Genesis - A Beautiful Commentary by George H. Morrison (1915?)

[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Genesis 1:1-23; Gen_2:1-3.
THE STORY OF CREATION

When we compare this story of creation with the textbooks that are now read in schools and colleges, we feel as if we had passed from some beautiful scene in nature, into some factory with all the engines going. At first, in making such a change as that, it is the mighty differences that impress us. Between the factory, with all its noise of wheels, and the silence and wonder of hillside and of lake, there seems to lie a gulf that is impassable; but gradually we come to apprehend that the energy which keeps every loom a-going is the very power that makes the hillsides green, and gives the light and shadow to the lake. So is it with this story of creation, and all the secrets which science has unlocked. At first we are startled by the tremendous differences, then we perceive an underlying kinship. Great truths are hidden in this simple story which all the learning of ages has not antiquated; and though they are described here in a pictorial way (for even God must speak as a child to children), they are none the less true to the discerning heart. He bade the use words which men could understand. And He inspired His writer so to use these stories, and so to purify them and fill them full of light, that they became the avenues of priceless teaching. What, then, were some of the lessons God was teaching mankind when He illuminated the heart of this historian? They were numerous; but we shall address ourselves here to only three.

The first is that God is the Creator. "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." At the back of all existence is the Almighty, and by His word everything was made. If you had asked a Greek what he thought about the universe, he might have told you that matter was eternal. If you had asked a Roman, he might have tried to explain things by the chance closings of unnumbered atoms. But here, when Greek philosophy was yet unborn, we have the magnificent chant, 'In the beginning, God'; and that is sublime, because it is so simple, and it is simple because it is inspired. Of course to us today that truth is almost commonplace. We have been familiar with it since our childhood. And therefore, perhaps, it does not cheer and aid us as God unquestionably meant that it should do. But if readers of the Bible will keep an open eye for the word (or thought) 'Creator,' they will find how men were ennobled, once, by this first trumpet-note, 'In the beginning -- God.' Why was Jacob so blessed above other peoples? Because the portion of Jacob is the former of all things (Jer_10:16). Unto whom are we to commit the keeping of our souls in well-doing? Unto God as unto a faithful Creator (1Pe_4:19). Whom are we to remember in the morning of life? Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth (Ecc_12:1). And how may we know that God will not overlook us? Because He is the Creator of the ends of the earth, who fainteth not, neither is weary (Isa_40:28). When we get a present from somebody who loves us, it is doubly precious if the giver made it. It is invested with a heightened value when we know that the giver wrought it all himself. So God has given us this wonderful universe, with its sun and moon, and hills and lakes and flowers, and the joy of it is increased a thousandfold, when we learn that He who gave it made it all.

The second is that God wrought in gradual ways. When we study the methods of our Lord Jesus Christ, we see how gradually He communicated truth. He loved to work in a slow and steady way, leading His disciples forward step by step. I have yet many things to teach you, He said to them once, but ye cannot bear them now. Where, think you, did the divine Son acquire that method? Were not His activities molded upon His Father's ways? In the slow and gradual method of Redemption is the parallel and crown to the Creation. I wonder if the writer of Genesis was never tempted to make all creation the work of a single instant. Would it not have been a thought of infinite grandeur to have pictured the whole as accomplished in a flash? If he had done that, he would have shut his heart to the voice divine that was inspiring him, and men today would have been smiling at the crude fancies of an oriental dreamer. But here, there is nothing sudden and appalling; there is sure and steady progress onward and upward; and all the discoveries of all the sciences are helping to explain and to confirm that truth. We need not try to make the 'days' symbolical. When the writer says a day he means a day. God did not break the cup His child held up to Him; He cleansed it and filled it with the living water. The wonder is that in this artless narrative, and under these figures of the early world, there should be found that truth of God's procedure which today is dominating the thought of men.

The third is that man is God's masterpiece -- 'the diapason closes full in man.' At the festival of creation, as at the feast of Cana, the best wine was kept unto the last. And how was man the greatest of God's works? Was it because there were giants in those days? Not so; but because on man alone there was the impress of the Creator's nature. He only was created in God's image; he only could have fellowship with God; he only could enter into the thoughts of God, and share the purposes of his great artificer. And if all the centuries that have passed since then have but helped to illumine man's dignity and glory, if this great doctrine of man's worth to God has been sealed by the gift of Jesus Christ, how reverently we should adore the wisdom which set that truth on the first page of Scripture.


Genesis 3:1-24
THE FALL

It is notable that the first happiness of the human race, and the saddest tragedies of human history, are forever associated with gardens. It was in a garden that God placed man whom He had formed, and out of the ground the Lord made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. It was in a garden that Jesus agonized on that night on which He was betrayed, for we read, 'He went forth with His disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a garden into which He entered.' And then a few days later when the end has come, and when the cruel sufferings of the cross are over, we pass into the quiet beauty of another garden. 'In the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid. There laid they Jesus.' What a contrast between these gardens of the Bible! Fresh from the hand of God, radiant in the endowment of new life, man had been placed in the first. Fresh from the torture of the cross, and bound in the wrappings of the tomb, the Son of had been placed in the last. That sin which had entered the world amid the joy of Eden had done its worst, and the Lord whom it slew was laid among the flowers. So does the sphere where the brightest happiness is known often become the scene of deepest sorrow. Where man has tasted what is sweetest, there may he have to drink what is bitterest. It was not in any wilderness that Christ was laid; it was in a garden that the grave was opened; and in a garden, long centuries before, man had walked in happy innocence.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Now the first great lesson in this story of the fall is that moral trial is necessary for man. It was not Adam, nor was it any evil power, who planted these fateful trees in the garden's midst. The hand which planted them was that of God. Do we not think sometimes that it would have been kinder if God had never set that tree in Eden? Would it not have been a paradise indeed, but for that fruitful temptation in the heart of it? The point to remember is that if man is to develop into the fulness of his God-given powers, there must always be the opportunity of choice. There is something greater than that childish innocence that has never known of a tree of good and evil. There is the moral grandeur that springs from human freedom; there is the power to choose the narrow way of God. And when I read of this garden of delight, and of the one restriction in the heart of it, I feel how clearly the writer was illumined to see the primary need of moral trial. You will never know how strong the lighthouse is, till it has stood the buffet of the storm. You will never be certain that the bridge is stable, till it has borne the weight of heavy loads. You will never fathom the dignity of man, till you have seen him tried and tested by alternatives.

Another lesson which we should learn is this, that we are always ready to lay the blame on others. God had told Adam, in plain words, that he must not eat of this tree in the midst of the garden (Gen_2:17).The way of life, and the sad way of death, had been explicitly announced to him. It is amazing how swiftly Adam disobeyed There is no echo of a long and bitter conflict. We only read, 'Eve gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat. Then came the opening of the eyes, and the fear, and the sense of shame, and the stem inquiry of the great Creator -- and immediately the human brain is busy in fashioning excuses for its guilt. The woman whom Thou gavest me gave me of the tree -- as if the blame were partly God's, and partly Eve's. The serpent beguiled me and I did eat' -- as if all the blame could be fastened on the serpent. So does the writer touch upon that strange infirmity that is written large on the story of mankind. Are we not often tempted, when we have been tried and have fallen, to shift the burden of the blame to others? Are we not very skillful in devising excuses for ourselves, that we never think of offering for other people. The Bible warns us that from the first hour of sin this had been one of the arts of human nature, and it tells us plainly that the art is vain. The gods of the Greeks were pleased with subtle pretexts; in the eyes of the God of the Bible they are useless If Adam has disobeyed, Adam must suffer -- the soul that sinneth, it shall die. When we are tempted to excuse ourselves, to implicate others, and so think to escape, there is no chapter in the Bible more fitted than this one to bring us to ourselves.

Then there is a third great lesson here; it is that one sin may alter everything. It would be difficult to picture a greater contrast than between the beginning and the ending of our chapter. The gladness of the sunlight has departed, and the heavens are overcast with cloud Instead of quiet assurance before God, there is the guilty desire to escape Him. Instead of happy possession of the garden, there is banishment into the wide world beyond. All things are changed; it is a different world; it is as if every bird had ceased, to sing; and one act of disobedience has done it all. Remember, then, that a single act or deed may change the current of a man's whole life, one choice, made in a moment, often lightly -- and the future will never by the same again. Let a man do one noble deed, and play the hero even for one hour, and the world will be richer to him ever after, and he will have the comradeship of noble souls But let a man play the coward or the cheat, not twice but once, not openly but secretly, and life will be meaner, and the world a poorer place, until the threescore years and ten are run. There are great joys which meet us in an instant, but the light of them shall shine on till the grave. And there are choices we are called to make which -- made in a moment -- will determine everything.

