Now, if you will observe the language of my text, you will note that
Peter says, as it would appear, the same thing twice over: 'His Name,
through faith in His Name, hath made this man strong.' And then, as if
he were saying something else, he adds what seems to be the same thing:
'Yea! the faith which is by Him hath given him this perfect soundness.'
Now, note that in the first of these two statements nothing appears
except the 'man,' the 'Name,' and 'faith' I take it, though of course
it may be questionable, that that clause refers to the man's faith, and
that we have in it the intentional exclusion of the human workers, and
are presented with the only two parties really concerned--at the one
end the Name, at the other end 'this man made strong.' And the link of
connection between the two in this clause is faith--that is, the man's
trust. But then, if we come to the next clause, we find that although
Peter has just previously disclaimed all merit in the cure, yet there
is a sense in which some one's faith, working as from without, _gave_
to the man 'this perfect soundness.' And it seems very natural to me to
understand that here, where human faith is represented as being, in
some subordinate sense, the bestower of the healing which really the
Name had bestowed, it is the faith of the human miracle-worker or
medium which is referred to. Peter's faith did give, but Peter only
gave what he had received through faith. And so let all the praise be
given to the water, and none to the cup.
Whether that be a fair interpretation of the words of my text, with
their singular and apparently meaningless tautology or no, at all
events the principle which is involved in the explanation is one that I
wish to dwell upon briefly now; and that is, that in order for the
Name, charged and supercharged with healing and strengthening power as
it is, to come into operation, there must be a twofold trust.
The healer, the medium of healing, must have faith in the Name. Yes! of
course. In all regions the first requisite, the one indispensable
condition, of a successful propagandist, is enthusiastic confidence in
what he promulgates. 'That man will go far,' said a cynical politician
about one of his rivals; 'he believes every word he says.' And that is
the condition always of getting other people to believe us. Faith is
contagious; men catch from other people's tongues the accent of
conviction. If one wants to enforce any opinion upon others, the first
condition is that he shall be utterly self-oblivious; and when he is
manifestly saying, as the Apostles in this context did, 'Do not fix
your eyes on us, as though we were doing anything,' then hearts will
bow before him, as the trees of the wood are bowed by the wind.
If that is true in all regions, it is eminently true in regard to
religion. For what we need there most is not to be instructed, but to
be impressed. Most of us have, lying dormant in the bedchamber and
infirmary of our brains, convictions which only need to be awakened to
revolutionise our lives. Now one of the most powerful ways of waking
them is contact with any man in whom they are awake. So all successful
teachers and messengers of Jesus Christ have had this characteristic in
common, however unlike each other they have been. The divergences of
temperament, of moods, of point of view, of method of working which
prevailed even in the little group of Apostles, and broadly
distinguished Paul from Peter, Peter from James, and Paul and Peter and
James from John, are only types of what has been repeated ever since.
Get together the great missionaries of the Cross, and you would have
the most extraordinary collection of miscellaneous idiosyncrasies that
the world ever saw, and they would not understand each other, as some
of them wofully misunderstood each other when here together. But there
was one characteristic in them all, a flaming earnestness of belief in
the power of the Name. And so it did not matter much, if at all, what
their divergences were. Each of them was fitted for the Master's use.
And so, brethren, here is the reason--I do not say the only reason, but
the main one, and that which most affects us--for the slow progress,
and even apparent failure, of Christianity. It has fallen into the
hands of a Church that does not half believe its own Gospel. By reason
of formality and ceremonial and sacerdotalism and a lazy kind of
expectation that, somehow or other, the benefits of Christ's love can
come to men apart from their own personal faith in Him, the Church has
largely ceased to anticipate that great things can be done by its
utterance of the Name. And if you have, I do not say ministers, or
teachers, or official proclaimers, or Sunday-school teachers, or the
like, but I say if you have a _Church_, that is honeycombed with doubt,
and from which the strength and flood-tide of faith have in many cases
ebbed away, why, it may go on uttering its formal proclamations of the
Name till the Day of Judgment, and all that will come of it will
be--'The man in whom the devils were, leaped upon them, and overcame
them, and said'--as he had a good right to say--'Jesus I know, and Paul
I know, but who are ye?' You cannot kindle a fire with snowballs. If
the town crier goes into a quiet corner of the marketplace and rings
his bell apologetically, and gives out his message in a whisper, it is
small wonder if nobody listens. And that is the way in which too many
so-called Christian teachers and communities hold forth the Name, as if
begging pardon of the world for being so narrow and old-fashioned as to
believe in it still.
And no less necessary is faith on the other side. The recipient must
exercise trust. This lame man, no doubt, like the other that Paul
looked at in a similar case, had faith to be healed. That was the
length of his tether. He believed that he was going to have his legs
made strong, and they were made strong accordingly. If he had believed
more, he would have got more. Let us hope that he did get more, because
he believed more, at a later day. But in the meantime the Apostles'
faith was not enough to cure him; and it is not enough for you that
Jesus Christ should be standing with all His power at your elbow, and
that, earnestly and enthusiastically, some of Christ's messengers may
press upon you the acceptance of Him as a Saviour. He is of no good in
the world to you, and never will be, unless you have the personal faith
that knits you to Him.
It cannot be otherwise. Depend upon it, if Jesus Christ could save
every one without terms and conditions at all, He would be only too
glad to do it. But it cannot be done. The nature of His work, and the
sort of blessings that He brings by His work, are such as that it is an
impossibility that any man should receive them unless he has that trust
which, beginning with the acceptance by the understanding of Christ as
Saviour, passes on to the assent of the will, and the outgoing of the
heart, and the yielding of the whole nature to Him. How can a truth do
any good to any one who does not believe in it? How is it possible
that, if you do not take a medicine, it will work? How can you expect
to see, unless you open your eyes? How do you propose to have your
blood purified, if you do not fill your lungs with air? Is it of any
use to have gas-fittings in your house, if they are not connected with
the main? Will a water tap run in your sculleries, if there is no pipe
that joins it with the source of supply? My dear friend, these rough
illustrations are only approximations to the absolute impossibility
that Christ can help, heal, or save any man without the man's personal
faith. 'Whosoever believeth' is no arbitrary limitation, but is
inseparable from the very nature of the salvation given.