November 4, 2020
The Floodtide of Wrath
Psalm 69:1
On April 10, 1912, the Titanic set out to sea. It was billed as “the unsinkable ship,” some 66,000 tons of mechanics and magnificence. Five days later it sank through countless fathoms of water to the bottom of the sea. What happened? The Titanic struck an iceberg, which tore a three-hundred-foot gash in its side. The waters outside the ship came surging in—and the unsinkable ship was sunk.
Two thousand years ago, on a clear and starry night, in a remote Judean town, God launched a mighty vessel on the seas of time, an unsinkable ship indeed, engineered in eternity, to plans and blueprints drawn up before ever time began. The vessel itself was fashioned by the Holy Spirit in a virgins womb, It was launched with scarcely a ripple to disturb mankind. There, in the small village of Bethlehem, the Son of God became the Son of Man.
Seas of sin surged all around Him even as He opened His eyes. A monster of a man sat on the throne that was rightfully His, a man who tried to murder Him. But the would-be killer was too late; the ship had already gone.
He grew up in an ordinary home. His brothers and sisters had sin natures just like everyone else. He, however, in stark contrast, lived a sinless life. There was no crack, no flaw to be found in Him. As man He was innocent and beyond reproof; as God He was holy and absolutely without any taint of sin.
He plowed through the seas of time until He came to Calvary, and there the iceberg struck, and the seas of sin surged into His soul. He sank swiftly. Sin, (not His, but ours, for He Himself was without sin), was destroying Him, “Save Me, O God,” He said, “for the waters are come in unto my soul.” He who for countless ages had known sin as an omniscient observer now knew sin by becoming sin. “Save me!” He cried. He was answered by total silence. There was no Savior provided for Him. There was no Savior possible for Him if we were to be saved from sin.
Then, too, He felt that sin was defiling him. “Save me, O God… I sink in deep mire’ (Ps. 69:2). It was as though all the filthiness and all the impurity of the human race had been gathered together in one vast, stinking quagmire; and He was being plunged beneath its loathsome pose. The unbelievable horror of it had caused Him to sweat blood in Gethsemane and caused Him to cry in anguish at Golgotha.
But then, as though all that were not enough, He felt that sin was drowning Him: “Save me, O God… I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. Down, down He went: and all God billows rolled over Him. Noah, in his day, had his ark; but Jesus was left to sink, abandoned by humanity and by God. Jonah cried from “the belly of hell” and was heard. Jesus cried in vain, “Save me!” He cried, No answer came. Instead, the tempest’s voice was heard. The wind shrieked across a sunless sea, and the angry waves of wrath built themselves into marching mountains. He who once had stilled the storm with a word, who once had walked upon the angry deep, now sank beneath the waves, dragged down by the inconceivable weight of a whole world’s sin.
And that seemed to be the end of it. He died and was taken down from the cross and put in a tomb. For three days and three nights the world continued to spin in space—a graveyard for His lifeless form.
Then:
Then:
Up from the grave He arose,
With a mighty triumph oer His foes;
He arose a victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign.
Me arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!
With a mighty triumph oer His foes;
He arose a victor from the dark domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign.
Me arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!
November 3, 2020
They That See Me
Psalm 22:7
Abandoned by God (Ps. 22:1-6) and abhorred by mankind (vv. 7— 10). Who could this be—friendless, forsaken, and betrayed by all. The answer is even more terrible than the question—God’s own Son, the uncreated, self-existing, second person of the Godhead, manifest in flesh. Surely, as we stand on the threshold of this awesome Psalm 22, we should remove the shoes from our feet, for the place whereon we stand is holy ground. The one who hung there on that cross was the one who hung the stars. Those iron bolts of Rome could have become thunderbolts in His hands to annihilate His foes. Instead, we see Him exposed to the contempt of mankind (vv. 7-10).
They laughed Him to scorn, they made faces at Him and nodded their heads at Him. They said, “He trusted on the Lord that he would deliver him.” The word used here for trusted occurs nowhere else— “Roll it on Jehovah” they said, “Roll it on Him,” They jeered thus at the very time when it seemed that even God had let Him down.