Lastly, the clothing of our shame must come from God. When Adam and Eve fell, they clothed themselves with fig leaves; it was a light covering and very easily made. But God was not contented with that covering; we read that He made them coats of skins, and clothed them. It was God who provided that covering of shame, and He provided it by the dark way of death. Is there no gleam there of deeper truths? Is there no prophecy of the evangel? Read over again that great hymn, 'Rock of Ages,' and let this chapter illustrate its figures.


Genesis 4:1-16
CAIN AND ABEL

We should first learn from this sad story that God had not forsaken man. The scene that meets us in this chapter is very different from that of the garden. Sin has entered into the world, and the happy innocence of Eden is destroyed. Cain is born, and the word Cain means possession; Abel is born, and the word Abel means vanity. Was it beginning to dawn thus early on mankind that man at his best estate is altogether vanity? The curse is beginning to work out to its fulfillment, and men are finding that the wages of sin is death. Yet even now God is not far away. He has not withdrawn Himself from human life. He has not lost hope nor heart in the mysterious being who had so lately been made in His own image. He moves across this field of sin and murder, no less evidently than He did in the garden of Eden. Let us not forget, then, that though this is a tragic chapter, there is a gleam of sunshine through the storm. We begin to find here what we could not find before -- the patience and long-suffering of heaven. For we must remember that what we have in Genesis is the first unfolding of God's redeeming purpose. It is not a compendium of universal history; it is the record of the saving will of God. Already we have had the promise to the woman, 'Thou shalt bruise his heel'; now we have tokens of a deep solicitude, and of a great forbearance in the heart on high; and all this is like the pathway through the heather, that shall soon broaden into a highway of the Lord, and lead in the fulness of the time to Calvary, and to a blood that speaketh better things than that of Abel.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

We should next learn that God values the gift according to the spirit of the giver. Abel was a keeper of sheep; Cain was a tiller of the ground -- he was wresting a blessing from what God had cursed. The discipline of work had now begun, and in the sweat of their face the brothers ate their bread. Then the day came when they began to offer sacrifice; they were no longer children around their father's altar. They had grown to manhood now; they had realized themselves; they had become conscious of the need of personal communion. So Abel brought of the firstlings of his flock, and Cain brought of the fruit of the ground; the one was a shepherd and the other a husbandman, and they did wisely and well in bringing of their own. Yet the Lord had respect unto Abel and his offering; but unto Cain and his offering the Lord had not respect. How the two brothers perceived the difference of God's favor we do not know, for the Bible does not tell us. It may have been that fire fell on Abel's altar; it may have been that the one smoke rose heavenward and the other crept and curled along the ground; or perhaps there was only an inward witness in their hearts -- a peace and joy in Abel's, a loneliness in Cain's -- that told them silently how things stood with God. But if we do not know how they read God's differing looks, we do know the divine reasons for the difference. It was unto Cain and his offering that the Lord had not respect -- it was the spirit behind the gift that made the difference. Had the heart of Cain been as the heart of Abel, the fruits of the ground would have smelled sweet in heaven. But Cain, for all his energy, was faithless -- it was by faith that Abel offered a more excellent sacrifice; and Cain had not been living like righteous Abel -- he slew his brother because his deeds were evil. Clearly, therefore, we come to apprehend that the spirit of the givers made the difference; God knew the story of the brothers' lives, and in the light of their lives were their sacrifices treated. What a lesson there is in that for all of us! It is not the amount of our service that is pleasing, it is the motive that inspires and animates it. It is not-the sacrifice in itself that heaven looks to; it is the heart that throbs behind the sacrifice. Would not Jesus have us leave our gift upon the very altar, if we have a grudge against our brother at the time? It was that truth which began to dawn on men in this accepted and rejected offering.

Again, this is a memorable instance of how small sins open the door to great ones. I do not think when Cain and Abel were children that Cain ever dreamed that it would come to this. If you had told him that he would be a murderer one day, he would have scorned the bare suggestion of such evil. Probably the brothers had never got on too well; their tempers were too different for that. The active and strenuous tiller of the ground would have a lurking scorn for the meditative shepherd. Then came the morning of the rejected sacrifice, and the brooding scorn flamed into bitter anger. It is so hard to find that heaven is smiling on the people whom we have long despised. But even yet, Cain had no settled purposes; he only knew that he hated his brother Abel; and every sign of faith he saw in Abel, and every trace and token of his goodness, was like added fuel to the flame. Then came the fateful hour of opportunity; the brothers were alone, out in the field together, and all the passion and bitterness of years leaped out from the wild and wayward heart of Cain -- and Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him. The deed was done in a single instant of time; it was not premeditated, but it was prepared for. The sullen and bitter and angry thoughts of Cain had been making possible this hour on the field. Remember that out of the heart come murders. We must bring every thought into captivity.

Then lastly, let us note the unrest that follows sin. God did not slay Cain -- do we perceive why? Cain was allowed to live, even though a murderer. But God save us all from such an existence as was endured henceforward by the murderer! His work ceased to interest him, he lost all heart in it; 'when thou tillest the ground, it shall not yield unto thee her strength.' He became a fugitive and a vagabond upon the earth, with a mark on him that no man could efface. We read of another man, who was also a wanderer, that he bore on his body 'the marks of the Lord Jesus' -- compare his life with the life of Cain! It all means that when we sin against God we become haunted with an undying restlessness. How sweet to remember that there is One among us, who says, 'Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.'


Genesis 7:1-16; Gen_8:15-22.
THE FLOOD

With the exception of some of the black tribes, there is no branch of the human race that has not a tradition of the flood. These traditions, of course, differ in many respects, and regard the event from many different standpoints, but in general features they are so unvarying that it is impossible to regard the story as myth. You can picture a family of young children living in a cottage which on a winter's night, after long rains, is flooded. Some of their neighbors in the hamlet may be drowned, but this little family escapes on some hastily built raft. Well, the children grow up and they scatter through the world -- one goes to Canada, another to South Africa -- and there they face the trials and pass through the joys and sorrows that fall to the lot of every one of us. But always in some corner of their brain there lies the memory of that terrible hour of childhood. If you listened to the account of it from one of them, you would find that it differed from the other's story. There is nothing harder than to keep unsullied through long years the truth the happenings of our childhood. But at least you would feel, as you passed from sister to sister, and heard the tale from brother after brother, that there must have been some hour of horror in the old home to have grooved these separate memories so. Now so is it with the story of the flood. The flood came before the family had scattered. God's children were still in their ancestral home when the hour of tragedy and death arrived. And when today the brothers and sisters, scattered far and wide across the world, cherish the memory of that far-off hour, we cannot but think of that far-off hour as real. The flood then is not an idle story. It is the record of an actual event. And I wish to find out some of God's purposes in giving it this large place in His Word.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

First, then, it teaches us the truth that God is watching. Our Savior has spoken of that, and so we put it first. For we are always tempted to think, as the years roll, that there is no eye fixed upon the scene. Day succeeds day, and night moves after night; men eat and drink and love and marry and die, and all is so orderly and uninterrupted that they almost forget the power on the throne. But the story was meant to teach that the Lord is not indifferent. He does not sit apart in royal state, unconcerned with human sin and sorrow. He seems to be idle, but the hour will come when He will bare His arm and work in majesty. Men were utterly vile before the flood, and God saw that. But among them there was one man who lived a holy life, and God saw that. Men thought they could live and sin just as they pleased, but the day dawned when they saw their tragic error. Let none of us think, then, that God does not see us. If we are struggling in evil surroundings to be good, He knows it all. No Noah can ever be hidden from the gaze of Him whose eyes go to and fro upon the earth. Again, it teaches us that we are saved by faith. The writer to the Hebrews dwells on that. There is no more sublime faith in the world's history than the faith of Noah in preparing at God's word. The skies were not dark when the first beams were laid. There was no murmur of uprising waters. The sun shone bright and all the flowers blossomed, and the dew was as sparkling as on the leaves of Eden. Do you not think that people laughed at Noah? Did not the schoolboys mock him as they passed? It was the work of a senile man, in that golden weather, to be getting ready for a deluge. But Noah had been taught to scorn appearances, and he toiled on undaunted in his faith. By faith, then, Noah was saved through grace, and that not of himself, it was the gift of God. He had nothing but God's bare word to hold to, but he held to it, though everybody mocked; and he found at last how wise it had been to walk by faith and not by sight. Do we know anything of Noah's faith? Are we ready to be true though others smile? Are we willing to pray and to believe that sin spells death, though all the appearances should be against us? God wishes us to learn that lesson very early.

