Love's Competition

“Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most? Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged.” — Luke vii. 42, 43.

I REMEMBER seeing, somewhere or other, as a sign upon an inn, the words “The First and Last.” I do not know what that may happen to be among men, but I know that love is God’s first and last. It is there that he begins with us in mercy — “We love him, because he first loved us.” His love at the first springs up like a fountain in the midst of a desert, and freely flows along the wilderness to the unworthy sons of men. In the end, the result of that love is that men love him: they cannot help it any more than the rock can prevent the echo when the voice falls upon it. Love is not a creature of law: it comes not on demand, it must be free or not at all. It has its reasonswhy it springs up in our hearts; but it is not a mercenary thing which can be procured at such and such a price. It is not a matter of argument: it is not to itself an act performed as a matter of duty. Love is a duty certainly, but it does not come to us that way: it comes to us like a roe or a young hart, over every mountain and hill, leaping and bounding; it comes not as a heavy burden dragged along an iron way. If a man should give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned.

Men do not make themselves love by a course of calculation; but they are overtaken with it, and carried away by its power. When godly men consider and enjoy the great love of God to them, they beg-in to love God in return; just as the bud, when it feels the sunshine, opens to it of its own accord. Love to God is a sort of natural consequence which follows from a sight and sense of the love of God to us. I think it is Aristotle who says that it is impossible for a person to know that he is loved without feeling some degree of love in return. I do not know how that may be, for I am no philosopher; but I am Bure that it is so with those who taste of the love of God. As love is No. 2,127. 18, the first blessing coining from God to us, so it is the last return from us to God: he comes to us loving, we go home to him loving.

I. I intend to keep to my text, and handle it red hot, by first noticing that IT is TAKEN FOR GRANTED THAT PARDONED SINNERS WILL LOVE. “Tell me therefore, which of them will love him most?” It is implied that the two debtors who had been frankly forgiven would both love their benefactor. The question was not “Which of them will love him?” but “Which of them will love him most?” So, then, I say, it is taken for granted in the text that those who are pardoned will love him who has so freely pardoned them.

And this, first, because it seems most natural that where kindness is received gratitude should be felt. This is so generally admitted that gratitude is found among the lowest and worst of mankind. “If ye love them which love you, what thank have ye? for sinners also love those that love them.” It is man-like to return good for good, and ingratitude is looked upon most rightly as one of the basest of the vices. Why, we find gratitude not only in men and women — intelligent creatures — but we find it in the very beasts of the field! “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib.” How a dog that has received benefits from you will be attached to you, and by every possible means will endeavour to show his affection! The ancients had many rare stories of the gratitude of wild beasts. You remember that of Androcles and the lion. The man was condemned to be torn to pieces by beasts; but a lion, to which he was cast, instead of devouring him, licked his feet, because at some former time Androcles had extracted a thorn from the grateful creature’s foot. We have heard of an eagle that so loved a boy with whom he had played that, when the child was sick, the eagle sickened too; and when the child slept, this wild, strange bird of the air would sleep, but only, then; for when the child awoke, the eagle awoke. When the child died, the bird died too. You remember that there is a picture in which Napoleon is represented as riding over the battle field, and he stops his horse, as he sees a slain man with his favourite dog lying upon his bosom doing what he can to defend his poor dead master. Even the great man-slayer paused at such a sight. There is gratitude among the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air. And, surely, if we receive favours from God, and do not feel love to him in return, we are worse than brute beasts; and so the Lord, in that pathetic verse in Isaiah, pleads against us, “The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib: but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider.” If we receive favours from God, it is but natural that we should love him in return. Alas, that many should be so unnatural, so false to every noble instinct, so dead to the gratitude which goodness deserves!

Hut gratitude should surely arise when the benefit is surpassingly great. When favours are far above the common run of blessings — when these favours are not such as are confined to time and to the body, but when they reach to eternity and bless the soul; when favours are of such weight as the forgiveness of sin, the salvation of the soul from wrath to come; surely here love must spring up with the greatest force and freedom. I would stand and sing to the fountain of the heart as Israel did in the wilderness, “Spring up, 0 well; sing ye unto it: The princes digged the well.” And has not our great Prince, who has been smitten upon the cheek, digged this well by giving us, through his free grace and dying love, to taste of full remission and of complete pardon of our guilt? Shall we not, must we not, love the Redeemer in return? To have sin forgiven and not to love God! I call common ingratitude worse than brutish; but in this case where shall I go for a word? I must call it devilish. It were worse than infernal to receive a deliverance from guilt so great, and from punishment so justly terrible, and not to love the Lord, through whom it is given to us. Oh, love the Lord, whose mercy endureth for ever! If, indeed, you have tasted of that mercy, you must love him. It cannot be otherwise — you are bound to God by bonds of love, and these draw you, by a secret but irresistible force, to love the Lord in return.

And moreover, not only is this natural and necessary, because of the greatness of the mercy, but the grace of God always takes care that wherever pardon is given love shall be ensured; for the Holy Spirit co-operates with the work of Christ, and if we are cleansed from the stain of our former evil through the blood of Christ, we are renewed and changed in the spirit of our minds by the Holy Spirit. He does not take away our sin, and then leave us that old heart of stone, insensible, ungrateful; but as he gives us a garment of righteousness he gives us a heart of flesh. The Spirit works in us a degree of love at the same time that he ciaates the first look of faith. Anon our faith increases by which we received remission, and then he works in us more and more that love to Christ by which we cling to him. This love works in us hatred of sin and a spirit of obedience, whereby we yield ourselves up to the service of him who has bought us with his precious blood. You know that it is so, brethren. Where pardon comes, delight in God comes with it. You know that God does not divide his gifts, and give justification to one and sanctification to another; but the covenant is one, and the blessings of the covenant are threaded on the one string of infinite wisdom, so that when there comes the washing in the blood, there comes also a cleansing with water by the Word. The Holy Spirit washes us from the power of sin, as the blood of Christ cleanses us from the guilt of sin. Where sin is forgiven, there must bo love to the God who forgave it, because the Spirit of God makes sure work upon the heart of the believer, and one of his first works is love.

I need not argue this further, because all Christians know this as a matter of fact — where there is no love there is no pardon. You cannot be pardoned, and not love God as a result of his loving forgiveness. What was the very first emotion that you and I felt when we had a sense of guilt removed? We felt joy for our own sake; but immediately after, or at the same instant, we felt such intense gratitude to God that we loved him beyond all expression. We have sometimes been half afraid that we do not love God so much now as we did at that moment, though I trust that the fear is groundless. But at that moment there was nothing too hot or too heavy for us to have attempted on behalf of him who had taken the burden from off our shoulder. We would have said at that moment, “Here am I; send me,” if it had been to prison, or to death. Oh, the joy of those first days! They are rightly called the dayrs of our espousals. And what love we had then I We were willing to leave all for Christ’s sake. “We snapped fond connections at his command. Truly, like Israel of old. we would have gone after our Grod into the wilderness — ay, after our Saviour into the grave. Nothing could have kept us back, or have caused us to wander from him then. Do you not remember how you used to long for Sabbath-days, to hear of Jesus, and praise his name with his people? If there was a week-night service, you were always there though no one persuaded you to go. Then, any corner in the meeting house was good enough for you. Now, perhaps, you want a very soft cushion to sit upon. You sat then in a straight-backed pew, and did not know it. Now, you want very tender dealing; and the preacher must mind that he interests you by illustrations and poetical allusions;, but then the gospel itself interested you; and however dull the preacher might have been, you were so willing to hear about Jesus, and to know of his love, that there you were, eager to hear the humblest evangelist. Wisdom did not need to press you into her house, for you were earnestly waiting at the posts of her doors, glad to hear even the footfalls of those who came in and out. Oh, those were brave days! I hope that we have braver days now; but, for certain, as sure as we knew our pardon, we felt that we loved the Lord with all our hearts.

