“They are dead which sought the young child’s life.”—Matth. ii., 20.
THE helplessness and beauty of childhood generally touch the deepest chords of tenderness in the hearts of all who see it. It was far otherwise with the heart of Herod when he heard of the birth of Jesus. Who would think that men could descend to such unnatural depths of cruelty as to seek the life of a young child? Ah, but the Child Jesus is no ordinary child. It was in connection with His birth that the Angel had said to Mary: “The Holy Spirit shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee, therefore that holy thing that shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.” The enmity of Herod is but another example of man’s depravity in revolt against the holiness of God. The outcome of that conflict is settled for all time by the declaration. “They are dead which sought the young child’s life.” Thus it was, thus it ever shall be; Jesus in weakness triumphs; Herod, the mighty king, dies.
Remembering who Jesus was we need not wonder that the hearts of men were strangely stirred within them as the news of His birth became known. To those who had waited for the Salvation of God it brought joy unspeakable; others, Herod the king among them, were troubled. Troubled as the sea is troubled when it cannot rest, casting up from unsuspected depths its mire and dirt (Isa., lvii., 20). Who was this that was born in Bethlehem to be King of the Jews! Rage, enmity, jealousy take possession of Herod. All ordinary considerations of humanity are swept aside when these evil passions rage. One object dominates his heart: this new king must die!
From the days of Cain, Jesus needed not to seek His enemies; They sought Him, thirsting for His blood. Thus it is to-day, wherever there is the least seed of grace born into the heart of a sinner, it meets with opposition and hatred. Every desire after good, every gracious impulse to repent, believe or pray, struggling into life awakens the natural enmity of the human
heart. The enmity of hell itself, unperceived, it may be, up till now, is instantly aroused into murderous activity. They seek the young child’s life. None need be surprised at this; holiness and sin are eternally opposed and the flesh, true to its own nature, must lust against the Spirit, these two are contrary and cannot be reconciled.
But listen to this, They are dead which sought the young child’s life, Death overtakes them: The Child Jesus, whom they designed should die, lives on. The stone which the builders rejected, is become the Head of the corner, this is surely the Lord’s doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes, and full of encouragement too. These words not only describe an incident which has been, but do they not also contain a prediction of what always shall be? For He must reign till all His enemies are made His foot stool.
One might be inclined to think that Herod meant well; “Go,” he says to the wise men, “and search diligently for the young child, and when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come and worship him also.” Satan will transform himself into an angel of light, if by so doing he thinks to further his plans. If Herod’s scheme failed, it certainly was not from lack of cunning craftiness. No sooner does he hear the news about Bethlehem, than his subtle brain sets to work, and he is not satisfied till he finally resolves on murder. From men he covers up his true design with a pretence of piety. But the all-seeing eye of God searches every thought that passes through the mind of the King, and God is not mocked. The subtle cunning of Herod is forestalled by One infinitely wiser than he. Joseph is forewarned of danger; and he along with Mary and their precious charge flee to Egypt and safety. It was purposed long, long before, that Jesus should be called out of Egypt, as it is written, “Out of Egypt have I called My Son.”
The wisdom of God, instead of being outwitted by the subtlety of Herod, actually takes the servant of evil and uses
him as an instrument to fulfil the designs of heaven. How wonderful are the ways of the Almighty! Who that knows Him would not trust Him? “I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.”
Nor did Herod lack earthly power sufficient to put his scheme into effect. He pleases his fancy with thoughts of murder. Has he not power to do as he will? Who is to hinder him? He knows not that his intended victim is the Eternal Son of God, by Whom all things consist. The wise men, having been warned, mocked him, and so Herod’s first scheme miscarried. That set-back should have cautioned him; instead it confirmed his determination to see the thing through. Baffled rage adds fuel to the fire. At all costs this Infant Disturber of Herod’s peace must be got rid of. To make sure work of it the children in Bethlehem and its coasts must die, every one of two years and under. The terrible command is given and executed; and now Herod is satisfied. He has carried out his purpose and his troubled soul rests, he has secured his throne; so thinks the king; but his thoughts are vain. The helpless infants of Bethlehem die, but Jesus is not one of them; and Herod has but dyed his soul in deeper guilt, and at the same time, all unconsciously, fulfilled the ancient prophecy of Jeremiah, “In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and would not be comforted, because they are not.”
For here again there are at work a mightier power and a surer purpose than those of Herod. The king blindly seeking his own evil ends, fulfils a remarkable prophecy, and thereby proves that the child born in Bethlehem is indeed what was claimed for Him, The true King of the Jews, Anointed of God, and the stroke designed to destroy that claim actually establishes it. Once more the wrath of man redounds to the praise of God.
And now Herod himself comes to die, for they are dead which sought the young child’s life. The Terror of Bethlehem
is himself the victim of the King of Terrors. Who shall deliver him now? Shall his crafty schemes save him? Death mocks at them. Shall his kingly power save him? Death crushes it as a worm is crushed under the falling rock. He has neglected God’s salvation and who shall save him now? Christless, homeless, lost, his guilty soul goes out to meet its God. A solemn warning to every gospel rejecter.
Is there not in all this a message for us to-day? These are terrible days in which we live, and it is not with the murderous activities of one Herod alone that the Church of Christ has to contend, but many; there is the mighty Herod of German Paganism, the unscrupulous Herod of Russian Bolshevism, the subtle Herod of Roman Catholicism, the cynical Herod of French Atheism, and the gospel-hardened Herod of British indifference, to name some of them.
