No sooner had the anointing oil of the Lord been poured upon David, than he was called forth from his retirement to stand before King Saul, now forsaken of God, and troubled with an evil spirit. This unhappy man needed the soothing notes of David's harp to dispel the horrid influence of that spirit which now haunted him from day to day. Wretched man! sad monument of the results of a self-seeking course!
David, however, did not hesitate to take his place as a servant, even in the house of one who was, afterward, to prove his most bitter enemy. It was quite the same to him where he served or what he did; he would protect his father's flock from lions and bears, or dispel an evil spirit from Saul. In fact, from the moment David's history opens, he is seen as a servant, ready for every kind of work, and the valley of Elah furnishes a most striking manifestation of his servant character.
Saul would seem to have had little idea of who it was that stood before him, and whose music refreshed his troubled spirit; he knew not that he had in his presence the future king of Israel. "He loved him greatly; and he became his armor-bearer." The selfish Saul would gladly use the services of David in his need, though ready to shed his blood when he understood who and what he was.
But let us turn our thoughts to the deeply interesting scenes in the valley of Blab.
“Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle." Here now we come to something calculated to bring out the true character and worth of Saul and David, the man of form and the man of power. It is trial that brings out the reality of a man's resources. Saul had already been proved, for "all the people had followed him trembling," nor was he likely to prove a more soul-stirring leader on this occasion. A man, forsaken of God, and plagued by an evil spirit, was but little adapted to lead on an army to battle, or to meet, single-handed, the powerful giant of Gath.
The struggle in the valley of Elah was rendered exceedingly peculiar by the challenge, on the part of Goliath, to decide the matter by single combat; it was the very method in which an individual might be signalized. It was not, as in ordinary cases, army against army, but it was a question of who, throughout all the host of Israel, would venture to stand before the terrific uncircumcised foe. In fact, it is plain that the blessed God was about to make manifest again to Israel that, as a people, they were utterly powerless, and that their only deliverance, as of old, was the arm of Jehovah, who was still ready to act in His wondrous character of "a man of war," whenever faith addressed Him as such.
For forty successive days did the Philistine draw near and present himself in the view of the unhappy Saul and his awe-struck army. And observe his bitter taunt—"Am not I a Philistine, and ye servants to Saul?" Alas! it was but too true; they had come down from their high elevation as servants of Jehovah to become mere servants to Saul. Samuel had forewarned them of all this—he had told them that they would become nothing more than footmen, bakers, cooks, and confectioners to their self-chosen master; and all this, instead of being able to look up to the Lord God of Israel, as their Master and King. Nothing, however, will teach man, save bitter experience; and the cutting taunts of Goliath would, no doubt, teach Israel afresh the real nature of their condition, under the crushing rule of the Philistines. "Choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me," said the giant. How little did he know who was about to be his antagonist. He, in all his boasted fleshly strength, vainly imagined that no Israelite could stand before him.
And here we may inquire, what of Jonathan in all this scene? He, who had acted in such simple faith and energy in chap. 14, why was he not now ready to go forth against this champion? I doubt not, if we look particularly at his actings, we shall find that his faith was not of that simple, independent character which would carry a man on through all kinds of difficulties. The defect in his faith appears in the words, "if they say thus," &c. Faith never says "if;" it has to do only with God. When Jonathan said, "there is no restraint to the Lord," he uttered a fine principle of truth, and one which should have carried him on without an "if." Had Jonathan's soul been reposing simply in the ability of God, he would not have sought for a sign. True, the Lord graciously gave him the sign, just as He had given one to Gideon before, for He ever meets His servants in all their need. However, Jonathan does not make his appearance in the valley of Elah; he had, it seems, done his work, and acted according to his measure; but, in the scene now before us, there was a demand for something far deeper than anything Jonathan had known.
