THE DIFFICULTY OF GOD
"O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? For your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the dew that goeth early away." —Hosea 6:4
As we take our way through this prophecy we find in it a wonderful revelation of the struggle of God over the soul of a nation as well as the individual. Its messages alternate between the passion of the Divine heart and the perversity of the human will in a corporate sense.
We were concerned in our previous article with the final verse of the previous chapter. "I will go and return to My place, till they acknowledge their offence, and seek My face." That is the ultimate judgment of God upon a sinning people as well as an individual, the withdrawal of Himself, the withdrawal of His presence, that is in the sense of guiding or governing (left up to themselves); the abandonment of the people to their own elections, and their own choices, and their own perversities. But we saw that the solemn word of warning ended with the leaving open of the door. He said, "I will go and return to My place, till"; and the way of return was indicated, "Till they acknowledge their offence, and seek My face"; God was revealed as not willing to abandon, even when He withdrew Himself.
The chapter from which the text is taken is linked with the preceding one, in the sequence of teaching, for directly the prophet had uttered that solemn word that told of the Divine withdrawal, and ended with the note that indicated the door was still open for the return of His people if they would acknowledge their offence and seek His face, he broke out into what is certainly one of the most tender and beautiful appeals of all the Biblical literature, contained in the first three verses of chapter six, and to which we will return soon. The prophet said to the people, in view of the illuminative word of imminent judgment, and of the fact that in uttering it God had indicated His willingness to return, "Come, and let us return unto Jehovah; for He hath torn, and He will heal us." It was a great appeal, thrilling with Messianic promise, the final meaning of which was never found until in the fullness of time the Messiah came, while yet it had an immediate value for those who heard it.
Then suddenly, breaking in upon that plaintive and beautiful appeal, the voice of God is heard: "O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? For your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the dew that goeth early away." It is a strange and startling word, declaring the difficulty of God; "What shall I do? . . . what shall I do?" It also reveals the reason for the difficulty: "Your goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the dew that goeth early away."
Let us consider first the fact as disclosed, the difficulty of God; and that in order that we may ask, Is there any solution? God is seen in difficulty. Is there any way of escape for God from His difficulty?
God's difficulty is revealed, as I have said, in the question He asks. It is a daring figure of speech which the prophet employed, and of course that means that God employed it through His servant the prophet. I think the more gently we look at it, and the more carefully we consider it, the more startling it will become. I can understand a man saying, what shall I do to be saved? But here is God saying, what shall I do to save him? This is not the cry of the human soul seeking after God. It is the cry of God seeking after the human soul. This is not the picture of a man in difficulty because he cannot find God. It is the picture of God in difficulty because He cannot deal with man. "O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee?"
The same attitude is revealed more than once in the course of these prophetic writings in the Old Testament. The great song of the vineyard in the beginning of chapter five in the prophecy of Isaiah opens; "Let Me sing for My well-beloved a song of My beloved touching His vineyard. My well-beloved had a vineyard in a very fruitful hill . . . and he looked that it should bring forth grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes." Then interpreting the parable, God is recorded as saying, "What could have been done more to My vineyard, that I have not done in it?" Said Hosea in the northern kingdom, "O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee?" and in the southern kingdom, contemporary with Hosea, Isaiah was saying the same thing. He was declaring that God was faced with difficulty; "What could have been done more to My vineyard, that I have not done?" (He questions Himself for our sake.) And yet another prophet, also exercising his ministry in the same period, Micah, makes God thus speak : "O My people, what have I done unto thee? And wherein have I wearied thee? Testify against Me." In all those messages the attitude of God revealed is very arresting.
Now bluntly, what does this mean? Wherein lies the Divine difficulty? Why this appeal of God in extremity, and in difficulty, in the presence of a nation, or of a human soul? What does it mean? The answer to that question is clearly given. The reason He gives for His difficulty is not their sin, is not that of their pollution. It is true that the whole prophecy pulsates with the unveiling of their lewdness and whoredom and drunkenness and beastliness; but these are not the things that constitute the difficulty of God. When He speaks of His difficulty He does not say a word about their sin.