Now I want to make a little practical use of this inference fro n the text. That pardoned souls love their pardoning Grod is a great truth, and a very solemn one in its bearings upon us at this time, far there are persons in this house of prayer who were never forgiven -T and we are sure of that unhappy fact, since they do not love Q-od. Their sins must be still upon them, because they have not the token of pardon, inasmuch as they have no love to Jesus Christ our Lord.

Oh, listen to me, ye that do not love Grod, and yet, perhaps, dream that you are saved! Are there not some here that seldom think of Grod, who do not care if a day, a week, a month, a year, should pass over their heads, and yet they have no thought of the Almighty Judge of all the earth? They receive his mercies; but they do not thank him. They feel his power; but they do not fear him. “Grod is not in all their thoughts.” 0 my hearer, if this be your case, you do not love him; for if we love any person, we are sure to think of him. Thoughtsfly that way in which the heart moves. I do not say that we are always thinking of those we love; but I do say that our thoughts will fly that way when they can. You know at sunset where the crows live. Perhaps all day long you are unable to tell; for they may fly from one ploughed field to another to find their meat. But watch When night comes on, and when they are free from other obligations, and wish to find rest; they fly straight to those tall trees whereon they have built their nests. A man may, in the busy time of the dayr think about fifty things; but let him be free from pressing labour and care, and he returns to his love as birds fly to their nests at night. His thought flies to Jesus, because Jesus is the home of his heart. If your hearts love God, your thoughts will run to him as the rivers to the sea. Yea, and often in the very middle of business, the man who loves his God will be speaking with him. He may not interrupt the conversation, and those in the shop may not know what is on his mind; but his heart will be up above the mountains, where the angels dwell, communing with the great Father of lights. But where there is no thought of God, there is no love to him.

Are there not many who never do anything for God? He has made them, and he preserves them, and yet they never make him any return by way of willing action designed to give him pleasure. I may put it to some of you — did you ever do anything distinctly for God in all your lives? What! Not so much as once? Ah, me! a man so curiously made by the divine finger, displaying infinite skill in every blood-vessel, and nerve, and muscle, that are necessary for his life and motion, and yet he has never thought of the Great One who has set all this machinery in motion, and keeps it in action! To live only by God, and yet to live without him! Strange! Can there exist a man who never does anything for his God, who is constantly doing so much for him? If so, I would say to such a one — You have never been pardoned; for you do not love God, since you never think of him, and you do nothing for him.

Some men evidently do not love God, for they have no care about anything that concerns him. They do not refrain from sin because sin would grieve God. The idea of grieving God, perhaps, has not crossed their minds; so they vex the Holy Spirit most thoughtlessly. But, ah! if you love anyone, you will not like to cause him grief: you will not do the evil thing which he hates. He that loves God will often have a check put upon him, and feel that he cannot do this great wickedness, and sin against God. To sin against God is the greatest of sin, and the essence of sin. The venom of sin lies there. This makes sin so exceeding sinful, that it is against the God of love. But if you never felt that, then you do not love him; and, for certain, you are not forgiven.

Look at others: they do not love God, for they do not care for his house where his people meet. They seldom come to the meeting for worship; and if they come, it is from some other motive than to meet with God. They do not care for his day. Sundays are very dreary in London, so they say. There is nothing to interest them, for they have no interest in the great Father, or his incarnate Son; they have no care to hear of him, or to praise him, or to pray to him. They do not care for his Hook, though it is a world of delights and comforts. The Bible is perfumed with the love of God, but they perceive not its fragrance. The Saviour’s face is to be seen reflected in almost every page, and yet some think that the Bible is more dull than an old almanack; and, though they must keep it in their house — for it isrespectable to have a copy of it — yet to read it, and to read it with pleasure — why, that has never happened to them; nor is there any likelihood that it ever will unless they get made anew.

Nor do they care for God’s people. In fact, they like a quiet joke against Christian people; and sometimes, if they can see faults in them — and, oh, how readily they may! — they report those faults with considerable exaggerations, and feel pleased to eat up the faults of God’s people as they eat bread! Want of love to the children argues want of love to their Father. “He that lovethhini that begat loveth him also that is begotten of him;” and we know that we love God when we love his children. But if in your heart there is no such love to his children, to his Book, to his day, to his house, or to his service, you may rest quite certain, my friend, that your guilt clings to you still. You are unpardoned, and God will require that which is past, and call you to account. For every secret thing he will bring you into judgment, and for every idle word that you have spoken he will take reckoning of you. Ah! how sad it is that when I am longing to speak joyously about the love that arises out of pardoned sin, I am compelled, for pity’s sake, to turn aside to give a warning to many who, having no love to God, prove by that fact that they have never been forgiven!

So I leave the first point. It is supposed in the text, and taken for granted, that all pardoned sinners will love him who has pardoned them.

II. But now, secondly, IT is SUGGESTED IN THE TEXT, THAT THERE

ARE DIFFERENCES OF DEGREE IN THE MATTER OF LOVE TO GOD.” Tell

me which of them will love him most.” These words evidently show that some persons love God more than others, and that, albeit there must be a sincere love to God in all pardoned sinners, yet there is not the same degree of love. Love is evidently a grace which is not stereotyped, and cast in a mould, so as to be the same in every case, and at every time. Love is a thing of life: it is, therefore, a thing of growth. It is certainly so in our own selves. There was a time when we did not love God so much as we do now; and I grieve to say that there are even now times when we do not love God so much as we -once did, for we grow cold and backsliding. Love is not like a piece of cast iron, fixed and set; but it grows, and has its times of budding, flowering, and leaf -shedding. It is like a fire; at one time it may burn low, and at another time it may be blown up to a very vehement heat. Love rises and falls: I speak not of God’s love to us; but of our love to God. It has its ups and downs, its summers and its winters, its flood-tides and its ebbs; and if we find a change in love, in the same heart, we are not at all astonished that it should differ in different hearts.

Besides, we know that there are differences in love, because there are differences in all the other graces. Faith — some men have much faith. God be thanked that there are men of strong faith still on the face of the earth! But there are others who have a faith which, though a true faith, is a very weak one. It is a trembling faith. It cannot walk the waves with Peter, but it can sink with him, and it can cry out for deliverance. Faith, in some Christians, seems to be a very feeble affair. As I said the other day, they hardly know whether it is faith or unbelief. Their cry is, “Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief,” as if they had made a mistake in calling it faith at all, for it was so mixed with unbelief. It is not always such an infant grace, for there are strong believers, who have turned to flight the armies of the aliens — men who have borne their cross without impatience, and their testimony without cowardice: men who have conquered sin, and lived in holiness, and brought glory to God. Faith, like a ladder, has its lower and its higher rounds. Faith has its dawning, its noon, its flhade. We are sure that it is so, for we have observed it in ourselves, and seen it in others. We have seen it great, and we have seen it little.

