ABRAM AND THE LIFE OF FAITH
by Alexander Maclaren
A great act of renunciation at the
divine call lies at the
foundation of Israel's history, as it does at the
foundation of
every life that blesses the world or is worth
living. The divine
Word to Abram first gives the command in all its
authoritativeness
and plain setting forth of how much had to be
surrendered, and then
in its exuberant setting forth of how much was to be
won by
obedience. God does not hide the sacrifices that
have to be made if
we will be true to His command. He will enlist no
recruits on false
pretences. All ties of country, kindred, and
father's house have to
be loosened, and, if need be, to be cut, for His
command is to be
supreme, and clinging hands that would hold back the
pilgrim have to
be disengaged. If a man realises God's hold on him,
he feels all
others relaxed. The magnetism of the divine command
overcomes
gravitation, and lifts him high above earth. The
life of faith ever
begins as that of 'the Father of the Faithful'
began, with the
solemn recognition of a divine will which separates.
Further, Abram
saw plainly what he had to leave, but not what he
was to win. He had
to make a venture of faith, for 'the land that I
will shew thee' was
undefined. Certainly it was somewhere, but where was
it? He had to
fling away substance for what seemed shadow to all
but the eye of
faith, as we all have to do. The familiar,
undeniable good of the
present has to be waived in favour of what 'common
sense' calls a
misty possibility in the future. To part with solid
acres and get
nothing but hopes of an inheritance in the skies
looks like
insanity, and is the only true wisdom. 'Get thee
out' is plain; 'the
land that I will shew thee' looks like the doubtful
outlines seen
from afar at sea, which may be but clouds.
But Abram had a great hope blazing in front, none
the less bright or
guiding because it all rested on the bare promise of
God. It is the
prerogative of faith to give solidity and reality to
what the world
thinks has neither. The wanderer who had left his
country was to
receive a land for his own; the solitary who had
left his kindred
was to become the founder of a nation; the unknown
stranger was to
win a great name,--and how wonderfully that has come
true! Not only
was he to be blessed, but also to be a blessing, for
from him was to
flow that which should bless all the earth,--and how
transcendently
that has come true! The attitude of men to him (and
to the universal
blessing that should descend from him) was to
determine their
position in reference to God and 'blessings' or 'cursings'
from him.
So the migration of Abram was a turning-point in
universal history.
Obedience followed the command, immediate as the
thunder on the
flash, and complete. 'So Abram went, as the Lord had
spoken unto
him,'--blessed they of whose lives that may be the
summing-up! Happy
the life which has God's command at the back of
every deed, and no
command of His unobeyed! If our acts are closely
parallel with God's
speech to us, they will prosper, and we shall be
peaceful wherever
we may have to wander. Success followed obedience in
Abram's case,
as in deepest truth it always does. That is a
pregnant expression:
'They went forth to go into the land of Canaan; and
into the land of
Canaan they came.' A strange itinerary of a journey,
which omits all
but the start and the finish! And yet are these not
the most
important points in any journey or life,--whither it
was directed
and where it arrived? How little will the weary
tramps in the desert
be remembered when the goal has been reached!
Dangers and privations
soon pass from memory, and we shall think little of
sorrows, cares,
and pains, when we arrive at home. The life of faith
is the only one
which is always sure of getting to the place to
which it seeks to
journey. Others miss their aim, or drop dead on the
road, like the
early emigrants out West; Christian lives get to the
city.
Once in the land, Abram was still a stranger and
pilgrim. He first
planted himself in its heart by Sichem, but outside
the city, under
the terebinth tree of Moreh. The reason for his
position is given in
the significant statement that 'the Canaanite was
then in the land.'
So he had to live in the midst of an alien
civilisation, and yet
keep apart from it. As Hebrews says, he was
'dwelling in
tabernacles,' because he 'looked for a city.' The
hope of the
permanent future made him keep clear of the passing
present; and we
are to feel ourselves pilgrims and sojourners, not
so much because
earth is fleeting and we are mortal, as because our
true affinities
are with the unseen and eternal. But the presence of
'the Canaanite'
is connected also with the following words, which
tell that 'the
Lord appeared unto Abram,' and now after his
obedience told him that
this was the land that was to be his. He unfolds His
purposes to
those who keep His commandments; obedience is the
mother of insight.
The revelation put a further strain on faith, for
the present
occupiers of the land were many and strong; but it
matters not how
formidably and firmly rooted the Canaanite is, God's
children can be
sure that the promise will be fulfilled. We can
calmly look on his
power and reckon on its decay, if the Lord appears
to us, as to
Abram--and He surely will if we have followed His
separating voice,
and dwell as strangers here, because our hearts are
with Him.
After the appearance of God and the promise, we have
an outline of
the pilgrim's life, as seen in Abram. He signalised
God's further
opening of His purposes, by building an altar on the
place where He
had been seen by him. Thankful recognition and
commemoration of the
times in our lives when He has most plainly drawn
near and shown us
glimpses of His will, are no less blessed than due,
and they who
thus rear altars to Him will wonder, when they come
to count up how
many they have had to build. But the life of faith
is ever a pilgrim
life, and Bethel has soon to be the home instead of
Shechem. There,
too, Abram keeps outside the city, and pitches his
tent. There, too,
the altar rises by the side of the tent. The
transitory provision
for housing the pilgrim contrasts with the solid
structure for
offering sacrifices. The tent is 'pitched,' and may
be struck and
carried away to-morrow, but the altar is 'builded.'
That part of our
lives which is concerned with the material and
corporeal is, after
all, short in duration and small in importance; that
which has to do
with God, His revelations, and His worship and
service, lasts. What
is left in ancient historic lands, like Egypt or
Greece, is the
temples of the gods, while the huts of the people
have perished long
centuries ago. What we build for God lasts; what we
pitch for
ourselves is transient as we are.
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