What, then, constitutes His difficulty? Their goodness. That is the trouble. "For your goodness is as a morning cloud, and the dew which goeth early away." Now here we surely discover an element that startles us; God in difficulty in the presence of goodness!
Mark well the figures of speech. A morning cloud and dew. They are both things of excellence, and things of exquisite beauty. The morning cloud, as the sun is rising, is smitten with beauty; and dew in the beauty of the morning, when every blade of grass is glistening in rainbow loveliness, is equally glorious. The morning cloud is a thing of exquisite beauty, and the dew a thing of infinite tenderness. "O Ephraim, what shall I do unto you? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? For your goodness is as a morning cloud and as the dew."
But read on, and we have the revealing expression, "which goeth early away." A morning cloud, the dew; both excellent, but fleeting; too feeble to produce a harvest, dissipated by the heat of the sun, before any permanent result can be gained. Goodness fleeting that is what creates God's difficulty. I am quite willing to put this consummately. God's difficulty is not created by vulgar sins; God's difficulty is not created in the human soul by reason of pollution and whoredom and beastliness. With these things God can deal; but God is in great difficulty when goodness is only like the morning cloud, is only like the dew that goes away early.
What is goodness? In the margin of the King James Version you will notice that it is suggested that instead of the word "goodness" we should read "mercy or kindness"; and the Revisers, English and American, suggest "kindness" "Your kindness is as a morning cloud, and as the dew that goeth early away." But we must examine that a little more closely. The Hebrew word rendered goodness has as its root meaning, the idea of bending the neck; and in use it was constantly employed as referring to the attitude of graciousness, and of goodness in that sense. Here I think that neither word, goodness nor kindness, catches the real idea of the complaint of God. The word suggests that attitude of life which bends the neck, and I would, while recognizing that the word connotes goodness, and is a revelation of the very essence of kindness, render it thus: "O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee? For your submission is as a morning cloud." Goodness is right, because all goodness is the result of submission to God; and kindness is right, because all kindness issues from such submission; but here it is important to get back to the first meaning of the word. It is a revelation of what goodness really is, and so a revelation of the difficulty of God. I am reverently attempting to interpret from the Divine standpoint. God had said, I will withdraw Myself, and go to My place, and leave these people to their own choices and devices and imaginings, till they seek My face. Then God, through the prophet, called them to return. And, suddenly, God said; Yes, but that is indeed the trouble. In their returning there has been no resoluteness, no abiding value. They have come back so often, but their coming has meant nothing. They have bent the neck sincerely, but all their submission has been fleeting. Now that is the point when God is in difficulty with men. My sins, my sins like mountains rise, but He can deal with them; but my goodness, my submission which ends with admiration, aspiration, intention, and then passes, creates the difficulty of God.
Do not let us misunderstand this. These things are valuable. They are worth-while things. The attitude, whether we render it kindness or goodness, is rooted in submission, and that is wholly excellent. Submission always begins with admiration of the ideal, and proceeds along the line of aspiration unto realization. It is in essence, intention to fulfill aspiration, and realize the ideal.
How often men come there quite sincerely. There was no hypocrisy in that high moment, when seeing the vision of the ideal as revealed in ideal relationship with God, we admired, we aspired, we intended. But if there was no ultimate realization, it was all worthless. The experience of such an hour may abide with us as something to be trusted in, when the life is not squaring with the experience of the hour. Very many people are living there. There was a moment away in the past, when we admired, when we aspired, when we intended, when we devoted ourselves. Are we living content with the fact that we had such an hour? There is no value in that. Unless the admiration, and aspiration, and intention have produced abiding result, a harvest of fruitfulness, of realization, there is no value in such an experience. So far from being of value, it reacts upon the conscience and deadens it. When men trust in the morning cloud, and the dew that once appeared, God says, What can I do? How am I to reach you behind that? "O Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, what shall I do unto thee?" Your attitude does not last very long.
