Incapable of resisting the combined assaults of jealousy, rage, and revenge, the poor foreigner is driven from the roof of Abraham. She fled into the wilderness with the view of returning to her native country, but was suddenly arrested in her flight by an angelic messenger, who admonished her to return to her mistress, and pacify her by ready and unconditional submission. He also predicted the character and habits of her future offspring, mentioning the name by which he was to be called, and consoling her in this season of tribulation by an assurance that "the Lord had heard her affliction." She instantly retracted her steps; and, as no intimation is given to the contrary, we may infer that the fugitive was restored to her situation in the family. She was humble, and Sarah conciliated: and as we hear nothing of her for some years, they probably lived in tolerable harmony. It was a merciful interposition to send her back to the family of Abraham; for a connexion with the people of God, whatever may be their faults, is far more desirable than the richest inheritance, or the noblest alliance, where religion is discarded or unknown.

[Sidenote: Years before Christ 1898]

As the birth of the Egyptian's son was attended by no divine congratulations, Abraham is still permitted to pass thirteen years more in a state of suspense respecting the promised child; when at the age of ninety-nine, the covenant is renewed by another revelation. On this remarkable occasion his wife received the name by which we have uniformly called her, Abraham being distinctly assured of her predestined privilege as the mother of the promised seed. A similar change of name was conferred upon the patriarch. Hitherto he had been called Abram, a "high," or "eminent father;" now he is to be Abraham, "the father of a great multitude." His beloved wife, who had been called Sarai, "my princess," was in future to be distinguished by the name of Sarah, "a princess," denoting a more extensive honour. If he were to become the Father, she was to be the Mother, of "many nations."

Having already witnessed the misconduct of Abraham's wife on two memorable occasions, it would be highly gratifying to hear, in the next circumstance of her history, that she acted worthy of her connexion with so illustrious a husband, But alas! we are still necessitated to derive instruction rather from a record of her faults than of her excellencies. We must expect to witness a variety of these in every human character, combined only with comparatively a small number of shining graces. Indeed we find, in general, but one very distinguishing good quality associated with those of a different complexion; and if the plant of grace spring up and grow in the human character, it is usually in a thicket of inferior principles and unholy propensities. While, therefore, engaged in the cultivation of our hearts, in "keeping them with all diligence," as the wise king of Israel expresses it; one very important duty we owe to ourselves is to watch the appearance of these irregularities, and aim, by unremitting attention, united with fervent prayer, to eradicate them from the moral soil. In Sarah we see as great a luxuriance of evil as can be imagined to blend with real piety, without essentially deteriorating it.

Sitting one day at the door of his tent to enjoy the refreshing shade, [8] Abraham observed three strangers approaching, whom he hastened to meet, that he might offer them any temporary accommodation in his power. This act of hospitality was conformable to the usage of the country; but the peculiar generosity of Abraham seems indicated in his running to meet them. The invitation is immediately accepted; and the good old man, with the most obliging readiness, offered water to wash their feet, and bread to satisfy their hunger. He hastened to Sarah, directing her to make some cakes of fine meal, and bake them on the hearth; and then went himself to the herd to choose a tender calf, which he immediately proceeded to dress. Butter and milk, the produce of their own pasture, were of course supplied. The venerable patriarch then took his respectful standing under the branches of a neighbouring tree, which afforded a pleasant screen from the sultry sun. What exquisite simplicity is discernible here! what a subject for the painter! what a theme for the poet! what an example for the good! Three heavenly messengers at the humble table of one of the greatest men that ever inhabited this world—a patriarch—a prince—the father of the faithful—the friend of God—venerable for age—distinguished by his hospitality—still more eminent for faith!—their canopy the overarching sky—their shelter, the wide-spreading tree—flocks and herds grazing around, the indications of an industry which Providence had blessed with remarkable success—and the plain of Mamre spreading its luxuriance before their eyes!—

But we must hasten to the remarkable subject of their conversation. At present the patriarch did not suspect the real character of his visiters; who introduced their intended communication by asking, "Where is Sarah thy wife?" This must have excited great surprise; for how could strangers know the affairs of his family, and the particular name of his wife, which had been so recently changed? He informed them, however, that she was in the tent, where, according to the prevailing custom of the times, she had her separate table. One of the angels, immediately personating Jehovah himself, if he were not, as appears probable, the very "Angel of the Covenant," gave this solemn assurance: "I will certainly return unto thee according to the time of life; and, lo, Sarah thy wife shall have a son!" Sarah, whom curiosity had brought to the door of the tent to listen to what passed, overhearing this assurance, and looking upon it as an impossible occurrence at her time of life, laughed in derision. She had long come to the conclusion that she should produce no son to Abraham, and, therefore, that all such expectations were chimerical and ridiculous. This excessive incredulity—excessive, because a distinct assurance of the fact had been already given to Abraham upon the occasion of their change of names—was highly culpable; but while we denounce it with merited severity, let us examine our own hearts. Have we never acted in a similar manner? Have we never distrusted the providence of God or his promises? Who can plead exemption from a spirit of unbelief? What surmises have agitated our bosoms, when the events of life contradicted our expectations? What despondency have we shown, and what distrust, when the movements Omniscience were incomprehensible to our reason, and opposed to our apparent interest? If but one part only of the divine proceedings seemed incongruous, we have dared to arraign "the whole stupendous plan;" if but "a momentary cloud" arose upon our prospect, we have begun to fancy that order was at an end, that the sun had for ever disappeared, that God had "forgotten to be gracious, and in anger shut up his tender mercies." Let us then aim to correct these irregularities of feeling, and to dismiss these misinterpretations of providence.

Sarah imagined that her contemptuous incredulity was only known to herself: but the heavenly visiter instantly detected it, and appealed to Abraham on its impropriety. Possibly the reason of addressing Abraham, rather than calling the culprit herself to an account, was to inflict the severer reproof. Ah! how vainly do we strive to conceal the secret thoughts of the mind from the knowledge of God! His eyes, which run to and fro through the earth, penetrate through every disguise, and perfectly discern every inward motion as well as every outward action. We live every moment—in the darkest midnight as well as at the brightest noon—in the full blaze of Omniscience. "O Lord, thou hast searched me and known me: thou knowest my down-sitting and mine up-rising; thou understandest my thoughts afar off."

Incapable of enduring this exposure, the criminal now rushes from her concealment, and boldly calls out, "I laughed not." This was a direct falsehood, dictated by apprehension; and it was confronted by the instant retort of him who knew her heart: "Nay, but thou didst laugh." It is possible that Sarah had some mental reservation, when she so flatly denied the assertion of the angel: she might persuade herself that she did not absolutely laugh, but only smiled, or felt contempt; but whatever mode she might have adopted to explain away her conscious guilt, it was unavailable, as every such unworthy subterfuge must always prove.

We cannot help remarking the danger of the least deviation from the path of rectitude. One sin prepares the way for the commission of another; one step over the edge and boundary of uprightness may lead us down a precipice, and plunge us into a fatal series of crimes. We have already seen an exemplification of this remark; and it is more strikingly illustrated in the present transaction. Curiosity brought her to the door, where she was soon betrayed into unbelief: detection soon produced a fear of censure; this dread produced a ridiculous attempt at concealment and self-justification; and the pride of her heart issued in exciting her to a deliberate falsehood. Notwithstanding her incredulity, however, Sarah shall bear a son, to be the spring of innumerable blessings to her posterity. Thus infinite goodness overrules the perverseness of his people, as well as the wrath of sinners, ultimately to promote his own designs.

If, on this occasion, the daring transgressor had been smitten to the earth by an instantaneous judgment, it must have been regarded as a proper expression of the divine displeasure. Her repeated provocations merited the severest chastisement, and would undoubtedly have justified such a proceeding. The thoughts of Jehovah, however, are not as our thoughts, nor his ways as our ways. There is nothing vindictive in the character of the blessed God; and if he have on certain occasions launched the thunderbolt upon the guilty heads of sinners, the circumstances have shown that the atrocity of their iniquities has required a signal visitation. How far punishment of this nature may be necessary in any particular case, it is not for beings limited in their views as we are to decide, but simply to rely on the wisdom of him, who, with a due intermixture of severity and mercy, justice and grace, conducts the affairs of the universe.

Overawed by the angelic presence, and mortified by an inward consciousness of her folly and sin, Sarah uttered not another word. She could neither vindicate her incredulity, nor extenuate her false assertion; and though she proceeded to great lengths, we are happy to find that she sufficiently restrained her intemperate passions to retire in silence.

