Into the Desert

“Oh, souls which sit in upper air,
Longing for heavenly sight,
Glimpses of truth all fleetingfair,

Set in unearthly light;
Is there no knocking heard below.
For which you should arise and go,
Leaving the vision, and again
Bearing its message unto men f

“Sordid the world were vision not,
But fruitless were your stay;
So, having seen the sight, and got

The message, haste away. Though pure and bright thy higher air. And hot the street and dull the stair, Still get thee down, for who shall know But ’tis the Lord who knocks below f”

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HILIP, the Deacon, was engaged in a great work in the city of Samaria, when suddenly an angel came to him and bade him go to the south, into a desert region. It seemed a strange command, but Philip instantly obeyed. “He arose and went.” This is a fine example of the kind of obedience the Master wants in all His followers. There must be no asking “Why.^” or “How.f” no postponing of obedience. Philip was popular and successful in Samaria. People thronged to hear him preach. He was doing a great work and was absorbed in it. We can imagine him, when he heard the angel’s bidding that he should leave the city and go away into a desolate place, where nobody lived — we can imagine him looking into [211] the messenger’s face and asking, “Why?” But not thus did he answer. It was the Master’s work he was doing, and the Master knew where He wanted him.

Any of us may be called any day to go out from our ease and comfort into some way which is desert. No reason will be given. We shall not be told what the work is that needs us and awaits us there. It will be a self-denial and a sacrifice for us to obey. But we have nothing whatever to do with the reasons for the call, or with its ease or comfort. We may think the work we are doing now still needs us, that it would be destructive to it for us to lay it down or pass it to other and untrained hands. But we are not to raise any question. All is the Master’s work, that in Samaria where now our hands are so full and where God is blessing us so abundantly, and that out on the desert road which needs us and is awaiting our coming. If the Master says, “To the desert,” He knows why He wants us there. Somebody is waiting there in the desert for our coming.

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We have nothing to do with the question of comparative need here and there. Sometimes men are heard asking about the relative importance of certain fields. We do not know what fields are most important. No one would have said that the desert way toward Gaza was a more important place for Philip just then than the crowded city of Samaria. Yet in the Master’s eye that was true. Jesus needed His faithful servant and co-worker to explain a passage of Scripture to a perplexed man journeying that way. We do not know where He may need us to-morrow. We must be ready to go wherever He would have us go.

“‘Tis written that the serving angels stand Beside Gods throne, ten myriads on edch hand, Waiting, with wings outstretched and watchful

eyes, To do their Master’s heavenly embassies. Quicker than thought His high commands they

read. Swifter than light to execute them speed. Bearing the word of power from star to star — Some hither and some thither, near and far.” [213]

The Master may not always call us away from activity to other activities. Sometimes He calls His servants out of the work altogether, to rest awhile. Activity is not the only kind of service which fulfils God’s will. “They also serve who only stand and wait,” wrote blind Milton. Not always, however, do we accept the Master’s guidance with submission and joy when He calls us away from the white fields to the desert. We think we cannot be spared from the place of service. A Christian woman was lamenting her illness, which had kept her away for a long season from her loved work. There were shut-ins she had been visiting every month — she could not visit these any more. There was her class in the Sunday-school, in which she was deeply interested. She had hoped to lead some of them to Christ this winter. There were sorrowing neighbors and friends to whom she wanted to go with sympathy and comfort. She had many interests of Christ’s kingdom on her heart to which she wished to devote these days. But instead of her doing all this [214]