Then, too, He was exposed to the cruelty of mankind (vy. 11-17). They surrounded Him, the psalmist said, like strong bulls of Bashan, like roaring lions, like wild dogs. The words paint a picture of His enemies circling the cross like so many wild beasts, Now one darts in with a taunt, now another pushes close with a wisecrack, then another with a curse.
Moreover, He was exposed to the callousness of mankind (v. 18). Now He was the turn of the soldiers. They soon tired of mocking jests and bitter taunts, and they simply turned their backs on Him. What cared they for His suffering? They had crucified people often enough before. This was just another execution. They nailed Him to the cross, dropped it into its socket with a nerve-tearing thud, then turned away to seize upon His legacy, His robe. They made short work of dividing up His garments, then they gathered around to gamble for the robe raiment angels would have worn with pride.
Had Mark Antony been there, as he had been years before at the funeral of Julius Caesar, perhaps he would have drawn special attention to that robe, as he did when he held up murdered Caesar’s robe for all the world to see. Shakespeare presents Mark Antony’s words as follows:
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on.
Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through:
The first time ever Caesar put it on.
Look, in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through:
See what a rent the envious Casca made….
Great Caesar fell. O, what a fall was there… “
Great Caesar fell. O, what a fall was there… “
Did Peter, we wonder, take that robe, not in substance but in imagery, at Pentecost and spread it out, blood stained, before the people as he charged them with the murder of the Son of God? Perhaps not! But just the same he had words more eloquent, more terrible than any that Shakespeare put into the mouth of Anthony. “Him … ye have taken,” he declared, “and… have crucified and slain’ (Acts 2:23),
All their contempt, all their cruelty, and all their callousness came home to roost at Pentecost. A Spirit-emboldened Peter preached to the suddenly awakened conscience of the Jewish people.
How wonderful that by then the contempt, the cruelty, and the callousness of people was to be answered not just in conviction and condemnation but with the infinite compassion of God. The cross was no longer just a gallows. It had become an instrument of grace.
November 2, 2020
Come Down
Nehemiah 6:3
Up went the walls! Such was the drive, the determination, and the discipline of Nehemiah that it took only fifty-two days to accomplish the task, less than two months. But it was not without opposition. One of the wiles of the foe was to try to lure Nehemiah away. We note the proposal: “Come,” said Sanballat and Geshem to the Jewish leader. “Come, let us meet together in some one of the villages” (Neh. 6:2). The proposal would have meant a journey of at least twenty-five miles. “They thought to do me mischief,” Nehemiah said. He saw right through their somewhat transparent plot.
We note also the priority. “I am doing a great work,” said Nehemiah, “so that I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave 1t, and come down to you?” (v. 3). And that was that. So far as Nehemiah was concerned, nothing mattered more than completing the repair of Jerusalem’s walls.
It is important to have our priorities right. Nehemiah knew perfectly well that no meeting with the enemy could be productive because Nehemiah’’s priority was nonnegotiable. There are many such things that we must hold as nonnegotiable—the truth of the inerrancy of Scripture, for instance, or any of the other great cardinal doctrine of the Christian faith. There is no point in even discussing them with the enemies of the gospel since we have no room for compromise on any of these things.
Now let us note the parallel, for this whole story can be lifted from its Old Testament setting and put down in a New Testament one—similar but profoundly more significant. It is the same place we have in view, the city of Jerusalem, but a completely different period of tame.
The scene is set on a skull-shaped hill not far from Jerusalem’s wall, and the enemy is there in full force. Three crosses have been raised against the sky, and the anguish they represent can barely be imagined. On the center cross we see the Son of God. The mocking multitudes ignore the two thieves, for after all they were just common criminals paying for their crimes. The malice of both the mob and the masters of Israel is directed toward the one who claimed to be the Son of God. The claim, they thought, was clearly incredible. But it made a good jest as well as a good test: “If thou be the Son of God,” they said, “come down to us. Then we’ll believe you.” Nothing happened. No word passed His lips. Indeed, He had no need to speak, His answer had been on record for centuries. Nehemiah had spoken the words, and Jesus simply rested on them: “I am doing a great work,” He might have said. “I cannot come down: why should the work cease, whilst I leave it and come down to you?
