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The Dayspring from on high hath visited us.—Luke 1, 78.

In directing our attention to this text, we would regard, I. by whom the words were spoken, and II. of whom they were spoken. At the time of our Savior's birth the spiritual conditions in the land of Israel were distressingly sad; religious life had become very degenerate and corrupt; all manner of sects, like the Pharisees and Sadducees, with their stiff and ossified formalism, ceremonialism, materialism, had caused a dark eclipse to come over the once living faith of God's chosen people. Things were droughty and dead. But no period is ever so desperate, the Church of God never so forlorn and miserable as not to have in it some true children of faith, yea, when things are at the worst, divine Goodness is sure to interfere to bring about a change for the better; and so it was in these desolate days of Judaism. Residing in the hill country of Judea was an aged couple; they had lived long together without being blessed with offspring. This, with the Jews, was not only a defect in matrimonial happiness, but a positive reproach. The name of this pair was Zacharias and Elizabeth. Zacharias was a priest, and Elizabeth was of the daughters of Aaron, and the testimony given of their character in Holy Scripture is that they were both righteous before God, walking in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless—a devout and honorable pair. One day, so runs the story in the beginning verses of the Gospel of St. Luke, while he was engaged in his ministry, offering incense in the temple, there appeared unto Zacharias at the right-hand side of the altar an angel of God, and told him that his prayers were answered and that he would receive a son, whom he should call John. Zacharias startled at the heavenly apparition, and quite forgetful of the birth of an Isaac and Samson and Samuel, and that what happened of old might again happen, since nothing is impossible with God, he skeptically asked for a sign as the proof of the angel's message, whereupon the angel replied: "I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God, and am sent to speak unto thee and show thee these glad tidings. And, behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak, until the day that these things shall be performed, because thou believest not my words, which shall be fulfilled in their season." When Zacharias came out of the temple to the multitude of worshipers that had been impatiently waiting for his return, he beckoned to the people with his hand, and they perceived that he had seen a vision.

Nine months had elapsed after that miraculous visitation and annunciation of the angel, when the details in the paragraph immediately preceding our text came to pass. Elizabeth, having received the fulfillment of the heavenly message, and a company of her neighbors and relatives having gathered for the circumcision of the child, a question of friendly contention arose over the name, the most of them being in favor of calling him after the name of his father, Zacharias. Zacharias, being consulted and asking for a slate whereupon to write his opinion, wrote the name John. By this writing he showed that he consented in the name of the child according to the angel's direction, and it says: "His mouth was immediately opened and his tongue loosed, and he spake and praised God in a song of blessing and joy." This song of Zacharias, which is called the "Benedictus," because it begins with the word "Benedictus" or Blessed, is one of the treasured songs of the Church.

Significant—as we read that song it is that his own circumstances largely are overlooked or disregarded. Two grand and miraculous events had just happened to him, the birth of a son and the recovery of speech. These, it may be supposed, would have primarily employed his mind and called forth his praise and adoration to God; but whilst he does speak a few words of exultation over his son, a great, more transporting, and august theme fills his breast; he thinks in pious rapture of the prophecies that have gone before, the promises of God by the mouth of His inspired servants, that He would send a mighty Savior to deliver His people. Now that his own son, who was to be the forerunner of the Lord and messenger, was born, he sees the incarnation of this almighty Deliverer begun; under prophetic inspiration he proclaims what first happened six months after: "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for He hath visited and redeemed His people," and none among us are less interested in this propitious event than Zacharias was. We have before us the same prophecies that Zacharias had; we have the same need of this Savior, and we desire the same blessings from Him which he did. Why, then, should it not be the rapture of our hearts, the topic of our triumphant song, as it was of his? With pious joy let us hail the glorious festival that shall be upon us in a few days, and in this may our reflection on our text aid us.

"The Dayspring from on high hath visited us." It is interesting to note how to one whose heart is wrapped up in Christ every object becomes a preacher, a memorial. That beautiful star, last in the train of night and first in the forehead of morning, sings of Him who is the bright Morning Star. That orb in the skies, shedding the benignant rays over the earth, tells of Him who is the Sun of Righteousness with healing in His wings. The bread which I eat becomes to me a symbol of Him who is the Bread of Life; the water which I drink reminds me of the living water whereof who drinks shall never thirst again. In brief, Christ is seen in everything, in every object of external nature, and so with the figure employed by Zacharias in these words: "the Dayspring," or, as we would say—the dawn of the morning. Beautiful is dawn. The ancient poets have represented it as a lovely maiden rising from the waters of the East (casting aside the gloomy veil of night), and hastening forward on the foremost rays of light, to open the gates of day, whilst her rosy fingers scatter abroad the drops of sparkling dew. Zacharias employs the same illustration only to a subject more noble. He sees Messiah near at hand, breaking on the world just like the approach of dawn. Yes, the vision of His coming is so clear that he says not, "The Dayspring shall visit us," but, "The Dayspring hath visited us." Let us spend a few moments in considering, not every, but a few features that connect with this description of our Lord as the "Dayspring from on high." And here, to begin with, we have a significant thought. "The Dayspring from on high" suggests His origin. The day-dawn comes from the heaven; it is not of man's ordering and making, but of God's; it bears the imprint of the Creator's hand, and for this reason the Bible styles Him "the Father of lights," and says: "Every good and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights." So with this Dayspring, Christ,—He is from on high. His origin and His coming are divine. We sing:

True Son of the Father, He comes from the skies,

To be born of a virgin He does not despise.

