Numbers 21:4-9 And they journeyed from mount Hor by the way of the Red sea, to compass the land of Edom… To all of us constantly a choice is offered; a choice of many names but of one significance, a choice which may be described variously, but which is fundamentally the same. It is the choice between law and licence; between pleasure and duty; between the flesh and the spirit; between God and Satan; between worldly life and heavenly hope; between intemperate sensualism and sober chastity. In some form or ether — great or small — this choice comes daily and almost hourly to all of us. But sometimes the choice comes to us in life in a concentrated, in almost a final form. The supreme hour, the distinct crisis, comes to us, at which we must definitely and consciously turn either to the right hand or to the left; must decide for ourselves between the God of our fathers and the strange gods of those among whom we dwell. It comes to all; it comes at any period of life; but perhaps in this deliberate form it comes mostly in youth. The boy at school has to make up his mind whether he will attach himself to bad companions and to forbidden pleasures, or fling them off with all the strength of his soul, and all the aid which he can win from prayer. The young woman has to decide between dress, self-assertion, the acceptance of flattery, the assertion of a spurious independence, the listening to the serpent tempter, the long gaze on the forbidden fruit; or, on the other hand, modesty, readiness to be guided, respect for the warnings of experience, the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit which is in the sight of God of great price. The youth of the poorer classes has to make up his mind whether he shall be a lounger at the tavern or a worshipper in the Church. But though the choice is in any case infinitely momentous, it is not necessarily final. There is, indeed, in human lives a law of habit, a law of continuity, which ever tends to make it final. Even the choice itself depends on all that has gone before it. The present decision is swayed by all the past. The shadow must have been creeping on the dial-plate before its black line marks the hour; and the clock must have accomplished its thousands upon thousands of tiny tickings before the great hammer-stroke can clash out that it is noon. And when the choice has been made, when we are definitely on the side of Satan or of God, the powers that make it the Armageddon field of their mighty battle do not at once or for ever leave it utterly alone. Now, the Israelites, of whom we read in this chapter, had long ago made their choice, and, by God's grace, chosen right. They had been in the land of Egypt — the house of bondage. Coarse plenty, ignoble servitude, the starving of every noble impulse, the death of the soul amidst the comforts of the body — this had been their too common let. Fish and melons and leeks and cucumbers and garlic and the rich water of the Nile — these they had enjoyed in plenty, and to marry and bring up a low race of ignoble slaves. Myriads in this great city are at this moment in the land of Egypt, in the house of bondage; having plenty to eat and drink and live on — able to gratify every sense and sate every passion; but yet slaves — slaves of society, slaves of self, slaves of Satan, slaves of their own worst passions. And from this base, low life of serfdom and gluttony, one man awoke the Israelites. At first they misunderstood, rejected, vilified him. But at last God's breath breathed upon these slain, and they began to live. The voice of Moses roused them. He thrilled them with the electric shock of liberty. So, making their brave choice, the children of Israel left the land of Egypt, the house of bondage, and went forth into the barren wilderness. It was a harder life, but a life oh, how far more noble! There was no garlic or leeks, but they were free. They were not fattening in fleshly comfort, but the great winds of God could now blow on the uplifted foreheads of men who were no longer slaves. The type of it all was this: there were no fleshpots, but there was manna; so men did eat angels' food for He sent them meat enough. And what a difference between the two kinds of food! Not the coarse, steaming messes, reeking and rich, meet for the sensual and full-fed slave; but a honeydew which lay on the ground — small, white, glistering, exquisite, delicate as the food of heaven, but evanescent as morning tears. And in the first flush of freedom, in the purple dawn of enthusiasm, it was delightful, it was ennobling, to gather and to feed upon these pearls of the morning, which renewed the body, but did not encarnalise the soul. And they had made their choice, and they were glad like men. But then, as they plodded along the barren wastes, like the dead levels of middle life, came