And what a great work it was! He was securing eternal salvation for a countless multitude by bearing the sins of the world in His body on the tree. He was purchasing redemption for lost Adam’s fallen race. He was working out a plan agreed upon by Father, Son, and Holy Spirit before ever time began. Why, indeed, should the work cease while He came down from ‘that cross to satisfy the idle curiosity of a disbelieving crowd? No! He stayed there, where He was, until the work was done, Then He spoke. “It is finished,” He said. And so it was. We thank Him for it to this very day.
October 30, 2020
A Successor for Elijah
I Kings 19:19
There were scores of men in Israel who would have jumped at a chance to have been Elijah’s successor. Obadiah had a cave full of them. The school of the prophets had some more of them, The Spirit of God, however, passed over all of them. He already had his man in mind, one Elisha, a man with no theological training or prophetic experience at all.
There are three things to note about Elisha. First, he was a successful farmer. When Elijah found him, he was at work. He had twelve yoke of oxen, harnessed to a plow and was driving straight furrows across the face of a field. Elijah’s heart warmed to him at once. Mere was a man who had learned how to follow a plow, how to put his hand to the plow and never look back, a man fit, by the Lord’s own standard, to inherit the kingdom of God. Elijah threw his mantle on him. Within the hour, Elisha had taken his plow and chopped it up for firewood. He had taken his two prize oxen and made a burnt offering of them. He had called a hasty good-bye to his family and had run as fast as he could to catch up with the master. He never looked back.
Now we look at the submissive disciple. He learned many things from the master while running his errands, observing his ways and sitting at his feet. He studied him. Here was a man unimpressed by the political establishment. Elijah had taken the measure of the Ahabs and Jezebels of this world and knew of what stuff they were made. Here was a man, moreover, totally unimpressed by the military establishment. Time and again whole companies of soldiers were sent to arrest him. He simply called down fire from on high to consume them. And he was equally unimpressed by the religious establishment. He exposed its error, deception, and weakness. Outwardly it seemed powerful, evil, and dangerous because it had the backing of the throne. Elijah exposed it as empty and devoid of spiritual power. As for the school of the prophets, Elijah long since ceased to hope for much from that source, Elijah’s hopes and affections were all fixed on things above. Elisha sat at the master’s feet and absorbed these things.
Finally, we see the spiritual heir. At length the time came for Elijah to be translated from earth to heaven (2 Kings 2). He took his journey from Gilgal to Bethel, from Bethel to Jericho, and from Jericho to the Jordan—the reverse route to that taken by Israel long years ago in its conquest of Canaan. At each stage of the journey, Elijah put his disciple to the test. Each place they came to offered an opportunity and a place of ministry. Again and again, the Master gave his disciple an opportunity to settle down, to settle for less. Each time Elisha said, “No!” He was a man trained to follow the plow, to never take his eye off the goal. And what Elisha wanted was a double portion of the master’s spirit—at all costs. He had not given ten years of his life sitting at Elijah’s feet in order fo compromise now.
And that is what he received—a double portion of the master’s spirit. Elijah performed eight miracles, Elisha performed sixteen. He was Elijah s spiritual heir. Henceforth there was to be a man in heaven and a man on earth. The man in heaven had once lived on earth. He had trodden the path of obedience down here. He was now seated on high. The man on earth received a double portion of the Spirit of the man now in heaven. The master went up, the Spirit came down. Henceforth the man on earth would tread the same path of obedience once trodden on earth by the man now in heaven.
The whole scene was a foreview of Christ in heaven and Christians on earth. As we live down here the life of the man up there, we too know something of the outpouring of the Spirit of God upon us. “He that believeth on me, Jesus said, “the works chat I do shall he do also; and greater works than these’ (John 14:12).
