“Who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this.” (Esther, chap. iv, v. 14: second paper).
WHEN we wrote of Esther in a former paper, we left three things for further consideration—Esther’s call to duty, God’s plan for her in this call, and her encouragements. Seeking the guidance of the Spirit of truth, we now turn to a consideration of these.
Esther’s call to duty.
In spiritual matters this is a superficial age; an age which holds in contempt any deep dealing in the things of God. If God is to use a man, however, He takes the shallowness out of him, and this He does by making him “dwell deep” in one of his refining furnaces. “I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.” If a man’s beliefs are to burn themselves through the fabric of a generation’s unbelief they must have fire from within themselves. When Luther made his confession, “Here I stand I can do no other, God help me,” he cast such a fire among his fellows as burns to this day. And be it noted, that it was in the monk’s cell that he found his faggot. Down there God by his word kindled a conviction so consuming that it devoured all except the truth by which it fed itself. “Is not My Word a fire?” “I am come to send fire upon the earth.” “Behold the bush burned with fire and the bush was not consumed.” When God casts His fire into a man’s soul, it cannot be quenched. God Himself resides in His own fire; He feeds it with His truth; before His presence error must be consumed, and the soul in which He resides must feel something of the fear, pain and agony of His fiery indwelling. And so it was with Esther. If the well planned destruction of her people was to be defeated by a frail woman, we may expect to hear her call to duty from among those fires kindled by the Word of God’s mouth. “Is not My word a fire?” “I will attempt it, and if I perish, I perish.” That surely was not only an answer to a call, but an answer well salted by fire. Never could Esther regard her arrival at this decision as an easy one, and never could she regard any departure from it as a light thing either. The call was made a living one in her consciousness through the sharp pangs which God put in it. Every upward step towards this decision was raised in fire. God meant, that by fire, each step should be rendered unforgettable. God has His sore, as well as His more pleasant ways of binding a call upon a soul, and the scars left by His fire within a soul will long witness to its call to duty.
“Who knoweth whether thou art come to the Kingdom for such a time as this?” This question brought Esther to the threshold of a great decision. As surely as there was no escape for her people, so surely was there no escape from the tremendous responsibility now placed on her. Under its weight all other questions were pressed down, and all other issues hallowed, until a single solemn decision remained. “I will attempt the impossible, and if I perish, I perish.” God placed a crown on Esther’s head, the Devil raised persecution against her people, and between these two forces Esther was ground down, until duty, with the threat of death in its bosom, remained alone to her.
In producing exactly the same deep decisions God still works on the same lines. Oh, how in circumstances such as these, and under the weight of conflicting thoughts and feelings are we ground down until nothing remains to us, except the singleness of a sore and fearsome purpose. Decision and indecision, faith and unbelief, self love and selfless love, frailty and hope in Omnipotence, optimism and despair, fear and courage, are among the many stones between which the soul is painfully ground down. These stones have received a command so to grind and grind they must. In these circumstances, how the soul wearies itself in watching, waiting, weighing and wrestling. How it turns and twists in its endeavour to do the impossible—to see two opposite things in one perspective. Peace there is none until one comes forth in the simplicity of chastened obedience. Often it is in these sore and reducing circumstances that a soul finds a clear lead to duty, and in finding its duty it finds its call. In some hidden way, God’s command becomes His call to a special service, and whatever the cost, the call must be obeyed. God’s call has so burned itself into the consciousness of the soul that it is branded and seared by it.
The presence of God in His call.
This view is so important that it might be well to consider the matter a little further. “Who knoweth whether Thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this.” We recognise that God is in this question, and under its urgency we find ourselves thrust into an aloneness with Him. He closes the door. He charges every unworthy consideration to remain without. One of the most important moments in our lives has arrived and we are able to appreciate something of its tremendousness. The question, now all absorbing, lies directly between ourselves and our God. In His holy and overmastering presence, all evasions are dropped, all unworthy reasons are discarded, and all excuses are abandoned. Under his searching eye all considerations are reduced to two. God and our duty to Him. Fear of doing our own will drives us to God for protection, while respect for God and His will draws us to Him. We fear the duty He lays on us, but we fear still more any disobedience to Him. To us now His will in the matter is most reasonable and He Himself most worthy. Our indebtedness to His love, grace and mercy captivates the whole soul, and we begin to view our duty and our call in the light of His love. Fear of the consequences of our obedience may never be far from us, but slowly yet surely we begin to say, “If I perish, I perish,” nevertheless “That I will keep Thy statutes, Lord, firmly resolved have I. Oh, do not then, most gracious God, forsake me utterly.”
