A Happy Meeting
But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants. Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet: and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat and be merry: for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” — Luke xv. 20-24.
To the mediation of the Lord Jesus we owe all our hopes and all our happiness. Including, as it does, satisfaction for sin, a matchless exhibition of Divine compassion, and the introduction into our fallen world of that celestial energy which raises to a new and noble life those who were dead in trespasses; it has not only removed every barrier in the way of the transgressor s return, but has made the path of life so open and attractive, that the most simple have found it, the most wayward have been induced to enter, the feeblest have been carried through.
In that mediation so pre-eminent is the work of atonement that in the eye of many a reverent beholder it has left small space for other objects, even as it has left no need for farther manifestations; and with the impatience of gratitude, with the intolerance of an absorbing affection, they denounce, as beside the purpose, all teaching which has not for its theme express and exclusive “Christ crucified.”
But right and true as is that sense of sin which nothing can relieve except “the blood of sprinkling,” and glorious as shines the cross in the forefront of the gospel, ii6 A HAPPY MEETING,
it is no honour to the Lord Jesus, and it is an injury to ourselves, to forget the great lesson of His life, or ignore those other scriptures, without whose light a darkness deeper than was over all the land from the sixth hour even unto the ninth, would still encircle Calvar)^.
As mediator the Lord Jesus was the manifestation of God. The Divine Son, dwelling in the bosom of Deity, He plainly showed the Father.* Not only did He bring the Father’s message, but on the great axiom “I and the Father are One,” here in the midst of men He lived out the Father’s life, the Father’s truth, and tenderness, and love. In Moses the law — the sanctity — had come already, but the graciousness of God came in Jesus Christ ;t and in all things like-minded, the very feelings and dispositions of the Father shone in His countenance and breathed in His accents, surrounding His person with a sacred attraction, and with a winsome authority inspiring His words: so that when to the heavy-laden He said, “Come unto me,” we know that with like “grace and truth “the Father invites us: so that when on the cross He exclaimed, ‘’ Father, forgive,” we know that the prayer was addressed not to a Deity distant, inexorable, hostile, but to that God who so loved the world that He gave his Son, and who, in order to answer the prayer in a righteous forgiveness, had surrendered the Best-beloved to this sorrow.
What, then, is the Divine disposition toward sinners * I Tim. iii. 16; Heb. i. 2; John i. 18, xiv. 9. t John i. 17.
here on earth? Assuming God’s infinite purity, how far is He ready to pardon? Acknowledging that there is but one sacrifice for sins, what is the extent of the Divine propitiousness? Viewed in the light of the Incarnate Sufferer, what is the language of the cross? Now that I would fain break off my sinful life, and give myself to God, how soon and on what terms may I hope for acceptance? Must I first prove my sincerity by a long purgation? or may I come as I am? Must I do something to mitigate the Divine displeasure? or already reconciled in His Son, is it so that God actually waits to be gracious?
To such questions, although not a formal reply, this parable is an abundant answer.
It was near the close of Christ’s ministry, and a characteristic company had assembled. They were ‘’ publicans and sinners.” Attracted by that strange fascination which drew towards Infinite Purity self-conscious pollution, many such had by this time sought out the Saviour;* and by that wonderful word,” Thy sins
* “Christ, standing here for us as the representation and revelation of this Divine love, tells us that whilst it is not caused by us, but comes from the nature of God, it is not turned away by our sins. ‘This man, if He were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth Him,’ says the unloving and self-righteous heart, ’ for she is a sinner.’ Ah! there is nothing more beautiful than the difference between the thought about sinful creatures which is natural to a holy being, and the thought about sinful creatures which is natural to a self-righteous being. The one is all contempt; the other all pity.” — Sermons by A. Maclaren, p. nii8 A HAPPY MEETING.
