A sort of trim syllogism, dry as punk.  Some seem to think Him to be as they seem to be.  How our poor God has been slandered by His supposed defenders!  God was not satisfied to keep the appointment. He wanted the man. He hungered for His friend, upon whom He had imprinted His own image.  His heart was hungry for fellowship.  He wanted the comfort of a bit of talk.  So He starts at once eagerly, insistently to find the man.

That voice of God spoke out, tender, gentle, plaintive, pleading.  You can just hear the soft, very soft woodsman’s cry, “Hello-alo, hello, Adam, A-a-dam—­here I am—­waiting for you—­I’ve kept my tryst—­where are you?—­hello-o—­hello—­where—­are—­you?” The voice that spoke worlds into being, that brought life and beauty to all creation, that brought instant reverence and adoration from myriads of the upper world, that voice now speaks to one, two:  two who were one.  All the heart of God, all the power of God, in the soft voice talking to one man.  God has always been after the one man, and still is.

And the breezes hushed to hear that voice with its new pleading tone.  The birds stilled their song for this new music in minor mellowing tone.  Silence for a moment, the breezes hushed, the birds stilled, the creation near by held its breath, God held His heart still, that He might catch the first response to its cry.  The twilight of that day had a pathetic sight.  It saw a broken tryst; a lonely God; words of fellowship unspoken.  A man and woman hiding.  Skulking behind trees.  Trees served a new purpose that evening, not a good purpose.  They never were meant to hide behind.  Sin perverts the use of all things.

All these weary years God has been standing wherever men are:  standing, waiting, calling man back to his tryst.  Among the trees, in the crowded city of man’s making, He is ever calling, and eagerly, wondrously, helping every one who answers.  He is so near that a reaching hand always touches Him.  The voice of the heart never misses His ear.  But His love and grief shine out most on that bit of a hill, outside a city wall, on the east coast of the middle-of-the-earth sea.  That is earth’s tallest hill.  It can be seen farthest away of any.  Jesus up on that hill is God calling man back to his broken tryst.

God’s Wooing.

God seems to have fairly outdone Himself to get man to turn toward the old trysting place.  For when a man will turn around enough to get even a glimpse of that God-Face, and a whisper of that God-Voice, he can withstand no longer.

God has taxed all the ingenuity of His love to let man know about Himself.  He revealed Himself directly to the whole race at the start.  He has in every generation, and in every clime, on every hilltop and valley, in every village and crowded city, been revealing Himself to the heart of every man.  There cannot be found one anywhere who has not heard the quiet inner voice drawing up, and away from wrong.