I. CONSIDER THE SCENE PORTRAYED BY THE PROPHET. Consider it both before and after that dread invasion of which he was ever warning his countrymen.

1. Before that invasion, whilst Judah was at peace, there might often have been witnessed over the wide downs and pasture-lands of Palestine the shepherds' encampment; for Palestine was an eminently pastoral country, as the psalms of David and the teachings of our Lord plainly show. And hence up and down the land might have been seen the shepherds' tents, whole camps of them, dotting the plains or valleys with their slender poles, their broad curtains and strong cords holding them erect and securing them firmly to the ground on which they stood. The swarthy children would be running in and out, and at even-time the greater portion of the whole inhabitants of these tabernacles would be gathered around or within them. And in the immediate neighborhood, carefully watched by their shepherds, would be the flocks quietly grazing, in which consisted their whole wealth. It was a pastoral scene the peacefulness and beauty of which were as manifest as the commonness of it in the happier days of Palestine and her people.

2. But after the invasion, in the unhappy days which, when Jeremiah spoke, were drawing so terribly near, when the land should be overrun by the armies of Babylon, there would be as often seen the actual circumstances portrayed in our text. The tent thrown down, its cords cut, its curtains a shapeless heap upon the ground, left to decay and rot by those who had wrought its ruin. And all would be silent and still; no merry prattle of children heard, or the coming and going of the men and women who once had made that tent their home. A few blackened ashes alone telling where the camp-fire had been. The flocks all scattered; those that the foe had not destroyed driven off and wandering in the wilderness, none knew where. It is a picture of utter and most mournful desolation.

II. ITS MEANING. Its intent is to represent what was about to happen in regard to the Church and people of Judah. The temple should be overthrown and burnt with fire; her holy places profaned, her altars broken down, her sacred services all brought to an end, the solemn feast-day no more observed. Her children - they who ministered at her altars and sang the high praises of the Lord - should have gone forth from her and be as though they were not, and all the congregation of the people, the flock of the Lord, should be scattered. And all this came to pass, as we well know, violently and as in a moment, like as a stone is suddenly hurled forth from the sling (Ver. 18). But the prophet's picture has a yet wider application; for it tells of the terrible desolation which may come upon any Church, whether in a nation, or a community, or in any given district. Under the vivid imagery which Jeremiah employs we may see represented the deplorable disaster of a Church's desolation, and whence and how it comes. Therefore let us look at:

1. The overthrown tent. By it we may see represented the destruction of the whole organization of the Church. How beautiful is the spectacle presented to the outward eye by a Church that enjoys the blessing of God! Behold her sanctuaries. Look upon them, from the stately cathedral down to the humblest house of God in the land. Here, with dome and towers and spires piercing the sky, pointing upwards, heavenwards, and breaking the dull level of men's common habitations, and of the buildings which they have reared for their dwellings, their labor, their trade. And out in the country, on the hillside, scattered over the wide plains and along many a quiet valley, in hamlet, village, and town, we behold the sanctuaries built for God, and the stream, larger or smaller, of worshippers that continually go up to them to worship. Each one of these sanctuaries a center of light and warmth, of energy and holy toil, blessing and being blessed, And think of the sabbaths of the Church - those blessed days of rest, when the weary round of toil is made to hush its noise, and for the time to cease. The plough stands still in the furrow, the horses roam in the meadow or gladly rest in the stall; but the ploughman is gone home, that he may, if he will, give heed to the husbandry of the soul and to the preparation for the harvest of heaven. Nor, in this survey, may we pass by the Church's worship. What myriads of jubilant anthems and glad psalms and triumphant hymns go up heavenwards, with a merry noise! What help for all who desire it is won by those who give heed to the holy truth that is at such times proclaimed! Ah! if spiritual thought and feeling could, by some Divine chemistry, be made visible, what a glorious scene would be witnessed! Like unto the rainbow which was round about the throne, beautiful to behold, would the worship of the Church be seen, even as it is seen by him to whom and for whom and by whom it is all rendered. Think, too, of the work of the Church. The ships that bear her messengers, charged to proclaim the glad tidings of the gospel to all mankind, speed their way through all seas, across all oceans, and enter every harbor. Ah! yes; Christ's Church on earth, faulty, imperfect, unfaithful, as she so often and so largely is, - where would the world be without her? and where would the wretched and the lost find their truest friends, if not in her? But all this outward organization, this visible tabernacle of the Church, is contemplated, nut as in her happy ideal, but in the very reverse. The prophet's picture portrays the tabernacle thrown down, and desolation everywhere. Hence her sanctuaries forsaken, profaned, or left to decay and ruin; her services abandoned or turned into mere performances of worn-oat ceremonies; her sabbaths no longer days of guarded rest, but like all other days; her work paralyzed and dropped more and more, and all her external framework and organization overthrown. Try and realize what that would be. And this is not all.

