E-text prepared by Al Haines

MEN OF THE BIBLE; SOME LESSER-KNOWN CHARACTERS

by

GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B. PRINCIPAL WALTER F. ADENEY, D.D. J. MORGAN GIBBON. H. ELVET LEWIS. PRINCIPAL D. ROWLANDS, B.A. W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.

1904

CONTENTS

1. ENOCH
By W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.

2. ELDAD AND MEDAD
By ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

3. BARZILLAI
By GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D.

4. ADONIJAH
By ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

5. HIRAM
By W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.

6. JEROBOAM
By ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

7. ASA
By ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

8. AHAZIAH
By J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

9. GEHAZI
By J. MORGAN GIBBON

10. HAZAEL
By J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

11. MANASSEH
By J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

12. AMAZIAH
By J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

13. JABEZ
By J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

14. SIMEON
By H. ELVET LEWIS

15. PONTIUS PILATE
By Principal WALTER F. ADENEY, D.D.

16. BARABBAS
By J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

17. JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA
By ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

18. PHILIP, THE EVANGELIST
By GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D.

19. ANANIAS AND SAPPHIRA
By GEORGE MILLIGAN, D.D.

20. DEMAS
By Principal D. ROWLANDS, B.A.

ENOCH, THE DEATHLESS

BY REV. W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.

Enoch was the bright particular star of the patriarchal epoch. His record is short, but eloquent. It is crowded into a few words, but every word, when placed under examination, expands indefinitely. Every virtue may be read into them; every eulogium possible to a human character shines from them. He was a devout man, a fearless preacher of righteousness, an intimate friend of God, and the only man of his dispensation who did not see death. He sheds a lustre on the antediluvian age, and he shines still as an example to all generations of steady and lofty piety.

It is difficult to realise the exact environment of the early patriarchs. Human society was then in its making. There were giants in those days, both physically and intellectually. They lived long, and unfolded a vigorous manhood, by which civilisation was developed in every direction. Some of them, also, were tenderly responsive to supernatural influences, and thus rose to a spiritual stature which enables them to bulk largely in sacred history.

The guiding lines of Enoch's biography are clear though few. "He walked with God"; "he pleased God"; "he was translated that he should not see death." These are the pregnant remnants of his history, from which we may construct a character and career of striking eminence.

I.

"He walked with God."

Therefore he knew God. The articles of his creed were not many, but he was fixed on this foundation-truth of all religion. Further than this, he knew God as taking a living interest in His creatures, as one who could be approached by them in prayer and communion, and who was sympathetically responsive to their needs. He somehow knew God, also, as being righteous and holy, and he must have had a rudimentary idea of the Christ, as it unfolded itself in the great promise of a deliverer from evil made to our first parents in Paradise. However scanty in number were the articles of his creed, they were not scanty in results. They produced a great life and a great name. The results were that "he walked with God." Walking is the habitual exercise of a man's life. A man runs sometimes. Under great strain, or the demand of special circumstances, he runs, but finds that exhaustion follows; or if he runs too frequently, total collapse is the inevitable consequence. Two of the most eminent ministers of our times recently died owing to overstrain and over-exertion. But we have some now living who have done signal service for the Church during a ministry of fifty years, and who are still hale and having a green old age. To walk at a steady pace, fulfilling life's responsibilities and the demands of duty, is to fulfil the will of God and serve our generation. This rule refers to man's religious and spiritual life. To walk onward and upward in the highest things is to grow in excellence and grace.

As man is a social being, he must walk with someone in life. Perpetual solitude dries up the springs of existence, and true manhood is shrivelled up. Solitary confinement is the saddest and cruellest punishment that can be inflicted by man on his fellow. The prisoner in the Bastille, when his reason reeled through prolonged silence and loneliness, was saved from mental collapse by the friendship of a rat; and a similar story is told of an English prisoner, who, under similar circumstances, found solace in the company of a pigeon. Man craves for fellowship and friendship. Happiest is he who has the noblest companion. God alone fills the deep craving of the heart for a congenial and helpful presence, and Enoch "walked with God." The words imply regular, unbroken, well-sustained communion with Him. With a sublime and lofty aspiration Enoch had risen above shadows, idols, and pretences, and with simple, manly faith had grasped the unseen substance and reality, the personal God, the Father of us all.

This "walking with God" may be fairly inferred to have been carried out in all the affairs of life. The statement has no exceptions in it. Other saints have their failings and sins recorded with an admirable candour, but we are left to conclude that this was a saint of pure life and character. In tending his flocks and herds, in carrying out the barter of the markets in the early world, in commanding his children and ordering his household, in preaching righteousness and foretelling judgment, the great law of his life was here, "walking with God."

When such unbroken intercourse with God is maintained, all duty and labour have a new meaning, and are suffused with a new glory. Every occupation or profession becomes a transparency by which divine truth and purity are translated to the world. No man is then a menial or a slave, but a free man, living in love and by love. He becomes an evangel, who, by words of holiness and deeds of sacrifice, adorns the doctrine of God and Christ in all things. Nothing is common, nothing is unclean; all life is sanctified and beautiful; the man is a temple consecrated by and for God alone.

In such habitual fellowship there is constant growth in familiarity and intimacy. God becomes known more and more in the tenderness and considerateness of His love. He unfolds Himself to the soul of His friend in such love-compelling charm as that the believer is constrained to ever-growing reverence, gratitude, and devotion. The man is transfigured. His thoughts, motives, desires, actions, are all inspired by the Divine Mind and framed after a Divine Pattern. The limitations of human nature are relaxed, and the man expands into newness of life; he soars into heavenly places; he is charged with holy influences. "The trivial round, the common task," become media to him, by which he can interpret and make known to all, the beauty of holiness as revealed to him by communion with God.

It is a significant fact in the history of Enoch, that his piety shone brightest amid family surroundings. He was not an ascetic or an anchorite. He was a husband and a father. It is said that he "walked with God after the birth of Methusaleh." With what measure of fervour he served God before the coming of a child into his house, we are not told; but we are told that after that event "he walked with God three hundred years." Possibly he had not manifested special piety before. His children gathered round him, for we are told that after Methusaleh, he had "sons and daughters." But the blessing of children in no wise slackened his course of piety. Not infrequently, family cares and business responsibilities draw men's thoughts and desires from God; and many who in youth were ardent in religious exercises and unfailing in spiritual duties, in middle life and old age are found to be merely formalists in worship, and paralysed for useful work in the Church. The fine gold has become dim, through the fretting cares or the surging excitements of life. It is awful when such is the case, when the promise and interest of youth settles into impotence and rigidity, when the type which once had the die of thought fresh upon it is worn flat by overuse, or when the shell, once the home of life and bright with ocean's spray, lies with faded colour and emptied hollowness. This is melancholy, indeed, and many such wrecks of religious life are around us. But with Enoch, the increase of life's cares brought an access of fresh devotion. New gifts of Providence roused new feelings of gratitude, and he grappled himself the closer in attachment to the Giver of enlarged blessing. This is as it should be. Every gift of God should be a call to renewed praise and prayer, to a more perfect and joyous service.

This record of Enoch's piety teaches that the highest spirituality of nature is not found in avoiding the duties and cares of life, or in seeking a cloistered and solitary existence. The piety of monkery is not the crown of living. It is neither an experience of healthy joy nor of abundant fruitfulness. The healthful influences of Christianity are immeasurably more beautiful when manifested in the joys of family and home life, or in the discharge of honest trade and commerce, than in the introspective gloom of the recluse, or the ceremonial round of the ascetic. It is remarkable that the record states that Enoch's walk with God lasted "three hundred years after the birth of Methusaleh." There was no break in his spiritual course; it was continuous growth and progress until the light of eventide deepened into the glory of heaven.

II.

"He pleased God."

This is to win the highest prize of life. Not only because God is highest and noblest of beings, but also because His pleasure presupposes great moral and spiritual qualities, and unfolds itself in blessings of untold preciousness both in this life and that which is to come. The pleasure of the Lord is graduated to the intrinsic beauty or value possessed by the object which draws it out. It was manifested when the great creation stood in finished order before Him, and He pronounced it "only good." But of a higher kind is that pleasure said to be taken by Him in His only-begotten Son, in His people, and in His Church. Over these He rejoices with singing, as He rests in His love. Of such pleasure Enoch was the recipient, and it was bestowed upon him in a most signal and unique manner. Two especial qualities are indispensable to those with whom God is pleased. One is faith—"Without faith it is impossible to please God" (Heb. xi. 6). The other is uprightness—"I know also, my God, that Thou hast pleasure in uprightness" (1 Chron. xxix. 17). The former grace is the superlative and distinguishing feature of the people of God. It is indeed the foundation quality on which all others rest, and from which they spring. It is the broad separating act which marks the difference between the saint and the sinner. Without it man is in opposition to God. The Divine displeasure rests upon him, because absence of faith means want of confidence and want of sympathy. The unbeliever distrusts God, and has no fellow-feeling with Him or His ways.

There is no more offensive feeling that can be shown by one being towards another than distrust. It irritates our sensibility; it arrays in opposition all the resentment of our nature. It is the parent of gloom, dissatisfaction, pessimism, and rebellion. It writes discontent on the brow, and bitterness on the heart. It is the fruitful parent of all ill in human nature. But faith pleases God. It draws the human and Divine into loving association. It leads the human to look to the Divine for counsel, to lean upon Him for help, to refer all things to His decision, to wait on Him for guidance in every step and enterprise in life. The faith of the patriarchs seems to have been characterised by entire simplicity and childlikeness. As manifested by Enoch, Noah, and Abraham, all of whom had the pleasure of the Lord resting on them in a pre-eminent degree, there was no stumbling or hesitancy. Some of them had their faith severely tried, but it came forth from the test victorious, as "gold tried in the fire." Therefore, if the command of God was hard, faith led to obedience; if the mystery of life was deep, faith drew them close to the Father; if the sense of sin and guilt was strong, faith never failed, but led them to look for the promised Redeemer, and they rejoiced to see His day and were glad.

Faith is said to be difficult to exercise in this day of bustle, excitement, and pressure. The differences between this day and Enoch's day are merely accidental and not essential. There were the same inducements and temptations to evil then as now. There were scoffers and cavillers then as now. The doubting spirit in our first parents and in Cain was felt in all; but there was also the strong and manly faith which resisted the sin of doubt, which looked from the seen to the unseen, from the temporal to the eternal, from sin and folly to God, and which established itself firmly on His promise of unchangeable love. Therefore Enoch "pleased God." Faith presupposes reverence, love, obedience, and man never pays a higher tribute to another than to trust him implicitly and for all in all. Such faith God accepts and delights in. Such faith builds a noble character and a lofty life.

III.

"He was translated that he should not see death."

That was the crowning evidence and token of the Divine pleasure. Death is the wages of sin, the harbinger of retribution, the seal of man's humiliation and defeat. The fear of death is a bondage under which the race of man lies, save only where Christian faith and hope alleviate the terror and inspire a superhuman courage before which all fear is banished. The extraordinary nature of Enoch's piety could not be demonstrated by any fact so imperative as this, "He was translated."

There are three complete men in heaven. Man is threefold in his nature. He is body, soul, and spirit. He is not complete without his bodily organisation. The work of faith is not perfect, nor is the work of sin undone until at the Resurrection trump man shall stand complete in his threefold being. But of that completeness there are three specimens in heaven; Enoch from the patriarchal epoch; Elijah from the Jewish dispensation; and Christ from the Christian. The translation of Elijah was a marvellously dramatic episode. It was witnessed by Elisha and the sons of the prophets—and a heavenly equipage, lambent with supernal glow, carried him in triumph out of sight. But as to Enoch there was no such scenic display. "He was not found, for God took him." It was a quiet but beautifully fitting end. Moonlight rising into sunlight, the sweet calm light of a starlit sky becoming flushed with the auroral tints of a brilliant morning.

Translation means promotion, and also expansion.

It is promotion in honour, in office, in privilege. The bishop is translated from Rochester to Winchester and thence to Canterbury, because he has pleased his party and his sovereign. It is a sign that he has won promotion by devoted service. Christ says to his follower, "Occupy till I come"; and after a due period of labour well discharged, he says, "Come up higher." The rule of the Divine Kingdom is, "faithful in that which is least," then, "ruler over that which is much." Translation to Enoch meant the elevation to higher duties and enjoyments without the wearing agonies of disease, the sharpness of death, or the darkness of the grave.

It meant also expansion. In the passing from a lower to a higher condition, we cannot now realise the quick change which would pass over the material framework of the patriarch, but that it would be etherialised so as to be "a heavenly body" marvellously endowed with new powers of sense, of insight and locomotion, fit to be the instrument of a soul fully redeemed from the consequences of sin, we cannot doubt; and for thousands of generations has that soul sunned itself in the brightest fellowships and employments of the highest heaven.

ELDAD AND MEDAD

BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

NUMBERS xi. 24-30.

Nothing is known of these two men beyond the incident recorded in the Book of Numbers; but this is so remarkable and significant, that it well repays careful study.

The Israelites had been once more displaying suspicion and ingratitude. Turning with loathing from the manna, they whimpered, like spoilt children, for the fish and flesh they had enjoyed in Egypt, and murmured against God and against Moses. The patience of their leader, under this new provocation, completely broke down, so that he went so far as to accuse God Himself of being a hard taskmaster, who had laid too much upon him. With infinite forbearance, allowance was made for the manner in which Divine counsel and help had been asked for, and the promise was graciously fulfilled, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee. He will never suffer the righteous to be moved." God dealt with his servant as a father at his best will deal with his child who runs to him, hurt and bruised, in a passion of tears. Instead of beginning with an angry rebuke, help and relief are first given, and then in a few calm words the needed counsel is proffered. It was in a spirit of patient love that God appointed elders from among the people to help his over-wrought servant and share his heavy burden.

Moses was, no doubt, justified in saying, "I am not able to bear all this people alone, because it is too heavy for me." Indeed it was well for him, as it is for us all, to feel the need there is for human sympathy and Divine aid. Self-contained, self-reliant men are not the highest type of humanity, and they are sometimes for their own good visited by anxieties and responsibilities which compel them to cry, "Lord help me." Thus was it with Moses. Indeed, our Lord Himself shared that experience, when for our sakes He became man. He chose comrades who were a blessing to Himself, although He was a far greater blessing to them. He took them with Him when he went forth to confront the crises of His life—on the Mount of Transfiguration, and in the Garden of Gethsemane, where His sorrow was intensified by their failure to watch with Him. He had three specially intimate friends. He called twelve to be apostles, and sent forth seventy as missioners—an arrangement in which we see the New Testament counterpart of the choosing of these seventy-two elders, to rule and judge the Israelites, and thus share the responsibility of Moses.

The account given us of their appointment is singularly interesting. Six men out of each of the twelve tribes were summoned to the Tabernacle, solemnly set apart and filled with the Spirit—but two of the men—Eldad and Medad—were absent "They were of them written to" is the exact phrase—and the fact that they received a written summons denotes a higher and more general culture among that ancient people than is generally imagined to have existed. Yet it is what might be reasonably expected, for they had come out of Egypt, the most civilised power then in the world, a country where the usual writing materials were exclusively made. Though the Israelites had been only slaves there, they would doubtless be familiar with the art of writing, for the men of that race have never yet lagged behind any people among whom they have lived.

Seventy of the men thus summoned came together promptly, and were ranged in a semicircle before the Tabernacle. Then, in the sight of all the people, the cloud descended, wrapped them all in impenetrable mist, as a sign that the chosen men were being mysteriously baptised with the Spirit, and when again they emerged they began to prophesy. It was the ancient counterpart of the day of Pentecost, when the disciples met, and the Spirit came upon them as a mighty, rushing wind, and they began to speak with other tongues, as men chosen and inspired by God.