We come forth, it may be with fear and trembling, and yet we find ourselves strangely content. No doubt remains as to what is our duty. There remain only the details of when and how we are to perform it. But there is no doubt as to God’s call in the matter. Out of the crisis has come the call, and it is clear, authoritative, and final. We bow our chastened and weaned souls before the holy, inevitable, supreme, loving and merciful will of God, and no sooner is this done than a great calm settles over us. We are folded up in it, and filled with the peace of God that passeth all understanding; a peace fetched from the deep place of Christ’s own tranquility. “My peace I give unto you.” It is not the calm of a summer day, but rather that which comes over a man who has passed the crisis in some fever. He breathes without labour, lies in cool comfort, and closes in with healthy and refreshing sleep.
Yet must he experience much weakness, fear and pain, as with slow and heavy steps he fights his way back to perfect health. But let us note this—heavy though his steps are there is great determination in them. He knows that he must do it and do it he will. “If I perish, I perish,” is not the cry of weakness, but of great strength. The strength of a man whose purpose is made strong, through the indwelling of the mighty God of Jacob. God gives the call, God gives us to know great weakness under His call, and then bestows the grace of obedience to do His will despite our weaknesses.
We noted that this is a trifling age in its dealing with the things of God, and in the light of what we have considered, I think that this will be admitted. Although all lines of Esther’s experience may not be found in every call to duty, yet I think we should observe some of them behind even the humblest duty undertaken. The call to the Christian ministry is most solemn, yet with what lightness is it sometimes taken up and with what lightness is it just as often let down. “Must be a good mixer, and good tennis player essential.” These were among the chief qualifications asked for from applicants to a colonial charge. Most men, at some time, experience heavy, sore and impressive things in life, and these qualifications are not to be despised, but here is a congregation making a necessity of the light, easy and sportive qualities only. Let us take an advertisement from the minister’s side, and I fear it is no better. “Sole reason for seeking change is that my wife suffers from seasickness.” This was from a minister in charge of an island congregation, and who sought a charge on the mainland. This is very far from Paul’s—“Immediately I conferred not with flesh and blood.” Paul’s call was so filled with God that he found room nowhere for creature considerations of any kind. On the other hand, undoubtedly we find very decided lines of Esther’s experience in this. “I would sooner,” and it is the godly Robert Bruce of Edinburgh who is speaking, “I would sooner walk a mile through fire and brimstone than again go through the mental anguish I endured before I found assurance that this was God’s call for me to go to Edinburgh.”
I do not place Esther’s experience on the same high level as the call to the Gospel ministry; that we find in Gal. i, ver. 15 to 17; but all will admit that some parts of her experience enter into all calls to service. However humble the service may be, there must be a distinct transaction with God behind it before entering in upon it, and such a transaction must be accompanied by such serious impressions of responsibility as that one cannot easily cast aside the call. Trivial excuses arising out of jealousy, pique, complaint, discouragement, bad temper, frustration, hard work, lack of sympathy, lack of progress, disagreements, personal loss, influence by relatives, or any other consideration or combination of them utterly fail to untie the burden bound on a soul by God. The lack of such serious transacting with God, and the adoption of an easy and thoughtless way of slipping into His service are undoubtedly reasons why the cause of Christ is so badly served to-day. What is easily come by, is just as easily laid aside.
When Moses blessed the tribes, he was directed to bestow a blessing specially large and wide upon the tribe of Joseph, and he leavened the whole great lump with this—”the good will of him who dwelt in the bush.”—Penuel.
(To be continued.)