Let us look at the solemn case of Samson, as set before us in Judg. 16 He, in an evil hour, betrayed his secret and lost his power—lost it though he knew it not. But the enemy soon know it. It was soon made manifest to all that the Nazarite had defiled the head of his consecration. “And it came to pass, when Delilah pressed him daily with her words, and urged him, so that his soul was vexed unto death, that he told her all his heart, and said unto her, There hath not come a razor upon mine head; for I have been a Nazarite unto God from my mother’s womb; if I be shaven, then my strength will go from me, and I shall become weak, and be like any other man.”
Here, alas! was the betrayal of the deep and holy secret of all his power. Up to this, his path had been one of strength and victory, simply because it had been one of holy Nazariteship. But the lap of Delilah proved too much for the heart of Samson, and what a thousand Philistines could not do, was done by the ensnaring influence of a single woman. Samson fell from the lofty elevation of the Nazarite down to the level of an ordinary man.
“And when Delilah saw that he had told her all his heart, she sent and called for the lords of the Philistines, saying, Come up this once; for he hath showed me all his heart. Then the lords of the Philistines came up unto her, and brought money in their hand. And she made him sleep upon her knees [alas! alas! a fatal sleep to God’s Nazarite]; and she called for a man, and she caused him to shave off the seven locks of his head; and she began to afflict him, and his strength went from him. And she said, The Philistines be upon thee, Samson. And he awoke out of his sleep, and said, I will go out as at other times before, and shake myself. And he wist not that the Lord was parted from him. But the Philistines took him and put out his eyes, and brought him down to Gaza, and bound him with fetters of brass; and he did grind in the prison house.”
Oh! reader, what a picture! How solemn! How admonitory! What a melancholy spectacle was Samson, going out to shake himself, “as at other times!” Alas! the “as” was out of place. He might shake himself, but it was no longer “as at other times;” for the power was gone; the Lord was departed from him; and the once powerful Nazarite became a blind prisoner; and instead of triumphing over the Philistines, he had to grind in their prison house. So much for yielding to mere nature. Samson never regained his liberty. He was permitted, through the mercy of God, to gain one more victory over the uncircumcised; but that victory cost him his life. God’s Nazarites must keep themselves pure or lose their power. In their case, power and purity are inseparable. They cannot get on without inward holiness; and hence the urgent need of being ever on the watch against the various things which tend to draw away the heart, distract the mind, and lower the tone of spirituality. Let us ever keep before our souls those words of our chapter, “All the days of his separation he is holy unto the Lord.” Holiness is the grand and indispensable characteristic of all the days of Nazariteship, so that when once holiness is forfeited, Nazariteship is at an end.
What then, it may be asked, is to be done? The scripture before us supplies the answer, “And if any man dies very suddenly by him, and he hath defiled the head of his consecration; then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it. And on the eighth day he shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons, to the priest, to the door of the tabernacle of the congregation.”
Let us then beware how we trifle with sin. Let us remember that ere one stain of the guilt of sin, even the very smallest, could be removed, the blessed Lord Jesus Christ had to pass through all the unutterable horrors of Calvary. That intensely bitter cry, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” is the only thing that can give us any proper idea of what sin is; and into the profound depths of that cry no mortal or angel can ever enter. But though we can never fathom the mysterious depths of the sufferings of Christ, we should at least seek to meditate more habitually upon His cross and passion, and in this way, reach a much deeper view of the awfulness of sin, in the sight of God. If, indeed, sin was so dreadful, so abhorrent to a holy God, that He was constrained to turn away the light of His countenance from that blessed One who had dwelt in His bosom from all eternity; if He had to forsake Him because He was bearing sin in His own body on the tree—then, what must sin be?
Oh! reader, let us thoughtfully weigh these things. May they ever have a place deep down in these hearts of ours, that are so easily betrayed into sin. How lightly, at times, do we think of that which cost the Lord Jesus everything, not only life, but that which is better and dearer than life, even the light of God’s countenance. May we have a far deeper sense of the hatefulness of sin! May we most sedulously watch against the bare movement of the eye in a wrong direction, for we may rest assured that the heart will follow the eye, and the feet will follow the heart, and thus we get away from the Lord, lose the sense of His presence and His love, and become miserable; or, if not miserable, what is far worse, dead, cold, and callous—“hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.”
