The Kings Cup-Bearer | Page 4

people are miserable and depressed, beset with countless troubles; the
city itself is still an utter ruin, just as Nebuchadnezzar left it. The
temple, it is true, is built at last, but nothing more is done; the walls lie
just as they were when the city was taken,--a mass of ruins; the gates
are nowhere to be seen, only a few blackened stones mark the place
where they used to stand.
The Rab-shakeh's heart is very heavy as he goes to his rooms in the
royal palace. What terrible news he has heard! Jerusalem is still, after
all Ezra's efforts to restore it, a desolate ruined city. Nehemiah is full of
sorrow, sick at heart, overwhelmed with disappointment and trouble.
But he remembers his own name and its warning, Nehemiah, The Lord
is my Comforter. At once, without a moment's delay, he goes to his
Comforter. He weeps, he mourns, he fasts, and he pours out all his
sorrow to God. As a child runs to his mother, and pours into her ear his
grief or his disappointment, so Nehemiah hastens to his God.
We walk through a splendid conservatory, the pride and glory of a
nobleman's garden; we admire the flowers of all shades of colour; rare
blossoms from all parts of the world, ferns of every variety, palms, and
grasses, and mosses, and all manner of natural beauties meet our eye at
every turn. What is that plant standing in a conspicuous place in the
conservatory? It is a beautiful azalea, covered with hundreds of pure
white blossoms. But there is so much else to see in that conservatory
that we scarcely notice it as we pass by. Nor are we at all surprised to
see it there; it is just the very place in which we should look for such a
plant. Nor are we astonished to find it so flourishing and so full of
bloom, for we know that everything in that conservatory is calculated
to improve its growth, the atmosphere is just what it should be, not too
dry or too damp, it has exactly the right soil, the proper amount of light,
the most carefully regulated heat; it has in fact everything which it

ought to have to make it a flourishing and beautiful plant. Accordingly
we are not surprised to find it full of bloom and beauty.
But suppose, on the other hand, that walking through the slums of
London we see a similar sight. In one of the closest, most filthy courts
we see, in a garret window, a white azalea full of flowers, pure as the
untrodden snow.
Now indeed we are surprised to see it, for it is in the most unlikely
place; there is nothing to favour its growth, the air is foul, the light is
dim, everything is against it, yet there it stands, a marvel of beauty!
And we look at it and say, 'Wonderful!'
Surely we have even now seen the white azalea in the garret. For where
should we expect to find a man of God? Dwelling in the holy temple in
Jerusalem, surrounded by everything to remind him of God breathing
in the very atmosphere of religion, with godly people all around him,
with everything to help him to be holy and pure, no one would be
astonished to find a man of God in such a place as that.
But here is Nehemiah the Rab-shakeh, living in a heathen palace, in the
midst of a wicked court, surrounded by drunkenness, sensuality, and all
that is vile and impure, breathing in the very atmosphere of sin, yet we
find him a plant of the Lord, pure as the azalea, a man of faith, a man of
prayer, a holy man of God. With everything against him, with nothing
to favour his growth in holiness, he is a flourishing plant in the garden
of the Lord. So it ever is. The plants of God's grace often thrive in very
unlikely places. There was a holy Joseph in the court of Pharaoh, a
faithful Obadiah in the house of wicked Jezebel, a righteous Daniel in
Babylon, and saints even in Caesar's household.
Are we ever tempted to say, I cannot serve the Master faithfully? If I
were in another position, if my home life were favourable to my
becoming decided for Christ, if I had different companions, different
occupation, different surroundings, then indeed I would grow in grace,
and bring forth the fruit of a holy life. But as I am, and where I am, it is
a simple impossibility; I can never, under existing circumstances, live
near to God, or be what I often long to be, a true Christian.

What does the Master say as He hears words like these? 'My grace is
sufficient for thee.'