The hiding of God's face.
Jehovah is here spoken of as "the Lord, that hideth his face from the house of Jacob;" and Jeremiah uses a similar figure in one of his prayers: "Thou hast covered thyself with a cloud, that our prayer should not pass through" (Lamentations 3:44). Aside from the historical associations of the text, the expression itself is a suggestive one, and may be made the basis of meditation. Whatever may be the fact concerning God, this at least is the fact of the pious man's experience—it feels to him as if God had hidden his face and covered himself with a cloud. Two thoughts are suggested by the figure.
I. THE TWILIGHT GLOOM OF THE CHRISTIAN OFTEN ARISES FROM THE SENSE OF CHANGE IN HIMSELF. There are more twilight-times than night-times in the circle of the year, and in the circle of a religious life. Isaac Taylor reminds us that, in a whole year, there are only two or three absolutely dark nights. Nature gets a great blessing out of those two or three, but could not bear more. And in a religious life there are many things large enough to dim the rays of hope, and cast long and dark shadows over the spirit, but very few things strong enough to blot out the sun and stars, and make a midnight for the soul. Now, we need to see clearly that the gloom of spirit we feel usually comes from changes in ourselves. We are so ready to settle our twilight glooms upon God, as though in his sovereignty he had thus dealt with us; and then we fail to see our own mistakes, and we make no efforts to remedy the evils which are the immediate occasion of our fears.
1. Much inward trouble comes from the state of our bodies. The action and reaction of body and mind are exceedingly subtle.
2. Much of our inward distress comes from unwatchfulness. We may easily pass through most important changes of circumstances unheedingly. We often are in new circumstances before we are at all prepared for them, and then their influence may prove depressing or overwhelming. Life is to be for us all a succession of surprises, and yet we are never to be taken unawares. Our bodily weakness, our unwatchfulness, our indulgence in sin, hides God's face from us by putting a cloud across it. It is hidden, but we must see that we ourselves are the occasion and cause of the hiding. It lies with us to get the cloud away.
II. THE MIDNIGHT GLOOM OF THE CHRISTIAN OFTEN ARISES FROM THE IDEA OF CHANGE IN GOD. Christian joy comes from a clear consciousness of the Divine nearness—"the face of God shining upon his servant." Christian woe comes when God seems to be afar off, hidden; it is as though the sun had passed in behind a cloud; the face that made heaven for us shows frowns. It may well he called midnight darkness when the soul has conceived the idea of changed relations in God. One or two comforting considerations may be dwelt on.
1. Change in God only comes as a consequence of change in the Christian. He is the unchangeable One; but in his role he adjusts relations to those whom he would bless. To the sinner, he is a God of holy indignations. To the penitent, he is a God of saving mercies. To the earth-child, trying to live a godly life, he is a watching, guiding Father. To the Christian in trouble or pain, he is a tender, comforting Mother. He is not varying and uncertain; that would make him untrustworthy. He is adapting himself to us, so that if ever God seems to have changed towards us, we may be quite sure that the truth is we have changed towards him. If he hides himself, there must be some cherished wrong in us, as certainly as there was in the Israel of Isaiah's times.
2. Change in God is never change in his feelings, only in sensible relations. It should be settled, as one of our immovable truths, that there can be no real change in God, whatever appearances we may discern. Look long with our human eyes, and the firmest steeple will seem to be trembling and tottering to a fall; but the trembling is only in our vision. For a "little moment God may hide his face from you, but with great loving-kindness he will gather you." Change in sensible relations there may be. The joy of his love we may lose, not his love. The impulse of his grace we may lose, not the grace. The comfort of his presence we may lose, not the presence. It should, indeed, humble us that we may lose so much, but even in our soul's midnight hours we need not despair. As the child in the dark whispers "Father!" and is at peace when the father-arms press closer, so we, in the night, may find that if our Father's face is hidden, our Father himself is near.—R.T.