2. Her children are represented as having gone forth from her. When all is well with a Church, it is our joy to see the children taking the fathers' place, coming forward to uphold the standard which the aged hands of the seniors are compelled to let go. How delightful such a scene is we need hardly say. But there is nothing of this kind contemplated here, but, on the contrary, those to whom the Church would naturally look to carry on her work are seen borne away captive by the foes of the Church, and as slaves to the world.

3. And the last feature in this sad picture is the scattering of the flock. The people at large, for whose interests the Church was bidden to care, turning from her with disgust, scouting her claims, running riot in sin, unchecked, unhindered, unwarned; sinking clown into awful depths of wickedness and spiritual ignorance, living "without God and without hope in the world." Such is the scattering of the flock, the alienation of her children, and the spoiling of her tabernacle, from all which may God evermore keep and defend us. But that we may be thus defended, let us -

III. INQUIRE THE CAUSE OF SUCH DISASTER. It is clearly stated in Ver. 21, "The pastors have become brutish, and have not sought the Lord."

1. Who are these pastors? It would be a mistake to suppose that only ministers are meant. Jeremiah did not mean these only, but all to whom the flock of God were entrusted - kings, rulers, judges, parents, and teachers, heads of families, and all to whom, by virtue of their position, the charge and responsibility of watching over the souls of others was given.

2. Now, these pastors had "become brutish." By which is meant, first of all, unintelligent, stupid, blind to the meaning of facts, and incapable of perceiving what needed to be done; with no quick apprehension, if any at all, of their responsibility, their duty, or the peril that threatened both their flock and themselves; settled clown into the stolid apathy and indifference of ignorance, of dulled perception, and of blindness of heart. Brutish, too, because unspiritual, materialized, worldly, earth-bound; having little or no regard for anything beyond what this life can give or take away; caring more for the fleece of the flock than for its faith and fidelity. And brutish, it may be, in a yet lower sense, because sensual; like those of whom Paul tells with bitter tears. "Whose god," he says, "is their belly, who glory in their shame, who mind earthly things."

3. "The pastors have become brutish." What an awful association of ideas! Can any condition be conceived of more horrible than this? No wonder such disastrous results followed. Think how dreadful such a fact must be for the honor of Christ. How his Name must be blasphemed! How such must crucify the Son of God afresh, and once more put him to open shame! How again the Lord Jesus, pointing to the wounds in his sacred hands and feet and side, must declare, "These are the wounds with which I was wounded in the house of my friends!" Blessed Savior, keep us from such sin as this. And how dreadful for the Church of Christ, which he has purchased with his own blood l How such men discourage the Church l how they chill its ardor! how they stagger its faith! how they weaken its strength! how they imperil its very life! And how dreadful for the world! "Woe unto the world," said our Savior, "because of offenses!" This he said in pity for the world, hindered, made to stumble and fall by those who should only have helped it on its way to God. How many will be hardened in wickedness, encouraged to despise all religion, furnished with fresh subject for impious mockery and new arguments for sin; by such as they of whom our text tells! And how dreadful for these brutish ones themselves! "But woe," said Jesus, "unto them by whom that offence cometh!" "Who shall abide the day of the Lord's coming "to execute his wrath on them? Who, indeed! God, in his infinite mercy, save us from ever knowing what that wrath is.