But the Lord was secretly preparing an instrument for this new and more difficult work. And, my reader, may we not say it is ever thus that the blessed God acts? He trains in secret those whom He is about to use in public. He makes His servants acquainted with Himself in the secret solemnity of His sanctuary, and causes His greatness to pass in review before them, that thus they may be able to look with a steady gaze at the difficulties of their path. Thus it was with David. He had been alone with God while keeping the sheep in the wilderness; his soul had become filled with the thought of God's power; and now be makes his appearance in the valley of Elah, in all the self-renouncing dignity of a man of faith. The emptiness of man had been most fully proved, during the forty days of Goliath's haughty boasting. Saul could avail nothing—Jesse's three eldest sons could avail nothing—yea, even Jonathan could avail nothing; "all was lost, or seemed to be," when the stripling David entered the scene, clothed in the strength of Him who was about to lay in the dust the pomp and glory of the proud Philistine.
The words of Goliath were reported to David, and in them he at once recognized a blasphemous defiance of the living God. "Who," said he, "is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should defy the armies of the living God?" David's faith recognized, in the trembling host before him, the army of the living God, and he at once made it a question between Jehovah and the Philistine. This is most instructive. No change of circumstances can ever rob the people of God of their dignity in the eye of faith. They may be brought low, in the view of man, as in Israel's case on the present occasion, but they never can lose what God has imparted; and hence David, as he beheld his poor brethren fainting in the view of their terrible enemy, was enabled to acknowledge those with whom the living God had identified Himself, and who ought not, therefore, to be defied by an uncircumcised Philistine. When faith is in exercise, it brings the soul into direct connection with the grace and faithfulness of God, and His purposes toward His people. True, Israel had brought all this sorrow and humiliation upon themselves by their unfaithfulness; it was not of the Lord that they should quail in the presence of an enemy; it was the fruit of their own doing, and faith would ever apprehend and acknowledge this. Still, the question is, "who is this uncircumcised Philistine?" This is the inquiry of faith. It was not the army of Saul that filled the eye of the man of faith. No; it was the army of the living God—an army under the command of the same Captain that had led His hosts through the Red Sea, through the terrible wilderness, and through Jordan. Nothing less, nothing lower than this, could satisfy faith.
But then, how little are the judgments and actings of faith understood or valued, when things get low amongst the people of God! This is very apparent on every page of Israel's history, and, we may say, on every page of the Church's history also. The path of simple, child-like faith is far removed from human sight; and if the Lord's servants sink into a low, carnal state, they can never understand the principle of power in the soul of one really acting by faith. He will be misunderstood in various ways, and have wrong motives attributed to him; he will be accused of setting himself up, or acting willfully. All these things must be expected by one who stands in the breach, at a time when things are low. Through lack of faith in the majority, a man is left alone, and then, when he is led to act for God, he is sure to be misinterpreted.
Thus it was in David's case. Not only was he left alone in the time of difficulty, but he had to endure the taunt of the flesh, administered by Eliab, his eldest brother. "And Eliab his eldest brother heard when he spake unto the men; and Eliab's anger was kindled against David, and he said, Why earnest thou down hither? and with whom halt thou left those few sheep in the wilderness? I know thy pride, and the naughtiness of thine heart; for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle." (Chapter 17:28.) This was the judgment of Eliab, in reference to the actings of David. "And David said, What have I now done? Is there not a cause?”
David was borne onward by an energy quite unknown to Eliab, nor was he careful to enter upon a defense of his course to his haughty brother. Why had not Eliab acted himself for the defense of his brethren? Why had not Abinadab or Shammah acted? Because they were faithless; simply this. Not only had those three men remained powerless, but the whole congregation had remained terror-stricken in the presence of the enemy; and now, when one appeared in their midst whom God was about to use marvelously, not one could understand him.
