Bethlehem, and the First Visit to Jerusalem

Mary remained in the hill-country of Judah three months, and it was doubtless a profitable season which she spent in that peaceful seclusion. True, the venerable Levite was dumb. As a reproof for his incredulity he had been doomed to a temporary silence; but in the dwellings of the righteous there is an atmosphere of reassuring tranquillity even when the voice of rejoicing 13 hushed, and when familiar footfalls are heard no longer. Perhaps, too, Zacharias prayed the more when cut off from wonted converse; and the circumstances attending his bereavement added another sign to the many wonders of this eventful season: whilst the soul of her youthful visitor imbibed new faith from the cheerful converse and experienced piety of the “blameless” Elizabeth. Returning to Nazareth, and, in consequence of a IHvine admonition, recognised by Joseph as his affianced bride, “the handmaid of the Lord” was soon called to undertake another pilgrimage. An ancient prophecy, possibly ked or obscurely known by Mary, had fixed on Bethlehem in Judah as the birthplace of Messiah. But to that town Mary had no errand; when, in the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of Gcd an incident fell out which sent her thither. It occurred to Caesar Augustus to take up a census of Palestine; and in order that the enumeration might be systematically conducted, all the inhabitants were ordered to rendezvous at the head-quarters of their respective families; and, as descendants of the royal family, Joseph and his wife set out for David’s city.

Bethlehem was a long village, straggling on the ridge of a gray limestone hill, a few miles south from Jerusalem. Its inhabitants prided themselves on their great fellow-citizen, who had founded the Hebrew monarchy. They could shew the stranger the fields where he had herded his sheep — where he had practised his sling on the kites and the eagles — where he had fought the bear and the lion. They could shew the well at the gate which he had drunk of so often, and the field to which his grandmother came a timid young gleaner; and from the airy crest of the town they could point out the purple heights far away where Ruth spent her childhood — the mysterious strange-languaged mountains of Moab.

That evening when Joseph and Mary arrived, Bethlehem looked beautiful; for we have reason to believe that it was the sweet season of spring. It was pleasant to get away from the bustle and crowd of Jerusalem — out to the open air — out to the freshness of the country. It was pleasant to tread among daisies, anemones, and stars of Bethlehem; and very sweet was the breath of the budding vine, very sweet was the odour crushed from the herbage by the tread of the pilgrims. It was pleasant to hear from yonder fig-tree shade the voice of the turtle, and more pleasant still the merry shouts of boys and girls playing in the hamlets as they passed — and most pleasant of all was the voice of mutual endearment with which the travellers beguiled the last stage of their journey.

And now, as they reached the village entrance, and went in through the sounding gateway, the loungers gazed at the North-country carpenter and his beautiful wife; but little did any one guess that in the arrival of these lowly visitors a prophecy was fulfilled, and Bethlehem ennobled beyond all the thousands ot Judah. There was an unusual bustle in the streets. The same decree which had brought one party from Nazareth had summoned many families from other corners of the Holy Land. The village overflowed; and as when people come together, released from wonted avocations and doomed to necessary idleness, there was much wandering to and fro — much talk and buzz — perhaps some foolish merriment. Eagerly did the Galilean strangers seek the inn. It was

•32 EA1ILY INCIDENTS.

impossible. There was no room. Others had been refused already. Nor was there any private house or friendly lodging that would take them in; and weak and weary as she was, Joseph was thankful when he found for his partner a resting-place in the stable.

The night soon gathered. The shouts of the revellers fell silent in the khan, and stillness enfolded Bethlehem. It was that soft season when Eastern shepherds lodge in the fields all night, and a party of these humble peasants kept their bivouac on the adjacent hills. They were David’s hills, and as they sat around their watch-fire, and listened to the wolfs “long howl” from yon dark valley, perhaps they sang, “The Lord’s my shepherd:” —

“Yea, though I walk in death’s dark Tale,
Yet will I fear none ill:
For thon art with me; and thy rod
And staff me comfort still!”