From this moment we trust she assumed another character. Reflection restored her to her right mind. She dismissed her criminal doubts, and resigned herself to the divine disposal. As the predestined period of her giving birth to the child of promise was approaching, her faith produced the liveliest sensations of joy; and both she and Abraham exulted in the prospect of a son. That this was the state of her mind, we are assured from indisputable authority: "Through faith Sarah herself received strength to conceive seed, and was delivered of a child when she was past age, because she judged him faithful who had promised."

Perhaps we may be disposed to say, it was time she did believe. After such remarkable manifestations, and such reiterated promises to Abraham, it would have been passing strange had she continued incredulous. Surely there was enough to convince her, that, whatever difficulties nature might present, grace had determined to overcome them, and that every reasonable and every possible evidence of the intended miracle had been given. But is it so unusual for mankind to resist the most convincing arguments, and to disbelieve even the most obvious truth, that the case of Sarah ought to be regarded as so extraordinary? Have we not daily proof of a similar obstinacy and perverseness? If it be observed that Sarah possessed great advantages, being connected with so excellent a man, and so great a favourite of Heaven as Abraham, and being visited by angelic messengers, and instructed by celestial visions; this may be admitted. But do not those who reject the truth of Christianity, or disobey its precepts, act a more criminal as well as unreasonable part, inasmuch as they enjoy all the instruction and all the experience of past ages? And is it not a more outrageous defiance of Heaven to oppose the reality of its manifestations, after successive centuries have demonstrated the truth of predictions once mysterious, evinced the nature of facts once misunderstood, dispersed the typical shadow which once enveloped the sublimest discoveries of infinite wisdom, and poured upon a benighted world the full blaze of evangelical revelations?—Sarah doubted the possibility of an occurrence which was attended with striking difficulties, and evidently miraculous; but what censure do not they deserve who shut their eyes against the clearest light, perplex with sophisms the most intelligible statements, and endeavour, by every exertion of a slanderous tongue and a malignant pen, to subvert the basis of our religious hopes, and to undermine a fabric which has stood the test of ages, giving repose and refreshment to millions of heaven-bound pilgrims on their journey!

To draw the circle of reflection closer.—If our inconsistencies were written in a book—if the instances of our unbelief amidst evidences, of our failures in temper and spirit, of our misimprovement of the peculiar advantages of our situation, were recorded for the warning of others—is there any probability that we should acquire much honour by a comparison with the wife of Abraham? We do not indeed justify her faults, but let us not overlook our own. We have better means, and brighter discoveries. In these last days God hath spoken unto us by his Son. We are, through faith, become the children of Abraham, interested in the new covenant, introduced into the family, and admitted to the friendship of God. We have seen the visions of patriarchal days, the promises and blessings of the ancient dispensation, the memorable and terrific descent of Jehovah on Sinai, the prefigurations of the Mosaic economy, the personal glories, the incarnate love, the agonizing death, the triumphant ascension of the Son of God: we enjoy means of instruction which no other age did or could possess. And wherein consists our superiority to former saints, even those whose imperfections are the most conspicuous? Surely, the observation may be retorted upon many hearers and professors of the gospel, in reference to their too frequent instances of inconsistency—it is time you did believe!

[Sidenote: Years before Christ, 1897.]

The birth of Isaac, the promised seed was attended with great rejoicings. His very name, signifying laughter, was expressive of the happy occasion; and Sarah, in the ecstacy of her mind, exclaimed, "God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear me will laugh with me." The birth of a child is naturally the subject of joy and congratulation; but the introduction of Isaac into the world, who had been so long and repeatedly promised, demanded and excited unusual satisfaction. Sarah, who introduced him with a mother's joy, nursed him herself with a mother's care. She was ignorant of the cruel absurdity which modern refinement has invented, of separating the tender offspring from its proper guardian and provider, and thus not only exposing it to many inconveniences and hardships, but nullifying the wise and kind arrangements of Providence. Alas! nature, reason, and religion, must all be violated in compliance with fashion! Need we feel surprised that barbarity should produce alienation, and that she who refuses to show tenderness, should fail of receiving attachment? Is it at all astonishing, that habits and sentiments foreign to domestic comfort should be acquired; and that, when proper discipline and personal superintendence are neglected, the young plant should shoot into unsightly irregularities of spirit and character?

How soon may the brightest day be overcast with a cloud! How liable are our best enjoyments to interruption! The weaning of Isaac was celebrated with great festivities; upon which occasion this favourite child was recognized as Abraham's heir. This excited the displeasure of Ishmael; which the jealous eye of Sarah observing, she insisted upon the instantaneous expulsion of mother and son from the family. We are sorry to witness any revival of the old spirit; but, in this world, unholy passions cannot be totally eradicated. We should hope, however, there was more reason, as well as religion, in her displeasure on this than on a former occasion. The young man was, probably, ridiculing the whole ceremony, and deriding the parents, the child, and the promise; for passion and prejudice are never very discriminating in their censures. Ishmael was, in fact, of a wild, ungovernable temper; but we have no evidence that the provocation was sufficient to justify the proceeding of Sarah, in peremptorily demanding the expulsion of the mother and her child. Thus did Abraham's concubinage continue to imbitter his domestic peace; and the good old patriarch was again placed in a most difficult and perplexing situation.

Whatever feelings may be supposed to have dictated the resolution of Sarah, it was coincident with the designs of God; and Abraham, who had certainly sought divine direction, was commanded to comply. This would, no doubt, quiet the feverish anxiety of his mind; for a consciousness of doing the will of God, however contrary it may be to our natural inclinations, is sufficient to smooth the roughest path of duty, and to lighten the heaviest burden we may be called to sustain. Abraham, in this, as well as in various other instances, displayed exemplary faith. The bitter draught, however, was somewhat sweetened. It was difficult to parental feelings to concur in so severe a measure; but some gleam of futurity was afforded to enlighten the darksome but appointed path. "And God said unto Abraham, Let it not be grievous in thy sight, because of the lad, and because of thy bond-woman: in all that Sarah hath said unto thee, hearken unto her voice; for in Isaac shall thy seed be called. And also of the son of the bond-woman will I make a nation, because he is thy seed."

Notwithstanding the faults to which we have found it necessary to advert, Sarah was unquestionably a great character. She not only stands recorded in the New Testament amongst those who were illustrious in ancient times for their faith, but is exhibited as a pattern of domestic conduct. Her defects were but occasionally visible, being commonly concealed amidst the brightness of her numerous excellencies. Her obedience to Abraham is specified by the apostle as a laudable singularity, which, in connexion with other virtues, he thus recommends: "Likewise, ye wives, be in subjection to your own husbands; that if any obey not the word, they also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives; while they behold your chaste conversation coupled with fear.—Whose adorning let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price. For after this manner, in the old time, the holy women also, who trusted in God, adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands, even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose daughters ye are, as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement."

[Sidenote: Years before Christ, 1859.]

Seven and thirty years after the birth of Isaac and when Sarah had attained the age of one hundred and twenty-seven, we come to the conclusion of her "mortal story." Her death, and the respect paid to her memory, are related with a circumstantial minuteness which is truly honourable to her character. This affecting event occurred at Kirjah-Arba, or Hebron, in the plain of Mamre, where Abraham came to bemoan his loss. Venerable man! thine was no common mourning! Thou didst not merely sit upon the ground, assuming the customary attitude of grief; but thine were genuine sorrows! What big tears of undissembled pain poured down thine aged cheeks! How did affection recal the days, and months, and years of delightful union, which time had strengthened, but death had now dissolved! And yet, while nature demanded this tribute of fond remembrance, religion had taught thee to moderate thy distress, and to elevate thy hopes to a brighter world, where holy friendship, begun on earth, shall be purified and perpetuated through everlasting ages!

The longevity of ancient times, and especially of the antediluvians, naturally excites surprise; but what a dream is human life, even at its most protracted period! How soon do even centuries elapse! How solemn the consideration, that the flood of ages, which has swept from the surface of this globe so many millions of our predecessors, however firm may have been their health, or numerous their years, or eminent their characters, is daily impelling us forward to the "house appointed for all living." Their pilgrimage terminated, and so must ours: their earthly relations were dissolved, and their places in society were vacated; and soon the place which we occupy, shall "know us no more." The stream flows on, and we cannot arrest its course. Happy for us, if it should appear that we are going to join the society of the blessed; if, possessing the faith of Abraham, we have reason to indulge the hope of being eventually transported to his bosom!

