Standing in the midst of some of the most desolate scenery in the world, Mount Sinai lifts its huge form into the heavens, like some monster slumbering in conscious strength. Its bold and naked summit—its barren and rocky sides, and all its sombre features, correspond perfectly to the surrounding scene. It is a wild and desolate spot, and were there no associations connected with it, the loneliness and gloom that surround it, would arrest the traveler, and cause him to shudder as he pitched his tent under its shadow.
The moral, the divine instructions given to man from its summit, are of course the things of chief importance; but as these are always wholly dwelt upon, I speak only of the outward scenes, amid which they were imparted.
The Son of God must die amid the throbs of an earthquake, the rending of the graves, and the darkening of the sun. The giving of the Law, too, was done amid scenes that were designed never to be forgotten. Behold the white tents of Israel scattered like snow flakes at the base of that treeless, barren mountain. The hum of a mighty population is there, and those flowing tents, on which the parting sun is leaving his farewell glories, are the only pleasing objects that meet the eye, in this dreary region. A solemn hush is on every thing as the moon sails up the heavens, flooding with her gentle light the tented host. Moses has declared that on the third morning the eternal God is to place his feet on that distant mountain top in presence of all the people. Awe-struck and expectant, the sons of Jacob go from tent to tent to speak of this strange event, and then come out and look on the mysterious mountain on which it is to transpire. Unconscious of its high destiny, the distant summit leans against the solemn sky, and nothing there betokens preparations for the stupendous scene.—But at length the morning comes, and that vast encampment is filled with the murmur of the moving multitude, all turned anxiously to distant Sinai. And lo! a solitary cloud comes drifting along the morning sky, and catches against the top of the mountain. Thus did the cloud rest on mount Sinai as the people looked, and suddenly the thunders began to speak from its depths, and the fierce lightnings traverse its bosom, gleaming and flashing in every part of it. That cloud was God's pavilion; the thunder was his sentinels, and the lightnings the lances' points as they move round the sacred trust. The commotion which from the first arrested every eye, and chains every tongue, grew wilder every moment, till the successive claps of thunder were like the explosion of ten thousand cannon, shaking the earth to its very centre. Amid the incessant firing of heaven's artillery suddenly from out the bosom of that cloud, comes a single trumpet blast. Not like the thrilling music of a thousand trumpets that herald the shock of cavalry; but one solitary clarion note, with no sinking 'cadence or rising swell,' but an infinite sound, rising in its ascension power till the universe was filled with the strain. The incessant thunders that rock the height cannot drown it, for clearer, fuller, louder it peals on over the astonished spectators, till their hearts sink away in fear, and nature herself stands awe-struck and trembling before it. And lo! columns of smoke begin to rise fast and furious from that mysterious cloud, as if a volcano had opened in its bosom, and the pent up elements were discharging themselves in the open air: and the steady mountain rocks to and fro on its base as if in the grasp of an earthquake. And the smoke thereof ascended as the smoke of a great furnace, and the whole mount quaked greatly. Amid this rapid roll of thunder, and flashing of lightning, and fiercely ascending volumes of smoke, and convulsive throbs of Sinai, and while that trumpet strain still waxed louder and louder, Moses led the trembling Israelites forth to the foot of the mountain.
Suddenly the uproar ceased, and the thunders hushed their voice, and the last echo of the trumpet died away, and all was still. And from that silent cloud come a voice more fearful than they all—the voice of Jehovah calling Moses up into the mount. The great Lawgiver of Israel, parted from his people, and with solemn step was seen scaling the rocks, and climbing the heights till at last the cloud receives him in its bosom.
The moral law was given, and also the civil code, which men have so learnedly traced to the social compact.
The first act in the mighty drama was ended, and Moses was ordered to bring up Aaron and Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders to worship in the mountain: and God showed himself in his glory to them. When this strange worship was ended, the voice of Jehovah was again heard, issuing from the cloud: but what a change in the mean time had passed over its dark form. A serene and pure radiance began to play around it, quivering like a bright light with its own intensity. Brighter and brighter it grew, till the eye turned away dazzled by the sight. Brighter still it gleams till it seemed a glowing furnace, shooting forth living fire on every side. Its wrathful streaks streamed down the mountain, filling the cavities with deeper gloom, touching every rock and crag with flame, and clothing the white tents in a lurid light. And when the night came on, and darkness wrapped the world, that mountain was one blaze of glory, shedding a strange lustre on the barren scene, and revealing every face and form of that immense host, as if they stood beneath a burning palace—painting with terrible distinctness, and in lines of fire, the surrounding landscape. The stars went out before its brilliancy, and the moon looked dark in its splendor.