Once more it teaches that God saves by separating. That is one of the greatest of all Bible truths. Let us never forget the care and the love and the patience wherewith God separated Noah from the world. The thought of the ark and the plan of the ark were God's. It was God who gave Noah strength to do fine work. And at last, when all was ready for the voyaging, we read that it was God who shut them in. Did Noah grumble at his loss of liberty? Did he think it hard to lose the fair sweet world? Was it odious to him to be confined and limited after the long years in vale and meadow? I think he saw the wisdom of the limits when he stepped out to the large liberty of Ararat. So does God deal with every one of us. He draws us apart; He saves by separation. And at first, perhaps, when we are called to cross-bearing, we think it hard that our old liberty should go. But gradually through our separation comes our freedom. The waters assuage, we pass out from love's imprisonment. Through our separation we have entered a new world, and where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.

Then, lastly, it teaches us that God saves for service. It was for the world's sake that Noah was brought through. He was preserved that mankind might start again, and so was he a forerunner of the second Adam. God never saves us merely to enjoy. God saves us that we may do His will. A man is brought through the deep waters for the sake of others, and his first task is always to build an altar. Note, too, that of the beasts and birds that were preserved, some were immediately offered on that altar. They, too, no less than Ham and Shem, were saved for service, and they served best by being sacrificed. Is not that sometimes the case with all of us? Was it not so supremely with the Lord? He was brought through the deeps and billows of Gethsemane to serve mankind, and His crowning service was being sacrificed on Calvary.


Genesis 9:1-17
THE COVENANT WITH NOAH

When a man has been brought through the deeps of a great illness, and has had leisure to think of his bygone years in it, he often rises from his sickness with the strong conviction that God is calling him to a fresh start. Or when a man has a narrow escape for his life, and for an hour has been, as it were, facing eternity, he, too, often becomes conscious of a summons to set his face steadfastly towards Jerusalem. Such must have been the experience of Noah. Such thoughts must have been burning in his heart as he stepped out on the Armenian Highlands. How fitting, then, that the first voice of God that reached him in his newfound liberty should have been, as it were, the seal of his conviction. It was God's will that a fresh start should be made. Great judgments are the heralds of great progress. God has an eye to tomorrow no less than to yesterday, whenever the fountains of the deep are unlocked. Hence, in the opening verses of our chapter we have the divine provisions for a fuller and richer life than mankind had been living before the flood. A new sovereignty over all creatures was given to man. If Noah had had a touch of David's genius, he would have broken out in a song like the Eighth Psalm. Flesh was to be the food of man now -- perhaps man had lived on fruits and herbs before. And in God's words about the punishment of murder, man learned that lesson without which advance is impossible -- the sacredness and the sanctity of life.

But there is another effect which an illness or a hairbreadth escape may have -- it may haunt a man with a fear lest it recur, and good and steady work is rarely possible to a heart that is vexed and harassed by such anxiety. Now Noah was a man of sterling faith; but he was human, and in some respects a child. Do you not think that, as he moved in his new world, the fear of another flood sometimes troubled him? When the wind howled, would not his cheek grow pale? When the torrents of rain swept on his mountain-tent, would he not waken in the darkness with a dread that here was another flood without another ark? And in the morning, when the sun shone again, and all the terrors of midnight were allayed, still he would move among the hills and valleys with the step of a man uncertain of his tenure. It is not in such a spirit that the race progresses. Even the crofters made little of their crofts while they were burdened with insecurity of tenure. So God, not only for His child Noah's sake, but for the sake of all the human family, entered into a covenant with Noah.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Now what is a covenant? Well, it is something of great importance, for the word is constantly found in the Old Testament. The word 'religion' is not found there at all, but the word 'covenant' occurs over three hundred times. A covenant is a mutual agreement; it is a compact or bargain between two people or sets of people; and among the Hebrews it was used in the freest way of any transaction involving mutual pledging. But gradually the word drew itself apart; it was linked with august and venerable thoughts; it became the term for these grander and weightier compacts, whose issues for weal or woe might prove incalculable. Of such a nature was the covenant of marriage; of such the covenant between God and man. Let us learn that there are three great covenants between God and man in the record of Holy Scripture. There is the New Covenant of Jesus Christ, ratified by the shedding of His precious blood, and signed to us by the expressive symbols of the broken bread and the poured-out wine. There is the Old Covenant, first made with Abraham, and finally established on Mount Sinai, and the sign and seal of that was circumcision. But besides these there is this covenant with Noah, and through Noah with everything that breathes, and the sign and seal of it is the rainbow. Do you see how that covenant strengthened Noah's heart? Here is a poor woman living in a cottage and she is anxious to beautify and to adorn her cottage, but if she may be turned adrift at the next term, what is the use of giving her heart to it? But her landlord comes to her, he strikes a compact with her; he says, 'I give you the cottage and garden to enjoy, and I undertake not to dispossess you' -- will she not give heart and hand to the work then? So did God come to insecure and uncertain Noah. In His coming was the almighty pledge of steadfastness. And we shall never know how much we owe to that until we see the rainbow round the throne.

Now let me draw three lessons from the rainbow; and first, there is unchanging purpose in the most changeful things. All things are changeful, even the very hills; but there is nothing quite so changeful as the clouds. Not for two seconds on end, so are we taught, is the form and outline of any cloud the same. Yet that was the tablet whereon was signed the covenant that was to be unchanging and for ever. Does not that mean that through all change and movement there run the eternal purposes of God? It is through various experience, changeful as any cloud land, that the steadfast will of God is being wrought. Next, what we most dread God can illuminate. If there was one thing full of terror to Noah, it was the cloud. We cannot realize what awful memories rushed on him when he saw the black and thunderous cloud-banks. Yet it was there that the Almighty set His bow. It was that very terror He illuminated. He touched with the radiance of His master hand the very object that was the dread of Noah. Lastly, there is mercy over the portal of God's dwelling. For the clouds in Scripture are God's pavilion. He cometh in a cloud; clouds and thick darkness are about His throne. It was there, then, that God set His bow, token of a steadfast and a sparing mercy. Far off, in these dim and early ages, man learned that there was mercy where God dwelt.


Genesis 13:1-18
LOT'S CHOICE

It is notable that when Abraham came up from Egypt he made straight for the place where he had built an altar. He had been moving away from his Leader down in Egypt, but now he returned to God, who was his Home. But Abraham was a very rich man now, and Lot, his nephew had shared in his prosperity and here (for the first time, though not the last) wealth proved a source of trouble among relatives. Quarrels arose between their respective servants; there were closings and bickering, with perhaps the drawing of daggers, when the herds were driven to the wells at evening. And the Canaanites and Perizzites who dwelt around took no little pleasure in these herdsmen's quarrels, much as the world and its newspapers now are secretly delighted at any dissentions among God's professing people. Abraham saw that this could not go on. He was too wise and far too statesmanlike to tolerate it. He took Lot to a fair coign of vantage, showed him the country stretching away below them, and suggested in the interests of peace that they should separate each to his own domain. Then Lot, as all the children know, chose Sodom. He led away his flocks and herds to Sodom. And through all the ages that have come and gone since then, and amid the million choices they have seen, no choice is graven deeper on the memory than this so blind and tragic choice of Lot

Now first let us note how magnanimous true faith can be. Abraham was the older of the two; he was the uncle, Lot was the nephew. It was for Abraham, as the older man, to take the first place in the choice of territory. No one could have said he dealt unfairly, had he selected first, and given Lot the residue. In the East, even more than in the West, all would at once have to that decision. But with a magnanimity that is very captivating, Abraham humbled himself before his nephew, and left the decision of the whole matter with him. Do you see the source of that fine generosity? Can you trace to its roots that large and generous treatment? It sprang from a deep and living trust in God. Abraham had learned that God was his Provider, and his future was sure when all was left to Him. It is thus that faith in the presence and power of God makes a man incapable of petty dealing. He is always more eager to insist upon the promises, than to insist on the assertions of his rights. He can sing: --

'Not mine -- not mine the choice
In things or great or small;
Be Thou my Guide, my Guard, my Strength,
My wisdom, and my All.'