Sitting in imagination at the grave of Sarah, and blending our sympathizing tears with those of her honoured husband, what a lesson may we learn respecting the vanity of human life! The flower whose exquisite beauty and attractive sweetness once excited so much desire, is faded, and mingled with common dust! There lies a form, which was so lovely and so beloved, to furnish a repast for creeping worms! How bereft of that spirit which once animated it! How altered and defaced by the putrifying touch of mortality! Here the race of life terminates; and to this loathsome dwelling, the proudest, the fairest, the wealthiest, the most celebrated, and the most elevated of our race, must sooner or later descend! "Prepare to meet thy God!"

We may take a momentary glance at another consideration. In order to answer the great end of their being, in order to be furnished with adequate means for the employment of their immortal faculties, and for possessing that plenitude of felicity of which their sanctified natures are capable, the saints of God must be removed out of the present world. Often do they exclaim, "I loath it; I would not live alway:"—"O that I had wings like a dove; for then would I flee away and be at rest!"

This prevailing wish accords with the purpose of Heaven. Infinite benevolence cannot allow a spiritual and sanctified character always to be imprisoned within the narrow confines of flesh and blood. It could never be satisfied to assign the objects of its affection so mean a portion as the pleasures and the possessions of this inferior state of existence. They must die to be perfectly blest. This earth will not do for a Christian in the maturity of his character. It is too vile, and too transitory. Its gold is but dust—its applause, a puff of noisy air—its sparkling pleasures, but polluted cisterns—its richest gifts, but bubbles, which, if they reflect the fairest colours of the rainbow, break when they are grasped, or dissolve as we approach them, into mist and nothingness! "Set your affection on things above:—the things which are seen are TEMPORAL; the things which are not seen are ETERNAL!"



Hagar.

Chapter III.



Retrospective Glance at the History—Hagar—the Wilderness—Angelic Manifestation—Divine Promises—a View of their Accomplishment—Hagar's Piety—her second Banishment and Distress—another Interposition—Providence illustrated.

The contention between the wife of Abraham and her Egyptian handmaid, has already been the subject of animadversion; but although their histories are considerably blended, some features in the character of the latter, and some affecting circumstances of her life, have been hitherto omitted, which seem to claim a separate notice.

That retreat into Egypt, which was in some respects so dishonourable to the integrity, both of Abraham and Sarah, was overruled for good. Pharaoh showed great kindness to the patriarch, on account of his fair companion, who he had been led to suppose was his sister; and according to the custom of the age, and the high station of her admirer, he presented him with "sheep, and oxen, and he-asses, and men-servants, and maid-servants, and she-asses, and camels." No doubt it was at this time Hagar was introduced into this pious family, and left her native country to accompany her mistress and master upon their return.

The handmaids were a sort of female slaves. They were considered as the unalienable property of their mistresses, who claimed the produce of their labour, and even the children they bore. [9]

Sarah's impatience for offspring, and the rash policy of her urging Abraham to take this Egyptian servant as a concubine, have been already mentioned, as well as the unhappy differences it occasioned in the family. We have seen the pride of Hagar, the petulance of Sarah, and the consent of Abraham that she should be banished from their dwelling. Let us follow the fugitive into the wilderness, and observe the extraordinary result.

It was the evident intention of Hagar to escape to her native country. She went into the wilderness of Shur, which extended between Canaan and Egypt, where she sat down for refreshment by a spring of water. Whatever degree of blame we may impute to her in this precipitate removal from the house of her pious master, it is impossible not to pity her melancholy situation. Alone, and unbefriended by any human being; surrounded by a thousand perils in the desert which stretched its cheerless solitude before her; expelled from a family where she had so long resided, and where she enjoyed so many advantages; uncertain of her future residence; and in a condition which peculiarly claims our sympathy with the female sufferer; her history cannot but excite inquiry, and produce interest. There was an eye that watched her movements and her tears. In a short time she is addressed by an unknown voice, which proved to be the voice of one of those ministering spirits that are employed to execute the designs of infinite goodness. "Hagar," said he, "Sarah's maid, whence earnest thou? and whither wilt thou go?"

The knowledge of her past history which this question indicated, must have convinced the poor, fugitive that this was some divine visitation; and she immediately answered, "I flee from the face of my mistress Sarah." This was a simple, direct, ingenuous statement. Here was no concealment; no prevarication respecting the whole truth; and how much better was this than any attempt at evasion or dishonesty! We are not, indeed, always obliged to disclose our circumstances to every inquirer; but, if we do, our words ought to be the exact representation of the case: for, sooner or later, integrity will be advantageous both to our character and our real interests.

The reply of Hagar was, moreover, creditable to her temper, Sarah and her handmaid had parted under circumstances of mutual provocation; and the latter had, no doubt, suffered very indignant treatment. But she does not avail herself of this unexpected interview to enter upon her own justification, or to produce a long and formal charge against her mistress. The mere fact of her expulsion is stated without any comment. It must indeed be admitted, that her introduction into the family of Abraham placed her in that inferior condition in which Sarah possessed an indisputable right over her person; and it must be also admitted, that she had manifested a very unwarrantable vanity in despising her for barrenness; yet, judging from her dispassionate language to the angel, we should infer that she was naturally of a more patient disposition than her mistress, and is in this view worthy of the imitation of young women whom Providence consigns to the same menial state. How many would have been clamorous and peevish, hasty in censuring their mistress, and forward in vindicating themselves! They would have obtruded the story of the fancied injuries they had sustained upon every occasion, and wearied with the ridiculous recital, every one who might be found willing or unwilling to hear their complaints. But Hagar, simply and without any marks of irritation or resentment, stated the reason of her being alone in the wilderness at the fountain of water.

If our idea be correct, we have here a specimen of a no very unusual case. Some who have no claim to the distinction of religious persons, which at present was the probable character of Hagar, frequently possess a mildness and amiableness of disposition which is peculiarly attractive; while those who undoubtedly belong to the superior class of the pious and devout, exhibit unhappy defects of temper and disposition. The former resemble the flowers of the wilderness, beautiful indeed, and fragrant, but wild; the latter, those of the cultivated garden, blooming like the rose among thorns. The loveliness of those who are otherwise "far from God," excites our admiration, and wins our regard; while the unsightly "temper flaws" of such as generally class with the servants of God are repulsive and disgusting. In consequence of this, the distinction between the two essentially different characters, is not always sufficiently marked, or very perceptible; the excellence of the one elevating them almost to the dignity of saints, and the defects of the other sinking them almost to the meanness of sinners. But we should be cautious in passing our judgment, lest we also be judged. Let us not undervalue the sterling worth of the genuine Christian, because it is blended with some obvious, or even some glaring incongruities. Let us equally beware of attributing undue value to the good qualities of the worldling, and thus annihilate the distinction between the natural and spiritual character.

It was happy for Hagar that the angel was sent to arrest her progress. After her explicit declaration of the reason of her flight, she was directed to return to her mistress, and submit herself. This was, perhaps, a hard saying, and a haughty spirit might easily have raised ingenious and perverse objections; but we have additional evidence of this young woman's good disposition, in her receiving the mandate with a silent obedience of spirit. Her best interests were likely to be more promoted by her returning into a pious family, notwithstanding all its faults, than in going to reside amongst the idolaters of her native country; and thus, when she knew not how to choose for herself, the goodness of God was displayed in appointing the bounds of her habitation. This command would prove to her, and should teach us, that whatever provocations or injuries we may have sustained, these cannot justify a wrong proceeding; and we should hasten to retrieve our error by retracing our steps.

This, however, was only the secondary purpose of the present remarkable manifestation. Words of astonishing import immediately followed. Hagar was promised a numerous offspring, although the Messiah was not to descend from her; and the promise was pronounced in a manner so solemn, so significant, so overwhelming, that her eyes were opened to see it was no other than the patriarch's God that assured her of a participation in the patriarch's blessing. "And the angel of the Lord said unto her, I will multiply thy seed exceedingly, that it shall not be numbered for multitude. And the angel of the Lord said unto her, Behold, thou art with child, and shalt bear a son, and shalt call his name Ishmael; because the Lord hath heard thy affliction. And he will be a wild man; his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him; and he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren." Similar promises were afterward reiterated: "Behold, I have blessed him, (Ishmael) and will make him fruitful, and will multiply him exceedingly; twelve princes shall he beget, and I will make him a great nation."—"And also of the son of the bond-woman will I make a nation, because he is thy seed."—"I will make him a great nation."

