What a marvelous spectacle was the camp of Israel in that waste howling wilderness! What a spectacle to angels, to men, and to devils! God’s eye ever rested upon it. His presence was there. He dwelt in the midst of His militant people. It was there He found His habitation. He did not, He could not, find His abode amid the splendors of Egypt, of Assyria, or of Babylon. No doubt those nations presented much that was attractive to nature’s eye. The arts and sciences were cultivated amongst them. Civilization had reached a far loftier point amongst those ancient nations than we moderns are disposed to admit. Refinement and luxury were probably carried to as great an extent there as amongst those who put forth very lofty pretensions.
But, be it remembered, Jehovah was not known among those nations; His name had never been revealed to them; He did not dwell in their midst. True, there were the ten thousand testimonies to His creative power; and moreover, His superintending providence was over them,—He gave them rain and fruitful seasons, filling their hearts with food and gladness; the blessings and benefits of His liberal hand were showered upon them from day to day and year to year; His showers fertilized their fields, His sunbeams gladdened their hearts: but they knew Him not, and cared not for Him. His dwelling was not there. Not one of those nations could say, “Jehovah is my strength and song, and He is become my salvation: He is my God, and I will prepare Him a habitation; my father’s God, and I will exalt Him.” (Ex. xv. 2.)
Jehovah found His abode in the bosom of His redeemed people, and no where else. Redemption was the necessary basis of God’s habitation amongst men. Apart from redemption, the divine presence could only prove the destruction of man; but redemption being known, that presence secures man’s highest privilege and brightest glory.
God dwelt in the midst of His people Israel. He came down from heaven, not only to redeem them out of the land of Egypt, but to be their traveling-companion through the wilderness. What a thought! The Most High God taking up His abode on the sand of the desert, and in the very bosom of His redeemed congregation! Truly, there was nothing like that throughout the wide, wide world. There was that host of six hundred thousand men, beside women and children, in a sterile desert, where there was not a blade of grass, not a drop of water—no visible source of subsistence. How were they to be fed? God was there! How were they to be kept in order? God was there! How were they to track their way through a howling wilderness, where there was no way? God was there!
In a word, God’s presence secured every thing. Unbelief might say, What! are three millions of people to be fed on air? Who has charge of the commissariat? where are the military stores? where is the baggage? who is to attend to the clothing? Faith alone could answer, and its answer is simple, brief, and conclusive,—God was there! And that was quite sufficient. All is comprehended in that one sentence. In faith’s arithmetic, God is the only significant figure; and having Him, you may add as many ciphers as you please. If all your springs are in the living God, it ceases to be a question of your need, and resolves itself into a question of His sufficiency.
What were six hundred thousand footmen to the Almighty God? what the varied necessities of their wives and children? In man’s estimation, these things might seem overwhelming. England has just sent out ten thousand troops to Abyssinia; but only think of the enormous expense and labor—think of the number of transports required to convey provisions and other necessaries for that small army. But imagine an army sixty times the size, together with the women and children; conceive this enormous host entering upon a march that was to extend over the space of forty years, through “a great and terrible wilderness,” in which there was no corn, no grass, no water-spring. How were they to be sustained? No supplies with them, no arrangements entered into with friendly nations to forward supplies, no transports dispatched to meet them at various points along their route; in short, not a single visible source of supply—nothing that nature would consider available.
All this is something worth pondering. But we must ponder it in the divine presence. It is of no possible use for reason to sit down and try to solve this mighty problem by human arithmetic. No, reader; it is only faith that can solve it, and that, moreover, by the Word of the living God. Here lies the precious solution. Bring God in, and you want no other factors to work out your answer; leave Him out, and the more powerful your reason, and the more profound your arithmetic, the more hopeless must be your perplexity.