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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Next mark how, sooner or later, the real man is discovered. We must not forget that Lot, no less than Abraham, had gone out, not knowing whither he went. He had fared forth valiantly with Abraham, as if he, too, had had a call from God. Perhaps Lot had been even more ardent than his uncle; he may have displayed more eager enthusiasm in the journey. Had you seen the two pilgrims, as they moved towards Canaan, you might have thought that the younger was Greatheart. But the hour came when the younger stood revealed. This choice declared the character of Lot. He proved unequal to the strain of this great moment, when Abraham offered him the land he might select. Such moments come to every traveler. God's heavenward way is ordered and guided so. If we have only been fired by the heroism of others, and never heard for ourselves the call of God, the hour is sure to dawn when we shall fail. Nothing but faith (though it be as a grain of mustard-seed) will stand the strain and test of journeying years, and hold a man true to the noblest and the best, when lower things (which are sweet) are in his grasp.

Again, observe how disastrous a choice be may be when God is not considered. Do my readers see what the mistake of Lot was? It was a mistake that is repeated every day. It was a choice that was made solely by the eye without a thought of the in interests of the soul. If life had been nothing but a matter of shepherding, the decision of Lot would have been fully justified. The valley of the lower Jordan was like Eden, and the pasturage was like the beauty -- unsurpassed But there is more in life than the outward and material; there are eternal interests, there is the soul and God; and all this was clean forgotten by Lot when his eye rested on the fair land of Sodom. There is not a hint that he asked God to direct him .There is not one sign that he ever thought of God. He was carried away by immediate advantages, spite of all that the companionship of Abraham had done for him and he woke to discover, in the after days, that selfishness is a most tragical mistake. Do you think he ever would have chosen Sodom if he could have unrolled the curtain of tomorrow? Do you think he contemplated such marriages for his daughters, or the fiery destruction, or the pillar of salt? If only some angel had forewarned him of that, how he would have spurned the beauty of the plain. Learn then how foolish and fatal are all choices that take in nothing but the seen and temporal. It is always disastrous to ignore or neglect God.

Lastly, note the supreme importance of a life's direction. Lot pitched his tent toward Sodom. There was no fault in the actual place of pithing; it was just like many another scene of bivouac; but it was toward Sodom -- that was the evil of it -- and the tragedy lay in the direction. Remember then that there may be things and places Which are not actually evil in themselves, and yet they may be dark and ominous if they indicate the direction of a life. It is not my actual achievement which is of supreme importance; it is the direction which my life is taking Daniel opened his windows towards Jerusalem; Lot pitched his tent towards Sodom. In which direction, think you, are you traveling? Towards what are you making day by day?


Genesis 15:1-18
ABRAM'S VISION

Abraham had now returned from his battle with the Northern Kings, and as he settled down again into his shepherd-life, and returned to the peace and quiet of his days, we can understand with what commingled feelings he would look back on that valiant campaign. True, he had been successful in his fighting; he had driven these confederates before him; but was Chedorlaomer likely to sit still under such an indignity as that? The most powerful chieftains in the land were now Abraham's enemies, and some day they would seek a wild revenge. Such thoughts would be present to the lonely exile; he would feel how precarious and insecure his foothold was; it is often in the hours that follow our noble victories that we are oppressed by the burdens of reaction; and it was then that God spake to Abraham in a vision, and said, 'Fear not, Abram, I am thy shield.' Do you mark how timely that assurance was? Do you see how it chimed with the distress of Abraham? It was the very word he needed in his darkness if he was to be roused into brave activity again. Abraham was learning what we all come to learn, that the message of God meets our peculiar need, that the revelation of the passing hour is the revelation for which the hour calls. When we are in darkness Jehovah is our light; when surrounded by foes, -- 'Fear not, I am thy shield.'

But Abraham had still one plea to proffer -- there was no sound of childish laughter in his house. God had been good to him; He had never failed him yet, but ten years had passed and Abraham had no heir. It was the pride of the Jew to see children round his table, it was in them he found his hope of immortality; and what was the promise of Canaan worth to Abraham, if none should follow him to hold the land? So oftentimes, just because one thing is lacking, all that a man possesses may seem vain. There may be melodies innumerable in the lute, but one little rift may silence all the music. Just as the powers which the eye possesses, of seeing ocean and lake and sunset and morning sky, may all be marred, and spoiled in their happy exercise, by the lodging of one tiny particle of dust, so some small grievance may fret a man's whole nature, and take the joy from all his large activities, and mingle itself with all he is and does, till the glory of his whole circuit has been dimmed. There can be little doubt that it was so with Abraham. 'What wilt Thou give me, seeing I go childless?' -- what is the use of all the rest to me, if the one desire of my heart is baffled? We see how deep the disappointment was by the instinctive nature of the cry. Then God took Abraham into the silent night, He pointed to the thousand stars; He said to him, 'It was I who made these to shine, and as the stars of heaven shall thy seed be.' And spite of the ten years of hope deferred, and spite of all seeming impossibility, Abraham cried, 'Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief,' and his faith was counted to him for righteousness.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Then Abraham asked for a sign of his inheritance, and God was pleased to stoop down and give him one. God entered into a covenant with Abraham by means of a ritual that was well understood. Today, if two men are entering into contract, they write it down on parchment, and then seal it. But in those early days there would be little penmanship, and bargains were ratified by sign and symbol. One symbol was the taking of certain beasts, cutting them in halves, and laying the halves opposite each other on the ground; then down the narrow lane between these portions, slowly and solemnly the contracting parties walked. They meant that if they proved false to their bond, let them meet the same fate as these dissevered limbs; nor could they look on these bleeding and mangled halves, that so lately had known the mystery of life, without feeling how in union there was safety, and how in separation there was death. Such was the symbolism which God stooped down to use in ratifying His covenant with Abraham. Abraham was commanded to kill and halve the beasts, and he did so in the hours of early morning. Then all day long, while the sun rose and sank, and while the birds wheeled over him in the hope of carrion, Abraham watched for the goings of his God. Then fell the night, and a deep sleep came on Abraham, but in his sleep he still saw the sundered creatures. And 1o! between them there moved a burning lamp, and beside the lamp a smoking furnace. What was the lamp? It was the light of God; it was the vision of the brightness of His glory. What was the smoking furnace? Was it not Abraham, and Abraham's seed with their dark yet fiery trials? Did not Israel come to regard their years in Egypt as the time when they were in the 'furnace of iron' (Deu_4:20)? So Abraham knew that the covenant was ratified. The word of God was sealed, and could not fail. I think when he woke he must have cried, like Jacob, 'This is none other than the gate of heaven.'

Now let us note three lessons in this vision; and first, increase of knowledge brings increase of sorrow. When the sun went down, we read, a horror, even a great darkness, fell on Abraham (Deu_4:12). When he first started for Canaan, he was very ignorant. He only knew he would possess the land. But now the pathway leading down through Egypt, and all the weariness and the waiting of four hundred years were revealed to him by the voice of God. It was a sad though a glorious revelation. There came a shadow with it that deepened knowledge. Abraham was not the first and not the last to learn the noble sorrow of all progress. Next note how God's love allows no hurry -- the iniquity of the Arnorites is not yet full (Deu_4:16). Till the day came that their cup was running over, the seed of Israel should not possess the land. Not even for Israel would the Arnorites be cut off, till the full hour of their doom had come. So do we see the impartiality of God; so do we learn the justice of His mercy: God's love is so great it allows of no despair, but it is so holy it allows no hurry. Lastly, where the furnace smokes there is a lamp that burns, the light of heaven is near us in our trouble. When the pall hangs heavy, and we move among the dead, with little to cheer us in the murky gloom, even then, close to the furnace is the lamp -- our covenant-keeping God.


