The Widow’S Son.

The Widow’S Son.

Lot spent his life in gaining worldly goods for his children, and he lost all and his children besides.

How many men of the present day can only say they have the same object in view that Lot had. They went into the city to make money. They have built no family altar. They recognize only two things—money and business. They say: “My sons may become gamblers and drunkards and my daughters may go off into ungodly society and marry drunkards and make their lives miserable; but I want money, and I will have all I wish if I get it.”

My friends, was Lot’s life a successful one? It was a stupendous failure. Let us not follow in the footsteps of this man Lot. Let us keep out of Sodom.

MARTHA.

There was a woman right in the midst of this darkness, when many disciples left Him, who came forward and invited Him to her home—a woman by the name of Martha.

I can imagine Martha coming from Bethany, one day, and going into the Temple, in Jerusalem, to worship. The great Galilean Prophet came in, Who spake as never man spake, and she listened to His words. And as the words came from His lips they fell upon Martha’s ears, and she says: “Well, I will invite Him to my house.”

It must have cost her something to do that. Christ was unpopular. There was a hiss going up in Jerusalem against Him. They called Him an impostor. All the leading men of the nation were opposed to Him. They said He was Beelzebub, the Lord of filth. They charged that He was an impostor and a deceiver. And yet Martha invites Him to her home. I hope there will always be some Martha to invite Him to her home, to be her guest. He will make that home a thousand times better than it ever was before.

Martha invited Him home with her. We read of His going often to Bethany. The noblest, best and grandest thing Martha ever did was to make room in her home for Jesus Christ. That one act will live for ever. Little did she know, when she invited the Son of God to become her guest, who He was; and when we receive Jesus into our hearts little do we know who He is. It will take all eternity to find out who He is.

There was a dark cloud then over that home in Bethany, but Martha did not know it. Neither did Mary see that cloud. It was fast settling down upon that home. It was soon going to burst upon that little family. The Savior knew all about it. He saw that dark cloud coming across that threshold.

We read that Jesus often lodged there. But a few months after He became their friend and guest, Lazarus sickened. The fever laid hold of him. It might have been typhoid fever.

You can see those two sisters watching over their brother. The family physician is sent for to Jerusalem, and he comes out and does every thing he can to restore Lazarus to health; but he sinks lower and lower. Some of us know what it is when the doctor comes in and feels the pulse, begins to look very serious and takes you into another room, away from the patient, and tells you it is a critical case.

Martha and Mary passed through that experience. There was no hope, and Lazarus must die. They felt that if Jesus was only here He would rebuke this disease. He might prevent death from taking away our only brother. They sent a messenger a good ways off to tell Jesus His friend was sick, and this was the message:

“He whom Thou lovest is sick.”

They do not ask Him to come. They knew Jesus loved Lazarus, and that He would come if it was for their good. The messenger at last returned. He found Christ and delivered his message. When he got back, he found that the cloud had burst upon that little home, and Lazarus was dead and buried.

I see those two sisters as they gather around the messenger, eagerly plying him with questions. They asked: “Did you find Him?”

“Yes, I found Him.”

“What did He say?”

“He said the sickness was not unto death, and He would come and see him.”

Now, for the first time, I see faith beginning to stagger. Mary asks the messenger:

“Are you sure you understood Him? Did He say the sickness was not unto death?”

“Yes.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that is strange. If He is a prophet He should have known that Lazarus was dead. Sure Elijah would have known it. If He was a prophet, He must have known it. You had not been away from the house an hour before Lazarus died. He was dead when you met Him.”

“Well, that is what He told me. He said He would come here and see him.”

I see those two sisters as they kept watching for that Friend to come and comfort them. How long those nights must have seemed, as they watched and waited! I can imagine they did not sleep through the night, but listened to hear a footfall. The next day they watched, and He did not come. The second night passed, and He did not come. The third day came, and He did not come. The fourth day comes, and the messenger returns and says: “Martha, Jesus and His apostles are just outside the walls of the city. He is coming on toward Bethany.” Martha runs out to meet Him, and says: “If Thou hadst been here my brother had not died. Thou wouldst have kept death away from our dwelling.”

Jesus answered her: “But thy brother shall rise again.”

“Yes, I knew that,” says Martha. “I know Lazarus will rise again, for he was such a good brother. He will rise at the resurrection of the just.”

Jesus had probably taught them of the resurrection. He answered Martha: “I am the resurrection of the just. I carry the keys with Me. I have the keys to death and the grave.” Then He asks: “Where is Mary? Go call her.”

They ran and told Mary that Jesus was there. Mary met Jesus with the words of Martha:

“If Thou hadst been here my brother had not died.”

“Thy brother shall rise again. Where have you laid him?”

“Come and see.”

And they led the way. Look at that company moving along toward the grave yard. These two sisters are telling about the last words and last acts of Lazarus. Perhaps Lazarus left a loving message for Jesus. You know what that is. When you go to see friends who are mourning, how they will dwell upon the last words and the last acts of the departed ones! You see Martha and Mary weeping as they went along toward the grave, and the Son of God wept with them.

Jesus said to His disciples: “Take away the stone.”

Again the faith of those sisters wavered, and they said: “Lord, by this time he stinketh, for he has been dead four days.” They did not know who their Friend was. When the disciples rolled away that stone Christ cried in a loud voice to His old friend:

“Lazarus, come forth.”

Then Lazarus leaped out of that same sepulcher and came forth. Some old divine has said it was a good thing that Jesus singled out Lazarus, for there is such power in the voice of the Son of God that the dead shall hear His voice, and if He had not called for Lazarus by name all the dead in that grave yard would have come forth.

Little did Martha know whom she was entertaining when she invited Christ into her home. The world has been sneering at Martha ever since. But it was by far the grandest, sublimest and noblest act of her life.

MEPHIBOSHETH.

There is a story in the Books of Samuel—away back as far as the time of the kings of Israel—which will help us to understand the Gospel. It is about a man of the name of Mephibosheth.

You remember what a hard time David had when Saul was hunting him to kill him—just as men hunt for game.

Well, one day David and his good friend, Jonathan, were taking a walk together in the fields. Saul was very angry, and was bent on killing David; but his son, Jonathan, was looking out for a chance to save him.

The fact had been revealed to Jonathan that David was to be king after Saul’s death, instead of himself, but this did not lessen his love for David. That must have been a real friendship which could stand this sort of thing.

After they had agreed upon a sign by which David was to know whether it was safe for him to stay around the court of the king, where he could see his friend once in a while, or whether he must leave, and go off into the cave of Adullam, Jonathan says to him:

“David, it has been revealed to me that you are to be king after my father. Now, I want you to promise me one thing. When you come to the throne, if any of the house of Saul are alive, I want you to be good to them, for my sake.”

“I will do that, of course,” said David. So he made a solemn covenant to that effect, and then he went away to the cave of Adullam, to get out of the way of Saul, who was bound to kill him if he could.

But God took care of David. You never can kill or harm a man if God is taking care of him.

About four years after that, David heard that there had been a great battle over by Mount Gilboa, and that the Philistines had beaten back the Israelites with great slaughter, and that Saul and Jonathan were both dead. So he got his men together, and went out after the enemies of the Lord and of Israel; and it was not a great while before he had turned the tables on them, and set up his kingdom at Hebron.

It must have been pretty near fourteen years after that before David remembered his promise to his old friend, Jonathan. It is a great deal easier to make promises than to keep them. How many broken vows has God written down against you?

But one day King David was walking in his palace at Jerusalem, where he had removed his capital, and all at once he happened to think of that promise. It is a good thing God does not forget His promises that way.

“That’s too bad,” mused David. “I had forgot all about that promise. I have been so busy fighting these Philistines and fixing things up that I have not had time to think of any thing else.”

So he called his servants in great haste, and asked: “Do any of you know whether there is any of Saul’s family living?”

One of them said there was an old servant of Saul’s by the name of Ziba, and maybe he could tell.

“Go and tell him I want him, right away.”

Pretty soon Ziba appeared, and King David asked: “Do you know whether there is anybody of the house of Saul in my kingdom?”

Ziba said there was one he knew of—a son of Jonathan, by the name of Mephibosheth.

Jonathan! How that name must have smitten King David! One of the sons of his old friend living in his kingdom for as much as fourteen years, and he had never known it! What would Jonathan think of him for forgetting his promise that way?

“Go, fetch him!” says David. “Go quickly. Tell him I want him. I want to show him the kindness of God.”

Now, where do you suppose Mephibosheth was all this time? Why, he was down at Lo-debar. Did you ever hear of that place? If you are a sailor, did you ever come across that port? When you have traveled on the railway, did any of you ever stop at that station?

Ah, yes! That is where the whole human race are until they come to Christ for salvation—away down at Lo-debar, which means “a place of no pasture.”

The king is in haste to keep his promise now. I see them hurrying off. Maybe they take the king’s own chariot, and rattle away to find this son of Jonathan.

When they reached the little out-of-the-way place, I fancy there was a great commotion.

“Where is Mephibosheth? The king wants him.”

Poor fellow! When he heard this announcement he hung his head. He was afraid the king wanted to kill him because he was of the house of Saul, his old enemy.

“Don’t be afraid,” said the servants. “The king says he wants to show you the kindness of God. He is in a great hurry to see you, so get ready and jump right into the chariot. Don’t you see the king has sent his own chariot to fetch you?”

It did begin to look as if the king meant no harm to him.

But poor Mephibosheth had another difficulty. He was lame in both feet. He was a little fellow when King David came to the throne, and an old servant, who was afraid that all the house of Saul would be killed, took him up and ran away to hide him. Somehow he managed to drop the lad, and lamed him in both feet.

And now I can see poor Mephibosheth looking down at his feet. Maybe his toes turned in, or he was club-footed. And he says to himself: “I am not fit to go to the king. I am a poor cripple. I am not fit to be seen among the tall and handsome servants of the palace in Jerusalem.”

“Never mind your lame feet, Mephibosheth; so long as the king sends for you, it is all right.”

So they take him up and put him in the chariot, and start for Jerusalem on a run.

As soon as the king sees him he takes him in his arms and cries out:

“O Mephibosheth! The son of my dear old friend, Jonathan! You shall have all that ever belonged to the house of Saul, and you shall live with me here, in the palace.”