October 29, 2020
The God that Answereth by Fire
I Kings 18:17-46
Eljah was unique among the prophets. Obadiah was supporting no less than one hundred of them; but, one and all, they cowered in a cave in fear for their lives. Much good they were doing! Not so Elijah. He was made of sterner stuff, He was a veritable Melchizedek among the prophets, presented, as it were, without father or mother, without beginning or ending of days, a prophet of the Most High God.
Summoned into his presence, the weak and wicked king Ahab tried bluster and bravado. Elijah shut him up. “Get your priests and people to Carmel,” He demanded. “We’ll put things to the test.” And, for the moment, more afraid of Elijah than of Jezebel, Ahab agreed. After all, Ahab thought, what could one lone man do against four hundred fifty priests and prophets of Baal? Not much!
We look first at the cult. The ministers of its foul and fierce rituals were an unholy crew. The hideous and polluted apostasy they chaimpioned, had it won the battle on Mount Carmel that day, would have obliterated the name and memory of Israel from the roll call of the nations. The terms of the contest were simple. The four hundred fifty prophets of Baal were to be given a bullock. And Elijah was to have one, too. Each in turn would sacrifice their animal and place it on the altar. Then the god that answered by fire would be acknowledged to be God. In growing despair, the false prophets of Baal worked themselves into a frenzy. Elijah stood by and mocked them with a fine flow of sarcasm. There lay their dead bullock on its bed of wood. There in the long past its meridian, their Zidonian sun god was sinking into the Baal’s prophets and priests cried aloud. They slashed themselves. They worked themselves into a frenzy. All in vain. The sun continued to sink, unmoved by it all.
Now let us look at the crowd, All day long they had watched the antics of the Baal cult. Now it was Elijah’s turn. Calmly he repaired an old mountain altar. Then deliberately he slew his bullock. He placed it on the altar, Around the altar he dug a wide trench. Then he had twelve barrels of water poured all over the altar and filled the trench as well. The crowd gathered around as the evening shadows began to steal across the sky. Then Elijah prayed. The fire fell. It was a good thing for the people there that day that a sacrifice lay there upon the altar dressed and ready for the fire. “Our God is a consuming fire,” the Bible says (Heb, 12:29), And so He is. The flame descending from on high would have landed on the people and consumed them all had there been no altar there. Instead, it fell upon the sacrifice. In type and symbol Elijah put the cross between that holy God in heaven and that sinful people on earth. The only ones who died that day were the prophets of Baal, slain by Elijah for the wickedness they had wrought.
Then came the cloud. The great tribulation was over! Elijah, who had just appealed to heaven for fire, now appealed to heaven for rain, “He prayed, the Holy Spirit says. He and his servant divided the task. The servant was to watch; Elijah was to pray. And so he did, until a cloud like a mans hand appeared in the sky, until the prophet’s upraised hand left its imprint on the sky. Then down came the rain.
Obadiah s hidden prophets did not bring the rain that day. Elijah did, They could not have brought the fire either. God does not give the key of heaven and power over the forces of earth to such as they.
October 28, 2020
A Dead Boy
I Kings 17:17-24
The long and the short of it was that the boy was dead. His mother had a dead son on her hands, and she knew it. Many people have the same problem. They have children who are very much alive to all that this world has to offer, but, just the same, are spiritually dead, “dead in trespasses and sins” (Eph. 2:1). This mother had done all that a mother could do for her son, but now he was beyond all human help. She turned to the one man she knew who knew a God she did not know.
There are three people in the story: the dead boy, the distraught mother, and the distressed prophet. The problem with the boy was physical, the problem of the woman was emotional, and the problem of the prophet was spiritual. The child cried to his mother, the mother cried to the prophet, and the prophet cried to God. The tragedy in that little cottage in that pagan town gives us a glimpse of why God allows sorrow to come into our lives. For the widow, for instance, it led to confession. For Elijah it led to compassion.