4. But how came this awful fall? What brought down these pastors to this dreadful condition? And the answer to this question is plainly given. They did act seek the Lord; they were prayerless pastors: and that explains all. Now, this did not mean that there was no worship, no praise, no prayer, ever offered. We know there was. The temple service went on and the sacrifices were presented as usual. But there was no true, heartfelt prayer. They did not really seek the Lord. And so with ourselves, there may be, and there probably will be, the keeping up of pious customs, the daily prayers, the ordinary worship; but for such seeking of the Lord as is here told of, and the neglect of which worked such ruin, there must be far more than this. There must be that full application of the heart and mind, that lifting up of the soul to God, that drawing out of the affections after him, that cleaving of the desires to him, that ardor and yet that patience, that humility and yet that boldness which time cannot measure, which make long prayers seem short to him who offers them, and short prayers, if of necessity they must be short, count as long prayers with him who, for Christ's sake, mercifully receives the soul who follows hard after him. This is the kind of prayer which can alone be our safeguard from the abyss into which the pastors here told of fell. Would we escape it, we must seek the Lord so; all else is as seeking him not at all. It is no holiday task, but one demanding all the energies of the soul. How many, how mighty, how manifold, how subtle, are the difficulties in the way! There is the earth-bound heart, that ever clogs our souls with its clinging- clay; that makes them like the bird with the lime of the bird-snarer on its feathers, unable either to fly or go: when it would soar aloft it is powerless to spread its wings, and so is as if chained to the ground. And incessant occupations clamor for attention, and are ever telling us we have no time. And indolence and sloth keep suggesting thoughts of ease and self-sparing. And want of practice in this, as in everything else, makes real prayer very difficult. And Satan, when he sees the soul threatening to escape him by means of such prayer-as by such means it ever will escape him - bends all his energies to thwart and hinder, to baffle and beat down, such prayer. All this is so, but yet we must thus pray. And let us not be disheartened. All these difficulties have been overcome by ten thousand of the saints of God, and shall be by us. And, for our help, remember our Lord's intercession. Join all our prayers - poor, weak things as at their best they are - on to his almighty, all-prevailing intercession, and in this also we shall come off "more than conquerors through Christ who hath loved us." So shall we be kept from being one of those wretched pastors who have become brutish, and have, therefore, only scattered the Lord's flock; yea, we shall be made and be confessed, now and hereafter in our Lord's presence, as one of the pastors after his own heart. - C.

I. THE LAMENT OF THE PROPHET. "Woe is me for my hurt! My wound is grievous: Truly this is a grief." It was not merely an irritation, or an inconvenience, or an annoyance, a disagreeable and disappointing incident, it was a grief — a bitter, crushing overthrow.

1. The overthrow is total. "My tabernacle is spoiled, and all my cords are broken." Victor Hugo tells of a wonderful tent that was given to Napoleon by the Sultan Selim: "From the outside it appeared like an ordinary tent, remarkable only for having in the canvas little windows, of which the frames were of rope; three windows on each side. The inside was superb. The visitor found himself inside a great chest of gold brocade; upon this brocade were flowers and a thousand fancy devices. On looking closely into the cords of the windows one discovered that they were of the most magnificent gold and silver lace; each window had its awning of gold brocade; the lining of the tent was of silk, with large red and blue stripes. If I had been Napoleon, I should have liked to place my iron bed in this tent of gold and flowers, and to sleep in it on the eve of Wagram, Jena, and Friedland." Now, metaphorically speaking, Napoleon did dwell in a magnificent tabernacle, but at length he slept in it for the last time on the eve of Waterloo, for the whole thing fell into awful ruin. Napoleon III shared the same fortune. He slept long in his glorious imperial tent, but on the eve of Sedan he slept in it for the last time, for the splendid fabric vanished as a dream. Within comparatively few years we have seen many rich and illustrious men like General Grant in New York, Secretan in Paris, the Gurneys and Barings in London, reduced to poverty at a stroke — their heirlooms scattered, their estates alienated, their pictures knocked down by auction, their splendid palaces dismantled and sold. And this kind of thing is ever going on. Crops are spoiled, ships founder, property deteriorates, tariffs close mills and factories, fires destroy, clerks embezzle, stocks and shares fall, and lovely tents are brought to the ground. We see these reverses startlingly in fallen conquerors, in exiled kings, in bankrupt millionaires; there the thing is writ large; but in a humbler way financial loss and embarrassment overtake thousands, and bury their delightful, cozy tents in the sand. Sometimes melancholy accidents bereave us and break up our homes.

