The Journey of a Day
“I pray Thee, send me good speed this day.” — Genesis xxiv, 12.
In those early patriarchal times God and His people seemed to live very near together and to hold very close personal intercourse. Their faith was as simple as their style of living. Abraham often conversed with God as one of our children converses with father or mother, on terms of filial and yet familiar affection. Eliezer, the steward of Abraham, addresses Jehovah in the same direct, though reverent manner.
The story from which our text is taken gives us a charming picture of the pastoral life of the Orient in those early times. Abraham sends EHezer, the “eldest servant of his house,” to Mesopotamia on a search for a wife for his son Isaac. Eliezer sets off with his caravan of camels, and soon reaches the city of Nahor, near which resides Bethuel, who was a kinsman of Abraham. The caravan halts beside a well in the vicinity of the town. With straightforward directness Eliezer offers up this prayer: “O Lord God of my master Abraham, I pray Thee, send me good speed this day, and show kindness unto my master Abraham. Behold, I stand here by the well of water; and the daughters of the men of the city come out to draw water. And let it come to pass, that the damsel to whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say. Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also: let the same be she that Thou hast appointed for Thy servant Isaac; and thereby shall I know that Thou hast showed kindness unto my master.” The speedy appearance of the beautiful Rebekah, with her pitcher upon her shoulder, attested the answer which Eliezer sought for his petition.
It is not my custom to use passages of Holy Writ as mottoes for my discourses; but I shall do so on this occasion. My theme is The Journey of a Day, and how, by God’s blessing, to make good speed upward and heavenward through every hour. Life is frequently presented as a journey or a pilgrimage; and John Bunyan was only following the line of scriptural suggestion when he conceived the plan of his immortal allegory. The actual journey of human life is subdivided into several stages. Of these a day is the most visible and definite, for it is measured by the motion of our globe on its axis. A person of the average age (thirty years) sees about eleven thousand days; a veteran of four score sees about thirty thousand. In ordinary phrase we apply the word “day” to those hours of the twenty-four which are marked by sunlight. The period we call “night” is the bivouac after the march; and the hours of sleep are the blank leaves in the diary of life.
After a few hours of unconscious slumber the rosy finger of the morning touches us as the Divine Restorer touched the motionless form of Jairus’ daughter, and saith to us, Arise! In an instant the wheels of conscious activity are set in motion, and we leap up from that temporary tomb, our bed. Was yesterday a sick day? Sleep, like a good doctor, may have made us well. Was yesterday a sad day? Sleep has kindly soothed the agitated nerves. Was it (like too many of its predecessors) a lost day? Then our merciful Father puts us on a new probation, and gives us a chance to save this newborn day for Him and for His holy purposes of our existence.
Do we lose the morning either by oversleep or indolence or aimlessness? Then we ’ commonly lose the day. One hour of the morning is worth two or three at the sunsetting. The best hours for study, for invention, or for labor are the first hours after mind and body have their resurrection from the couch of slumber. Napoleon, who made time a great factor in all his successes, seized the early dawn. The master of modern fiction wrote nearly all his “Waverley” romances while his guests were sleeping. The numerous commentaries of good Albert Barnes are monuments to early rising; they attest how much a man may accomplish who gets at his work by five o’clock in the morning. To the student, the artist, the merchant, the manual laborer, the most useful hours are reached before the sun climbs to the meridian. I am well aware that a vast deal of traditional nonsense has come down to us about the “midnight lamp.” But those who use the midnight lamp, for either mental toil or sensual dissipations, are very apt to burn their own lamp of life out the soonest. Make it a rule, then, that he who would begin the day aright must seize and save its earliest hours. How often do we see some poor dilatory fellow rushing in blundering haste through the whole day in vain pursuit after the time he lost in the morning!
Every day should be commenced with God and upon the knees. “In the morning will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will look up,” said the man after God’s own heart. He begins the day unwisely who leaves his chamber without a secret conference with his heavenly Friend. The true Christian goes to his closet both for his panoply and his “rations” for the day’s march and its inevitable conflicts. As the Oriental traveler sets out for the sultry journey by loading up his camel under the palm tree’s shade, and by filling his flagons from the cool fountain that sparkles at its roots, so doth God’s wayfarer draw his fresh supplies from the unexhausted spring. Morning is the golden time for devotion. The mercies of the night provoke to thankfulness. The buoyant heart, that is in love with God, makes its earliest flight — like the lark — toward the gates of heaven. Gratitude, faith, dependent trust, all prompt to early interviews with Him, who, never slumbering Himself, awaits on His throne for our morning orisons. We all remember Bunyan’s beautiful description of his Pilgrim’s lodging over night in the “Chamber of Peace” which looked toward the sunrising, and at daybreak he “awoke and sang.” If stony Egyptian “Memnon” made music when the first rays kindled on his flinty brow, a devout heart should not be mute when God causes the outgoings of his mornings to rejoice.
No pressure of business or household duties should crowd out prayer. An eminent Christian merchant told me that it was his rule to secure a good quiet half-hour in his chamber on his knees and over his Bible before he met his family; and then he went into his business — as Moses came down from the mount — with his face shining. Doctor Arnold, of Rugby, had a favorite morning hymn, which opens with these stirring lines: —
“Come, my soul, thou must be waking;
Now is breaking
O’er the earth another day.