For che woman, it led to confession of sin. We are not told what her sin was. Likely enough, it had something to do with idolatry. She was a pagan, but a pagan to whom God had spoken. The idolatry of the Canaanites involved the grossest immorality. Few could have escaped it. Perhaps the woman had once been engaged in some aspect of the immorality of her religion. Perhaps her boy was its fruit. In time, the woman had come to idolize her child. When Elijah had asked for a piece of bread, she told him that all she had was a handful of meal. “It is just enough for one small meal for me and my son,” she said. Before it was all over, the prophet would say in the name of the living God, “Give me thy son.” That is about all we can do with spiritually dead children, give them to God, totally and without reservation.
As she gazed at her dead child, a sense of her sin suddenly overwhelmed his woman: “What have I to do with thee, O thou man of God?” she cried. “Art thou come unto me to call my sin to remembrance, and to slay my son?” It suddenly dawned on her that she was a sinner, though Elijah had said nothing at all about sin. The mere presence of a truly holy person often has that effect on guilty people.
We turn now to the prophet himself. In all this, God wanted to develop within the prophet a compassion of soul. Elijah was the prophet of the Law and not overly famous for his grace. There was a great deal of difference, for example, between Moses and Elijah. Moses unveiled the Law, and Elijah upheld the Law. Moses interceded for Israel, but Elijah interceded against Israel. Both men were prophets; but whereas Moses was essentially a thoughtful pastor, Elijah was essentially a thundering preacher. Moses brought down food from heaven; Elijah brought down fire.
The death of the widow’s boy touched the very heart of the prophet. Doubtless he had grown fond of the boy. “Give me thy son, he said in response to the widow’s cry. He gathered the dead boy up in his arms (we never read of him doing that before), and carried the corpse up the stairs to his room. He placed it on his bed. Then he prayed.
His prayer consisted of just a few words. It can be said in five seconds. Truly we are not heard for our abundant words. Prayer is not measured by its length but by its depth.
Then Elijah stretched himself upon the corpse. By so doing, he stood before God as a man defiled, for the Mosaic Law pronounced all who touched a dead body to be unclean. By this act the prophet, in effect, said to God: “O God, this boy is dead, and the Law can do nothing for him. The Law cannot minister life. I therefore disqualify myself, as a man of the Law, from being able to do anything at all for this boy.
If anything is to be done for this dead boy, then something above and beyond the ‘Law’ must take over. So I put this matter before you, not on the basis of Law, but on the basis of grace.” No wonder, within minutes, he was able to say to the widow: “See, thy son liveth.”
That is what we must do for our dead sons and daughters. We cannot legislate holiness or command our children to be good. Even the Law of God itself cannot impart life. But grace can, and does. Blessed be Godl!
October 27, 2020
I Have Commanded the Ravens
I Kings 17:1-7
The great prophet Elijah had burst like a tornado into the presence of Ahab and Jezebel. He had with him a key that could lock or unlock the sun, the rain, the wind, and the storm. Before the astonished eyes of that godless and guilty king and queen, Elijah locked up the rain. “No more rain!” he said, “No more rain but according to my word.’ Then he stormed back out of the royal presence and vanished from view. And he remained hidden for three and a half years while great tribulation fell on the land. “Go hide yourself,” God said. Later He would say, “Go show yourself.” God invariably conceals his chosen servant before He reveals that one.
During this three-and-a-half-year period, Elijah was hidden by God in a wadi and then by a widow. By the winding brook, Elijah developed a faith that could conquer drought. By the wasting barrel, in the widow’s bare kitchen, Elijah developed a hope that could conquer despair. By that widow’s boy, Elijah developed a faith that could conquer death. Once he had learned these lessons, God was able to use him as few have ever been used before or since. Israel’s faith was as dry as that brook. Israel’s hope was as dismal as that depleted barrel, and Israel’s love was as dead as that boy. Elijah, having learned personally how to deal with such things, could now deal with them publicly.
But let us spend some time with the great prophet as he sits beside that drying brook in a hidden place, far from the haunts and habitations of people. And let us recall the Lord’s own words to His own about the raven: “Consider the ravens,” He said (Luke 12:24—28). Elijah certainly must have considered them during those days beside that brook. He looked forward to their visits twice a day.
