SOME curious customs prevail in Eastern countries with regard to feasts.
The natives of Arabia, who are called Bedouins, never sit down to a meal without inviting some one to partake of it with them. No matter what the article of diet, whether dates, or potted flesh, or red pottage, or unleavened cakes served up with oil or honey, the rule is the same, and the invitation is never forgotten. Even if a Bedouin be traveling alone in the desert he will keep up the form; and having prepared his meal, will betake himself to some elevated spot in the neighborhood, and there deliver his invitation, three times over, in a loud voice. He may be well aware that there is no one within hearing, perhaps no one within a hundred miles of him, but that makes no difference, and his mind is not easy until he has discharged the duties of hospitality. In Egypt it is customary with the great and wealthy to send out a Janizary dressed in white, with red shoes, to invite the guests to the feast, and the message which he has to deliver is very often in these words: "Come, for all things are now ready.”
Perhaps you have read the story of the man who prepared a supper- "a great supper," as the story goes-and bade many; and how he "sent his servant at supper-time to say to them that were bidden, Come; for all things are now ready." Here was a treat if ever was! I have no doubt, had you been bidden to that supper, you would have gone. Of course you would. I know when I was a boy it was always a great treat to be allowed to stay up to supper, and as for going out to supper, well, the very thought of it would have kept me in spirits for a month. What will you say then, when I tell you that the guests invited by the man in the story shrugged their shoulders at the invitation, and refused to go? "They all with one consent began to make excuse." If you had been the kind host on such an occasion, what, think you, would you have done? If you had been to the expense of preparing the feast, and had covered your tables with every sort of dainty, with figs and raisins and dates and grapes; with bowls of milk and skins of wine; with stewed meats and cakes of bread; with crushed wheat and lentil soup, and melted butter-what, I say, would you have done? I do not know what your temper may be like, but you would need to have a very smooth one to remain unruffled under such a test as that. Mine could not have borne it, and, what perhaps is more to the question, the temper of the man in the parable could not, for we are told that he was angry. Eventually, in the kindness of his heart, and in order that his supper might be eaten, he opened his house to the poor and afflicted ones in the city, the dregs and outcasts of society, those who belonged, as we might say, to the narrow alleys and feverbreeding slums; and when he found that there was still room for more, he extended his invitation to the homeless ones outside the city, the wanderers in the highways and hedges; in order to insure a full house. But with all his kindness, he did not omit to tell his servant that none of those men which were bidden should taste of his supper.
Now all this is very instructive, and has its lesson for you. God has made a great supper, and has sent out his invitation, "Come, for all things are now ready." The invitation is to all: it includes the oldest and the youngest, the strongest and the weakest, the best and the worst, for "Whosoever will, may come." The supper is a supper of grace-the grace of God, and those who refuse the invitation are those who despise His grace, and have no wish to be with Him in heaven. Ah, my young reader! it is a dangerous thing to make excuses when such an invitation is brought to you. If you want to know how NOT to get to heaven, that is the way; there is no easier way than that. Remember, the man in the parable was angry when he heard the excuse of the invited ones, and declared that none of them should taste of his supper. Would you like to make God angry? No, no-I am sure you would not. Yet He is angry with the wicked every day; and what can be more wicked than to turn your back upon the gracious Savior, who, like the servant in the parable, stretches out His pierced hands and bids you come?
Speaking on the subject of feasts, did you ever hear of the Paschal Feast? I think you would be interested if I told you a little about that. Doubtless you know that while the children of Israel were in Egypt they were treated like slaves, and God raised up Moses to deliver them. Plague alter plague was sent upon the Egyptians to induce their king to let the people go, but he would not; and at length it was determined by God, that in order to subdue the stubborn will of Pharaoh, He would pass through the land on a certain night and slay all the firstborn, both of man and beast. But His own people were living in the land, and the question carne, How were their firstborn to be distinguished from the rest? To slaughter them indiscriminately would never do; indeed, it would not have been consistent with God to act so. What then was to be done? How was the difficulty to be surmounted? How was the distinction to be made? I will tell you. It was to be made by BLOOD. On that eventful night the lintels and door-posts of every house belonging to an Israelite were to be sprinkled with the blood of a lamb, so that when the Lord went through the land to destroy the firstborn, He might pass over the houses on which He saw the blood.