Come to Him who made this splendor;
See thou render
All thy feeble powers can pay.”
Closet devotions are the fit precursor to household worship. Family religion underlies the commonweath and the church. No Christian government, no healthy public conscience, no Bible philanthropies, no wholesome church life can exist without being rooted beneath the hearthstone and the family altar. The glory and defense of dear old Scotland are found in those scenes of ingle-side worship which Burns has so finely pictured: —
“From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad.”
No prelude to the day is so fitting, so impressive, and so potent in its influence as the union of household hearts round the throne of grace. Family worship is a strong seam well stitched on the border of the day, to keep it from raveling out into indolence and irreligion. Wise is that Christian parent who hems every morning with the word of God and fervent prayer.
When the early devotions of the day are over, then let us shoulder up its load cheerfully. The happiness and the serenity of the whole day depend very much upon a cheerful start. The man who leaves his home with a scowl on his brow, with a snap at his children, and a tart speech to his wife, is not likely to be a very pleasant companion for anyone, or to return home at night less acid than a vinegar cruet. We never know what the day may bring forth, or when we shall leave our threshold for the last time, or hear the last “good morning.” Let us, therefore, set out on the day’s journey under the wing of God’s loving care, and committing our way unto Him.
The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord. Eliezer described his happy and successful day’s journey by saying at its close, “I being in the way, the Lord led me to the house of my master’s brethren.” When you and I are in the path of duty, and have sought the Divine direction, we may feel sure that the Lord always will lead us likewise.
In order to make “good speed” in your day’s journey, do not go overloaded. I do not refer so much to your undertaking too many things as to your carrying too many cares. Honest work is strengthening; but worry frets and fevers us. The temptation to worry should be resisted as a temptation of the devil; to yield to it is a sin against our own peace, and a reproach upon our Christian character. The journey made by any pedestrian is simply a succession of steps. In accomplishing your day’s work you have simply to take one step at a time. To take that step wisely is all that you need to think about. If I am climbing a mountain, to look down may make me dizzy; to look too far up may make me tired and discouraged. Take no anxious thought for the morrow. Sufficient for the day — yes, and for each hour in the day — is the toil or the trial thereof. There is not a child of God in this world who is strong enough to stand the strain of to-day’s duties and all the load of to-morrow’s anxieties piled upon the top of them. Paul himself would have broken down if he had attempted the experiment. We have a perfect right to ask our heavenly Father for strength equal to the day; but we have no right to ask Him for one extra ounce of strength for anything beyond it. When the morrow comes, grace will come with it sufficient for its tasks or for its troubles.
“Let me be strong in word and deed
Just for to-day;
Lord! for to-morrow and its need
I must not pray.”
The journey of each day — yes, and of every day until we reach the Father’s house — is a walk of faith. We are often perplexed, and in our short-sighted ignorance we cry out: “Lord, how can we know the way?” The answer comes back to us: “I will lead the blind in paths that they have not known; I will make the darkness light before them.” When Eliezer humbly asked God to guide him, he made “good speed” indeed; he was directed to the very place and to the very person that he was in quest of. His master Abraham before him had made the journey from the land of the Chaldees to the land of Canaan entirely by faith; for he “went out, not knowing whither he went.” He had no maps and no itinerary; yet one thing he was sure of: he knew that God was his guide, and that he was heaven-bound. Every Christian should be a close and attentive observer of providential leadings. A conflict often arises between choosing our own way — that “jumps with our own selfish inclination” — or walking in God’s way. Lot chose his own way, and it led him into Sodom. When he obeyed God’s directions they led him in safety to Zoar. Jonah chose his own way, and it sent him overboard into the raging sea; then he took God’s way, and it brought him to Nineveh on a mission of mercy.
Whatever perplexities may arise as to the meanings of the Divine providences, or however fallible may be our own judgments, yet of one thing we may feel perfectly sure: God has given us a guidebook for every day’s journey that is both divinely inspired and perfectly infallible. “This is the Book,” as Coleridge said of it, “that always finds us.” There is not a difficult question in ethics on which this heaven-lighted lamp does not shed a clear light, and for every step in life it has a precept and a principle. The Bible is emphatically a book for everyday use; and the healthy Christian runs his Christianity through all the routine of his everyday experience. Some people keep their religion, as they do their umbrellas, for stormy weather; they may think it a convenient thing to have when their physician pronounces a fatal verdict, or when death is at the door. Others reserve their piety for the Sabbath and the sanctuary, and on Monday fold it up and lay it away with their Sunday clothes. But every day of the week ought to be a “Lord’s day,” and carry us twenty-four hours nearer heaven. A healthy religion cannot be maintained simply by Sundays, and psalms, and sacraments; it must be fed both from the “upper springs “and the” nether springs.” Brethren, let us see to it that the higher regions of our lives toward God are not more plentifully watered than those lower regions which embrace our conduct and our connection with our fellow-creatures. The lowly valleys in which we meet our families, our friends, and our business associates ought to be just as verdant and well-watered as those Sabbath elevations on which we “see no man save Jesus only.” In the journey of each day we cannot predict what lies before us. We know not what the day may bring forth — whether of joy or sorrow. This is well; for our joys are heightened when they come as glad surprises, and to forecast our sorrows would only increase our sufferings without increasing our strength to bear them. Temptations, however, owe much of their peril and of their power to the fact that they commonly spring upon us unawares. Satan is no more likely to advertise the time and method of his assaults in advance than a burglar is to send us word that he will be trying the bolts of our front doors at one o’clock to-morrow morning. “I say unto you all. Watch,’’ is the command of our Master. You may remember how, during the Civil War, the Union forces, flushed with victory and a false sense of security, were taking their morning meal very leisurely at Cedar Creek. Suddenly the Confederates pounced upon them and scattered them into a rout — which was only checked by the timely arrival of Sheridan after his famous and romantic ride from Winchester. We are all liable to have our Cedar Creeks; and the times in which we lay our armor off or relax our vigilance, and over-estimate our own spiritual strength, are the most disastrous in our liferecord. ‘’ He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool: but whoso walketh wisely, he shall be delivered.”