be forgiven thee,” dissolved into brokenheartedness, and made to hunger after righteousness, they clung to that society which promised to fulfil their aspirations. And now that before His last journey to Jerusalem a number of them had once more gathered around Him, the publicans and sinners drew near, and outside the throng, separate and self-respecting, stood the Scribes and Pharisees. As they surveyed the inner circle, with its rags, with its disreputable characters, wdth its wild faces still carrying signs of former ruffianism, they marvelled; and as rapt looks and tear-filled eyes were met by gentle words and the expansive sunshine of a gratified beneficence, they could not comprehend the manifest affinity which drew together the Great Teacher and the refuse of Galilean society: “This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them.” To meet this natural feeling — for the feeling must be natural: taken up and passed on by decent reputable people, the murmur which the Pharisees set up has lasted for eighteen hundred years — the Lord Jesus spake three parables. They were an argument from analogy. As against the feeling of Pharisaism, they appealed to the instincts of mankind; and of the last of the series the purport has thus been given: — “In my Father’s eyes, these sinners, with whom you say I associate too freely, are not what they are in yours. You regard them as outcasts; — He would have them to be sons. He looks upon them as lost children whom He would fain recover to Himself His purpose is that I, the son of his love, should be the first-born among many brethren. And it is among these sinners that I am to find my brethren. These sinners, each and all of them, my Father longs to embrace, as any father worthy of the name would embrace a long-estranged child coming back to him again. He has sent me to seek and save them; — to reveal him to them as a Father, waiting to welcome them as sons. How think ye? Do I best carry out my Father’s purpose by treating them after the manner you would have me treat them, — as the offscouring of the earth, — or by treating them as my Father s children and my brethren? — so treating them all, including the very vilest of them — even those who have sunk almost to the level of the hungry wallowing swine?... Thus viewed, the parable warrants the widest and most unrestricted proclamation of the fatherhood of God as now, in his Son, brought within the reach of all, — to be pressed on the acceptance of all, — with the strongest possible assurance that all are welcome, freely welcome, to have the full enjoyment of all that is implied in it, if they will, — when they will.”’’^’
To which we only add that in as far as they are a disclosure of the Divine disposition towards the sinner, this and the two companion parables are pervaded by one principle. There are some seekers — yes, and finders — who have not first been losers. The merchantman seeks for goodly pearls, and finds one of transcendent value: the * Candlish on the Fatherhood of God 2d edition, pp. 199, 200.
farmer seeks for nothing, but sauntering through his field or upturning the soil, he stumbles on a treasure; and both are delighted; both are filled with the utmost glee. in this sudden access of fortune. Without ever having lost, they have found. But here is a shepherd far out in the desert. Looking anxiously for footprints, listening for anything like a cry from thorny copse or caverned vale, brushing the perspiration from his brow, and when ready to give up roused to fresh effort by a little flock of wool suspended from that trailing brier: it is of no use to tell him that he has five score at home quite as good as the wanderer; nor would you altogether cure his sorrow though from your own fold you offered the best equivalent: for this one was his own; he knew it by its name; it used to go out and in and follow him: and it is only in the late evening, as you meet him with the weary truant on his shoulder, that he calls out, “Rejoice with me: I have found my sheep which was lost.” Much the same with a lost piece of money, still more anxious is the search for a lost child, and matchless is the joy in his recovery. When not long ago the three little children were lost in the Australian wilderness, you remember how sympathy brought all the neighbours to the search — how every spot of softer earth, how every tuft of grass, was questioned for its tale; and how, without ever counting the cost, or grudging the interruption of their own affairs, the gallant men could not leave the track as long as a ray of hope remained. But who can conceive parental anguish as day after day of that dreary week passed on, and the bread was bitter because they could not share it with their famished offspring away in the hungry scrub, and sleep was terrible, because each new waking revealed the empty cribs or the cold silent sky? And who can paint the rapture as the final night disclosed them nestled under the over-arching broom, beneath the feathers of the Almighty, and the faint “Father!” from the first who waked assured their earthly sire that he had children still?
These are the sentiments and experiences to which the Saviour appeals. To alight on a pearl or piece of money is always agreeable; but if it was one that you had lost, the anxiety of the search gives a peculiar zest to the discovery. If there was joy in the household when it was said, “There is a son born into the world,” — in after years should he be stolen from the threshold, or should he wander away, proportionate to the dismay created by his disappearance and the sorrow with which he has been sought, will be the rapture with which loyal retainership shouts the news of his return and the awful joy with which affection clasps him in its arms. So here, with amazing condescension, Christ represents Himself and the Father as ‘’ seeking that which was lost.” True, the sheep may have lost itself: the prodigal may have shown vile ingratitude and done very shamefully in going away: but still, to the shepherd it is a grief to lose his sheep; to the parent it is a grief to lose his child; to God it Is a grief to lose the soul made after His own image, and in which He rejoiced with a Creators complacency and more than a parent’s tenderness; and because He is a loser, the Most High becomes a seeker. Into the far country His love follows the elect soul, and the embrace of a joyful forgiveness awaits the returning wanderer.