“And David said to Saul, Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight with this Philistine." Precious faith! no difficulty deters it—nothing stands in its way. What was the Philistine to David? Nothing. His tremendous height—his formidable armor—were mere circumstances; and faith never looks at circumstances, but looks straight to God. Had not David's soul been buoyed up by faith, he could not have uttered the words, "thy servant will go;" for, hearken to the words of him who ought to have been the first to face Israel's dreadful enemy "And Saul said to David, Thou art not able to go against this Philistine." What language for the king of Israel! What a contrast between the man of office and the man of power! Surely Saul ought to have gone forth in the defense of the flock which had been entrusted to his care; but, ah! Saul cared not for Israel, unless so far as Israel was connected with himself, and hence his exposing his person on their behalf never, we may safely say, entered his selfish heart; and not only was he unable and unwilling to act himself, but would fain clog the energies of one who, even now, was putting forth the precious fruits of that divine principle implanted within him, and which was about to prove him so fit for the high office which the purpose of God had assigned to him, and to which His anointing oil had just dedicated him.
“Thou art not able." True, but Jehovah was, and David was leaning simply upon the strength of His arm. His faith laid hold of the ability of Him who had appeared to Joshua, beneath the walls of Jericho, with a sword drawn in His hand, as "Captain of the host of the Lord." David felt that Israel had not ceased to be the Lord's host, though so far sunk from what they were in Joshua's day. No; they were still the army of the Lord, and the battle was just as much the Lord's battle as when the sun and the moon were arrested in their course, in order that Joshua might execute the judgment of God upon the Canaanites. The conviction of this sustained the spirit of David, though Eliab might accuse him of pride, and Saul might talk of his want of ability.
My reader, there is nothing that can possibly give such energy and persevering power as the consciousness of acting for God, and that God is acting with us. This removes every obstacle—lifts the soul above all human influence, and brings it into the very region of power omnipotent. Let us only be fully assured that we are on the Lord's side, and that His hand is acting with us, and nothing can drive us from the path of service and testimony, conduct us whither it may. "I can do all things," said the apostle, "through Christ which strengtheneth me." And again, "most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." The very weakest saint can do all things, through Christ; but if the human eye rests on this weak saint, it may seem like presumption to talk of doing all things. Thus, when Saul looked upon David, and compared him with Goliath, he judged rightly when he said, "Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him: for thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth." It was a comparison of flesh with flesh, and, as such, it was quite correct. To compare a stripling with a giant would leave little room for hesitation as to the issue of the comparison; but he ought to have compared the strength of Goliath with that of the God of the armies of Israel. This was what David did. "And David said unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father's sheep, and there came a lion and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock: and I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he arose against me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living God." This was the argument of faith. The hand that had delivered from one difficulty would deliver from another. There is no "if" in all this. David did not wait for a sign; he simply said, "thy servant will go." David had felt the power of God's presence with him in secret before he came forth to present himself in public as the servant of God and of Israel; and as another has remarked, David had not boasted of his triumph over the lion and the bear; no one had ever heard of it before; nor would he ever have spoken of it, doubtless, had it not been for the purpose of showing what a solid ground of confidence he had in reference to the great work on which he was about to enter. He would fain show that it was not in his own strength he was going forth. So was it in the matter of Paul's rapture to the third heaven; for fourteen years had that circumstance remained buried as a secret in the apostle's mind, nor would he ever have divulged it, had not the carnal reasonings of the Corinthians compelled him to do so.
Now, both these cases are full of practical instruction for us. With the majority of us, alas I there is too great a readiness to talk of our poor doings, or, at least, to think of them. The flesh is prone to glory in anything that might exalt self; and if the Lord, despite of the evil in us, has accomplished any little service by our instrumentality, how speedily is it communicated in a spirit of pride and self-complacency. It is all right to speak of the Lord's grace, and to have our hearts filled with thankful adoration because of it; but this is very different from boasting of things connected with self.
David, however, kept the secret of his triumph over the lion and the bear concealed in his own bosom, and did not bring it forth until the fitting occasion; nor does he, even then, speak of his self as having achieved aught, but he simply says. "the Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, He will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine." Precious, self-renouncing faith!—faith that counts on God for everything, and trusts the flesh in nothing—faith which brings God into every difficulty, and leads us, with deepest thankfulness, to hide self; and give Him all the glory. May our souls know more and more of this blessed faith.
