It was pretty biting. His words in their bare sarcasm stung.
Nehemiah—against whom the taunt was directed—had heard in the land of captivity serious things as to the state of his native land. A remnant left, and they in great affliction; the wall of Jerusalem broken down, and the gates burned with fire.
No wonder he wept and mourned and fasted and prayed. His sad countenance brought him to the notice of the king. God answered prayer by inclining the king’s heart to answer Nehemiah’s request.
Next we find him at Jerusalem, stirring up the remnant to zeal and energy, and stirring up too the opposition of God’s enemy, so that it was said of Sanballat the Horonite and Tobiah the Ammonite, “it grieved them exceedingly that there was come a man to seek the welfare of the children of Israel.”
Nothing daunted by opposition and frowns, the work went on with vigour and heart. As the wall rose up, and piece joined to piece, the wrath of Sanballat knew no bounds. Tobiah joined in. “Even that which they build, if a fox go up, he shall even break down their stone wall,” was his biting taunt. A fox springs lightly. What sort of wall would it be if his spring broke it down? A dry stone dyke—no cohesion, no strength—weakness itself.
Is this not like Christianity from a human standpoint? In its early days driven underground in the catacombs of Rome, it looked as if a little more opposition would crush it out of existence altogether. A poor weak thing it looked when a plain monk—Martin Luther—stood before the Emperor Charles V of Germany, the Papal Legate, cardinals, princes and electors. But it could not be crushed. Its vitality could not be destroyed. It lived.
Today it looks as if it bid fair to be extinguished beneath the weight of Higher Criticism, New Theology, Spiritualism, worldliness, Socialism, the advance of heathen beliefs, making inroads, as they are doing, in so-called Christian lands. But will it be so?
For answer turn to the divine side of things. Simon Peter had just confessed, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” and the answer had come quick from the Lord, “Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona; for flesh and blood has not revealed it to thee, but My Father which is in heaven. And I say to thee, that thou art Peter, and upon this rock [the confession of Christ as the Son of God] I will build My church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matt. 16:13-18).
There are many Tobiahs about today. His generation, alas! runs no chance of dying out. But we have an answer for all corners. This is the answer to Tobiah’s taunt.
Christianity is a heavenly exotic. It can draw no nourishment or support from the soil of this world. Nor has it been shielded in a hot-house all these centuries. On the contrary, it has been exposed to every blast of Satan, saturated with blood, exposed to fire, smothered with the ashes of a corrupt religion, covered with the dust of a base superstition, and yet it lives, nay, it prospers by the very things destined to destroy it. No weapon formed against it prospers. No hand raised against it but perishes. It is a miracle of miracles.
And though on the human side we see much failure—sects, parties, divisions, truth given up, principles jettisoned, coldness, worldliness, Laodiceanism, the apostasy setting in with bewildering and startling rapidity—yet on the divine side nothing lost, all maintained according to God, the Lord Jesus soon to come to claim His bride and present her to Himself “a glorious church without spot or wrinkle or any such thing”—not a stone in the heavenly building lacking, not even one stone chinned or marred, all perfection, and for ever.