but that he could not even move his head, so as to observe at a distance
the approach of a traveller. Possibly the sound of footsteps was the
first warning he received that a human being was near. Perhaps he
started in terror lest it should be the robbers returning to take what
remained of his life away. But as the priest came and looked upon him,
he might well begin to hope. This is a man who is consecrated to the
service of God; he is even now on his way from his turn of office in the
temple. He who gets so near to God will surely show mercy to man. No:
the priest passed by on the other side. We are not informed what his
excuses were; but we may be quite sure he had plenty, and that they were
very good. Those who seek a good excuse for neglecting the labour of
love always find one. He was alone; he could neither cure the
unfortunate man there nor carry him away. To make the attempt might
bring the robbers down from their fastnesses upon himself, and thus he
should only throw away a good life after a damaged one. Right well
would he justify himself that evening as he told his adventure in the
pass to his friends or his family in Jericho. Love saw no excuses for
leaving the man lying in his blood, for it was not looking for them; but
selfishness saw them at a glance, and would have created them in plenty
if there had been none at hand.
In like manner also a Levite came to the spot, looked for a moment on
the sufferer, and passed on.
At last a Samaritan came up; and when he saw the wounded man "he had
compassion on him." The root of the matter lies here: "Out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaks," and the hand labours; the
fountain is opened, and you may expect to see a flowing stream. Love in
presence of human suffering takes the form of compassion; and love in
all its forms tends to express itself in action: compassion issues in
help.
In this case evidently compassion was the secret force that produced all
the subsequent beneficence: yet we must not too readily count that all
is safe for practical efficiency, when in presence of a brother's
suffering this tender emotion begins to flutter about the heart. As the
heart itself is deceitful, so also in turn are each of its affections;
even those that in name and nature are good may swerve aside after they
have sprung, and degenerate into selfishness. Probably both the priest
and the Levite experienced some compassion as they looked on the pale
and bleeding victim of lawless violence; perhaps they went away pleased
with themselves on account of their tenderness, and somewhat angry with
the wounded man for being wounded, and so hurting their sensibilities.
The best things corrupted become the worst; and sometimes the sight of
distress among poorer neighbours stirs into fermentation some of the
worst elements of character in the comfortable classes. A little water
may spring in the bottom of the well; but if it do not increase so as to
fill the cavity, and freely overflow, it will become fetid where it
lies, and more noisome than utter dryness. It is quite possible, as to
emotion, to be very languishing over the misfortunes of others, and yet
do the unfortunate as little good as the misanthrope who laughs at human
sorrows.
But while the spurious compassion is thus vile and worthless, the true
is beyond expression beautiful and good. It breaks forth in power, and
sweeps down whatever obstacles may be thrown in its way. In this parable
the Lord expressly points to the fountain of compassion opened before he
invites us to follow the stream of beneficence in its course.
The nationality of the compassionate traveller is an important feature
of the parable; he was a Samaritan. The Jews and Samaritans were locally
nearest neighbours, but morally most unneighbourly. An enmity of
peculiar strength and persistency kept the communities asunder from age
to age. The alienation, originating in a difference of race, was kept
alive by rivalry in religion. The Samaritans endeavoured to cover the
defects of their pedigree by a zealous profession of orthodox forms in
divine worship. The temple which they presumed to erect on Gerizzim as a
rival to that of Jerusalem was naturally more odious to the Jews than
others that were more distant in space, and more widely diverse in
profession. Distinct traces of the keen reciprocal enmity that raged
between the Jews and the Samaritans crop out here and there incidentally
in the evangelical history, as in chapter ix. 54.
Most certainly the Lord does not here intend to intimate that all the
priests and Levites were cruel, and all Samaritans tender-hearted: to
apply them so would be to wrest his words. This teacher grasps his
instrument by the extremity, first one extremity and then the other,
that his lesson may reach further than if he had grasped it by the
middle. The honourable office, and even the generally high character, of
priest and Levite will not cover the sin of selfishly neglecting the
sufferings of a fellow-creature: self-sacrificing love is approved by
God and useful to men as well in a Samaritan as in a Jew. There is no
respect of persons with God. It is quite certain that there were
benevolent priests and unkind Samaritans; and it is also certain that
the Lord would not overlook kindness in the one, nor sanction cruelty in
the other. The lesson was addressed to a Jew; and therefore the lesson
is so constructed as to smite at one blow the two poles on which a vain
Jewish life in that day turned--"they trusted in themselves that they
were righteous, and despised others." That high thing, the scribe's
self-righteous trust in his birth-right, the Lord will by the parable
bring low; and this low thing, the mean position of a Samaritan in the
estimate of the scribe, he will at the same moment exalt. He hath done
all things well.[63]
[63] In the case of the ten lepers (Luke xvii. 16), which is not a
parable, but a history, we learn that the one who experienced and
expressed gratitude to God for his recovery was a Samaritan. Whether
their low and despised condition had been to some extent blessed in
making them more humble and receptive than their Jewish neighbours,
we do not know; but, in point of fact, in the historical incident a
Samaritan was more ready than the Jew to give praise to God; and in
the construction of the parable a Samaritan is represented as also
more beneficent to men.