These predictions have been minutely accomplished. The posterity of Ishmael may be traced in the Ishmaelites, the Hagarenes, the Itureans, and Arabs; especially the Scenites and Saracens, the latter of whom erected one of the largest empires in the world. To this day the Arabs are not only a distinct people, but possess the original character of their father, fierce and unsettled, living in a state of perpetual hostility against the rest of the world. Every attempt to subdue or extirpate them, has proved abortive. The Egyptians and Assyrians were equally unsuccessful, and whatever partial dominion Cyrus and the Persians might obtain, they could never penetrate the interior of the country, or reduce them to tributary subjection. In vain did Alexander plan their destruction; the hand of Providence interposed to prevent it by his death. The Romans could never conquer Arabia; and they continued to molest their neighbours by incessant incursions. Under Mohammed they became a mighty empire, and though it was ultimately dissolved, they still maintained their liberty in defiance of the Tartars, Mamelukes, and Turks.

"Who," inquires a great writer, "can fairly consider and lay all these particulars together, and not perceive the hand of God in this whole affair, from the beginning to the end? The sacred historian saith, that these prophecies concerning Ishmael were delivered partly by the angel of the Lord, and partly by God himself: and indeed, who but God, or one raised and commissioned by him, could describe so particularly the genius and manners, not only of a single person before he was born, but of a whole race of people, from the first founder of the race to the present time? It was somewhat wonderful, and not to be foreseen by human sagacity or prudence, that a man's whole posterity should so nearly resemble him, and retain the same inclinations, the same habits, the same customs throughout all ages. The waters of the purest spring or fountain are soon changed and polluted in their course, and the farther still they flow, the more they are incorporated and lost in other waters. How have the modern Italians degenerated from the courage and virtues of the old Romans? How are the French and English polished and refined from the barbarianism of the ancient Gauls and Britons? Men and manners change with times; but in all changes and revolutions, the Arabs have still continued the same with little or no alteration. And yet it cannot be said of them, as some barbarous nations, that they have had no commerce or intercourse with the rest of mankind; for by their conquests they overran a great part of the earth, and for some centuries were masters of most of the learning that was then in the world; but, however, they remained, and still remain the same fierce, savage, intractable people, like their great ancestor in every thing, and different from most of the world besides. Ishmael was circumcised, and so are his posterity to this day; and as Ishmael was circumcised when he was thirteen years old, so were the Arabs at the same age, according to Josephus. He was born of Hagar, who was a concubine; and they still indulge themselves in the use of mercenary wives and concubines. He lived in tents in the wilderness, shifting from place to place; and so do his descendants, particularly those therefore called Scenites formerly, and those called Bedoweens at this day. He was an archer in the wilderness, and so are they. He was to be the father of twelve princes, or heads of tribes; and they live in clans or tribes at this day. He was a wild man, his hand against every man, and every man's hand against him; and they live in the same state of war, their hand against every man, and every man's hand against them.

"This, I say, is somewhat wonderful, that the same people should retain the same dispositions for so many ages: but it is still more wonderful, that with these dispositions and this enmity to the whole world, they should still subsist, in spite of the world, an independent and free people. It cannot be pretended, that no probable attempts were ever made to conquer them; for the greatest conquerors in the world have almost all, in their turns, attempted it. It cannot be pretended, that the dryness or inaccessibleness of their country hath been their preservation; for their country hath been often penetrated, though never entirely subdued. I know that Diodorus Siculus accounts for their preservation from the dryness of their country; that they have wells digged in proper places known only to themselves, and their enemies and invaders, through ignorance of these places, perish for want of water; but this account is far from being an adequate and just representation of the case. Large armies have found the means of subsistence in their country; none of their powerful invaders ever desisted on this account; and therefore, that they have not been conquered, we must impute to some other cause. When, in all human probability, they were upon the brink of ruin, then they were signally and providentially delivered. Alexander was preparing an expedition against them, when an inflammatory fever cut him off in the flower of his age. Pompey was in the career of his conquests, when urgent affairs called him elsewhere. Ælius Gallus had penetrated far into the country, when a fatal disease destroyed great numbers of his men, and obliged him to return. Trajan besieged their capital city, but was defeated by thunder and lightning, whirlwinds, and other prodigies, and that as often as he renewed his assaults. Severus besieged the same city twice, and was twice repelled from before it; and the historian, Dion, a man of rank and character, though a heathen, plainly ascribes the defeat of the two emperors to the interposition of a Divine Power. We who know the prophecies, may be more assured of the reality of a divine interposition; and, indeed, otherwise how could a single nation stand out against the enmity of the whole world for any length of time, and much more for near 4000 years together; the great empires round them have all in their turn fallen to ruin, while they have continued the same from the beginning, and are likely to continue the same to the end: and this, in the natural course of human affairs, was so highly improbable, if not altogether impossible, that as nothing but a Divine Prescience could have foreseen it, so nothing but a Divine Power could have accomplished it." [10]

To return to Hagar. The effect of this angelic visitation was her conversion to the knowledge and love of God. The advantages of her former situation in the family of Abraham, do not seem to have produced any remarkable change of character; but in this the day of her affliction, in this the sad hour of her retreat and solitude, she is taught to pray. So true is it, that "thy people shall be willing in the day of thy power!" How often have those means which to human apprehension seemed best calculated to produce a renovation of heart utterly failed, while the Spirit of God has successfully operated by methods and in situations the least expected to avail! Happy solitude that brings us into the society of God! Welcome affliction that subdues us to his will!

In the transports of holy affection, Hagar addressed Jehovah by a phrase, importing "Thou, God, seest me;" and intimated the unexpected but welcome nature of the discoveries she had made, and of that influence which drew her after God in faith, and hope, and love:—"Have I also here looked after him that seeth me?" As a memento of this wonderful interposition, she named the spring of water by which she was sitting, "Beer-lahai-roi," that is, "The well of him that liveth and seeth me."

Hagar, in adopting this language, expressed her grateful sense of the divine interposition. She felt conscious that in her present circumstances she might have perished alone and unpitied; or, if she had survived, and taken up her residence in Egypt she would have remained destitute of the religious instruction already received, and the future advantages of pious intercourse. Her gratitude was blended with a feeling of humility, a consciousness of unworthiness. What could be more surprising, than that an angel should descend from the splendour of the divine presence, to converse with a poor wanderer in the wilderness of Shur, and console her by such wonderful promises? These benevolent spirits appear to have maintained a frequent intercourse with the best inhabitants of our globe in former ages, and to have been intrusted with the holy ministration of attending the Son of God in his incarnate state. If, since the completion of the canon of Scripture, the necessity of angelic visits be superseded, we ought nevertheless to record the goodness of a superintending Providence. He who forms a just estimate of his mercies, may surely fill the diary of every day with grateful notices, and cannot take even a cursory retrospect of the years of past existence, without recollecting some striking interpositions which should often renew his praise and thanksgiving. Have we not been sustained in weakness, guided in perplexity, healed in sickness, supplied in poverty, or defended in danger? Let not insensibility and forgetfulness add to the already large accumulations of our guilt.

The words of Hagar ought also to be regarded as indicative of pious resignation of spirit amidst the adversities of life. It is common in calamitous circumstances, or in afflictions which seem immediately occasioned by others upon whom we may have been dependent, or with whom we have been in any way connected, to exclaim against the cruelty of our enemy, or the malice of such as have been instrumental in producing our unhappiness; but Hagar utters no complaints against Sarah, who had driven her into the wilderness, where she and her infant offspring might have perished.

This is instructive. Admitting that we are not mistaken in our views, and that others may be really cruel; if we consider affliction aright, we shall leave the instrument to the judgment of God, and be solicitous only of glorifying him, by possessing our souls in patience. Joseph afterward was an illustrious specimen of this disposition. "Now, therefore," said he to his brethren, "be not grieved nor angry with yourselves that ye sold me hither; for God did send me before you to preserve life."

All second causes constitute but the machinery on which the great First Cause operates. If we look merely to them, we shall find an endless source of disquietude: if to him, who regulates the whole system of means, we cannot fail of obtaining satisfaction and peace of mind. Resignation is to be distinguished from a stoical indifference, or a sullen insensibility, occasioned by the conviction that, as afflictions could not be avoided, they must be borne; that it is in vain to struggle or resist; and that our weakness renders endurance necessary, however irksome. It consists rather in a pious acquiescence in the will of Heaven, arising from a persuasion that God knows what is really best for us; and that his dispensations, however painful or opposite to our wishes, will prove conducive to our real benefit. He uses the corrective rod, not the destroying sword. If he amputate the disordered member, it is to save the life.

Cheerful hope for the future seems also to breathe through the expressions of Hagar, in which she is worthy of our imitation. Past interpositions form a solid foundation for future confidence. "Surely," said David, "goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." Disconsolate believer, be assured that the pillar of cloud, which has hitherto directed thy path, shall accompany thee to the very borders of Canaan! "Fear not," says Jehovah, "for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness—I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee."

