Kings as Servants
“And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers; they shall bow down to thee.”
isaiah xlix. 23.
What a startling figure of speech this is! It is steeped in Oriental brilliancy of light and colour. And it is like a thousand other figures in the Old Testament, very aggressive in their strength, full-blooded things, discharging their mission in almost boisterous strength. What a power of brain and imagination belonged to these Old Testament prophets, and with what decision they married it to equally robust expression! They were poets as well as prophets. They had imagination as well as reason. They had vision as well as sight. And they gave their thoughts and dreams verbal bodies of amazing life and virility.
Look, for an example of all this, at the figure in my text. “And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers.” Let us disregard its historical application for the moment. Let us examine it merely as a product of the imagination. What, then, is the imagery F Kings are to put off their imperial purple and to put on the apron of the slave. They are to lay aside their regality and clothe themselves in humility. The sceptre, which is the symbol of rule, is to be exchanged for the towel, which is the symbol of service. Kings are to translate their sovereignty into simple tasks, and they are to humbly minister to people over whom they are supposed to reign. This is something other than kings in mufti. It is power converted into gentleness; it is tyranny transformed. Such is the figure of the text.
And now let us grasp the prophet’s application of it. He is speaking to a people who are in exile. They are like the deported captives of Belgium, under the indifferent heel of the Kaiser, and spurned by the imperial militarism of Germany. And what have kings meant to these Jewish exiles? Kings have been the symbols of an alien tyranny. Kings have been the slavedrivers in the bleak fields of their desolation. Kings have been the despots before whom they have marched in degrading bondage. To this disheartened little people kings have meant invasion, captivity, homelessness, exile.
But now a prophet arises among them with power to pierce the immediate gloom of brutal circumstance. He is a prophet of hope. He is endowed with sight and insight. He sees the alluring light of a wonderful dawn. In glowing imagery he foretells their return to their native land. Tyranny shall be ended, and liberty shall be re-born. With an almost gorgeous wealth of pictorial setting he portrays the blessedness of their restoration. The parched ground is to become a pool. The dry land is to become musical with rivers of water. The wilderness is to become alive with the sound of joy and laughter. The desert is to rejoice and blossom like the rose. The old, heavy roads of affliction are to be highways of revelry. The crooked is to become straight, and the rough places plain. And as for kings, those grim symbols of tyranny and oppression, this is to be their fate: “kings shall be thy nursing fathers,” nourishing and cherishing the people they had spurned “and queens shall be thy nursing mothers; they shall bow down to thee.”
Such is the prophet’s imagery, and such is the interpretation of his quickening vision. Kings are to become servants: ancient tyranny is to wear the apron of the slave.
Well now, I am going to suggest that, although we are a long, long way from any circumstances which have any sort of likeness to the condition of these captive Jews, it is not altogether a remote land of legend and dream. I am going to suggest that, as far as we are concerned, something analogous happens on our road whenever our life is governed and ordained by God. There are kingly and despotic things on our road, grim presences which hold us in paralysing servitude, but their alien power is transformed into an ally whenever our life passes into surrendered fellowship with the Lord. The tyrannical kings on the road become our servants, and in vital religion we discover our own sovereignty and freedom. “And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers; they shall bow down to thee.”
Let us begin on the outermost circle. Science has laid a firm hand on some despotic kings and she has set them to work as our slaves. For instance, she has harnessed the tyranny of the lightning to the gentle ministries of the garden, and on the plains of Evesham the lightning is the nursing father and the nursing mother of all the fruits in their season. Yes, that grim agent of destruction and death is now quickening the life of delicate growths, and adding stores of vigour to their resources. And what about that imperial presence called Niagara — so awe-inspiring in its eternal flow, so overwhelming in its weight and power? Science has transformed that mighty king into a servant, and he is made to visit distant towns and to light up the homes of Buffalo and Toronto. Niagara’s energy is sent on knightly errands to kindle a gentle radiance in the chambers of the sick and the pain-ridden. “And Niagara shall be thy nursing father; it shall bow down to thee.” Science has hitched our wagons to stars. She has yoked the tempest to our service. She has captured mighty giants in the material world, and she has ordained them as hewers of wood and drawers of water in the ministry of man.,
But there are kings much more overbearing than these. There are other tyrants on the road, and they drive us about, and knock us about; they oppress us with their ceaseless assaults, and they crush the very life out of us. And it is the marrow of the gospel of Christ that when we enter into the intimate fellowship of God these grim kings become our servants; they bring their strength to our necessities, and so far from pinching us into penury they are made to enlarge and enrich the circuit of our lives. That is what happens when we are in the benign friendship of the Lord. We derive vigorous ministries from age-long tyrannies. Ancient royalties are made to serve us. Their power is transmuted, and we gather our honey from the carcase of the lion.
