Disenchantment

“Of whom is Hymeneus and Alexander, whom I have delivered unto Satan that they may learn not to blaspheme.” — 1 Tm. i. 20.

SURELY that is a strange school in which to learn such a lesson! It reads like saying,

“I have sent my boy to a desert island that he may have some idea of the earth’s population,” “I have sent my girl to a bear-garden that she may have some notion of the charms of music.” Is it not equally grotesque for Paul to say, “I have sent these two young men to the school of Satan that they may acquire a sense of the horror of blasphemy.” No, for in this last case there is a peculiarity. The lesson we are to get about sin is not so much a learning as an unlearning. The young men in this passage, like all other young men, were under a delusion.

They thought that sin was a beautiful thing — a thing worth imitating. They dreamed of it as men used to dream of lands beyond the sea — as something which afforded scope for heroism. It seemed a grand thing to be thought naughty, to be labelled “dangerous.” It was so like a cavalier to care for nothing, so like a trooper to swear, so like a brilliant man to break tender hearts. Paul says: “They are looking at a squalid village from the top of a hill; it seems picturesque in the distance. I will give them a near vision. I will loose the rein. I will let them go down. They shall taste the apples of the tree. They shall drink the waters of Marah. They shall touch the thorn which, afar off, seems so fair. And then the disenchantment will come. They will find a flaming sword in their fancied Eden. They will call upon the Cherubim to shut them out; they will pray to the trees to hide them. They will see that they have erred — mistaken the serpent for a seraph. They will stretch out their hands towards the vanished past; they will yearn for their undimmed yesterday.”

I bless Thee, O Lord, for the words, “That they may learn not to blaspheme.” They tell me in wondrous language that Thy mercy is not confined to the heavens — that it reaches even unto the clouds. Often Thou sayest, in human life, “Ephraim is joined to his idols; let him alone!”

I used to think it meant that Thy mercy had abandoned the man. ButnowlI see it all. Thou hast suffered the lad to go to sea just that he may learn the hardship of it, the pain of it, the privation of it. Nothing else would have taught him. Seen from the distance, the ship looked Fairyland. The white sail caught the sun and the blue wave bathed the keel and the flag danced responsive to the breeze; and the boy clapped his hands and cried, “Let me go!” And Thou saidst, “Go!” Thou hast answered the prodigal’s prayer to have his portion apart from Thee. Why didst Thou answer that prayer, O my Father? Because to Thy sight there were present the swine-husks and the faintness and the famine. Thou knewest that the music and the dancing were not in the land he sought — that he would only find them in Thee. Thou knewest that the ring and the robe were not in the spot he coveted — that he would only greet them in Thee. Thou knewest that the fatted calf was not for the feast he wanted — that he would only enjoy it with Thee. Thou knewest that when he saw sin near enough he would cry for the house of his Father. Therefore didst Thou answer his wicked prayer; therefore, O Lord, didst Thou let him go — not to kill but to cure, not to slay but to save, not to punish but to purify. Thou hast banished to beautify; Thou hast exiled to extricate; Thou hast forsaken to fortify; Thou hast deserted to defend. Thou hast withdrawn Thy hand that Thy hand may be cherished for ever; bless the Lord, O my soul!