Let us press that matter home, and ask ourselves why is it that men ever fail in this way? How is it that we have so often had that kind of experience?
Goodness as here described, and the whole attitude of the life referred to, moves in the realm of feeling. Fleeting goodness, fleeting submission to God, is always the result of superficial feeling. Someone will ask, Is feeling wrong? I reply, not only is it not wrong, it is absolutely necessary. But it is not the ultimate thing; and unless feeling is answered by certain attitudes and activities of personality, it is always fleeting. Feeling has its place. Feeling has its value. Feeling is absolutely necessary. But it is not enough in itself.
Henry Ward Beecher once said: "Feeling is to action what wind is to the sails of a vessel." That is an arresting and illuminative saying. If there is too little wind, there is no progress. If there is too much wind, there is wreckage. If the vessel is to be propelled, there must be a sufficient amount of wind. If the wind becomes a tornado the vessel is in danger of becoming a wreck. The illustration teaches us that feeling must be in control and reinforced in some way, or else it becomes fleeting. The trouble with many too often is that feeling is not deep enough, and that is why goodness is fleeting. Sometimes, on the other hand, feeling is too much; emotion sweeps a man off his feet, and makes him lose his mental poise. When it does, it destroys the religious instinct and power.
Now let us remember that feeling always results from the appeal of intellect. I do not need to discuss that metaphysically or psychologically. The fact is self-evident. We never felt anything but as the result of the combination of the emotion with the intellect. Feeling always results from the appeal to the intellect. Goodness came; I saw the ideal; I admired it, I aspired after it; I intended to realize it. Feeling was there, but it was response to revelation, revelation of the beauty of the ideal, revelation of the glory of the ideal.
Why, then, was it fleeting? Feeling is fleeting when it fails to strike downwards to the facts producing it; and facing those facts, to arrange the life in harmony therewith. A superficial grasp upon the truth concerning God will produce feelings, approbation, admiration, aspiration, intention; but unless we then turn round, and facing these facts, seeing their bearing upon life, act accordingly, goodness will be as fleeting as the morning cloud, and as the early dew.
Goodness, as submission, is response to conviction about God. There is the trouble oftentimes. We do not face the facts until our whole life is rooted in them, and so fail to reach the realm of permanence in our goodness. We often recite the Apostles' Creed, and we mean what we say, but fail to act accordingly. It’s great opening affirmation is a fundamental revelation: "I believe in God." We say it, and in the saying are sincere. In the saying of it we are telling the truth. In the saying of it we are giving expression to an intellectual concept and conviction. Moreover, in the saying of it, in the very fact that we do say it, whether we say it alone or in an assembly, there is proof of an emotional activity resulting from an intellectual conviction. We do believe in God, and in the very affirmation of the fact there is a glow and a glory. Then—what then? Having said it we leave the sanctuary, and pass back to the everyday life and the workaday days, and the busy world. Have we faced seriously the thing we affirmed as our creed? Have we considered the meaning of our declaration? Are we now arranging our life in accord with our creed? If not, then our goodness is as the morning cloud, very real, very excellent, touched with rainbow hues of beauty and color and heavenly glory, but quite useless unless we strike downwards to the intellectual concept that produced the goodness of the moment. If we fail there, the goodness, the emotional submission will all evaporate; it will bring forth no results in our life. That is God's difficulty. And that is why it is more difficult to preach the Gospel to a respectable congregation than in a Rescue Mission. The trouble is not with the iniquities of such a congregation, but with its shallowness. Thomas Champness once said, "If God made the country, and man-made the city; the devil made the suburbs." From the religious standpoint, there is an element of truth in the statement. God has greater difficulty in dealing with people who know goodness and admire goodness, but whose goodness is fleeting, the goodness of a cloud in the morning, flecked with sunlight; or dew, all to be burnt up and dissipated in the heats of the day, than He has with the man we call down-and-out. "O Ephraim, what shall I do? Judah, what shall I do?"