In the 25th verse of the eleventh chapter of Numbers, it is said that "the Lord took of the spirit that was upon Moses, and gave it unto the seventy elders." Some conclude from this statement that, as a punishment for his intemperate prayer, the wisdom of Moses was thus lessened, while others were enriched at his expense. But wisdom, and all gifts similar to it, are not diminished by distribution. If we impart information, we do not lessen our own store of knowledge. If we give of our love lavishly, yet affection is not lessened by such outpouring. The spread of fire over what is inflammable increases its intensity. Though we light a thousand candles from one which burned alone at first, it still burns brightly as before. So is it with the Spirit of whose fulness we all receive. No Christian man is poorer because his brother is enriched with grace, nor was Moses. "There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth."

It is time that we turned to the two men, Eldad and Medad, who, although summoned with their brethren, did not come to the assembly at the Tabernacle. They may have been absent from their tents when the papyrus letter was delivered, and would not be quickly found in the vast camp. Be this as it may, what followed is evidence that they did not wilfully disobey the summons, and that their absence was not due to any bad motive. For some reason unknown to us they failed to put in an appearance at the critical time, when others of the elect were receiving the mysterious but efficient grace of the Spirit. Yet, at one and the same moment, they also were inspired while walking together, as they probably were doing, in some far-off part of the camp. To the amazement of the people, and doubtless to their own amazement too, they suddenly began to prophesy, and crowds of listeners quickly gathered round them, as on Pentecost they ran together to hear the inspired apostles. This unique experience was given by God, and received by the people as convincing evidence that Eldad and Medad were divinely appointed, and divinely qualified, equally with their brethren nearer the Tabernacle. It is true that Joshua exhibited some jealousy and suspicion, and would have silenced them because the blessing had not come through Moses; but the great law-giver, with characteristic insight and generosity, would not heed the request—"My lord Moses, forbid them." Calmly, yet decisively, the answer rang out, "Enviest thou for my sake? Would God that all the Lord's people were prophets, and that the Lord would put His spirit upon them!"

In the experience of these two men there is imbedded valuable and permanent truth. We regard it as an evidence, the more remarkable because given under a ceremonial regime, that God did not intend to institute any order of men outside the limits of which there was to be no liberty of prophesying and no fitness for it. Nor is there any exclusively sacred place, be it tabernacle, temple, synagogue, or church, where alone such gifts can be conferred. We believe that outside all sacred places, outside the churches of our own faith and order, and of any other churches, there are men, and women too, equally called of God with those within such limits, and the evidence that they are so called lies in the fact that in them also the Spirit of God is resting, and through them the Spirit of God is working.

This lesson, which still needs to be enforced in our own day, is perhaps best deduced from an incident so early and so simple as this. Just as we may learn more of the way in which an engine really works from a simple model—say of George Stephenson's—than from one of the complicated machines of the present day, so we may gain the more instruction from this incident, because of its very simple character, while its antiquity keeps it out of the confusion caused by modern controversies.

Eldad and Medad were men called of God to undertake holy service for the good of His people. In their case the call was manifestly inward rather than outward. Though truly chosen, they were not in the Tabernacle, nor were they wrapped in the cloud, and they received no ordination from the laying on of hands by Moses and Aaron. The evidence of their call lay in their fitness for the work, and their fitness was due to the gift of the Spirit. Yet all this occurred under a dispensation which was far more strict in ceremonial law than that under which we live.

What does it teach? It surely confirms our belief that the word of God is not bound. The exposition and enforcement of Divine truth is not to be confined to those who have received priestly ordination by some outward rite. No man therefore has the right to forbid any preacher from exercising his functions on the ground that his orders are not regular, or because he has not been recognised by an Episcopate, a Presbytery, a Conference, or a Union.

To put the same truth in hortatory form, I would say to any one who has knowledge of Divine truth, who has experienced the graces of the Holy Spirit, and who has the gift of utterance: You are called upon, by the fact of possessing these qualifications, to serve God as opportunity comes. You ought not to be silent on the claims of Christ, nor should you refrain from leading others in prayer, while on every other topic you are fluency itself. "Neglect not the gift that is in thee," whether it came by laying on of hands, or in some other way. Every true convert should sometimes feel as the prophet Jeremiah felt, when he said, "The word of the Lord was within me as a burning fire shut up in my bones. I was weary with forbearing and could not stay." The work assigned too often exclusively to the minister is really the work of the Church.

Happily, speech is not the only mode in which men can serve God. It is clear from the Hebrew narrative that Eldad and Medad, like their brethren at the door of the Tabernacle, did not receive an abiding gift of prophecy, but a transient sign which seemed adequate to convince the people that they had been chosen and inspired. Unfortunately, the Authorised Version gives us a phrase which is the exact opposite of the meaning of the Hebrew phrase in the twenty-fifth verse, rendering it thus, "They prophesied, and did not cease." The Revised Version sets this right in the phrase, "They prophesied, but they did so no more." In other words, the singular manifestation of power soon passed away. It was not a permanent possession.

This is in harmony with the experience of the early Christian Church. The miraculous power given to the apostles, as evidence of their Divine commission, was not always at their disposal. The gift of tongues bestowed on them, and on others, soon ceased; for it was intended to show the supernatural origin of Christianity until written evidence was available, and then it was withdrawn. The Holy Spirit still remained in the Church, and was revealed in a diversity of operations. His presence was proved by the changed characters of converts more effectually than by abnormal gifts—and similarly the religious ecstasy of Eldad and Medad and their comrades was soon exchanged for their abiding spirit of wisdom and justice.

Christians who at one time spoke for Christ are not always to blame if they speak publicly no more. They may have withdrawn from Sunday School teaching, for example, but only to serve God in another form. Their matured experience may be quite as valuable as their once fervent zeal. The river which near its source noisily rushes over the pebbles, is not lessened in value when, full and deep, it silently glides onward to the sea.

Happily, there are diversities of operations, though they are all under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit; and if we are faithful to our special calling, we may hope to receive our Lord's "Well done," just as did these seventy-two men, who sustained and aided Moses, though they left no record of their steady, useful work. Indeed, there are those who in actual service can do very little, whose gracious and benign influence is the best proof of true inspiration. Such was he of whom Cowper sings:

"When one that holds communion with the skies
Has filled his urn where those pure waters rise,
And once more mingles with us meaner things,
'Tis even as if an angel shook his wings;
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied."

God calls us to Himself before He calls us to His service. The same Divine Spirit who qualifies for religious work, creates men anew. Of every one so created, it may be said he was "born of the Spirit."

In this, also, neither place nor circumstance is essential. Eldad and Medad were both away from the Tabernacle, somewhere in the unconsecrated camp; yet they received the same blessing which their brethren were enjoying at the door of the Tabernacle. And we rejoice that some who are now outside a place of worship—outside this or that denomination—outside Christendom, do receive the Spirit who transforms them into the likeness of Christ.

In confirmation of this, we recall the fact that our Lord spoke more often in houses, and fields, and boats, and streets, than in the Temple. And the apostles who were called to follow Him were engaged at the time of their calling in their ordinary occupations, at the toll-office or in the fishing-boat. Saul was converted on the road to Damascus, the jailor of Philippi in prison, Lydia by the river side. All this reminds us that though our power may be limited by time and place, God's power is not; though our work is contracted, His is broad. The Holy Spirit is no more confined to a place than the wind is, which bloweth as it listeth over land and sea, over desert and garden.

It is a comfort to remember this when we grieve over some prodigal, who has gone beyond the reach of religious observances; who never attends worship, or reads the Bible. We may hope about him, believe in him, and pray for him still, because the Spirit of God can reach him as He reached Eldad and Medad, "who went not up to the Tabernacle." The old promise is not exhausted yet: "I will pour out of My Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams."

It is this divine afflatus, this outpouring of the Spirit, which is the great need of the age we live in. The Church seems to be lying listless as a sailing ship, due to leave harbour, but still waiting for a breeze. Her masts are firm, the canvas ready to be stretched, and her equipment complete. The helmsman stands impatient at the wheel, and all the sailors are alert, but not a ripple runs along the vessel's side. She waits, and must wait, for a heavenly breeze to fill her sails, and till it comes she cannot stir. Like that ship the Church is wanting impulse, and we ought to be waiting for it, and praying for it. The power we need can only come from heaven, the breath of God must be our real moving force, and we should be wiser, stronger, and more hopeful if we entered into the meaning of the old, oft-repeated verse:

"At anchor laid, remote from home,
Toiling, I cry, 'sweet Spirit, come,'
Celestial breeze no longer stay,
But swell my sails, and speed my way."

BARZILLAI

BY REV. GEORGE MILLIGAN, M.A., D.D.

"There is nothing," says Socrates to Cephalus in the Republic, "I like better than conversing with aged men. For I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom it is right to learn the character of the way, whether it is rugged or difficult, or smooth and easy" (p. 328 E.).

It is to such an aged traveller that we are introduced in the person of Barzillai the Gileadite. And though he is one of the lesser-known characters of Scripture—and we might perhaps never have heard of him at all had it not been for his connection with King David—on the few occasions on which he does appear he acts with an independence and disinterestedness which are very striking.

The first of these occasions is at Mahanaim, in his own country of Gilead. In the strong fortress there David and his companions had taken refuge after the disastrous revolt of Absalom. Owing to their hurried flight, the fugitives were wanting in almost all the necessaries of life, and they could hardly fail also to have been a little apprehensive of the kind of welcome the Gileadites would extend to them. But if so, their fears were soon set at rest. Three of the richest and most influential men in the district at once came to their aid. Shobi the son of Nahash, and Machir the son of Ammiel, and Barzillai the Gileadite of Rogelim, brought beds, and cups, and wheat, and barley, and honey, and butter, and sheep—all, in fact, that was needed—for David, and for the people that were with him: for they said, "The people is hungry, and weary, and thirsty, in the wilderness" (2 Sam. xvii. 29).

In so acting, the first of these, Shobi, may have been trying to atone for his brother's insulting conduct when David had sent messengers to comfort him on his father's death (2 Sam. x. 1-5);[1] and Machir as the friend of Mephibosheth (2 Sam, ix. 4), was naturally grateful for the king's kindness to the lame prince. But, as regards Barzillai, we know of no such reasons for his conduct, and his generosity may, therefore, be traced to the natural impulses of a kind and generous heart. In any case, this unlooked-for sympathy and friendship had an arousing and encouraging effect upon the king. He no longer despaired of his fortunes, black though at the moment they looked, but, marshalling his forces under three captains, prepared for war with his rebellious son; with the result that in the forest of Ephraim Absalom's army was wholly defeated, and the young prince himself treacherously slain.

With the death of its leader, the rebellion against David may be said to have ended; but to the sorrow-stricken father victory at such a price seemed an almost greater calamity than defeat would have been. And it needed the strong, almost harsh, remonstrances of Joab to rouse him from his grief, and lead him to think of his duty to his people. At length, however, the homeward journey began, the king following the same route by which so shortly before he had fled, until he came to the banks of the Jordan, where a ferry-boat was in readiness to take him and his household across (2 Sam. xix. 18). Before, however, he crossed, several interesting interviews took place. Shimei, who had cursed so shamelessly on the day of misfortune, was forgiven, and received the promise of protection; Mephibosheth was restored to the king's favour, and his old place at the king's table; and, what specially concerns us at present, David had his final parting with Barzillai.

The loyal chieftain, notwithstanding his eighty years, had come all the way from his upland farm to bid farewell to his king, and see him safely over Jordan. And as David remarked the old man's devotion, and remembered his former favours, the wish seized him to attach him still more closely to his person. "Come thou over with me," he said, "and I will feed thee with me in Jerusalem" (2 Sam. xix. 33). It was from one point of view a dazzling offer. Barzillai had seen enough of David to know that what the king said he meant, and that if he chose to go with him, honour and position awaited him at the court. But he would not be moved. His grey hairs, if nothing else, stood in the way. "How long have I to live," he answered, "that I should go up with the king unto Jerusalem?" (verse 34). I am too old, that is, for such a life as would there be expected of me. And, after all, why should conduct such as mine meet with so great a reward? No! let me go a little way over Jordan with the king, and then "Let thy servant, I pray thee, turn back again, that I may die in mine own city, and be buried by the grave of my father and of my mother." "But," he hastened to add, as if anxious to show that he appreciated to the full the king's generous offer, and saw the advantages it presented to those who were able to enjoy them, "behold thy servant Chimham," my son, "let him go over with my lord the king; and do to him what shall seem good unto thee" (verse 37). With a plea so expressed, David could not but acquiesce: "The king kissed Barzillai, and blessed him; and he returned unto his own place . . . and Chimham went on with him" (verses 39, 40), to become famous as the founder of a caravanserai, or halting-place for pilgrims on the road between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, which for at least four centuries continued to bear his name (Jer. xli. 17) and which may even, it has been conjectured, have been the same which, at the time of the Christian era "furnished shelter for two travellers with their infant child, when 'there was no room in the inn.'"[2]

Round Barzillai's own name no such associations have gathered. After his parting with David we do not hear of him again, if we except a passing reference in David's dying instructions to Solomon, to "shew kindness unto the sons of Barzillai the Gileadite" (1 Kings ii. 7), and the mention, as late as the return from Babylon, of a family of priests who traced their descent to a marriage with the Gileadite's daughter, and prided themselves on the distinctive title of "the children of Barzillai" (Ezra ii. 61). But in the absence of anything to the contrary, we may be allowed to conjecture that, full of years and experience, surrounded by all the love which his useful, helpful life had called forth, Barzillai died in peace among his own people, and was buried, as he had himself desired, by his parents' grave.

Such, then, is the story of Barzillai's life, so far as the Bible reveals it to us. It is, as I have already said, as an old man that he is principally brought before us, and in thinking of his character further, it may be well to do so from this point of view, and see what he has to teach us regarding a true old age. Four points at least stand out clearly from the Bible narrative.

I.

Barzillai was evidently by nature a warm-hearted, sunshiny old man, himself happy and making others happy.

David himself was such a man before the great sin which brought a trouble and a sorrow into his life that he was never again able wholly to surmount. And it may have been the sight of his own lost gaiety and lightness of spirit in the aged Gileadite that first drew out his heart to him.

It may be said, perhaps, that it was easy for Barzillai to be cheerful. The sun had shone on him very brightly: the good things of life had fallen very freely to his share. He was, according to the Bible record, "a very great man" (2 Sam. xix. 32), evidently a most successful farmer, rich in flocks and herds, looked up and respected in the district in which he lived. But after all, is it the universal, or even the general, experience that wealth and power are associated with simple cheerfulness and happiness? Could anything, for example, have exceeded the bitterness and the boorishness of the other rich flockmaster whom David's youths, with Eastern frankness, had asked, "Give, we pray thee, whatsoever cometh to thine hand unto thy servants, and to thy son David" "Who is David? and who is the son of Jesse?" burst out Nabal in a fury. "Shall I then take my bread, and my water . . . and give it unto men whom I know not whence they be?" (1 Sam. xxv. 8, 10, 11). And even if that be an extreme instance, it will not be denied that outward blessings in themselves, and considered only by themselves, are apt to have a hardening rather than a softening effect. It says much, therefore, for Barzillai, that amidst his great possessions, he still kept the free, open, happy disposition of youth.

II.

That he did so, is due amongst other reasons to the fact that he was a generous man.

His unsolicited assistance of David clearly proves this, while the very length of the catalogue of articles with which he and his friends supplied the fugitive's needs, proves that when he gave, he did so in no stinted fashion, but freely and liberally.

It is an excellent example for all who are feeling themselves burdened by the possessions and the opportunities with which God has enriched them. Let them remember that they hold them only in trust, and in helping to bear others' burdens, they will actually, strange to say, lighten their own.

"'Tis worth a wise man's best of life,
'Tis worth a thousand years of strife,
If thou canst lessen but by one,
The countless ills beneath the sun."

While, on the other hand, can there be a sadder thought for the man whose earthly course is nearly run, than the thought that there will be none to rise up after him and call him blessed, but that he will die, as he has lived, unhonoured, unwept?

If that, then, is not to be our fate, we cannot use too diligently every opportunity of well-doing which God has placed within our reach; we cannot live too earnestly, not for ourselves only, but for others: that from the seeds which we sow now, there may spring up hereafter a rich and abundant harvest.

III.

Barzillai was contented.