There is no journey of life but has its clouded days; and there are some days in which our eyes are so blinded with tears that we find it hard to see our way or even read God’s promises. Those days that have a bright sunrise followed by sudden thunderclaps and bursts of unlooked-for sorrows are the ones that test certain of our graces the most severely. Yet the law of spiritual eyesight very closely resembles the law of physical optics. When we come suddenly out of the daylight into a room even moderately darkened we can discern nothing, but the pupil of our eye gradually enlarges until unseen objects become visible. Even so the pupil of the eye of faith has the blessed faculty of enlarging in dark hours of bereavement, so that we discover that our loving Father’s hand is holding the cup of trial, and by and by the gloom becomes luminous with glory. The fourteenth chapter of John never falls with such music upon our ears as when we catch its sweet strains amid the pauses of some terrific storm. “Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me.” “I will not leave you comfortless.”
What are the happiest hours we spend in every day? I will venture to say that they are those which see us busy in doing good to others and in serving our Master. A cup of cold water costs only the trouble to get it; its refreshing draught may revive some fainting spirit. That is a bright hour in which we lift up some poor fellowtraveler and set him on his feet, A still brighter one is that in which we lead him to the Saviour. Harlan Page made it his rule never to talk to anybody for ten minutes without trying to do him or her some good. If all our hearts were more highly charged with the Divine electricity, we should flash out sparks of loving-kindness to everyone with whom we come in contact.
I very much fear that most of you see but very few days that are really full of joy in large measure, pressed down and running over; and whose fault is it but your own? One of the happiest Christians that I know is happy on a small income and in spite of some very sharp trials. The secret of happiness is not the size of one’s purse, or the style of one’s house, or the number of one’s butterfly friends; the fountain of peace and joy is in the heart. If you would only throw open your heart’s windows to the sunshine of Christ’s love, it would soon scatter the chilling mists, and even turn tears into rainbows. Some professed Christians pinch and starve themselves into walking skeletons, and then try to excuse themselves on the plea of ill-health or “constitutional “ailments. The medicines they need are from Christ’s pharmacy. A large draught of Bible taken every morning, a throwing open of the heart’s windows to the promises of the Master, a few words of honest prayer, a deed or two of kindness to the next person whom you meet, will do more to brighten your countenance and help your digestion than all the drugs of the doctors. If you want to get your aches and trials out of sight, hide them under your mercies. Bear in mind, my friends, that your happiness or your misery are very much of your own making. You cannot create spiritual sunshine any more than you can create the morning star; but you can put your soul where Christ is shining. Begin every day with God. Keep a clean conscience and a good stock of Bible promises within reach. Keep a strong, robust faith that can draw honey out of a rock and oil out of the flinty rock. Never spend a day without trying to do somebody good; and then, keeping step with your Master, march on toward home over any road, however rough, and against any head winds that blow. It will be all sunshine when we get to heaven, and ‘* there is no night there!”
As I close this discourse and look over this assembly I cannot but observe how a day is a type of human life. That little child nestling beside its mother is now in the rosy dawn of its existence. Yonder young men and maidens are still in the morning — under skies flushed with hope. These men of business and these mistresses of households are in the busy noontide. Many of you are far on in the afternoon; and on some of our heads the gray hairs bespeak the approaching sundown. Be the journey long or short, may God give you good speed “heavenward, and enable every one of you to do a round day’s work for Him! Marble and granite are perishable monuments, and their inscriptions may be seldom read. Carve yoicr names on human hearts; they alone are immortal! Work while the day lasts; for “the night cometh!” Let it come! If Christ come with it, we can listen calmly for the sunset gun.
“Just when Thou wilt, Oh, Master! call, Or at the noon or evening-fall, Or in the dark or in the light, Just when Thou wilt; it shall be right.
Just when Thou wilt; no choice for me,
Life is a trust to use for Thee;
Death is the hushed and glorious tryst
With Thee, my King, my Saviour-Christ!”
VI