It is natural to wish to pry into futurity. We are impatient to penetrate the clouds that envelope us, and to discern the distant course which Providence has prescribed for our feet. Curiosity combines with self-interest to urge this inquiry; but the reproof which Peter received is justly merited by ourselves: "What is that to thee? Follow thou me." If we follow Christ, we have nothing to dread; if we desert him, we have nothing to hope. Futurity can be no source of alarm to him who is conscious of acting right. It is filled with no "Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire," but to the distempered imagination of the guilty spirit; and, therefore, if we would escape misery, we must resist sin.

The language in question may be considered as expressive of self-dedication. "Thou, God, seest me," my wants, my wishes, my entire situation! I have no will but thine; no desire but what I readily submit that thou shalt gratify or disappoint according to thy pleasure. If thou inflict chastisement, I will cheerfully sustain it; if thou afford prosperity, I will humbly enjoy and improve it. I will no longer live to myself; I am not my own. I agree to the transfer of all my powers, talents, and possessions to thy service. My whole being shall henceforth be at thy disposal; it shall become thy absolute and inalienable property: this is a "living sacrifice" which I admit to be "reasonable," which I rejoice to believe is "holy and acceptable." In time past I have "sown to the flesh;" let this suffice—another principle influences me—another motive shall evermore predominate.

A resolution of this nature must be dictated by the lowest opinion of ourselves, and the highest idea of God: and what is our proper situation, but in the dust? and where should we place God, but on the throne? To acknowledge this in theory, and to abandon it in practice, is to trifle both with ourselves and with him.

Entire dedication to God is by no means incompatible with the duties of life. It is possible to be "diligent in business," but "fervent in spirit, serving the Lord." We contend not for a voluntary seclusion from society, seeking the retirements of the cloister or the retreats of the wilderness: but we plead with you, whatever situation you occupy, to set God always before your eyes, to act as in his sight, and daily to realize the true character of saints as "strangers and pilgrims on earth." Religion, that flower of paradise, was never intended to "waste its sweetness on the desert air;" but to flourish in society, and to diffuse its sacred perfumes in every walk of life.

This elevation of piety, so far from poisoning the springs of human joy, so far from imbittering the cordials of our cup, will refine every enjoyment and purify every pleasure. It will blunt the keen edge of sorrow, and smooth the asperities of adversity. It will bring down heaven to earth, and render death itself a desirable passage to everlasting life. Let us accustom ourselves to contemplate the most eminent examples of this spirit, that, by daily imitating them, we may, through grace, be progressively "meetening" for the participation of their inheritance.

If it were not Hagar's immediate intention, her language may at least be adopted to express a constant sense of the divine omniscience. No idea is so calculated to animate us in the discharge of duty, or to sustain us in submission to evil. In the ancient Olympic games, how must the consciousness of twenty or thirty thousand witnesses of their efforts have stimulated the Grecian combatants, ranged as they were around them in an amphitheatre, and consisting of the first magistrates of the kingdom! But how much more impressive and awful is the persuasion that the great eye of the universe is upon us in our Christian race; that the "King eternal, immortal, invisible," watches every movement, and beholds with approbation or kindles into wrath, as we persevere or draw back to perdition! He sees in solitude and in society, in the crowded city and the distant wilderness. On the one hand, he witnesses the aversion and rebellion of the wicked; on the other, he gathers the tears of penitence into his bottle, records the petitions of faith in his book, and amidst the music of angels, bends his listening ear to the sighs of the sorrowful.

Let Christians remember that they have a mighty struggle to sustain, but their resources are inexhaustible. They have to contend with the powers of darkness and the corruptions of nature. In the issue of this contest heaven and hell are interested; the one, that you should fail; the other, that you should come off "more than conquerors." Angels are waiting on the shores of immortality to see the final result, and are already tuning their harps to sound your victory through the universe. The ascended Saviour addresses you from the skies: "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

In the preceding chapter, the occasion of Hagar's second banishment from the family of Abraham was related. During the festivities which were observed at the weaning of Isaac, her son indulged himself in profane mockery; the consequence of which was, that Sarah insisted upon the instant expulsion of mother and child. Notwithstanding Abraham's repugnance to this proceeding, he was induced to it by divine a command. Early in the morning he dismissed Hagar and her son, with a bottle of water and some bread, with which she hastened away into the wilderness of Beersheba. This scanty supply was soon exhausted, and the unhappy fugitives became reduced to the greatest distress. What could an unprotected female do in such melancholy circumstances, but simply commit herself to the guidance of Providence, and pursue, though she knew not whither, her adventurous way? Past deliverances ought to inspire confidence in every season of suffering; and we cannot but hope that her mind was long consoled, by the recollection of the heavenly interposition which she had enjoyed sixteen years ago, in her first banishment. No resentful feelings, no irritating language is recorded; and doubtless Abraham dismissed her with as much kindness as the peculiarity of the circumstances admitted.

But behold a most tragical scene. In a few days the water is spent in the bottle. Poor Hagar pants along the solitary desert, turning hither and thither in search of some scanty supply. Not a drop of refreshment is to be found; till at length, arriving at some shrubs, she sat down with her exhausted—and, as she imagined, her dying child, beneath the welcome shade. Nothing but silence and solitude reigned around her. The burning sun had scorched up every sign of vegetation. She was driven from a pious family; but she had no home, no friend, no helper! Officious kindness, which often soothes the agonies of death, was denied her. None were at hand to soothe her mind, or wipe away her tears; and her maternal heart was rent by the distracting expectation of her son's dissolution. At the very point of despair, she left Ishmael under a shrub, and retired to some distance to avoid the sight of his expiring agonies.

Who can imagine the pain of this excruciating moment, or the bitterness of the tears she shed! O what lamentations did she utter, and perhaps what self-reproaches for her undervaluation of past mercies! What regrets that she encouraged, or probably did not suppress and correct, the perverse spirit of her son!

While we pity her desperate condition, we must not apologize for her sins. After the remarkable assurances which the angel had given her on a former occasion, it was criminal unbelief in Hagar to sit down in despondency, and conclude that she and her son must inevitably perish: and yet this is but a specimen of the distrust which is too frequently manifested, even by those who profess to rely upon the promises of God. Happy for us, if, in cases of far less extremity, we have not been tempted to forget our mercies and relinquish our confidence!

The sighs of the lad were heard. An angel again appeared to his desponding mother—"What aileth thee, Hagar? Fear not, for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is: arise, and lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will make him a great nation." At the instant of this address, God is said to have opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water, whence she replenished the bottle, and supplied her fainting son. He revived, and afterward settled in the wilderness of Paran with his mother, and probably maintained her by the use of the bow. So wonderfully does the providence of God accomplish its predestined purposes!

This distressing circumstance in the life of Hagar was a link in a great chain of events, which were connected together by an invisible agency, and held in the divine hands. A superficial observer might see nothing in all that transpired but a curious concurrence of ordinary events. The insolence of Ishmael irritated the temper of Sarah; she procured his expulsion, and that of his mother from her household; retiring in disgrace, she narrowly escaped destruction in the wilderness, and afterward took up a casual residence in the vicinity. But if we pay a proper attention to these events, we shall view them with another eye. Every circumstance was connected with a vast providential plan, and tended to illustrate the power and sovereignty of God in the accomplishment of his designs. The folly of Ishmael, the conduct of Sarah, the compliance of Abraham, the various occurrences connected with the settlement in Paran, concurred to fulfil a divine prediction, and thus to evince the superintendence of God over all human affairs. "Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee, and the remainder of wrath wilt thou restrain."



Lot's Wife.

Chapter IV.



Delusions to which the Young in particular are exposed—Lot's erroneous Choice—Sin brings Punishment—Advantages of Lot's Wife—Her remarkable Deliverance—Her Guilt—General Causes of Apostacy traced, Fear, Love of the World, Levity of Mind, Pride—Doom of Lot's Wife.

"Judge not," said our Saviour, "according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment." This is a maxim which, though originally uttered in vindication of his character against the reproaches of the Jews, is capable of a more extensive application.

