SORROW AND FAILURE AT
KADESH
Numbers 20
THERE is a mustering at Kadesh of the scattered tribes, for now
the end of the period of wandering approaches, and the generation
that has been disciplined in the wilderness must prepare for a new
advance. The spies who searched Canaan were sent from Kadesh, {Num
13:26} to which, in the second year from the exodus, the tribes had
penetrated. Now, in the first month of the fortieth year it would
seem, Kadesh is again the headquarters. The adjacent district is
called the desert of Zin. Eastward, across the great plain of the
Arabah, reaching from the Dead Sea to the Elanitic Gulf, are the
mountains of Seir, the natural rampart of Edom. To the head of the
Gulf at Elath the distance is some eighty miles in a straight line
southward; to the southern end of the Dead Sea it is about fifty
miles. Kadesh is almost upon the southern border of Canaan; but the
way of the Negeb is barred by defeat, and Israel must enter the
Promised Land by another route. In preparation for the advance the
tribes gather from the wadies and plateaus in which they have been
wandering, and at Kadesh or near it the earlier incidents of this
chapter occur.
First among them is the death of Miriam. She has survived the
hardships of the desert and reached a very great age. Her time of
influence and vigour past, all the joys of life now in the dim
memories of a century, she is glad, no doubt, when the call comes.
It was her happiness once to share the enthusiasm of Moses and to
sustain the faith of the people in their leader and in God. But any
service of this kind she could render has been left behind. For some
time she has been able only now and then with feeble steps to move
to the tent of meeting that she might assure herself of the welfare
of Moses. The tribes will press on to Canaan, but she shall never
see it.
How is a life like this of Miriam’s to be reckoned? Take into
account her faith and her faithfulness; but remember that both were
maintained with some intermixture of poor egotism; that while she
helped Moses she also claimed to rival and rebuke him; that while
she served Jehovah it was with some of the pride of a prophetess.
Her devotion, her endurance, the long interest in her brother’s
work, which indeed led to the great error of her life-these were her
virtues, the old great virtues of a woman. So far as opportunity
went she doubtless did her utmost, with some independence of thought
and decision of character. Even though she gave way to jealousy and
passed beyond her right, we must believe that, on the whole, she
served her generation in loyalty to the best she knew, and in the
fear of the Most High. But into what a strange disturbed current of
life was her effort thrown! Downcast, sorely burdened women,
counting for very little when they were cheerful or when they
complained, heard Miriam’s words and took them into their narrow
thoughts, to resent her enthusiasm, perhaps, when she was
enthusiastic, to grudge her the power she enjoyed, which to herself
seemed so slight. In the camp generally she had respect, and
perhaps, once and again, she was able to reconcile to Moses and to
one another those whose quarrels threatened the common peace. When
she was put forth from the camp in the shame of her leprosy, all
were affected, and the march was stayed till her time of separation
was over. Was she one of those women whose lot it is to serve others
all their lives and to have little for their service? Still, like
many another, she helped to make Israel, Of good and evil, of Divine
elements and some that are anything but Divine, lives are made up.
And although we cannot gather the results of any one and tell its
worth, the stream of being retains and the unerring judgment of God
accepts whatever is sincere and good. Miriam from first to last
fills but a few lines of sacred history; yet of her life, as of
others, more has to be told; the end did not come when she died at
Kadesh and was buried outside Canaan.
Spread through a diversified and not altogether barren region, over
many square miles, the tribes have been able during the
thirty-seven, years to provide themselves with water. Gathered more
closely now, when the dry season begins they are in want. And at
once complaints are renewed. Nor can we wonder much. In flaming
sunshine, in the parched air of the heights and the stifling heat of
the narrow valleys, the cattle gasping and many of them dying, the
children crying m vain for water, the little that is to be had, hot
and almost putrid, carefully divided, yet insufficient to give each
family a little, -the people might well lament their apparently
inevitable fate. It may be said, "They should have confided in God."