In the face of such powerful anti-Christian forces many tremble for the Ark of God, and feel their hearts failing them for fear. But let them console themselves—”They are dead which sought the young child’s life,” and as it was, so it shall be. The infant wrapped in swaddling clothes is the very embodiment of weakness, and seems to present the forces of destruction with an easy prey. But all unseen, except to the Abrahamic eye of faith, there is a Sleepless Keeper above, there is a Wall of Fire around, and there are Everlasting Arms underneath. Against such bulwarks, Herod after Herod dashes himself and dies.
“Yet I have set my King upon my holy hill of Zion. I will declare the decree; The Lord hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten Thee. Ask of me and I shall give Thee the heathen for Thine inheritance and the uttermost parts of the earth for Thy possession. Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; Thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.”—J.A.T.
Seaman Donald Campbell, Ness, Lewis.*
DONALD CAMPBELL was born on the 5th of June, 1920 and met his death at the early age of 20, through the sinking of his ship by enemy action at the beginning of October.
His strong athletic build and winsomeness of disposition had since boyhood earned for Donald a place of general esteem. As a naval reservist he joined the colours at the outbreak of war. No known deeds of daring can be placed to his account, but the firm grasp he had of the righteousness of our cause, the steady devotion shown to King and Country, and his death in their defence, deserve that a more than passing tribute be paid to his memory.
At the beginning of last year, when on a voyage to Australia, he came under soul concern. In a letter in which he gives an account of his conversion, he writes:—”I reached Australia without hope and without God in the world, and with my conscience giving me no rest. I would go to a picture house and to the public house, but felt so restless, as if the roof were about to fall on top of me. One night in Sydney the chaplain of the ‘Mission to Seamen’ came down to our ship and told us they had a nice picture on. Well, I said to myself, they keep services there, and so there can be no harm in going to see this picture. I went, but a hot war was raging inside me all night. It got so hot that I had to leave half-way through. I left New Zealand, homeward bound, still wallowing in the ‘mirey clay’ and very uneasy at heart. I had a small Testament (which by the way my beloved sister, Mary, now I believe at her rest, put into my kitbag) and I used to read in bed every night, but when anyone appeared at the door, the Bible got thrown under the blanket. I spent the look-out hours praying on my knees that if there was a Saviour that he would take me out of this miserable and sinful state.”
* As the Magazine has now a wide circulation among the men of the Forces, the above obituary should be interesting to them and is published in the hope that it may be blessed to some of them. Since going to press this narrative has appeared in pamphlet form.—J.C.
Donald’s conversion was not of the stony-ground type. Experimentally he was to learn that by the works of the law no flesh can be justified, and whatever other faith man by nature can lay claim to, he is altogether destitute of that faith which is the “gift of God.” Like all who are taught of God, Donald was convinced that he could not believe, convinced too that he was on the broad road which, as he puts it, leads to “destruction and damnation”; and from that road no carnal, self-produced faith could deliver him. But “the time to favour Zion, yea, the set time,” has come at last. “One night,” he continues, “when on the look-out, convinced that ‘the wages of sin is death’ and that of myself I could do nothing, I saw as if it were in front of me Jesus with his arms outstretched. I enquired of Him if he was waiting for me and suddenly on the fo’c’sle head of the ship in the middle of the Pacific the promise came with power, ‘Gather My saints together unto Me: those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice’ (Ps. 50: 5, quoted in Gaelic). For the rest of the night I felt as if I were talking to my Saviour face to face. Two hours on the look-out in the middle of the night after that were a pleasure to my heart. In fact they would pass too quickly.”
The following extracts from his letters reveal how closely Donald walked with his Lord,—“I have dull moments at times, and often think that my darkness cannot be dispelled, but it is in my blackest moments that my Lord’s love and brightness shine forth on me again. I have a small closet to which I go for secret prayer, and, oh! many a happy meeting I have with Him in this closet. Tears fall from my eyes that I would give anything for at other times, when my mind is taken away by worldly affairs. Indeed, I can often say in this closet, ‘A day in Thy courts is better than a thousand.’ I must say that worldly pleasures are nothing compared to even a small glimpse of His love. Oh! what a blessing to my soul when I get a minute of His presence amid the din and roar of a worldly crowd. I want to have such love to my Saviour that I could always meditate with Him. But, oh! I lack that love. I lack
it in a way that I break down sometimes when I think of my coldness to such a blessed Saviour whose head was bowed in agony for my sake. Oh! that I could show a bit of gratitude to Him for His mercies. They are so precious, we cannot pay Him for them. We show Him nothing but wickedness and stubbornness. Pray for my coldness.”
In his spare time he was in the habit of translating sermons into Gaelic and memorising the Shorter Catechism in Gaelic. Its great truths about man’s lost and ruined condition by the Fall, the scheme of Redemption and the work of the Holy Spirit in effectual calling had now become living realities, precious and satisfying to his soul. Christ says, “If ye love Me, keep My Commandments.” That love Donald manifested perhaps in no clearer way than in his great regard for the Sabbath. His self-denial to preserve the sanctity of God’s day even amid the exigencies of war cannot be passed over, for self-denial in whatever walk of life calls for commendation. On two occasions he sacrificed the tender ties of home and mother to meet the perils of war by curtailing his leave rather than do any unnecessary travelling on the Sabbath. A fellow sailor remarked that he never knew a more godly fellow than Donald Campbell.
Shortly before his death he wrote: “I would praise God, that although I am suffering from the darkness of night, nevertheless, He is giving me ‘songs in the night,’ for when I get short beams of His light, I am compelled at once to sing to His Praise, and it is from these songs I am having hope for His sudden return which will make me cry out—’My Beloved is mine and I am His’.” His Beloved did return suddenly, and Donald’s ransomed soul entered the house of many mansions where his sun shall no more go down, “for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them into living fountains of waters; and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” The sympathy of the community goes out to his widowed mother, brother and sisters in their sore bereavement.
—W.M.