But it frequently needs much spirituality to detect the vast difference between the language of faith and the language of mere commonplace and formal religiousness. Saul assumed the garb and phraseology of religiousness; we have already seen much of this in his history, and we see it in his interview with David. Mere religiousness and faith here shine out in marked contrast. When David had made the clear and unequivocal statement of his faith in the presence and power of Jehovah, Saul added, "Go, and the Lord be with thee." But, ah! how little did he know what was involved in having the Lord with him. He seemed to trust the Lord, but, in reality, he trusted his armor. Had he understood what he said, why think of putting on armor? "The Lord be with thee" was, in Saul's mouth, the merest commonplace: it really meant nothing, for he had not the most distant idea of David's going simply with the Lord.
It is well to dwell upon, and distinctly point out, the evil of this—the evil of using words which, so far as we are concerned, mean nothing, but which involve a trifling with the Lord's name and truth.
How often do we speak of trusting the Lord, when, in reality, we are leaning on some circumstance, or set of circumstances. How often do we speak of living by the day, in simple dependence upon God, when, if we judged the positive condition of our souls before God, we should find that we were looking to some human or earthly source of supply. This is a sad evil, and should be most carefully watched against. It was just what Saul exhibited, when, having made use of the apparently devout expression, "the Lord be with thee," he proceeded to "arm David with his armor, and he put an helmet of brass upon his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail." He had no other idea but that David was to fight in the usual way. No doubt, it was professedly in the name of the Lord; but he thought David ought to use means. But it happens that we frequently speak of using means, and really shut out God altogether; we profess to use means, in dependence upon God, and, in reality, use the mere name of God, in dependence upon the means. This is virtually, and according to the judgment of faith, to make a God of our means. What is this but plain idolatry? Whether had Saul more confidence in the Lord or in the armor? In the armor, no doubt; and so with all who, do not truly walk by faith; it is the means they lean upon, and not upon God.
My reader will, doubtless, perceive how strikingly all this bears upon the title of this little book, viz., "The Life of Faith." We can hardly dwell upon any point in our subject more important than that suggested by the interesting scene on which we are immediately dwelling. The man of means, and the man of faith, are really before us, and we can at once perceive how far the latter proceeds in the use of means. Means are to be used, no doubt, but only such means as are perfectly consistent with the full and blessed action of faith, and also with the untarnished glory of the God of all power and grace. Now David felt that Saul's armor and coat of mail were not such means, and he, therefore, refused them. Had he gone with them, the victory would not have been so manifestly the Lord's. But David had professed his faith in the Lord's deliverance, and not in human armor. True, we must use means; but let us take great care that our means do not shut out God.
“And David girded his sword upon his armor, and he assayed to go; for he had not proved it. And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with these; for I have not proved them. And David put them off him." Happy deliverance from the wretched trammels of human policy! It has been observed, and most truly so, that David's trial was not when he met the giant, in actual conflict, but when he was tempted to use Saul's armor. Had the enemy succeeded in inducing him to go with that, all was gone; but, through grace, he rejected it, and thus left himself entirely in the Lord's hands, and we know what security he found there. This is what faith ever does; it leaves all to God alone. It is not the Lord and Saul's armor, but the Lord alone.