But while that might apply in ordinary circumstances, would not be
out of place if the whole history were ideal, the reality, once
understood, forbids so easy a condemnation of unbelief. Nothing is
more terrible to endure, nothing more fitted to make strong men weep
or turn them into savage critics of a leader and of Providence, than
to see their children in the extremity of want which they cannot
relieve. And a leader like Moses, patient as he may have been of
other complaints, should have been most patient of this. When the
people chode with him and said, "Would God that we had died when our
brethren died before the Lord! And why have ye brought the assembly
of the Lord into this wilderness, that we should die, we and our
cattle?" they ought surely to have been met with pity and soothing
words.
It is indeed a tragedy we are to witness when we come to the rock;
and one element of it is the old age and the weary spirit of the
leader. Who can tell what vexed his soul that day? how many cares
and anxieties burdened the mind that was clear yet, but not so
tolerant, perhaps, as once it had been? The years of Moses, his long
and arduous service of the people, are not remembered as they ought
to be. Even in their extremity the men of the tribes ought to have
appealed to their great chief with all respect, instead of breaking
in upon him with reproaches. Was no experience sufficient for these
people? After the discipline of the wilderness, was the new
generation, like that which had died, still a mere horde,
ungrateful, rebellious? From the leader’s point of view this thought
could not fail to arise, and the old magnanimity did not drive it
away.
Another point is the forbearance of Jehovah, who has no anger with
the people. The Divine Voice commands Moses to take his rod and go
forth to the rock and speak to it before the assembly. This does not
fall in with Moses’ mood. Why is God not indignant with the men of
this new generation who seize the first opportunity to begin their
murmuring? Relapsing from his high inspiration to a poor human
level, Moses begins to think that Jehovah, whose forgiveness be has
often implored on Israel’s behalf, is too ready now to forgive. It
is a failing of the best men thus to stand for the prerogative of
God more than God Himself; that is, to mistake the real point of the
circumstances they judge and the Divine will they should interpret.
The story of Jonah shows the prophet anxious that Nineveh, the
inveterate foe of Israel, the centre of proud, God-defying idolatry,
should be destroyed. Does God wish it to be spared, to repent and
obtain forgiveness? So does not Jonah. His creed is one of doom for
wickedness. He resents the Divine mercy and, in effect, exalts
himself above the Most High. In like temper is Moses when he goes
out followed by the crowd. There is the rock from which water shall
be made to flow. But with the thought in his mind that the people do
not deserve God’s help, Moses takes the affair upon himself. The
tragedy is fulfilled when his own feelings guide him more than the
Divine patience, his own displeasure more than the Divine
compassion; and with the words on his lips, "Hear now, ye rebels:
shall we bring you forth water out of this rock?" he smites it twice
with his rod.
For the moment, forgetting Jehovah the merciful, Moses will himself
act God; and he misrepresents God, dishonours God, as every one who
forgets Him is sure to do. Is he confident in the power of his
wonder-working rod? Does he wish to show that its old virtue
remains? He will use it as if he were smiting the people as well as
the rock. Is he willing that this thirsting multitude should drink?
Yet he is determined to make them feel that they offend by the
urgency with which they press upon him for help. There have been
crises in the lives of leaders of men when, with all the teaching of
the past to inspire them, they should have risen to a faith in God
far greater than they ever exercised before; and more or less they
have failed. This is not the will of Providence, they have thought,
though they should have known that it was. They have said, "Advance:
but God goes not with you," when they should have seen the heavenly
light moving on. So Moses failed. He touched his limit; and it was
far short of that breadth of compassion which belongs to the Most
Merciful. He stood as God, with the rod in his hand to give the
water, but with the condemnation upon his lips which Jehovah did not
speak.