The practical point I would reach is just this. Let us look, first oj all, to our love in its sincerity. What if my love may not be compared with yours as to degree? Yet the Lord grant that I may truly love him. Peter could not say that he loved Christ more than others, but he did say, “Thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee.” A little pearl is a pearl as much as a great one, though every one of us would sooner have the greater pearl. There is the Queen’s image on a fourpenny piece as certainly as there is upon the sovereign: though we would all prefer the golden coin. There is the image of God on all his people’s faith and love, whether great or little. The main thing with the coin is to be sure that it is genuine metal. So, if love be real lore, that is the main point. Do you love the Lord with all your heart? If so, strive to have more love, but do not fling away what you have, for you would thus despise what the Spirit of God has wrought in you.

Endeavour also, dear friends, to have growing love. Do not be satisfied to be to-day what you were twelve months ago. I am afraid that some Christians do not grow much. I am very glad when I see them grow downward, when they are rooted in humility, when they have truer views of themselves than they ever yet had, and a deeper sense of their indebtedness to God. That is good growth. Try to have, however, a love that grows, so that you may more forcibly love Jesus Christ than you did in days that are past. Do say to yourself, “Well, if I have ever so little love, it shall be practical love, I will show it. I will be doing something for my Lord.” The woman, by whose means this parable was called forth, loved Christ so that she brought her alabaster box of ointment, and anointed his feet, and washed them with tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head. And one of the best ways to make love grow is to use all the love you have. Is it not so with merchants and their money? If they want to increase their capital, they trade with it. If you want to increase your love to Jesus, use it. Do not merely talk about it, but actually serve him under its sweet constraint. It is a very poor Christianity that consists in sitting still and dreaming, and never attempting any practical service for Jesus, our Lord. He that thinks that he will quietly enjoy religion all alone, will soon find that he has very little of it to enjoy; for doubts and fears will breed in swarms in a stagnant atmosphere. Where there is none of the blessed wind of activity, there will soon be mists and damps — perhaps foul gas and fevers.

And if you have but little love at present, cry to God to give you an intenser love; and, though I have said that to use your love is a good way to increase it, yet there is something still better, and that is, to know more, and feel more of the love of Christ to you. If you take exercise, you will increase your sense of warmth; but it will be a far surer thing if you get where the sun shines with equatorial heat: so other means are good, but to get near to Jesus is best of all. In proportion as you live close to the glorious central sun of the love of

Christ, you will yourself be warm. I was about to compare the of my Lord to a volcanic mountain constantly streaming with the burning lava of love. Oh, that my soul could but get that fire-stream poured into it to set the whole of my nature on fire, and consume me in the flame-torrent of love!

You see that it is suggested in the text that there are differences in the degrees of love; and there let us leave it, for we must come to the third point.

III. Thirdly, THE TEXT PUTS TO us A QUESTION, “WHO WILL LOVE HIM MOST?”

I want to introduce the question to you by saying that it is a very interesting one. After what the Lord has done for us, one takes pleasure in thinking what will come of it. One likes to think of the farmer’s harvest. After all that ploughing and sowing, what will come of it? It is interesting to begin to calculate the crop, and to anticipate the shouts of harvest-home. Now, what will come of infinite love, the supreme act of God’s heart to men? What will come out of the gift of his Only-begotten Son, and the putting away of sin through the death of Jesus? What will men do for God after this? How much will they love him? It is an interesting question. What have you to say upon it?

And it is a personal question, which the Lord puts to each one of us. You know he put it to Simon. “Tell me,” said he, “which of them will love him most?” And he puts it to us to consider it, to turn it over, and to give our own verdict; because there may be some blunder in our heart which this question is meant to set right; and the thoughts which the enquiry will cause in the spirit are meant to correct our judgments. Therefore do not put it aside, but try now to answer it as the Lord puts it.

It is a practical question — u Which of them will love him most: “— for everything in conduct depends upon love. Where there is much love, there is sure to be much service in proportion to the strength. Give us a church that loves Christ Jesus much. You will have mighty prayer-meetings; you will have a holy membership; you will have liberal giving to the cause of Christ; you will have hearty praising of his name; you will have careful walking before the world; you will have earnest endeavours for the conversion of sinners. Missions at home and abroad will be set on foot when love is fervent. When the heart is right, everything is likely to be right; but when the heart goes wrong, oh, what a fatal thing it is! A disease of the heart is looked upon as the worst of mischiefs that can happen to a man. One old doctor of my acquaintance used to say, “We can do nothing with the heart.” God keep us from a diseased heart: a fatty degeneration of the heart, or an ossification of the heart towards the Lord Jesus Christ!

The question asked in the text is, however, a somewhat limited one. It is this. The question is not, who in all the world will love C.irifrt most? — but who out of two persons, in whom there is no parti< pular difference of character, but only this one difference — that the one pwes five hundred pence, and the other fifty — which out of these twc will love Christ most? We will suppose that they are equally tender of heart, and eq ually regenerate; and that they do know, each of them, certainly, that his debt has been discharged. The only difference between them is that one has been a grosser sinner than the other; and the question asked is, “Which of those two will love the Saviour most?”

It is a very simple question, too, not at all hard to answer; for even this iSimou, the Pharisee, who, like the rest of the Pharisees, was very badly instructed, yet, nevertheless, could see his way to answer the question correctly. So he answered, “I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most;” and the Lord replied, “Thou hast rightly j udged.” Thus I have set before you the question.

IV. And so, lastly, IT is EXPECTED THAT WE GIVE A REPLY; and I do wish for myself — and therefore wish the same for you — that each one of us may say, “I am the man that ought to love the Lord Jesus most; and by his grace I will surely do so.”

The most indebted should love most. Have we not here many fivehundred-pence debtors? Some of nry dear brethren here present were among outward sinners the very chief — men who could drink, and swear, and lie, ringleaders in everything that was evil. Blessed be God that such have been here led to Jesus! We heard the other night a dear brother tell us of what he used to be. With modesty and shamefacedness he mentioned how great his sin had been; but his sin was put away; he was pardoned, and he knew it, and rejoiced in it. Such a man must say, “I will love him most.” Where there has been overt sin, palpable, undeniable — where the outward character has been defiled and stained with it, forgiveness involves us in deep obligation to grateful love. You may stand in the front rank, and love Jesus most.

But I am not going to let you rise to that eminence of obligation, or rather sink to that depth of indebtedness without having a struggle for it myself. Some of us take that place of eminent obligation on another ground, and yet it is the same ground; for while some of us never were openly profane, or drunken, or immoral, we have to confess the equal greatness of our sin on account of our offending against light and knowledge, against early convictions, against a holy training, against a tender conscience, against singular favours received from God; and therefore with shame we begin to take the lowest room, acknowledging that to us belongs the greatest debt of grateful praise to God. When I was preaching once I said — and I meant it — that I should be the deepest debtor to divine grace that ever entered the gates of glory, and 1 ventured to say —

“Then loudest of the crowd I’ll sing,
While heaven’s resounding mansions ring,
With shouts of sovereign grace.”

