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Title: Women in white raiment

Author: John Lemley

Release date: October 2, 2022 [eBook #69085]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Charles van Benthuysen & Sons, Printers

Credits: Juliet Sutherland, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WOMEN IN WHITE RAIMENT ***





  WOMEN IN WHITE RAIMENT,

  BY

  JOHN LEMLEY,

  EDITOR OF

  THE ZION’S WATCHMAN,

  AND AUTHOR OF

  “THE CHRIST LIFTED UP,” “LAND OF SACRED STORY,”
  “WONDERS OF GRACE,” “PERSONAL
  RECOLLECTIONS,” ETC.

  “They shall walk with me in white; for they shall be worthy, ... and
  shall be clothed in white raiment.”--REV. iii: 4, 5.

  THE FIRST EDITION.

  ALBANY, NEW YORK,
  1899.




  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1898, by
  JOHN LEMLEY,
  in the office of the Librarian at Washington.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.


  CHARLES VAN BENTHUYSEN & SONS,
  Printers, Electrotypers and Binders,
  ALBANY, N. Y.




CONTENTS.


  INTRODUCTORY.

  WOMEN OWE THEIR ELEVATION TO THE BIBLE--THE CONDITION OF
    WOMEN IN HEATHEN LANDS CONTRASTED WITH THE CONDITION OF
    WOMEN IN BIBLE LANDS--GOD’S THOUGHT OF WOMAN IN THE
    CREATION--HER RIGHTS UNDER THE HEBREW ECONOMY--CHRIST’S
    TENDERNESS TOWARDS WOMANHOOD--BLESSING OTHERS.                  7-19

  CHAPTER I.

  The Paradise Home in Eden.

  MAN’S FIRST HOME A GARDEN--EVE THE ISHA--THE SCENE OF THE
    TEMPTATION--HIDING FROM GOD--REFUSING TO CONFESS, JUDGMENT
    IS PRONOUNCED--THE SAD RESULTS OF SIN--EVE BELIEVED
    THE PROMISE.                                                   21-35

  CHAPTER II.

  Womanhood in the Patriarchal Age.

  SARAH THE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS--HER FAITH TESTED--THE MISTAKE
    OF HER LIFE--HER LOVELY CHARACTER--REBEKAH--AN ORIENTAL
    WOOING--ELIEZER’S PRAYER--THE BRIDE’S ANSWER--MEETING
    ISAAC--A MOTHER’S LOVE FOR HER SON--JACOB’S
    FLIGHT--REBEKAH, THE BEAUTIFUL SHEPHERDESS--SEVEN YEARS’
    SERVICE FOR HER--LABAN’S DECEPTION--LEAH, THE
    TENDER-EYED--HUMAN FAVORITES--DIVINELY HONORED--RACHEL’S
    TOMB THE FIRST MONUMENT TO HUMAN LOVE.                         36-70

  CHAPTER III.

  Womanhood During the Egyptian Bondage and in
    the Desert of Sinai.

  JOCHEBED--HER REMARKABLE COURAGE--THONORIS--HER
    COMPASSION--HEROIC LABORS SEEMINGLY UNREWARDED--ZIPPORAH, THE
    MIDIANITE SHEPHERDESS--GLORIFYING DAILY LABOR--AT A WAYSIDE
    INN--MIRIAM--HER SONG OF TRIUMPH AT THE RED SEA--HER
    AFFLICTION AT HAZEROTH--AN EVENTFUL LIFE.                      71-89

  CHAPTER IV.

  Womanhood During the Conquest and the Theocracy,
    or Rule of the Judges.

  RAHAB--GREAT GRACE FOR GREAT SINNERS--THE FALL OF JERICHO--THE
    COVENANT REMEMBERED--DEBORAH--HER REMARKABLE
    COURAGE--SISERA’S IRON CHARIOTS BROKEN--THE DAUGHTER OF
    JEPHTHAH--HER LOVING DEVOTION AND SACRIFICE--THE STORY
    OF NAOMI--ORPAH’S KISS--THE LOVING RUTH--GLEANING
    AMONG THE REAPERS--HER RICH REWARD--HANNAH--HER
    CONSECRATION--YEARLY VISITS TO SHILOH--STITCHING BEAUTIFUL
    THOUGHTS INTO SAMUEL’S COAT--HER BEAUTIFUL LIFE.              90-117

  CHAPTER V.

  Womanhood During the Reign of the Kings.

  ABIGAIL--CHURLISH NABAL--CHIVALROUS APPRECIATION--DAVID’S
    MESSENGERS--SAUL’S DAUGHTERS--HIS TREACHERY--MICHAL’S
    STRATAGEM--RIZPAH--HER HEROIC ENDURANCE AND LOVING
    FIDELITY--THE QUEEN OF SHEBA--HER VISIT TO JERUSALEM--THE
    GLORY AND WISDOM OF SOLOMON--THE HALF NOT TOLD--THE
    QUEEN’S ROYAL GIFTS.                                         118-137

  CHAPTER VI.

  Womanhood in the Time of the Prophets and During
    the Captivity.

  THE WICKED JEZEBEL--THE WIDOW OF SAREPTA--THE TISHBITE AT
    THE CITY GATE--HIS STRANGE REQUEST--THE WIDOW’S UNFALTERING
    OBEDIENCE--AN APPEAL TO ELISHA--A POT OF OIL--THE
    WIDOW’S WONDERFUL FAITH--THE RICH WOMAN OF SHUNEM--HER
    MODEST LIFE--BARLEY HARVEST--A RIDE TO CARMEL IN
    THE GLARE OF THE SUN--ESTHER--HER BEAUTIFUL TRAITS OF
    CHARACTER--CROWNED AS QUEEN--PLEADING FOR THE LIFE OF
    HER PEOPLE--FOUND FAVOR WITH THE KING.                       138-161

  CHAPTER VII.

  Womanhood in the Time of the Saviour’s Nativity.

  AN ANGEL BY THE ALTAR OF INCENSE--HIS MESSAGE--AN ISRAELITISH
    HOME--IN THE SPIRIT OF ELIJAH--THE DESERT TEACHER--THE
    ANNUNCIATION--THE VISIT OF MARY TO ELIZABETH--MARY’S
    MAGNIFICAT--JOURNEY TO BETHLEHEM--THE NATIVITY--HOME
    LIFE IN NAZARETH--AFTER SCENES IN MARY’S LIFE--HER
    RESIDENCE AND DEATH AT EPHESUS--THE PROPHETESS
    ANNA--HER WAITING FOR REDEMPTION IN JERUSALEM--THE
    LESSON OF HER PURE AND BEAUTIFUL LIFE.                       162-189

  CHAPTER VIII.

  Womanhood During our Lord’s Galilean Ministry.

  CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD--NOONTIDE AT JACOB’S WELL--THE LORD’S
    WONDERFUL TACT--FIELDS WHITE TO THE HARVEST--AN UNINVITED
    GUEST AT SIMON’S FEAST--COLD HOSPITALITY--A CONCISE
    PARABLE--FORGIVING SIN--A STREET SCENE--HUMBLE
    CONFESSION--MOST GRACIOUS WORDS--COAST OF TYRE AND
    SIDON--SYRO-PHŒNICIAN WOMAN--STRANGELY TESTED--HER
    HUMILITY--WENT AWAY BLESSED.                                 190-222

  CHAPTER IX.

  Womanhood During Our Lord’s Judean Ministry.

  THE SISTERS OF BETHANY--THEIR CHARACTERISTICS--NOT GOOD, BUT
    BEST GIFTS--THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF LOVE--SALOME’S STRANGE
    REQUEST--HER FIDELITY--JOANNA--THE POOR WIDOW’S GIFT--HOW
    ESTIMATED--THE SAVIOUR’S WORDS OF PEACE.                     223-244

  CHAPTER X.

  Womanhood During the Apostolic Ministry.

  TABITHA--GLORIFIED HER NEEDLE--THE RESULTS OF LITTLE
    ACTS--LYDIA--HER HUMILITY--PHILIP’S FOUR DAUGHTERS--
    PHŒBE--PRISCILLA--EUNICE--LOIS--EUDIA--SYNTYCHE--HULDA--
    THE HEBREW MAID--TAMAR--MOTHERS OF GREAT MEN--THE AUTHOR
    OF THE BIBLE WOMAN’S BEST FRIEND.                            245-266




ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                              PAGE.

  THE ACCEPTED OFFERING                          31

  JACOB’S STRUGGLE AT THE JABBOK                 67

  THE ISRAELITES IN BONDAGE                      73

  MOSES RESCUED FROM THE NILE                    75

  MIRIAM’S SONG OF TRIUMPH                       84

  THE FALL OF JERICHO                            95

  RUTH, THE FAITHFUL FRIEND                     108

  THE BEAUTIFUL ABIGAIL MEETING DAVID           121

  SOLOMON’S MERCHANT SHIPS                      130

  THE QUEEN OF SHEBA                            133

  HADASSAH IN THE PERSIAN COURT                 153

  ESTHER PLEADING FOR HER PEOPLE                157

  THE ANGEL’S MESSAGE                           164

  THE MINISTRY AT EPHESUS                       181

  ANNA, THE PROPHETESS                          185

  CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD                          193

  THE NOONTIDE HOUR AT JACOB’S WELL             198

  THE UNINVITED GUEST                           208

  SEEKING THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD             237

  THE CITY BY THE ANGHISTA                      253

  CORINTH, THE GATE OF THE PELOPONNESUS         260




INTRODUCTORY.


It has long been in our mind to write this book, in which we seek
to set forth the beautiful lives of representative women of the
Bible. There has been much written about prophets, kings and priests,
about our Lord and His Apostles, about scenes, of different types of
character, customs and manners of Oriental life, but so far as we know,
nothing has been written about the womanhood of the Bible. We believe
a study of these lovely Princesses of God will be both profitable and
instructive.

That we may have a suitable background for our pen pictures of these
Daughters in Israel, and also, by way of contrast, show what the Bible
has done for womanhood, let us briefly take a glance into countries
where the Bible has been a sealed book, for the position of women among
the Hebrews has always afforded a pleasing contrast with that of their
heathen sisters. The position of Jewish women is just what we would
expect among a people who were indebted for their laws to the Creator.

It has always been Satan’s shrewdest trick to degrade motherhood, and
to cause her to be treated with contempt, knowing that she it is who
stands at the fountain head of the race, and her hand always shapes
the life and forms the civilization, hence the universal oppression of
womanhood in all heathen lands.

The effect of religion (for all nations worship something) upon the
people affords overwhelming evidence of its origin. In all heathen
lands the people are exceedingly religious. In India alone they worship
360,000,000 gods, but they know nothing about morality. Their religion
offers no light in life and no hope in death. The condition of women
in India is indescribable. If a man speaks of his wife he never says
“wife,” but “family”; and if away, he never speaks of going home, but
he is going to his house. There is no home life, as we look upon it, in
all that heathen land. Women are considered by the Hindus as a thing
that exists solely for their use. She is given away like a lifeless
thing to the man who is to be her husband, but who does not consider
her his equal. He is commanded by his religion to “enjoy her without
attachment,” and never to love her or put his confidence in her. Some
women are set apart religiously for the use of the men of all classes
and castes. They are consecrated and “married” to the idols in the
temples, and are brought up from their girlhood to live as prostitutes.
Hindoo sacred law reaches its climax of cruelty and degradation in the
rules it lays down for the control of a woman after her husband has
died. She may be young and beautiful, she may belong to a wealthy and
powerful family; it matters not; custom is as relentless as death in
its weight of woe to crush her completely down.

One of the Hindoo sacred books says: “It is unlawful for any man to
take a jewelless woman,” whose eyes are like the weeping cavi-flower;
being deprived of her beloved husband, she is like a body deprived of
the spirit. She may have only been a betrothed infant or a child of a
few years. It makes no difference. The Shasters teach that if a widow
burns herself alive on the funeral pile of her husband, even though
he had killed a Brahmin, that most heinous of deeds, she expiates the
crime. For long centuries widows have been a literal burnt offering for
the redemption of husbands.

Another law is laid down after the following fashion: “On the death of
their attached husbands, women must eat but once a day, must eschew
betel and a spread mattress, must sleep on the ground, and continue
to practice rigid mortification. Women who have put off glittering
jewels of gold must discharge with alacrity the duties of devotion, and
neglecting their persons, must feed on herbs and roots, so as barely to
sustain life within the body. Let not a widow ever pronounce the name
of another man.”

There are, in India, twenty-three millions of widows, of these fourteen
thousand are baby widows under four years of age, and sixty thousand
girl widows between five and nine years of age. Nearly one-fourth of
the whole number of widows are young. Besides, there are many millions
of deserted wives, whose condition is as bad, and in some cases worse,
than that of the widows. The lives of many millions of these poor women
are made so miserable that they prefer death to life, and thousands
commit suicide yearly.

And all these helpless women have never heard the message of salvation
from God’s Holy Word.

It so happens in these days of missionary work among the heathen that
now and then the light of the Gospel finds its way into these benighted
hearts. Such was the case of a Brahmin widow, who had lived in the home
of her uncle, but, for a fancied offence, was beaten and turned into
the street naked. She was a woman of commanding manner and appearance,
such as few suffering widows possess. She was tall, elegant of bearing,
and attractive. Her story, in short, is this: “I was married when only
five years of age. I soon became a widow, and then my father and mother
took care of me, though I was kept secure in their home. My father and
mother died, and since I was fifteen years of age I have been with
their relatives, who let me work in the fields and earn an honorable
living. Then my mother’s own brother came along, and persuaded me to
come to his house. I hoped for kindness, but I have been their slave
from that day.”

When asked whether she had been led astray, she replied, “I might
have been, and sat with jewels on my neck and arms, with a frontlet
on my brow, and gems would have bedecked my ears had I yielded to the
machinations of my uncle and the desires of his friends to betray me
into a life of glittering slavery! Because I would not, I am in rags,
and now turned homeless into the streets.”

Such is the suffering of women in India. And the saddest of all is, the
only heaven they look for after this world, is a place where they can
be their husband’s servants. Sad and terrible is their state!

The condition of womanhood in China is but little better. In fact she
is unwelcome at her birth. If she is suffered to live, she is subjected
to inhuman foot-binding. The feet are supposed to merit the poetical
name of “golden lilies.” But how sad it is to discover that such a
result is produced by indescribable torture, and that the part of the
foot that is not seen is nothing but a mass of distorted or broken
bones!

This binding process commences when the girl is about six years old.
There is a Chinese proverb that says, “For every pair of bound feet has
been shed a _kong_ full of tears.” And yet, the most important part of
a Chinese girl’s dress is her tiny shoe of colored silk or satin, most
tastefully embroidered, with bright painted heels just peeping beneath
the neat pantalets. Missionary ladies tell us how they themselves have
seen three strong women holding a little girl by force to compel her to
submit to this awful torture. It is not an uncommon thing for a mother
to get up in the night and beat a poor child of seven or eight for
keeping her awake by her stifled sobs from the terrible pain produced
by the bandages. Through the weary summer days, instead of romping and
enjoying the fresh air and sports with brothers, the poor little girl
will lie, restless with fever, upon her little couch, and when the cold
nights of winter come, she is afraid to wrap her limbs in any covering,
else they grow warm and the suffering becomes more intense.

At last the much desired smallness is obtained, the feet are deformed
for life and she is greatly admired by all her friends. If she is not
betrothed until she is ten or more years of age, one of the first
questions is, “What is the length of her feet?” Three inches is the
correct length of the fashionable shoe, but some are only two.

But this has respect only to those girl-babies who are suffered to
live. The horrors of heathenism permits the new-born girl baby to
be disposed of. There is outside the city walls of Fuchan, China, a
structure of stone without doors, but with two window-like openings.
This well-known and frequently visited building is the baby tower--not
a day nursery for the care of the infants of the poor, not an orphanage
where the little waifs are clothed and fed and educated, but a place
where girl-babies can be thrown and left to die. In larger cities,
such as Pekin, carts pass through the streets at an early hour of the
day and gather up the babies abandoned to the streets by their inhuman
parents.

Women in the common walks of life are the slaves of their husbands.
The wife rises early in the morning, does the housework for the day,
and prepares the morning meal for her husband, who always eats it by
himself while she serves. Having finished her own meal, after her
husband has eaten his, she cleans up the dishes, and then hastens to
the fields to toil all day under a burning sun. The husband, meanwhile,
spends the day in sleeping, or gambling, or when opportunity occurs,
in thieving or marauding. Sometimes, frequently indeed, the women are
carried off by other tribes while out in the fields, and are only
released at a price, varying with the excellencies of the woman in
question. And yet, if any one were to offer to relieve these women of
their work, their offer would be rejected, for this life of toil is
what they have been brought up to and trained in, and they know of
nothing better. They especially like to be in the fields by themselves,
for then they are alone, and are free from the hated presence of man
(curiously enough they are said to hate their men), and surely no one
would grudge them their liberty.

In dark Africa, where lives one-sixth of the heathen population of the
globe, human sacrifice is something awful. And the saddest of all is,
the victims are mostly from the ranks of women. Of the languages and
dialects, five hundred have never been reduced to writing. What scenes
of horrors are locked up in oblivion among these wild tribes of that
dark land. Almost daily, the numerous wives of the rulers, as they
die, are buried alive in their graves, being compelled to hold the
dead bodies of their husbands on their laps, until they themselves
are relieved by death. The witch doctors annually slay thousands of
innocent women. Among the Masai, a woman has a market value equal to
five glass beads, while a cow is worth ten of the same.

Woman’s life in the harem of the Mohammedan is but little better. The
code of morals is a very loose one, and the degradation of women beyond
our pen to describe. The women of the harems are divided into three
classes: The Rhadines, or legitimate wives. The Ikbals, or favorites,
out of whose ranks the Rhadines are chosen, and Ghienzdes or “women
who are pleasing to the eye of their lord,” and who have the chance
to advance to the rank of Ikbals. If the wife of a Turkoman asks his
permission to go, and he says, “go,” without adding, “come back,” they
are divorced. If he becomes dissatisfied with the most trifling acts of
his wife, and tears the veil from her face, that constitutes a divorce.
In the streets, if a husband meets one of his numerous wives, he never
recognizes her, or ever introduces her to a male friend. A Mohammedan
never inquires after the female portion of the household of his friend.
The system is full of cruelty and despotism. In Mohammedan countries
women suffer from the low opinion held of them by men. The prophet
said: “I stood at the gates of hell, and lo! most of its inhabitants
were women!” And yet, strange to say, while the religion of Islam
denies that woman has a soul, it teaches a sensual paradise.

In fact, in all nations where the Bible is unknown, woman is the slave
of man’s lust. She is a drudge or a toy, whose reign is as short-lived
as her personal charms. She may not be trusted out of sight of her
guardians, though the masculine members of the family are anything but
choice in their associations. Indeed, in some countries a woman can
not visit even her own mother without being carried in a palanquin or
guarded by slaves.

One of the strangest, saddest sights we ever saw was at Mersina,
in the Levant. Passing a field one day there were six native women
(noble in form and of beautiful olive complexion) hoeing what looked
to be cucumbers, while a step or two in their rear stood a negro, a
full-blooded Nubian, with a long stick, like an ox-goad, in his hand,
evidently their master.

In Ceylon, when it was proposed by a missionary to teach women to read,
one native said to another, “What do you think that man is talking
about? He wants to teach the women to read! He’ll be wanting to teach
the cows next!”

Such is the disrespect in which women are held by heathen people. Five
words describe the biography of women in all lands where the Bible is
not known: Unwelcomed at birth; untaught in childhood; uncherished in
widowhood; unprotected in old age; unlamented when dead.

Such, in brief, is the treatment of womanhood in lands where the Bible
is a sealed book, and truly, in comparison with their heathen sisters,
women living under the blessed teachings of Christianity are “clothed
in white raiment.”

But, perhaps, we ought not to think it so very strange that men who
dishonor God, and who want Him blotted out of their thoughts, should
abuse God’s best gift to man. This much we know, that God created man
in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female
created He _them_. And God blessed _them_, and God said unto them,
“Have dominion over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”
When the Pharisees, in their malignity, framed the question, “Is it
lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause?”--a problem
beset with many difficulties, our Lord very promptly asked a counter
question, “What did Moses command you?” Instead of entering into their
vexed question, He appeals at once to the law and the testimony, and
requires them to recite the provision made by Moses for such cases;
not as settling the difficulties, but as presenting the true _status
quaestionis_, which was not what the Scribes taught or the Pharisees
practiced, but what Moses meant and God permitted. They said, “Moses
suffered to write a bill of divorcement, and to put her away.” Quickly
Jesus replied, “For the hardness of your heart he wrote you this
precept.” The substance of our Saviour’s answer was, Moses gave you
no positive command in the case; he would not make a law directly
opposite to the law of God; but Moses saw the wantonness and wickedness
of your hearts, that you would turn away your wives without any just
and warrantable cause; and to restrain your extravagancies of cruelty
to your wives, or disorderly turning of them off upon any occasion,
he made a law that none should put away his wife but upon a legal
cognizance of the cause and giving her a bill of divorce. “From the
beginning,” that is, in the very act of creation, God embodied the idea
of equality. Capricious divorce is a violation of natural law.

What a beautiful picture Solomon gives us of womanhood. “Her price,” he
says, “is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust
in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She will do him good
and not evil all the days of her life. She seeketh wool, and flax, and
worketh willingly with her hands.” After the grace of God in the soul,
a good wife, one planned on the Divine model, is the Lord’s best gift.
To the husband who has such a woman to stand at the head of his home,
nothing can measure her value. His heart rests safely in her integrity.
He has no need to add to his wealth by spoils, for she will do him good
and not evil all the days of his life. She is industrious. She not only
works into comfort the wool and flax that are at hand; she seeks to
add to her store from the outside world. She does not ask to be kept
in idleness. She worketh willingly with her hands. Not content to be a
consumer, she becomes a producer. Not satisfied with home production,
she brings suitable comforts and luxuries from afar into her home. She
is careful in the use of her time. She is not feebly self-indulgent.
She riseth while it is yet night to look after her domestic affairs.
She is a business woman, knowing the laws that underlie the rise and
fall of real estate. She considereth a field, and buyeth it. Then with
her hands she planteth a vineyard.

She does not produce inferior goods, neither is she cheated in a
bargain. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good. She loves to
share her husband’s business burdens, that he may share her society;
and they twain are one in service and one in recreation. Like our
Lord, she delights not to be ministered unto, but to minister. She is
benevolent. Being a recognized producer, she has the luxury of giving
of her own means to the poor. She provides well for her household,
keeping her dependents in comfort, and even in luxury. As the Revised
Version puts it, “She maketh herself carpets of tapestry.” Her own
clothing is of the best.

The husband of such a wife has the gentle manners that belong with such
a home, and he can but succeed in life. He is known and honored among
the best in the land. As her business grows, her products become finer
and more expensive; and as she puts them upon the market, her profits
increase. This woman is clothed with strength and honor. She has no
anxiety about the future. She knows that though her beauty may fade,
and her social charms become a thing of the past, her strength and
honor will become richer and more glorious as the years go by. “In her
tongue is the law of kindness.” She is too busy with her own affairs to
look after those of her neighbors. In heathen countries it is a great
disgrace for a woman’s voice to be heard in the presence of men. Where
women are held back from the real interests that concern them and for
which they have so often proved themselves fully qualified, what else
could take up their active minds but the pettiness of gossip?

Such are the beautiful tributes paid to women by Solomon, the wisest
of men. Nor are the prophets behind in acknowledging the worth and
quality of women. Eight hundred years before the Christian era, the
prophet Joel wrote, “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith
God, 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: and on my servants and on my
handmaidens I will pour out in those days of my Spirit; and they shall
prophesy.” In the Christian dispensation, the daughters as well as the
sons were to be filled with the Spirit of God, and the Spirit would use
their lips in the declaration of His truth as certainly as the lips of
men, and Paul defined prophecy to be speaking “unto men to edification,
and exhortation, and comfort.” It has been one of the devices of the
evil one to padlock the lips of that half of the race who are most
loyal to God and who have the most helpful knowledge of human nature.

Aside from all these high social and spiritual relations of the Hebrew
women, they had a legal status. The rights of the Jewish wife were
carefully guarded. Her husband was not allowed to go to war for a
year after they were married; and though the eastern institution of
polygamy was not utterly prohibited, yet it was so restricted that it
must not in any way invade the rights and privileges of the wife. If a
husband became jealous of his wife’s fidelity, the legal presumptions
were all in her favor. The husband was not allowed to inflict summary
punishment; but she was subjected to an ordeal which could by no
possibility work injury to her, unless through the guilt of her own
conscience or the interposition of divine Providence.

As a mother, the Jewish woman must be honored by her children. As a
daughter, she had rights and an inheritance. If the wife or daughter
uttered rash and foolish vows, the husband or father had a right
to disannul them, provided he did it from the day it came to his
knowledge. Even the Gentile woman taken captive by a young Israelite
warrior must have been surprised to receive treatment so strangely
different from that received by captives in her own country, or even
among modern nations who profess to be civilized. Her captor could
not offer her an insult; she must be taken, not to a prison, but to
his home, where she must neither be abused nor outraged, but treated
with patient consideration; and she could not be taken, even as a
wife, until a full month had elapsed, during which he might secure her
affections or reconsider his determination. And if after her marriage
she was discontented and made herself disagreeable, she could never
again be held as a servant, but must be allowed to go free. Widows, who
in heathen lands have been degraded and sometimes murdered or burned,
were to be treated with the utmost tenderness. They shared in the
tithes, and were admitted to the public festivities. They had a right
to glean in the fields and gather up the forgotten sheaves, to gather
which the owner was not allowed to go back. Injustice against widows
was treated with fearful punishment. “Thou shalt not take the widow’s
raiment to pledge” (Deut. xxiv, 17), was a benevolent law which can not
be paralleled in any modern code. The command to lend to an Israelite
in his poverty was imperative, but no pledge of raiment could be
exacted from a widow.

Thus in a variety of ways was the Lord pleased to manifest his kindness
and compassion for the fatherless and the widow, and in consequence
womanhood was honored and honorable in the Jewish nation, beyond
anything known in the heathen world. From the vile and degrading orgies
of heathenism the women of Israel were exempt. They feared the Lord,
and at his hand received blessings and mercies without number.

Thus it is seen that Hebrew women had rare privileges. They tower like
desert palms above the women in pagan lands. In her home she is honored
and respected. In India a woman eats her first and last meal with her
husband on her wedding day. In the Hebrew home her children are like
“olive plants” round her table. In China they may kill their little
daughters by the thousands. She has legal rights in her Hebrew home. In
all Mohammedan lands a man has the same power over the life of his wife
that he has over the life of his horse.

What makes this difference? We answer, It is God’s thought of
womanhood, for there was nothing in the Hebrew men to bring about such
thoughtful consideration. There were periods in the history of the
Hebrew nation when they departed from God, and sank into the vices of
the heathens around them. It was during these periods that womanhood
was degraded to that of their pagan sisters. There were times when the
Hebrews had taken on heathen manners to such an extent as to regard
it a disgrace for a rabbi to recognize his wife if he met her on the
street. It was commonly said that he was a fool who attempted the
religious instruction of a woman, and the words of the law had better
be burned than given to a woman.

So it was not Hebrew manhood that saved the daughters of Israel from
the suicidal injustice practiced among the heathens, but the sure Word
of God. Under its wise provisions and recognized equality they became
prophetesses, leaders of armies, and judges. And they taught a pure
morality, trained their children according to principles of justice and
righteousness, and lived in expectation and hope of the coming of the
Messiah in whom all the nations of the earth were to be blessed.

And above all, Christ was the true Friend of womanhood. No teacher
in any age of the world or in any land ever taught woman as He did,
when He came that glorious morning to Jacob’s well, or in the house
of Simon the Pharisee, when the sin-stained woman of the street, who
had unobserved entered the banquet hall, and taken up her position at
the feet of Jesus, and there poured out the great sorrow of her heart
in a paroxysm of humble and grateful love, and bathed His feet with
her tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head, anointing them
also with ointment, when He personally addressed her and said, “Thy
sins are forgiven.” How beautiful is all this, and how grandly these
women showed their gratitude and appreciation by following Him and
ministering unto “Him of their substance.” They were last at the cross
and first at the tomb, and first to publish the Saviour’s resurrection.

From that day to this, women owe their spiritual elevation and their
opportunities of usefulness to the recognition Christ gave them in
His ministry. In all places untouched by Christian light they are not
sure that they have souls. Where the light shines clearly they have
equal rights with the men by whose side they are privileged to labor
for God’s glory. This being so, how ought they to love God, and in
every way possible, spread the light of Christianity through all the
earth. We would say to every woman who loves her Lord, the field is
wide enough, and opportunities present themselves in every passing
hour, therefore, if you have a message which will help and bless some
struggling soul heavenward, tell it.

With these brief, introductory words, we come to our subject proper.
And should you, dear woman, whom we seek to glorify in the following
pages, be blessed and comforted in the unfolding of God’s love towards
womanhood, and your own faith take a firmer hold upon the Father’s
thought of you, do not, after reading this book, put it away in your
book-case, but place it in the hands of some tempted, discouraged,
struggling soul, and thereby let others become sharers of the same
helpful words, and, possibly, in so doing, you may not only save
precious souls, but add many stars to your own crown of life.

                                    As ever, respectfully,

                                                             THE AUTHOR.

  ALBANY, N. Y.




WOMEN IN WHITE RAIMENT.




CHAPTER I.

The Paradise Home in Eden.

  MAN’S FIRST HOME A GARDEN--EVE THE ISHA--THE SCENE OF THE
    TEMPTATION--HIDING FROM GOD--REFUSING TO CONFESS, JUDGMENT IS
    PRONOUNCED--THE SAD RESULTS OF SIN--EVE BELIEVED THE PROMISE.


Perhaps there never lived a woman who has been “talked about” so much
as this first woman in White Raiment, for who has not said, If Eve had
not been beguiled into a violation of the one commandment by partaking
of the fruit of the forbidden tree, we would all be as happy and
sinless as was she and her husband before that act of disobedience. But
we shall miss the great lesson Eve’s experience intended to convey if
we fail to recognize that God put humanity on probation, and the fact
of the first temptation is the symbol of every temptation; the fact of
the first fall is the symbol of every transgression; the great mistake
that lay in the first sin is the symbol of every effect of sin.

After the Lord God had formed man, we read that He “planted a garden
eastward in Eden; and there He put the man.” What pen could describe
the garden of the Lord’s planting? There were splashing fountains.
There were woodbine, and honeysuckles, and morning-glories climbing
over the wall, and daisies, and buttercups, and strawberries in the
grass. There were paths with mountain mosses, bordered with pearls
and diamonds. Here and there cooling streams sparkled in the sunlight
or made sweet music as they fell over ledges and rippled away under
the overstretching shadows of palm trees or fig orchards, and their
threads of silver finally lost amid the fruitage of orange groves.
Trees and shrubs of infinite variety added their beauty to the
many picturesque scenes everywhere spread out. In the midst of the
overhanging foliage were all the bright birds of heaven, and they
stirred the air with infinite chirp and carol. Never since have such
skies looked down through such leaves into such waters. Never has
river wave had such curve and sheen and bank as adorned the Pison, the
Havilah, the Gihon and the Hiddekel, even the pebbles being bdellium
and onyx stone. What fruits, with no curculio to sting the rind! What
flowers, with no slug to gnaw the root! What atmosphere, with no frost
to chill and with no heat to consume! Bright colors tangled in the
grass. Perfume filled the air. Music thrilled the sky. Great scenes of
gladness and love and joy spread out in every direction.

We know not how long, perhaps ever since this man had been created in
the “image” of his God, he had wandered through this Eden home, had
watched the brilliant pageantry of wings and scales and clouds, and may
have noticed that the robins fly the air in twos, and that the fish
swim the waters in twos, and that the lions walk the fields in twos,
and as he saw the merry, abounding life of his subject creatures, every
one perfectly fitted to its environment, and each mated with another of
the same instincts and methods of living, he felt the isolation of his
own self-involved being, and, possibly, a shadow of loneliness may have
crept into his face, and God saw it. And so He said, “It is not good
that the man should be alone.” So “He caused a deep sleep to fall upon
Adam,” as if by allegory to teach all ages that the greatest of earthly
blessings is sound sleep.

When he awoke, a most beautiful being, the crowning glory of creation,
stood beside him, looking at him with heaven in her eyes, her exquisite
form draped with perfect feminine grace and strength. As Adam looked
into the face of this immaculate daughter of God, this Woman in White
Raiment, he said, “This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my
flesh. She shall be called Woman” (Hebrew Isha), because God had
clothed in separate flesh the gentler and more conscientious part of
Adam’s nature, that it might share the work and bliss of Paradise.

How long that first married pair lived in Paradise we are not informed.
The story of their disastrous disobedience is given in as few words as
possible. Eve may have sauntered out one beautiful morning and as she
looked up at the fruit of the various trees of the garden must have
recognized “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” and doubtless
she had heard Adam say that this was the forbidden tree, and possibly
may have cautioned her, “For,” said he, the Lord had said, “in the day
that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.” As she looked up at
the tree and saw the beautiful fruit hanging on the branches, she may
have admired its bright, fresh color without any thought of evil in
her heart. It is the characteristic of woman to admire the beautiful.
Indeed her finer feelings can better appreciate than man, the blendings
of color and shadings that combine to give expression to the beautiful.

But it was Satan’s moment. We do not know how long he had been in
hiding among the recesses of the garden waiting for just such an
opportunity. Quickly he entered a serpent, which, it is declared, “was
more subtle than any beast of the field,” and came up to Eve as she
admired the tree and its fruit, and in most questioning surprise said,
“Yea hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” The
query is very cautiously made, expressing great surprise: Yea, truly,
can it be possible? The query, with its questioning surprise, had in it
now a yes, and now a no, according to the connection. This is the first
striking feature in the beginning of the temptation. The temptation
of Christ, in the wilderness, was very similar to this. Satan twice
challenged our Lord on the point of his divine Sonship: “If thou be
the Son of God.” As if he had said, “You claim to be the Son of God, I
doubt it, and challenge the claim. If you are, prove it by doing what
I suggest.” This was also a blow at the confession of God Himself,
“This is My beloved Son.” So here, Satan, in the most cautious manner,
would excite doubt in the mind of Eve. Then the expression also aims to
awaken mistrust at the goodness and wisdom of God, and so weaken the
force of the temptation. As if he had said, “What, not eat of every
tree of the garden? I doubt it. Such a prohibition seems unreasonable.”

Here Eve would assure the tempter that she was not mistaken in regard
to the prohibition. “We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the
garden. But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the
garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, _neither shall ye
touch it, lest ye die_.” Notice the Italic words are added by Eve to
the command of God concerning the tree. No doubt, as she stood there
admiring the tree, the monitor of her heart kept saying, “Don’t touch
it, don’t touch it,” and, in her guileless simplicity, she adds the
words to the prohibition. And yet by this very addition does her first
wavering disguise itself under the form of an overdoing obedience. The
first failure is her not observing the point of the temptation, and
allowing herself to be drawn into an argument with the tempter; the
second, that she makes the prohibition stronger than it really is,
and thus lets it appear that to her, too, the prohibition seems too
strict; the third that she weakens the prohibition by reducing it to
the lesser caution. God had said, “Thou shalt surely die.” She reduces
it to “_lest ye die_,” thus making the motive of obedience to be
predominantly the fear of death.

Her tempter, who could quote Scripture to our Lord in his second
temptation, after he had failed in the first, was quick to take up
the woman’s rendering of the prohibition, and makes answer, “Ye shall
not surely die!” What an advance over the first suggestion, “Yea,
hath God said.” No doubt he had noted her wavering, and, instead
of turning promptly away from the author of her wavering, saw her
disposed to inform him of what God had said concerning this “tree of
the knowledge of good and evil,” and he promptly steps out from the
area of cautious craft into that of a reckless denial of the truth of
God’s prohibition, and a malicious suspicion of its object. Eve had
not repeated the words of the prohibition, and of the penalty, in its
double or intensive form, but Satan repeats it, in blasphemous mockery,
as though he had heard it in some other way, and stoutly denies the
truth of the threatening, that is, the doubt becomes unbelief.

The way, however, is not prepared for the unbelief without first
arousing a feeling of distrust in respect to God’s love, His
righteousness, and even His power. So the tempter denies all evil
consequences as arising from the forbidden enjoyment, whilst, on the
contrary, he promises the best and most glorious results from the
same. “Instead of your eyes closing in death,” he said, “they shall
be opened.” The tempter would have the woman believe that, in eating
of the fruit, she would become wonderfully enlightened, and, at the
same time, raised to a divine glory--“shall be as gods, knowing good
and evil.” And so, in like manner, is every sin a false and senseless
belief in the salutary effects of sin.

We tremble for Eve at this point of her interview with her tempter. It
is an awful moment, a moment in which her own happiness and that of her
husband’s and all the generations of earth are in the balances.

“And when the woman saw.” She was now looking at the tree and its fruit
from a far different standpoint from that in the morning. She beheld
it now with a look made false by the distorted application of God’s
prohibition by her tempter. In fact, she had become enchanted by the
distorted construction put upon God’s plain commandment. The satanic
promises seemed to have driven the threatening of that prohibition out
of her thought. Now she beholds the tree with other eyes. Three times,
it is said, how charming the tree appeared to her.

But where has Adam been all this time? Doubtless he was busy with
his duties, for God had set him “to dress and to keep” the garden in
which he had been placed. He may have seen Eve passing down one of the
beautiful paths of the garden in her morning walk, beguiled by the
splash of the fountains, the song of the birds, and the beauty of the
flowers at her feet. He may have observed her stay longer than usual,
and so turned aside from his duties to see what had become of her, and
following down the path over which he had last seen her disappear among
the trees and shrubbery of the garden, soon came to the place where
“the tree of the knowledge of good and evil” stood, and then, from
the lips of his own pure, sweet wife, learned what had taken place.
Possibly she was holding the very fruit of which she had said, “neither
shall ye touch it,” in her hands, admiring its beauty and wondering how
it tasted. And, while examining the fruit, she told her husband what
had passed between her and her tempter, and as she finished her story
she said, “I do not think there can be any harm in my just breaking the
rind of it, to see how it looks inside.” Prompted by womanly curiosity,
she broke open the fruit, and, before she was really conscious, she
“did eat!” “Why, how nice!” she exclaimed, at the same time handing the
other half to her husband. As a good gardener, he would naturally share
the curiosity of his wife to taste this fruit, “and he did eat!”

The next statement we have, “And the eyes of them both were opened.”
But how were they opened? Each of them had two good eyes before eating
the fruit; in fact, Eve had been admiring the fruit as it hung among
the branches of the tree, and as she had turned it over in her hands.
Before they tasted they saw with their natural eyes. Now they see with
a higher knowledge of sense--there is added a con-sense--a conscience
or self-consciousness. In the relation between the antecedent here
and what followed there evidently lies a terrible irony. The promise
of the tempter becomes half fulfilled, though, indeed, in a sadly
different sense from what they had supposed. They had attained, in
consequence, to a moral insight. Self-consciousness was awakened with
their knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil. It belongs to the
very beginning of moral cognition and development.

How strange it all is. Eden full of trees, fruits of every kind,
luscious and satisfying, but, excited by false and wicked statements in
respect to the prohibition of the fruit of one tree, she straightway
desires to taste for herself, and that curiosity blasted her and
blasted all nations. And thousands in every generation, inspired by
unhealthful inquisitiveness, have tried to look through the keyhole of
God’s mysteries--mysteries that were barred and bolted from all human
inspection--and they have wrenched their whole moral nature out of
joint by trying to pluck fruit from branches beyond their reach.

We may also learn that fruits which are sweet to the taste may
afterward produce great agony. Forbidden fruit for Eve was so pleasant
she invited her husband also to take of it; but her banishment from
paradise and years of sorrow and wretchedness and woe paid for that
luxury.

Sometimes people plead for just one indulgence in sin. There can be no
harm to go to this or that forbidden place just once. Doubtless that
one Edenic transgression did not seem to be much, but it struck a blow
which to this day makes the earth stagger. To find out the consequences
of that one sin you would have to compel the world to throw open all
its prison doors and display the crime, throw open all its hospitals
and display the disease, throw open all the insane asylums and show
the wretchedness, open all the sepulchres and show the dead, open
all the doors of the lost world and show the damned. That one Edenic
transgression stretched chords of misery across the heart of the world
and struck them with dolorous wailing, and it has seated the plagues
upon the air and the shipwrecks upon the tempest, and fastened, like
a leech, famine to the heart of the sick and dying nations. Beautiful
at the start, horrible at the last. Oh, how many have experienced it!
Beware of entertaining temptations to first sins! Turn away and flee
for thy life to the sure and only Refuge--Christ Jesus.

In the cool of the day, as the evening hours drew on, Adam and Eve
“heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden.” They were
used to hearing that voice walking in the garden in the cool of the
day. Eden had become a dear spot to the heart of their Father, and
doubtless He often came down to converse with them. So now He seeks
companionship with the majestic human masterpieces of His creation. And
why should he not?

But, passing strange! instead of running to Him out of their Eden
home, as doubtless they had been wont to do, “Adam and his wife hid
themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the
garden.” This act, no doubt, was prompted by self-consciousness and the
shame and guilt which it brought. So we clearly see that sin separates
from God. They had pronounced judgment upon their transgression by
their very conduct. Instead of meeting God as they had been doing, a
feeling of distrust and servile fear entered their hearts, and a sense
of the loss of their spiritual purity, together with the false notion
that they can hide themselves from God. And so it has come to pass
that ever since the first transgression men have been hiding from God,
running away from his presence.

“And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art
thou?” The Lord is the first to break the silence; the first to seek
erring humanity. Not for His own sake does God direct this inquiry,
for He knew where Adam was, but that Adam might take courage and open
his mouth in confession--it was an invitation to tell the whole sad
story. But, instead, he multiplies the difficulties by his answer,
“I was afraid, because I was naked.” That is to say, Adam, instead
of confessing the sin, sought to hide behind its consequences, and
his disobedience behind his feeling of shame. His answer to the
interrogation is far from the real cause of the change that had
come over his conduct, which was sin, and made his consciousness of
nakedness to be the reason. To still make Adam see the true reason for
his hiding, God farther asked, “Hast thou eaten of the tree whereof I
commanded thee that thou shouldst not eat?” Observe this question is
so framed as to contain in it the eating and the tree from which he
ate, and could have been answered with, “Yes!” How easy God made it for
Adam to confess. But, alas! How far from it. He answered, “The woman
whom thou gavest unto me, she gave me of the tree and I did eat.” How
deep the root of sin had taken hold upon Adam’s heart. What does he say
in this answer? Why this, he acknowledged the guilt, but indirectly
charges God as the author of the calamity. Eve is referred to as “the
woman” who is the author of his sin, and, since she was given to him
by the hand of the Lord, therefore it is the Lord’s fault, for if He
had not given her to Adam, he would not have partaken of the forbidden
tree! How passing strange is all this. And yet that is just what men
are doing after six thousand years of experience with sin. Instead of
breaking away from it, they say, God put it before them, and they could
not resist the temptation to sin. The loss of love that comes out in
this interposing of the wife is, moreover, particularly observable in
this, that he grudges to call her Eve (Isha--married) or my wife.

Failing to return unto God by way of confession, the Lord next deals
with Adam in judgment. “Cursed is the ground for thy sake ... thorns
also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee.” The very soil he had
been sent to cultivate, and to carry forward in a normal unfolding,
to imperishable life and spiritual glory, is now cursed for his sake,
and therewith changed to that of hostility to him. Referring to the
curse upon mankind, in consequence of the fall, Hugh MacMillan has
called attention to the remarkable fact that weeds, the curse of the
cultivator, accompany civilization. “There is one peculiarity about
weeds which is very remarkable,” says this writer, “namely, that they
only appear on ground which either by cultivation or for some other
purpose, has been disturbed by man. They are never found truly wild, in
woods or hills, or uncultivated wastes far away from human dwellings.
They never grow on virgin soil, where human beings have never been. No
weeds exist in those parts of the earth that are uninhabited, or where
man is only a passing visitant.” And what is true of mother earth is in
a sense true of the human heart. The youthful mind no sooner awakes to
thought and reason, than it gives evidence of abundance of weeds. In
surprise the mother asks where the little one has learned disobedience
and questions how so young a mind can assert such strong opposition to
wholesome discipline.

And now, lest a worse calamity should fall on Adam and his wife, by
stretching forth their hands “and take also of the tree of life, and
eat, and live forever,” God “drove out the man” from Eden, and placed
“cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the
way of the tree of life.” The act of driving Adam and Eve out of Eden
has always been looked upon as a harsh measure. If, however, we stop
to reflect what awful consequences would have followed the rash act of
eating of the tree of life, we shall see that it was an act of mercy.
For, after placing himself under the law of sin, what endless sorrow
would have come upon the race, if men could not be removed by death.
Think of such human monsters as history has time and again produced.
Men and women degraded by thousands of years in sin would indeed be
dangerous characters. So God cut off this possibility by guarding the
tree of life.

But there came a great change over all life. Beasts that before were
harmless and full of play put forth claw and sting and tooth and tusk.
Birds whet their beak for prey, clouds troop in the sky, sharp thorns
shoot up through the soft grass, blastings are on the leaves. All the
chords of that great harmony are snapped. Upon the brightest home this
world ever saw our first parents turned their back and led forth on a
path of sorrow the broken-hearted myriads of a ruined race.

[Illustration: THE ACCEPTED OFFERING.]

When Eve looked into the face of her first-born, she remembered the
words of the Lord, in His judgment upon Satan, “I will put enmity
between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed; it shalt
bruise thy head and thou shalt bruise his heel,” and, misunderstanding
the meaning of the promise, she called him Cain, meaning, “I have
gotten a man from the Lord,” mistaking him for the Redeemer. But
how bitter must have been her disappointment as she saw the child
grow up, saw his characteristics manifest themselves in acts of
hatefulness and revenge. However, but little is said of Cain and his
younger brother Abel, until they bring their offerings to the Lord.
We read that Abel was a “keeper of sheep,” and Cain was a “tiller of
the ground.” While it is not stated, we must believe these brothers
knew what was, and what was not, an acceptable offering to the Lord,
that Cain could easily have exchanged his fruits of the soil for a
lamb of Abel’s flock. Evidently Cain was lacking in that fine moral
insight which would lead him to have respect as to the nature of the
sacrifice necessary to atone for sin. There must be the shed blood of
the victim, for, “without shedding of blood,” there is no remission.
Either Cain did not regard himself a sinner, or, if he did, he thought
one sacrifice as good as another, and so he brings “of the fruit of
the ground an offering unto the Lord.” God could not accept this act
of disobedience. Because his offering was rejected, and seeing Abel’s
offering accepted, Cain rose up and slew his brother. He failed to shed
the blood of a lamb for his sin, but was quick to shed the blood of his
brother, and thereby add to his sin. But what a crushing blow was this
to the hopes of the mother heart who had supposed that her first-born
was the promised “seed.” How she must have broken down under her
sorrow, as she saw the blood dripping from Cain’s fingers, and that,
too, the blood of his own brother. And sadder still as she looked upon
the face of death for the first time. However she might have understood
the lying words of her tempter, “Ye shall not surely die,” she now sees
in the lifeless body of her second child, the awful reality of death.
And when the first grave was made, how she must have daily wept over
the precious mound, not only over this her first experience in bitter
bereavement, but also over the circumstances under which it was brought
about, and as she plants the flowers on the tomb, she fancies she hears
the blood of the innocent victim continually crying unto heaven to be
avenged. Oh, the bitter, bitter fruits of disobedience, who can know to
what misery they bring us?

And then also observe Cain’s conduct in this awful crime. God’s
arraignment of this fratricide was analogous to that of Adam and
Eve. But Cain evades every acknowledgment of it. He not only tells
a barefaced falsehood, but in a most impudent manner asks, “Am I my
brother’s keeper?” What a fearful advance on the timid explanations of
Adam’s transgression as he spoke to the Lord out of his hiding place.
How men should tremble at the very thought of sin.

But the sorrowing Eve took heart once more in the birth of Seth, “for,”
said she, “God hath appointed another seed instead of Abel.” So hope
in the heart, like the perpetual altar fires in the sacrifices of the
temple, seemed to sing a sweet song of comfort, and every child born
seemed to outweigh the bitter disappointments in the realization of the
promised Redeemer.

With this hope in the heart of Eve, and this beautiful language upon
her lips, the Scripture account closes. How long she lived after the
birth of Seth we are not informed, but of this we are assured, she
believed God in His promise of the Messiah. That she misunderstood when
that promise was to be realized, is quite evident, but there is every
reason to believe she died in the faith of its ultimate realization,
for she judged God to be righteous in the promise.

What is the lesson the loss of Paradise has for us? Plainly this: The
perverted use of things good in themselves. Eve saw that the tree was
pleasant to the eyes. From that day to this there have been women
who would throw their health, their home happiness, their chance of
training their children for God, their life, their honor, their hope
of heaven, into a cauldron out of which might be brought something
pleasant to the eyes. Eyes are good, useful and necessary, but we need
to make a covenant with them not to see more than is good for our souls.

After she saw, she “desired.” This would seem to imply that the real
source of all sin is in the spirit of our own desires. The last of the
Ten Commandments strikes down to the very tap-root of all evil, “Thou
shalt not covet.” All sin commences with the kindling of desire. The
apostle James gives us the pedigree, “Every man is tempted when he is
turned away of his own lust and enticed; then, when lust and desire
hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin, and sin, when it is finished,
bringeth forth death.” The secret of victory, therefore, is not to
allow the mind and heart to dwell for a moment upon any forbidden
thing. The whole modern life is terribly fitted to stimulate unholy
desire. The little child is taught from infancy to covet the vain and
glittering attractions of the world--dress, equipage, pleasure, praise,
fashion, display and a thousand worldly allurements. The city bill
boards are covered with nude harlots. There are no less than 200,000
houses for these social outcasts in our fair land. These open gateways
to immorality, where the virtue of the nation is ground out, are not
only guarded by police force, but young girls by the 100,000 a year
are stolen from country homes by the paid agents, and sold into these
open dens of vice and crime, where these poor girls die in a short
time, the average length of this life of sin being only five years. And
still the people have not a word to say for the suppression of these
crime-breeding dens of vice, but legalize and protect them by law to
the ruin of our homes. These are the things that are eating out the
spiritual life of the nation, and for that reason many do not want to
retain the thought of God in their hearts. Hence the responsibilities
of life are pressing upon us. As you have seen the child trundling its
little hoop by touching it on both sides alternately to keep it from
either extreme, so God teaches us both with warning and with promise,
as our spiritual condition requires. Sometimes it is warning we need,
and He shouts in our ear the solemn admonition, as a mother would cry
to her babe in wild alarm if in danger of falling over the precipice.
But, again, when we are in danger of being too much depressed, He
speaks to us with notes of encouragement and promise, and tells us
there is no real danger of our failing utterly, and that He will never
suffer us to be tempted above what we are able. And so we hear Him
saying on one hand, “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest
he fall;” but immediately after adding on the other side, “God is
faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able,
but will, with the temptation, make a way of escape that ye may be
able to bear it.”

