The Christian's Faith
“0 woman, great is thy faith.” — Matt. xv. 28.
The Scriptures were not written either to amuse our fancy, or to gratify our curiosity. Hence they leave us unsatisfied in regard to many things and certain persons, we should like to be better informed about. Actors appear on the stage, play some striking part, and when our interest is awakened, the curtain suddenly drops; and we see them no more. True, we may meet again in the other country — the land that is afar ojff. There, seated in the blooming bowers of Paradise, with the sea of glass gleaming at our feet, we shall relate our own adventures to these saints, and hear theirs; how they fought; what trials they passed through; what dangers they escaped; all the providences they met with on their way to the promised land.
Who, for example, has not wished to know what became of the young ruler that sought our Lord, sajdng. Good master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? A more amiable, lovely, attractive character we hardly find in history; and our interest in him suggests the question, Did he perish? Perhaps he did, — a warning to us how near we may reach the kingdom of heaven,
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and yet come short of it; how too great coniidence may wreck souls as well as ships, even at the harbour’s mouth. But Jesus loved him; and we would fain hope that as he followed his retreating steps with kindly eye, our Lord said within himself, “How shall I give thee up Ephraim? how shall I deliver thee, Israel? how shall I make thee as Admah? how shall I set thee as Zeboim? mine heart is turned within me, my repentings are kindled together.” However, it is perhaps well that the last chapters of his history are wanting. These blank leaves are full of meaning; they seem written over with such warnings as these, — It is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven — Set your affections on things above, and not on things on the earth, for the things that are seen are temporal, but the things which are unseen are eternal — Love not the world, neither the things of the world, for if any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him — Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted; but the rich in that he is made low; because as the flower of the grass he shall pass away — for the sun is no sooner risen with a burning heat but it withereth the grass, and the flower thereof faileth, and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth; so also shall the rich man fade away in his ways.
It had been a much more unsatisfactory and serious matter, had the story of Joseph ended as abruptly. Take it as it stands, and there is no case on record more illustrative of a reigning providence. In its fuB details, in the unbroken story, we see all the liaks of the golden chain that binds our world to the skies; like the distinct impression of a man’s feet on the moist sea-sand, we can trace all the steps of providence along the whole course of Joseph’s history from Jacob’s tents to Pharaoh’s palace. We see God’s hand weaving the dreams of his sleep; and guiding him, boy, youth, and man, onwards through many vicissitudes of fortune to the day when they were all fulfilled. But what if our last sight of Joseph — his father’s darling, man’s faithful servant, and virtue’s noblest hero, had been the prison scene? A story which is the delight of children, would then have been a riddle to the wisest men; and instead of forming one of the brightest examples of providence, it had remained one of its darkest mysteries, to perplex our minds and try our faith. Sold into slavery by envious brothers; wronged by the master whom he refused to wrong; a sufferer for conscience’ sake; thrown into prison because he was a well-doer; how might sneering sceptics have looked into his history, as the vengeful woman did, perhaps, into his dungeon, to say, Joseph, where is now thy God? We thank God that his history was written out. Like the saints, he was humbled that he might be exalted. The steps of a dungeon became a ladder to the throne. And in raising him to Pharaoh’s right hand, and making him the instrument of saving from famine the family of which the Messiah was to spring, the providence of God shines out from the clouds of his eventful life, clear as the sun from the shadow of a passing eclipse. Verily, “He is a God that judgeth in the earth.” We thank God also, and thank him even more, that
I’ne story of the women of Canaan is written out. As it stands, it is one of the most encouraging passages in the Bible; had it broken off in the middle, it had been one of the most discouraging. There are no clouds and darkness aroimd Jehovah’s throne more impenetrable, or so dreadful, as had in that case hung over the character of Christ, and the cross of Calvary. Had the curtain fallen on the scene just where our Lord seems to lift his foot to spurn the poor suppliant away, replying to her cry, “Lord, help me!” — “It is not meet to take the children’s bread and give it to dogs,” the story, instead of a stepping-stone, had been a stumbling-block on oiu* way to heaven. It is often difficult enough to persuade the desponding that there can be mercy for them; but with this history unfinished, it had been all but impossible. Faith would have staggered under the burden. It had hung like lead on the wings of prayer; and the doubting, timid, trembling spirit would have shrunk back, saying, Why should I go to Christ? I am unworthy; he shall say to me as to that woman. It is not meet to take the children’s bread and cast it to dogs. Unless this incident had been told out to its happy close, where had been our answer, our unanswerable answer, to the despondency which says Christ may not, and to the despair which says Christ will not save me — this, namely. Show us in all his history an instance of his hadng refused the prayer of a penitent, or spurned the unworthiest away? xis it stands, this story is one of the l)rightest beams of gospel light; as sweet a stream as any that flows from the “Rock of Ages cleft for me.” Under
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God, how much do we owe to the pen that wrote it? Ever blessed be the memory of the woman whose faith which I would use to illustrate the Christian’s, rising to the occasion, replied, “Truth, Lord, yet the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their master’s table!”