Elijah must have considered their color, black and glossy. Elijah would doubtless think of the Shulamite, in Solomon’s spirit-born song, and her description of her beloved: “His locks,” she said, “are bushy, and black as a raven” (5:11). That reminder would take Elijah’s soul by storm, for the Shulamite’s words reached far beyond her own beloved. They pointed to Another, one who was yet to come, one to whom the Shulamite’s beloved was but a type. Elijah’s thoughts took wing. From the visiting ravens and from the shepherd-love of the Shulamite, his thoughts would soar down the centuries from the Shulamite’s beloved to heaven’s Beloved. So, color of the ravens alone reminded the lonely prophet of Christ.
Then he considered their cry. As they dropped their tribute at his feet and wheeled away into the setting sun, Elijah would think, perhaps, of the psalmist’s words, “Sing unto the LORD with thanksgiving. .. . He giveth to the beast his food, and to the young ravens which cry” (Ps 147:7, 9). True, the ravens waited on his table in the wilds, but it was God Himself who spread the feast.
Moreover he would consider their character. The Levitical Law would come to his mind. Moses had specifically pronounced ravens to be unclean: “And these are they which shall have in abomination among the fowls … every raven after his kind (Lev. I1:13, 15). The raven by nature was an unclean bird.
The black, unclean birds would remind Elijah of the abomination that rode triumphant in Israel, spurred on by Jezebel and urged on by hundreds of her attendant court priests. He would take courage as he viewed the ravens coming from afar. If God could so cleanse ravens and make them ministers to His own, then there was nothing too hard for God. He had changed the very nature of these birds so that twice a day they brought him meat and bread to eat. God could change the heart of erring Israel.
Finally, the prophet would consider their course, as he watched them whirling and diving in the sky. He would remember the first mention of crows in the Bible. God have given them room in the ark; but, at the first opportunity, they went back to their wild, corrupt, and carnal ways. Unlike the dove, which came eagerly back to the ark from its flight abroad, the crows preferred a world where death reigned.
So, sitting by his brook, Elijah drew lessons from the ravens; and his faith grew strong. There was nothing too hard for God. The man who had thus learned to look to heaven for food would soon be able to look to heaven for his fire.
October 26, 2020
Ahithophel
David’s Judas
II Samuel 15:12, 31; 17:23
God forgave David, both for the seduction of Bathsheba and for the slaughter of Uriah. God forgave him, but Ahithophel never did. Ahithophel died by his own hand, cursing David, but with crimes on his conscience far exceeding anything David had on his. He died on a gallows in Giloh. He died nursing a malice and hatred for David that beggars description, And thereon hangs a tale.
We are prone to think of David as a type of Christ, and rightly so, for he was a type of Christ in many ways, especially in his early years when he was “a man after God’s own heart. But there was another side to David, as there is with all of us. And it is this other side that is brought so sharply into focus in his contacts with Ahithophel. There are three aspects to the story.
We begin with David’s friend. In one of his great psalms, David describes Ahithophel as “mine own familiar friend, in whom | trusted, which did eat of my bread” (Ps, 41:9). In another psalm he calls him “a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together and walked unto the house of God in company (Ps, 55:13—I4). It was no accident that David chose this man to be his primary counselor, for Ahithopel had a great deal to contribute to David. He was the cleverest man in the country; and, at times, hts advice was little short of inspired.
Moreover, he was not only David’s counselor, but he was also David’s companion. They would walk together to the house of God. He was also David’s confidant. David would share his secret dreams and desires with him, his plans for the future of the kingdom.
But then, Ahithophel became David’s foe, his bitterest, most malignant and formidable foe. Absalom’s rebellion would never have got off the ground had not Ahithophel gone over to Absaloms side. Ahithopel had two main objectives in mind when he went over to Absalom. He wanted David’s wives, those left behind in Jerusalem, to be publicly seduced by Absalom on the rooftop of the palace, before the public gaze (2 Sam.
