Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows by Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · May 3, 1910

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 37, No. 17.

Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Chapter IX. On the Way to Jerusalem

HE year of Rome 761 has dawned. The sweet wild flowers of spring are once again covering the hills and valleys of that sacred land given so long ago to be the inheritance of the sons of Israel, the chosen of God.

Cæsar Augustus still rules at Rome. Archelaus, the cruel son of a despot father, has had rather a short-lived reign over Judea, and been driven into exile as the natural reward of cruelty toward his long-suffering subjects.

Coponius is governor of Judea; and Herod Antipas, of Galilee; while the notorious Annas occupies the position of high priest at Jerusalem.

In a humble home in the secluded village of Nazareth of Galilee, there is great anticipation in the heart of a young Lad who has but recently arrived at the dignity of His twelfth year.

It is the season of the Passover at Jerusalem, and the pious families of Nazareth are preparing to attend. There is subdued bustle of excitement and preparation in the home of the carpenter Joseph of Nazareth. It is the first Passover of the Lad; for such is the law among the Jews, that no male may attend this festival until he is twelve years old, at which time the privileges of manhood become his.

With what anticipation the Lad looks forward to His first sight of the holy temple, and of the sacred city of His fathers!

The journey is a long one—about eighty miles! a vast distance in the eyes of a lad whose short life has been entirely confined to the quiet hills and valleys of his native Nazareth.

At last the preparations are complete; the company is ready; the procession is formed. Slowly winding over the narrow pathway leading southward toward Jerusalem—always southward—in as straight a line as possible, the caravan moves on its way. Others join them as they proceed. In fancy we can picture the cavalcade making their pious pilgrimage. The old and feeble are mounted upon donkeys or horses, and the young men walk sedately by their side, staff in hand, while the still younger march joyously by the side of their elders.

Crossing the river Kishon, and leaving Nain on their left, they are joined by many pilgrims from the great plain of Esdraelon. One by one they pass the historic places made sacred by events which form a part of their history as a nation. Here King Saul hurried to consult the woman of Endor, when the Lord had forsaken him. There in that tower sat Jezebel, the wicked queen; and here in the streets tumbled the vain woman, to be devoured by the dogs of Jezreel.

A little at the right, rising in lonely grandeur, are the mountains of blessing and of cursing. There lies Dothan, in the vicinity of which Joseph found and ministered to his envious brethren. And it was upon these hills that the armies of heaven encamped when they came to rescue the prophet of God from the Assyrians; and here, on the direct road, and a mile and a half from the ancient Shechem, is the famous well of Jacob.

Finally, on the evening of the third and last night of their journey, the cavalcade reach Beeroth, only about ten miles to the north from Jerusalem.

The setting sun is gilding the mountains of Benjamin and the farther hills of Judea, and the night birds are calling to their fellows, as the white tents of the pilgrims are pitched close by the springs of Beeroth. Anticipation is at its height, for on the morrow the fair walls of the city of David will burst upon the view of the devoted pilgrims.

As they seat themselves upon the ground to partake of their frugal meal, a young Lad wanders off toward the hills alone. Accustomed from earliest childhood to solitude, and to seeking the quiet of the mountains for meditation and prayer, His absence occasions no solicitude to His parents. But there is one whose envious eyes never leave the Lad, and who with dogged persistence follows His every movement,—Shaphan,—the rabbi of Nazareth; and on this night he follows after Him at a distance.

With spirit rapt in holy meditation, the Lad climbs the mountainside. Here He pauses to lift a wounded bird from the ground and tenderly replace it in the nest; again, He stoops to moisten His lips with the cool waters of the mountain spring, and anon breaks out into songs of prayer and praise. The soft voice is eloquent with feeling, the hands are clasped, and the earnest eyes raised heavenward:

'Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands: sing forth the honor of His name: make His praise glorious. Say unto God, How terrible art Thou in Thy works! through the greatness of Thy power shall Thine enemies submit themselves unto Thee. . . . Come and see the works of God: He is terrible in His doing toward the children of men. . . . He ruleth by His power forever; His eyes behold the nations: let not the rebellious exalt themselves. . . . For Thou, O God, hast proved us: Thou hast tried us, as silver is tried.' Then the wonderful voice trembles with emotion as He continues:

'Thou broughtest us into the net; Thou laidst affliction upon our loins. Thou hast caused men to ride over our heads; we went through fire and through water: but'—and the voice rings with triumph—'but Thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place. . . . Blessed be God, which hath not turned away My prayer, nor His mercy from Me.'

Now the Lad has reached the summit of the hilltop. The full round moon has risen, and pours her pale glory over valley and mountain. At His feet lie the white tents of the pilgrims, and the quiet town of Beeroth,—the same which centuries ago was the birthplace of Nahari, one of David's mighty men. At the south, just out of the line of vision, lies Zion, the beautiful—the city of the King.

Now the feet of the young Lad pause, and the catlike tread behind Him ceases also, as the Child drops upon His knees and offers up a prayer to Heaven, and the angels of glory cease the music of their harps to listen.

At the close of the prayer, there sounds a faint moan from the deep shadows cast by the overhanging rocks:

'In the name of the God of Israel, help, or I die!'

The wounded man had recovered from his death-like swoon in time to listen to that wonderful prayer. In an instant the Lad is by the side of the sufferer, and is supporting the massive head in His arms, while from behind a bunch of cactus a little in the rear, peer the evil eyes of Shaphan, the rabbi.

'See, Boy, I am starving; canst Thou help me?' At once His own frugal supper of parched corn and unleavened cakes is in the trembling hand of the half-famished man.

'Art thou athirst?' questions the Child, in a voice of tenderest sympathy.

'Nay, the spring is hard by, but verily I have eaten nothing for three whole days—not since the accursed Roman legions wounded me.'

'Stay; I will bring thee help!' cries the Child, springing to His feet as if to hasten back to the encampment. 'Surely the carpenter of Nazareth leaveth no man to perish alone.'

'Hold; Thou hast brought me food, Lad; it is enough. Why should the Jew deliver me into the hands of the Roman? Marcus, the centurion, I fear continually. Verily he hath pursued me from the mountains of Moab, and hath wounded me sore. But already Thy bread strengtheneth me, and I shall soon be far hence toward Galilee. But stay, Lad; who art Thou? and what is Thy name? Who knoweth but some day even Barabbas may do Thee a kindness?'

But the Child was gone.

(To be continued)