It was in a country place, and as I came down the pulpit stairs many clustered about me to shake hands, and one old lady said to me, “You made one great blunder in your sermon.” I said, “My dear soul, I dare say I made a score. I am a great blunderer.” “No,” said she, “but you said that you would sing the loudest when you get to heaven.; but you shall not, for I owe more to divine grace than you possibly can do. I was once a great sinner, and I have had much forgiven, and therefore I shall praise God more than you.” I did not yield the point, but I held my tongue. I could let her be first, and yet take the same place myself. As I went down the aisle many friends declared that they would not give way to me in that point, and that they ought to praise God more than I, for they owed him more. It was a happy controversy. It reminded me of Ralph Erskine’s Contention among the Birds of Paradise, where he represents the saints in glory, each saying that he shall lie the lowest, and shall praise the most sweetly the infinite love of God. I think that there are grounds upon which some here, who have been kept from everything which is outwardly evil, may, nevertheless, feel that inwardly they are five hundred pence debtors; and so, when the question is asked, “Which will love him most?” they will say, “Why, I! I was not so honest as some of those wicked fellows, I did not dare to say all they said, nor to be openly vile as they were; but I was quite as bad at heart, and if I dare have had my full swing, I should have been as base as they were.”

But I do not think that the spirit of the parable is exhausted by either of these cases. I think it includes more. There are some who evidently have not had more forgiven than others as to outward sin; on the contrary, they have been prudently brought up from their childhood, and yet for many a year they have been foremost in service, and have been special lovers of the Lord. Though by no means great offenders in their unconverted state, they are certainly great saints now; intense in their service, consistent in their character, fervent in their love. How is it that some who shout that they have been snatched from the burning, and according to their own statement were the very chief of sinners, and make a great trumpet-blowing over their own conversion, yet do not love the Lord Jesus one half so much as these dear, quiet souls who never went into open sin? I take it, the reason is this. Our estimate of sin is, after all, the thing which will create and inflame our love; for if a man thinks sin to be exceeding sinful, and feels it to be so, he has a deeper sense of his indebtedness than the man who may have committed grosser vices, but has never seen them in their real blackness, as they appear in the light of God’s countenance. Too many believers know little of what it is to be amazed and astounded at the heinousness of their transgressions. Why, time was with me — and is now — when, if I had inadvertently spoken a word that was not exactly true, it cost me more pain to think of what was only a hasty error than it has cost many men to repent of their cursing and swearing. I am sorry to say it, but 1 believe that some make a glory of their shame, and dare to brag of what they used to be. They stand up and make confession without a tear in their eye, or a blush on their cheek. Such testimony ought never to be heard, for it is a positive creator of evil in the minds of those that hear it. I am sorry to have to say it; but I know that it is so. Testimonies are published which are provocatives to vice, and rather tend to make men immoral than to make them turn to God. In certain circles he is treated as a hero who can prove that he has been a great rascal. It was not thus that the prodigal was received by his father: he never hung up his old rags as a trophy. 0 brethren, when we talk about what we were, we had better veil our faces. Our former follies are things to be confessed to God in secret; and if they must be spoken in public, to the praise of divine grace, there must be a careful avoidance of anything like boasting, for it is a shame even to speak of the things that were done of them in secret; When there is really a deep sense of sin, there is a holy, delicate way of speaking of it. Old sins are not to be talked of as an old soldier shoulders his crutch, and shows how fields were won. A crimson blush is the best colour to wear when we speak of our lost estate. To talk smilingly of injuries done to the delicacy of our own conscience, of awful injuries done to others by a foul example, is not to glorify God, but to enthrone vice.

And, dear friends, I believe that some, whom God has preserved by preventing grace from going into great sin, will, nevertheless, love him most because they have a clearer view than others of what it cost in order that they might bepardoned. Happy are they who remember well the griefs of our Lord in the garden of Gethsernane i -.-.. i.

“There’s ne’er a gift his hand bestows
But cost his heart a groan.”

Oh, if your heart dwells on Calvary, where falls the crimson shower of Christ’s most precious blood — if you gaze intently upon the wounds of Jesus till you die into the death of the Crucified, then do you love much. It is well to have the soul torn with anguish because

“It p’o’st HIM cries’and tears

To ‘bring us near to God:
Great ;was our debt, and he appears

Toimake the payment good.”

For, in proportion as you estimate the sacrifice, you will love him whose own self was the sacrifice for sin. Brethren, I hope you all love Christ Jesus more than I do; for I would have him possess the highest love of every human heart: and yet I will not be willingly excelled by any one of you in a competition of love to Jesus. I will run my very best that no man take my crown.

But supposing, dear friends, any of you do love him most, then show it, just as that woman did who brought the alabaster box of precious ointment. If you love him most, do most. Do everything that is possible to humanity, quickened by the Spirit of God. If you have done much, do ten times more. Nevei talk of what you have done, but go on to something else. An officer rode up to his general, and said, “Sir, we have taken two guns from the enemy.” “It is well,” said the general, “Take two more.”

If you have most love to Christ, do most spiritual good to men. Yet do somewhat distinctly for Jesus. It is a blessed token for good when our work among men is not so much for the sake of sinners as for love of Jesus. When we love the brethren, it should be because they belong to Christ. It is sweet to serve the Lord Christ himself. See how the holy woman offered homage distinctly to her Lord: tears for his travel-stains, hair to wipe his feet, ointment to anoint his flesh. Do your choicest and best for Jesus, for Jesus personally.

Try to do it most humbly. Stand behind him. Do not ask anybody to look at you. Do it very quietly. Do it, feeling that it is a great honour to be permitted to do the least service for Jesus. Do not dream of saying, “I am somebody. lam doing great things. I do more even than Simon, the Pharisee. Gome see my zeal for the Lord of hosts.” Jehu talked in that fashion; but he was good for nothing. Do your personal part without seeking to be seen of men.

Do it self-sacrificingly. Bring your best ointment. Pinch yourself for Christ. Make sacrifices — go without this and that to have some thing wherewith you can do him honour.

Do it very penitently. When you serve him best, still let the tears fall on his feet, mingling with the costly ointment. The tears and the ointment go well together. Mourn your guilt, while you rejoice in his grace.

Do it continuously. “This woman,” said Christ, “since I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet.” Do not leave off loving him and serving him. Do it on, and on, and on, however much the flesh may ask for respite from service.

Do it enthusiastically. See how she kissed his feet; nothing less than this would express her love. Stoop down, and kiss and kiss again those blessed feet which travelled so far in love for you. Throw your whole soul into your deed of love. “Why,” they will say, “Mrs. So-and-so is enthusiastic. She is quite carried away by her zeal.” Let it be true, more and more. Never mind what the cold-hearted think, for they cannot understand you. They will say, “Ah! that young person is too fast by half.” Never mind. Be faster still. Wise people cry out, “He has too many irons in the fire.” But I say to you, blow up the fire; get all the irons red hot; and hammer away with all your might. With all your strength and energy plunge into the service of your Master. If you love your Master, you can best show your love by ardent service. The Lord bless you with the utmost degree of love, for Jesus Christ’s sake! Amen.

PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON — Psalm xviii.

HYMNS FROM “OUR OWN HYMN BOOK” — 810, 814, 797.

JJletijoptitmt

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

DELIVERED ON LORD’S-DAY MORNING, JUNE HTH, 1877, BY

AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON,
On behalf of the Hospitals of London.

“And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? He said unto him, What is written in the law? how readest thou? And he answering said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with aD thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself. And he said unto him, Thou hast answered right: this do, and thou shalt live. But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus» And who is my neighbour? And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him he had compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee. Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, He that showed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.” — Luke x. 25 — 37.