In this mood of assumed majesty, of moral indignation which has a
personal source, with an air of superiority not the simplicity of
inspiration, a man may do what he will for ever regret, may betray a
habit of self-esteem which has been growing upon him and will be his
ruin if it is not checked. In the strong mind of Moses there had
lain the germs of hauteur. The early upbringing in an Egyptian court
could not fail to leave its mark, and the dignity of a dictator
could not be sustained, after the anxieties of the first two years
in the desert, without some slight growth of a tendency or
disposition to look down on people so spiritless, and play among
them the part of Providence, the decrees of which Moses had so often
interpreted. But pride, even beginning to show itself towards men,
is an aping of God. Unconsciously the mind that looks down on the
crowd falls into the trick of a superhuman claim. Moses, great as he
is, without personal ambition, the friend of every Israelite,
reaches unaware the hour when a habit long suppressed lifts itself
into power. He feels himself the guardian of justice, a critic not
only of the lives of men but of the attitude of Jehovah towards
them. It is but for an hour; yet the evil is done. What appears to
the uplifted mind justice, is arrogance. What is meant for a defence
of Jehovah’s right, is desecration of the highest office a man can
hold under the Supreme. The words are spoken, the rock is struck in
pride; and Moses has fallen.
Think of the realisation of this which comes when the flush of hasty
resentment dies, and the true self which had been suppressed revives
in humble thought. "What have I done?" is the reflection-"What have
I said? My rod, my hand, my will, what are they? My indignation! Who
gave me the right to be indignant? A king against whom they have
revolted! A guardian of the Divine honour! Alas! I have denied
Jehovah. I, who stood for Him in my pride, have defamed Him in my
vanity. The people who murmured, whom I rebuked, have sinned less
than I. They distrusted God, I have declared Him unmerciful, and
thereby sown the seeds of distrust. Now I, too, am barred from
Israel’s inheritance. Unworthy of the promise, I shall never cross
the border of God’s land. Aaron my brother, we are the
transgressors. Because we have not honoured God to sanctify Him in
the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore we shall not bring
this assembly unto the land He gives them." By the lips of Moses
himself the oracle was given. It was tragical indeed.
But how could the brothers who had yielded to this dictatorial
hierarchical temper be men of God again, fit for another stroke of
work for Him, unless, coming forth into action, their pride had
disclosed itself, and with whatever bad result shown its real
nature? We deplore the pride; we almost weep to see its
manifestation; we hear with sorrow the judgment of Moses and Aaron.
But well is it that the worst should come to light, that the evil
thing should be seen, God-dishonouring, sacrilegious; should be
judged, repented of, punished. Moses must "feel himself and find the
blessedness of being little." "By that sin fell the angels," that
sin unconfessed.
Here in open sight of all, in hearing of all, Moses lays down the
godhead he had assumed, acknowledges unworthiness, takes his place
humbly among those who shall not inherit the promise. The worst of
all happens to a man when his pride remains unrevealed, uncondemned;
grows to more and more, and he never discovers that he is attempting
to carry himself with the air of Providence, of Divinity.
The error of Moses was great, yet only showed him to be a man of
like passions with ourselves. Who can realise the mercy and
lovingkindness that are in the heart of God, the danger of limiting
the Holy One of Israel? The murmuring of the Israelites against
Jehovah had often been rebuked, had often brought them into
condemnation. Moses had once and again intervened as their mediator
and saved them from death. Remembering the times when he had to
speak of Jehovah’s anger, he feels himself justified in his own
resentment. He thought the murmuring was over; it is resumed
unexpectedly, the same old complaints are made and he is carried
away by what appears zeal for Jehovah. Yet there is in him even, the
man, much more in God, a better than the seeming best. Pathetic
indeed is it to find Moses judged as one who has failed from the
high place he could have reached by a final effort of self-mastery,
one more generous thought. And we see him fail at a point where we
often fail. Sternly to judge our own right of condemning before we
speak sternly in the name of God; neither to do nor say anything
which implies the assumption of knowledge, justice, charity we do
not possess-how few of us are in these respects blameless for a day!
Far back in sacred history this high duty is presented so as to
evoke the best endeavour of the Christian soul and warn it from the
place of failure.
