remained on the outside while here; he has entered in at last, and
it open, as widely open as God himself could fling it. or as any sinner needs that it should be flung. Nay, it has sent out messengers of peace and messages of love, assuring us not only of a welcome when we return, but of God's sincere desire that we should do so. It has not merely removed the restraints on grace which law imposed, and set it free to pour itself out freely; but it has made grace a righteous thing; so that now love is righteousness, and righteousness is love.
It is not possible to imagine greater freeness for the sinner, in his going to God, than has been provided by the vicarious life and death of Him who is "the end of the law, for righteousness to every one that believeth." Nothing can be freer, safer, surer, than "the new and living way." Yet, who goes in; who cares for it; "who hath believed our report?" The tread of returning feet makes no noise in our world; for the home-goers are so few, and so far between each other. But the sound of wandering feet is like the tread of millions. The noise of home-leavers, hastening from their Father's house, they know not whither, fills the wide air of earth; and, while men hear, in that sound, only mirth and joyance, faith hears in it sadness, and unrest, and the cravings of empty hearts, and the self-tolled knell of overhanging judgment, to which, though they will not believe it, they are hastening on.
O men, and friends, and fellow-exiles, we beseech you to turn back on your way of peril and sin. Turn back, lest ye perish! By the death of Him who died the sinner's death, by the life of Him who lived on earth the sinner's life of banishment, we entreat you to bethink yourselves, and turn your footsteps towards your Father's still-open home.
2. Look at Him within the veil, at the Father's right hand.—He remained on the outside while here; he has entered in at last, and that, not into the earthly sanctuary, the mere figure of the true, but into heaven itself, there to appear in the presence of God for us. When outside here on earth, he was our substitute; now when within, in heaven, he is our representative. He has gone up and gone
in for us. He carries us in along with him, and gives those, who accept his substitution and representation, the same privilege of nearness and fellowship as he has himself. As our High Priest, he communicates between us and God. As Intercessor, he pleads our case. As Representative, he has so identified himself with our persons, that we are lost sight of under his shadow. The Father sees him in us, and us in him. All our imperfection is lost in his glorious perfection; and we, in being presented to the Father, are presented as part of his glorious self; all our uncomeliness for ever merged in the infinite comeliness of the beloved Son.
From the moment that faith linked us to his cross, and identified us with his person, we became inseparable. In no aspect could God view us, save as part of his Son,—nay, wholly one with him. And this connection, though now one of faith, is ere long to be one of sight. "When he who is our life shall appear, we shall appear with him in glory." His second coming will be the visible completion of the wondrous identification, which faith at first accomplished. Resurrection will bring out, more fully than either life or death, the mysterious oneness between the body and the Head. One cross, one death, one grave, was ours; for his cross was ours, his death ours, his grave ours. So, one glory, one crown, one kingdom, one city, one inheritance, shall be ours hereafter; for all that he has is ours. He, one with us, took our place of exile outside the veil, and bore our shame, our suffering, our death. We, one with him, get his place of nearness to the Father, within the veil, and entrance to the many mansions of the eternal house; receiving the life, the love, the blessing, the eternal gladness, which he has purchased for us, and which he so freely, so lovingly, presents to each one who is now afar off, each banished child of Adam, each prodigal of earth, wandering in the far country, without a home or a Father, without a sanctuary, and without a God.
It is to this innermost place in the heaven of heavens, this innermost glory above, that the Lord invites the outermost of the sons of men, the farthest off of all earth's far-off wanderers. In love he took the
lowest place, that he might invite us to the highest. In love he went to the farthest circle of banishment that this earth knows, in order that, by bearing that banishment, he might bring us into the very centre of divine fellowship, and nearness, and heavenly gladness,—to the very bosom of the Father, out of which he himself had come, seeking the lost, and devising means whereby his banished should be restored. Ah, surely there is not anything in our banishment that should lead us, for one moment, to prefer it to our Father's presence, nor anything in the distant land of exile, to make us refuse for it the paradise of God!
SERMON IX
THE SERVANT OF SINNERS
"I am among you as he that serveth."—LUKE 22:27.
WE find in these words a double reference; first to the character, and secondly to the office, of the Son of man; to his character as the lowly one, to his office as the servant. For the purpose of bringing both these things before his disciples, he makes use of those marvellous words, "I am among you as THE SERVING ONE.
The dispute among the disciples respecting preeminence must have grieved and wounded him; more especially because of the time when this jealous strife arose. Scarcely had they finished the first solemn supper, the newly-instituted memorial of the body and blood of the Lord; scarcely had the Master ceased warning them of the traitor,
and the treachery that was among them; scarcely had their own searching inquiry ended, "Is it I?" when there arose "a strife among them, which of them should be accounted the greatest." How strange and sad, how almost incredible, the scene! Rising from the table of love to contend for the mastery, the one over the other; to wound the ear and heart of the Master with their angry words and selfish arguments; to turn the holy quiet of that upper chamber into a stir of strife, and ambition, and jealous wrangling, in the very presence of the Lord,—how unbecoming, how unkind, how inconceivably selfish and hateful!
To calm this tumult, to allay this strife, to stop the mouths of the disputants, the Lord interposes; and he does so in a way so pointed, yet so mild and loving, as must have overwhelmed the contenders, and covered their faces with shame.
The burden of his rebuke is just this,—"Look at me; am I striving for pre-eminence? Am I coveting honour, or power, or greatness? Am I even exercising superiority over you? Am I not foregoing even my rightful claim of service, and acting as your servant? Instead of demanding service at your hands, I am among you as he that serveth." He admits that this is not man's principle of acting, or estimate of service. He shews that this is not the scale on which earthly distinctions are graduated. Among the nations of the earth each one strives to be uppermost, and covets the titles which rank confers. But with his disciples this order was to be wholly reversed. Man's idea of greatness was that of pre-eminence over his fellowman, in virtue of which all should be his servants; God's idea of greatness was that of lowly love, in virtue of which a man should be willing to be the servant of all.