Not many men in his position would have refused the king's offer. It seems rather to be one of the penalties of wealth and greatness, that their owners cannot rest satisfied with what they have, but are always desiring more. But Barzillai felt, and felt rightly, that in his circumstances, the place in which he had been brought up—"his own place"—was the best place for him. He was a home-loving old man, and the simple interests and pleasures of his daily life had more attraction for him than the excitements and rivalries of the court.

I do not, of course, mean to say that either here or elsewhere in Scripture, a wise and healthy ambition is discouraged. It is natural to wish to get on, if only for the sake of a wider sphere of usefulness; but let us see to it that we avoid that restless longing for change, simply for the sake of change, that coveting of positions for which we are not suited, and which, if gratified, can end only in disappointment.

"It is a great thing," said one to an ancient philosopher, "to possess what one wishes." "It is a greater blessing still," was the reply, "not to desire what one does not possess." And surely, in what we do possess, in the beauties of nature with which we are here surrounded, in the love of home and wife and children, in the intercourse with friends and acquaintance, we have much to make us contented, much, very much, to be thankful for. "To watch the corn grow, or the blossoms set; to draw hard breath over ploughshare or spade; to read, to think, to love, to pray,"—these, says John Ruskin, "are the things that make men happy." And these are things that, in some measure at least, are within the reach of us all.

IV.

There remains still a fourth and a last element in Barzillai's honoured, life and happy old age—his attitude towards God.

Though we are never distinctly told so, we cannot doubt that he was a religious man. And as it was in gratitude to God for all that He had done to him, that he first showed kindness to God's anointed, so it was in the same humble and trusting spirit that he accepted old age, and all that it involved when it came. That is by no means always the case. Are there not some, who, as they look forward to the time of old age, if God should ever permit them to see it, do so with a certain amount of dread? They think only of what they will be called upon to abandon—the duties they must give up, the pleasures, so dear to them now, they must forego. But to Barzillai, the presence of such disabilities brought, as we have seen, no disquieting thoughts. He could relinquish, without a sigh, what he was no longer fitted to enjoy. He desired nothing but to end his days peacefully in his appointed lot. Enough for him that the God who had been with him all his life long was with him still.

Happy old man! Who does not long for an old age, if he is ever to see old age, such as his? But, if so, it must be sought in the same way. Every man's old age is just what his own past has made it. If, in his days of health and vigour, he has lived an idle, careless, selfish life, he must not wonder if his closing years are querulous, and bitter, and lonely. But if, on the other hand, he has devoted himself to good and doing good, if he has made the will of God his rule and guide amidst all the difficulties and perplexities of his daily lot, then in that will he will find peace. God wilt not forget his "work and labour of love" (Heb. vi. 10): and in him the old promise will be once more fulfilled—"Even to your old age I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry and will deliver you" (Isa. xlvi. 4).

[1]In view, however, of the difficulty of reconciling the two passages, and of the fact that Shobi is not mentioned elsewhere, it has been conjectured that for "Shobi the son of Nahash" in 2 Sam. xvii. 27, we should read simply "Nahash," see Hastings' Dict. of the Bible, art. "Shobi."

[2]Stanley, History of the Jewish Church, ii., p. 154.

ADONIJAH

BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

It is notorious that the sons of devout men sometimes prove a curse to their parents, and bring dishonour on the cause of God. When Eve rejoiced over her first-born, she little suspected that passions were sleeping within him which would impel him to slay his own brother; and the experience of the first mother has been repeated, though in different forms, in all lands and in all ages. Isaac's heart was rent by the deceit of Jacob, and by the self-will of Esau. Jacob lived to see his own sin repeated in his sons, and he who deceived his father when he was old and blind, suffered for years an agony of grief because he had been falsely told that Joseph, his favourite son, was dead.

Probably few men have known domestic sorrows, so many and so great, as those which befell David. He shared, in all its bitterness, the misery of a parent who sees his best hopes disappointed, and who is racked with anxiety as to what his wayward boy will do next, sometimes wishing that before such dishonour had befallen him his son had been laid to rest under the daisies, in the time of infant innocence. David's eldest son, Amnon, after committing a terrible crime, was assassinated by his brother Absalom. In his turn, Absalom, the fairest of the family, rebelled against his own father, and was killed by Joab, as he hung in the oak. Chiliah, or Daniel, died we know not how, and then Adonijah, the fourth son, the eldest of those surviving, followed in Absalom's footsteps.

Adonijah's sin appears at first sight so unnatural that, in justice to him as well as for our own instruction, we should try to discover the sources whence this stream of evil flowed which was so bitter and so desolating in its results.

This is not an easy task, because the full details of his life are not recorded. There are, however, no less than three evil influences hinted at in these words: "His father had not displeased him at any time, in saying, Why hast thou done so? and he also was a very goodly man, and his mother bare him after Absalom" (1 Kings i. 6). Taking them in reverse order: Heritage, Adulation, and Lack of Discipline, were three sources of moral peril, and these would tend to the ruin of any man. Let us think of each of these, for they are not extinct by any means.

We know very little of Haggith, but she was probably a dancing girl who made her way to the front by her ambition and beauty. From her and from his father we may assume that Adonijah inherited a tendency to ambition and self-conceit such as Absalom inherited from the union of David with Bathsheba. It is one of the laws of life that "like produces like," Evidence of this constantly appears in the lower animals, in the speed of the racehorse, in the scent of the hound, and so forth. This asserts itself in men also. We often notice what we call a "family likeness." Tricks of manner, and various mental qualities such as heroism, statesmanship, mathematical or artistic talent, descend from parents to children, and sometimes reappear for generations in the same family. This cannot be due to example alone, because the phenomena is almost as frequent when the parents die during the child's infancy. Similarly, moral tendencies are transmitted, and the Bible gives us many examples of the fact. The luxury-loving Isaac, who must have his savoury food, just as his son, Esau, who would sell his birthright for a mess of pottage, Rebekah, who, like her brother Laban is shrewd and cunning, sees her tendency repeated in her son Jacob, who needed a life of discipline and prayer to set him free from it.

In more senses than one "the evil which men do lives after them." A drunkard's son, for example, is often conscious of an inbred craving which is a veritable disease, so that he is heavily weighted as he starts out on the race of life. This solemn and suggestive fact that the future well-being of children depends largely on the character of parents, should give emphasis to the adjuration in the wedding service—marriage, therefore, is to be honourable in all, and ought not to be engaged in rashly, "thoughtlessly, or lightly, but advisedly, reverently, and in the fear of God." The law of moral heritage makes parental responsibility a solemn trust, while, in so far as it affects those who inherit bad or good tendencies, we are sure that the Judge of all the earth will do right. But it must never be forgotten that even a bad disposition need never become a dominant habit. It is something to be resisted and conquered, and, it may be, by the grace of Him who is faithful, and will not suffer any of us to be tempted above what we are able to bear. Our tendencies are Divine calls to us to recognise and guard certain weak places in the citadel of character, for it is against these that our enemy directs his most persistent and vigorous attacks.

Unhappily, Adonijah's natural bias was made the more dangerous by the atmosphere of the court, where flatterers naturally abounded—for "he was a very goodly man," physically a repetition of Absalom, the Adonis of his time. We may also fairly surmise that his parents were guilty of partiality and indulgence in their treatment of him, for David would love him the more as one who revived the memory of his favourite Absalom, the idol of the people, distinguished for his noble mien and princely bearing. Courtiers, soldiers, and people all flattered Adonijah, and Joab, the greatest captain of his age, next only to the king, was his partisan, the more so because he neither forgot nor forgave David's reproaches after the death of Absalom. Even Abiathar, who represented the younger and more ambitious branch of the priesthood, joined in the general adulation, until Adonijah, intoxicated by vanity, set up his own court in rivalry to that of his father, and when he moved abroad was accompanied by a stately retinue of chariots and horsemen, and fifty foot attendants gorgeously apparelled.

No doubt every position in life has its own peculiar temptations. The ill-favoured lad, who is the butt at school and the scapegoat at home, is in serious danger of becoming bitter and revengeful, and of growing crooked in character, like a plant in a dark vault, which will have no beauty because it enjoys no sunshine. But, on the other hand, physical beauty, which attracts attention and wins admiration, especially if it is associated with brilliant conversational gifts, and great charm of manner, has befooled both men and women into sin and misery. Many a girl has been entrapped into an unhappy marriage; and many a lad, moved by a vaunting ambition which overleaped itself, has fallen never to rise: like Icarus, when his waxen wings melted in the sun.

There must have been sad laxity of discipline in the home of David. It is said of Adonijah that "his father had not displeased him at any time in saying, Why hast thou done so?" In other words, Adonijah had never been checked and rebuked as he ought to have been, and this foolish indulgence was as fatal to him as it had been to the sons of Eli. There are still such homes as David's, although their inmates do well to draw down the veil of secrecy over them with loyal hands, and never blazon abroad the grief and anxiety which rend their hearts. In one home a fair, bright girl mars the beauty of her early womanhood by a flippant disregard of her mother's wishes, and by an exaltation of her own pleasure-loving disposition as the one law of her life. In another, a mere child, hasty and uncontrolled in temper, is the dread of the whole household, and at last becomes its tyrant, because every wish is gratified rather than that a scene should be provoked. In yet another a grown-up son is callous about his mother's anxiety and his father's counsels; and gladly ignores his home associations as he drifts away upon the sea of vice, and there becomes a miserable wreck. With each of these it might have been otherwise. If authority had been asserted, and steadily maintained, before bad habits were formed; if firm resolution on the part of the parents had taken the place of indulgent laxity, if, instead of being left to chance, character had been moulded during the time when it was plastic—these might, with God's blessing, have grown up to be wise, pure-hearted, courageous followers of Christ—who would not only have sweetened the atmosphere of home, but would have done something to purify and illumine society, as the salt and the light of the world.

The sin of which Adonijah was guilty, whose sources we have tried to discover, was the assumption of unlawful authority and state, which involved rebellion against his own father.

Ambition is not always wrong. It is a common inspiration often nerving men to attempt daring and noble deeds. Desire for distinction, with capacity for it, may often be regarded as the voice of God summoning to high effort. The world would soon be stagnant without ambition. The scholar working for a prize, the writer or speaker resolving to make a name, the man of business pressing onward past the indolent and the ne'er-do-weel, are not to be condemned, so long as they seek lawful objects by lawful means. Those who strenuously and hopefully fulfil the duties of their present sphere will be called higher, either in this world or the next, for God means us to rise by our fidelity where we are, and not by discontent with what we are. Ambition may have conscience in it, and this will reveal itself in the steady and minute performance of small duties. Any who are content, with tireless hand, to make crooked things straight and rough places plain, will ultimately see glory revealed. But if ambition is not ruled by righteousness, if it is not modified by love and consideration for others, it becomes a sin, and will prove to be the herald of disobedience and death, for it is such ambition which has cursed the world by tyrannies and bloodshed, and dragged down angels from realms of light. This was the ambition which let Adonijah exalt himself, and say, "I will be king."

It may be said that his conduct was natural enough, although it was too precipitate, because he would legitimately succeed his father in due course, as his eldest surviving son. But this was not so. The law of primogeniture was not law for Israel. The invisible King expressly reserved to Himself the right of appointing the ruler of His people, as is evident from Deut. xvii. 14 and 15. The government was theocratic, not monarchical nor democratic. David himself had been chosen and anointed in preference to Jonathan, Saul's son, and Solomon, David's younger son, had already been designated as his successor through the prophet Nathan, partly because he was best fitted to become the man of peace who should erect Jehovah's temple, and partly as a sign to David that his sin with Bathsheba was forgiven. It was not as the "leader of a court cabal," but as a prophet inspired by Jehovah, that Nathan had made this solemn appointment. Adonijah knew this perfectly well; he acknowledged it to Bathsheba in the fifteenth verse of the second chapter, and therefore, when he declared, "I will be king," he was deliberately and knowingly setting his will against God's, and this was a sin.

The divine choice often differs from the human, for "the Lord seeth not as man seeth." In his reply to the sons of Zebedee, Jesus declared that God is not swayed by favouritism, nor moved by arbitrary impulse, but assigns to each his position according to his fitness. This should give us contentment with our lot, and should emphasise the precept, "Seekest thou great things for thyself; seek them not." Though it is natural enough to wish for escape from the fret of poverty, or the weariness of pain, and to win for ourselves wealth or prominence, we must be on our guard against the indulgence of defiant self-will, like that of him who said, "I will be king."

Adonijah's motive in aspiring to the throne was not that he might the better care for the welfare of others, but that he might selfishly enjoy wealth and honour. He cared much for outward show, while he failed to cultivate inward worth, preparing for himself chariots, horsemen, and a retinue of servants, but never displaying a love of justice or ability in statesmanship. And such little motives as his never make greatness.

Adonijah was not the last to be attracted by glitter and tinsel, and to live for earthly things which perish in the using. The candidate who cares much for honour and nothing for learning, the professional man who will sacrifice reputation to win a fortune, and all who wrong others in order to better themselves, only gain what is transient and unsatisfying. It would be well for all to learn the lesson (not least he for whom the ceremony is primarily intended), which is symbolically taught when a Pope is crowned. The Master of the Ceremonies takes a lighted taper in one hand, and in the other a reed with a handful of flax fastened to it. The flax flares up for a moment, and then the flame dies away into thin, almost imperceptible, ashes, which fall at the Pontiff's feet, as the choir chant the refrain "Pater sanctus, sic transit gloria mundi." No earthly honour is worth having except it is the result or the reward of character. Even in Pagan Rome the Temple of Honour could only be reached through the Temple of Virtue. And over the gateway of the greatest of all kingdoms in which Christ Jesus is supreme, this motto is inscribed indelibly—"He that humbleth himself shall be exalted, and he that exalteth himself shall be abased."

How often such ambition is accompanied by disregard of the rights of others! What did Adonijah care for his father's dignity, or his brother's claims? David was still on the throne, and Solomon's right to succeed him had been authoritatively proclaimed, and yet, with inbred selfishness, this ambitious prince declared, "I will be king!" The lawfulness of any ambition may often be tested by the amount of selfishness which inheres in it. If desire for distinction, or wealth, leads one to crush a competitor to the wall without ruth, or to refuse all help to others in a struggle where every man seems to fight for his own hand, its lawfulness may well be questioned. Our Lord taught us to love even our enemies, and surely competitors have a still stronger claim on our consideration, and certainly all who belong to a church which is based on sacrifice, and symbolised by a cross, should even in such matters deny themselves, and seek every man his neighbour's good.

All sin is the worse when it is committed, as Adonijah's was, in defiance of warning. He deliberately repeated his brother's offence. Yet he knew the tragic story of his death, and how his brilliant life had been ended by violence in a wood, where he perished without a friend; and he must often have seen his father brooding alone over the trouble thus caused, as if he was still whispering to himself: "O Absalom, my son, would God I had died for thee! O Absalom, my son, my son!" Yet the very sin of Absalom which had been so terribly punished, Adonijah boldly committed.

History is crowded with examples of ambitious men who died in disappointment and despair,—Alexander, who conquered a world, and then wept because there were no more worlds to conquer, perished in a scene of debauchery, after setting fire to the city. Hannibal, who filled three bushel measures with the gold rings of fallen knights, at last, by poison self-administered, died unwept in a foreign land. Caesar, who had practically the whole world at his feet, was stabbed to the heart by so-called friends, even Brutus being among them. Napoleon, the scourge and conqueror of Europe, died, a heart-broken exile, in St Helena. Indeed, it is written in letters of blood on the pages of history, "The expectation of the wicked shall perish."

Happily, angels' voices are calling us to higher things. Conscience whispers to us of duty and love. Christ Himself, from the Cross, which was the stepping-stone to His throne, still cries to every one who will listen, "Follow me."

The false must be displaced by the true—the world by the Christ—the usurper by the Divinely-appointed King. It was thus that Adonijah's scheme was defeated. Bathsheba, Solomon's mother, and Nathan, the prophet, hurried in to tell David of Adonijah's revolt against his authority, and that at his coronation-festival, then begun, even Joab, the commander-in-chief, and Abiathar, the priest, were present. Then David's old decision and promptitude reasserted themselves once more. At his command, Solomon, his designated successor, was seated on the King's own mule, and rode in state to Gihon, where Zadok anointed him in Jehovah's name; and when the trumpet was blown all the people said, "God save King Solomon!"

