Elisha the Imitative

As I pause before the figure of Elisha, perhaps the thought suggested to a bystander will be, Why do you make ¢/zs a representative man! Is not the most distinctive feature about him just his want of originality! Is he not almost a direct copy of the form and face of Elijah — so direct that, if there were no name inscribed below the Picture, we should deem it simply a second likeness by an inferior hand! If so, why /inmger over the second delineation! We have seen the fire in the eye of the master; why pause to describe in the disciple the same eye wzthout the fire! Should we not be better employed if we passed to fresh woods and pastures new!

Let me admit at once that the parallel zs

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ELISHA THE IMITATIVE gieay

striking — far too striking to be the result of accident or unconscious workmanship. Elijah and Elisha are twin figures — what the one does, the other does. Their lives are set to the same music; the latter is the refrain of the former sung by a weaker voice and tuned toa slower measure. Does Elijah smite the waters of Jordan; Elisha does so too. Does Elijah ascend Mount Carmel; Elisha does so too. Do the words of Elijah cause a bloody tragedy; the words of Elisha do so too. Is Elijah appealed to in times of drought; Elisha is so too. Does Elijah multiply a widow’s store; Elisha does so too. Does Elijah raise a widow’s son; Elisha raises one too. Does Elijah carry his beneficence beyond the confines of Judaism; Elisha does so too — if the one ministers to a woman of Zarephath, the other cures the captain of a Syrian band. Finally, does Elijah in his last earthly moments hear the triumphant cry, ‘ The chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof;’ Elisha in Azs last earthly moments listens to the same sound, and experiences at the hour of death what his master had experienced at the hour of ascension.

If, then, I admit this remarkable parallel, if I regard Elisha as a designed imitation of Elijah, why do I not pass him by as a repetition of old material? It is because this imitation of character is itself in the Old Testament Gallery a new and unique thing. I do not know whether it has occurred to any one that the relation of Elisha to Elijah supplies a desideratum in the Gallery. Amongst the figures of this collection I look in vain for any evidence of that community of mind which in the New Testament is called fellowship. Up to this point we have not found in these studies two men who have been united by similarity of spirit. The one has rather been the complement of the other, has supplied what was lacking in the other. Isaac has little likeness to Abraham; Joseph moves in a different sphere from Jacob; Solomon has few points in common with David. Joshua may be called the disciple of Moses, but only in a figurative sense. He is more a servant than a son; he carries out his orders, but he does not stand with him on the Mount. The truth is, kindred sympathy is a very rare thing to get. Personal liking — the feeling that subsisted between David and Jonathan — is very easily acquired; but the congruity of thought, the identity of experience, which made the bond between Elisha and Elijah — that is something which is never acquired at all; the germ of it must be born in each soul. To exhibit this double portion of one experience is a work which may well absorb the interest of the religious artist.

This, then, is a case of intellectual friendship which is unique in the Old Testament Gallery. I have said that in germ Elisha must have had from birth the spirit of Elijah. But the question occurs, To which of the Elijahs was he allied? We have seen that there were two — that one died in the cave of Horeb, and that the other came out of the cave full-grown. Elisha never saw the first; his personal contact was with the second. The second Elijah, the Elijah who emerged from the cave, was of a gentler nature than the first; he had abandoned for the still, small voice the wind, the earthquake, and the fire. Elisha was by nature allied to this later Elijah. God had given him a tender heart, a heart of love. When first we meet with him, it is in the circle of family life; and we have evidence that his ties of home were dear. Elijah finds him at the plough and calls him to quit the world for the prophetic sanctuary. He asks to be allowed to bid his father and mother goodbye. And that goodbye is a fine revelation of character. He makes a feast to his old friends. He wants them to understand that he has not parted with them in anger, has not left the world because the grapes are sour or the vintage bad. When a man is going abroad, we often give him a parting dinner to wish him well. But if a man going abroad gives us a parting dinner, the act has a still deeper significance. It says that, however prosperous he may be in the new country, he wishes it to be understood that the old land will still be dear to his heart. He says, in effect, I do not leave you through disgust; I do not quit you through disapproval; I do not say that it is bad for you to remain; I part from your world not in a blast of anger, but in a flood of joyous memories which, even while it bears me away, repeats the echoes from my native shore. Elisha, then, even in the hour of his election, is no ascetic. He brings to Elijah a human heart. It was the latest and the best gift Elijah had ever received — a pure earthly friendship. Elisha gave him his heart, his whole heart, his unrestrained heart. I cannot too strongly emphasise this point; it is something unique in the Old Gallery. Men had hitherto come to God through a crucifixion of their human nature. They had approached Mount Sinai with fear and trembling; they had drawn near the burning bush with uncovered feet. But Elisha comes unshorn of his humanity. He comes to the Divine Presence in the dress of a man, with the heart of a man. He is drawn to the heavenly Father by the love of an earthly drvother. He is not ashamed, from the very outset, to lean upon a human arm. This utilising of earthly help remains his characteristic through life; it colours every sphere through which he moves. I will take four of these spheres — the moral, the intellectual, the zsthetic, and the practical. We shall find, I think, in each, abundant material for reflection and abundant sources of suggestion.