Gen_18:1-8, Gen_18:23-33
ABRAHAM AND SODOM

We now reach one of the most familiar of all the scenes of the life of Abraham. We stand on the threshold of the doom of Sodom. Three figures approach Abraham as he rests in the noonday heat; with characteristic readiness he gives them a hearty welcome; and when everything has been made ready for their entertainment, and when the patriarch's love to God has been witnessed by his love to the brethren, there are words spoken, of such heavenly hope and cheer, as might well repay the richest hospitality. But often, in the experience of human life, the brightest and the darkest meet together; often where the garden is exquisitely beautiful, the place is found where the cross must be erected; and so it proved with Abraham in this memorable hour. The doom of Sodom follows hard upon the promise. The tragic fate of the cities of the plain forms part of that same embassage that was full of hope. And the lesson that had opened with an angel's message, and with an assurance of a glorious future, closes in flight and misery and death.

First note then how God meets us in our usual station. Abraham sat in his tent-door in the heat of the day. It was the hour of sultry noon and everything was drowsy, and Abraham rested in the shadow of his tent. It was his customary place at this relaxing hour; he had been there yesterday, he would be there tomorrow; and it was in that familiar and unromantic spot, with the common sounds of tent-life in his ears, that the angels of the Almighty came to him. Let us learn, then, that the messengers of God are not reserved for our heroic moments. It is not only in our greater hours that the best is sent to us by the Eternal. Under the shadow of the house we dwell in, and amid the voices and the songs of home, where we catch the rustle of familiar garments, and hear the light footfall of the friends we love, there God will send us His choicest ministers, as He sent them to Abraham in the tent-door at Mamre. Note, too, the time of day when they drew near. Could the children form a Bible-clock for heavenly visitors? It was very early in the morning, in the garden, that Mary Magdalene saw the risen Christ. It was late at night, in the season of deep sleep, that Daniel had his vision of Jehovah. It was in the cool of the day that the Lord walked in Eden. It was in the heat of the day that the angels came to Abraham.

Next note how the messengers of God disguise themselves. There is a noble picture by Dore, in his Dore Bible, which shows us these three figures at the tent; Dore has given them wings, clothed them in light, and decked them out with true angelic radiance. But no such radiance was visible to Abraham; it was not three angels he saw, it was three men; it was just because they were tired and dusty wayfarers that his hospitable and generous heart was touched. Whence had they come and whither were they going? Abraham knew not, and did not choose to ask. It was enough for him -- a stranger -- that they were strangers, and so he entertained angels unawares. I think, then, that what God would have us learn is the usual disguise that angels wear. They do not come to us with snow-white pinions, they come to us as common men and women. How many a boy has lived to say of his mother, 'She was the minister of God to me!' How often a friend or a brother or a sister is the messenger in the heat of the day to us! Mr. Spurgeon, in one of his letters, wrote of his wife, 'She has been as an angel of God to me.' It is in that disguise God oftenest sends His angels. It is in the ministries of human love and helpfulness. They wear the garb of ordinary mortals, but they shall make life different to us for evermore. For it is not in any gleaming of white wings that the true mark of the angel-nature must be looked for; it is in swift obedience to the will of God, it is in making audible His voice, it is in making visible the love and joy and purity which are the life of all who live around the throne.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Lastly, mark how the wicked may be indebted to the good. Sodom and Gomorrah came to a tragic end; all unexpectedly their doom was hurled upon them. How little the men of Sodom ever dreamed that Abraham had been praying and pleading for them. But the point we can never meditate upon too deeply is the condition on which God would have saved the city. The doom would be revoked, said the Almighty, if ten righteous men were found in Sodom. Now think for a moment of the wonder of that. Think of the power of these ten good men. Sodom was plunged in all kinds of bestial wickedness, yet ten good men would have saved it from its doom. There was not a child who played in Sodom's alleys, there was not a merchant in any of its bazaars, there was not a mother who crooned to her loved babe, not a bride, not a bridegroom, not an old man, in Sodom, but would have escaped the hour of desolation, for the sake of ten good men within the city walls. Do you see, then, the far-reaching effects of righteousness? Do you note the blessing that may come to others through it? The scoffer and the jeered and the mocker may be more indebted to God's children than they know. And certain it is that if we are true to God, and strive to do His will in all humility, we shall convey some blessing to the lives of others, and perhaps be used to avert impending ruin, though of all this we may never hear a whisper, till we wake in the love and light of Abraham's God.


Genesis 21:1-21
HAGAR AND ISHMAEL

At last the promise was fulfilled, and a child was born to Sarah and to Abraham. God had delayed for years to make good His word, but even a thousand years with Him are as one day. The name which Abraham gave to his child was Isaac, and the word Isaac means literally he shall laugh -- no doubt the little stranger in the tent was an adept in the art which his name hinted at. But the name had a deeper significance than that; it would ever recall to Abraham Sarah's laughter; it would ever remind him of the smiling incredulity with which the promise of God had been received; and so, amid all the happiness that Isaac brought, and the brightness and joy with which he filled the tent, the name would suggest many a humbling thought on the mysteries of the providence of God. Shakespeare has taught us to say, 'What's in a name?' but there is a great deal, sometimes, in a name. When Simon was christened Peter by the Lord, it was a day of happiest augury for him. So, too, the new names which in heaven we shall receive, and which shall be a to all save their possessor, shall probably (like Isaac) so summarize the past, that the bearers alone shall feel their exquisite fitness.

Isaac was born, then, and in due time was weaned, and on the day of his weaning a great feast was made. The child might be about two years old then, for such was the custom of these early days. Now Ishmael was about sixteen at the time, and it was all intensely ridiculous to Ishmael -- it seemed so absurd, to a lad of sixteen years, that all this fuss should be made about a baby. Probably he was at little pains to hide his feelings  -- at sixteen we have not learned that art -- and Sarah, whose heart had been growing very sore at Ishmael, determined to be rid of this vexatious boy. It was a season of much bitterness for Abraham. He was in a strait betwixt two, and knew not how to act; till God in His mercy cleared up his way for him, and authorized him to send Ishmael forth. So, early in the morning, Hagar and Ishmael went, taking the road that might lead to Hagar's home; but soon the lad is exhausted with fatigue, and Hagar, in agony, lays him down to die. Then follows the opening of Hagar's eyes, the saving of Ishmael, and his life in the desert; and so, with the sunshine of God upon the cloud, this beautiful and familiar lesson closes.

Note first, then, how the fulfillment of God's promise may bring trouble. An heir has been promised to Abraham long ago; he had lived and fought and suffered in the hope of it; he must have dreamed that his cup of joy would be full, in the hour when God gave fulfillment to His word. Now Abraham's hopes were crowned, for Isaac was there; all he had prayed and wished for had been granted; yet every glimpse we get into his tent shows us how Abraham's troubles had increased. The presence of Hagar was intolerable now; the strapping Ishmael was a perpetual irritation; life had been bearable till Isaac came, now it was clear that something must be done; so into the tent of Abraham came great grief (Gen_5:11), and it came because God's promise was fulfilled. There is a sense in which that is always true -- does not Paul tell us these things are an allegory? (Gal_4:24). It is when God's promise in Jesus is fulfilled that the sinful past arises to distress us. Habits that once we tolerated now become intolerable; actions that neither worried us nor vexed us are now performed with a protesting conscience; nor is there any peace for a man's heart, that has been touched by the promise-keeping God, till such habits and actions are ruthlessly expelled, as were Hagar and Ishmael from the tent of Abraham.

Next note how there may be hidden blessing in hardship. It seems at first a very cruel thing that Ishmael should have been so suddenly ejected. For sixteen years he had lived among many comforts; henceforward he was to be an outcast. How Hagar's heart must have rankled in her breast as she quit the tent with the boy she loved so dearly! How many a dream-fabric must have fallen, when she was told she was to be expelled! Yet the expulsion was the making of Ishmael, and through the hardship he was coming to his own. Ishmael would never have thriven in Abraham's tent; he was made for a freer, a wilder, a more reckless life. There was something in the desert, with its vast expanses, that was very congenial to Ishmael's spirit. So in the hour when fate seemed sorest to him, he was being led to the sphere that suited him; there was a hidden blessing in his hardship. Let us remember that, when the worst comes to the worst. We may be driven out, to find the ways to God. It was hard for Joseph to be carried down to Egypt; it was hard for Ishmael to be sent away; but the will of a directing God was in it, and under the harsh experience was love.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Lastly how much we may miss till God opens our eyes. When Ishmael was like to die out in the wilderness, Hagar was powerless, for the water-skin was empty. A cupful of water would have saved the lad, yet she could spy no water in that parched and weary ground. Then God, hearing the cry of Ishmael (Gen_5:17), opened her eyes, and 1o! within a stone cast of her was a well. All that she craved for was at her very hand, but till God unlocked her eyes she saw it not. Is not that also (as Paul would say) an allegory? Is not that true of others besides Hagar? Are there none who may read this, who are craving for spiritual peace and power and victory? Remember that such blessings are not far away; like Hagar's well, they are within our reach; when our eyes are open we find that all we longed for is nearer to us than we had ever dreamed.