As the mild stars glittered, and among them that strange new one which had lately lit up their firmament; as the thyme gave out its fragrance to the dew, and nothing stirred except where some wakeful lamb was nibbling the cool grass, most likely the weary men were sleeping. But something brilliant burst into their slumber, and, starting up, they found a mysterious daylight round them, and a shining form before them. They were terrified, for they knew that it was an angel. But he said,” Fear not: for I bring you good tidings: —

“To you, in David’s town, this day

Is born, of David’s line,
The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord;

And this shall be the sign:
The heav’nly Babe you there shall find

To human view display’d,
All meanly wrapt in swaddling-bands,

And in a manger laid.”

Hardly had the angel ceased, when the sky brightened with sudden splendour, and melted into music:

“Glory to God in the highest,
On earth peace,
Good- will toward men.”

Oh, it was exquisite that burst of seraphic melody! and as it lapped the listeners round and round, it seemed to sever from all sin: it brought God so near, and filled the spirit with such peace, that the soul could easily have been beguiled out of the body — and as its liquid whisper brought them back and laid them on the earth again, they held their breath in hope that the chorus might burst again. But the guard of honour was going home. The light, the music gathered up itself, and as the pearly portals closed, the air fell dark and dead.

Yes, the angels were gone home again to heaven. But the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go to Bethlehem, and see this thing which has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.” Entering the village, and hastening towards the khan, they saw a lamp burning in the stable, and entering in, there assuredly was the new-born babe, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and lying in a manger. And that is Christ the Lord! That infant is the Saviour! Heaven’s gift and earth’s benediction! Oh, what a waking will evolve from this soft slumber! Glory to. God and peace to the world are calmly sleeping in that cradle!

They told Joseph and Mary what it was that brought them; and as they described the angel’s visit, and the aerial orchestra, and repeated all that they had heard, a holy gladness filled the mind of the virgin mother, and the joy of the Lord was strength to her. The shepherds, too, forgetful of all that must happen before that infant could be a man, but feeling as if it were all fulfilled already, went their way, praising God; and for long they trod their hills with recollected step, as favoured men should tread on holy ground; and in the night would sometimes awake and listen, fancying that angelic harps had floated by.

Eight days passed on, and, with the old Hebrew rite, the babe was named. How He should be called, there was no dispute; for the angel had fixed His name beforehand. And so His name was called Jesus.

BETHLEHEM, AND THE FIRST VISIT. TO JERUSALEM. j5

A month passed on, and according to another appointed usage, His parents went up to Jerusalem. On this auspicious occasion, had they been rich, they would have taken a lamb and a dove as their offering; and had it been a royal churching, there would have swept into the temple courts a splendid cortege, rustling in silks, and blazing with jewels, and the highest functionaries of the temple would have awaited in gorgeous attire the princely procession. But when a poor woman entered, with a babe on one arm, and a little basket with two young pigeons on the other, the whole thing was so common, that the officials were glad to hurry through the ceremony as fast as possible: and although the Lord, whom they pretended to seek, was “suddenly come to His temple,” His arrival would have arrested no notice, if it had not been for the keener susceptibility of two veteran devotees. To one of these, Simeon, it had been specially revealed, that he should not die till he had seen the Messiah; and just as Joseph and Mary were slowly ascending the steps of Moriah, the Holy Spirit revealed to him, “He is come! He is come!” If, for a moment, Simeon expected an imperial presence — a crowned head, and a sceptered hand — his agile faith was not taken aback, and he betrayed no disappointment at the lowly babe: but instantly clasping Him in his arms, he cried, — “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, According to thy word: For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.”

And as the parents marvelled at the old man’s rapture, and as he handed back to Mary the heavenly child, he added, “This child is set for the fall, and for the restoration of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed: yea, and a sword shall pierce through thine own soul also.” And whilst he spoke, the group was joined by an ancient prophetess, a well known frequenter of the temple precincts, where she lingered all day, and near which she lodged by night. Anna came up, and, sharing Simeon’s expectant spirit, she also shared in Simeon’s ecstasy. M Coming in that instant, she likewise gave thanks to the Lord, and spake of him to all them that looked for redemption in Jerusalem.”

