Luke 11:52

Ye have taken away the key of knowledge

The sin of perverting Scripture

The last woe pronounced by our Saviour against the Scribes and Pharisees, is for perverting the Holy Scriptures, and keeping the true sense and knowledge of them from the people: this St.

Luke here calls, “the taking away the key of knowledge from men”; alluding to a custom among the Jews, in admission of their doctors. Those that had authority given them to interpret the law and the prophets, were solemnly admitted into that office, by delivering to them a key and a table-book; so that by the key of knowledge is meant the interpretation and understanding of the Scriptures, and by taking away that key is signified--

1. That they arrogated to themselves the sole power of understanding and interpreting the Holy Scriptures.

2. That they kept the true knowledge of the Scriptures from the people, especially the prophecies which concern the kingdom and coming of the Messias; and so they hindered men from embracing our Saviour’s doctrine, who were otherwise well enough disposed for it.

Learn--

1. That the written Word is the key whereby an entrance into heaven is opened unto men.

2. That the use of this key, or the knowledge of the Word of God, is absolutely and indispensibly necessary in order to salvation.

3. That great is the guilt, and inexcusable the fault of those who deny the people the use of this key, and deprive them of the knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, which alone can make them wise unto salvation.

4. That such as do so, shut the kingdom of heaven against men, endeavouring what in them lies to hinder their salvation. Men may miscarry with their knowledge, but they are sure to perish for lack of knowledge. (W. Burkitt.)

Hinderers

Some unpublished thoughts on “Hinderers and Hindrances,” written by Frances Ridley Havergal, were forwarded by her sister Maria V.
G. Havergal to the editor of The Sunday Magazine. We glean the following from the second paper, which appeared in the September, 1885, issue:--“A letter from Ernest at last! And the sister eagerly gives her father the morning budget at the breakfast table. Her mother watches, for gloom gathers on the father’s face as he reads it. Silently the letter is given to the mother, and he passes through the open window to the pleasant terrace-walk beneath. The sister guesses in vain, ‘What can Ernest have written?’ The father paced up and down, thinking of the position he himself had won, and which he had hoped would be a stepping-stone for his son to one far higher, in which his many gifts of mind and heart would shine with no common effulgence. He had hoped his son would carry out and develop many schemes of benevolence he had set on foot. But that morning’s letter was as a mighty crucible, wherein the man’s devotedness to Him who had given him that darling son was to be tested and analyzed. What was that letter?’--College, Cambridge. DEAR FATHER,--Will you listen to your son’s request for your consent, your blessing, your prayers? Father, there is a burning impulse within me, a new life-pulse seems beating in my soul, a still deep voice ever sounding in my ears, “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.” Years ago that same voice called me, when I first heard stories about the heathen and their idols, and when standing by my mother I looked at the Church Missionary Society’s green picture-book (“Juvenile Instructor”), of white men preaching to the heathen. Silently, but surely, has that call followed me. I have cried earnestly, “Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?” and again the heavenly whisper comes, “Go ye.” Therefore, though never before breathed to any but God, this is no sudden thought, no unconsidered plan. Father, let me go, let me take the cup of living water to him that is ready to perish. I should like to tread the very footsteps of Him who came to seek and to save that which was lost, to search in His name for the “other sheep, which are not of this fold.” I know the hopes and the intentions which you have cherished for my future; but is not a missionary’s joy a nobler gain, the missionary’s crown a nobler ambition than any ether? And what if the time came when, among the multitude out of all nations and kindreds and tongues, I might be permitted to recognize some who first heard a Saviour’s name from my unworthy lips! My own dear mother! her heart will be with me in this; I know she lent me to the Lord. Dearest father, I believe Christ has called me; will you let me obey His voice? Your loving son, ERNEST.’” Reader, what would your answer have been? Would you have hindered? The father could not brook that the talents of his son, the pride of his ancestral hall, should go forth into the gloom and obscurity of distant shores. But who can tell how bitterly that question, “Father, will you hinder me?” returned to his mind when the bell tolled for the early death of that loved and devoted son!

Hindering

A young Savoyard, a poor little chimney-sweep, one day purchased a Testament, for which he paid ten sons (rather less than fivepence of English money), and set himself immediately to read it. Delighted to possess the Word of God, he, in his simplicity, ran to the priest to show him the good bargain he had made with his savings. The priest looked at the book, and told the young Savoyard that it came from the hands of heretics, and that it was a book forbidden to be read. The poor boy replied that everything he had read in the book told him about Christ; “and beside,” said he, “it is so beautiful!” “You shall see how beautiful it is,” said the priest, seizing it and casting it into the fire. The young Savoyard went away weeping. (W. Denton.)

Lamentable effect of hindering

Hume, the historian, received a religious education from his mother, but as he approached manhood confirmed infidelity succeeded. Maternal partlality, however, alarmed at first, came at length to look with less and less pain upon his declension, and filial love and reverence seemed to have been absorbed in the pride of philosophical scepticism; for Hume applied himself with unwearied, and, unhappily, with successful, efforts to sap the foundation of his mother’s faith. Having succeeded, he went abroad, and as he was returning an express met him in London, with a letter from his mother informing him that she was in a deep decline. She said she found herself without any support in her distress; that he had taken away that only source of comfort upon which, in all eases of affliction, she used to rely; and that she now found her mind sinking into despair. She conjured him to hasten to her, or at least to send her a letter containing such consolations as philosophy could afford to a dying mortal. Hume was overwhelmed with anguish on receiving this letter, and hastened to Scotland, travelling day and night; but before he arrived his mother expired.