  “Fear not! When temptations try thee
    Trust the Saviour’s loving care;
  No temptation will come nigh thee
    More than thou has strength to bear.

  “Fail not! In the hour of testing,
    Christ is pledged to bring thee through
  In His arms securely resting
    There thou shalt thy strength renew.”

We are also impressed with the influence woman has for good or evil.
What we need as a nation is consecrated womanhood. When at last we come
to calculate the forces that decide the destiny of nations, it will
be found that the mightiest and grandest influence came from home,
where the wife cheered up despondency and fatigue and sorrow by her
own sympathy, and the mother trained her child for heaven, starting
the little feet on the path to the celestial city, and the sisters,
by their gentleness, refined the manners of the brother, and the
daughters were diligent in their kindness to the aged, throwing wreaths
of blessing on the road that led father and mother down the steep of
years. God bless our homes. And may the home on earth be the vestibule
of our home in heaven.




CHAPTER II.

Womanhood in the Patriarchal Age.

  SARAH THE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS--HER FAITH TESTED--THE MISTAKE OF HER
    LIFE--HER LOVELY CHARACTER--REBEKAH--AN ORIENTAL WOOING--ELIEZER’S
    PRAYER--THE BRIDE’S ANSWER--MEETING ISAAC--A MOTHER’S LOVE FOR HER
    SON--JACOB’S FLIGHT--REBEKAH, THE BEAUTIFUL SHEPHERDESS--SEVEN
    YEARS’ SERVICE FOR HER--LABAN’S DECEPTION--LEAH, THE
    TENDER-EYED--HUMAN FAVORITES--DIVINELY HONORED--RACHEL’S TOMB THE
    FIRST MONUMENT TO HUMAN LOVE.


From the prominence given to Eve in connection with the temptation and
the overwhelming disasters which followed the loss of the Eden home in
Paradise, we are surprised the Sacred historian passes over a period
of about two thousand years without giving us any record of women. The
names of good men are mentioned. Enoch walked before God for over three
hundred years, and the walk was such a perfect one, and it pleased God
so well, that He translated Enoch. Noah also “found grace in the eyes
of the Lord,” and he was “a just man and perfect in his generations,”
and “walked with God,” doubtless as Enoch had done. No doubt there were
others who lived clean, pure lives. Of this number was Lamech, the
father of Noah, for he was comforted in the birth of his son, saying,
he “shall comfort us concerning our work and toil of our hands, because
of the ground which the Lord hath cursed.” Surely such men must have
had good mothers to train them, and good wives for companions. But
nothing is said about these women that walked in White Raiment in that
dark and sinful age, when “all flesh had corrupted his way upon the
earth,” until Sarah, the fair wife of Abraham, is reached.

We find this beautiful princess willing to leave her home and her
people in the land of Ur of the Chaldees and journey for more than a
thousand miles to the land of Canaan. However, this journey was not
a continuous one, for a long stop was made at Haran, in Mesopotamia,
perhaps half way between Ur and Palestine.

Of her birth and parentage we have no certain account in Scripture.
In Gen. xx, 12, Abraham speaks of her as “his sister, the daughter of
the same father, but not the daughter of the same mother.” The Hebrew
tradition is that Sarai is the same as Iscah, the daughter of Haran.
This tradition is not improbable in itself, and certainly supplies the
account of the descent of the mother of the chosen race.

The change of her name from Sarai to Sarah was made on the
establishment of the covenant of circumcision between Abraham and God,
and signifies “princess,” for she was to be the royal ancestress of
“all families of the earth.”

The beautiful fidelity of this noble woman is shown in her willingness
to accompany her husband in all the wanderings of his life. Her home
in Mesopotamia was gladly and willingly exchanged for a tent, and that
tent was often taken down and set up during the nomadic life which
formed the basis of the patriarchal age. God intended to set forth in
Abraham not only the thought that here man has no continuing city, but
also the life of faith. And this faith of Abraham is distinguished from
the faith of the pious ancestors in this, that he obtained and held the
promises of salvation, not only for himself, but for his family; and
from the Mosaic system, by the fact that it expressly held the promised
blessing in the seed of Abraham, as a blessing for all people. But this
faith had not only to be developed, but also tested. It is beautiful to
read that Abraham believed God, but his faith when he went down into
Egypt was far from that when he went “into the land of Moriah” to offer
up Isaac. Nothing is plainer in the Bible than that a man’s faith is
not a matter of indifference. He can not be disobedient to God’s calls,
and yet go to heaven when he dies. This is not an arbitrary decision.
There is and must be an adequate ground for it. The rejection of God’s
dealings with us is as clear a proof of moral depravity, as inability
to see the light of the sun at noon is a proof of blindness.

Now let us look at a few of these testings or trials of faith that came
into the life of this woman in White Raiment, this princess in Israel.
She was asked to give up her native land. How dear the fatherland is
to the heart, only those who have passed through the experience can
realize. This was not all. She was asked to give up her kindred. To
move away from all the associations of childhood and youth, requires a
brave heart. But she was also asked to give up her home, and what is
dearer to a woman’s heart than her home? We have no doubt Sarah’s home
by the beautiful streams that flow down from the high table-lands of
Armenia into the rich valleys of Mesopotamia, was a lovely one, and to
exchange it for tent-life was a brave sacrifice. Her love to God must
have been deep and constant.

After a long, weary journey through the desert sands, the land
of promise is finally reached, only to find it afflicted with a
famine. How often Sarah must have longed for one look out over the
fig orchards, the olive yards and waving grain fields ripening in
the summer’s sun of her native Mesopotamia, as she looked out over
the barren hills, burned-up fields, and dried-up water courses of
Palestine. Night after night, Abraham’s tent is pitched, only to be
taken down in the morning, in quest of pasturage for their herds and
flocks, until the wilderness in the southern extremity of Canaan is
reached. How all this must have tested their faith. Had they not
mistaken the call of God? Is it possible that this parched land is the
land of promise? How disappointments and failures test our faith, and
the heart of poor Sarah must have been sorely tried.

But there was yet another test, and a humiliating one at that, and
it seems to look as if their united faith was wavering. She was a
beautiful woman, and they were now upon the very borders of Egypt,
and there was no other alternative but to perish with famine or
to go down into the land of the Pharaohs. Both Abraham and Sarah
seemed to realize the hazard they were running, for, possibly, the
bloom and beauty of Sarah’s face might cost Abraham’s life. So they
agreed between them that Sarah should say that she was his sister,
lest he should be killed. The declaration was not false. She was his
half-sister, but it was not the whole truth, and it would seem, from
their present conduct, that their faith, tested by the famine, was now
wavering, for, why not appeal their cause to God, instead of taking it
into their own hands? The reason for resorting to this deception was,
if she was regarded as his wife, an Egyptian could only obtain her,
when he had first murdered her husband. But if she was his sister,
then there was a hope that she might be won from her brother by loving
attentions and costly gifts, or, if her beauty came to the notice of
Pharaoh she would be taken to his harem by arbitrary methods. They had
not reasoned in vain. The princes of the land saw her, “and commended
her before Pharaoh,” and “Sarah was taken into Pharaoh’s house.”

It is hard for us to understand what a trial of her faith this harem
life must have been to the pure-minded Sarah. How often her mind must
have gone out over the stretches of desert wastes to her own land
abounding with streams and fertility. And to be conscious that the
charms of her person were the centre of attraction in the court of
Egypt.

But all this time God’s eye was a witness to all that was passing. When
we get to the end of self, He always comes to our rescue--our extremity
is His opportunity. In her resided the religious disposition in the
highest measure, and just at a time when the nations appeared about
to sink into heathenism, hence her faith must be saved to the race,
so “the Lord plagued Pharaoh with great plagues,” that is to say, God
administered “blow on blow,” and these were of such a nature as to
guard Sarah from injury. At length the ruler of the land, whose heart
does not seem to be hardened like the later kings, concludes that his
punishment is for the sake of Sarah, and restores her to Abraham.

After Abraham had separated from Lot, the Lord again appeared unto him,
at which time Abraham complained for the want of an heir. So the Lord
leads Abraham out of his tent, under the heavens as seen by night, and
in that land of blue skies, the night heavens are beautiful indeed. God
had promised at first one natural heir, but now the countless stars
which he sees, should both represent the innumerable seed which should
spring from this one heir, and at the same time be a warrant for his
faith.

At this point the human element again seeks to aid in bringing about
the realization of the divine promise. The childless state of Abraham’s
house was its great sorrow, and the more so, since it was in perpetual
opposition to the calling, destination, and faith of Abraham, and was a
constant trial of his faith. Sarah herself, doubtless, came gradually
more and more, on account of her barrenness, to appear as a hindrance
to the fulfillment of the divine promise, and as Abraham had already
fixed his eye upon his head servant, Eliezer of Damascus, so now Sarah
fixes her eye upon her head maid, Hagar the Egyptian. It must be this
maid not only had mental gifts which qualified her for the prominent
place she occupied in the household, but also inward participation
in the faith of her mistress. So Hagar is substituted, for, in the
substitution, Sarah hopes to carry forward the divine purpose of the
family. In this she certainly practiced an act of heroic self-denial,
but still, in her womanly excitement, anticipated her destiny as Eve
had done, and carried even Abraham away with her alluring hope. Though
she greatly erred in this effort to assist God in bringing in the
realization of the promise, and thereby revealed a lack of faith in
the divine appointments, yet we have here a beautiful exhibition of
her heroic self-denial even in her error. Perhaps, viewed from the
human standpoint, we should here bring into our narrative also, the
fact, that they had been already ten years in Canaan, and Sarah was now
seventy-five years of age, waiting in vain for the heir, through whom
the great blessing was to come to all the families of the earth.

However, in all this, Sarah, the noble generous hearted, had not
counted upon the conduct Hagar would assume in her new relation. As
an Egyptian, Hagar seemed to have regarded herself as second wife,
instead of recognizing her subordination to her mistress. This
subordination seems to have been assumed by Abraham, and hence the
apparent indifference probably was the source of Sarah’s sense of
injury, when she exclaimed, “My wrong be upon thee.” She felt that
Abraham ought to have redressed her wrong--ought to have seen and
rebuked the insolence of the maid. Beyond a doubt, looking at the
pride and insolence of Hagar, from Sarah’s standpoint, it was very
trying. The Hebrews regarded barrenness as a great evil and a divine
punishment, while fruitfulness was held as a great good and a divine
blessing. The unfruitful Hannah received the like treatment with Sarah,
from the second wife of Elkanah. It is still thus, to-day, in eastern
lands. With almost the tenderness of Elkanah to the sorrowing Hannah,
Abraham says, “Behold the maid is in thy hand.” He regards Hagar still
as the servant, and the one who fulfills the part of Sarah. But now the
overbent bow flies back with violence. This is the back stroke of her
own eager, overstrained course. Sarah now turns and deals harshly with
Hagar. How precisely, we are not told. Doubtless, through the harsh
thrusting her back into the mere position and service of a slave. But
Hagar, it appears, would not submit to such treatment. She, perhaps,
believed that she had grown above such a position, and fled from the
presence of Sarah.

What need was there for Sarah to learn the lesson of the patience of
faith. God had promised her great honors and blessings. There was in
her nature much that needed toning up by the grace of patience, and
God would take his own best time in developing her life. Her haste to
anticipate the blessing promised, not only delayed its realization, but
brought sorrow to her own heart, and untold trouble to her posterity,
for Ishmael’s hand has been “against every man, and every man’s hand
against him.” The Ishmaelites, it is said, “dwelt from Havilah unto
Shur,” and it is certain that they stretched in very early times across
the desert to the Persian Gulf, peopled the north and west of the
Arabian peninsula, and eventually formed the chief element of the Arab
nation, which has proved to be a living fountain of humanity whose
streams for thousands of years have poured themselves far and wide. Its
tribes are found in all the borders of Asia, in the East Indies, in all
Northern Africa, along the whole Indian Ocean down to Molucca, they are
spread along the coast to Mozambique, and their caravans cross India
to China. These wandering hordes of the desert have always and still
lead a robber life. They justify themselves in it, upon the ground of
the hard treatment of Ishmael, their father, who, driven out of his
paternal inheritance, received the desert for his possession, with the
permission to take whatever he could find. Mohammed is in the line
of Ishmael, and the followers of Islam, in their pride and delusion,
claim that the rights of primogeniture belong to Ishmael instead of
Isaac, and assert their right to lands and goods, so far as it pleases
them. Vengeance for blood rules in them, and the innocent have often
fallen victims to their horrible massacres. So that the disaster which
overtook the race in this premature anticipation of divine Providence
is second only to the disaster that overtook Eve in the temptation
and the loss of Paradise. Could Sarah have foreseen all the sad
consequences of her unseemly haste to pluck the unripened promise God
meant to give her, she certainly would have cultivated the patience of
faith.

But the years passed on--fifteen of them nearly--since the child
Ishmael had been in the home of the patriarch, and the visit of the
angels under the Oaks in the plain of Mamre. During this time God
had once more renewed his promise to Abraham, and also the rite of
circumcision had been established, and, doubtless, the symbolical
purification of Abraham and his house, opened the way for the friendly
appearance of Jehovah in the persons of the angels, or men, as the
patriarch at first thought them to be, as he looked up, while seated
in his tent door through the heat of the noontide hours.

When he saw the angels, “he ran to meet them,” and, it seems, instantly
recognized among the three the one whom he addressed as the Lord, and
who afterwards was clearly distinguished from the two accompanying
angels. “If now,” Abraham asks, “I have found favor in Thy sight, pass
not away.” This cordial invitation, while it has in it the marked
hospitality of Orientals, to the inner consciousness of Abraham it had
a deeper meaning, the covenant relation between himself and Jehovah,
that is, he hopes this relation is still continued. His humble and
pressing invitation, his zealous preparations, his modest description
of the meal, his standing by to serve those who were eating, are
picturesque traits of the life of faith as it here reveals itself, in
an exemplary hospitality. This is the custom still in Eastern lands,
and is referred to by our Lord in that passage where He speaks of His
second coming, and shall find His people watching, for He will “make
them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them” (Luke
xii, 37), and seems to be one of the countless instances where, in the
web of the Holy Scriptures, the golden threads of the Old Testament
are interwoven with those of the New, and form, as it were, one whole.
And the fact that this beautiful custom of hospitality is still
observed among the Bedouins, as we can speak from personal knowledge,
is remarkable, and impresses us with the thought that the covenant
blessings, like some sweet, heavenly fruitage, refuses to be lost out
of the lives of that ancient people.

The meal having been served in this beautiful Oriental manner, the
Lord asks, “Where is Sarah?” Abraham made answer, “Behold, in the
tent.” Then the Angel of the Lord, not only renews the promise, but
that it should be fully realized in the birth of Isaac within a year.
Sarah, behind the tent door, hears this unqualified assurance, but,
viewing it from nature’s standpoint, rendered doubly improbable from
her life-long barrenness, “laughed within herself.” We can not regard
this as a laugh of unbelief, or the scoff of doubt, as some do, but as
a laugh falling short in her conception of God. The thing which was
impossible according to the established laws of nature, her faith had
not yet grasped as being possible with God. But the Lord, nevertheless,
observed Sarah’s laugh, and this divine hearing on the part of the
Angel of the Lord, startled her, and had its part in the strengthening
of her faith. It prepared the way for the question, “Is anything
too hard for the Lord?” To her own mind one thing, namely, that she
should be a mother at ninety years of age, seemed too hard. And so
the question had to do with this very thought, and must be settled on
the side of her faith. And she grandly and heroically asserted her
belief that nothing, not even the seeming insurmountable obstacle which
nature interposed, was too great for God to overcome, and her faith was
strengthened, for we read, “through _faith_ Sarah received strength
to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age,
because she _judged_ Him faithful who had promised” (Heb. xi, 11). The
trial of her patience of faith was a long struggle. It took twenty-five
years to bring her up to the point where her faith could grasp the
truth that nothing was too hard for the Lord to perform. But this
blessed woman at length stood in right relation to God, for, without
faith, be it observed, it is impossible to please God, or to receive
anything at His hands.

In due time Isaac was born. It was the great event in Sarah’s life. As
the mother looked down into the face of the son of her bosom she breaks
forth in an exultant song of thankfulness, not unlike that of Mary,
the blessed virgin. The little song of Sarah, it has beautifully been
said, is the first cradle hymn. Our Lord reveals the profoundest source
of this joy, when, in addressing the Pharisees, who held Abraham to
be their father, said, “Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day.”
Sarah, in the birth of Isaac, is the ancestress of Christ. Spiritually
viewed, the birthday of Isaac becomes the door or entrance of the day
of Christ, and the day of Christ the background of the birthday of
Isaac.

Another beautiful incident in connection with the childhood of Isaac
is, that Sarah, his mother, even at her advanced age and exalted
station in life, did not deem it a burden to nurse him. Calvin has
well said, “Whom God counts worthy of the honor of being a mother He
at the same time makes a nurse; and those who feel themselves burdened
through the nursing of their children, rend, as far as in them lies,
the sacred bond of nature, unless weakness, or some infirmities, form
their excuse.”

But along with the growing child is the mocking Ishmael. He was
fourteen years of age at the birth of Isaac, and therefore in the first
years of Isaac, appears as a playful lad, and true to his nature,
doubtless developed a characteristic trait of jealousy which would not
escape the ever watchful eye of Sarah, as she observed his dancing and
leaping, and now and then making hateful faces at the mother’s darling,
mocking his childish fears and appeals to the mother for protection.
This seems to have been endured by Sarah until the great feast day,
held to celebrate the weaning of Isaac. Seeing special attention paid
to Isaac by all the invited guests, his jealousy suddenly developed
into envy, and this, in turn, found expression in mockery. Sarah
could endure these mockings no longer, for to her sensitive nature,
Ishmael’s mocking the child of promise was but the outward expression
of his unbelief in the faith of his parents, and therefore the word
and purpose of God. His conduct revealed his unbelief, and hence was
unworthy and incapable of sharing in the blessing, which then, as now,
was secured only by faith, and which had already cost her so much.
Hence she said to Abraham, “Cast out this bondwoman and her son.” The
treatment may seem harsh, but there could be no peace or happiness in
that household until the mocking Ishmael was out of it. This mother,
whose spiritual faith had been quickened in a marvelous manner, was
clear-sighted enough to see that the purposes of God in reference to
Isaac could only become actual through this separation. The fact that
the prompt, sharp determination that “the son of this bondwoman shall
not be heir” with Isaac, “was very grievous in Abraham’s sight,” shows
that his prejudice in favor of the rights of the natural first-born
needed correction. And God confirmed the judgment of Sarah. For the
exclusion of Ishmael was requisite not only to the prosperity of Isaac
and the line of the promise, but to the welfare of Ishmael himself. And
the man of faith, who should later offer up Isaac, must now be able to
offer up Ishmael also.

After the sending away of Hagar and her son Ishmael, there is but one
incident recorded in the life of Abraham, namely the treaty or covenant
of peace with Abimelech, King of Gerar, though probably several years
passed away between the departure of Hagar and the last great test or
trial of Abraham in the offering up of Isaac on Mt. Moriah.

The son of promise had grown to be a lad of sixteen or seventeen years
of age, when the voice of the Lord called unto Abraham, saying, “Take
now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into
the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon
one of the mountains which I will tell thee of.” It would seem that
this message came to Abraham while asleep--in a dream as we would
say--and therefore all the more trying as such a revelation, under such
circumstances might well be questioned. Upon waking out of his sleep he
might reasonably question the import of such a dream, especially since
Isaac was his only child, and the son of promise. But it appears that
Abraham did not stop to explain away this command, and we must believe
that he did not even inform Sarah of this heart-crushing revelation,
for neither she nor Isaac knew at the time the special object of the
journey. Promptly Abraham made the necessary preparations, and set
out on the three days’ journey. His obedience is absolute. There is
not even a question raised as to his correctly understanding the duty
required of him. To suppose that Abraham did not have the bleeding
heart of a father in this great trial, would be to destroy the force
of this testing of his faith. And the fact that he had three days’ time
in which he could change his purpose, made the conflict within him all
the harder.

The lad and the mother could easily see from the wood, and the fire,
and the knife, that he went not merely to worship, but to sacrifice.
The testing was still more heart-breaking when, at the end of the
journey, at the foot of Moriah, while Abraham is in the act of laying
the wood upon the obedient Isaac, the heir of promise said, “My father,
behold the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt
offering?” How the bleeding heart of the father must have been touched
afresh as he looked upon Isaac as “the lamb,” yet, as if the hour for
the fuller revelation had not yet come, made answer, “My son, God will
provide Himself a lamb.”

And so the two, the father and the son, slowly climb the rugged sides
of Moriah to its very summit, and Abraham built an altar, as he so
often had done before, for, wherever Abraham had a tent, God had an
altar, and in the building of this altar we may well believe the
loving, obedient Isaac assisted. Then the wood was laid upon it. All
was ready for “the lamb!” But God had not yet provided the victim.

What passed between father and son the Sacred record has not revealed.
However, we must believe it was the Gethsemane struggle with Isaac,
and that in the end he said to Abraham, as Christ, under similar
circumstances, said to His heavenly Father, “Thy will be done.” And,
perhaps, this loving self-surrender of Isaac made it all the harder
for the father’s heart. But, somehow, we can not understand it, only
in the light of complete self-surrender to the will of God, he “bound
Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood,” and, nerving
himself for the last great act, he “stretched forth his hand, and took
the knife to slay his son.”

But God, during this scene on Mount Moriah, was an interested
spectator. He saw that the obedience of faith--the complete
self-surrender of Abraham’s will--was perfect. “And the angel of the
Lord called unto him out of heaven, and said, ‘Lay not thine hand upon
the lad, neither do thou anything unto him, for now I know that thou
fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son,
from me.’”

It is worthy of observation that, while the command to offer up Isaac
came in a dream, and therefore open to misgiving, the command to stay
his hand is spoken by the angel of Jehovah out of heaven. Abraham was
perfect in his faith, and how far it reached into the great love for
God and self-surrender to His will, we shall never know. Paul, speaking
of this wonderful victory over self, said that Abraham accounted that
God was able to raise up Isaac, “even from the dead; from whence also
he received him in a figure.” Though all his hope, humanly speaking,
perished out of his heart when he took up the sacrificial knife on
Moriah, yet his faith overleaped human limitations into the infinite
ability of God to raise up Isaac out of the ashes upon his altar.

Such faith was possible for Abraham, for God asks no impossibilities
at the hands of men, and what was possible for this man of faith is
possible for any of us, if we are willing to pay the price. Let no one
think, however, that such fruits of righteousness drop into the lap of
the faithless.

But through this severe testing, Sarah nowhere appears on the scene. It
may be, infinite love would spare the mother’s heart. It may be, also,
the last great trial of her faith took place in the tent, stretched
under the oaks, in the plain of Mamre. There is a Jewish tradition that
when Sarah fully learned the nature of the journey to Moriah, and the
scene which there took place, the shock of it killed her, and Abraham
found her dead on his return home. This may do as a tradition, but not
as the _finale_ of God’s dealing with His people. The potter, as he
fashions the vessel upon the wheel, does not seek to break it. So God
does not test us beyond our capacity to endure. Then, also, if Isaac
was born when Sarah was ninety years of age, and she died at the age
of one hundred and twenty-seven, and the scene on Moriah took place
when Isaac was a lad of sixteen or seventeen, she lived for twenty
years after that event, to be a comfort and a blessing in her home.

At length this princess in Israel, tested and tried, and found true,
died at Hebron at the good age of one hundred and twenty-seven years,
and Abraham wept over her, and well he might, for she had shared his
trials and was a good and faithful wife, and she was a mother, even
more than a wife.

Abraham purchased the cave of Machpelah of Ephron, the Hittite, and
tenderly laid the remains of this lovely woman to rest in one of the
chambers of the cave. It is the first burial mentioned in the Sacred
records. And the tomb remains unto this day, hallowed in the eyes of
Jews, Christians and Mohammedans alike, and was visited by the writer.

The lesson which God would teach us in the life of this woman in White
Raiment is that testings are necessary to the development of faith,
and that these testings come to us in the most ordinary events of our
daily lives. All Christians surely know by experience that events which
seemed all darkness at first have ultimately brought them nearer to the
light. The much-dreaded cloud has proved to be only a veil under which
God hides His mighty power. His gracious query, “Is anything too hard
for the Lord?” has comforted us, and has turned what we thought to be
a curse into a blessing. O, can we not trust Him in the darkness as
well as in the light, knowing that He can bring calm out of storm, and
that he often chooses the darkness and the cloud as a special medium by
which to reveal himself? Could we climb to heaven by some other way,
and escape the shadows and the storms of life, how much should we miss
of the blessed manifestations of God’s revelations of His power.

God speaks to listening ears and waiting hearts as truly to-day as He
did before the tent door under the oaks in the plain of Mamre. He may
speak to us through his providence, through the voice of a friend,
through a book or a sermon; but perhaps He does so most frequently in
the little details of everyday life, in which we can not fail to see
His dealings with us if our hearts are turned expectantly toward him.
Only let us be admonished by Sarah’s sad mistake. That she made it,
proves that she was human. But let us be afraid of sin. The door once
open, none of us can tell into what endless labyrinths of sorrow it
will lead us. God wants a tried people, not only for their own sake but
that they may be a blessing to others.

And now we come to a most beautiful scene in Sacred History. While, as
a whole, the Bible gives the drama of human sin and divine redemption,
yet it pauses in its wonderful revelations to let us look into the
homes of the people who lived ages ago. It somehow touches human life
on all its sides. Other books which are held sacred by eastern nations,
give woman only contemptuous mention. This one recognizes the dignity
and beauty of her life and work. It tells in seven verses the story
of Enoch, who walked with God three hundred and sixty-five years and
who was holy enough to escape death, while it gives sixty-six verses
to the wooing and wedding of Rebekah and Isaac. In the pictures which
the Sacred Record opens to us of the domestic life of the patriarchal
age, perhaps this is the most perfectly characteristic and beautiful
idyl of a marriage, and how it was brought about. In its sweetness and
sacred simplicity, it is a marvelous contrast to the wedding of our
modern fashionable life. And surely, since God’s Book gives so much
time and space to the domestic life of women, the daughters of modern
Christianity ought to regard themselves and their affairs of the utmost
importance. For the sake of Him who gave them such prominence and
recognition, they ought to love Him.

Abraham, the friend of God, understood fully that it would never do
to have the heir of promise fall into the hands of a heathen wife. He
could not bear the thought of taking one of the corrupt Canaanites into
his family, with the chance of her leading Isaac into the abominable
worship of her gods.

Parents often frustrate the grace of God and mar His plans irreparably
by being careless of the worldly associations and affinities of their
children.

Sarah, the beautiful and beloved, had been tenderly laid away in the
cave of Machpelah, and Isaac is now forty years of age. Forty years,
however, in those good old times, is yet young, when the thread of
mortal life ran out to a hundred and seventy-five or eighty years. As
Abraham has nearly reached that far period, his sun of life is dipping
downwards toward the evening horizon. He has but one care remaining--to
settle his son Isaac in life before he is gathered to his fathers.

The scene where Abraham discusses the subject with his head servant
sheds a peculiar light on the domestic and family relations of those
days.

Calling Eliezer, his most trusty servant, he discloses to him his
purpose, and makes him take an oath that he will faithfully carry out
his wishes. But Abraham’s steward saw the difficulties of such a proxy
wooing, and expressed a fear that the young woman would object to so
hazardous a journey to share the home of a man whom she had never seen
and of whom she had possibly never before heard. So, to make matters
sure, he asks if it would not be better to take Isaac with him? To this
request the patriarch replied, “Beware thou that thou bring not my son
thither again.” Abraham saw that there was too much risk in allowing
Isaac to go back to the old home. He might have to be scourged out of
it as was Jacob, the next in the line, a few years later. He must do
right and trust God. So he told his steward, “The Lord, before whom I
walk, will send his angel before thee and prosper thy way, and thou
shalt take a wife for my son of my kindred and of my father’s house.”
Then, as he saw the ever-present contingency with which human free
agency may frustrate even Divine Providence, he added, “And if the
woman will not be willing to follow thee, then thou shalt be clear
from this thine oath; only bring not my son thither again.”

The picture of the preparations made for this embassy denotes a
princely station and great wealth. “And the servant took ten camels of
the camels of his master, and departed; for all the goods of his master
were in his hand; and he arose and went to Mesopotamia, unto the city
of Nahor.”

Now comes a quaint and beautiful picture of the manners of those
pastoral days. He made his camels to kneel down without the city by
a well of water, at the time of the evening when the women go out to
draw water. With the kneeling camels around the well, the aged Eliezer
uncovers his head in the evening twilight, and with closed eyes and
face raised towards heaven, he talks to God in this simple and yet
eloquent way, “O, Lord God of my master Abraham, I pray thee, send me
good speed this day, and show kindness unto my master Abraham. Behold!
I stand here by the well of water; and the daughters of the men of the
city come out to draw water: And let it come to pass that the damsel to
whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink;
and she shall say, Drink and I will give thy camels drink also: let
that same be she that Thou hast appointed for Thy servant Isaac; and
thereby shall I know that Thou hast shewed kindness unto my master.”
It is to be observed that this aged servant talked to God with all the
simplicity and directness of a child with its mother. He told the Lord
where he stood, and it was in the most likely place about an Oriental
city at evening time, for all the damsels come out to the well at that
hour of the day to draw water. He did not doubt that there was a bride
for Isaac in the town; and he wanted to find the right one immediately.
The care of Abraham’s affairs pressed him, and he wanted to get through
the matter with as little waste of time and sentiment as possible.
That he might not make any mistake in his delicate mission, he tells
the Lord of a little test he thought of using. He needed a sign from
God to select the bride from among the women who should come to the
well. He used his own judgment as far as it went; but it stopped short
of a decision. He specified that the chosen one should be industrious,
hospitable, deft, courteous. She should be qualified to stand at the
head of a princely establishment.

His prayer was speedily granted, for thus the story goes on, “And
it came to pass, before he had done speaking, that, behold Rebekah
came out, who was born to Bethuel, son of Milcah, the wife of Nahor,
Abraham’s brother.”

It is noticeable, how strong is the sensibility to womanly beauty in
this narrative. This young Rebekah is thus announced: “And the damsel
was very fair to look upon, and a virgin, and she went down to the
well, and filled her pitcher, and came up.” Drawn by the bright eyes,
and fair face, the old servant hastens to apply the test, doubtless
hoping that this lovely creature is the appointed one for his young
master.

“And the servant ran to meet her, and said, Let me, I pray thee, drink
a little water of thy pitcher. And she said, Drink, my Lord; and she
hastened, and let down her pitcher upon her hand, and gave him drink.”

She gave with a will, with a grace and readiness that outflowed the
request, and then it is added: “And when she had done giving him drink,
she said, I will draw water for thy camels also, until they have done
drinking. And she hastened and emptied her pitcher into the trough, and
ran again unto the well to draw water, and drew for all his camels.”
Let us fancy ten camels, all on their knees, in a row, at the trough,
with their long necks, and patient, care-worn faces, while the pretty
young damsel, with cheerful alacrity, is dashing down the water from
her pitcher, filling and emptying in quick succession, apparently
making nothing of the toil; the gray-haired old servant, looking on in
devout recognition of the answer to his prayer, for the story says:
“And the man, wondering at her, held his peace, to wit (know) whether
the Lord had made his journey prosperous or not.”

There was wise penetration into life and the essentials of wedded
happiness in this prayer of the old servant. What he asked for his
young master was not beauty, or talent, but a ready and unfailing
outflow of sympathy and kindness. He asked not merely for a gentle
nature, a kind heart, but he asked for a heart so rich in kindness that
it should run even beyond what was asked, and be ready to anticipate
the request with new devices of helpfulness; the lively, lighthearted
kindness that could not be content with waiting on the thirsty old man,
but with cheerful alacrity took upon herself the care of all the ten
camels. This was a gift beyond that of beauty, yet when it came in the
person of a maiden exceedingly fair to look upon, no marvel that the
old man wondered joyously at his success.

Instantly, as the camels had done drinking, he produced from his
treasury golden earrings and bracelets with which he adorned the
maiden. We can easily imagine the maidenly delight with which she ran
to exhibit the gifts of jewelry that thus unexpectedly descended upon
her.

Nor does Eliezer fail to offer up a prayer of thanksgiving for divine
guidance. In this he set a worthy example to all who seek direction
from God. He said, “I, being in the way, the Lord led me.” A free
translation would be, “I used my own judgment as far as it would go,
which was a long distance from a safe conclusion, and the Lord led me
the rest of the way.”

Bethuel, when he saw the gifts and heard the words of Rebekah, hastened
to the well and said to Eliezer, “Come in, thou blessed of the Lord;
wherefore standest thou without? for I have prepared the house, and
room for the camels. And the man came into the house: and he ungirded
the camels, and gave straw and provender for the camels, and water to
wash his feet, and the men’s feet that were with him. And there was set
meat before him to eat: but he said, I will not eat, till I have told
my errand. And he said, Speak on.”

He then related the purport of his journey, of the prayer that he had
uttered at the well, and of its fulfillment in a generous-minded and
beautiful young maiden, and thus he ends his story: “And now, if ye
will deal kindly and truly with my master, tell me: and if not, tell
me; that I may turn to the right hand or to the left.”

Bethuel answered, “Behold, Rebekah is before thee; take her, and go,
and let her be thy master’s son’s wife, as the Lord hath spoken.”

“And it came to pass, that when Abraham’s servant heard their words, he
worshipped the Lord, bowing himself to the earth.”

And now comes a scene most captivating to female curiosity. “The
servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, and
raiment, and gave them to Rebekah; he gave also to her brother and
to her mother precious things.” The scene of examining jewelry and
garments and rich stuffs in the family party would have made no mean
subject for a painter. No wonder such a suitor sending such gifts found
welcome entertainment. So the story goes on: “And they did eat and
drink, he and the men that were with him, and tarried all night; and
they rose up in the morning and he said, Send me away unto my master.
And her brother and her mother said, Let the damsel abide with us a few
days, at the least ten, and after that she shall go.”

“And he said unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the Lord hath prospered
my way; send me away, that I may go to my master. And they said, We
will call the damsel and inquire at her mouth. And they called Rebekah,
and said unto her, Wilt thou go with this man? And she said, I will
go.” Her prompt reply to this important question was an index to her
character. The Divine approval of her ready obedience gave her a grand
prophetic Messianic promise that thousands of millions should be
gathered into His Kingdom from the conquest “of those which hate them.”
This extra Hebrew prophecy was a flash of God’s light on the fact that
our Lord should be the Saviour, not only of the Jews, but of the entire
world.

Thus far this wooing seems to have been conceived and conducted in that
simple religious spirit recognized in the words of the old prayer,
“Grant that all our work may be begun, continued and ended in thee.”
The Father of nations has been a never-failing presence in every turn.

“And Rebekah arose, and her damsels, and they rode upon the camels, and
followed the man; and the servant took Rebekah, and went his way.”

It was a long way from the city of Nahor, in Mesopotamia to Hebron
in the southern borders of Palestine, and between the Euphrates and
the land of promise stretched leagues of hot desert sands, through
which the camels slowly and patiently toiled day after day with their
precious burden. But at length Damascus with its refreshing streams,
and Mt. Hermon with its dome lifted among the clouds, were passed, and,
towards evening of the last day, just as they reached the head of the
valley of Eschol, from the summit of which opens a magnificent view
through the whole length of the valley, “Rebekah lifted up her eyes,
and when she saw Isaac she lighted off the camel. For she had said unto
the servant, What man is this that walketh in the field to meet us? And
the servant had said, It is my master; therefore she took a veil and
covered herself.”

Doubtless for days Isaac had walked the mile and a half from his
mother’s tent to where the valley of Eschol forms a junction with the
plain of Mamre, from whence he could look up the narrow valley and
view the approaching caravan at a considerable distance. The expectant
bridegroom, brought up with the strictest notions of filial submission,
waits to receive his wife dutifully from his father’s hand, and yet, we
fancy, day after day he goes out to meet her, and now the long-expected
caravan, with Eliezer, his father’s most trusted servant, at its head,
is approaching at eventide, and he quickens his step to meet his bride.

From what we have already seen of Rebekah, she is lively, lighthearted,
kind, possessed of an alert readiness, prompt to see and do what is
to be done at the moment. No dreamer is she, but a wideawake young
woman who knows her own mind exactly, and has the fit word and fit
action ready for each short turn in life. She was quick, cheerful
and energetic in hospitality. She was prompt and unhesitating in her
resolve; and yet, at the moment of meeting, she knew the value and
propriety of the veil. She covered herself that she might not unsought
be won.

“And Isaac brought her into his mother Sarah’s tent.” Tent life in
the days of Abraham, in our estimation, must have been not only
desirable, but grand and glorious. Living, as they did, so closely in
contact with nature, as God made it, fresh, pure air, babbling brooks,
rippling streams, and blue skies, theirs was a happy life. They were
not confined in crowded cities, surrounded by dismal walls, but on the
hillsides, the open valleys and the unbounded plains. Their tent was
pitched in a clump of oaks, near a living stream, and overlooked the
plain of Mamre--a beautiful picture of freedom, ease and comfort. To
such a place he took Rebekah, and she became his wife; and he loved
her; and Isaac was comforted after his mother’s death. So ends this
most charming story of domestic life in the patriarchal age. For
beauty, simplicity and directness it has no equal. We also see, in
the closing words, one of those delicate and tender natures that find
repose first in the love of a mother, and when that stay is withdrawn,
lean upon a beloved wife.

So ideally pure, and sweet, and tenderly religious has been the whole
inception and carrying on and termination of this wedding, that Isaac
and Rebekah have been remembered in the wedding ritual of Christian
churches as models of a holy marriage according to the divine will.

Though for nineteen years Rebekah was childless, yet retained she her
husband’s love. This may have been a trial to Isaac, since the line of
the blessing was to pass through him. That he thought much about it is
evident, for, at length, he “entreated the Lord for his wife,” and his
intercession was based upon a divine foundation in Jehovah’s promise.
And, possibly, even Isaac had to be educated up to this point, namely,
that the seed of promise must be sought from God, so that it should be
regarded, not as the fruit of nature, but as the gift of divine grace.

In due time Esau and Jacob were born, and they were twins, but with
natures and characteristics marked more for their contrasts than
similarity. Beyond the bare statement, “And the boys grew,” nothing is
said of their childhood and youth--the formative periods of their lives.

When they had grown to manhood’s estate, we are informed that “Esau
was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; and Jacob was a plain man,
dwelling in tents.” The free and easy life in the chase developed in
Esau a robust appearance, and for that reason, and also “because he
did eat of his venison,” Isaac loved Esau. Jacob is represented to
us as of a more delicate make-up and naturally appealed more to the
mother heart. “Rebekah loved Jacob.” From merely a parental standpoint,
both were wrong. Even though the characteristics of these boys were
wide apart, the parents should have been united in their love, and
impartially discharged their duties, and let God, in his own good
time, make His selection. But here, as in the lives of Abraham and
Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah delayed the blessing God designed they should
have, and brought sorrow into their own lives. It is evident that
the ardent Rebekah, by her animated, energetic declarations, formed
a very significant complement to Isaac, confiding more in the divine
declarations as to her boys than Isaac did, and therefore better able
to appreciate the deeper nature of Jacob. But when Isaac shows his
preference for Esau to be the heir, the courageous woman forgets her
vocation, and with artifice counsels Jacob to steal the blessing from
Isaac--a transgression for which she had to atone in not seeing her
favorite son after she sent him away, out of reach of his brother’s
anger. She had only Esau left, and he must have made her feel that it
was her partiality that had robbed him of what he prized most highly.
His heathen wives had been a “grief of mind” to her. She said, in her
diplomatic effort to get Jacob off to a place of safety, “I am weary of
my life because of the daughters of Heth. If Jacob take a wife from the
daughters of Heth, such as these which are the daughters of the land,
what good shall my life do me?” Probably Esau did not mend matters by
adding to his family the Ishmaeltish woman.

Rebekah’s habit of managing affairs may be more common than we
think. It is the fault of energetic souls. She loved Jacob with the
passionate, tropical strength of her fervid heart. She would not trust
God to give him what she believed he ought to receive. It is very hard
for such as she to wait patiently for the Lord when His delays are
developing faith.

However, viewed from a human standpoint, her faith in the divine
purposes was much more clear-sighted than that of Isaac. Consenting
to be laid on the altar as a sacrifice to God, Isaac had the stamp
of submission early and deeply impressed on his soul. Hence, in the
spiritual aspect of his character, he was the man of patience, of
acquiescence, of susceptibility, of obedience. Rebekah, on the other
hand, was energetic, intensely active, self-confident, a most excellent
manager, even tricky, but nevertheless capable and efficient. She had
the faults which usually go with such traits of character. Taking
things into her own hands, she even meddled with Providence.

But was she not provoked to this act by Isaac himself? Isaac’s willful
act does not consist alone in his arbitrary determination to present
Esau with the blessing of the theocratic birthright, although Rebekah
received that divine sentence respecting her children before their
birth, and which, no doubt, she had mentioned to him, but the manner in
which he intends to bless Esau. He arranges to bless him in unbecoming
secrecy, without the knowledge of Rebekah and Jacob. The preparation
of the venison, in its main point of view, is an excuse to gain
time and place for the secret act. In this point of view, the act of
Rebekah appears in a different light. His well-calculated prudence was
skillfully caught in the net of Rebekah’s shrewdness.

A want of divine confidence may be recognized through all his actions.
Rebekah, however, has so far the advantage of him that she in her
deception has the divine assurance that Jacob was the heir, while Isaac
has only his human reason without any inward spiritual certainty.
Rebekah’s error consists in thinking that she must direct divine
Providence by means of human deception. The divine promise would have
been fulfilled without her assistance. Of course, when compared with
Isaac’s fatal error, she was right. Though she deceived him greatly,
misled her favorite son, and alienated Esau from her, there was yet
something saving in her action according to her intentions. For to Esau
the most comprehensive blessing might have become only a curse. He was
not fitted for it.

Viewed from Rebekah’s point of view, the lesson for us is, we are not
to do evil, that good may come. The sinful element in her act was the
wrong application of her assurance of faith, for which she suffered,
perhaps, many long years of melancholy solitude.

Had this noble woman in White Raiment not erred she would not have been
human. As a whole, she has a beautiful character--beautiful in its
generous helpfulness, in its prudence, in its magnanimity, and in her
theocratic zeal of faith.

Here Rebekah obviously disappears from the stage of life. It has
been conjectured that she died during Jacob’s sojourn in Padan-aram,
whither she had sent him to escape the tragic consequences of her hasty
conduct, for she is not mentioned when Jacob returned to his father,
nor do we hear of her burial till it is incidentally mentioned by Jacob
on his deathbed. She was buried in the cave of Machpelah, by the side
of Sarah.

After Jacob had obtained the theocratic birthright he fled from his
father’s home in Beer-sheba to Padan-aram, or the city of Haran, in
Mesopotamia. Haran was situated about four hundred and fifty miles
north-east from Beer-sheba. If the young man walked thirty miles a day,
for he performed this long journey over the mountains and through the
desert on foot, it took him fifteen days. No doubt, as he drew near the
well, before the city, he was footsore, dust-covered, homesick, and
greatly depressed in mind, for the occasion of his sudden departure and
the anger of his brother Esau were still fresh in memory.

But what a quaint, picturesque scene of Oriental life is presented to
our view. It is yet early evening. The shepherds, with their flocks,
are moving from various points over the plain to one common centre.
Three of the shepherds had already arrived, and Jacob salutes them,
and asks, “My brethren, whence be ye?” And they answered, “Of Haran.”
Then he inquired, “Know ye Laban?” They made reply, “We know him,”
then, pointing to a shepherdess slowly leading her flock over the plain
towards the well, said, “Behold Rachel, his daughter, cometh with the
sheep.” While he was yet talking with the shepherds, Rachel drew near
“with her father’s sheep.” Jacob saw his opportunity, for the great
stone over the mouth of the well had not been removed, and, though it
was the work of three men to remove the stone, he hastens to perform
this task for the beautiful shepherdess alone, and does for her what
his mother had done for Eliezer’s camels, watered her flock. Clearly,
it was love at first sight. Rachel must have deeply impressed him. And
what could have been her thoughts as she stood by her flock and saw
this youth pour bucketfull after bucketfull into the stone troughs for
her sheep? It was certainly an impressive introduction.

The sheep watered, and before he made himself known, he stepped up
to the bewitching shepherdess, and kissed her. This story of Rachel,
the pretty shepherdess of the plains of Mesopotamia, who took with a
glance the heart of the loving, homesick Jacob, and held it to the end
of her days, has always had a peculiar interest, for there is that in
it which appeals to some of the deepest feelings of the human heart.
The beauty of Rachel, the deep love with which she was loved by Jacob
from their first meeting by the well of Haran, when he showed to her
the simple courtesies of the desert life, and kissed her and told
her he was Rebekah’s son; the long servitude with which he patiently
served for her, in which the seven years “seemed to him but a few days,
for the love he had to her;” their marriage at last, after the cruel
disappointment through the fraud which substituted the elder sister
in the place of the younger; and the death of Rachel “in the way to
Ephrath, which is Bethlehem,” when she had given birth to Benjamin,
and had become still more endeared to her husband; his deep grief and
ever-living regrets for her loss--these things make up a touching tale
of personal and domestic history which has kept alive the memory of
Rachel through all the long centuries down to the present time. Her
untimely death has been likened to a “bunch of violets pulled up by
the roots, with the soil clinging to them--their exquisite perfume
reminding one of the leafy nook in which they grew.”

What a mystery is love! We can not define it. It can only be unlocked
by the key of experience. Love is not a product of the reason. It is
the free play of the spiritual sensibilities in the possession of its
object. And if human love is inexplicable, divine love is an ocean too
deep for the plummet of man, and by far too broad to be bounded by the
thought of the loftiest intelligence in the universe.

Chaste human love is a beautiful thing, by which conjugal love is
afterwards more and more strengthened and confirmed. And, in this scene
at the well, we have emphasized the fact that virtuous maidens do not
need to attend large, exciting assemblies or popular resorts, to get
husbands. If they are true to themselves, they can safely trust God,
who is able to give them pious, honorable and upright husbands.

As soon as Rachel learned that Jacob was her father’s nephew, and that
he was Rebekah’s son, “she ran and told her father.” When Laban heard
Rachel’s story, he hastened to meet Jacob, and brought him to his house.

After a short stay as the guest of the family, it seemed best to Laban
that wages should be given to Jacob for his services, but instead of
wages he desires Rachel, and, instead of service for an indefinite
time, he promises a service of seven years. Jacob’s service, it is
thought by some writers, represents the price which was usually paid
for the wife. Doubtless, Rachel was worth to Jacob the years of service
he paid, but doubtless then, as now, prices varied according to age and
beauty, and in some Eastern countries the prices are higher than in
others. The custom still exists. A man without means serves from three
to seven years for his bride. To Jacob, these years of service seemed
but a few days. His love for Rachel made his long service a delight to
him. He was cheerful and joyful in hope.

At the end of the years of service Laban made a great nuptial feast.
These Oriental weddings last seven days. Doubtless Laban arranged this
feast, the better to facilitate Jacob’s deception by the coming and
going of guests, and the general bustle and noise characteristic of
such occasions. The deception was also possible through the custom,
namely, the bride was led veiled to the bridegroom and the bridal
chamber. Laban probably believed, as to the base deception, that he
would be excused, because he had already in view the concession of the
second daughter, so Leah, the elder daughter, was substituted. The
motive for this is not stated. Perhaps Laban recognized a skillful and
useful shepherd in Jacob. He may also have acted from regard to his
own interest, especially since he knew that Jacob possessed a great
inheritance at home.

The substitution of Leah for Rachel is the first retribution Jacob
experienced for the deceitful practices of his former days. He had,
through fraud and cunning, secured the place and blessing of Esau--he,
the younger, in place of the elder. Now, by the same deceit, the elder
is put upon him in the place of the younger. God has somehow so
arranged the affairs of men, that what a man sows, that shall he also
reap. Sin is often punished with sin.

When Laban was asked for an explanation of his conduct, he replied that
it was not the custom in his country to give the younger into marriage
before the first-born, a bit of information he should have given Jacob
when he first made suit for Rachel. His excuse does not justify in the
least his deception, but there was, however, a sting for Jacob in his
reply, namely, in the emphasis of the right of the first-born.

There was, therefore, nothing left for Jacob but to give another seven
years’ service for Rachel. So, at the end of the marriage week or
feast of Leah, the second wedding followed, and the years of service
were rendered afterwards. We do not know why Rachel was affectionately
loved, while Leah held but an indifferent place in Jacob’s heart. But
then there is no accounting for, or explaining, love. Leah, it is
said, was “tender-eyed,” that is to say, weak-eyed. This, however,
does not necessarily mean she was sore-eyed or blear-eyed, but simply
they were not full, clear, and sparkling, not in keeping with the
Oriental idea of beauty, though otherwise she might have been comely.
But to an Oriental, black eyes, clear, lustrous, full of life and fire,
especially, when in addition to all these, the eye is expressive,
are considered the principal part of female beauty. Rachel was the
fortunate possessor of all these charming qualities of Eastern beauty,
and so must have charmed, captivated, and held Jacob in spite of all
other obstacles.

That Leah tried to win his affections is evident from what she says in
connection with the birth of Reuben, her first born. “Now therefore,”
she says, “my husband will love me.” No doubt, during the seven years
that Jacob was in the home of Laban, her love for him became deep
and strong, which had, no doubt, induced her to consent to Laban’s
deception. So, after the birth of the first son, she hoped to win,
through her child, Jacob’s love in the strictest sense. After the
birth of the second, she hoped to be put on a footing of equality
with Rachel, and to be delivered from her disregard. After the third
one, she hoped at least for a constant affection. At the birth of the
fourth, she looked entirely away from her surroundings to Jehovah by
calling him Judah--praised be Jehovah.

If Rachel obtained Jacob’s affections because of her beauty and
loveliness, and he refused to bestow upon Leah that affectionate
consideration for which she was grieving her life away, it may be a
comfort to those who suffer as Leah did, to know that God does not look
for beauty from man’s standpoint, and that the sweet graces of mind and
heart go farther than personal charms, for He certainly conferred more
honor upon her than He did upon Rachel. He gave her more children than
to Rachel. She was also, through her posterity, the mother of Moses,
David, John the Baptist, and the greatest honor of all, was the mother
of our precious Lord Jesus Christ. Leah was not an idolator, so far as
we know, while the beautiful Rachel was tainted with this abomination,
and it seems to have clung to her posterity, for it was the tribe of
Ephraim that led Israel in the sin of idol worship. So that while Leah
may not have been as beautiful as her fair sister, she was more loyal
to God, and doubtless was, on that account, so greatly honored of Him.

But the fair, clear-eyed, beautiful Rachel, like the lovely Sarah
and sprightly Rebekah, was barren and childless, and because of this
became very much dejected, and exclaimed, “Give me children or else I
die!” From this expression we are to understand, she would die from
dejection. Doubtless this dejection led to the substitution of her maid
Bilhah. Her jealous love for Jacob is overbalanced by her envy of her
sister. The favored Rachel desired children as her own, at any cost,
lest she should stand beside her sister childless. The ambition to be
among the progenitors of the Messiah made Hebrew women eager to have
children. Rachel was not willing to leave the founding of the people
of God to her sister only, but wished also to become an ancestress, as
well as Leah, but in very deed, not until Joseph’s birth, her very own,
could she say, “Now God has taken away my reproach.”

