mean is employed to illustrate a divine motive that is high and holy. In
both cases the reason of the choice is the same; and in both the reason
of the choice becomes the explanation of the difficulty. An example of
persevering importunity in asking was needed in order to become the
vehicle of the spiritual lesson; but in human affairs such an example
cannot be found among the loving and generous: you must descend into
some of the lower and harder strata of human character ere you reach a
specimen of the pertinacious refusal which generates the pertinacious
demand. That feature of the Father's government which the Son here
undertakes to explain cannot otherwise be represented by analogies drawn
from human experience. If the villager had been more generously
benevolent, he would have complied at once with the request of his
neighbour; but in that case no suitable example for the Lord's present
purpose could have emerged from his act. In order to find an example of
persevering importunity, it was necessary to select a case in which
nothing but persevering importunity could prevail.
The terms are distinct and emphatic: "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." The term [Greek: anaideian],
translated "importunity," signifies freedom from the bashfulness which
cannot ask a second time. The shamefacedness which prevents a modest man
from importuning a fellow-creature for a gift, after the first request
has been refused, is out of place in the intercourse between an empty
but believing suppliant and the God of all grace. If this Jewish
countryman in his perplexity had been ashamed to ask a second time, he
would have failed to accomplish his object; but because he was not so
ashamed, or at least did not permit the shame to drive him from his
purpose, he obtained at length all his desire. Now, his conduct in this
respect is specially commended to us for imitation in our prayer: "And I
say unto you, Ask and it shall be given you." As that man asked a gift
from a brother, we should ask from God. This is the kind of prayer that
Christ teaches us to address to God; and the Son who is in the bosom of
the Father will rightly declare the Father's mind.
The lesson is in some of its aspects difficult. We have not
experience--we have not faculties sufficient to make us capable of
understanding it fully. Our Teacher might have maintained silence
regarding it; or he might have said, as we often in substance say to
little children, "What thou knowest not now, thou shalt know hereafter;"
and this not from our unwillingness to teach, but from their incapacity
to comprehend. But the Lord does not leave us wholly ignorant, because
we are incapable of understanding all. He makes one point abundantly
clear--that persevering importunity in prayer is pleasing to God and
profitable to men.
But the lesson is not easy: analogies drawn from sensible objects or
human experience cannot express it fully. The two parables which bear
upon it--the one now under consideration, and that of the unjust
judge--touch only the edges of the theme. The human motive is in the one
picture mean, and in the other wicked; yet these are the best analogies
that can be found on earth for expressing this feature of our Father's
love.
Knowing the defect of the analogy employed in the parable, the Lord has
supported and supplemented it by a fact in his own history. The case of
the Syro-phoenician woman (Matt. xv. 21-28), although a historic
event, serves also as an allegory. The two parables, one enacted and the
other spoken, together make the lesson plain, as far as we are capable
of comprehending it. In the mouth of these two witnesses the Lord has
established his doctrine regarding importunate pressure in prayer.
When I was a little child I often stood near a forge, and watched a
blacksmith at work, admiring the strength and skill of the
wonder-working man. He was wont to treat me kindly and bear with me
patiently, although I sometimes stood in his way. At one time he would
benevolently answer my childish questions; and at another, instead of
answering, would continue to handle his tools with his strong, bare
arms, throwing glances of tenderness towards me from time to time out of
his deep intelligent eyes, but all in silence. When two pieces of iron,
placed in the fire in order to be welded together, became red, I thought
and said he should take them out and join them; but he left them lying
still in the fire without speaking a word. They grew redder, hotter;
they threw out angry sparks: now, thought I, he should certainly lay
them together and strike; but the skilful man left them still lying in
the fire, and meantime fanned it into a fiercer glow. Not till they were
white, and bending with their own weight when lifted, like lilies on
their stalks--not till they were at the point of becoming liquid, did he
lay the two pieces alongside of each other, and by a few gentle strokes
weld them into one. Had he laid them together sooner, however vigorously
he had beaten, they would have fallen asunder in his hands.