In connection with this case a striking example may be seen of the
divine impartiality of the Scriptures. Some persons, with a view to
objects of their own, take pleasure in representing ministers of
religion as more self-seeking and less generous than those who make
no religious profession. The contrast between the Levite and the
Samaritan, if this case stood alone, might seem to support their
theory. But there is no respect of persons or classes with God; you
may learn from the Scriptures--and that, too, from the writings of
the same apostle--that the Samaritans were not all kind, and the
Levites not all hard-hearted. They were Samaritans (Luke ix. 53) who
would not permit Jesus and his disciples, when they were weary, to
pass the night in their village; and he was a Levite (Acts iv. 36)
who was named Son of Consolation, and sold his property that he
might distribute the proceeds among the poor.
The Samaritan had compassion on the wounded man; and the emotion is
known to be genuine by the fruits which it immediately bears: he bound
up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine. These methods doubtless
represent the opinions and practice of the time and place as to the
treatment of wounds. They constituted the expression of the Samaritan's
painstaking compassion; and for our present purpose no further notice of
them is needful.[64]
[64] The Samaritan was riding; for he set the wounded man "on his
own beast." What of the priest and the Levite?--were they riding, or
performing the journey on foot? If they were both pedestrians, while
the Samaritan had a mule or an ass, it is obvious that the two
parties were not on equal terms, and that consequently no fair test
of their benevolence could in that transaction be obtained. On that
very ground I think it is certain that they were riding as well as
he. The parable is not a history, containing the simple facts of any
given case, without respect to the lessons which the facts may
contain; it is a picture, constructed according to its Author's
mind, and constructed for the purpose of expressing a particular
lesson which the Author already had in his mind, and desired to
teach. The doctrine which the Teacher intended to declare obviously
requires that the two parties whose compassion is compared and
contrasted should be on equal terms. The lesson which he meant to
convey would slip through and be lost, like water through a leaky
vessel, if the priest and Levite were walking when they found the
wounded man: we must, therefore, if we would not do violence to the
parable, assume that both were mounted. With this conclusion,
resulting from the nature of the case, the expressions in their
minutest details correspond. The journey of the priest is narrated
in the same terms as that of the Samaritan: "A certain priest came
down that way," and "A certain Samaritan as he journeyed came where
he was:" we never learn that the Samaritan had a beast of burden
until he sets the half-dead traveller upon its back. There was no
occasion for mentioning the priest's mule, for he made no special or
remarkable use of it.
The inn to which the patient was conducted must have been more than a
khan built on the way-side, and left empty, a free shelter to each party
of travellers who chose to occupy it for a night. It must have been
something more nearly allied to our modern system; for there was a
resident manager, who kept in store such provisions as travellers
needed, and supplied them to customers for money.
The Samaritan remained all night with his patient, and then intrusted
the case to the care of the inn-keeper, paying a sum to account, and
pledging his credit for the balance, if the expense should ultimately
exceed the amount of his deposit. Two denaria (pence) were at the time
and in the circumstances of value sufficient to meet the probable
outlay.
Now comes the searching question, "Which of these three thinkest thou
was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?" The scribe, shut up
to one answer, gives it rightly, beginning perhaps to be dimly conscious
of its bearing upon himself,--"He that showed mercy on him." Here, as
has been already noted, the tables are turned upon the questioner. The
point on which attention is fixed is not, Who of all mankind have a
right to receive kindness? but, Are you willing to show kindness, as far
as you have opportunity, to every human being who is in need? The scribe
desired to select a few who might rank as his neighbours, hoping that by
limiting their number he might show kindness to each, without any
substantial sacrifice of his own ease. The Lord shows him that love is
like light: wherever it truly burns it shines forth in all directions,
and falls on every object that lies in its way. Love that desires to
limit its own exercise is not love. Love that is happier if it meet
only one who needs help than if it met ten, and happiest if it meet
none at all, is not love. One of love's essential laws is expressed in
those words of the Lord, that the apostles fondly remembered after he
had ascended, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
"Then said Jesus, Go and do thou likewise." Through the self-sufficient
Jewish theologian the command is addressed to us. The direct form of the
injunction intimates, what might be gathered from the nature of the
case, that this parable is more strictly an example than a symbol. It
does not convey spiritual lessons under the veil of material imagery: it
rather describes a case of practical beneficence, and then plainly
demands that we should imitate it. However various the required
reduplications may be in their form, they are the same in kind with the
sample which is here exhibited.