At length, after a service of twenty years or more, God called Jacob
to return to his own people. Laban had been a hard master, not only to
Jacob, but to his own daughters. “Are we not counted of him strangers?”
said they in their conference with Jacob concerning the return. He
had sold them as strangers, more as slaves, for the service of their
husband. Hence they had nothing more to hope for from him, for this
very price, that is, the blessing resulting from Jacob’s service, he
had entirely consumed. The daughters had received no share of it. Hence
it is evident that they speak with an inward alienation from their
father, and are quite willing to go with Jacob to the land of promise.

The time set for the departure was the feast of sheep-shearing.
Either Laban had not invited Jacob to this feast, or Jacob took the
opportunity of leaving, in order to visit his own flocks. As the
sheep-shearing lasted several days, the opportunity was very favorable
for his flight.

“But Rachel had stolen the images,” the Penates or household gods,
which were honored as guardians, and as oracles. From this incident we
may infer that she was not altogether free from the superstitions and
idolatry which prevailed in the land whence Abraham had been called,
and which still, to some degree, infected even those families among
whom the true God was known. It is thought she was actuated to steal
them with the superstitious idea that her father, being prevented from
consulting them as oracles, would not be able to pursue Jacob. This
act, however, as also the well-planned and ready dexterity and presence
of mind with which she concealed her theft, and prompt denial to her
father, reveals a cunning which is far more befitting the daughter of
Laban than the wife of the prudent patriarch.

Jacob continued his journey without interruption until the fords of
the Jabbok were reached. While at Mahanaim he sent messengers to
Esau, with a view of bringing about a reconciliation with his grieved
brother. When he reached the Jabbok the messengers returned and brought
the alarming intelligence that Esau was coming to meet him, and four
hundred men were with him. This greatly distressed Jacob, and led him
to divide his family and his flocks, and to send them in bands before
him. Once more, in a critical time, when he expected an attack from
Esau, his discriminate regard for Rachel is again shown by placing Leah
and her children in the place of danger, in advance of Rachel and her
child.

[Illustration: JACOB’S STRUGGLE AT THE JABBOK.]

Having thus disposed of his family and his flocks, Jacob remains behind
to pray. It was the great struggle of his life. And the burden of
that midnight cry was, “Deliver me, I pray Thee, from the hand of my
brother, from the hand of Esau; for I fear him, lest he will come and
smite me, and the mother with the children.” At length the angel of the
Lord said, “Let me go, for the day breaketh!” But Jacob, as if his life
hung on the issue, which it doubtless did, replied, “I will not let
Thee go, except Thou bless me!”

God heard his prayer and delivered him out of the hands of his brother,
Esau.

As Jacob passed over the Jabbok “the sun rose upon him,” and he set
forward on his journey a changed man.

In due time Jacob reached the Jordan at Succoth, thence to Shechem, and
then to Bethel. At each of these places he halted.

It seems that for a considerable time after the return to Palestine,
the images, or household Penates, which Rachel had stolen from her
father, remained in the family, perhaps connived at by Jacob, till,
on being reminded by the Lord of the vow which he had made at Bethel
when he fled from the face of Esau, and being bidden of Him to erect
an altar to the God who appeared to him there, Jacob felt the glaring
impiety of thus solemnly appearing before God with the taint of
idolatry cleaving to his beloved Rachel, said, “Put away the strange
gods from among you.” After thus casting out the polluting things from
his house, Jacob, at Bethel, amidst its sacred associations, received
from God an emphatic promise and blessing.

After his spirit had been purified and strengthened by communion
with God, by the assurance of the divine love and favor, by the
consciousness of evil put away and duties performed, it was, as he
journeyed away from Bethel, that the chastening blow fell and Rachel
died. Doubtless the blessings that came as a result of the cleansing
and purging from idolatry at Bethel had their effect in bringing Rachel
to a higher sense of her relation to that Jehovah in whom her husband,
with all his faults of character, so firmly believed.

Five miles south of Jerusalem, and a mile and a half from Bethlehem,
in the way to Hebron, is a beautiful chapel, sacred to the memory of
Rachel. This is the place where beautiful Rachel surrendered her own
life for the life of her second son, whom she named Ben-oni (son of my
pain). The wish she had uttered at Joseph’s birth, that God would give
her another son, now, after a long period, perhaps sixteen or seventeen
years, is at last realized.

Rachel held Jacob’s love to the last, and even down to his old age he
mourned her loss. The stone pillar which he set up at her grave is the
first recorded instance of the setting up of a sepulchral monument;
caves having been up to this time spoken of as the usual places of
burial. The tomb of Rachel is one of the shrines which Mohammedans,
Jews and Christians unite in honoring, and concerning which their
traditions are identical. At the time of our visit, it happened to be
the time of new moon, when the chapel was open and all lighted up with
olive oil lamps, and the chapel and crypt filled with weeping women.
The lamentations were real and sincere, and, had we remained very
long, we should have wept out of very sympathy for the grief-stricken
mourners of this princess of Israel. The thought that here this lovely
woman in White Raiment sacrificed her own life for another was in
itself depressing. This first mortuary monument, sacred to the memory
of a great love and a great sorrow, has come down to us through more
than three thousand years. One may see it “but a little to come to
Ephrath.”

      “Tell me, ye winged winds,
        That round my pathway roar,
      Do ye not know some spot
        Where mortals weep no more?
      Some lone and pleasant dell,
        Some valley in the west,
      Where, free from toil and pain,
        The weary soul may rest?
  The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
  And sighed for pity as it answered, ‘No!’”

Leah probably lived for some years after Jacob reached Hebron. Whether
she ever found grace in his sight is not stated. However, in Jacob’s
differences with Laban both Leah and Rachel appeared to be attached to
him with equal fidelity, while later, in the critical moment, when he
expected an attack from Esau, his discriminate regard for the several
members of his family was again shown by his placing Rachel and her
child hindermost, in the least exposed situation, Leah and her children
next, and the two hand-maids, with their children, in front. Of her
death nothing is said. From the expression, “There I buried Leah,”
(Gen. xlix, 31), we are led to believe that she died at Hebron before
Jacob went down into Egypt. She was buried in the family sepulchre,
“in the field of Machpelah, which is before Mamre.” Since Hebron is
only twenty-five miles from Rachel’s tomb, near Bethlehem, it is quite
strange that Jacob did not bury his beloved Rachel in the family
sepulchre, along with Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Leah,
and where he was himself finally buried.




CHAPTER III.

Womanhood During the Egyptian Bondage and in the Desert of Sinai.

  JOCHEBED--HER REMARKABLE COURAGE--THONORIS--HER COMPASSION--HEROIC
    LABORS SEEMINGLY UNREWARDED--ZIPPORAH, THE MIDIANITE
    SHEPHERDESS--GLORIFYING DAILY LABOR--AT A WAYSIDE INN--MIRIAM--HER
    SONG OF TRIUMPH AT THE RED SEA--HER AFFLICTION AT HAZEROTH--AN
    EVENTFUL LIFE.


The history of the human race runs on from the tomb of Rachel for
over four hundred years without bringing to our notice any woman in
White Raiment until Jochebed, the mother of Moses, is reached. In the
meantime, the dreams of Joseph are told, his wandering in the fields
of Shechem, and the finding of his brethren in Dothan, the heartless
transaction with the Midianites, who, in turn, sold Joseph into Egypt,
his prison life followed by his elevation next to the throne and a
seven years’ famine, when Jacob and his sons, as Abraham had done
before them, went down into Egypt, the years of favor in the house of
Pharaoh, and the bondage, bitter and hard, all are told. But, in spite
of all, the suffering Israelites, because blessed of God, prospered and
“increased abundantly, and multiplied, and waxed exceedingly mighty;
and the land was filled with them.”

The reigning Pharaoh became alarmed at this state of affairs, and, to
repress the Israelites, “made their lives bitter with hard bondage,
in mortar, and in brick, and in all manner of service in the field.”
But, as a stream in a spring freshet bursts through every obstruction,
so the Israelites overleaped every barrier thrown in their way by the
Egyptian taskmasters. At length a decree was issued that every son born
to the Israelites should be cast into the Nile.

But there was at least one woman in the house of bondage who feared
the Lord more than she feared Pharaoh. Her name was Jochebed, which
means, whose glory is Jehovah. If ever a name had attached with it the
characteristic of the person bearing it, it was Jochebed, the wife of
Amram, and daughter of Levi. That the glory of this woman in White
Raiment was Jehovah, is evident from the fact the hard circumstances in
which she was placed by the command of Pharaoh could not make her lose
faith in God. Others might obey the unwarranted and heartless, as well
as wicked decree, she would not, for she believed it was better to obey
God rather than man, and to this belief her faith was anchored, and
held steady amid the awful wail of bereaved motherhood as it ascended
into the ear of God from the fields of Goshen.

Jochebed was already the mother of Miriam and Aaron, and, since Aaron
was three years older than Moses, the decree that all Hebrew male
children should be cast into the Nile could not have been in force at
Aaron’s birth, or at least had not reached its dangerous climax. As a
member of the house of Levi, Jochebed shows the daring and energetic
boldness for which her tribe had become distinguished, and indicated
the qualities needful for the future priesthood. That the child was
so fair, she recognized in it as a good omen. Josephus traces this
intuition of faith, which harmonized with the maternal feeling of
complacency and desire to preserve his life, to a special revelation.
The means of preservation chosen by Jochebed is especially attributed
to her genius and courage. It was all the more daring, since in the use
of it she seemed to have, from the outset, the daughter of Pharaoh in
mind.

Prompted by an heroic faith, this poor Hebrew slave woman, in the house
of a cruel and heartless bondage, dared to disobey the royal decree,
trusting in God to carry her through the perilous enterprise of saving
the life of her well-favored child. The chrism of hot tears which
fell on the babe’s forehead, set him apart to the tremendous task of
leading up to nationhood a race of degraded slaves whose hands were
horny with unpaid toil, whose faces had grown scowling and knotted
under the overseer’s lash.

[Illustration: THE ISRAELITES IN BONDAGE.]

Jochebed held the boy hard against her heart when she found she could
no longer hide him, and said, more to herself and God than to any human
helper, “My baby shall not die.” The resolution once formed in the
mother’s heart, the next task was to carry it into effect. Then came
the gathering of the papyrus leaves, the getting of the bitumen, the
building of the little ark, and the finding of the best place for it
among the flags of the Nile.

At length the little craft, with many a scalding tear mingled with the
bitumen, was found waterworthy. Then, with many a prayer and heartache,
and no small faith in the righteousness of her act, the dear child of
promise, with many a passionate kiss, such as mothers only can give,
was laid asleep in as soft a nest as the loving hands of mother could
devise. Then the little craft, baby and all, was carried to the great
river of Egypt, “and she laid it in the flags by the river’s brink.”
Quickly the mother walked away, though her heart was crushed and
bleeding, for how could she look upon her child if any disaster should
overtake his small boat on the bosom of the mighty Nile? But her faith
in God was sure. Her good sense had done its best. Her courage made her
equal to facing the anger of the king; and she would leave the care of
her little darling to the God of her fathers.

But the mother-love could not wholly abandon the little craft to its
fate, without at least knowing how it fared with the child. So, back
a little from the river, where the tall flags formed a gracious shade
over the little brother, and her body concealed in the rank grass, the
large, bright eyes of Miriam were fixed on the babe’s hiding-place,
and the swift feet of the sister were ready to run to tell the mother
whatever might happen.

Pretty soon the watchful eyes of Miriam saw a royal retinue issue from
the palace gate, and as it drew near the river’s brink she discerned
that it was Thonoris, the daughter of Pharaoh, and her maidens, come
down to the Nile to bathe in the open stream, as was the custom of
ancient Egyptians. As the princess and her maidens walked along the
river’s side, she saw the little ark among the flags, and sent one of
the maids to fetch it. And when she saw the child she had compassion on
it, and said, “This is one of the Hebrew’s children.” But the eyes of
Miriam, the faithful sister, closely watched the scene, and when the
little ark was safely drawn to shore by the maids of Thonoris, she ran
up to the Egyptian princess and said, “Shall I go and call to thee a
nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for thee? And
Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, Go. And the maid went and called the
child’s mother.”

[Illustration: MOSES RESCUED FROM THE NILE.]

The compassion of the princess towards the beautiful child led her to
adopt him; and when she did so, making him, therefore, prospectively
an Egyptian, she did not need, we may well believe, to educate him
secretly. The taking of the child into the royal household, doubtless
rendered the cruel edict less severe, if not wholly inoperative.

All this reads like a fairy tale, but there is no end of the wonders
wrought by our God on behalf of those who trust His love and power.

“And the child grew.” Of course it would under the watchful care of
such a nurse. One can easily see how during those years in which
Jochebed was nursing her boy as the adopted son of the Egyptian
princess, she made the most of her opportunity. In a tongue not
understood in the palace she taught the child of Him who should redeem
the race. She held him loyal to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
Her instruction had been careful, thorough, and direct from her father,
Levi, the son of Jacob; and she was true to her faith from her very
heart’s core. So that, with the very life of his mother, the growing
boy had drank in the Hebrew spirit.

At first it must have been a surprise to the young heir to the Egyptian
throne when his Hebrew nurse unfolded to him the secret of his descent.
That while legally and formally he was the son of the Princess
Thonoris, inwardly he was the son of another mother, and belonged to
another race, not of the dominant, but of the servile, race; not a
worldly, but a spiritual prince. Probably he had the usual struggle
with self. It was no easy matter to lay aside the flattering prospect
of one day sitting on the throne of Egypt, to forever renounce the
glory and glitter of an earthly court, and to identify himself with the
slave people whose lives were made bitter in all manner of service.
Surely, Jochebed must not only have been a loving mother, but a wise
spiritual teacher to thus gain the surrender of all that was dear to
her child of the earthly life, that he might gain the heavenly. He must
have been completely regenerated when he refused to be called the son
of Pharaoh’s daughter, but chose to suffer affliction with the people
of God. Only a personal knowledge of the Redeemer could have brought
him to esteem the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures
of Egypt.

No better compliment could have been paid Jochebed than the fact that
in that corrupt, magnificent, heathen court she was able to do her work
so well. Her son’s flawless choice of the Divine will made him the
greatest man, the Son of God excepted, ever veiled in human flesh. That
was the best possible sign and seal of her capability and faithfulness.

When her child had passed beyond the years of childhood, and, as a
nurse, could no longer retain him, “she brought him unto Pharaoh’s
daughter,” and Thonoris, with almost infinite care, completed the
boy’s education by instructing him in all the wisdom of Egypt; hence
Moses was prepared both negatively and positively for his life work.
Positively by his great-hearted mother, Jochebed; negatively by the
Egyptian princess Thonoris, thereby, by her own hand, brought up the
deliverer and avenger of the oppressed Israelites.

At this point Jochebed is lost to view. She drops out of history, and
nothing more is known of her. Hers emphatically was a work of faith,
for in all probability she died while Moses was under discipline in the
land of Midian. Her people, for whom she had wrought so heroically,
were still serving “with rigor” in building for Pharaoh the “treasure
cities Pithom and Raamses.” The son from whom she had hoped so much
as the crown prince of the land was in exile in the back side of the
desert; yet her faith held steady as she said with her parting breath,
“God will deliver His people. He saved Moses from the wrath of Pharaoh
and from the reptiles of the Nile; He will yet bring him back to lead
Israel out of this cruel bondage.”

How many a mother has gone down to her grave in sorrow without
realizing the fruit of her toil, perhaps broken-hearted, as Jochebed
may have done, when she saw her son hastening into the desert to escape
the vengeance which would surely have overtaken him for smiting the
Egyptian. Doubtless she never again saw his face, and may have wondered
to what purpose was all her labor. It is difficult to conceive of a
grander purpose in motherhood than that of sending out into the world
young men spiritually, morally and physically healthy, with correct
principles and holy purposes; and it is one of the saddest spectacles
in life when these preparations are cast aside by ungrateful or wayward
acts. All human help is vain, her sorrow and her anguish are too deep
to be reached by sympathy. God alone is her refuge. She is often at
the throne of grace with strong cries and tears, and with a faith that
will not shrink. Doubtless such were the last days of the brave, the
courageous, the heroic Jochebed, as she saw the form of her beloved
Moses disappear in the desert of Midian. But God honored her faith as
no woman’s faith had ever been honored in the life and works of Moses,
the great law-giver, and leader of Israel’s hosts out of the land of
bondage.

  “Faithful, O Lord, Thy mercies are,
    A rock that can not move:
  A thousand promises declare
    Thy constancy of love.”

But though Moses had fled from the face of Pharaoh because, in his
effort to defend a Hebrew who was being smitten by an Egyptian, slew
the oppressor, he had not gone into the land of Midian so far but His
eye followed the young refugee.

Away in the south-eastern part of Arabia, toward the close of what
we may well believe to have been a long day’s travel through the
burning sand of that arid country, the young refugee sat down under
the grateful shade of a cluster of palm trees that flourished by the
side of a well. As he sat there resting, possibly quite homesick, the
daughters of Jethro, a Midianite sheik and priest, came with their
father’s flock to the well to water them. The fact that it took seven
of these daughters to lead the flock to the well, shows that the
Midianite was wealthy. These maidens lowered their buckets into the
well and then drew them up brimming full of water, and poured it out
into the stone troughs. They did this again and again, while Moses was
a silent observer. It does not appear that he in any way interrupted
the work.

But scarcely had the panting nostrils of the flocks begun to cool
a little in the brimming troughs than some rough Bedouin shepherds
came with their flocks and drove the maidens and their flock from the
well. This was too much for Moses. His face began to color up, and
his eyes flash with indignation, and all the gallantry of his nature
was aroused. He naturally had a quick temper, as he demonstrated in
the case of the Egyptian oppressing an Israelite, and as he showed
afterward when he broke all the Ten Commandments at once by shattering
the two granite slabs on which the law was written. Hence the harsh
treatment of the girls sets him on fire. The injustice of these Bedouin
shepherds was more than he could bear, and he came to the rescue of the
maidens of the Midianite sheik. Driving the shepherds away, he told
the daughters of Jethro to gather their flock once more and bring them
again to the watering troughs. Here the beautiful character of Moses
comes out, and shows that the careful training of his faithful mother
had not been in vain. Though brought up as a prince in the court of
Egypt, he takes hold of the water buckets and draws water from the
well, and waters the immense flock which had taken seven maidens to
drive to the well! What a sight it must have been to these daughters
of the priest of Midian as they stood by and saw this brave, unselfish
act. What wonder that Zipporah fell in love with such a young man?

Hard as the task must have been, it was quickly finished and the flock
early sheltered in the fold. So much so that Jethro asked of his
daughters, “How is it that ye are come so soon to-day?” They answered,
“An Egyptian delivered us out of the hand of the shepherds, and also
drew water enough for us, and watered the flock.” Jethro further
inquired, “Where is he? Why is it that ye have left the man?”

We confess it was a somewhat ungrateful act on the part of these girls
not to invite the young man to their father’s home, but it only shows
that they were so modest as to be too bashful to make such an advance.

So Moses was invited to the home of the Midianite sheik, and in due
time Zipporah was given to him in marriage, and she became the mother
of his two sons, Gershom and Eliezer.

The Bible does not record much of Zipporah’s life, but, evidently
from the fact that she was a shepherdess, she was industrious,
notwithstanding the great wealth and influence of her father. What
was the use of Zipporah’s bemeaning herself with work when she might
have reclined on the hillside near her father’s tent, and plucked
buttercups, and dreamed out romances, and sighed idly to the winds, and
wept over imaginary songs to the brooks. But no. She knew that work
was honorable, and that every girl ought to have something to do, and
so she led her father’s flock to the fields, to the watering troughs,
and to the safe shelter of the fold. In how many households are there
young women without practical and useful employments? Many of them
are waiting for fortunate and prosperous matrimonial alliance, but
some lounger like themselves will come along, and after counting the
large number of father Jethro’s sheep and camels will make proposal
that will be accepted; and neither of them having done anything more
practical than to chew chocolate caramels, the two nothings will start
on the road of life together, every step more and more a failure.
Not so with the daughter of the Midianite sheik. Moses found her at
the well drawing water. And Zipporah soon learned that Moses could
also draw water. Ye daughters of idleness, imitate Zipporah. Do
something helpful. The reason that so many men now condemn themselves
to unaffianced and solitary life is because they can not support the
modern young woman--a thousand of them not worth one Zipporah. There
needs to be a radical revolution among most of the prosperous homes
of America, by which the elegant do-nothings may be transformed into
practical do-somethings. Let useless women go to work and gather the
flocks. The stranger at the well may prove to be as good a man as was
Moses to Zipporah.

Still further, watch this spectacle of genuine courage. No wonder when
Moses scattered the rude shepherds he won Zipporah’s heart. Sense of
justice fired his courage; and the world wants more of the spirit that
will dare almost anything to see others righted. There are many wells
where outrages are practiced, the wrong herd getting the first water.
Those who have the previous right come in last, if they come it at all.
Thank God we have here and there a strong man to set things right!

This child of the desert, full of industry and energy, very naturally
had a quick temper, and, for once at least, it came out in her life.
Moses was on his way to Egypt, as the deliverer of Israel. Zipporah
and sons set off to accompany him, and went part of the way. While
stopping for the night at a wayside inn the Lord suddenly withstood
Moses. It appears, for some reason, possibly because Zipporah opposed
it, their sons, Gershom and Eliezer, had not been circumcised. And,
since the neglect of this rite would cut them off from God’s covenanted
people, the Lord suddenly afflicted Moses so that his life must have
been despaired of by the wife and mother. In her distress, to save the
life of her husband, she herself performs this rite. The expression,
“took a sharp stone,” means a sharp stone-knife (more sacred than a
metallic knife, on account of the tradition). Under the trying ordeal,
and notwithstanding the life of her husband was still in the balance
between life and death, she was unable to conceal her ill-humor, and
charged him with being “a bloody husband.” Which may mean that the rite
of his people was distasteful to her, and doubly so since she had to
perform it with her own hand to save the life of Moses.

It appears, probably on account of the performance of this rite upon
their two sons, she had to return to her father’s house, as the
children would not be in a condition to continue the journey into
Egypt, and Moses had to perform the remainder of the way alone.

The only other incident recorded in Zipporah’s life is the bringing
of herself and her two sons to Moses by her father, when the host of
Israel had reached the Peninsula of Sinai, after they had departed out
of the land of Egypt.

It has been suggested that Zipporah was the Cushite (A. V. Ethiopian)
wife who furnished Miriam and Aaron with the pretext for their attack
on Moses. (Num. xii, 1). The death of Zipporah is not mentioned, but
undoubtedly it occurred before Moses took the Cushite to be his wife.

It has also been thought that Jethro and his house, before his
acquaintance with Moses, was not a worshipper of the true God. Traces
of this appear in the delay which Moses had suffered to take place in
respect to the circumcision of his sons. But the fact that Zipporah
started from her home in Midian to accompany her husband upon his
mission in Egypt, and of her joining him when he had reached the
wilderness, upon his return, shows that she was in sympathy with his
work, and, doubtless, if up to the time the Lord suddenly withstood
Moses at the wayside inn, she was not fully in accord with him in her
faith, that this incident fully established her in the true faith.
There is a legend which, if not true, is characteristic of the priest
of Midian. This Midrash tale relates that Jethro was a counselor of
Pharaoh, who tried to dissuade him from slaughtering the Israelitish
children, and consequently, on account of his clemency, was forced to
flee into Midian, but was rewarded by becoming the father-in-law of
Moses.

The wife of so excellent and remarkable a man as Moses, and one who
possessed so many womanly qualities as did this shepherdess whom Moses
found by the well in Arabia, in the faithful discharge of her duties,
deserves a place in the galaxy of Women in White Raiment.

The hospitality, freehearted and unsought which Jethro at once extended
to the unknown, homeless wanderer, on the relation of his daughters
that he had watered their flock, is a picture of Eastern manners no
less true than lovely, and gives us a fine view of the quaint habits
and honest simplicity of the Oriental people.

We now pass to the daughter of Jochebed, namely, Miriam. She first came
to our notice when the little ark of Moses was placed among the flags
of the Nile. Her mother set her to watch the little craft as it floated
on the bosom of the great river. When the princess Thonoris, Pharaoh’s
daughter, discovered the child and sent her maid to rescue him from
his perilous surroundings, Miriam, then probably a young girl, appeared
before the Egyptian princess, and asked if she should call a nurse for
the child. In reply to this question, Thonoris said to her she might
find for her a nurse. And Miriam hastened to the home of her parents,
“and called the child’s mother.”

This act shows that Miriam was not only quick-witted, but had the
courage to carry her convictions into effect. Though very human, as
fully demonstrated in after years, she was faithful to her mother when
she watched the boat woven of river plants and made water-tight with
asphaltum, carrying its one passenger. And was she not very courageous
and did she not put all the ages of time and of a coming eternity under
obligation when she defended her helpless brother from the perils of
the Nile? She it was that brought that wonderful babe and its mother
together, so that he was reared to be the deliverer of his nation. What
a garland for faithful sisterhood!

What part Miriam took in the care of her illustrious brother while in
the arms of his mother-nurse, we are not told, but we may well believe
her sisterly love was strong and unwavering during the years while the
precious charge was in the care of the mother.

But there was a long period of eighty years between the infancy of
Moses and his return from the desert of Midian, so that the clear-eyed
and sprightly girl had grown away from the buoyancy of youth during the
years of his exile, and must have been nearly, if not quite, a hundred
years old, when God’s chosen people were led out of the iron furnace
of bondage, a fact we must not lose sight of in the brief narrative
of this noble woman in White Raiment. Her age may, in part at least,
account for the high position given her. “The sister of Aaron,” is her
biblical distinction which she never lost. In Numbers xii, 1, she is
placed before Aaron, and in Micah vi, 4, reckoned as one of the three
deliverers of God’s chosen people, “I sent before thee Moses and Aaron
and Miriam.” Hence it is quite evident that she had no small part in
the redemption of the house of Israel from the land of oppression.
Whether or not the prejudices of that day gave her full honor, the Lord
admitted her to the triumvirate of deliverance, the three children of
the brave, faithful Jochebed.

She was also the first person in her father’s house, and the first
woman in the history of God’s people to whom the prophetic gifts
are directly ascribed. “Miriam the prophetess,” is her acknowledged
title in Exodus xv, 20. She stood, as the leader of Hebrew women,
appropriately by the side of the future conductor of the religious
service.

[Illustration: MIRIAM’S SONG OF TRIUMPH.]

In the song of triumph which the children of Israel sang after their
passage of the Red Sea, Miriam, with cymbal in hand, led the women in
their part of the glad song of deliverance. It does not appear how far
the Hebrew women joined in the song, that is, the part led by Moses,
but in the antiphony, Miriam repeats the opening words, in the form
of a command to the women, saying, “Sing ye to Jehovah, for he hath
triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath He thrown into the
sea.”

  “Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea!
  Jehovah has triumphed, His people are free!
  Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken;
    His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave;
  How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken,
    And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.

  “Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea!
  Jehovah has triumphed, His people are free!
  Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!
  His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword.
  Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
    Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
  For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory,
    And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.
  Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea!
  Jehovah has triumphed, His people are free!”

Miriam must have been exempt from the infirmities of age to a
remarkable degree, to be able at her advanced years to lead the host of
Hebrew women and maidens in the music and songs of triumph and general
rejoicings over the mighty deliverance out of the hand of Pharaoh on
the farther shores of the Red Sea. The victory, however, was such a
marked one, and the deliverance so great as to cause old age, for the
time being, to be swallowed up in the youth of praise and thanksgiving.

Taking up their line of march from the shores of the Red Sea, we do not
learn anything farther concerning Miriam until Hazeroth is reached.
Here she seems to have been the instigator of an insurrection against
Moses. In some respects it must have been grievous to him, all the more
so, from the fact that Aaron had also suffered himself to be carried
away by his sister’s fanaticism. By virtue of their office as prophet
and prophetess, in the minds of the people, they held almost equal rank
with Moses.

The occasion of this insurrection was a marriage which Miriam regarded
as objectionable, though, notwithstanding, she had the example of
Joseph, who married an Egyptian woman, before her, and which marriage
did not prove to be antitheocratic. Moses had married a Cushite. It is
true the prohibition to marry with the daughters of other than their
own people had special reasons of religious self-preservation, and for
that reason the High Priest was allowed to marry only a Hebrew virgin,
but that was a limitation belonging to his symbolic position. The
prophetic class, on the other hand, had the task of illustrating the
greatest possible letting down of legal restraint. The union of Moses
with this Cushite may have symbolized the future calling of the Gentile
nations, a sort of first fruit, as Rahab and Ruth later on proved to
be, and it offers a remarkable parallel that the next greatest man of
the law, Elijah, lived for a considerable time as the table companion
of a heathen widow of Zarephath.

It is manifest that Moses endured in silence the domestic obliquity
which his sister drew down upon him, patiently committing his
justification to God, until her would-be pious zeal assumed a more
alarming aspect. Since Aaron had made common cause with Miriam, Aaron,
who wore the breast-plate, Urim and Thummim, and Miriam, who, as a
prophetess, had already led the chorus of the women of Israel, must
have held high places in the minds of the people; hence, when they
raised the question, “Hath the Lord indeed spoken only by Moses? hath
he not spoken also by us?” there is no telling where this sedition of
Miriam and Aaron might have ended, had not the Lord Himself taken it
promptly in hand.

But the Lord heard that complaint, which implied that the prophetic
gift was exercised by them also, that they were prophets, vested with
authority, and if they even suffered Moses, since his objectionable
marriage, to remain in the prophetic college, they could at least
outvote him. So Moses, Aaron and Miriam were suddenly cited to the
tabernacle of the congregation. When the three presented themselves at
the place appointed, the Lord came down in a cloud at the door of the
tabernacle, and “called Aaron and Miriam” apart from Moses, and there,
at the door of the tabernacle, administered a stern rebuke to both of
them. They had lived with Moses so long, and yet knew so little of his
exalted position. As a brother he stood too near to them, and they
themselves, with their self-consciousness, stood too much in their own
light.

“And the cloud departed from off the tabernacle.” As Aaron saw the
cloud lifting up and moving off, he must have been inwardly crushed
at this punishment. The fires on his altar went out, the pillar of
smoke no longer mounted up as a token of grace, the divine presence
was withdrawn, and it was as if an interdict of Jehovah lay on the
services of the Sanctuary. But this was not all. “Miriam became
leprous, white as snow.” There seems to be a singular connection
between the punishment of Aaron as the representative of the Church,
and Miriam, who had thought herself and Aaron above Moses, snow-white
in righteousness, while she looked down on him as unclean. She would
dominate the Church, for she dominated Aaron, and now, as a leper, she
must be excluded from the Church.

When Aaron looked upon his afflicted sister, though High Priest,
the Lord having withdrawn the symbol of his favor from the altar of
sacrifice, was as helpless as Miriam, and he now implores Moses, as his
superior, to intercede. Here only the spiritual high priesthood of a
divine compassion can deliver the helpless High Priest himself and his
unfortunate associate in the prophetic office. In his appeal, Aaron
almost speaks as if Moses could heal the leprosy. Moses, however,
understood it as an indirect request to intercede for Miriam.

“And Moses cried unto the Lord, saying: Heal her now, O God, I beseech
thee.” The Lord granted the request, accompanied with a sharp reproof,
“If her father had but spit in her face, should she not be unclean
seven days?” The figurative expression compares her, who desired to be
the prophetic regent of the nation, to a dependent maiden in whose face
her father had spit on account of unseemly behavior. Such a one must
conceal herself seven days on account of her shame. The same treatment
was dictated for Miriam, and she was “shut out from the camp seven
days.” The silent grief of the nation must have been profound, for the
people remained encamped at Hazeroth during the seclusion of Miriam,
and not until she was pronounced clean, and the prescribed sacrifices
required on her reception back again, were made, did the Lord’s host
depart from their encampment. All these are proofs of the high place
she held in the affections of the people.

This sad stroke, and its most gracious removal, is the last public
event of Miriam’s life. She died toward the close of the wilderness
wanderings at Kadesh, and was buried there. According to Jewish
tradition, the burial took place with great pomp on a mountain in the
edge of the wilderness of Zin, and the mourning of the whole camp of
Israel lasted for thirty days, Jerome tells us that her tomb was shown
near Petra.

According to Josephus she was the wife of Hur and the grandmother of
Bezaleel, the inspired artisan of the Tabernacle. According to the
Targum, the miraculous supply of water at Rephidim was given in her
honor. It failed when she died at Kadesh, and was restored only at the
second stroke of Moses’ rod, and later, by the digging of the princes
with their staves of office, while the people sang a hymn of praise and
faith.

These traditions are of but little value except to show in what high
esteem she was held.

A long, beautiful, eventful, inspired life--one of patient waiting,
intense activity, deep enthusiasm and triumphant faith--transformed
the brave little slave girl into the mighty princess and leader of the
Lord’s hosts. But for the one assumption of unwarranted authority at
Hazeroth, her record would have come down to us untarnished.




CHAPTER IV.

Womanhood During the Conquest and the Theocracy, or Rule of the Judges.

  RAHAB--GREAT GRACE FOR GREAT SINNERS--THE FALL OF JERICHO--THE
    COVENANT REMEMBERED--DEBORAH--HER REMARKABLE COURAGE--SISERA’S IRON
    CHARIOTS BROKEN--THE DAUGHTER OF JEPHTHAH--HER LOVING DEVOTION
    AND SACRIFICE--THE STORY OF NAOMI--ORPAH’S KISS--THE LOVING
    RUTH--GLEANING AMONG THE REAPERS--HER RICH REWARD--HANNAH--HER
    CONSECRATION--YEARLY VISITS TO SHILOH--STITCHING BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS
    INTO SAMUEL’S COAT--HER BEAUTIFUL LIFE.


After the death of Miriam at Kadesh, on the borders of Zin, and the
death of Aaron on Mount Hor, and of Moses on lofty Pisgah, Joshua “sent
out of Shittem two men to spy secretly, saying, Go, view the land, even
Jericho. And they went, and came into an harlot’s house, named Rahab,
and lodged there.”

The occupation of this woman has called out much comment, and many
attempts have been made to clear her character of the stains of vice
by affirming that she was only an inn-keeper, and not a harlot. No
doubt there is much truth in this statement, for we can not entertain
the thought that two pure-minded young men sent out by a leader like
Joshua would pass by an inn and purposely seek an house of ill repute.
It is also possible that to a woman of the age in which she lived,
such a calling may have implied a far less deviation from the standard
of morality than it does with us, with nearly two thousand years of
Christian teaching. We must not forget that Rahab was a heathen; and
the heathen knew very little of the simplest principles of truth and
purity. In the first chapter of Paul’s Epistle to the Romans he gives a
life picture of pagan morals. Even among the polished Greeks, loyalty
to their religion made personal purity impossible. The Canaanites were
so vile that, in the emphatic language of Scripture, the land vomited
them out. The glimpse we catch of Lot’s neighbors may show in what a
cesspool of vice Rahab was brought up. But even if we judge this woman
by our modern standards, and admit that she was all that is implied in
the opprobrious term, the fact that she is listed among God’s elect
women shows the wondrous power of divine grace. God can save a great
sinner just as easy as a small one. Notwithstanding she carried the
double disability, that of being a heathen and a great sinner, her
story is told in full. She has honorable mention by the Apostle James
as an illustration of the works that show strong faith; and by the
spirit of inspiration in the Epistle to the Hebrews, giving her a
place among the mighty heroes and heroines who wrought marvels through
confidence in God.

At the time when the Israelites were encamped in Shittem, ready to
cross the Jordan and enter the land of promise, Jericho was the
strongest fortified city in Canaan, and, as the key to Western
Palestine, commanded the two mountain passes which led into the land
that was to be possessed. It was to be taken; but how? Joshua sent two
of his most trusted men to spy out the land, remembering, no doubt with
much trepidation, the failure of forty years before, which made them go
back and die in the desert.

The life of the spies, the success of the enterprise, and the courage
their report would give the Israelites, all turned on the faith and
skill of Rahab. She saved to God’s people the battle they had lost
forty years before. No wonder that Hebrew writers have thrown the
glamor of romance over her story.

Her house was situated on the wall, probably near the city gate, so as
to be convenient for persons coming in and going out of Jericho. She
seems not only to have kept an inn for wayfaring men, but also to have
been engaged in the manufacture of linen and the art of dyeing, for
which the Phœnicians were early famous, since we find the flat roof of
her house covered with stalks of flax, put there to dry, and a stock
of scarlet or crimson line in her house, a circumstance which, coupled
with the mention of Babylonish garments as among the spoils of Jericho,
indicates the existence of a trade in such articles between Phœnicia
and Mesopotamia. It also appears she had a father and mother, brothers
and sisters, who, if they were not living in the same house with her,
were dwelling in Jericho.

Traders coming from Mesopotamia, or Egypt to Phœnicia, would frequently
pass through Jericho, situated as it was near the fords of the Jordan,
and, according to the customs of the times, these travelers would seek
a public inn.

These men, coming and going, would naturally enough carry the news of
current events with them. Rahab therefore had opportunity to be well
informed with regard to the events of the Exodus. As we learn from her
own story, she had heard of the passage through the Red Sea, of the
utter destruction of Sihon and Og, and of the irresistible progress
of the Israelitish host. The effect upon her mind had been what one
would not have expected in a person of her way of life. It led her to
a firm faith in Jehovah as the true God, and to the conviction that He
purposed to give Canaan to the Israelites. She may have thought long
and deeply on these strange events, and, possibly, her better nature
may have loathed the vices of her people, in which she herself had
become involved, and longed for the pure worship of the wonder-working
God of whom she had heard.

When, therefore, the two spies sent out by Joshua, who must have been
men of moral character and worthy of so important a commission, came to
Jericho, no doubt they were divinely directed to her house, who alone,
of the whole population, was friendly to their cause. Her heart, at all
events, was prepared to receive the message with which they intrusted
her, and she gave them the information they sought. And such faith had
she in the purposes of God to give the land to the hosts of Joshua that
she made a covenant with these representatives of his army, to save her
and her family when the city fell into their hands.

The coming of these spies, it seems, was quickly known, and the king of
Jericho, having received information of it while at supper, according
to Josephus, sent that very evening to require her to deliver them up.
It is very likely that, her house being a public one, some one who
resorted there may have seen and recognized the spies, and at once
reported the matter to the authorities. But not without awakening
Rahab’s suspicions, and she was courageous enough to hide them under
the flax on the roof, and throw the officers off their suspicion, while
she let the Hebrews down over the wall and hurried them away to the
mountains, to stay till the hunt was given up and the guards had come
back from the fords of the Jordan, thus allowing them to escape across
the river to their camp.

For her kindness to them she had asked that when the city should be
taken, her life and the lives of all that belonged to her should be
spared, and it was agreed that she should hang out her scarlet line at
the window from which the spies had escaped.

The event proved the wisdom of her precautions. The pursuers returned
to Jericho after a fruitless search, and the spies reached the
encampment of Israel in safety. The news they brought of the terror of
the king and citizens of Jericho doubtless inspired the Israelitish
host with fresh courage, and, within three days of their return, the
passage of the Jordan was effected.

No one could have been more interested than Rahab during those eventful
days. Perhaps, from the window of her dwelling on the city wall, she
saw the waters of the Jordan piled on each other, and stretching back
over the plain as far as the eye could see--a sight she had never
seen, and equal to the dividing of the Red Sea. Toward evening she saw
the advance guards of Joshua’s host, and then the white-robed priests
bearing the ark, followed by the army and people, and encamping at
Gilgal, within two miles of Jericho, and in full view of the city.

After having carefully reviewed her household to assure herself that
her father and mother, brothers and sisters, were all there--for this
was the covenant she had made with the spies--she probably seated
herself at the window from which hung the scarlet cord, to watch the
strange procession that marched around the city seven days. Each
morning it came filing up from Gilgal in solemn silence, except as the
white-robed priests blew their trumpet-blasts.

No one can tell what risk Rahab took, or what indignities she suffered
in convincing her relatives that they must be in the covenanted place
when the city fell. On her part it was a beautiful faith. Perhaps she
recounted to them the ten awful plagues that fell on the Egyptians,
the deliverance of His people from the house of bondage, the disaster
to Pharaoh and his army at the Red Sea, the opening of streams in the
desert, the nightly dewfall of food, the lofty column of cloud that
shaded and led by day, and the pillar of fire that kept them safe from
night enemies, human and bestial. All this she told to the assembled
household as the ground of her faith, with which she would inspire
them. No doubt this woman of Jericho, sick at heart on account of her
own past life, and the wickedness of her city, thirsted for a fuller
knowledge of the true and holy God whose name she hardly dared to take
on her sin-polluted lips, and yet, strange as it may seem, she had the
strength and honesty to succeed in the preaching of righteousness to
her friends.

Day after day she watched the strange procession marching around the
closely shut and guarded city. Joshua and the soldiers were at its
head; then came the priests with their trumpets, and after them the Ark
of the Covenant, hid from view with coverings, and carried reverently
on men’s shoulders, while soldiers guarded it from real dangers.

Jericho breathed a little more freely when it saw that the strange
desert people marched around the city day after day without striking a
blow; but Rahab’s faith held steady, and the scarlet cord swung from
her window. That cord may have meant to her the blood of the Redeemer
cleansing from sin. No doubt, like Moses, she knew the meaning of the
“reproach of Christ.”

The seventh day she was found early at her window, with a sense of
completeness in her obedience and faith. Again the Hebrews filed forth
from their camp and marched around the city; but this time they kept
on till they had gone around the wall six times. The seventh round,
the voice of the old captain at the head of the host rang along the
line--“Shout! for Jehovah hath given you the city.”

[Illustration: THE FALL OF JERICHO.]

Before Rahab fully realized the meaning of this strange command, her
ears were filled with the crash of falling walls. In the dust and din,
the cries, the shrieks, the terror, but little could be distinctly
remembered, only that the desert soldiers who were taking the town were
leading her and her kindred forth to a place of safety.

The narrator adds, “and she dwelleth in Israel unto this day,” meaning,
the family of which she was reckoned the head, continued to dwell among
the Lord’s people. May not the three hundred and forty-five “children
of Jericho,” mentioned in Ezra ii, 34, and “the men of Jericho” who
assisted Nehemiah in rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem, have been the
descendants of her kindred?

As regards Rahab herself, we learn from Matt, i, 5, that she became
the wife of Salmon the son of Naasson, and the mother of Boaz, the
grandfather of Jesse. It has been conjectured that Salmon may have
been one of the spies whose life she saved, and that gratitude for so
great a benefit led to their marriage. But, however this may be, it
is certain that Rahab became the mother of the line from which sprang
David, and eventually Christ.

Distasteful as it may be to goody-good people, the fact remains that
Rahab believed God, and when He delivered her out of her heathen
surroundings, she entered upon a pure life. Whom God pardons, He
justifies. Whom he justifies, He brings to that relation with Himself
that would have been held if the sin had never been committed. He does
not doom man or woman to life-long penance for sins that have been
washed away by the blood of the Lamb.

It is not accidental that Matthew traces the Saviour’s genealogy
through four women, namely Thamar, Rachab, Ruth, and Bathsheba, who
were not of the Israelitish stock, three of whom were of doubtful
morals, and one, Rachab, who carried a double disability. Christ came
to save humanity, and that He might be an all-sufficient Saviour, He
abased Himself--took us at our worst--that no human soul, however sunk
in sin, might despair. And Rahab the harlot was transformed into Rahab
the saint, cleansed and purified, and clothed in White Raiment.

From the thrilling incidents just related, the history of God’s chosen
people runs on for a hundred years or more before Deborah comes to view
on the stage of life. In the meantime Joshua had led the Israelitish
hosts to victory, had subdued the several kings, and divided the
land among the tribes. Then came years of rest and prosperity, and,
strange to say, a turning away from the Author of all their blessings.
These departures from their national faith brought down upon them the
judgments of God.

The Israelites were now ruled by judges, and at the time Deborah comes
to our notice, Barak seems to have been the executive head of the
nation.

Deborah was probably a woman of the tribe of Ephraim. Her tent was
spread under the palm-tree between Ramah and Bethel in Mount Ephraim,
and she was a prophetess, in whom was combined both poetry and
prophecy. Deborah stands before us in strong contrast with the customs
and prejudices of her time. God’s people were being oppressed by the
Canaanites. In the midst of this great national crisis she was called
to stand at the head both of statesmanship and the terrible exigencies
of war.

Sisera, the general of Jabin’s army, with nine hundred iron war
chariots, and a multitude had assembled in the western extremity of
the great plain of Jezreel, near the brook Kishon that flows along the
northern base of Mount Carmel. Barak, the executive head, was either so
timid or apprehensive that the campaign would fail, and thus fasten the
tyrant’s chain yet more strongly, that the people looked to Deborah for
judgment. She tried to arouse Barak’s courage. She even appealed to the
prejudices that were strong in those times, namely, that the victory
would be given to a woman if he refused to go. But in vain. He would
not move without her. She knew, far better than he, that the battle was
not theirs, but God’s. The Lord alone could give victory. Faith was
easier to her than to Barak, for she had the spiritual insight that
knows the utter nothingness of human help.

For twenty years God’s people had been oppressed by their enemies.
At last they had repented of the sins that made necessary their
captivity, and the Lord had inspired Deborah to rally them to resist
their oppressors. Perhaps Barak hesitated, because, viewed from a human
standpoint, he may have felt the utter inadequacy of the Hebrew army
to cope with the Syrians and their nine hundred iron war chariots. But
just there lies the secret of all success. Only when we are weak, are
we strong. This is the victory, even our faith. We have not that faith
till we get to the end of our own resources and trusts.

But while Deborah put Barak at the head of the army, she bravely stood
by him with her counsels, her prayers, her faith, and her wholesome
reproof, for Deborah was a practical and sensible woman. Her name
signifies “the bee,” and she was well provided with the sting as well
as the honey, and knew how to stir up Barak by wholesome severity as
well as encourage him by holy inspiration. He is a very foolish man who
refuses to be helped by the shrewd intuitive wisdom of a true woman,
for while her head may not be so large, its quality is generally of
the best; and her conclusions, though not reasoned out so elaborately,
generally reach the right end by intuitions which are seldom wrong.
Woman’s place is to counsel, to encourage, to pray, to believe, and
pre-eminently to help. This was what Deborah did.

Barak, however, was not always weak. As soon as he had recovered
himself from the surprise of the unexpected call to lead the little
army of ten thousand against the myriads of Sisera, he consented on
condition that the courageous Deborah go with him. By this timidity he
lost not a little of the honor that he might have won, and his sharp
and penetrating leader plainly told him that the victory should not be
wholly to his credit, for God should deliver Sisera into the hands of a
woman; and so there were really two women in this struggle for liberty,
and Barak was sandwiched in between them. With Deborah in front, and
Jael in the rear, and Barak in the midst, even poor, weak Barak became
one of the heroes of faith who shine in the constellation of eternal
stars, upon which the Holy Spirit has turned the telescope of the
eleventh chapter of Hebrews.

How the inspiring faith of Deborah must have nerved Barak for heroic
action. Her message to him is all alive with the very spirit and
innermost essence of the faith that counts the things that are not
as though they were. “Up,” she cries, as she rouses him by a trumpet
call from his timorous inactivity; “for this is the day,” she adds,
as she shakes him out of his procrastination, “in which the Lord hath
delivered Sisera into thine hand.” She goes on to say, as she reckons
upon the victory as already won, “Is not the Lord gone out before
thee?” She concludes, as she commits the whole matter into Jehovah’s
hands, and bids him simply follow on and take the victory that is
already given.

Is it possible for faith to speak in plainer terms, or language to
express with stronger emphasis the imperative mood or the present tense
of that victorious faith, for which nothing is impossible?

Again, we have here the lesson of mutual service. This victory was
not all won by any single individual, but God linked together as He
loves always to do, many co-operating instruments and agents in the
accomplishment of His will. There was Deborah representing the spirit
of faith and of prophecy. There was Barak representing obedience
and executive energy. There were the people that willingly offered
themselves; the volunteers of faith. There were the yet nobler hosts
of Zebulun, and Naphtali, that jeoparded their lives unto the death,
the martyrs who are the crowning glory of every great enterprise. And
there was Jael, the poor heathen woman away out on the frontiers of
Israel, who gave the finishing touch, and struck the last blow through
the temples of the proud Sisera, while high above all were the forces
of nature, and the unseen armies of God’s providence; for the stars in
their courses fought against Sisera, and the flood of the Kishon rolled
down in mountain torrents and swept the astonished foe away.

Sisera’s iron chariots were broken and scattered; but his will and
prowess would soon have another army in the field, more terrible than
the first. To answer fully the faith that took hold of God’s strength,
the Canaanitish general must die. But not by the hand of Barak. His
wavering faith had forfeited that honor. That last act which should
bring victory to the army of Israel would be performed through the
courage of a woman. The woman who was to complete the deliverance was
the wife of an Arab sheik, of a family descended from Jethro, Moses’
father-in-law.

The tribe of Jael and of her husband, Heber, was encamped under the
“Oak of the Wanderers.” These Arabs were on good terms with both
Hebrews and Syrians; but Jael must have had the spiritual sense to
see that the Lord had taken in hand the freeing of Israel, and she
must use the opportunity to further His plans. So when Sisera left his
unmanageable chariot and escaped from the battle on foot, he came to
her tent worn out with the fatigue of the fight and flight, and she
gave him the hospitality for which he begged; but while he was in the
deep sleep of exhaustion, she drove a tent pin into his temple. His
death made impossible the rallying of the host against God’s people.
Better far that one man should die, than that thousands of both Hebrews
and Syrians should fall on the battlefields of prolonged warfare.

Jael has honorable mention in Deborah’s superb song of triumph. Stanley
says of that pæan of victory: “In the song of Deborah we have the only
prophetic utterance that breaks the silence between Moses and Samuel.
Hers is the one voice of inspiration (in the full sense of the word)
that breaks out in the Book of Judges.”

Jael is the only woman mentioned in the Bible who ever took a human
life. We confess that the exploit seems unwomanly, but we must not
forget there is no sex in right or wrong-doing, though it may be long
before we can rid ourselves of the habit of requiring a higher morality
in a woman than in a man.

In this heroic effort on the part of Deborah to throw off the yoke of
a cruel oppressor, we see the curse of neutrality, and the pitiful
spectacle, which seems always to be present, of the unfaithful,
ignoble and indifferent ones who quietly looked on while all this
was happening, and not only missed their reward, but justly received
the curse of God’s displeasure and judgment. And so, in the Song of
Deborah, we hear of Reuben’s enthusiastic purposes, but does nothing.
We see her fiery scorn for those who strayed among the bleatings of
the sheepfolds, rather than the trumpet of the battle. We see her
sarcasm strike the selfish men of Gilead who abode beyond Jordan; the
careless Danites who remained in their ships, and men of Asher who,
secure in their naval defences, stayed away up yonder on the seashore,
and took refuge in their ports and inland rivers, while, above all the
echoes of her denunciations, rings out the last awful curse against the
inhabitants of Meroz, a little obscure city that probably had taken
refuge in its insignificance, because its inhabitants had refused to
come up to the help of the Lord against the mighty.