Captivated by the fascinating exterior of the world, the prospect of temporal advantage, and diversified enjoyment, how many neglect to regulate their desires by those superior principles which Revelation inculcates, and which alone can secure substantial happiness! The young, especially suffer by this delusion. Lively in imagination, but immature in judgment; easily, and therefore frequently deceived; they are hurried into those premature determinations which cannot be corrected when they come to discover their mistakes. It is to be deeply deplored, when young persons, through refusing to listen to the dictates of wisdom or the suggestions of experienced age, precipitate themselves into misery, and sacrifice to the fleeting possessions and pleasures of this life, the higher interests of another existence. Deeming themselves privileged to disregard, if not to ridicule religion, by virtue of their age, rank, or talents; and living as though they held their present being by no precarious tenure, they trifle away their time in criminal indulgences, and "lose their own souls" by a guilty procrastination. To persons of this class, Solomon suggests a most important truth, in the form of a sarcastic appeal—"Rejoice, O young man in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth; and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes; but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment."

There are also young persons of another description, who, though partially influenced by such motives, possess upon the whole a different character. Their inconsistencies, although highly detrimental, result rather from temporary illusion than from radical depravity. The passions which through grace are habitually subjugated to the yoke of reason and religion, acquire, on some occasions, a momentary ascendency; and, as the apostle describes it, "they do" that which they "allow not," and that which they "would," they "do not." They are, for a time, inveigled by their senses—their eyes are dazzled, and their minds perverted. Their mistakes both of judgment and of feeling, connect themselves, perhaps, with a long series of disasters, neither to be foreseen nor prevented. Sometimes the individual himself does not discover his error for a lapse of years; continuing under the deception, till the course of providential events awakens him from the dream of enjoyment, and successive afflictions restore him to his "right mind."

If at that unhappy moment, when Lot, regarding temporal advantages only, and forgetting his religious dangers, "lifted up his eyes and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every where, before the Lord destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, even as the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt, as thou comest unto Zoar"—if he could have anticipated the melancholy consequences of one false step, surely he would not have chosen the plain of Jordan for a residence, or pitched his tent towards the city of Sodom! Infinitely better had it been for him to have accompanied Abraham to Mamre, or even to have lived in a retired and desolate wilderness.

The most exalted piety does not necessarily exempt the individual who possesses it from the trials of life; but it prepares the mind for enduring and improving them. In some instances, it obviates those external calamities which befall an ungodly world, supplying the means of escaping from many of the punishments and penalties which the wicked suffer; but, in all cases, it prevents that anguish which arises from the secret conviction, that the afflictions of life are the consequences of personal guilt and misconduct—sent, it is true, for their ultimate benefit; but sent in judgment, and expressive of displeasure. Sin is always pernicious. It not only involves the impenitent in present sufferings and future wo, but inflicts even on the people of God, in proportion to the degree in which it prevails, embarrassments and calamities.

If we direct our course by mere worldly considerations, however fair the prospect may seem, the luxuriant plain is likely to become overspread with confusion, and deluged with misery. In consequence of the fatal choice of Lot, he soon became a captive, then a fugitive. He lost his liberty, his peace, his possessions, and finally his dearest connexion in life, by one of those awful dispensations in which the hand of God is so visible, the punishment of sin so striking, and the lessons of divine justice so terrible. We are admonished to "remember Lot's wife;" and truly, her advantages, her deliverance, her guilt, and her doom, furnish so many subjects of instructive reflection.

The ADVANTAGES of Lot's wife were considerable. She was the nearest connection of a "just or pious man;" who though he dwelt in Sodom, the very rendezvous of all the vices, "vexed his righteous soul from day to day," with the "unlawful deeds," and "filthy conversation" of its wicked inhabitants.

Obvious and lamentable as were the defects in the character of Lot, it must, nevertheless, be admitted that he was a man of eminent piety—a piety the more conspicuous, from the circumstances in which he was placed. His fellow citizens were inexpressibly depraved; so much so, that in all the annals of sacred and profane history, we find no parallel example. Sodom was, in fact, one mass of pollution. High and low, rich and poor, seem to have been infected with moral contamination; and every day their excessive immoralities dared the vengeance of Heaven. Lot stood alone and unsupported, struggling against the torrent of iniquity that flowed down every street, and inundated with its filthiness the adjacent cities of the plain.

Society animates the desponding spirit amidst discouragements. It inspires diligence, quickens zeal, and strengthens against resistance. The example of the multitude often operates with pernicious influence in situations where the pious experience considerable co-operation; and considering the weakness of human nature, the force of temptation, the numerous instances of defection which occur even within the pale of the Christian church, continuance in well doing is a just cause of congratulation under any circumstances. But that this holy man should have remained steadfast and immoveable amidst the abominations of Sodom, is a proof of the confirmed stability and superior excellence of his religion. Neither promises nor threatenings, neither ridicule nor flattery could divert him from his course. He was neither to be cajoled nor coerced; but set his face like a flint, and pursued the narrow path of obedience to God with undeviating perseverance. Piety had, in fact, exalted him to a higher sphere, and, like the sun, that pursues his circuit alike through the calm or the stormy day, the obstructions which impiety seemed to throw in his path, proved nothing but cloud and vapour before his resistless progress.

It must have been a singular privilege to have sustained the intimate relationship of a wife to one so excellent, and at a period, not only when immorality had acquired such an odious ascendency in the particular place of their residence, but when there was little religion in the world. His favoured partner had every opportunity of knowing his views upon the most important religious topics, and especially of being informed or reminded of the great designs of eternal Providence respecting the future mission of our Saviour; to which bright consummation of human happiness the saints of God, in the remotest ages, look forward with confident anticipation.

She had, besides, the best means of observing the influence of true religion upon the character. She saw him in every position, and witnessed his conduct every day. If she were no stranger to many of his imperfections, and these attach more or less to every one in the present state, she could not fail of perceiving a mighty contrast between his general deportment and spirit, and that of the guilty inhabitants of Sodom. He was not only unseduced by their example, but detested their practices; and bore a decided, if it were an unavailing, testimony against them. She must have seen that his passions were under the regulation of principles to which they were perfect strangers; and that his whole character was cast in a different mould. His fellow-citizens, indeed, possessed the advantage of his public example and judicious reproofs, although they were too base to receive any impression; but she saw him at home, and had the privilege of domestic intercourse. There he presented his private and frequent devotions—there, no doubt, he erected the family altar, and day by day offered the solemn sacrifices of prayer and praise. Upon that house the eye of God was fixed, and there his blessing descended. One voice in Sodom, discordant to the universal chorus of imprecation and blasphemy was harmonious in the ear of Heaven—one hallowed flame ascended amidst the fires of lust—one drop of purity mingled with an ocean of wickedness!

Whether the wife of Lot were benefited by his example, or properly observant of his actions, or whether she were infected by the general contagion, it is not possible to ascertain with certainty: her subsequent conduct renders us suspicious of her having been, if not a practitioner of atrocious crimes, at least in love with the world, and destitute of real religion.

Some of the best of men have suffered this severe affliction. The chosen companions of their pilgrimage have been strangers to their religious feelings, and could cherish no kindred sympathies. Instead of proving help meets, they have been hinderances; instead of assisting, they have retarded their journey. In some cases, this must be imputed to themselves, as their own fault. They have been misled by their passions; and, in consequence of "entering into temptation," they have plunged themselves into inevitable wretchedness. This is a sin which, we should hope, is not often committed; and, as a means of prevention, we would enforce a contrary conduct by all the authority which can attach to the language of an inspired adviser. Paul exhorts us to marry "only in the Lord;" and he sustains his admonitions by irresistible argument: "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers; for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?"

There is one case, in which we must rather pity than censure this incongruous association. Previous to that essential change of character which is introductory to the kingdom of heaven, and which the New Testament represents as being "brought out of darkness into marvellous light," the woman and the man have, perhaps, become "equally yoked" in unbelief. At the period of their early matrimonial connection, no dissimilarity in point of religious principle existed. Both were "lovers of pleasure more than lovers of God;" and unhappily, neither of them felt the importance of securing permanent and solid enjoyment, by constructing it on the basis of genuine religion. Resembling others in the same period of youth and illusion, they embarked on the smooth and inviting surface, unaware of what storms awaited them, or what dangers lurked in the perilous sea of life. It was, morning—the scene was new—the prospect gay—and their fair horizon seemed to encircle an earthly paradise! They knew not it was a painted landscape, and that "pure and undefiled religion" alone could effectually prepare them for the disappointment.

Since that period, one of this happy pair has become "a follower of God," the other remains "a servant of sin"—the one has discovered the paramount importance of the interest of eternity, the other has not yet learned the necessity of salvation, or the value of the soul. Now is fulfilled the prediction of Christ, "I came not to send peace, but a sword. For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man's foes shall be those of his own household."