Let me ask you to let your eyes rest upon one or two of these kings as they pass before us in sombre procession. Here is one of them. What is his name? His name is Pain, and he is a king with an almost endless domination. Every hospital is one of his palaces. Every sick chamber is a room in one of the residences of this imperial monarch. Do you know any home where he has never crossed the threshold, and over the lintel of whose door you could write the amazing words, “Pain is unknown here “? He seems to brook no exception. We are all dragged within his sovereignty, and we are all stamped with the impress of his iron rule. Every wail on the planet is a weird sign of his presence, whether it be the sudden cry of agony, or the moan of a sufferer whom he never leaves... I think you will agree with me that, amid all the crumbling thrones and trembling monarchies of our day, King Pain maintains his sway.
Well, what can we say about him? What can we say? We can say this, that King Pain can be so controlled that his tryanny becomes a ministry, that his oppression is leagued with service, and that he is compelled to leave infinitely more than he takes. In the fellowship of God, Pain becomes our nursing father, and his directed and appointed business is to cherish and nourish the precious life of the soul. I do not say that when we become the friends of God King Pain loses his sharp implements; perhaps he does not lose any of them; but I do say that they are not allowed to hack and slash away with brutal destructiveness. The sharp tool is made to carve some exquisite bit of tracery in the essential character of the soul. I cannot say that Pain loses his harrow, and that he ceases to do harrowing things, but I can say that in the communion of God the harrow is not dragged to and fro over the field of our life with absolutely aimless ravage. The harrow is wedded to the ministry of a coming harvest, and it is made to serve the call and needs of the far-off ripening grain. I cannot say that King Pain is deprived of the power of giving pain. He is not bereft of his sword, but it is changed into a ploughshare. He is not robbed of his spear, but it is transformed into a pruning hook. In the wonderful appointments of God’s Will Pain becomes a servant and ambassador of grace, and all he does is connected with a higher purpose which he is unable to defeat.
King Pain is transformed into a nursing mother for the nourishing of virtues and graces. King Pain is made to serve the virtue of endurance until our fortitude has all the splendid strength of an oak. And what else? King Pain is made to serve the virtue of sympathy, and the sympathy subtly widens our discernments until we can take things in which are far away. And what else? King Pain is made to serve the virtue of tenderness, and we acquire that gentleness of touch whose tapping opens anybody’s door.... And how is all this to be brought about? It is to be brought about in the friendship and companionship of God. There was a man of the name of Paul, who was greatly troubled by King Pain, for he had afflicted him with a thorn in the flesh. “And I besought the Lord thrice that it might depart from me.” And did it go? No, it did not go, but it remained in the guarding alliance of the divine grace. “And the Lord said unto him, My grace is sufficient for thee, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” And so the thorn remained. King Pain retained his sway, but it was all directed to the enlargement and enrichment of the apostle’s spiritual treasures, and in the fulness of his wealth you and I are privileged to share to-day.... Well, then, this is one of the kings on life’s road, King Pain. And King Pain shall be thy nursing father and thy nursing mother; it shall bow down to thee.
There is another king on the road. What is his name? His name is Mammon. He has a number of aliases, such as Gold, Money, Property, Possessions, but it is the same despotic power beneath them all. I do not know that any one of us has special prerogative, and is therefore able to complete the journey of life without ever meeting this king upon the way. It is not a question as to whether we are rich or poor.
Our relationship to the tyrant Mammon is not determined by our account at the bank. It is not a matter of more or less. One man mayhave an income of a thousand pounds a week, and he may be gloriously resisting the despotism of King Mammon, while another man may have an income of five pounds a week, and yet be piteously and completely under his sway. If we had the requisite powers of discernment, and if we wished to estimate how far anyone had become a victim of the tyranny of money, we should have to apply a sort of level-test to their life. We should have to bring the soul and the money into the same plane of vision, and then compare their different levels in relation to each other. Which is on the higher level, the soul or the money? Which is upper, and which is under? Which is superior, and which is inferior? What is the attitude of the soul when it looks out upon gold? Does it look up, or does it look down? Is the posture one of homage, or is it one of command? It is in this way that the crucial question resolves itself into a test of levels, and attitudes, and points of view, and angles of vision. Where is Mammon in relation to our souls? Is he on the throne, or is he kneeling
81 at our feet? Are we his victims, or is he our servant? Is he our master, or is he the menial of our aspiring and consecrated will? It is all a question of comparative levels; it is not in any way a matter of amounts.
But now the peril in the tyranny of Mammon is this — he never displays his tyranny, and he snares us into bondage on the plea that he is leading us into freedom. In a certain very subtle way he hypnotizes his victims, and in their unnatural sleep he marches them into his thraldom. Mammon does not coerce, he allures. He does not throw a cart-rope around us, and violently drag us into captivity. He inveigles us with cords of vanity, delicate things, silken things, and in quite an air of festivity he leads us to our doom. We start out on a gay crusade, but the gay crusade is ere long changed into a prison. At the beginning money is our highway, along which we are marching to something else; in the feverish quest it becomes our goal. We begin by making money for finer ends, we end by making money. We make money, and that is all we make, and we are unmade in the making.
