Moses wist not that the skin of his face shone.- Exo_34:29.
When Moses came down among the people, they perceived that his face shone. Being with God, he had in a sense become transfigured. It was in similar circumstances that our Lord also underwent transfiguration. “As he prayed, the fashion of his countenance was altered.” In both cases, perhaps, it was not some external light that fell on their faces, but something within-an elevation of nature, due to the fellowship of God-that revealed itself without, in the face and form. In Christ's case it was perhaps what He was, revealing itself; in the case of Moses it was something which he had become. The words of Scripture sometimes appear paradoxical. Yet perhaps they are always true. Moses was made partaker of the Divine nature. He went up burdened with the needs of the people, his heart filled with thoughts almost too great to be contained. He came back with a certain God-likeness impressed upon him.
1. The people perceived the glory upon Moses, though he wist not that his face shone. There is in men, if one might say so, an instinct for God. They perceive His marks; they are sensitive to godliness. Perhaps it was this that Christ referred to when He uttered some of the most serious words that ever fell from His lips, about speaking against the Holy Ghost-“Whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him.” He meant wilfully contradicting that instinct which could not but recognize, in Himself and in His works, the good Spirit of God. This instinct is the hope of all who come from God to men. And we all do this. The words of Christ, “As my Father hath sent me, even so send I you,” were not meant to be confined to the Apostles. One of these Apostles says to his converts, “Ye are an epistle of Christ.”
If, when the mother went into the nursery, the children felt that she was a letter to them from Christ; or if, when the father joined the household in the evening or the master went among his workmen, household and workmen felt as if a message from Christ had come to them, how changed things would be! For children, households, and workmen-all men everywhere-have this instinct for God, that recognizes God. The capabilities of this instinct cannot be measured, nor the opportunities it offers. For it is not a thing that belongs to one part of man's nature; it is rather a network of sensibilities overspreading the whole nature; and it can be touched, and played upon, and the heart can be awakened through it in a thousand fashions. And it is most readily affected indirectly and informally, when it, so to speak, itself discovers and feels, without having anything obtruded upon it, as the sleeping eye is awakened just by the presence of the day-dawn. That which it is alive to is something just as broad as itself-what we call character. If in the infinite forms in which a character reveals or betrays itself, in words or tones or gestures or actions, in all that constitutes a life-if, I say, in all this infinite variety there breathe out godliness, it will touch some sensibility, something in other minds, and be recognized.1 [Note: A. B. Davidson, The Called of God, 136.]
2. The people felt what Moses himself was not conscious of; he wist not that his face shone. He was the last to be conscious of anything in himself above the common. He was averse to assume the great place he had to take. The man was very meek. He had learned in the school of adversity. A later writer ventures to say of him, that he had ere now borne the reproach of Christ. He was unconscious of the power he possessed, and of the fragrance of God which every movement of his life breathed out upon the people.
In all regions of life, the consummate apex and crowning charm of excellence is unconsciousness of excellence. Whenever a man begins to imagine that he is good, he begins to be bad; and every virtue and beauty of character is robbed of some portion of its attractive fairness when the man who bears it knows, or fancies, that he possesses it. The charm of childhood is its perfect unconsciousness, and the man has to win back the child's heritage, and become “as a little child,” if he would enter into and dwell in the “Kingdom of Heaven.” And so in the loftiest region of all, that of the religious life, we may be sure that the more a man is like Christ, the less he knows it; and the better he is, the less he suspects it.
This unconscious transfiguration has been remarked in many notable saints-McCheyne for instance. When death had called him away, a note was opened which the post had brought to the door during his illness. It was written by one who was a total stranger, to thank him for the hour of worship at Broughty Ferry. “I heard you preach last Sabbath evening, and it pleased God to bless that sermon to my soul. It was not so much what you said, as your manner of speaking, that struck me. I saw in you a beauty in holiness that I never saw before.” Everything about McCheyne drew men Christward. More than most, he was the living epistle, signed with the King's autograph and sealed by His Spirit. It was with him as with young Sir Pelleas: they who met him wondered after him,
because his face
Shone like the countenance of a priest of old
Against the flame about a sacrifice
Kindled by fire from heaven.1 [Note: A. Smellie, Robert Murray McCheyne, 203.]
I saw thee once, and nought discern'd
For stranger to admire;
A serious aspect, but it burn'd
With no unearthly fire.
Again I saw, and I confessed
Thy speech was rare and high;
And yet it vex'd my burden'd breast,
And scared, I knew not why.
I saw once more, and awe-struck gazed
On face, and form, and air;
God's living glory round thee blazed-
A Saint-a Saint was there!2 [Note: J. H. Newman, Verses on Various Occasions.]