Besides this more obvious and literal application, almost all the
expositors find in the parable an allegorical representation of the
world's lost state and Christ's redeeming work. In this scheme the
wounded man represents our race ruined by sin; the robbers, the various
classes of our spiritual enemies; the priest and Levite, the various
legal and ineffectual methods by which human wisdom endeavours to cure
sin; and the Samaritan shadows forth the Redeemer in his advent and his
office. I mention this scheme in order to intimate that I cannot adopt
it. From the nature of the things, there must be some likeness to our
Redeemer's mission, wherever a loving heart pities a fallen brother, and
a strong hand is stretched out to help him; but beyond this general
analogy I see nothing. I can derive no benefit from even the most
cautious and sober prosecution of the details. I find in it a reproving
and guiding example of a true and effective compassion; but I find
nothing more. Nor should we think the lesson unworthy of its place,
although it does not directly reveal the redemption of Christ; He who
loved us, and whose love to us is the fountain and pattern of all our
benevolent love to each other, counted it a suitable exercise of his
prophetic office to teach his disciples their relative duties in life.
The lesson of this parable is parallel with that other lesson, "Love one
another, as I have loved you."[65]
[65] Dräseke has happily expressed the conception that to love is
truly to live: "Wir finden hier demnach die Lehre: Willst du leben,
liebe."--_Vom Reich G._, ii. 130.
Some who experience a genuine love are so poor that when they meet a
sufferer they cannot supply his wants. In such a case the Lord
acknowledges the will, and knows why the deed does not follow. In the
example of the widow's mite he has left it on record that he does not
despise the gift because of its smallness. Nay, further, he approves and
rewards the emotion when it is true, although the means of material help
be altogether wanting: "I was sick and in prison, and ye came unto
me."[66]
[66] "If the robbers had seized the Samaritan before he was able to
accomplish his design, his work would have been accomplished in the
sight of God;--and if the priest and Levite had given help on
account of approaching spectators, it would have been of no
value."--_Stier_.
In the vast mass and complicated relations of modern society, it is
extremely difficult to apply right principles in the department of
material benevolence. On two opposite sides we are liable to err; and we
ought on either side to watch and pray that we enter not into
temptation. (1.) It would be a mischievous mistake to give money, food,
and clothes to every importunate beggar who contrives to cross our path
and present an appearance of distress. There are men, women, and
children in our day, who trade upon their sores, and even make sores to
trade upon. To give alms indiscriminately, in these circumstances, is
both to waste means and propagate improvidence. But (2.) it is not
enough to resist importunities which may proceed from feigned distress.
Shut your hand resolutely against the whine of trained, unreal
pauperism; but, at the same time, diligently search out the true
sufferers, and liberally supply their wants. If from defective knowledge
errors must sometimes be committed, better far that now and then a
shilling should be lost, by falling into unworthy hands, than that our
hearts should be drained of their compassion and dried hard by the habit
of seeing human suffering and leaving it unrelieved. "A man's life
consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth;" it
is better that his abundance should be diminished, by an occasional
excess of disbursement, than that love, in which his life really lies,
should wither in his breast for want of exercise. "The milk of human
kindness" this compassion has been called; but let us remember that if
no needy child is permitted to draw it, this milk will soon cease to
flow.
XVIII.
THE FRIEND AT MIDNIGHT.
"And he said unto them, Which of you shall have a friend, and shall go
unto him at midnight, and say unto him, Friend, lend me three
loaves; for a friend of mine in his journey is come to me, and I
have nothing to set before him? And he from within shall answer and
say, Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with
me in bed; I cannot rise and give thee. I say unto you, Though he
will not rise and give him, because he is his friend, yet because of
his importunity he will rise and give him as many as he needeth. And
I say unto you, Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and you shall
find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that
asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that
knocketh it shall be opened."--LUKE xi. 5-10.
In prayer, as in every other department of his ministry, the Lord Jesus
gave his disciples both example and precept: he prayed in their
presence, and taught them to pray. The order of events at the beginning
of this chapter is worthy of notice: it was the Lord's praying that led
to the Lord's Prayer. The disciples heard their Master praying, and
requested him to teach them also to pray: in reply he imparted to them
the brief germinal directory which the Church has been living on ever
since, and which the Church will live on till her Redeemer come again.
"As he was praying in a certain place;"--the scene here presented is
sublime and mysterious. The Son of man--the Son of God in our nature, is
praying to the Father, and his followers are standing near. Silently,
reverently they look and listen. They bate their breath till the prayer
is done, and then eagerly press the request, "Lord, teach us to pray."