Finally, this scene is a pattern page from God’s book of remembrance.
Some day we shall read the other pages and find our names recorded
either with the inhabitants of Meroz and Reuben, or with the victors of
faith who stood with Deborah, and Barak, and Jehovah, in the battles of
the Lord. Oh, shall we shine now like stars in the night, and then like
the sun in the kingdom of our Father?

Passing on in our narrative from the brave deeds of Deborah, we next
come to one of the most heroic daughters in Israel, and her great act
of utter abnegation to save a father’s vow is so beautiful that, like
the good Samaritan in our Lord’s touching parable, uttered in answer to
the question, Who is my neighbor? the name is lost in the fragrance of
the deed. She is simply Jephthah’s daughter.

It was during that stormy period in the history of Israel, when again
and again they had fallen into the idolatrous practices of their
heathen neighbors around them. These unlawful acts had often called
down the judgments of God upon them. In the time of Jephthah, the
Israelites were smarting under the oppression of an Ammonitish king.
The unsettled character of the age was such that the elders of the
people sought in vain for a suitable leader, who could command the
confidence of his countrymen.

There was one man, however, a native of Gilead, who was a brave and
successful leader. This was none other than Jephthah, but, because he
had been born a child of misfortune, his brethren disowned him, and
had cast him out. In most persons such treatment develops a spirit of
misanthropy and bitterness which often find expression in revenge.

But Jephthah seemed to have possessed a much sweeter disposition than
his brethren. His faith seems to have been anchored to God, and, as is
usually the case, when all else forsook him then the Lord took him up,
and, trusting in Jehovah, he lived to have a glorious revenge upon his
unkind people by bringing them a blessing instead of the curse that
they had given him.

We have a little touch of his character in the name he gave his new
home. He called it the land of Tob. Tob means “good,” and this is but a
little straw to tell how the wind blew in Jephthah’s life.

And so the day came when Jephthah’s brothers were glad to send
for him to be their deliverer, and Jephthah had the high honor of
returning good for evil, and saving the people that once despised
him. He consented to become their leader on the condition, which was
solemnly ratified before the Lord in Mizpah, that in the event of his
success against the Ammonitish king he should still remain as their
acknowledged head. This is the way that God loves to vindicate us, to
make us a blessing to those that hated us and wronged us. His promise
is, “I will make them to come and worship before thy feet, and to know
that I have loved thee.”

When Jephthah responded to their appeal, and came for their help, we
see in his very words and acts the spirit of godliness and a lofty
faith. We are told explicitly that all his words to his own people
were “before the Lord.” He spoke as in Jehovah’s presence. He also went
against his adversaries in the name of Jehovah God. The battle was not
his, but the Lord’s, and such faith never can be confounded. It was
not long before Jephthah returned in triumph from the slaughter of his
enemies. His country was delivered, his claims vindicated, and his
enemies were destroyed.

But now we come to the great trial in Jephthah’s life, which shows
not only the loftiest faith, but the sublimest faithfulness. In the
hour of peril he had vowed a vow unto Jehovah, pledging that when he
returned in victory the first object that he met should be dedicated to
the Lord, an offering to Him. As he came back amid the acclamations of
universal triumph, the first who met him when he approached his home
was his beautiful daughter, and as he realized all that his vow had
meant, he was overwhelmed for a moment with the deepest emotion. But
not for an instant did he hesitate in his firm and high purpose, nor
once did that dear child shrink back from the sacrifice imposed upon
her, but stood nobly with her father, demanding that he should fulfill
his vow to the utmost.

The scene is very graphically described: When “Jephthah came to Mizpah
unto his house, behold, his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels
and with dances; and she was his only child; beside her he had neither
son nor daughter. And it came to pass, when he saw her, that he rent
his clothes and said, Alas, my daughter! thou hast brought me very low,
and thou art one of them that trouble me, for I have opened my mouth
unto the Lord, and I can not go back.”

This noble child of faith certainly was equal to her father’s trial,
and lovingly replied, “My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto
the Lord, do to me according to that which hath proceeded out of thy
mouth.”

There has been much discussion as to the real meaning of Jephthah’s
vow, and the real fate of his lovely, obedient daughter. That the
daughter of Jephthah was really offered up to God in sacrifice, slain
by the hand of her father and then burned, is a horrible conclusion,
and contrary to all we know of his life, upon which we have dwelt at
some length in order to bring out its characteristics. With such a
sweet trust and confidence in God as is manifest in his every act, we
can not believe that either Jephthah meant to make a human sacrifice,
or that his daughter so understood it. There are several passages and
constructions which can leave no doubt in the mind of the candid reader
that such was not the literal intention, and that this fair child
of faith and obedience was not to be slain upon the altar like the
children of Ammon before their god of fire, but that her fresh life was
given in all its purity as a living sacrifice of separation and life of
service to Jehovah.

In the eighteenth chapter of Deuteronomy we find the most solemn
warnings given to Israel against imitating in the least degree the
cruel and wicked rites of the Ammonites, especially in offering human
sacrifices. Now these Ammonites were the very people against whom
Jephthah had gone forth to war, and as godly follower of Jehovah
he must have been familiar with the commandments of the book of
Deuteronomy. For him, therefore, to directly disobey these solemn
injunctions would have been to prove false to all his character and all
the meaning of his victory in the name of Jehovah.

Again, in the twelfth chapter of Exodus, it is clearly taught that
the first-born of Israel were all to be recognized as the Lord’s, and
liable, therefore, to death, like the Egyptian first-born. But, instead
of their lives being literally required, they were redeemed by the
blood of a lamb, and the Paschal lamb was offered instead of the life
of the Hebrew, and that life was still regarded as wholly the Lord’s,
given to Him in living consecration, of which the whole tribe of Levi
was regarded as the type, and therefore it was separated unto the
service of the Lord as a substitute for the lives of the first-born.

In all this was clearly taught the lesson that what God required
from His people was not a dead body, but a “living sacrifice.” It is
much harder to live for God than to die for God. It takes much less
spiritual and moral power to leap into the conflict and fling a life
away in the excitement of the battle than it does to live through
fifty years of misunderstanding, pain and temptation. It would have
been easier for Jephthah’s daughter to have lain down amid the flowers
of spring, the chants and songs of a religious ceremonial, the tears
and songs of the people who loved her, and know that her name would
be forever enshrined, than to go out from the bright circle of human
society and all the charms of youth and beauty and domestic and social
delight, and live as a recluse for God alone, giving up the dearest
hope of every Hebrew woman, not only to be a mother, but to be the
mother of the promised Christ; giving up also, along with her father,
the fond desire of a son to share his honor and his sceptre, to prolong
his name. All this it meant. This was the sacrifice she made. And so we
read that she did not go aside to bewail her approaching death, but she
went aside for two months to bewail her “virginity,” the loneliness of
her own life, then gladly gave her life a living sacrifice to God.

There are several other considerations that might be added if necessary
to establish this construction of the passage. It is enough to briefly
refer to the fact that the phrase in the eleventh chapter of Judges,
verse thirty-nine, is in the future tense, and refers to her future
virginity and not her past, and also that the translation of the
fortieth verse in one of our versions, is that the daughters of Israel
went yearly “to talk” with the daughter of Jephthah four times in a
year. It is not necessary to pursue the argument further. Enough for
our present purpose that we catch the inspired lesson. That lesson is
supreme, unqualified, unquestioning fidelity to God.

How tender and beautiful the lesson which this passage gives to the
young as well as the old! Just as Isaac stands out in the older story
in a light as glorious as Abraham in yonder sacrifice on Mount Moriah,
so Jephthah’s daughter’s sacrifice must not be forgotten in the honor
we pay her father. Sweet child of single-hearted consecration! God help
her sisters and her followers to be as true. Oh, beloved, do not wait
until desire shall fail and age chill the pulses of ardent youth, and
the world fall away from you itself. But when the flowers are blooming,
and the cup is brimming, and the heart beats high with earthly love
and joy and hope, then it is so sweet, it is so wise, it is so rare,
to pour all at His blessed feet, as Mary poured her ointment on His
head, and some day to receive it back amid the bloom and peals of
yonder land, where they that have forsaken friends and treasures, fond
affections and brightest prospects for His dear sake, shall receive a
hundredfold, and shall have the still richer joy of knowing that they
have learned His spirit and understood His love.

Following the story of Jephthah’s daughter and her heroic
self-sacrifice, we next come to the touching scenes and incidents
related in the life of Ruth and her mother-in-law, Naomi. This is,
confessedly, one of the sweetest idyls ever written. As a singular
example of virtue and piety in a rude age and among an idolatrous
people; as one of the first fruits of the Gentile harvest gathered
into the Church; as the heroine of a story of exquisite beauty and
simplicity; as illustrating in her history the workings of Divine
Providence, and the truth of the saying, “the eyes of the Lord are
over the righteous;” for the many interesting revelations of ancient
domestic and social customs which are associated with her story, Ruth
has always held a foremost place among the Women in White Raiment.

The story begins at Bethlehem, so dear to the Christian heart. A famine
had occurred, and even the fertile plains of Bethlehem Ephratah (the
fruitful) failed to give sufficient food to its inhabitants. On this
account Elimelech, an Ephrathite, left his home with his wife and
two sons and went to sojourn in the land of Moab, the hilly region
south-east of the Dead Sea, where the descendants of Lot dwelt. Here
Elimelech died, and Naomi, his wife, was left a widow with her two
sons, Mahlon and Chilin.

The young men, when grown, took them wives of the women of Moab.
Probably this was another severe trial to Naomi, for she had doubtless
warned them that it was contrary to God’s law that they should marry
daughters of the heathen. Other strokes came quickly upon her, for her
two sons died also. Naomi, notwithstanding her nationality, had won the
respect and warmest attachment of her sons’ wives; and now, when death
had desolated their homes and laid in the dust the strong men to whom
they had clung, they only drew the closer to each other.

At the end of ten years, and having heard that there was plenty again
in Judah, Naomi resolved to return to Bethlehem. Orpah and Ruth also
purposed to accompany her. We can imagine the sad farewell visit to the
graves of the beloved dead, and then together set out on foot for the
land which the Lord had blessed.

After they had gone on their way for some distance, Naomi, with
heartfelt acknowledgment of their fidelity to her, endeavored to
persuade them to return to their own kindred. But they both declared
that they would cleave to her. And so they trudged on until probably
the borders of Moab were reached, when Naomi once more urged them to
return to their people. Orpah this time yielded to Naomi’s urgent
request, and giving her a kiss of farewell, returned to her people.
Ruth, however, still clave to Naomi, with self-sacrificing love.
Pointing to the form of Orpah, Naomi entreated Ruth to follow her
sister’s example.

This was the crisis in Ruth’s life, on which her future destiny was to
turn. But the clinging nature of Ruth refused to be separated from the
warm heart of Naomi, and no one can fail to be moved by the pathos of
her reply, “Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following
after thee; for whither thou goest I will go; and where thou lodgest, I
will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God; where
thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to
me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.” This tender
loyalty and undying love must have touched the strong, brave heart of
Naomi, for Ruth’s noble plea covered every possible condition in life
through which they might be called to pass, and refused to be separated
even in death.

[Illustration: RUTH THE FAITHFUL FRIEND.]

The decision was so firmly, so solemnly stated that there was nothing
more to be said, and Naomi, doubtless glad in her loneliness to retain
the treasure of such a true and loving heart, made no further effort
to alter her purpose, and so the two journeyed on together towards
Bethlehem.

There were two things in conflict, one with the other, at this stage in
the experience of these women. 1. Ruth had learned to know and to love
the true God, and we must believe she loved him with the intensity of
her nature. The opportunity was offered, and she determined to forsake
her heathen idols, and to unite herself with the people of Jehovah, and
to rest within the shadow of the wings of the God of Israel, regardless
of trials or poverty that might await her in the future. 2. On the
other hand, Naomi was brave to take Ruth with her, for she knew the law
that excluded the Moabite, and it is marvelous that Ruth was received
into the Hebrew nation, for her people were specially interdicted, and
doubtless this was the reason why Naomi sought and urged Orpah and Ruth
to turn back.

At length, after days of travel, the two lone women, weary and
footsore, arrived at Bethlehem, and all the city was moved about the
event, and as they looked into the face of the elder woman and saw the
deep lines of sorrow, they said, “Is not this Naomi?” Yes, it was Naomi
(which means delightsome), in her youth, before her life became blasted
with sorrow and want. In her destitution her name seems to her to be
a mockery, and she exclaims, “Call me Mara!” that is, bitterness. She
went out with her husband and sons full of hope, now she has returned
with only the bitter recollection of three graves in the land of Moab,
and herself in abject poverty.

No one seemed to have helped Naomi in her sorrow and distress. But
Ruth, true to her declaration, clung to Naomi, and bravely took it upon
herself to provide for both. It was the time of the barley harvest, and
the brave girl went out into the fields to glean after the reapers, a
privilege that the law of Moses allowed to the poor of the land.

“Her hap” was to enter the field of Boaz. It was a “hap” so far as
Ruth was concerned, but back of it was the ordering of Him who is the
husband of the widow and the Father of the fatherless. Boaz came into
the field, and after the good manners of those times, exchanged pious
and kindly salutations with his reapers. Now Boaz was a near kinsman of
Ruth’s deceased husband, and a man of wealth and consideration, but of
course knew nothing about this Moabitess. However, having learned that
she was the companion of Naomi, he generously permitted her to glean
among the sheaves, and instructed his reapers to let drop a handful now
and then on purpose for her.

And so this loving heart gleaned through the hot hours of the day until
evening, and then she beat the barley from the straw, and the result
proved she had “about an ephah” (over a bushel) of barley.

With the result of her day’s labor under her arm, she hastened home,
and when Naomi saw it, she asked, “Where hast thou gleaned to-day?”

Ruth replied that the name of the man in whose field she had gleaned
was Boaz.

Naomi loved her beautiful, widowed daughter-in-law; and she was eager
for her to have a happy home, claiming in Israel the inheritance of the
departed, and so she told Ruth of the relation in which Boaz stood to
her, and instructed her to claim at the hands of Boaz that he should
perform the part of her husband’s near kinsman, by purchasing the
inheritance of Elimelech, and taking her to be his wife. But there
was a nearer kinsman than Boaz, and it was necessary that he should
have the option of redeeming the inheritance for himself. He, however,
declined, fearing to mar his own inheritance. Upon which, with all due
solemnity, Boaz took Ruth to be his wife, amidst the blessings and
congratulations of their neighbors.

The most sweetly primitive and poetic touch of all this story is the
blessing of the women upon Naomi, when the babe that had been given
Ruth after her marriage to Boaz was laid in the mother-in-law’s bosom:
“Blessed be the Lord, which had not left thee this day without a
kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel. And he shall be unto
thee a restorer of thy life, and a nourisher of thine old age; for thy
daughter-in-law, which loveth thee, which is better to thee than seven
sons, hath borne him.”

Ruth, by birth, was a heathen. As such, she was excluded from God’s
covenanted people. But, in her case, love was mightier than law. In the
fullness of time it was shown to be the fulfillment of law. Though her
people were specially interdicted, she was admitted to the first rank
and led by Providence into the line of the world’s nobility. Her life
shows how God values beautiful, loving character even more than great
deeds. As her name indicates, she was a “faithful friend.” It was what
she was, rather than what she did, that brought her the high honor
of being the mother of Obed, and the ancestress, not only of David
and Solomon, the greatest Jewish kings, but of Christ Himself. To a
believing people like the Hebrews, who lived for the future, that was
the climax of Divine approval.

What amazing results have been accomplished by women of faith. It will
be well for us to study and emulate the sweet, obedient faith of this
beautiful Moabitess. We must remember that it is not the quantity,
but quality, of our service that pleases most our heavenly Father;
not what we do, but what we are. We may never do great things, but,
through grace, we can all be faithful. We may pass from the stage of
action, but the splendid deeds wrought in faith will remain, shedding
their influence across the bosom of a sinful world, like so many beacon
lights guiding a guilty race back to a Father’s love, and the world’s
final redemption.

We now come to Hannah, the last woman in White Raiment under the
Theocracy. The mother of the great and good Samuel will ever stand in
history as among the purest of women. It often happens that the mother
is lost sight of in the fame of her son. This is quite true in the life
of Samuel. He stands out the great Reformer of his time, lifting his
people out of the Dark Ages of the Old Testament and leading them into
the Golden Age of David’s kingdom and Israel’s pre-eminence among the
nations.

But while Samuel ranks with Joseph, and Joshua, and Daniel, in the
blamelessness of his life, let us not forget that back of that great
life was a woman’s broken heart, a woman’s tears, a woman’s life made
bitter by disappointment and humiliation, made so by a polygamous
system whose fruit must ever be jealousy and sorrow--ever a sign of a
low condition of social morality.

Poor, heart-broken Hannah was one of the two wives of Elkanah, an
Ephrathite. However, the record does not show that she was unloved by
her husband. Indeed, it appears that he tried to comfort her, gallantly
asking her if he were not more to her than ten sons. But her sorrow
that she had no children made her countenance sad, and took away her
appetite for food. At length, however, out of her crushed heart came
the believing prayer that brought her victory and consolation.

It was the fixed habit of Elkanah to go with his family “yearly to
worship and to sacrifice unto the Lord of Hosts in Shiloh.” On one of
these yearly visits, Hannah poured out her prayer in great sobs and
tears. She was very definite in her petition. She asked for a son,
not that she might know the joy of motherhood, but that God might be
glorified. She promised that she would “give him unto the Lord all the
days of his life.” And so earnest was she in pressing her suit, that
Eli the priest thought her drunk, and reproved her for her conduct.
But she bravely told him her story. She said she was a “woman of a
sorrowful spirit.” She had drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but had
poured out her soul before the Lord.

The spirit of prophecy came upon the good old man, and though he knew
nothing of the nature of her prayer, he promised its fulfillment. “Go
in peace: and the God of Israel grant thee thy petition that thou hast
asked of Him.” Hannah believed, and she “went her way, and did eat, and
her countenance was no more sad.”

After her beautiful boy was born, and began to show his charming baby
ways, she trembled under his dainty caresses, and the kisses of his
pure, sweet mouth, for she remembered her vow; but she was true and
faithful.

It is a brave, strong, submissive mother who can give up without a
murmur the child that God takes to Himself; but to know that he is
alive somewhere, and at that very hour may be grieving for lack of the
love and care that only a mother can give, O how that ordeal must rend
the heart! Just that was the test of Hannah’s loyalty. In just that
severe balance of obedience and trust was she weighed, and she was not
found wanting.

When her child was old enough to be left without a mother’s watchful
care she took him to the Tabernacle and gave him to Eli, to be brought
up as a child of the sanctuary. “I have lent him to the Lord,” she
said, “and as long as he lives he shall be lent unto the Lord.” Not for
a few days or weeks did she give him up, but she gave him wholly and
with a sacrifice that only a mother could understand, she consented
that the little feet for whose pattering she had longed should be heard
no more in her cottage, that the prattle for whose music her lonely
heart had waited a lifetime should sound no more in her ears, but that
she should live on till the end alone, glad to know that he was all the
Lord’s, and was giving back to God the blessing which he had brought
to her. This is love and this is the difference between the love of
earth and the love of heaven. Earthly love loves for the pleasure it
can find in loving. Heavenly love loves for the blessing it can give to
the loved one. Hannah knew that her sacrifice was best for Samuel, and
that in giving him to God she was getting more for him than a mother’s
selfish fondness could ever have bestowed.

And yet there was still the sweet thought behind it all that he was
hers. She was not losing him but lending him, and God counted her
sacrifice a real service, and some day would restore the loan with
infinite and eternal additions.

When Hannah had triumphed over her own heart, and her boy was safely
under the care and instruction of Eli, to be used to the utmost in
the Lord’s service, she sung her song of thanksgiving for the birth
of her son. Her hymn is in the highest order of prophetic poetry.
Its resemblance to that of the Virgin Mary has been noticed by
Bible students, and is specially remarkable as containing the first
designation of the Messiah under that name. Though written in the days
of scant literary attainment, the song of Hannah is an exquisite piece
of composition. It is full of keen insight and superb power. Besides
what was written by Moses, men wrote but little poetry in that early
time. The hymns of Miriam, Deborah and Hannah have rare beauty. It was
the daughters rather than the sons who prophesied in song.

But while the child Samuel, “girded with a linen ephod,” “ministered
before the Lord,” in the Tabernacle, in Shiloh, the loving mother
heart, in her home, was stitching her beautiful thoughts year after
year into the little coat which she annually brought to him, “when
she came up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice.” And we
may well believe that Hannah’s loyalty and good sense made plain,
serviceable garments, so that the mind of the young Samuel was not
diverted from his Tabernacle duties to gay and bright colors in his
tunics, and so his young heart was kept from the blight of pride. This
was the lad’s high privilege. He was always a holy child. He never
knew the defiling breath of wickedness. This may be the privilege of
your child, Christian mother. God help you to protect your innocent
babe from the foul breath of sin’s contamination and always to shelter
that trusting life under the protecting wings of God. This may be your
privilege, happy Christian child, who perchance may read these lines
to-day. Oh, let God have your earliest years and may you never know the
mystery of iniquity and the memories of sin and shame which, though
they may be forgiven, yet come back to defile and distress the heart.

But Samuel was not holy and good by natural birth or disposition. It
was not because that he was good anyhow by temperament. The keynote of
his life was, “Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.” At first even he
made some mistakes and misunderstood the voice that spake to him so
gently in his little chamber. Three times it called to him in vain, and
he thought it was the old priest’s message, but even when he understood
not he still responded and sprang to his feet, ready instantly to obey.

The very peculiarities of Samuel’s call lingered in his later life in
his messages to Saul, “Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, and
to hearken than the fat of rams.” All his blessings had come to him
by hearkening and obeying, and all Saul’s calamities had come to him
because he willfully took his own way and refused to listen to God.

From Hannah’s consecration of her child we may learn two excellent
lessons, embodying the greatest principles that underlie the human side
of the redemption of the race: First, the mother’s power; and second,
the child’s ability to know God. She had so thoroughly lent Samuel to
the Lord that he held true to God in the degeneracy of Eli’s judgeship
and the slackness of the priesthood, as illustrated in the family of
Eli. The social condition of the age was a shocking exhibition of low
sensuality, licentiousness and cupidity that would disgrace even the
grossest heathenism. Eli himself, while a just and holy man in his own
private character, was weak and inefficient as a judge and a priest,
and utterly failed to restrain his ungodly family or exercise any just
administration of public affairs. The whole nation was, therefore, in
a most pitiable condition, at the mercy of its foreign oppressors and
so enfeebled that a few years later we find there was not a sword in
Israel, and they had even to go to the grindstones of the Philistines
in order to grind their plough coulters for the ordinary operations of
husbandry. It was at such a time as this that God called Samuel to be
at once the pattern and deliverer of his country.

In the very outset, the Lord had some very unpleasant work for Samuel
to do, which must have tested his obedience. While yet quite young he
had a hard, sad message to deliver to his old friend and instructor,
and it was no easy task to go to Eli and tell him all that God had
spoken against his house. It was the hard test which often came again
in his later ministry as the messenger of God to sinful man. Again and
again did he have to go to those he loved and say to them the thing
which nearly broke his heart.

When this child of promise finally passed from under the watchful care
of the devoted Hannah, we are told, “the Lord was with Samuel,” and he
“let none of his words fall to the ground, and all Israel knew that
Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord.”

The life of Samuel marks a transition period in the history of Israel
from the time of the Judges to the kingdom of Saul and David. His was
an epoch life like Abraham’s, Joshua’s and John the Baptist’s.

He also enjoyed the distinguished honor of being the founder of the
school of the prophets and the first in that glorious succession of
holy men who spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost, and who formed
the only unbroken line of truth and righteousness in the history of
God’s ancient people. From the days of Samuel the prophets formed a
distinct class, and had a regular school of training, corresponding
somewhat to our theological seminaries and training institutes, and
Samuel had the pre-eminence of being the founder of these prophetic
schools. Later in his life he went about the country as a pastor and
overseer, visiting the towns and villages, holding conventions, from
place to place and instructing the people in the law of God and the
schools of the prophets in the principles of the kingdom.

But, above all his public ministries and even his national influence,
Samuel was himself a beautiful and spotless character. In an age of
almost universal corruption he lived a life of blameless piety, and at
a later period, when bidding farewell to the nation as their judge, he
could truly call upon them to witness to his uprightness and integrity.
“Behold,” he said, “I am old and gray-headed, and I have walked before
you from my childhood unto this day. Behold, here I am; witness against
me before the Lord and before His anointed. Whose ox have I taken?
or whose ass have I taken? or whom have I defrauded? whom have I
oppressed? or of whose hand have I received any bribe to blind mine
eyes therewith? and I will restore it to you.” And they said, “Thou
hast not defrauded us nor oppressed us, neither hast thou taken aught
of any man’s hand.”

Samuel stands forth as one of the blameless lives of sacred history;
human no doubt in his infirmities, but no fault has been recorded
against him, and his personal character is the most eloquent testimony
of all his history.

We have been permitted to trace this beautiful life to its source. Some
characters, like Elijah’s suddenly burst upon our vision and we only
know them in the public and closing chapters of their history. Some,
however, are like a beautiful river that you can trace to its crystal
fountain and follow all through its winding channel until, like our own
Hudson, it pours its volume into the sea. Thus we have been permitted
to stand by Samuel’s cradle and even to know something of his prophetic
future before his very birth. We enter into the joys and sorrows and
the believing prayers of Hannah, the devoted mother, who was the real
fountain, not only of his natural life, but also of his piety and holy
power. And we walk side by side with him through his childhood and
his youth until, at last, we meet him in the busy activities of his
manhood and follow him until he lays down his ministry and passes to
his honored rest.

What a touching story is the life of Hannah of motherly consecration of
herself and her Samuel. If all who wear the crown of motherhood were as
noble, as loyal, as self-giving and trustful as Hannah was, and brought
up their children to know and obey the voice of the Lord, what a world
this would be. O that our land were filled with Hannahs, then would we
have more Samuels.




CHAPTER V.

Womanhood During the Reign of the Kings.

  ABIGAIL--CHURLISH NABAL--CHIVALROUS APPRECIATION--DAVID’S
    MESSENGERS--SAUL’S DAUGHTERS--HIS TREACHERY--MICHAL’S
    STRATAGEM--RIZPAH--HER HEROIC ENDURANCE AND LOVING FIDELITY--THE
    QUEEN OF SHEBA--HER VISIT TO JERUSALEM--THE GLORY AND WISDOM OF
    SOLOMON--THE HALF NOT TOLD--THE QUEEN’S ROYAL GIFTS.


Passing out from under the Theocracy, or rule of the Judges, the first
woman in White Raiment that appears on the page of the Sacred Record
is Abigail. She was the wife of Nabal, a wealthy owner of goats and
sheep in Carmel, not the Mount Carmel of Central Palestine, between
the maritime plain of Sharon on the south, and the great inland
expanse known as the plain of Esdraelon on the north, but a town in
the mountainous country of Judah, to the west of the lower end of the
Dead Sea. She was a woman of good understanding and of a beautiful
countenance--a fit combination.

Her character had written its legend on her face. The two things do not
always go together. There are many beautiful women wholly destitute
of good understanding, just as birds of rarest plumage are commonly
deficient in the power of song. But a good understanding, which is
moral rather than intellectual, casts a glow of beauty over the
plainest features.

But Abigail’s husband was a churl. The great establishment over which
she presided would be called, in our modern times, a sheep ranch, and,
under the management of such a man as Nabal, the servants doubtless
often echoed the ill-temper of their master, and her wits would be
often sharpened to the utmost to keep all within the limits of safety
and comfort.

Evidently, at her birth, Abigail had been a welcomed child in a happy
home, amid plenty and even luxury, such as the times in that rude age
of the world could give. Her parents named her “Source of joy.” She
had grown up in a glad, breezy confidence that made her equal to any
emergency. Since God has floods of glory for the gloomiest souls, why
will not parents keep their children in the clear, warm sunshine of
joyful love? Many drudge early and late to provide culture and comfort;
but they withhold a better, richer gift. They becloud hopelessly the
dear young lives with their own disappointments, and foredoom them to
despondency.

This sprightly, happy, beautiful Abigail at length married the selfish,
churlish Nabal. When we look over society to-day, it is remarkable how
many Abigails get married to Nabals. God-fearing women, tender and
gentle in their sensibilities, high-minded and noble in their ideals,
become tied in an indissoluble union with men for whom they can have no
true affinity, even if they have not an unconquerable repugnance. In
Abigail’s case this relationship was, in all probability, not of her
choosing, but the product of the Oriental custom which compelled a girl
to take her father’s choice in the matter of marriage. As a mere child
she may have come into Nabal’s home, and become bound to him by an
apparently inevitable fate. In other ways which involve equally little
personal choice, compelled by the pressure of inexorable circumstances,
misled by the deceitful tongue of flattery, her instinctive hesitancy
overcome by the urgency of friends, a woman may still find herself in
Abigail’s pitiful plight. To such a one there is but one advice--you
must stay where you are. The dissimilarity in taste and temperament
does not constitute a sufficient reason for leaving your husband to
drift. You must believe that God has permitted you to enter on this
awful heritage, partly because this fiery ordeal was required by your
character, and partly that you might act as a counteractive influence.
It may be that some day your opportunity will come, as it came to
Abigail. In the meantime do not allow your purer nature to be bespotted
or besmeared. You can always keep the soul clean and pure. Bide your
time; and, amid the weltering waste of inky water, be like a pure
fountain rising from the ocean depths.

But if any young girl of good sense and earnest aspirations, who reads
these lines, secretly knows that, if she had the chance, she would wed
a carriage and pair, a good position, or broad acres, irrespective of
character, let her remember that to enter the marriage bond with a man,
deliberately and advisedly, for such a purpose, is a profanation of the
Divine ideal, and can end only in one way. She will not raise him to
her level, but she will sink to his.

There came a time when Nabal had an opportunity to show kindness, to
pay back, in part at least, his appreciation for the protection David
and his men had given Nabal’s shepherds from Bedouin and other desert
robbers. It was sheep-shearing time, a season of gladness and of
feasting. David and his men were shut up in the wilderness of Engedi,
driven thither by the persecutions of Saul. Doubtless they were in need
of food, and David thought that the owner of three thousand sheep, and
a thousand goats, in the very midst of the sheep-shearing festivities,
could send him a token of remembrance in his hunger and need. So David
sent ten of his young men with salutations of peace and prosperity, and
a request for any favor he felt disposed to give. But Nabal answered
the young men saying, “Who is David? and who is the son of Jesse? there
be many servants nowadays that break away every man from his master.
Shall I then take my bread, and my water, and my flesh that I have
killed for my shearers, and give it unto men, whom I know not whence
they be?”

The young men returned to David with the message of Nabal, and,
naturally enough, David felt insulted and outraged. Taking a band of
four hundred men, he resolved to impress upon Nabal who the “son of
Jesse” was, and to make him pay dearly for his foolhardy conduct.

But, in the meantime, one of Nabal’s servants told Abigail how David’s
young men had been treated. Evidently this thoughtful and prudent
servant knew the excellency of his mistress, and could trust her to
act wisely in the emergency which was upon them. So he told her all.
Told how David and his men had been “a wall” unto the shepherds “both
by night and by day,” and for all this kindness Nabal, his master, had
“railed” upon David’s messengers.

[Illustration: THE BEAUTIFUL ABIGAIL MEETING DAVID.]

Abigail immediately grasped the situation and at once despatched a
small procession of provision-bearers along the way David would come.
In this she did not even take Nabal into her counsel, and she prepared
to pay bountifully for the conduct of her foolhardy husband.

The band had scarcely started when she followed after, and, as she
expected, met the avenging warriors by the covert of the mountain, and
the interview was as creditable to her woman’s wit as to her grace
of heart. The lowly obeisance of the beautiful woman at the young
soldier’s feet; the frank confession of the wrong that had been done;
the expression of thankfulness that so far he had been kept from
blood-guiltiness and from avenging his own wrongs; the depreciation
of the generous present she brought as only fit for his servants; the
chivalrous appreciation of his desire to fight only the battles of
the Lord and to keep an unblemished name; the sure anticipation of
the time when his fortunes would be secured and his enemies silenced;
the suggestion that in those coming days he would be glad to have no
shadow on the sunlit hills of his life, no haunting memory--all this
was as beautiful and wise and womanly as it could be, and brought David
back to his better self. Frank and noble as he always was, he did not
hesitate to acknowledge his deep indebtedness to this lovely woman, and
to see in her intercession the gracious arrest of God. “And David said
to Abigail, Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, which sent thee
this day to meet me; and blessed be thy wisdom, and blessed be thou,
which has kept me this day from blood-guiltiness, and from avenging
myself with my own hand.”

What a revelation this is of the ministries with which God seeks
to avert us from our evil ways! They are sometimes very subtle and
slender, very small and still; sometimes a gentle woman’s hand laid on
our wrist, the mother reminding us of her maternity, the wife of early
vows, the child with its pitiful, beseeching look; sometimes a thought,
holy, pleading, remonstrating. Ah, many a time we have been saved from
actions which would have caused lasting regret. And above all these
voices and influences there has been the gracious arresting influence
of the Holy Spirit, striving with passion and selfishness, calling
us to a nobler, better life. Blessed Spirit, come down more often by
the covert of the hill, and stay us in our mad career, and let us not
press past thee to take our own wild way, and we shall have reason for
ceaseless gratitude.

Only ten days after Abigail’s womanly intercession Nabal died by the
judgments of God.

When David heard of Nabal’s death, he was very grateful indeed that
he had been restrained by the prudent words of Abigail, and sent
messengers to her at Carmel, asking her hand in marriage. And this is
the touching reply she sent back to David, “Behold, let thine handmaid
be a servant to wash the feet of the servants of my lord.”

“And Abigail hasted, and arose, and rode upon an ass, with five damsels
of hers that went after her; and she went after the messengers of
David, and became his wife.” After her marriage, she accompanied David
in all his fortunes; and no doubt her shrewd business sense was of
great service to her husband. The words she told David while he was
sinking under discouragement from Nabal’s ingratitude, that he would be
“bound in the bundle of life with the Lord his God,” became prophetic
of her own after life. She proved that--

  “They who get the best are those
  Who leave the choice to Him.”

We next come to Michal. As Abigail had saved the life of Nabal, so
Michal had saved the life of David. She was the younger of the two
daughters of Saul, the first king in Israel. David had been very
successful in the slaughter of the Philistines, and on his return
the women came out singing songs of welcome, in which they chanted,
“Saul hath slain thousands, and David ten thousands.” Saul was highly
displeased with this popular welcome to David and said, “What can he
have more but the kingdom?”

But, with a view of exposing the life of David, Saul promised his elder
daughter, Merab, in marriage, if he would fight his battles. However,
in this Saul had missed his calculations, for the Philistines were not
able to take the life of David. So, no doubt, in order that he might
have one more opportunity of exposing David to the dangers of war,
he gave Merab to Adriel, the Mehoathite, to wife. It was a treachery
such as Saul frequently practiced upon David. So he offered Michal,
the second daughter, in marriage, fixing the price for her hand at no
less than the slaughter of a hundred Philistines. David, by a brilliant
feat, doubled the tale of his victims, and Michal became his wife.

Michal was not averse to the good luck of David, for she had so
appreciated him that she had fallen violently in love with the young
hero. It was not long, however, before the strength of her affections
was put to the proof. After one of Saul’s attacks of frenzy, in which
David had barely escaped being transfixed by the king’s spear, Michal
learned that the house was being watched by Saul’s soldiers, and that
it was intended on the next morning to attack her husband as he left
his door. Michal seemed to have known too well the vacillating and
ferocious disposition of her father when in these demoniacal moods, so,
like a true soldier’s wife, she met stratagem by stratagem. She first
provided for David’s safety by lowering him out of the window by means
of a rope. To gain time for him to reach the residence of Samuel at
Ramah, she dressed up the bed as if still occupied by him, by placing
a teraphim in it, its head enveloped, like that of a sleeper, in the
usual net used for protection from gnats--a sore pest in Palestine.

It happened as Michal feared. Her father sent officers to take David.
Michal made answer that her husband was ill and could not be disturbed.
At last Saul would not be longer put off, and ordered his messengers
to force their way into David’s apartment, when they discovered the
deception which had been played so successfully, Saul’s rage knew no
bounds, and his fury was such that Michal was obliged to resort to
another deception by pretending that David attempted to kill her.

When Michal let David down by a rope through a window on that memorable
night in which she saved his life, it was the last time she saw her
husband for many years. When the rupture between Saul and David became
open, Saul gave Michal in marriage to Phaltiel, of Gallim, a village
not far from the royal residence at Gibeah.

After the death of Saul, Michal and her new husband moved with the
royal family to the east of Jordan.

It was at least fourteen years since she had watched David’s
disappearance down the rope into the darkness of the night and had
imperilled her own life to save his. During all these years, it would
seem, his love for his absent wife had undergone no change, for he
was eager to reclaim her when the first opportunity presented itself.
That opportunity came when Abner revolted from Ishbosheth. Important
as it was to him to make an alliance with the court of Ishbosheth,
established at Mahanaim, and much as he respected Abner, he would
not listen for a moment to any overtures till his wife was restored.
And David sent messengers to Ishbosheth saying, “Deliver me my wife
Michal.” There seemed to be no alternative, and Michal was taken from
Phaltiel. That she had equally won the love of Phaltiel is manifest
from the sad scene when she was taken from him, and now under the joint
escort of David’s messengers and Abner’s twenty men, _en route_ from
Mahanaim to Hebron, he followed behind, bewailing the wife thus torn
from him, and would not turn back until commanded to do so by Abner.

But when Michal was received into the royal home, then at Hebron, she
was not the affectionate companion of David’s youth. And, doubtless,
he was no longer to her what he was before she had bestowed her love
upon another. They were no longer what they had been to each other.
The alienation was probably mutual. On her side must have been the
recollection of the long contest which had taken place in the interval
between her father and David; the strong feeling in the palace at
Hebron against the house of Saul, where every word she heard must
have contained some distasteful allusion, and where at every turn
she must have encountered men like Abiather the priest, or Ismaiah
the Gibeonite, who had lost the whole or the greater part of their
relatives in some sudden burst of her father’s fury. And more than
all, perhaps, the inevitable difference between the husband of her
recollections and the matured and occupied warrior who now received
her. The whole must have come upon her as a strong contrast to the
affectionate Phaltiel, whose tears had followed her along the road over
Olivet until commanded to return home.

It also seems she did not enter into David’s religious sympathies.
When he brought the Ark of Jehovah into Jerusalem, after the seat of
government was transferred from Hebron to that city, Michal watched
the procession approach from the window of the royal palace, and when
she saw David in the triumphal march, “she despised him in her heart.”
It would have been well if her contempt had rested there; but it was
not in her nature to conceal it, and when the last burnt offering had
been made, and the king entered his house to bless his family, he was
received by his wife not with the congratulations which he had a right
to expect and which would have been so grateful to him, but with a
bitter taunt which showed how incapable she was of appreciating either
her husband’s devotions, or the importance of the service in which he
had been engaged. David’s answer showed that they were as wide apart
religiously as he and her father had been politically. He said, “It was
before the Lord, which chose me before thy father, and before all his
house, to appoint me ruler over the people.” This reproof gathered up
all the differences between them which made sympathy no longer possible.

We must think of Michal what she was to David in her youth, and what
she might have been had she not been given to another, perhaps against
her own will. Thus David lost her womanly affection, which he so much
needed, and Michal lost his brave, heroic but devout spirit, which
would greatly have helped her to a correct knowledge of God, for, from
the fact that she had a teraphim in her house, would indicate she was
not wholly free from idolatry, and this doubtless accounts for her
lack of sympathy with David in his religious nature, for his devotions
to God were unquestioned. Her surroundings from childhood were bad
every way, and her want of religious sympathy was not so much the want
of faith as the lack of opportunity to know God. We give her a place
here for what she was in her youth, in saving the life of David, and
what she would have been could she have grown up under the religious
influences of David.

Upon the death of Saul, the first king in Israel, Rizpah, a secondary
wife, and mother of his two sons Armoni and Mephibosheth, appears on
the stage of action. After Saul was defeated and met with death on
Mount Gilboa and the Philistines occupied the country west of the
Jordan, the seat of government was transferred from Gibeah to Mahanaim
for greater protection, and Rizpah accompanied the inmates of the royal
household to their new residence.

Ishbosheth, the youngest of Saul’s four legitimate sons, and his
rightful heir to the throne, had been proclaimed king in place of his
father. Abner, Saul’s uncle, however, had command of the army, and had
much to do in administering the affairs of the kingdom; and, because
of this relation, and for reasons not stated, he seemed to have had
frequent consultations with Rizpah, and this excited Ishbosheth’s
jealousy. Among those primitive people, to take the widow of a deceased
king was to aspire to the throne. Ishbosheth accused Abner of that
ambitious design, and the captain, in his resentment, replied, “Am I
a dog’s head, which against Judah do shew kindness this day unto the
house of Saul thy father, to his brethren, and to his friends, and
have not delivered thee into the hands of David, that thou chargest me
to-day with a fault concerning this woman?” Abner was so wroth that
he left Ishbosheth and went over to David--a piece of spite which led
first to Abner’s death through Joab’s treachery, and ultimately to the
murder of Ishbosheth himself.

We hear nothing more of Rizpah till the three years’ famine made it
necessary to settle an old score against the house of Saul for that
king’s wicked dealings with the Gibeonites. According to the crude,
rough justice of the times, they demanded the death of seven of Saul’s
descendants. The two sons of Rizpah and five of Saul’s grandsons were
handed over to them for crucifixion.

Here Rizpah’s love, and endurance is brought to our notice. The seven
crosses to which her two sons and her five relatives were fastened,
were planted in the rock on the top of the sacred hill of Gibeah. The
victims were sacrificed at the beginning of barley harvest--the sacred
and festal time of the Passover--and in the full blaze of the summer
sun they hung till the fall of the periodical rain in October. During
the whole of that time Rizpah remained at the foot of the crosses on
which the bodies of her sons were exposed. She had no tent to shelter
her all those months from the scorching sun which beats on that open
spot all day, or from the drenching dews of night, but she spread on
the rock summit the thick mourning garment of black sackcloth, which,
as a widow, she wore, and, crouching there, she kept off bird and beast
till their bodies could have honorable burial.

At length the heroic actions of Rizpah were brought to the notice of
David, who, with his usual kindness, had the bodies of Saul and his
friend Jonathan brought from Jabesh-Gilead, and the bodies taken from
the crosses and sepulchred in the family tomb of Kish.

Rizpah, by birth was a Hivite, and probably had not the sustaining
grace which God alone can give. She had trained her sons for the
splendors of a court. They were cut off in their prime, and her
desolate heart had only its pride to sustain her during her superhuman
anguish and endurance. Her loving, passionate nature was a bright light
in a rude, dark age. With such a beautiful example before us, we need
never say the circumstances of our life forbid the possibilities of
living for God. The blacker the cloud the brighter may be the rainbow.
The harder our situation the more can our life become a protest against
it. The lighthouse needs the midnight darkness and the storm-beaten
shore to bring out its value and its purpose, and there is no situation
so trying and difficult but God can sustain us in it, and when we have
learned our lesson enable us to triumph over it.

Rizpah’s loving fidelity has placed her in the front ranks of Bible
women whose holy ministries have made them famous. She may very justly
be characterized as the _Mater Dolorosa_ of the old dispensation. Her
fidelity to the memory of departed loved ones has no equal in the
history of the world. And all this without the sustaining grace of
God, for it must be remembered poor Rizpah was but a heathen woman, in
a rude, dark age of the world. How glad we should be, that in a world
where there is so much to sadden and depress, we have a Saviour to go
to who knows all about our sorrow, and is touched with the feeling of
our infirmities, and have blessed communion with Him in whom is the one
true source and fountain of all true gladness and abiding joy! In a
world where so much is ever seeking to unhallow our spirits, to render
them common, how high the privilege of entering into the secret of His
pavilion, and there, by consecration and prayer, receive strength for
days to come. Such was not Rizpah’s privilege, hence her devotion is
all the more remarkable.

The history runs on. David had established his throne, and the visit of
the Queen of Sheba marks the climax of the greatness of that kingdom,
and the glory and wisdom of Solomon. It is a remarkable proof of the
new spirit that had come upon the nation. Hitherto the people of Israel
had been wholly agricultural. The great peculiarity of their country
was its isolation, situated in the very midst of the nations of the
earth, yet it was curiously shut in and shut out. A seaboard without
a single navigable river, with a vast desert on the south, a lofty
mountain range on the north, and that strange descent of the Jordan
valley in the east going down more than a thousand feet below the
level of the sea. But Solomon changed all that. His enterprise did
not exhaust itself in building the Temple and palace of Jerusalem. He
actually crossed the great desert to the south and at the head of the
gulf that runs up to the east of the Arabian peninsula he made a harbor
and himself superintended the building of a fleet of ships, and sent
them to traffic in the east, and brought home the sandalwood and many
of the treasures of the Indies, with which he enriched the palace and
the garden.

[Illustration: SOLOMON’S MERCHANT SHIPS.]

Thus his merchants went away to strange lands, carrying with them
wherever they went the tidings of their great king, of the Temple that
he had built to Jehovah, the God of Israel; of the palace splendors; of
his throne of state in the cedar Judgment Hall, a throne of ivory with
golden lions on each step, and a footstool of gold.

Now of the countries that they visited one was famous for its gold
and frankincense and precious stones. It was the land of Sheba to the
south. Thither came the captains and crews of Solomon’s ships, and the
queen heard of the strangers who had come to trade with them in their
vessels from afar, men of a strange language. She sent for them to the
court to hear from their own lips the wonderful things they had to tell
of their great king, and of their God, and of Jerusalem.

The mere pageantry of the visit to Jerusalem has hidden from us the
true queenliness and spirit of this woman. It was no idle curiosity
that prompted a journey involving so much risk and difficulty. Her very
throne itself was imperilled by her departure and long absence. It
is a proof of how firmly she was set in the affections of her people
that she could venture to leave the land; a proof of her courage that
she should dare set out on such a journey. Hearing of the wisdom of
Solomon, hearing of the great things he had done for his people,
hearing above all that he had brought such prosperity to the land that
every man could sit safely under his own vine and fig-tree, she formed
her purpose to go. If she could learn to do so much for her own people
it were worth everything.

When the merchants had gone we can see her turn to her statesmen, every
inch a queen, and full already of her lofty purpose, address them
thus, “If I could but secure such well-being for this nation of mine,
I should count it cheaply earned if I went to the ends of the earth to
get it.”

It is also worthy of observation that this queen of the south was not
content with hearing about Solomon. She did not listen to the tale
these merchants told, and straightway forgot it all, as if it were of
no further concern. She made up her mind, there and then, that if such
a one lived she would go to him and ask such questions as he, and only
he, could answer, that would give her peace and be a blessing to her
people.

So important was this matter that she did not send an ambassador to the
king. To her they were so real and sacred she must go herself, and go
she did.

Oh, the misery of it is that such hosts among us are content with
hearing about these blessings of God. Alas, there are thousands of
people who think all this is only to be preached about, never to be
sought after; only to be heard about, never really found.

She had a long way to go. We read, she came from the uttermost parts of
the earth. Distances were immense in those days. It was a journey for
camels, by no means a comfortable method of traveling. Soldiers must
guard her, for there were many robbers; servants must go to wait upon
her, for her state must be in keeping with the greatness of the foreign
court. She must take with her a load of the most splendid gifts. Then
there were long stretches of hot, wind-swept deserts to be crossed, in
which many had perished in the sand storms. But she was not daunted,
she was not to be turned aside. She had made up her mind, and bravely
faced all the dangers.

And then, also, we must not overlook the fact she had no invitation.
She did not know how he might receive her. These great kings were
jealous of strangers. Upon some pretence that she came to spy out the
land, he might have her seized as a prisoner, and held her and her
servants to be ransomed at some enormous cost of money. Such things
were common enough; and, if he received her, was it not likely that
he would look with contempt upon her? Even civilized people like the
Greeks were accustomed to regard those as barbarians whose language and
ways were foreign to themselves. But this brave woman will risk it all,
and with a splendid courage, the courage of a woman, she comes.

So the Queen of Sheba came to see King Solomon, and the scene of her
coming was one of the utmost splendor. It was a tribute indeed to the
far-reaching fame of Israel, which king and people alike may well have
sought to turn to the fullest account.

[Illustration: THE QUEEN OF SHEBA.]

At the city gate Solomon came forth to meet the queen in all his
glory, with flashing crown of pure gold, and royal robes of costliest
magnificence. About him are the great officers of state in their
gorgeous apparel, the old wise counselors, the chief captains of his
army. Everywhere are the vast crowds of citizens, thronging every
house roof and city wall, and clustering on every point of vantage.
The music of his singing men and singing women fills the air with glad
welcome.

And now, seated at his side, in the chariot of cedar with its
tapestried curtains, and drawn by the horses of Egypt all richly
caparisoned, they go on their way. Solomon points out to her the Temple
which he was seven years in building, and which Josephus likened to
a “mountain of snow, covered with plates of gold, whose brightness
made those that looked upon it turn away their eyes.” He told her
there were used “talents” of gold, of silver, and of brass in its
construction valued at the enormous sum of $34,399,110,000. The worth
of the jewels placed at figures equally as high. The vessels of gold,
according to Josephus, were valued at 140,000 talents, which reduced to
money, was equal to $2,821,481,015. The vessels of silver were still
more valuable, being set down at $3,231,720,000. Priests’ vestments,
and robes of singers, at $10,050,000. He told her ten thousand men
hewed cedars, seventy thousand bore burdens, and eighty thousand hewed
stones, and it required three thousand three hundred overseers. Surely
it was the wonder of the world. Then he pointed out to her the Judgment
Hall, the house of the forest of Lebanon, and many other stately
edifices.

And now they reach the palace, with its luxurious gardens filled with
treasures from all lands. And, seated at the great banquet which the
king had spread in her honor, she sees his wealth, the vastness of his
possessions, the hosts of his servants, the cupbearers at his side,
the banqueting hall, itself a marvel of splendor, the “ascent by which
he went up unto the house of the Lord.” As she saw all this, we read,
“there was no more spirit in her.” She was overwhelmed by the sight of
such boundless wealth and the vision of such glory.

The Queen of the South communed with Solomon, we are told, of all that
was in her heart. Simply and earnestly she told of her longings for her
people and of the difficulties that beset her. She communed with him of
the mystery of life, how to reach the highest and best. She asked him
of many a matter that perplexed her. Graciously the king listened, and
wisely he answered her. We can easily imagine the words which showed
his skill in answering her questions. There may have been and doubtless
was the keen wit, the brilliant saying, the flashes of wisdom, the
glow of poetry, the genius like that which settled the dispute between
the two mothers. Never did she dream of wisdom like that, and she
exclaimed, “Behold, the half was not told me!” What she saw and heard
excited her wonder to such a degree that it seemed to her directly
imparted by the God of Solomon, whom he adored, and for whom she became
filled with reverence. The light of heaven seemed to break on her soul
when she exclaimed, “Blessed be the Lord thy God, which delighted in
thee, to set thee on the throne of Israel.”

