May 1927
314
T h e
K i n g ’ s
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true statement of mathematical calculation, there is an excess of 114 years above the statement from Kings. By simple addition one learns that there were exactly 114 years of servitude including the three years of usurpation by King Abimelech (judges 9:22) during which time Israel was disobedient and was turned over to foreign in vasions and dominations. 114 years subtracted from the 594 years leave a remainder of 480 years which is in ac cordance with the Statement found in the Kings account. Hence, it is quite probable that the 480 years mentioned there are theocratic years—years when Israel was in fel lowship with God- whereas in reality there were 594 years, but during these 114 years of disobedience and ser vitude God’s clock stopped and time was not reckoned. With these facts the writer feels that the latter posi tion is the correct one. (To be continued)
cometh in the name of the Lord.” This position which assumes this “indefinite interpolation pf time” between the sixty-ninth and seventieth weeks does not assume that it is an afterthought of God for those taking it recognize that God is the One “declaring the end from the begin ning, and from ancient times things that are not yet done” (Isa. 46:10). An illustration which brings out this thought beauti fully is that God’s clock stops when Israel is in disobe dience and out of its own land. Those assuming this position see a parallel to this case in the fact that chrono logically (one can calculate for himself the number of years from the data given in the historical books of the Old Testament) there were 594 years from the exodus to the fourth year of Solomon. But in 1 Kings 6:1 the statement appears that there were but 480 years in this period. According to the statement above, which is a T HE other day I conducted the funeral of a splendid little lad. He was a prince of a fellow, eight years old, and as fine looking a boy as I have seen for many a day. As he lay there, so still and cold, they placed a chair by the casket and his young mother sat by his side. She had none left, no husband, no child, no father or mother, no relative on whom to lean. I shall not soon forget her low, soft conversation into the ears that heard not. Over and over, she crooned her mother message over his still form. She talked baby talk to him, asked him if he would not say just one little word to mother, stroked his hand as though she would bring back to it the warm glow of life. It was an experience that caused those who stood by to walk away and leave her all alone with her dead. She did not weep. She talked. She talked on and on. She called him gently a hundred times. “Why will you not wake and speak to mother, laddie boy?” she urged. “Say, he is not so cold. Perhaps he is not dead,” she said to me with a kind of dumb appeal in her poor eyes. J And then I led her away. As she left the room, she turned. “Laddie, I ’ll see you again,” she whispered. “I ’ll see you in the morning.” A few days later, I saw a mother hover over a daughter as she lay with flowers piled everywhere about her. Again, I heard the mother chatter, the sweet, low murmuring of the voice of the one who had traveled death’s valley that the little girl might live and now she must give her back to the vast reaches of the eternity out of which God sent her. I heard this mother tell the child of her soul good-bye but not forever. O ur G lorious P rospect Indeed, my readers, I have come to feel that the only thing of very much importance is that hope of sweet re union yonder. I have fought from my youth for better conditions here. I have beat myself against the battle line of wrong until my very soul within me is weary. I have
That Hope of Sweet Reunion B y R ev . B ob S huler Pastor Trinity Methodist Church, Los Angeles
raised my voice against lies and dishonor and yet the forces of the foe of humanity march steadily on. We can never make the world into our paradise of hope. There are too many thorns upon it. Its winters are too long. Too many of its hillcrests have been made into cities of the dead. There is too much sighing. Too many eyes have become fountains of .weeping. Top many hearts are broken. Thank God for a citizenship in a land our feet have not yet found. Thank God for the prospect ahead. Thank God for the morning that shall be. Thank God for the sun that shall rise to shine eternally for those who walk the way of gathering shadows and lowering, clouds. The little lad is waiting yonder where children shout in gladful glee upon the green lawns of God. The little lass hath found the paths that lead by the waters still, where God’s green pastures are. The table of His bounty is spread for us and they are waiting. My, but He is a glorious Shepherd! And yet I must not sit down and dream too long. I must not feed my soul on the sweet hope until I am sur feited. I must arise. There is sin and sorrow to right and left. There is wrong and injustice everywhere. There are foes to face and battles to win. For after all, I am not here to dream. I am here to represent One who has gone away, One who has gone to prepare a place for me. . I am here to stand where He would have me stand and live as He would have me live. But, after the battle is over, I shall come to the strands of the great harbor. The storms shall beat no longer on the sails. The anchor shall hold, hold eternally! For, I, too, have a little lad playing about the great white throne. And, I have a heart that is hungry for the days of sweet reunion. I am weary oftentimes. I dream. I hope. And I shall see two happy mothers there. Beside one, a splendid little lad will leap and bound. Beside the other, shall be the beautiful form of the little lass:
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