A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping for her children.
Innocents’ day
Undoubtedly it seems strange, that one of the earliest consequences of the incarnation of Him, who afterwards declared that He came not to destroy men’s lives, but to save them, should thus have been the murder of so many unoffending little ones. A few days ago we assembled around the cradle of the newborn King, and now the ground round about us is strewed with the bodies of the young ones, slaughtered, as it were, in His stead. Well might He afterwards declare, that He came not to send peace, but a sword upon the earth; seeing that, while yet a nursling in His mother’s arms, He is the occasion of the sword being fleshed in numbers who least deserved to die. And the thing most remarkable in this transaction appears to us to be, that the permission of the slaughter was in no sense requisite to the safety of Christ. Joseph, and Mary, and the Child had departed for Egypt, before the fury of Herod was allowed to break out. How easy does it seem that Herod should have been informed of the flight, and thus taught the utter uselessness of his cruel decree. Let us see whether there be really anything in the facts now commemorated at variance with the known mercy of God. If, indeed, we were unable to discover that the slaughter of the innocents was a means to ensure wise ends, we shall be confident, from the known attributes of God, that there was such an end, though not to be ascertained by our limited faculties. This, however, is not the ease. And they who think at all carefully will find enough to remove all surprise that Herod was not withheld from the slaughter. Let it be first observed, that prophecy had fixed Bethlehem as the birthplace of the Christ, and had determined, with considerable precision, the time of the nativity. It were easy, therefore, to prove that no one could be the Messiah who had not been born at Bethlehem, and about the period when the Virgin became a mother. How wonderfully, then, did the slaughter of the innocents corroborate the pretensions of Jesus. If no one could be Messiah unless born at Bethlehem, and at a certain time, why, the sword of Herod did almost demonstrate that Jesus was the Christ; for removing, perhaps, every other who could have answered to the test of time and place of birth, there seems only Jesus remaining in whom the prophecy could be fulfilled. Besides, it should be carefully marked, that Jesus was to live in comparative obscurity, until thirty years of age; He was then to burst suddenly upon the world, and to amaze it by displays of omnipotence. But, brought up as He had been at Nazareth, it was very natural that when He emerged from long seclusion, He should have been regarded as a Nazarene. Accordingly we find so completely had His birthplace been forgotten, that many objected His being of Nazareth, against the possibility of His being the Messiah. They argued rightly, that no one could be the Christ who had not been born at Bethlehem; but then they rashly concluded, that Jesus wanted this sign of Messiahship, because they knew Him to have been brought up in Galilee. And what made them inexcusable? Why, the slaughter of the innocents. They could not have been uninformed of this event; bereaved parents were still living who would be sure to tell the story of their wrongs; and this event marked as with a line of blood the period at which the Christ was supposed to have been born. A moment’s inquiry would have proved to them that Jesus was this Child, and removed the doubt which attached to Him as a supposed Galilean. And, therefore, not in vain was the mother stirred from her sepulchre by the cry of her infant offspring; the echo of her lament might still be heard in the land, and those who listened not to the witness of the birthplace of Jesus stood self-condemned, while rejecting Him on the plea, “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?” There are yet more obvious reasons why God should have allowed this act of cruelty. We may believe that God was leaving Herod to fill up the measure of his guilt. Add to all this, that God was unquestionably disciplining the parents by the slaughter of the children. There was at this time a great and general expectation of the Messiah, and the Jewish mothers must have more than ever hoped for the honour of giving birth to the Deliverer: but of course such a hope must have been stronger in Bethlehem than in any other town, seeing that prophecy was supposed to mark it as the birthplace. Hence we may readily believe that the infants of Bethlehem were objects of extraordinary interest to their parents--objects in which their ambition centred, as well as their affection. And, if so, we can understand that these fathers and mothers stood in special need of that discipline which God administers to parents through the death of their children; so that there was a suitableness in the dispensation as allotted to Bethlehem, which might not have been discoverable had another town been its subject. Now all this reasoning would be shaken, if it could be shown that a real and everlasting injury were done to the innocents themselves. Let us now, then, consider the consequences of the massacre, so far as the innocents themselves were concerned. There is much here to require and repay your careful examination. We have an unhesitating belief in respect of all children, admitted into God’s Church, and dying before they know evil from good, that they are saved by the virtues of Christ’s propitiation. We never hesitate to tell parents sorrowing for their dead children, who had been old enough to endear themselves by the smile and the prattle, but not old enough to know moral good from moral evil, that they have a right to feel such assurance of the salvation of their offspring, as the best tokens could scarcely have afforded had they died in riper years. And however melancholy the thought, that so many of our fellow-men live without God, and therefore die without hope, it is cheering to believe, that perhaps a yet greater number are saved through the sacrifice of Christ. For as a large proportion of our population die before old enough for moral accountableness; how many of the Christian community are safely housed ere exposed to the blight and tumult of the world! Oh, the “magnificent possession” would not want inhabitants if all, who could choose for themselves, chose death, and not life; heaven would still gather within its capacious bosom, a shining multitude, who just descended to earth that they might there be grafted into the body of Christ, and then flew back to enjoy all the privileges of membership. And we may believe of this multitude that it would be headed by the slaughtered little ones of Bethlehem--those who, dying, we might almost say, for the Saviour, won something like the martyr’s crown, which shall, through eternity, sparkle on their foreheads. Who, then, shall say that Herod was permitted to do a real injury to those innocents, and that thus their death is an impeachment either of the justice or the mercy of God? We may be assured that they escaped many cares, difficulties, and troubles, with which a long life must have been charged; for, had the sword of Herod not hewn them down, they might have remained on earth till Judah’s desolation began, and have shared in the worst woes which ever fell on a land. The innocents of Bethlehem have always been reckoned by the Church amongst the martyrs; for, though incapable of making choice, God, we may believe, supplied the defect of their will by His own entertainment of their death. And it is beautiful to think, that as the spirits of the martyred little ones soared toward heaven, they may have been taught to look on the Infant in whose stead they had died; to feel that He for whom they had been sacrificed was about to be sacrificed for them; and that they were mounting to glory on the merits of that defenceless Babe (as He seemed then), hurrying as an outcast into Egypt. (H. Melvill, B. D.)
