vation to
which he was confident he would never rise. To both things he said,
"It is impossible," and yet the impossible came to pass.

Now I would have you observe that this is one of the prominent lessons
of the Bible; on many a page does it bring out an unexpected
development like this. Again and again it is the unlikely that happens
in the lives which figure on its pages. They rise or they fall in a
way that no one looked for, and which they, least of all, anticipated
themselves. We seem to hear them saying with Hazael, "Impossible," and
then, before we get far, the thing is done. Impossible, we say, that
king Saul should ever descend so low as to deal in witches; or that
Solomon, the wise, God-fearing youth, should give himself up to the
sway of lustful passions and idolatries. Yet that comes to pass.
Impossible, we say, that the cunning, lying Jacob should ever develop
into a man of prayer; and the outcast beggar, Jephthah, ever grow into
a hero-patriot and king. Yet we see it. In the Bible stories
greatness always comes to those who have neither marked themselves out
for it, nor deemed themselves fit for it; and, on the contrary, its
most infamous deeds are done, and its most shameful lives lived, by
those who have given promise of fairer things, and who in their early
manhood would have scouted the possibility of descending so low. The
men whom it describes have no suspicion, to begin with, of the great
power for good that is in them, or the equally great possibilities of
evil. Tell the shepherd youth, David, that he has in him the making of
a king and an immortal poet, and he will think you are poking fun at
him. Tell him that he will one day fall into the crimes of adultery
and murder, and make all Israel blush for him, and he will be indignant
enough to strike you to the ground. Speak to the fisherman, Peter, of
the commanding influence which awaits him in some coming kingdom of
God, and he will think you are beside yourself: and then tell him that
he will one day deny and curse his sworn Master and kindest Friend, and
he will ask you, Do you think I am a dog or a devil that I should do
this? Impossible! And yet the thing comes off.

Why do the sacred writers give us so many stories of this kind? Surely
it is because we need both the warning and encouragement. It is to
prove to us that on one side of our nature we are greater than we
think, and on the other side weaker and lower than we belie