Some people think that Mephibosheth, like certain low-spirited Christians, after he went to live with the king, must have been all the time worrying over his lame feet. But I do not think so. He could not help it, and if David did not mind it, it was all right. So, I think that when he dined with David in state, with the great lords and ladies all around him, he just stuck his club feet under the table, and looked the king right in the face.

MOSES.

Moses was about to leave the children of Israel in the wilderness. He had led them up to the borders of the Promised Land. For forty long years he had been leading them in that wilderness, and now, as they are about to go over, Moses takes his farewell. He said a great many wise and good things on that memorable occasion.

There was not a man on the face of the earth at that time who knew as much about the world and as much about God as did Moses. Therefore, he was a good judge. He had tasted of the pleasures of the world. In the forty years that he was in Egypt he probably sampled every thing of that day. He tasted of the world—of its pleasures. He knew all about it. He was brought up in the palace of a king, a prince. Egypt then ruled the world, as it were.

Moses had been forty years in Horeb, where he had heard the voice of God—where he had been taught by God—and for forty years he had been serving God. You might say he was God’s right hand man, leading those bondmen up out of the land of Egypt and out of the house of bondage into the land of liberty, and this is his dying address—you might say, his farewell address. This is the dying testimony of one who could speak with authority and one who could speak intelligently.

If you have not read that farewell address of Moses, you will find it in the last few verses of Deuteronomy. I advise you to read it. You are reading a great many printed sermons. Suppose you read that. Why, there is as much truth in that farewell address of Moses as there is in fifteen hundred printed sermons at the present time. Let me just give you a few verses:

“Give ear, O ye heavens, and I will speak; and hear, O Earth, the words of my mouth.

“My doctrine shall drop as the rain; my speech shall distill as the dew, as the small rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass.

“Because I will publish the name of the Lord. Ascribe ye greatness unto our God.

“He is the Rock; His work is perfect. For all His ways are judgment; a God of truth and without iniquity, just and right is He.

“They have corrupted themselves; their spot is not the spot of His children. They are a perverse and crooked generation.

“Do ye thus requite the Lord, O foolish people and unwise? Is not He thy Father that hath bought thee? Hath He not made thee and established thee?

“Remember the days of old; consider the years of many generations. Ask thy Father, and He will show thee; thy elders, and they will tell thee.

“When the Most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when He separated the sons of Adam, He set the bounds of the people according to the number of the children of Israel.

“For the Lord’s portion is His people; Jacob is the lot of His inheritance.

“He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness. He led him about; He instructed him; He kept him as the apple of His eye.”

There are two or three sermons in that last verse.

“As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings, so the Lord alone did lead him, and there was no strange god with him.

“He made him ride on the high places of the Earth, that he might eat the increase of the fields; and He made him to suck honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock.”

And so Moses went on and finished his sermon, and God called him off into the mountain. He went up into Mount Nebo, and there God showed him, from the top of Pisgah, that land which he could not possess; showed him the land from Dan to Beersheba.

Then “God kissed away his soul and buried him.”

NAAMAN.

Naaman was a successful, valiant and noble man. But he was a leper—and that spoiled him.

What a blight that must have cast on his path! It must have haunted him day and night.

He was a leper, and there was no physician in Syria who could help him. It was an incurable disease, and I suppose he thought he would have to go down to the grave with that loathsome ailment.

We read that several companies had gone down to the land of Israel and brought back to Syria some poor captives. Among them was a little girl, who was sent to wait on Naaman’s wife. I can imagine that little maid had a praying mother, who had taught her to love the Lord, and when she got down there she was not ashamed to own her religion. She was not ashamed to acknowledge her Lord.

One day, while waiting on her mistress, I can think of her saying: “Would to God your husband was in Samaria. There is a prophet in that country who would cure him.”

“What! A man in Israel who can cure my husband? Child, you must be dreaming. Did you ever hear of a man being cured of leprosy?”

“No. But that is nothing. Why, the prophet in Samaria has cured many persons worse than your husband.”

And perhaps she told her about the poor woman who had such an increase of oil, and how her two boys were saved from slavery by the prophet, and also how he had raised the child of that poor woman from the dead, adding: “If the prophet can raise anybody from the dead he can cure your husband.”

This girl must have had something about her to make those people listen to her. She must have shown her religion in her life. Her life must have been consistent with her religion to make them believe her.

We read that Naaman had faith in her word, and he went to the king and told him what he intended to do. And the king said: “I will tell you what I will do. I will give you a letter to the king of Israel. Of course, if any cure is to be effected, the king will know how to obtain it.”

Like many men nowadays, they believed, if a thing was to be got, it was to be got from the king, and not from his subjects. So you see this man starting out to the king of Israel with all his letters and a very long purse. I can not find, just now, how much it was, but it must have been something like $500,000. The sum was a very large one, likely. He was going to be liberal. He was not going to be small.

Well, he got all his money and letters together and started. There was no small stir as Naaman swept through the gates of Syria that day with his escort. He reaches Samaria, and sends a messenger to the king, announcing his arrival. The messenger delivers the letter to the king, and the first thing he does is to open the letter and begin to read it.

I can see his brow knit as he goes on.

“What is this? What does it mean? This man means war. This Assyrian king means to have a war with me. Who ever heard of such a thing as a man cured of leprosy?”

And the king rent his mantle.

Every one knew something was wrong when the king rent his mantle, and the news spread through the streets that they were on the eve of a war. The air was filled with rumors of war; everybody was talking about it. No doubt the news had gone abroad that the great general of Assyria was in the city, and he was the cause of the rumors, and by-and-by it reached the prophet Elisha that the king had rent his mantle, and he wanted to know the cause. When he had heard what it was he just told the king to send Naaman to him.

Now you see the major-general riding up in grand style to the prophet’s house. He probably lived in a small and obscure dwelling. Perhaps Naaman thought he was doing Elisha a great favor by calling on him. He had an idea that he was honoring this man, who had no influence or position. So he rides up. A messenger is sent in to announce Major-General Naaman of Damascus. But the prophet does not even see him. He just tells the servant to say to his master:

“Go and wash in Jordan seven times.”

When the messenger comes to Naaman and tells him this, he is as mad as any thing. He considers it a reflection upon him—as if he had not kept his person clean.

“Does the man mean to insinuate that I have not kept my body clean? Can’t I wash myself in the waters of Damascus? We have much better water than they have here. Why, if we had the Jordan in Syria we certainly would look upon it as a ditch. The idea—wash in that contemptible river!”

Naaman was as full of rage as he well could be, but suddenly he said: “Behold, I thought.”

That is the way with sinners; they always say they thought. In this expression we can see that Naaman had thought of some plan, and had marked out a way for the Lord to heal him.

Keep this in mind: “My ways are not your ways, nor my thoughts your thoughts.” If you look for the Lord to come in one direction, He will come in another direction. “My ways are not your ways,” thought the leper. No man gets into the kingdom of God until he gives up his thoughts. God never saves a man until he gives up his own thoughts and takes up God’s.

Yes, Naaman thought the moment the prophet knew he was outside he would come out and bow and scrape, and say he was glad to see such a great and honorable man from Syria. Instead of that, he merely sent him the peremptory prescription: “Go wash in Jordan seven times.”

When we were in Glasgow we had an employer converted, and he wanted to get a man in his employ to come to our meetings, but he would not come. If he was going to be converted, he would not be converted by those meetings. You know, when a Scotchman gets an idea into his head he is the most stubborn man you can find. He was determined not to be converted by Moody and Sankey. The employer argued and pleaded with this man, but he could not get him to come to the meetings then being held.

Well, we left Glasgow, and got away up to the north of Scotland—in Inverness—and the employer sent his stubborn friend up there on business, thinking he might be induced to go into the meetings. One night we were singing “On the Banks of That Beautiful River,” and he happened to be passing. He wondered where the sweet sounds were coming from. He came into the meeting, and I happened to be preaching that evening on the very text: “I Thought.”

The stubborn man from Glasgow listened attentively, and soon did not know exactly where he was. He was convicted—he was converted—and he became a Christian. Verily, a man must yield his own way to the way of the Lord.

Now, you can see all along that Naaman’s thoughts were altogether different from those of God. He was going to get the grace of God by showing favors—just as many men now believe they can buy their way into the kingdom of God. But we can not purchase the favor of Heaven with money. If you get a seat in Heaven, you must accept salvation as a gift.

Naaman had another thought. He believed he could get what he wanted by taking letters to the king—not to the prophet. The little maid told him of the prophet, yet he was going to pass the prophet by. He was too proud to go to the prophet. But pride, if you will allow me the expression, got a knock on the head on this important occasion.

It was a terrible thing for him to think of obeying by going down to the Jordan and dipping seven times. He had got better rivers in Damascus, in his own wisdom, and he queries: “Can’t I wash there, and be clean?” Naaman was angry, but when he got over it he listened to his servants.

I would rather see people get angry than see them go to sleep. I would rather see a man get as angry as possible at any utterance of mine than to see I had sent him to sleep. When a man is asleep there is no chance of reaching him, but if he is angry we may get at him. It is a good thing for a man to get angry sometimes, for when he cools off he generally listens to reason.

So Naaman’s servant came to him and said: “Suppose Elisha had bid thee do some great thing, wouldst thou not have done it?”

Probably, had Elisha told Naaman to take cod liver oil for ten years, he would have willingly done it. If he had told Naaman he wanted as much money as the leper brought along, that would have been all right. But the idea of literally doing nothing—just to go down into Jordan and wash himself! It was so far below his calculations that he thought he was being imposed upon by some charlatan.

But Naaman’s sensible servant said to him: “If the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldst thou not have done it? Hadn’t you just better go down and wash in Jordan?”

Possibly, Naaman answered: “If I go down into Jordan and am not cured, what will my enemies say of me when I get back to Damascus?”

But he was influenced by the servant, and he went. That was one good point in Naaman’s character—he was influenced by an humble messenger. A good many people will not accept a messenger unless he is refined and cultured and educated. But it is the message you want—not the messenger. It would be the message I would want. And so it was with Naaman.