To this life of lowly love, this posture of willing service, this place of subjection, and self-denial, and dependence, it was, that he, the Son of God, had stooped from the highest heaven: and was it possible for a man, a sinner, to cherish ambitious thoughts of supremacy or earthly honour? The Son of man had come, not to be ministered
unto, but to minister; and, in the fulfilment of that ministry (that service), to give his life a ransom for many. And did not this shew the true law of the kingdom, the principle on which God was acting, and on which he was calling us to act; did it not tell us that our aim should be, not to soar, but to stoop; that greatness lies, not in ascending above others, but in descending beneath them; and that the highest seat of honour is, in truth, the lowest place of service,— service that counts no office mean, no labour great, no sacrifice costly,—service that is willing to go down even to the tomb itself in the performance of its offices of love?
Shall we not then covet this honour; this peculiar honour, so unlike all that is human, so truly divine; the honour of lowly service; the honour of resembling Him who took upon him the form of a servant, who girded himself with the towel, that he might wash his disciples' feet, and who has left us this precept for our daily practice, "If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another's feet; for I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done unto you?" When we hear him saying, I am among you as he that serveth, shall we not be ashamed of our pride, and ambition, and love of ease, and fastidiousness, and self-pleasing? When we see him serving, shall we not also serve? When we see him stretching out his hands to all, however unworthy and unloveable, shall we ever turn away, in weariness or in disgust, from any soul on earth, even the unworthiest and most unloveable of all?
But our object at present is not to dwell upon Christ's lowliness and obedience; nor to set forth these as our example; nor to shew the law of the kingdom, that service is the true nobility. We wish to exhibit the service itself of which He speaks; to bring before you Christ the servant; not merely Christ the Father's servant, doing the Father's will, but Christ a servant to us and for us; Christ fulfilling this lowly office, in order to meet the case of the neediest.
Let us consider these three things in reference to this service,—first, its history; secondly, its nature; and thirdly, the ends and objects
which it is intended to meet.
I. Its history.—It is not with His birth in Bethlehem that Christ's service begins. His visit to our first father in Paradise was its true commencement. After that we find him, age after age, visiting the children of men, and always in the character of one ministering to their wants. His intercourse with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, was that of one offering, not asking, service. In his dealings with Israel, we find the same unwearied, ever-watchful ministry; for the pillar-cloud that led them, that sheltered them, that guarded "them by night and day, was the dwelling of the Son of God, the visible exhibition of his presence and service. It was he who ministered to them in the desert. He fought their battles. He selected their encampments. He shaded them from the scorching sun. He drew water for them out of the rock, and brought food out of the storehouses of heaven. In Canaan, too, he ministered to them, generation after generation; and the long record of Israel is the history of his manifold service.
At his birth, his life of service visibly began. It was to serve that he descended to Bethlehem. And his life at Nazareth for thirty years was a life of service. In the three years and a half of his public ministry, he shewed how skilful he was in serving, how willing to undertake it in all its parts. At the well of Jacob we find him serving a needy sinner; in the house of Simon the Pharisee we find him doing the same. In the house of Lazarus we find him ministering to saints. Wherever he goes, we find him still exercising the same lowly vocation; ministering alike to soul and body, to Pharisee and publican, to child or to man, to Jew, or to Samaritan, or to Gentile. The upper chamber, Gethsemane, Pilate's hall, the cross, the grave,— these were all places of service. After his resurrection, on the way to Emmaus, on the shore of the lake, we find him still the same.
At his ascension He only entered on a new department of service; and as the Advocate with the Father, the Intercessor, the Forerunner, we see him still serving. As the priests under the law were, in all
things relating to the tabernacle, the people's servants, ever standing ready to do the required work to any Israelite, so is our Intercessor. He stands ready to take up any case that may be put into his hands. He wearies not; he is not provoked; he turns not away; as willing and prompt to serve, even the most unworthy, as in the days of his flesh. For the glory that surrounds him above has not altered his love or his meekness of spirit, nor made him ashamed of the lowly office which he exercised here, as the servant of the needy and the evil.
Nor, when he comes again in strength and majesty, as King of kings and Lord of lords, does he lose sight of his character as the ministering one. Hence in that passage in which he refers to this day of glory (Luke 12:37), he makes reference to this same gracious office as not even then laid aside,—"Blessed are those servants," says He, "whom the Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching: verily I say unto you, that he shall gird himself, and make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them;" as if, even in that day of triumph and happy festival, there would be something omitted, something incomplete, something incongruous, something not like himself, if he did not then find scope for his old office of condescending love, and appear, even at his own marriage supper, as the servant of his ransomed ones.
SERMON X
THE SERVANT OF SINNERS
"I am among you, as he that serveth."—LUKE 22:27.
II. Let us consider the nature of this service.—It is in all respects like Himself,—like Him who, though he was rich, for our sakes became poor.
(1.) It is willing service. There is no constraint, no reluctance, no mere official performance of an appointed duty. In the anticipation of coming to earth as the Father's servant he says, "I delight to do thy will;" and we know that it is as the Father's servant that he is also ours. He is the willing messenger of the Father's grace, the willing executor of the Father's purpose, the willing almoner of the Father's blessing, the willing endurer of the Father's wrath, the willing sacrifice for sin, the willing bearer of our sorrows and burdens. All is willingness with him; most unreserved and perfect willingness. His varied rounds of service are no heavy task. He is the willing servant of the needy.
(2.) It is a loving service. Out of no fountain save that of love could such amazing, such endless acts of service flow. The loving and the serving are inseparable. The kind of service which he has undergone, and which he still undergoes, admits of no construction save that of love. Of man's acts of service towards his fellow-man, however great or many, you have still the suspicion that they may be the mere fulfilment of duty, or the payment of a price. But Christ's acts of service cannot be thus misinterpreted. They can mean but one thing; they can spring from but one source; they are the utterance but of one feeling,—love.
