The Tarpeian Rock was the place where Roman criminals who had been guilty of the crime of treason were executed. They were thrown headlong from this rock into the valley below, and perished at its base. The rock took its name from a woman named Tarpeia whose name was hated in Rome, for she was a traitress to her country. For a long time the war had raged between the Romans and the Sabines. The Romans were at last compelled to shut themselves up in their strong fortress, which the Sabines attempted, in vain, to capture. So steep were the rocks on which it stood, so strong were the walls, that the Sabines would have given up their attempt in despair, if it had not been for the treachery of Tarpeia, the governor’s daughter.
Tarpeia looked down from the fortress into the Sabine host, and she noticed that, while with their right arms the Sabines held their swords, on their left arms were hung massive golden bracelets, such as Tarpeia had never seen before. One day, leaning over the precipice, she managed to whisper to a Sabine soldier her treacherous plan. She was willing to unlock the gate of the fortress in the middle of the night and to admit the Sabines, provided that they promised on their part to give her what they carried on their left arms. Tarpcia’s proposition was agreed to, and that night the governor’s daughter stole the keys of the fortress from her father’s room and admitted the enemy.
But the Sabines decided that her treachery should be punished. She stood by the gate, hoping to receive the bracelets, but each Sabine soldier, as he entered, threw at her head his massive iron shield, which he also carried on his left arm, until she was crushed to the ground, and buried beneath a mass of metal. They had fulfilled their promise, but in a way the treacherous Tarpeia did not expect. When she was dead, they took up her body and threw it over the rock which afterward bore her name, as a warning to traitors.
There was treachery within Jerusalem; those in league with the enemy were in the very midst of the citadel, and those who were pretending to be friends were secretly conspiring to hinder and annoy. Surely such a state of things was enough to move any man’s heart. Who could help feeling it bitterly?
David could not. Listen to his heart-rending cry: “For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it: neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him. But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance” (Psa. 55:12-1312For it was not an enemy that reproached me; then I could have borne it: neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; then I would have hid myself from him: 13But it was thou, a man mine equal, my guide, and mine acquaintance. (Psalm 55:12‑13)).
Nehemiah could not help feeling it. He had patiently borne ridicule, force and deceit from without; whatever harm or mischief Sanballat did, he could not help, nor was he surprised at it. But when the trouble came nearer home, when he found that in Jerusalem itself, among those whom he had loved and for whom he had sacrificed so much, there were actually to be found traitors, then indeed Nehemiah’s soul was stirred to its very depths.
He discovered to his horror that letters, secret, treacherous letters, were constantly passing from Tobiah the secretary to some of Nehemiah’s so-called friends in Jerusalem. He also discovered that these letters were diligently answered and that a lively correspondence was being kept up by Tobiah on the one side and these treacherous Jews on the other.
Worse still, Nehemiah found that many of those around him were acting as spies, watching all he did, taking note of every single thing that went on in Jerusalem, and then writing it down for Tobiah’s benefit. And in spite of this, these Jews had the audacity and the bad taste, when they met Nehemiah in the street, or sat at his table, or came across him in business, to harp constantly upon one string—the goodness and perfection and excellencies of dear Tobiah. “They reported his good deeds before me, and uttered my words to him.”
Nor was this communication with the secretary at all easy to break off, for he was connected by marriage with some of the most important families in Jerusalem. Tobiah himself had obtained a Jewish girl for his wife, the daughter of one of Nehemiah’s helpers—Shechaniah, the son of Arah.
Not only that, but Meshullam, one of the wealthiest men in the city, one of the most earnest builders on the wall, one who had worked so diligently that he had actually repaired two portions (Neh. 3:4,304And next unto them repaired Meremoth the son of Urijah, the son of Koz. And next unto them repaired Meshullam the son of Berechiah, the son of Meshezabeel. And next unto them repaired Zadok the son of Baana. (Nehemiah 3:4)
30After him repaired Hananiah the son of Shelemiah, and Hanun the sixth son of Zalaph, another piece. After him repaired Meshullam the son of Berechiah over against his chamber. (Nehemiah 3:30)), one who must have been either a priest or a Levite, for we read of his having a chamber in the temple, this man, Meshullam, so well spoken of, and so much esteemed in Jerusalem, had actually forgotten himself so far as to let his daughter marry the son of the secretary, Tobiah. We cannot excuse Meshullam by suggesting that his daughter may have been spoiled or willful, and may have married in spite of her father’s displeasure, for, in the East, marriages were entirely arranged by the parents, and Meshullam’s daughter probably had no choice in the matter.
