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Peter had been boastful and self-willed and impetuous once; he had loved to suggest and dictate and take the lead. But now, with all the past graven on his heart, his passion is to follow in Jesus' steps. Had Jesus put all the mourners from the room? Then Peter must be alone with Tabitha. Had Jesus said Talitha cumi? Then Peter will say Tabitha cumi. Had Jesus taken the maiden by the hand, and given her back again to her rejoicing friends? Then Peter will present Tabitha alive. The one point of difference that I find is this: our verses tell us that Peter knelt down and prayed. In that one clause there lies the difference between the work of Jesus and that of His disciple. For the power of Peter was delegated power. It was Christ who was working, and to Christ he must cry. But Jesus was acting in His inherent sovereignty. In His own right He was Lord of life and death.

THREE minor lessons shine out from these incidents.

(1) We may witness for Christ even in making a bed. The first sign of power demanded of Æneas was that he should arise and make his bed. Now the words may not quite mean what we understand by them. His bed was a carpet, and had to be stowed away. But they do mean that in a little act like that-the rolling up and disposing of a rug-a man may show that Christ has dealt with him. You remember the servant girl who was asked by Mr. Spurgeon what evidence she had to show that she was a Christian; and she replied that she always swept under the mats now. I dare say she never thought about Æneas; but the two arguments for Christ are close akin. (2) The sight of a man may be better than a sermon. 'All that dwelt in Lydda saw him, and turned to the Lord.' And (3) We must help with our hand as well as with our prayer. When Peter was left alone beside dead Tabitha, we read that he kneeled down and prayed. Had he not prayed, he had not wrought the miracle.

But when

Tabitha sat up, wrapped in her strange garments, that hampered her limbs and made it hard to move, then Peter gave her his hand and lifted her up. I wonder if he remembered how Jesus had said, 'Simon, Simon, I have prayed for thee,' and then, on that wild night upon the loch, had put forth His hand and held him up? The heart and hand of Jesus had saved Peter. The heart and hand of Peter won back Dorcas. And it takes both the heart that prays, and the hand that helps, to bring the kingdom even a little nearer.

IN

FORTY-SIXTH SUNDAY

Morning

JEREMIAH IN A DUNGEON

Passage to be read: Jer. xxxviii. 1-20.

N the preceding chapter we read of Jeremiah's arrest, and now we have his subsequent maltreatment. Jerusalem was still besieged by the Chaldeans. Their forces had gathered again around the city. We have to picture the army of the East lying in close blockade around the walls; and within the walls one man, and one man only, counselling surrender in the name of God. You can hardly wonder that that man was called a traitor. I think that we should have called him that too, had we been there. John Knox was called a traitor often, when he urged on an alliance with the old enemy England. It was very hard for the patriotic princes in Jerusalem to be rousing the city to desperate resistance, and all the time, moving about the streets, was this wild prophet preaching capitulation. Had they not caught him once, just in the nick of time, when he was creeping out to join the enemy? We know what passions were excited not so long ago when it was whispered that so and so was a pro-Boer. We can gather then how Jerusalem would feel when it learned that Jeremiah was a pro-Chaldean. At last the princes could stand it no longer. It was expedient that one man should die for the city. So four of the stoutest of them went to the king, and pled with him for the death of Jeremiah.

NOW King Zedekiah believed in Jeremiah. He recognised that his message was from God. But Zedekiah was a poor weak creature, quite unworthy to sit on any throne. Milton says somewhere, in his Paradise Lost,' To be weak is miserable, doing or suffering,' and we have only to read this chapter attentively to see the weak misery of Zedekiah. He believed in Jeremiah, yet he would not stand up for him. He yielded up Jeremiah to the princes. No doubt they had meant to kill the prophet outright. Perhaps they had appointed the assassin. But now that he stood before them, strong in the Lord, and with his face shining, although he wist it not, they all shrank from the thought of instant murder. Was there no way of silencing their consciences? Was it not possible that the prophet might disappear? It was then, I think, that Malchiah, the son of Hammelech, came to their aid with a very sweet suggestion. In his court there was a pit or cistern, like the well in the courtyard of the castle of St. Andrews. The water had dried up during the long siege, but at the bottom of it, to the depth of three or four feet, there was black ooze and mud. Suppose Jeremiah were lowered into that miry clay, would the city ever hear of him again? So they let Jeremiah down with cords, we read, and Jeremiah sunk in the mire (v. 6).

BUT

UT one thing these princes had forgotten - the cistern was not far distant from the royal palace. The cries of the prisoner, on their way to God, rang in the ears of Zedekiah's servants. And one of them, Ebed-Melech, could not stand it. He was an Ethiopian, like the servant of Queen Candace. He went to the king and found him sitting in judgment, and told him what had been done to Jeremiah. A wave of remorse swept over Zedekiah. He went to extremes, as the weakest often do. Before, he would not lift a finger for the prophet, but now he will have thirty men go save

Y

him. So Jeremiah is lifted from the pit, half dead, but with a heart undaunted still. And the passage closes with a glimpse of this noble prophet reiterating his old message from the Lord.

'HIS scene at once recalls two other scenes. The

THIS

first is the familiar story of Joseph. He too was cast into a miry cistern; he too was drawn out again before his life had fled, through the mingled passions of pity and remorse. But far more vividly, if not so literally, the scene suggests the last sufferings of Jesus. In the lonely heroism of this man of sorrows we see outlined the heroic loneliness of Jesus. Both stood alone, in the city that they loved, hated by the very hearts they longed to help. Both would have saved the city from its enemies, if the city had only hearkened to their voice. And then in Zedekiah have we no gleams of Pilate? Do we not feel the likeness of the two? Both saw, more truly than the people saw, the grandeur of the man who was accused. Both pleaded helplessness and knew to the full that 'to be weak is miserable, doing or suffering.' Both wavered and vacillated and were inconsistent, and both were crushed and ruined by their sin.

NOW note these secondary lessons in this chapter. Firstly, how mistaken we may be about our true welfare. The charge that was laid against Jeremiah was this, that he sought not the welfare of the people (v. 4). Every one thought Jeremiah was bent on harm; they regarded him as a foe and not a friend; yet now, looking back on a completed history, we see that the leaders of Judah were mistaken. Are there not times when we all mistake God so? Is it not hard to believe He seeks our good? Are we not tempted to see things by the eye of sense, and to rebel at the unwelcome way? In such hours it is well for us to remember how it fared with Judah in despising Jeremiah. Next mark in what

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