(3.) It is self-denying service. It is written, "Even Christ pleased not himself;" and how often in the Psalms does he breathe out the heaviness of his spirit when making mention of his unrequited labours! They "gave me hatred for my love;" "they rewarded me evil for good, to the spoiling of my soul." To continue ministering, day after day, in the midst of reproach, and opposition, and rejection, was self-denial and devotedness such as man can hardly either credit or conceive. In encountering the uncongenialities and hostilities of such a world as this, when stooping to serve and bless; in meeting
with such unbelief, such ignorance, such frowardness as he had to deal with among his disciples themselves,—his self-denial was drawn out to the uttermost; and though his service was truly willing and loving, yet it was self-denying, to an extent of which we can have no idea. The Holy One coming into daily contact with sin; the Blessed One meeting with the curse on every side, yet still labouring on, still carrying out unshrinkingly his work of service for the sons of men,— ah! this is self-denial, such as could have come forth from no bosom save his own.
(4.) It Is patient, unwearied service. He has compassion on the ignorant, and on them that are out of the way. He breaks not the bruised reed; he quenches not the smoking flax. He is ever ready with his helping hand. He grudges no toil, no cost. By day or by night we find him ever girt for service. Tender, gentle, and patient, he sends none empty away; he does not upbraid them with requiring his services so often, or with needing the same help again and again, by reason of their own forgetfulness or perversity. He pities, and therefore he serves. He is patient, and therefore he serves. He is tender and gracious, and therefore he serves. Instead of being wearied out with the multitude of applicants, his only complaint is, that so few avail themselves of his help:—"Ye will not come to me." Instead of grudging the labour of supplying so many ever-recurring wants, he speaks as one to whom a favour is done, in allowing him to be the servant of the neediest.
(5.) It is free service. It cannot be bought; for what gold could purchase it? Neither does it need to be bought, for it is freely rendered. It is without money and without price. Service, without wages asked or given, is an unknown thing among men. Man cannot command the service of his fellow-men without money. But it is not so with God. All is of grace. The love is free, the gift is free, the life is free; so the service afforded to us, by him who came to serve, is altogether free! It is freely presented to us, nay, pressed upon us by One whose delight is in serving, whose honour is in serving, and whose one regret is that there are so few among the needy ones of
earth who will allow him to serve! Oh, that you would but accept the service of the Son of God! Oh, that you would allow him to gird himself with the towel, that he may wash you! Oh, that you would give him the joy, the honour, that his heart is set upon, of ministering to you, of attending on you, of guiding your steps through the gloom, and the storm, and the weariness, and the warfare of the desert, till he land you in the promised kingdom, and set you down at his marriage-supper,—there and then to know what the service of love can do, even for the weakest and unworthiest of those whom the blood has washed.
III. Its ends and objects.—It is to sinners that this service is rendered; and there is much in this to exhibit the ends which it has in view. They to whom Christ presents himself as the willing, loving, self-denying, patient servant, are not some nobler race of creatures, worthy of such condescension. They are the ungodly, who have no claim upon this gracious One, nothing to recommend them to his regards, save their poverty, their misery, their helplessness, and the impossibility of their delivering themselves, or finding their way out of this region of darkness into the kingdom of light.
No question is made as to the character of the persons to be saved; no objection is raised as to their unfitness or undeservingness; no hesitation is intimated as to the difficulty of the case, or the greatness of the guilt, or the strength, and toil, and care needed in undertaking it. No one of these things is mentioned, nor any such barrier for a moment supposed to exist. This gracious servant of the needy is willing to be employed by any one, no matter who, let him be the poorest, and the sickliest, and the feeblest of all who ever sought a helper, a protector, or a guide, on their way to the kingdom.
We need forgiveness. He ministers this in all its fulness; not once, nor seven times, but seventy times seven; bringing forth to us each hour, for our new sins, the new forgiveness out of the treasury of God; making us feel how exceeding abundant must be the grace of
our God, that can afford such endless pardons to be thus so freely ministered.
We need cleansing. He serves us also in this; girding himself with his towel, and washing us till we are clean every whit; aye, washing us hourly; marking with the eye of faithful, patient service every spot that soils us, and purging it off with the clean water of the heavenly laver; attending our steps as we pass along this world's polluted highways, and ready every moment to cleanse our feet from each newly contracted defilement.
We need healing. He ministers healing to us. He healeth all our diseases. With unwearied care and heavenly skill, he watches every turn they take, and applies at once the suited remedy. Our languor he revives, our insensibility he quickens, our callousness he softens, our parchedness he refreshes, our wounds he binds up, our sickliness he turns into health. Thus he serves us in patient love.
We need strength. He serves us in this also, with untiring patience, placing all his strength at our service, nay, perfecting his strength in our weakness. He is ever helping our infirmities, giving us his arm to lean upon, nay, carrying us, as a shepherd his sheep, when too feeble to go, sustaining us in our weariness, reviving us in our faintness, watching our steps that we may not stumble, teaching our hands to war and our fingers to fight,—nay, giving us the victory. No sense of feebleness or helplessness should ever lead us to despond. No hosts of enemies, whether of hell or earth, no terrors of battle set in array against us, should cause us to turn back. To them that have no might he increaseth strength. In all our varied weaknesses he is at hand to serve.
We need wisdom and guidance. He ministers these to us, according to our need. He is made unto us wisdom. He guides us with his eye. He pities our ignorance and perplexity, and takes his willing place at our side, to instruct and to lead. His infinite resources he places at our disposal, and invites us to accept of his service, in the
communication of all wisdom, and knowledge, and prudence, and true enlightenment of soul. If we are foolish, or dark, or misled, or stumbling, it is because we will not have him to serve us! O folly without a parallel, to decline or to slight such an offer as this!
