THE TRIAL OF ABRAHAM'S FAITH.
By Clarence Lathbury
THIS simple Hebrew incident is at once the most pathetic and helpful lesson in the Old Testament. Away back in those far days we are let into the death struggles of a soul with human ambition and worldliness. Abraham seemed to have been a fully consecrated child of God when, at the divine command, he forsook his home and native land. And that consecration seemed to be ratified in the covenant Jehovah made with him afterwards, closing with the promise that a nation should spring from his loins that would outnumber the stars. Yet there were other lessons for him to learn. We often deem ourselves in complete accord with the Lord's plans regarding us, this idea springing from inexperience. We feel that we would answer to the divine wishes as the good ship responds to the wheel. Sincere people often challenge God's providence, inviting trial, declaring that nothing can move them. In the prayer and testimony meetings they profess before men their entire unworldliness. They sing, "Oh, to be nothing, nothing!" and cry, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." This is usually the exuberance and confidence of inexperience. They have not yet felt the crushing darkness and woe of riven hopes. Their choicest ideal has not been shattered into fragments, their inmost and sweetest expectation has not felt the rod of death. When it comes, they may be as brave as Abraham or Job; it is best to wait and see before many expressions of confidence. Late in life, in the serene days when the "Father of the Faithful," it would seem, should have entered into rest of spirit, the severest trial of his career arrived. He was nearly a hundred years of age when Isaac was born, and now he was much older. His testing came when he was at the closing of his pilgrimage, preceding his glorification. The Saviour's trial, you will remember, in the garden and on Calvary, antedated the transfiguration of soul and body forever. Isaac was Abraham's only son, his long-looked-for and divinely promised. Above his lands, his flocks, his gold, his health, yes, his love for his son eclipsed the love of his own life. Occasionally we adore our friends and relatives more than our God, making idols of them. It is likely that Abraham had questioned his soul in this regard, and wondered if it were true in his case. He could only learn from experience, for experience is the only teacher. We do not know what we can carry till the weight is laid upon us. It is never safe to either boast or lament. Await the heavenly providences in prayerful desire for strength that shall stand the storm of sorrow. We never hear of Abraham lauding or asserting his power to stand in the hour of trouble, yet when it came he was found faithful. The keen sword penetrated to the center of his affections. Like his Saviour, perfection was won on the summit of Calvary. Only One stood deeper in his love than Isaac—Jehovah God, and he sometimes questioned that. But listen to the melody of the story. No such faith is recorded in finite history. We see God's command flashing like lightning out of a blue sky. If the world had melted with fervent heat, it could not have been so terrible to Abraham. Yet there is not a murmur. There is the command, and the very next sentence sees him making ready. We hear the grind of the knife blade upon the stone. We hear the crash of the kindling wood beneath the stroke of the ax. All is ready, the start is made, and in three days he beholds the place afar off where his only child is to expire by his own hand. Resolute with unflinching courage, he rears the altar, places Isaac upon it, and lifts the gleaming knife toward the tender sky that hovers over him. A surprise awaits him when the angel stays his arm. God requires not sacrifice, but consecration. When that is given, the sacrifice is withheld. Following the obedience of Abraham came the rush of glory, and joyful promise, with which the chapter closes. My reader, this is what you and I must meet before the death of self is succeeded by the rapture of entire redemption. Our cherished Isaac must be laid upon the altar. The anguish of putting base ambitions beneath our feet and subordinating everything to progress of character, will crown our later days. Then heaven dawns upon the weary spirit.—S. S. Lesson Illustrator.