NOW when we are set on doing what is wrong, there is generally some one ready to help us forward. If Jesus had had a thought of shunning Calvary, what help He would have got from Simon Peter! So when Ahab was brooding and pondering and doubting, and wondering if he were strong enough to assail Syria, who should appear, with quite a splendid retinue, but Jehoshaphat, the King of Judah. There was some kinship already between the two kings-the son of the one had married the daughter of the other-and Jehoshaphat, whatever his character was, was clearly a man of great resources. Here was the chance that Ahab had been longing for. Here was the hour for Syria come at last. Jehoshaphat agreed to give his help. The expedition was determined there and then. Ahab felt that he was sure of victory, with that united army at his back.

BUT the conscience of Jehoshaphat was not quite clear

until the mind of the Lord was ascertained. It was for Ahab to sweep these scruples aside by his imposing muster of four hundred prophets. That these were not the prophets of Baal is evident: the context shows that they professed to serve the Lord. But it is just as evident that they were not God's messengers, for no true messenger of God is a king's flatterer. Did Nathan flatter? Or Elijah? Or John the Baptist? Did John Knox flatter princes? Or Andrew Melville? Flattery is always treachery, and utterly abhorrent to the God of truth. Note, too, how one of these false prophets appeared with horns of iron on his forehead. It was meant to illustrate the message he bore just like the pictures in the storybooks. You remember how Ahijah rent his garment in twelve pieces to signify the rending of the kingdom (I Kings xi. 30). And Jeremiah hid the girdle by Euphrates (Jer. xiii.), and shattered the vessel in the Vale of Hinnom (xix.), and appeared in public with a yoke upon his neck (xxvii.). So here, the ingenious Zedekiah got the black

smith to fashion a pair of horns for him. Can you not see Ahab turning to his new ally, and crying, 'Behold that emblem of victorious strength?' For all through the Bible horns speak of strength and victory. 'Mine horn is exalted in the Lord,' said Hannah (1 Sam. ii. 1). Daniel saw by the river a ram with two high horns (Dan. viii. 3). And in the midst of the throne stood a Lamb as it had been slain, and the Lamb had seven horns and seven eyes' (Rev. v. 6.).

BUT

still Jehoshaphat was not satisfied. He detected the false ring in the four hundred. They were too fawning, too compliant, and smooth, to convey any assurance to his soul. Was there no other prophet of the Lord? 'Yes,' Ahab answered instantly; 'there was one.' His name was Micaiah (which means, 'Who is like Jehovah ?'), and Ahab hated him because he would not truckle. Micaiah was brought (probably from prison)— were not his eyes dazzled with the kingly pomp? Ahab had arranged an imposing spectacle to overawe and confuse the hated prophet. But Micaiah was undaunted -who is like Jehovah? He warned King Ahab that he was going to his doom. No threats and no pleadings could turn him from the truth. He would speak nothing but what the Lord revealed. He is like Calchas, in the first book of the Iliad, when he speaks dauntlessly to Agamemnon. In spite of that warning, Ahab went out to fight; and, still more strange, Jehoshaphat went with him. And how King Ahab tried to disguise himself; and how he was slain by an arrow shot at random; and how, wounded, he lingered by the battle, until about sunset (still in his chariot) he died; all that is so full of tragic interest that it wants no comment to make it plain.

Now

OW note these simple lessons in the story. Firstly, a flatterer is the worst of friends. These prophets all professed to be the friends of Ahab; they would have

done anything (they said) to serve him; yet time was to show that they were his worst enemies, and that the true friend was the outspoken Micaiah. It is often very hard to bear the truth; but in the end we thank God that it was told us. Next note the secret of being able to stand alone. Micaiah's secret was the presence of God. The four hundred did not feel God's presence, and so they had to draw courage from one another. But the presence and power of the living God were so intensely real to Micaiah, that he had the splendid courage to be himself. And, lastly, God sees through all disguises. We cannot balk His plans by any mufti. Ahab thought that if he put off his robes, and fought as a common charioteer at Ramoth, somehow or other he would escape his doom. But the bowstring twanged, and the arrow was shot, and to the Syrian archer it was one of fifty. Yet the will of God was wrought by that random shaft. The disguise had proved a failure after all.

THIRTY-FIFTH SUNDAY

Evening

THE LORD'S SUPPER

Passage to be read: Matt. xxvi. 17-35.

WHAT first impresses us in the narrative of the

WH Lord's Supper is the perfect composure of the

heart of Jesus. There is no moment in our Lord's whole life when we realise so fully the meaning of His peace. It was the night on which He was betrayed. The shadows were deepening into the dark of Calvary. The last great agony of struggle was begun that was to close in crucifixion and the grave. Yet the heart of Jesus was supremely calm. We trace no fever and no

fret in it. The Lord is still at leisure from Himself,' and institutes this memorial for His own. Does not that teach us that nothing in heaven or earth can check the love of Jesus for His children? If He thought of them and planned for them that night, He will think of them and plan for them for ever. We sometimes wonder how Christ can remember us, in the midst of His vast transactions on the throne. The fear arises lest He may forget us, when men crucify the Son of God afresh (Hebrews vi. 6). But when we recall the night of the betrayal, such fears take to themselves wings and fly away. If ever a heart might reasonably have been selfcentred, was it not then? Yet Jesus took and brake and gave to the disciples.

EQUALLY notable is the quiet confidence of Jesus in the future. Some of the disciples had already begun to wonder if the life of Jesus were more than a fine dream. Slowly, and after many a hint and lesson, they were beginning to grasp the approaching crucifixion, and there was not one of them at table that night but pictured crucifixion as defeat. Then in the city were the priests and scribes, triumphant at last and only waiting the signal. And if they were sure of anything it was of this, that the death of Jesus would mean the end of everything. There was not a soul in Jerusalem that evening that dreamed of a glorious future for our Lord. And it was then that Jesus instituted the supper. His name was to last as long as the sun endured. From age to age His memory would be cherished, and men would love Him and would serve Him and would die for Him through the long years until He came again. I cannot help feeling that this is more than human. I know of nothing parallel in history. Cicero was deeply concerned to think what men might say of him six hundred years after his death. Cromwell believed his institutions would last. Napoleon knew that the world would wonder at

R

him, but he knew perfectly that it would never love him. Christ only-Christ betrayed and crucified-saw the love and the worship of the centuries. Men were to show His death 'until He come.'

AGAIN we are arrested by the great simplicity of this memorial. There is no pomp and no elaborate ritual about it. It is a simple and humble and very homely deed. In the Old Testament things were very different. There we have striking and startling exhibitions. Altars were raised and the blood of beasts was shed, and there were a thousand significant details. But in the New Testament all that is done away. The sacrament is simplicity itself. And I do not think we should have difficulty in understanding the meaning of that change. When your father is trying to describe to you some family friend whom you have never met, he tells you everything he can about him, and he puts it in the brightest and the plainest words, until you feel you will know him when you meet. But when you have met, and the family friend is your friend, you have no need for that detailed description. The smallest token of his love to you, or even the pronouncing of his name, will bring him to your remembrance instantly. So in the Old Testament Christ was yet to come; no eye had yet seen Him in the flesh. But in the New Testament men have seen and known Him, and the simplest thing will serve as a memorial.

AGAIN, I think it was a very Christ-like thing to see His

Body and His Blood in bread and wine. It speaks of the royal hopefulness of Jesus that He found such meanings in a piece of bread. On Oliver Goldsmith's monument these words are written: Nihil tetigit quod non ornavit-He touched nothing that he did not adorn. That may have been true of Goldsmith; but in nobler senses it was true of Jesus. When He went to Cana He