We need faith and love. He increases our faith; he prays for us, that our faith fail not; he marks it when feeble and ready to give way, and strengthens it anew. So with our love. He kindles it, and cherishes it, preventing it from being cooled or quenched in this unkindly clime. Oh, what should we do for faith or love, were it not for this ministering One! Is your faith feeble, and unbelief obtaining the mastery? Or, is your love becoming chill and heartless? Accept the proffered service of the gracious Son of Man; allow him to do that in which he delights, to minister to you in these things; so shall your faith wax strong, and your love become fervent like his own.
We need protection. He is our shield and buckler. In the battle he covers our head, and thrusts danger from us. Ever ready, at our right hand and at our left, before and behind, he wards off the stroke, or anticipates and prevents the evil. Unweariedly serving us as our protector, and wielding for us the weapons of battle, he enables us to say, with tranquil confidence, The Lord is on my side; I will not fear though thousands set themselves against me.
But I cannot number our wants. They are numerous as the moments that run on. Each day brings forth its new ones, and repeats the old. How blessed, how comforting, in such a case, to have one to minister to them all, and that one none other than the Son of God himself! The Lord is our Shepherd, we shall not want. Jesus himself is he who waits to serve, to supply, and to satisfy. What can make us fear or despond? What can make our hands hang down, or our knees wax feeble? Our strength may be small; he will increase it. Our faith may be feeble; he will give it might. Perplexities may beset us; he will guide us through. Sorrow may press us down; he will minister consolation. Sin may struggle hard for the mastery; he will subdue it. In every scene, and place, and duty, and struggle, and trial, he will be
at our side, as the servant, to minister to us in everything, so that in nothing we may be found lacking.
"I am among you as he that serveth." Thus he speaks to us now; coming into the midst of us, and proffering his gracious services. I am come, not to receive, but to give; not to be filled, but to fill; not to be healed, but to heal; not to be gladdened, but to gladden; not to be ministered unto, but to minister! Oh, who is there that can listen coldly to such an announcement, or refuse such a proffer of service? Shall condescending love like this be trifled with or set at nought?
Is there some one here, like Peter, ready to say, Surely this is too much! "Lord, thou shalt never wash my feet! I cannot bear the thought that thou shouldst perform an act so menial for such as I am." Then hear the answer,—"If I wash thee not, thou hast no part in me." If thou wilt not allow me thus to minister, then thou canst not be mine! Strange, yet blessed thought! We cannot be saved, we cannot have any part in him, unless we allow him thus to perform for us his service of lowly love! It is as the servant that he is the Saviour! In saving, he serves; and in serving, he saves!
Do we not often lose sight of this? And, in losing sight of it, how much do we miss! We should be holier, as well as more blessed men, if we did but allow the Master to serve us as he desires. We should be wiser, stronger, more full of faith, and love, and zeal, would we but consent to let him minister to us in all the varied service which we need so much, and which he is so willing to perform. The Father's servant for our profit, and our servant for the glory of the Father, he presents himself this day to us, seeking to be employed by us in his lowly office, and grieving only at this, that there are so few who will employ him; and that even those who do, either through false humility or self-reliance, do not give him, even to the ten thousandth part, the extent of the employment that he desires.
SERMON XI
CHRIST THE HEALER
"If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole."—MATT. 9:21.
HERE, we may say, we have the record of one who had learned to do justice to the love of God,—to the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. Not of many can this be said, in a world of unbelief like ours; but here is one. We do not know her name; no other part of her history is told us; she is brought before us simply as one who trusted in the Son of God, who had tasted that the Lord was gracious. Like a sudden star, she shines out and then disappears. But her simple faith remains as our example.
It is not the great multitude "thronging" Christ that here draws our eye. It is the woman and the Lord; the sick one and her Healer; the sinner and the Saviour. From every one else our eye is turned, and fixed on these. In this brief narrative concerning them, we find such things as the following:—
I. The way in which these two are thrown together.—The Lord has just received the ruler's message concerning his little daughter, and he is hastening to Capernaum. His direct errand is about her. But, on his way, the Father finds much for him to do; and, by chance, as men say, this sick woman crosses his path and detains him a moment; for it is only sickness, or sorrow, or death, that either detain him or hasten him on. In his blessed path as the healer, he is ever willing to be arrested by the sons of men; counting this no detention, no trouble, no hindrance, but the true fulfilment of his heavenly
mission. Opportunities such as these were welcome to him; nor was he at any time too busy, too much in haste, to take up the case of the needy, however suddenly brought before him. To him no interruption was unwelcome which appealed to his love or power. These by-errands of the Son of Man were often his most blessed ones, as at Nain, and Jacob's well, and the sycamore of Jericho. I know not whether we prize our own by-errands sufficiently, our "accidental" opportunities of working or speaking for God. We like to plan, and to carry out our plans to the end; and we do not quite like interruptions or detentions. Yet these may be, after all, our real work. Little can we guess, when forming our plans for the day, on what errands God may send us; and as little can we foresee, when setting out even on the shortest journey, what opportunity may cross our path, of serving the Master, and blessing our fellow-men. Whitefield, on his way to Glasgow, is drawn aside unexpectedly to tarry a night in the house of strangers. To that family he brings salvation. A minister of Christ misses the train which was to convey him to his destination. He frets a little, but sets out to walk the ten miles as best he may. He is picked up by a kind stranger in a carriage, a man of the world, who has not been in the house of God for years. He speaks a word, gives a book, thanks the stranger in the Master's name for his kindness, and joys to learn some years after that he missed the train in order to be the messenger of eternal life to a heedless sinner.