She gladly acknowledged the truth of all that she had heard. “It was a
true report that I heard in my own land of thy acts and of thy wisdom.”
It was not mere learning, the answering of hard questions, the solution
of metaphysical problems, but his works, appointments, the sitting of
his servants, and the attendance of his ministers, the civil officers
who sat at the royal table, convinced the queen of his great wisdom, in
which she recognized the working of a peculiar power and grace imparted
by God. It was also a practical or life-wisdom, such as Solomon himself
describes, “a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her, length of
days is in her right hand, and in her left hand riches and honor.”
Such wisdom, which rests upon the foundation of the knowledge and love
of God, “is more precious than rubies, and all the things thou canst
desire are not to be compared unto her.”

But the queen was not content with the words of praise and thanks. She
makes proof of her gratitude by means of great and royal gifts. “She
gave the king an hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices
very great store, and precious stones.” The presents which she made
consisted of those articles in which her land most abounded, and for
which it was most famous. The spices were principally the celebrated
Arabian balm, which was largely exported, and the shrub of which is
said to have been introduced into Palestine by the Queen of Sheba.

How high the significance which has always been attached to this
visit of the Queen of Sheba to Solomon is shown by the fact that
the remembrance of it has been preserved outside of Palestine for
thousands of years, and that two ancient peoples, the Arabians and
Abyssinians, regard her as the mother of their line of kings. And when
the Lord, from out the treasure of the Old Testament history, chooses
this narrative, and presents it for the shaming of the Pharisees and
Scribes, this presupposes that it was known to and specially esteemed
by all other nations. Sheba was reckoned to be the richest, most
highly favored and glorious land in the ancient world, and therefore
was given the unique name of “The Happy.” Now when the queen came with
a splendid retinue to visit this distant land, and from no political
design, but merely to see and hear the famous king; and when she, the
sovereign of the most fortunate country in the world, declared that
what she had seen and heard exceeded all her expectations; this surely
was the greatest homage Solomon could have obtained. The visit of the
Queen of Sheba marks, therefore, the splendor and climax of the Old
Testament Kingdom, and marks an essential moment in the history of the
covenant as well as of Solomon, and when our Lord said, “The Queen of
the South shall rise up in the judgment with this generation and shall
condemn it; for she came from the uttermost part of the earth to hear
the wisdom of Solomon, and behold a greater than Solomon is here,” He
recognized the prophetical and typical meaning of our narrative. It
is said in the prophetical descriptions of the peaceful Kingdom of
Messiah, “The Kings of Sheba and Seba (Meroe) shall offer gifts; yea,
all kings shall fall down before him; all nations shall serve him.” The
Queen of Sheba, who came from afar, is a type of the kings who, with
their people, shall come from afar to the everlasting Prince of Peace,
the King of kings, and shall do Him homage. Her visit is an historical
prophecy of the true and eternal Kingdom of peace.

The Queen of Sheba had everything that pertains to temporal prosperity,
high rank, honor and wealth. But all these satisfied not her soul.
She spared no expense or hardships, in order to satisfy the longing
of her heart for the Word of Life. She said not, “I am rich, and have
an abundance, and need nothing,” but she felt she still needed the
highest and the best. How superior is this heathen woman to so many in
Christian lands, who hunger and thirst after all possible things, but
never after a knowledge of truth and wisdom, after the Word of Life.
And then we do not need to journey on camels through burning deserts to
Jerusalem to find Him who is greater than Solomon, for He has promised,
“I am with you forever, until the end of the world,” and can be found
by “whosoever” will seek after Him.




CHAPTER VI.

Womanhood in the Time of the Prophets and During the Captivity.

  THE WICKED JEZEBEL--THE WIDOW OF SAREPTA--THE TISHBITE AT THE CITY
    GATE--HIS STRANGE REQUEST--THE WIDOW’S UNFALTERING OBEDIENCE--AN
    APPEAL TO ELISHA--A POT OF OIL--THE WIDOW’S WONDERFUL FAITH--THE
    RICH WOMAN OF SHUNEM--HER MODEST LIFE--BARLEY HARVEST--A RIDE
    TO CARMEL IN THE GLARE OF THE SUN--ESTHER--HER BEAUTIFUL TRAITS
    OF CHARACTER--CROWNED AS QUEEN--PLEADING FOR THE LIFE OF HER
    PEOPLE--FOUND FAVOR WITH THE KING.


The glory of the united kingdom of Israel, described in the last
chapter, in a few years departed as a dream of the night. It was rent
in twain, and Ahab, the wicked king, was on the throne of the northern
kingdom, with the seat of government in Samaria. He had married
Jezebel, the daughter of Ethbaal, King of Sidon, and she had introduced
into the kingdom of Israel the heathen abominations of the Sidonians.
She had even torn down God’s altars, and persecuted his prophets to the
death. And it seems that too many of the Israelites raised little or
no protests against these wicked acts of Jezebel. Indeed, one of the
reasons why the kingdom, after the death of Solomon, was wrenched from
Rehoboam, his son, was the people worshipped Ashtoreth, the goddess of
the Sidonians.

So grievous had these abominations of the Sidonians become, that
God was about to visit the nation with judgment. But, as He always
sends warnings, and gives a season to repent, so he sent Elijah, the
Tishbite, from the hill country of Gilead down to Ahab in Samaria, with
this message, “As the Lord God of Israel liveth, before whom I stand,
there shall not be dew nor rain these years, but according to my
word.” And James tells us, “it rained not upon the earth for the space
of three years and six months.”

During these years of famine, the Lord directed Elijah to a widow in
Sarepta, after the waters of the brook of Cherith had dried up. Sarepta
(or Zarephath) was a city of Phœnicia. But the distress of the famine
in Israel was felt even here, for Israel was the great grain field
for Phœnicia. And this explains why Elijah, when he came to the city
gate of Sarepta, found a poor woman, a widow, gathering a few sticks,
that she might bake the last morsel of bread and share it with her
child, after which there was nothing more to hope for. The famine was
doing its awful work among the cities of the coast. The hills back of
Sarepta were scorched, and the beautiful valleys on either side of
the city were cracked in great fissures. In her distress this widow,
in her person had wasted to a skeleton, faltering, trembling, as she
staggered out to gather a few sticks to bake her last cake for self and
child, and then to die. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes hollow, and
her nerves seem never to have known what rest meant. As she walked she
staggered; when she stood she reeled. She was leaning against her gate,
the sticks in her arms when the Tishbite saluted her with the request,
“Fetch me, I pray thee, a drink of water.”

In a moment she was going toward her water pot. “Bring me, I pray thee,
a morsel of bread in thy hand,” the prophet called after her while on
the way to get the water.

“Bread!” Distressed and sorely tried, the poor woman breaks down, and
discloses the sad condition of her home in the ever-memorable words,
“As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but a handful of meal
in a barrel and a little oil in a cruse, and behold, I am gathering two
sticks that I may go and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it
and die.”

She may or she may not have been an Israelite. She may have been one of
the seven thousand who had not bowed unto Baal, and possibly knew who
it was who addressed her. At all events she must have heard of this
“lighted fire-brand, fallen out of the clouds, and hurled by the hand
of Jehovah” at the wicked Ahab. She may even have heard that in the
midst of the drought Ahab had divided the country between himself and
Obadiah, to seek if possible, amidst its former fountains and brooks
a little “grass to save his horses and mules alive,” though it did
not matter to this hardened wretch of a king if his subjects died by
the thousands. So this demand of Elijah must have been a real trial
to her faith. Nor did her distressed condition change the demand of
the Tishbite. “Do as thou hast said,” he commanded, “but bake me a
little cake first!” What, serve this stranger from Gilead before her
starving child? Surely how could she, with her mother heart, obey such
an order? But, noble woman, staggering under the request, she placed
the gathered sticks on the fire, went to the barrel and took out the
last handful of meal, and poured the last drop of oil from the cruse,
and baked for God’s prophet the cake, and served him _first_! Was
there ever such unselfish self-surrender? But for her poverty and her
appearance, she might have passed for an angel who had strayed away
from heaven, got caught in the famine and could not find her way back.
If God had not been behind this exorbitant demand of the prophet it
had been simply heartless. But, along with the demand were the words,
“for the Lord God of Israel hath said it.” If God said it, that was
the end of all questionings, this angel in human form, reduced in her
poverty, staggered off to meet the demand. There may have been no
small stir in heaven when it became known that she had gone to bake
her last cake for the man of God, and then to die without tasting it
herself. If the jasper walls had that moment let down around her, and
all the glorified had gathered about that oven, she would have felt
perfectly at home without a change of raiment. But that “last cake”
was never baked. As the trembling widow stood by the heated oven, in
sublime obedience to God’s requirement, even as Abraham once stood by
his altar fires on Moriah, with the bound Isaac upon it, there came
the gracious “_Fear not!_” She had gone to a point in her faith where
God always breaks down. He saw it all, and out of divine compassion He
answered, “The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse
of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth.”
And the record goes on to say that she, and the prophet, and her house,
had enough through the years of the famine. There was so much meal and
oil that even the widow’s poor and starving relations came to partake
thereof. That is the way God blesses--it always overflows upon others.

How this incident at Sarepta glorifies God, whom the Scripture teaches
us to know in His unapproachable greatness and in His affable mercy
and condescension! As we sat by the little brook in Sarepta, amid
the noontide glow of an Oriental sun, and read afresh this charming
story, and then raised our eyes to look on the little chapel which
the crusaders had erected on the reputed site of the widow’s home,
the thought of such a God flooded us with His precious nearness, for,
in our human needs, we love to feel His comforting presence in our
hearts. The Jehovah, the Almighty God, the maker of worlds, the ruler
of systems beyond human vision, whose perfect will is done in heaven
by angels, who holdeth the dew of heaven, the rain in the clouds, the
waters of the oceans in His hands, who gives and withholds the needed
bread and water, He is our Father, and exercises a father’s care, so
that the individual is not forgotten of Him. He holds not only the
whole, but the single parts; He looks not only into the palace of
kings, but into the cottages of poverty. The need and misery of a poor
widow are not too insignificant for Him; He observes her sighs and
tears, and her silent, desolate cottage is for Him a place worthy of
the revelation of His glory and goodness.

Matchless widow of Sarepta! As long as the name of Elijah lives, with
its imperishable renown, so long shall thine be found side by side with
it in the unfading annals of the church of God!

But our story runs on. The wicked Ahab had died, and Jehoram, his son,
reigned in his stead. The great hero, prophet of the kingdom of the
ten tribes, had also passed over the Jordan, and somewhere among the
valleys, overshadowed by the lofty dome of Nebo, the “chariot of fire
and horses of fire” came down and translated the first and greatest
of the prophets. His mantle, however, fell upon Elisha, the son of
Shaphat. Elisha had scarcely returned from the land of Moab, whither
he had gone to relieve the armies of Jehoshaphat, king of Judah, out
of the horrors of a water famine, when there met him a certain widow
of the wives of the sons of the prophets, and cried unto him in her
distress. Of what particular prophet she was the widow the record does
not state, nor is her name given. Josephus and the rabbis will have
it that she was the widow of Obadiah, who, they think, had exhausted
his fortune in the provision for the persecuted prophets in the time
of the drought, in the reign of Ahab, when, faithful to God, amidst
the splendors of Ahab’s corrupt court, he hid such of the prophets as
escaped out of the hands of Jezebel, the wicked queen, hid them in
caves, feeding them on bread and water through the sore distress of the
three years’ famine, and so had fallen into debt, basing their claim
upon the woman’s statement that her husband “feared the Lord,” which
is also stated in respect to Obadiah. But whether she was the widow of
Obadiah or not, she was greatly in need, and, in her distress, appealed
to Elisha, who was the acknowledged head of the prophetic school.

But what a calamity had come into her widowhood! Her husband had not
only been taken from her by death, but now, after bravely struggling
to provide for her family, the creditors had come to take her two sons
to be bondsmen. If that will not touch a mother’s heart we do not know
what will. And so she hastens away to relieve her burdened heart in the
ears of the sympathizing prophet. He listened to her story, and then
asked, “What hast thou in the house?”

What a question to ask a mother whose sons were about to be sold into
slavery for debts! What could she have of value she would not gladly
dispose of to save her children?

She answered, “Thine handmaid hath not anything in the house!” Not
anything? Oh yes, there is “a pot of oil.” She was in a more deplorable
condition than the widow of Sarepta, for she, aside from the cruse of
oil, had a “handful of meal.” But this one was entirely destitute, even
of the oil so essential in the preparation of food--she had only a
little pot for anointing purposes. But even this was enough for God and
faith to work on.

“Go,” said Elisha, “borrow thee vessels abroad of all thy neighbors,
even empty vessels; borrow not a few.” Comforted in her heart, she
went home and told her anxious sons what the prophet had said. “It is
vessels you want, is it mother?” “Yes,” she answered, the prophet said,
“borrow not a few!”

So all that morning, and far into the afternoon, the widow’s sons were
calling on their neighbors for empty vessels, crocks, great waterpots,
casks, firkins, in short, anything that would hold oil. As the boys
were going empty-handed down the streets and returning loaded with
vessels, the people began to wonder what that poor widow of the prophet
should want of so many vessels, especially as it was known that she
had nothing in her house. But the boys kept at their work until every
neighbor was borrowed empty, and her house looked more like a depot for
freight, than a poor woman’s cottage. All the rooms were filled, the
open court was filled, and all the approaches were filled. The widow’s
sons, if their industry in borrowing and carrying home vessels would
save them from being sold into slavery, they certainly would escape
out of the hands of their mother’s creditor, for was there ever such a
sight of empty vessels! And not until there were no more to be borrowed
did they cease from their work.

And now the supreme moment came. The prophet had told her, after the
vessels were all in, she should shut the door upon herself and upon her
sons. Only her boys should be witnesses to the mighty deliverances
of God. The locking of the door had no other object than to keep
aloof every interruption from without. The action in question was not
an ordinary, simply external, operation, but an act which was to be
performed by the command of the man of God, and with the heart directed
towards God, that is, in faith, so that it was to be completed, not
in the noise and distraction of everyday life, but in quietness and
solitude. And we may also well believe she first asked God’s blessing
upon her undertaking, so far carried on in faith, for though her house
was full of vessels, they were all as yet empty.

The prayer ended, she took down her ointment jar--and Oh, it was such
a very little pot! Holding it in her hand, she told her oldest son to
bring one of the smallest jars, for how could the little vessel in her
hand fill even the smallest of the borrowed utensils? As she tipped the
little pot, the golden stream began to flow, and it kept on flowing
until the vessel was filled to the brim, to the utter astonishment
of herself and sons. This one filled, another was quickly brought.
And as the oil flowed, the poor woman’s faith grew, and the sweat was
now rolling down the faces of her sons as they brought up the empty
vessels, and removed the full ones. Her face fairly shone as she filled
the last vessel, and in her excitement cried out, “Bring me yet a
vessel!” “Why, mother,” both the sons speaking at once, “there is not a
vessel more!” So when the last was filled to the brim, “the oil stayed.”

As she looked over the sea of vessels all filled to the brim with
golden oil, out of the gladness of her heart she hastened to tell
Elisha what had happened at her house. She had oil in her vessels and
thanksgiving in her heart, and she must tell it out, and who was better
prepared to share her joy than the prophet who had listened to the
story of her distress.

And he said, “Go, sell the oil, and pay thy debt.” The religion that
comes from heaven looks well after its creditors. The debt was paid,
her sons were spared to her, and a surplus was left for them to live
upon.

What a beautiful lesson of faith! We suppose if any of her neighbors
had known that all these empty borrowed vessels were for the purpose
of experimenting with a little pot of anointing oil, it would have
created a sensation. Some, doubtless, would have said, the creditor,
in threatening to take her sons, has driven that poor widow out of her
mind. Why, such a thing as filling these pots, and firkins, and great
casks of ten and fifteen gallon capacity, with a little pot of oil has
never been heard of in Israel, and we can’t understand who could have
put such an absurd idea into the poor woman’s head. Indeed, there was
good reason for shutting the world out, for, if they had seen her take
down the little pot of oil and attempted to pour into the vessels, they
would have laughed her to scorn. But then, we Christian people should
know that the things which are impossible with men, are perfectly
possible with God. Yea, He loves to multiply the impossibilities of
men, that no flesh may glory in His presence.

Then also the number of vessels borrowed speak well for the faith of
this woman. Our Lord tells us, over and over, according to our faith
shall it be done unto us. If her faith had been small, and she had been
content with a few vessels, the oil would have ceased to flow when the
last vessel was filled. If our heavenly Father is ever pleased with the
action of His earthly children, it must be over the audacious faith of
a poor woman who, in her poverty and distress, borrows of her neighbors
empty vessels for Him to fill out of His gracious benevolence.

But not all women, in the time of the prophets, were widows and poor,
but even the rich needed the consolations God only can give in times
of trouble. And so our story runs on from the widow of Sarepta and the
widow who, in her extremity, appealed to Elisha, to the rich woman of
Shunem.

Over against Jezreel, under the base of _Jebel Duhy_ (the so-called
“Little Hermon”) amid luxuriant gardens of lemon, orange and fig trees,
which cast their refreshing shades over the hot and sultry bridle-path,
is the village of _Sulem_, in which we recognize the ancient Shunem,
rendered so dear to every lover of the Bible by the beautiful, sweet
story of the rich Shunammite woman who prepared a prophet’s chamber in
her house, where Elisha often found a shelter from the oppressive heat
of the noontide sun as he passed that way.

The little city, in the division of the land, under Joshua, was
allotted to the tribe of Issachar, and is three miles north of Jezreel,
five miles from Mount Gilboa, about four miles from Nain, where our
Lord raised the widow’s son, and is in full view of the sacred spot
on Mount Carmel. In the southern section of the village, at the base
of the hill Moreh, flows out a transparent stream of sparkling water,
which renders the fields green and beautiful, said to be the finest in
the world.

Amid these enchanting and picturesque scenes lived the Shunammite. The
Bible gives her no name. She needs none. She is simply “a great woman.”
Standing in her doorway, in three directions, she could look out over
the fields of grain, and see the slow movements of the heavily loaded
camels drudge up from the seaport of Acre, or down through the great
plain of Esdraelon from the mountains of Naphtali or the hill country
of Gilead, beyond the Jordan. If Elisha came from Carmel, he would
approach Shunem by the Acre road. Accompanied by Gehazi, one of the
sons of the prophets, she could see them trudging along the dusty camel
path at a great distance, and she said to her husband, “Behold now, I
perceive that this is an holy man of God.” So much for the personal
appearance of Elisha. He carried a good face, which commended itself
even to this discerning woman. Prompted by the manly bearing of the
prophet, he had scarcely reached the gate when she stood before him,
and pointing to her home, “she constrained him to eat bread.”

It appears that Elisha passed frequently through Shunem. No doubt
Carmel, which lay in the middle of the northern part of the kingdom,
was the place where the faithful worshippers of Jehovah, who lived in
the north, came together from time to time, and were strengthened in
their faith, and instructed by the prophet. This would call Elisha to
pass up from Carmel to Shunem and the north. “And so it was, that
as oft as he passed by, he turned in thither to eat bread.” Happy
household! Most gracious hospitality! That sweet home, amid the olive
groves of Shunem, ever afterwards became the resting place of the good
Elisha.

The pious, but keen-sighted woman, who at the first recognized in
Elisha “an holy man of God,” was not deceived or disappointed when she
became more fully acquainted with him in his frequent stops. Indeed,
she must have been very favorably impressed with his bearing, for she
proposed to enlarge her hospitality. She said to her husband, “Let us
make a little chamber, I pray thee, on the wall,” that is, upon the
flat roof of the house, with walls which would be a protection against
storms, “and let us set for him there a bed, and a table, and a stool
and a candlestick.” Beautiful and thoughtful provision. In such a room
Elisha would be protected from every interruption, such as it was
hardly possible to avoid entirely in the house, and there he might pass
his time in quietness.

Elisha wished to make some return to his hostess, who had received and
entertained him so liberally and so often, but he did not know what
would be acceptable to her a woman of wealth. In order to learn this,
he does not address himself directly to her, but directs his servant
to ask the necessary questions, that she may express herself with
less embarrassment and less reserve. He asks, “What is to be done for
thee? Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of
the host?” This question presupposes that Elisha at that time stood
in favor and respect at court. The king, in this instance may have
referred to Jehu, whom Elisha caused to be anointed. The commander of
the army is named in connection with the king as the most powerful and
most influential man at court.

This excellent woman sent a most beautiful reply to the prophet. “And
she answered, I dwell among my own people.” She asks no recompense
for the good she had done. She wishes to have nothing to do with the
court of the king, and the great ones of the world. She had no favors
to ask, and desired no political honors. Hers was a contented life.
Perhaps, in this reply, she wished to show, at the same time, that she
had not entertained the prophet for the sake of any return, but for
his own sake, and for the sake of God. She had received him in the
name of a prophet, and not for the sake of a reward, or any temporal
gain. She loved God, and therefore loved His servant, and she showed
him kindness, because this was the law God had written upon her heart.
Although she lacked that which was essential to the honor and happiness
of an Israelitish wife, namely, a son, yet she was contented, and no
word of complaint passed her lips--a sign of great humility and modesty.

But the noble-hearted Elisha could not endure the thought of receiving
all these favors without making some return, and he felt all the
more bound to do something for her. To be barren, in those days, was
regarded as a disgrace, so the prophet summoned her into his presence.
But out of modesty and respect she only came to the door. Elisha
announced to her that her home is to be blessed in the birth of a
son. There were the disabilities of nature, and the woman regarded
the announcement as improbable of realization, and, in true Oriental
language, replied, “Nay, my lord, thou man of God, do not lie unto
thine handmaid,” that is, do not deceive me, by exciting vain hopes in
me. The Lord, however, according to His grace and truth, remembers even
the desires which we cherish in silence, as no doubt this woman had
done, but did not express, and He often gives to those who yield to His
holy will without murmurs or complaints just that which they no longer
dared to hope for. It makes a great difference whether we doubt of the
divine promises from unbelief, or from humility or want of confidence
in ourselves, because we consider the promises too great and glorious,
and ourselves unworthy of them.

But God remembered this noble woman of Shunem, who had shown such
kindness to His servant, and, according to the promise, a son was
born into the great woman’s home. A ray of sunshine had indeed broken
through the parted clouds and entered that home--sunshine such as had
never been there before, and such as outshone all her estates.

Below the village, stretching away towards the south and east, were the
wheatfields, and the child, as children sometimes will, slipped out
from under the mothers watchful care, into the field where the reapers
were at work. Absorbed in the work of the reapers, neither the father
nor the son realized the intense heat pouring down out of a clear sky
upon the field at the hottest season of the year. Presently, this child
of promise, which had gladdened the hearts of his parents and brought
such joy and sunshine to their home, came up to his father and said,
“My head, my head.”

It was scarcely barley harvest when we crossed this plain with the
glare of the sun out of a clear sky shining in our face, and with blood
heated and thirsty withal, and the danger of a sun-stroke, we thought
of the words of the child, and ever since they have had a new meaning.
At once the father directed a lad to carry the child “to his mother,”
and when the lad had brought him “he sat on her knees till noon, and
then died.” All the mother’s hope turned to ashes, and her joy into
grief, made all the more bitter because it was her only child. As she
sat in her house with the dead child folded to her bosom, her soul
cried out: “What is life?” Though passing fair, it is but as

  A flower just opened in the sun,
  And wilted, withered, ere the day is done;

  A vapor swiftly floating in the sky,
  That vanished as it caught our eye;
  A fragrant perfume borne upon the gale,
  That’s gone before we could its sweets inhale.

  A bright pinioned warbler but just flitting by
  Is lost, while we gaze in the depths of the sky;
  A bud just bursting when the cruel frost
  Steals all its beauty and its fragrance is lost.

  Strains of sweet music floating on the air,
  Soon turned to moans and wailings of despair;
  A glowing smile while flashing o’er the face,
  Suddenly to glistening tears give place.

The grief-smitten mother carried the body of her precious child into
the upper chamber and tenderly laid it on the “bed of the man of God,
and shut the door upon it.” Doubtless, for the present, she intended to
keep the death of the child from the husband and father. Evidently she
cherished the secret hope that the prophet, who had promised her a son
in the name of Jehovah, and had not deceived her, could help to restore
him. At all events she acted promptly. She called her husband to send a
young man out of the field to make ready with all haste to go to Mount
Carmel, and when ready she said to the servant, “Drive, and go forward;
slack not thy riding for me, except I bid thee.”

Elisha, from his outlook on mount Carmel, saw a cloud of dust in the
plain of Esdraelon, and he called the attention of Gehazi to the flying
figures at the head of it. On swept the riders over the plain. Elisha
once more put his hand up to shade his eyes from the glare of the sun,
and said, “Behold, it is the Shunammite; run now,” and ask, “Is it well
with thee? is it well with thy husband? is it well with the child?” By
sending his servant to meet her, Elisha showed how highly he esteemed
this woman. However, to the salutation of Gehazi, she returned only
the short, indefinite answer, “It is well,” in order, doubtless, not
to be detained by further explanations. She would at once hasten to
the prophet himself. When she came near him, overcome by grief, which
she had repressed until then, she threw herself at his feet, in the
manner of Orientals, and sobbed out her great sorrow, at the same time
imploring his assistance. Gehazi could not understand it. He thought
her conduct in clasping his master’s feet an offence against his
dignity, and “came near to thrust her away.” But Elisha said, “Let her
alone.” Give the poor grief-stricken woman a chance to compose herself
and to tell her trouble.

Presently, the stricken mother called the prophet’s attention to
his own promise, meaning to say thereby, I did not complain of
my childlessness, and did not demand a son; now, however, I am
grief-smitten, for it is better never to have a child than to have one
and lose it.

The grief and the lamentation of the woman moved the compassionate
heart of the prophet so much that he desired to bring her relief as
soon as possible. He therefore said to Gehazi, “Gird up thy loins,
and take my staff in thine hand and go thy way; if thou meet any man,
salute him not.” This shows that he was to go as quickly as possible.
He was even to refrain from saluting any one. It is well known that
salutations are far more ceremonious in the Orient than with us, and
inferiors always remain standing until persons of higher rank pass by,
and thus annoying delay was often occasioned. This command to hasten
would draw off the attention of the mother from her excessive grief,
and, possibly, Elisha may have hoped that life had not yet entirely
left the child, and that utter decease might yet be prevented by swift
interference. But the importunity of the woman, that Elisha himself
should come, proceeded from the conviction that the child was already
completely dead, and that now not Gehazi, but only the prophet himself,
who had promised her the son, could help. To this deep confidence he
promptly responded.

Gehazi carried out his commission by hastening on to Shunem, and
placing the prophet’s staff upon the face of the child, and, by means
of the divine power, of which the staff was the symbol, he was to
execute a prophetical act in awakening the child out of the death-sleep.

Before Elisha, with the sorrowing mother, arrived at Shunem, Gehazi had
discharged his commission, although in vain, and was on his way back
again, when he met the prophet, and said, “The child is not awaked.”
Though he had the external symbol of the prophet’s power, yet it lacked
the spirit of Jehovah, which was the special gift of God, and which
even Elisha might not delegate, according to his own will and pleasure,
to his servant.

The want of success of Gehazi’s commission spurred on the prophet all
the more to do what he could in order to restore the child to life.
Having reached the house of sorrow, and the little chamber where the
loving hands of the mother had laid the body of her child, Elisha shut
the door, and “prayed unto the Lord.” In that awful hour of a mother’s
heart-crushing suspense, God heard His servant’s cry, and gave back the
precious child to life again.

The closing scene is very beautiful indeed. The mother having been
called, when she reached the chamber, Elisha said, “Take up thy son!”
We are not told whether the mother heart first leaped to embrace the
child, or, out of modest gratitude, she first fell at the prophet’s
feet in a flood of grateful thanksgiving. The bread of kindness she
had been casting upon the waters, in honoring God’s servant, now all
returned to her. She certainly was reaping with tears of joy, and, had
she lived in this gospel age, she could have heard the Lord of life
saying, “Inasmuch as ye did it to one of these My servants, ye did it
unto Me.” Marvels of marvels, that prophets’ homes do not dot our land
in this day of gospel light.

  As Elisha broke asunder
    Death’s cold hands and said, “Arise,”
  Give the child back to his mother--
    So Thy power doth still suffice.

Immortal woman of Shunem! Home-builder for the prophets of the Lord;
the saints in glory salute thee to-day, and the saints on earth are
thrilled with thy worthy example. There is scarcely a story in the Old
Testament which is more beautiful than the one related of this “great
woman” in White Raiment, who built a prophet’s chamber in her own house
at Shunem, where the servant of the Lord might turn in out of the glare
of the noontide sun and find rest.

From the incidents connected with the beautiful life of the rich woman
of Shunem, to the time of Queen Esther, there is a period of about four
hundred years, and they are years of turbulance on the part of the
people and admonitions on the part of God, until finally He suffered
them to be led away into captivity.

The scene of our next woman in White Raiment is in the reign of
Ahasuerus, son of Xerxes, who lived B. C. 462. After several severe
conflicts he was settled in peaceable possession of the Persian Empire,
and, in honor of his victory, appointed a feast in the city of Shushan,
which continued for one hundred and eighty days, after which he gave a
great feast to all the princes and people who were in Shushan for seven
days.

[Illustration: HADASSAH IN THE PERSIAN COURT.]

Queen Vashti, at the same time, made a like feast, in her apartment for
the women.

On the seventh day of the feast, Ahasuerus commanded the seven
chamberlains to bring Queen Vashti before him, with the crown royal on
her head, that he might show to the princes and people her beauty.

This she refused, for the act would be contrary to the usage of Persia,
very indecent and unbecoming a lady, as well as the dignity of her
station. Whereupon the king was incensed, and fearing the influence
among the people of the realm in encouraging women to disobey their
husbands, called a council of seven, to determine what should be done.
The council advised putting away the queen, and she was removed from
her high position as queen, and a collection of virgins was ordered
throughout the realm for the selection of a successor.

There lived at this time in Shushan a Jew named Mordecai, a descendant
of Babylonish captives and who was a porter at the royal palace.
Mordecai, not having children, brought up Hadassah, his uncle’s
daughter. Her life opened like a cactus flower on the thorny stem of
the captivity, but nevertheless is an exquisite jewel with a royally
superb setting, and gleams and sparkles in Hebrew history.

Her mother named her Hadassah, for the myrtle tree, which was not only
beautiful, with its glossy, dark-green leaves and luxuriant clusters of
white bloom, but was useful for perfumery and spice. It was the emblem
of justice, and bearing it may have added strength to her character.
Her Persian name was Esther, for the planet Venus. Orientals held the
myrtle sacred to the goddess of Love.

Esther, being fair and beautiful, was made choice of among other
maidens in this collection of virgins which had been ordered, and was
carried to the king’s palace and there committed to the care of Hegai,
and was assigned to the best apartments.

This captive young woman was discreet. Those who have great beauty do
not always have discretion. Depending upon the power of their personal
charms, they neglect to cultivate the mind and soul. Physical beauty,
like fruit, begins to decline as soon as it reaches its best. Mental
and spiritual beauty grow with the years as long as the hygienic laws
of grace are obeyed. But she was not only discreet, but also amiable.
Amiability costs only self-control and unselfish love, and it is the
best possible investment. Genuine amiability is God’s gift to those who
trust Him to cleanse them from all that is contrary to love.

Then also this Hebrew maiden must have known severe discipline. She
showed its effect in the gentle deportment that won the favor of the
officers that guarded the king’s harem. She submitted her taste in
dress and ornament to the one who had the responsibility of preparing
her for the royal presence, and in the docility with which she heeded
the advice of Mordecai.

These graces of mind and heart commended her to the king’s favor and
she was advanced to higher honor, and subsequently, when Queen Vashti
was deposed, Esther was crowned in her stead. Thus she was raised at
once to the highest place that the world could give a woman at that
day--as the queen and favorite of the mightiest monarch of his time.

This event was celebrated by a great feast which the king made to all
his princes, called Esther’s feast, and which was attended with high
honor, and by the presentation of gifts, “according to the state of the
king.”

About this time Haman, the chief minister or vizier of King Ahasuerus,
was promoted, so that his seat was “above all the princes.” The Targum
and Josephus interpret the description of Haman, the Agagite, as
signifying that he was of Amalekitish descent, the sworn enemies of
the Israelites in their march through the desert, and the sparing of
whom cost Saul, the first king of Israel, his crown. This Haman was the
king’s favorite, and all the under officers and servants were required
to pay reverence unto him.

But there was one man who would not bow. This was Mordecai, the
porter at the royal palace. He would not salute Haman, the idolatrous
descendent of the old enemies of his people. This greatly displeased
Haman, but he scorned to lay hands on Mordecai, and knowing him to
be a Jew, resolved to destroy him and his people. He took council and
determined by lot on the day for the accomplishment of his purpose.

To do this successfully he must deceive the king and entrap him to
do a wicked act. So he said to Ahasuerus, “There is a certain people
scattered abroad and dispersed among the people in all the provinces
of thy kingdom; and their laws are diverse from all people; neither
keep they the king’s laws; therefore it is not for the king’s profit
to suffer them. If it please the king, let it be written that they
be destroyed; and I will pay ten thousand talents of silver to the
hands of those that have the charge of the business, to bring it into
the king’s treasuries.” And so this hateful Amalekite, by offering
to pay into the king’s treasury more than $10,000,000, obtained the
royal decree to put all the Israelites in the hundred and twenty-seven
provinces of Ahasuerus, extending from India to Ethiopia, to death.

When Mordecai heard of the decree, he and the Hebrews made great
lamentation, and he made Queen Esther acquainted with the plot to
destroy her people, and entreated her to go in unto the king and make
supplication for their rescue. At first she excused herself, but being
led to understand that she, too, was included in the decree, she put
her life on the hazard for the safety of her countrymen. It was no
light matter for the beautiful young queen to risk her life to save
her people. Surrounded as she was by the luxury and elegance of that
magnificent Persian court, keenly alive to the charm of all lovely
things, it meant much for her to go down to the grave in the brilliant
morning of her youth.

But when Mordecai turned to her for help, he reminded her that she
had come to the kingdom for such a time as that. His faith asserted
that God would deliver His people; and, if she failed to do her part,
she and her father’s house would perish. She said she would make the
attempt. “If I perish, I perish,” was her wail of submission.

However, in her great undertaking, she displayed a humble dependence
upon the God of Israel; she also showed great prudence and wisdom. She
asked her people to fast and pray three days; and all her maidens--who
were selected, no doubt, on account of their sympathy with her
faith--would also fast and pray. When the books are opened it may
appear that the Hebrews were led, through the deliverance that she
wrought for them, to the penitence that made it possible for God to
take them back to the fatherland.

[Illustration: ESTHER PLEADING FOR HER PEOPLE.]

At the end of the fast she put on her royal apparel and went unto the
king while he was seated upon his throne. The first gleam of hope
lighted up her distressed heart when Ahasuerus held out his golden
sceptre.

It has been said that men’s hearts are reached through their stomachs.
Whether this was true of Ahasuerus, or whether Esther knew of this
avenue or not, she certainly showed great tact when she desired to
make a banquet for the king and his favorite prince, Haman, which the
beautiful queen would prepare, where he could then hear her request.

It would have been a most natural thing to do, after Esther had risked
her life by going uncalled into the presence of the king, and when
she found him graciously disposed to partake of her feast, to throw
herself at once upon his mercy, and beg for her life and the lives of
her people. But no. She must have great power over him to get him to
undertake the difficult task of setting aside one of his own decrees.
Probably her faith in God was not yet strong enough for her to make a
sure move. She saw that she was not yet sure of her ground, nor firm
in her faith; so, when he made the great offer even of dividing his
kingdom with her, she simply asked that he and Haman should honor her
with their presence at another banquet.

Doubtless, as she sat at the second banquet with the perfect
self-control that they have who rely only on God, having used every
device to fortify her position in the good graces of the capricious
despot, her keen Hebrew insight weighed every light expression from his
lips, although she knew a sword of doom hung over her jewel-crowned
head, and yet she was calm and self-contained, as if she had no thought
but to please him. Thus she led the king on until her power over him
was at its height, and when he again offered her half the kingdom, she
asked only for her life and the lives of her people.

It must be that, although Haman was present at this banquet, he did
not hear the request of Queen Esther, for he went forth from the feast
“that day joyful and with a glad heart.” But when he saw Mordecai, in
the king’s gate, and that he still refused to bow to him, “he was full
of indignation.”

So when he reached his own residence, he called his friends, and took
counsel with them, and they advised him to cause a gallows to be built,
eighty feet high, and to ask the next morning to have the king order
Mordecai to be hanged thereon.

But matters had taken a different turn at the palace. The king could
not sleep that night. To pass the long, wakeful hours, he called for
the reading of the records of the kingdom. As they were reading before
the king, it was found written in the chronicles of the conspiracy of
Bigthan and Terish, and that Mordecai had discovered the plot, and that
nothing had been done for him as a reward.

In the meantime the morning drew on, and Haman had entered the court of
the palace to confer with the king about the hanging of Mordecai. We
can well believe the mind of Ahasuerus was in a bad frame to talk about
hanging the man who had saved his life by discovering the plot of the
king’s chamberlains. But the king did not know what dark deeds were in
the heart of Haman as he ordered him to be called. When Haman came into
the presence of Ahasuerus, the king asked what should be done with the
man whom he wanted to honor.

The king’s favorite, who had just shared two private banquets with
the king, was so inflated with himself that he did not think there
was another man in the Persian empire in whom Ahasuerus would be so
delighted to honor as himself, so he advised that the royal apparel be
brought forth and the king’s horse and his crown, and given to one of
the noble princes to array the man whom the king delighted to honor,
and take him through the city on horseback with a proclamation, “This
is the man whom the king delighteth to honor.”

The command was given to Haman to thus honor Mordecai, which he did,
with not very good grace, for, when he had finished his task, he
“hasted to his house mourning, and having his head covered,” and
related his mortification to his wife and friends.

After all, for the moment at least, it must have seemed to Haman and
his friends as a strange act on the part of the king, for while they
were yet talking over the humiliation, the king’s chamberlains came,
requesting Haman to hasten and come to the banquet Esther had prepared.
It must have seemed to Haman that Esther had really gone into the
banqueting business, so frequently had he been honored of late.

When the king and Haman sat down to the banquet the king again asked
Esther what was her petition. Whereupon she humbly prayed the king
that her life might be given her and her people, for a design was laid
for the destruction of her and her kindred. At which the king asked
with much anger who it was that durst do this thing. She told him that
Haman, then present, was the author of the wicked plot, and she laid
the whole scheme open to the king. Who can tell how much her own chance
of salvation depended on her courage, self-control and tact? A look,
even the droop of an eye-lid, might have betrayed her into the hands
of the most cringing and unscrupulous of royal favorites, and sent her
and her whole race to their death. But God held her steady in nerve and
growing in faith, as He does all who put their whole trust in Him.

The king rose up with much wrath from the banquet and walked out into
the garden.

Haman saw his opportunity. Quickly he stood up to plead for his life.
Perceiving that there was evil determined against him by the king, he
prostrated himself before the queen upon the couch on which she was
sitting to supplicate for his life; in which position the king found
him on his return.

The motive for Haman’s unhappy attitude before the queen was
misunderstood by the king, and he spoke in great passion, “What, will
he force the queen before me in the house!”

At which words the servants present immediately covered Haman’s face,
as was the usage to condemned persons, and the chamberlain, who had
called Haman to the banquet, acquainted the king with the gallows he
saw in his house there prepared for Mordecai, who had saved the king’s
life.

The king ordered Haman should be forthwith hanged thereon, which was
accordingly done. A feast was then consecrated in commemoration of the
deliverance of the Jews, called the feast of Purim.

This story of Esther, which has in it the real romance of life, has
also a consummate blending of works and faith. Preparing a banquet of
every luxury that could please a dangerous tyrant, and at the same time
fasting and praying in heart-humbling agony for Divine deliverance.




CHAPTER VII.

Womanhood in the Time of the Saviour’s Nativity.

  AN ANGEL BY THE ALTAR OF INCENSE--HIS MESSAGE--AN ISRAELITISH
    HOME--IN THE SPIRIT OF ELIJAH--THE DESERT TEACHER--THE
    ANNUNCIATION--THE VISIT OF MARY TO ELIZABETH--MARY’S
    MAGNIFICAT--JOURNEY TO BETHLEHEM--THE NATIVITY--HOME LIFE IN
    NAZARETH--AFTER SCENES IN MARY’S LIFE--HER RESIDENCE AND DEATH
    AT EPHESUS--THE PROPHETESS ANNA--HER WAITING FOR REDEMPTION IN
    JERUSALEM--THE LESSON OF HER PURE AND BEAUTIFUL LIFE.


Isaiah, looking adown the ages to the coming of Christ’s Kingdom,
likened it to waters breaking out in the wilderness and streams in
the desert. For centuries there was no voice of prophet in Israel
or revelation from God to His chosen people, when suddenly the long
silence was broken. It was in the days of Herod the Great, when sin and
misery had reached their climax, and when the yearning for Messiah’s
appearance was more intensely felt than ever. The Temple, so often
the scene of the manifestation of the glory of God, became again the
centre, whence the first rays of light secretly break through the
darkness.

One of the priests, named Zacharias, while performing his duty in
the service of the sanctuary, burning incense before the Lord, had a
vision, in which he was assured that his prayer was heard, and great
distinction conferred upon him in a twofold answer: First, the Messiah
shall indeed appear in his days; and, secondly, that he shall himself
be the father of the forerunner, who is to prepare His way--an honor
he could not have ventured to anticipate. What human tongue could have
foretold it to him, or how could he have ventured to hearken to the
voice of his own heart, without direct revelation? Zacharias sought
first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all other things
were added to him.

In the service of the sanctuary the burning of incense before the
Lord was considered exceedingly important and honorable. The people
were accustomed to unite in the outer court in silent supplication,
while the priest in the sanctuary offered the incense, which was ever
regarded as the symbol of acceptable prayer.

Remaining longer in the sanctuary than was strictly necessary, the
people, who were waiting in the outer court of the Temple, feared
that some misfortune, or sign of the divine displeasure, had befallen
him, for they “marveled that he tarried so long.” And when he finally
appeared “he could not speak.” While standing before the altar,
awaiting the signal to sift the precious incense, a heavenly messenger
appeared unto him. When Zacharias saw the angel he was troubled, and
fear fell upon him. The heavenly messenger quickly answered, “Fear not,
Zacharias, for thy prayer is heard; and thy wife Elizabeth shall bear
thee a son, and thou shalt call his name John.”

Both Zacharias and Elizabeth were of the priestly race, and he himself
was a priest of the course of Abia, and she was of the daughters of
Aaron. Both, too, were devout persons, walking in the commandments of
God, and waiting for the fulfillment of His promise to Israel. But in
the midst of the glorious revelations the angel had made, strange to
say, Zacharias had asked for some sign or confirmation of the glad
tidings. The angel answered, “I am Gabriel” (the Might of God) “and,
behold, thou shalt be dumb.” As faith is to be the chief condition
of the new covenant, it was needful that the first manifestation of
unbelief should be emphatically punished, but the wound inflicted
becomes a healing medicine to the soul. The aged priest was constrained
to much silent reflection, and, according to the counsel of God, the
secret was still kept for a time.

There is here a remarkable coincidence between Zacharias and Abraham on
the one side, and Elizabeth and Sarah on the other; not only in the
fact of their lack of an heir during so many years, but also in the
frame of mind in which they at length received the heavenly message.
In these parallel histories, the man of the olden times is strong in
the faith, the woman weak; while under the new covenant it is the man
whose faith falters. On the very threshold of the new dispensation
woman, in the person of Elizabeth, takes her place in the foreground
by the heroism of a living faith. It is also quite in keeping with
Divine wisdom that in this case unbelief in view of the rising sun of
the gospel salvation is much more severely punished than under the old
dispensation.

[Illustration: THE ANGEL’S MESSAGE.]

The sight of Zacharias struck dumb awakened among the people an
expectation of some great and heavenly event; soon will “the things”
done in the priest’s house be “noised abroad throughout all the hill
country of Judea,” and the voice of “him that crieth” shall soon
resound over hill and valley.

The sacred duties performed, retirement was next in order. As a priest,
in the “course of Abia,” the twenty-four courses in the services of the
temple relieved each other weekly, each course ministering during a
whole week. So Zacharias and Elizabeth leave Jerusalem for their home
among the picturesque hills of Judea, south-west of Bethlehem. How
beautiful are the pictures of these Israelitish homes into which the
Bible bids us so often to look. The familiar vine and fig-tree; the
flower-planted courts; the waterpots filled for quenching thirst; the
basin and towel and servant to bathe the heated, often dust-covered,
feet; the domestic scene morning and evening in the grinding of the
food in the familiar hand-mill, the work always performed by the women;
the delightful views from the housetops in the cool of the evening;
the maidens busy in filling the waterpots; the halting of visitors
in the outer court, waiting for some damsel to open the door; the
thousand little touches of real life which are always so charming to
the observer. In addition to these outward signs, the good manners and
propriety, the atmosphere of true courtesy; the youth rising up before
the hoary head; the child learning at his mother’s knee, or inquiring
of father or elder; a joyousness, such as a mind at peace with God only
can exert, are all manifest in these Bible pictures which ages can not
dim. Yet most striking are the proofs that in every household children
were desired, and gladly welcomed.

Notwithstanding a barren wife in an Israelitish home was often a cause
for divorce, Zacharias was pre-eminently a man of hope. As a pious
husband and lover, he had faithfully and tenderly clung to his beloved
Elizabeth through the long years of youth and middle age, and even
after hope had died out of their longing hearts. Both had learned “the
patience of unanswered prayer”--a lesson not easily mastered by the
bravest of us. But now the hope was to be realized, the “reproach among
men” was to be taken away. In that home among the hills of Judea was to
be a child in the arms of its mother. The name of the child, and he a
son, was to be John (Jehovah shows grace). Many homes would rejoice in
his birth, and he would be God’s man, eating nothing to inflame carnal
passions, and filled with the Holy Spirit, he would become prophet
and reformer. The grossly literal hope of the people for Elijah’s
appearance in the flesh would be spiritually fulfilled, for Elizabeth’s
son was to have the spirit and the power of the Tishbite; and thus
gifted of the Almighty, was to be the forerunner of the Christ. All
that was spoken of the Messiah’s messenger by Isaiah, as “the voice of
one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make His
paths straight,” and by Malachi, “Behold, I will send my messenger, and
he shall prepare the way before me,” were fulfilled in this son of many
prayers.

In due time he was born, and on the eighth day, in conformity with the
law of Moses, was brought to the priest for circumcision, and, as the
performance of this rite was the accustomed time for naming a child,
the friends of the family proposed to call him Zacharias after the
name of his father. The mother, however, required that he should be
called John--a decision which Zacharias, still speechless, confirmed
by writing on a tablet, “his name is John.” The judgment on his want
of faith was then withdrawn, and the first use which he made of his
recovered speech, was to praise Jehovah for his faithfulness and mercy,
a proof that the cure had taken place in his soul also.

A single verse contains all that we know of Elizabeth’s child of
promise for the space of thirty years--the whole period which elapsed
between his birth and the commencement of his public ministry. The
record is, “The child grew and waxed strong in the spirit, and was in
the desert till the day of his showing unto Israel.” But we must not
forget that through his childhood and youth he was under the care of a
wise, loving mother. Elizabeth’s unfaltering faith and prudent counsel,
we must believe, exerted a lasting influence over this child of the
desert.

The child thus supernaturally born, was surely a sign that God was
again visiting His people. His providence, so long hidden, seemed once
more about to manifest itself in the person of Elizabeth’s son, who,
doubtless must be commissioned to perform some important part in the
history of the chosen people. Could it be the Messiah? Could it be
Elijah? Was the era of their old prophets about to be restored? With
such grave thoughts were the minds of the people occupied, as they
mused on the events which had been passing under their eyes, and said
one to another, “What manner of child shall this be?”

So when John passed out from under the wise training of Elizabeth, his
reputation for extraordinary sanctity, and the generally prevailing
expectation that some great one was about to appear, were sufficient
to attract to him a great multitude from “every quarter.” Brief and
startling was his first exhortation to them, “Repent ye, for the
kingdom of heaven is at hand.” His preaching of repentance, however,
meant more than a mere legal ablution or expiation, it meant a change
of heart and life. While such was his solemn admonition to the
multitude at large, he adopted towards the leading sects of the Jews a
severer tone, denouncing Pharisees and Sadducees alike as “a generation
of vipers,” and warning them of the folly of trusting to external
privileges as descendants of Abraham. He plainly told them, “the axe
was laid to the root of the tree,” that formal righteousness would be
no longer tolerated. Such alarming declarations produced their effect,
and many of every class pressed forward to confess their sins and to
accept John’s ministry.

This son of Elizabeth is one of the most striking characters in the
Bible. Destined from before his birth to be a prophet, his life was
worthy of his high office. Pure, unsullied, earnest, fearless, humble,
he much resembled his great predecessor, Elijah. Like him, he was an
ascetic, and like him, he had his time of fearless outspeaking and
of reproval of kings, and hypocrites; and like him, also, a time of
depression, as when he sent to Christ to ask, “Art thou He that should
come, or shall we look for another?”

A noble example of the fearless manner in which he proclaimed the truth
is illustrated in the denunciation of the unlawful marriage of Herod
Antipas, the Tetrarch. He had married a daughter of Aretas, King of
Petra, but seeing Herodias, the wife of his half brother, Philip, he
became infatuated with her, divorced his own wife and married Herodias,
who abandoned Philip to marry him. Herodias was a grand-daughter of
Herod the Great. This unprincipled woman wrought the ruin of Herod
Antipas. Aretas, angry at the treatment of his daughter, made war upon
Herod. John reproved Herod for all this, and he evidently had not
minced words. Neither had he spoken in such low whispers that he might
seem to others to disapprove the crime, but still escape the notice of
the king. He thundered out his denunciations in a way to make even the
royal couple alarmed, and caused them to shut John up in prison, lest
his growing popularity should undermine the security of Herod’s throne.
And then Herodias secured the execution of John, which angered the
Jews, for they counted John as a prophet and held the subsequent defeat
of Herod by Aretas as a judgment upon him for this wicked deed.

Such, in brief was the son of the most highly and signally honored
Woman in White Raiment in sacred history, Mary, the mother of Jesus,
only excepted. The strong faith of the pious Elizabeth, as developed
in her noble son, has been a blessing to the whole race of man. The
clear shining faith to grasp the promises of God are most beautifully
exemplified in the pure, self-sacrificing, and devoted life of
Elizabeth.

Closely related to the events in the life of Elizabeth, as just
narrated, is the birth of our blessed Lord.

There is no person in sacred or in profane literature around whom so
many legends have been grouped as around the Virgin Mary, and there
are few whose authentic history is more concise. Doubtless the very
simplicity of the sacred narrative has been one cause of the abundance
of the legendary matter of which she forms the central figure.
According to the genealogy given by Luke, which is that of Mary, her
father’s name was Heli. She was, like Joseph, her husband, of the tribe
of Judah, and of the house and lineage of David. We are informed that
at the time of the angel’s visitation she was betrothed to Joseph and
was therefore regarded by the Jewish law and custom as his wife, though
he had not yet a husband’s rights over her.