The Lord knows, as we know not, what preparation we need in order that
we may be brought into union with himself. He refuses, delays,
disappoints,--all in wise love, that he may bring the seeker's heart up
to such a glow of desire as will suffice to unite it permanently with
his own.
A father, when his son asks bread, does not give him a stone: when he
asks a fish, does not give him a serpent. Thus, our Father in heaven
gives good things to them that ask him. "The giving God" ([Greek: tou
didontos Theou] James i. 5), is one of his attributes. Why, then, do not
all his children get whatever they ask, and when they ask it? One
reason, doubtless, is, that the child, ignorant and short-sighted, often
asks a stone or a serpent because they seem beautiful,--not knowing that
the one is destitute of nourishment, and that the other will sting--and
then frets when things are given to him wholly different from those
which he desired and expected. Hannah asked a son; in that case God saw
that the request was wise: the child asked bread, and the Father, after
the needful trial of faith, bestowed it freely. Some have asked a son,
not knowing that in their case the gift would have been a serpent. All
their days they have wondered why the boon was denied, and have learned,
perhaps, in the light of the great white throne when their days on
earth were done, that He who cared for them shielded their bosoms more
tenderly and effectually than themselves could have done, from one of
the sharpest stings that pierce the flesh of living men. Abraham
believed God, and every step of his life-journey was thereby made plain:
some great mountains that stood in the path of the patriarch were
obliged to get quickly out of the way as he approached. To him that
believeth, all things are possible.
At midnight, in the parable, the cry for help came, and prevailed. It is
never out of season to pray, until you be out of life. He that keeps
Israel slumbers not nor sleeps. Come we early, he is awake; come we
late, he has not retired to rest. In prayer, the shamefacedness ([Greek:
anaideia]) that shrinks from giving trouble should have absolutely no
place. We trouble God by our sins, but not by our prayers. Is the sun
burdened by the weight of the planets that hang on him as they run their
course? Is he exhausted by the necessity of supplying them with the
light in which they shine? Would you relieve him by covering some of
them up, or blotting them out of being? The infinite God is not wearied
by the weight of all the worlds he has made: the God and Father of our
Lord Jesus Christ is not exhausted by giving a portion to each of his
regenerated children of human kind. Ten lepers were healed by the word
of Jesus, and of them one came back to give him praise. That man in his
eagerness pushed aside every obstruction, and pressed through the crowd
that encircled the great Teacher, demanding and engaging his attention.
Did the interruption trouble the Lord? No. Who troubled him? Not the one
who came, but the nine who remained at a distance. With a sigh the Lord
said, "Where are the nine?" He grieved because they did not come back
with praise: therefore he would have rejoiced if they had come. But if
they who come to Christ to give thanks please him much, they who come to
him asking gifts please him more; for in his own experience, and
according to his own testimony, it is more blessed to give than to
receive.
Some additional light is thrown backward on the parable by the discourse
that immediately follows. It was with the view of bringing out and
pressing home the lesson from his own picture, that the Lord, in
continuation of his teaching, said, "And I say unto you, Ask, and it
shall be given you," &c. Two things here are most wonderful;--one is,
that needy men should require so many reasonings to induce them to ask
good things from God; and the other is, that God should condescend to
employ so many reasonings for that end.
One who knew only the pertinacity with which the prodigal held to his
hunger, and cold, and nakedness in a foreign land, would be apt to
suppose that this son had been harshly treated in his father's house,
and that nothing but punishment awaited him on his return. But if such
an observer had been able to witness the actual meeting of father and
son when the exile returned at last, he would have learned from the fond
reception which the yearning father gave to his erring child, that the
son had all along grievously misjudged and misrepresented his father.
Suppose, now, the angels, who desire to look into the provisions of the
covenant of grace, should have discovered only these two things, the
need of men, and the mercy of God, they would expect that all the fallen
would flock back to his presence, like doves to their windows when the
tempest comes on: but herein they would find themselves mistaken. That
complaint which our Redeemer uttered describes in one stroke the
essential characteristic of the lost,--"Ye will not come unto me, that
ye might have life" (John v. 40).