Genesis 22:1-19.
THE OFFERING OF ISAAC

Few scenes, in the whole compass of the Bible, are more familiar than the sacrifice of Isaac. We knew the charm of it when we were children, and as we recur to it, time and time again, amid the deepening experience of the years, we find that the story has not lost the power and beauty that so arrested us in bygone days. This indeed is one of the wonders of God's Word, that we never leave it behind us as we travel. With all our growth through activity and sorrow, it grows in richness of interpretation. There are books which we very speedily outstrip; we read them, and we lay them aside for a period, and then we come back to them and find them thin and inadequate. But with all our growth, the Bible seems to grow; coming back to it we do not find it empty; rather with the increasing knowledge of the years, and the crosses and burdens they inevitably bring, new depths of divine help and wisdom open themselves before us in God's Word. It is peculiarly so with such a passage as this. We can never exhaust its spiritual significance. To our childish ears it is a delightful story; it appeals as powerfully as any fairy-tale; but gradually we come to see beneath the surface, and to discern the mind of God within the picture, until at last we reach the sweet assurance that underneath are the everlasting arms.

Note first then how the words of God may seem to contradict each other. Isaac was the child of promise; the hopes of Abraham were crowned in him; it had been revealed to Abraham by God that in Isaac should his seed be called. Clearly, then, it was the will of God that Isaac should grow to manhood, and should rear a family; yet here comes the command of God to Abraham to offer up his boy as a burnt-offering. Did Abraham stay to argue out the matter? Did he charge God with this seeming contradiction? Nay, but without a single word of murmur he started to execute the will of Heaven; and we know now that through his instant action all seeming contradiction passed away. We are all of us in a like plight to Abraham -- the voices we hear are so often contradictory. The duties we are called to often seem to clash; the tasks that are set us are apparently incompatible. Let us learn that our true course is that of Abraham, to go instantly forward in the track of present duty. How was it possible that Isaac should have heirs, and yet should be slain as a lad upon the altar? Had Abraham sat down to puzzle out the matter, it would have been confusion worse confounded. But he did not sit down, he rose up very early; he did exactly what God bade him do; and so for him, as for us, along the line of duty, the apparent antagonism was resolved.

Note again that we are educated by temptation. This was an hour of testing for the patriarch; it was an hour of sore strain upon his faith; no greater demand could be made on him by Heaven than to sacrifice this lad he loved so well. But it was not merely a season of sharp testing, it was a time of the mightiest educative influence; it gave to Abraham such new conceptions of sacrifice as have left their impress on all history. There was not a chieftain in the country where Abraham dwelt but was familiar with the rites of human sacrifice. Many a time, as he sat by his tent door, Abraham had spied the fires of such an offering. And I doubt not that he had meditated on the matter, and marveled at the religious enthusiasm it denoted, and fallen a-wondering whether some gift like that might not be acceptable also to his God. Then came the commandment from Heaven about Isaac, and the altar on Mount Moriah, and the ram; and Abraham learned that the surrender of a life was a different thing in God's sight from the ending of it. He was taught that it is not the outpouring of the blood, it is the obedient spirit that gives the worth to sacrifice. He saw that God may claim all that is ours, and yet may claim it not for destruction, but for fuller life. So was he educated to larger and purer thoughts, not by any sweet and silent meditation, but by the testing of this mountain-hour. Are we not all educated in kindred ways? Sooner or later does not God call us from our ease, and send us (like Abraham) to a highland school? For it is not only by the thoughts we think that we arrive at the clearest and the happiest views of God; it is by temptation, it is through trial and testing, it is by obedience to the sterner call, and by patience in the bearing of the cross.

Observe, too, the secrets that separate us as we journey. As Abraham went up the hill with Isaac, his fatherly heart would yearn over his son. And the high spirit of the lad, and his merry laugh, and the glad speech of his unsuspecting innocence, all this would stab Abraham as deeply as Abraham's knife could ever stab his son. How closely and fondly were they knit together! How strong were the bonds of love between these lives! Yet what a world there was between them as they climbed, and what thoughts in the bosom of Abraham of which Isaac knew nothing! So does that far-off journey to the hills become a parable on the road we are all travelling, for we travel it in the closest of relationships, yet there is that in each heart that cannot be made plain. Betwixt the nearest and dearest, as they breast life's slope together, there is much that cannot be voiced in human speech; a certain loneliness is quite inevitable, no matter how warm the love be that encircles. No doubt that will all pass away, when the summit level of the climb is reached. Then we shall know even as we are known. Meantime we must press heavenward in life's glad fellowship, as Abraham went with Isaac up the hill, nor murmur if there be that in us, and others, that can neither be conveyed nor understood.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Lastly, note that God makes provision in the nick of time; it was so He furnished the ram for the burnt-offering. It was when Abraham's faith had been tested to the utmost, it was when Isaac's self-surrender was complete -- it was then that in the thicket in the background Abraham discovered God's provided sacrifice. God gives, when all is ready for the giving. There is a fitting moment for every gift of God, and never before, nor after, is it sent. In that faith Abraham lived from this great hour. In that faith let us, too, face the morrow. It will keep us happy. It will make us restful. It will give us courage to endure, and peace to die.


Genesis 24:10-28, Gen_24:58-67
REBEKAH AND ISAAC

Three years have passed since the death of Sarah, and now we come to a very different scene. Through heart-breaking sorrows and through God-given joys the course of human life rolls onward; and in the Bible story, as in our experience, there is the chequering of light and shadow. Abraham is a very old man now; he has fought his fight well, and he has kept the faith; but there is still one matter that weighs heavily upon him, in a way which we of the West can hardly understand. With us, when a young man wishes to get married, he himself takes the initiative. He would never think of letting the matter be settled for him, even by the most affectionate of fathers. But in the East, and especially in early times, parental control was very wide in its reach, and a son's marriage (like his education now) was one of the cares and duties of the father. This was the matter that was weighing upon Abraham. Isaac was forty years of age now, and unmarried. If the promise was to be fulfilled in Isaac's line, had not the hour come when Isaac should be wed? It was this conviction which determined Abraham to take the steps recorded in our chapter.

Now it reveals the intensity of Abraham's faith that in this matter he should have acted so. He was determined that, at whatever cost, he would have a wife for his son from his own kindred. Around him there were wealthy and powerful chiefs, into whose families Isaac would have been welcomed. Powerful alliances might have been cemented, that would have enormously strengthened Abraham's position. But all such worldly trafficking Abraham scorned; it was not in such ways Canaan must be won; Abraham had looked to God in twenty choices, and now he would trust Him in choosing Isaac's bride. So Eliezer, his head-servant, set out. It seemed on the face of it a wild-goose chase. Was it likely that any of the maidens of Haran would leave their homes to venture on such a journey? Eliezer had many such thoughts within his heart. But he did his duty, and we know how he was prospered, till that hour at eventide when Isaac was in the fields; nor can we doubt that this brave and noble woman, so quick to decide and so prompt to act, was exquisitely fitted to be the bride of quiet and patient and meditative Isaac.

First note, then, what loyal service was rendered by Eliezer. It was a strange errand on which he was sent away. To the eye of sense it seemed to be doomed to failure. Yet he threw himself into it with all his heart, and carried it through with consummate tact and wisdom. When he was taken into Laban's house, and when the camels had been tended, and the foot-washing was over, there was meat set before him, but not a bite would he touch, till he had told the errand that brought him to Haran (Gen_24:33). Right through the journey you can detect the servant at every cost putting his master first. And right through the journey, in the heart of all the service, you light on fervent prayer to Abraham's God. Is not that a type of what our service should be? Does not Eliezer put some of us to shame? Are we as patient and as tactful and as prayerful in all we strive to do for our great Master? When our hopes of successful labor grow remote; when the claims of self seek to assert themselves; when in the stress and anxiety of work we find ourselves forgetting supplication, it is never lost time to open Genesis, and travel to Haran in Eliezer's company.

Note next how our casual meetings are arranged by God. When the Samaritan woman came to Jacob's well, and found a stranger sitting by it, weary, it seemed to her to be a casual meeting; yet all the world knows now how God had ordered it. So here Rebekah came to draw at eventide, and by chance (as she thought) there was a stranger there; yet we know what prayers in the far-off tent of Abraham, and what earnest petitions from Eliezer's lips, were being answered as Rebekah came to draw. The meeting was not casual after all; behind it was many a cry of fervent prayer; and may we not say that in every human life there are hours, like this one, that seem quite meaningless, and yet behind them, could we but pierce the gloom, there is the moving of the hand of God. We must be very wakeful in our common days. We must remember the background of the most casual meeting. In minimis Deus maxirnus, says the wise apophthegm: in the least things God is greatest.

Note, lastly, how far-reaching may be the consequences of one kindness. It was very kindly and gracious of Rebekah to draw for Eliezer's camels. Travelers, who are loud in praise of Oriental kindness, tell us that that favor is scarcely ever rendered. Now Rebekah had no ulterior motives in her action, she was but following the dictates of her own generous heart; yet the consequences of that one act were quite incalculable; had it never been done, she had never been Isaac's bride. Is not that a hint of the far-reaching power of every kindly deed we try to do? Does it not teach us that in ways we cannot estimate, the generous deed we do shall have its harvest? It is not always easy to be kind. We may be worried, or tired, or burdened with some cross. But for Rebekah, the road to joy and glory began in a kindly and hospitable deed, and who can tell what may not open for us, if, like her, we begin by helping somebody?
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Gen_25:27-34; 27:18-38
JACOB AND ESAU

Rebekah had twin sons, Esau and Jacob, and today we study two scenes in the life of these sons -- scenes which reveal their characters most clearly. It is often a wonder to us how, in one family circle, there should be children of quite opposite dispositions, and I dare say the neighbors often felt a similar wonder as they watched the two lads who were growing up in Isaac's tent. The one was bold, impetuous, and daring; fond of the open, a very skillful hunter; there was nothing he loved better than to be off at daybreak with his bow on his shoulder and his arrows in his belt; but the other was quiet and canny and (as the neighbors would say) deep as a well; he had no love at all for feats of hardihood; he never wearied of his own company, or of his mother's. We are not surprised that Esau was Isaac's favorite, for there is something that appeals to helpless age in gallant and adventurous youth; nor can we wonder that Rebekah set her heart on Jacob, who was so thoughtful and so quiet at home. So these two lads grew up in the one tent, brothers, yet with a whole world of difference between them, and it is this difference which is so signally illustrated in the two incidents we have to study today. In the first, we have Esau parting with his birthright; in the second, we have Isaac blessing Jacob. In both we have the child of the bow and of the spear outmatched and outwitted by the stay-at-home. What lessons, then, may we learn from these two stories that are so faithfully and so simply told?

Well, first, it is not easy to be wise when we are hungry. When Esau started out hunting in the morning, he had little thought of what evening was to bring. His heart beat merrily and his brain was clear, and he saw things in their right proportions then. But when evening came he was utterly for spent; he was physically exhausted and ravenous with hunger; and it was then that nothing he possessed seemed worthy of being compared with a dish of savory food. So do we learn how dangerous it is to make any bargains when we are very tired. When we are physically worn with a day's toil we are not capable of judging rightly. A hungry man is an angry man, says the old proverb, and an angry man is not fit to transact business. May we not learn, too, to feel a deeper compassion for those who rarely have enough to eat? If they act foolishly and break the law, and play fast and loose with much that makes life noble, should not our hearts be very tender towards them, as they are towards Esau in his sorry bargain? I think that Jesus had all that in view when He laid the command on us to feed the hungry. For when we feed the hungry we not only satisfy the body, nor do we merely minister to a physical want. We make it easier to resist temptation; we help to restore the balance to the mind; we do something to keep men from these rash and reckless acts that, done in a moment, may ruin all the years.

Put in another light this passage is meant to teach us how prone we are to despise what costs us nothing. Esau had not toiled and striven for this birthright. He had not won it by the work of his own hands. It was the dowry of God to him; the gift of heaven; it had fallen on him by the will divine. May it not be then that just because of this, it had never seemed truly precious in Esau's eyes? And should we not all be alive to our constant peril, of forgetting God's gifts because they are freely given? It is the things that we toil for, which we prize; it is the things that have cost us weary hours to win. The fruit that has dropped into our lap from the laden branches is not nearly so sweet as the fruit we have climbed to get. So are we always in danger of despising many of the common (yet choicest) gifts of God, because they are given to us (as Esau's birthright was) out of a free and unearned and sovereign bounty. Was it by the toil of our hands that our eye acquired its marvelous power of seeing?, or our ear of hearing? or brain of thinking? Was it our sacrifice that gave us our spiritual liberty? Was it our labor that reared our childhood's home? Such things as these may well be called our birthright; it is these that make life great and glorious for us; yet how often we despise them just as Esau did, because, like Esau's, they were so freely given!

Again, this meets us in the second incident, how we may be tempted most sorely by those who love as most. No one would doubt Rebekah's love for Jacob. It was very deep and it was very brave. She was willing that all the curse should fall on her, if only the son she loved should get the blessing (Gen_27:13). Yet it was not any foe who tempted Jacob to win the blessing of Isaac by a trick; it was the mother who idolized her son, and who would have given her life for him, she loved him so. So do we see how the fieriest temptations may come from the side of those who love us best. It is when the voice that whispers is as a mother's voice that the onset of temptation is most terrible. It was hard for Christ to be tempted in the wilderness; perhaps it was harder still to be tempted by Simon Peter. It was the very love of Simon Peter that made Jesus so swift and stern in His rebuke.

Then, lastly, we cannot be blind to this, that God's will is wrought out through human sin and error. What sin there is in these two incidents! What deception and what shameful trickery! What striving there is to overreach; how each seems fighting for his own hand!

Yet over the wildest storm on the deep sea the stars will sometimes look down in infinite calm; so here, above all the noise of passion, is the sure and unalterable will of God. Let us be glad that neither sin nor error can ever overturn the plan of God. That vessel gets to its desired haven, however tempestuously the winds may blow. It is through such strange episodes, preserved for us in Scripture, that faith is strengthened in a sovereign will; it is through them we learn to pray with new assurance, 'Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth.'
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Gen_28:10-22
JACOB'S VISION AT BETHEL

Few places mentioned in Scripture are more rich in hallowed memories than Bethel. Time and again in the history of Israel we find it the scene of important or stirring deeds. But the incident which stands out from all the others, which has given the name of Bethel to a thousand sanctuaries, and which inspires our paraphrase 'O God of Bethel' with such depth of meaning, is the incident which forms our lesson for today. We all know what brought Jacob there. Esau was passionately angry at the trick that had been played upon him. There was no knowing what he might do in his fury (Gen_27:44). Some men, being insulted, show little sign of feeling, they bury their resentment and bide their time -- such are the dangerous men. But other men flare up in fiery wrath, for a little season there is no reasoning with them, and of such a nature was Esau. It were well, then, that Jacob should be removed till the first heat of Esau's heart was cooled. There were other motives, too, connected with his marriage, that made the departure of Jacob a desirable. So Jacob, with many a prayer and many a tear -- for he was still the idol of his mother's heart -- was sent away from the tent, and came to Bethel.

It is always a critical time when a young man leaves home, and this was Jacob's home-leaving. How soon all that we have been making of the years comes to the surface, for weal or woe! At home, we are sheltered by a father's care, and we are guarded by a mother's love; we scarcely know our perils and temptations while we are in that sweetest of all imprisonment's. But the hour of liberty is sure to come, when in the providence of God we are cast on our resources, and it is then that we learn our weakness and our strength. This, then, was Jacob's home-leaving. We can picture the excitement of the man. He had never been a wanderer like Esau; he had loved the quiet shelter of the tent. Now he was entering unfamiliar scenes, and his mind was intensely alive to all impressions. Gradually, as he journeyed, the character of the country changed. The rolling pastures gave place to highland scenery. Until at last, just as the day was closing, Jacob found himself beneath a mountain side, where slab was piled on slab, and rock rose up on rock, as if the whole were a ladder of the Almighty. Then the sun sank, and Jacob lay down to sleep. And he dreamed, and in his dream he still saw the ladder. It is often the last thing that has impressed us in our waking hours which shapes the tenor and substance of our dream. But the ladder was all transfigured now. It was bright as light, and it reached up to heaven, and up and down its glowing steps there moved the feet of the angel-host of heaven. More glorious still, at the top of it was God; in what shape or form we do not know. And as sometimes, down a mountain-side, there falls a stream with sweet and soothing music, so down the ladder came the sound of a voice, a voice that is 'as the sound of many waters.' What glorious words of promise the voice spoke, we know. Then Jacob awoke, and all things were un-changed -- unchanged, yet everything was new to him. And he said, How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God!

Now what is the meaning of this heavenly dream? Well, first, remember that Jacob was looking backward. He realized, for the first time in his life, what it meant to be utterly alone. During the day he had not felt his loneliness, for the sunlight, and the stir of travel, and the meeting of merchants and travelers on the road, had helped to dissipate all vexing thoughts; but now in the 'dead vast and middle of the night' Jacob felt utterly alone. He thought of his aged father in the tent, and of his mother lying open-eyed in the darkness. She was thinking of him and praying for him and wondering where he was in that still hour. And every fresh thought of that love, now far away, intensified the isolation of Jacob. Then it was that Jacob had his dream. Then it was that God drew near to him. He learned at Bethel that though alone, he was yet not alone. He was in touch with light and love and heaven. From the very stone where his head was couched that night there was free access to the feet of God. Was not that a turning-point in Jacob's life? The places we live in and all the tasks we do are consecrated by the God of Jacob.

But Jacob was not only looking backwards, he was looking forward too. No one, in the hour of leaving home, can have all his heart centered in the past. What was before him, Jacob did not know. He seemed to himself to be an aimless wanderer. He was flying to escape his brother's anger, but what might come of it all he could not guess. Would he be home again after a week or two? Would it be years ere he saw the tent he loved? One thing only was clear to Jacob -- that in the morning he must climb the mountain-side. So he lay down to sleep, and lo! the ladder that led he knew not whither up the hill became a stair, all full of light and glory, that led up to the very feet of God. So Jacob learned, from the vision and the voice, that he was not in any sense an aimless wanderer. His feet were guided with unerring wisdom; his course was directed by unfailing love. God was his shepherd, and God would never leave him till He had done all He had spoken of (Gen_5:15). What a great hour that was for Jacob! What a great hour it is for all of us, when we learn that we are not tossed like a leaf before the wind, but are moving forward on a path prepared.

In closing, let us never forget how Jesus used this scene, nor how, in the ladder which Jacob saw, He found the type and figure for Himself. 'Hereafter ye shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man' (Joh_1:51). What does that mean? It means that through Jesus Christ we have access to God the Father. It means that the way to heaven, with all its angel-ministries, is the exercise of faith in the Son of Man. It means that if there is safety in lone places, and sweet society there, and light and love; if there is consecration of unlikeliest spots, and certain guidance for the unknown morrow, all this is won for us by our Mediator, who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes became poor.
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[nChrist]

Genesis
by George H. Morrison (1915?)

Gen_32:1-5, 13-32.
JACOB'S WRESTLING AT PENIEL

Years have gone since we last saw Jacob, on the night of his memorable dream at Bethel. He has passed through many of life's greatest hours, since the day when he left his father's and mother's tent. He is no longer a solitary fugitive; he is a rich man with a great company around him. And now with wife and children, and with all his vast possessions, he is marching back to the scenes of his early life. But his heart is still doubtful about meeting Esau. What welcome will he get after these years? Will his brother have forgiven, if not forgotten, the sin that made such havoc at home in the old days? It is an hour of dark foreboding for rich Jacob. At least, he can do all in his power to propitiate Esau. He can send him such gifts, and in such artful relays, as will subdue, if they will not soften, his brother's heart. And of such schemes and worldly devices and wise plans the brain of Jacob is full, as he halts on the north bank of the rushing Jabbok. Then in the nighttime comes his strange encounter. There is no eye to see it, Jacob is left alone. But in the morning as he comes limping down the hill, while the sun rises in the East in fiery splendor, there is not an eye so blind but sees in a moment that some great thing has happened to their leader. The champion of the wronged has met with him. He had learned that there was a mightier antagonist than Esau to encounter, and that plans and schemes were of small avail with God. He had been won, in the dark hours of loneliness, from trust in self to victorious dependence on Jehovah's arm. How he had fought for his own hand we know. We know, too, how a touch had overcome him. Baffled and beaten in his fight for self-dependence, Jacob was more than conqueror in his failure. For he yielded himself up to Him who had overcome him; in an obedience far larger and purer than before, he became the servant of the God of Bethel; he was no longer, either in name or temper, Jacob the supplanter: but he was Israel, the prince with God.

Now among the lessens of this rich, if mysterious, story, let us note first the reserve-strength of heaven. All night long the wrestling was continued, perhaps with very varying fortunes. Jacob was no mean antagonist, even for this midnight visitant. At one moment it seemed as if Jacob must conquer; at another he was perilously near a fall; and if any cry arose in the long night, such as might have startled the camp across the stream, it was drowned in the brawling of the Jabbok. Now the point to note is that all through this long struggle, the unknown stranger had mighty powers in reserve. He had only to touch the thigh of Jacob with His finger, and the power of the brave wrestler was gone. He did not use these powers in the dreary night; he did not call upon them till the dawn was breaking; but all the time that the struggle was raging, they were there, and He might have used them had He chosen. Do we not see something closely akin to that, in the life and suffering of Jesus Christ? Are we not conscious, in His wrestling with all supplanters, of slumbering powers that He would not employ? He could have called on His Father, He tells us in one place, and He would have given Him innumerable angels. Then at the breaking of the day of triumph, by a single touch (as it were) Christ was revealed, and He whom men had seemed to prevail with in the flesh, was victorious over sin and death.

Again, let us mark how one touch may reveal God. Who his antagonist was, Jacob did not know, when he felt himself gripped, as in a vise, by Jabbok. In that moment his mind was fun of Esau; he thought of the treachery of long ago -- might not this be some treacherous move on Esau's part? for as we sow, so also shall we reap. Not a word was uttered in the first fierce onset, the sky was as pitch, the camp-fires were an out. Probably, in the thrill and tumult of that moment, Jacob noted a thousand small details -- he heard the brook, and the cry of the folded cattle, in the intense silence of that fight for life. So the hours passed, and he knew not who opposed him; then came the first faint streaks of returning day; and it was then, by a single touch upon the thigh, that Jacob was taught that his antagonist was divine. He had not learned it through the long night's wrestling; he did not learn it by the morning light; it is not likely that the combatant had wings, as in the exquisite picture of the scene by Dore -- one touch revealed more to him than an the struggle did. How often has this proved true in human history! We wrestle bravely and the night is dark, but we know not how near God is to us in the gloom. But the finger touches us, or those whom we love; and like Jacob we are maimed, or disabled, or bereaved; and immediately there flashes on us the assurance that nigh to us is a power more than human, and a will that we cannot gainsay, for it is God's. It is no accident that this should have happened to Jacob when the sky was showing the magic of the dawn. When we are touched by God, however sore it be, it is always the hour of sunrise to the soul.

Then, lastly, let us note that there are defeats which are victories. When the morning broke, Jacob was defeated. He was incapable of wrestling any more. His thigh was shrunk; he could not grip and press; he could only cling as a desperate man might do. Yet his clinging was more victorious than his wrestling; it was then he became a Prince and had prevailed; he had been defeated after all his struggle, but in this defeat was his true victory. Let us all remember that it is often so. There are some victories that are terrible defeats. When we silence conscience, when we trample on conviction, when we refuse to open the door of our own heart, we win the day only to lose the prize. But on the other hand, when our cleverness avails not, when our schemes fail, and our plans miscarry, when our self-dependence is shattered, and our pride is broken, and we are brought down, humbled, to simple trust in God -- in that hour we seem to be defeated, as Jacob seemed that night at Peniel; but for us, as for him, there is a new name -- Israel -- and a voice from heaven that always says we have prevailed.