The words of Simeon, including his hymn of praise, and his address to the mother of our Lord, derive a charm, not only from their piety and the peculiar circumstances in which they were uttered, but they are striking as the last of the Messianic prophecies. In this final and concentrated prediction, we have in brief compass a sketch of Christ’s character and office, and are foretold the fortunes of

His Gospel in the world. Like the large-hearted and far-stretching seers of old, but quite unlike the “rude mass” of his modern compatriots,* Simeon exults in the catholicity and comprehensiveness of the great salvation. Perhaps, with Isaiah’s cadence in his ear, u In this mountain shall the Lord of Hosts make unto all people a feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees; of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well refined,” j* he describes this great salvation as “prepared before the face of all people;” and whilst, as a patriot, he celebrates “the glory of Israel,” as a prophet, he hails “the Light of the Gentiles.” Yes, it is not Abraham, nor David; it is not Moses, nor Solomon; but it is Jesus who is to be the glory of Israel; and other nations may boast of having yielded sages and saints, but it is Israel’s boast to have yielded to the world its Saviour. To the world, for Israel’s glory is the Light of the Gentiles. When the Egyptian princess gazed on the bulrush ark, she did not think that the babe there weeping was to be a mightier man than any Pharaoh of them all, and would leave a name to outlast the Pyramids. But when Simeon gazed on the virgin’s child, he knew its mighty destinies, and his heart beat thick to think how soon from these swaddling-bands would unfold, not Israel’s second Lawgiver, but the Light-giver to mankind. Yes, this spark of im-

OUhausen. t Ib. xxv. 6

& mortality, this soft and cloud-like innocence, is yet to flame forth the Sun of Righteousness, and, all unlike the giant of the firmament, who can only lighten a single hemisphere with his world-embracing beams, Jesus shall lighten every land; and although exhalations from the abyss may for a season intercept His beams, whatever spot admits them, Waldensian valley or Bohemian forest, Lapland hut or English palace, that spot, deriving light direct from heaven, will be a Goshen amid surrounding gloom.

Peculiar privileges are accorded to eminent piety. It is possible that Simeon and Anna may not have been altogether alike; but they were both of them remarkably good. The one was “just and devout;” a man of uprightness and probity, as well as of religious profession; an old cedar, sound at the core, and with his branches green; by the godly loved for his heavenly-mindedness, and by all men revered for his virtues. And Anna — there was one thing which she desired of the Lord, and sought after, that she might dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of her life, to behold His beauty, and to inquire in His temple. Since her own dwelling had darkened, and she left, mayhap on Asher’s sounding shore, the husband of her youth, she had sought no other home than God’s own house. Her Maker was her husband, and she knew no dearer joy than to serve Him with prayers and fastings night and day. At early dawn, when the crimson east was reflected from the temple gates, and before the silver trumpets had sent their warbling summons to royalty asleep in yonder palace, and to the population dreaming on yon smokeless house-tops, Anna often was waiting and ready to enter as soon as the guards had flung open the ponderous doors. And at night, when the Levites had refreshed with new fuel the golden altar, and the lamps burned clear in the holy shrine; when the outer court was hushed — for traders and worshippers were mostly gone — and lights began to flicker from the cloister windows, with nothing to lure her back to mortal dwellings, and with God himself, her sun and shield, to retain her where she was, Anna was among the last to withdraw. But in whatever they resembled or differed, Simeon and Anna were alike in their piety. They were both of them loyal to the God of their fathers. They were both of them saintly survivors of the simple faith of an earlier time. And they were both of them expectant believers, who had Christ in their hearts long before they found Him in their arms. They looked for redemption; they longed for the consolation of Israel. And He who gives grace for grace surprised His servants with a rare and remarkable blessing. For one thing, he endowed them with the spirit of prophecy. Since Malachi, inspiration had vanished from the Holy