The Lord, who loves to bestow the blessing, reasons with us from our own
experience. Children trust a father, and are not disappointed; why will
you not confide in the Father of your spirits, and live?
In the close of his lesson, he indicates that the best gift of God is
the Holy Spirit, and that this gift he is most willing to bestow. More
ready than a father is to give bread to a hungry child when it cries, is
our Father to give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him.
Let us put him to the proof. Let us come at Christ's bidding, and in
Christ's name: let us come boldly to the throne of grace. He who
reigneth over all has sent for us, and bidden us come--bidden us ask. He
will not dishonour his own promise: treat him as a father, and see
whether he will not make you his dear child.
In some respects these two,--this and the unjust judge,--are the most
wonderful and most precious of all the parables. The rest present such
views of divine grace as may be shadowed forth by the ordinary
manifestations of human character and action,--such as a shepherd
bringing back his sheep, or a sower casting his seed into the ground:
but these two go sheer down through all that lies on the surface of
human history--down through all the upper and more ordinary grades of
human experience, and penetrate into the lower, darker, meaner things at
the bottom, in order to find a longer line wherewith to measure out
greater lengths and breadths of God's compassion; as the shadow in the
lake must needs be deepest where the heavens which it represents are
highest.
I know nothing more amazing, in all these lessons which Christ gave
about the kingdom of grace, than the lesson which these two pictures
teach about prayer. It is the same lesson that is embodied in one of the
most memorable and mysterious of all the Old Testament facts--Jacob's
wrestling with the Angel. Sweet to the Angel of the Covenant was the
persistent struggle of the believing man; and sweet to that same Lord
to-day is the pressure which an eager suppliant applies to his heart and
his hand. In all the Bible you will not find a word that expresses
greater loathing than that which tells us how God regards the Laodiceans
who asked as if they cared not whether they obtained or not: "Because
thou art lukewarm, and art neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee
out of my mouth." The Lord loves to be pressed; let us therefore press,
assured by his own word that the Hearer of prayer never takes urgency
ill.
XIX.
THE RICH FOOL.
"And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich
man brought forth plentifully: and he thought within himself,
saying, What shall I do, because I have no room where to bestow my
fruits? And he said, This will I do: I will pull down my barns, and
build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods.
And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for
many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry. But God said
unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee:
then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided? So is he
that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward
God."--LUKE xii. 16-21.
While Jesus was, in his wonted way, preaching the kingdom to a great
multitude, one of the audience, taking advantage probably of some
momentary pause in the discourse, broke in upon the solemn exercises
with the inappropriate and incongruous demand, "Master, speak to my
brother that he divide the inheritance with me."
In regard to the matter in dispute between himself and his brother, this
man probably had both an honest purpose and a righteous cause. For aught
that we know to the contrary, he may have been violently or fraudulently
deprived of his share in the inheritance of the family. In the answer of
the Lord there is not a word that calls in question the justice of his
claim. The question of right and wrong as between the brothers does not
constitute an element of the case as it is presented to us; it is
intentionally and completely omitted. Dishonesty is a simpler affair,
and can be settled in very few words. Elsewhere it is disposed of in a
very brief sentence,--"Thou shalt not steal." But here a far more subtle
sin is analyzed and exposed. The lesson is not, Take heed and beware of
Injustice; but, "Take heed and beware of Covetousness." The warning is
directed not against the sin of obtaining wealth by unjust means, but
against the sin of setting the heart upon wealth, by what means soever
it may have been obtained: this reproof was doubtless a word more in
season for the assembly of well-conducted Jews who listened that day to
the preaching of Jesus, as it is a word more in season for the members
of Christian Churches in this land, than an exhortation to beware of
theft.