And, my reader, may we not apply this, with much profit, to the case of a poor helpless sinner, in reference to the forgiveness of his sins? I believe we may. Satan will tempt such an one to seek some addition to the finished work of Christ—something that will detract from the glory of the Son of God as the only Savior of sinners. Now, to such I would say, it matters not what you add to the work of Christ,—you make it of no avail. If it might be permitted to add anything, surely circumcision would have been admitted, as being an ordinance of divine institution; yet, the Apostle says, "Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing. For I testify again to every man that is circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law. Christ is become of no effect unto you, whosoever of you are justified by the law; ye are fallen from grace." (Gal. 5:2-42Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing. 3For I testify again to every man that is circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law. 4Christ is become of no effect unto you, whosoever of you are justified by the law; ye are fallen from grace. (Galatians 5:2‑4).) In a word, then, we must have Christ alone; not Christ and our works, but Christ simply, for He is sufficient; we want no more, we can do with no less. We dishonor the sufficiency of His atonement if we seek to connect aught of our own with it, just as David would have dishonored the Lord by going forth to meet the Philistine champion in Saul's armor. Doubtless many a so-called prudent man would have condemned what seemed to him to be the rashness and fool-hardiness of the stripling; indeed, the more practiced a man was in human warfare, the more likely would he have been to condemn the course adopted by the man of faith. But what of that? David knew in whom he had believed—he knew it was not rashness that was leading him on, but simple faith in God's willingness and ability to meet him in his need. Few, perhaps, in Saul's army knew the weakness of David, as realized by himself, in that trying moment. Though all eyes were fastened upon him as one having much self-confidence, yet we know what it was that buoyed up his heart, and gave firmness to his step, as he went forth to meet the terrible foe. We know that the power of God was there just as manifestly as when the waters of the sea were divided to make a way for the ransomed to pass over; and when faith brings the power of God into action, nothing can stand in the way for a moment.
Verse 40 shows us David's armor. "And he took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in his hand: and he drew near to the Philistine." So, we see, David did use means; but oh! what means! What contempt does David cast upon the ponderous armor of his enemy! How his sling must have contrasted with Goliath's spear like a weaver's beam! In fact, David could not have inflicted a deeper wound upon the Philistine's pride than by coming against him with such weapons. It was simply writing folly upon all his cumbersome array. Goliath felt this. "Am I a dog?" said he. It mattered not, in the judgment of faith, what he was; dog or giant; he was an enemy of the people of God, and David was meeting him with the weapons of faith. "Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the Lad of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand... that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth, not with sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord's, and He will give you into our hands." Here we have the true object of the man of faith, viz., that Israel and all the earth might have a glorious testimony to the power and presence of God in the midst of His people. This they never would have had, if David had used Saul's armor. It would not have been known that the Lord saved not by sword and spear, had David used such; his warfare would just seem like any other; but the sling and the stone left no room for doubt as to the source from whence the power of victory came.
Faith ever honors God, and God ever honors faith. David, as has been already remarked, put himself into the hands of God, and the happy result of so doing was victory—full, glorious victory. "David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of David. "Magnificent triumph! Precious fruit of simple faith in God! How should it encourage the heart to cast away from it every carnal confidence, and to cling to the only true source of power. David was made the happy instrument of delivering his brethren from the galling and terrifying threats of the uncircumcised Philistine; he had come into their midst, from the retirement of a shepherd's life, unknown and despised, though the anointed king of Israel; he had gone forth, single-handed, to meet the enemy of the congregation; he had laid prostrate, and made a show of him openly; and all this, be it remembered, as the servant of God, and the servant of Israel, and in the energy of a faith which circumstances could not shake. It was a wondrous deliverance, gained by a single blow—no maneuvering of armies—no skill of generals—no prowess of soldiers. No; a stone from the brook, slung by a shepherd's hand, settled the whole matter. It was the victory of faith." And when the Philistines saw that their champion was dead, they fled." How vain are those hopes which are based on the perishable resources of flesh, in its greatest apparent strength and energy! Who that saw the giant and the stripling about to engage in conflict, but would have trembled for the latter? Who would have thought that all the massy armor would come to nothing before a sling and a stone? Yet see the end. The champion of the Philistines fell, and, with him, all their fondly cherished hopes. "And the men of Israel and of Judah arose, and shouted, and pursued the Philistines." Yes: they might well shout, for God was manifestly gone out before them, to deliver them from the power of their enemies. He had been working powerfully by the hand of one whom they knew not, nor recognized, as their anointed king, but whose moral grace might well attract every heart.