I. Her earnestness is an example, as her success is an encouragement to us.
The time has arrived for Esther to apply the match, and explode the mine beneath Haman. Crying, 0 king, if it please the king, let my life be given to my petition, and my people to my request; for we are sold, I and my people, to be destroyed, to be slain, and to perish, — she reveals her own and her people’s danger. Struck with astonishment, and fired with indignation, the king rises to demand, AVho is he, and where is he, that durst presume in his heart to do so? Pointing to her guest who turns pale at the charge, she says. The adversary and enemy is this wicked Haman! The king bursts from the chamber; and Haman, seeing by the glance of his angry eye that “evil is determined against him,” seizes the moment to start to his feet, and beg his life of Esther. Knowing that its sands are run, unless he can mollify this stern beauty, he casts the ordinary manners and customs of a court to the winds; and throwing himself down on the couch beside her, implores her to save him. At this moment her husband returns. Goaded to madness at the sight, the cry bursts like thunder from his lips. Will he force the queen also before me in the house? It is enough. In an instant the mutes are at Haman’s side j tJic muffle
Is on his face; the bow-string is round his neck; it tightens; he sinks — and lies, as sinners seeking mercy never lay at the feet of Jesus, a corpse at Esther’s feet. Bad as Ham an was, the king wronged him; he put a false construction on the last scene. The imminence of the danger, the instinctive love of life, these made this wretched man earnest; and earnestness made him importunate; bold to fami?larity, as a man would who was falling over some horrid crag, he clutched at the queen.
Earnestness is importunate; and I am afraid that we sometimes form too harsh a judgment of the poor mendicant who refuses to be denied — repelling him as impudent, who is only importunate. It was no want of respect, nor insolent contempt either of our position, or of our rights that made a man, on being refused charity, take rude possession of the door, and say, as he planted his foot on the threshold, Sir, I will not go away — I stay, or starve here till I am relieved. Roused by so bold a movement, we looked up to read the sad truth and reason in his face. A languid eye, and the deep hollow in his sallow cheek told at once that his was not the impudence of practised bojjgary, but the importunity of starvation. He was a stranger in a strange land; he had left his children moaning for bread, and their mother had none to give them.
And when the spirit pleads at the throne of God, when guilt, flying from justice, is knocking loud and long at the door of mercy, one not in earne.it hiijiself may wonder at the language which earnestne-s’’ ventures to employ. Why should they wonder? H«r loyal e;ul)jects, standing at respa3tful distance, address their sovereign in respectful terms; using courtly language to a courtly ear. But let a royal cortege pass the procession that conducts a felon to the scaffold, as a drowning man who sees a plank float by grasps at life, he, bursting from his guards, springs to her side; clings to her robe, to cry, Oh, pardon, save me! and when to her order, Unhand me, let me pass — he answers, No; I will not let thee go — who so hard-hearted as to beat the wretch away; or so blind as not to see that this is not insolence, but earnestness?
Even so Jacob, in dread of Esau’s vengeance, clung to God; and, wrought up to a state of intensest feeling, as if Jehovah had been in his hands, not he in Jehovah’s, hung on him, saying, I will not let thee go unless thou bless me. How bold this language! And thus also the Psalmist addressed God in yet bolder language. No man more humble than David — no man ever laid a venerable head lower in the dust before the majesty of God, as he said, “I am a worm and no man f yet see how this worm rises! In language which an angel never ventured on, because an angel never felt as he, hear how he speaks to God, “Why withdrawest thou thy hand? pluck it out of thy bosom. Awake, why sleepest thou, 0 Lord? arise for our help? make haste, 0 God, to help me.” And even so this Canaanite was importunate because she was earnest. If there be any boldness, any forwardness, any obtruding of her case on Jesus, it is to be imputed to this, that — a mother with a mother’s heart — she had a daughter grievously vexed with a devil. Be followers of me,
Btie say. Let faith be earnest in prayer! The more the bow is bent, the higher the arrow flies.