But another reason why goodness is fleeting is that feeling admits other motives, fails to concentrate, and admits other appeals before the one is settled. Mixed motives, the divided heart, these are destructive of goodness. The prayer of the Psalmist was, "O Lord, unite my heart to fear Thy name." "One thing I do," (Psa. 86:11) said Paul, "I press toward the mark." (Phil. 3:14) That did not mean for a single moment that Paul only did one thing as to the details of life. Think of what he did, the journeys he took, the letters he wrote, the many and varied interests that crowded upon his life. Yes, but all the duties were unified by the doing of one thing. That is too often the trouble with us. First we do not investigate the thing that produces the passing glow and glory of our submission; and then we allow other motives to come in side by side with it. Those are the reasons why goodness is fleeting.
Now let us turn to our second question. Is there any solution to this problem? To put it in another way, is there any cure for this fleeting goodness? There is. But it is in man, and not in God. Immediately after the question revealing the difficulties of God we find this statement, "I desire goodness and not sacrifice." We cannot atone for the fleeting nature of our goodness with our gifts. Let us read on: "I desire the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings."
Well then, what is God to do? That is not the question. "What shall I do?" "I desire goodness," "I desire the knowledge of God." God might have said, as indeed He did say, I have made known Myself to you by the prophets, but you will not answer the revelation. I repeat, the solution must be found in man.
But that is not the final word. To find it we must go back to the appeal at the beginning of the chapter: "Come, and let us return unto Jehovah; for He hath torn, and He will heal us; He hath smitten, and He will bind us up. After two days will He revive us; on the third day He will raise us up, and we shall live before Him. And let us know, let us follow on to know Jehovah."
Underline the words "let us" in that paragraph. "Let us return, let us know, let us follow on to know." If we obey those injunctions, we solve God's difficulty and satisfy God's heart. "Let us return," and "let us know"; and it is the next thing that is of supreme importance; "let us follow on to know."
Then underline the words "He will." What do we find? "He will heal," "He will bind up," "He will revive us," "He will raise us up," "He will come unto us as the rain, as the latter rain."
That is what He wants to do. That is what He is waiting to do. I have no language but the human, and there can be no interpretation of God ultimately but in human language. In these words we hear the sob of the heart of God after these people.
"What shall I do?" What shall Jehovah do? Blast them, damn them, sweep them out? That is not God. And if ever man is blasted ultimately, damned finally, swept down into the darkling void where God is not, it will be by his own choice, and never by the will of the heart of God. "God willeth not the death of a sinner." In these words there is the song, the poem of an infinite compassion, "Ephraim, what shall I do? Judah, what shall I do?" My trouble with you is that your goodness is like a morning cloud, like the dew that vanishes. As though God said, I can deal with your lewdness; I can deal with your beastliness, if you turn back to Me; but I cannot deal with you while you are living in the realm of an fleeting goodness that never strikes its roots, and so produces fruit.
Where are we living (Our nations)? No, do not ask where I am living, and I will not ask where you are living. You have no right to investigate for me, and I have no right to investigate for you. But let us investigate our own lives in the light of the revelation. I wonder if God is saying of any of us, the trouble with you is that your goodness is like a morning cloud, like the dew that vanishes early. Admiration, aspiration, good intention; but fleeting; and because the things admired are not investigated, and life is not readjusted in harmony with those things desired, there is failure.
Deepen the wounds Thy hands have made, O God of love, until goodness shall be to us the result of Thy coming, and Thy healing, Thy binding, Thy reviving; the latter rain that produces the harvest. Shall we not deliver God from the difficulty that confronts His love by returning, and knowing, and following on to know through contact with His ears and His book.
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