to them the temptations and the reactions of which I have spoken, and the necessity of renewing their choice, and not being discontented with it-of abiding by it, and not repenting it. The gross spell and baleful sorcery of Egypt returned like a wave of mud over the souls which God had freed. The spirit of the slave remained in them; the reek of Egypt's fleshpots seemed to float back to their nostrils; they loathed the light "bread"; they sighed for the onions and the garlic and the rich water and fat, sluggish fields. Has not this sketch taught its own lessons? The one special lesson which I want to bring home is the training of the spiritual sense — the danger to the table of the Lord from the table of devils; the guilt of dallying with old temptations, the peril of furtive glances towards the doomed forsaken city. When God's children hunger for righteousness, He impearls for them the ground with the manna-dews of heaven; but when they lust for quails, their food breeds plague and is loathsome unto them; and fiery serpents sting the diseased appetite, and at last the gorged prodigal craves, and craves vainly, for the husks of swine. For instance, God fills the world with water. The great sea rolls its pure, fresh waves of violet, and the tropic sun evaporates them, and they are distilled in the sweet laboratory of the air, and the wings of the winds winnow them free from the impurity amid the soft clouds of heaven, and they steal down in dew and silver rain, and hang like diamonds on the grass, and gladden the green leaves, and slide softly into the bosom of the rose, and bubbling through the mountain turf become the rivulets and the rivers, and are the sweet, wholesome, natural drink of man and beast, and we thank God for these springs of health, and disease drinks and sleeps. Now to the simple, natural, noble taste this is enough; it delights us. But man has distilled, in his laboratories, a fiery flaming spirit; and what sweetness is there in water to the coarsened palate, the inflamed thirst, the parched tongue, the vitiated taste, the depraved craving of the drunkard? How can that which is sweet and simple and natural contend with the brutifying attraction of oily, maddening, scorching drams, which poison and degrade? The taste for spiritual things — for the things of God — is like the pure, cool, delicious wholesome, but unmaddening, unseducing water; the drink of Egypt, the drink of the house of bondage, and the drink of the drunkard, and the madman, and the sensualist, is like that dissolved spirit of evil which is ruin, and sickness, and disease, and death. Again, the honest life — the life which scorns unjust gain, which hates the false balance and the deceitful weight; the life of the tradesman or the professional man who will not make haste to be rich, who will suffer no shoddy, no cheating, no adulteration, no double prices — its gains are steady, perhaps, and slow, and moderate. But when a man sees his unscrupulous neighbour, apparently prospering by fraud, getting rich by rapid dishonesty, gaining by gambling speculations, is it not woe to him if the manna of honesty begins to pall, and to grow insipid to his taste; if he begin to sigh for the fleshpots of Egypt rather than the manna of God; for the dross and refuse of base earthly success, rather than the pure, wholesome righteousness of just and honourable toil? Once more — the law of duty; of simple allegiance to the law of God; of self-restraint for His sake; this is manna. But if the youth tire at this, suffer it to pall upon him, murmur at it; revert in memory to conquered temptations; how can the taste of the manna survive the reek of these Egyptian fulnesses? How can the violets of purity and humility bloom and shed their fragrance under the coarse, foul upas tree of sensual passions? And in all these cases God — God in His mercy — sends fiery serpents to avenge in His children His forgotten, His violated laws. Oh! let God's manna be dear to you; beware lest it pall upon you; beware how you grow weary of well-doing, and discontented with the gifts and ordinances of God. Oh, may God help us to cultivate all sweet and wholesome and spiritual tastes! If you do get to loathe the holy life — the manna of God — be sure that God has many a fiery serpent left in the wilderness for you; and oh! if you have already been bitten by that fiery serpent wherewith He punishes for sin, remember that "As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so the Son of Man was lifted up, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (F. W. Farrar, D. D.) Parallel Verses KJV: And they journeyed from mount Hor by the way of the Red sea, to compass the land of Edom: and the soul of the people was much discouraged because of the way. |
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