Thus this honored daughter of Levi teaches us a holy lesson. Her "_ark_ of bulrushes, daubed with slime and _pitch_," declares her confidence in the truth that there was a something which could keep out the waters of death, in the case of this "proper child," as well as in the case of Noah, "the preacher of righteousness." Are we to suppose, for a moment, that this "ark" was the invention of mere nature? Was it nature's forethought that devised it? or nature's ingenuity that constructed it? Was the babe placed in the ark at the suggestion of a mother's heart, cherishing the fond but visionary hope of thereby saving her treasure from the ruthless hand of death? Were we to reply to the above inquiries in the affirmative, we should, I believe, lose the beauteous teaching of this entire scene. How could we ever suppose that the "_ark_" was devised by one who saw no other portion or destiny for her child but death by _drowning_? Impossible. We can only look upon that significant structure as faith's draft handed in at the treasury of the God of resurrection. It was devised by the hand of faith, as a vessel of mercy, to carry "a proper child" safely over death's dark waters, into the place assigned him by the immutable purpose of the living God. When we behold this daughter of Levi bending over that "ark of bulrushes," which her faith had constructed, and depositing therein her babe, we see her "walking in the steps of that faith of her father Abraham, which he had," when "he rose up from before his dead," and purchased the cave of Machpelah from the sons of Heth. (Gen. xxiii.) We do not recognize in her the energy of mere nature, hanging over the object of its affections, about to fall into the iron grasp of the king of terrors. No; but we trace in her the energy of a faith which enabled her to stand, as a conqueror, at the margin of death's cold flood, and behold the chosen servant of Jehovah in safety at the other side.
Yes, my reader, faith can take those bold and lofty flights into regions far removed from this land of death and wide-spread desolation. Its eagle gaze can pierce the gloomy clouds which gather around the tomb, and behold the God of resurrection displaying the results of His everlasting counsels, in the midst of a sphere which no arrow of death can reach. It can take its stand upon the top of the Rock of Ages, and listen, in holy triumph, while the surges of death are lashing its base.
And what, let me ask, was "the king's commandment" to one who was in possession of this heaven-born principle? What weight had that commandment with one who could calmly stand beside her "ark of bulrushes" and look death straight in the face? The Holy Ghost replies, "They were not afraid of the king's commandment." The spirit that knows aught of communion with Him who quickens the dead, is not afraid of anything. Such an one can take up the triumphant language of 1 Cor. xv., and say, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." He can give forth these words of triumph over a martyred Abel; over Joseph in the pit; over Moses in the ark of bulrushes; in the midst of "the seed royal," slain by the hand of Athaliah; amid the babes of Bethlehem, murdered by the hand of the cruel Herod; and far above all, he can utter them at the tomb of the Captain of our salvation.
Now, it may be there are some who cannot trace the activities of faith, in the matter of the ark of bulrushes. Many may not be able to travel beyond the measure of Moses' sister, when "she stood afar off, to wit what would be done to him." It is very evident that "his sister" was not up to "the measure of faith" possessed by "his mother." No doubt she possessed deep interest and true affection, such as we may trace in "Mary Magdalene and the other Mary sitting over against the sepulchre" (Matt. xxvii. 61.); but there was something far beyond either interest or affection in the maker of the "ark." True, she did not "stand afar off, to wit what would be done to" her child, and hence, what frequently happens, the dignity of faith might seem like indifference, on her part. It was not, however, indifference, but true elevation--the elevation of faith. If natural affection did not cause her to linger near the scene of death, it was only because the power of faith was furnishing her with nobler work in the presence of the God of resurrection. Her faith had cleared the stage for Him, and most gloriously did He show Himself thereon.