The angel Gabriel, who had appeared to Zacharias in the Temple,
appeared to her and announced that she was to be the mother of the
long-expected Messiah; that in Him the prophecies relative to David’s
throne and kingdom should be accomplished; and that his name was to be
called Jesus. He further informed her, perhaps as a sign by which she
might convince herself that his prediction with regard to herself would
come true, that her relative Elizabeth was about to be blessed in the
birth of a child.

It appears that Mary at once set off to visit Elizabeth in her home
in the hill country of Judea. When she had reached her destination,
and immediately on her entrance into the house, she was saluted by
Elizabeth as the mother of our Lord, and had evidence of the truth
of the angel’s saying with regard to her cousin Elizabeth, Mary then
embodied her feelings of exultation and thankfulness in the hymn known
under the name of the _Magnificat_. The hymn is founded on Hannah’s
song of thankfulness (1 Sam. ii, 1-10), and exhibits an intimate
knowledge of the Psalms, prophetical writings and books of Moses, from
which sources almost every expression in it is drawn.

In approaching this exquisite bit of Hebrew poetry uttered by Mary we
may profitably consider, first, its beauty of expression; and second,
its nobility and grandeur of sentiment. The hymn consists of four
stanzas of four lines each, and its literary character is best brought
out by a translation which so arranges it. The first stanza reads:

  My soul doth magnify the Lord,
  And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour,
  Because He hath looked upon the humility of His bondmaiden;
  For behold, from henceforth all generations shall pronounce me
    blessed.

In this stanza three points of parallelism appear in the first two
lines. In the first occurs the word “soul,” and in the second the
word “spirit,” which we understand to be but different designations
of the same elements of our natures. Whatever difference in the use
of these terms in other places it is evident that here according to
the ordinary requirements of Hebrew poetry, the two words are chosen
because of their similarity in meaning. The other synonymous terms are
the words “magnify” and “rejoice;” “the Lord” and “God my Saviour.”
Thus is introduced the so-called Magnificat. The characteristic of
Hebrew poetry is not that it is arranged in rhyme and measured feet,
but in the grander rhythm belonging to parallelisms of thought. Such
a rhythm has far more freedom and force than that which consists of
mere similarity of measure and sound. Hence it is that the poetry of
the Bible is so readily translated into other languages, and loses so
little of its force in the process; whereas poetry which depends upon
the peculiarities of any given language is incapable of translation.
The essential thing in Hebrew poetry is sublimity of thought and
diction, accompanied by a substantial repetition of the sentiment in
terms that are nearly synonymous. The thoughts are thus held before the
mind till it can fully see their grandeur and beauty, and receive those
shades of impression which come from repeated efforts at statement.

In the second couplet of the above stanza Mary gives the reason for
her rejoicing. She was of humble origin, and, before her neighbors and
friends, was to be humbled still further. But, as is so often the case,
what was Mary’s extremity was God’s opportunity, and He was to glorify
Himself by making the weak things of the earth confound the mighty. As
He brought Moses from the wilderness and David from the sheepfold, so
was He to bring Mary from the seclusion of Nazareth and the humiliation
in the stable at Bethlehem to a position of honor attained by no other
woman, and all generations were henceforth to call her blessed.

The second stanza reads:

  For the Mighty One hath done great things for me;
  And Holy is His name.
  And His mercy is unto generations and generations
  Of them that fear Him.

Here the great things spoken of as done to Mary (in the first line)
correspond, or rather constitute, the mercy (of the third line) which
flows forth from the gospel from age to age; and the holiness of His
name mentioned in the second is that characteristic of God which evokes
the fear mentioned in the fourth line.

The third stanza may be literally rendered as follows:

  He hath exercised the strength which is in His arm;
  He hath scattered abroad those who were proud by reason of the
    thoughts of their hearts;
  He hath cast princes down from their thrones, and exalted the lowly,
  The hungry hath He filled with good things, and the rich hath He sent
    empty away.

In this, as all through the hymn, we have the flavor of Hebraistic
forms of speech. In their poetical conceptions they did not think of
God as an abstract being, but as having a mighty arm with which He
swayed the nations and dashed their foolish plans in pieces, as one
might break a potter’s vessel with a rod of iron. How little do men
know the flimsiness of the schemes which they organize against the Lord
and His anointed! The third and fourth lines of this stanza contain a
double parallelism and a twofold antithesis. He casts down the kings
and lifts up the lowly people; He fills to fullness the hungry, and
sends the rich away empty.

In the fourth stanza we read:

  He hath taken hold to help with Israel His servant,
  In order that He might call to mind the mercy characteristic of His
    nature
  (According as He hath spoken unto our fathers)
  To Abraham and his seed for ever.

What a glorious conception this is of Israel, the hero of God, and
who was not a servant, but a son, for that is the true meaning of the
word rendered “servant.” The word is also one of endearment. And so we
are reminded, in the second line, of His tender mercy. The only mercy
of which He could have spoken to our fathers was His own, expressing
itself in the whole scheme of salvation as revealed in the Bible. It
was a peculiar plan of mercy revealed to Abraham and his spiritual
descendants.

Such, in brief, are the noble conceptions and the lofty figures of
speech of this exquisite hymn of Mary. And we ask involuntarily,
Whence comes it that so humble a maiden should thus in the beauty of
her diction and the sublimity of her conceptions have rivaled, if not
eclipsed, all the poets both of ancient and modern times?

It might seem a short answer to this question to say that Mary was
inspired. But such an answer does not satisfy the reasoning mind. God
in His wisdom does not ordinarily see fit to disregard the secondary
causes which He has created. We are led to look, therefore, to the
character and condition of Mary herself as a partial explanation of
the character of this piece of literature. And, upon examining the
hymn, we find that it is largely composed of sentences from the Old
Testament, embodying the Messianic expectations of the Jewish people.
It sounds like an echo, not only of David’s and Hannah’s, but also of
Miriam’s, and of Deborah’s harps; yet independently reproduced in the
mind of a woman, who had laid up and kept in her heart what she had
read in Holy Scripture. Out from the large body of sacred literature
which was the rare heritage of her people, she had extracted that
which was best and noblest and most appropriate. We do not, however,
deny the direct inspiration of this hymn; but we would emphasize the
broader conceptions of Providence, how the Holy Spirit can use a mind
well stored with the deep things of God, as evidently was the mind of
Mary, for, from beginning to end, this hymn assumes a sympathizing
acquaintance with the history of the Jewish people, and of all the
noble conceptions of the Deity with which the history of that people
has made the world familiar.

The unity of God is assumed without question. It is the Lord Jehovah
that her soul magnifies. It is the only true God her Saviour in which
her spirit rejoices. Nor is it a God of mere power, but a God of love
and tenderness, whom she adores. It is one who has regard not for men
alone and the great ones of the earth, but for the humble woman who
occupies the most contracted sphere that falls to the lot of any. And
in this the power of the God she adores appears pre-eminent, for he is
able to make great things out of small. It was He who took Israel as a
little vine and made him a great nation. It was He that multiplied the
widow’s cruse of oil and handful of meal till she had a superabundance.
It was He who lifted Rahab out of her wicked and heathen surroundings
and placed her in the line of royal women in whom all the families of
earth were to be blessed. It is He that notes the sparrow’s fall, that
numbers the hairs of our heads, that hears the prayers we offer in
secret when the door is shut, and that rewards us openly. It is He that
can exalt the humblest life and make it gleam with the sunshine of His
own glory. “Not many mighty, not many noble, are called ... but ... God
hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which
are mighty ... yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought the
things that are.”

Only such a God could lift on high so humble a maiden, and turn upon
her the gaze of all the nations of the earth. But the God of Israel
well might do it, for He is the Mighty One, and able to do great
things, and His mercy is upon them that fear Him from generation
to generation. In Israel’s deliverance from Egypt and in all their
subsequent history, He had shown the strength of His arm. The wrecks of
the nations that opposed Him strew the whole pathway of history. And as
He raised Joseph from prison and exalted Daniel from the lion’s den,
so should He ever lift up the meek, and help His servant Israel, and
remember His promises to Abraham and His seed forever. Only one who is
familiar with such a history could write such a hymn. Surely it is a
great thing to be educated into such thoughts as these. To breathe in
such sentiments in the very atmosphere of one’s home and in the social
circles in which one daily moves is the highest of earthly privileges.
It is only in such a hymn as this of Mary that we get a proper
conception of the grandeur and nobleness of the thoughts underlying
Hebrew history. In her Magnificat, Mary breathed the thoughts of those
that surrounded her. From the days of pious Hannah down to those of
Elizabeth, the women of Israel had been moved by such longings and
animated by such hopes as have never been possible to any other people.
They had the promise made in Eden that the seed of the woman should
bruise the head of the serpent who led the world astray. And now to
her, to this humble virgin of Israel, had the fulfillment of this
promise come, and truly blessed was she among women. For here was the
performance of those things which had been told her from the Lord. The
great crisis of the world’s history had arrived, and she was the chosen
channel through which the hope of the nations was come.

O, blessed Woman in White Raiment, may thy hymn of praise, divinely
inspired, be often upon our lips, and the sweetness of its precious
truths continually in our hearts!

The words of the angel in respect to Elizabeth having been confirmed by
this personal visit of Mary to her home in the hill country of Judea,
she returned to Nazareth.

Soon after this the decree of Augustus, the Roman emperor, that all the
world should be taxed, was promulgated, and Joseph and Mary traveled to
Bethlehem to have their names enrolled in the registers of their tribe.
It would seem that the Israelites still clung to their genealogies and
tribal relations, and, though the undertaking was a severe strain upon
Mary, and notwithstanding, according to the Roman custom, her name
could have been enrolled without her personal presence, this woman,
who was to be the most blessed of women, greatly preferred to accompany
her husband on this journey of over seventy miles, much of the way up
and down steep, rocky hills. Traveling in the East, under its most
favorable conditions, is a slow, tiresome affair, especially for women.
But Mary drudged along the mountain path, in company with her husband,
all the way from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Her love for the city of David
seems to have overcome all difficulties. Possibly a contemplative mind
like hers may have perceived that this decree of Cæsar Augustus was but
an instrument, in the hand of Providence, to fulfill ancient prophecy
with respect to the birthplace of the Messiah, for Micah had declared
that out of Bethlehem Ephratah, though little among the thousands of
Judah, “yet out of thee shall He come forth unto Me that is to be ruler
in Israel; whose goings forth have been from of old, from everlasting.”
So, while it would seem that an arbitrary decree decided where Christ
is to be born, God had manifested His wisdom in the choice of the
time, place and circumstances, and was faithful in the fulfillment of
the word of prophecy, ever carrying out His plans through the free
acts of men. In this instance the great Roman Cæsar, even without his
knowledge, became an official agent in the kingdom of God.

So it came to pass, in the fullness of time, and in the beloved city of
David, Bethlehem Ephratah, Mary brought forth the Saviour of the world,
and humbly laid Him in a manger. Here, amid these humble surroundings,
in the stall of an inn, among the beasts, was the advent of the Son of
God, the Saviour of the world. And, behold, the Life which was to lift
“empires off their hinges” and turn the “stream of centuries out of
its course”--a life which was to revolutionize the world and transform
humanity--had begun.

The place where the inn stood is now occupied by an enormous pile of
buildings, known as the “Church of the Nativity.” Down in the crypt of
this church, reached by fifteen stone steps, and in the eastern wall
of it, is a silver star, around which are the words: “_Hic de Virgine
Maria Jesus Christus natus est_”--“Here Jesus Christ was born of the
Virgin Mary.” One can not with indifference behold such a spot as this.
To us it was a sacred and hallowed place, and we felt subdued and
reverent while beholding the place where began the greatest life earth
has ever contained. To the Christian, Bethlehem stands first among
the holiest places on the face of the globe, and we were hushed into
reverence by its sacred associations and charmed by its natural beauty.

The “inn,” the scene of the nativity, stood on the crest of a hill that
rapidly falls away to a valley seven hundred feet below. At its base
is the “well” for the waters of which David so greatly longed. On the
opposite side is a hill still more precipitous than the one on which
Bethlehem stands. The little valley between the hills gradually opens
out eastward, where once stood the wheatfields of Boaz, in which Ruth
gleaned after the reapers. Just beyond this, scarcely a mile from the
“city of David,” is the field where the shepherds were “keeping watch
over their flock by night, when lo, the angel of the Lord came upon
them,” with this glad proclamation, “Behold, I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be to all people.” Then suddenly night
was turned into day by the radiant brightness of a multitude of the
heavenly host, filling earth and sky with their song:

  “Glory to God in the highest,
  Peace on earth, good-will to men.”

The visit of the shepherds to the inn, the circumcision and
presentation in the Temple, the visit and adoration of the wise men who
saw His star in far off Persia, the cruel massacre of the children of
Bethlehem by Herod, and the flight into Egypt, are rather scenes in the
life of Christ than that of his mother, and are fully described in “THE
CHRIST LIFTED UP.”

However, in passing, it may be well to pause long enough to observe
how the presentation in the Temple brings the limited circumstances of
Joseph and Mary to our notice. The custom of ceremonial purification
by a Jewish mother in the sanctuary with a sacrifice is fully stated
in Lev. xii. Two offerings were required, a burnt and a sin offering.
When Mary presented herself with her babe in the court of the women,
in the Temple, the proper offering was a lamb for a burnt offering,
and a young pigeon or a turtle-dove for a sin offering; but with that
beautiful tenderness which is so marked a characteristic of the Mosaic
law, those who were too poor for so comparatively costly an offering
were allowed to bring instead two turtle-doves or two young pigeons.
Mary, instead of the lamb and dove, brought the offering of the
poor--two doves. With this offering in her hand, she presented herself
to the priest.

One incident more occurs in the presentation in the Temple. At the
moment when Mary had completed her consecration, an old man came
tottering through the throng. It was the aged Simeon, “just and devout,
waiting for the consolation of Israel.” Taking from Mary’s arms her
precious infant, and, as with face aglow and eyes kindled with heavenly
fire, in speaking his holy rapture, one passage is specially directed
to her, “Yea, a sword shall pierce through thine own soul also.” This
“sword,” we must believe, entered her heart as later she saw her Son on
the cross.

In the return from Egypt after the death of Herod the Great, it appears
to have been the intention of Joseph to have settled at Bethlehem at
this time, as his home at Nazareth had now been broken up for a year or
more, intending there to rear the infant King, at his own royal city,
until the time should come when he would sit upon David’s throne and
restore the fallen kingdom to its ancient splendor. But “when he heard
that Archelaus did reign in Judea,” he turned aside into Nazareth, as
well he might, if he knew the life and character of the new prince,
thinking, no doubt, the child’s life would be safer in the tetrarchy of
Antipas than in that of Archelaus.

Henceforward, until the beginning of our Lord’s ministry, so far as is
known, Mary lived in Nazareth, in a humble sphere of life, the wife
of Joseph the carpenter, pondering over the sayings of the angels,
of the shepherds, of Simeon, and those of her Son, as the latter
“increased in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man.” Two
circumstances alone, so far as we know, broke in on the otherwise even
flow of her life. One of these was the loss of Jesus out of the company
of the homeward journey, when he remained behind at Jerusalem upon the
occasion of His first visit to the Temple. His mother is the first to
speak. “Son,” she said, “why hast thou thus dealt with us?” His reply
gave the keynote of His life, “Wist ye not that I must be about my
Fathers business?” The other was the death of Joseph. The exact date
of this last event we can not determine. But it was probably not long
after the other.

From this time on Mary is withdrawn almost wholly from sight. Four
times only is the veil removed, which is thrown over her, and surely
not without reason.

1. The first is at the marriage of Cana. It is thought from the
interest Mary took in it that the bride or bridegroom, were friends, if
not relatives of the family. “And Jesus was called, and His disciples.”
The disciples were invited out of respect for their Lord. This
unexpected addition to the company may have been the cause of Mary’s
evident embarrassment, and she appeals to her Son by saying, “They have
no wine.” It is impossible to know all that was in her heart. Possibly
from the Jordan had come wonderful news concerning her Son which had
inspired her with the hope that now at least, after so long waiting,
the time of His manifestation was at hand. What if He should use the
present opportunity to show His power! Might she not at least mention
it to Him? But, mark His answer, “Woman, what have I to do with thee?”
While His reply, in the original, does not have in it the severity it
has in the plain English, yet He would have her understand that in
His divine character He could not acknowledge her, nor be influenced
by her suggestions. Henceforth there must be room between her and Him
for His Father. And so He told her with all the tenderness that words
and looks could convey that the matter she hinted at was a matter
between Him and His Father. Mary quickly acceded to this. By woman’s
enlightened intuition she perceived His meaning, and so she said to
the servants, “Whatsoever He saith unto you do it.” In confident
expectation, she believed He would supply the need. Her beautiful faith
in Him was unshaken.

2. The second time Mary comes to view is in the attempt which she and
others made to speak with Jesus in the midst of His conflict with the
Scribes and Pharisees at Capernaum, when they sought to destroy His
good name and influence by applying that most horrible and loathsome
epithet, “He had Beelzebub.” We can hardly realize what satanic forces
were massed against Jesus at that time. And Mary, who probably, with
some friends, stood on the outside of the crowd, became alarmed, and
would rescue Him from the malice of His enemies. So she sent a message,
which probably was handed on from one person to another, begging Him
to allow His friends to speak to Him. Again He refuses to admit any
privilege on account of their relationship. “Who is my mother, and who
are my brethren?” He loved His mother, but infinite wisdom saw best
that she must in no way influence His divine work, which He could not
share with another and be the Saviour of the world. He must tread the
winepress of men’s malice alone.

3. The third time Mary comes to our notice is at the foot of the
cross. She was standing there with Mary Magdalene, Salome, and other
women, having no doubt followed her Son as she was able throughout
that terrible morning of our Lord’s several trials. It was now three
o’clock in the afternoon, and He was about to expire. Standing near the
company of the women was John, and, with almost His last words, Christ
commended His mother to the care of this disciple. And from that hour,
John assures us, he took her to his home. If, by “that hour,” John
means immediately after the words were spoken, Mary was not present at
the last scene of all. The sword had sufficiently pierced her soul,
and she was spared the hearing of the last loud cries and the sight of
the bowed head. However we might have understood His relation to Mary,
while the great scheme of human redemption was being wrought out, He
now turns in beautiful and touching tenderness to her, who tenderly
loved Him, even when she could not fully understand His work.

4. The fourth and last time Mary is brought to our view is in the
company of the one hundred and twenty believers, assembled at
Jerusalem, waiting for the descent of the Holy Spirit. This is the
last view we have of her. The Word of God leaves her engaged in prayer
in the “upper room,” with the women, and with His brethren. From this
point forward we know nothing of her. It is very probable the rest of
her life was spent in the home of John, cherished with the tenderness
which her sensitive soul would have specially needed, and which she
undoubtedly found in him who had borne the distinction of “that
disciple whom Jesus loved.”

When the disciples “were scattered abroad” after the martyrdom of
Stephen, and the apostles assumed the charge of important centres, we
read of John being minister of the church at Ephesus. No doubt Mary
removed with John to Ephesus, where, tradition says, she died, and
where she was buried. Probably she died before John was banished to
Patmos. While at Ephesus, we visited her sepulchre. It is on the north
side of Mt. Prion, half way up the mountain side. The tomb is cut out
of the solid rock, and in full view of the church, which doubtless she
loved so well.

We have already dwelt at considerable length upon the beautiful
character of Mary in connection with her song of rejoicing in the house
of Elizabeth and known as the Magnificat. So far as Mary is portrayed
to us in the Scripture, she is, as we should have expected, the most
tender, the most faithful, humble, patient and loving of women, but a
woman still, and how she herself regarded her relation to her divine
Son is best expressed in her own words:

  “My soul doth magnify the Lord,
  And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.”

[Illustration: THE MINISTRY AT EPHESUS.]

No doubt she was a comfort in the home of John. The dark shadows of the
cross were dissipated when she saw Jesus alive after His resurrection,
and communed with Him, and, doubtless, saw Him ascend to heaven in a
cloud, and had heard the angels assure His disciples, as they had seen
Him depart, in like manner He would come again. She was comforted in
the wonderful scene at Pentecost, when three thousand acknowledged
Jesus as their Saviour as well as her Saviour. She lived to see the
Gospel spread through Judea and Samaria, and the great centres in Asia
Minor. She had nobly done her work at Jerusalem and at Ephesus--had
told, as none could tell it, the sweet story of the infant Jesus and
her glorified Saviour. On account of her presence there was a strange
interest about the services of the great church at Ephesus, because the
mother of Jesus was among the worshippers. Even the life and ministry
of the beloved John was made richer because of her helpful presence.

But now she is growing old. Her earthly mission is drawing to a close.
She can not stay longer to bless the people who had learned to love
her. Indeed, her affections had already stolen away and preceded her
upward. The glad day has come for her to go. Her weary feet will
soon stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem. The low murmur of voices
and the subdued sobbing of loved ones around her she heeds not, as
a strange light breaks upon her, and she hears celestial symphonies
from the glory shore. White-winged messengers--jasper walls--pearly
gates--golden streets--life’s river--and she is with Him in the land
where swords can never enter stricken hearts!

We can not close this chapter without making mention of Anna the
Prophetess. It would seem that at the coming of the Saviour into the
world, earth and sky clapped their hands for joy, and the mountains
and hills broke forth into singing. Not only did Zacharias prophesy,
saying “Blessed be the Lord the God of Israel;” and Mary sing her hymn
of praise, in which she exclaimed, “My soul doth magnify the Lord;”
and the angels who sang, “Glory to God in the highest;” and the aged
Simeon, who, coming into the Temple, and taking the child in his arms,
burst forth in doxology, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in
peace, according to Thy word, for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation,”
but also Anna the Prophetess. Scarcely had the sweet strains of the
aged Simeon ceased, when the prophetess, coming into the court of the
women, in the Temple, and seeing Mary presenting herself with her babe,
caught the meaning of the scene and added her voice of praise, “and
spake of Him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.”

It was very fitting that women should have such a prominent part in
these human and angelic songs over the nativity of Him who, in after
years, proved women’s best friend. Who alone, of all earth’s great
teachers, wept with and over woman’s broken heart; who alone pitied
woman taken in sin; who alone stood up in defence of woman against
cruel criticism; who alone placed in contrast a poor penitent woman
over against a well-washed, and we had almost said, “white-washed,”
Pharisee; who, on the way to the cross, had words of comfort for
womanhood, in the ever-memorable exclamation, “Daughters of Jerusalem,
weep not for Me!” And why should not these daughters weep for one who
had elevated them to their true position? Surely, they might well weep,
for they had never had such a friend.

Anna was a daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher, and of very
great age--eighty-four years. Her age is specially mentioned, to show
that, though she had passed but few years in the married state, she had
reached this advanced age as a widow; a fact redounding to her honor
in a moral sense, and ranking her among the comparatively small number
of “widows indeed,” whom Paul especially commends. It is somewhat
remarkable that the name of Anna’s father should be mentioned, and not
that of her husband. Perhaps her father survived her husband, and may
also have been known as one who waited for the consolation of Israel.
The pious words Anna uttered in the presence of Mary and her child in
the court of the women can not be the only reason of her being called a
prophetess. Such an appellation must have been caused by some earlier
and frequent utterances, dictated by the Spirit of prophecy, by reason
of which she ranked among the list of holy women who, both in earlier
and later times, were chosen instruments of the Holy Spirit. If the
spirit of prophecy had departed from Israel since the time of Malachi,
according to the opinion of the Jews, the return of this Spirit might
be looked upon as one of the tokens of Messiah’s advent.

In Simeon and Anna we see incarnate types of the expectation of
salvation under the Old Testament, as in the child Jesus the salvation
itself is manifested. At the extreme limits of life, they stand in
striking contrast to the infant Saviour, exemplifying the Old Covenant
decaying and waxing old before the New, which is to grow and remain.
Old age grows youthful, both in Simeon and Anna, at the sight of the
Saviour; while the youthful Mary grows inwardly older and riper, as
Simeon lifts up before her eyes the veil hanging upon the future.
Joseph and Mary marveled at the revelations, not because they learned
from Simeon’s prophecy anything they had not heard before, but they
were struck and charmed by the new aspect under which this salvation
was presented.

There is something very beautiful in this aged Anna, the prophetess,
who “departed not from the Temple, but served God with fastings and
prayers night and day.” And the reason given for this consecrated
devotion is, she “looked for redemption in Jerusalem.” This aged saint,
into whose obscure but loyal keeping the spirit of true religion has
always retired in times of a degenerate and formal faith, under the
Divine Spirit, refused to depart from the courts of the sanctuary day
nor night. Many a long and weary year she had waited for redemption
in Jerusalem, and had watched with eager eyes the long procession of
fathers and mothers as they presented, according to custom, their
first-born at the altar steps. But the Child for whose coming she had
waited with such spiritual patience had not come.

At length the supreme day of her life had dawned, and with an unusual
expectancy she goes early to her accustomed vigil. As the humble Joseph
and Mary draw near, unheralded of men and with no sign of lineage or
worth beyond the rank and file of common people, the clear vision of
the aged prophetess discovers the King, and with a joy that blossomed
into song, she unites with the devout Simeon, who like herself,
was also “waiting for the consolation of Israel,” the praises that
redemption had at last come to Jerusalem. There was providential
coincidence in her coming in just at “that instant,” when Simeon
was prophesying and when the babe was in the Temple, for a divine
propriety, so to speak, seemed to require that the new-born Saviour
should first receive the homage of the elect of Israel.

[Illustration: ANNA, THE PROPHETESS.]

With this temple scene, the aged Anna comes into and goes out of
history, but in its light certain great facts are made luminous
forever, namely, that Jesus the Christ comes into our common humanity
along no royal road, but through the great common gateway of common
people. Jesus touches life at its majority points, meeting our needs
and our weakened nature with a brotherhood that loves us and lifts us
up. Christ’s first welcome into the world was not through Herod, nor
the famous Council of the Seventy, nor through the wise Scribes, or
great Pharisees, but through the trembling arms of an aged man and
woman.

To pause upon the romantic fitness of this temple scene were easy, when
the heart of the old and the new, the beginning and the end of life
throb together, but rather we turn to the mission of Christ to old age
as embodied in this incident of Simeon and Anna. Age is to a well-spent
life what the fruit is to the vine, the garnered and best part of it.
That ripeness of experience, of mind, of judgment, which comes alone
from long and patient drudging on until the mile-posts are many, that
calm which comes at the sunset--these are the crowns that come to the
soul as it stands on the delectable mountains with the Celestial City
in full view. Youth is clear-visioned and hopeful, early life is busied
with palpable ambitions, and later on is occupied with the harvesting
of ventures and the fruitage of success. But age has nothing but a
memory and a hunger, therefore it was a fitness and a providence that
Simeon and Anna should reach out their trembling hands in initial
welcome to the Son of God.

Again, Anna stands as the type of the spiritually-minded, to whom
in old age are vouchsafed the revelations of God. Her attitude was
very significant. She “departed not from the Temple,” that is, she
was watchful. She served God “with fastings and prayers,” peculiarly
expressive of Old Testament piety, with its minute attention to
precept and ceremony. That to this woman it was permitted, under the
Spirit’s guidance, that morning to come into the court of the women
at the “instant,” indicates a perpetual spiritual condition, rather
than a sudden impulse or illumination--the habit of one who walked and
talked with God “night and day.” These reveal the spiritual qualities
of the prophetess of Jehovah, where an obedient will and loving heart
are linked to far-sighted spiritual vision in the discernment of the
providence and truth of God. To such elect souls revelations are always
coming, because of spiritual affinities and the unerring insights of
love. Therefore it was no accident, this coming into the courts of the
Temple at the “instant,” but in accord with a world-wide and unbroken
law of spiritual discernment, for spiritual truths are spiritually
discerned.

She that desires this spiritual sense must do as Anna did, wait upon
God in prayer. She “served God.” She was spiritually-minded. An intense
desire always precedes possession. Our Lord said, “Blessed are they
which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be
filled.” Do we hunger after righteousness, with a hunger that joins
a great longing with a strong will? Then shall we possess it, for
these powers of the mind and heart wait with sure benediction upon
the prayers of earnest souls. This desire lies at the threshold of
spiritual-mindedness. It is synonymous with love. Do I love God? Is my
eye single and my heart pure? If so, I shall see Him. If not in the
court of the women, as Anna did, in the inner courts of an unending
eternity.

The other factor that enters into this spiritual life is abiding.
Anna “departed not from the Temple.” She waited patiently. Go back
to that night in Shiloh, ere the lamps of God had gone out, and note
how Samuel the child became Samuel the prophet by waiting on God in a
listening attitude and prompt obedience. Follow Paul from the vision on
Anti-Lebanon to the prisons of Nero, and the roadway of his Christian
life is literally paved with waiting and prompt obedience, and both
the seer and the apostle give us the rule of spiritual expansion, and
set the step for all the regiments of the heavenly-minded. An eminent
divine has said, “Every duty we omit obscures some truth we should
have known,” and a greater than this divine has said, “He that doeth
truth cometh to the light.” The secret of all soul degeneracy, of a
seared conscience and a blunted moral sense, alas! we all know too
well, is disobedience to the heavenly visions. Like Eli, our eyes are
grown dim, and like Paul’s fellow-travelers to Damascus, we hear a
sound, but no articulate voice of call. “To obey,” said the great and
good Samuel to the disobedient Saul, “is better than sacrifice.” It is
because of disobedience to the clear visions of duty there is so much
of moral “near-sightedness” in the modern Christian life. The options
of spiritual life or death are always with us, to see or not to see, to
know or not to know. Here is the power and the peril of the Church our
Saviour purchased at the price of His own blood; here is her strength
and her weakness; for the dominant danger in the Church of our time,
with its wealth, its average moralities and its social compromises,
is unspirituality, when the lines of division between a refined
worldliness and a perfunctory Christianity are so vague that both seem
so near alike to many professed followers of Jesus as not to know where
worldliness ends and the Christian rule commences. An unspiritual life
is the real apostacy which clogs the chariot wheels of God and dims the
eye to the King in His excellent glory.

Do you wonder at the high honor heaven conferred upon this aged
prophetess, who “departed not night nor day from the Temple,” lest she
should miss the opportunity of a lifetime, of making her the first
woman to witness for Christ? It was in perfect keeping with God’s
eternal plan of exalting the humble of this world who have loyal
hearts. Rebekah, with cheerful alacrity, watered the ten camels of
Eliezer, the servant of Abraham, when he called her to be the bride of
Isaac; Rachel was driving her father’s sheep to the well in Haran when
she won the heart of Jacob, the heir of promise; Miriam watched the
little craft among the rushes of the Nile, before she led the women in
triumphal song at the Red Sea; Ruth gleaned in the fields of Bethlehem
to relieve her own and Naomi’s necessities, when she attracted the
attention of Boaz; Esther lived a modest, retired life in the house
of Mordecai, the porter at the royal palace, when she was called to
be queen over the Persians. Poverty and homely toil are no hindrance
to holy zeal in Christian service; nor are they hindrance to high
communion with the Eternal.

These are truths attested by revelation and by history. We are
sometimes tempted to question humility as a stepping-stone to
exaltation, and to complain of our lot; tempted to think ourselves
hemmed in and circumscribed, thus to lack all opportunity for large
service or large vision, or large attainments of any kind. Nothing
is more common among those whose life is crowded with what is termed
coarse and common toil, who are loaded down with many cares, and
confined in what seem to them narrow bounds, to count others vastly
more highly favored than themselves, and to regard themselves as out of
range of all spiritual visions or special divine communications! Let
her who is left to think such thoughts, or to place such estimate on
her lot in life, remember that no eye of Scribe or Pharisee, of priest
or king, saw or recognized the Son of God that day when Mary presented
Jesus in the Temple. Such vision was reserved for the aged prophetess,
who was looking for redemption in Jerusalem.

What is the lesson? This, that the waiting and the morally qualified
are the chosen channels of divine communication; that to such the
revelations of God unfold wonderful visions. Heaven and earth meet
where the truly devout are found watching “night and day” by the altars
of prayer. If doxologies of the soul are to be rendered in the ear of
mortals, they shall hear them whose hearts are open towards the throne
of grace, and whose longings are for “redemption in Jerusalem!” and who
are “waiting for the consolation of Israel.”




CHAPTER VIII.

Womanhood During our Lord’s Galilean Ministry.

  CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD--NOONTIDE AT JACOB’S WELL--THE LORD’S WONDERFUL
    TACT--FIELDS WHITE TO THE HARVEST--AN UNINVITED GUEST AT SIMON’S
    FEAST--COLD HOSPITALITY--A CONCISE PARABLE--FORGIVING SIN--A STREET
    SCENE--HUMBLE CONFESSION--MOST GRACIOUS WORDS--COAST OF TYRE AND
    SIDON--SYRO-PHŒNICIAN WOMAN--STRANGELY TESTED--HER HUMILITY--WENT
    AWAY BLESSED.


We now come to the beautiful ministries of womanhood during our Lord’s
earthly mission. No teacher had ever lived who sought to elevate women
as did the Saviour. The most casual reader of our Lord’s acts of mercy
as He moved among the people, must have noticed how often He wrought
some of His most wondrous works among women. He talked with a woman
of questionable character by the wayside, He stretched out his hands
over one whose very touch was considered unclean, and tenderly said,
“Thy sins are forgiven!” He called another, whose shrinking fear, after
she was healed, caused her to sob out her confession, “Daughter, be of
good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.” What a sweet picture
that is of the mothers who bring their little children to Him that “He
should touch them,” and their faith was rewarded not by a mere “touch,”
but He took the mothers’ darlings in His arms and blessed them. With
a yearning of divine pity He brings back to life three persons that
motherhood and sisterhood might be comforted. Surely womanhood must
have been precious in His sight, and there is a peculiar force in the
word _precious_ as of God’s own choosing. When He speaks of precious
things, or permits in His inspired servants such ardent language, we
may be assured there is a deep meaning in the expression, and that
whatever is spoken of, is of great value, costly and rare. “I know the
thoughts that I think toward you,” says the dear Lord, “thoughts of
peace and not of evil.” And they are so continuous! “How great is the
sum of them? If I should count them they are more in number than the
sand!” We have walked the wide beach, as it stretches on for miles and
miles in one unbroken line of white sand. Could we count a single rod
of it? Yet these thoughts of our Lord outnumber the sand on the shore
of the sea. And how precious they are, because begotten of pure love;
and royal with kindness; and tender with compassion; and fragrant with
blessings; exquisite with sweetness; infinite, incessant, immeasurable.

In our love, we mainly dwell upon the thought of what God is to us,
and so are apt to forget what we are to Him. “He has chosen Israel for
His peculiar treasure.” “The Lord’s portion is His people.” Does He so
esteem us? Does He hold us close to His heart, and say, I love thee
“since thou wast precious in My sight!” The mother thinks of her child,
the wife of her husband, the lover of his beloved. And how sweet are
these thoughts of our dear ones. Unbidden they crowd upon the soul;
comforting, tenderly cherished and precious are the thoughts of the
absent for one another! Memories of form and feature, look and smile,
word and deed, affection and purpose, are ever present. Does God, the
Infinite, thus think of us! Oh, wondrous alchemy of grace that can turn
such poor unworthy souls into gems so beautiful, so priceless, so dear
to the Infinite heart of God; so highly esteemed that if even the least
were lost, it would be a loss to Him. Then, also, the trial of our
faith is “much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be
tried with fire.” If we bear this in mind, we shall better understand
the Saviour’s acts as we read the story of His love for womanhood. Oh,
ye tired, troubled ones, put into God’s crucible, did you ever feel
that you were forgotten, overlooked, too long or too severely tested?
God is watching with an eye that never slumbers. The trial going on is
precious to Him. He tempers the heat when too strong, and adds fuel
when too light. He creates the smith to blow the coals; and here, be
sure, He makes no mistake. You would not have chosen as He has; and
yet the process must go on, for it is a precious one; so much so that
our Beloved can not trust it to other hands than His own. He will not
let you be harmed. “Many shall be purified and made white and tried.”
Are you not glad He has chosen you among these? The trial is painful to
you, but precious to Him, and “will be found unto praise and honor, and
glory,” walking with Him in White Raiment, as those who “are worthy.”

Through human personality is God best made known. There is a revelation
in nature; the movements of planets, the return of seasons, the
regularity and uniformity of natural laws, reveal a fixed order in
the universe; the balanced relationship, the correspondences and
adaptations in nature reveal mind as the centre of activities; wisdom
speaks out in the organizations, kingdoms and beneficent purposes of
nature, while beauty shines from the splendor of the world. All this
is very good, but it is not conclusive. It is written of the Son of
God, that He endured the cross for the joy that was set before Him. He
recognized the sore need of humanity, and the Father’s plan to meet
that need, and gave Himself a willing offering. Christ is the living
manifestation of God’s love. To be “able to save to the uttermost all
who come unto God by Him,” was the joy set before Him for which He
endured the cross and now ever liveth to make intercession for us.
Surely His thoughts of us must have been most precious, and, in view
of the great price He paid for our redemption, let us never minify our
lives however humble our lot:

  “A commonplace life,” we say and we sigh,
      But why should we sigh as we say?
  The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky
      Makes up the commonplace day.
  The moon and the stars are commonplace things,
  And the flower that blooms, and the bird that sings.
  But dark were the world, and sad our lot,
  If the flowers should fail and the sun shine not--
  And God, who studies each separate soul,
  Out of the commonplace lives makes His beautiful whole.

If we partake of the Divine nature, we will want to share in His work
of saving, and thus enter into the joy of our Lord. To be able to touch
life hopefully, and to see it expand and grow day by day into the
similitude of the All-perfect, is to experience a joy not of earth.
Womanhood has come into her kingdom in the sense of having reached a
place of large opportunity, in the use of her God-given power. Our
Saviour has honored woman by giving her a place in his heart and work,
and most loyally does she “lay her hands to the distaff and with her
hands hold the spindle” in the making of the great fabric of human
destiny.

[Illustration: CHRIST AND WOMANHOOD.]

How womanhood, in the days of the Saviour’s incarnation, manifested
her appreciation, will be amplified in this and the next chapter, and
her loving ministry does credit to her head and heart, for we read, as
He journeyed with his disciples from place to place, “Certain women,
which had been healed of infirmities, Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna,
and many others, ministered unto Him of their substance.” How beautiful
is all this. Women actually following Jesus, as disciples, and out of
their means ministering to His physical necessities. Heathenism has no
place, socially for women, as we have shown in our introductory. Christ
sought to bless and elevate womanhood.

The skill of our Lord’s wayside teaching is beautifully brought out in
the scene at Jacob’s well. In one of His tours through Samaria our Lord
reached Jacob’s well, in the neighborhood of Sychar, about noon, and
being weary, sat down upon the stone seat in the little alcove erected
over the well. It offered a shelter from the glare of the noontide
sun. John, in his gospel, tells us that Jesus, “being wearied with His
journey, sat thus on the well.” The words in the original imply that
He was quite tired out with His journey, and doubtless overcome with
the extreme heat. In His exhaustion, He seems to be quite anxious, if
possible, to obtain a little rest, while the disciples had left Him, to
procure in the nearby city, the necessary bread.

The disciples had scarcely departed, when a lone woman, with face
veiled, and on her head a great stone waterpot, came to the well to
draw water. It was an unseasonable hour, for morning and evening only
would the well be thronged by women, whose duty it is to carry the
water for household use. For some reason, possibly because she was
in no good repute, this woman avoided the throng at the well in the
morning or evening hours, and availed herself of this unseasonable time
to come for water.

The scene before us is pathetically picturesque. The Son of God resting
in the refreshing shade of the little alcove, and a woman of doubtful
character coming in out of the noontide glare and heat of the sun to
draw water. We almost wonder if our Lord, in His exhausted and fevered
condition, had not been casting around in His mind how He might obtain
a cup of refreshing water from the depth of the well. And now is His
opportunity. With the nicest tact and politeness He asks, “Give me
to drink!” To ask for a drink of water in the East is a proffer of
good-will. Under no circumstances would an Oriental ask or receive
water or bread of one with whom he was unwilling to be on good terms.
So when Jesus said to the woman, “Give me to drink,” it was as if He
had said, “I wish you well; I feel kindly towards you and yours.”

We are somewhat surprised at the conduct of the woman after such kindly
salutation. Instead of quickly offering Him a drink, she proceeds to
ask, “How is it that thou being a Jew askest drink of me, which am a
woman of Samaria?” She would recognize the nationality of Jesus by
His dress. The color of the fringes on the Jewish garments was white,
while those of the Samaritans were blue. Possibly His appearance and
accent in His speech would also identify Him. However, in explanation
of her conduct, she goes on to say, “the Jews have no dealings with
Samaritans.” So that while this non-intercourse between the two
people was not absolute, a request of such a nature might surprise
a Samaritan. And yet we must confess she is more ready to conduct a
religious discussion with the Son of God Himself than to offer cups of
cold water.

But with what wonderful tact Jesus drew the mind of this woman away
from the religious differences between Jews and Samaritans. He was not
to be drawn off from the main point at issue. He had asked for water,
for He was really thirsty. She had come to the well for water, for it
supplied a need. When she came to the well her aspirations reached
no farther than a pitcher of water. So, with water for a text, Jesus
proceeds to tell this Samaritan that good as the well was, and great as
Jacob was, all who drank of that water would thirst again. The best the
world had to offer could never satisfy her thirst. She could not help
but see the truth of these words. They were but the echo of her daily
experience.

Now the divine Teacher proceeds to uncover another well to this woman.
“Whosoever,” Jesus proceeded to say, and the whosoever included all
Samaritans and the world as well, “drinketh of the water that I shall
give him, shall never thirst; for the Holy Spirit that I shall put in
him shall be a well of water springing up into everlasting life--it
shall satisfy his thirst and he shall be continually refreshed.”

How deftly Jesus turned this conversation into a spiritual channel! It
was done so easily that the woman was not conscious of the change. She
thought he was talking about literal water, though the seriousness in
his tones had awakened her utmost attention. She knew what it was to
thirst, and the labor of coming to the well to carry away pitchers full
on her head, only to repeat the labor with each returning day. He had
awakened in her a desire, though that desire was no higher than water,
and she said, “Sir, give me this water, that I thirst not, neither come
hither to draw.” Though the woman did not understand His words, she was
really, in her mind, struggling with the great problem of not thirsting
any more, and of doing away with the necessity of daily coming to
Jacob’s well. How the Lord delights to lead inquiring minds to the
higher things of life! He saw, doubtless, by supernatural intuition,
the sinful blemishes in her life, as well as the deeper aspirations
of her soul which His words had awakened. How shall He get at the
plague-spot which corrupted the fountain of her life?

In a tender, pathetic tone he said to the woman, “Go, call thy
husband!” It was a painful request to make of this poor woman, but He
could not trifle. He must be faithful. The request had its desired
effect. It drew off the woman’s attention from her desire for fountains
of water, to see the wretched condition of her life.

Yet, with a frankness that showed an honest soul, she replied, “I have
no husband!”

Ah! that was the point this wisest of Teachers was bringing her to. He
did not want to see her husband, but He wanted her to see herself. His
words probed to the plague-spot in her soul. She admitted her guilt,
but could not quite bring her will to give up her manner of life.

When Jesus told her that she was living with the fifth man, and he not
her husband, she perceived that He was a prophet, and was ready with
another batch of theological questions. “I know I am not what I ought
to be,” she said in effect, “but then there are some things I don’t
understand, and now, since you are a prophet, perhaps you can inform
me. We Samaritans claim that our way is right, and you Jews claim that
your way is right. Both can’t be right; tell us what we are to do?”
Referring to her Samaritan ancestors, she continued, “Our fathers
worshipped in this mountain,” pointing to Mt. Gerizim, under the shadow
of which they almost stood, and which had a special sacredness as the
mount of blessing. It was also claimed by the Samaritans that their
worship was earlier, and, therefore, older than that at Jerusalem.
However, it is not clear that she meant to urge this as one of the
reasons in favor of Mt. Gerizim, on the summit of which the Samaritan
Temple stood. In the Scriptures which the Samaritans possessed (the
Pentateuch) the name of Gerizim had been inserted in the place of
the holy city of the Jews. On the other hand, the claim of the Jews
was exclusive. Men must worship in Jerusalem. If the woman regarded
the supremacy of Gerizim or Jerusalem an open question, it showed
her candor and a willingness to accept the revelation of the truth,
whatever it might be.

But see how our Lord sweeps the idol of locality from this inquirer’s
mind, “Believe me,” he said, “the hour cometh when ye shall neither
in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.” Men have
ever looked upon their places of worship as sacred. Islamism has its
Mecca, the heathenism of India its Baneras and Ganges, the idolaters of
China their sacred mountains, the apostates of modern times their holy
shrines. Jesus abolishes local limitations, and announces that what one
worships is of more importance than where; that God is a Spirit, and
that true worship is unlimited by time, place or form.

[Illustration: THE NOONTIDE HOUR AT JACOB’S WELL.]

Such wonderful words had never fallen upon the ears or entered the
heart of this woman. No priest or scribe had ever uttered such sublime
conceptions of our relations to God. She had thought him a “prophet,”
but such utterances are almost divine. She thinks of the Messiah, and
answers, “I know that when Messias cometh, which is called Christ; when
He is come, He will tell us all things.” This was in accordance with
the Samaritan view of Christ. While showing a desire for a fuller
knowledge she thinks of a higher authority of the expected Messiah. In
this He did not rebuke her. He lets her question, yet is never turned
from His purpose. Step by step His love lifted this inquiring mind,
until at last she was ready for such an avowal of His nature and office
as He had never given to Scribe or Pharisee or disciple, “I that speak
unto thee am He!”

Wonderful news! Filled with surprise and joy, she “left her waterpot”
on the well, and ran into the city, forgetting all about her own need,
as well as the request of the Saviour for a drink of water. Her haste
shows how absorbed she had become in the wonderful words from the lips
of Him who declared Himself the long-expected Son of God. And He, the
blessed Lord, was so intent on saving a soul that He had forgotten all
about His thirst and His weariness.

Just as she had left the well, the disciples came, having made the
necessary purchase of food, and “marveled that He talked with the
woman,” yet were mysteriously restrained from asking Him why He did
so. Presently they spread their noonday meal, but observing that Jesus
did not share with them their meal, they urged Him, saying, “Master,
eat.” But great was their surprise when He answered, “I have meat to
eat that ye know not of.” They could not understand that the chance to
help an inquiring soul was more to Him than food or drink, and said to
one another, “Hath any man brought Him ought to eat?” He astonished His
inquiring disciples yet more, when knowing the thoughts uppermost in
their minds, said, “My meat is to do the will of Him that sent Me,” and
to carry out the mission for which I am in the world.

In the meantime the flying feet of the woman had reached the city, and
she hastened from street to street delivering her message, “Come, see a
Man who told me all that ever I did. Is not this the Christ?”

The theological questions over which Jews and Samaritans contended,
whether Jerusalem or Gerizim was the place where “men ought to
worship,” had dropped entirely out of her mind. But she proved an
excellent evangelist, for presently the people came flocking out of the
city in the direction of Jacob’s well, pouring out of every gate, and
led over the fruitful plain by the woman.

It must have been a grand sight, and showed that Jesus was not mistaken
when, looking into the face of the woman, He saw a pearl of great
beauty and worth beneath the rough exterior of this semi-heathenish,
yet quick-witted, sprightly and susceptible Samaritan.

As the Saviour lifted up His eyes over the plain and saw the
approaching multitude, He was evidently well satisfied in withgoing His
weariness and thirst while talking to this Samaritan Magdalene as she
came with her water-pitcher to the well, and not only was He satisfied
with the results of His labors, but He seems also to have been pleased,
for, as the host filled the plain, He called the attention of his
disciples to the beautiful sight, and exclaimed, “Say not ye, there
are yet four months, and then cometh harvest!” Doubtless this was true
in the physical world, but spiritual conditions do not have to depend
upon the slow processes of the natural world, and the well-sown seed
amid the glare of the noontide, was already ripening unto the harvest.
Behold the thronging people! said our Lord. “Lift up your eyes, and
look on the fields; for they are white already to the harvest.”

  “Laborers wanted!” The ripened grain
    Waits to welcome the reaper’s cry;
  The Lord of the harvest calls again;
    Who among us shall first reply,
    “Who is wanted, Lord? Is it I?”

  The Master calls, but the servants wait;
    Fields gleam white ’neath a cloudless sky.
  Will none seize the sickle before too late,
    Ere the winter’s winds come sweeping by?
    Who is delaying? Is it I?

As the people thronged the well to hear and see the Man who had
revealed the hidden life of the woman, He must have taught this people
with wise, loving words, for they forgot all about their prejudices
and hate and begged Him, though of a race with whom the Samaritans had
no dealings, to stay among them. And He graciously complied with their
request, and it took Him two whole days to harvest that whitened field.
And the record is, “Many of the Samaritans of that city believed on Him
for the saying of the woman.”

But what a testimony is all this to that Samaritan woman. What, if her
previous life had not been of good repute? What though she was a social
outcast? One thing she discovered that noonday, as she came out to draw
water from Jacob’s ancient well, that the Man who laid open her inner
life in such modest words and patient forbearance, was none other than
the long-expected Messiah, and she was altogether too generous-minded
to lock up the glad tidings in her heart, but at once, without
commission or priestly authority, witnessed for Christ, published the
glad tidings of salvation through the streets of Sychar, and brought
her whole city to a knowledge of her Saviour. And so this woman became
the first gospel preacher in Samaria. That was before church councils
had decided women may not speak for Jesus.

Jacob’s well is no longer used, and the grain fields, which “Stood
dressed in living green” before the Saviour’s eyes, have long been
trodden under foot of Islam’s hordes, yet the living spring of water
which our Lord opened there to the poor, sinful, yet penitent woman,
is as deep and fresh as ever, and has flowed on and out over the earth
to remotest nations, and will quench the thirst of souls to the end of
time.

We see also in this beautiful scene at Jacob’s well that Christ’s
intercourse with women was marked by freedom from Oriental contempt of
womanhood, and a marvelous union of purity and frankness, dignity and
tenderness. He approached this woman as a friend who wished her well,
and yet as her Lord and Saviour. And, to the good sense of womanhood
be it said, when the light of truth broke over her inquiring mind, she
believed! And behold how she loved Him! Forgetting her errand to the
well, yea, even leaving her pitcher, she hastened to publish the glad
news. Surely the Saviour “must needs go through Samaria,” on His way
from Judea to Galilee, and His resting in the little alcove of Jacob’s
well, for the moment sheltered from the glare of an Oriental midday
sun, was more than a geographical “_must_.” It was the necessity of
love laid upon His heart to meet and to help that woman who came with
an empty stone pitcher to the well at the same hour of the day, but
went away with a heart filled with “living water ... springing up into
everlasting life.”

Some time after this, on one of those days while Jesus was teaching in
lower Galilee, a Pharisee, by the very common name of Simon, invited
our Lord to a feast. Why he invited Him is not stated. Possibly he
may have been impressed with the character and teaching of Christ,
and disposed, in a social way, and at his own table, to give Him a
further hearing, thinking, perhaps, by coming in personal contact with
our Lord, aside from the throngs which attended upon His ministry, he
could the better satisfy himself as to the merits of this new Teacher
in Israel, and so invited Jesus to dine with him. Our Lord had not
yet broken with the Pharisees, and was still anxious, if possible, to
conciliate them, if by any means He might win them, and withal, willing
to show his good-will, accepted the invitation.

