MIGHTY was the work that was performed when the Son of Man appeared. Thousands upon thousands, tired of their own ways, eagerly accepted the free gift of God's everlasting love. Salvation from sin, the gift of eternal life, and even deliverance from the all-pervading tyranny of Rome, were given to all who were simply willing to accept them. For nearly a century it went with a power that compelled attention from scoffing atheists, from deluded pagans, or from bigoted and prejudiced Jews. Never before since the fall of man was the world so thoroughly renovated by the gospel of salvation, and never before were there so many taken out of the nations as a people for his name.
But as this work was carried on in a different way from any before, so Satan had new plans to counteract its influence—and yet not new in principle, although such in outward appearance. In Rev. 2:14, 15 these evils are spoken of as the "doctrine of Balaam," and again as the "doctrine of the Nicolaitanes." "The name of Balaam, according to the best etymology, signifies destroyer of the people, and Nicolaos is no more than a Grecizing of his name."—Sir S. Arthur Blackwood, K. C. B., in London Christian. Balaam is said to have taught Balak to "cast a stumbling-block before the children of Israel, to eat things sacrificed unto idols, and to commit fornication." That is, although he could not curse the people, so that they might be overcome in open warfare, yet, in his love
for the "wages of unrighteousness," he taught Balak how the same thing might be accomplished in another way. The daughters of Moab were fair, and if Israel could be induced to unite with them in worship and in life, that Rock which followed them as their defense would be compelled to forsake them, and then this great multitude would no longer be feared. And when we read the result, let us have in mind that sturdy Christianity, which neither a Nero nor a Galerius with all their fiendish tortures could subdue; let us see this same Christianity fascinated, captured, and emasculated by the pagan Constantine. The Moabitish women invited Israel to the sacrifices of their gods, "and the people did eat, and bowed down to their gods. And Israel joined himself to Baal-peor,"—the Roman Priapus,—and they "mingled among the heathen, and learned their works. And they served their idols."
Does not this tell the whole story of the great apostasy? The world was absorbed into the church, the church mixed with the world, and for nearly two millenniums the civilized world, though nominally Christian, has been little better than baptized paganism.
The Roman world had, in the Augustan Age, reached the highest stage of mental development and worldly prosperity to which man apart from God is able to attain. And what was it?—A marble palace, a thousand slaves and mistresses, "rolling streams of gold," and a subjected world. O glorious Rome, proud in thy self-sufficiency, dost think thou hast no need of the help of the lowly Nazarene? Dost think thy Horace, thy Catullus, have a clearer, a nobler harp than those celestial beings who are delighted to have the opportunity at his humble birth to chant, "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will toward men"? Thou didst at first despise this noble song, and afterwards corrupt its melody, and as a consequence we see the barbarians of the North sweeping down upon thy luxurious villas and pleasure gardens, and blotting from the earth a civilization that has corrupted the only means that Heaven possessed in order to its purification.
And now the world lay dead for ages. A thousand years of darkness overspread the globe, and scarcely a ray of light pierced its black, pestilent pall. The Lord in mercy had not blotted out the world; he had a people in training who were yet to bring forth his word from the rubbish of centuries, and study it and proclaim it once more. But for the present, throughout the political world—
"Storm bowled
To storm, and lightning, forked lightning, crossed,
And thunder answered thunder, muttering sound
Of sullen wrath."
Famine and pestilence, dread sisters in the work of death, stalked hand in hand over Europe. Ignorance and superstition fettered the minds of men, and delivered them over, helpless and hopeless, to the dominion of Rome—that personification of evil. Man almost grew familiar with his woe. And the very beasts of the field were so accustomed to continual plunder and devastation that, when the village larum bell was rung, as sign of the enemy's approach, they would hurry home for protection, "without any guide, by this accustomed misery."—Des Serres.
Behold the results of the rejection and perversion of the gospel of God! Behold the last reprieve that a merciful God will grant a rebellious world! One more opportunity of unparalleled grace, one more day of glorious, dazzling light, and the world will have reached its aphelion, with no ability to return, and must be blotted out. The former destructions came as the results of a national condemnation; this last will come at the close of probation for a world.
It was just remarked that the Augustan Age was the highest stage of man's development apart from God. We now approach a period when man attains his highest possible development with the aid of religion but without its sanctifying power. By this we mean that the modern world has all the advantages of Christianity in its reflex influence, while at the same time denying the power of that religion in its life—denying it by neglecting it. Man's progress in the present age over the civilization of Rome, socially, mentally, and politically, is all due to the reflex influence of Christianity that shines out from the literature and the holy lives that are the heritage of the present day. How many orphanages had Rome? How many asylums or hospitals? How many in the whole range of philanthropic work? And it is equally potent that politically Christianity was the first to proclaim the liberty of the individual conscience, and that it has emancipated the world, as far as that is possible with sin still reigning—a world still beneath the curse. We are now fast approaching the mountain top of light, but what if, when we reach that height, we still despise God's law, and trample on those who hold its holy precepts dear? Would it not be fitting that this culmination of sin should meet with final retribution?
And, oh, to be living at such a period! Truly, is not this our age the grandest hour of all the great day of time? What period so grand as the sunset? what hour so provocative of solemn thought? Should we not look over the day's work and learn every possible lesson that may guide us during the few minutes of daylight that remain? For, although the sun gleams brightly over the western hills, and with a refulgence far exceeding its brightest noonday gleams, yet we are assured that it will not dip below the horizon but amid the most dreadful storm of all the weary centuries. But, thank God, we have a boat that will outride the blast, and we have only to be willing to occupy a berth in its humble cabin, to be carried safely through into the haven of rest.
But let us listen to the distant mutterings of the storm that come across the waters, and see if the world has ever experienced its rage before. Yes, 'tis the same that burst upon the heads of the disciples, the same that Nero raised to drown the cries of an infuriated populace, the same that Satan has employed in all ages to blot from the earth the few who serve faithfully the Lord their God. O persecution; what a space does thy name occupy in the bloody records of the past! How countless are thy victims! How dreadful thy work! How contrary to the pure spirit of the gospel of love!
But the last great struggle of the ages is indeed upon us, and its record will soon be placed with that of all previous ones upon the great books above. We need heavenly wisdom to discern aright the signs of the times, that we may come off victors in the conflict; and among the best preparations for the coming day is, with prayerful dependence upon God, and an intimate and ever-increasing120knowledge of his word—in the words of another—to "read history, and keep your ear close to the telephone of events."