What can be more encouraging? If you have led a sinful life, and are now ashamed and weary of it, wheresoever else you are welcomed or repulsed, if you arise and go to God He will receive you graciously and will abundantly pardon. All His assurances are to the same affecting tenor. “He is long-suffering, not willing that any should perish.” ‘’ As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure In the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live. Turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways.’’ And here He is represented as the merciful Father whose pity survives the longest provocation, and whose love is such that when the profligate at last returns no high-born revulsion hinders, but at once He presses the tattered swineherd to His bosom. Such is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus, and If you are wise you will let no cold suspicions or subtle casuistry cheat you out of the strong consolation. You cannot err in believing what the Lord Jesus says; you cannot err in doing as He directs. Be assured that God ‘’is as kindly disposed as In this parable He is represented to be. The calls. Invitations, promises which He has given us in the gospel, mean the utmost of what they express; and God
IS as earnestly desirous that sinners should return to Him, and as much pleased when they actually return, as the strongest language of the gospel declares.“”’
True: God is infinitely holy, and sin is His abhorrence. But the great sin is departure from the living God, and this never ceases till once you return. And if you yourself long to be holy, it is in forgiveness that the fresh start, the new obedience, begins: if you would escape from the bondage of corruption, you must retreat into the home of God and gain the glorious liberty of His children.
True: God Is holy, but that will not hinder His receiving you. Holiness means the highest form of all excellence, and every excellence in completest harmony; and now that, through the satisfaction of the Saviour, there is In the Divine truth and rectitude no obstacle to the justifying of the ungodly, to Holiness itself it is a joy to put away sin and pass by the remnant of transgression. In the condemnation of the offender sin is punished; but it Is only In the salvation of the sinner that sin is destroyed. And as it was in order to destroy the devil’s destruction that the Son of God was manifested, in every soul which is restored into the paths of righteousness an incalculable career of wickedness Is cut short, and a joy unspeakable is given to that holy Saviour who. In cancelled guilt and arrested evil, sees the travail of His soul. Therefore fear not to make the grand experiment; cast yourself on the grace of God In Jesus Christ, and you * D wight’s Sermons, vol. i. p. 89.
will find that there is no pity like the compassion of Infinite Purity. You will find that there is no love like God’s own charity — that love omnipotent which, in saving a soul from death, not only covers but annihilates the multitude of sins. And if to a guilty conscience there is no holdfast so firm as the horns of God’s altar, now that a new and living way has thrown it open, you will find that for a sin-burdened spirit there is no asylum so kindly, so secure, so inviting, as the very Holy of Holies.
Therefore we say again: Take with you words, and return to the Lord. Say exactly what you feel. If you are not prepared to part with all sin, you are no penitent; you are still the prodigal. But if your sin is your sorrow, let neither past evil nor present imperfection prevent your return. The younger son was still “a great way off” when the Father saw him, and was still in his rags when that Father kissed him. And whilst you cannot feel too keenly, do not wait for feeling. It is right to be lowly. To “blush and be confounded “before God, to” weep and be in bitterness,” is no more than the feeling which guilt should awaken; and till you have sought and found forgiveness, you do well to be anxious. As Bunyan felt after his conscience awoke, when he saw people much cast down about the loss of wealth or near relations: “Lord, what ado is here about such little things! if they so labour after, and shed so many tears for the things of this present life, how am I to be bemoaned, pitied, and prayed for 1 My soul is dying, my soul is damning. Were my soul but In a good condition, how rich would I esteem myself, though blessed but with bread and water.” No sorrow for the past can be too poignant; but do not wait for that sorrow. If the prodigal had not arisen till he was satisfied with his own repentance, he would have died in the far country. But the tears which do not flow from the gaunt eyes of famine, will come unbidden at the feast of fat things; and the fountains of the great deep, which freeze in the winter of remoteness and estrangement, will break up and brim over in the sunshine of Mercy. The word which you take, be it what it may, ‘’ Father, I have sinned, and am no more worthy to be called thy son:”
“Dear Lord, I ask no crown from Thee,
No robe with rich perfume;
The meanest place will do for me,
And in the lowest room:”
‘’Take away iniquity, and receive me graciously;” whatsoever be the word, let it be a true one, and swifter than your return will be the footsteps of forthcoming pardon; and great as may be your own joy in rescuing and restoring grace, no less will be the joy in heaven over your repentance.