For six days and nights did the glory flame on, shedding such a baptism on the wondering camp, as was never before witnessed by mortal eye—for the sight of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mount in the eyes of the children of Israel. Little sleep was in the tents of Jacob then, for each one held his breath in awe, wondering what next would happen in this succession of strange scenes. At length that voice, before which nature herself seemed to change, again issued from the cloud, calling Moses to a second interview. Taking Joshua with him, he again ascended the hill, and was wrapped from sight forty days and forty nights. But as week after week passed by, and there were no farther exhibitions, and Moses did not return, the people passed from idleness into pleasure, and from pleasure to infidelity, and at length, emboldened by their own numbers, assembled tumultuously together and demanded another God, saying, 'As for this man Moses, who has brought us here, we do not know what has become of him.'
The golden calf was made, and the intoxicated throng danced around it. What a scene was there! Right at the foot of Sinai, where a month before they had heard the thunders, and trumpet, and voice, and seen the lightning, and glory—danced, and shouted, and sung, in bacchanalian frenzy, the naked multitude—hailing in boisterous shouts a golden calf as their God. What a contrast to the scene passing on the top of the mountain between Jehovah and Moses! In the midst of this wild and blasphemous revel, Moses was seen descending with thoughtful step, the distant slope, bearing in his arms the tables of the law. At length, as he and Joshua, in serious converse, passed along, they came within hearing of the tumult below. Suddenly stopping, they turned their anxious eyes to the white tents, far, far down in the valley, and Joshua said,—'There is fighting in the camp—I hear the sound of battle.' But the practiced ear of Moses, knew too well the meaning of that confused murmur. 'No,' said he, 'that is not the shout of victors in the pursuit, nor the shriek of the vanquished, flying in fear, but the noise of them that sing do I hear.' As he drew near and saw the revelry and blasphemous worship, he cast the tables at his feet, and rushed into the camp. The naked throng falls before him as if he had been a messenger of death: the dancing ceases, and the song and deafening shouts were suddenly hushed. Turning neither to the right hand nor to the left, he pressed with a brow dark as wrath, to the golden idol, and hurling it into the fire, tramples it under foot. Then turning to Aaron, he asked an explanation of this strange scene. As soon as it was given, he hastened to the gate of the camp, and sending his voice like a trumpet roll through the host, cried out, 'Whoever is on the Lord's side, let him come to me.' The sons of Levi separated themselves from the crowd, and flocked about him. 'Seize now,' said he to these, 'every man his sword, and go in and out from gate to gate throughout the camp and slay every man his companion, and every man his brother.'
Amid the silence that followed were heard sobs and cries of despair: and lo! that terrible band, with drawn swords, press into the throng. There is no shout of battle, no cry of anger, though the sword drinks blood at every step,—The moan of despair, and the sudden death shrieks alone tell where those stern warriors pass. And now, enveloped in the dense mass, the eye can tell where they move only by the flash of dripping swords, as they sweep in angry circles over their guilty heads. Though their hearts bleed at every stroke, and a deeper paleness is on their brow as they sheath their death weapons in their brethren's bosoms, and the lip quivers before the beseeching look of a once loved friend, their steadfast heart must feel no relenting. The dead lie in swaths where they go, and their weary arms droop beneath the protracted slaughter—yet on, on they press, till three thousand corpses cumber the field. Terrible scene—terrible vengeance—but the sword of divine justice is ever awful. Why speak of after repentance and consecration—of a second ascent into Sinai—of the passing of Jehovah before Moses—of the still radiance that beamed from his face, as he came once more unto the people, until they turned dazzled from his presence. The mighty pageant at length closed—the cloud-column rose from before the tabernacle and moved into the desert; the tents were struck, and the host, headed by that mysterious pillar, in one long column disappeared in the wilderness, and that fearful mountain was left once more alone amid the bleak and barren scenery.158But ah! another dreadful day is approaching us, when not only Sinai and the whole earth shall be shaken, but also heaven. And this word, (yet once more) signifies the removing of those things that are shaken, that those things which cannot be shaken may remain.