OUR text is the whole story of the Samaritan; but as that is very long, suppose, for our memories’ sake, we consider the exhortation in the thirty- seventh verse to be our text. “Go, and do thou likewise”

There are certain persons in the world who will not allow the preacher to speak upon anything but those doctrinal statements concerning the way of salvation which are known as “the gospel.” If the preacher shall insist upon some virtue or practical grace they straightway say that he was not preaching the gospel, that he became legal, and was a mere moral teacher. We do not stand in any awe of such criticism, for we clearly perceive that our Lord Jesus Christ himself would very frequently have come under it. Read the Sermon on the Mount and No. 1 360. 19

85C METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE PULPIT.

judge whether certain people would be content to hear the like of tt preached to them on the Sabbath. They would condemn it as containing very little gospel and too much about good works. Our Lord was a great practical preacher. He frequently delivered addresses in which he made answer to questioners, or gave direction to seekers, or upbraided offenders, and he gave a prominence to practical truth such as some of his ministers dare not imitate. Jesus tells us over and over again the manner in which we are to live towards our fellow-men, and he lays great stress upon the love which should shine throughout the Christian character. The story of the good Samaritan, which is now before us, is a case in point, for our Lord is there explaining a point which arose out of the question, “What shall I do to inherit eternal life? “The question is legal, and the answer is to the point. But let it never be forgotten that what the law demands of us the gospel really produces in us. The law tells us what we ought to be, and it is one object of the gospel to raise us to that condition. Hence our Saviour’s teaching, though it be eminently practical, is always evangelical: even in expounding the law he has always a gospel design. TAVO ends are served by his setting up a high standard of duty: on the one he slays the self-righteousness “which claims to have kept the law by making men feel the impossibility of salvation by their own works; and, on the other hand, he calls believers away from all content with the mere decencies of life and the routine of outward religion, and stimulates them to seek after the highest degree of holiness — indeed, after that excellence of character which only his grace can give. This morning I trust that though I keep very much to practical points I shall be guided by the Spirit of holiness, and shall not really be guilty of legality, nor will any of you be led into it. I shall not hold up the love of our neighbour as a condition of salvation, but as a fruit of it. I shall not speak of obedience to the law as the road to heaven, but I shall show you the pathway which is to be followed by the faith which works by love.

Let us proceed to the parable at once.

I. Our first observation will be that THE WORLD is VERY FULL OF AFFLICTION. This story is but one among a thousand based upon an unhappy occurrence. “A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves.” He went upon a short journey, and almost lost his life on the road. We are never secure from trouble; it meets us around the family hearth, and causes us to suffer in our own persons or in those of the dearest relatives; it walks into our shops and counting-houses, and tries us; and when we leave home it becomes our fellow-traveller, and communes with us on the road. “Although affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground; yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.”

Frequently the greater afflictions are not occasioned ly the fault of the sufferer. Nobody could blame the poor Jew that when he was going down to Jericho about his business the thieves beset him, and demanded his money, and that when he made some little resistance they wounded him. stripped him, and left him. half dead. How could he be blamed? It was to him a pure misfortune. Believe me, there is a great deal of Borrow in the world which does not arise out of the vice or folly of the persons enduring it: it comes from the hand of God upon the sufferer,

not because he is a sinner above others, but for wise ends unknown to us. Now, this is the kind of distress which above all others demands Christian sympathy, and the very kind which abounds in our hospitals. The man is not to blame for lying there beaten and bruised: those gaping wounds from which his life is oozing are not of his own inflicting, nor received in a drunken brawl or through attempting a foolhardy feat; he suffers from no fault of his own, and therefore he has a pressing claim upon the benevolence of his fellow men.

Still, very muck distress is caused by the wickedness of others. The poor Jew on the road to Jericho was the victim, of the thieves who wounded him and left him half dead. Man is man’s worst enemy. If man were but tamed to peace the wildest beast in the world would be subdued; and if evil were purged from men’s hearts, the major part of the ills of life would cease at once. The drunkard’s wastefulness and brutality, the proud man’s scorn, the oppressor’s cruelty, the slanderer’s lie, the trickster’s cheat, the heartless man’s grinding of the faces of the poor, — these put together are the roots of almost all the poisonous weeds which multiply upon the face of the earth to our shame and sorrow. If dominant sins could be taken away, as blessed be God they shall when Christ has triumphed through the world, much of human sorrow would be assuaged. When we see innocent persons suffering as the result of the sin of others our pity should be excited. How many there are of little children starving, and pining into chronic disease through a father’s drunkenness, which keeps the table bare! AVives, too, who work hard themselves are brought down to pining sickness and painful disease by the laziness and cruelty of those who should have cherished them. Work-people, too, are often sorely oppressed in their wages, and have to work themselves to death’s door to earn a pittance. Those are the people who ought to have our sympathy when accident or disease bring them to the hospital gates “wounded and half dead.”

The man in the parable was quite helpless, he could do nothing for himself; there he must lie and die, those huge wounds must bleed his very soul away unless a generous hand shall interfere. It is as much as he can do to groan; he cannot even dress his wounds, much less arise and seek a shelter. He is bleeding to death among the pitiless rocks of the descent to Jericho, and he must leave his body to be fed upon by kites and crows unless some friend shall come to his help. Now, when a man can help himself, and does not, he deserves to “suffer; when a man flings away opportunities by his idleness or self-indulgence a measure of suffering ought to be permitted to him as a cure for his vices; but when persons are sick or injured, and are unable to pay for the aid of the nurse and the physician, then is the time when true-hearted philanthropy should promptly step in and do its best. So our Saviour teaches us here.

Certain paths of life are peculiarly subject to affliction. The way which led from Jerusalem to Jericho was always infested by robbers. Jerome tells us that it was called the “bloody way,” on account of the frequent highway robberies and murders which were there committed; and it is not so long ago as to be beyond the memory of man that an English traveller met his death on that road, while even very recent travellers tell us that they have been either threatened or actually attacked in that particularly gloomy region, the desert which goes down to the city of palm trees. So also in the world around us there are paths of life which are highly dangerous and fearfully haunted by disease and accident. Years ago there were many trades in which from want of precaution death slew its thousands. I thank God that sanitary and precautionary laws are better regarded, and men’s lives are thought to be somewhat more precious. Yet still there are ways of life which may each be called “the bloody way”: pursuits which are necessary to the community, but highly dangerous to those who follow them. Our mines, our railways, and our seas show a terrible roll of suffering and death. Long hours in ill-ventilated work-rooms are accountable for thousands of lives, and so are stinted wages, which prevent a sufficiency of food from being procured. Many a needlewoman’s way of life is truly a path of blood. When I think of the multitudes of our working people in this city who have to live in close, unhealthy rooms, crowded together in lanes and courts where the air is stagnant, I do not hesitate to say that much of the road which has to be trodden by the poor of London is as much deserving of the name of the way of blood as the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. If they do not lose their money it is because they never have it: if they do not fall among thieves, they fall among diseases which practically wound them, and leave them half dead. Now, if you have not to engage in such avocations, if your pathway does not lead you from Jerusalem to Jericho, but takes you, perhaps, full often from Jerusalem to Bethany, where you can enjoy the sweetnesses of domestic lore and the delights of Christian fellowship, you ought to be very thankful, and be all the more ready to assist those who for your gakes, or for the benefit of society at large, have to follow the more dangerous roads of life. Do you not agree with me that such persons ought to be among the first to receive of our Christian kindness? Such abound in our hospitals and elsewhere.