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needed and blessed work for her Master, these services of love which her heart prompted, the angel met her and said, “Arise, and go toward the south unto the way that goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza: the same is desert.” So she found herself called away from useful toil and loving service to what seemed idleness, wasted time, in a sick-room. The experience is not unusual. But when thus called apart, do we obey as cheerfully as Philip did? “He arose and went.” Rest is not always idleness. Inactivity is not always uselessness. The sick-room or the invalid’s chair is not always desert. Philip found work, blessed, far-reaching work, in the desolate place where he was sent. Our place of retirement may be a very garden of God to us. We may find a table spread with heaven’s food for us in the wilderness. We are in this world not only to do all the good we can — to comfort others, to help people over hard places, to plant churches, to do mission work — we are here to grow into the beauty of Christ, we are here to do the will [215] of God. The desert may be to us a holier, more fruitful, place than Samaria. We know at least that wherever the Master sends us any day is the best place in the world for us that day, the nearest heaven of all places on the earth. We are Christ’s, to be used by Him, when, where, and how He will use us, or to be laid aside, if that is His will for us. George Klingle writes:

A little tool am I; just one within His hand;

Just His to choose,

And His to use;
Shaped out at His command.

If He should lay me down, perhaps I might he sad,

And wonder why

He put me by.
And never more be glad.

Yet I would surely know, whatever He might do —

However choose
His tool to use — His love was strong and true,
[216]

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Just looking in His face, although my heart might break,

I could hut know

He loved me so
There could be no mistake.

It is interesting to follow Philip as he leaves Samaria and journeys along toward Gaza. It is not unlikely that he wondered as he went on what the important errand was on which he had been sent. He did not know what duty was waiting for him. He knew he had been sent into the desert for some purpose, and so he went on, cheerful, watching and ready. At length he saw a chariot driving along the highway. “Go near, and join thyself to this chariot,” said a gentle voice. So Philip had found his work. The rich man in the chariot was in need of his help. He was reading the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, and he could not understand who the person was of whom such strange things were said. Philip understood, and showed the traveller Jesus pictured in the words. We do not know any morning as we go out what the Master’s errand for us that day will be. We go with sealed orders. But have you ever thought that you are intrusted with a message from God for someone, or for many, each day.? To-morrow you will meet some fellow-pilgrim who has a question he cannot answer, one that is sorely troubling him. God made your paths to cross — yours and his — just that you might answer his question for him.

There is no chance in this world. Jesus said that God numbers the very hairs of our heads. This means that the smallest things in our lives, the least important incidents, are included in our Father’s plan, in His care of us. In an old English poet, not much read now, is this line:

*’It chanced — Eternal God that chance did guideJ

The meeting of PhiHp and the nobleman that day in the desert was chance, as men say, but we know that Eternal God that chance did truly guide. We see it in the story. God sent Philip to that desolate region that he might [218] ginto tle lmvt

meet the Queen’s treasurer and carry a blessing to him. We see the secret working of God in this one case. May we not believe that the same divine love and wisdom work continually in what seem the chance meetings of ourselves and others? It is always true that all the ten thousand crossings and touchings of human paths each day have a divine purpose in them. You have an errand to every person you meet. You are sent to him with comfort, cheer, encouragement, sympathy, help, and you will fail your Master if you do not deliver your message or impart your comfort or minister your good.

We should look upon everyone we meet in any of the tangled paths of our intercourse and association with men, as a brother to whom God has sent us with something the other greatly needs. If we realized this, our heart would go out to him in love and interest, eager to be a friend to him, to feed his heart hunger, to make him braver, stronger, happier, a better man. We owe something to him — this man we meet. We owe him our love. [219]

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He needs us. We have something which God gave us to take to him.

The errand of Philip to this man in the desert was of the highest kind. It is a good thing to give a hungry man bread or a thirsty man a cup of water. The Good Samaritan did a noble service to the wounded man bleeding to death by the wayside, in providing for his care. It is a great thing when we are faithful in giving physical and temporal help. But there is a higher way of blessing others. When God sends you to those who are poor, in need, or suffering, do not put them oiF with money alone — if you do they will starve. Give them something of yourself; give them human interest, sympathy, love, kindness, something that will feed their hearts as well as put coal on their fire or bread on their table. Give them also the bread of life.

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