The first illustration of Elisha’s tendency to use secular help is in his moral choice. His master, Elijah, has a premonition of his own early removal. He asks the disciple what mark of his favour he would like best to receive as a parting gift. Elisha answers, ‘Let a double portion of thy spirit be upon me!’ By ‘a double portion’ I understand ‘a repeated portion — a repetition of your own experience.’ It is the request for a token of human love. He does not wish the grace of God to be for him a supernatural thing. He wants to be like some one whom he loves, and whom he loves on account of his goodness. Is not Christianity the selfsame prayer on a higher plane. Is it not simply the wish that in our hearts the grace of God would assume the likeness of one whom we love — the Man Christ Jesus. Like

Elisha, we cannot worship an abstract grace. We must see it embodied if we are to love it. Our desire to be clothed in it must be the desire to be clothed in the likeness of one who was dear tous. St. John was animated by a human love of Jesus; therefore he does not say, ‘When He shall appear we shall be good,’ but, ‘When He shall appear we shall be like Him.’

That Elisha’s aspiration was the request for a token of love is confirmed by Elijah’s answer, ‘Thou hast asked a great thing; nevertheless, if thou see me when I am taken from thee, it will be so unto thee; if not, it shall not be so. He says that whether his disciple’s desire be or be not granted is a question that can only be tested by Elisha’s future remembrance. Separated from the figurative envelope which contains them, his words amount to this: ‘The test of a kindred Spirit is sight in absence. Can you sustain that test? Can you see me when I am taken up? Can you feel the power of my presence when that presence is no longer with you?

Can you be impelled by my influence when I have withdrawn my hand? Can I be a motive to your life when I have ceased to be in touch with it? If so, then you have indeed received into your soul a duplicate of my image! You have proved your possession of a kindred nature; you have maintained your right to wear my mantle!’

Remember that the test proposed by Elijah is also the test proposed by a greater than Elijah. What else does Christ mean by the parable of a man going into a far country and bidding his servants work till his return, It is to ascertain whether they are fit for the mantle, whether they have received his spirit. The test of that will be their power to think of his presence in his absence, to feel as if he were near when he is far away. The evidence of the disciple’s communion with Christ is identical with Elisha’s evidence for his communion with Elijah; it is the ‘seeing him who is invisible, the bending to an influence which is not manifested either to the eye or to the ear or to the hand. Elisha saw Elijah after he was taken up, the disciples worshipped Jesus after the cloud had received Him out of their sight; in both cases it was an evidence that the mantle had descended.

Elisha, then, was helped to the grace of God by a human love; and that human love abode with him long after its object had been hid from his outward sight. It is the first instance of the kind we have met with in the Great Gallery; but it has been the forerunner ormimany similar’ experiences, There) are hundreds whose belief in God sprang at first from belief in Man. There are hundreds who have given their allegiance to the Divine by fixing their eye upon some beauty in the human. There are hundreds who, like Elisha, have served the God whom they have zoz seen simply because they have loved the brother whom they dave seen. This old Painting is not superannuated, not dead. It is living, breathing, vitalising. It is mirrored in myriad lives; it is reproduced in countless experiences; it is a picture which is not Jewish nor Greek

nor Roman, but human. It expresses, not the bias of a nation, but an instinct of the heart; and therefore its colours are not dimmed by time — they are as fresh and vivid to-day as they were in the streets of ancient Israel.

The second illustration of Elisha’s secular attitude will be found in the intellectual sphere. He has been left alone; the master whom he loved has passed into the silent land. Elisha has no doubt that he has been translated into heaven; he is as sure of that as he is of his own existence. But Elisha is a professor in a college. He has the Chair of Apologetics — the direction of what was then called‘ The School of the Prophets.’ He has a host of young men who listen to his instructions, and for whose training he is responsible. These young men are tinged with the spirit of a new age — an age of rationalism. They are very unwilling to admit a miracle. They are eager to reduce everything to natural causes. They propose to subject the belief in Elijah’s ascension to scientific experts. They suggest that his chariot may have been one of the wild blasts of the desert. Instead of being taken to heaven, he may have been carried to the summit of some hill, where he may be lying bruised and broken. Will not Elisha allow a search to be made. Instead of cherishing a mystical exaltation, will he not let fifty strong men go forth in search of the vanished prophet. If they should find him, it would be the death of sentiment, but it might produce a result which would prove more valuable than any sentiment — the preservation of a physical life.