Let that stand: it is clear that there is a great deal of affliction in the world, and much of it is of the sort which deserves to be succoured at once.

II. Secondly, THERE ARE MANY WHO NEVER RELIEVE AFFLICTION. Our Saviour tells us of two at least who ‘’passed by on the other side,” and I suppose he might have prolonged the parable so as to have mentioned two dozen if he had chosen to do so, and even then he might have been content to mention but one good Samaritan, for I hardly think that there is one good Samaritan to two heartless persons. I wish there were, but I fear the good Samaritans are very few in proportion to the number who act the part of the priest and the Levite.

Now, notice who the persons were that refused to render aid to the man in distress.

First, they were brought to the spot lij God’s providence on purpose to do so. What better thing could the Lord himself do for the poor man half dead than to bring some man to help him? An angel could not well have met the case. How should an angel, never wounded, understand binding up wounds and pouring in wine and oil. No, a man was wanted who would know what was necessary, who would with brotherly sympathy cheer the mind while doctoring the body. In our English version we read, “By chance there came down a certain priest that way;” but learned Greek scholars read it, “By a coincidence” It waa in the order of divine providence that a priest should come first to this afflicted person, that so he might go and examine the case as a man of education and skill, and then when the Levite came afterwards he would be able to carry on what the priest began; and if one could nr4- carry the poor man, the two might between them be able to bear him to the inn, or one might remain to guard him while the other ran for help. God brought them to’this position, but they wilfully refused the sacred duty which providence and humanity demanded of them. Now, you that are wealthy are sent into our city on purpose that you may have compassion upon the sick, the wounded, the poor, and the needy. God’s intent in endowing any person with more substance than he needs is that he may have the pleasurable office, or rather let me say, the delightful privilege, of relieving want and woe. Alas, how many there are who consider that store which God has put into their hands on purpose for the poor and needy to be only so much provision for their excessive luxury, a luxury which pampers them but yields them neither benefit nor pleasure. Others dream that wealth is given them that they may keep it under lock and key, cankering and corroding, breeding covetousness and care. Who dares roll a stone over the well’s mouth when thirst is raging all around? Who dares keep the bread from the women and the children who are ready to gnaw their own arms for hunger? Above all, who dares allow the sufferer to writhe in agony uncared for, and the sick to pine into their graves unnursed? This is no small sin: it is a crime to be answered for to the Judge when he shall come to judge the ojiick and dead. Those people who neglected the poor man were brought there on purpose to relieve him, even as you are, and yet they passed by on the other side.

They were both of them persons, too, who ought to have relieved him, because they were very familiar with things which should have softened their hearts. If I understand the passage, the priest was coming down from Jerusalem. I have often wondered which way he was going, whether he was going up to the temple, and was in a hurry to be in time for fear of keeping the congregation waiting, or whether he had fulfilled his duty, and had finished his month’s course at the temple and was going home. I conclude that he was going from Jerusalem to Jericho, because it says, “By chance there came down a certain priest that way.” Now to the metropolis it is always “going up”: going up to London, or up to Jerusalem; and as this priest was coming down, he iras going to Jericho. It was quite literally going down, for Jericho lies very low. I conclude that he was going home to Jericho, after having fulfilled his month’s engagements in the temple, where he had been familiar with the worship of the Most High, as near to God as -man could be, serving amidst sacrifices and holy psalms and solemn prayers, and yet he had not learned how to make a sacrifice himself. He had heard those prophetic words which say, “I will have mercy, and not sacrifice,” but he was entirely forgetful of such teaching: he had often reed that law, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” but he regarded it not. The Levite had not been quite so closely engaged in the sanctuary as the priest, but he had taken his share in holy work, and yet he came away from it with a hard heart. This is a sad fact. They had been near to God, but were not like him. Dear people, you may spend Sabbath after Sabbath in the worship of God, or what you think to be so, and you may behold Christ Jesus set forth visibly crucified among you, and themes which ought to turn a heart of stone to flesh may pass before your minds, and nevertheless you may return into the world to be as miserly as ever, and to have as little feeling towards your fellow men as before. It ought not to be so. I beseech you suffer it not to be so in any case again.

These two persons, moreover, were bound by their profession to have helped this man, for though it was originally said of the high priest yefc I think it could be said of any priest that he was taken from among men, that he might have compassion. If anywhere there should be compassion towards men, it should be in the heart of the priest who ischosen to speak for God to men and for men to God. No stone should ever be found in his bosom; he should be gentle, generous-hearted kindly, full of sympathy and tenderness; but this priest was not so, nor was the Levite who ought to have followed in his wake. And oh, you Christian ministers, and all of you who teach in schools, or who undertake any service of Christian ministry — and you ought all to do so, for the Lord hath made all his people to be priests unto him — there ought to be in you from your very profession a readiness of heart towards the kindliest actions for those who need them.

And there is one thing to be mentioned also against this priest and Levite, that they were very well aware of the man’s condition. They came close to him and saw his state. It is a narrow trackway down to Jericho, and they were obliged to go almost over his wounded body: the first corner looked at him, but he hurried on; the second appears to have made a further investigation, to have had sufficient curiosity, at any rate, to begin to examine the state of the case; but his curiosity being satisfied his compassion was not aroused, and he hurried away, Half the neglect of the sick poor arises from not knowing that there are such cases, but many remain wilfully in ignorance, and such ignorance is no available excuse. In the case of the hospitals for which we plead to-day, you do know that there are persons in them at this moment suffering, persons suffering grieviously, for no fault of their own, and you know that these need your aid. As I rode the other evening by that noble building on our side of the water, St. Thomas’s Hospital, I could not help meditating upon what a mass of pain and suffering was gathered within those walls; but then I thanked God that it was within those walls where succour would be most surely rendered to it to the best of human ability. So you do know that there is poverty and sicknessaround you, and if you pass by on the other side you will have looked at it, you will have known about it, and on your heads will be thecriminality of having left the wounded man unhelped.

Yet the pair had capital excuses: both the priest and the Levite had excellent reasons for neglecting the bleeding man. I never knew a man refuse to help the poor who failed to give at least one admirable excuse. I believe that there is no man on earth who wickedly rejects the plea of need who is not furnished with arguments that he is right :. arguments eminently satisfactory to himself, and such as he thinks