It was the crowning of the new king which proved the dethronement of the false; and this fact enshrines a principle divine and permanent. False doctrine is overcome, not by abuse, but by the proclamation of the true. Evil, whether enthroned in the heart or in the world, is conquered by greater good. The strong man armed, only keeps his goods in peace, until One stronger than he comes to bind him and cast him out. Christ conquers the devil, be he where he may. "For this purpose the Son of God was manifested that He might destroy the works of the devil."

In the progress of Solomon, as he rode on his mule to Jerusalem, amid the acclamations of the people, we see the Old Testament counterpart to the New Testament narrative, which tells how Christ Jesus entered Jerusalem as its king, while the people met Him with welcomes, and with palms, and children sang His praises. And in both is a symbol of His advent to every heart, and, if He be but welcomed as rightful king, He will take to Himself His power, and reign.

HIRAM, THE INSPIRED ARTIFICER

BY REV. W. J. TOWNSEND, D.D.

The Temple of Solomon was the crown of art in the old world. There were temples on a larger scale, and of more massive construction, but the enormous masses of masonry of the oldest nations were not comparable with the artistic grace, the luxurious adornments, and the harmonious proportions of this glorious House of God. David had laid up money and material for the great work, but he was not permitted to carry it out. He was a man of war, and blood-stained hands were not to build the temple of peace and righteousness. Solomon was the providential man for such an undertaking. He had large ideas, a keen sense of beauty, generous instincts, a religious nature, a literary training, and a highly cultivated mind. He was in peaceful alliance with surrounding nations, many of whom would be drawn into requisition for the suitable materials. They had to supply the cedar wood, iron, copper, brass, tin, gold, silver, and the rich fabrics which have made proverbial the sumptuous and beautiful raiment and decorations of those times, with the rarest marbles that the quarries of Lebanon and Bezetha could contribute. So with the thousands of busy builders and artificers,

"Like some tall palm, the graceful fabric grew,"

until it stood complete on Mount Moriah, an inspiration to the people, a continual benediction to the nation, and the envy of many a covetous conqueror.

The name of one man only has been handed down the ages as having specially signalised himself in the decoration of the temple. Solomon must procure the best of human talent and genius for the perfection of the work he meditated. Therefore he not only made a treaty with Hiram, King of Tyre, for supplies of material, but of workmen, and chief of these, one whose artistic productions were to be the best adornments of the House of God for succeeding centuries. He was a tried veteran in decorative work, an expert in almost every kind of art, and fit to be placed in the position of chief superintendent of so superb a building. The King of Tyre sent to Solomon a testimony which was eloquent in his praise: "I have sent a cunning man endued with understanding . . . . the son of a woman of the daughters of Dan, his father was a man of Tyre, skilful to work in gold, and in silver, in brass, in iron, in stone, and in timber, in purple, in blue, and in fine linen, and in crimson; also to grave any manner of graving, and to find out every device" (2 Chron. ii. 13, i4). Another record says: "He was filled with wisdom, and understanding, and cunning to work all works in brass" (1 Kings vii. 14).

It is a significant fact in the history that Hiram, this expert artificer, bearing the same name as his king, should have had an Israelitish mother, and a Gentile father who had also been a worker in metal. Thus he got his artistic taste and training from the father, his religious knowledge and sympathy from the mother. Religious feeling and sympathy he certainly had, as his magnificent work in the temple fully demonstrated.

Hiram constructed of bright, burnished brass, an immense laver, called "a molten sea," to be used for the ablutions of the priests. It was capable of containing from fifteen to twenty thousand gallons of water, and the ornamentation was elaborate exceedingly. Under the brim were two rows of balls or bosses, encircling the laver. Twelve oxen, three looking in four different directions, supported it, and the brim was wrought like the brim of a cup with flowers of lilies. Beyond this, there were ten lavers, smaller in size, for the washing of such things as were offered in sacrifice. These were carefully decorated with lions, oxen, and cherubim on the borders of the ledges. They stood upon bases, measuring 6 feet by 4 1/2 feet, ornamented carefully on each side with garlands hanging in festoons, literally, "garlands, pensile work." Each base had brasen wheels attached, with brasen axletrees, and brackets which stretched from the four upper corners of the bases to the outward rim of the laver. All the furnishings were also made by Hiram, such as pots, basons, shovels; probably also the golden altar, and table, with the seven-branched lamp stands, of which there were ten, of beautiful construction and ornamentation. But the most glorious work of Hiram was the construction of the two majestic brasen pillars, called Jachin and Boaz, They were stately in height, the shaft of each measuring 27 feet, a base of 12 feet, and two capitals of 13 1/2 feet, thus the whole height of each pillar being 52 1/2 feet. The decoration was equally graceful and elaborate, especially upon the capitals. The lower capitals had a fine network over the whole, and chain-work hanging in festoons outside. There were also pomegranates wrought upon them. The upper capitals, forming a cornice to the whole pillar, were ornamented with lily-work. At Persepolis there still stands a pillar, the cornice of which is carved with three rows of lily leaves. These pillars were esteemed the most important ornaments in the magnificent temple, the erection of which was the best feature of Solomon's reign. They were of such prominent importance that a name was affixed to each of them. One was called "Jachin," which means, "he will establish," the other was called "Boaz," which means "in strength." The ideas involved are stability and strength. Possibly the Psalmist had these pillars in his mind when he wrote, "Strength and beauty are in His sanctuary" (Ps. xcvi. 6); strength first, then beauty; strength as the foundation of divine work, then beauty, graceful finish, and ornament.

Hiram was an inspired artist and artificer. He was "filled with wisdom and understanding, and cunning to work." We are told the same as to the great decorative workers of the Tabernacle, concerning whom the Lord said: "See, I have called by name Bezalel, the son of Uri, the son of Hur of the tribe of Judah: and I have filled him with the spirit of God, in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship, to devise cunning works, to work in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in cutting of stones for setting, and in carving of wood, to work in all manner of workmanship" (Exod. xxxi. 2-5). So also it is written of Aholiab, Ahisamach, and other Tabernacle workers.

It is instructive to find that in Scripture, genius as displayed in literary insight and facility, in ingenuity and inventiveness as to the various arts, and even in the conception of instruments of husbandry, is attributed to Divine inspiration. It may not be the same order of inspiration by which "men spake from God, being moved by the Holy Ghost"; "Searching what time or manner of time the spirit of Christ which was in them did point unto when it testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ and the glories that should follow them" (2 Peter i. 21; 1 Peter i. 11); but the fact is clear, whether it was inspiration of a different nature or in a different degree, that on men of special gifts in various departments and of the highest order, wisdom and understanding are a direct gift of the Holy Spirit. This truth was acknowledged in earliest times, and skilled experts in art or handicraft were reckoned to be under the inspiration of God. Among the heathen this belief lingered long. The ancient poets invoked the aid of their deities when entering on some great composition, and the devout earnestness of some recorded prayers is remarkable. There should be a line of demarcation drawn in this connection between a man of talent and a man of genius. Talent may be a matter of cultivation and perseverance. A man of ordinary intelligence may, by determined resolution, push his way to power in many directions, and the one talent may become ten talents. But genius is not mere cleverness, however well directed and carefully developed. Genius is creative and inventive; it has insight, it has imagination, it "bodies forth the forms of things unknown," and "gives to airy nothings a local habitation and a name." Isaiah speaks of the inspiration of the inventor of the agricultural instrument: "His God doth instruct him aright, and doth teach him . . . This also cometh from the Lord of hosts, which is wonderful in counsel and excellent in wisdom" (Isa. xxviii. 26-29).

When man required in the old time direct teaching of great religious truths and realities, God inspired prophets and seers, but the world required also to be educated, regulated, civilised. Therefore poets, painters, litterateurs, artists, and artificers were called for, by deep needs of humanity. God answered the need by giving the marvellous gift in various forms and degrees to men who had understanding of their times, and who by special insight were able to give impulses to progress in every direction. This truth is powerfully stated by a German metaphysician:—"Nothing calls us more powerfully to adore the living God than the appearance and embodiment of genius upon the earth. Whatever in the ordinary course of things we may choose to attribute to the mechanical process of cause and effect, the highest manifestations of intellect can be called forth only by the express will of the original Mind, independent of second causes. Genius descends upon us from the clouds precisely where we least look for it. Events may be calculated, predicted—spirits never; no earthly oracle announces the appearance of genius: the unfathomable will of the Creator suddenly calls to it—Be!"[1]

The Apostle Paul says concerning the Christ, "IN HIM were all things created" (Col. i. 16). Everything in the universe became objective, because they were first subjective in Christ, the second Person in the adorable Trinity. All things were made from forms and types which were in Himself before they were impressed on Creation. The infinite glories of sky, and air, and sea, the beauties of the tree, the flower, the bird, and all forms of life, the fleeting and recurring grandeurs that paint the seasons and the years, are all but revelations of the boundless resources and the ineffable beauties and qualities of the mind of Christ, our Master and Teacher. Our craving of genius, and its never-dying ambition, is to come ever nearer to the perfection of the Infinite Artist and Architect. The inspiration which filled the soul of Bezalel or Hiram may not be so elevated or elevating as that which enabled Isaiah to soar to the throne of the Eternal in speechless rapture, or which enabled Michael Angelo to represent in form and colour his vast conceptions of the beautiful and sublime; but it was as real, and in some aspects as serviceable in suggestion and realisation, as these. "God fulfils Himself in many ways." As the Divine Spirit plays on the minds of special men, one is turned to music, another to painting, another to sculpture, another to architecture, another to mechanics, and another to a smith's imaginings; but it is still the same Spirit that worketh in all and through all, and each may be perfected instruments by which He accomplishes His wise and gracious purposes in the uplift of men.

What a living force among men is the true poet, the man who can take words and weave them into forms of perfect rhythm, rhyme, and measure, and then fill them with thoughts so suggestive and burning, as that they become for ever a force in the hearts of men, thrilling the souls of men and women with lofty ideals, prompting them to noble deeds, nerving them to patience in suffering and courage in battle. What may not the artist accomplish by throwing on the canvas landscapes or seascapes, like Turner, Scripture scenes, like Raphael, or heroic deeds, like Millais? Do these things not speak to the heart through the eye effectually? And what refining influences may not be silently absorbed into the nature by the artificer, who works in metals, or in pottery, in glass, or in wood, producing shapes of graceful contour, and decoration of delicate beauty, so that the articles of the household or the warehouse may be an education to the mind, and become to it patterns of things in the heavens. The command to Moses on the Mount was, concerning all the furniture of the Tabernacle, which Bezalel and Aholiab had to construct was, "See that thou make all things according to the pattern showed to thee in the mount" (Heb. viii. 5). The beautiful things were in the mind of God first, and then had to be produced by the inspiration of the artist, in the house of prayer by the wisdom and deftness imparted by the Spirit.

It is possible, we sorrow to think, to misuse the Divine gift of artistic inspiration. The poet may devote his genius to animalism, like Byron, or to teach immoral license, like Swinburne; the painter may crowd his canvas with degrading ideas and vulgar representations, and the artificer may be ingenious in the production of forms of ugliness and degrading grotesqueness. Such desecration of great endowments is alike displeasing to God and ruinous to the man. Of such it may be said: "He feedeth on ashes: a deceived heart hath turned him aside, that he cannot deliver his soul, nor say, Is there not a lie in my right hand?" (Isa. xliv. 20).

Thank God, that we may say truly that generally the superlatives might have been found sitting at the feet of Jesus. The heavy, dull masses of meaningless masonry which belonged to Egypt or Assyria, flowered into the pure, delicate, ideality of the Greek builders, and this again developed into the warm, spiritual, suggestive style of Christianity which has covered Christendom with consecrated buildings like the cathedrals of Cologne or Chartres. The art of twenty centuries has been proclaiming the Christ as perfect in beauty, in grace and refinement, as He is perfect in love and in sacrifice. The music of the past, in all its highest reaches from Gregory to Mendelssohn, celebrates His grand redemption. The most gifted poets, from Dante, pealing his threefold anthem from the topmost peak of Parnassus, to Shakespeare, with "his woodnotes wild"; from Milton, with his "sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies," to Tennyson, with his "happy bells," which

"Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand,"

but chief of all which

"Ring in the Christ that is to be,"

are resonant with loyalty and devotion to Him. Thus, all voices and all gifts, as they come from Christ, and are claimed by Christ, should be used for Him and Him alone. The lofty reach of genius is called to glorify Him, and the humblest gift of the peasant in the cottage, or the workman in the mill, or the little child at the mother's knee, are all due to Christ, to be devoted to Him, and also to be appreciated and rewarded by Him.

[1]Gustav Schwab, quoted by Ullmann, in The Worship of Genius.

JEROBOAM

BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

"Jeroboam, who did sin, and who made Israel to sin."—1 KINGS xiv. 16.

Jeroboam's character is worthy of serious study, not only because it influenced the destiny of God's ancient people, but because it suggests lessons of the utmost value to His people still. He may be fairly regarded as a type of those who are successful men of the world. He was not an example of piety, for he had none—nor of lofty principle, for he was an opportunist who made expediency the law of his life throughout. Yet he was permitted to win all that he could have hoped for, and reached the very zenith of his ambition, though he went down to the grave at last, defeated and dishonoured, with this as his record—he was the man "who made Israel to sin."

Such a life as his throws a flood of light on our possibilities and perils, showing unscrupulous men both what they may possibly win, and what they will certainly lose.

Jeroboam appears to have been a man of lowly origin. Of his father Nebat, whose name is so often linked with his own, we know nothing, although an old Jewish tradition, preserved by Jerome, identifies him with Shimei, who was the first to insult David in his flight, and the first of all the house of Joseph to congratulate him on his return. All we know with certainty is that he belonged to the powerful tribe of Ephraim, which was always jealous of the supremacy of Judah, and therefore hated David, Solomon, and Rehoboam. It was this feeling of which Jeroboam skilfully availed himself when he split the kingdom of David in twain.

In the Book of Kings, this remarkable man first appears as an ordinary workman, or possibly as a foreman of the masons who were engaged in building Fort Millo, one of the chief defences of the citadel of Zion, guarding its weakest point, and making it almost impregnable. Under the system of forced labour then in vogue, the workmen would be inclined to shirk their toil, and among them Jeroboam stood out in conspicuous contrast, by reason of his eagerness and industry. Solomon the king, who always had a keen eye for capacity, saw the young man that he was industrious, and after making some inquiries about him, raised him to the remunerative post of superintendent of the tribute payable by the tribe of Ephraim. It was, no doubt, a difficult office to fill, for the tribe was restive and powerful, but it would be very profitable, because the system on which taxes were collected, as is still usual in Eastern countries, gave immense opportunities for enrichment to an unscrupulous man. We may be sure, therefore, that Jeroboam quickly became wealthy. At the same time he won influence with the tribe, by expressing secret sympathy with his fellow-tribesmen, and he stealthily fostered their discontent until the opportunity came for asserting himself as a more successful Wat Tyler, in the kingdom which by that time Solomon had left to his foolish son, Rehoboam. Little did Solomon imagine that when he advanced Jeroboam he was preparing the instrument of his son's ruin, and that this Ephraimite would prove to be like the viper Aesop tells of, which a kind-hearted man took in from the cold, but which when roused by warmth from its torpor, killed its benefactor.

I

1. In looking for the elements which contributed to Jeroboam's rapidly-won success, we must certainly credit him with remarkable natural ability.

No one can read his biography carefully without noticing his shrewdness in seeing his chance when it came, and his boldness and promptitude in seizing it. He possessed such self-control that he kept his plans absolutely to himself until the critical moment, and then he made a daring dash for power, and won it. And these characteristics of his were gifts from God, as Ahijah the prophet emphatically declared.

We are far too timid in the maintenance of our professed belief that physical and mental gifts are divine in their origin. Mediaeval theology, which was largely tinged by Pagan philosophy, sometimes went so far as to attribute exceptional beauty, or talent, to evil powers; and we are apt to trace them to a merely human source. But keen perception, sound judgment, a retentive memory, a vigorous imagination, and, not least, good common-sense, are among the talents entrusted to us by God Himself, who will by-and-bye take account of His servants.