The relation which the Most High sustains to his intelligent and accountable creatures is too comprehensive and too intimate to be perfectly imaged by any earthly tie; but in the relation which runs through this parable it finds Its nearest equivalent. And what amongst ourselves is fatherhood? It is that relation which identifies greatness with littleness; which makes it quite natural that the arm which wields the battle-sword should gently rock the sleeping babe; which secures from contempt the master of sentences, the sage, the orator, though he babble idle rhymes in his infant’s ear. It is that relation which lives in the loved one’s joy or honour, and which is wounded in his grief or his disgrace; which feels no pride like a son’s promotion, and which, gazing at the blood-stained garment, cries, ‘’It is my son’s coat! an evil beast hath devoured him; I will go down to him in the grave sorrowing;” but which would rather that the evil beast had devoured him, than that he should live to blight his principles or forfeit a virtuous fame. It is that relation amongst men which toils and denies itself, and does not grudge the long journeys and the sleepless nights which enable the father to lay up for the children; and both in heaven and earth, it is that relation which delights in being trusted, and which desires to be loved in return; which cannot be asked too many favours, or be entrusted with too many confidences; which seeks one gift only, “My son, give me thine heart,” and hears no language more pleasing than, “My Father, thou art the guide of my youth. Father, forgive my trespasses, and give me this day my daily bread.”
Wonderful is parental affection, and wonderful the love of God.” Like as a father pitieth his children, so the
Lord pitieth them that fear him.” ‘’ Like as a Father;” but how is that? You see yonder dusky tents along the stream, and knots of cattle grazing on the neighbouring hills; but the chieftain stays at home. In the cradle lies the babe whom a foster-mother is bringing up; for his own mother died on the day when he was born: and hand-in-hand with his widowed sire walks a little boy, full of love, full of notions bright and strange, asking hard questions, telling dreams: till a sudden change comes across the scene, and in the effort to be a playmate to Rachel’s little son, for a moment the patriarch forgets his cares and griefs, and, as men would say, his dignity. How is it that a father pitieth his children? An old king is seated at the city gate. Not far away a battle is going forward — a battle on which hangs the monarch’s crown, perhaps his very life. And there is panic through the town — the helpless running to and fro and the fearful looking forth of those who think they already see their houses in the flames and red slaughter rushing through the streets. But now, posting towards the city, are seen the litde clouds — the dust of separate couriers — and all rush to hear the tidings. “All’s well!” exclaims the first; ‘’ Victory! “shouts the second; but with fierce impatience demands the monarch, ‘’Is the young man Absalom safe?” and transfixed by the fatal truth, in his cry of anguish the cheers of exultation suddenly subside, and as he staggers up to his solitary chamber, the joyous crowd fall silent, and even the conquerors, when they at last return, like the perpetrators of a crime slink through the gate crest-fallen. How is it that a father pitieth his children? For long there has been only one son at home, and you might suppose there never had been more than one: all is so complete and orderly, and the new-come servants and the neighbours never speak of any other. But along the high-road there is this instant travelling a gaunt and haggard figure; his filthy tattered clothing showing little trace of bygone foppery, and in his looks not much to betoken gentle breeding: so shabby and so reprobate, that those who pity common beggars shake the head or slam the door on this one. But though the dogs bark at him, and charity turns away from him; though the meanest hut rejects him, and though the passengers scowl at his petitions, one heart awaits him, and keeps for him the original compartment warm, ample, and unfilled. Yonder, as he has surmounted the summit of the hill, and is gazing down on the long-forsaken homestead, and hesitating whether he may venture nearer, what quick eye is that which has recognised him a great way off, and what eager step is this which runs so fast to meet him? and who is this that in the folds of his kingly mantle hides the ragged wanderer, and clasps him to his bosom, and weeps upon his neck the tears of enraptured affection, and cuts short his confession with a call for the best robe and a command for instant festival? Oh, what a love is that which the heavenly Father hath unto His children!