At first Elisha said, No; but afterwards he said, Yes. That saying ‘Yes’ is to my mind one of the finest things in old literature. Why does he say ‘Yes’? Is it because he has any doubt of the truth of his first impression? He has no doubt. But he has cast himself down from his own pinnacle; he has put himself in the place of his students; he has tried to live in the experience of those who have less strong faith than himself. He feels that he has Elijah for his model. Did not Elijah hold a council for research on Mount Carmel — Elijah who needed no investi-

se gation, no argument. Should the disciple be above his master. Might not he, Elisha, do what was virtually done by the prophet of fire. If his master could sink himself to help idolaters, might not e sink himself for the sake of his own students. Should he not go down to them who were as yet unable to come up to hkzm.

Now, I say this was grand in Elisha. If all his prophetic powers should come to be ignored, he ought to live by this deed alone. It was the best lesson he ever gave to his students — this accommodation to their intellectual need. It is a lesson for professors as well as students. I would say to a teacher: Never force your certainty upon your pupil. Borrowed convictions are of no value. Command not assent to former testimonies — not even to the authority of your own vision. Let the pupil search for Elijah. Let him seek him on every hill; let him inquire for his steps in every valley. Lend him all facilities for the search. Open every avenue; unlock every gate; clear every barrier that would impede his way. At the end of many days he may reach by climbing the height which you have gained by a moment on the wing.

The third of those spheres in which Elisha leans upon material help in the things of Divine grace is the esthetic region — the attempt to exhibit the beauties of holiness. Elisha has gone to meet three kings. It is a period of political emergency, and they have summoned him into their presence to ask his counsel. Elisha is impressed with the august character of his audience. He wishes to speak well. He is not only desirous to do his duty in the sight of God, but to magnify his office in the sight of Man. He has the feeling which belongs to every popular preacher — the wish to produce an esthetic effect upon his hearers; and it is a feeling which is quite compatible with the most earnest religious devotion. Accordingly, he wishes to rise to the occasion. In order to do so, he would like the aid of a stimulus. The stimulus he selects is music. ‘Bring me a minstrel!’ he

says. He feels that he would speak better if he has a pleasant environment; he evokes the aid of nature to help him in the sphere of grace.

Now, this is a very startling thing. We all admit the power of natural beauty in the region of natural work. That a poet is helped by a sunbeam, that a literary style is influenced by fair surroundings, that imagination is stimulated by a starry night or quickened by a mountain view — all this is universally accepted. But in the sphere of grace we are apt to think such helps superfluous. We are apt to believe that the Spirit of God is a solitary agent acting by its own strength and conquering by its own power. We think of the beauties of holiness as themselves sufficient to inspire. Shall the heavenly manna seek an ally in the earthly music! Shall the hand of God work in unison with the harp of man! Shall the soul be aided to its vision of Divine glory by listening to the strains of a purely human melody, and thrilling to the notes of an instrument with

mundane strings!

Elisha says, Yes; he calls for a minstrel before prophesying. The minstrel was probably a man vastly inferior to himself, and was perhaps not a religious man at all; yet Elisha was not ashamed to use him for the service of God. Was he here again influenced by the memory of Elijah, by the tendency to imitate his master? Did he remember how that master was fed by ravens? Did he remember how the mightiest was supported by the ministration of the meanest? Did he remember how the mere secular forces of life had been made to serve the kingdom of God? I think it likely. Elisha must have felt that if the tempestuous soul of his master could be content to be fed by earthly streams, the quiet river of his own life might well be thus satisfied too. At all events, he was content. He was Satisfied to sun himself in a. worldly beauty, to cheer himself into the work for God by a study of the work of man. In his moment of spiritual exhaustion he sought a secular stimulus. At a time when he had nothing to draw with, he let a Samaritan bring the pitcher. In the hour when his alabaster box was broken, he allowed his costliest treasures to be carried in earthen vessels.

And the Christian Church has followed the example of Elisha. The voice of that Church has ever increasingly been, ‘Bring me a minstrel!’ She began wzthout the ministrel — in the humble precincts of an upper room. But she found that she needed stimulus. She was marching as an army to battle, and, like an army marching to battle, she required a blast of music. Christianity has ascended the hill to the tune of trumpets on the plain; the feet of the Christian soldier have moved in unison with the measure of an earthly melody. The religion of the Cross has proceeded up the Dolorous Way crowned with the flowers of the world’s field. It has availed itself of every secular aid. It has beautified the places of its worship. It has imparted human graces to its heavenly services. It has cultivated by natural art the voices of its choristers. It

has sent its prophets to drink at the wells of worldly wisdom. It has given a literary form to its liturgies. It has incorporated with its psalmody the sentiments of men wo¢ called inspired. When we see the Christian Church ascending, we cry with Elisha, ‘The chariots of Israel and the horsemen thereof!’ but we feel that the chariots and the horsemen belong to different worlds — that the horsemen are of heaven, the chariots of earth.

