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SECOND SUNDAY

Morning

THE FALL

Passage to be read: Gen. iii. 1-24.

T is notable that the first happiness of the human race, and the saddest tragedies of human history, are for ever associated with gardens. It was in a garden that God placed man whom He had formed, and out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. It was in a garden that Jesus agonised on that night on which He was betrayed, for we read, ' He went forth with His disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a garden into which He entered.' And then a few days later when the end has come, and when the cruel sufferings of the cross are over, we pass into the quiet beauty of another garden. 'In the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid. There laid they Jesus.' What a contrast between these gardens of the Bible! Fresh from the hand of God, radiant in the endowment of new life, man had been placed in the first. Fresh from the torture of the cross, and bound in the wrappings of the tomb, the Son of Man had been placed in the last. That sin which had entered the world amid the joy of Eden had done its worst, and the Lord whom it slew was laid among the flowers. So does the sphere where the brightest happiness is known, often become the scene of deepest sorrow. Where man has tasted what is sweetest, there may he

have to drink of what is bitterest. It was not in any wilderness that Christ was laid; it was in a garden that the grave was opened; and in a garden, long centuries before, man had walked in happy innocence with God.

Now

OW the first great lesson in this story of the fall is that moral trial is necessary for man. It was not Adam, nor was it any evil power, who planted these fateful trees in the garden's midst. The hand which planted them there was that of God. Do we not think sometimes that it would have been kinder if God had never set that tree in Eden? Would it not have been a paradise indeed, but for that fruitful temptation in the heart of it? The point to remember is that if man is to develop into the fulness of his God-given powers, there must always be the opportunity of choice. There is something greater than that childish innocence that has never known of a tree of good and evil. There is the moral grandeur that springs from human freedom; there is the power to choose the narrow way of God. And when I read of this garden of delight, and of the one restriction in the heart of it, I feel how clearly the writer was illumined to see the primary need of moral trial. You will never know how strong the lighthouse is, till it has stood the buffet of the storm. You will never be certain that the bridge is stable, till it has borne the weight of heavy loads. You will never fathom the dignity of man, till you have seen him tried and tested by alternatives. That, then, is the first lesson of this chapter. The tree of the knowledge of good and evil speaks of that.

ANOTHER lesson which we should learn is this, that

we are always ready to lay the blame on others. God had told Adam, in plain words, that he must not eat of this tree in the midst of the garden (ii. 17). The way of life, and the sad way of death, had been explicitly announced to him. It is amazing how swiftly Adam disobeyed. There is no echo of a long and bitter

conflict. We only read, 'Eve gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat.' Then came the opening of the eyes, and the fear, and the sense of shame, and the stern inquiry of the great Creator—and immediately the human brain is busy in fashioning excuses for its guilt. The woman whom Thou gavest me gave me of the tree '—as if the blame were partly God's, and partly Eve's. The serpent beguiled me and I did eat' -as if all the blame could be fastened on the serpent. So does the writer touch upon that strange infirmity that is written large on the story of mankind. Are we not often tempted, when we have been tried and have fallen, to shift the burden of the blame to others? Are we not very skilful in devising excuses for ourselves, that we never think of offering for other people? The Bible warns us that from the first hour of sin this has been one of the arts of human nature, and it tells us plainly that the art is vain. The gods of the Greeks were pleased with subtle pretexts; in the eyes of the God of the Bible they are useless. If Adam has disobeyed, Adam must suffer the soul that sinneth, it shall die. When we are tempted to excuse ourselves, to implicate others, and so think to escape, there is no chapter in the Bible more fitted than this one to bring us to ourselves.

THEN there is a third great lesson here; it is that one

sin may alter everything. It would be difficult to picture a greater contrast than between the beginning and the ending of our chapter. The gladness of the sunlight has departed, and the heavens are overcast with cloud. Instead of quiet assurance before God, there is the guilty desire to escape Him. Instead of happy possession of the garden, there is banishment into the wide world beyond. All things are changed; it is a different world; it is as if every bird had ceased to sing; and one act of disobedience has done it all. Remember, then, that a single act or deed may change the current

of a man's whole life. One choice, made in a moment, often lightly-and the future will never be the same again. Let a man do one noble deed, and play the hero even for one hour, and the world will be richer to him ever after, and he will have the comradeship of noble souls. But let a man play the coward or the cheat, not twice but once, not openly but secretly, and life will be meaner, and the world a poorer place, until the threescore years and ten are run. There are great joys which meet us in an instant, but the light of them shall shine on till the grave. And there are choices we are called to make which— made in a moment-will determine everything.

LASTLY, the clothing of our shame must come from

God. When Adam and Eve fell, they clothed themselves with fig leaves; it was a light covering and very easily made. But God was not contented with that covering; we read that He made them coats of skins, and clothed them. It was God who provided that covering of shame, and He provided it by the dark way of death. Is there no gleam there of deeper truths? Is there no prophecy of the evangel? Read over again that great hymn, 'Rock of Ages,' and let this chapter illustrate its figures.

SECOND SUNDAY

Evening

SIMEON AND ANNA

Passage to be read: Luke ii. 25-39.

O more beautiful scene could be imagined than this meeting of age and infancy in the Temple. As we read the story of the life of Jesus, we find Him surrounded on all hands by hypocrisy, until we

begin to wonder if there was any religion left in those who haunted these sacred courts. But here, for a

moment, the curtain is drawn aside. We get a glimpse of a Jewish man and woman. And we find them living holy and separated lives, and longing for the advent of Messiah. On a gravestone erected over certain soldiers in Virginia there are these words, ' Who they were, no one knows; what they were, every one knows,' and we might use these words of Simeon and Anna. Who Simeon was we shall never learn; Luke is at no pains to tell us that; but what he was in his daily life and walk, in his inmost desire, and in the sight of God, every one knows who has read this gospel chapter. Simeon and Anna, then, entered the Temple when the infant Saviour was there, and to them the glory of the child was shown.

FIRST, then, we learn that we should never give up hoping. When Alexander the Great crossed into Asia he gave away almost all his belongings to his friends. One of his captains asked him, 'Sir, what do you keep for yourself?' And the answer of the king was, 'I keep hope.' Now we do not read that Simeon was an old man, though it has been universally believed (from verse 29) that he was. But through all his years Simeon was like Alexander: he had parted with much, but he had held fast to hope. The days were very dark days for Israel; no John the Baptist had sounded his trumpet-note; everything seemed hopeless for the Jews, and some of the noblest of them had taken refuge in despair. But this brave soul 'waited for the consolation of Israel,' and we know now that his waiting was not vain. Do you see the roots of that heart-hopefulness of his? It ran down to justice and devotion (v. 25). It would have withered long since if it had not been rooted in an upright life and in fellowship with God. Dishonest conduct and forgetfulness of God are always visited with the withering of hope, for hope hangs like a fruit on the

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