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A Wonderful Deliverance

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Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Mar 18, 1913

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 40, No. 11.

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A Wonderful Deliverance

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle
Day was breaking over the land of Israel. The rising sun was busy with his golden brush, sweeping back the shadows from the mountains and the denser shade from the valleys.
Through the open gate of the city which lay at the foot of the nearer hills, a man, clad in the dress of the prophets, is hastily making his way. Others are passing in and out of the gateway, for the traffic of the day has already begun. Merchants from the far East, with dromedaries laden with spices and merchandise; water carriers with their water bottles poised skilfully upon their heads; poor gleaners, with their empty sacks upon their shoulders, starting early, that they may follow the generous husbandmen as they hasten to reap the fields before the intolerable heat of the fierce Eastern sun beats upon them; old and young, rich and poor, absorbed in the business or pleasures of the day, are pouring in and out of the gateway.
But the prophet hastens onward alone. With a look of apprehension and uneasiness, he turns his face toward the west. The slanting rays of the rising sun paint his figure with a golden light, and the morning breeze tosses the mantle back from his rugged limbs. Still the son of Amittai hurries on toward the Great Sea whose dark waters are now flooded with the light of the morning. Just ahead, the little city of Joppa rises before him, sitting by the purple sea, her feet bathed in its historic waters. As though inspired with a determined zeal that knew neither the fear of God nor man, he hastens directly onward toward the city. As he journeys, he casts his eyes restlessly over his shoulder toward the far east, and mutters uneasily:
“Angel of the Lord, why dost thou pursue me? Turn back, I pray thee, from following after me. Why hast thou bidden me carry the message of death to the hated Assyrian? Thou knowest the long-suffering and the forbearance of the Eternal as well as I. Nay, I will not be the bearer of an evil message which may never be confirmed; in so doing, I should but make myself a byword and a derision among the heathen, and be regarded as a false prophet in Israel.”
Still over and over again the message of the Most High echoes persistently in his heart and robs him of peace or rest:
“Go to Nineveh, that great city, and cry against it; for their wickedness is come up before Me.”
Up and down the narrow streets of Joppa pass the rebellious feet of the prophet. At length he has reached the harbor, where, before him, with white wings trembling to spread themselves in flight across the Mediterranean, looms a great ship, bound for the distant land of Tarshish.
“Whither goest thou, O mariner?” demanded the traveler of the captain of the vessel.
“We set sail at once for Tarshish,” replied the seaman, noting the stamp of reckless determination upon the face of the stranger, together with the look of haunting fear, as ever and anon, he glanced apprehensively over his shoulder.
Quickly paying his fare, the son of Amittai stepped aboard the vessel. The yellow sun rose high in the azure heavens and the east wind blew softly, as the gallant ship rode out of the harbor of Joppa.
That night, with heart filled with rebellion and pride, the prophet sought his pillow. “See how majestically I ride away from the presence of the Lord—the God of Israel,” muttered the prophet to himself. “I shall soon sail into the harbor of Tarshish, leagues from the wicked city of the hated Assyrian. What have I offended, that the Almighty should commission me with so hateful an errand? Too well I know His tender mercies, even toward the enemies of Israel. Ha! He sends me east, to Nineveh; I go west, to Tarshish. Even so shall I escape from the presence of the angel.”
Already weary with his journey, the son of Amittai falls into a deep sleep. In the mean time, the heavens grow black, and a mighty wind shrieks and wails among the cordage of the ship. Bravely the seamen struggle with the storm, and battle to keep their gallant ship afloat. Finally, at command of the captain, the sailors unlade the ship. Bale after bale of valuable merchandise plunges from the sides of the vessel into the seething waters. Still the storm continues. The shipmen are seized with an awful fear, and cry to their gods to save them,—for they know not the God of heaven.
At last the shipmaster remembers his strange passenger. He is convinced, after the manner of the times, that all this evil is brought upon them on account of the sins of some one of their number. The captain finds the prophet fast asleep. Hastily arousing him, he calls in a voice of terror and agonizing apprehension for him to arise quickly and call upon his God, that they perish not. At last their need becomes so pressing, and their peril so great that they resolve to resort to the expediency of casting lots that they may find the true cause of their distress and peril.
Guided by the hand of the angel, who had even yet never left the side of the disobedient messenger of the Most High, the lot falls upon the son of Amittai. Anxiously the rough seamen press about the trembling man, demanding that he confess to them what he has done.
“I have taken ship, that I might flee from the presence of the God of Israel,” he replies. “He commanded me to take a warning message to Nineveh. Dreading to do so, I have set sail in the opposite direction, for Tarshish.”
“What wilt thou that we do unto thee, that the sea may be calm again?”
“I can but die; why should I add to my sins by bringing death upon these men?” reflects the prophet. Then, with astonishment and awe, the seamen hear the reply of the trembling wanderer. His dark cheek, browned by the fierce summer sun, has turned ghastly and livid, and his cheeks are bloodless, as the lightning’s flash reveals him standing on the deck. The strands of raven hair have blown back from his forehead, and his dark eyes grow darker with despair. He opens his lips, but for a moment no sound escapes them. The seamen draw nearer that they may hear the verdict of the wanderer pronounced by his own lips:
“Come, take me up, and cast ye me into the sea; then shall she cease her raging.”
(Concluded next week)