This is regarded by many as an old-fashioned and effete theory. They assume that the doctrine of evolution has conclusively shown that no man is a new creation, but is a necessary product of preceding lives; that his lineaments and talents may be traced to parentage, that the brilliance of the Cecils and the solid sense of the Cavendishes, for example, are simply a matter of heritage. But even admitting this to be largely true, it does not invalidate the statement that our gifts are of God—He is the Father of all the "families" of the earth, as well as of individuals. He does not rule over one year only, but over all the generations. Time and change, of which we make much, are nothing to Him. The theory of evolution, therefore, merely extends our conceptions of the range of His power and forethought. Whether a child presents a striking contrast to his parents, or whether he seems to be a re-incarnation of their talents, it is equally true that all things are of God, and that for Him and by Him all things consist. Natural abilities are Divine trusts.

There is startling unevenness in the distribution of these gifts. Not only do two families differ widely in their talents and possessions, but children of the same parents are often strangely unlike, physically and mentally. One is radiantly beautiful, and another has no charm in appearance or in manners. One is physically vigorous, and another is frail as a hothouse flower. One is so quick that lessons are no trouble at all, and another wearily plods over them till ready to give up in despair. Evidences of this unevenness of distribution meet us everywhere. One man will make a fortune where another would not suspect a chance. One remains a third-rate salesman all his days, and would spend even his holidays in looking into shop windows, for his soul does not rise beyond them; while his comrade is brimful of talent, and the world will ring at last with his name and fame. We say "it is in them"; but what is in them is of God, and these very differences between men are intended by Him to elicit mutual consideration and mutual helpfulness; for we are members one of another, and the deficiencies of one are to be supplemented by the superabundance of another.

2. The most brilliant gifts are of no great value apart from personal diligence, such as distinguished Jeroboam.

He did thoroughly the work which lay to his hand, whether as mason, tax-collector, or king. Such diligence often rectifies the balance between two men of unequal ability. The plodding tortoise still beats the hare, who believes herself to be so swift that she can afford time to sleep. Any one who looks back on his classmates will see that the cleverest have not proved the most successful, but that the prizes of life have usually gone to those who diligently developed to the utmost what they had. Scripture is crowded with examples of this. Jacob laboured night and day, and therefore he prospered, even under Laban, unjust and exacting though Laban was. Joseph won his way to the front, though an exile and a slave, for he made himself indispensable in prison, and in the kingdom. "Seest thou a man diligent in business? he shall stand before kings, he shall not stand before mean men." And because this is a Divine law, it prevails in higher spheres also. If a Christian uses, in the service of his heavenly Master, the gifts he possesses, faith in God, knowledge of truth, power in prayer, persuasive speech—his five talents will become ten, or his two will gain other two. "To him that hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have abundance."

3. It may be said that talent and diligence combined do not always win success, and so far as this world is concerned, it is true. Possibly Jeroboam would never have come to the front if Solomon had not happened to notice him. But if we read the interviews which Ahijah the prophet had with Jeroboam, and with his mother, we shall learn to recognise the control of God in this also.

If God over-rules anything he must over-rule everything, because what appears to be the most trivial incident, often has the most far-reaching results on human character and destiny. Trifles are often turning-points in one's history. A casual word spoken in our favour may bring about the introduction which leads to a happy marriage, or to a prosperous business career. It may not have been known to us at the time, nor thought of again by the friend who spoke about us, but back of his friendly utterance God was. In life we are not infrequently like a passenger on board ship, who chats to those about him, but pays no regard to the wheel, or to the seaman who controls it, still less to the officer who gives the man his instructions; and yet the turning of that wheel, in this direction or in that, involves safety, or wreck. God keeps control—unseen—over the lives of men, and it was more than a lucky chance which led Solomon to notice the smart, stalwart worker at Millo, and raise him to a higher post.

The wise king showed his wisdom in rewarding as he did, fidelity and diligence. It is because this is often not done in offices and warehouses that there is so little mutual goodwill between servants and masters. An employer will often treat his people as mere "hands," who are to sell his goods and do his bidding, but directly work is slack, he will turn them adrift without scruple or ruth; or if they remain for years in his service, will give no increase of wage or salary proportioned to capacity and diligence. A Christian employer, at least, should follow a more excellent way, and advance a diligent servant, not because he cannot be done without, or because it is for the good of the firm to retain his services, but because his promotion is right and richly deserved. It would be a woful thing if God treated us exactly as we treat our fellows.

But whatever the immediate result, fidelity and industry are called for from us all. Our Lord Himself said, "It is My meat and My drink to do the will of My Father in heaven," and this He felt to be as true of His work at the carpenter's bench as in the precincts of the Temple. Whether in the business, or in the household, or in the Church, the King is ever watching His servants, and of His grace will raise every faithful one to higher service and larger possibilities. "The Father, who seeth in secret, shall reward thee openly," and His reward will come not only in loftier position but in ennobled character—

"Toil is no thorny crown of pain,
Bound round man's brow for sin;
True souls from it all strength may gain,
High manliness may win.

"O God, who workest hitherto,
Working in all we see,
Fain would we be, and hear, and do,
As best it pleaseth Thee."

II.

Jeroboam's defects in character, and indeed his actual sins, were many and great.

1. His ingratitude to his benefactor was a disgrace to him.

He fostered and used, as far as he dared, the discontent which smouldered in the tribe of Ephraim, as the result partly of jealousy of Judah, and partly of restiveness under extravagant expenditure and increasing taxation, and this treachery went on until he was expelled the country by Solomon, and driven out as an exile into Egypt, where, however, he still carried out his ambitious schemes, till his chance came under Rehoboam.

Many a man kicks away the ladder by which he rose to fortune. He likes to divest himself of the past wherein he needed help, for it was a time of humiliation, and by cutting off association with former friends, would fain lead people to believe that his success was entirely due to his own cleverness. Even his own parents are sometimes neglected and ignored, and these, to whom he owed his life, who cared for him in his helpless infancy and wayward youth, are left unhelped. "Cursed is the man who setteth light by his father or mother."

But though we naturally cry "shame" upon such an one, it is possible that
we ourselves are acting an unfilial part towards our Heavenly Father.
And the more He prospers us the greater is the danger of our forgetting
Him, who crowns us with loving-kindness and tender mercies.

2. Jeroboam's sin against Solomon was as nothing compared with his sin against God.

From the first he seems to have been an irreligious man. He regarded religion as a kind of restraint on the lower orders, and therefore useful in government. Priests and prophets constituted, in his opinion, the vanguard of the police, and they should, therefore, be supported and encouraged by the State. As to the form religion assumed, he was not particular. In Egypt he had become accustomed to the ritual of Apis and Mnevis, which was by no means so gross and demoralising as the idolatry of the Canaanites, and he evidently could not see why the worship of Jehovah could not be carried on by those who believed in Him through the use of emblems, and, if need be, of idols. Therefore he set about the establishment of the cult of Apis, and "made two calves of gold, and set the one in Bethel and the other put he in Dan." This was the sin for which he was condemned again and again with almost wearisome iteration. He was by no means a fanatical idolater, and this act of his was simply the dictate of his worldly policy. He was engaged in the establishment of the separate kingdom of Israel, which for many a long year was to exist side by side with the kingdom of Judah. But this policy of separation would be impossible so long as there was the old spirit of unity in the nation. And this unity was expressed and fostered most of all by the existence of the Temple in Jerusalem, the common centre to which all the tribes resorted, and from which all government emanated. If this continued so to be, it was evident that the nation would sooner or later reassert its unity. The men of Ephraim were just now exasperated by the taxation imposed by Solomon, and increased by Rehoboam, and they still resented the precedence and supremacy of the rival tribe of Judah; but this feeling might prove transient, it might be some day dissipated by the statesmanship of a wiser king, and then the separated kingdom would die out, and all God's people would appear as one. To prevent this was Jeroboam's aim in the erection of the golden calves.

It was a policy which would naturally appeal to the jealous people, who were told that they ought not to be dependent for their means of worship on Judah, nor send up their tribute for the support of the Temple in Jerusalem. And they would welcome a scheme which brought worship within easier range, and saved the cost of leaving business and undertaking a wearisome journey in order to keep the feasts. Thus, without deliberate choice, they swiftly glided down into idolatry and national ruin.

Jeroboam thus led the people to a violation of one of the fundamental laws in the Decalogue. For if the first command was not disobeyed by all the people, the second was, and these laws are still obligatory, nor can they be broken with impunity. With fatal facility those who worshipped Jeroboam's golden calf became identified with the heathen, and the kingdom thus set upon a false foundation was at last utterly destroyed. And as surely as the tide flows in upon the shore, so surely will the laws of God bring retribution on all who are impenitent. To every man the choice is proffered between the false and the true ideal of life. On the one side the tempter points to wealth and position, which may often be won, as Jeroboam won it, by unscrupulousness; and on the other side stands the Son of God, who, though rejected and crucified, was nevertheless the Victor over sin, and who now from His heavenly throne exclaims, "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with Me in My throne, even as I also overcame, and am set down with My Father in His throne."

ASA

BY REV. ALFRED ROWLAND, D.D., LL.B.

1 KINGS xv. 8-24; 2 CHRON. xiv-xvi.

Asa was the third king who reigned over the separated kingdoms of Judah. His father was Ahijah, of whom it is sternly said, "He walked in all the sins of his father, Rehoboam, which he had done before him." A worse bringing-up than Asa's could scarcely be imagined. As a child, and as a lad, he was grievously tempted by his father's example, and by the influence of an idolatrous court, which was crowded by flatterers and panderers. The leading spirit of the court-circle was Maachah, "the King's mother," as she is called—the Sultana Valide. She was a woman of strong character, and held a high official position. She was the grand-daughter of Absalom, and was notorious for her fanatical idolatry. In short, she was the evil genius of the kingdom, like the Chinese Queen-mother of our own times, although, happily, Asa possessed a force of character which the young Emperor of China seems to lack. It is certainly noteworthy, that, with so much against the cultivation of a religious life, "Asa did that which was right in the eyes of the Lord, as did David his father." Sometimes on a heap of corruption, which we are glad to hurry past with abhorrence, God plants a beautiful and fragrant flower, as if in defiance of man's neglect; and thus Asa appeared in the family, and in the court of Ahijah, his father—a God-fearing, single-minded lad, with a will of his own.

As there was hope for him, there is hope for all. Whatever a man's parentage and circumstances may be, he is not forced into sin, and has no right to say, "We are delivered to do all these abominations." Amid all his difficulties and discouragements, if he is earnestly seeking to serve God, and looking to Him for help and hope, he may triumph over the most adverse circumstances, and prove himself to be a true citizen of heaven. If he waits in prayer on God, as Joseph did in Egypt, Daniel in Babylon, and Asa in Ahijah's court, he will not only be endued with piety, but with an independent spirit, and a resolute will, which will make him a power for good in the very sphere where he seemed likely to be crushed by the powers of evil. It is not in vain that the apostle gave the exhortation, "Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good." Asa was a noble example of obedience to that command.

It is clear from the narrative, in the First Book of Kings, that Asa was rich in noble qualities, such as manly resoluteness, political sagacity, and administrative vigour. But special prominence is given in the Bible (as one might expect) to his religious sincerity, for it is emphatically said—"Asa's heart was perfect with the Lord all his days." This does not mean that he was sinless, that he had reached moral perfection, but that he had completely, with whole-heartedness, given himself over to the will of God, to be and to do what He ordained.

The proof of this was seen in the reformation Asa daringly attempted. This is the record of it—"He took away the sodomites out of the land, and removed all the idols that his father had made. And also Maachah his mother, even her he removed from being queen, because she had made an idol in a grove; and Asa destroyed her idol, and burnt it by the brook Kidron."

Things must have gone badly in the kingdom before he ascended the throne. Although it was only about twenty years since the death of Solomon, irreligion and vice had corrupted the nation. The truth is that evil spreads faster than good in this world, which is evidence that it has fallen. We have embodied this truth in a familiar proverb—"Ill weeds grow apace." If we neglect a garden, we are soon confronted with weeds, not with flowers. Valuable fruit-trees grow slowly, but a poisonous fungus will spring up in a night.

Evidence of this often appears in national affairs. A few months of war will suffice to desolate many homes, to destroy fertile fields, and to burn down prosperous villages, but it is long before that waste can be repaired, confidence restored, and prosperity and goodwill re-established. The devil will carry fire and sword through the world with the swiftness of a whirlwind, but Jesus Christ patiently waits and weeps over an irresponsive people, as he says, "Ye will not come to Me that ye might have life."

The same contrast in the progress of good and evil appears in our own experience. If we yield to evil, and indulge sinful passions, we move so swiftly downward that it is hard to stop,—like an Alpine climber on a snow-slope, who, having once slipped, in a few minutes' rush loses all that he has gained by toilsome climbing, and becomes less able to make new effort because of his wounds and bruises. Among our Lord's disciples, we see Judas swiftly rushing on self-destruction, whereas Peter and John received years of discipline, before they were fully prepared to fulfil their mission. No doubt, in such cases evil may have been, making slow and stealthy advance under the surface, though the result appears with startling suddenness, just as gas will escape without noise, and creep into every corner of the room; but when a light comes in, death and destruction come in a flash. Evil is an explosion, good is a growth.

This perhaps accounts for the facts that evil had quickly grown strong in the kingdom; while, on the other hand, Asa's attempt at reformation was incomplete and transient. He seems, however, to have done what he could, and that is more than can be said of many. If he had been a timid, half-hearted man he might have been content to worship Jehovah in his private room, and thus rebuke, by his example, any idolaters who happened to hear of it But his was no policy of laissez-faire. He felt that the evils encouraged by the father ought to be put down by the son, and this he did with a strong hand, wherever he could reach it.

Unhappily, there is a sad dearth of such reforming zeal in the Church, and in the world. Even among those who in private lament prevailing evils there is a singular contentment and tolerance even of those which might be at once removed. This is grievously common in large centres of population, where each individual feels insignificant among such vast multitudes, and loses the sense of individual responsibility in the vastness of the crowd which surrounds him. How many professing Christians, for example, deplore drunkenness and impurity, while they shrink from any kind of open protest, and will not even trouble themselves to vote for representatives who will fight these evils; and if a preacher boldly denounces such iniquities they will even beg him to leave questions of that kind alone, and to confine himself to doctrinal exposition. We are all too apt to forget that truth and righteousness, sobriety and holiness, are of God; and that the mission of Jesus Christ was to establish these, and to put away sin, even by the sacrifice of Himself. The religion He exemplified was not to be ranged on the shelves of a library, but to prove itself a living force in politics, in business, and at home. What was His own doctrine? "Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven." Evils outside the Church, then, are to be combated, and not tolerated, by all true Christians—even though in the result they are maligned as renegades to their party, or jeered at as Pharisees or Puritans. The late Tom Hughes was quite right half a century ago, when he thus described to the lads before him the lot of a would-be reformer.

"If the angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head a successful rise against the most abominable and unrighteous vested interests which this poor old world groans under, he would most certainly lose his character for many years, probably for centuries, not only with upholders of the said vested interest, but with the respectable mass of the people he has delivered. They wouldn't ask him to dinner, or let their names appear with his in the papers; they would be careful how they spoke of him in the palaver, or at their clubs. What can we expect, then, when we have only poor gallant, blundering men like Garibaldi and Mazzini, and righteous causes which do not triumph in their hands; men who have holes enough in their armour, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in their lounge-chairs, and having large balances at their bankers. But you are brave, gallant boys, who have no balances or bankers, and hate easy-chairs. You only want to have your heads set straight to take the right side; so bear in mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, are nine times out of ten in the wrong, and that if you see a man or boy striving earnestly on the weaker side, however wrong-headed or blundering he may be, you are not to go and join the cry against him. If you cannot join him, and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate remember that he has found something in the world which he will fight and suffer for—which is just what you have got to do for yourselves—and so think and speak of him tenderly."