And what, think you, was to be done with the flesh of the hundreds of little lambs thus killed? This inquiry brings us to the subject which is more particularly before us now, the subject of the Paschal Feast. Well, the flesh was to be roasted at their fires, and eaten that same night with unleavened bread and bitter herbs; and nothing of it was to remain until the morning. That was the Paschal Feast.
Now there is a wonderful meaning in all this, and if you would like to know something that is worth knowing, I would advise you to learn what that meaning is. Going back to that memorable night, let me ask you what was the difference between the house of an Egyptian and the house of an Israelite? Well, you say, the lintel and side posts of the latter had blood upon them-it was sheltered by blood. To be sure; and that is just the difference between an unbeliever and a Christian. The latter is sheltered by blood—the blood of God's Lamb, the holy, spotless Jesus. If you are trusting Him, you are sheltered by His precious blood, you are safe from judgment. But perhaps you are restless and unhappy, because you are not quite sure that you are safe; and how is that? Who is responsible for your safety, yourself or God? On what does your safety rest, yourself or the blood? Why, my young friend, do you not see that by doubting your safety, you are doubting God? For it is He who looks upon the blood, and the blood is His own appointed remedy: "When I see Me blood, I will pass over you.”
And what of the Paschal Feast, the lamb roast with fire, the unleavened bread and the bitter herbs? Fire in scripture is the symbol of judgment, and when I read of the lamb roast with fire, it reminds me of Jesus, the Lamb of God, who endured on my account the fire of God's judgment, which had otherwise been my portion. Leaven is the symbol of sin, and the unleavened bread reminds me that now I am sheltered from judgment, and linked so blessedly with a suffering Jesus, I should keep myself separate from evil. "For oven Christ our passover is sacrificed for us: therefore let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth." (1 Cor. 5:7, 87Purge out therefore the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened. For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us: 8Therefore let us keep the feast, not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. (1 Corinthians 5:7‑8).) The bitter herbs betoken that subduedness of heart and mind, which should always characterize me when I muse upon the sufferings of Jesus, knowing that it was for my sins He suffered. And thus, in a few simple words you have the spiritual meaning of the Paschal Feast; may you also have the joy of partaking of it!
Travelers through Persia and Armenia have told us many interesting things about the hospitality of the people there. One traveler, who was journeying through the latter country, came one day to a small plain not far from Mount Ararat. A wandering tribe of Eelauts had pitched their encampment there, and the traveler, who was accompanied by a few followers, at once directed his course to the largest tent, in which he thought, and thought rightly, that the chief of the tribe might be found. No sooner did the fact of his approach become known than there was a stir in the encampment, and the Eelauts came swarming out from their black tents, like bees from a row of hives. Some of them took charge of his horses, and led them to their best pastures; others brought their carpets to their tent doors and spread them for the strangers to sit upon; and, to crown all, a woman was sent to the flock to choose a plump little lamb for cooking, which was made the foundation of a repast, in which the strangers were invited to join. Meanwhile, the most ancient man of the tribe, a toothless, whiteheaded old man issued from the big black tent, and came forward to welcome the visitors; who, you may be sure, were soon quite at home in the midst of so much kindness and hospitality; and I need scarcely add, that the feast was a very happy one.
But I can eclipse this story by another, in which I am sure you will say that the generosity displayed was greater, and the object of it much less deserving. A certain young man, who had formed a great desire to enjoy himself and to see what life was, persuaded his father to hand over to him the portion of goods to which he thought he was entitled; and then left his home, went away into a distant country, and wasted his substance in luxury and sinful pleasure. As long as his means lasted, and he could enliven his house with grand banquets of meat and vine, his friends kept near him; but when he had spent his all, and a famine came, and he began to be in want, then they deserted him; and such was the base ingratitude of the people of that land, that "no man gave unto him." When we next hear of him, he has joined himself to a citizen of that country, and we find him in a field feeding swine! He evidently got but little pay from his master, for he was sometimes so hungry that "he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat." What a change for him, was it not? From the place of joy and love and plenty, in his father's house, to the place of sorrow, desertion, and want among the swine-troughs of the far country! Well, his misery at last led him to go back to his father, whom he seems to have quite forgotten while he was rioting away the good things which he had brought from borne, and what do you think was his reception? Remember, he had spent all the money to which he was entitled, and had cruelly and coldly turned his back upon his home, and upon the father who had loaded him with benefits; many fathers would have closed their doors against the son who had been guilty of such conduct. But it was not so here. When the prodigal "was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." Of course, the son was very much broken down with this reception. He had never for a moment expected such a welcome. He had been preparing a neat little speech, in which he had thought of asking his father to make him one of his hired servants; but then the tightness of his father's embrace seems to have quite taken away the breath which he had been saving up for his speech; so he only got through the first half of it, and that was all the father wanted. "Father," he said, "I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.”