II. The occasion of their being brought together.—It is the incurability of the woman's ailment by earthly skill that throws her upon the heavenly physician. Man has done his utmost for twelve years, but has failed. She gets worse, not better. But man's failure brings her to one who cannot fail. Man's helplessness shuts her up to help that is almighty; and sends her to one who can do exceeding abundantly above all she asks or thinks. How slow are we to turn from man to God! Not twelve years, but many times twelve years do we continue in our trouble, trying successive remedies,—going to one and another and another physician, crying, Heal me, heal me. We hew out cistern after cistern; and still, as each one breaks, we try another. We go the round of vanity, and pleasure, and sin,
endeavouring to fill our empty souls; and turning away at last with the despairing cry, "Oh, who will shew us any good?" But, like the prodigal, we begin to bethink ourselves. "There is bread enough in our Father's house," we say;—Shall we not arise and seek it? We have tried man, shall we not try God? We have gone to earthly wells, shall we not try the heavenly? Thus earthly disappointment is the introduction to heavenly blessedness. The uselessness of human medicines sends us to the balm of Gilead, and to the physician that is there. Nor does he reject us because we have tried him last, and because we would fain have done without him if we could. He welcomes us as if we had come to him first; nor does he upbraid us with our delay. Blessed failures, happy disappointments, that thus throw men, with their poor aching hearts, upon the loving-kindness of the Lord!
III. The point of connection between them.—It is the woman's malady. Incurability is the occasion of the connection; but the point or link of connection is the disease itself. Had it not been for this, she would not have sought the Lord. It is not that which is whole about her, but that which is diseased, that draws the healer to the sick one, and the sick one to the healer. So, it is sin that is our point of connection. Not our good, but our want of good, nay, our evil, our total evil. Our death and his life; our weakness and his strength; our poverty and his riches;—these are the things that meet and clasp each other. All connection with the Son of God must begin with our sin; for he came not to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance; he receives sinners; he saves the lost. This is the point in dispute between the Saviour and the self-righteous sinner. This is the truth that we are so slow to learn; yet it is the essence of the gospel. Did we but fully know and act upon this, how differently should we treat the Lord! Distrust and distance would be ended, for the cause of these would be taken out of the way. We stand aloof from him because we do not see in him the receiver of sinners; nor thoroughly recognise either his absolute goodness or our absolute evil. A good thought, a fervent feeling, an earnest prayer, a sorrowful tear;—these are great things in our eyes; because we think they will recommend us to Him,
and form so many points, at which he and we may come into contact with each other. Alas for our folly and unbelief; and alas for the misery and the darkness which they produce! We will not trust him for his own grace and goodness; we must bribe him to bless us! We would hide the evil in us, and we would display the good, in order to induce him to take us into favour. But it is not thus that he receives. It is with sin he deals, and we must bring him that. It is with disease that he deals, and we must bring him that. If we refuse, there can be no meeting between Him and us, till we meet before the throne.
IV. The woman's need of Christ.—Hers had been a sore and long sickness; a great and a long need. Yet it was her need that made her welcome. Blessed need that makes us welcome to the Lord! As with the woman, so with us. We need Christ! And what an amount of need is implied in this! A man that needs an hundred pounds is needy; but the man who needs ten thousand is far more so. That we need Christ, —nothing less than Christ, yet nothing more,—is the most appalling, yet also the most comforting announcement of a sinner's state that could be made. Nothing could be said more fitted to awaken, to alarm, to humble, than this,—you need Christ. Such is the nature and the extent of your need, that less than the Incarnate Son and his fulness cannot avail you. We need Christ! This is the reason for our coming to him, and for his receiving us. We go to him, we deal with him, we make our case known to him,—because we need him. It may be our sense of sin or our want of a sense of sin; it may be our ignorance, our stupidity, our insensibility, our conscious absence of all goodness;—it matters not. Only let these bring us at once and directly to himself. The emptiness is ours; but the fulness is his; infinite fulness dispensed by infinite love.
V. Christ's need of the Woman.—Does it sound strange to say that Christ needed the woman? It is true; and as blessed as it is true. The speaker needs his audience as truly as the audience needs the speaker. The physician needs the sick man as truly as the sick man the physician. The sun needs the earth as truly as the earth needs the sun. You may say, what would the earth be without the sun? Yes; but
what would the sun be without an earth to shine upon? What would become of its radiance? All wasted. It would shine in vain. So Christ needed objects for the exercise of his skill, and love, and power. His fulness needed emptiness like ours to draw it out: otherwise it would have been pent up and unemployed. He is glorified, not simply in the possession of fulness, but in the using of it. If it remain within himself, he is unglorified, and the Father is unglorified. He needed opportunities for drawing out his treasures. He needed the publican as truly (though not in the same sense and way) as the publican needed him. He needed Mary Magdalene and the woman of Sychar, and Simon the leper, and Lazarus of Bethany, as truly as they needed him. How cheering! The Lord hath need of us! He needs guilty ones to pardon; he needs empty ones to fill; he needs poor ones to enrich! How precious and how ample is the gospel contained in this blessed truth!
VI. The woman's thoughts of Christ.—Her thoughts of herself are poor. She is modest and diffident; unwilling to obtrude herself on the Master. She is in earnest about her cure; but she takes the quietest way of obtaining it. Her desire to touch his garment is not error or ignorance, as if supposing that some virtue lay in its hem. Nor is her wish for secresy, unbelief, but simply humility;—humility, accompanied with such faith in him, that she feels assured that a touch of his raiment will suffice. She is unwilling to detain or trouble him; and she has such high thoughts of him as to convince her that a direct appeal is not needed. A touch will do; one touch of his garment! Thus she thinks within herself, in the simplicity of her happy faith. She knows his fulness is infinite, and that simple contact with him in any form will draw it out. The healing virtue in him is irrepressible. Like the sun, he cannot but shine. Like the garden, he cannot but give out his fragrance. Only let her come within touch of his raiment, and all is well.
She touched, and as she believed, so was it to her. All was well.