Those manly words are worth quoting in full, and they will fitly set forth the service young Asa rendered to his kingdom, and to the world at large.

I.

It may be well to analyse a little more closely the reformation this right-hearted king attempted. He diminished opportunities for sin. The traffic in vice, by which many were making profit, he put down with a strong hand. And there are hotbeds of vice to be found in our own land, where strong appeal is made to the lusts of the flesh, and where intoxicating drink incites men to yield to passions which need restraint. Indeed, even in our streets moral perils assail the young and innocent, which no Christian nation ought to tolerate. We often meet the assertion that we cannot make people moral by Acts of Parliament; but if dens of infamy, which it is perilous to enter, are swept away, if gin-palaces and public-houses which flood the land with ruin are diminished in number, and in their hours of trade, it would certainly lessen the evils we deplore. Vested interests fight against such a change, and many on the side of sobriety and righteousness shrink from the contest, so that we need the inspiration which God gave to Asa, if we are to win the victory.

This kingly reformer not only lessened opportunities for vice, but certain evil influences in his kingdom he brushed aside with a strong hand. Maachah, the king's mother, was a potent influence on the side of idolatry. It seemed at first impossible to touch her. The king was indebted to her. She was aged, and age merits respect, and, therefore, some would argue that she might be tolerated for the few years she yet had to live. But these pleas did not avail her, for the issues involved were too serious for the nation, and for the kingdom of God. And because "Asa's heart was perfect," completely devoted to Jehovah's cause, he "removed her from being queen," and publicly burnt the idol she had put up.

Leaders in evil are sometimes found among the leaders of the world. Clever, unscrupulous men succeed in winning power through their want of principle, and even of scruple. Distinguished writers, gifted with brilliant style, or poetic power, exercise widespread influence for evil. Young people of singularly attractive personality win to themselves a large following, and use it for the worst ends. Many a golden image, or beautiful object of adoration, still stands on the high places of the world; and even if we cannot pull them down, as Asa did, at least we can say to the evil one, who set them up, "Be it known unto thee that we will not serve thy gods nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up."

The history of Asa should inspire us to a renewal of war against the evils which Jesus Christ died to put away. Victory will not come without conflict. In respect to anxiety we are to be quiescent as the lilies, which neither toil nor spin, but in respect of moral evil, within or without, we must be vigilant and strenuous.

"Lilies have no sin
Leading them astray,
No false heart within
That would them bewray,
Nought to tempt them in
An evil way;
And if canker come and blight,
Nought will ever put them right.

"But good and ill, I know,
Are in my being blent,
And good or ill may flow
From mine environment;
And yet the ill, laid low,
May better the event;
Careless lilies, happy ye!
But careless life were death to me."

II.

The courage of Asa had as its root confidence in God, and this is shown more fully in the narrative which appears in the Second Book of Chronicles than in the First Book of Kings.

His reforming work—carried out with ruthless vigour—naturally raised up adversaries on every side. In the court itself Maachah and her party were implacable. Outside it the idolatrous priests, and all their hangers-on, whose vested interests were abolished, were plotting and scheming against the king. But Asa was imperturbable, because he had found God to be his refuge and strength. The man who really fears God finds the fear of his fellows thereby cast out.

To Jehovah, therefore, the brave king brought all his difficulties. This was beautifully exemplified when he found himself confronted with an overwhelming force of Ethiopians, for then "Asa cried unto the Lord his God, and said, Lord, it is nothing with Thee to help, whether with many, or with them that have no power: help us, O Lord our God; for we rest on Thee, and in Thy name we go against this multitude. O Lord, Thou art our God; let not man prevail against Thee." Prayer was the secret of his strength, and in it we also may find all the help we need in meeting our discouragements—the ignorance which tries our patience, the indifference to God which nothing seems to stir, the vice which holds its victim as an octopus, the sin which is as subtle as it is strong. Against them all we have no power, and may well pray as Asa did. "Lord, help us." Then He will fulfil the promise, "When the enemy comes in like a flood, the spirit of the Lord will lift up a standard against him."

III.

After his great deliverance Asa renewed his consecration. The need for its renewal shows that in character and conduct he was far from being all that he ought to have been. He was not "perfect" in that sense. His earnestness cooled down. Through his carelessness the "high places" were re-erected. He seems to have been content that the "groves," with their grosser forms of idolatry, were gone, and that other forms might be tolerated, just as some, who have conquered their vices, are morally ruined by what the world calls little sins. But, in spite of these failings, the judgment of God, who is ever slow to anger and of great mercy, was that Asa's heart was "perfect"—sound, whole, and sincere, though not sinless.

How happy it is that God judges not as man judges, that He can unerringly read the heart, and graciously accepts even the imperfect and blundering service which we sincerely offer to Him. Jehu accurately executed Jehovah's fiat, whereas Asa's obedience seemed imperfect; yet the latter was commended, and the former condemned, because Asa, unlike Jehu, was right in heart. Therefore we may be encouraged still to do our little part in God's service, in spite of the failures and imperfections of the past, if only we can say, "Lord, Thou knowest all things, Thou knowest that I love Thee."

AHAZIAH

BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

"And the destruction of Ahaziah was of God, by coming to Joram; for,
when he was come, he went out with Jehoram against Jehu the son of
Nimshi, whom the Lord had anointed to cut off the house of Ahab."—2
CHRON. xxii. 7.

We rarely read this part of the Bible. And I do not wonder at it. For those particular chapters are undoubtedly dreary and monotonous. They contain the names of a number of incompetent and worthless kings who did nothing that was worth writing about, and who were singularly alike, so that when you have heard the story of one of them you know pretty well the story of all. It is the good lives that furnish attractive reading, because there is so much individuality and variety in them, so many pictorial lights and shadows. A novel in which all the characters are mean, would be read by nobody. The blackness needs to be relieved by something good, for darkness is always monotonous. Bad men show a dreary sameness in their thoughts and doings, their rise and fall. The godly are like nature illumined by the sunlight, manifold and infinite; the wicked are like nature when the darkness covers it, uniform and dismal. Nearly all that is said in the Bible about these bad kings, is that they walked in the ways of Ahab or Jeroboam or some other wicked person, that they closely imitated the doings of their model. The Bible does not waste space in describing them more accurately. One or two specimens do for all.

But certain things are said about Ahaziah which afford room for reflection, and may, perhaps, be useful to us if we take them in a right way.

And first let me give you a lesson in genealogy. These lessons are often very wearisome. Let two men get on talking about who was the cousin, father, grandfather, great-grandmother, and what not of such a person, and you begin at once to wish that you were out of it, or that you could quietly go to sleep until they settle the question; and yet it is not so unimportant as it seems. When a man writes a biography he deems it his duty to go back three or four generations, and tell you what sort of fathers and mothers and grandmothers and even great-grandsires his hero had. It is very wearisome, but it is very necessary. The story is not complete without that—for breed and ancestry go quite as far with men as with cattle, and often further.

Ahaziah's descent was right on one side, but it was very mean on the other. He had David's blood in his veins, and Jehoshaphat's, and mingled with that, the venom of heathenism. His mother was Athaliah, and Athaliah was the daughter of Jezebel, and Jezebel was a licentious heathen princess whom Ahab on an evil day had made his wife.

There is nothing in the Bible more tragical and more infamous than the story of this woman Jezebel, and the part which she took in shaping the destiny of the Jewish nation. She was a Syro-Phenician princess, whose father ruled over the powerful and wealthy cities of Tyre and Sidon. Ahab was caught by her beauty, and by the attractive political alliance of which she was the pledge. Some think that the forty-fifth Psalm had reference to her, which speaks of the daughter of Tyre coming with gold of Ophir, splendidly arrayed, and bringing a handsome dowry with her. Ahab thought he was marrying wealth and dignity, and providing for the greatness of his house, and, as often happens in such marriages, he forgot to ask for a certificate of character, forgot to ask what sort of mother he was providing for his children. She came with all her meretricious splendour covering one of the most fiendish natures that ever wore a woman's form. She developed, if she did not bring with her, all imaginable vices—her vindictive passion revelled in blood; her religion was the filthiest licentiousness; her beauty became the painted face of a common harlot. Her figure stands forth in the Bible as the very worst exemplification of the dark possibilities of human nature. Tennyson says men do not mount as high as the best of women—but they scarce can sink as low as the worst. For men at most differ as heaven and earth; but women, worst and best, as heaven and hell. And this woman became, alas, the mother of kings; and all who went forth from her inherited her nature, and forgot nothing of her training. For several generations the taint of her evil influence was felt throughout the whole court life of Israel, and the licentious abominations which she had introduced infected the whole national life. Ahab married for money and position, and this was what came of it.

Her influence extended also to the southern kingdom of Judah. Jehoram, King of Judah, must needs marry Ahab's daughter, Athaliah, who was the exact counterpart of her mother, Jezebel. Another wedding in which morals and religion were sacrificed on the altar of gain—for by means of it a small kingdom was to be cemented in alliance with a greater, and another rich dowry to be secured. And the same dreary results followed—a court corrupted with all manner of impurity, sons and daughters initiated into all the mysteries of wickedness, demoralisation spreading all around.

In this atmosphere Ahaziah was trained. His mother's name, says the record briefly, was Athaliah, the daughter of Omri, that is, the direct daughter of Jezebel. He also walked in the ways of the house of Ahab, for his mother was his counsellor to do wickedly—wherefore he did evil in the sight of the Lord, for they were his counsellors after the death of his father to his destruction. What else could result in a home of which Athaliah was the head, in which the main training and influence were supplied by one of Jezebel's brood. The significant feature in all these Chronicles is the immense influence of women in shaping the lives and characters of kings. The men seem to have little to do with it; the women are almost supreme. Sons do not take after their fathers but after their mothers. Again and again we read of a good king who had a wicked father—Josiah, Hezekiah, and others. They shake off their evil inheritance; they refuse to follow in their fathers' steps; they destroy idolatry, and endeavour to redeem Israel from its iniquity. But whenever this is the case you do not look far without discovering the cause. A good mother has been at work—woman's gracious influence has counteracted against the pernicious example of the father. And, on the other hand, we have a long list of vile and idolatrous kings, whose fathers were either comparatively worthy, or full of downright godliness, and then, invariably, there is some evil-minded royal consort at the back of it. Whenever we can get into the secrets of court life, we find that the character of the wife determines the moral weight and form of the royal children. It is her training that shapes the men. How could it be otherwise indeed? What time had those kings to spend on home matters, what with their fighting, judging, governing, and attending to all the affairs of empire? How could they do a father's work and watch the training of the future kings? It was left to the mothers, and unhappy they who had mothers like Ahaziah's.

And is not this an everlasting story, true to-day as it was in those old days? It is the mother's hand mainly that shapes men for good or evil. Women more than men make the atmosphere of home—the atmosphere which young lives breathe, and breathing never lose. The wise woman buildeth her house—the foolish plucketh it down with her hands. What time does a father spend in disciplining the moral and spiritual nature of his children? That has to be done in the hours when he is toiling in the warehouse, or resting wearily after the labours of the day, or surely it is not done at all. From a mother the child receives all its early religious thoughts. By her the Bible stories are taught, and through her lips the good book comes to be loved. None can do it except her. It is her eyes that watch every moral movement in the young life—every sign of change—every incipient error—every beginning of good and evil habit. No eyes can detect these things as quickly and as surely as hers. And if she is too careless to discover them, they will go unobserved and unchecked. Unhappy is the mother who gives to society, or to friendship, or to pleasure the time which she owes to her sons and daughters, for she will have to reap in vain regrets the penalty of her neglect. How rarely do good and true women and men go forth from a home in which a mother has been too busy with the giddy affairs of the pleasurable world to teach and pray with her children. Still more rarely do permanently evil and incorrigible lives go forth from a home in which a noble and religious mother has made it the chief business of her life to mould and train her children in paths of pure thought and reverent purpose. There is no religious work which a woman can do that equals this in importance, and none which secures such sure and blessed results. That, then, is the main thought suggested by these chapters—the measureless influence of women in forming lives for evil or for good.

Then comes the only other thing that we are told about this Ahaziah—that he was killed because he happened to be found in evil company. He lived badly because he followed the counsels of his mother, we read, and he died suddenly and tragically because he endeavoured to be on very friendly terms with his mother's relatives. He was King of Judah, and Judah with all its sins still worshipped God and was comparatively free from idolatry. But Israel, over which Jehoram, his mother's brother ruled, was given up to all the abominations of heathenism. Its court was a horrible sink of iniquity, and God's judgment had gone forth against it and all its doings. Ahaziah must needs join hands and pledge friendship with his relatives, and for that purpose visited them—probably he did not intend to do more. It was just to look at the doings of this court, and have a taste of its pleasures, and then come back again. But once there he was led on from step to step—found Jehoram's company very attractive, entered into his plans, went out with him to battle, took part, no doubt, in the worship of his gods, and then while the two were going hand and glove together, the long-deferred judgment of God fell on Jezebel's house. The soldier raised up by God for that purpose swooped down upon the wicked king and his favourites with resistless force, making no distinction; and Ahaziah, being one of the band, shared in the general destruction.

The destruction of Ahaziah, says the Book, was of God, by coming to Jehoram. By his coquetting with evil he was made to pay the last penalty. So runs the story, and it seems far removed from everything that concerns our lives—yet not so far—things of a similar kind are happening every day. Men who tread the ways of sinners, who enter into any sort of fellowship with them, often find themselves involved very strangely and suddenly in their shame and their punishment. You cannot go into ways of evil men, or visit any forbidden scenes, or lend your countenance in any way to their doings, even though you have no further intention than just to look on, but there is ever hanging over you the sword of detection. The policeman appears, or God's light is let down upon the scene, and you are discovered as having part in it, and your name is stained and your character gone, and your life marked with a perpetual stigma of disgrace. When God's Judgment comes on sin it always involves some who are just hovering on the edge of it, as well as those who are in the thick of it. You ought not to be there. Remember Ahaziah.

And there are some evil natures and some evil things which a man cannot touch in even the slightest degree without being led on from step to step, as Ahaziah was, until he was in the thick of Jehoram's iniquity. A young woman cannot enter a gin-palace and drink her glass at the counter—as I see scores do any night—without gradually going further and losing all the modesty and grace of womanhood. A young man cannot touch gambling in any of its forms without almost inevitably being drawn under its fascinations, as one who is slowly involved in a wily serpent's coils. An English bishop thinks and has said that a little betting is allowable, that if you only indulge moderately in it, you may do it with impunity. He might as well have said that if you only steal coppers the law will smile upon you, but if you steal gold you will come in for its stripes. He might as well have said, "If you only put your little finger in this fire it will not hurt you, but if you thrust your whole hand in, it will burn." There can be no moderation in a thing which is essentially and in all its principles based on dishonesty and corruption, and evil excitement and evil greed. I am profoundly sorry that such a thing has been said by one whose word has so much authority and influence. It will be taken by thousands as an encouragement to do what they are only too prone and eager to do. Who shall curse what a father in Christ has condescended to bless? We need rather to have all Christian hands and voices raised in passionate and tearful denunciation of that which is doing more than anything else to demoralise our youth and eat away the very morals of the nation. We need to warn against it and denounce it in whatever form and degree it is practised, and to say, "Touch not, taste not, handle not the accursed thing."

We must keep away altogether from the men who delight in evil paths, and from the things, the very touch of which defiles. Go not in their way, pass not by it. "If sinners entice thee, consent thou not." Learn the lesson of Ahaziah's life, and how his fall came because he consorted with wickeder men than himself, and was anxious to see their doings.

GEHAZI

BY REV. J. MORGAN GIBBON

"The leprosy therefore of Naaman shall cleave unto thee, and unto thy seed for ever. And he went out from his presence a leper as white as snow."—2 KINGS v. 27.

Elisha and Gehazi were master and man. They were more. They were almost father and son. Elisha calls him "my heart," just as Paul calls Onesimus his heart. Yet they parted so.—"He went out from his presence a leper." The punishment was terrible. Was it deserved? Had the master a right to pass this sentence? "The leprosy of Naaman"—yes! but had Gehazi caught nothing from Elisha?

