Murmurs

“And Moses and Aaron said unto all the children of Israel, At even, then ye shall know that the Lord hath brought yon out from the. land of Egypt: and in the morning, then shall see the glory of the Lord; for that he heareth your murmurings against the Lord: and what are we, that ye murmur against us? And Moses said, This shall be, when the Lord shall give you in the evening flesh to eat, and in the morning bread to the full; for that the Lord heareth your murmurings which ye murmur against him: and what are we? your murmurings are not against us, but against the Lord.” — Ex, xvi. 6-8.

Murmuring! It must have been a malady characteristic of the Hebrew people, or a disease peculiar to that desert. As we proceed with this narrative we are constantly meeting it, creaking along: in discord harsh and chronic, or amazing earth and heaven by its shrill, ear-piercing paroxysms. They lift up their eyes, and as the Egyptians pursue, the people murmur. They come to a fountain, the water is bitter, and once more they murmur. Then there is no water at all, and of course they murmur. Then no bread, murmurings renewed. Next bread without flesh; murmurings redoubled. Moses is long in the Mount; murmurs. He takes too much upon him; more murmurs. When shall we reach that promised land? — murmurs extraordinary, loud miumurs. We are close to the land, but its inhabitants are giants, and their towns walled up to heaven. Oh, what a take-in! and the last breath of the last survivors of that querulous race goes forth in a hurricane of reproach and remonstrance — a perfect storm of murmurs.

What a good thing that the race is exterminated! Was it not fortunate that all their carcases fell in the wilderness? Would it not have been a great pity if any of that root of bitterness had found its way into the goodly land, so as to infest with its cleaving burrs and envenomed spines the pleasant fields of Palestine?

But are you sure? This weed so noxious, has it really gone into the fossil flora? — this vice so hateful, is it utterly extinct and only known amongst the crimes of history? Then why last week, “What a pity that I am not beautiful! Why did not God give me a fine voice or handsome features — something that would have made me be followed after and admired?” Why yesterday, “Is that a dinner for a Christian V [Under one cover there was nothing but manna, and the other was only quails.] Why this morning such fuss and fury because a chimney smoked, or because in some well-meant arrangement of your papers a tract had been mislaid which you wished to read? Why that monotone of peevishness, discontent, fault-finding which runs through the lives of many, and which, if noticed, unhinges and makes unhappy those around them, and which, if no notice be taken of it, renders their own rage still fiercer? You call it climate, weather, a flaw in the peptic processes, the Englishman’s privilege of grumbling. But we fear that if the truth were known, it would turn out an old disease with a new name. It does not need much Hebrew to ascertain that it is nothing more nor less than murmurings.

But what ’s the harm of it? Why, this harm: God was good to Israel. He had done for them what He never did for any nation. He had chosen them for Himself as His peculiar treasure. Stooping down upon them. He had snatched them from chains and tyranny, and at that very instant, as on eagle’s wings, was bearing them to a good land and a large. And they should have been thankful and trustful, and remembering that they were in the arms of Omnipotence — those arms which had snatched them from under the scythed chariots of Pharaoh, and which, flying over the Eed Sea billows, did not let them drop into its weltering waters, — would it have been too much if, in any emergency, they had calmly stood still to see God’s

p salvation, and if in their daily march they had made the passes re-echo with their songs of rejoicing? God was good to Israel, and, as praise is comely, He would have delighted in aught that betokened consciousness of His benefits and trust in His care. Instead of this they soon forgot His mighty works, and from over the graves of these grumblers the Lord proclaims to His people in all time, “Harden not your hearts as in the provocation, as in the day of temptation in the wilderness: when your fathers tempted me, proved me, and saw my works. Forty years long was I grieved with that generation, and said, It is a people that do err in their heart, and they have not known my ways. Unto whom I sware in my wrath, that they should not enter into my rest.”-^

Am I wrong in surmising that this is peculiarly a sin of God’s people? not that they are more apt than others to indulge in complaints and despondency; but do they not tolerate in themselves a peevish, foreboding, murmuring spirit to a degree to which they would be terrified to indulge almost any other sin?

And is it not wicked? Are you not under the cloud — the guiding pillar? Have you not the hope that God for Christ’s sake will take you to heaven? Have you not been baptized into Christ? Do you

1 Ps. xcv. 8-11. See also 1 Cor. x. 1-12.

not profess to be His disciples, and in Him have you not often found as often as you sought it refreshment for your soul — spiritual meat and spiritual drink? And should not the thought of your high distinction fill you with habitual gratitude, and so with habitual happiness?