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should silence those who press the case. For instance, the priest and Levite were both in a hnrry. The priest had been a month away at Jerusalem from his wife and dear children, and he naturally wanted to get home; if he lingered the sun might be down; it was an awkward place to be in after sundown, and you could not expect him to be so imprudent as to stay in a lone place with darkness coming on. He had spent a very laborious month in the temple, you do not know how exhausting he had found it to act as a priest for a whole month, and if you did you would not blame him for wanting to get home to enjoy a little rest. Besides, he had promised to be home at a certain hour, and he was a man of punctuality, and would by no means cause anxiety to his wife and children, who would be looking from the housetop for him. A very excellent excuse was this: but he also felt that he really could not do much good. He did not understand surgery, and could not bind up a wound to save his life; he shrank from it; the very sight of blood turned his stomach, he could not bring himself to go near a person who was so frightfully mangled. If he did try to bind up a wound he felt he should be sure to make a muddle of it. If his wife had been with him, she could have done it; or if he had brought some plaister, liniment, or strapping, he would have tried his best, but as it was he could do nothing. The poor man, moreover, was evidently half dead, and would be quite dead in an hour or two, and therefore it was a pity to waste time on a hopeless case. Then the priest was only one person, and could not be expected to carry a bleeding man, and yet it would be idle to begin with the case and leave him there all night. True, he could almost hear the sound of the Levite’s feet, indeed he hoped he was coming up behind, for he felt very nervous at being alone with such a case; but then that was all the more reason for leaving the matter, since the Levite would be sure to attend to it. Better still was the following line of excuse — you would not have a person stop in a place where another man had been half killed by thieves. The thieves might be back again, they were scarcely yet out of hearing even then, and a priest after a month’s service ought to have some fees in his purse, and it was important not to run the risk of losing the support of his family by stopping in a place which was evidently swarming with highwaymen. He might be wounded too, and then there would be two people half dead, and one of them a valuable clergyman. Really, philanthropy would suggest that you take care of yourself, as you could not possibly do any good to the poor man. And then the man might die, and the person found near the body might be charged with the murder. It is always awkward to be found alone in a dark spot with the corpse of one who has evidently suifered from foul play. The priest might be taken up upon suspicion, and did not all the principles of prudence suggest that the very best thing that he could do was to get out of the way as quickly as possible? Moreover, he could pray for the man, you know, and he was glad to find that he had a tract with him which he would leave near him, and what with the tract and the prayer what more could a good man be expected to do? With this pious reflection he hastened on his way. It is just possible also that he did not wish to be defiled. A * priest was too holy a person to meddle with wounds and bruises. Who would propose such a thing? He had come from Jerusalem in all the odour of sanctity; he felt himself to be as holy as he could conveniently be, and therefore he would not expose such rare excellence to worldly influences by touching a sinner. All these powerful reasons put together made him content to save trouble, and leave the doing of kindness to others.

No’,v, this morning, I shall leave you to make all the excuses you like about not helping the poor and aiding the hospitals, and when you have made them they will be as good as those which I have set before you. You have smiled over what the priest might have said, but if you make any excuses for yourselves whenever real need comes before you, and you are able to relieve it, you need not smile over your excuses, the devil will do that; you had better cry over them, for there is the gravest reason for lamenting that your heart is hard toward your fellow-creatures when they are sick, and perhaps sick unto death.

III. In the third place THE SAMARITAN is A MODEL FOR THOSE WHO DO HELP THE AFFLICTED. He is a model, first, if we notice who the person was that he helped. The parable does not say so, but it implies that the wounded man was a Jew, and, therefore, the Samaritan was not of the same faith and order. The apostle says, “As we have opportunity, let us do good unto all men, especially unto them who are of the household of faith.” This man was not of the household of faith, as far as the Samaritan’s judgment went, but he was one of the “all men.” The Jew and he were as much apart in religious sympathy as they well could be. Ay, but he ¥as a man: whether he was a Jew or not, he was a man, a wounded, bleeding, dying man, and the Samaritan was another man, and so one man felt for another man and came to his aid. Do not ask whether a sick man believes in the thirty-nine articles, or the Westminster Assembly’s catechism. Let us hope that he is sound in the faith, but if he is not his wounds need staunching just as much as if he held a perfect creed. You need not enquire whether he is a Bound Calvinist, for an Arminian smarts when he is wounded; a Churchman feels as much pain as a Dissenter when his leg is broken, and an infidel needs nursing when he is crushed in an accident. It is as bad for a man to die with a heterodox creed as with the orthodox faith; indeed, in some respects it is far worse, and therefore we should be doubly anxious for his cure. We are to relieve real distress irrespective of creed, as the Samaritan did.

Moreover, the Jews were great haters of the Samaritans, and no doubt this Samaritan might have thought, “If I were in that man’s case he would not help me. He would pass me by and say, * It is a Samaritan dog, let him be accursed.’” The Jews were accustomed to curse the Samaritans, but it did not occur to the good man to remember what the Jew would have said: he saw him bleeding and he bound up his wounds. Onr Saviour has not given us for a golden rule, “Do ye to others as others would do to you,” but “as ye would they should do to you.” The Samaritan went by that rule, and though he knew of the enmity in the Jewish mind he felt that he must heap coals of fire upon the wounded man by loving help; therefore he went straight away to his relief. Perhaps at another time the Jew would have put oif the Samaritan and refused even to be touched by him; but the tender-hearted sympathizer does not think of that: the poor man is too sick to hold any crotchets or prejudices, and when the Samaritan bends over him and pours in the oil and wine he wins a grateful glance from the son of Abraham.

That poor, wounded man was one who could not repay him. He had been stripped of all that he had, even his garments were taken from him; but charity does not look for payment, else were it no charity at all. The man was a total stranger too. The Samaritan had not even seen him before. What did that mutter? He was a man, and all men are akin. “God hath made of one blood all nations that dwell upon the face of the earth “: the Samaritan felt that touch of nature which makes all men kin, and he bent over the stranger and relieved his pains.

He might have said, “Why should / help? He has been rejected lij his own people; the priest and the Levite have left him; his first claim is upon his own countrymen.” So have I known some say, “These persons have no claim; they ought to go to their own people.” Well, suppose they have gone and failed, now comes your turn; and what the Jew would not do for the Jew let the Samaritan do, and he shall be blessed in the deed. He had been neglected by the officials and neglected by the saints; the best, or those who ought to be the best, the priest and the Levite, had deserted him, and left him to die. The Samaritan is neither saint nor official, but yet he steps in to do the deed. Oh, Christian brethren, take care that ye are not put to shame by this Samaritan.

He is a model to us next in the spirit in which he did his work. He did it without asking questions. The man was in need, he was sure of that, and he helped him at once; doing so without hesitation, and making no compact nor agreement with him, but at once proceeding to pour in the oil and wine. He did it without attempting to shift the labour from himself to others. Charity nowadays means that A asks B to help him, and B, in his wonderful charity, does him the great favour of sending him on to C. That is to say, the common run of benevolent persons nowadays put their hands but seldom into their own purses, but send people on to a few individuals who find cash for all. It seems to me to be a very mean way of getting rid of a case by saving your own pocket and passing the applicant on to another who is no better off than yourself, but far more generous. The Samaritan was personally benevolent, and therein he is a mirror and model to us all.

He did it without any selfish fear: the thieves might have been upon him, but he cared nothing for thieves when a life was in danger. Here is a man in want, and the man must be relieved, thieves or no thieves, and he does it. He does it with self-denial, for he finds oil and wine, and money at the inn, and everything, though he was by no means a rich man, for he gave two pence, a larger sum than it looks, but still a small sum. He did not fling his alms about because he was rich: he is not said to have given a handful of pence, but two, for he had to count his pence as he expended them. It was a poor Samaritan who did this rich and noble act: the poorest can help the poor; even those who feel distress themselves may manifest a generous Christian spirit, and give their services. Let them do so as they have opportunity.

This man helped his poor neighbour with great tenderness and care. He was like a mother to him. Everything was done with loving thought and with whatever of skill he possessed. He did the best he could.

Brethren, let what we do for others always be done in the noblest style; Let us not treat the poor like dogs to whom we fling a bone, nor visit the sick like superior beings who feel that they are stooping down to inferiors when they enter their rooms; but in the sweet tenderness of real love, learned at Jesu’s feet, let us imitate this good Samaritan.