However gracious the invitation may have been given, it is quite clear
that the hospitality was meant to be qualified. These Pharisees who
loved the uppermost seats at feasts, knew how to entertain. But in
this feast, all the ordinary attentions which were usually paid to
honored guests were strangely omitted. There was no servant with basin
of water and towel for the weary and dust-covered feet, no anointing
of the head, no kiss of welcome upon the cheek, nothing but a somewhat
ungracious admission to a vacant place at the table, and the most
distant courtesies of ordinary intercourse, so managed that this Guest
from among the common people might feel that he was receiving honors
in the house of a rich and influential Pharisee. Many a poor man’s head
has been turned by such feigned and mock courtesies. It would have been
a thousand times better to the head and heart of Simon if he had never
invited the Lord, than to assume in His presence what he was not at
heart.

Our Lord must have keenly felt these omissions. But, since he had been
invited, He made the best of this empty show at hospitality, only we
may be quite sure He was clothed in His usual gentleness and modest
dignity. We may well believe our Lord showed no signs of being piqued
at the slights put upon Him, nor embarrassed in the presence of His
host and the distinguished guests present. While Jesus cared little for
show or etiquette, yet it was but natural that He should have keenly
felt these omissions so gracefully shown to the others at this feast.

But before us rises another scene. “Behold, a woman in the city, which
was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee’s
house, brought an alabaster box of ointment.” How thoughtful these
women are! This one was not satisfied with merely following the throng,
but she takes with her the most costly gift at her command. What a
contrast between her and Simon, who haughtily thought within himself
that anything was good enough for this lowly Prophet of Nazareth.

When this woman, whose character seemed to have been well known, too
well indeed for her own comfort, reached Simon’s house, she found the
door thronged by a crowd of people who had doubtless followed Jesus,
and now stood, and looked, and listened--for privacy seems a thing
impossible in the free and easy life of Orientals. For a moment she
lingered amidst the throng. While there, men, as they passed in to the
feast, gathered their robes as they passed her, lest by a passing touch
she should defile them. As she sees the scanty preparations, the cold
reception, her woman’s heart is made indignant. “Would that I were
worthy to ask Him beneath my roof, or would that I could bid Him come
and sit at meat with me; all that I have were His to minister in any
way to His comfort. But I, alas, am so far down and He so holy--there
is no chance for me.” So she thinks.

Then lo, that face is lifted, the eyes meet hers. He, all pitiful,
reading her heart looks an invitation that she can not resist. And then
in the presence of the Pharisees, as they start with horror, every man
shrinking from this infamous intruder, every face filled with scorn,
she hurries across to the side of the Lord Jesus and falls at His feet.
She pours forth her penitence in a flood of tears; then, startled that
she should thus have bathed His feet, she loosens her hair and wipes
them with reverent hands, and tenderly kissing His feet, she draws from
the folds of her dress a pot of unguent, and pours its fragrance upon
them.

Who she was or how she had come to know Jesus, or when she had been
moved by his preaching and converted by the grace of His words we do
not know. It is quite likely, having been attracted like others to be
one of His auditors somewhere, she had heard His gracious words of love
and pity, and had gladly on her part accepted their healing influences.

But when the Pharisee saw the marked attention of this woman of the
street to his Guest, he commenced talking to himself in his heart,
“This man, if He were a prophet,” he muttered to himself, “would know
who and what manner of woman this is that is thus lavishing her love
upon His feet, for she is a sinner, whose very touch is pollution.”
No doubt Simon was shocked beyond measure, especially when he saw
Jesus allowed it, and was glad at that moment that his cold caution
at the commencement of the feast had prevented him from giving Jesus
too cordial a welcome. “I am glad now I did not compromise my honor or
forfeit the good opinion of those of my set; that I wasted none of my
perfume upon His head; that I gave Him no kiss of welcome; yea, even
that I did not bid a servant wash His feet. Such acts of hospitality
would, in a measure at least, have committed me, in the eyes of the
people, to Him as a friend, and would have exposed me to the criticisms
of my brethren. I fear I have already gone too far, but will get out of
it as quickly as possible, and when I extend another invitation He’ll
know it. In my opinion, He is not only no prophet, but is altogether
too free with the common people to make Him desirable among my fellow
Pharisees.”

To be sure, Simon did not utter these thoughts aloud, but his frigid
demeanor, and the contemptuous expression of countenance, which he
did not take the trouble to disguise, showed all that was passing in
his heart. He little realized that Jesus had read his thoughts as
unerringly as if he had written them upon the walls of his dining-room,
and at once proceeded to lay open the heart of His host to himself
in a manner he had never thought it possible, and He did it by first
relating a little parable, and thus addressed the Pharisee:

“Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee!”

“Master, say on,” was the somewhat constrained reply.

“There was a certain creditor who had two debtors. The one owed five
hundred pence, and the other fifty; and when they had nothing to pay he
freely forgave both. Tell me, then, which of them will love him most?”

The construction of this parable is marvelous for its conciseness,
naturalness and simplicity. In its application Jesus makes Simon
condemn himself for his uncharitable judgment. He is compelled to admit
the whole force of the great scheme of salvation by pardoning grace.
It doubtless never entered Simon’s poor, proud, but sinful heart that
he, too, was a debtor and needed to be as freely forgiven as the woman
whose touch he considered pollution, and yet this is one of the lessons
taught by the comparison here drawn between the abandoned woman and
the proud Pharisee. It is pitiable to see the bitterness of the world
towards a lost woman. And yet why should not her companion in sin
suffer as much as she? But he never does. Let us be fair. Cast her out,
if you feel called on to be her judge, but at least do the same by him.

The fact remains that this poor woman knew she was an outcast. No
one would forgive her. Never could she regain her social standing.
But Simon? Ah! Simon was really quite a model man. As the world
judges worth, she stood at one extreme and he at the other. Simon was
eminently respectable. As a Pharisee he belonged to one of the first
families; he was recognized in Church and State; he had social position
which introduced him to the refined and educated. If he met a public
speaker of eminence, or a man of reputation, he honored him by inviting
him to dinner. Let us not too severely pass upon the conduct of Simon.
He was undoubtedly a worthy man. Christ’s reference to him in the
parable implies that his outward life was not that of a hypocrite or a
mere formalist. But this parable makes him a bankrupt debtor. He can
no more pay his fifty pence than the woman her five hundred pence. So
both were sinners, and both needed to be forgiven. Here there was no
difference. Both had broken the law of God, and both were in need of a
Saviour.

We see again that penitence breaks down the wall that separated from
God. This poor woman saw her dreadful sin and turned from it in an
agony of repentance. She sought the Lord. He was the only friend to
whom she could turn in her need. She was sure of His sympathy and help.
She desired forgiveness and found it. She had been alienated from God,
but through her penitence had reached a comprehension of Christ’s
character impossible to the self-satisfied Pharisee. She was far more
at one with God, as He was revealed in Christ, than was the dignified
gentleman, indignant at her presence in his house.

This woman felt a great need. She was sin-burdened, and needed a divine
deliverer, and the Saviour proved to be an all-sufficient helper.
How was it with Simon? Why, he relied on himself. He felt no need
of Christ’s help. He was self-satisfied--a very good man in his own
opinion. The woman had expressed her gratitude in many touching ways,
but Simon had no sense of gratitude. He had given no kiss of welcome,
had provided no water for the feet, had failed to anoint the Saviour’s
head.

Beyond a doubt there are a great many excellent people to-day of
Simon’s stamp. They are quite courteous, if their social position is
not compromised thereby. They will spread a feast, and invite the
Lord to dinner. And yet, they feel no need of Christ. The whole show
of hospitality is a cold, heartless formality, with no tenderness
of emotion towards Him. They feel no longing to make sacrifices for
His sake as expressive of their love. And so, while treating Christ
respectfully, they do not treat Him lovingly. They think too well of
themselves. They need to recognize more fully their position of danger
and their dependence upon Christ.

There is also a wonderful picture in this narrative of Christ’s
love for us. How considerate His treatment of this penitent and
broken-hearted woman! He was not supercilious. He had no feeling of
pride that resented her touch. It was not necessary that He avoid her
in order to vindicate His own purity.

Hitherto Jesus had said nothing to the woman, though it must have
thrilled her soul when she heard what had been said to Simon in the
application of the parable. She was first indirectly assured of the
grace of God in respect to herself, and of the principle on which her
forgiveness was vouchsafed. She knew that He was not ashamed of her,
and, finally, she heard Him say in so many words, “Her sins which are
many are forgiven her.”

Having said so much to Simon concerning her, Jesus now turned to the
woman herself, laid His hand tenderly upon the bowed head, for He would
not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax, He would not
by bitterness drive her from Him, but as her Defence and Deliverer,
personally addressed her, and said, “Thy sins are forgiven!” There now
remained not a doubt in her mind. She had His word personally addressed
to her, and this was the ground of her assurance.

[Illustration: THE UNINVITED GUEST.]

Now see what followed. “They that sat at meat with Him began to say,
within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also?” Simon and his
friends were offended because there was no sympathy in their hearts
for Christ and His works of mercy. They did not desire the salvation
of this woman who had come in to their feast. It did not once occur
to them that Christ could know the character of the woman and yet be
willing to let her approach Him that He might forgive her sin. They saw
only a man, and said, “Who is this that forgiveth sins also?” Only God
could do that. But she saw a Saviour before her, and our Lord fearing
the cavil of the Pharisees might distress the woman, He said to her,
“Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace!” He would get her away from
the doubting Pharisees as quickly as possible.

It is worthy of observation that, notwithstanding the beautiful
exhibition this woman gave of her love and affection, it was her
“faith,” not her love, that saved her.

Tradition identifies this woman as Mary Magdalene, a native, it is
thought of Magdol, the modern _Mejdel_, a town on the west shore of
the Sea of Galilee, and south of the plain of Gennesaret. The present
village lies close to the water’s edge, and, Tiberias excepted, is the
only place on the western coast of Galilee which survives the wreck of
time.

Much is said by the Talmudists of her wealth, her extreme beauty, her
braided hair, but all we know of her from Scriptures is her enthusiasm
of devotion and gratitude which, henceforth, attached her, heart and
soul, to her Saviour’s service. For we read, “And it came to pass
afterward,” after this feast in the house of Simon the Pharisee, that
Jesus “went through” the cities and villages of Galilee “preaching and
showing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God,” and “certain women,
which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary Magdalene,
out of whom went seven devils, and Joanna the wife of Chuza, Herod’s
steward, and Susanna, and many others,” “ministered unto Him of their
substance.” Thus we find this woman, with others, ministering to the
temporal necessities of our Lord.

In the last journey of Christ to Jerusalem, Mary Magdalene accompanied
the women who were in the company. She was also among the women on the
day of crucifixion who “stood afar off, beholding these things” during
the closing hours of the agony on the cross, and remained till all was
over, waited till the body was taken down, and wrapped in the linen
cloth and placed in the sepulchre of Joseph of Arimathea. Thus, this
loving, faithful woman, true to her nature, clung to her Lord to the
very last.

On the morning of the resurrection, Mary Magdalene was among the women
who found the tomb of our Lord empty. Instantly she hastened to inform
the disciples. While she was gone, the remaining women saw the angels,
who asked, “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” And instructed
them to tell his disciples. So when Mary returned to the sepulchre,
she was alone. She was also ignorant of what the angels had said to
the other women, and the poor woman’s heart could no longer retain her
pent-up grief, and stood at the open sepulchre weeping. Presently she
saw a man, and supposing him to be the gardener, said, “Sir, if thou
hast borne Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him, and I will take
Him away.”

While she is speaking to the supposed gardener, Jesus addressed her
by her given name, “Mary!” Behold, it was her Lord, and she exclaims,
“_Rabboni!_” It was the strongest word of reverence which a woman of
Israel could use, and, in her joy, would have fallen on His neck, had
He not restrained her. But what honor the Lord conferred upon her. She
was the first human messenger to the world of a risen Saviour!

Such was the beautiful pearl our Lord saw in the woman who poured out
her penitence in a flood of tears at His feet in the house of Simon
the Pharisee. While it was her faith that saved her, surely it can
truthfully be said of her, “She loved much.”

It was after Jesus had begun His new method of teaching by parables,
the keynote of which was, “Take heed how ye hear,” and had, at the
close of a hard day’s labor, sailed over the Sea of Galilee, and spent
the night in the region of Decapolis, in the hope of getting away from
the multitudes to obtain a little rest, that, on the following morning
as he returned to Capernaum, the people, from the hillsides were
watching for His return, and as soon as they recognized the sail of the
little vessel, and long before he reached land, great throngs had lined
the shore to welcome His return.

Notwithstanding the prejudices of the Scribes and Pharisees had already
been aroused against Christ, there was, on the shore, nervously moving
among the people, a very prominent citizen of Capernaum, by the name
of Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue. From the deep lines of anxiety
visible on his face, he was evidently in great mental distress. And
well he might be, for his beautiful twelve year old daughter had been
given up by the physicians and was dying. As a last resort, he hastened
to find Jesus, who already had performed many cures in his city, and
so when he learned that our Lord had passed over the Sea of Galilee,
he could do no better than wait His coming. No sooner had the little
vessel touched the landing than Jairus pushed his way through the
crowd, and when he got near enough fell at Jesus’ feet, and in great
agony of heart besought Him, saying, “My little daughter lieth at the
point of death; I pray Thee come and lay Thy hands on her, that she may
be healed.” There was no calmness in this appeal. On the other hand,
it was full of agitation and fear, mingled with fancies that the Lord
must first lay His hands upon his dying child. There is a striking
similarity between this appeal of Jairus, and that of the nobleman who
came to Jesus in the early part of His ministry, and cried out, “Come
down ere my child die.” Then the Lord told the nobleman to go his way,
his child should live, but here His divine compassion went out to the
distressed father. Doubtless Jesus saw the weakness of his faith, but
He also saw his sincerity, and so He “went with him.”

But the daughter of Jairus was not the only sufferer in that city. We
read, there was “a certain woman which had an issue of blood twelve
years, and had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent
all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse.”
Surely she was in a sorrowful condition, had suffered many things,
besides the disease which was wasting her life away, for medicine
in that age was but imperfectly understood, and diseases were often
exorcised by charms, and, doubtless her “many physicians” practiced all
sorts of charms and resorted to every kind of omen, until her money
was gone, and she was not only poverty-stricken, but daily growing
worse under her affliction. One almost wonders, since Jesus had now
been for a year and a half a resident of Capernaum, that she had not
sooner appealed to Him for help. Perhaps his work had been in another
part of the city, or she may have been deterred from asking His help
because of the nature of her malady, or she may have thought within
herself that she could do in the throng what she had not the courage to
do openly, for she said, “If I may but touch His garment, I shall be
whole.” And now was her opportunity, for “much people followed Him, and
thronged Him.” Besides, on this occasion, Jesus may have passed through
the street on which she lived, since He has such a way of passing by
the door of helpless, suffering humanity, for He is “touched with the
feeling of our infirmities.”

This woman at first does not impress us as having a very exalted idea
of the Saviour or faith in His ability to heal. Doubtless she shared
the superstition of her people, and imagined that Christ healed by a
sort of magic or magnetism, for, as she mingled in the throng, she said
to herself, if I come “in the press,” if I can only get near enough to
“touch the hem of His garment,” I will be healed. These seem to be the
thoughts passing through her mind as she ventured out on her errand of
being healed. It is important, however, though difficult, to realize
her situation, for she had become impoverished, diseased, and almost
helpless. Once she was possessed of health, and some means at least,
and, no doubt moved in respectable society. Her changed relations
to her former surroundings made it all the harder to be publicly
recognized, and so she timidly permits herself to be absorbed by the
multitude as they pressed their way through the crowded street that
morning. There may be another reason of which she was fully conscious,
namely, according to the Mosaic law, such a sufferer was unclean, and
was required, after the cure was wrought, to bring an offering for
purification. Orientals had a perfect abhorrence of such a person, for
her very touch would render them unclean. Perhaps could we know all the
circumstances which shaped her actions, the wonder would be, that she
came at all, and that her courage was greater than her faith.

At length, and as unobtrusively as possible, she came up, in the press
of the people, behind Jesus, and stretched out her trembling hand, and
in such a modest way touched the hem of His garment that no one saw
it, not even His disciples, who were nearest the Saviour. Since no one
saw her act, she thought no one needed to know it. Perhaps she was so
careful that she even thought Jesus was not conscious of it. But to our
Lord there was a difference between the touch of faith and the touch of
the crowd. She was all too deeply conscious of her great need. She was
carried along with the multitude, because she believed if she could get
near enough to Jesus to touch Him, she would receive that which all her
physicians were unable to bestow, namely, restoration to health. She
was there for a blessing. The crowd was there through idle curiosity.
They wanted nothing, only to see. They pushed through the thronged
highway together, and as they did so talked about the simplicity of the
great Man in their midst, were interested in Him because of His fame,
discussed His origin, wondered at the growing opposition of the Scribes
and Pharisees, but hoped some good would come of Him to the nation. The
woman believed she would personally receive new life from Him. In this
she was not disappointed, for “straightway the fountain of her blood
was dried up; and she felt in her body that she was healed of that
plague.” To her there was an inward consciousness, which could not be
mistaken, of the staunching of a wound through which her life, for long
years, had been slowly and yet surely ebbing, and she felt the rising
tide of new existence and a return to wholeness.

But now the scene changes. The great throng came to a halt. What has
happened? one inquired of another. See! Jesus has turned around “in the
press” and is sharply looking into the faces of those nearest Him, and
demanding, “Who touched my clothes?”

To the disciples this seemed a strange inquiry, and they could not
understand its meaning, and replied, “Thou seest the multitude
thronging thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?” To appreciate
the astonishment of the disciples one must see an Oriental throng
pushing its way through a narrow street of an Eastern city. There is
no resisting its onward rush. Like some mighty river which, fed by a
thousand spring freshets, irresistibly bears everything before it, so
is an Eastern crowd, and the wonder is that Jesus could stay at all.
But He immediately knew in “Himself that virtue had gone out of Him.”
He was conscious that He had put forth power for the woman’s healing.
He would there and at once correct any superstition that there was any
healing virtue in His clothes. Not in the touch of the garment, for the
people pressed Him on all sides, and experienced nothing of His healing
power, even though one or another might have had a concealed disease,
simply because this conscious need of help was lacking in them, and so
it was her own faith had saved her, even though in the beginning it was
not wholly free from superstition.

But what a trial this stop must have been to the woman, especially
when there was such urgent haste, and this seeming leisurely way of
calling out all the circumstances of the case, even after all disavowed
touching Him, and His looking “round about to see her that had done
this thing.” She must have thought to herself, “I will surely be
discovered.” And timidly shrank back in the crowd, her face burning
with confusion, for doubtless she was not only alarmed at the delay,
but also mortified and afraid on account of the nature of her malady,
disturbed by the consciousness of impropriety, as having, while
Levitically unclean, dared to mingle with the people, and even touch
the great Teacher Himself. We wonder, in the sweep of the Saviour’s eye
over the multitude “to see her,” as she caught sight of His beneficent
face, possibly for the first time, she did not see something in it
that calmed her fears and inspired hope? It would seem so, for even
while yet “fearing and trembling” she came promptly out from among the
throng, “fell down before Him,” and, hard as it must have been for
her to tell her shame in the ears of the multitude, woman-like, she
bravely “told Him all the truth!” Confessed the whole sad story of her
life, and twelve long years of suffering. Oh, the touch of loyalty to
truth and honor in this woman, prostrate at the feet of Jesus, pleading
for mercy and forgiveness! How His own heart must have been touched by
it. He would not break the bruised reed, even in this necessity for
the good of her faith, to have her openly confess the great blessing
she had received. Doubtless the Lord constrained her to make this
confession, partly to seal her faith and to strengthen her recovery,
and partly to present her to the world as healed and cleansed.

But while she is sobbing out her confession at the Saviour’s feet, He
graciously addresses her, “Daughter, be of good comfort; thy faith hath
made thee whole; go in peace!” Had ever such endearing words fallen
upon human ears! To the woman in the house of Simon the Pharisee, He
had said, “Thy faith hath saved thee!” To this one He says, “Daughter,
be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole!” That endearing
appellation, “daughter,” must have sounded as a lost note out of heaven
in the ear of this woman. Could it be possible that she, who, under
the Levitical law, had been held by her people as unclean, is called
“daughter” by the pure, sinless Son of God? Did ever heaven come down
to earth in such graciousness, and rescue from the mire of uncleanness
and elevate womanhood to be a princess of the sky? Surely these were
days of heaven upon earth, and we may well believe that “daughter”
arose from her prostrate attitude at the feet of the Lord of life and
glory, “a new creature” in Christ.

Early ecclesiastical legends have garlanded this woman with many
beautiful fancies. Her birthplace, according to tradition, was Paneas
(the modern Banias), located at the sources of the Jordan. Here, in
the front of her residence, she caused a monument to be erected to her
Deliverer. She must also have been in the company of women who followed
Jesus to Jerusalem at the last Passover, for, at the several trials of
our Lord she is made to appear under the name of Veronica, and is said,
in the presence of Pilate, to have proclaimed, in a clear, loud voice,
the innocence of our Lord, and after he was condemned to be crucified,
on the way to Calvary, wiped His face with her own handkerchief.

Whatever value or genuineness there may be attached to these
traditions, they certainly show in what reverence she was held in
Christian antiquity, and how highly the faith and the hope of this
sufferer were esteemed.

But, above all these traditionary legends, we behold the glory and
majesty of our Lord in that, in the midst of the multitude, He
displayed no traces of excitement, but that in calm consciousness He
was ready to receive any impression from without. Of this there is
the clearest evidence, when, in the midst of the excited crowd, He
perceived that one timid, shrinking woman, in the agony of her faith
touched the fringe of His garment; and when He stopped to comfort and
confirm the trembling believer, whom His power and grace had restored,
He had recognized, even in a throng, that faith which was unperceived
by men, and only found expression in the inmost desires of the one who
was not even known to the crowd. He alone could develop and strengthen
this unobtrusive and shrinking “daughter” until she breaks forth in
open and public profession.

There are also reasons why Christ ascribes to faith the deliverance
which He alone works: 1. Faith alone can receive the needed
deliverance. 2. Shrinking modesty, and even a feeling of unworthiness,
need no longer be kept back by any sense of uncleanness, from the full
exercise of that faith. 3. God’s gifts are not alone for the rich and
those high in the ranks of social life, for even this ruler of the
synagogue had to give place to this timid woman, therefore faith may
be exercised by those in the humblest walks of life. 4. Jesus would
convert the act of faith into a life of faith. This woman was not hid
from the searching glance of Christ, but His gracious act of healing
was concealed from the world until He brought her before Him in her
public confession.

If there is anything that can grieve the heart of Christ it must be
the person who absorbs like a sponge all the gifts of grace, but never
gives any of them out to others. If every one acted thus, Christianity
would be blotted from the face of the earth in a single generation.
Hence the wisdom and justice in requiring believers to be witnesses and
confessors. If you have received any good, tell it out, that others may
be blessed and God glorified.

It was now becoming manifest that the opposition of the Pharisees was
deepening, and, because they were bitterly offended at the Saviour’s
work, shortly after the healing of the woman with a bloody issue,
Jesus withdrew from Capernaum to the “borders of Tyre and Sidon.” Only
a little before this so many were coming and going that our Lord and
His disciples “had no leisure so much as to eat,” and because of these
throngs upon His public ministry, He had said to the apostles, “Come
ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile.” So they
sailed for the farther shore, to find a safe retreat in the sheltered
uplands in the dominion of Herod Philip. But the people, who seemed to
be always on the watch, when they saw the little vessel sailing out
from Capernaum, and knew, by the direction it was taking, they quickly
spread the news of His departure, and thronged out of Capernaum,
Bethsaida, Chorazin and other cities, and hastened on foot around the
shores of the sea, and outran the vessel and reached His contemplated
place of retirement in advance of the little craft, and there was no
rest, but a great multitude to be instructed, and healed, and fed,
for it was on this occasion that He spread a table in the desert, and
five thousand, besides women and children, sat down to eat. And so
there was nothing but a hard day’s work, and a night on the desolate
mountain in prayer. So obviously His journey to the “borders of Tyre
and Sidon,” was to find seclusion and rest, which He had sought, but in
vain, in the “desert place.” But even here, down by the coast of the
Mediterranean, “He could not be hid,” although, when He had reached the
“borders” of the land, He “entered into a house and would have no man
know it.”

To our mind this is one of the most remarkable incidents in our Lord’s
ministry. In the house of some sheltering friend, on the remote
frontier of Galilee, He hoped to escape popular attention and to be
relieved from the demands of the crowds, who had even deprived Him
of the needed time to eat, but “He could not be hid.” A woman, a
Syro-Phœnician, that is to say, one of the mixed race, in whom the
blood of the Syrians and Phœnicians mingled, and for that reason doubly
despised by the Jews, this woman had observed His presence, and was
soon “at His feet.” From the fact that she was a Gentile, and of a
mixed race at that, made her coming to Jesus an act of heroic faith.
She came not only without invitation, or a single promise to warrant
her coming, but in the face of heart-breaking discouragements. We
have been trained to believe, from the clear teaching of Scripture,
that when we come to Christ with our burdens of sorrow, be they ever
so heavy, and ask for help, our prayers must always be subject to His
will. And indeed He set us a beautiful object-lesson in His own great
agony in Gethsemane. But here it would seem as if the process had been
reversed, and as if this poor Syro-Phœnician woman had succeeded in
imposing her will on the Son of God. Did He not say, “Be it unto thee
even as thou wilt?” And is there not in this the appearance, at least,
of the monarch abdicating in favor of the subject? Strange, indeed,
that any one should get their own way and will with the Sovereign
of all, for the sin that is in us so dyes the color of our will and
deflects it, that we can seldom think of it as being other than a
crooked piece of bent or twisted iron. It is very wonderful that this
woman’s faith was able to get deliverance for her daughter possessed
of an “unclean spirit.” Somehow she believed beforehand in His love
to her, a poor Gentile mother, and this was great faith indeed. All
the miracles of Christ were wrought in response to faith, either in
the sufferers who besought His aid, or in their friends. There must
be faith by which, as over a bridge, the divine help might pass into
the nature of man. Faith is the unfurled petal, the opened door, the
unshuttered lattice. And so, in this case, it was through the mother’s
faith that God’s delivering help passed to the child.

Upon a careful study of the secret of this woman’s faith, we shall
discover that her faith was severely tested. Christ gave her four
tests, each of which was necessary to complete her education; and by
each, with agile foot, she climbed the difficult stairway, which some
would say was of upward ascent, but which in point of fact was one of
downward climbing, until she got low enough to catch the waters which
issue from the threshold of the door of heaven’s mercy.

The first test was that of silence. “She cried unto Him, saying, Have
mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed
with a devil.” The effects of these unclean spirits are described in
the instance where the distressed father brought his demoniac boy to be
healed. And while the father is bringing him, the poor child is seized
with paroxysms of his malady, having fallen to the ground at the feet
of Jesus, foaming at the lips under the violent convulsions. When the
father was asked how long the boy had thus been possessed, he answered,
“Of a child, and ofttimes it hath cast him into the fire, and into the
water to destroy him;” and whenever the spirit “taketh him, he teareth
him, and he foameth, and gnasheth with his teeth and pineth away.”
Such was the demon this poor mother’s daughter was possessed with,
and grievously tormented. But to her appeal for help, Jesus “answered
her not a word.” He alone had the power to help, but the agonizing
mother awakened no response. And yet, His very silence is a testing of
her faith. Often it has happened that God’s answer which has best met
our need was the silence which has not been a refusal, but has given
time for us to reach a condition of lowliness and helplessness before
God. He always lets the fruit upon His trees ripen before He plucks
it. Through the silence of the winter the sap is touching again its
mother earth, and becoming reinforced by her energy for its work in
the blossoms of May and the fruit of September. The mind reaches its
clearest, strongest conclusion by processes carried on in its depths
during hours of silence and repose. It is in the long, silent hours,
when the heart waits at the door, listening for the footstep down the
corridor in vain, that processes are at work that shall make it more
able to hold the blessedness which shall be poured out from the chalice
of a Father’s pity.

Again. She was sorely tested in the conduct of the disciples. They
were eager to rid themselves of the worry of this woman’s crying, and,
as the quickest solution--a solution which we are all ready enough
to imitate--advised Christ to give her what she wanted and send her
off. They thought a miracle to Christ was not more than a penny to a
millionaire. They did not see that Christ’s hands were tied until the
conditions of blessing were fulfilled in the suppliant. He loves us too
well to give His choicest boons to those who have not complied with the
lofty spiritual conditions which are part of the standing orders of the
kingdom of heaven. Much of our charity is sheer selfishness. We would
rather grant the request any day than have an unsightly beggar intrude
into our bowers of selfish repose. “She crieth after us,” the disciples
said; “her misery is unpleasant; heal it.”

But Christ was tied by the terms of His commission. She had appealed
to Him as Son of David, and He said that He had been sent to the
lost sheep of the house of Israel. She belonged to one of the alien
races. She was not even a “sheep” of the house of Israel, much less a
“lost” one. The question was, “Could He, even for once, transcend His
commission, and grant the request of this weary soul which had traveled
so far to find the Christ?” As Messiah, she had no claim on Him, for,
in that capacity, He had been commissioned to the house of Israel only.

Once again. Her faith was tested in His farther refusal to her
pleadings, when He said, “It is not meet to take the children’s bread,
and cast it to the dogs.” Somehow her quick woman’s instinct perceived
a way up what had seemed to be the unscalable path of Christ’s refusal.
If she had no claim on Him as Messiah, was He not something more? Was
He not Lord and Master? Did not deity blend with humanity in that
nature, which, whilst His voice repelled her, yet fascinated and
attracted her? It would almost seem as if the Holy Spirit whispered,
“Accost Him as Lord;” “Touch Him on the side of His universal power;”
“Speak to Him as Son of Man.” So she acted upon His suggestion, and,
throwing herself at His feet, said, “Lord, help me.” To this appeal
Christ gave answer that seemed churlish enough. But the bitter rind
encased luscious fruit. The nut had only to be cracked to disclose
the milk, sweeter than that of the cocoanut in the desert waste. He
compared the Jews to children, Himself to bread, and this woman to a
dog. But for the word “dog” he used the tender diminutive, which was
not applicable to the wolfish, starving animals that prowl and snarl
through the streets of Eastern towns, but was used for the little dogs
brought up with the children in the home. Now, hope once again sprang
up in her heart. Jesus had talked about dogs, and little house dogs,
the playthings of the children. He said it was not proper to cast the
children’s bread to dogs. If by children he meant the “sheep of the
house of Israel,” then she must belong to the household after all.

She was quick to see her opportunity. “Truth, Lord!” she exclaimed,
“Yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table!”
When she said that, her lesson was learnt. In her former reply she
had given the Lord His right place; in this she took her own as a
little dog. You are not a child of Abraham’s stock! Truth, Lord. You
are a Syro-Phœnician, and, for that reason, doubly unfit to be called
a child! Truth, Lord. All I do for you must be of grace, and not of
merit! Truth, Lord. She admitted all and accepted His most discouraging
statements concerning herself. But, after the worst that can be said
about dogs, they “eat of the crumbs.” All these seeming objections are
in favor of her request. She only wants a little crumb of His mercy,
which will take nothing from others.

Jesus could stand such pleadings no longer, and he answered and said,
“O, woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt.”
She had come for crumbs, but the Lord handed to her the key of the
storehouse, and said, “Have your way, go in and help yourself to all
its stores.” She would have been content with the crumbs that fell
beneath the table on the floor, but she finds herself seated at the
table itself, and feasting like a daughter of the king on its rich and
bountiful provision. No longer a dog, she proves herself to be one of
those other sheep which shamed the lost sheep of the house of Israel by
docility and purity and grace.

This woman had many graces. She had wisdom, humility, meekness,
patience, perseverance in prayer; but all these were the fruits
of her faith; therefore, of all graces, Christ honors faith most.
The perseverance of this woman may well be considered as every way
calculated to teach us the power and efficacy of faith, and the
greatness of her faith consisted in this, that in spite of all
discouragements she continued her plea. Many a blessing has been lost
out of our lives just because we lacked these graces of the soul.




CHAPTER IX.

Womanhood During Our Lord’s Judean Ministry.

  THE SISTERS OF BETHANY--THEIR CHARACTERISTICS--NOT GOOD, BUT BEST
    GIFTS--THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF LOVE--SALOME’S STRANGE REQUEST--HER
    FIDELITY--JOANNA--THE POOR WIDOW’S GIFT--HOW ESTIMATED--THE
    SAVIOUR’S WORDS OF PEACE.


The sisters of Bethany, Martha and Mary, come to our view three times
during our Lord’s Judean ministry. The first view we have of them is
recorded in Luke x, 38-42, where these sisters entertain our Lord after
a long, weary day’s teaching. The second is recorded in John xi, 1-46,
and relates to the sickness and raising from the dead their brother
Lazarus. The third is the anointing of Jesus by Mary, the account of
which is found in Matt. xxvi, 6-13; also in Mark xiv, 3-9, and John
xii, 1-8. Though these three events are each distinct, yet a careful
study will discover a close connection between the deep, underlying
truths in each, the attitude taken by Jesus, and the results in the
circumstances of everyday life.

A great deal has been said and written about these sisters of Bethany,
some regarding Martha at fault, while others think Mary did not do the
right thing to leave her sister do all the work. It is related of three
theologians that they were talking together about these two women, and
at last made their discussions concrete by questioning each other as
to which of the women they would like to have married. The first said
he would rather take Martha, to have his home looked well after; the
second said he would much prefer to have married Mary, the tender and
the loving; and the third, who had been silent up to this point, said,
“I should like Martha before dinner and Mary after.” We think there is
a great deal in this statement. There are excellencies in each, and
it is impossible for us to do without our busy Marthas in our homes
and churches, but we must remember at the same time that our Lord’s
estimate is that Mary had chosen the better part which was not to be
taken from her.

The location of Bethany is most picturesque and charming. It is
scarcely two miles from Jerusalem, yet, by its situation on the
south-eastern side of a lateral spur of Olivet, is completely hid from
view. Here, amid the olive yards and fig orchards, lived this happy
family in comfortable circumstances, and, we think, were possessed of
considerable property, and ranked well among the learned and affluent.
Jesus had been slowly journeying from Galilee down the east borders of
Samaria to Jerusalem. Those who are familiar with that journey will
remember how replete it was with incidents, wayside sermons, parables
and miracles. At length, late in the afternoon, we may well believe, He
arrived at Bethany weary with the long journey, exhausted by the labors
which attended it, and glad to get away from the multitudes which
thronged Him. That there should be some stir in the pious household at
the coming of such a guest is perfectly natural, and that Martha, the
busy, eager-hearted, and no less affectionate hostess, should hurry
to and fro with somewhat excited energy to prepare for His proper
entertainment, is not to be wondered at, for, in all probability,
she had had no information of His coming, and along with Him twelve
disciples to be provided for. The wonder is she was as self-contained
as she was.

There can be no doubt but Martha was a good housekeeper. She kept
everything straight, clean and neat. And when Jesus came, it upset her
somewhat, and she ran out into the kitchen, at the back of the house
to get the supper; not a single thing must be left undone, everything
must be there. She is so eager about it, coming in and out of the
little guest-chamber where the Master is sitting, hurrying here and
there with this one thought in her heart, that the Lord must have
her best, nothing must be left unturned to give Him comfort. And,
of course, there is a good deal of excitement and possible anxiety.
The disarranged furniture is hastily put to rights, the table had
to be freshly laid with clean white cloths, and the dining-room made
presentable, for it must be remembered Christ did not come alone.
He had a group of twelve disciples with Him, and such an influx
of visitors would throw any village home into perturbation. Then,
no doubt, the day’s labor had been a good appetizer. The kitchen
department that day was a very important department, and probably
Martha had no sooner greeted her guests than she fled to that room. No
doubt she was a good cook. Mary had full confidence that her sister
could get up the best dinner of any woman in Bethany, for Martha was
not only a hard-working and painstaking woman, but also a good manager,
ever inventive of some new pastry, or discovering something in the art
of cookery and housekeeping.

On the other hand, Mary had no worriment about household affairs. She
seemed to say, “Now, let us have a division of labor. Martha, you
cook, and I’ll sit down and be good.” So you have often seen a great
difference between two sisters. Mary is so fond of conversation she has
no time to attend to the household welfare. So by this self-appointed
arrangement, Mary is in the parlor with Christ, and Martha is in the
kitchen. It would have been better if they had divided the work, and
then they could have divided the opportunity of listening to Jesus;
but Mary monopolizes Christ while Martha swelters at the fire. It was
a very important thing that they should have a good dinner that day.
Christ was hungry, and He did not often have a luxurious entertainment.
Alas! if the duty had devolved upon Mary, what a repast that would have
been! But something went wrong in the kitchen. Perhaps the fire would
not burn, or the bread would not bake, or Martha scalded her hand, or
something was burned black that ought only to have been made brown;
and Martha lost her patience, and forgetting the proprieties of the
occasion, with besweated brow, and, perhaps with pitcher in one hand
and tongs in the other, she rushes out of the kitchen into the presence
of Christ, saying, “Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left
me to serve alone?”

Now look at Martha, but while you look, do not get out of patience
with her. She is cumbered and growing fretful. Her service is getting
too much for her, she can not get things done as well as she would
like. And being fretful and tired she goes wrong herself. First she is
cumbered; the next thing she feels cross with Mary; “Mary is sitting
there at the feet of Jesus, and I am so busy getting the supper. What
right has she down there when I am so busy?” The third thing she gets
cross with Jesus, and she says, “Dost not Thou care that my sister
hath left me to serve?” Cumbered in her own spirit, angry with her
sister, reflecting upon her Master, and putting the blame on him of
her weariness. Dear soul, how she loved and wanted that supper to be
all that it ought to be, but she had forgotten that service only was
acceptable which was filled up with communion with the Lord.

How tenderly the Lord deals with Martha! There was nothing acrid in
His words. He knew that she had almost worked herself to death to get
Him something to eat, and so He throws a world of tenderness into His
intonation as He seems to say, “My dear woman, do not worry, let the
dinner go; sit down on this ottoman beside Mary, your younger sister.
Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but
one thing is needful.” Is there not a volume of love and sympathy
expressed in these words? And may not the Marthas of to-day learn
wisdom from them and seek in Jesus that Friend who can be touched with
the feelings of our infirmities, “that good part which shall not be
taken away?” The Saviour looked with love and pity upon the troubled
Martha, for He realized that she was not only cumbered with many
cares, but she was also anxious for His personal comfort. He was her
Guest. Though the Lord of Glory, He was also man, having human wants.
He hungered and thirsted as other men, and it was the duty of these
sisters to provide for Him the necessary food. If at the last day it
will be a matter of condemnation to any one that he has seen one of
Christ’s disciples an hungered or athirst and did not minister unto
him, how much more guilty would they be who would suffer Christ Himself
to go without food when He was hungry, and that too in their own house!

Martha was right, therefore, in seeing that a suitable meal was
prepared for her guests. Her mistake was that she set an undue
importance upon the matter. She represents that large class of Marthas
which emphasizes fidelity to temporal cares and subordinates the
devotional and spiritual. Mary represents that side which magnifies
the devotional and spiritual, and which subordinates the temporal and
physical things, making them subserve the other. The one is serving
Christ in our own way and according to our own zeal; the other is
humbly waiting at His feet for direction. Martha must needs get up a
great entertainment. She must have a needless variety of dishes, show
thereby the skill and resources of her art as a housekeeper. Instead of
thinking mainly of what her distinguished Guest might do for her, of
the infinite store of blessing that hung upon His lips, she was wholly
intent upon what she might do for Him. While thus absorbed and fretted
with cares of how she might give her table a more comely appearance,
she was losing the heavenly manna which Jesus came to dispense, and
which she so much needed for her soul. Not only did she throw away this
priceless opportunity of hearing the words of eternal life directly
from her Lord, but she was unreasonably vexed at Mary for not being as
foolish as herself.

The thoughts and purpose of her heart were as open to Him as were those
of the gentle, loving Mary; and while one revealed care and anxiety for
the perishing things of this life the other told of perfect love and
trust in her adored Lord; of earnest longing for the knowledge of the
truth, of deep humility, of self-forgetting devotion, of that quiet
courage which fears neither ridicule nor opposition.

There may have been some truth in Martha’s complaint against her
sister. Very possibly Mary may have been so absorbed with the “good
part” which she had chosen, as to be really negligent of her household
duties, and to throw upon Martha burdens which should have been shared
equally by the sisters. Had Mary, sitting at the Master’s feet and
drinking in the precious doctrine that fell from His lips, been puffed
up thereby, and said to Jesus, “Speak to my sister Martha, that she
stop her household cares, and come and sit with me in this devout
frame of mind,” very likely the rebuke would have fallen in the other
direction.

Observe, Jesus did not meet Martha’s words against her sister with
a denial, or with an apology. He simply vindicated Mary’s religious
integrity, by testifying that she had “chosen the good part.” She
was a faithful, humble, loving disciple, and delighted to sit at His
feet and receive instruction. That which Jesus calls “that good part”
must be of priceless value, a treasure well worth obtaining in this
changing, perishing world; for it is to be enduring, “it shall not be
taken away.” Like the favored Mary, we may not literally sit at the
Master’s feet, yet He is speaking to every humble child of God, in and
by His Word. We may choose the world with all its vanities which perish
with the using, or we may choose Christ as our portion, both for time
and eternity. O! how many troubled Marthas there are in these modern
times that need to choose the “good part,” that need to sit humbly at
the dear Saviour’s feet, to be nourished by His love, cheered by His
council, and approved by the divine “well done!” The lowly life of
humble sacrifice is the only life worth living.

The next view we have of this beautiful Bethany home the scene is all
changed. The sunshine is all gone out and great clouds of sorrow and
distress have rolled into the sky of its happiness. Prosperity has
given place to the bitterest adversity, the brightness and gladness are
banished, and the sisters are right down under the deepest, darkest
shadow of sorrow that ever settled on their home. The well-beloved
brother, Lazarus, is ill unto death, and Jesus is far away, and in
the very midst of His Peræan ministry. In their distress, the first
thought of these sisters was of Jesus. “If He only knew our brother was
sick,” they doubtless said one to the other, He would sympathize with
us, and at once restore him to health. And so they sent him the simple
message, “He whom Thou lovest is sick.”

Our first thought is when the messengers, bearing the sad intelligence,
had informed the Lord, He would have at once promptly responded to this
cry of help coming from the home where he had been so heartily welcomed
and so bountifully entertained. But how different was His reception of
the message from what we naturally expected. So far as is known, He did
not even return an answer. Could they have been mistaken? Did not Jesus
love Martha and her sister, and was not the very message couched in the
words, “He whom thou lovest?” Would He dishonor the confidence they had
reposed in Him?

For two whole days He continued His Paræan ministry “in the same place
where He was.” To us this conduct is most surprising. O, how often the
Lord does so with us, even when we cry after Him in our sorrow He does
not come. But always right in front of the statement, that He does not
come, we have “Jesus loved.” How it added to their sorrow. Lazarus
dying, Christ not coming, and at last Lazarus is dead and in the tomb,
and yet the Master has not come. Surely the dense gloom of bereavement
has settled down over the home, but a little while ago so full of
sunshine and beauty.

Heartbroken, the sisters keep their vigil by the sepulchre, but among
the friends coming and going to tender their sympathy, the Friend does
not appear. He came not to save; He comes not to weep. The fact must
have added poignancy to their grief. But wait in your judgment. Right
through these dark hours Jesus loved these sisters. Do not lose sight
of this fact. It may comfort you some day. He refrained from bestowing
a small favor only that He might have an opportunity to bestow a
greater. If he had healed Lazarus by a word, Martha and Mary would
have been grateful and satisfied, but by waiting He could give them a
greater blessing, and one which might be shared by sorrowing ones in
all ages to come.

But Jesus is coming. Lazarus is dead, but Jesus is come at last, and is
halting on the brow of the hill, just outside of the village. The news
of His arrival reach the stricken sisters. How does the intelligence
of His presence affect them? “Then Martha,” the dear woman, “as soon
as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him; but Mary sat
still in the house.” What a contrast. Martha hastens along the village
road to the brow of the hill where the Saviour had halted, doubtless
that He might meet the sisters apart from the crowd, which had come in
accordance with Jewish custom, to mourn with them, and as she comes
running to meet Him, she exclaims, “Lord, if Thou hadst been here my
brother had not died.” He certainly understood that. But in her blind
grief she could not understand how, if He loved her and her sister, He
could delay His coming until it was too late. In her words there was
almost the accent of rebuke and reproach, “If _Thou_ hadst been here my
brother had not died.” But how graciously He deals with her. He comes
to her in her argumentative state and with words the most comforting
said, “Thy brother shall rise again.”

Martha could hardly believe her ears, as she certainly did not
comprehend the meaning of these words with her heart, and replied, “I
know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” She
believed in the life everlasting, but she was going to put off being
comforted until “the last day.” In that Martha has many sisters.

But how patiently our Lord recalls the mind of Martha from the
resurrection of the last day to Himself. He said, “I am the
resurrection, and the life; he that believeth in Me, though he were
dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall
never die!” He is master of the thing that fills her heart with dread,
and patiently He deals with her. Was not that beautiful?

Comforted in her heart, Martha hastened back to her home, and called
Mary her sister secretly, saying, “The Master is come, and calleth for
thee.” He wanted to meet Mary apart from the public mourners, as He had
met Martha. The custom was for the comforters to do as the mourners. If
they were silent, to remain so; if they wailed, to wail with them. The
shrieks of Oriental mourners are often ear-piercing. Our Lord wanted
to avoid this, and so no doubt, although it is not chronicled, He had
commissioned Martha to bear the tidings of His arrival, and she went
and quietly and said, “The Master wants you, Mary.”

Mary “rose quickly, and came unto Him.” But mark her coming. Unlike her
sister, “when Mary was come where Jesus was, and saw Him, she _fell
down at His feet_, saying unto Him, Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my
brother had not died.” That’s what Martha said. Yes, but what effect
did it produce upon Him when Mary said it? “When Jesus therefore saw
her weeping,” and the company of mourners who had followed her soon
after she left the house, “also weeping” with her, “He groaned in the
spirit and was troubled,” no doubt, at the empty platitude on the
part of those miserable comforters. But at the sepulchre, where lay
the mortal remains of the loved Lazarus, He wept. The Son of God in
tears! His great heart sharing another’s sorrow. This scene is the most
precious and comforting in the record of the Saviour’s life so far as
the revelation of His heart is concerned.

Martha gets His teaching, Mary gets His tears. Martha said exactly what
Mary said. When Mary said it, what a difference! Which do you think
was the better thing, to run after Him and get His teaching, or wait
till sent for and get His tears? The reasoning mind will receive the
Master’s teaching; the broken, weeping heart, His tears. Bright and
luminous as were His words with resurrection glory, Mary got to deeper
depths in the heart of God when she came than Martha, because she drew
His tears of deepest sympathy with her sorrow.

Why did Jesus weep? Because Lazarus died? No, He is going to call Him
back for a definite purpose. He knows that bereavement has broken the
hearts of these two sisters, and though He is going to heal sorrow’s
wound, He sympathized with their grief, and His heart went out in
their distress. Every wounded heart that belongs to a child of God,
the Master is going to heal by and by; yet He suffers with you in the
wounding, and enters by tears with you into the sacrament of your
sorrow. And so He wept when these women wept. There are times in our
lives when the tears of sympathy speak greater comfort than the most
eloquent words. Beloved, when you go to your friend sitting in the
shadow of her deepest sorrow, spare your words, but freely mingle your
tears with hers. Job’s comforters sat in silence for seven days before
they spoke. But if you are not delivered out of your bereavement, may
this scene in the life of our Lord comfort you with the thought that
He has something better for you. The best thing came to these sisters,
right after the bitter weeping.

In the third and last view we have of this blessed Bethany home, we
see some of the scenes of the first view coming up to us. It is the
same home, only, because of better accommodations, the feast is held in
the house of Simon, but the same people are in it. But what a change
there is here! Let us get the humanness as well as the divinity out of
it. Look at those people, what are they doing? Sitting at the table.
A lovely place for us men to sit. _But Martha served._ Do not miss
that. She is doing what she did before,--getting supper ready. She is
bustling about in her earnestness, but she has lost her grumbling. She
gets through the entertainment with smiles from first to last. She is
no less busy, but she is at rest in her mind. She is cumbered, but is
not angry with Mary, and is not reflecting on Jesus Christ. She had
learned something in the day of sorrow and darkness. It has not altered
her power to serve, but the matter and the manner of her service.

What about Mary? If you have carefully studied the last few days of
our Lord’s life upon the earth you have noticed that He was a lonely
man, and that even His disciples failed to enter into sympathy with His
suffering as it overshadowed His life. Take the story of those last six
days and our Lord’s journey to Jerusalem, and you will find that it is
an awful picture. He has the shadow of the cross upon Him, and He keeps
calling these men to Him saying, “I am going to Jerusalem to suffer,
to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will crucify Me.” His
disciples broke in upon that awful revelation by asking, “Master, who
is the greatest among us?”

But there was one soul that saw the cross--Mary. Never forget it, you
men; it was a woman that saw the cross and went into the shadow of it
with Christ, as it was a woman who became the first human preacher of
the resurrection when He came back again. So while He “sat at meat,”
in the house of Simon the leper, with the man whom He had cured of
the most terrible of diseases upon one side, and the man whom He
had raised from the dead on the other, and the disciples on either
side of these, Mary looks into the faces of the guests, and they
all were happy, as men usually are with a feast spread before them,
and even Christ, though fully conscious of his approaching death,
and all the humiliation accompanying it, did not abandon Himself to
melancholy feelings or looks, yet with that deep intuition that is
only born of the highest and the holiest love, she sees what no one
else sees, that on His heart is the shadow of a great sorrow. And she
is thinking, “What can I do? Can I do anything that will let Him see
I know something of His pain? Can I go into the darkness with Him
and share in that sorrow?” And when love does this kind of thinking
it is always extravagant. She slipped away from her sister’s side in
serving, hastened to her room, where the precious treasure was kept,
and seizing the alabaster box of spikenard, for which she had paid more
than 300 pence, she hastened back to the feast, saying to herself, “I
will give Him this; it is the choicest thing I can get hold of, and
I want to pour it out upon Him, for He knows I can see His sorrow and
pain.” So speaking, she fell at His feet and poured the perfume on His
head and feet. It was a lavish waste of love--nearly $1,000 expressed
in our money now. But nothing is wasted that is done in love for our
Lord. Some murmured, others “had indignation,” and Judas spoke right
out, “Why this waste?” Poor Mary, she had never thought of there being
any waste to her act of love. “Three hundred pence!” Judas had quickly
ciphered out the contents of the broken alabaster box, and just now, at
the expense of Mary, was very benevolent. The unbroken box of ointment
might have been sold, and the money “given to the poor.”