The appeal so inopportunely made, shows incidentally that the people had
begun to look on Jesus as a prophet, and to pay great deference to his
word. Had he not been already in some sense recognised as an authority,
this man would not have applied to him for relief. He was well aware
that Jesus of Nazareth could bring no civil constraint to bear upon his
brother; it was the moral influence of the prophet's word that he
counted on as the means of accomplishing his purpose: "Master, _speak_
to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me." He had, perhaps,
observed an amazing effect produced by a word from those meek lips; he
had, perhaps, himself seen wicked men subdued by it, and heard from
others that it had silenced a stormy sea. He may have marked its power
in healing the sick and raising the dead. Forthwith he conceived the
plan of enlisting this mysterious and mighty word on his own side of a
family quarrel. If that word, he thought within himself, were exerted in
my behalf, it would induce my brother to give to me the half or the
third of the paternal estate, which I claim as my right.
We cannot cast the first stone at this poor simpleton, who had no other
use for the Redeemer's word than to gain by means of it a few more acres
of the earth for himself: in every age, some men may be found who hang
on the skirts of the Church for the sake of some immediate temporal
benefit. Nor is it difficult to understand the phenomenon: "No man can
serve two masters;" practically each chooses one, and in the main serves
him faithfully. If Christ is chosen as Lord and Master, Mammon and all
other things are compelled to serve: if Mammon is chosen and seated on
the throne, he will not scruple to lay heaven and earth under
contribution for the advancement of his designs;--Mammon, when master,
will take even the word of Christ and employ it as an instrument
wherewith he may rake his rags together.
How simple and helpless is the man who has allowed wealth to become his
chief good! Here is an example of ungodly simplicity. Without any
apprehension of a reproof from the Lord or his disciples, the poor man
betrays all: in the public assembly he unwittingly turns his own heart
inside out. Instead of addressing to the preacher the question, What
must I do to be saved? showing that the truth had taken effect on his
conscience, he preferred a request regarding a disputed property,
showing that while the words of Jesus fell on his ears, his heart was
going after its covetousness. He attended to the sermon for the purpose
of watching when it should be done, that he might then do a stroke of
business.
We must not too complacently congratulate ourselves on our superior
privileges and more reverent habits. If those who wait upon the ministry
of the word in our day were as simple as this man was, some requests
savouring as much of the earth as his would be preferred at the close
of the solemnity. If human breasts were transparent, and the thoughts
that throng them patent to the public gaze, many heads would hang down.
From this untimely and intensely earthly interruption the parable
springs: thus the Lord makes the covetousness as well as the wrath of
man to praise him, and restrains the remainder thereof. A fissure has
been made in the mountain by some pent-up internal fire that forced its
way out, and rent the rock in its outgoing; in that rent a tree may now
be seen blooming and bearing fruit, while all the rest of the
mountain-side is bare. "Out of the eater came forth meat; out of the
strong came forth sweetness." This word of Jesus that liveth and abideth
for ever is a green and fruitful tree to-day; but it was the outbursting
of a scathing, scorching covetousness that formed the cavity, and
supplied the soil in which the tree might grow.
"The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully," &c.
The ground was his own: no law, human or divine, challenged his right.
The ground was eminently fruitful; the unconscious earth gave forth its
riches, making no distinction between one who used it well and one who
abused it. On the fields of the covetous man the rain fell and the sun
shone: God makes his sun to shine on the evil and on the good. It is not
here--it is not now that he judges the world in righteousness. He giveth
to all men liberally, and upbraideth not.
Mark now what effect the profusion of nature and the beneficence of God
produced on the mind of this prosperous man. It set him a thinking: so
far, so good. The expression in the original indicates a dialogue, and a
dialogue is a discourse maintained between two. Dialogue is, indeed,
the original word transferred bodily into the English language: [Greek:
dielogizeto en heautô]--he dialogued in himself: his soul and he held
a conversation on the subject. This was a proper course. When riches
increase it is right and necessary to hold a consultation with one's own
soul regarding them: in like manner, also, when riches take themselves
wings and fly away, a conversation between the same parties should take
place regarding their escape.
He said, "What shall I do, I have no room where to bestow my fruits?"
