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

Pacific Press Publishing Association · Mountain View, California · Jul 5, 1910

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 37, No. 26.

Shiloh: the Man of Sorrows

By Mrs. L. D. Avery-Stuttle

Chapter XVIII.—In "the Fulness of the Time"

It was the first time that the family from Bethany, Lazarus, Martha, and Mary Magdalene, had ever listened to this story,—or rather, to these facts, as told to the household of the widow Adah, and her guests, by Matthias.

To Lazarus it was a tale of deep interest. His heart was touched and his spirit quickened as never before. Manlike, he fell to philosophizing over the strange narration, and to comparing the different parts of the story, that he might the better judge of its reasonableness. Then, carefully, deliberately, systematically, for the hundredth time, he reviewed the rolls of the prophets, more especially of Daniel the seer, to make sure whether the time was fully ripe for the appearance of the promised Shiloh. The sixty-nine prophetic weeks, or four hundred eighty-three years, since the command of King Cyrus to rebuild Jerusalem, were, just then, PRECISELY fulfilled.

Having satisfied himself entirely upon all these questions, when he closed his eyes in slumber that night, Lazarus of Bethany was a firm believer in the Christ of Galilee. Tho he had not a complete understanding of His wonderful mission, still, ever thereafter, despite the cavilings of the priests and the persecutions of the Pharisees and rulers, his faith continued firm. His was a beautiful faith; it knew no doubt, no hesitancy, no wavering; and the blessing which was the promised inheritance of those who not having seen, yet believe, was his.

Martha, the careful, the troubled—thankful indeed if the long-looked-for Messiah had at last come, but fearing lest, after all, there might be some mistake!

What! was it possible that even in her day the power of the Cæsars would be broken? that the city of Jerusalem would be the proud capital of the nations, and that the Shiloh of Jacob would reign gloriously upon the throne of David?

But as Martha fell asleep that night, she was troubled—troubled lest the favored nation be not ready for her King; troubled lest the desired One meet with no better reception among the people of her day than did Moses in the days of old.

Then, she was troubled for Mary, her beautiful sister, her beloved Magdalene. Dim forebodings troubled her. So sweet of temper, so mild of disposition, so calm, so unsuspecting of evil, so innocent,—her sister! From childhood this sister had been carefully reared, jealously guarded, lovingly nurtured; and the disposition which this had developed was sweet and gentle, loving and beautiful and true,—but clinging and dependent as the tender vine. What if Simon, her betrothed, really loved her not! Martha felt in her inmost soul that he was entirely unworthy the love of so guileless a heart as Magdalene's; and Martha was troubled, and troubled she fell asleep.

Magdalene, the true of heart and the pure of life, the easily satisfied and the easily led, the light-hearted, the optimistic, the castle builder! Magdalene could not sleep; she was too joyous. Had it not been abundantly proved that the Shiloh had at last come? How favored was Israel! How blest was Jacob! How incomparably happy was Jerusalem—the chosen of God—the city of the great King. Sleep? Could she sleep when such blessings were about to come to her people? Sleep when on the morrow her eyes would, without question, behold Him—the Longed-for—the Desire of the Nations? No warning doubt chilled her heart; no unbelief cast its hateful shadow across her spirit.

The calm moon, almost full, threw a flood of opalescent light upon the quiet ford. Bethabara slept.

The latticed windows were sharply outlined upon the floor of her apartment, and the calm beauty of the night beckoned her with dim, shadowy fingers.

Throwing her cloak about her, with hair unbound and sandaled feet, she passed the outer court, and sought a quiet retreat in the garden, where she had often wandered. The winter's storms had chilled the flowers, and they were dead, and the trailing vines rustled beneath her feet; but the cool evening air kissed her brow, and caressed the truant tresses of raven hair,—and she was happy.

"Magdalene, Mary, whither goest thou, queen of the night?" For an instant the voice startled her, and she had almost cried out in terror; but the soft, familiar tones reassured her.

"Simon, is it thou? verily the evening wooed me with her gentle charms, and I could not sleep."

"And verily thou hast wooed me with thine, Magdalene, my beloved—my betrothed!"

Over in the palms and reeds which bordered the winding Jordan, the night bird called to his mate, and the discordant note of the cormorant was heard.

The moon hung lower and lower in the sky, until a misty cloud veiled her saddened face from sight. The air seemed chill and cold, as in that other garden when sin first entered with its noxious breath.

The face of nature seemed changed. It was a different world to her, as Mary Magdalene, astonished and humbled, once again entered her chamber, with poor heart throbbing and beating like a captive bird against the walls of its prison. The beautiful flowers which had grown in the garden of her soul's purity, had been despoiled of their bloom—their petals scattered by the hideous fingers of lust.

In the morning, Mary Magdalene arose, her dark eyes red with weeping such as she had never known, her soul sick, and her heart filled with strange terror and unaccustomed dread. Again she sought the cooling shades of the garden; but the scenes of the evening before were hateful to her soul, and she wandered on, till the soft murmurs of the Jordan fell upon her ear.

The sun was already tinting the light clouds above the hills of Moab, and the pale stars had gone out in the purple sky. She walked on until the overflowing Jordan kissed her sandaled feet with cool, moist lips.

Suddenly she became aware that there were others near her, conversing in low tones; but she saw them not. Evidently they were concealed among the palms and reeds everywhere abounding. The light breeze bore the words of the speaker to her ear, and she heard her own name spoken lightly, and in the same instant recognized the soft, seductive tones of Simon of Bethany. He was conversing carelessly with one of the Roman officers whose duty it was to guard the fords.

"Thou callest her beautiful, Emil?"

It was the voice of Simon; and the soldier replied quickly:

"The girl is beautiful as Diana,—thy betrothed, didst thou say, Simon?"

"Verily, Emil, she was betrothed unto me by her father; and she seemed fair unto me, also; but of a truth she is fair no longer. The father is dead, and the brother and sister look not upon me with favor. My bonds are even now cut asunder, for the wench hath not the virtue of a true daughter of Israel, and verily she is hateful unto me. Within a month I wed another, Prisca, the daughter of one Elkanah, a nobleman of Jerusalem."

A wild scream from among the reeds at their side startled the men. Quickly they found her, unconscious, cold and white as the foam of the Jordan; and hastily they bore her back to the home of Adah.

"Behold!" exclaimed Simon to Martha, who hastened to meet them. "Behold, we have found this woman by the river among the palms, tho why or when she came thither, we wot not."

Even as he spoke, Mary Magdalene opened her dark eyes and looked wildly about her, while shriek after shriek like that of the demons of darkness, broke from her foaming and blood-stained lips.

But Simon was like Amnon, the son of David; for the hatred wherewith he hated her, was greater than the love wherewith he had loved her.

"Of a truth, this woman, thy sister, seemeth to be possessed with Beelzebub!" he exclaimed coldly, as he turned upon his heel and walked rapidly away toward Jericho.