And is it not unwise? This creating of your own crosses, this embittering of your own mercies, this chiding with your lot, this quarrelling with the Most High, this falling- out with fellow -pilgrims, is it not foolish and unwise? What advantageth it you that God is good, if you neglect His gifts or push them from you? What the better will you be of the Saviour’s grace and power, if you cannot trust Him? What the better are you of all the blessings which God sends you in providence and in the gospel, if you won’t allow that they are meant for you — if instead of closing over them the warm and thankful hand of faith, you nibble at them with the long metallic pincers of a technical theology — if, instead of taking home that great cargo of blessings which Christ sends you in His word, and living on them day by day, you leave them miles off in the bonded warehouse of your creed?

Oh, my friends, far be from us the heartlessness which would make light of real afflictions, or which would speak as if there were no such thing as pain and sorrow. But the sorest sufferers are seldom the loudest complainers, and by bringing God near, a real affliction usually drives murmurs far away. “I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because Thou didst it.” “For this shall every one that is godly pray unto Thee. Surely in the floods of great waters they shall not come nigh unto him. Thou art my hiding-place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.” We have seldom found a true mourner who murmured. The struggle might be hard but the strength was imparted, and we have so often seen the peace which passeth understanding keeping the heart from which a great joy had departed, that — like the blind man when asked, “What shall we do to make this man happy?” and who answered, “Put out his eyes” — we have sometimes felt that for causeless complaints and fanciful grievances there is a remedy real though dreadful in an actual bereavement. And this suggests that the true relief under little and every- day trials must be found where we seek for support under great tribulations.

And what is that? Like the Israelites we have our Shekinah — our cloud of glory and of guidance in which God hath put His Name, — only more articulate and nearer hand, in the Volume of the Book. The very sight of it should be reassuring. In its mere presence there is a source of hope; in its great and precious promises there is everlasting consolation.

But when we consult it more particularly, we find that to bring our own spirits into the right state, they need to be under the direct influence of God’s Spirit. How it is that He reaches our minds and works upon them we hardly know, but that He can do it we are told, and that if sincerely asked He will. If we are selfish. He is benevolent: if we have faint love to Christ, He loves Him and delights to glorify Him; if we are slow to believe. He is the author of faith and can make us trustful; if we are complainers, He is the comforter. And if we being evil know to give good gifts to our children, our heavenly Father will give His Holy Spirit to them who ask Him.

And let us remember our mercies. If you had seen the chosen people on the Eed Sea shore, — with that returnless rubicon between themselves and the house of bondage, and their persecutors still as a stone beneath its molten sepulchre, — you would have said, “0 Israel, who is like unto thee, a people saved of the Lord? The deliverance of this day will never depart from your memory, and all the rest of your pilgrimage you will continue singing to the Lord who hath triumphed so gloriously.” And yet one little week destroyed the tune, and changed hosannahs into murmurs. And we shall mncli mistake if we imagine that any single mercy, however surpassing, can of itself awaken life-long thankfulness or even secure habitual happiness. I have known people surprised into enormous fortunes, and after the first rapture was over they relapsed into their wonted suUenness, and wandered about amidst their wealth with the old verjuice in their tempers and the old scowl on their faces. And I have seen men rejoicing on the Eed Sea shore, — tears in their eyes and rapture in their looks, — because they had escaped from Satan’s bondage, and feeling as if they could never lose this blessedness; and even these I have lived to see dwindle down into “murmurers, complainers, and spots in the feast of charity.” And this mainly because they had forgotten God their Saviour, and the wondrous things He had done for them.-^ And whilst this confirms what we have already said, — that in order to keep up the memory of a mercy we need a Eemembrancer, one constant as is God Himself, and who can come near our spirits as God’s Spirit can; it also shows that we ought to stir up our own minds by way of remembrance. That great deliverance, — the salvation wrought by Christ, and Christ Himself. Sabbaths are invaluable mementos, and so are sacraments, and all high and hallowed seasons. But over and

iPs. cvi.21, 22.

above we must put forth an active effort. “We must stir up our minds, we must look back, and look around, and try to revive the feeling with which first we stood on our Eed Sea shore, and shouted, “The Lord is my strength and my song, and he is become my salvation.”

Then, suppose we try to invert the process. We are ingenious in finding out desiderata: it may not be the best Latin, but it would be an excellent habit if we tried to find out the suppeditata, — the wants that have been supplied and the blessings that have been sent even without our asking. A mighty inventory : — The Saviour — The Word of God — The hope of glory — The pardon of sin — Eternal life, even now begun — The Holy Spirit — Our British bu’thright — Our nineteenth century — These books — These friends — This family circle still in sight — And other members in Heaven — This morning’s meal.