2. The overthrow is sudden. A tent in the wilderness is suddenly broken, and just as suddenly are the hopes of men laid in the dust. We cannot guarantee anything. Our happy home may be smitten; our children gone forth; our health impaired; our days over. Science has invented a whole system of warning touching the calamities of nature. The seismograph is an alarum announcing the stealthy steps of the earthquake and volcano. Weather charts teach much concerning cyclonic disturbances. Various subtile barometers indicate atmospheric variations, and the mariner on the sea, the miner in the depths, is warned of impending peril. But there are no instruments fine enough to detect the approaching tempests and earthquakes which wreck human fortunes and hopes, no storm drum to warn us into safe harbours.

3. The overthrow is irreparable. "There is none to stretch forth my tent any more, and to set up my curtains." The prophet saw that there was no prince, no warrior, no statesman, no patriot with the requisite capacity and strength, to save the State, to retrieve its shattered fortunes, and to recall its children. The blow was so crushing that the nation was beyond recovery. It is frequently thus in private life. Physical afflictions prove incurable. The earthly tabernacle receives a mortal wound; we may linger, but the result is inevitable. Some financial disasters are absolutely irremediable. Some domestic bereavements are without compensation or hope. There are no compensations or substitutes.

4. The overthrow is personal. "Truly this is my grief, and I must bear it" (R.V.). As Miss McKenny writes in her suggestive book, A Piece of an Honeycomb: "The story of human life is ever the same, though told in new versions and in differing climes. Things go on smoothly with us for years, and we never can believe that the 'trouble' we are 'born to' will some day overtake us. But the hour strikes, and the bounds are removed; the flood gates are opened, and in upon us pours the full, devastating tide of sorrow. Not a new experience in this world of sin and suffering; yet strangely new and terrible to us. We sit in dumb desolation in the midst of our 'spoiled tabernacle.' Hearts which were one with ours are severed from us. It may be by death, or by something which is worse than that. We stand for the time in darkness 'upon the shadow side of God,' and see no light of comfort or of restoration. 'I must bear it,' says the stricken heart, with a wail."

II. THE REFUGE OF THE PSALMIST. "For in the time of trouble He shall hide me."

1. Fly to the living God. Grand dwelling place! Storms and earthquakes it defies; time does not sap its strength; the topmost wave of the deluge fell short of its threshold; burning worlds will not scorch it. Happy thing in the dark day to fall back on the eternal justice, love, and promise. Someone said to Luther: "When Frederic the Elector forsakes you, where will you find shelter? Under heaven," said the heroic saint. And when everything else has gone — the blue, calm, smiling heaven of the all-encompassing God shall be our refuge.

2. Rest in the loving Saviour. We are desolate, weak, our tent dissolved, our strength, our righteousness, our friendships, our hopes are gone; but the merit and love of Christ, like the strong, silken, embroidered curtains of a royal tent, wrap us round and keep us from the fear of evil.

3. Prepare for the heavenly home. Not long since, walking in a church, I observed this epitaph: "And now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in Thee!" And now, Lord. Now, when everything is absolutely gone. "In days past," seemed to say the dead man, "I had something to trust to that was tangible and ascertainable. I had the members of the body — eyes to behold, feet to run, hands to fight; but all are now paralysed; I had some gold and silver, but this shroud has no pockets; I had companions and helpers, but lover and friend is put far from me." "Now, Lord, what wait I for?" Not a rag left of all the tent, not a plank of the broken ship; it is absolute ruin and despair, or absolute faith and victory. "My hope is in Thee." And God will not confound us.

(W. L. Watkinson.)