However, amidst the many thousands who behold the victory, we read of one whose whole soul was drawn forth in ardent affection for the victor. The most thoughtless must have been struck with admiration of the victory; and, no doubt, it affected individuals differently. We may say of it, in a certain sense, that "the thoughts of many hearts were revealed." Some would envy, some would admire; some would rest in the victory, some in the instrument; some would have their hearts drawn up to "the God of the armies of Israel," who had again come amongst them with a sword drawn in His hand. But there was one devoted heart who was powerfully attracted to the person of the conqueror, and this was Jonathan. "And it came to pass, when he had made an end of speaking unto Saul, that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul." (Chapter 18:1.) No doubt Jonathan participated most fully in the joy of all, in the triumph of David; but there was more than this in it; it was not merely the triumph, but the person of the triumphant one that drew out the deep and ardent affections of Jonathan's soul. Saul might selfishly seek to retain the valiant David about his person, not because of love for his person, but simply to magnify himself. Not so Jonathan; he really loved David, and truly not without reason. David had filled up a great blank in his heart, and removed a load from his spirit. A great want had been felt. The challenge of the giant had, as it was each day repeated, developed the poverty of Israel. The eye might have wandered up and down the ranks in search of one able to meet the urgent need, and wandered in vain; there was no one. As the giant's vaunting words fell on their ears, "all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and were sore afraid." "All;" yes; all fled, when they heard his words, and saw his size. Terrible was the blank, therefore, left in the heart on this solemn occasion; and when a beloved one appeared to fill up the blank, what wonder that Jonathan's whole soul was drawn out in genuine affection for that one. And be it remembered, that it was David himself, and not his work, that touched Jonathan's heart. He admired his victory much, but he admired his person more. It was not merely what had been done, but the man who had done it. It is well to note this, it is well to trace its striking application to the true David. That we are warranted in making such application will not be questioned. The whole scene, from first to last, is too remarkable to admit of a question. In Goliath we behold the power of the enemy by which he held the soul in grievous bondage. From this power there was no means of deliverance within human reach. The challenge might be repeated from day to day— from year to year, but all in vain. From age to age might the solemn verdict be heard throughout the myriads of Adam's fallen posterity, "it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment;" and the only response which man could yield was, like Israel's response in the valley of Elah, dismay—deep—deep dismay. "Through fear of death, all our lifetime subject to bondage." This was man's response. The need was felt—the painful void. The human heart yearned for something, and yearned in vain. The claims of justice could not be met—death and judgment frowned in the distance, and man could only tremble at the prospect. But, blessed be the God of all grace, a deliverer has appeared—One mighty to save—the Son of God—the true David—the Anointed King of Israel, and of all the earth. He has met the need—filled up the blank, satisfied the yearnings of the heart. But how? where? when? By His death on Calvary, in that terrible hour when all creation was made to feel the solemn reality of what was being transacted. Yes, my reader, the cross was the field where the battle was fought, and the victory won. There it was that the strong man had all his armor taken from him, and his house spoiled. There justice had its utmost claims fully satisfied; there the handwriting of ordinances, which was against us, was nailed to the tree. There, too, the curses of a broken law were forever obliterated by the blood of the Lamb, and the cries of a guilty conscience hushed by the same. "The precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot," settled everything for the believing soul. The poor trembling sinner may stand by and behold the conflict, and the glorious issue thereof—may behold all the power of the enemy laid low by one stroke of his glorious deliverer, and feel the crushing burden rolled, by the same stroke, from his struggling spirit. The tide of divine peace and joy may flow into his soul, and he may walk abroad in the full power of the emancipation purchased for him by the blood, and proclaimed to him in the gospel.