Most commentators fall on Gehazi with one accord. He is pilloried as a liar. He is branded as a thief. He is bracketed with Achan, and coupled with Judas. They flatter the master, they are hard on the man. But this is surely a very false reading of facts. By clothing the prophet in spotless white, and tarring Gehazi a deep black all over, we violate the truth of things and miss the lesson of the story, which, like the sword-flames at Eden's gate, turn many ways.

To take but one out of its numerous suggestions, we have here a story for servants of all sorts, and for masters and mistresses too, of all kinds.

The section is rich in domestic interiors. Servants have always formed important members of the household, and often their service has risen to be a beautiful and holy ministry.

We see here, for example, a great Eastern lady, Naaman's wife, and her little Jewish maid, whom the fortunes of war had swept from her home "in the land of Israel." In the division of the spoil, this human mite had fallen to Naaman's share, and drifted into his lady's service. The slave-child has evidently reached the woman, perhaps the hungering mother's heart, in her mistress; and the sorrow of the woman, for alas! she is a leper's wife, has touched the servant's heart. The burning sense of the wrong to herself is cooled and quenched by the pity she feels for her master; and the expedition that brought health to Naaman, and unspeakable joy to Naaman's wife, was the outcome of a word she spoke. She knew of Elisha, she said what she knew, and great things came of it.

She did this, not as a slave of Naaman's wife, but as a free human soul, and servant of God. No tyranny could extort this service. No wealth could pay for this golden secret. Sometimes a character appears but once in the course of a great drama. The man or woman, comes on the stage to deliver one message, and then disappears. But that one brief word has its place in the playwright's scheme, and its effect on the action of the piece. This child was sent to Syria to utter one speech, to speak one name, and because she spoke her little speech, kindly and clearly, things went better with ever so many people.

"A fair day's wage for a fair day's work," but let there be more than money in the wage, and more than labour in the service. Let no one, in being a servant, cease to be a free human soul. Do you serve in Syria? Is your lot cast among those that know not the Prophet? Well, but you are from the land of Israel; speak your speech, tell out the Prophet's name. Be more than servant, more than clerk, more than a "hand," an apprentice, a journeyman; be a soul, an influence, a link with higher things, a reminder of God, a minister of Christ.

Naaman, too, was happy in his servants. He was a Bismarckian, peppery man. Accustomed to command, he expected miracles to be done to order, and prophets to toe the line. And because he did not like Elisha's manner nor his prescription, he was on the point of returning to Syria in a rage. But he had servants that knew him through and through. They knew what note to sound, and they saved him from himself. The expedition had been suggested by a servant who generously paid good for evil. It was saved from defeat by servants who did for kindness what no contract could have specified and no wage could cover. They also were souls who knew at times that man was created for spiritual service.

But Elisha, too, though doubtless poor, had his servant, and an efficient, tactful servant he was.

A very good book might be written on "poor men's servants." For they have had of the very best. The whole world knows Boswell, and with all his faults it loves him still, for he was loyal to a royal soul. Well, most great men have had their Boswells. When all is known it will be found that the men of the five talents have owed much of their success and more of their happiness to the fidelity and love of men of the one talent.

How well Gehazi served Elisha! How nobly the servant comes out in that exquisite story of the Lady of Shunem. How jealous he is of his master's honour! How dear he was to Elisha's soul, "my heart! my other self!" And yet, he did this thing. He lied, he cheated, he obtained goods by false pretences, he lowered the prophet in Naaman's sight; and after all his years of noble service, his master smote him with his curse, and he went out of his presence a leper!

But was Naaman's the only leprosy that infected Gehazi? Had Elisha any share in his fall? After all, it is a sorry business to heal a stranger and send forth one's own friend in this fashion.

Nothing can exonerate Gehazi. His lie remains a lie, say what you will. But our business is not to apportion blame, but to try to find out how such things came to be, in order to guard against them in our own homes. If a servant leaves your employ poorer in character than when she came to you, if a youth leaves your business harder, colder, weaker in will, further from God than when you received him from home, it is a clear case for inquiry. It is our duty to see that young people are not exposed to moral infection in our homes.

In the matter of physical infection, two facts are familiar to us all. The first is, that mischief enters the system by means of a germ; and the second is, that the action of the germ depends very much on the condition of health in which it finds a man. If the man is healthy, he is often proof against the arrow that fleeth by day, and the pestilence that walketh in darkness. But if the body is already enfeebled, the germs find half their work done for them beforehand.

Well now, these natural laws are valid in the spiritual world. The rules of moral hygiene are summed up in our Lord's prayer, "Lead us not into temptation," that is to say, do not breathe the germ-laden air, and in St Paul's precept, "Be strong in the Lord," cultivate general spiritual health, safety lies in strength. Good health is the best prophylactic. There is no precaution so effective as being well.

Now what have we in this narrative? When the prophet permitted Naaman to bow in the temple of Rimmon he did very right, say the chorus of commentators. But the common-sense of mankind has taken a different view. Bowing in the temple of Rimmon has become a byword and a reproach. It signifies something which men feel is not quite right. It was, in fact, an indulgence. Still, perhaps it was wise not to force the new-born convert. Perhaps it did Naaman no harm. Possibly it did Elisha's soul no injury to be so far complaisant towards idolatry. But surely there was a germ of evil in the thing, and this germ found a nidus, found a nest in Gehazi's soul, in which to hatch its evil brood. It lighted on Gehazi at the psychological moment. He had seen the gorgeous equipage. He had gazed on the ingots of gold and the great bars of silver. He had fingered the silks and brocades. Elisha had waved them away. To him they were as child's trinkets. But he had other resources than Gehazi, and when the cavalcade drew off, leaving nothing of its treasures behind, his longing grew into a fever of desire. It was so mad of the master to let all that gold and silver go, and he so poor! Gehazi had to bear the brunt of the poverty, and tax his five wits to make ends meet. And to think that a gold mine had come to their very door and they had refused to let it in!

But it is too late now—and yet why should it be too late? The company moves slowly. One could easily catch up with it. But what to say?

Pilgrims sometimes knock at Elisha's door. Sons of the prophets from the college on Mount Ephraim often come to see the master. There were two last week, or was it the week before? Without doubt we shall have others soon, for they like to talk to the master. They are miserably poor like ourselves, but they have good appetites. Naaman would be delighted to leave something for them. He would feel easier in his mind. It would be a kindness to let him give something. True, we have none of them in the house at this moment. But we have had and we shall have. If I say we have them now—well, that will only be making a little bow in the temple of Rimmon. Naaman means to do that. Master allows him to do it. We must not be too strict. "As the Lord liveth I will run after him and take somewhat of him!" Elisha was hurt, shamed, and angry. The sin was great and terrible. Yet, perhaps, had Gehazi met Elijah this would not have happened. Had Elisha sounded the great Elijah-note, "if the Lord is God, follow Him, but if Rimmon, then follow him," perhaps the germ of temptation would not have found Gehazi even quite such an easy prey,

Mind, I am not whitewashing him or mitigating his crime. I am trying to get at the forces that conspired to make him what he was, and among these I have no doubt at all that his master's complaisant permission of compromise was a very potent force. Of course he was wrong, of course there is no logical connection between what the master allowed in the Syrian general and the great lie Gehazi told. And yet there was a sort of ghastly logic in this poor wretch's procedure. There are many commandments. But duty is one thing, and if you weaken a man's sense of duty by breaking one commandment yourself, you must not be surprised if you find him breaking another commandment later on. Gehazi was cured of the leprosy of Naaman. The prophet's angry word was not countersigned on high, and one hopes that he also shook off by God's assisting grace the ill-effects of Elisha's complacency. For the greater danger lay in that. And does it not still lie there?

Our young people, our children, our servants that minister to our comfort, our assistants and clerks that multiply our personal activities and help to build up our fortunes, is there no danger to their spiritual life in being exposed as they are to the spiritual influences which we give off every hour? They see the cavalcades of wealth, they gaze at the ingots of gold and the great white silver bars; they look with longing eyes at the silks with colours that come and go like the iris on the dove's neck. The luxuries of meat and drink appeal to them. The temptation to live for these things assaults them.

And what help does Gehazi get from Elisha to-day? What help do young men in offices and shops get from masters and heads of departments? What help do servants in London homes get from the daily examples of mistresses? What are the inferences drawn in the kitchen from things heard and seen in the dining or drawing-room? and what in the nursery? Does a young man who sees to the very core of your business say to himself, "The master's profession of religion is hypocrisy—all religion is hypocrisy?" Then may God help him, for he is smitten with the leprosy of Elisha; and may God help you, for it is a sorry business to evangelise Asiatics and send your own servants forth from your presence lepers white as snow.

Let every master and mistress pray, "Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there is any way of wickedness in me, and lead me in the way everlasting."

HAZAEL

BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

"But what, is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?"—2 KINGS viii. 13.

Hazael was the chief minister and prime favourite of Benhadad, the Syrian king. He had been raised from a humble lot and promoted to that high post by the partiality of his sovereign, who had doubtless discerned his exceptional abilities, and certainly placed implicit trust in him. Just now the king was dangerously ill, and Hazael had been sent to inquire of the prophet of Israel as to the probable issue of the sickness. He put the question with seeming anxiety: "Will my master recover?" He spoke as if that was his dearest wish; perhaps he did wish it. But there were evidently other thoughts half-formed, lurking and hiding themselves in the background. Suppose the king should die and leave the throne vacant, what then? May there not be a chance for me? Elisha read these hidden thoughts, and looked the man in the face long and steadfastly, until the face turned crimson and the head was lowered with shame. And then the prophet said, "Thy master need not die of the sickness; nevertheless, he will die, and I see you filling a throne won by murder, and I have a picture before me of the terrible things which you will do to my dear land of Israel." And as this vision passed before the prophet's eyes, he wept. Then Hazael gave the answer which stands at the head of this paper.

It is open to two interpretations. The Authorised Version gives one and the Revised Version the other. According to the first, it is an indignant denial; he recoils with horror from the picture of perfidy, cruelty, and enormous criminality which the prophet has sketched for him. I am not capable of such a thing, he says; "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thing?" According to the other reading it is not the crime that he revolts from, but the kingship and the greatness that he refuses to believe in. It seems so improbable and all but impossible that he, a man of obscure birth, should climb to such eminence. He exclaims against it as a piece of incredulous and extravagant imagination. "What is thy servant, which is but a dog, that he should do this great thing?"

Now, I doubt not that both readings may be allowed. For certainly both thoughts were in the speaker's mind. He did not believe at that moment that he could ever be brought to commit such infamous deeds, and he did not believe that he could ever attain such high ambitions and power. There was a dark moral depth predicted for him to which he was sure he would never fall, and there was a certain grandeur and elevation to which he was confident he would never rise. To both things he said, "It is impossible," and yet the impossible came to pass.

Now I would have you observe that this is one of the prominent lessons of the Bible; on many a page does it bring out an unexpected development like this. Again and again it is the unlikely that happens in the lives which figure on its pages. They rise or they fall in a way that no one looked for, and which they, least of all, anticipated themselves. We seem to hear them saying with Hazael, "Impossible," and then, before we get far, the thing is done. Impossible, we say, that king Saul should ever descend so low as to deal in witches; or that Solomon, the wise, God-fearing youth, should give himself up to the sway of lustful passions and idolatries. Yet that comes to pass. Impossible, we say, that the cunning, lying Jacob should ever develop into a man of prayer; and the outcast beggar, Jephthah, ever grow into a hero-patriot and king. Yet we see it. In the Bible stories greatness always comes to those who have neither marked themselves out for it, nor deemed themselves fit for it; and, on the contrary, its most infamous deeds are done, and its most shameful lives lived, by those who have given promise of fairer things, and who in their early manhood would have scouted the possibility of descending so low. The men whom it describes have no suspicion, to begin with, of the great power for good that is in them, or the equally great possibilities of evil. Tell the shepherd youth, David, that he has in him the making of a king and an immortal poet, and he will think you are poking fun at him. Tell him that he will one day fall into the crimes of adultery and murder, and make all Israel blush for him, and he will be indignant enough to strike you to the ground. Speak to the fisherman, Peter, of the commanding influence which awaits him in some coming kingdom of God, and he will think you are beside yourself: and then tell him that he will one day deny and curse his sworn Master and kindest Friend, and he will ask you, Do you think I am a dog or a devil that I should do this? Impossible! And yet the thing comes off.

Why do the sacred writers give us so many stories of this kind? Surely it is because we need both the warning and encouragement. It is to prove to us that on one side of our nature we are greater than we think, and on the other side weaker and lower than we believe. It is to inspire the diffident with courage, and the despairing with hope, while it pulls up the forward, the careless, and the over-confident with the wholesome and humbling word, "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall." These men of the Bible were strangely mixed. They were conspicuous instances of the contradictions and surprises which are in us all. For that is the point: the thing comes home to us.

Believe me, we are all a riddle to ourselves. Each man is to himself, and each woman too, the greatest of all mysteries save the one greater mystery, God. None of us know of what elements he is composed, and how strangely the good and evil mix and mingle and clash and strive in each day's doings, and through the whole of life. They who believe that the saint is all saint, and the sinner all sinner, are blindly and pitiably ignorant of human nature. God has made no man without putting some little bit of the Divine image in him. The worst has some lingering trace or ruin of it. And the best is not so entirely the temple of the Holy Ghost that no fouler spirits ever obtain entrance there. You may say that you do not believe in a devil. Well, that may be; but there is something like a devil in all of us at certain times, and I would rather believe that it comes from the outside than that it is born and bred and originates within. At any rate, there are in all of us the strange oppositions, the darkness and the light overlapping each other, the evil and the good ever contending, like Esau and Jacob, in the birth hour. The awful and the blessed possibilities are there, and which shall get the uppermost depends first on God, and then upon ourselves.

I.

Remember first, then, that we have all a lower side.

There is in us what I may call a lurking, crouching, slumbering devil, which needs constant watching and holding down with the strong hand of self-mastery and prayer. "Praying always with all prayer, and watching thereunto," says the apostle. In every one of us there is the possibility of falling, however high we stand and however near God we walk. Bunyan says, in his immortal story, "Then I saw in my dream that by the very gate of heaven there was a way that led down to hell." No man, however ripe in goodness, however firmly rooted and grounded in faith, love, and Christian qualities, ever gets beyond the need of vigilant sentinel work—watching himself. He must always be buffeting himself, and keeping under his body, as Paul did, lest he himself should be a castaway. Let him grow careless, presumptuous, neglectful of prayer, and all the old tempers and passions slowly steal in, and bit by bit obtain the mastery, and the Christian disgraces his profession, and the saint becomes a sinner again. Every Christian knows this. He knows the evil powers that are in him.

It is the man who has never fought with his temptation, never prayed, who especially needs to be reminded of it; young men and women who have been well brought up, who have kept themselves moderately straight so far, and who are full of good resolutions. I hear them say, "Oh I am strong enough. I am not such a fool as to throw myself away in the stupid game of the prodigal, in drunkenness, and gambling, and unclean living. I can hold myself in. I can go just as far as I please. I can indulge to a certain extent, and pull myself up just at the moment I please; and as for prayer and seeking God's help, thank my stars I can clear a safe course without all that. I shall not overstep the line you may depend upon it." "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this?"

And I answer, yes—there is quite enough of the dog in you, or of the devil, if you like the word better, to do this and to do worse things—if you play with the dog and let it loose, and let it have a free run now and then. In my time I have heard scores of young men talk in this way. I have heard them laugh scornfully when danger was mentioned to them, and I have seen a few of them fortunate enough to grow up to manhood with a fairly unspotted character; a few, but not many—the greater part have gone wrong, and some deplorably wrong. There is hardly one of us can keep that dog fastened up and chained down always, unless we rely upon a stronger power than our own. It gets loose at times with the best of us—it runs wild and plays dreadful havoc with those who are not the best; there is always in you the baser self—always the dry torches of evil passions which a spark may kindle—always the moral weaknesses and lusts, half-sleeping, which some stronger blast of temptation may awaken and bring out; and if you wish to escape the evil and hold fast to the good, you will commit your way unto the Lord, and put on the Christian armour, and strengthen yourselves by prayer. Do not presume too much—better men than you have fallen every day. God only can save you from yourselves.