The process advances most hopefully: hitherto, no fault can be found
with this man's conduct. So great had been his prosperity that he was at
a loss for storage. His cup was not only full, but running over, and so
running waste; his solicitude now turned upon the question how he might
profitably dispose of the surplus. Taking it for granted, as any
sensible man in the circumstances would, that something should be done,
he puts the question, "What shall I do?" A right question, addressed to
the proper person, himself. No other person was so well qualified to
answer it,--no other person understood the case, or possessed authority
to determine it.
Listen now to the answer: "He said, This will I do: I will pull down my
barns, and build greater," &c. This is the turning-point, and on it the
poor man turns aside into error. When God's goodness was showered upon
him in such abundance, he should have opened his treasures and permitted
them to flow: for this end his riches had been bestowed upon him. When
rain from heaven has filled a basin on the mountain-top, the reservoir
overflows, and so sends down a stream to refresh the valley below: it is
for similar purposes that God in his providential government fills the
cup of those who stand on the high places of the earth--that they may
distribute the blessing among those who occupy a lower place in the
scale of prosperity.
But self was this man's pole star: he cared for himself, and for none
besides. Self was his god; for to please himself was practically the
chief end of his existence. He proposed to pull down his barns, and
build a larger storehouse on the site, in order that he might be able to
hoard his increasing treasures. The method that this ancient Jewish
self-seeker adopted is rude and unskilful. We understand better the
principles of finance, and enjoy more facilities for profitably
investing our savings: but the two antagonist principles retain their
respective characters under all changes of external circumstances--the
principle of selfishness and the principle of benevolence; the one
gathers in, the other spreads out.
The method of reserving all for self, is as unsuccessful as it is
unamiable: it cannot succeed. The man who should hoard in his own
granary all the corn of Egypt, could not eat more of it than a poor
labourer--probably not so much. It is only a very small portion of their
wealth that the rich can spend directly on their own personal comfort
and pleasure: the remainder becomes, according to the character of the
possessor, either a burden which he is compelled to bear, or a store
whence he daily draws the luxury of doing good.
The dialogue proceeds: the man has something more to say to his soul:
"Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years," &c. He counts on
riches and time as if both were his own, and at his disposal. The big
barn is not yet built; the golden grain that shall fill it has not yet
been sown: and even although no accident should mar the material portion
of the plan, how shall he secure the "many years" that constitute its
essence on the other side? Does he keep Time under lock and key in his
storehouse, that he may at pleasure draw as much as he requires? Many
years! These years lie in the future,--that is, in the unseen eternity.
They are at God's right hand--they are not within your reach. Why do you
permit an uncertain element to go into the foundation of your hope?
There is, indeed, nothing strange here. It is according to law: those
who are taught of the Spirit understand it well. The god of this world
hath blinded the minds of them that believe not. "Thou hast goods laid
up for many years! take thine ease, soul; eat, drink, and be merry!"
What simplicity is here! The case is in degree extreme; the letters are
written large that even indifferent scholars may be able to read the
lesson; but the same spiritual malady, in some of its forms and degrees,
is still epidemic in the world: those are least exposed to infection who
have their treasures laid up at God's right hand.
It is a useful though a trite remark, that there is great stupidity in
the proposal to lay up in a barn the portion of a soul. The soul, when
it is hungry, cannot feed on musty grain. Material treasures cannot save
a soul from death. The representation in the parable, however, is true
to nature and fact: it would be a mistake to attribute to a miser a high
appreciation of the dignity of man. Covetousness, in its more advanced
stages, eats the pith out of the understanding, and leaves its victim
almost fatuous.
This man, in a dialogue with his own soul, had settled matters according
to his own mind. The two had agreed together that they would have a
royal time on earth, and a long one. The whole business was comfortably
arranged. But at this stage another interlocutor, whom they had not
invited, breaks in upon the colloquy: "God said unto him, Thou fool,
this night thy soul shall be required of thee; then, whose shall those
things be which thou hast provided?" This is the writing on the wall
that puts an end to Belshazzar's feast, and turns his mirth into terror.