This earth is not His home, as it says: "The Dayspring from on high hath visited us." He came from elsewhere and He departed again elsewhere. From eternity He lay in the bosom of the Father, and when the fullness of time was come, He descended upon this earth and tabernacled among us thirty and three years, and then returned to the glory whence He came forth. It was, indeed, a transcendent sojourn, a visit that spells everything, that connects with salvation and blessedness. Yes, it was only a visit; He was from on high. To use the words of the Nicene Creed: Christ is true God, begotten of the Father from eternity, God of God, Light of Light (note that expression as in accordance with the figure in the text), very God of very God, begotten, not made; being of one substance with the Father, who for us men and for our salvation, came down from heaven and was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, and was made man. Verily, He was the Dayspring from on high.

Again, observe the manner of His coming,—how like the day-dawn. What so gentle as the light of morning, rising mutely in the brightening east and pouring the light so softly that never a leaf is stirred; noiselessly, peacefully does it make its approach. So when the Savior was born, He came into the world silently and unobtrusively. All heaven was moved and followed Him down to the threshold of earth; but few on earth were aware of it. One solitary star pointed to the humble birthplace, and the hymn that sang of it was heard only at night by a few watching shepherds, and His whole life partook of the same character. For which reason we sing in one of our favorite hymns:

As His coming was in peace,

Noiseless, full of gentleness,

Let the same mind be in me

That was ever found in Thee.

He came like the dawn in its soft and silent approach. Then, also, in another manner. Not suddenly, nor all at once. The sun's rising is a gradual and progressive thing. First, there is but a faint gray twilight, softening the darkness and heralding what is to come, then a few dim purple streaks spread upon the far eastern horizon, followed shortly by the golden tips of the great luminary lifting the gates of the morning. So with our divine Dayspring. From all eternity it was determined that this Dayspring should come. Adam, going weeping from a paradise lost, and after him Seth and Enoch and Noah and Shem and Abraham beheld from afar the early dawn, the dim and vague streaks. The types and holy sacrifices offered in the temple after that, the psalms and prophecies given by God's inspired servants, gave still nearer and clearer views of what was to come. Zacharias exults as he sees the tips, as it were, beginning to appear. And we, with the whole Christian world, are hastening these days in spirit to see the sun rising over the hills of Judea in Bethlehem's town. How in its promises and preparations—its gradual development—was the coming of Christ like the day-spring, the rising dawn.

Nor can we afford to overlook one other feature in the manner of Christ's visit as the Dayspring. The sun comes every morning, shining for all and singling out none. There is a universality of kindness about it. The poorest man and the richest, all classes and all things, have the same access to its undivided radiance. How much is this like Christ's coming! "God so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten Son." "Behold," was the angelic proclamation on Christmas night, "I bring you glad tidings of great joy which shall be to all people." The Christmas story enters into the world with the broad universal look of daylight. It is as wide and open to all as is this earth. It singles out none, it excludes none, it wishes to bless a whole guilty world with the same impartiality as the sun. The Christmas message is unlimited in its invitation: "Come hither, ye faithful, O come, one and all." Silently, gradually, universally, hath and doth the Dayspring from on high visit us. And why—that is the concluding feature of our contemplation, why has it visited us? What is its object in doing so?

The sun is the dispenser of the world's light and warmth and fruitfulness. Without the day-dawn everything would be chilliness, darkness, desolation, and death. Let the sun arise, shoot forth his cheering and enlivening rays,—the dormant germs start up, the buds swell, the birds sing, and man goes forth to ply the occupation of his hands. Christ is the same to the human race. He rose above the darkness of Judaism and over the night of heathenism. He declared: "I am the Light of the world." "When once Thou visitest the heart, the truth begins to shine." New life, new energy, new understanding takes hold upon the dormant and dead soul, and the fruits of righteousness spring up. To quote the text and language of Zacharias: "To give light to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace." There is not the least exaggeration about it; wherever Christ is preached, the darkness flees as night flies before the sun, the clouds of ignorance and superstition pass away. Pardon of sin, purity of morals, comfort in affliction, triumph in death,—these are a portion of what follows. Do these things not constitute the light of life of man? What else does?

Is, to conclude, Christ such a light to you? Would you permit this season to pass without diligently inquiring whether "the Dayspring from on high" has visited your souls? Do you rejoice at His coming with holy joy? Invigorating, inspiring is the sight of a morning dawn; are you so welcoming again the Dayspring from on high about to send its healing beams, its cheering, holy splendor upon our world? Open your hearts to receive and to realize the significance and blessedness of this "Dayspring from on high, which by the tender mercy of our God hath visited us." Amen.