Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The Bow Is Bent

From The Christian Reader:

The Bow is Bent


God judgeth the righteous, and God is angry with the wicked every day. If he turn not, he will whet his sword; he hath bent his bow, and made it ready. He hath also prepared for him the instruments of death; he ordaineth his arrows against the persecutors. Behold, he travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood. He made a pit, and digged it, and is fallen into the ditch which he made. His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violent dealing shall come down upon his own pate. I will praise the LORD according to his righteousness: and will sing praise to the name of the LORD most high. (Psalm 7:11-17)



Verse 11. “God judgeth the righteous,” he hath not given thee up to be condemned by the lips of persecutors. Thine enemies cannot sit on God’s throne, nor blot thy name out of his book. Let them alone, then, for God will find time for his revenge. “God is angry with the wicked every day.” He not only detests sin, but is angry with those who continue to indulge in it. We have no insensible and stolid God to deal with; he can be angry, nay, he is angry today and every day with you, ye ungodly and impenitent sinners. The best day that ever dawns on a sinner brings a curse with it. Sinners may have many feast days, but no safe days. From the beginning of the year even to its ending, there is not an hour in which God’s oven is not hot, and burning in readiness for the wicked, who shall be as stubble.







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Verse 12. “If he turn not, he will whet his sword.” What blows are those which will be dealt by that long uplifted arm! God’s sword has been sharpening upon the revolving stone of our daily wickedness, and if we will not repent, it will speedily cut us in pieces. Turn or burn is the sinner’s only alternative. “He hath bent his bow and made it ready.”



Verse 13. Even now the thirsty arrow longs to wet itself with the blood of the persecutor. The bow is bent, the aim is taken, the arrow is fitted to the string, and what, O sinner, if the arrow should be let fly at thee even now! Remember, God’s arrows never miss the mark, and are, every one of them, “instruments of death.” Judgment may tarry, but it will not come too late. The Greek proverb saith, “The mill of God grinds late, but grinds to powder.”



Verse 14. In three graphic pictures we see the slanderer’s history. A woman in travail furnishes the first metaphor. “He travaileth with iniquity.” He is full of it, pained until he can carry it out, he longs to work his will, he is full of pangs until his evil intent is executed. “He hath conceived mischief.” This is the original of his base design. The devil has had doings with him, and the virus of evil is in him. And now behold the progeny of this unhallowed conception. The child is worthy of its father, his name of old was,”the father of lies,” and the birth doth not belie the parent, for he brought forth falsehood. Thus, one figure is carried out to perfection; the Psalmist now illustrates his meaning by another, taken from the stratagems of the hunter.



Verse 15. “He made a pit, and digged it.” He was cunning in his plans, and industrious in his labours. He stooped to the dirty work of digging. He did not fear to soil his own hands, he was willing to work in a ditch if others might fall therein. What mean things men will do to wreak revenge on the godly. They hunt for good men, as if they were brute beasts; nay, they will not give them the fair chase afforded to the hare or the fox, but must secretly entrap them, because they can neither run them down nor shoot them down. Our enemies will not meet us to the face, for they fear us as much as they pretend to despise us. But let us look on to the end of the scene. The verse says, he “is fallen into the ditch which he made.” Ah! there he is, let us laugh at his disappointment. Lo! he is himself the beast, he has hunted his own soul, and the chase has brought him a goodly victim. Aha, aha, so should it ever be. Come hither and make merry with this entrapped hunter, this biter who has bitten himself. Give him no pity, for it will be wasted on such a wretch. He is but rightly and richly rewarded by being paid in his own coin. He cast forth evil from his mouth, and it has fallen into his bosom. He has set his own house on fire with the torch which he lit to burn a neighbour. He sent forth a foul bird, and it has come back to its nest.



Verse 16. The rod which he lifted on high, has smitten his own back. He shot an arrow upward, and it has “returned upon his own head.” He hurled a stone at another and it has “come down upon his own pate.” Curses are like young chickens, they always come home to roost. Ashes always fly back in the face of him that throws them. “As he loved cursing, so let it come unto him.” (Psalm 109:17.) How often has this been the case in the histories of both ancient and modern times. Men have burned their own fingers when they were hoping to brand their neighbour. And if this does not happen now, it will hereafter. The Lord has caused dogs to lick the blood of Ahab in the midst of the vineyard of Naboth. Sooner or later the evil deeds of persecutors have always leaped back into their arms. So it will be in the last great day, when Satan’s fiery darts shall all be quivered in his own heart, and all his followers shall reap the harvest which they themselves have sown.



Verse 17. We conclude with the joyful contrast. In this all these Psalms are agreed; they all exhibit the blessedness of the righteous, and make its colours the more glowing by contrast with the miseries of the wicked. The bright jewel sparkles in a black foil. Praise is the occupation of the godly, their eternal work, and their present pleasure. Singing is the fitting embodiment for praise, and therefore do the saints make melody before the Lord Most High. The slandered one is now a singer: his harp was unstrung for a very little season, and now we leave him sweeping its harmonious chords, and flying on their music to the third heaven of adoring praise.



by Charles Spurgeon, from The Treasury of David

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