their part. We have seen that Ezra never attempted to force The Law upon his fellow-countrymen—that he was slow in producing it; that when he read it he only did so at the urgent request of the people; and that even after this he went no further, but left it with the audience for them to do with it as they thought fit. It came with the authority of the will of God, which to religious men is the highest authority; but it was not backed by the secular arm, even though Ezra possessed a firman from the Persian court which would have justified him in calling in the aid of the civil government. Now the acceptance of The Law is to be in the same spirit of freedom. Of course somebody must have started the idea of forming a covenant. Possibly it was Nehemiah who did so. Still this was when the people were ripe for entering into it, and the whole process was voluntary on their part. The only religion that can be real to us is that which we believe in with personal faith and surrender ourselves to with willing obedience. Even when the law is recorded on parchment, it must also be written on the fleshy table of the heart if it is to be effective.
But there is another side to the covenant-sealing. The very existence of a covenant is significant. The word "covenant" suggests an agreement between two parties, a mutual arrangement to which each is pledged. So profound was the conviction of Israel that in coming to an agreement with God it was not possible for man to bargain with his Maker on equal terms, that in translating the Hebrew name for covenant into Greek the writers of the Septuagint did not use the term that elsewhere stands for an agreement among equals (συνθἡκη), but employed one indicative of an arrangement made by one party to the transaction and submitted to the other (διαθἡκη). The covenant, then, is a Divine disposition, a Divine ordinance. Even when, as in the present instance, it is formally made by men, this is still on lines laid down by God; the covenanting is a voluntary act of adhesion to a law which comes from God. Therefore the terms of the covenant are fixed, and not to be discussed by the signatories. This is of the very essence of Judaism as a religion of Divine law. Then though the sealing is voluntary, it entails a great obligation; henceforth the covenant people are bound by the covenant which they have deliberately entered into. This, too, is a characteristic of the religion of law. It is a bondage, though a bondage willingly submitted to by those who stoop to its yoke. To St. Paul it became a crushing slavery. But the burden was not felt at first, simply because neither the range of The Law, nor the searching force of its requirements, nor the weakness of men to keep their vows, was yet perceived by the sanguine Jews who so unhesitatingly surrendered to it. As we look back to their position from the vantage ground of Christian liberty, we are astounded at the Jewish love of law, and we rejoice in our freedom from its irksome restraints. And yet the Christian is not an antinomian; he is not a sort of free lance, sworn to no obedience. He too has his obligation. He is bound to a lofty service—not to a law, indeed, but to a personal Master; not in the servitude of the letter, but, though with the freedom of the spirit, really with far higher obligations of love and fidelity than were ever recognised by the most rigorous covenant-keeping Jews. Thus he has a new covenant, sealed in the blood of his Saviour; and his communion with his Lord implies a sacramental vow of loyalty. The Christian covenant, however, is not visibly exhibited, because a formal pledge is scarcely in accordance with the spirit of the gospel. We find it better to take a more self-distrustful course, one marked by greater dependence of faith on the preserving grace of God, by turning our vows into prayers. While the Jews "entered into a curse and into an oath" to keep the law, we shrink from anything so terrible; yet our duty is not the less because we limit our professions of it.