Let those who are thus united together by the conjugal tie, although dissimilar in character, be excited to a consideration of their respective duties. The religious party should pursue a system of conciliation and kindness, as best calculated to exemplify the excellence of religion, and win the disobedient yoke-fellow; and the irreligious husband or wife should study the virtuous peculiarities, and worthy example, of the pious partner: the one being anxious to exhibit the genuine effect of religion—the other to examine with impartiality, and an unprejudiced attention, the operation of grace.

Another circumstance to which our attention is directed, in the history of Lot's wife, is her DELIVERANCE from the miraculous conflagration of Sodom. The angelic messengers who were sent to Lot, conducted him and his family from the scene of danger. They first distinctly predicted the destruction of the city, on account of its extreme iniquity, and intimated that they were commissioned to execute this awful purpose of eternal justice. They then inquired about his relations, commanding him to bring them out of the place; but, with a spirit of infatuation too common to the impenitent, the earnest solicitations of Lot were utterly rejected, and even ridiculed. "Up," said he, "get you out of this place, for the Lord will destroy this city! But he seemed as one that mocked unto his sons-in-law."

On the ensuing morning, at a very early hour, the two commissioned angels urged Lot to use all possible despatch in his departure, and to take with him his wife and daughters. The predestined moment was at hand; the windows of heaven were opening, and the burning tempest ready to descend. "And while he lingered, the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters; the Lord being merciful unto him; and they brought him forth, and set him without the city. And it came to pass, when they had brought them forth abroad, that he said, Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed."

This narrative intimates with sufficient plainness that Lot's wife and daughters were spared for his sake; and that it was nothing but the impenitent obstinacy of his other family connexions, that prevented their escape. They would not listen, even though he "lingered," probably, to persuade them to accompany his flight; they must, therefore, perish. It appears that his wife and daughters also were reluctant, as the angels were obliged to take them each by the hand, and conduct them into the plain; but, for the sake of Lot, they were happily compelled to flee. If this woman had not been the wife, and these the daughters of a good man, they would have shared the tremendous fate of the other inhabitants of the city; their near connection with him, unquestionably saved their otherwise unprotected lives.

Humiliating as the sentiment may be to the enemies of religion, it is clearly deducible from this affecting narrative, and strikingly confirmed by other scriptural accounts, that righteous persons are the salt of the earth; the means, not only of preserving it from becoming an entire mass of corruption, but of averting the judgments of Heaven from others; and especially of preserving those from awful calamity, who are more immediately connected with them by the ties of consanguinity or friendship.

The escape of Lot's wife and daughters, on this disastrous occasion, was an illustration of the promise which had but a short time before been made to Abraham, when he was permitted to commune with Jehovah respecting the destruction of this city. Having been informed of the divine determinations, Abraham, deeply affected with the condition of his wicked neighbours, but feeling a peculiar concern for his nephew, drew near with holy boldness to inquire whether the righteous and the wicked were to be involved in the same common catastrophe; and whether, if fifty righteous persons could be found, the city might not be spared? To this he obtained full consent: upon which he ventured to limit the pious number, for whose sake all the inhabitants should be spared, to forty-five—then to forty—to thirty—to twenty—and to ten; "And the Lord said, I will not destroy it for ten's sake."

Here it is observable, that the patriarch did not request the preservation of the wicked for their own sake, or because of any supposed severity in the predicted punishment, but solely for the sake of the righteous who might be discovered in the place. Value your connexion, then, with the people of God. To be born of pious parents, or to be situated amidst religious advantages, is an unspeakable favour. The church of Christ, especially, is a privileged spot—there celestial mercy takes her favourite walks—thither she conveys her choicest blessings—and to that sacred enclosure from the world, she extends her most powerful protection. How many families, besides the house of Obed-edom, have been blessed "because of the ark of God!"

[Sidenote: Years before Christ, 1897.] The inspired history, in the next place, particularly points out the GUILT of Lot's wife. As soon as this favoured family had reached the suburbs, and at a moment when the rising sun shed his unclouded radiance over the devoted scene, and, consequently, indicated no approaching storm, the mighty tragedy commenced. Down came the burning sulphureous deluge upon Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, and Zeboim; which, mingling with the bituminous soil of the valley, and blazing with inconceivable intensity, spread sudden, awful, and universal desolation. From this horrible moment, the site of these ancient cities became converted into a lake, which, from its bituminous quality, is termed the lake Asphaltites, and sometimes the Dead Sea, from the idea that no creature can exist in its waters. [11]

During this miraculous tempest, the wife of Lot, who was now flying to Zoar, "LOOKED BACK FROM BEHIND HIM;" and in consequence, suffered an instantaneous judgment, which we shall presently have occasion to notice.

And was this the whole amount of her criminality? Was it a mere glance of the eye, for which she is become an object of execration, and a warning to all ages? Was this the single action for which she suffered?—Have we not been led to suppose, that apostacy is rather a course of conduct, than the perpetration of any particular crime, however atrocious? And yet does not the wife of Lot appear to have been punished as an apostate?

Beware of forming a hasty judgment, and recollect that, in some cases, a single action is an infallible criterion of a most impious character. It is the last in a series of crimes, although, perhaps, the only discovered iniquity. The rest have been concealed by circumstances, or by artifice; and, like the apex and point of a rock piercing the surface of the deep, which indicates its immense magnitude and elevation above the bottom of the ocean, one considerable act of baseness indicates the real existence of an immense accumulation of secret iniquity. Such was the character of Judas, and probably of Lot's wife.

The recorded action in question indicated, in fact, a very complicated crime. It was a direct disobedience to an express and solemn command; and whether the command respected a mere look, or a mighty undertaking, the principle which influenced the conduct, was equally censurable. We must abstain from whatever is interdicted, whether it respect the tasting of fruit, as in the case of Eve, or the looking back to relinquished possessions, as in the example of Lot's wife. Unbelief was also a probable concomitant in this transgression. She might doubt the reality of the threatened destruction, or be influenced by a spirit of unhallowed curiosity: or, if she heard the descending tempest, some dread of being overtaken by it might induce her to look back. But, above all, our Lord, in commenting upon her conduct, intimates that her heart lingered after the possessions she had left, and her look implied a wish to return to their enjoyment.

The case of this woman is peculiarly affecting, from other considerations. It has been already stated, she had peculiar advantages, being the wife of a righteous man—she had thus far escaped the pollutions of Sodom, and avoided its destiny—she had obeyed the voice of the celestial messenger, and was led forth under a heavenly ministration—she was in the company of the pious—participated the deliverance of her husband, and was on the point of having completely escaped—Sodom was left behind—Zoar was at hand—the raging storm was desolating the devoted cities, while the bright sun of the morning lighted the fugitives on their way. Before, all was smiling! Behind, all was tempestuous!—Salvation, if they persevered! Perdition, if they retreated or looked back!—It is written in the book of God—may it be written indelibly on every heart—"If any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him."

It will conduce to the purposes of instruction, if we generalize this subject, by briefly stating a few of the most usual causes of apostacy from God; some of which are strictly applicable to the history of Lot's wife.

Sometimes it originates in fear; and though every period could furnish instances, we must expect to find them principally in times of persecution. Many, under the awful apprehension of excruciating torments, and some even from very inferior reasons of alarm, have signed their recantation of principles which they had long professed to venerate; but few have imitated the noble heroism of a CRANMER, who publicly denounced his own recantation, and resolutely thrust the hand that signed it first into the fire, on the day of his martyrdom, calling it, "this unworthy right hand!"

But in all ages a love of the world may be justly considered as a much more prevalent occasion of apostacy than fear. Demas, and the wife of Lot, live again in a thousand wretched examples. It may be acknowledged difficult to point out in all cases with perfect exactitude, the precise line of demarkation between a proper and an inordinate pursuit of worldly good, and thus to detect the first commencement of an avaricious temper, the embryo germ of an apostate disposition; but at least no difficulty should remain with the individual himself in deciding upon his own actual state, even though he be not guilty of flagrant immoralities, if conscious that his heart is in his covetousness—if the love of gain have usurped the dominion of his soul, and dethroned the love of God—if he gladly embrace every opportunity of promoting his worldly interest, and obey but slowly and reluctantly the calls of duty. Let him apprehend that he is drifting along to ruin—let him fear, and fear justly, that the pleasant gale of success to which he has expanded all his powers, is only bearing him upon the rocks of eternal destruction. Be not deceived, though they appear covered with flowers of surpassing beauty, and exquisite fragrance. "Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him."