I come now to the fourth of these spheres in which Elisha allies himself to the secular; it is the practical sphere — the sphere of the physician. The incident to which I allude is the healing of Naaman the Syrian. He is a leper, and he repairs to Elisha in the hope of a cure. Elisha tells him to bathe seven times in the waters of Jordan. Naaman is incensed; he thinks the prophet has insulted him. Why so? Myriads of sermons have been written on the subject; and the prevailing note of all has been that Naaman was offended by the simplicity of the proposed remedy. Do you think that likely! If I go to a doctor, expecting to be prescribed a drastic operation, and if I am told instead simply to bathe in cold water,am I not likely rather to congratulate myself than to feel angry! Naaman himself says in the narrative that he would have been content with something much more simple — a mere touch of the prophet’s hand. The sting lay in the fact that the prophet himself took no fart in the cure. He handed Naaman over to the powers of Nature — to the waters of Jordan. Naaman wanted to be the subject of a supernatural influence — to be directly favoured by the emissary of the God of Israel. That emissary, instead of calling in mysterious helps, instead of engaging in prayer or indulging in incantations, sent him to a bathing establishment and told him to continue his attendance there until the cleansing process was complete. Naaman very naturally felt that he might have found such institutions nearer home. The entire ground of his anger lay in the knowledge that Elisha was not eager to be thought the agent in the cure, that, instead of being proud to have so august a patient, he had calmly handed him over to the care of one of his assistant physicians — to the medical skill of the waters of Jordan.

What to Naaman was a source of anger is to us a source of satisfaction; we are glad that Elisha, when he sought the help of God, sought it through the channels of Nature — that he claimed the secular forces as workers of the Divine will. But I think that here, as elsewhere, Elisha was influenced by that personal memory which had been his constant suide. Why does he send Naaman to the waters of Jordan? Was it not because these waters embodied the latest memory of him whom he loved — that memory which had imparted to Elisha himself a healing touch in every hour of weariness, and had inspired him with fresh strength amid the burden and heat of the day. It was on the banks of Jordan that he had gazed on Elijah almost for the last time; it was on the banks of Jordan that he had seen his very last act of power. It was love’s latest image in his soul. In sending Naaman to Jordan, he felt that he was sending him to

Elijah. He was putting him in hands that were mightier than his own: He was evoking the spirit of his departed friend to help his healing work, nay, to be the sole agent in that work. He says, in effect, ‘I commit this man into thy hands; thou who hast smitten the waters of Jordan, smite, wfon these waters, the leprosy of Naaman!’ From first to last the spirit of Elijah had remained his guiding star. It had spoken to him from the silent land. He had dedicated everything to its memory, to its example. To that memory he dedicated the waters of Jordan too. They were; to him, sparkling with the sunset of yesterday, and he sent the leper Naaman to be partaker of their beams.

THANK Thee, O Father, that in the Pictures of the Great Gallery there is a memorial to human friendship — to the love of two human souls. I thank Thee that Thou hast suffered Elisha to be swayed by the memory of a departed friend; it is Thine own imprimatur on the sacredness of earthly love. I thank Thee that Thou hast allowed my heart to wear the mantle of the departed. Thou hast not forced me to think of the chariots and horsemen that have borne him away. Thou hast permitted me to picture my Elijah in the old scenes. Thou hast allowed me to figure him on the heights of Carmel and on the banks of Jordan. Thou hast suffered me to hear his footsteps on my earthly way — to be guided by his example, to be inspired by his remembrance. Why hast Thou not bid me jorget? Why hast Thou not told Elisha to think of his own way and let his friend rest behind the veil? Why hast Thou counselled him to look up and see if any mantle from his vanished friend is falling? Is it not to tell him, to tell me, that love is eternal! Is it not to tell me that the chariot of fire cannot part human friendships! Is it not to tell me that the fire of death cannot burn up the mantle of earthly influence! Often in the vision of departing chariots I am complaining

of the wasze of life. I see men taken up before their work is done, and I weep for their unfinishedness. Teach me by this scene in the Great Gallery that Elijah can finish his work from Jeyond the grave! Teach me that the box of ointment is zot wasted when it is broken! Teach me that the fragrance can fill the house when the fragments are on the floor! Teach me that a departed life may hold in my heart an empire which no /vesent life can claim! So shall I learn the immortality of love!