She was a little Hebrew girl who first told him to go to Samaria, and now he was told to wash by his servant. So Naaman goes down and dips into the waters. The first time he rose he said: “I would just like to see how much my leprosy has gone.” He looks, but not a bit has left him. “Well, I am not going to get rid of my leprosy in this way; this is absurd.”

But the servant persisted. “Do just as the man of God tells you; obey him.”

And this is just what we are told to do in the Scriptures—to obey Him. The first thing we have to learn is obedience. Disobedience was the pit Adam fell into, and we must get out of it by obedience.

Well, Naaman goes into the water a second time. If some Chicago Christians had been there, they would certainly have asked, sneeringly: “Well, how do you feel now?”

He did not see that he was any better, and down he went a third time; but when he looked himself over, he saw just as much leprosy as ever. Down he goes a fourth, fifth and sixth time. He again looks at himself, but not a speck of leprosy is removed.

Naaman now chides his servant. “I told you so! Look at me! I am just the same as ever.”

“But,” says the servant, “you must do just what the man of God tells you to do—go down seven times.”

Naaman takes the seventh plunge, and comes out. He looks at himself. Behold, his flesh is as that of a little child. He says to his servant:

“Why, I never felt as good as I do today. I feel better than if I had won a great battle. Look! I am cleansed! Oh, what a great day this is for me! The leprosy has gone.”

The waters to him had been as death and judgment, and he had come out resurrected—his flesh as that of a little child. I suppose Naaman got into his chariot, and away he went to the man of God. He had lost his temper; he had lost his pride; he had lost his leprosy.

That is the way now. If a man will only lose his pride, he will soon see his leprosy disappear; leprosy will go away with pride. I believe the greatest enemies of men in this world are unbelief and pride.

Naaman drives back to the man of God, and takes his gold and silver. He offers him money. “I do not want your money,” replies the prophet. If Elisha had taken money, it would have spoiled the beautiful story. Naaman had to take back every thing he brought from Damascus except his leprosy.

PETER.

The first glimpse that we catch of Peter is when Andrew brought him to the Savior. That is John’s account. That is when he became a disciple; but he did not leave every thing then and follow Christ. He waited until he got another call.

I think we all can learn a lesson right here—that it is not every one who is called to be a disciple of Jesus that is called to leave his occupation and become His follower entirely. I believe there are many self-made preachers—man-made preachers—and this is the reason why so many fail. No man who was called by God has ever failed, or has ever broken down in the ministry; but when a man runs before he is sent, I believe he will fail.

Now, we are called to be His disciples—all called to follow Him—but we are not all called on to give up our occupations and devote all our time to the ministry. I have men come to me constantly who say they have been raised up, and want to give up their business and their worldly occupation and go into the work of the Lord entirely; but I never advise a man to go into the ministry. I think I never advised a man to give up his occupation, and to go out into the vineyard of the Lord and go to work. It is too high a calling, it seems to me, for men to be influencing one another to go into it. If a man will only wait until God calls him—be sure that God sends him—then success will crown his efforts.

Now, we find, in the fifth chapter of Luke, and also in the fourth chapter of Matthew, where Peter got his calling. He was out with his partners and others, fishing, when Jesus came along and told them to cast their net, or to launch out into the deep and cast their net into the sea.

“But,” says Peter, “we have toiled all night and caught nothing.”

“Nevertheless,” commanded Jesus, “let down your nets.”

At the word of God they did so, and were successful, and when they got ashore they found Jesus had called them to be His disciples. Just open your Bible at the fifth chapter of Luke:

“And it came to pass that, as the people pressed upon Him to hear the word of God, He stood by the lake of Gennesaret, and saw two ships standing by the lake; but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.

“And He entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And He sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.

“Now, when He had left speaking, He said unto Simon: ‘Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.’

“And Simon, answering, said unto Him: ‘Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at Thy word I will let down the net.’

“And when they had done this, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes, and their net broke.

“And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.

“When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying: ‘Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.’

“For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken.

“And so, also, were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon: ‘Fear not. Henceforth thou shalt catch men.’

“And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed Him.”

You see, it says Christ just said to them: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” And no one was more successful in the world, in catching men, than Peter. And if you will just follow the Lord and believe in Him, He will make you fishers of men. Now, some may wonder why it was that God did not call them when they had their nets empty. Why did the Lord just give them a draught of fish and then tell them to leave it?

Now, it seems to me that He did so because He wanted them to leave something. There are a good many of us willing to be disciples of the Lord if it does not cost any thing. If they can just swing their bag across their back with the fish in it and follow Jesus, then they are willing to follow Him, and to be His disciples. So Jesus wanted them to give up something. They might have said:

“We have been fishing a great while in the lake, business is pretty poor, and we might as well give up the business and go into this.”

But no! The Lord did not call them until after they attained success. Now, after they scored a business success, He put the test to these men whether they were willing to give up their nets and follow Him.

Sometime after that, Peter says: “We have left every thing to follow Thee.” What did Peter leave? Why, a few old broken nets! And it is just so now. People leave a few old broken nets, and then say to the Lord: “We have left every thing to follow Thee.”

The next glimpse we catch of Peter is when he takes on the character of a doubter. You will find, if you read it over, that it is our own experience right over again. Peter got to doubting.

In the fourteenth chapter of Matthew, beginning at the twenty-second verse, you will find these words:

“And straightway Jesus constrained His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him unto the other side, while He sent the multitudes away.

“And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up into a mountain apart to pray; and when the evening was come He was there alone.

“But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves; for the wind was contrary.

“And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.

“And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying: ‘It is a spirit.’ And they cried out for fear.

“But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying: ‘Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.’

“And Peter answered Him and said: ‘Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water.’

“And He said: ‘Come.’ And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water to go to Jesus.”

Now, that took faith. The idea of his just letting go the boat, and stepping down into the water! Why, that required faith. And there are a great many men today willing to become Christians if they can only just see how they are going to walk. They want to walk by sight. They do not want to walk by faith. It took faith for Peter to let go of the boat and take the first step on the water, but the Lord had bid him to do it, and he just did it; but after he began to sink he began to doubt, and called on the Lord to save him.

“But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying: ‘Lord, save me.’”

See! He began to sink when he took his eyes off his Master. Peter did not trust in Him. He did not have perfect faith.

Now, the Lord says in Isaiah, twenty-sixth chapter and third verse:

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.”

Peter did not have perfect faith, because his mind was not stayed on Christ; he did not trust in Him. If Peter had trusted in the Lord he would not have sunk. The ship was in the midst of the sea; the wind was blowing quite a gale, and the waves were rolling high, and Peter began to tremble and doubt, and down he went. And a good many Christians follow his example. When it gets dark, when the wind begins to blow, and when the water rolls high about them, they begin to doubt—and down they go.

Some one says if Peter had as long a preamble to his prayer as most people, he would have been forty feet under water before he got through praying for what he wanted. Now, just read a little farther:

“And immediately Jesus stretched forth His hand, and caught him, and said unto him: ‘O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?’”

But I want to pass rapidly over this portion of the Word of God, and get at something which, perhaps, may be of more help to us than any thing here. In the sixteenth chapter of Matthew, twenty-fourth verse, we find that Peter was willing to confess Christ as the Son of the living God. Many men want to be disciples of Christ, but they are not willing to confess Him.

“Then said Jesus unto His disciples: ‘If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me.”

To go home and tell your friends that you want to be a disciple of the Lord Jesus Christ requires much moral courage. But it required more then than it does now, for the Jews said any man who should confess Christ should be cast out of the synagogue.

“When Jesus came into the coasts of Cæsarea Philippi, He asked His disciples, saying: ‘Whom do men say that I, the Son of man, am?’

“And they said: ‘Some say that Thou art John the Baptist; some, Elias; and others, Jeremias or one of the prophets.’

“He saith unto them: ‘But whom say ye that I am?’”

And Peter—he generally spoke first—speaks out and says:

“‘Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.’

“And Jesus answered and said unto him: ‘Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona; for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father which is in Heaven.’”

See! Jesus blessed Peter right there, and I have yet to find the first man and the first woman who are willing to confess Christ who will not say that God has blessed their souls after they have confessed Him.

Now, let me call your attention to another scene in the life of Peter. He got to be a sort of a—well, I may say a sort of “high church” man. He belonged to the “high church.” He was a sort of Ritualist. He had got this idea that Christ was the same as any other saint; that He was to be put on a level with some of the rest of the saints. He did not make any distinction.

In the ninth chapter of Luke we find that Jesus took His disciples and went up into a mountain to pray. We begin at the twenty-eighth verse:

“And it came to pass about eight days after these sayings, He took Peter and John and James, and went up into a mountain to pray.

“And as He prayed, the fashion of His countenance was altered, and His raiment was white and glistering.

“And, behold, there talked with Him two men, which were Moses and Elias.

“Who appeared in glory, and spake of His decease which He should accomplish at Jerusalem.

“But Peter and they that were with him were heavy with sleep; and when they were awake, they saw His glory, and the two men that stood with Him.

“And it came to pass, as they departed from Him, Peter said unto Jesus: ‘Master, it is good for us to be here; and let us make three tabernacles—one for Thee and one for Moses and one for Elias’—not knowing what he said.”

Peter wanted to put Jesus on a level with Moses and Elias. To be sure, Moses was a mighty man. He went into the mountain and took the law from the Lord God of Heaven, and Elias was a representative of the prophets and a mighty man; but when Peter wanted to put them on a level with the God-man—with Jesus—what took place? Why, there came a cloud which over-shadowed them. God caught them right away. God would not have them placing Moses and Elias on a level with His Son. He is above the angels of Heaven; and we find over here, in the last chapter of the Bible, and in almost the last verse in it, that John was guilty of the same thing—of worshiping angels. It says over here, in the twenty-second chapter and eighth verse of Revelations:

“And I, John, saw these things and heard them. And when I had heard and seen, I fell down to worship before the feet of the angel which showed me these things.

“Then saith he unto me: ‘See thou do it not; for I am thy fellow servant, and of thy brethren the prophets, and of them which keep the sayings of this book. Worship God.’”

Now, if Jesus was not the God-man—if He was not God in the flesh—then you and I are guilty of idolatry; we are breaking the first command: “Thou shalt have no other God before Me.”