There is preserved in the Book of Exodus (chapter 36) a list of the
Kings of Edom reaching down apparently to about the establishment of
the monarchy of Israel. Recent archeology sees no reason to question
the genuineness of this historical notice or the names of the Dukes
of Edom given in the same passage. With varying boundaries the
region over which they ruled extended southward from Moab and the
Dead Sea as far as the Elanitic Gulf. Kadesh, considerably west of
the Arabah, is described as being on its uttermost border. But the
district inhabited by the Edomites proper was a narrow strip of
rugged country eastward of the range of Mount Seir. One pass giving
entrance to the heart of Edom led by the base of Mount Hot towards
Selah, afterwards called Petra, which occupied a fine but narrow
valley in the heart of broken mountains. To reach the south of Moab
the Israelites desired probably to take a road a good deal farther
north. But this would have led them by Bozrah the capital, and the
king who reigned at the time refused them the route. The message
sent him in Moses’ name was friendly, even appealing. The
brotherhood of Edom and Israel was claimed; the sore travail of the
tribes in Egypt and the deliverance wrought by Jehovah were given as
reasons; promise was made that no harm should be done to field or
vineyard: Israel would journey by the king’s way, turning neither to
the right nor the left. When the first request was refused Moses
added that if his people drank of the water while passing through
Edom they would pay for it. The appeal, however, was made in vain.
An attempt to advance without permission was repelled. An armed
force barred the way, and most reluctantly the desert road was again
taken.
We can easily understand the objection of the King of Edom. Many of
the defiles through which the main road wound were not adapted for
the march of a great multitude. The Israelites could scarcely have
gone through Edom without injuring the fields and vineyards; and
though the undertaking was given in good faith by Moses, how could
he answer for the whole of that undisciplined host he was leading
towards Canaan? The safety of Edom lay in denying to other peoples
access to its strongholds. The difficulty of approaching them was
their main security. Israel might go quietly through the land now;
but its armies might soon return with hostile intent. Water, too,
was very precious in some parts of Edom. Enough was stored in the
rainy season to supply the wants of the inhabitants; beyond that
there was none to spare, and for this necessary of life money was no
equivalent. A multitude travelling with cattle would have made
scarcity, or famine, -might have left the region almost desolate.
With the information they had, Moses and Joshua may have believed
that there were no insuperable difficulties. Yet the best
generalship might have been unequal to the task of controlling
Israel in the passes and among the cultivated fields of that
singular country.
There is no need to go back on the history of Jacob and Esau in
order to account for the apparent incivility of the King of Edom to
the Israelites and Moses. That quarrel had surely been long
forgotten! But we need not wonder if the kinship of the two peoples
was no availing argument in the case. Those were not times when
covenants like that proposed could be easily trusted, nor was Israel
on an expedition the nature of which could reassure the Idumaeans.
And we have parallels enough in modern life to show that from the
only point of view the king could take he was amply justified. There
are demands men make on others without perceiving how difficult it
will be to grant them, demands on time, on means, on good-will,
demands that would involve moral as well as material sacrifice. The
foolish intrusions of well-meaning people may be borne for a time,
but there is a limit beyond which they cannot be suffered. Our whole
life cannot be exposed to the derangements of every scheme-maker,
every claimant. If we are to do our own work well, it is absolutely
necessary that a certain space shall be jealously guarded, where the
gains of thought may be kept safely and the ideas revealed to us may
be developed. That any one’s life should be open so that travellers,
even with some right of close fraternity, may pass through the midst
of it, drink of the wells, and trample down the fields of growing
purpose or ripening thought, this is not required. Good-will makes
an open gate; Christian feeling makes one still wider and bids many
welcome. But he who would keep his heart in fruitfulness must be
careful to whom he grants admission. There is beginning to be a sort
of jealousy of anyone’s right to his own reserve. It is not a single
Israel approaching from the West, but a score, with their different
schemes, who come from every side demanding right of way and even of
abode. Each presses a Christian claim on whatever is wanted of our
hospitality. But if all had what they desire there would be no
personal life left.
On the other hand, some whose highways are broad, whose wells and
streams are overflowing, whose lives are not fully engaged, show
themselves exclusive and inhospitable-like those proprietors of vast
moors who refuse a path to the waterfall or the mountain-top.
Without Edom’s excuse, some modern Idumaeans warn every enterprise
off their bounds. Neither brotherhood nor any other claim is
acknowledged. They would find advantage, not injury, in the visit of
those who bring new enthusiasms and ideas to bear on existence. They
would learn of other aims than occupy them, a better hope than they
possess. Their sympathy would be enlisted in heavenly or humane
endeavours, and new alliances would quicken as well as broaden their
life. But they will not listen; they continue selfish to the end.