II. Observe the trials to which Christ put his earnestness and faith. These were three.
1. His silence.
Men miss many opportunities of being saved — one at least every Sabbath. The castaways who have floated on wreck or raft to some lonely rock or desert island, miss none. Ever on the outlook, they no sooner descry a sail out at sea, than they kindle their signal fire and raise a flag of distress; rushing down to the beach, and uniting their voices, they raise one long, loud, piercing shout, — crying themselves hoarse against the hoarse murmurs of the deep. They let slip no opportunity of being taken off; and like them, not like many a sinner, so soon as this woman saw relief in Christ approaching the coast of Tyre and Sidon, she hastened to meet him. Not saying like us, It will do to-morrow, or next Sabbath, or some other day, or in another year, she seized the opportunity that might never return; and came to Jesus, crying, Have mercy on me, 0 Lord, thou son of David: my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil. In stories of the sea I have read how the castaways, seeing a ship in the offing made signals of distress; and in what agonies of suspense they watched her as she went about on this tack and then on that — hope rising as she approached, and sinking as she left the coast; and how when at length, not seeing or not heeding their signals, she sailed away from their lonely rock, they would throw themselves down on the beach to weep out their anguish. So passed the Saviour by this woman. I know not that he &o much as turned his head to look on her. If he did, as if he had shut up his compassions from her, as if he had no human sympathies, as if he was not bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh, as if he had a heart of stone, as if a woman’s prayer was not as powerful to stop this Sun of righteousness in his course as was Joshua’s to stop the sun of heaven — Jesus went on his way; “he answered her not a word.”
Now for the example of faith she sets! Mark that; nor be content to admire, but follow her. To rise from her knees disappointed, chagrined, deeply mortified; to complain, He might at least have pitied me, — a broken-hearted mother and her poor child were not unworthy of a kind word, and, if I was to be refused, of a refusal tenderly expressed; I am mistaken in him; he is not the man of God I took him for; — this, but for her faith and patience, is what she had done. But she was too bent on having her prayers answered; she had too much at stake; she believed too well of Christ to do so to be silenced by his silence. Teaching us what to believe concerning him, and continuing in prayer, and, knocking till the door is opened, how to make our hand heard on the gate of heaven above its harps and loudest songs, she perseveres. See, she rises, but it is to run after him; “faint, yet pursuing,” to resume and repeat the cry, 0 Lord, thou son of David, have mercy on me; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.
2. His apparent refusal.
No more than a drowning man who clings to a swini” mer will this woman be shaken off. She hangs on his steps the most importunate of beggars. Would lo God we were as much bo!
Pursuing them with incessant cries of Son of David, nave mercy on me: son of David have mercy on me: my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil? she becomes an annoyance to his disciples. There is no talking or walking with any comfort for this woman; and for the same reason, I fancy, which often leads people to give charity, the disciples espoused her cause to get rid of her. Send her away, they said; relieve us of her presence; grant her what she asks, and be done with her, for “she crieth after us.” Quick of hearing, as this falls on her ear, her hopes begin to rise. Paul rejoiced that others preached Christ, though from contention; and is she not pleased to have the disciples become her advocates, though from no friendly motives? Apparently moved by their solicitations, Jesus turns to look on her, and is about to speak. Her heart is ready to leap with joy. Alas! she is but lifted up, as is his antagonist by some strong wrestler, to suffer the heavier fall. He had answered her not a word, but now he speaks; and like the thunder-peal that bursts on the deep stillness which precedes the storm, his words are worse than his silence — falling on her hopes like lightning on a tree that, holding up its arms to heaven for dews and rains, gets fire and thunderbolts to blast them. Casting a glance on her, he said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of
Israel; and saying so, he passed oa. She lies s-tunned by the sudden blow — poor n/other, struck to the ground.
Shall she venture once more; or, abandoning sweet hope, yield herself up to despair, and leave her poor child to be forever possessed of this devil? It is difficult, under any circumstances, to quench hope in a mother’s heart — it burns there long after it is extinguished in every other bosom; and where the welfare of a child is concerned, I have seen it cling like green ivy to the crumbling ruins of health or character. And nobly did this woman vindicate a mother’s love; and by her faith put honour on the love of Jesus. Clinging with one hand to her daughter, see how she stretches the other out to Christ; by her attitude and action, saying, I know, and am as sure that you have not the heart to refuse, as that you have the power to help me! What an example of faith! What a lesson to continue in prayer, when in our own salvation or that of others, the object of our desires, and wishes, and supplications is certainly agreeable to the will of God; to pray without ceasing; “with faith, nothing wavering.”