Land; and it was at once a sign of the Advent, and a distinction conferred on these two eminent worshippers, that in them, amongst the first, the silence broke, and the lost gift was revived. Anna the prophetess was the successor of Miriam and Deborah; and Simeon summed up that long series of Messianic prophecies to which David and Isaiah had been the largest contributors. The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him. And it was in virtue of this prophetic power that they were enabled to detect their own felicity; for the same Holy Spirit who awakened in them the longing for Christ’s day, told them when Christ was come. By making them pure in heart, He fitted them for seeing God; and by making them prophets, He assured them that it was God whom now they saw. The Angel of the Covenant was paying His first visit to the temple, but the numerous danglers at its gates saw nothing but an infant carried in. The worshippers in the courts knelt, and kept repeating, u Speedily, speedily; Lord, come to thy temple speedily;” and little dreamed that the answer to their prayer was actually arrived. The hirelings at the altar saw a poor couple approach, and contemptuously eyed the scanty ofTer. And even the priest presiding little surmised his high prerogative; he little thought that his mitred predecessor, who at that same altar had awaited the Queen of Solomon, was less distinguished, and that, in days to come, no prelate at an emperor’s christening would receive into his arms so august an infancy. But what was hid from worldly sagacity, and from sacerdotal formalism; what was hid from the wise and prudent, was revealed to the meek faith and penetrating eye of these Heaven-taught worthies; and however long or short they tarried after this, Simeon and Anna trod the streets of Jerusalem with a consciousness which its proudest citizen might envy. They had seen the great salvation. They had seen the Christ of God. They had received into their hands, and pressed to their adoring bosoms the promised seed, the woman’s Son, the Man Jehovah. To them it was no longer faith, but sight. Their new economy had dawned: their New Testament existence was begun. They had found their Gospel in yonder temple, and whenever they departed from this world, they would leave Immanuel in it.

This incident also shews us that before leaving the world, God’s people are made willing to go. Up to that moment, Simeon would have been loth to depart; but the instant he saw this great salvation, he was in haste to be gone. Sometimes, in pacing the shore of that great ocean which you are soon to cross, solemn thoughts have arisen: “Why this clinging to mortality? Why this love of life, this fear of dying? Can I belong to Christ, and yet so deprecate departing to be with Him?” But if you are really His, He will arrange it all most excellently. The wicked may be driven away in their sins, or they may be dragged to a dreaded tribunal; but the believer will tarry till he can say, u Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” And this the Lord usually effects by loosening that chain which held him to this life, or by presenting such a strong attraction that the chain is broken unawares. The summer before good old Professor Wodrow died, “Principal Stirling’s lady came in to see him,” as his son, the historian, tells us; u and he said to her, ‘Mrs Stirling, do you know the place in the new kirkyard that is to be my grave? ‘She answered, she did. l Then,’ says he, i the day is good, and I’ll go through the Principal’s garden into it, and take a look of it.’ Accordingly, they went, and when they came to the place, as near as she could guess, she pointed it out to him, next to Principal Dunlop and her own son and only child. He looked at it, and lay down upon the grass, and stretched himself most cheerfully on the place, and said, * Oh, how satisfying it would be to me to lay down this carcass of mine in this place, and be delivered from my prison; but it will come in the Lord’s time.’” * But although for more than forty years this cheerful Christian had never one day doubted his heavenly Father’s love,

* Life of James Wodrow, A.M., Professor of Divinity in the University of Glasgow, p. 183.