Against all such Christianity has to urge the law of brotherhood and
of sacrifice.
We have assumed that Kadesh was on the western side of the Arabah,
and it is necessary to take Num 20:20 as referring to an incident
that occurred after the Israelites had crossed the valley. Not
otherwise can we explain how they came to encamp among the mountains
on the eastern side. The repulse must have been sustained by the
tribes after they had left Kadesh and penetrated some distance into
the northern defiles of Idumaea. Bozrah, the capital, appears to
have been situated about half way between Petra and the southern
extremity of the Dead Sea, and a force issuing from that stronghold
would divert the march southward so that the Israelites could safely
encamp only when they reached the open plain near Mount Hor. Hither
therefore they retreated: and here it was that Moses and Aaron were
parted. The time had come for the high priest to be gathered to his
people.
Scarcely any locality in the whole track of the wandering is better
identified than this. From the plain of the Arabah the mountains
rise in a range parallel to the valley, in ridges of sandstone,
limestone, and chalk, with cliffs and peaks of granite. The defile
that leads by Mount Hor to Petra is peculiarly grand, for here the
range attains its greatest height. "Through a narrow ravine," says
one traveller, "we ascended a steep mountain side, amid a splendour
of colour from bare rock or clothing verdure, and a solemnity of
light on the broad summits, of shade in the profound depths - a
memory forever. It was the same narrow path through which in
oldtimes had passed other trains of camels laden with the
merchandise of India, Arabia, and Egypt. And thus having ascended,
we had next a long descent to the foot of Mount Hor, which stands
isolated." The mountain rises about four thousand feet above the
Arabah and has a peculiar double crest. On its green pastures there
graze flocks of sheep and goats; and inhabited caves-used perhaps
since the days of the old Horites-are to be seen here and there. The
ascent of the mountain is aided by steps cut in the rock, "indeed a
tolerably complete winding staircase," for the chapel or mosque on
the summit, said to cover the grave of Aaron, is a notable Arab
sanctuary, resorted to by many pilgrims. "From the roof of the
tomb-now only an ordinary square building with a dome-northward and
southward, a hilly desert; eastward, the mountains of Edom, within
which Petra lies hid; westward, the desert of the Arabah, or
wilderness of Zin; beyond that, the desert of Et-Tih; beyond that
again, in the far horizon, the blue-tinted hills of the Land of
Promise."
Such is the mountain at the foot of which Israel lay encamped when
the Lord said unto Moses, "Take Aaron and Eleazar his son, and bring
them up unto Mount Hor; and strip Aaron of his garments, and put
them upon Eleazar his son: and Aaron shall be gathered unto his
people and shall die there." We imagine the sorrowful gaze of the
multitude following the three climbers, the aged brothers who had
borne so long the burden and heat of the day, and Eleazar, already
well advanced in life, who was to be invested with his father’s
office. Coming soon after the death of Miriam, this departure of
Aaron broke sharply one other link that still bound Israel with its
past. The old times were receding, the new had not yet come into
sight.
The life of a good man may close mournfully. While some in leaving
the world cross cheerfully the river beyond which the smiling fields
of the heavenly land are full in view, others there are who, even
with the faith of the Conqueror of death to sustain them, have no
gladdening prospect at the last. Only from a distance Aaron saw the
Land of Promise; from so great a distance that its beauty and
fruitfulness could not be realised. The sullen gleam of the Lake of
Sodom, lying in its grim hollow, was visible away to the north.
Besides that the dim eyes could make out little. But Edom lay below;
and the tribes would have a great circuit round that inhospitable
land, would have to traverse another desert beyond the horizon to
the east, ere they could reach Moab and draw near to Canaan. A true
patriot, Aaron would think more of the people than of himself. And
the confidence he had in the friendliness of God and the wisdom of
his brother would scarcely dispel the shadow that settled on him as
he forecast the journey of the tribes and saw the difficulties they
were yet to meet. So not a few are called away from the world when
the great ends for which they have toiled are still remote. The
cause of liberty or of reformation with which life has been
identified may even appear farther from success than years before.