But when Jesus came down here, He said: “Come unto Me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” And He never rebuked any one for worshiping Him. But John fell down and worshiped that angel, and the angel refused to let him; and when Peter wanted to put Elias and Moses on a level with Christ, God the Father spoke and said: “This is my beloved Son. Hear ye Him.”

No matter about Elias now. No matter about Moses now. Hear Jesus. He is the one that God wants all of us here to worship.

Now, some one says we can not know, down here, whether we are safe or not. Well, we have an assurance right here:

“Then Simon Peter answered Him: ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life.

“‘And we believe and are sure that Thou art that Christ, the Son of the living God.’”

I will now call your attention to Peters faults. If you will just turn over here into the twenty-second chapter of Luke, you will find there a fault. Begin at the thirty-third verse of the twenty-second chapter of Luke, and you will find the following:

“And he said unto him: ‘Lord, I am ready to go with Thee, both into prison and to death.’

“And He said: ‘I tell thee, Peter, the cock shall not crow, this day, before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest Me.’

“And He said unto them: ‘When I sent you without purse and scrip and shoes, lacked ye any thing?’ And they said: ‘Nothing.’”

Now, here we find Peter’s fault of self-confidence. That was really his besetting sin, and when the Lord told him that the cock should not crow twice before he had denied Him thrice, he ought to have believed the words of Christ and cried for help; but no, he was very self-confident. “Why,” says he, “if the rest of the disciples deny You, I will not deny You.”

Peter not only declared he would not deny Jesus, but he even tried to make the other disciples worse by comparison. If you meet a man full of conceit and self-confidence, you may look for that man’s downfall.

Men who have stood the highest, in Scripture, have often fallen on their strongest point.

Moses was noted for his humility. Right there he fell. He got angry instead of being humble, and fell through lack of humility.

Elijah was noted for his boldness. Right there he fell. Why, he stood on Mount Carmel and defied the whole nation. He stood there alone. He seemed to be the boldest man in the whole nation. But after a while he got word that Jezebel was going to take his life, and then he lost all his boldness and got scared at the threat of a woman.

There was Samson, who was noted for his strength. He lost his hair, wherein his strength consisted, but he recovered it. They cut off his hair, but they did not remove the roots, and it grew out again.

Abraham was noted for his faith. But he got into Egypt, and denied his wife.

There was only one time, I am told, that Edinburgh Castle was ever taken by the enemy, and that was done by climbing on the back rocks. The rocks were so steep the besieged did not believe the enemy could get in that way, but that was just where they got in.

I used to think when I had been a Christian ten or twelve years I should be so strong that there would be no danger of my ever being tempted, but I find that I was blind. I have more temptations now than I ever had before, and it takes twenty times as much grace to keep me now as at first. Let every man take heed, lest he fall. We can not tell how quickly we may fall if we are not kept by the grace of God.

Peter had to learn this lesson before he went out to preach to others. He was kept by the grace of God, if he could not keep himself. Well, I have got right here two faults of the apostle. When the Lord told him he should deny Him thrice, he ought to have trembled and cried: “Lord, keep me from denying Thee!” But, no! He said: “Lord, I am not going to deny You, if the rest do.” Just see where he stands. He stands on a slippery place, and it will not be long before he will be down. Self-confidence leads many men to their fall.

We must keep very humble and keep our eyes on the Master, and see that we do not go to sleep. If we do get asleep, then it won’t be long before we deny Him. And so we find that when Christ was down in the garden, sweating great drops of blood, He knew He was hastening to death on the cross.

Peter went to sleep. And when Jesus came back He said: “Why sleep ye? Rise and pray, lest ye enter into temptation.” Peter had been with the Lord three years, but he had to sleep.

The next that happens, for that second step down, we find that Peter fights in the flesh. When they came to arrest Christ, Peter took out his sword and cut off the servant’s ear. That servant was the only person who had suffered through the followers of Christ up to that time. Peter cut the ear off, but it did not stay off long, for it got back in just about five minutes.

Jesus cried out: “Peter, put up your sword. If I wanted to defend Myself, I could call seventy thousand angels down; I could call legions of angels down; I could defend Myself if I wanted to.” But, no; He did not do that. He had to rebuke Peter, to put a thorn in his flesh.

The next thing Peter did was to follow Jesus afar off; that is the next step. When a man gets away from the Savior, then it won’t be long before he follows Him afar off. You know Peter said, at first, he would keep close to Him. “I will stand by You; I am willing to die with You,” he had said. But now Peter changed his mind, and he followed Jesus afar off.

Well, the next thing, we find that Peter is in bad company. That is another step down. He had got, by this time, down pretty low.

A young lady comes in, looks at Peter, and says: “This man is one of His disciples.”

“No, I am not; no, not I,” says Peter.

The maid cries out at him in perfect amazement—for perhaps she had heard him preach some time—and she says: “You are one of His disciples.”

“Oh, no; no, not I.”

He did not know Jesus, who was right there inside, where he could see him; and yet this man, who was so bold, did not know Him.

Another man comes to Peter and says: “You are one of His disciples.”

“No, Sir—not I. I don’t know Him—no Sir.” You see, he had got a good ways off.

The man says: “You are.”

“No; I am not.”

About an hour after Peter has denied Him, another man came around and said: “You are one of His disciples.”

“No; I am not.”

“Oh, but you are. Your speech betrays you.”

Peter had been with the Master three years, and he talked a different language from those men; and you who have been with God two or three years know that you talk better than you did before.

This man said: “You are one of those.” And Peter began to curse and swear, and said he never knew Him.

How did the Lord call him back? Although Satan had been at work on him for hours and hours, yet the Lord did call him back. The Lord asked him: “Peter, is it true that you have forgotten Me so soon? Do you remember, when we walked together by the sea, how I saved you? Do you remember the time I called you again? Do you remember the wonderful sermon that I preached on the mount? Is it true, Peter, that you do not know me?”

He might have said these things to Peter, but He did not. He just gave him one look—and what a look that was! It was a look of love, a look of tenderness, a look of pity, a look of peace.

He flashed upon Peter.

Peter remembered what he had done to the Lord. Then the cock crew, and Peter went out and wept bitterly. No one on Earth knows how Peter suffered in those hours that Christ was laid in the tomb. What hours they must have been to him! I can imagine that he did not eat any thing; that he did not sleep; that he spent those hours praying that the Lord might be given back to him.

At last Sunday morning comes—that blessed morning—and the first thing Peter hears is that Christ has risen. And He sent word to Peter—one of the most touching things He did. Just let me read from the sixteenth chapter of Mark and the seventh verse:

“But go your way, tell His disciples and Peter that He goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see Him, as He said unto you.”

Oh, how tender! I don’t know but if He had said “Go back and tell My disciples,” Peter would have said: “I am no disciple; I have forfeited my right as such.” But Jesus said: “Tell My disciples and Peter.” Tell Peter; put his name in; don’t leave him out.

We are told that Christ had an interview with Peter, and they met alone. No one ever told us what took place, but I can imagine how Peter felt. Like the woman that we read about in the seventh chapter of Matthew, He restored him to salvation and then sent him out to preach.

But when the twelve were at meat together the Lord turned to Peter and asked: “Lovest thou Me more than these?”

How those words must have cut down into Peter’s heart! Jesus wanted to see whether his conceit had been taken out. That was hard, you know. He could not get any thing out of Peter. Peter did not say a word. Again the Lord asked: “Peter, lovest thou Me more than these?”

He was a broken and empty vessel, and must be filled.

Then Jesus gave Peter his commission: “Go, feed my sheep; preach the Gospel to all the world.”

This is a sweet thought, that after Peter had denied the Lord, He took him back and used him!

SAUL.

I have been speaking on the Prodigal Son, but now I want to take up another man—a much harder case than the prodigal, because he did not believe he needed a Savior.

You need not have talked a great while to that prodigal before you could have convinced him that he needed a Savior. It is easy to reach a prodigal’s heart when he reaches the end of his rope.

The man of whom I shall now speak stood high in the estimation of the people. He stood, as it were, at the top of the ladder, while the prodigal was at the bottom. This man was full of self-righteousness, and if you had tried to pick out a man in Jerusalem as a hopeless case, so far as accepting Jesus of Nazareth as a Savior, you would have picked out Saul. He was the most utterly hopeless case you could have found.

I would sooner have thought of the conversion of Pilate than of this man. When they were putting to death the martyrs to the cross he had cheered on the murderers; but, in spite of all this, we find the Son of God coming and knocking at his heart, and it was not long before he received Him as his Savior.

You can see Saul as he goes to the chief priests of Jerusalem, getting the necessary documents that he might go to Damascus—that he might go to the synagogue there and get all who were calling upon the Lord Jesus Christ cast into prison. He was going to stamp out the teachers of the New Gospel.

One thing that made him so mad, probably, was that when the disciples were turned out of Jerusalem, instead of stopping they went all around and preached.

Philip went down to Samaria, and probably there was a great revival there, and the news had come from Damascus that the preachers had actually reached that place.

This man Saul was full of zeal and full of religion. He was a religious man, and no doubt he could say a prayer as long as any one in Jerusalem. He had kept the laws faithfully, and been an honest and upright man. The people then would never have dreamed of him being in need of a Savior. Many persons today would say of Saul: “He is good enough. To be sure, he does not believe in Jesus Christ; but he is a good man.”

And there are many people today who do not believe in Him. They feel if they pay their debts and live a moral life they do not need to be converted. They do not want to call upon Him; they want to get Jesus and all His teachings out of the way, as Saul wanted to do. That is what they have been trying to do for eighteen centuries. Saul just wanted to stamp them out at one swoop. So he got the necessary papers, and away he went down to Damascus.

Suppose, as he rode out of the gate of Jerusalem on his mission, any one had said to Saul: “You are going down to Damascus to prosecute the preachers of Christ, but you will come back a preacher yourself.” If any man had said this, his head would not have remained on his shoulders five minutes. Saul would have protested: “I hate Him—I abhor Him. That is how I feel.”