Rachel weeping for her children
The death of young children is among the saddest bereavements of life. The sight of a suffering, dying child is painful. The mystery distresses us. Affection yearns in vain. The death of a young child is a sore disappointment. The fond parents cling round it through life, “like bees about a flower’s wine-cup.” What dreams of long life, and rich fortune, and untold happiness beguile their days! Their cherished hopes are blighted, and the future is a scene of clouded prospects and changed plans. The death of young children is often one of the hardest things to endure. Like the weeping Rachel, the bereaved parents are inconsolable. What bitter words of rebellion are sometimes spoken, instead of words of sweet resignation! Never is the weakness of all earthly props more manifest than under such circumstances. No considerations save such as the Bible supplies can give to the soul strength and peace. Still you remember your dead. Your experience ripens into that of Vaughan--
“They are all gone into a world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.”
Although the death of young children is such a sore loss, there are sources of comfort--considerations which constrain us to say, “Thy will be done.”
I. In the early removal of children God acts as a Father. In one of our English churchyards there is this inscription on a child’s tombstone: “‘Who plucked that flower?’ cried the gardener, as he walked through the garden. His fellow-servant answered, ‘The Master,’ and the gardener held his peace.” There is an Eastern story of a rabbi, who, having been absent all day, returned home in the evening, and was met by his wife at the door. With her first greeting she told him how she had been perplexed during the day, because a friend, who years ago had entrusted some rare jewels to her care, had that day come for them from her long possession of them they seemed almost her own, and she felt loth to give them back. “They were only lent,” replied her husband; “be thankful that you have had the use of them so long.” “Your words are good,” said she; “may we now and always follow them!” Then, leading him into an inner chamber, she showed him, stretched upon one bed, their two children who had that day died. Forthwith he knew the jewels which God had lent him, and now resumed, and his heart said, “The Lord gave,” &c.
II. Children who die young are removed from all possible sorrow and harm to live the perfect life above. Their sufferings, perhaps, were great, and you would fain have suffered in their stead; but their day of suffering was short. There was mercy in their death. Had they lived, some wild and withering anguish might have sered their summer’s earliest leaf; the sickness of hope deferred might have given them a disgust of life. They have escaped these and all other woes--escaped them for ever. They are, moreover, taken away from all possible sin. They might have lived to be a curse to their parents and to the world. We know little of their future life; but we know as much as this--that all which can make life worth living is theirs. Your fondest love could not wish more for them than they enjoy. Selfishness might desire their return; love never can. All that was imperfect in them is left behind; and they are as the angels of God for ever.
III. The death of young children is often a ministry of blessing to the bereaved parents. Just as we make idols of other objects that we regard with undue affection, so we are in danger of making idols of our children. If we allow them to estrange our affections from God, to interfere with our religious duties--to withdraw our sympathies from the poor and suffering around us, then our love is of the nature of idolatry; and it is a proof of God’s love that He removes the idols. In one of his letters, Dr. Judson writes thus: “Our only darling boy was, three days ago, laid in the silent grave. Eight months we enjoyed the precious little gift, in which time he had so completely entwined himself around his parents’ hearts, that his existence seemed necessary to their own. But God has taught us by afflictions what we would not learn by mercies, that our hearts are His exclusive property, and whatever rival intrudes He will tear it away.” Edward Irving exclaimed, after his child’s death, “Glorious exchange! God took my son to His own more fatherly bosom; and revealed in my bosom the sure expectation and faith of His own eternal Son.” Dr. Bushnell once said, “I have learned more of experimental religion since my little boy died than in all my life before.” The shepherd of the Alps who cannot get his sheep to climb the higher ascents of the mountains, will take the lambs and throw them up to the shelving rocks, when their dams soon spring up after them. By somewhat similar methods the Shepherd of Israel gathers His flocks on the hills of glory. He removes your children to heaven, that you may follow them thither.
IV. Consider, further, the joy your children gave you while they lived. Of course, the memory is touched with sadness; but there is room for gratitude. Be thankful that they were yours so long. You were rich in their possession; and you are all the richer for them, even though God has taken them away. Your heart has been enlarged. A fount of feeling has been opened in your nature that never can be dry any more. You are richer in sympathy and in hope; richer towards society and God. In a deep and true sense, your dead children are with you still (W. Walters.)