“AND he removed from hence unto a mountain on the east of Beth-el and pitched his tent, having Beth-el on the west and Hai on the east, and there he builded an altar unto the Lord and called on the name of the Lord!” (Gen. xii, 8).
An ordinary sinful man, born of a fallen race was Abraham when God called and separated him to Himself, and over against that separation stood the altar with all its sacrificial implications. The hand of God’s everlasting goodwill lay open on that altar, and a faith which issued in penitence, thanksgiving and obedience grasped it. For his standing in God’s peace and for the conveyance of numerous spiritual aids, the altar was a necessity for this man of God’s choosing. We are told of the Father’s drawing of sinners to His Son, and through that drawing a great separation has been effected. The Son becomes our altar, sacrifice and priest. Thus, in regeneration we are bound by the Spirit to the altar. The command to serve it, is not grievous, for in regeneration a holy and heavenly impulse uprising within us, makes the things of the altar the very life of our souls. Where we pitch our tents, there we too, erect our altars.
Where did Abraham pitch his tent and build his altar?
First, it was at Sichem—a place where the abundance of pasturage bespoke prosperity for the stockmaster. Surely this was of God, and the indications were a call to give oneself over to the common business of becoming wealthy. Did a voice suggest that Abraham should ease off his concern for and service at the altar? Did a voice suggest that through a little less attention to the altar he might make full improvement of the gifts spread around him by a kind Providence? “Here is compensation for the long journey from Ur of the Chaldees, it is yours, let not the altar stand in your way.” If voices so spoke to him we know that they spoke in vain. Yes, and in vain do they so speak to all the seed of Abraham. There are perils in our pilgrim way which offer a prosperity and comfort above others, but we enter upon them with fear. We fear that the new responsibility may bring us fresh entanglements, and that the proffered gifts may blind our eyes to the altar glory. Prayerfully and industriously we make the most of our opportunities, but we never fail to carry our prosperity with us to the altar. God is as necessary for us in the good days as in the bad—an altar must be erected.
But anon Abraham pitches his tent on the stoney slopes of Beth-el. Here grazing is scant and a source of constant concern to the stockraiser. Does the voice now plead necessity for the omission of the altar? “Every one must live; you have a duty to both stock and family; circumstances require all your time and energy to find a bare living; at least you need not be as exacting in attendance on the altar as usual.” Well, if such a voice spoke to him, again we know the result: he built an altar. “A cumbersome impediment to a fuller livelihood,” says the Canaanites, but the altar was in the very heart of this man. Yes, and we too may be so tempted, but if the altar has come to mean to us what it was intended of God, adversity will make its erection all the more necessary. A tent may mark your poverty, but your true wealth will never be less than the worth of the God of the altar.
When did he build the altar?
Abraham pitched his tent and builded an altar while the Canaanite was still in organised possession of the land. Because Abraham’s worship was that of the pilgrim, the altar and the minority, he could never become popular. Misunderstood he must have been; tempted to compromise with the powerful Canaanites he probably was; but these things moved him not at all. So too our modern Canaanites think: “You are slaves to an exacting conscience and your care in worship is nothing more than a tedious formality.” But to us, a reconciliation which rises out of Calvary’s agony and pours the peace of God over our seared consciences can never become a formality. Called, separated and given to taste that the God of the altar is so good, we pity all who refuse to unite with us. With deliberation and the enthusiasm of persons highly privileged, we continue to erect our altars even when our tents are pitched before the very gates of Hell.
An Interpretation.
Do the altar and the tent interpret each other? I think so. We take down the tent and move on, and its reminder is: “Here we have no continuing city”; while the altar no less definite in its teaching points forward with entreaty: “Seek one to come.” The eternity inherent in the altar draws us to itself, while it disposes us to a greater contentment with the makeshift of tent life. Having visited the altar, we cannot return to the shadows of the tent without some of the warmth and light of eternity adhering to us. Heart for the altar, feet for the tent—the tent sanctified by the altar, while in turn, the tent makes the permanence of altar-truth more precious to us.
The Ideal Family.
“For I know that he will command his children and his household after him and they shall keep the way of the Lord.” Who is it that so commands Abraham? It is the God of the Altar. The tent and the altar are not things apart—Gospel precept and family life blend into one. “When wilt thou be pleased to come . . . I with a perfect heart will walk within my house at home.” So sang another Royal attendant upon the altar—David. The blending of the two will give a Christian stamp to a family and nothing else will. Leave out the altar and you have a family of persons and no more. So also do the lower animals have families. Add the altar and you have a family and more. You have “a church in a house.” Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were men of the altar, and if faith in, love for, and loyalty to God are the most potent moulders of men’s lives, then indeed must we regard the altar as the greatest force for good within the family. But there is something of great gravity to be noted here. Our children must be taught the importance of spiritual worship. Both hearts and hands must be in this solemn work. Let us assure ourselves that without God, our altar is no more than a collection of dead stones. And let us also be sure of this: these same stones will one day take on an awful weight. Among the heaviest weights in Hell, are to be found the dead altars of unblessed homes.
Pilgrim life and the altar.