Seeing then that there were enemies without, and halfhearted friends within, Nehemiah felt it necessary, as soon as the walls were finished and the gates set up, to do all he could to make Jerusalem secure and strong. Solomon had appointed 212 Levites to be porters or gate-keepers, to guard the entrances to the temple. Ever since his time, there had been an armed body of Levites, kept always at hand, to guard the treasures of the temple and to keep watch at the gates. From these, Nehemiah selected the keepers for his new gates. Surely these Levites would be faithful, and they had had some experience in watching since they had acted as temple police for so long.
Nehemiah’s next step was to appoint two men to superintend these guards, and to be responsible to him for the safety of the city. At any moment he might be recalled to Persia. He might have to leave his important work in Jerusalem, in order to stand again as cupbearer behind the king’s chair. He felt that he must therefore appoint deputies to guard the city for him, so that all might not be dependent on his presence in the city.
Whom did Nehemiah choose for this post of enormous trust? He chose one of his brothers, Hanani, the very one who had come to see him in Persia. He felt he could thoroughly trust him, and rely upon him entirely.
His other choice was Hananiah, the ruler of the palace or the fort, which was a tower standing in the temple courts on the spot on which the Tower of Antonia stood in Roman days. Nehemiah tells us exactly why he chose Hananiah: “He was a faithful man, and feared God above many.”
He was a faithful man, thoroughly trustworthy and reliable. He feared God above many, and therefore Nehemiah trusted that he would be kept safe and free from sin. “So did not I,” he had said of himself, “because of the fear of God.” That fear had held him back from sin, and he felt sure it would be the same with Hananiah. He feared God, and therefore he could be depended upon.
These two rulers, Hanani and Hananiah, planned out the defense of the city. They divided the wall among all the men in Jerusalem, holding each man responsible for the safety of that part of the wall which lay nearest to his own house. Then, by Nehemiah’s orders, they saw that the guards took care that the gates were not only carefully closed every night, but that they were kept closed till the sun was hot, that is, till some hours after sunrise. These orders were most necessary, seeing that there were traitors inside the gates as well as enemies outside.
It was the sixth month of the Jewish year when the walls were finished. Then came Tisri, the seventh month, the greatest and grandest of the months. The Jews say that God made the world in the month Tisri, and in it they have no less than two feasts and one great fast.
On the first day of the month Tisri was held the Feast of Trumpets, or the day of blowing. On that day trumpets or horns were blown all day long in Jerusalem on the housetops and from the courts and gardens, as well as from the temple.
Obedient to the voice of the trumpets, the people all gathered together at dawn and stood by the water gate, in a large open space suitable for such a gathering. This gate is supposed to have been somewhere at the southeast of the temple courts and to have taken its name from the fact that through it the temple servants, the Nethinims and the Gibeonites, carried water from the dragon well into the city.
Here a huge pulpit had been erected, not a pulpit such as we see in churches today, but a pulpit as large as a small room, and capable of holding a large number of persons.
The pulpit was erected by the water gate, and on it stood Ezra the scribe, and beside him thirteen of the chief men of Jerusalem. Meshullam was there, but one man was conspicuous by his absence. Eliashib, the high priest who should surely have been found taking a principal part in the solemn service of the day, was nowhere to be seen.
Before the great pulpit was gathered together an enormous crowd of men, women and children. All those who were old enough to understand anything had been brought there, that they might listen to all that went on.
It was early in the morning, soon after sunrise, when the great company met together. The blowing of the trumpets ceased, and an elderly Levite brought out an old roll of parchment. What was it? It was the Book of the Law, the Bible of Nehemiah’s day, consisting of the five books of Moses.
