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Commentary Index | Return to PrayerRequest.com | DownloadJohn Kitto Morning Bible Devotions: October 1
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1Ki_2:5-6; 1Ki_2:28-34
“Betake thee to thy Christ, then, and repose
Thyself, in all extremities, on those,
His everlasting arms,
Wherewith he girds the heavens, and upholds
The pillars of the earth, and safely folds
His faithful flock from harms.
Cleave close to him by faith, and let the bands
Of love tie thee in thy Redeemer’s hands.”—Quarles
Yet there was a difference. The altar of the “worldly sanctuary” did not give its shelter to all who took hold of it in faith in the efficiency of its protection. There were exceptions. There were sins too great for it to shelter. A murderer might be torn even from the altar to die, or might, as the case of Joab himself evinces, be slain even there. Here the parallel wholly fails. None, however guilty, has been cast forth from the refuge which the cross of Christ affords, as unworthy its protection, nor did ever any perish at its foot. Not any cast forth on account of their sins—for Christ came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance; and the heavier a man feels the burden of his sins, the more the refuge is dear, and the more it will be prized by him. The only ground on which, hypothetically, a man could be cast forth, would be for lack of faith; but he is never cast out on that account; for faith only—justifying faith—the faith which entitles a troubled soul to the rights of sanctuary—only such faith could have brought him where he is—to the foot of the cross.
Yet there is a mirage in the spiritual as in the natural atmosphere; and many appear to be safe within the refuge, who are indeed far away from it. Their hand may seem to grasp the very horns of the altar, yet no drop of the blood of the atonement can be found upon their raiment. The world reigns yet in their hearts, and its lusts and lucres fill their hands. And yet the self-deceivers know it not. They lie quiet in an ideal refuge of their own creation; but its walls will not stand the day of decision, which is destined to burn up the hay, the straw, and the stubble of man’s confidences, and shall try even the silver and gold by the sure test of fire. These are they who in the greatest, to man, of all coming days, shall claim a favorable recognition from the great King. “Lord, Lord, have we not taught in thy name, in thy name cast out devils, and in thy name done many wonderful works?” but whose ears shall tingle even unto blood at the answer—“I never knew you.—Depart from me.”
In the East a shepherd does not drive his sheep, but leads them. He goes before them, and they follow him. So it is in the spiritual kingdom. Men are not driven but “drawn” to their refuge in Christ. The world drives—but not to God. Joab was not drawn but driven to the altar, and therefore he found no refuge there. “It is the fashion of our foolish presumption,” observes Bishop Hall on this case, “to look for protection where we have not cared to yield obedience. Even a Joab clings to God’s altar in his extremity, which in his prosperity he regarded not. The worst men would be glad to make use of God’s ordinances for their advantage. Necessity will drive the most profane and lawless man to God.” But this is not the right spirit, that creates the claim to refuge with Him. To establish that claim, it is not enough to feel that the world is a hard master, still less to seek to avoid the punishment which the world’s law inflicts upon our sins. It is necessary that sin should be felt to be exceeding sinful, and known as the abominable thing which God hateth; it is requisite that the burden of the sin should press heavy on the soul, and that the most burning desire to be rid of it should be felt—not because of its human penalties—not for the loss, the bonds, the stripes, the death, with which man may visit it—but because it separates the soul from God, because he is angry with it every day, and because, unless purged away, atoned for, pardoned, blotted out, it will forever exclude the soul from the blessedness of his presence, which is heaven here, and heaven hereafter.
It may seem hard that Joab, who had rendered more services to the state than any man in Israel, who was so greatly successful in all his military undertakings, and who had been so faithful to David in all his troubles, should thus in his old age be called to account for his old sins, which were at the time passed over—which had, as it were, been condoned by subsequent services and employments of trust and honor; hard that he should thus be called so late to pay blood for blood to Abner and to Amasa. No doubt he ought to have been punished; but whether by those whom he had served so well, and whether after so long an interval, may be questioned by some. It was justice. But was David (for it was he who enjoined this task to his son) the man to exact the severest extremity of avenging justice from Joab—was it for him to forget that he had himself made this very Joab the instrument of his murder of Uriah? Joab deserved to die; and at an earlier day we had been content to see him brought by the king to justice—and even at this late period, we might not much have murmured to see him fall under the sword of the blood-avenger of Abner or Amasa. But we like not the mode, the time, or the circumstances of this judgment; we like not that David should, on his death-bed, have laid the charge upon his son, “not to allow his hoar head to go down to the grave in peace.” Let us learn from it, however, this lesson, that it is not in the power of any of our services or best deserving, to buy off the penalty due to our ancient sins. There it remains written in the great book of death against us. The hand is not ours—the power is not on earth, that can cancel that page, or blot out the handwriting against us. But there is One that can do it—who, for our sakes, purchased at no mean price the right to do it. And he will do it, if, with true faith in his power, and with truly humble hearts, we ask him. He is ready—he is most willing—he only waits to be asked, to make these things be as though they had not been; to cancel all, the old and the new. Let us not grieve him—let us not insult his blood-bought prerogative, by wasting our strength in the vain attempt to do ourselves, that which he alone is able to do for us.