Or again, the close of life may be darkened by family troubles more
pressing than any that were experienced earlier. A man may be
heavily burdened without distrusting God on his own account, or
doubting that in the long run all shall be well. He may be troubled
because the immediate prospect shows no escape from painful
endurance for those he loves. He does not sorrow perhaps that he has
found the promises of life to be illusory; but he is grieved for
dear friends who must yet make that discovery, who shall travel many
a league and never win the battle or pass beyond the wilderness.
The mind of Aaron as he went to his death was darkened by the
consciousness of a great failure. Kadesh lay westward across the
valley, and the thought of what took place there was with the
brothers as they climbed Mount Hor and stood upon its summit. They
had repented, but they had not yet forgiven themselves. How could
they, when they saw in the temper of the people too plain proofs
that their lese-majesty had borne evil fruit? It needs much faith to
be sure that God will remedy the evil we have done; and so long as
the means cannot be seen, the shadow of self-reproach must remain.
Many a good man, climbing the last slope, feels the burden of
transgressions committed long before. He has done his utmost to
restore the defences of truth and rebuild the altars of witness
which in thoughtless youth or proud manhood he cast down. But
circumstances have hindered the work of reparation; and many who saw
his sin have passed far beyond the reach of his repentance. The
thought of past faults may sadly obscure the close of a Christian
life. The end would indeed be hopeless often were it not for trust
in the omnipotent grace which brings again that which was driven
away and binds up that which was broken. Yet since the very work of
God and the victory of Christ are made more difficult by things a
believer has done, is it possible that he should always have happy
recollections of the past as life draws near its end?
It was no doubt honourable to Aaron that his death was appointed to
be on that mountain in Seir. Old as he was, he would never think of
complaining that he was ordained to climb it. Yet to the tired limbs
it was a steep, difficult path, a way of sorrow. Here, also, we find
resemblance to the close of many a worthy life. High office in the
Church has been well served, overflowing wealth has been used in
beneficence; but at the last reverses have come. The man who was
always prosperous is now stripped of his possessions. Darkened in
mind by successive losses, bereaved of friends and of power, he has
to climb a dreary mountain-path to the sharp end. It may be really
honourable to such a man that God has thus appointed his death to be
not in the midst of luxury, but on the rugged peak of loss.
Understanding things aright, he should say: "The Lord gave, and the
Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord." But if
dependence is felt as shame, if he who gave freely to others feels
it a sore thing to receive from others, who can have the heart to
blame the good man because he does not triumph here? And if he has
to climb alone, no Eleazar with him, scarcely one human aid, what
shall we say? Now life must gird itself and go whither it would not.
Sad is the journey, but not into night. The Christian does not
impeach Divine providence nor grieve that earthly good is finally
taken away. Though his life has been in his generosity, not in his
possessions, yet he will confess that the last bitter trial is
needful to the perfecting of faith.
Should the believer triumph over death through Christ? It is his
privilege; but some display unwarranted complacency. They have
confidence in the work of Christ; they boast that they rest
everything on Him. But is it well with them if they have no sorrow
because of days and years that ran to waste? Is it well with them if
they deplore no failure in Christian effort when the reason is that
they never gave heart and strength to any difficult task? Who can be
satisfied with the apparent victory of faith at the last of one who
never had high hopes for himself and others, and therefore was never
disappointed? Better the sorrowful ending to a life that has dared
great things and been defeated, that has cherished a pure ideal and
come painfully short of it, than the exultation of those who even as
Christians have lived to themselves.
Perhaps the circumstances that attended the death of Aaron were to
him the finest discipline of life. Climbing the steep slope at the
command of God, would he not feel himself brought into a closer
relation with the Eternal Will? Would he not feel himself separated
from the world and gathered up into the quiet massiveness of life
with Him who is from everlasting to everlasting? The years of a high
priest, dealing constantly with sacred things and symbols, might
easily fall into a routine not more helpful to generous thought and
spiritual exaltation than the habits of secular life. One might
exist among sacrifices and purifications till the mind became aware
of nothing beyond ritual and its orderly performance. True, this had
not been the case with Aaron during a considerable portion of the
time since he began his duties. There had been many events by means
of which Jehovah broke in upon the priests with His great demands.