Slowly and reverently Ezra unrolled the law in the sight of all the people, and they, sitting below, watched him. As soon as the book was opened they stood up to show their respect and their reverence for the Word of God.
Then the reading began, and the ears of all the people were attentive to the book of the law. For no less than six hours Ezra read on, from early morning until midday, yet still the people stood and listened attentively. There was no stir in the crowd; no one asked what time it was; there was no shuffling of feet, no yawning, no fidgeting; in earnest, fixed attention the people listened.
As Ezra read, some of the Levites went about among the crowd, translating what he said. The people had lived so long in captivity that some of them had forgotten the old Hebrew, or had been brought up from childhood to talk the Chaldean language. Thus many of Ezra’s words and phrases were quite unintelligible to them. So the Levites acted as interpreters, and besides translating the words, they also explained the meaning of what was read.”The Levites caused the people to understand the law: and the people stood in their place. So they read in the book in the law of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the reading.”
And at the end of six hours there came tears—there was not a dry eye in the crowd—men and women alike wept like children. There was Ezra in his pulpit, his voice faltering as he read, and there were the people below, sobbing as they heard the words.
What was the matter? What had filled them with grief? The Apostle Paul tells us the secret of their tears in Romans 3:20: “By the law is the knowledge of sin.”
Suppose you draw a line. How do you know if it is straight or not? Lay a ruler beside it, and you will soon find out its crookedness.
Suppose you build a wall. How can you tell if it is perpendicular? Bring the plumb line and put it against it, and you will soon find out where the wall bulges.
You take up a student’s drawing of field and hill and tree. How will you know if it is correctly sketched? Put beside it the master’s copy; look from one to the other, and you will soon discover the mistakes and imperfections of the pupil.
Take the perfect law of God. Lay it beside your own life, as these people did, and you will find out exactly what they found. You will find that you are a sinner, that you have left undone what ought to have been done, that you have done what ought not to have been done, and that you yourself are full of sin.
“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” Have you done that? No! Then you are not like the original. “Thou hast commanded us to keep Thy precepts diligently.” Have you done that? No! Then you are not like the original.
The company at the water gate felt this as they listened to the word that day. And with the knowledge came tears, bitter, sorrowful tears as they thought of the past. Each man, woman and child among them was ready to cry out: Red like crimson, deep as scarlet, Scarlet of the deepest dye, Are the manifold transgressions, That upon my conscience lie. God alone can count their number, God alone can look within, O the sinfulness of sinning, O the guilt of every sin!
Many years ago there lived in Jerusalem a Scripture reader. He was an Austrian Jew and he worked among the large Jewish population in Jerusalem. That man had a very curious occupation. For years he had maintained himself in a very strange way. His business was this: to take children to school every morning, and to bring them home again in the evening. Each morning he called at the various houses. He led the children out; he carried the little ones, some on his back and some in his arms. He chastised with a stick those who were inclined to play truant, and he landed them all safely at the school door.
The Apostle Paul, when he went to the Rabbi’s school in Tarsus, was taken there by just such a man as that, a man who was paid by his parents to take him to school regularly, and to see that he arrived there in good time. This man was called a Paidagogos, or Boy-driver.
Years afterward, when the Apostle was writing to the Galatians, he remembered his old Paidagogos and he used him as an illustration. He said in his epistle that the Boy-driver was like the law of God. What the Paidagogos had done for him, that also the Word of God had done. As that man had driven him to the school of the Rabbi, so likewise the law of God had driven him to the school of Christ. “The law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ.”
The word schoolmaster does not mean the man who teaches, but it is this very word Paidagogos or Boy-driver. How then does the law of God drive us to Christ? It makes us feel that we need saving, that we are sinners and cannot help ourselves. It shows us that if we are ever to get to heaven, it must be by learning in the school of Christ, by learning to know Him as our Saviour, our atonement.
I cannot save myself! All my righteousnesses are as filthy rags; I myself am full of sin. There is no hope for me except in Christ Jesus! So the law is our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ.