By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter; choosing rather to be evil entreated with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; accounting the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt: for he looked unto the recompense of reward.- Heb_11:24-26.
It was when Moses was grown that the great trial came which determined what was to be the spirit of his life, and what manner of man he was to be. His education had been completed. A wealth of experience and a wealth of culture had been gathered. Enriched by the influences which had surrounded his unconscious childhood, and by the learning and wisdom of Egypt which had laid their treasures at his feet, it had still to be determined whether all this rich capability was to be kindled by the Holy Spirit into a sacrifice and a service to the glory of God and for the good of his brethren; or whether it was to deaden and harden into a mere selfish possession. In the crisis which came to him, he had to decide whether he would identify himself with the suffering race who were his kindred, and whose cause was the cause of righteousness and mercy; or whether he would choose to rank on the side of their oppressors, with whom, in upbringing and position, he was already associated.
1. While the intellect of Moses was developing, it is plain that his connexion with his family was not entirely broken. Such a tie as often binds a foster-child to its nurse may have been permitted to associate him with his real parents. Some means were evidently found to instruct him in the history and Messianic hopes of Israel, for he knew that their reproach was that of “the Christ,” greater riches than all the treasures of Egypt, and fraught with a reward for which he looked in faith (Heb_11:26). But what is meant by naming as part of his burden their “reproach,” as distinguished from their sufferings? We shall understand, if we reflect, that his open rupture with Egypt was unlikely to be the work of a moment. Like all the best workers, he was led forward gradually, at first unconscious of his vocation. Many a protest he must have made against the cruel and unjust policy that steeped the land in innocent blood. Many a jealous councillor must have known how to weaken his dangerous influence by some cautious taunt, some insinuated “reproach” of his own Hebrew origin. The warnings put by Josephus into the lips of the priests in his childhood were likely enough to have been spoken by some one before he was forty years old. At last, when driven to make his choice, he “refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter,” a phrase, especially in its reference to the rejected title as distinguished from “the pleasures of sin,” which seems to imply a more formal rupture than Exodus records.
There was true heroism in the act, when Moses stepped down from Pharaoh's throne to share the lot of his brethren. He might have contented himself with sending them money from the treasures of Egypt; but it was a greater and nobler thing to give himself. And the true religious instinct of his soul gleamed out as he did so. There was a revelation of the faith which had been kindled within him when he knelt at his mother's side in the slave-hut, and had survived all the adverse influences of the Egyptian court, like a spark of fire living in the heart of black coals.
The light that flashed from Moses' eyes was of more than mortal brilliancy, it was the sacred fire of enthusiasm, the glory that might illumine his face alone who knew himself to be in direct communication with the Deity. And well and wisely has that kindred soul, Italy's greatest sculptor, portrayed him thus, with the aureole of genius and titanic strength encircling his brow. Across the centuries these two, mystically allied by their superhuman energies and achievements, have met and understood one another, and the real Moses stands forever revealed to us in the form and features lent him here. It is strength in its highest manifestation which Michelangelo has symbolized, and we feel ourselves in presence of something that transcends our puny human faculties, that springs from Faith, unswerving and unshaken.1 [Note: From Memory's Shrine: Reminiscences of Carmen Sylva, 74.]
2. Pondering the great question of his life which was pressing for decision, he went out to see how it fared with his kindred. He soon became witness of an act of oppression and cruelty. “He saw an Egyptian smiting an Hebrew, one of his brethren.” He had the fiery vindictive blood of Levi in his veins, and he smote the oppressor. Having satisfied his conscience by this act of vengeance on the wrong-doer, he returned to his place in the court, fondly believing that the deed he had done was hid, and that it was still open to him to decide whether he would finally espouse the Hebrew cause. There was much to be said against his doing so, from the apparent hopelessness of making anything of so depraved a race. His next experience among them seemed to illustrate that hopelessness. He found a Hebrew doing as foul a wrong to one of his own people as he had seen done by the Egyptian. When he interfered on behalf of the wronged he was assailed with scornful words. The deed, in doing which he had risked so much, was cast in his teeth, and he had the sickening experience which is almost sure to come to everyone who seeks to elevate the degraded-of the hopelessness of the task to which he has set himself, and of the ingratitude with which it is likely to be repaid. He might possibly have turned aside from that to which the better instincts of his heart inclined him, and sunk back into a contented worldling; but God had shut him in. The intimation, which the sneer of the Israelite conveyed, that the slaying of the Egyptian was known, was immediately followed by signs of Pharaoh's wrath; and so now the die was cast, and by faith he “refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter; choosing rather to be evil entreated with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.”
The most remarkable instance of second sight in the Bible is given by Moses' choice where he “had respect unto the recompense of the reward.” Three times we are told he took a look past the material and the visible over the shoulder of things to the real values, imperishable, eternal, to the face of God. Doubtless there were many to call him short-sighted; and so it would seem at first sight, but second sight showed better powers of vision. The invisible came into ken, and a reward incorruptible, and that fadeth not away, was his.1 [Note: M. D. Babcock, Thoughts for Every-Day Living, 14.]
To bring thought and action into harmony, to make the presence of the Unseen a guide through the path of this present world: that is the problem of the practically religious life. To Florence Nightingale, communion with the Unseen meant something deeper, richer, fuller, more positive than the fear of God. The fear of God is the beginning, but not the end, of wisdom, for perfect love casteth out fear. It was for the love of God as an active principle in her mind, constraining all her deeds, that she strove.1 [Note: Sir Edward Cook, The Life of Florence Nightingale, i. 50.]
(1) In seeking to understand this attempt of Moses to relieve the hard lot of his brethren we notice, first, that it sprang largely from sympathy.-At first it must have seemed very strange to him to realize that he was bound in bonds of such close kinship to these toiling, suffering, dying Hebrews. “He went out unto his brethren.” But this feeling must soon have given place to an intense commiseration, as he heard the nation sighing by reason of its bondage; and, groaning under its accumulated sorrows, his soul would be filled with tender pity. And within a little, that pity for his people turned to indignation against their oppressors. But the mere impulse of pity would never have been strong enough to bear him through the weary years of the desert march. Beneath the repeated provocations of the people it must have given way. He could never have carried them as a nursing-father, or asked that he might be blotted out of the book of life for them, or pleaded with them for God. Nothing short of a reception of the Divine patience, let into his soul as the ocean waves find an inlet into some deeply-indented coast, could suffice for the demands which would be made on him in those coming terrible years.
(2) It was premature.-God's time for the deliverance of His people was not due for forty years. The iniquity of the Amorites had not reached its full, though it was nearing the brim of the cup. His own education, moreover, was very incomplete; it would take at least forty years to drain him of his self-will and self-reliance, and make him a vessel meet for the Master's use. The Hebrew people had not as yet come to the pitch of anguish, which is so touchingly referred to, when the death of their principal oppressor seems to have brought matters to a crisis, and they forsook the false gods to which they had given their allegiance in order to return to the God of their fathers.
(3) It was done in the pride of his own strength.-It was but natural that Moses should suppose that he could do something for the amelioration of his people's lot. He had always been accustomed to have his way. Crowds of obsequious servants and courtiers had yielded to his slightest whim. By his strong right hand he had hewn out a great career. He was conscious of vast stores of youthful energy and natural force, untapped by sufficient calls, and undiminished by physical excess; surely these would count for something. He would make that nation of oppressors reel before his blows, and of course he would be hailed by his brethren as their God-sent deliverer. We have been disposed to attribute too much of the success of the Exodus to the natural qualities of the great leader; but we must always remember that, like Gideon's host, he was at first too strong for God. God cannot give His glory to another. He dare not entrust His power to men till they are humbled and emptied and conscious of their helplessness. Even the Son learned obedience by the things that He suffered, before He could say, “All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.”
Let us view Moses' sacrifice in the light of that of the great Master Himself. Between Jesus coming to earth to redeem men and Moses leaving the court of Egypt out of sympathy for his oppressed nation there was no doubt an infinite difference in one view, but a near resemblance in another. Like Jesus, he could not rest satisfied with an honourable and comfortable position, while his brethren appealed so powerfully to his compassion. Like Jesus, he threw in his lot with his afflicted people, and became for them a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. He was of that noble type of men who are ever ready to sacrifice themselves for others, and count no labour and no pain too great on their behalf. In the Divine Son of Mary this type is at its highest. But in all ages, and notably in our own, we find not a few who have devoted themselves heart and soul to the cause of the oppressed, and found their noblest satisfaction in relieving their burdens and breaking their fetters. Nothing can ever rob Christianity of this glorious distinction so long as the example of Him retains its power, who, “though he was rich, yet for our sakes became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich.”1 [Note: W. G. Blaikie, Heroes of Israel. 307.]
3. When the news of Moses' first attempt came to the ears of Pharaoh, he sought to slay Moses. Moses feared, and fled from the face of Pharaoh. In after years, under similar circumstances, it is said that “he forsook Egypt, not fearing the wrath of the king” (Heb_11:27). And when we ask the reason of his fearlessness, we learn that it was by faith he did so; for “he endured, as seeing him who is invisible.” But if such were the case afterwards, why was it not so at the time with which we are dealing? The reason is obvious. Faith is possible only when we are on God's plan, and stand on God's promise. It is useless to pray for increased faith until we have fulfilled the conditions of faith. And amongst those conditions this is the first-ascertain your place in God's plan, and get on to it; and this is the second-feed on God's promises. And when each of these is realized, faith comes of itself, and there is absolutely nothing that is impossible. The believing soul can “do all things” with God, because it has got on to God's lines; it is, indeed, itself as the metal track along which God travels to men in love, grace, and truth. But Moses was out of touch with God. So he fled and crossed the desert that lay between him and the eastern frontier; threaded the mountain passes of the Sinaitic Peninsula, through which in after years he was to lead his people; and at last sat wearily down by a well in the land of Midian.
A fugitive from Egyptian justice, starting from Memphis, would almost necessarily set his face towards the east. He could not escape by travelling northward, for in that direction the dominion of the Egyptian monarch reached to the shores of the sea; it was hopeless to proceed southward, for the frontier on that side was 700 miles away; to the west was nothing but uninhabited sandy desert, without food, or water, or shade. The eastern desert was, on the contrary, to some extent peopled; it had trees and wells in places, and thus was traversable; though reckoned to Egypt, it was scarcely under the Egyptian rule, and the writ of Pharaoh scarcely ran in its recesses. Moses, having provided himself with a bag of meal and a water-bottle, would enter on the desert within a few hours of quitting Memphis, and would gradually thread its valleys, always making towards the east, until he passed the head of the Gulf of Suez, and found himself in Arabia. Even there, however, he was not wholly safe. The Egyptians in the time of Rameses ii. had permanent settlements in the Wady Magharah and at Sarabit-el-Khadim in the Sinaitic Peninsula, where they worked the mines of copper and turquoise which then abounded in those districts. To communicate with these settlements they must have had a line of fortified posts, extending from their frontier at or near Suez to the valleys in which the mines were situated. It was the aim of Moses to place himself beyond the sphere of Egyptian influence altogether; and to do this he had to reach the more eastern portion of the peninsula, a region at that time inhabited by the Midianites, and known as “the land of Midian” (Exo_2:15). The route which he took was probably very much the same as that by which he afterwards led the Israelites to Mount Sinai. It ran nearly parallel with the eastern coast of the Gulf of Suez, but did not skirt the shore excepting for a short distance. It avoided the Egyptian posts and settlements, and brought the traveller, after the lapse of some weeks, to the vicinity of the Elanitic Gulf, or eastern arm of the Red Sea, which seems in early times to have been the proper country of the southern Midianites.1 [Note: G. Rawlinson, Moses: His Life and Times, 59.]