Let such be our thoughts of this heavenly healer. He is the same in heaven as on earth. There still goes virtue out of him to heal the sons of men. Let us do justice to his love and skill,—thinking no evil of Him, but only good. The simplest form of connection with him will accomplish the cure. Listening to his voice,—that will do it. A look at his countenance,—that will do it. A clasp of his hand,—that will do it. A touch of his garment, even of its hem,—that will do it. For "as many as touch him are made perfectly whole."
SERMON XII
CHRIST THE CLEANSER
"He that is washed needeth not, save to wash his feet, but is clean every whit."—JOHN 13:10.
THIS washing of the disciples' feet was one of the last of our Lord's acts on earth, as the servant of his disciples, the servant of sinners. How fully did that towel, and that basin, shew that he had "taken upon him the form of a servant," (Phil. 2:7), and that he had come "not to be ministered unto, but to minister!" This last act of lowly love, is the filling up of his matchless condescension; it is so simple, so kindly, so expressive; and all the more so, because not referring to positive want, such as hunger, or thirst, or pain, but merely to bodily comfort. Oh, if he is so interested in our commonest comforts, such as the washing of our feet, what must he be in our spiritual joys and blessings! How desirous that we should have peace of soul; and how willing to impart it!
This scene of condescending love is no mere show. It is a reality. And it is a reality for us to copy. Love to the saints; love shewing itself in simple acts of quiet, lowly service; service pertaining to common comforts; this is the lesson for us, which the divine example gives. If He did this, what should we do? "If I your Lord and Master have washed your feet, ye also ought to wash one another's feet."
But, in the midst of this scene and its lesson, there suddenly rises up a spiritual truth, called forth by Peter's remonstrance. The whole transaction is transferred into a type, or symbol, by the Lord himself. The earthly all at once rises into the heavenly, as he utters these words, "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part in me." It is as if he had lighted up a new star in the blue, or rather withdrawn the cloud that hid a star already kindled, but hindered, in its shining, by an earthly veil.
Accepting, then, this spiritual truth as a vital part of the transaction, let us study its full meaning, as thus unveiled to us. The words of this tenth verse might be thus translated, or at least paraphrased:—"He that has bathed (or come out of the bath) needs only, after that, to wash his feet; the rest of his person is clean." Here, then, we have first the bathing; and, secondly, the washing.
I. The Bathing.—The reference here may be to "the fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness;" in which we are "washed from our sins in his own blood" by "Him who loved us" (Rev. 1:5). The bath is the blood, and the bathing is our believing. From the moment we bathe, that is, believe, we are personally and legally clean in God's sight; our "bodies are washed with pure water" (Heb. 10:20). We may accept the reference here, as being either to the temple, or to the bath. He who bathes, say in the morning, is clean for the whole day. Our believing is our taking our morning bath. That cleanses our persons; and during all the rest of our earthly day we walk about, as men forgiven and clean; who know that there is no condemnation for them, and that God has removed their sins from them, as far as east is from the west. Connecting the washing here referred to, with the
temple service, the meaning would be this:—We go to the altar and get the blood, the symbol of death, sprinkled upon us, implying that we have died the death, and paid the penalty, in him who died for us. From the altar we go to the laver, and get the blood washed off from our persons, proclaiming that we are risen from the dead, and therefore in all respects most thoroughly clean,—"clean every whit,"—all over clean in our persons before God.
This is the bathing; and thus it is that we are cleansed, realising David's prayer, "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than the snow." When I believe in Christ as the fountain, as the altar and the laver, that is, when I receive God's testimony concerning his precious blood, I am washed. I become clean; as Christ said to his disciples, "Now are ye clean through the word that I have spoken unto you." When I believe in Christ as the righteousness, that is, when I receive God's testimony concerning his divine righteousness, I am straightway righteous. When I receive him as the life, I have life. When I receive him as Redeemer, I am redeemed. When I receive him as the sinner's surety, I am pardoned; there is no condemnation for me. When I receive him as the dead and risen Christ, I die and rise again.
Such are the results of this divine bathing. They are present and immediate results. They spring straight from that oneness with him in all things into which my believing brings me. As a believing man, I enter upon his fulness; I become partaker of his riches; and so identified with himself, that his cleanness is accounted my cleanness, his excellence my excellence, his perfection my perfection. As he was the Lamb without blemish, and without spot, so I am "clean every whit;" and to me, as part of the cleansed Bride, the Lamb's wife, it is said, "Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee."
II. The Washing.—This is something different from the bathing, and yet there is a likeness between the two things. Both refer to forgiveness; or rather, we should say, that the first refers to personal acceptance, the latter to the daily forgiveness of the accepted one.
The washing is not that of the person, but of the person's feet,—those parts which come constantly into contact with the soil and dust of the earth. Considered personally, and as a whole, he is far above the earth, and beyond its pollutions; for he is with Christ in heavenly places; but, considered in parts, his feet may be said to be still upon the earth. In one sense he is "clean every whit," seated with Christ in heaven; in another, he is still a sinner, walking the earth, and getting his feet constantly soiled with its dust, or "thick clay." Our Lord here speaks of the washing in reference to this latter condition; and contrasts the continual washing with the one bathing; the daily pardons, upon confession, with the one acceptance, in believing; an acceptance with which nothing can interfere. With the sense of acceptance, we may say that many things can and do interfere; but with the acceptance itself, nothing can, either within or without, either in heaven or on earth.
The person who is bathed, is exposed after coming from the bath to constant soiling of his feet; but that is all. His person remains clean. The priest who has washed at the laver, is constantly getting his feet soiled with the dust of the temple pavement, or with the clotted blood which adheres to it. But this does not affect his person. That remains clean. So is it with the believing man. Personally accepted, and delivered from condemnation, he is every moment contracting some new stain, some defilement which needs washing. But this defilement does not affect his personal forgiveness, and ought not to lead him into doubt as to his acceptance. He himself is clean, through his reception of the word spoken to him by his Lord and Master; and he goes about the removal of his ever-recurring sins, as one who knows this. He betakes himself to Christ for the hourly removal of his sins, as one who has tasted that the Lord is gracious; he comes for the washing of his feet to him who has already bathed his person.