They observed in their Master while he prayed a strange separation from
the world, a conscious nearness to God, a delight in the Father's
presence, and a familiarity in communion with the Father, which seemed
to them like heaven upon earth. Fondly desiring to partake of these
blessed privileges, they besought their Master to show them the way. He
complied with their request. He taught them as one teaches children--he
put words in their mouths. Behold, the natural history of the Lord's
Prayer! Thus sprang that wonderful specimen-prayer, which serves at once
as the first lesson for babes beginning, and the fullest exercise of
strong men's powers.[67]
[67] This seems, however, not to have been the first occasion on
which he gave "The Lord's Prayer" to the disciples; it is embodied
in the Sermon on the Mount, which belongs to an earlier date. The
learners were defective both in understanding and memory; and the
Master gave them "line upon line."
Having taught his followers first by praying in their presence, and then
by dictating an example of prayer, he next gives them a specific lesson
on importunity and perseverance in praying. This lesson he has been
pleased to impart in the form of a parable--"And he said unto them,
Which of you shall have a friend," &c.
The picture refers to a simple, primitive condition of society, and
reveals corresponding social habits. We must abandon our own modern,
artificial view-point, ere we can comprehend and appreciate the facts on
which the parable is based. Some cottages, built near each other for
common safety, are owned and possessed by the cultivators of the
surrounding soil. Daylight has disappeared, and the inhabitants of the
hamlet, wearied with their toil, have all retired to rest. Meantime a
benighted traveller is threading his way to the spot expecting food and
shelter in the house of his friend. It is midnight ere he arrives; for,
footsore and weary, he has consumed many hours in accomplishing the
distance between his resting-place at noon and his destination for the
night. The inmates, hearing his knocking and recognising his voice,
forthwith open the door and hospitably receive the traveller.
But here a new difficulty occurs: the bread prepared for the household
had satisfied their wants for the day, but none remained over. The last
remnant had been consumed at the evening meal, and the family had
retired to rest with the intention of providing early in the morning for
the wants of the following day. They had not a morsel to set before the
weary stranger. The head of the house, willing to undergo any amount of
trouble rather than seem lacking in hospitality, determined to borrow
even at that late hour the necessary supply of bread. To the door of his
nearest neighbour, accordingly, he went, and knocked as the traveller
had already knocked at his own. Between the two villagers a conversation
now takes place, the one lying in bed within, and the other standing on
the street without. The request is met at first by a polite but
peremptory refusal. The hour is untimely; the children are asleep;
unwonted movements in the house will awaken and alarm them: better that
one stranger should fast till morning than that a whole family should be
disturbed in the night.
But the suppliant at the door has taken the matter much to heart. The
customs of society elevate the exercise of hospitality into the highest
rank of virtues: he was ashamed to be caught off his guard, and unable
to comply with the cardinal social duty of the East. He knew not how to
meet his friend and confess that he had no bread in his house; bread he
must have, and will not want; he plies his request accordingly. He will
listen to no refusal; he continues to knock and plead. To every answer
from within, "I will not give," he sends a reply from without, "I shall
have." It was for the sake of shielding his own sleeping family from
disturbance at midnight that this neighbour had, in the first instance,
refused; but now he discovers that the method which he had adopted to
preserve the seemly stillness of night is the surest way of disturbing
it. At first, that he might protect his sleeping family from
disturbance, he refused; but at last, for the same reason, he complied.
Although he would not give from friendship, he gave to importunity.
This parable is remarkable in that the temporal and spiritual, instead
of lying parallel throughout their length, touch each other only at one
point. They are like two straight rigid rods laid one upon another at
right angles; all the weight of the upper rod lies on the under at one
spot, and therefore presses there with tenfold intensity. The comparison
has been chosen, I think, precisely because of this quality. Because the
analogy does not hold good in every feature, it better serves the
purpose in hand: the point of comparison delivers its lesson all the
more emphatically when it stands alone.
When you have been convinced that God cares for his creatures, and have
therefore begun, in the Mediator's name, to pray;--when you have not
only said a prayer in fulfilment of a commanded duty, but felt a want,
and like a little child requested your Father in heaven to supply it,
another lesson concerning prayer remains still to be learned--to
persevere. When you have asked once--asked many times, and failed to
obtain relief, you are tempted gradually to lose hope and abandon
prayer. Here the lesson of the parable comes in: it teaches you to
continue asking until you receive. Ask as a hungry child asks his mother
for bread. It is not a certain duty prescribed, so that when you have
performed it you are at liberty to go away. Nor is it, Ask so many
times--whether seven or seventy times seven: it is, Ask until you obtain
your desire. When the Lord desired specially to recommend importunity in
prayer, he selected a case which teaches importunity and nothing more.
He gives us an example in which unceasing pertinacity alone triumphed
over all obstacles, and counsels us to go and do likewise when we ask
good things from our Father in heaven.