Yes, Saul wanted to get Christ and His disciples out of the way. He was no stranger to Christ. He knew His working, for, as Paul said to Agrippa: “This thing was not done in a corner.” He knew all about Christ’s death. Probably he was acquainted with Nicodemus and the members of the Sanhedrim who were against Christ. Perhaps he was acquainted with Christ’s disciples, and with all their good deeds. Yet he entertained a malignant hatred for the Gospel and its propagandists, and he was going down to Damascus to put all those Christians in prison.

You see Saul as he rides out of Jerusalem with that brilliant escort, and away he goes through Samaria, where Philip was. He would not speak to a Samaritan, however. The Jews detested the Samaritans. The idea of speaking to an adulterous Samaritan would have been repulsive to Saul. So he rode on, proudly, through the nation, with his head raised, breathing slaughter to the children of God.

Damascus was about 138 miles from Jerusalem, but we are not told how long he took for that journey.

Little did Saul think that, nineteen hundred years after, in this country, then wild, there would be thousands of people gathered just to hear the story of his journey down to Damascus.

He has arrived at the gates of the city, and is not yet cooled off, as we say. He is still breathing revenge. See him as he stands before that beautiful city.

Some one has said Damascus is the most beautiful city in the world, and we are told that when Mohammed came to it he turned his head away from it, lest the very beauty of it would take him from his God.

So this young man comes to Damascus, and he tells the hour of his arrival. He never forgets the hour, for it was then that Christ met him. He says: “I saw in the way a light from Heaven above the brightness of the sun.” He saw the light of Heaven, and a glimpse of that light struck him to the ground. From that light a voice called: “Saul! Saul!” Yes, the Son of God knows his name. Sinner, God knows your name. He knows all about you. He knows the street you live in and the number of your house, because He told where Ananias lived when Paul went there.

“Saul! Saul! Why persecutest thou Me?”

How these words must have gone down into his soul! He stopped. The words were to him. Could Saul give any reason when the question was put to him: “Why persecutest thou Me?” Can any sinner give a reason for persecuting Christ?

I can imagine some of you saying: “I never persecute Christ. I have a great many sins. I swear often—sometimes drink; but I always speak respectfully of Christ.” Do you? Do you never speak disrespectfully of His disciples and God’s children?

When Christ asked Saul that question He might have added: “I lived on Earth thirty years, and I never did you any hurt or injury; I never even injured your friends. I came into the world to bless you. Why persecutest thou Me?”

When this question was put to Saul He supplemented it by saying: “It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.” You and I would not have had any compassion upon Saul if we had been in Christ’s place. We would have said the hardship is upon the poor Christians in Damascus. But the Lord saw differently.

In those days, when people did not drive their camels with whips, they had a stick with a sharp piece of steel at the end, called a prick, and with this the animal was goaded. Hence the point of the saying is obvious.

SIMEON.

The Lord was one day at Jerusalem, and a banquet was given him by Simeon.

There was a banquet table in the house, arranged according to the fashion of that day. Instead of chairs for the guests, the guests sat reclining on lounges.

Well, it was just one of these repasts that our Lord sat down to, along with the wealthy Simeon and his many guests. But no sooner had He entered than a certain woman followed Him into the house. She fell down at His feet, and began to wash them with her tears.

It was the custom in those days to wash one’s feet on entering a house. Sandals were worn, and the practice was necessary.

This woman had got into the house by some means, and, once inside, had quietly stolen up to the feet of the Savior. In her hand was a box; but her heart, too, was just as full of ointment as the box she carried. And there was the sweetest perfume as she stole to His feet.

Her tears started to fall down on those sacred feet—hot, scalding tears, that gushed out like water. She said nothing while the tears fell, and then she took down her long black hair and wiped His feet with the hair of her head. And after that she poured out the ointment on His feet.

At once the Pharisees began to talk together. How, all through the New Testament, these Pharisees kept whispering and talking together!

They said, shaking their heads: “This Man receiveth sinners. Were He a prophet, He would know who and what manner of woman this is that touches Him, for she is a sinner.” No prophet, they insisted, would allow that kind of a woman near him, but would push her away from him.

But Jesus read their thoughts, and quickly rebuked them. He said: “Simeon, I have something to say to thee.”

Simeon answered: “Master, say on.”

“Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water to wash my feet; but she has washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss, but this woman, since I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with ointment thou didst not anoint, but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment.”

Simeon was like many Pharisees nowadays, who say: “Oh, well! We will entertain that minister if we must. We do not want to, for he is a dreadful nuisance; but we will have to put up with him. It is our duty to be patronizing.”

Well, the Master said more to His entertainer, as follows:

“There was a certain creditor which had two debtors. One owed 500 pence and the other 50 pence, and when he had nothing to pay——”

Mark that, sinner; the debtor had nothing to pay. There is no sinner in the world who can pay any thing to cancel his debt to God. The great trouble is that sinners think they can pay—some of them 75 cents on the dollar, some even feel able to pay 99 cents on the dollar, and the one cent that they are short they believe can be made up in some manner. That is not the correct way; it is all wrong; you must throw all the debt on God. Some few, very likely, will only claim to pay 25 cents on the dollar, but they are not humble enough, either; they can not begin to carry out their bargain. Why, sinner, you could not pay one-tenth part of a single mill of the debt you are under to God.

Now, it is said in this parable the debtors could not pay their creditor any thing; they had nothing to give, and their creditor frankly forgave them both.

“Now, Simeon,” the Master asked, “which should love that man the more?”

“I suppose,” was the reply, “he that was forgiven the more.”

“You have rightly judged. This woman loves much because she has been forgiven much.” And Jesus went on to tell Simeon all about her. I suppose He wanted to make it plainer to Simeon, and He turned to the poor woman and said:

“Thy sins are forgiven; go in peace.”

All her sins were forgiven—not simply part of them; not half them, but every sin from the cradle up. Every impurity is blotted out for time and eternity.

Yes, truly, she went out in peace, for she went out in the light of Heaven. With what brightness the light must have come down to her from those eternal hills! With what beauty it must have flashed on her soul!

Yes, she came to the feet of the Master for a blessing, and she received it.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

We are told that as Jesus stood with His disciples a man, a lawyer, stood up and tempted Him.

The lawyer asked Jesus this question:

“Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”

He asked what he could do to inherit eternal life—what he could do to buy salvation.

Jesus answered his question by asking another question: “What is written in the law? How readest thou?”

To this the lawyer answered:

“Thou shalt love the Lord God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself.”

“Thou hast answered right. But who is ‘thy neighbor?’”

Then Jesus drew a vivid picture, which has been told for the last eighteen hundred years, and I do not know any thing that brings out more truthfully the wonderful power of the Gospel than this story. It is the story of the man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and who fell among thieves.

Jerusalem was called the City of Peace. Jericho and the road leading to it were infested with thieves. Probably it had been taken possession of by the worst of Adam’s sons.

The Arrival of The Good Samaritan at The Inn

From the Painting by Gustave Dore.

David.—From Statue by Angelo

I do not know how far the man got from Jerusalem toward Jericho, but the thieves had come out and fallen upon him, and had taken all his money, stripped him of his clothing and left him wounded. I suppose they left him for dead.

By-and-by, a priest came down the road from Jerusalem. We are told that he came by chance. Perhaps he was going down to dedicate some synagogue or preach a sermon on some important subject, and had the manuscript in his pocket.

As he was going along on the other side, he heard a groan. He turned around, and saw the poor fellow, lying bleeding on the ground, and pitied him. He went up close, took a look at him, and said: “Why, that man is a Jew! He belongs to the seed of Abraham. If I remember aright, I saw him in the synagogue last Sabbath. I pity him; but I have too much business, and I can not attend to him.”

He felt a pity for him, and looked on him, and probably wondered why God allowed such men as were those thieves to come into the world. Then he passed by.

There are many men just like this priest. They stop to discuss and wonder why sin came into the world, and look upon a wounded man, but do not stop to pick up a poor sinner—forgetting the fact that sin is in the world already, and must be rooted out.

Soon another man came along, a Levite, and he also heard the groans of the robbers’ victim. He, too, turned about and looked upon him with pity. He felt compassion for him. He was one of those men that, if we had him here, we would probably make an elder or a deacon. He looked at the suffering man and said: “Poor fellow! He is all covered with blood! He has been badly hurt; he is nearly dead; and they have taken all his money and stripped him naked! Ah, well; I pity him.” He would like to extend help, but he, too, has very pressing business; and so he passes by on the other side. But he has scarcely got out of sight when another one comes along, riding on a beast. He heard the groans of the wounded man, and went over and took a good look at him.

The traveler was a Samaritan. When he looked down he saw the man was a Jew.

Ah, how the Jews looked down upon the Samaritans. There was a great, high partition wall between the Jews and the Samaritans. The Jews would not allow them in the Temple; they would not have any dealings with them; they would not associate with them.

I can see him coming along that road, with his good, benevolent face; and as he passes he hears a groan from the poor fellow. He draws in his beast, and pauses to listen. “And he came to where he was.”

This is the sweetest thing, to my mind, in the whole story.

A good many people would like to help a poor man if he was on the platform—if it cost them no trouble. They want him to come to them. They are afraid to touch the wounded man; he is all over blood, and they will get their hands soiled.

And that was just the way with the priest and the Levite. This poor man, perhaps, had paid half of all his means to help the service in the Temple, and might have been a constant worshiper; but they only felt pity for him.

This good Samaritan “came to where he was,” and after he saw him he had compassion on him. That word “compassion”—how sweet it sounds! The first thing he did on hearing him cry for water—the hot sun had been pouring down upon his head—was to go and get it from a brook. Then he goes and gets a bag, that he had with him—what we might call a carpet-bag or a saddle-bag in the West—and pours in oil on his wounds. Then he says to himself: “The poor fellow is weak.” So he goes and gets a little wine. He has been lying so long in the burning sun that he is nearly dead now—he had been left half dead—and the wine revives him.

The good Samaritan looks him over, and sees all the wounds that need to be bound up. But he has nothing to do this with. I can see him now, tearing the lining out of his coat, and with it binding up his wounds. Then he takes him up and lays him on his bosom until he is revived, and, when the poor fellow gets strength enough, the good Samaritan puts him on his own beast.

