The Shepherd Psalm: A Meditation Part 5

When a robber would scatter a flock of sheep and cause fear and consternation he throws a dead carca.s.s in the midst of the flock. Sheep fear nothing as much as the sight of death. Is this not true of man also? About the last fear taken from the human heart is "the fear of death." "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Even though the believer knows that the sting of death has been removed, nevertheless there is usually an attendant fear connected with the pa.s.sing out of this life.

I have read that a famous scientist was in the habit of visiting a zoological garden in London. Among the many things that always interested him was a large snake--a boa constrictor. It was kept in a large gla.s.s case so that inspection of the reptile was perfectly safe from the outside. The scientist, we are told, was in the habit of knocking on the gla.s.s in order to awaken the snake. Instantly, when the knock was heard, the snake would raise its head and strike at the gla.s.s with its fangs. The scientist, instinctively shrank back, fearful of being struck, though he knew there was absolutely no danger. So sometimes is it with the believer's relationship to death. Even though he knows the sting is removed, nevertheless the experience of death is somewhat of a dread. The soul naturally recoils at the thought of death.

No really thoughtful man will speak lightly of death. He may, as some men may, in the fullness of health and vigor, laugh at the idea of dying; but when he comes face to face with the real experience, there is, as any minister or physician will tell you, quite a different story to tell.

It reminds me of an experience in our own family life. Behind a former residence of ours was a stretch of woods where, after school, our boys would go to play their outdoor games. It was the understanding in the home that when the whistle was blown or some other signal given the boys should come home for their meals. At times the boys would come home in response to the signal in a somewhat murmuring spirit. They have said something like this to their mother: "Mother, what did you call us home for anyway? Didn't you know that we were just in the midst of a great game and our side was about to win? We wish you wouldn't call us." I have felt as I have listened to them speaking thus to their mother that, just at that particular time and in the middle of the day, they could, apparently, get along very well without their mother. But I have noticed this also, that at night time, after their mother had prayed with them and the lights were turned out, there was another story to tell. It seems to me that I can still hear one of the boys calling out in the dark to his mother, "Mamma, are you there?"

"Yes, son."

"Mamma."

"Yes."

"Is your face turned towards me?"

"Yes."

"Mamma, will you hold my hand? It's dark, isn't it, Mamma? Good night, Mamma."

Ah, yes, in the day-time they might think they could get along very well without their mother, but when the night comes, and the lights are all out, and it's dark, then n.o.body on earth but mother will do.

So it is with you, my friend. In your bravado of health and strength you may say that you are not afraid of death, but you wait until your feet come down to the brink of the river; then there will be a different story to tell. Some men haven't much use for G.o.d in life, but n.o.body else but G.o.d will do in the hour of death.

=_The Valley Is Certain and Narrow_=

Death is certain. It is appointed unto men once to die. While the Lord tarries, every child of Adam will have to pa.s.s through the experience of death.

There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there!

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair!

--_Henry W. Longfellow_

We cannot bribe death. We cannot avoid or evade pa.s.sing through the valley of the shadow. We cannot dig under it, nor tunnel around it, nor fly over it. Face it we must. It behooves us, therefore, to make sure that we have the light and the life which alone will secure for us a happy exit from this valley and a glorious entrance into the unfading light of a new day.

The valley of the shadow of death is narrow, very narrow--so narrow indeed that even a mother cannot take her one-hour-old babe with her. It is so narrow. She must go through the valley alone. Single file, if you please, is the order of march through this valley of the shadow. An aged woman lay dying. By her bedside, with his hand in hers, sat the man who for over fifty years had been her husband. The light was failing fast, and eternity drawing near to the aged woman. Grasping the hand of her husband tightly, she said, "John, it's getting dark. Take my hand. For over fifty years we have traveled together, and you have led me. Now it's getting dark, and I cannot see the way. John, come with me, won't you?"

But John could not go, and with tear-filled eyes and trembling voice, he said, "Anna, I cannot, cannot go. Only Jesus can go with you."

She was a little girl of ten years. The angel of death was hovering over her bed. The end was drawing near. She said to her father, who was standing by the mother's side at the bed, "Papa, it's getting dark and I cannot see. Will you please go with me?"

With heart breaking, the father had to say, "Child, I cannot, I cannot go with you."

The girl turned to her mother and said, "Mamma, then you will, won't you?"

But the mother, in turn, amid her tears, replied, "Child, I would, but I cannot. Only Jesus can go with you."

=_The Personal p.r.o.nouns Change_=

It is interesting to note the change in the personal p.r.o.noun in this verse. Up to this point the Psalmist has been speaking in the third person and using the personal p.r.o.noun "He"--"_He_ leadeth me." "_He_ maketh me." "He restoreth;" _he, he, he_. When he comes to speak of the valley of the shadow of death, however, the third personal p.r.o.noun is changed to that of the second person, "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for _thou_, (_thou_--not _he_, is with me, but _thou_) art with me." There is no room for a third person in this valley. If one does not have Christ as Saviour and Guide in the dark hour of death, he goes through the valley of the shadow all alone. Surely, without Christ with him man will stumble and fall in this valley.

Poor indeed is that soul who, when his feet are about to enter the valley, has no Guide, or, when he comes to the brink of death's river, has no Pilot.

Oh, to have no Christ, no Saviour, How lonely life must be!

Like a sailor lost and driven On a wide and sh.o.r.eless sea.

Oh, to have no Christ, no Saviour, No hand to clasp thine own!

Through the dark, dark vale of shadows Thou must press thy way alone.

--_W. O. Cushing_

But what a blessing and comfort it is for those who know Christ as Saviour and Comforter, to have the a.s.surance that in that last hour of life He is by their side to guide them. It was doubtless this thought of the presence of Christ that comforted Tennyson when he wrote the words of that beautiful poem:

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me!

And, may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea.

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark!

And, may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

--_Alfred Tennyson_

Some one has called the fourth verse of the Psalm a song of the waters.

Did you ever hear singing on the water? There is something wonderful about it. The water seems to take all harshness out of the music, and puts something exquisitely beautiful into it. Here then is "a psalm of the waters," a song for the believer to sing when his feet are touching the margin of the river: "When thou pa.s.sest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee....

For I am the +LORD+ thy G.o.d."

Here, too, is "a song in the night." Sing it, Christian pilgrim, when earth's last hour is at hand. Sing it as you enter the valley. Sing it as the darkness deepens. Sing it when the light of earth's day begins to fade. Sing it when the earth is receding, heaven is opening and G.o.d is calling you. Sing it until the glory of the eternal morn breaks upon thine enraptured vision. Sing it until your feet stand upon that golden sh.o.r.e against which death's chilly wave never again shall dash, and where death is no more. Sing it, sing this song of the waters--"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."

Why be afraid of Death as though your life were breath!

Death but anoints your eyes with clay. Oh glad surprise!

Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn.

Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat?

Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping, you are dead Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies.

Why should it be a wrench, to leave your wooden bench?

Why not with happy shout run home when school is out?

The dear ones left behind? O foolish one and blind.

A day--and you will meet--a night--and you will greet!

This is the death of Death, to breathe away a breath, And know the end of strife and taste the deathless life.