In comparison to the costly and elaborate altar of Solomon’s erecting, that of Abraham was indeed crude, just a few stones roughly bullded together. But even then the altar worship, being a thing of the heart, was continuous. However, through the various handicaps of pilgrim life, the opportunities of expressing such worship were often broken. It was a case of “here to-day and somewhere else to-morrow,” and the good man must have often wished for something more fitting for his God. Something less broken and spasmodic, something more settled and permitting an opportunity more widely and more fully furnished. But a pilgrim life could not provide that. How often have we seen some dear child of God laid aside with relatives who have no sympathy with the God of the altar. Kind and dutiful they are, but quite plainly they would prefer to have us without our religion. Of course, since we are dependent on them for so much, we make our lives as far as possible fit in with theirs. They are due that from us. But we regard our attendance upon the altar as something we will forego for no one. Whether they are pleased or not, we proceed to erect our altars. There are times too when it pleases the Lord to pitch our tent in some institution or other, where, along with our own infirmities, sights and sounds, distract, interrupt, hamper and hinder our opportunities to serve the Lord. But should our tent be pitched by the busiest roadside in life, even there we shall not forget our God. Some kind of erection will be raised, some amount of homage paid, some transaction with Heaven undergone, and we will bless our Lord for the day of small things and hope for larger ones to come. But we still desire something more permanent, more settled and orderly, something more free from distraction and interruption. “It was good it was in thy heart.” Your difficulty is known to God and He sympathises with you. We must not forget that although Solomon was able to erect a finer altar he could not find a better God. When the priests stood around the golden altar they had no more of truth and reality than Abraham had when he stood before his heap of stones. Despite your self-depreciation, the Lord is well pleased with your persistence in honouring Him in circumstances so untoward. And be sure of this also. For you He has reserved a place before the altar in the New Jerusalem where these twin evils—distraction and interruption—shall in no wise enter. What a theme for a weary pilgrim to contemplate—the altar in the curseless land—no more yesterdays and no more to-morrows, no more pitching and taking down of tents, no more faintings in pursuit, no more pressing forward. There stands the one ALTAR, and an encouraging and gracious shadow is cast by it over all the erections of our pilgrim way. The reality is near, it is just there before you—”He is the God of Abraham . . . He is not the God of the dead, but of the living.”
Partnership.
In tent and altar there is a partnership of persons. Abraham and Sarah shared the same tent and the same altar blessings. Their association with the altar made them “heirs together of the grace of life.” In the unfolding of spiritual life there is a discernment and will to choose as companions only those who are one with us in the deep things of the altar. This vital impulse is of Heaven and is to be cherished as a gift most precious. When the disciples were set free they went to “their own people,” and when Jacob died, we read that he was gathered to “his own people.” Grace selects grace, the two become one in the unity of the altar, and God’s will in this was never opposed in Israel without punishment. Too often one of the partners gives no more than a formal recognition to the God of the altar. He or she is aware that the altar stands for something valuable to the other, and for a reason no higher than that of retaining natural affection, will show some interest. Unholy hands are stretched towards the altar while the heart is deliberately held in detachment. For a place in the tent a Mohammedan would go as far as this, but we fear that it is done only too often by persons more highly privileged. When we look at relationships as they will appear on the Day of Judgment, how solemn is this. One who was once a wife or husband, one who was once a life partner is on the left hand, while the other is on the right. As to state, that wide distance separated them every day these two lived together in the tent. Despite natural affection, one is of Satan and the other is of God, the one is of wrath while the other is of the blessing. Only by and through the grace of the altar can we become heirs together of the grace of life.
The Altar outlives the Tent.
This it does in two ways. Relative to the tent the altar is all absorbing. It is not as the tent-dweller that Abraham is best remembered but for his faith. Whatever success we make of life and whatever we may be counted for in our day, it is through our association with the altar that we shall be remembered by God’s people. Things such as the blood of Christ, reconciliation, salvation, escape from sin, and our right to Heaven are the controlling considerations in our lives. The outstretched hands of our hope, clasp the hands of a covenant God over the altar and by the grace of the Spirit this is the most decided attitude in our pilgrimage. Now when our tent is taken down for the last time, our connection with the altar becomes our memorial. Yes, a memorial of encouragement to those who united with us in the things of the altar, and also a witness to the Canaanites in the land. In the altar God drew, oh, so near to them, and they would have none of Him.
Finally, this has a forward look. The altar outlives the tent. There is a last moment when for us “time shall be no longer,” and we arrive before the throne above. There stands the true altar, of which all our poor erections were but shadows—Jesus Christ, the same, in the yesterdays of our pilgrimage, to-day and forever. This is the altar that sanctifies every gift laid upon it. God finds an eternal pleasure and satisfaction in meeting with His people across this altar. It is the joy of the just God in the spirits of just men made perfect. For many a painful mile, praise waited for Him in Zion, now it waits no longer. Upon this altar (pilgrims now no longer) God’s covenanted people shall offer praise and blessing which will be eternally acceptable to Him. The altars of our pilgrimage are thus Divine aids towards our arrival before that Altar, through which every pilgrim is blessed and every gift sanctified to the glory of His grace.
—“Penuel.”
Truth is not always to be had at the same price; buy it we must at any, but sell it upon no terms.