If the Jew had not been half dead he would never have allowed the Samaritan to put his hands on him. He would have treated him with scorn. But he is half dead, and he can not prevent the good Samaritan treating him kindly and putting him on his beast.

Did you ever stop to think what a strong picture it would have been if the Samaritan had not been able himself to get the man on the beast—if he had needed to call any assistance?

Perhaps a man would have come along, and he would have asked him to help him with the wounded man.

“What are you?”

“I am a Samaritan.”

“You are a Samaritan, are you? I can not help you—I am a Jew.”

There is a good deal of that spirit today—just as strong as it was then. When we are trying to get a poor man on the right way—when we are tugging at him to get his face toward Zion—we ask some one to help us, but he says: “I am a Roman Catholic.”

“Well,” you say, “I am a Protestant.”

So they give no assistance to one another.

The same spirit of old is present today. The Protestants will have nothing to do with the Catholics; the Jews will have nothing to do with the Gentiles. And there was a time—but, thank God, we are getting over it—when a Methodist would not touch a Baptist nor a Presbyterian a Congregationalist; and if we beheld a Methodist taking a man out of the ditch, a Baptist was sure to ask:

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Take him to a Methodist church.”

“Well, I’ll have nothing to do with him.”

A great deal of this has gone by, and the time is certainly coming when, if we are trying to get a man out of the ditch, and they see us tugging at him, and we are so faint that we can not get him on the beast, they will help him. And that is what Christ wants.

Well, the Samaritan gets him on his beast, and says to him:

“You are very weak, but my beast is sure-footed; he’ll take you to the inn, and I’ll hold you.”

He held him firmly, and God is able to hold every one He takes out of the pit. I see them going along the road, he holding him on, and he gets him to the inn. He gets him there, and he says to the inn keeper:

“Here is a wounded man; the thieves have been after him; give him the best attention you can; nothing is too good for him.”

I can imagine the good Samaritan as stopping there all night, sitting up with him, and attending to his every need. And the next morning he gets up and says to the landlord:

“I must be off; I leave a little money to pay you for what the man has had, and if that is not enough I will pay what is necessary when I return from my business in Jericho.”

This good Samaritan gave this landlord twopence to pay for what he had got, and promised to come again and repay whatever had been spent to take care of the man, and he had given him, besides, all his sympathy and compassion.

Jesus tells this story in answer to the lawyer who came to tempt Him, and showed that the Samaritan was the neighbor.

Now, this story is brought out here to teach church-goers this thing: It is not creed or doctrine that we need so much as compassion and sympathy.

THE LEPER.

See that poor leper! Do you know what an awful thing leprosy is? A disease so terrible that it separates its victim from all the world, and makes him an outcast, even from his home. Every one is afraid of him. His disease is so contagious that to touch him or even to breathe the air near him is dangerous; and so these poor, afflicted wretches have to go away and live in cave or desert all alone.

They sit by the wayside afar off, calling to the passers-by for charity—who sometimes throw them a piece of money and hurry off, lest they also come into that terrible plight.

Here is a poor man who finds the marks of what he thinks is this terrible disease upon his body. According to the law, he must go to the priest and be examined.

Alas! The priest says it is leprosy—nothing else.

Now the poor man, with broken heart, turns away from the Temple. He goes to his house, to say good-by to his wife and to take his children in his arms once more before he goes away to spend the long years in the wilderness alone, or with other lepers like himself, until death shall come to deliver him from his sufferings.

What a sorry house is that! Surely, this is worse than death itself.

He goes out of his door with no hope of ever entering it again. He walks the street by himself, and if any one comes near he lifts up his voice in that mournful cry:

“Unclean! Unclean!”

Out of the gates of the city he goes, away from all his friends and acquaintances, carrying with him the sorrow of separation and the seeds of death.

One day he sees a crowd passing along the road, but he dares not go near enough to inquire what it is. All at once he happens to think it may be that Prophet of Nazareth whom he had heard of—that same Man that, people said, could open the eyes of blind men, make lame men to walk, and who had even raised the son of the widow from death, over there at Nain. If only He were passing! At any rate, he will take the chances, and cry out after Him; and so he shouts, at the top of his voice:

“Have mercy upon me!”

All the rest of the crowd are afraid of him, but Jesus, who is in the midst, hears some one calling; and, just as He always did when any one wanted any thing of Him, He stopped to find out what it was.

He is not afraid of the leper; and so, while the rest of the crowd stand apart by themselves, He calls the poor fellow up to Him, and asks him what he wants.

The leper, with his heart full of anxious hope, makes answer:

“Lord, if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean.”

Jesus says: “I will; be thou clean.”

A strange sense of health and strength comes suddenly over the man. He looks at his hands, and finds the leprosy all gone. He begins to pour out his heart in thanks to Jesus, who sends him away to the priests, saying: “Go, show thyself to the priests, and offer the gift that Moses commanded.”

Now, I seem to see that cleansed leper, hurrying off to show himself to the priest, to be pronounced cured, according to the law; and then hastening to his little home, to see his wife and children once more. He bursts into the house, weeping for joy. He stretches out his arms to his wife and little ones, saying: “I am clean! Jesus did it—Jesus of Nazareth.”

THE PENITENT THIEF.

I am going to take for my text, this morning, “A Man”—the last one that Jesus saved before He returned to Heaven.

The fact that Jesus saved such a man at all ought to give every one of us much hope and comfort. This man was a thief—a highwayman and murderer, perhaps—and yet Christ takes him with Him when He ascends to glory; and if Jesus is not ashamed of such a man, surely no class of sinners need to feel that they are left out.

It is a blessed fact that all kinds of men and women are represented among the converts in the Gospels, and almost all of them were converted suddenly.

Very many people object to sudden conversions, but you may read in the Acts of the Apostles of eight thousand people converted in two days. That seems to me rather quick work. If all the Christians before me this morning would only consecrate themselves to the work of Christ, they might be the means of converting that number before the week is out.

Let us look at Christ hanging on the cross, between two thieves—the Scribes and Pharisees wagging their heads and jeering at Him, His disciples gone away, and only His mother and one or two other women in sight to cheer Him with their presence, among all this concourse of enemies—relentless and mocking enemies.

Hear those spiteful Pharisees calling out to Jesus: “If Thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross, and we will believe on Thee.” And the account says that the two thieves cast the same in His teeth.

So, then, the first thing that we know of our man is that he is a reviler of Christ. You might reasonably think that he ought to be doing something else at such a time as this; but, hanging there in the midst of his tortures, and certain to be dead in a few hours, instead of confessing his sins and preparing to meet the God whose laws he had broken all his life—instead of that, he is abusing God’s only Son. Surely, this man can not sink any lower until he sinks into hell!

The next thing we hear of him, he appears to be under conviction. Nobody is ever converted until he is convicted.

In the twenty-third chapter of Luke we read:

“And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on Him, saying: ‘If Thou be the Christ, save Thyself and us.’ But the other, answering, rebuked him, saying: ‘Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this man hath done nothing amiss.’”

What, do you suppose, it was that made this great change in this man’s feelings in these few hours?

Christ had not preached him a sermon—had given him no exhortation. The darkness had not yet come on; the Earth had not opened its mouth; the business of death was going on as usual; the crowd was still there, mocking and hissing and wagging their heads; and yet this man, who in the morning was railing at Christ, is now confessing his sins.

“We indeed justly.”

No miracle had been wrought before his eyes. The Son of God had not come down from the cross. No angel from Heaven had come to place a glittering crown upon His head, in place of the bloody crown of thorns.

What was it, then?

I will tell you what I think it was. I think it was the Savior’s prayer:

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

I seem to hear this thief talking with himself in this fashion:

“What a strange kind of man this must be! He says He is King of the Jews; and the superscription on His cross says the same thing. But what sort of a throne is this? He says He is the Son of God. Why does not God send down His angels, and destroy all this great gathering of people that are torturing His Son? If He has all power now, as He used to have when He worked those miracles they talk about, why does He not bring out His vengeance, and sweep all these wretches into destruction? I would do it in a minute, if I had the power. Oh, if I could, I would open the Earth, and swallow up these tormentors!

“But this man prays to God to ‘forgive them.’

“Strange! Strange! He must be different from the rest of us. I am sorry that I said one word against Him when they first hung us up here. What a difference there is between Him and me!

“Here we are, hanging on two crosses—side by side; but all the rest of our lives we have been far enough apart. I have been robbing and murdering, but He has been visiting the hungry, healing the sick, and raising the dead. Now these people are railing at us both. What a strange world is this!

“I will not rail at Him any more. Indeed, I begin to believe He must be the Son of God; for, surely, no son of man could forgive his enemies this way.”

That is what did it, my friends.

This poor man had been scourged and beaten and nailed to the cross, and hung up there for the world to gaze upon; and he was not sorry for his sins one single bit—did not feel the least conviction on account of all that misery. But when he heard the Savior praying for His murderers that broke his heart.

I remember to have heard a story, somewhere, of a bad boy that had run away from home. He had given his father no end of trouble. He had refused all the invitations that his father had sent him to come home and be forgiven, and help to comfort his old heart. He had even gone so far as to scoff at his father and mother.

But one day a letter came, telling him his father was dead, and they wanted him to come home and attend the funeral.

At first he determined he would not go, but then he thought it would be a shame not to pay some little show of respect to the memory of so good a man after he was dead; and so, just as a matter of form, he took a train and went to the old home.

He sat through all the funeral services, saw his kind old father buried, and came back with the rest of the friends to the house, with his heart as cold and stony as ever. But when the old man’s will was brought out to be read, the ungrateful son found that his father had remembered him along with all the other members of the family in the will, and had left him an inheritance with the others, who had not gone astray.

This broke his heart.

It was too much for him, that his old father, during all those years in which he had been so wicked and so rebellious, had never ceased to love him.

That is just the way our Father in Heaven does with us. That is just the way Jesus does with people who refuse to give their hearts to Him. He loves them in spite of their sins, and it is the love which, more than any thing else, brings hard-hearted sinners to fall upon their knees.

Now, this thief on the cross confessed his sins. A man may be very sorry for his sins; but, if he does not confess them, he has no promise of being forgiven. The thief says: “We are suffering justly.” I never knew any man to be converted until he confessed.