Now this is just a picture of the welcome which God has in store for every returning sinner. We have all wandered from the Father's house of plenty; we have all gone into the far country of sin and unbelief: we have all, more or less, been wasting on ourselves, and in the company of worldly companions, the talents which God has given us; but some of us have learned what it is to get to the end of our resources; we have learned what famine is; we have found ourselves deserted in the hour of need, and so have discovered that the world with all its feasting and its pleasures, is after all but a hollow sham. And those of us who have learned this lesson, have been led to think again of the Father's house, the house of love, and joy, and plenty; and with trembling hearts we have risen from the swine-troughs of shame and misery, and have turned our eyes wistfully toward heaven. "Oh!" we sighed, "if we could only find a servant's place within those pearly gates!" And then we have laid our faces in the dust and have confessed our sin and unworthiness; and while the cry was yet upon our lips, we have felt the Father's embrace, and the Father's kiss; and instead of the servant's place, have been received into His family as sons. "Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God!”
Of course, when the father in the parable welcomed back his son, nothing would do but he must have a feast. First, however, he made him fit to be seen. He embraced him and kissed him while he was in his rags; and so our Father in heaven receives us in all our guilt and misery. He will never bid us go back to the swine-trough and wash our rags. But when He has received us, He makes us fit to be seen. "Bring forth the best robe," said the father of the prodigal to his servants, "and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet." So he was dressed up, and made in a fit condition to enter the father's house.
Now a robe in scripture is the symbol of righteousness; and Christ is the righteousness of God. Let me explain this to you. God, as a holy God, could never have a sinful person in His presence; and as a righteous God, He must punish sin. Well, Jesus, who knew no sin, was made sin for us, when He was upon the cross, and God punished Him in our stead. That was a righteous act on God's part, and ever after, Jesus was the expression-or proof, to use a simple word-of the righteousness of God. What then is the robe which is put upon me when God receives me? It is Christ. God looks at me through Christ, and on that account I am as pure and spotless in His holy eye as a white robe. And then the prodigal had a ring put upon his finger, and what does that mean? A ring is an emblem of love. A man who is being married places a ring on his wife's finger as a token of his love. Rings have neither beginning nor end, and the love of God is the Christian's ring, it has neither beginning nor end.
And then there were the shoes. The shoes which God supplies never wear out. During the forty years that the Israelites were in the wilderness, their shoes never wore out. "I have led you," said Moses, "forty years in the wilderness ... .and thy shoe is not waxen old upon thy foot." This world is a wilderness to the Christian who is walking in the footsteps of Jesus, a wilderness of thorns, and rough sand, and sharp flinty stones, and he needs the shoes of God to enable him to tread firmly and without fear. They are God's strength for the journey-in other words, the grace of God.
Then came the feast, when the father of the prodigal called for the fatted calf, and had it killed, and said, "Let us eat and be merry. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is found." What a time of joy that must have been for all in the father's house! I doubt not you would like to have been there. But this is only a faint picture of the joy that is in heaven when a sinner repents and turns to God. Jesus tells us, "There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth;" and a peculiar thing about the merry-making is, that we do not hear a single word about its coming to an end. We are only told that "they began to make merry.”
Dear child, if you have not yet accepted the invitation to the supper of God's grace, you are not yet in a condition to be received into the Father's house, to join in the merry-making there. You are still among the excuse-makers. If this be so, let me counsel you to lay aside this book for awhile, and go at once to receive the Father's welcome. He is waiting to welcome you, and the angels are waiting to make merry at your return.
“‘All things are ready,’ come,
Come all, both bad and good;
The best and worst both need alike
The Savior's cleansing Blood.
'All things are ready,' come,
Nor pass that Open door;
Too late, you may an entrance seek,
Too late, your Loss deplore.”
And if you do come, it will be your happy privilege to be invited by Jesus Himself to another supper, the Lord's Supper, to remember Him in His death. And in due time, when the wilderness journey is over, and you are at home in the Father's house, you will be permitted to sit down to yet another wondrous feast, the splendor and joy of which, no tongue or pen can describe, and that feast is, "The Marriage Supper of the Lamb.”