Part 4 (1/2)

”Thy nature, gracious Lord, impart; Come quickly from above, Write thy new name upon my heart, Thy new, best name of Love.”

V

GOING VISITING--JONATHAN

_I Samuel 23:16_

”And Jonathan, Saul's son, arose and went to David into the wood and strengthened his hand in G.o.d.” ”Going visiting” is a very commonplace occurrence. Oftentimes the visits we make are thoroughly trivial and unimportant. But there are other times when our visits take on a profound significance. There are times when they mark a crisis. There are times when they set in motion influences that tell on the entire future of those whom we visit. There are times when they mean the making or the marring of a human soul.

Now, this visit about which we are to study to-day is no ordinary visit. I think it is one of the most beautiful stories to be found in literature. This visit was made many centuries ago. It was made in an obscure corner of the earth, and yet it has never been forgotten. It never will be. The Inspirer of the Word saw in it too much of worth and winsomeness to allow it to slip out of the memories of men. It is remembered to-day, not because Jonathan left his calling card on David's center table. It is remembered because the visit was so blessedly beautiful.

It is a great privilege that G.o.d has given us in allowing us to visit each other. We can help so much by it if we will. Wasn't that a lovely visit that the old school master made to Marget that time in ”Beside the Bonny Briar Bush” when he came to tell her that she had a ”laddie of parts”? And wasn't it still more beautiful when he came later, rugged old Scotchman that he was, to burst into tears of wild joy over the good news he brought her that her son had won first prize in the great university?

Wasn't that a lovely series of visits that a kindly old man made to the room of the little laddie who had swept the street crossing before he had been crippled in the discharge of his duty? A city missionary went in to see him and asked him if he had had anybody to visit him. ”Oh, yes,” was the answer. ”A good man comes every day and talks to me, and sometimes he reads the Bible to me and prays.” ”What is his name?”

asked the missionary. And the little fellow studied a moment and said, ”I think he said his name was Gladstone.” England's grand old man appears to us in many a charming role, but in none is he more manly and commanding than in this of visiting a little crippled waif in a London attic.

Florence Nightingale was a lovely visitor. Do you recall that exquisite bit of poetry in conduct on the field of Crimea? A soldier was to go through a painful operation. An anaesthetic could not be administered and the doctor said the patient could not endure the operation. ”Yes, I can,” said the patient, ”under one condition: if you will get the 'Angel of the Crimea' to hold my hand.” And she came out to the little hospital at the front and held his hand. Glorious visit. No wonder the man went through the operation without a tremor.

But the visit of our text,--to me it is more wonderful still. The truth of the matter is, I know of but one other visit that ever took place that is finer and more beautiful. You know what visit that was.

It was the visit that One made to a manger in Bethlehem nineteen centuries ago. That was a visit that remade the world. It was so wonderful that a star pointed it out with finger of silver, and our discordant old earth was serenaded with the music of that land of eternal melody. But aside from that one visit, I think this the most beautiful one ever recorded.

What is the secret of its beauty? First, it was beautiful in its courageous loyalty. You know who Jonathan was. He was the King's son.

He was popular, handsome and courageous. So lithe, athletic and graceful he was that they called him ”the gazelle.” He was a prince.

He was heir-apparent to the throne of Israel.

And you know, also, who David was. He was at that time in disgrace.

He was under the frown of the King. He was being hunted from one refuge to another like a wild beast. To be his friend was to be the enemy of the King. To smile upon him was to meet the frown of the King.

But notwithstanding the fact that these men were so far apart, one a favorite prince and the other an outcast peasant, yet we find the prince visiting the peasant. You say they were friends. Yes, that is true, deeply true. But their friends.h.i.+p had started in other days.

When David and Jonathan first met they met under altogether different circ.u.mstances. You know when Jonathan first saw David. It was when David returned from his fight with Goliath, with the b.l.o.o.d.y head of the giant in his hand. He met him amidst the hurrahs and the wild enthusiasm of the people. He met him on one of the great red letter days of David's life, when he sprang suddenly from obscurity to be a national hero.

It does not seem so surprising, therefore, when we read that on this day ”the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David.” David was courageous. David had shown himself a hero. David was a favorite with the King and a favorite with the people. It took no great effort to love him then. It took no great courage to be his friend. But all is changed now. The King no longer loves him, but hates him and seeks his life. The sun of his popularity has gone into eclipse. We wonder if Jonathan's friends.h.i.+p will stand the test.

And again we turn and read the text: ”And Jonathan, Saul's son, arose and went to David into the wood and strengthened his hand in G.o.d.”

What beautiful loyalty. What fine fidelity. How blessed is David in the friends.h.i.+p of a man who can love him in the suns.h.i.+ne and who can love him no less in the midst of the shadows. How blessed he is in the friends.h.i.+p of one who can stand by him when many lips praise him and who can also stand by him when many abuse him, and many criticise him and many lift their hands against him. Truly this man loves David for himself alone.

Second, this visit is beautiful because of its fine and costly sympathy. Jonathan really sympathized with David in his trials and his difficulties. He did not express that sympathy in any cheap and distant way. He might have sent David word that if he needed anything just to let him know. He might have dispatched a servant to comfort David in his sore trials. But he did not try to express his sympathy at long distance. He went to David. He came to handclasp with the man that he wished to help.

Now, I am perfectly aware of the fact that much of our sympathy must be expressed at a distance. For instance, we cannot all go to the foreign field. We must express our interest in those who have not had our opportunities by our gifts. Much of the service we render in our own land must be rendered in the same way. But when that is said, the fact still remains that there is nothing that will take the place of our hand-to-hand dealing with those who need us. We cannot perform all our charities by proxy. We must come in personal contact with those whom we would help.

There is one poem I think that we have a bit overworked:

”Let me live in my house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by.

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish--and so am I.

So why should I sit in the scorner's seat, Or hurl the cynic's ban?

Let me live in my house by the side of the road, And be a friend to man.

”I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life, The men that press on with the ardor of hope, And the men who are faint in the strife.

But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears, Both parts of an infinite plan.