It is this distinction between the "bathing" and the "washing" that meets the difficulty felt by some, as to a believer constantly seeking pardon. He that has bathed needeth not save to wash his feet; but
still he does need to have these washed. He that has been accepted in the beloved, has not daily to go and plead for acceptance, nor to do or say anything which implies that the condemnation, from which he has been delivered, has returned; but he has to mourn over, to confess, to seek forgiveness for daily sins. The two states are quite distinct, yet quite consistent with each other. The complete acceptance of the believing man does not prevent his sinning, nor do away with the constant need of new pardons for his sins; and the recurrence of sin does not cancel his acceptance, nor is the obtaining of new pardons at variance with his standing as a forgiven man.
It is this distinction which answers a question often raised, "Are all our sins, future as well as past, forgiven the moment we believe?" In one sense they are; for from the time of our believing, we are treated by God as forgiven men, and nothing can interfere with this. But in another they are not; for, strictly speaking, no sin can be actually forgiven till it exists, just as no one can be raised up till he actually fall, and as we cannot wash off the soil from our feet until it is on them. That God should treat his saints as forgiven ones, and yet that he should be constantly forgiving, are two things quite compatible,— and the "bathing and washing" of our text, furnish an excellent illustration of their consistency. All such questions have two sides, a divine and a human one. The mixing up of these two, or the ascribing to the one what belongs to the other, confuses and perplexes. The keeping of them separate makes all clear. With the divine side God has to do, with the human we have to do. Eternal forgiveness is God's purpose: daily forgiveness is our enjoyment and privilege.
We are apt to get into confusion here, and to feel as if our daily sins did interfere with our acceptance, and ought, for the time, to destroy our consciousness, or assurance of acceptance. Our Lord's words here clear up this difficulty, and rectify this mistake. "He that hath bathed needeth not, save to wash his feet." Our state of "no condemnation," is one which our daily sins cannot touch. These sins need constant washing; but that does not affect the great truth of our personal cleanness in the sight of God, our having found grace in the
eyes of the Lord. To suppose that it could do so, would be to misunderstand our Lord's distinction between the bathing and the washing.
Let us learn, then, how to deal with our daily sins, in consistency with this distinction. Suppose I sin,—suppose I get angry; shall I conclude that I have never been accepted, or that this sin has thrown me out of acceptance? No; but holding fast my acceptance, go and confess my anger to the Master. Suppose I allow the world to come in, and perhaps for days I become cold, and prayerless; shall I say, Ah, I have never been a forgiven man? or, This has broken up the reconciliation? No; but, undisturbed in my consciousness of pardon and reconciliation, I simply take my worldliness, my coldness, my prayerlessness to God; I go and wash my feet as often as they need it, and that is every moment; but, in doing so, I never lose sight of the blessed fact, that I have bathed, and that as nothing can alter this fact, so nothing can invalidate its effects. It abides unchanged. Once bathed, then bathed for ever!
Shall we sin, then, because grace abounds? Shall we soil our feet because our cleansing has been so perfect, and because the washing is so easy? No. How shall we who are dead to sin, live any longer therein? So far from being now in a more favourable position for committing sin, we are placed in one which, of all others, is the most effectual for delivering us from it. The conscious completeness of the pardon is God's preservative from sin; and it is the best, the most effectual. There is none like it. It is the source of our power against sin, and for holiness. Without this, progress in goodness, freedom in service, and success in labour are all impossible.
The bathing and the washing are, both of them, God's protests against sin; and, if understood aright, would be our most effectual safeguards. They come to us like Christ's words to the woman, "Neither do I condemn thee; GO AND SIN NO MORE." And what more likely to deepen our hatred of sin, than this necessary intercourse with our holy Master, in the reception of constant
forgivenesses from his priestly hands. The more that we have to do with Him, the more are we sure to become like him; nor is anything more fitted to make us ashamed of our sins, than our being compelled to bring them constantly, and to bring them all, small and great, for pardon to HIMSELF.
It is thus that the Highest stoops to the lowest, and discharges toward them the offices of happy affection and considerate sympathy in the most menial things of life. Shall we not imitate his love, and by our daily acts of kindly service to our fellowsaints, knit together the members of the blessed household? However great in rank, or riches, or learning, shall we not stoop? "High in high places, gentle in our own." Shall we not thus win love? Not so much to ourselves, as to the beloved One; shewing his meekness in ours, his gentleness in ours, his lowliness in ours, his patience in ours; thus melting hearts that would not otherwise be melted, and winning affections that would not otherwise be won. "For as He is, so are we in this world."
SERMON XIII
THE SURETY'S BAPTISM
"I have a baptism to be baptized with; and how am I straitened till it be accomplished!"—LUKE 12:50.
MESSIAH was announced, by the prophets, as King of Peace and King of Righteousness. He was to be Solomon and Melchisedec in one; the great antitype of both. He was to conquer and cast out him
who had brought in all the discord; to restore unity and order to a broken and dismembered world. He was to reconcile the various parts of creation, so that not only were God and man, heaven and earth, to be at one, but even the lower races of creation were to have their variances removed, and the lion and the ox, the wolf and the lamb, the leopard and the kid, were to dwell together in peace. Everything connected with his person, his work, his word, his reign, was peace. His was to be the "covenant of peace;" his name was to be the "Prince of Peace;" and in his days there was to be "the abundance of peace."