May God, in His infinite mercy, keep us from falling! May we have grace to watch more jealously against everything, no matter what, that might defile the head of our consecration.’ It is a serious thing to get out of communion; and a most perilous thing to attempt to go on in the Lord’s service with a defiled conscience. True it is that grace pardons and restores, but we never regain what we have lost. This latter is set forth with solemn emphasis in the passage of scripture before us. “He shall consecrate unto the Lord the days of his separation, and shall bring a lamb of the first year for a trespass offering; but the days that were before shall be lost (or, shall fall, as the margin reads it), because his separation was defiled. And the priest shall offer the one for a sin-offering, and the other for a burnt offering, and make an atonement for him, for that he sinned by the dead, and shall hallow his head that same day. And he shall consecrate unto the Lord the days of his separation, and shall bring a lamb of the first year for a trespass offering; but the days that were before shall be lost, because his separation was defiled.” Numb. 6:9-129And if any man die very suddenly by him, and he hath defiled the head of his consecration; then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it. 10And on the eighth day he shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons, to the priest, to the door of the tabernacle of the congregation: 11And the priest shall offer the one for a sin offering, and the other for a burnt offering, and make an atonement for him, for that he sinned by the dead, and shall hallow his head that same day. 12And he shall consecrate unto the Lord the days of his separation, and shall bring a lamb of the first year for a trespass offering: but the days that were before shall be lost, because his separation was defiled. (Numbers 6:9‑12).
Here we find atonement, in its two grand aspects, as the only ground on which the Nazarite could be restored to communion. He had contracted defilement, and that defilement could only be removed by the blood of the sacrifice. We might deem it a very trifling matter to touch a dead body, and particularly under such circumstances. It might be said, “How could he help touching it, when the man had suddenly dropped dead by his side?” To all this the reply is at once simple and solemn, God’s Nazarites must maintain personal purity; and, moreover, the standard by which their purity is to be regulated is not human but divine. The mere touch of death was sufficient to break the link of communion, and had the Nazarite presumed to go on as though nothing had happened, he would have been flying in the face of God’s commandment, and bringing down heavy judgment upon himself. But, blessed be God, grace had made provision. There was the burnt offering—the type of the death of Christ to Godward. There was the sin offering—the type of that same death to usward. And there was the trespass offering—the death of the death of Christ, not only in its application to the root or principle of sin in the nature, but also to the sin committed. In a word, it needed the full virtue of the death of Christ to remove the defilement caused by the simple touch of a dead body. This is peculiarly solemnizing. Sin is a dreadful thing in God’s sight—most dreadful. A single sinful thought, a sinful look, a sinful word, is enough to bring a dark heavy cloud over the soul, which will hide from our view the light of God’s countenance, and plunge us into deep distress and misery.
This is a point, in our subject, full of instruction and admonition for our souls. When the Nazarite became defiled, by any means, even by the touch of a dead body, he had to begin over again. It was not merely the days of his defilement that were lost, or let fall, but actually all the days of his previous Nazariteship. All went for nothing, and this simply by reason of touching a dead body.
What does this teach us? It teaches this, at least, that when we diverge, the breadth of a hair, from the narrow path of communion, and get away from the Lord, we must return to the very point from which we set out, and begin de novo. We have many examples of this in scripture; and it would be our wisdom to consider them, and also to weigh the great practical truth which they illustrate.
“Ο that, when Christians meet and part,
These words were graved on every heart—
They’re dear to God!
However willful and unwise,
We’ll look on them with loving eyes —
They’re dear to God.
Ο wonder! to the Eternal One,
Dear as His own beloved Son;
Dearer to Jesus than His blood.
Dear as the Spirit’s fixed abode —
They’re dear to God.”