Cain felt bad enough over his sins, but he did not confess.

Saul was greatly tormented in his mind, but he went to the Witch of Endor rather than to the Lord.

Judas felt so bad over the betrayal of his Master that he went out and hanged himself; but he did not confess—that is, he did not confess to God. He came back and confessed to the priests, saying: “I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood.” It was of no use to confess to them; they could not forgive him. What he should have done was to confess to God; but instead of that, he rushed out and hanged himself.

How different is the case with the penitent thief! He confesses his sins to Christ, and Christ has mercy on him at once.

Just here is one of the great difficulties with many people. They do not like to come up face to face with their sins. They do not like to own that they are sinners. They excuse themselves in every way. They think they are not very bad sinners; that there are a great many worse than they are; and so they try to cover up the great fact that this penitent thief confesses openly. My friends, you never will be saved, so long as you try to cover up your sins.

We have heard a great deal about the faith of Abraham and the faith of Moses; but this man seems to me to have had more faith than any of them. He stands at the head of his class.

God was twenty-five years toning up the faith of Abraham; Moses was forty years getting ready for his work; but this thief, right here in the midst of men who rejected Him—nailed to the cross and racked with pain in every nerve, overwhelmed with horror, and his soul in a perfect tempest—still manages to lay hold upon Christ, and trust in Him for a swift salvation. His heart goes out to the Savior. How glad he would be to fall on his knees at the foot of that cross, and pour out his prayer to Him who was hanging on it! But this he can not do. His hands and feet are nailed fast to the wood; but they can not nail his eyes, nor his heart. He can, at least, turn his head, and look upon the Son of God; and his breaking heart can go out in love to the One who is dying beside him—dying for him, and dying for you and me.

And what did Jesus say in answer to his prayer?

That prayer was a confession of Christ. He calls Jesus “Lord,” and begs to be remembered in His kingdom. That must be a kingdom in Heaven—for, surely, there was no chance of a kingdom on Earth, as matters looked at that time.

Christ fulfilled His promise to the thief:

“Whoso confesseth Me before men, him will I confess before my Father and the holy angels.”

He looks kindly upon him, and says:

“Today thou shalt be with Me in Paradise.”

And now the darkness falls upon the Earth; the Sun hides itself; but, worse than all, the Father hides His face from the Son. What else is the meaning of that bitter cry?

“My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken Me?”

Ah! It had been written:

“Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.”

Jesus is made a curse for us. God can not look upon sin; and now His own Son is bearing, in His own body, the sins of the world; and so He can not look upon Him.

I think that was what was heaviest upon the Savior’s heart, away there in the Garden, when He prayed: “If it be possible, let this cup pass away from Me.”

He could bear the unfaithfulness of His friends, the spite of His enemies, the pain of His crucifixion and the shadow of death. He could bear all these. But when it came to the hiding of His Father’s face, that seemed almost too much for even the Son of God to bear. But even this He endured for our sins; and now the face of God is turned back to us, whose sins had turned it away, and looking upon Jesus, the sinless One, He sees our souls in Him.

In the midst of all His agony, how sweet it must have been to Christ to hear that poor thief confessing Him! He likes to have men confessing Him.

Do you remember His asking Peter: “Who do men say that I am?”

Peter answered: “Some people say You are Moses; some people say You are Elias, and some people say You are one of the old prophets.”

He asked again: “But, Peter, who do you say that I am?”

And when Peter said “Thou art the Son of God,” Jesus blessed him for that confession.

And now this thief confesses Him—confesses Him in the darkness. Perhaps it is so dark he can not see Him any longer; but he feels that He is there beside him.

This poor thief did as much for Christ in that one act as if he had lived and worked for Him fifty years. That is what Christ wants of us—to confess Him; in the dark as well as in the light, and when it is hard as well as when it is easy. For He was not ashamed of us, and carried our sins even unto death.

Just look for a minute at the prayer of this penitent thief.

He calls Jesus “Lord.” That sounds like a young convert. “Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom.” Not a very long prayer, you see, but a prevailing prayer.

Some people think they must have a form of prayer—a prayer book, perhaps—if they are going to address the Throne of Grace properly. But what would that poor fellow do with a prayer book up there—hanging on the cross, his hands nailed fast to the wood? Suppose it were necessary that some minister or priest should pray for him, what is he going to do? There is nobody there to pray for him, and he is going to die within a few hours. He is out of reach of help from men, but God has laid help upon One who is mighty, and that One is close at hand.

Then look at the answer to his prayer. The supplicant received more than he asked. He only asked to be remembered when Christ came into His kingdom. But Christ said to him: “I will take you right up with Me into My kingdom today.”

The Savior wants us all to remember Him in His old kingdom—to remember Him in the breaking of bread and in the drinking of wine—and then He will remember us in the new kingdom.

Just think of this, my friends. The last the world ever saw of Christ He was on the cross. The last business of His life was the saving of a poor penitent thief. That was a part of His triumph; that was one of the glories attending His death.

No doubt Satan said to himself: “I will have the soul of that thief, pretty soon, down here in the caverns of the lost. He belongs to me; he has belonged to me all these years.”

Jacob, Tending Flocks of Laban.—From the Painting by Gustave Dore.

Moses, Breaking The Tables of The Law

From the Painting by Gustave Dore.

But Christ snapped the fetters of his soul, and set him at liberty; Satan lost his prey. “The Lion of the tribe of Judah” conquered the lion of hell.

You know that in the British colonies, before the day of Wilberforce, there used to be a great many slaves; but that good man began to agitate the question of setting them free; and all the slaves in the colonies, when they heard of it, were very anxious to hear how he was getting along. They knew the bill was before Parliament, and with them it was a question next to that of life itself.

But in those days there were no telegraphs and no steamships. The mails went by the slow sailing vessels. They would be from six to eight months in making the voyage to some of the more distant of the colonies. The slaves used to watch for the white sails of British ships, hoping to hear good reports, and also fearing they might hear bad ones.

There was a ship that had sailed immediately after the Emancipation Act had been passed and signed by the king; and when she came within hailing distance of the boats that had put off from the shore at the port of her destination, the captain could not wait to deliver the message officially, and have it duly promulgated by the government; but, seeing the anxious men standing up in their boats, eager for the news, he placed his trumpet to his mouth, and shouted with all his might:

“Free! Free!”

Just so the angels shouted when this poor bondman of Satan’s, almost in the jaws of the pit, was taken in hand by the Savior Himself; delivered from the bondage of darkness into the liberty of His dear Son! Free—free from sin—free from the curse of the law—free, too, in a short time, from the bonds of the flesh.

What a contrast! In the morning he is led out a condemned criminal; in the evening he is saved from his sins. In the morning he is cursing; in the evening he is singing hallelujahs with a choir of angels. In the morning he is condemned by men as not fit to live on Earth; in the evening he is reckoned good enough for Heaven.

Christ was not ashamed to walk arm-in-arm with him along the golden pavements of the Eternal City.

He had heard the Savior’s cry: “It is finished.” He had seen the spear thrust into His side. Jesus had died before his very eyes, and hastened before him to get a place ready for this first soul brought from the world after He had died.

You have heard of the child that did not like to die and go to Heaven, because he did not know anybody there. But the thief had one acquaintance—even the Master of the place. He calls to Gabriel, and says:

“Prepare a chariot; make haste! There is a friend of Mine hanging upon that cross. They are breaking his legs; he soon will be ready to come. Make haste and bring him to Me.”

And the angel in the chariot sweeps down the sky, takes up the soul of the poor penitent thief, and hastens back again to glory; while the gates of the city swing wide open, and the angels shout their welcome to this poor sinner—“washed in the blood of the Lamb.”

And that, my friends, is just what Christ wants to do for every sinner. He wants to save you. That is the business on which He came down from Heaven. That is why He died; and if He gives such great and swift salvation to this poor thief on the cross, surely He will give you the same deliverance, if, like the penitent thief, you will repent, confess and trust in the Savior.

Somebody says that this man “was saved at the eleventh hour.” I do not know about that. Perhaps it was the first hour. It might have been the first hour with him, I think. Perhaps he never knew Christ until he was led out to die beside Him. This may have been the very first time he had ever learned the way of faith in the Son of God.

But how many of you gave your hearts to Christ the very first time He asked them of you? Are you not farther along in the day than even that poor thief?

A little while ago, in one of the mining districts of England, a young man attended one of our meetings, and refused to go from the place till he had found peace in the Savior. The next day he went down into the pit, and the coal fell in upon him; and when they took him out he was broken and mangled, and had only about two or three minutes of life left in him. His friends gathered about him, saw his lips moving, and, bending down their ears to catch his words, this was what they heard him say: “It was a good thing I settled it last night.”

Begin now to confess your sins, and to pray the Lord to remember you when He cometh into His kingdom.

THE PHARISEE AND THE PUBLICAN.

In this first parable we are told that men ought to pray always and everywhere; that prayer should not be left to a few in the churches, but all men ought to pray.

Jesus gives us a picture, so that we may understand in what spirit we ought to pray.

Two men went up to the Temple—one to pray to himself and the other to pray to God.

I think it will be safe to divide the audience into two bodies, and put them under these two heads. However, whether we divide the audience or not, we come under these two heads—those who have the spirit of the publican and those who have the spirit of the Pharisee.

You can find that the entire community may be correctly divided into these two classes. The spirit of the prodigal and the spirit of an elder brother are still in the world; the spirits of Cain and Abel are still in the world, and these two are representative men.

One of them trusted in his own righteousness and the other did not have any trust in it, and I say I think all men will come under these two heads. They have either given up all their self-righteousness—renounced it all and turned their backs upon it—or else they are clinging to their own righteousness; and you will find that these self-righteous men that are ever clinging to their own righteousness are continually measuring themselves by their neighbors.

“I thank God that I am not as other men are.”

This was the spirit of that Pharisee, and this is the spirit today of one class in this community, and the other class comes under the head of this other man.

Let us look at the man Christ pictured first.

It is evident that he was full of egotism—full of conceit—full of pride; and I believe, as I have said before on this platform, that is one of the greatest enemies the Son of God has today, and I believe it keeps more men from the kingdom of God than any thing else.