But what did he do? Well, first he came to where the sufferer was, and put himself into his position. Then he put forth all his skill for him, and bound up his wounds, no doubt rending his own garment to get the bands with which to bind up the wound. He poured in oil and wine, the best healing mixture that he knew of, and one which he happened to have by him. He then set the sick man on his mule, and of course he had to walk himself, but this he did right cheerfully, supporting his poor patient as the mule proceeded. He took him to an inn, but he did not leave him at the caravanserai and say, “Anybody will take care of him now,” but he went to the manager of the establishment and gave him money, and he said, “Take care of him.” I admire that little sentence, because it is first written, “he took care of him,” and next he said, “Take care of him.” What you do yourself you may exhort other people to do. He said, t( I leave this poor man with you, pray do not neglect him. There are a great many people in the inn, but take care of him.” “Is he a brother of yours?” “No, I never saw him before.” “Well, are you at all under obligation to him?” “No! — yes, yes, I feel under obligation to everybody that is a man. If he wants help I am obliged to help him.” “Is that all?” “Yes, but do take care of him. I feel a great interest in him.”

The Samaritan did not cease till he had gone through with his kindness. He said, “This money may not be sufficient, for it may be a long time before he is able to move. That leg may not soon heal, that broken rib may need long rest. Do not hurry him away, let him stop here, and if he incurs additional expense, I will be sure to pay it when I come back from Jerusalem again.” There is nothing like the charity which endures even to the end. I wish I had time to enlarge on all these things, but I cannot do so; exhibit them in your lives, and you will best know whafe they mean. Go and do likewise, each one of you, and thus reproduce the good Samaritan.

IV. But now, fourthly, WE HAVE A HIGHER MODEL than even the Samaritan — our Lord Jesus Christ. I do not think that our divine Lord intended to teach anything about himself in this parable, except so far as he is himself the great exemplar of all goodness. He was answering the question, “Who is my neighbour?” and he was not preaching about himself at all. There has been a great deal of straining of this parable to bring the Lord Jesus and everything about him into it, but this I dare not imitate. Yet by analogy we may illustrate our Lord’s goodness by it. This is a picture of a generous hearted man who cares for the needy: but the most generous hearted man that ever lived was the Man of Nazareth, and none ever cared for sick and suffering souls as he has done. Therefore, if we praise the good Samaritan, we should much more extol the blessed Saviour whom his enemies called a Samaritan, and who never denied the charge, for what cared he if all the prejudice and scorn of men should vent itself on him? Now, brethren, our Lord Jesus Christ has done better than the good

THE GOOD SAMARITAN. 35S>

Samaritan, because our case was worse. As I have already said, tho wounded man could not blame himself for his sad estate; it was hia misfortune, not his fault; but you and I are not only half dead, but altogether dead in trespasses and sins, and we have brought many of our ills upon ourselves. The thieves that have stripped us are our own iniquities, the wounds which we bear have been inflicted by our own suicidal hand. We are not in opposition to Jesus Christ as the poor Jew was to the Samaritan from the mere force of prejudice, but we have been opposed to the blessed Redeemer by nature; we have from the first turned away from him. Alas, we have resisted and rejected him. The poor man did not put his Samaritan friend away, but we have done so to our Lord. How many times have we refused Almighty love! How often by unbelief have we pulled open the wounds which Christ has bound up! We have rejected the oil and wine which in the gospel he presents to us. We have spoken evil of him to his face, and have lived even for years in utter rejection of him, and yet in his infinite love he has not given us up, but he has brought some of us into hig church, where we rest as in an inn, feeding on what his bounty has provided. It was wondrous love which moved the Saviour’s heart when he found us in all our misery, and bent over us to lift us out of it, though he knew that we were his enemies.

The Samaritan was akin to the Jew because he was a man, but our Lord Jesus was not originally akin to us by nature: he is God, infinitely above us, and if he was “found in fashion as a man” it was because he chose to be so. If he journeyed this way, via Bethlehem’s manger, down to the place of our sin and misery, it was because his infinite compassion brought him there. The Samaritan came to the wounded one because in the course of business he was led there, and, being there, he helped the man; but Jesus came to earth on no business but that of saving us, and he was found in our flesh that he might have sympathy with us. In the very existence of the man Christ Jesus you see the noblest form of pity manifested.

And being here, where we had fallen among robbers, he did not merely run risks of being attacked by thieves himself, but he was attacked by them: he was wounded, he was stripped, and not half dead was he, but altogether dead, for he .was laid in the grave. He was slain for our sakes, for it was not possible for him to deliver us from the mischief which the thieves of sin had wrought upon us excepting by suffering that mischief in his own person; and he did suffer it that he might deliver us.

What the Samaritan gave to the poor man was generous, but it is not comparable to what the Lord Jesus has given to us. He gave him wine and oil, but Jesus has given his heart’s blood to heal our wounds: “he loved us and gave himself for us.” The Samaritan lent himself with all his care and thoughtfulness, but Christ gave himself even to the death for us. The Samaritan gave two pence, a large amount out of his slender store, and I do not depreciate the gift, but “he that was rich for our sakes became poor that we through his poverty might be rich.” Oh, the marvellous gifts which Christ has bestowed upon us! Who is he that can reckon them! Heaven is among those blessings,, but his own self is the chief boon.

The Samaritan’s compassion did but show itself for a short time. If he had to walk by the side of his mule it would not be for many miles, but Christ walked by the side of us, dismounted from his glory, all through his life. The Samaritan did not stop long at the inn, for he had his business to attend to, and he very rightly went about it; but our Lord remained with us for a lifetime, even till he rose to heaven: yea. he is with us even now, always blessing the sons of men.

When the Samaritan went away he said, “Whatsoever thou spendest more I will repay thee.” Jesus has gone up to heaven, and he has left behind him blessed promises of something to be done when he shall come again. He never forgets us. The good Samaritan, I dare say, thought very little of the Jew in after years; indeed, it is the mark of a generous spirit not to think much of what it has done. He went back to Samaria and minded his business, and never told anybody “I helped a poor Jew on the road.” Not he. But of necessity our Lord Jesus acts differently, for because we have a constant need he continues to care for us, and his deed of love is being done, and done, and done again upon multitudes of cases, and will always be repeated so long as there are men to be saved, a hell from which to escape, and a heaven to win.

I have thus set before you the highest example, and I shall conclude when I have said two things. Judge yourselves, all ye my hearers, if ye are hoping for salvation by your own works. Look to what you must be throughout an entire liie if your works are to save you. You must love God with all your heart and soul and strength, and your neighbour in this Samaritan’s fashion, even as yourself, and both of these without a single failure. Have you done this? Can you hope to do it perfectly? If not, why do you risk your souls in this frail skiff, this leaky, sinking craft of your poor works, for you will never get to heaven therein?

Lastly, you who are Christ’s people are saved, and you are not going to do these things in order to save yourselves: the greater Samaritan has saved you, Jesus has redeemed you, brought you into his church, put you under the care of his ministers, bidden us take care of you, and promised to reward us if we do so in the day when he comes. Seek, then, to be true followers of your Lord by practical deeds of kindness, and if you have been backward in your gifts to help either the temporal or the spiritual needs of men, begin from this morning with generous hearts, and God will bless you. 0 diving Spirit, help us all to be like Jesus. Amen.

PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON — Luke x. 17 — 42.

HYMNS FROM” OUR OWN HYMN BOOK” — 92 (Vers. I.), 15, 428.