16:20—23). His goal was to make sure that the alienation between David and Absalom was beyond reconciliation. His second, if not his primary goal, was to kill David. When David was in full flight from Jerusalem, Ahithophel pleaded with Absalom to let him take a band of soldiers on a swift expedition to corner and kill David before David could organize his own forces (17:1—3). Such was the fierce hatred that now burned in the heart of Ahithophel toward the man to whom he had once professed love and loyalty.
16:20—23). His goal was to make sure that the alienation between David and Absalom was beyond reconciliation. His second, if not his primary goal, was to kill David. When David was in full flight from Jerusalem, Ahithophel pleaded with Absalom to let him take a band of soldiers on a swift expedition to corner and kill David before David could organize his own forces (17:1—3). Such was the fierce hatred that now burned in the heart of Ahithophel toward the man to whom he had once professed love and loyalty.
But why the change? The answer lies in David’s folly. It was folly for David to loll around the palace when his soldiers were off to war. It was folly for David, when he caught a glimpse of Bathsheba in her bathrobe, to venture a second look. It was folly for him to seek an introduction to the woman and to cultivate the acquaintance, especially when he discovered she was married, and married, no less, to Uriah, one of his personal bodyguards. It was folly supreme to seduce her and criminal folly to kill her husband in order to marry her. Bathsheba’s grandfather was Abithophel.
One does not need to be a prophet, or the son of a prophet, to tmagine how Ahithophel took the seduction of his granddaughter and the murder of her husband. He did his best to pay David back with seduction, and he succeeded. He did his best to murder David and very likely would have succceded if Absalom had been anything like a general.
We know what David said when news of Ahithophels treason was brought. He asked God to turn Ahithophel’s counsel to foolishness, But we wonder what he said to Bathsheba, when news came to him of the suicide of Ahithophel, his old friend, his valued counselor, and Bathsheba’s grandfather. What did he say? What will we say when our sins thus terribly find us out?
October 23, 2020
Eli
I Samuel 2:27-36
Eli was Israel’s high priest in the closing days of the judges, a time when immorality and apostasy went hand in hand. He was Israel’s high priest, but he really had no claim to the position at all. He was not descended from the family of Eleazar, to whom the high priesthood belonged, but from the family of Ithamar, Aaron’s youngest son. It is typical of the confusion of the time that we have no idea how he came to be high priest. It is typical, also, that his whole career (as recorded in I Samuel) was one of utter failure.
First, he was a failure as a person. He was old. Young men see visions, the Bible says, and old men dream dreams. Eli dreamed away his days. “His eyes were dim, the Holy Spirit adds (I Sam. 4:15). He was physically blind tn his old age but also blind to the needs of the people. “Where there is no vision, the people perish” the Scripture declares (Prov. 29:18). Poor old Eli was blind even to the state of his own famly. Typical, too, was his treatment of Hannah. He could not even tell the difference between a drunken woman and a devout worshiper, and he had some harsh words for that brokenhearted soul. His half apology, when he realized his mistake, does him no credit either (1 Sam.
So, there was Eli, old, slothful, worn out, content to sit in his rocking chair and doze away his days while Israel sank ever deeper into the mire. Then, too, he was a failure as a parent. “His sons,” we are told, “made themselves vile’ (3:13). Their behavior was a national scandal. It was not safe for an attractive woman to bring a sacrifice to the altar. She was likely to fall foul of the lawless lusts of Eli’s sons. When people complained, Eli shrugged his shoulders and went back to sleep.
Eli’s sons also sinned against God. The Levitical Law set aside a portion of each sacrifice for the officiating priest. The fat, however was to be burned on the alter. That was God’s portion. Eli’s unscrupulous sons dared to rob God. They appropriated the fat for themselves (2:22-17). Eli merely slapped their wrists. He should have thrust them out of the priestly office. Instead, he indulged them.
Doubtless, he had never curbed them, never taken the rod to them, to break their wills when they were young, They grew up willful and wild, and wicked beyond words. So Eli’s failure as a parent was a serious thing, for he contributed two unregenerate sons to the priesthood. It brought about the downfall of his house.
