Ahaziah was the son of Ahab and Jezebel. He was badly born. Some allowance must be made for this fact in estimating his character.
Again and again we have had occasion, and shall indeed often have, to remark upon the disadvantages of children born of wicked parents. It is not for us to lay down any final doctrine of responsibility; we must leave that in the hands of a just and gracious God.
A terrible spectacle, however, it is to see a man whose father sold himself to work wickedness in the sight of the Lord, who bound himself as for a price to show rebellion on the very floor of Heaven.
Ahaziah was a prince of evil--a man who said he would defile the sanctuary and commit his supreme sin within the shadow of the altar, and whose mother laid the plans for the murder of Naboth, and who all but personally superintended their execution. What can we expect from such a child of darkness? Who can gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? Was he responsible for his own actions? Society is often hard on such men--not unreasonably or unnaturally. Yet society is often very gracious to such men, saying with an instinctive piety and sense of justice: “After all, such men are not to be personally blamed for their antecedents; they may indeed be open to some measure of suspicion, but even they must have their opportunity in life.”
Let us consider the case of Ahaziah and see how matters stand for our own instruction.
To understand the matter thoroughly, we must go to the twenty-second chapter of the first Book of Kings: “Then said Ahaziah, the son of Ahab, unto Jehoshaphat: ‘Let my servants go with thy servants in the ships.’ But Jehoshaphat would not.”
Jehoshaphat was right when he acted upon his instinct. By-and-by he came to act upon a basis of calculation, and then a compact was entered into. But who dare set aside the voice of instinct--the very first voice that rises in the soul to make judgment and to give direction?
Jehoshaphat, on hearing the proposal of the son of Ahab, said: “No. I have known thy father too well. I am too familiarly acquainted with thy family history. Thou shalt not send thy servants with mine.”
It would be well for us if we could sometimes act more promptly upon our instincts. It would have been well for Jehoshaphat if he had acted upon his instinct.
Ahaziah fell through the lattice, and in his helplessness he became religious. Man must have some God. Even Atheism is a kind of religion. When a man recoils openly from what may be termed the public faith of his country, he seeks to apologize for his recoil, and to make up for his church absence by creating high obligations of another class. He plays the patriot; he plays the disciplinarian; he will be a Spartan in personal training and drill--in some way he will try to make up for or defend the recoil of his soul from the old altar of his country.
It is in their helplessness that we really know what men are. Do not listen to the frivolous and irresponsible chatter of men who, being in robust health, really know nothing about the aching, the sorrow, the pain, the need and the agony of this awful human life.
What does our helplessness suggest? Instantly we go out of ourselves to seek friendship, assistance and sympathy. “Oh, would some gentle hand but touch my weariness!” Thus cries the helpless one. All that, being fairly and duly interpreted, has a religious signification. The cry for friendship is but a subdued cry for God.
Sometimes men will invent Gods of their own. This is what was done, practically, by Ahaziah. Men will go out after novel deities. This is what is being done every day--not under that name, but the mere name makes no difference in the purpose of the spirit. Say new enjoyments, new entertainments, new programs, new customs--these, being interpreted as to the heart of them, mean new altars, new helpers, new gods.
It is said of Shakespeare that he first exhausted worlds, and then invented new. That was right. It was but of the liberty of a poet to do so. But it is no part of the liberty of the soul. Necessity forbids it, because the true God cannot be exhausted. He is like His own nature, so far as we know it in the great creation; He is all things in one, gleaming and dazzling as noon-tide, soft and gentle as the balmy wind, strong as the great mountains and rocks, beauteous as the tiny fragrant flowers, musical as the birds that make the air melodious, awful as the gathered thunder which hovers above the Earth as if in threatening.
Who can exhaust nature?
Who can exhaust nature’s God?
Still, the imagination of man is evil continually. He will invent new ways of enjoying himself. He will degrade religion into a mere form of interrogation. This is what Ahaziah did in this instance: “Go, inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron, whether I shall recover of this disease.” All that we sometimes want of God is that He should be the great fortune teller.