II.

It is just as needful to remember the other side—the side of better possibilities.

Some of you are tempted to say at times with Hazael, "Thy servant is but a dog; how can he do these great things?" You are disposed to underrate your gifts, your opportunities, your happy chances in life—in a word, your possibilities. You despair of finding any opening; you are sure that you will never hear a call to come up higher; you think your lives must always be ill-paid drudgery, with no promotion. It is sad to work with a conviction of that kind. You never work well if there is nothing to look forward to, and it is cowardly to give way to a conviction of that kind. Perhaps you are not specially clever—no, but there are better things than cleverness in the world, and things which have more to do with life's real successes.

If you have in you some power of plodding, to do steady work, doing it always honestly; if you have perseverance, self-control, a sense of duty, a determination to do always the thing that is right, all will be well—these are the qualities which lift a man up to the best places, and one of those places is being prepared for you if you are worthy to fill it. You say, perhaps, "I can never be a good man. I can never be a Christian. I am not made for these high things; it is not in me." I answer, "It is in you, or if it be not in you now, God will put it in you if you diligently ask Him."

Nay, truly, there are the germs of goodness in every one of us. Thy servant is something more than a dog, though he calls himself that, and nothing else. There is something of the religious emotion in you, and that means there is something of the Divine. You have dreams at times of a beautiful life, you have longings for it, sometimes you even set out to reach it—and these are all touches of God. They all prove that the Holy Ghost sometimes pays at least a passing visit to your hearts. You do not know what God can make of you until you trust and try Him. There are greater things by far in you than you have guessed. Have confidence in Him, and He will bring them out. I can see a man of God in you, a pillar in the Church, an honour to the town. I can see a Christian mother in you, a half-sainted woman full of good works, bringing children up to noble lives. It is there in many of you, if you do not despise and neglect the gift that is in you, but use it and cultivate it prayerfully, and let God bring it to perfection.

MANASSEH

BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

"Manasseh was twelve years old when he began to reign, and he reigned fifty and five years in Jerusalem."—2 CHRON. xxxiii. l.

Fifty and five years—he wore the crown a longer time than any other of the house of David. Of all the kings that reigned in Jerusalem, this man's reign filled the largest space; yet he is the one king of Judah about whom we are told least. In the modern city of Venice there is a hall which is adorned with the portraits of all the doges or kings who ruled that city in the days of its splendour—all except one—one who made himself infamous by evil deeds. Where his portrait ought to be, there is a black blank space which says nothing, yet speaks volumes; which says to every visitor, Do not think of him, let him be forgotten. In some such way Manasseh is disposed of by the sacred writers. They hurry over the fifty-five years; they crowd them into half a chapter, as if they were ashamed to dwell upon them, as if they wanted the memory of them and of the man to be forgotten. And that was the feeling of all the Jews. Century after century, and even to the present time, Jews have held the man's name in abhorrence. Do not speak of him, they say. He was the curse of our nation. He denied our faith. He slew our prophets. He brought Jerusalem to ruin.

Yet, strange to say, the man so hated and cursed was once a nation's hope and joy. When his father, Hezekiah, lay sick unto death, his greatest grief and the profoundest sorrow of his people was caused by the thought that he was dying childless. They prayed for his recovery mainly on that ground. He recovered, and married, and a child was born, and the glad father called him Manasseh, which means, God hath made me forget—forget my sickness and my sorrow; and all over the land the ringing of bells was heard and shouts of rejoicing, and the prophet Isaiah sang of the child's birth in those triumphant words which we have often heard since in another connection, "Unto us a son is born, unto us a child is given"; and they thought that all would go well now that there was an heir to the throne, and they prayed that he might be sturdy and strong, and get over all the ailments of childhood. They hoped more from the child than they did from God. Their prayers were granted. God gave them their desire, and the result was such as to make us doubtful whether we are always wise in pressing such prayers. We are never sure that it will be good for us, or good for our darling child, that its life should be spared and prolonged in some time of crisis. Often the early death which we dread may be far less cruel than the evil which waits beyond. Better to leave these things in God's hands, and say that will be best for all which seems right to Thee. A whole nation prayed for the birth and preservation of this son. That same nation came to curse the day on which he was born.

Strange that a father like Hezekiah had a child like this. Hezekiah was, I think, the best of the Jewish kings, wise and brave, gentle and strong, full of reverence and faith, pre-eminently a man who walked with God and strengthened himself by prayer, and fought as earnest and true a battle for religion and righteousness as we have recorded in the Old Testament. How came it that the son was in all respects his opposite? Did an evil mother shape him, or what? We cannot tell. These are among the saddest mysteries of human life. The law that a child's training and environment determine the character of the man, often fails most deplorably. The wisest man may have a most foolish son; the godliest home may send forth a reprobate; the child of many prayers may live a life of shame. When a young man goes wrong, it is often both unjust and cruel to lay it on the home training, and to say that there has been neglect or want of discipline, or want of right example there. It is adding another burden to hearts already weighted with intolerable grief.

For the most part, children will follow their parents in what is good, and those nursed in prayer will grow up praying men. But there are hideous exceptions, and sometimes the most Christlike people have this cross to bear; and it is the most heart-crushing of all to see children turning aside from all that they have held dear, and by the whole course of their lives mocking the religious ideals and hopes which were cherished for them. God save all you fathers and mothers from this calamity, and God save all our young people from crushing tender hopes in this cruel way.

Manasseh's life was spent in undoing what his father had done. It seemed to be his great ambition to overturn and destroy the sacred edifice which his father's hands, with untiring prayer and devotion, had raised. Hezekiah had taught his people to trust in God, and in reliance on His help to sustain a noble independence separate from heathen alliances. Manasseh hastened to join hands with Babylon, and make his nation the vassal of a great heathen empire. Hezekiah had swept the land clean of idols. Manasseh filled every grove and hillside with these vain images again. Hezekiah had restored the Temple worship and the Mosaic ritual, and the moral law, and laboured to establish a reign of sobriety, purity, justice, and order. Manasseh outraged all the moralities, and delighted in introducing everywhere the licentious abominations of the neighbouring peoples. Hezekiah had cultivated and encouraged prophecy, and gathered about him great and noble souls like Isaiah and Habakkuk. Manasseh drove them from his presence, and finally slew them.

There were new lights in those days, as there are now. Men who sneered at all the old thoughts and ways, who swept Moses aside with disdain, and thought that David's psalms were poor and feeble things, and that the old-fashioned religion was narrow and provincial, and that the stories of victories won by faith and miracles wrought by prayer were worn-out fictions. They said that if the nation would prosper, it must turn its back on all this stuff, and follow new methods, and profess a new religion. Let them make the great empire, Babylon, their model, with its advanced civilisation, and science, and literature, and vast stores of wealth, with its worship, too, of the sun, and stars, and fire, its religion full of jollity and license, which contrasted so happily with the sober and severe worship of Jehovah, and did not trouble men with unwelcome moral precepts. See how great that empire had become, and how stationary and unprogressive was their own little kingdom, because it clung to the old ways. That was what the new party said. Away with the old-fashioned thoughts and the old-fashioned trusts and beliefs and worship. We are wiser than our simple-minded fathers. We know a few things more than these narrow-minded and crazy prophets. We will have all things new.

And Manasseh, being a young man and as foolish as he was young, drank in greedily their counsels and made himself their leader. For it is ever the temptation of young life to think lightly of their father's wisdom, and to despise what they call the narrow religious beliefs, and the careful moral scruples of the old, and to fancy that they know all things so much better than those who have gone before. They want to try experiments of their own with life, and shake off the shackles of old moral laws and religious creeds, and be free to do and think as they please, and put the Bible away on the shelf, and shove prayer aside as a sort of worn-out heirloom, and have a merrier and better time than the old folks knew. That was the course which Manasseh took, just as headstrong and irreverent youths take it now.

Then followed that time which the Jewish people never speak of without shame—a hideous reign of idolatry, and immorality, and injustice; an awful period of persecution for the few righteous and God-fearing people who were left when the prophets had been sought out and slain. Isaiah sawn asunder, Habakkuk stoned to death, the faithful driven into dens and caves of earth. It is of this time that we read in the Epistle to the Hebrews, in that graphic account of the martyred faithful: "They were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword: they wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented: of whom the world was not worthy" (xi. 37, 38). A few years of this sufficed to pull down the whole fabric of religion which Hezekiah had so painfully and patiently raised. For it is so easy to destroy; so easy for folly and irreverence to pull down what wisdom and goodness have taken years in building; so easy for a vicious and irreligious son to bring shame and ruin upon the house which a godly father and mother have spent a lifetime in rearing with honour; so easy, by a few rash acts, to destroy the character and reputation which the prayers and training of years have sought to establish. It is the easiest thing in the world to undo and overturn; there is no cleverness and courage required for destroying, the cleverness and courage are called for in building it up.

Manasseh succeeded to his heart's content. People followed him greedily, except the steadfast few. And presently the prophets were all gone, and the worship of the true God was nowhere practised except in secret, and the sacred names were no more mentioned, and the land gave itself up to all the foul rites and the shameful indulgences of the heathen world, And then God's retribution came swiftly. Where the rotting carcase was, there the eagles gathered together. These same Babylonians whose ways the renegade Jews had so much admired and imitated, swept down upon them with the talons of a vulture, with cruelty that spared neither tender woman nor innocent child, and Jerusalem was burned with fire, and Manasseh carried off in chains and flung into a foreign prison to muse in solitude over the end of his projects, and to find out there that the old ways had been the best.

There we are told that he repented, that he was stricken with shame because of all the evil that he had done, and turned with prayer and humility to the God whom he had defied. And we are told that God was merciful and heard his entreaties, and accepted his repentance, and brought him back after sorrowful years of imprisonment to his land and throne. This is the part of the story which most people emphasise. That, they say, is the main lesson of the story—Manasseh's repentance, and how God accepted the rebellious sinner at the last and forgave him all his iniquities—and they draw from that the conclusion that it is never too late to turn to God, and that all the dark doings of a man's life are swept clean away, if at any time the heart repents and believes.

But this is not the part of the story which the sacred writers dwell upon. In the Book of Kings, where there is another version of Manasseh's doings, no mention is made whatever of the repentance, and here it is only briefly recorded, and in a somewhat sorrowful tone.

He came back humbled and forgiven, indeed, but not in a happy state of mind. He came back to a ruined kingdom; to a sinful and demoralised and destitute people; to see everywhere the sorrow, and the evil and the misery and shame which his doings had caused; to be reminded continually that his life had been a great wicked and foolish blunder, and that there was no undoing the mischief which he had done. For the sake of his repentance he was spared a little longer, but there could be little joy in the remaining years of a life like that.

I think that that is the experience of most men who turn away in their youth from the example and precepts of godly fathers, who reject the truths which make life sober and strong, who betake themselves to thoughts of infidelity and ways of sin, and fancy that they can live life happily without God and prayer. There comes a time when they are made to feel that their life has been a mistake, that it would have been far better for them to have stuck to the old ways, that those believing fathers whom they laughed at were right after all; perhaps they repent and go back to God at last, and He accepts them; but whether repentant or not, they always carry with them an awful burden. Shame is upon them for the evil they have done, shame for the life that has been spent to so little purpose, regret and humbling that they cannot undo the blind and guilty past. Repentance at the best is a poor business when it comes in the evening hours of life. Better then than never; but better far to have gone with God from the beginning. That, I think, is the lesson which the wise man will find in the story of the evil king.

AMAZIAH

BY REV. J. G. GREENHOUGH, M.A.

"And Amaziah said to the man of God, But what shall we do for the hundred talents which I have given to the army of Israel? And the man of God answered, The Lord is able to give thee much more than this."—2 CHRON. xxv. 9.

Amaziah, King of Judah, belonged to that numerous class of men who wish to stand well with both worlds. He was what we call in religious matters half-and-half. He wanted to secure the favour and protection of God without losing much or anything of the ungodly helps and advantages. One hardly knows whether to describe him as a bad sort of good man, or a better sort of bad man. He was like those gentlemen in the Pilgrim's Progress whom Bunyan names Mr Facing-both-ways and Mr Pliable. It depended very much on the company he was in, whether he showed a religious face or assumed the other character.

We have an illustration of this doubleness in the incident recorded here. He was preparing to go to war against the neighbouring nation of the Edomites, or probably he had learned that they were about to make war on him. For these neighbours, like some others you know, were always ready to pick a quarrel. Edomite and Jew were never long without a scrimmage or a battle. Amaziah, with this business on hand, took count of his forces, found that he had three hundred thousand soldiers; big enough battalions if they had only had a leader with a big heart. David had scattered those Edomites with an army not one-twentieth part the size of that. But Amaziah was not a David. He must needs have more men. He sent, therefore, to the king of Israel to hire another hundred thousand, and paid him down an enormous sum of money for the loan. Now these men of Israel and their king had fallen away from God, and become heathen people, worshippers of Baal, foul and immoral as the Edomites themselves. But Amaziah thought that was of no consequence so long as he could increase his fighting force. The money was paid, and the hundred thousand hirelings came.

And then suddenly appeared another man whom he had not sent for, one of those prophets or preachers whom kings and other people find very troublesome at times, who upset all the nice arrangements, and stop the business which promises so well, with an unwelcome "Thus saith the Lord"; prophets who do not know how to flatter, who cannot be bought for a hundred talents, or for any price, and who say what God has given them to say whether the great folk like it or not. This man came uninvited, and told the king that he must pack off these mercenaries to their own country again, for God was not with them, and God would not be with him if he joined hands with idolaters and paid them to fight his battles.

It was an awkward position. Amaziah knew that what the prophet said was true, and he believed, moreover, that if God should turn against him, that business with the Edomites was likely to end badly for him. But, on the other hand, to send that goodly array of fighting men away and lose all that gold into the bargain, was both galling to his pride and a ridiculous waste of treasure. He knew well what was the right thing to do, but to do it at such a sacrifice, that was the difficulty. He was in a strait betwixt two, wriggling and hesitating, and at last he cries in his bewilderment, "What shall we do for the hundred talents which I have given to the army of Israel?" And the man of God answers, "Never mind the money, let that go; far better forfeit that than lose God's help. The Lord is able to do for thee much more than the hundred talents are worth."

And now, out of this old story, we learn some lessons for this and every day.

I.

Our difficulties in the way of serving and obeying God are often self-made.

They are always more or less self-made. This man pleads his own wrong act as a reason why he should not do right now. He himself has raised the obstacle which now stands in the way of obedience. He ought not to have sought the help of an idolatrous king. He ought not to have bargained for these hirelings, he ought not to have paid the money. God had not put the difficulty in his way; his own foolish and wicked action had created it. And people are constantly talking as this man talked, declaring that there are hindrances and immense difficulties which prevent them from doing what is right, prevent them from doing what they know to be the will of God. They talk as if God was somehow responsible for those hindrances, when, in fact, their own wrong-doing has caused them.

For instance, some of you know perfectly well that you ought to be Christians, avowed Christians, that you ought to take the Lord's side in the great battle of life; you know that you ought to be His servants, followers, and soldiers; you know that that is your duty, you cannot help knowing it and admitting it, unless you reject the Bible altogether, and deny the whole Gospel of Jesus Christ. You have known from childhood that Christ has claims upon you, and that to live the Christian life is your solemn obligation. It is more than probable that you told your mother, your teachers, and yourselves long ago, and perhaps many a time over, that you fully intended to give your lives and hearts to Christ's service. But you have not done it yet, and the reason is that there are certain self-made difficulties which hold you back. God has not put them in the way—you have built them up yourselves. I hear young men and women say, in the very tone of this perplexed king. But what shall we do for the hundred talents? If we take up religion, how shall we bear the loss which it involves? How are we to get on without those pleasures, self-indulgences, and dearly-loved habits which Christ's service would cut us off from? How are we to abandon those very pleasant, but not very inspiring and pure, companionships, with and among which we spend most of our leisure time? How are we to resign all our free and easy and thoughtless ways, our loose talk, our vain and sinful imaginations?