But, in a moment they were hushed. “Let her alone,” said Jesus. How
fortunate for Mary that she had a more righteous Judge to pass sentence
upon her action. “Against the day of My burying hath she kept this.”
Nobody else understood it. The motive determines the act. “Nothing
can be wasted that love pours upon Me, because love enters into My
suffering and sorrow, and that is what it meant.”

“She hath done what she could.” O, what a precious revelation! Jesus
is fully satisfied with the limit of our ability to serve Him. And
the sequel showed that she met her Lord’s future as no other of His
disciples had been able; anointed His brow for the thorns, and his feet
for the nails, that both thorns and nails may draw blood in the perfume
of at least one woman’s love.

In this act of love done for Jesus she has erected to herself a
monument as lasting as the Gospel, for the Master declared, “Verily,
verily, I say unto you, wheresoever this Gospel shall be preached in
the whole world, there shall this also, that this woman hath done, be
told for a memorial of her.” Mary had loved wiser than she knew, but
then it is just like Jesus to pay back into our hands a hundredfold
more than the most liberal of us ever bestowed upon Him. The sweet
story of that beautiful act of the breaking of the alabaster box
will be told as long as there is a Gospel to be preached or a soul
to be saved. The wonder of wonders is, that in this world of sin and
suffering there are not more Marys to break alabaster boxes over the
world’s burdened laborers.

We now pass to notice another beautiful womanly character in White
Raiment, namely, Salome. Her name means “peaceful,” and, though she
developed considerable womanly ambition, her name quite describes her
character. She was the wife of Zebedee, a well-to-do fisherman on the
Sea of Galilee, and the mother of James and John, two of our Lord’s
best loved disciples; two who, with Simon Peter, one of their business
partners, constituted the inner apostolic circle. She had not only
given two sons to the ministry, but she herself accompanied Jesus in
His Galilean ministry, and, with others, ministered of her substance
in meeting the expenses of His journeys. She must, therefore, not only
have been a woman of means, but liberal in her use of it. No doubt
she was a quiet, home-loving body; but she liked so well to listen to
those sayings of our Lord that she was glad to leave her pleasant,
comfortable Bethsaida house beside the beautiful “blue sea of the
hills,” to go about hither and thither with her sons and drink in the
wonderful words of Christ.

Salome is best remembered as coming to our Lord, on His last memorable
journey to Jerusalem, with the strange request that her two sons might
sit, the one on the right hand of Jesus and the other on the left, in
His kingdom. Just as in the Sanhedrin, on each side of the high priest
there sat the next highest dignitaries, so here she requested the two
highest places for James and John. However, perhaps, this was not a
selfish ambition, since the request is made for others. Some one has
said, “Plan great things for God, and expect great things from God,”
and an apostle has said, “Covet earnestly the best gifts.” O, these
mothers, when there are seats of honor to be given out can not only
“covet,” but “earnestly” ask for great things for their sons.

These two disciples had already been favored. They were with Jesus
when He raised Jairus’ daughter from the dead; they were with our
Lord on the Mount of Transfiguration, and, later on, in the Garden
of Gethsemane, and witnessed His agony. Though of the inner circle,
yet they possessed characteristics of their own. They were more eager
for extreme measures for pushing their Master’s cause than was even
the tempestuous Peter. Their self-poised love of the truth made them
zealous. It was they who rebuked the one who cast out demons in Jesus’
name, because he did not follow them. They requested Christ to call
down fire from heaven to burn up the Samaritan village that refused to
receive them on account of an old prejudice against the Jews. If these
disciples could have had their own way, that village, with all its
inhabitants, innocent and guilty, would have speedily been reduced to
ashes. How little they understood their Lord, or even themselves. They
did not get the idea from their Lord, for He came to save men’s lives,
and not to destroy them.

Possibly Salome may have thought her sons had some claim to these
honors. The family had some business standing. They had partners and
servants. John had some acquaintance with the High Priest, the great
head of the Hebrew Church. They had left all to follow Jesus, giving
up not only their business prospects, but their friendship with
ecclesiastical aristocrats, and now she was looking out for a good
place in His kingdom for her sons.

Probably the two brethren had directed this request through their
mother, because they remembered the rebuke which had followed their
former contention about precedence. She asked simply, directly, humbly,
nothing for herself, but what she thought was her due. He gave her no
rebuke, as He would have been sure to do if she had asked through any
selfish motive. Turning to James and John He questioned them about
their fitness for such promotion. Could they drink of His cup and be
baptized with His baptism? They thought they were able. They knew
better what He meant when Herod beheaded James, and John was banished
to Patmos.

Salome remained true to her Lord. When the terrible death-hour came she
stood beside the cross, held there by her faith and love through the
jeers of the mocking crowd, the dying agony of her Saviour, and the
darkness which veiled His terrible suffering.

[Illustration: SEEKING THE LIVING AMONG THE DEAD.]

After the body was taken down from the cross, Salome, with others,
“beheld where He was laid.” O, this loving, faithful woman, true to her
nature, how she clung to her Lord to the very last. And on the morning
of the resurrection, “as it began to dawn,” we find Salome among the
company of women hastening to the sepulchre to complete the anointing
of the body of our Lord which had been so hurriedly buried on the
evening of the crucifixion. But, upon reaching the garden, these women
were amazed to find the tomb open and empty. These women--Salome, Mary
Magdalene, Joanna, and others with them--came seeking a dead body, but,
instead, they found a living angel, who asked, “Why seek ye the living
among the dead?” “He is risen; He is not here; behold the place where
they laid Him!”

What these women, in company with Salome, had seen was enough to fill
them with astonishment, and what they had heard from the lips of the
angel was enough to fill their hearts with joy. Wonderful that He whom
they had mourned as dead was indeed alive again, though they could
hardly believe it.

But Salome’s prayer for her sons had sure answer. To James was given
the high honor of being the first apostolic martyr. John had the
distinction of caring for the Virgin Mary during her last years, and,
on Patmos, the little rocky isle of his banishment, where he could hear
only the sea-bird’s cry and the melancholy wash of waves, he listened
to apocalyptic thunderings that were enough to tear any common soul to
tatters. He was permitted to put the capstone on the magnificent column
of Holy Scripture, a column that had been forty centuries in building.

Salome, the peaceful and brave, at the last went gladly away to her
reward; for she was sure that her sons, having drank of His cup, and
been baptized with His baptism, were now seated with Him in the throne
of His glory.

In connection with our Lord’s Galilean ministry, we find the name of
Joanna mentioned. She was the wife of Chuza, the steward of Herod
Antipas. No doubt she followed Jesus, and ministered to Him out of her
substance, out of gratitude for having restored her child to health.
Her husband was the nobleman who went all the way from Capernaum to
Cana, and besought our Lord that He “would come down and heal His son,
for he was at the point of death.” Joanna was both at the crucifixion,
and is mentioned by name as being one of those who brought spices
and ointments to embalm the body of our Lord on the morning of the
resurrection.

These women must have possessed means, as well as a spirit of
liberality. All this is very beautiful indeed.

The last woman in White Raiment during the ministry of our Lord, is
the widow with two mites. Her act of benevolence has associated with
it many tender and pathetic touches. The circumstances, so far as they
relate to the ministry of our Lord, are inexpressibly sad. He had come
down to the last day of His public teaching, and the last hour of that
ministry. Indeed the time of His departure from the Temple was at hand.
He had taught in their streets, by the wayside, in desert places, in
the Temple. He had wept over Jerusalem that had seen so many of His
mighty works, and as in mental vision He saw the coming doom, He sobbed
out, “Oh if thou hadst known ... the things which belong to thy peace!”
But they refused to know, and had finally rejected Him as they had
rejected His teaching. The very tears of the suffering Saviour broke
out in great sobs of grief in the words, “_Ye would not!_” So, in the
very last act, all efforts having failed, He exclaims, “Behold your
house,” it was no longer God’s house, “is left unto you desolate!” As
Jesus on that last day, and at the close of the last hour of the day,
closed the door of mercy, how that word, “DESOLATE” must have sounded
through its God-forsaken courts.

At a time when such a burden of unrequited toil and sorrow was resting
upon the grieved heart of Jesus, the touching incident of this poor
widow comes to our view. Jesus had left the inner court of the Temple,
and, on His way through the court of the women, paused over against
the treasury to point out one more beautiful lesson to His disciples.
The people were casting their offerings into the thirteen great chests
set to receive their gifts. These offerings were gifts of the people,
and had no reference to “tithes.” These Jews, though they had utterly
failed to comprehend the “day of their visitation,” were, nevertheless,
liberal givers. They did not content themselves with giving a tenth of
their income. So it was the “freewill offering,” the love gifts, that
Jesus was watching. Twice in Exodus, once in Deuteronomy and once in
Leviticus had God commanded, “And none shall appear before Me empty.”
Three times a year was every Jew required to come before the Lord, and
not one time empty-handed. Never was there an exception for rich or
for poor, for great or for small. Not a pauper from Dan to Beer-sheba,
would have dared to come without his offerings. In these modern times
a sickly sentimentality has well-nigh made void the commandment of
God. He made no discrimination in favor of the poor. He that had
little, gave little. He that had much, gave much. A lamb or a kid was
an offering acceptable. If any were too poor to furnish either, “a
pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons” might be brought. If this
was too much, a few “tablespoonfuls of fine flour” was enough, and
any neighbor would furnish them these. The money value of gifts might
be brought, but the law was inexorable, “None shall appear before Me
empty-handed”--none at these great feasts. At all other times they
might be brought, at these they must.

So while the people brought their offerings, “Jesus sat over against
the treasury.” He noted carefully each person, and the ability of
each one, as the long line of contributors moved forward toward the
treasury. No one escaped His notice. The rich, from their mansions of
luxury, rulers of the people, clad in costly robes, stately Pharisees,
nobles, grand and lordly, jingling with ornaments of their social
standing, swept over the tessellated floor to the treasury as if by
special training for that particular occasion; and there, from soft
white hands whose fingers were decked in gold, cast into the treasure
chests such offering as their liberality prompted. Among the throng
came a “certain poor widow.” No one knew who she was, or where she came
from. Gliding so softly that no ear heard her footfall, and shying so
timidly that no eyes but His saw her, until her hand was over the
trumpet-shaped mouths through which the money was cast into the chests.
She deliberately of her “penury cast in all her living that she had.”
How much was that? Mark tells us her offering consisted of “two mites,
which make a farthing.” They were the smallest copper coin, and the
two were equivalent to two-fifths of a cent of our money. As these two
mites slid down the narrow tube of the trumpet-shaped aperture into the
chest below, they did not ring as did the gold and silver pieces of the
rich, but they rang to the echo in our Lord’s ears.

She was a “poor widow” before this contribution, but now she is an
utter bankrupt. If she ever had any financial standing, this rash act
of giving swept it all away. She would have to go without her supper,
for there was no opportunity, at the Passover time, to earn money. On
the contrary, it was a time for spending it. These great conventions
absorbed the small earnings of poor people. But such sacrifices
never go unrewarded, and that poor widow had her supper through some
God-appointed channel.

Jesus was so well pleased with her gift, and the faith which prompted
it, that He called the attention of His disciples to this act of
benevolence, and said, “This poor widow had cast in more than all
they.” Not more money. Two mites can not be more than the “abundance”
of the rich. How more, then? All gifts have double value--their
commercial and their representative value. They represent the
self-denial, the faith and the love of the giver. In the markets of the
world the two mites would hardly have been looked at, but in the eyes
of the King they represented more than all.

  “Ah! He knew of want and hunger,
    Grief and care, and sorrow too;
  And the widow’s paltry farthing
    Cost a sacrifice He knew.
  So all fruits of self-denial
    Are the gifts He loves the best;
  Not the richest or most costly
    Are the offerings most blest!”

If ever there was an exception, or if ever one could be exempt, surely
this widow would have been. She was in the weeds of widowhood; in the
depths of poverty; in the extreme of want; with only “two mites” in the
world and no bread for the morrow. Her own weary fingers her only means
of living; with her earthly all in her hands she freely cast it into
the treasury. Jesus was sitting where He saw it all. He who--

  “Searched and tried the hearts” of men,
    Saw what prompted every offering,
  With His wondrous, God-like ken.

Did He stop her? He came to preach the gospel to the poor; did He tell
her she was too poor to do as she had done? He brought all His apostles
to witness the sight; did He say, “It shall not be so among you?” He
was giving laws for His Kingdom for all generations; did He say, as He
did in other cases where He intended any modification, “Ye have heard
that it was said by them of olden times that ‘none should come before
Me empty,’ but I say unto you, that whosoever is poor and needy shall
bring no gift into mine house?” Did He say it, or anything like it? Can
there ever be another occasion half so thrilling on which to say it?

The contrast between the rich and noble, the grand and lordly, who
offered tithes of all their stores, and this shy and shrinking woman,
in her garb of widowhood, is very striking. There is not a word of
reflection on the gifts or the motives of the rich. “The rich and the
poor meet together--the Lord is the maker of them all.” “No respecter
of persons” is He. All honor to the rich who bring their treasures
into the storehouse of God. All honor to the poor who make “their deep
poverty abound unto the riches of their liberality.” May we not from
this lesson draw illustrations of consecration?

God requires of every Christian a complete consecration of soul, body,
time, talent, means, and everything else. Consecration means giving to
God. When a thing is given away, ownership is transferred in the act of
giving, or presenting from the giver to the receiver. In consecration
the Christian gives himself literally to the Lord, and is henceforth
not his own, but the Lord’s. This transaction must be as real as any in
life, and divine ownership of all given to God must be recognized.

If we wholly consecrate our souls, our bodies, our time, our several
abilities, then God can use us. The Holy Spirit dwelling in the soul
will dictate to the eyes where to look, and what to look upon, that
the soul may be enriched by seeing. He will direct the feet in paths
of safety and usefulness. He will teach the hands to labor skillfully,
laying up treasures in heaven. He will give the lips messages of love,
comfort and sympathy to speak. He will direct us how to use our time,
that the best possible results may be achieved for both God and man,
and also for heaven and earth. When such consecration is made, and we
recognize fully God’s supreme ownership, then we are in a condition to
“bear much fruit.”

Few men would banish God from the universe. Too many worlds are
wheeling in their orbits, and their orbits cross and recross each
other too often to be left without a guiding hand. Moreover, the one
we inhabit is the home of the earthquake and the volcano; hurricanes
and tornadoes are born and bred on every continent and island; plague
and pestilence ride on every breeze; death and destruction waste at
noonday. In the presence of such dangers it is a comfort to know “the
Lord reigneth.” But, alas! how many would banish God from their hearts!
The clouds are the commissary trains of the nations; who would have
them without their driver? Men want God on the throne, but not in their
hearts. They would have Him watch the worlds, the clouds, the seasons,
but not their actions. As if God was not a discerner of the very
thoughts and intents of the heart.

And then this poor widow loved much. And in God’s sight no offering
of love is too small. Love is sometimes a babbling brook, leaping,
laughing, sparkling, splashing. It is beautiful then. It is sometimes a
mighty river--deep, broad, swift and strong, shouldering the burdens
of a continent and bearing them without a murmur. It is glorious then.
But it is sometimes the boundless ocean--feeding all the brooks and
rivers, bearing the commerce of the world, and yet never losing one
note in its everlasting lullaby. It rolls against all its shore lines
and moans, “If there were no bounds, I’d bring your ships to all your
doors.” Love is sublime then. The widow’s love was like the ocean; it
rolled against its farthest shore and longed to go farther. “She of her
penury” had cast into the treasury all that she had, and therefore had
given “more than all they,” for, not what is given, but what is left,
marks the grade of self-denial. There may be trust for bread when the
storehouse is full, but the faith that empties the storehouse and then
trusts for bread, is a purer and diviner faith. This poor widow was a
heroine of faith.

This apparently trifling event in the life of our Lord is of
inestimable importance. It shows, after He had ended His oppressive
day’s labor in the Temple, how he would still pause, in retiring from
it, to bless the loving act of a poor widow, rendered unto the Lord
in faith, and to adorn even so lowly a head with the crown of honor.
We need no other proof for the celestially pure temper in which He
left the inner courts of the Temple after He had pronounced His great
denunciations against the hypocritical professions of Scribes and
Pharisees. It is as if He could not so part, as if at least His last
word must be a word of blessing and of peace.

This incident of the poor widow with the two mites is also a new proof
of the power of little things, and of the gracious favor with which
the Lord looks upon the least offering which only bears the stamp of
love and faith. The last object on which our Lord’s eyes rested as He
departed from the Temple was the widow’s two mites.




CHAPTER X.

Womanhood During the Apostolic Ministry.

  TABITHA--GLORIFIED HER NEEDLE--THE RESULTS OF
    LITTLE ACTS--LYDIA--HER HUMILITY--PHILIP’S FOUR
    DAUGHTERS--PHŒBE--PRISCILLA--EUNICE--LOIS--EUDIA--SYNTYCHE--HULDA--
    THE HEBREW MAID--TAMAR--MOTHERS OF GREAT MEN--THE AUTHOR OF THE
    BIBLE WOMAN’S BEST FRIEND.


We now come to the blessed ministry of women during the Apostolic age.
And the first of these is Tabitha. Her residence was at Joppa. She was
a “disciple,” and Luke renders her name, Tabitha, out of the Aramaic
into the Greek as Dorcas. We further read that she was “full of good
works,” among which that of making clothes for the poor is specifically
mentioned. Tabitha had, without doubt, served Christ with her needle
for many years, and exercised her faith by performing works of love.
But there came a day when the fingers refused longer to ply the
needle, and the heart grew faint, and in weariness she laid aside the
unfinished garment, just to take a little rest, and when the neighbors
and “widows” came in, they quickly saw the flushed cheek, and her
critical condition aroused their anxious solicitude to relieve and care
for and comfort her. The fear of losing her excited and agonized them.
The apprehension of their great loss, in case she should be removed
from them, almost drove the little church at Joppa to distraction.

But, notwithstanding the tender ministry of loving hands and aching
hearts, Tabitha daily grew worse, and finally yielded up her spirit.

  “The calm moon looked down while she was dying,
    The earth still held her way;
  Flowers breathed their perfume, and the wind kept sighing;
    Nought seemed to pause or stay.”

Clasp the hands meekly over the still breast, they have no more work
to do; close the weary eyes, they have no more tears to shed; part
the damp tresses, they have no more pain to bear. Closed is the ear to
love’s kind and gentle voice. No anxious care gathers on the marble
brow as you gaze. No throb of pleasure pulsates from the dear, loving
bosom, nor mantling flush mounts the blue-veined temple. Can this be
death? Oh, if beyond death’s swelling flood there was no eternal shore!
If for the struggling bark there were no port of peace! If athwart that
lowering cloud sprang no bright bow of promise! Alas for love if this
were all, and naught beyond the parting at earth’s portals.

The remains of Tabitha were carefully laid in a retired upper chamber.
And now there was hurry and bustle in preparation for the final rites.
Friends were sent for, neighbors were present, the funeral arrangements
were discussed, the mourning procured, the hospitalities of the house
provided for. All was excitement--the loss was not then perceived in
all its greatness. But after the preparations were all made, after the
bustle had subsided, and the watchers had come for the night, then it
was that the friends of Tabitha began to realize what had befallen
them. Now the house seemed so still and sepulchral, though in the heart
of the city, and though its threshold was still trodden by friendly
feet, it seemed so empty. The apartments--how deserted! especially
the room where she struggled and surrendered in the last conflict.
There are the clothes, the garments and unfinished coat, there was the
vacant chair and idle work-basket. During her sickness they had not
so much noticed these things, for they were ever hopeful that these
things might be used or occupied again. But now it can not be, and they
perceive the dreadful vacancy everywhere.

Oh, how dark and cheerless the shadows came down over that home! No
moon or stars have ever shown so dimly--no darkness ever seemed so
utterly dark. The ticking of the clock resounds like bell-strokes all
over the house. Such deep silence! No footsteps now on the stairs, or
in the sick-chamber; no nurse to come and say, “she is not so well,”
and come and ask for you. No, indeed, only the silent watchers move
about with muffled step, and “you may sleep on now and take your rest,”
if you can. Ah, poor bereaved hearts! It will be long ere the sweet
rest you once knew will visit your couch. Slumber will bring again the
scenes through which you have just passed, and you will start from it
but to find them all too real. God pity the mourners after the body of
the loved one lies unburied “in an upper chamber.”

All the members of the Christian congregation of Joppa appear to have
been deeply moved by the loss which they had sustained, and to have
entertained the wish in their hearts, although they did not venture to
express it, that, if it were possible, Tabitha might be recalled to
life, and yet, in sending for Peter, who at this time was at Lydda,
ten miles away, they scarcely expected a miracle, and only desired
that he would address words of consolation to them. Much is already
gained, when they who abide in the house of mourning sincerely desire
the consolations of God’s word spoken through human lips. It was only
after her death that it became known what a treasure she had been to
the church. It is one of the beautiful charms of the Christian life,
that in nearly every congregation there is a Tabitha to be found who
constitutes, as it were, the central point around which the love that
exists in the society, collects. Every love is guided by her hand, and
even when she utters no words, she successfully admonishes others.

Such a woman could not well be spared out of the Joppa church, and so,
with the sunrising, the little congregation despatched two men, who
hastened over the plain of Sharon to Lydda, with a message to Peter,
saying, “Delay not to come to us!” There was haste in the matter. The
body of Tabitha, in accordance with Oriental usage, could not be long
held “in the upper chamber.” Peter seemed to have recognized this, for
he at once “arose and went with them.”

As soon as the Apostle, who had made no delay, had arrived at Joppa,
the elders of the congregation conducted him to the late home, and
to the upper chamber in which the corpse lay. As Peter entered he
saw the widows, on whom the deceased had conferred such benefits,
standing around the bier of Tabitha, weeping, and “shewing the coats
and garments which Dorcas made, while she was with them.” These acts of
benevolence which survived their author, were indeed noble testimonials
of the deceased woman’s love and charity.

After these weeping widows had told out their sorrow and their
gratitude, Peter directed them all to withdraw. Doubtless he made
this request that he could more fully engage in prayer when alone. He
may also have perceived that some were governed by an idle curiosity.
At all events, he did not yet know whether it was the Lord’s will to
restore the deceased woman to life. Hence he desired to be alone with
the Lord, in order to make known to Him the requests of the disciples.

After having poured out his soul in fervent prayer on his knees, Peter
turned toward the body and called to Tabitha, saying, “Arise.” Luke
gives us a graphic description of the scene: at first she opened her
eyes, then, on seeing Peter, rose and sat up, and, at length, when
Peter had given her his hand, stood up.

The Lord having restored Tabitha to life through the prayers of Peter,
the Apostle called to the saints and widows, and presented to them the
woman, who had been raised up by the power of God.

This great miracle, we are further told, produced an extraordinary
effect in Joppa, and was the occasion of many conversions. “Many,” Luke
says, “believed in the Lord.”

Doubtless, Tabitha, when she realized what the Lord had done for her,
for the remainder of her life, said:

  “I shall go softly,” since I’ve found
  The mighty arm that girds me round
  Is gentle, as it’s sure and strong;
  “I shall go softly” through the throng
  And with compulsion calm and sweet
  Lead sinners to the Saviour’s feet.

Tabitha, in her good works and alms-deeds, and in her garments that she
made, is not a fashion-plate, but a model for every Christian woman. We
may learn, in her life, the glorification of little things. She was not
rich, at least we are not told that she was, and yet how she glorified
her needle, until a whole city is moved to bitter weeping at her death.
Her needle brought her unsought fame. Little acts are the elements of
all true greatness. They test our disinterestedness. The heart comes
all out in them. It matters not so much what we have, as to what use we
put that which we have. A man who had made an immense fortune out of a
factory in which its builder had sunk $75,000 and failed, said, “I am
always here to watch the little things, to pick up a bunch of cotton,
to tighten a screw, to turn on a nut, to regulate a machine, to mend a
band, to oil a dry place, and so prevent breakages and stopping of the
work. These little wastes of material and machinery in time will eat up
the profits of any business. These little things I attend to myself. I
can hire men to attend the large things.”

This is the secret of success in every department of business and
walk of life. The principle is equally applicable to women’s work.
Perhaps no class of people ought to look after little things more than
the house-wife. Certainly every woman ought to know that careless
extravagance, and the little wastes in many ways, destroy the profits.
There are a thousand ways in which opportunities for good may be
wasted. Never wait for the evil to increase. “A stitch in time saves
nine,” saves a rent, and, under the well-trained eye of Tabitha, saved
a garment. Heavy doors turn on small hinges. Fortunes turn on pivots.
Look out for small things. They are the atoms, the trifles, that make
up the large things. A stitch is a small thing, but led by the needle
of Dorcas, the garments and coats multiplied.

So of Christian usefulness. The needle in Tabitha’s hand was a very
small instrument, but the deeds it wrought, clothed the widows and
blessed a church. The two mites of the poor widow were a little
sum, but measured by their motive, they were perhaps the largest
contribution ever made to Christian charity. It is said that a tract,
from the hands of a servant girl, led to the conversion of no less than
Richard Baxter. He awoke to a world of usefulness. Among the library
of books he wrote was the “Call to the Unconverted.” It fell into the
hands of Philip Doddridge. It led him to Christ. Doddridge, too, awoke
to a world of usefulness. His “Rise and Progress” was the means of the
awakening of William Wilberforce. A book of his writing led to the
salvation of Leigh Richmond. He wrote the “Dairyman’s Daughter,” that
fell upon the world like a leaf from heaven--all the fruitage of a
single tract from the hand of a maid.

“What is that in thine hand?” the Almighty asked Moses while he kept
Jethro’s flock in the back side of the desert, and Moses said, “A rod,”
a shepherd’s staff, cut out of the thicket near by, with which he
guided his sheep. Any day he might throw it away and cut a better one,
but God said, “With this rod thou shalt save Israel.”

What is that in thine hand, Sarah? Three measures of meal with which I
prepare my dinner. Hasten, knead it, and make cakes upon the hearth,
and angels shall sit at thy table to-day. What is that in thine hand,
Rebekah? A pitcher with which I carry water. Use it in watering the
thirsty camels of Eliezer, and thou shalt be an heir in the house of
Abraham? What is that in thine hand, Miriam? Only a timbrel. Use it
in leading the women of Israel in the song of triumph over Pharaoh’s
hosts. What is that in thine hand, Rahab? Only a scarlet thread. Bind
it in the window, and thou shalt save thyself and household. What is
that in thine hand, poor widow? Only two mites. Give them to God,
and behold, the fame of your riches fills the world. What hast thou,
weeping woman? An alabaster box of ointment. Give it to God. Break it,
and pour it on thy Saviour’s head, and its sweet perfume is a fragrance
in the church till now. What is that in thine hand? A broom. Use it for
God. A broom in the hand of a Christian woman may be as truly used for
His glory, as was the sceptre of David. What is that in thine hand? A
pen. Use it for God. Oh, matchless instrument! Write words of comfort
and sympathy that shall echo around the globe. Oh, can you not find
some poor soul to-day who does not know Jesus? Can you not tell some
wanderer about the Christ? What is in thine hand? Wealth. Consecrate
it now to God. What is in thy mouth? A tongue of eloquence. Use it for
God. The tongue is the mightiest instrument that God ever made. What
is in thine hand? A kindly grasp? Give that to some sad, desponding
soul. We need grit and grace to use the common things in the ordinary
way in the daily occupations of life. Consecrate the pen, the needle,
the tongue, the hands, the feet, and the heart to Jesus. Our Lord gave
dignity to labor; the sweat-beads of honest toil stood on His brow.

This is God’s way of working. He chooses to use the least things--even
things that amount to nothing--to accomplish His work in the salvation
of the race. Use your leisure. Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit
the sick, comfort the wretched, spread the gospel far and wide. If you
have nothing else, use your needle, and the garments will multiply,
and the destitutes will be clothed. A poor girl who had nothing but
a sewing machine, used it to aid a feeble church; all her earnings
above her needs were given towards building a house of worship, and
in a year she paid more than a hundred others richer than she. So you
can do if you will. If you but knew it, you have Tabitha’s needle in
your hand--the simple instrumentality with which to do good. When
the pierced hand of our Lord is laid on consecrated needles, on the
ordinary means within our reach, on wealth, on learning, on beauty, on
culture, on every gift and grace in every relation in life, then the
splendor of the millennial dawn will color the eastern sky with its
crimson and gold.

From the beautiful home of Tabitha, in Joppa, the Sacred history runs
on until Lydia, in the city of Philippi, is reached.

While at Troas, Paul had a remarkable vision in the night, of a
man of Macedonia, standing before him and praying, “Come over into
Macedonia, and help us.” How Paul knew this man to be a Macedonian is
not stated. Perhaps he may have frequently seen Macedonian seamen in
Tarsus, his birthplace, which was a flourishing commercial city on the
Mediterranean, or he may have recognized him by his speech or national
dress. This man entreated him, in the vision, to cross over the sea
from Asia into Europe, and come to the aid of the inhabitants of
Macedonia. Paul had never been in Europe, and had no thought of going
there. On the other hand, he had been delivering the decrees issued by
the church council at Jerusalem, through the maritime cities of Asia
Minor, and “assayed to go into Bithynia,” but was restrained by the
Spirit of God. Being thus convinced, he embarked at Troas, taking with
him as fellow-laborers, Silas, Timothy, and Luke.

After a rapid and successful voyage over the peaceful waters of the
Ægean Sea, in a direct course to the north-west, they reached the
island of Samothrace. The next day they proceeded to Neapolis, situated
on the Strymonic Gulf, and a seaport of Thrace. From this point they
continued their journey, probably, on foot. Following the ancient
well-paved road up the steep Symbolum hills, until they reached the
solitary pass through the mountains, at an elevation of 1,600 feet
above the sea. Once through this lonely pass and a magnificent view
is obtained of the plain in which Philippi is located, and of the
Pangæus and Hæmus ranges, which close in the plain to the south-west
and north-east. At one point on the summit of Symbolum one can look
down into Neapolis on the sea, and into Philippi in the plain. From
this point the Apostles descended to the plain below by a yet steeper
road than the ascent out of Neapolis. At length, at the end of a twelve
miles’ jaunt on foot, finds them in “the chief city of that part of
Macedonia,” and they were quite prepared for a good meal and a night’s
rest.

The next morning, being the Sabbath day, the Apostles began to look
about the city for a synagogue. But there was no synagogue in Philippi,
only one of those light, temporary structures, called proseuchæ, which
was merely an enclosure without a roof, and was located on the banks
of the swiftly-rushing Anghista (not the Strymon, as some writers have
it), and so the Apostles hastened “out of the city” to the “river
side,” to the proseuchæ, “where prayer was wont to be made.”

[Illustration: THE CITY BY THE ANGHISTA.]

This place without the city wall was not a solitary locality, secluded
and retired from the endless confusion of city streets, but, on the
contrary, it was a market place, especially set apart for the mountain
clans of the Pangæus and Hæmus ranges, who came down with their pack
animals to trade. No doubt this stream had its fountains high up among
the Hæmus hills, and with great force came rushing down the mountain,
and spreading out in the plain, gave a plentiful supply to man and
beast. It flowed down through the market place; it was within reach of
every child’s pitcher; it was enough for every empty vessel. The small
birds came down thither to drink; the sheep and lambs had trodden down
a little path to its brink. The thirsty beasts of burden, along the
dusty road, knew the way to the stream, with its soft, sweet murmur of
fullness and freedom. The clear, sparkling river must have reminded the
Apostles of the waters of life and salvation, which they were bringing
to these Philippians. This stream sometimes may cease to flow, and
every other may be dry in the days of drought and adversity, but the
heavenly stream whose spring was in Jesus Christ, they well knew, would
never cease to flow. And they also well knew that whosoever drank from
the river issuing from under the threshold of divine grace, should
never thirst.

Amid these surroundings, Paul and his companions sat down in the
proseuchæ, “and spake unto the women” who had already assembled in
the place of prayer. It would seem that there were no Hebrew men in
Philippi, and possibly, for the reason this city was a military, and
not a mercantile centre. Even the women may have been few in number, so
that the speaker could not deliver a formal address, but only engage in
familiar conversation, which could be easier done in a sitting posture,
and in a comparatively free and conversational intercourse, thus
assuming at once the attitude of teachers.

The gracious words which fell from the lips of Paul in this first
attempt to introduce the gospel into Macedonia, are not reported by
Luke, but he tells us that the Lord opened the heart of a woman named
Lydia. There is something very beautiful in this incident, that God
should honor woman with being the first convert in Europe! It was a
man who stood before Paul in his vision, praying, “Come over into
Macedonia and help us,” but it is a woman who is first willing to be
helped. There was, that Sabbath morning, in the proseuchæ, by the
rippling waters of the Anghista, one solitary woman who was in a
special degree, open to the influence of the truth, and who listened
with earnest attention to all that Paul said.

Luke tells us that Lydia was a dealer in purple, and a citizen of
Thyatira, Asia Minor, and, as Thyatira was a Macedonian colony, we
may the more readily understand that circumstances connected with
her trade brought her at this time to Philippi, and was probably
only a temporary resident. Thyatira was celebrated, at a very early
period, for its purple dyes and purple fabrics. The purple color, so
extravagantly valued by the ancients, and even by the Orientals at the
present day, included many shades or tints, from rose-red to sea-green
or blue. Philippi being the military centre of Macedonia, the military
trappings, with all their tinsel and show, made a brisk market for the
purple cloth of Lydia, and, no doubt, she was a woman who prospered in
her business, and was in good circumstances, and, possibly, possessed
of considerable wealth, as she generously offered her home and
hospitality to Paul and his companions.

But now see how the words and acts of this noble woman demonstrates the
genuineness of her faith. She at once, with her household, presents
herself for baptism. While it is quite probable that the baptism was
not performed on the spot, it took place, no doubt, at the first
opportunity. Having become a member of the household of faith, she
addresses the Apostles saying, “If ye have judged me to be faithful,”
that is, judged that I am one that believeth in the Lord, “come into my
house, and abide there.” What gentleness in her language, “If ye have
judged me faithful,” humbly submitting to the experienced judgment of
her religious benefactors, yet urgently inviting the Apostle and all
his companions to enter her house, and remain there as her guests. This
proffered hospitality furnished direct evidence of her love to her
Redeemer, which proceeded from faith, and which manifested itself by
disinterested and kind attentions to His messengers. She supported her
plea by appealing to the judgment which they had themselves pronounced
in her case, and without which they would unquestionably have declined
to baptize her.

That these messengers of the gospel acceded to the request of Lydia,
and entered her house as guests, may be confidently assumed. We also
see with what beautiful fidelity she remained true to Paul and Silas
when they were persecuted.

It is also interesting to notice that through Lydia, indirectly, the
gospel may have been introduced into that very section (Bithynia),
where Paul had been forbidden directly to preach it. Whether she was
one of “those women” who labored with Paul in the gospel at Philippi,
as mentioned afterwards in the Epistle to that place (Phil. iv, 3)
it is impossible to say, but from what we know of her history, it
would be just like her, for, surely such a royal entertainer in true
hospitality, would make a heroic laborer in any gospel field.

We may learn from Lydia’s life that the human heart is closed and
barred by sin, so that divine truth can not enter to enlighten the
mind, direct the will, or renew the spiritual life forces until divine
grace, through operations of the Holy Spirit, opens the heart. When
the Lord opens the heart, conversion is possible, but it is actually
effected only when the heart, like the prepared field, with willingness
receives the seed of divine truth. God calls, and if but few are
chosen, it is simply because men choose not to obey the call. The
Lord opens only the hearts of those for His spiritual kingdom who are
willing to and do accept His conditions.

In the conversion of Lydia we see the Kingdom of Christ in its
incipient state strikingly illustrated. In the parable of the grain of
mustard-seed, Jesus told his disciples that the gospel in its beginning
would be just like that smallest of seeds, but would grow and spread,
and finally succeed. Lydia is only one convert, a lone woman in a
great military camp of a heathen city, and women, socially, in those
days, did not count for much. Humanly speaking, this first European
convert appeared about as insignificant as a grain of mustard-seed. And
yet this apparently insignificant seed produced a rich and precious
harvest in the flourishing congregation of Philippi, in the spread of
the gospel over all Europe, and it will soon cover the whole world.

From Lydia’s candid reception of the gospel, her urgent hospitality,
her unfaltering and continued friendship to the Apostles, her modest
bearing in being accounted worthy of the confidence of her benefactors,
we are led to form a high estimate of her character. Though possessed
of considerable wealth, and, possibly, of social rank, she had
the grace of humility. Her deep humility in the presence of God’s
messengers was a clear and sufficient proof of her humility before God,
and that it was real; that humility, if not already a resident in her
heart, had, with the incoming of divine grace, taken up its abode in
her, and become her very nature; that she actually, like Christ, made
herself of no reputation, especially when persecution came to Paul and
Silas.

When, in the presence of God, lowliness of heart has become, not a
posture we assume for a time, but the very spirit of our life, it will
manifest itself, as it did in Lydia, in all our bearing towards others.
The lesson is one of deep import. The only humility really ours is not
that which we assume in our devotions to God, but that which we carry
with us in our ordinary conduct. The insignificances of the daily
life are the importances of eternity, because they prove what spirit
really possesses us. It is in our most unguarded moments we really show
what we are. To know the humble woman, to know how the humble woman
behaves, you must accept her hospitality as the Apostles accepted the
hospitality of Lydia, and follow her to her home, and into the common
course of daily life.

Humility before God is nothing if not proved in humility before men.
It was when the disciples disputed who should be greatest that Jesus
taught the lesson of humility by washing their feet. And this heavenly
grace runs all through the epistles of Paul, the spiritual father of
Lydia. To the Romans he writes, “In honor preferring one another.”
“Set not your mind on high things, but condescend to those that are
lowly.” “Be not wise in your own conceit.” To the Corinthians he said,
“Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is
not provoked.” These are all the gracious fruits of humility, for
there is no love without humility at its roots. To the Galatians the
Apostle writes, “Through love be servants one of another. Let us not be
desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.”
To the Ephesians, immediately after the three wonderful chapters on
the heavenly life, he writes, “Therefore, walk with all lowliness
and meekness, with long-suffering, forbearing one another in love;”
“Giving thanks always, subjecting yourselves one to another in the
fear of Christ.” To the Philippians, “Doing nothing through faction
or vain glory, but in lowliness of mind, each counting others better
than himself. Have the mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus, who
emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, and humbled Himself.”
And to the Colossians, “Put on a heart of compassion, kindness,
humility, meekness, long-suffering, forbearing one another, and
forgiving each other, even as the Lord forgave you.”

It is in our relation to one another, that the true lowliness of mind
and the heart of humility are to be seen. Our humility before God has
no value but as it prepares us to reveal the humility of Jesus to our
fellow-men. Let us cultivate this beautiful gem of divine grace, which
was developed in such a marked degree in the life of Lydia, the first
European Christian.

But we hasten on in our narrative, and gather up in a group, as one
would gather a handful of flowers, those Women in White Raiment so
briefly mentioned in the Sacred records as not to give us enough of
their history to write upon.

Among these are the unnamed four daughters of Philip the evangelist,
who lived at Cæsarea. These daughters ranked high in the early church.
They possessed the gift of prophetic utterance, and who apparently
gave themselves to the work of teaching. Though no record is left us
of their work, we may well believe their distinguished accomplishments
brought them into contact with many people of that busy seaport city on
the Mediterranean, where people of all nations came and went.

Phœbe of Cenchrea, one of the ports of Corinth. She must have been a
woman of influence, and worthy of confidence and respect. She is not
only commended by Paul, but was also a deaconess in the church at
Cenchrea. On her was conferred the honor of carrying the letter of Paul
from Corinth to Rome. Whatever her errand to Rome may have been, the
independent manner of her going there seems to imply (especially when
we consider the secluded habits of Greek women) that she was a woman of
mature age, and was acting in an official capacity. She was not only a
woman of great energy, but possessed of wealth. She evidently was of
great service to Paul, and he had confidence in her integrity, for he
writes in the very letter of which she was the bearer to the Romans,
“I commend you unto Phœbe our sister, which is a servant of the church
which is at Cenchrea.”

Priscilla, the wife of Aquila, who had fled from Rome, in consequence
of an order of Claudius commanding all Jews to leave Rome. She, with
her husband, came to Corinth. In the days of the Apostle, Corinth was
a place of great mental activity, as well as of commercial enterprise.
Its wealth and magnificence were so celebrated as to be proverbial;
so were the vices and profligacy of its inhabitants. But it was just
the kind of city Paul delighted in carrying the gospel to. Where vice
abounded he would have grace much more abound. Here Priscilla became
acquainted with Paul, and they abode together, and wrought at their
common trade of making the Cilician tent. This woman, while taking
stitches in the haircloth out of which the tents were made, could also
conduct a theological school with no less apt a student than that of
Apollos, already noted for his eloquence, and who was “mighty in the
Scriptures.” But Priscilla, as she heard this eloquent young man, at
once discovered there was something wanting in his ministry. It seemed
to her that Apollos knew only the baptism of John. She knew of a more
excellent way, and so while she was setting stitches, she “expounded
unto him the way of God more perfectly.” O, for more Priscillas, versed
in heavenly lore and skilled to impart it! Priscilla is certainly a
noble example of what a woman in the ordinary walks of life may do for
the church.

[Illustration: CORINTH, THE GATE OF THE PELOPONNESUS.]

Eunice, the mother, and Lois, the grandmother of Timothy, are beautiful
examples of women in the home. These women had such unfeigned faith
in the gospel, and so ably instructed Timothy in the Scriptures,
that this home scene made a deep and lasting impression upon Paul,
and later on, in one of his epistles to Timothy, he writes, “When I
call to remembrance the unfeigned faith that is in thee, which dwelt
first in thy grandmother Lois, and thy mother Eunice, ... I put thee
in remembrance (of this excellent home-training, and by reason of its
superior advantage) that thou stir up the gift of God, which is in
thee.”

Euodias (or rather Eudia) and Syntyche, deaconesses in the church at
Philippi. These women afforded Paul active co-operation under difficult
circumstance, and in them, as well as other women of the same class,
is an illustration of what the gospel, in the Apostolic times, did for
women, and also what the women did for the gospel, for the Apostle
expressly states that these women labored with him in the gospel,
besides many other elect women, the detailed mention of whom fills
nearly all of the last chapter of the epistle to the Romans, whose
history, if known, would doubtless be as interesting as the history of
those whose names and acts have been preserved to us for our study and
comfort.

And then there are a host of women whose names are not mentioned,
but who, we have every reason to believe, were numbered with the
Princesses of God, women whose faith and patience in labor clothed them
in White Raiment. Of such we note a few: Noah’s wife and her three
daughters-in-law, who must have exercised the same faith as their
husbands, and who must have been in full sympathy with their labors;
the host of Israelitish women led by Miriam in their song of triumph
over the Lord’s deliverance from Pharaoh’s army; the wife of Manoah,
the mother of Samson, who was twice visited by the angel of the Lord;
Hulda, the prophetess, who lived in the time of King Josiah, to whom
Hilkiah, the high priest, had recourse, when the book of the law was
found, to procure an authoritative opinion, for, doubtless, in her
time she was the most distinguished person for prophetic gifts in
Jerusalem; the captive Hebrew maid in the house of Naaman, the Syrian
general, who knew all about the prophet in Samaria, and had faith to
believe that Elisha would heal him of his leprosy, even though captive
as she was, and in a strange land; in the days of Saul and David, when
returning from the conquests, “the women” who “came out of all the
cities of Israel” to welcome, with tabrets and song, the deliverers of
God’s people.

Perhaps we should not fail to briefly mention Tamar, the daughter of
David, for she was not only a chaste virgin, but was also remarkable
for her extraordinary beauty. Her high sense of honor must ever stand
as a memorial of her virtue, especially when we take into account the
low standard of morality which prevailed in her time.

Added to her beauty, she had domestic accomplishments. It would almost
seem that Tamar was supposed, at least by her perfidious brother Amnon,
to have a peculiar art in baking palatable cakes.

With no suspicion of any wicked design, this beautiful princess, at
her father’s request, goes to the house of her supposed sick brother
to prepare the food she was assured he would relish. So she took the
dough and kneaded it, and then in his presence (for this was a part of
his fancy, as though there was something exquisite in the manner of
performing the work), kneaded it a second time into the form of cakes.

After the cakes were baked, she took them, fresh and crisp, to Amnon
to eat. When she fully realized his wicked designs, she touchingly
remonstrated, and held up to him the infamy of such a crime “in
Israel,” and appealed to his sense of honor, saying, “As for thee, thou
shalt be as one of the fools in Israel.” Her indignation after his
unnatural designs were accomplished, and she had been thrust out, was
even more heroic than her protests. In her agony she snatched a handful
of ashes and threw them on her beautiful hair, then tore her royal
gown, and, clasping her hands upon her head, rushed to and fro through
the streets crying.

While this is one of the most pathetically sad scenes recorded in Bible
history, yet it brings out in a remarkable manner, the virtue and high
honor of womanhood in those rude ages of the world.

But over against this dark background of Amnon’s conduct the careful
home-training of Timothy, under the moulding influence of his mother
Eunice, and his grandmother Lois, shines with a brightness that
reflects great credit. And if such careful home-training was so
far-reaching in its results as to cause Paul, in later years, to remind
Timothy of this training as an inspiration to stir up the gift of God
in him, what shall be said of motherhood and wifehood of the many noble
characters found in the Sacred record? It is a fact that women have
great influence in shaping the lives of men. Who can tell how greatly
womanhood influenced the lives of such men as Enoch, who walked with
God; Noah, whose faith led him to the building of the ark; Abraham,
whose wonderful life of trust has made him the father of the faithful
in all generations of men; Melchizedek, king of Salem and priest of
the most high God; Job, whom adversity could not shake, and who, in
the midst of his calamities, exclaimed, “Though He slay me, yet will
I trust in Him;” Caleb and Joshua, whose confidence in God’s ability
to lead the host of Israel into the promised land, was unwavering
under most trying circumstances; Elijah and Elisha, who stood as the
defences of God’s people amid idolatrous times; the good King Hezekiah,
and his ever faithful counselor, Isaiah, who went up into the Temple
and spread out the insulting letter of Sennacherib, and “prayed and
cried to heaven;” Daniel and his companions, who walked through the
fire and the den of lions, and thus proved their fidelity to truth
and righteousness; Nehemiah, who, by moonlight, viewed the ruins of
the city of his fathers, and then, with wonderful courage, repaired
its broken-down walls and set up its gates that had been burned with
fire; and the great host of women mentioned by Paul, who, through
faith, “received their dead raised to life again,” and others who “were
tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better
resurrection.” Surely such mothers and wives would raise up heroic
men. The Spartan mother told her son, when he started for the war, “to
return with his shield, or upon it.” But the Hebrew women led armies,
subdued kingdoms, and turned to flight the armies of the aliens.

Such is the womanhood of the Bible, and while with her companion,
man, she inherited the infirmities brought upon the race in the
transgression, yet she is infinitely in advance of the women living
in lands where the Bible is unknown. Indeed, the condition of Hebrew
women has always presented a marked contrast with heathen women, and
for the reason, while the Bible seeks to elevate them, heathendom has
sought to degrade them. Heathen oppression of womanhood rests upon the
nations where the Bible is not known, like the mountain upon Typho’s
heart. Buddhism presents no personal god. He is “eyeless, handless,
never sad and never glad.” For sinning man there is no pity, for of
all his hundreds of names there is no “Father.” Confucianism, with its
backward gaze, teaches no sin, no Saviour, and only China for heaven.
Mohammedanism has its creeds, prayers, alms, fastings and pilgrimages.
But its creeds were partly written on human bones, its pilgrimages
are corrupt and its formal prayers are to “Allah,” who bears little
resemblance to the Christian’s God. Not censure, but pity, hovers over
these classic religions and the millions who are under the pall of
paganism.

  Hark! From far distances voices are calling;
    Hushed be earth’s clamor, be silent and hear;
  Thrilling the heart with sad cadences falling,
    Comes the appeals in their syllables clear,
  Knowing no song but the breath of a sigh,
  Send o’er the ocean their heart-breaking cry.

  Lips that are muffled yet utter their story,
    O the sad plea of their multiplied wrongs;
  Grim superstition grown ancient and hoary,
    Shuts in dim prisons these languishing throngs,
  Heathen womanhood, with piteous pleading,
  Call to us blindly, their woes interceding.

The non-Christian religions offer no light in life and no hope in
death. The bitter cry of the Hindoo widow’s prayer is, “O God, let no
more women be born in this land.” The horrors of heathenism are unknown
in Christian lands. What makes the difference? We have clearly shown
in these pages that it is the teaching of the Bible, and this one fact
alone stamps the book as divine. It has God for its Author, and, from
Genesis to Revelation, it blesses and elevates women.

Why does paganism oppress womanhood? Because these monstrous systems
are dominated by Satan, and knowing as he must, that woman stands at
the fountain of the race, he poisons and corrupts the very sources of
life. For the truth of this one needs only to compare Christian with
heathen lands. Compare America with its happy Christian homes, with
India in whose cloistered zenanas are millions of widows, many of them
under ten years of age, and doomed to a living death--must sleep on
the ground, feed on herbs, and practice rigid mortification. Before
Christianity entered that land, the horrors of the suttee (the burning
alive of the widow with her dead husband), the sacrificing of infants
to the River Ganges, the slaying of young men and women in Hindu
temples to appease Kali, the god of the soil, the “Car of Juggernaut,”
rolling over hundreds of beings annually, and crushing them to death,
the burning alive of lepers, the hastening of the death of a parent
by the children in carrying the former to the River Ganges and there,
on the banks, filling the afflicted one’s mouth with sand and water
are left to die, the public exhibition of voluntary starvation on the
part of Hindu devotees,--all these terrible practices, once so popular
in India, have passed away since the missionary has planted his foot
upon the soil. To-day none of these things can be found, and India’s
voice, as well as the voice of all Christendom, can go up to God in
praise that these things no longer exist there. And what has taken
place in India, is also fast taking place in China and Africa. Surely,
the Christian woman needs to press her Bible to her heart, and love
it as she loves her God, for, were it not for this blessed book, her
condition would be no better than is the condition of woman in the
lands where Buddhism, Confucianism and Mohammedanism have crushed out
of her all that is worth having, and even denies that she has a soul.
It must be seen that such systems are incapable of elevating womanhood.

The thought uppermost in our mind, when we set out to write these pages
was, to show that God created man and woman as equals, that Christ came
to save our whole humanity, and that Christianity is the true friend
of woman. How beautiful is all this in contrast with the cruelties of
heathenism. See how patiently Jesus talks with a lone woman by Jacob’s
well, how tenderly he speaks to the woman who sobbed out her sorrow
for her sins at His feet, how compassionately He says to the woman for
whose blood her accusers had clamored, after He had silenced them,
“Go, and sin no more.” And, to the credit of head and heart, be it
said, woman has appreciated her Saviour, and in many ways shown her
gratitude. Perhaps there is no more beautiful and touching incident
in the life of our Lord than that recorded by Luke, where women
“ministered unto Him of their substance.”

Finally, if any have been helped to a better understanding and
appreciation of the Bible by the perusal of these pages, and have been
lifted nearer to the heart of God, we shall feel that our labors have
not been in vain.




TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

The cover image for this eBook was created by the transcriber and is
entered into the public domain.



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