But thirty-seven years had been comparatively uneventful. And now
the little world of camp and tabernacle court, the sacred shrine
with its ark, the symbolic dwelling-place of God, must have their
contrast in the broad spaces filled with gleaming light, the blue
vault, the widespread hills and valleys, the heavens which are
Jehovah’s throne, the earth which is His footstool. The bustle of
Israel’s little life is left behind for the calm of the mountain
land. The high priest finds another vestibule of the dwelling of
Jehovah than that which he has been accustomed to enter with
sprinkled blood and the pungent fumes of the incense.
Is it not good thus to be called away from the business of the
world, immersed in which every day men have lost the due proportions
of things, both of what is earthly and what is spiritual? They have
to leave the computations recorded in their books, and what bulks
largely in the gossip of the way and the news of the town; they are
to climb where greater spaces can he seen, and human life, both as
brief and as immortal, shall be understood in its relations to God.
Often those who have this call addressed to them are most unwilling
to obey. It is painful to lose the old standards of proportion, to
hear no longer the familiar noise of wheels, to see no machinery, no
desks, no ledgers, to read no newspapers, to have the quiet, the
slow-moving days, the moonless or moonlit nights. But if reflection
follows, as it should, and brings wisdom, the change has saved a man
who was near to being lost. The things he toiled for once, as well
as the things he dreaded, -that success, this breath of adverse
opinion, -seem little in the new light, scarcely disturb the new
atmosphere. One thus called apart with God, learning what are the
real elements of life, may look with pity on his former self, yet
gather out of the experience that had small value, for the most
part, here and there a jewel of price. And the wise, becoming wiser,
will feel preparation made for the greater existence that lies
beyond.
Moses accompanied his brother to the mountain top, by his hands,
with all considerateness, the priestly robes were taken from Aaron’s
shoulders and put on Eleazar. The true friend he had all along
relied upon was with the dying man at the last, and closed his eyes.
In this there was a palliation of the decree under which it would
have been terrible to suffer alone; yet in the end the loneliness of
death had to he felt. We know a Friend who passed through death for
us, and made a way into the higher life, but still we have our dread
of the solitude. How much heavier must it have weighed when no clear
hope of immortality shone upon the hill. The vastness of nature was
around the dying priest of Israel, his face was turned to the skies.
But the thrill of Divine love we find in the touch of Christ did not
reassure him. "These all received not the promise, God having
provided some better thing concerning us, that apart from us they
should not be made perfect."
Eleazar followed Aaron and took up the work of the priesthood, not
less ably, let us believe, yet not precisely with the same spirit,
the same endowments. And indeed to have one in all respects like
Aaron would not have served. The new generation, in new
circumstances, needs a new minister. Office remains; but, as history
moves on, it means always something different. When the hour comes
that requires a clear step to be taken away from old notions and
traditions of duty, neither he who holds the office nor those to
whom he has ministered should complain or doubt. It is not good that
one should cling to work merely because he has served well and may
still seem able to serve; often it is the case that before death
commands a change the time for one has come. Even the men who are
most useful to the world, Paul, Apollos, Luther, do not die too
soon. It may appear to us that a man who has done noble work has no
successor. When, for instance, England loses its Dr. Arnold,
Stanley, Lightfoot, and we look in vain for one to whom the robes
are becoming, we have to trust that by some education they did not
foresee the Church has to be perfected. The same theory, nominally,
is not the same when others undertake to apply it. The same
ceremonies have another meaning when performed by other hands. There
are ways to the full fruition of Christ’s government which go as far
about as Israel’s to Canaan round the land of Moab, for a time as
truly retrogressive. But the great Leader, the one High Priest of
the new covenant, never fails His Church or His world, and the way
that does not hasten, as well as that which makes straight for the
goal, is within His purpose, leads to the fulfilment among men of
His mediatorial design.
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