3. His apparent reproach of her.
“Is this Naomi?” cried the people of Bethlehem, when she who had gone forth with wealth, a husband and two gallant sons, came back, bent and grey, sad and sorrowful, attired in the threadbare garb of poverty and the weeds of a widow. Can it be? Is this Naomi? And we had not been greatly astonished if this poor woman, when these words, “It is not meet to take the children’s bread and give it to the dogs?” fell hai’shly on her ear, had, like one that has received an electric shock, sprung from the ground where she knelt, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, to cry, Is this — can this be Jesus Christ? Is that not to be doubted? — then, Have my ears deceived me? Poor mother I That was a strange blow from the hand which was to bleed on Calvary for the chief of sinners; and bind up the broken-hearted — not break the bruised reed, nor quenching the smoking flax. In truth it was time for her to pray, Lord, help me! — high time, poor soul, for God to help thee. And he did it; and fulfilled to her, as he will to all who seek him in their hour of extremity, his promise, As thy day is, so shall thy strength be. If I, said one, saw Christ on the other bank, and between him and me a river of rolling fire, I would plunge in to reach him; and I, said another, would fling myself on Christ, though he stood with a drawn sword in his hand to receive me on its naked point. Such faith was this woman’s — her confidence a perfect illustration of Job’s grand, brave words. Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him. As the eagle, rising on the tempest that beats down birds of feeble wing, and sends them to roost in covert of bush and rock, flies highest in the storm, so did she. With holy skill as well as power, she seizes on our Lord’s figure; and turning it to her own advantage, instantly replies. Truth, Lord; yet the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.
His purpose, which was a gracious one all along, ig now gained. He had sought to draw her out; and bring forth that latent faith, the language of which was music to his ear — gratifying the longings of his loving heart, and glorifying the power and grace of God. That purpose gained, he drops the mantle. And now he reveals himself to her, as he shall to all who will not let him go until he bless them — crowning her faith with the gracious answer,” 0 woman, great is thy faith; be it unto thee even as thou wilt.’’
Happy woman! many exclaim. I wish, they say, mij faith were great — would not I give all the world to feel that I had a firm hold on Christ, £nd that my feet were standing on the Rock of Ages; with much coldness and deadness, with many cares, doubts, and fears, my faith, alas! is not great; there is nothing great belonging to me but my sins; they indeed are great; like mountains great, “my trespass has grown up unto the heavens.” Well, who ihus bemoans himself as Ezra or Ephraim did, is not singular. God only knows in any assembly of worshippers who is, or has been the chief of sinners. But the question. Lord, is it I? will not be left to the impure lips of harlots and publicans; since those Tlho best know their own hearts, know much more ill of themselves than they can possibly do of others, will be the readiest to confess. Lord, it is I; and to regard themselves, not others, as the greatest wonder o:*^ saving grace.
When knees are feeble, and hands hang down, and a sense of guilt lies heavy on the heart, let God’s people remember, that if their faith is not great while their sins are, there is another thing great besides.
The term great that describes our sins, still better describes our Saviour. He is greater to save than these are to condemn. What though, as Ezra says, our iniquities are increased over our heads, and our trespasses grown up unto the heavens, — in Jesus “mercy is great above the heavens.” Finding it to be illimitable, infinite, rising far above the highest guilt, fancy flies back on happy wing, to use the language of o,n enrapt apostle; and seated on a branch of the tree of life, while angels stop their harps to listen, she sweetly sings of the height, and the depth, and the breadth, and the length of the love of God that passeth knowledge. The believer’s hope does not rest in any degree on the greatness of his faith, but in the greatness of him who is its object. Therefore, let us blfpss God that, though our faith is deficient, our Saviour is all-sufficient, and that Jesus Christ made unto us wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and re* demption — we are complete in him. If we have not this woman’s faith, thank God we have her Lord; if we have not the same voice to pray, thank God we have the same ear to pray to. Peter’s safety on his re-turn to the boat lay not in the hold he had of Christ, but in the hold Christ had of him; and though pale terror sat on his face, this poor half-drowned man was safer with Christ’s arm around him than when, stout of heart and bold in step, he planted his foot on the swelling billows — the admiration and envy of his fellows.
0 ye of little faith, be comforted! A little faith is a great power — equal to the task of casting a mountain of sins into the sea of mercy; and a slight but true, is a saving faith. Immortal seed, it is the nature of faith not to die, but live; not to decline, but to grow. What though it be obscure and feeble? AH hail to the smoke that curls up, presage of the blazing flame; to the feeblest dawn that glimmers in the east, forerunner of the coming day. “He -^^hich hath begun a good work in you, will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” 9