At verse 51 there is an apparent denial of this: "Suppose ye that I am come to give peace on earth? I tell you, Nay; but rather division." This, however, clearly means that the first results of his coming were not the expected ones of peace. He was indeed coming on an errand of peace; but there was something before that,—something introductory to it, yet altogether unlike it. Before the light there must come the darkness; before the still small voice there must come the earthquake, the whirlwind, and the lightning. So, before the peace of Messiah's reign there must come fire, and war, and division, and persecution, and the sword. Before Israel is planted in their land, to enjoy the abundance of Messiah's peace, there must come the "tribulation such as never was nor shall be."
The fire spoken of in the 49th verse is not the fire of Pentecost, nor the symbol of the Holy Ghost, nor the figure of purification. It is manifestly the fire of vengeance, so frequently referred to by the prophets as the precursor of Messiah's coming and reign. Ps. 50:3, "Our God shall come, and shall not keep silence; a fire shall devour before him." Ps. 97:3, "A fire goeth before him, and burneth up his enemies round about." Isa. 9:5, "This (the last battle) shall be with burning and fuel of fire" Isa. 10:17, "And the light of Israel shall be for a fire, and his holy one for a flame." Isa. 66:15, "Behold, the Lord will come with fire, to render his anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire; for by fire, and by his sword (his "flaming sword," Gen. 3:24), will the Lord plead with all flesh." So John the Baptist
announced Christ as the Avenger who was to "burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire" (Matt. 3:12). So Paul proclaims him as to come "with flaming fire, taking vengeance on them that know not God." So do Peter and Jude, and John in the Revelation. It is fire that is so specially and so awfully associated with Messiah and his day.
Of this fire the Lord here speaks, adding, "What will I if it be already kindled?"—meaning, "Would that that day were come,—that day which is to bring glory to me and my people,—to purge the earth from sin, and make all things new. It is not for its own sake, or for the destruction which it brings, that he longs for the fire, but for the glorious results that are to follow.
He then announces himself as the bringer of fire, the kindler of that terrible flame in which creation is to be wrapped, when the wicked are consumed, and when the alloy of the ancient curse is to be burned out of it for ever. "I am come to send fire on the earth." He tells also with equal distinctness his desire for the arrival of that awful day. Not that he loves the night; but it is the herald of the morn. Not that he desires the day of wrath; but it is the introduction of the day of everlasting peace.
Having thus adverted to his second coming and the woes then awaiting the world, he turns to his first coming, and the woes about to come upon himself. The world's baptism of fire was certainly to come, but his own baptism of fire must come first. "I have a baptism to be baptized with." The fire that is to burn up his enemies and purge creation must first descend on him, for he is the great demonstration to the universe that "our God is a consuming fire." The sword that is to go through the world must first awake against the Man that is Jehovah's fellow. The cup of trembling that is to go round the nations must first be given into His hands. In the sorrow, and the wrath, and the death, that are to visit this evil world, He must first have his bitter share. O dreadful baptism of the Son of God! a baptism which the sons of Zebedee vainly thought they could partake of along with him; a baptism which neither man nor angel
could endure; a baptism whose shower of infinite wrath was too fiery, too resistless, too overwhelming, to be borne by any, save one who was superhuman, superangelic,—truly divine; for who but God can bear the wrath of God, and not be totally consumed?
The baptism of the Son of God, here spoken of by himself, was the baptism of wrath; for he who was made sin for us must be baptized with this baptism. Because of this he cried out in his anguish, "Thy wrath lieth hard upon me; thou hast afflicted me with all thy waves;" "Thy fierce wrath (or 'burnings,' Ps. 88:16, Heb. 12:29) goeth over me." It was thus that the shower, which should have expended itself on us, exhausted itself on him. It was thus that righteousness made way for grace, and, satisfying itself upon the Surety instead of the sinner, proclaimed righteous pardon to the condemned, and righteous liberty to the captive. For the Son of God there was the baptism of fire, in order that for us there might be the baptism of grace and peace.
It is the knowledge of this fiery baptism of our divine Surety that gives to us the reconciliation and the peace which, as sinners, we need. The more thoroughly that we know that baptism, and enter into its gracious meaning, the more do we realise the reconciliation of the covenant, and feel assured that there is no condemnation for us. The knowledge of his condemnation becomes thus the assurance of our own forgiveness, and the discernment of the wrath that has come down on him, conveys to us abiding and unchanging peace; because it is wrath which has wholly and for ever passed away from us.
It was of this fiery baptism that He himself spoke when he said, "Now is my soul troubled." Of this he spoke more fully in Gethsemane, when his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground. Of this he spoke upon the cross, when he cried out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Of this he spoke in the Supper, when he said, "This is my body broken for you.… This cup is the New Testament in my blood, shed for many, for
the remission of sins." It is of this fiery baptism of wrath, under which he died, that our own baptism is the memorial; for it is called "baptism into death," and we are said to be "baptized into his death," as if we in baptism were so identifying ourselves with him, as to be baptized with the baptism wherewith he was baptized, and to be brought under the same descending flood of divine wrath as came down on him.
This baptism the Son of God must undergo; and he knew this. It was appointed him of the Father, and arranged in the eternal covenant. "I have a baptism to be baptized with." He knew it; he knew the reason of it; he knew the result of it; and he knew that it could not pass away from him. He had come to fulfil all righteousness; he had come to be made a curse for us. As the fulfiller of the Father's will he must undergo the appointed baptism. As the Redeemer of the captive, the Substitute for the sinner, the Man who "pleased not himself," he must undergo it. It was his lot, his divinely ordained lot. He knew it, and he went on to meet it. "I have a baptism to be baptized with." He saw Gethsemane in his path, but he turned not aside. He saw Golgotha before him, but on he went, straight to the agony of its cross and death. To do the will of Him who sent him, and to finish his work, at whatever cost,—this was his desire.
But still he felt, in regard to that awful baptism, the human sensitiveness and shrinking which made him in Gethsemane cry, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me." "How am I straitened," he says, "till it be accomplished!"