Such appears to be the tyranny of King Mammon. He hypnotizes his victims, and no
Pied Piper of Hamelin has ever had such multitudes in his train. And how he mocks his retinue! Mammon creates desires which he never fulfils. He pleases us with a few flashy adornments while he robs us of our spiritual wealth. He gratifies us with the outer shows of things, but he is all the while consuming our virtue, just as the white ant eats out the inner pith and pulp of great trees, and leaves only the bark, the seeming forms of trees, which a single night’s tempest can blow into dust. “Money,” says Emerson, “often costs too much.” And indeed it does! We gain it at the cost of our moral and spiritual freedom. “At a great price purchased I this bondage!”
Well, what about this King Mammon? All the young folk have got to meet him. I should not know what streets to suggest to you, or by what names they are called, if you want to dodge him. You cannot dodge him even if you would, and there is no reason why you should wish it. Begin all your reasonings about it with one clear word of the Master: “Ye cannot serve God and Mammon.” How then? Why, make Mammon serve God! And that is the transformation which is effected when we are living in intimate friendship and communion with God. By God’s good grace this despot can be changed into a servant, and he is made to minister to the soul which he aspires to rule. “And kings shall be thy nursing fathers; they shall bow down to thee,” and King Mammon shall be among those who bend at thy feet.
Just think of Mammon as a nursing father, nourishing and cherishing all the fledgling graces and virtues of the soul! And that is surely what Jesus meant when He said: “Make to yourselves friends of the Mammon of unrighteousness.” What the Saviour meant is this — take My way, and in My companionship, and so compel your tyrant to befriend your soul. So think of money, and so make money, and so use money, that all the while it shall be as a nursing mother with her young — it shall feed and vitalize every offspring of your spirit which makes you the kinsman of your God. There is no more wretched sight on earth than the slave of money. On the other hand, there is no more noble sight than its master. “And kings shall be thy nursing fathers, and their queens thy nursing mothers; they shall bow down to thee.”
There are many other tyrannical kings on the road of life, and I must leave you to inspect and challenge them at your leisure. But in all your examination of the royal procession give a good look at one very imperious monarch whose name is Temptation. He is as despotic and cunning a villain as you will find on the road, but, like every other tyrant, he falls upon his knees when you confront him in the presence and authority of your Lord. Give, I say, a good look at him, and study the gospel secrets which tell how to set him to service in burnishing and refining the jewels of the soul.
But let me, as I close, just name another king whose gloomy approach darkens the road as with the fall and pall of night. I mean King Death. Among all the kings on the road there is none more imperious than he. Every movement about him is kingly, even when he comes with gentlest steps. In all the sublime pictures in which Watts portrays the presence of Death, however tender Death may appear, and however light his touch, there is an air of authority and command about him which seems to leave no right of appeal. King Death goes everywhere, and he knocks at everybody’s door. “Death lays his icy hand on kings,” so imperial is his sovereign sway! He is a mighty king. Is he a necessary tyrant of our souls?
Dare I bring in the word of my text, and look for some transforming light even on this gloomy, dreary part of the road? Dare I look at King Death, then utter this word to my comfort — “And kings shall be thy nursing fathers; they shall bow down to thee?” Will King Death bend his proud back and become the servant of my soul? Yes, that is the sweet music of the gospel of grace. There are some arresting songs of emancipation in the sacred book which suggest that the singers had looked into the eyes of the tyrant and found that his tyranny was broken. For example, here is one believer in the Lord, and his word seems to be filled with something like a taunt, as though he were now playing lightly with an ogre which he feared in early days: “O death, where is thy sting? “... What can the adder do without its sting?... I say there is almost a triumphant laugh in the taunt. “O death, where is thy sting?” ... Here is a king who has lost his depotism. He has lost his power to despoil and destroy, and all that is now left to him is the power to befriend the pilgrims he once terrified, and lead them into the sweet intimacies of home, and into the all-comforting love of their Father in Heaven.
Jesus Christ has some strange things to say about King Death. He speaks of him as though, in some mysterious way, his tyranny is so buried in service that the dreadful thing is never seen. Where is King Death in this word of our Lord — “He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die “?.... And where is King Death in this word of our Lord — “He that believeth in Me shall never taste death? “... And where is King Death in this word of our Lord — “He that believeth in Me shall never see death “?.. Where is King Death, I say? The secret is here — the tyrant is lost in the servant, and his terrors are swallowed up in the blaze of immortality.
And so it is with all these kings; there is one secret by which their tyranny is broken. There is one King on the road, “and on His thigh this name is written, ‘King of kings and Lord of lords.’” He is the lawful King of the road, and every other king bows before Him. “Kings shall fall down before Him.” It is in His strong, sweet friendship that we find the right of way, and every other king will bend to do us service.
King Jesus is not stingy in His friendship, nor is He stiff and reluctant in His communion. The stinginess is all on our side; the reluctance is in our own wills. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any man open the door I will come in.” ...” Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of Glory shall come in.”