And shall not such an one, thus delivered, love the Person of the deliverer? Not merely the work, but the Person! Ah! how can it be otherwise? Who that has felt the real depth of his need, and groaned beneath the intolerable burden of his sins, can fail to love and adore that gracious One who has satisfied the one and removed the other The work of Jesus, beyond a doubt, is exquisitely and infinitely precious; no human thought can ever scan its worth. Moreover, it is His work that really meets the sinner. The work of Christ introduces the soul into a position in which it can contemplate His person. In a word, then, the work of the Savior is for the sinner; the Person of the Savior is for the saint: what He has, is for the former; what He is, is for the latter. Now, there may be much accuracy in setting forth the work of Christ for the sinner, while the heart is cold—the affections dull and flat—and the spiritual sensibilities exceedingly obtuse in reference to His Person. In the 6th chapter of John, we find a multitude of persons following the Lord Jesus merely on selfish grounds, and He is constrained to tell them so: "Verily, verily, I say unto you, Ye seek me, not because ye saw the miracles, but because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled." It was not for what He was they were seeking Him, but for what He had; and hence, when He applies to their hearts the searching statement, "Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of man, and drink His blood, there is no life in you," we read, "many of His disciples went back, and walked no more with Him." Now, eating His flesh, and drinking His blood, is, in other words, to have fellowship with His perfect manhood—to drink into the power and preciousness of the great mystery of godliness, God manifest in the flesh. The whole gospel of John is a development of the personal glory of the Incarnate Word (ὀ λογοςσαρξ εγενετο); and the statement just quoted contains, as it were, the very marrow and substance of the great doctrine as bearing upon us; yet the natural heart could not abide it, and, therefore, many went back, and walked no more with Him. The majority could not bear to have the truth concerning the Person of the Son of man pressed upon them. But hearken to the testimony of the Church, as delivered by Peter, "Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life. And we believe and are sure that thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God." Here we have the two things; viz., what He had, what He was; He had eternal life to give, and He was the Son of the living God; by the former, the sinner is drawn to Him; by the latter, the saint is bound to Him. He not only meets all our necessities, as sinners, by His work, but also satisfies our affections and desires, as saints, by His Person.
All this train of thought is clearly suggested by the deeply interesting and touching interview between David and Jonathan, when all the conflict was over. The many thousands of Israel had raised the shout of triumph, and pursued the Philistines to reap the fruits of victory, while Jonathan was delighting himself in the person of the victor. "And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle." This was love— pure— simple— unaffected love— undivided occupation with an attractive object. Love strips itself for the sake of its object. David had forgotten himself, and put his life in jeopardy for God and the congregation, and now Jonathan would forget himself for David.
Reader, let us remember that love to Jesus is the spring of true Christianity. Love to Jesus makes us strip ourselves, and, we may say, that to strip self to honor Jesus is the fairest fruit of the work of God in the soul.
“Talk they of morals? O! thou bleeding Lamb,
The great morality is love to thee.”
Very different were the feelings with which Saul regarded the person and work of David. He had not learned to hide himself and rejoice to see the work done by another. It is a rare grace to be able to do this. We all naturally like to be or to do something—to be looked at and thought of. Thus it was with Saul; he was a self-important man, and was, therefore, little able to bear the song of the maids of Israel, "Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands." Saul could not brook the idea of being second. He forgot how he had trembled at the voice of Goliath; he, though a thorough coward, would fain be counted brave.
“And Saul eyed David from that day and forward." Terrible eye! The eye of envy and bitter jealousy. We shall have occasion to trace the development both of Jonathan's love and Saul's hatred, as we proceed in this work, and must now trace the man of faith through other scenes.
NOTE.—It requires a very simple heart and single eye to be able to rejoice as unfeignedly in the fruit of another's labors as in that of our own hands. Had the glory of God and the good of His people filled the entire compass of Saul's heart, he would not have spent a thought upon the question as to the numbers attributed to him or to David. Such, however, was not the case. He thought of his own glory. This was the secret of his envy and jealousy. Oh! what sacred rest—what true elevation—what perfect quietness of spirit flows from self-renunciation—such self-renunciation as results from having the heart wholly occupied with Christ! When we are honestly seeking the promotion of Christ's glory, we shall not be careful as to the instrument.