GOING FORTH
by Alexander Maclaren
'They went forth to go into the land of Canaan, and
into
the land of Canaan they came.'--GENESIS xii. 5.
The reference of these words is to Abram's act of
faith in leaving
Haran and setting out on his pilgrimage. It is a
strange narrative
of a journey, which omits the journey altogether,
with its weary
marches, privations, and perils, and notes but its
beginning and its
end. Are not these the main points in every life,
its direction and
its attainment? There are--
'Two points in the adventure of the diver,
One--when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge,
One--when, a prince, he rises with his pearl.'
Abram and his company had a clear aim. But does not
the Epistle to
the Hebrews magnify him precisely because he 'went
out, not knowing
whither he went'? Both statements are true, for
Abram had the same
combination of knowledge and ignorance as we all
have. He knew that
he was to go to a land that he should afterwards
inherit, and he
knew that, in the first place, Canaan was to be his
'objective
point,' but he did not know, till long after he had
crossed the
Euphrates and pitched his tent by Bethel, that it
was the land. The
ultimate goal was clear, and the first step towards
it was plain,
but how that first step was related to the goal was
not plain, and
all the steps between were unknown. He went forth
with sealed
orders, to go to a certain place, where he would
have further
instructions. He knew that he was to go to Canaan,
and beyond that
point all was dark, except for the sparkle of the
great hope that
gleamed on the horizon in front, as a sunlit summit
rises above a
sea of mist between it and the traveller. Like such
a traveller,
Abram could not accurately tell how far off the
shining peak was,
nor where, in the intervening gorges full of mist,
the path lay; but
he plunged into the darkness with a good heart,
because he had
caught a glimpse of his journey's end. So with us.
We may have clear
before us the ultimate aim and goal of our lives,
and also the step
which we have to take now, in pressing towards it,
while between
these two there stretches a valley full of mist, the
breadth of
which may be measured by years or by hours, for all
that we know,
and the rough places and green pastures of which are
equally hidden
from us. We have to be sure that the mountain peak
far ahead, with
the sunshine bathing it, is not delusive cloud but
solid reality,
and we have to make sure that God has bid us step
out on the yard of
path which we _can_ see, and, having secured these
two certainties,
we are to cast ourselves into the obscurity before
us, and to bear in
our hearts the vision of the end, to cheer us amid
the difficulties
of the road.
Life is strenuous, fruitful, and noble, in the
measure in which its
ultimate aim is kept clearly visible throughout it
all. Nearer aims,
prescribed by physical necessities, tastes,
circumstances, and the
like, are clear enough, but a melancholy multitude
of us have never
reflected on the further question: 'What then?'
Suppose I have made
my fortune, or won my wife, or established my
position, or achieved
a reputation, behind all these successes lies the
larger question.
These are not ends but means, and it is fatal to
treat them as being
the goal of our efforts or the chief end of our
being. There would
be fewer wrecked lives, and fewer bitter and
disappointed old men,
if there were more young ones who, at starting, put
clearly before
themselves the question: 'What am I living for? and
what am I going
to do when I have secured the nearer aims
necessarily prescribed to
me?'
What that aim should be is not doubtful. The only
worthy end
befitting creatures with hearts, minds, consciences,
and wills like
ours is God Himself. Abram's 'Canaan' is usually
regarded as an
emblem of heaven, and that is correct, but the land
of our
inheritance is not wholly beyond the river, for God
is the portion
of our hearts. He _is_ heaven. To dwell with Him, to
have all
the current of our being running towards Him, to set
Him before us
in the strenuous hours of effort and in the quiet
moments of repose,
in the bright and in the dark days, are the
conditions of
blessedness, strength, and peace.
That aim clearly apprehended and persistently
pursued gives
continuity to life, such as nothing else can do. How
many of the
things that drew us to themselves, and were for a
while the objects
of desire and effort, have sunk below the horizon!
The lives that
are not directed to God as their chief end are like
the voyages of
old-time sailors, who had to creep from one headland
to another, and
steer for points which, one after another, were
reached, left
behind, and forgotten. There is only one aim so
great, so far in
advance that we can never reach, and therefore can
never pass and
drop it. Life then becomes a chain, not a heap of
unrelated
fragments. That aim made ours, stimulates effort to
its highest
point, and therefore secures blessedness. It
emancipates from many
bonds, and takes the poison out of the mosquito
bites of small
annoyances, and the stings of great sorrows. It
gleams ever before a
man, sufficiently attained to make him at rest,
sufficiently
unattained to give the joy of progress. The pilgrims
who had but one
single aim, 'to go to the land of Canaan,' were
delivered from the
miseries of conflicting desires, and with simplicity
of aim came
concentration of force and calm of spirit.
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