“And they did beat the gold into thin plates, and cut it into wires, to work it in the blue, and in the purple, and in the scarlet, and in the fine linen, with cunning work.”
In “the fine twined linen” we have a type of the spotless manhood of the Lord Jesus Christ; and in the “gold wire” we have an equally striking and beautiful type of His Godhead. The Spirit of God delights in presenting the Person and work of Christ. Every type, every figure, every ordinance of the Mosaic ritual, is fragrant with the odor of His precious name. It matters not how insignificant, apparently, the circumstance may be, if only it expresses something of Christ, it is unspeakably valuable in the judgment of the Holy Ghost.
“The blue, the purple, the scarlet, and fine twined linen” exhibit the varied features of Christ’s perfect humanity; but the manner in which the gold wire was mingled with these materials, in making Aaron’s priestly garments, is worthy of special attention. The wire of gold was cunningly wrought into all the others, so as to be inseparably connected with, and yet perfectly distinct from, them.
The application of all this to the Lord Jesus is full of interest. In varied scenes throughout the gospel narrative, we can easily discern this rare and beauteous union of manhood and Godhead; and, at the same time, their mysterious distinctness.
Look, for example, at Christ on the sea of Galilee. In the midst of the storm, “he was asleep on a pillow” precious exhibition of His perfect manhood! But, in a moment, He rises from the attitude of real humanity, into all the dignity and majesty of Godhead, and, as the supreme Governor of the universe, He hushes the storm and calms the sea. There is no effort—no haste—no girding of Himself up for an occasion. With perfect ease, He rises from the condition of positive humanity into the sphere of essential Deity. The repose of the former is not more natural than the activity of the latter. He is as perfectly at home in the one as in the other.
Again, see Him in the case of the collectors of tribute, at the close of Matt. 17. As the Most High God, possessor of heaven and earth, He lays His hand upon the treasures of the ocean, and says, “They are all mine;” and having declared that “the sea is his and he made it.” He turns round, and, in the exhibition of perfect humanity, He links Himself with His poor servant by those touching words, “that take, and give unto them for me and thee.” Gracious words! Peculiarly gracious when taken in connection with the miracle so entirely expressive of the Godhead of the One who was thus linking Himself, in infinite condescension, with a poor feeble worm.
Once more, see Him at the grave of Lazarus. (John 11) He groans and weeps, and those groans and tears issue from the profound depths of a perfect manhood—from that perfect human heart which felt, as no other heart could feel, what it was to stand in the midst of a scene in which sin had produced such terrible fruits. But, then, as the Resurrection and the Life, as the One who held in His omnipotent grasp “the keys of hell and death.” He cries, “Lazarus, come forth;” and death and the grave, responsive to His authoritative voice, throw open their massy doors and let go their captive.
My reader’s mind will easily recur to other scenes in the gospels, illustrative of the beautiful combination of the wire of gold with “the blue, the purple, the scarlet, and fine twined linen;” that is to say, the union of the Godhead with the manhood, in the mysterious Person of the Son of God. There is nothing new in the thought. It has often been noticed by those who have studied, with any amount of care, the Scriptures of the Old Testament.
It is, however, always edifying to have the blessed Lord Jesus introduced to our thoughts as “very God and very man.” The Holy Ghost has, with “cunning workmanship,” wrought the two together, and presented them to the renewed mind of the believer, to be enjoyed and admired.
May we have hearts to appreciate such teaching. Nothing can keep up the tone and freshness of the spiritual life save abiding communion with the Person of Christ. Outward forms of religion, ordinances, ceremonies, creeds, doctrines, meetings, in a word, the entire machinery of systematic religiousness, may leave the soul dull, barren, and lifeless; but when the soul is filled with Christ, there is freshness and power.
May the reader taste the deep blessedness of having the blood of Jesus sprinkled on his conscience, the name of Jesus engraved on his heart, and the coming of Jesus as the one object before his soul’s vision. “Notes on Exodus.”