it was not till his own dear children had gone before, and till manifold infirmities made the flesh a burden, that he felt thus eager to put off the tabernacle. That was the weaning process. Nevertheless, the Lord has other ways. Were you prematurely rending the calyx which contains the coming rose or lily, perhaps it would refuse to blow at all, or at best you would only get a crumpled stunted flower. God’s way is better. With gushing summer He fills the bud within; with sap and strength He makes it glad at heart, till the withering cerement bursts, and the ripened fragrance floats through all the air of June. The soul must be ripe within, and then it easily puts off this tabernacle. And nothing matures it faster for that immortal expansion than an abundant joy. And just as, after a continuance of cold and gloomy day3, you have seen one balmy sun-burst let loose whole fleets of waiting blossoms — so a single bright incident, one smile from Jehovah’s countenance, will be the propitious moment when the soul would gladly quit the body of sin, and breathe the better air for ever. From the hour he was shewn that gory vesture, and realised his Joseph torn to pieces, Jacob had nothing to desire in life, and knew no attraction greater than the grave. And yet he had not heart to die. It was not till that amazing hour when he found weeping on his neck the child so long lamented, and saw, in stalwart strength and regal grandeur, tho very form which he had so often pictured in the lion’s cranching jaws, that Israel said to Joseph, “Now let me die, since I have seen thy face, because thou art yet alive.” 1 1 am happy. I have nothing more to wish. This gladness gives me strength to go.’ And so with many of God’s servants. Like Simeon — though perhaps without Simeon’s promise — they are waiting for something. They could die happy if they were only more assured of their interest in Christ, or if they only saw the good work begun in some soul very dear to them. They would gladly depart if they might first witness some great salvation — if they might only behold the destruction of Antichrist, or the triumph of the Gospel in the world. Perhaps in His great indulgence the Lord grants the very blessing; but at all events He knows how to put such gladness in the heart that glory shall surround the soul before it has leisure to surmise that the body is dissolved.

Of all these antidotes to death, there is none like Jesus in the arms. Of all those attractions which charm the spirit into everlasting life, there is none like the desire to depart and be with Christ. That we may understand it, let us pray for the Holy Spirit, who made Simeon’s eye so perspicacious, and Simeon’s heart so warm. Let us seek to see in .Jesus what Simeon saw, and then we, too, may feel what Simeon felt.

Is Jesus our salvation? God has prepared a feast of fat things “before the face of all people; — have we found satisfaction in the heavenly provision? or, like the rich one3 of earth — the self-righteous, the voluptuous, and the rationalists — are we passing empty rway? In the atonement wrought out by God’s dear Son, do our faint and sin-hurt souls welcome a cordial like reviving wine; and have the Saviour’s words of grace come to our spirits like cold water in the desert to a thirsty soul? Have we ever felt the hunger after righteousness? and, listening to Christ’s holy words, have we ever perceived in them a Divine deliciousness? and feeling as if our souls began to live by them, have we been ready to exclaim, “Lord, evermore give us this bread?” Are we satisfied with the Lord’s Christ, and with his sin-cleansing, soulrenovating salvation? We are Gentiles: Is Jesus our “light?” Is Jesus our Sun? Has He shone upon our path, and do we now see the way to immortality? Has He revealed to us the Father, and we who once sat in darkness, do we now see God as holy, yet forgiving; as righteous, and yet reconciled? Is Jesus our Lodestar? Do we love Him? Do we eye Him? On the deep, do we steer by Him? In the desert, do we direct our steps by Him? Arc His wishes law to us? Is His pattern our incentive? II13 “well done” our ample recompense? And has Jesus made us luminous? Are webb EARLY INCIDENTS.

radiant with grace and truth received from His fulness? Does His spirit shine in us? Do those that know our meekness, and charity, and zeal, and courage, take knowledge of us that we have been with Jesus?

The last sand from Time’s hour-glass

Shall soon disappear;
And like vapour shall vanish

This old-rolling sphere.

Off the floor, like the chaff-stream

In the dark windy day,
From the fan of destruction

Shall suns drift away:

And the meteors of glory

Which wilder the wise,
Only gleam till we open

In true worlds our eyes.

But aloft in God’s heaven

There blazes a Star,
And I live whilst I’m watching

Its light from afar.

From its lustre immortal

My soul caught the spark,
Which shall beam on undying

When the sunshine is dark.
So transforming its radiance,

Its strength so benign,
The dull clay burns a ruby

And man grows divine.
To the zenith ascended

From Joseph’s dark tomb,
Star of Jesse! so rivet

My gaze ‘midst the gloom;

That thy beauty imbibing

My dross may refine,
And in splendour reflected

I burn and I shine.