Pride can grow on any soil, in any climate. No place is too hot for it, and no place is too cold for its growth. How much misery it has caused in this world! How many men here are kept from salvation by pride!

Why, it sprung up into Heaven, and for it Lucifer was cast out; by pride Nebuchadnezzar lost his throne. As he walked through Babylon he cried: “Is not this a great Babylon which I have built?” And he was hurled from his throne.

How many men that have become drunkards, who are all broken up—will gone, health gone—and yet are just as full of pride as the sun is of light! It will not let them come to Christ and be saved.

A great many live like this Pharisee—only in the form of religion; they do not want the wheat—only the husk; they do not want the kernel—only the shell.

How many men are today just living on empty form! They say their prayers, but they do not mean any thing.

Why, this Pharisee said plenty of prayers, but how did he pray? He prayed to himself. He might as well have prayed to a post. He did not pray to God, who knew his heart a thousand times better than he himself did. He thought he knew himself; he forgot that he was a sepulcher, full of dead men’s bones; forgot that his heart was rotten, corrupt and vile; and he comes and spreads out his hands and looks up to Heaven.

Why, the very angels in Heaven veil their faces before God as they cry: “Holy, holy, holy!”

But this Pharisee comes into the Temple and spreads out his hands, and says:

“Lord, I thank Thee that I am not as other men are. I fast twice a week.”

He set before God what he had done in comparison with other men, and was striking a balance and making out God to be his debtor, as thousands are doing today; and then he says: “I give one-tenth of all I possess.”

I suppose if he was living in Chicago now, and we had gone to him and asked him for a donation to help put up this Tabernacle, he would have said:

“Well, I think it will do good; yes, I think it will. It may reach the vagabonds and outcasts—I do not need it, of course—but if it will reach that class it will do good. I will give $50, especially if you can get it in the morning papers—if you can have it announced: ‘John Jones gave $50 to build the Tabernacle.’”

That is the way some of the people give donations to God’s cause; they give in a patronizing way. But in this manner God will not accept it. If your heart does not go with your gift, God will not accept it.

This Pharisee says: “I give one-tenth of all that I have; I keep up the services in the Temple; I fast twice a week.”

He fasted twice a week, although once was only called for, and he thought because of this he was far above other men. A great many people nowadays think because they do not eat meat on Fridays, but only fish, they deserve great credit, although they go on sinning all the week.

Look at this prayer! There is no confession there. He had got so bad, and the devil had so covered up his sins, that he was above confession.

The first thing we have to do when we come to God is to confess. If there is any sin clustering around the heart, bear in mind we can have no communion with God. It is because we have sin about our hearts that our prayers do not go any higher than our head. We can not get God’s favor if we have any iniquity in our hearts.

People, like the Pharisee, have only been educated to pray. If they did not pray every night their consciences would trouble them, and they would get out of bed and say their prayers; but the moment they get off their knees, perhaps, you may hear them swearing.

A man may just as well get a string of beads and pray to them. It would do him as much good.

This Pharisee’s prayer showed no spirit of contrition; there was no petition; he did not ask any thing from God. This is a queer kind of prayer:

“Lord, I thank Thee that I am not as other men are—extortionate, unjust, adulterous—or even as the poor publican.”

Not a petition in his prayer. It was a prayerless prayer—it was downright mockery. But how many men have just got into that cradle and been rocked to sleep by the devil!

A short time ago I put this question to a man:

“Are you a Christian?”

“Of course I am; I say my prayers every night.”

“But do you ever pray?”

“Didn’t I tell you I prayed?”

“But do you ever pray?”

“Why, of course I do; haven’t I said so?”

I found that he prayed, but he only went through the form, and, after a little, I found that he had been in the habit of swearing.

“How is this?” I asked. “Swearing and praying! Do your prayers ever go any higher than your head?”

“Well, I have sometimes thought that they did not.”

My friends, if you are not in communion with God your prayers are but forms; you are living in formalism, and your prayers will go no higher than your head.

How many people just go through the form! They can not rest unless they say their prayers. How many are there with whom it is only a matter of education?

But this Pharisee trusted in his own righteousness; he ignored the mercy of God and the love of Jesus. He was measuring himself by his own rule. Now, if you want to measure yourself, do it by God’s law—by God’s requirements.

A great many people have a rule of their own, by which they measure themselves, and by that rule they are perfectly ready and willing to forgive themselves.

So it was with this Pharisee. The idea of coming to God and asking His forgiveness never enters his mind.

While talking to a man—one of those Pharisees—some time ago, about God and the need of Christ, he said to me:

“I can do without Christ; I do not want Him. I am ready to stand before God any time.”

That man was trusting in his own righteousness.

Now, take a good look at this Pharisee. You know, I have an idea that the Bible is like an album. I go into a man’s house, and, while waiting for him, I take up an album from a table and open it.

I look at a picture.

“Why, that looks like a man I know.”

I turn over and look at another.

“Well, I know that man.”

By-and-by, I come upon another.

“Why, that man looks like my brother.”

I am getting pretty near home. I keep turning over the leaves.

“Well, I declare! Here is a man who lives in the same street I do. Why, he is my next-door neighbor.”

Then I come upon another, and I see—myself.

My friends, if you read your Bibles, you will find your own pictures there. It will just describe you.

Now, it may be there is some Pharisee here tonight. If there is, let him turn to the third chapter of John, and see what Christ said to the Pharisee:

“Except a man be born again, he can not enter the kingdom of God.”

Nicodemus, no doubt, was one of the fairest specimens of a man in Jerusalem in those days, yet he had to be born again, else he could not enter into the kingdom of God.

“But,” you may say, “I am not a Pharisee. I am a poor and miserable sinner—too bad to come to Him.” Well, turn to the woman of Samaria, and see what He said to her.

See what a difference there was between that publican and that Pharisee. There was as great a distance between them as between the Sun and the Moon.

One was in the very highest station, and the other occupied the very worst station. One had only himself and his sins to bring to God, and the other was trying to bring in his position and his aristocracy.

I tell you, when a man gets a true sight of himself, all his position and station and excellences drop.

See this prayer:

“I thank God.”

“I am not.”

“I fast.”

“I give.”

“I possess.”

Why, if he had delivered a long prayer, and the copy had been put into the printers’ hands, they would have had to send out for some “I’s.”

“I thank God,” “I,” “I,” “I.”

When a man prays—not with himself, but to God—he does not exalt himself; he does not pass a eulogy on himself. He falls flat down in the dust before God. In that prayer you do not find him thanking God for what He had done for him. It was a heartless and prayerless prayer—merely a form.

I hope the day will come when formal prayer will be a thing of the past. I think the reason why we can not get more people out to the meetings is because we have too many formal prayers in the churches. These formal Christians get up, like this Pharisee, and thank God that they are better than other men; but when a man gets a look at himself he comes in the spirit of the publican.

You see this Pharisee standing and praying with himself, but God could not give him any thing. He was too full of egotism—too full of himself. There was no religion in it. God could not bless him.

Now, for a moment, take a look at that poor publican. Just give his prayer your attention.

There was no capital “I” there—no exalting of himself. “God be merciful to this Pharisee; God be merciful to the other people who have injured me; God be merciful to the church members who have not been true to their belief.”

Was that his prayer?

Thank God, he got to himself. “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” It was very short. He had got his eye upon himself; he saw that his heart was vile; he could not lift his eyes to Heaven. But, thank God, he could lift his heart to Heaven.

There is not a poor publican in the audience tonight but can send up this prayer. No matter what your past life has been—no matter if it has been as black as hell—if you but send up the prayer it will be heard. He did not buy his own righteousness; and God heard his appeal.

Spurgeon, speaking of that publican, said he had the soundest theology of any man in England. He came before God, struck his hand on his heart, and cried: “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”

THE WIDOW’S SON.

Think of that poor widow at Nain.

She is an old woman now; and her only son, who is the staff of her life, is sick.

How she watches him; sits up all night to see that he has his medicine at the right time; sits by his bedside all day, fanning him, keeping away the flies, moistening his parched lips with water!

Every thing he asks for she brings.

The very best doctor in Nain is sent for; and when he comes and feels the pulse of the young man and looks at his tongue, he shakes his head; and then the poor woman knows there is no hope for her boy.

What an awful thought!

“My son—my only son—must die! What will become of me then?”

Sure enough, the doctor is right; and in a little while the fever comes to its crisis, and the poor boy dies, with his head upon his mother’s bosom.

The people come in and try to comfort the bereaved mother; but it is of no use. Her heart is broken; and she wishes she were dead, too.

Some of you know what it is to look your last upon the faces of those you love. Some of you mothers have wept hot tears upon the cold faces of your sons.

Well, they make him ready for burial; and when the time comes, they celebrate the funeral service, and place him on a bier to carry him away to the grave.

What a sad procession!

Just as they come out of the city gates, they see a little company of thirteen dusty-looking travelers, coming up the road.

There is One among them who is tall and far fairer than the sons of men.

Who can He be?

He is moved with compassion when He sees this little funeral procession; and it does not take Him long to find out that this woman who walks next the bier is a poor widow, whose only son she is following in sadness to the grave.

He tells the bearers to put down the bier; and while the mother wonders what is to be done, He bends tenderly over the dead man, and speaks to him in a low and sweet voice:

“Arise!”

And the dead man hears Him. His body begins to move; the man that was dead is struggling with his grave clothes; they unbind them, and now he sits up.

He leaps off the bier, catches sight of his mother, remembers that he was dead and is now alive again. He takes his mother in his arms, kisses her again and again, and then turns to look at the Stranger who has wrought this miracle upon him.

He is ready to do any thing for that Man—ready to follow Him to the death. But Jesus does not ask that of him. He knows his mother needs him; and so He does not take him away to be one of His disciples, but gives him back to his old mother.

I would have liked to see that young man re-entering the city of Nain, arm-in-arm with his mother. What do you suppose he said to the people, who looked at him with wonder? Would he not confess that Jesus of Nazareth had raised him from the dead? Would he not go everywhere, declaring what the Lord had done for his dead body?

Oh, how I love to preach Christ, who can stand over all the graves, and say to all the dead bodies: “Arise!”

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