Levity of mind is a frequent occasion of apostacy. It predisposes the unhappy individual to the ruinous influence of vicious society and injurious publications. These, most fatally adapted to their purpose, soon induce the unwary to neglect, and finally to despise all religious institutions. The apostle Paul intimates that some are "tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine," like clouds which, possessing no solidity, are driven in every direction through the atmosphere. Persons of this description are easily persuaded by a plausible reasoner, that his opinions are true, and with equal facility submit to the next artful sophist, who avows even contrary sentiments. The natural effect of this inconstancy will be, a disregard of ALL truth, and a ready admission of every sceptical principle. When the mind is in such a state of fluctuation and uncertainty, or rather the willing slave of every tyrant, it is well prepared for vice: it will admit a criminal thought, as well as a sentimental error, and the same plausibility which could successfully insinuate a sceptical principle, can excite to an immoral practice. In the circles of gay dissipation, every remaining scruple is easily dissipated; the poison of "evil communications" is voraciously swallowed, and "good morals are corrupted."

Such a disposition is closely allied to pride, which often "goes before, destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." Praised by their companions as persons of distinguished genius, or admired for a natural wit, they sacrifice every thing to flattery. They have been stimulated to believe that the possession of religion is a decisive proof of intellectual inferiority; or at least, that a punctilious observance of its practices, or a fervent attachment to its peculiar doctrines, is enthusiastic. They listen to the artful seducer, who assures them that their principles are too evidently drawn from the lessons of the nursery, and that it is time to shake off—their own penetration, indeed, will lead them to discard—the mere prejudices of an illiberal education. It is not improbable they may meet with some advocate of deistical principles or libertine conduct, who zealously instils into them the maxim of the well-known Earl of Shaftesbury, that "whoever is searching for truth, should examine if they cannot find out something that may be justly laughed at;" and if they can be persuaded as he was, "not to think on the subject of religion, without endeavouring to put himself in as good a humour as possible," it is not unlikely they may adopt what he calls a natural suspicion, that "the holy records themselves were no other than the pure invention and artificial compliment of an interested party, in behalf of the richest corporation and most profitable monopoly which could be erected in the world."

In the scriptural statement of the fall of man, it appears that pride and sensuality were the first dispositions which polluted the human mind in paradise, and their contaminating influence has descended upon the whole human race. From these two springs the torrent of corruption originated, and has never ceased to pursue its course and widen its channel through the successive ages of time. "When the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat; and gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat."

The DOOM of Lot's wife is one of the most memorable in the records of either profane or sacred history. It is said, that "she became a pillar of salt," or a nitro-sulphureous pillar; the singularity and severity of her punishment being thus proportioned to the atrocity of her crime. When we recollect that Jehovah afterward proclaimed himself to Moses as "the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth; keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity, and transgression, and sin;" that he is frequently celebrated by the inspired writers, as "ready to pardon, slow to anger, of great kindness, plenteous in mercy, full of compassion;" that he is represented by the apostle John as "love" itself; and that infinite benignity is essential to his nature, and characteristic of his dispensations—we cannot but tremble at the sight of such a visitation.

Inexpressibly awful as the overthrow of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, and Zeboim appears, there is an additional feature of horror in the destruction of this woman. Our imagination is bewildered amidst the general ruin of multitudes; while, by the contemplation of an individual instance, appointed to a separate and peculiar punishment, we become excited to deeper feeling. From the very constitution of our nature, we view the doom of numbers with a diminished impression; we have not time to select and meditate upon the peculiarities of individual agonies, and regard them only in one vast heterogeneous mass, consigned to one common portion of suffering: but the emotion is widely different, and incalculably more poignant, when a solitary example is presented to us, alike distinguished for guilt and for punishment. In the present case, too, the degree of sensibility excited into action is necessarily more acute, from the very circumstance forbidding us to pity, and demanding an unmingled overwhelming sense of omnipotent justice. Nor is this a censurable, but a necessary feeling, indicative of a proper coincidence of mind with the perfect will of Heaven: it is allied to the sentiments attributed to purer spirits, who, when they witness the seven angels distributing the seven last plagues in which is filled up the wrath of God, are represented as standing on the sea of glass, having the harps of God.—"And they sing the song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb, saying, great and marvellous are thy works, Lord God Almighty; just and true are thy ways, thou King of saints. Who shall not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name? for thou only art holy, for all nations shall come and worship before thee: for thy JUDGMENTS are made manifest." In the same spirit, the heavens, the holy apostles and prophets, are called upon to rejoice over Babylon in the hour of her destruction; and a great voice of much people is heard in heaven, saying, "Alleluia; salvation and glory, and honour, and power, unto the Lord our God; for true and righteous are his JUDGMENTS." "And again they said, Alleluia. And her smoke rose up for ever and ever."

The justice of God displayed even in the awful form which it assumes in the punishment of the wife of Lot, is, in fact, only a modification of goodness, and therefore a proper reason both for angelic and human celebration. The love of order is no less essential to a holy being than the love of mercy; and therefore it is compatible with the most perfect goodness, in its association with justice, to punish transgressors either on their own account or for the sake of others—either for the purpose of individual correction or of general warning. It would be a far less display of goodness to suffer men to persevere in sin without any control, than to arrest them by some powerful stroke. In the former case, they not only plunge into ruin themselves, but draw others, by their fatal and malignant attraction, into perdition: in the latter, a salutary precaution is given to such as lie within the reach of their mischievous influence. Whatever has a tendency to prevent sin is a benevolent exercise of power; because sin is the source of individual and universal misery: if it had never entered into this world, man would still have been happy; and when, in the merciful appointments of Heaven, the guilt which now stains the moral creation shall be purified away by the efficacy of the blood of Christ, paradise will be restored, and the long-renowned tabernacle of God again descend to be with men. To this glorious consummation of human felicity, all the dispensations of Providence point; and to produce it, all his judgments are inflicted: the promises and the threatenings have each a similar design, and will ultimately promote the same general object. The tempest and the tornado have their peculiar uses, as well as the small rain that descends upon the tender herb. "Mercy and truth meet together—righteousness and peace kiss each other."

In turning our eyes, then, towards the plain of Sodom, we must combine a sentiment of holy reverence with trembling horror. The destiny of the atrocious sinner was intended to produce salutary apprehensions in her surviving relatives, and in all her posterity. Upon that accursed plain Eternal Justice erected a monument of infinite displeasure; but the hand which raised the pillar of salt, at the same time inscribed upon it, in characters too large and legible to be mistaken, "FEAR GOD, AND KEEP HIS COMMANDMENTS."

The terrific nature of this judgment was enhanced by the instantaneous manner in which it occurred. No sooner did the wife of Lot look back, than she was converted into a pillar of salt, [12]—this moment in the midst of life, and apparently escaping from the scene of danger—the next, a monument of wrath! What a transition from happiness to misery! What a descent from the summit of hope to the depths of despair! Mercy had almost conducted her to Zoar—Guilt transported her to the abyss of wo! She had even tasted the cup of blessing; but, dashing it from her lips in the spirit of daring rebellion, she was made to drink "the wine-cup of fury."

It elucidates the divine condescension and forbearance, when the wicked, instead of being withered at a touch, are allowed time for reflection.— The ordinary dispensations of Providence are characterized by a merciful tardiness: the daring transgressor is addressed by reiterated appeals, and perhaps placed under a course of moral discipline: he is not smit by the thunder, or blasted by the lightning; but a series of smaller precursory punishments precedes a great catastrophe: his way is hedged up; reproofs, remonstrances, losses, afflictions, bereavements, constitute so many obstructions thrown across the path to perdition; and if he perish, it is necessary to force his way through them with a daring and infatuated heroism: voices from heaven and earth precede the infliction of merited vengeance, saying with loud and harmonious exclamations, "Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon."

But in the present melancholy instance, the wife of Lot was cut off as in a moment: she was ripe for the sickle, and justice delayed not to gather her into the storehouse of wrath; she cumbered the ground by her impieties, and was worthy of no additional cultivation. Here we behold an awful specimen of the obstinacy of sinners, the effect of disobedience, and the determination of God, in a visible and striking manner, to vindicate his holy name.

Reader! flatter not yourself that the circumstance of having hitherto escaped remarkable judgment is any real indemnification against future punishment: do not imagine that the supreme God is unobservant, because he is not vindictive; that it is possible to elude his eye, because you have not yet been slain by his sword. The delay, which is intended as a benefit, may, and often does, by perversion, aggravate the sinner's doom: and indeed it is one of the most lamentable proofs of human degeneracy, that the very circumstance in which the goodness of God is singularly apparent, and which ought to lead to repentance, is made the occasion of more atrocious crime and more resolute perseverance.