Finally, and worst of all, Eli was a failure as a priest. He seems to have had little or nothing to do. He stands in contrast with Samuel, who went up and down the land seeking to arouse an apostate and apathetic people to a sense of sin and need. Eli waited for people to come to him. Few came. So all we see is a tired old man dozing in the sun.
The first time we meet him in the Bible he is propped up against a post of the tabernacle idling his life away. Later we see him sound asleep in bed. A little lad, entrusted to his care, had to wake him up three times before it finally dawned on him that God had something to say to the boy. Eli had long since ceased expecting that God might have something to say to the boy. The last time we see him he is sitting on a chair by the roadside. He fell of ff that seat and broke his neck. Such was Eli.
But there was one bright spot. He did a good job of bringing up little Samuel. Or did he? Maybe it was not so much due to old Eli that Samuel turned our so well. Perhaps that was a result of his mothers earnest prayers.
October 22, 2020
Orpah Falls From Grace
Ruth 1:11-15
Orpah turned back, and was impossible to renew her again unto repentance. God blots her name out of His book, and we read of her no more. Her story revolves around three choices.
Her first choice was to marry into a family of believers. She came to know the family very well. Perhaps often around the family supper table she would hear Elimelech and Naomi talk nostalgically about the true and living God, how He had sent them a kinsman-redeemer to deliver them from bondage and death. He had put them under the blood, He had brought them through the water, and He had gathered them around the table. He had given them His laws and had given them their land. She listened to their Bible stories, fascinating and factual stories about Adam and Eve, Enoch and Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. She heard about Gods wisdom, love, and power. But, alas for Orpah, she was wedded to her idols. Truth penetrated her mind but never touched her heart.
So Orpah made her first choice. She married into a family that had personal knowledge of God. Before her lay the opportunity of coming to know that God for herself.
Then came her further choice. Sorrow came into her life. Death came calling again and again until Naomi, Ruth, and Orpah all became widows. Then Naomi decided she’d had enough. News that God had been visiting His people back there in Bethlehem helped her make her decision, She would return to her people and her God. That was when Orpah made her second choice. She would go with Naomi. Naomi’s God would become her God, and Naomi’s people would become her people. Ruth made the same decision. So far, so good. But everything would hinge on what happened next. The three widows said their last, sad farewells at the graves of their departed loved ones and set their faces toward the Promised Land.
But now comes the tragedy in Orpah’s life—her final choice, She began to lag behind. Naomi’s warning about there being little or no hope of remarriage among the Hebrews took over her mind, Perhaps it would be best to go back to Moab. At least she might find a Moabite husband; after all. she was a Moabite, She came to a stop, and the other two came back to her; but Orpah had made up her mind. She would go back to her people and her gods. And so she did. The call of the true God faded away in her soul. She went back to seek rest with a Moabite husband.
Let us suppose that, still young and attractive, she married a Moabite man. Let us suppose, too, she did find rest in his house. What kind of rest would it be? At best it could be just temporal rest—a measure of peace and quiet, a share of this world’s goods, enjoyment of this world’s pleasures and pastimes, attendance at the more pacific and harmless rituals at the local temples and shrines—followed by a Christless death.
But there was a darker side to pagan religion, one that Orpah seems to have forgotten. Perhaps Orpah gave birth to a girl, a pretty girl with the earthly promise of beauty of face and form. The priests of Baal might mark her for the temple, to become a harlot, consecrated to the foul Moabite gods and to be debauched by priests and people alike. And Orpah’s rest was gone forever.
Or, perhaps, Orpah gave birth to a boy, The priest of Chemosh might cast his evil eye on her little boy and put a mark on him, “Bring him to me at the temple tomorrow,” he might say. “We’ll find a place for him on Chemosh’s lap. You are a woman favored of the god.” What then of Orpah’s rest? Gone! Forever gone. It was a terrible choice she made—to settle for the world’s uneasy peace.