Jesus and John contrasted--the former goes to dine at the House of a
Pharisee--a notorious Woman introduces herself, and weeps at his
Feet--Remarks on true Repentance and Faith, as exemplified in her
Conduct--Surmises of Simon the Pharisee--the Answer of Jesus--the Woman
assured of Forgiveness--Instructions deducible from the Parable.
There was a remarkable dissimilarity between Christ and his celebrated
precursor. The latter was unbending in his manners, austere in his mode of
living, and abrupt in his public discourses: in fact, John was
distinguished by all those qualities of a great reformer, which fitted him
for the service assigned him by Providence; zealous, eloquent, intrepid,
inconsiderate of himself, and resolutely exposing the vices of those
around him, to whom he pointed out "a more excellent way." The wildness of
the wilderness seemed to accord with the singularity of his character; and
the rocky standing from which he might probably often address his
auditors, was well adapted to the design of his preaching, and the mode of
his appearance. His Divine Master gave ample testimony to his
excellence--"What went ye out for to see? a prophet? Yea, I say unto you,
and more than a prophet. For this is he of whom it is written, Behold, I
send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before
thee. Verily I say unto you, Among them that are born of women, there has
not arisen a greater than John the Baptist."
But the character of the "Son of man" differed in many respects from that
of his forerunner. He was familiar, affable, and ready to associate with
others; he assumed no austerity of manners, and no reserve of behaviour.
The cast of his public preaching, too, was of a milder and more winning
strain, suited to his character as the image of the God who is love, and
adapted to the merciful nature of that dispensation which he came to
introduce.
It was this diversity which excited the malignant revilings of the Jews,
who said of John, "he hath a devil;" and of Christ, "Behold a man
gluttonous, and a wine-bibber, a friend of publicans and sinners:" but the
success of the means has fully justified the use of them, as the
prescriptions of the physician are justified by the restoration of health
to the diseased, and the mode adopted by the agriculturist in cultivating
his soil is effectually vindicated by its fertility. God bestows upon his
church a diversity of gifts, and upon men a variety of qualities, that
different stations may be occupied to the best advantage, and his cause
promoted in the most effectual manner. The formation of suitable
instruments to accomplish his purposes, is one of those arrangements of
Providence which we can never sufficiently admire. Whatever peculiarities
exist, they are all made to concur to the same end, and are all regulated
by the same influence: the "gifts" and the "operations" are diverse, but
"it is the same God which worketh all in all."
Happily for mankind, there was a sense in which a part of the accusation
preferred against Jesus Christ held true. He was indeed "a friend of
publicans and sinners"--if he had not been, what would have been the
situation of a Matthew, whom he called from the receipt of custom to
"follow him;" or of a Zaccheus, whom he addressed in the sycamore tree,
and to whose house he "that day" conveyed "salvation;" or of a Bartimeus,
"blind and sitting by the highway-side, begging," whose eyes he opened,
and to whose mind he imparted faith? If he had not been a "friend of
publicans and sinners" the songs of descending spirits would never have
charmed the shepherds of Bethlehem--a church would never have been formed
on earth and ultimately taken to heaven--the mansions of eternity would
never have been peopled by the children of transgression--the hymns of
human gratitude would never have mingled with the hallelujahs of the
blessed--nor would the sacred writings have contained such a history as
that before us of the penitent sinner.
It is introduced by an account of one of the Pharisees having solicited
the company of Jesus to dinner, and of his having accepted his invitation.
The Pharisees were amongst his bitterest enemies, and yet here is one who
courteously introduces him into his house. He might have been affected by
his discourses or miracles; and it is pleasing to recollect, that divine
grace is not limited in its operations to one community, class, or age,
but peoples the heavenly world by the redemption of sinners of every rank
in life, every period of time, every degree of moral corruption, and every
nation of the globe.
Our Saviour's visit to the Pharisee is related for the sake of the
incident and discourse with which it was connected, and which are given in
the following words: Behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner,
when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an
alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and
began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her
head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. Now when
the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying,
This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of
woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering,
said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith,
Master, say on. There was a certain creditor which had two debtors; the
one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had
nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of
them will love him most? Simon answered and said, I suppose that he to
whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. And
he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, seest thou this woman? I
entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet; but she
hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head.
Thou gavest me no kiss; but this woman, since the time I came in, hath not
ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint; but this
woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore I say unto thee, her
sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little
is forgiven, the same loveth little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are
forgiven. And they that sat at meat with him began to say within
themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also? And he said to the
woman, "Thy faith hath saved thee: go in peace."
The woman is denominated a _sinner_, because incontinency was her trade
and the means of her subsistence. Her character is branded with merited
infamy, but her name is mercifully veiled. She was notorious in the city;
and one would have imagined that as it could be no defamation to name her,
the sacred historian need not have manifested any scrupulousness upon the
point; nevertheless, as justice did not require it, and as it was the
writer's purpose rather to record her penitence than to expose her crimes,
she is mentioned only in general terms, as _a sinner, a woman in
the city._
What compassionate mind can help deploring the immoralities of populous
towns and crowded cities! What an illustration of human depravity does it
afford, that wherever mankind resort in great multitudes, vice is
proportionably varied in its nature, atrocious in its character, and
barefaced in its practice--as if it were thought that the numbers who
perpetrated wickedness, tended to conceal from the view of Omniscience
individual delinquency! It is common to acquire boldness by association;
and society, which ought rather to purify the mind, is often the means of
its pollution. The facilities for secrecy in sin which exist in
considerable places, the incalculable variety of forms in which temptation
appears, the force of example operating upon an extensive scale, and
enhanced by a thousand tributary streams that pour into the tide of
transgression flowing down the streets, concur to involve the inhabitants
of populous vicinities in circumstances of great moral danger. Apart from
all persuasion or direct influence, the very sight of immoralities is
liable to injure that delicate sensibility to wrong which it is of the
utmost importance to preserve in a pure and uncontaminated state. The
nicely polished mind is susceptible of the breath of impurity; and when it
once becomes dim and obscure in its perceptions, it is difficult to
restore it. Many have on this account withdrawn into retirement,
supposing that they should be able to secure that leisure for devotional
exercises which they have believed conducive to religious eminence. But
they have forgotten that the human heart is sown with unholy principles,
which will spring up in solitude as well as in society; that in avoiding
dissipation, they are liable to be narrowed into selfishness; and that the
honourable and heroic part which Christianity requires, is not to fly from
difficulties, but, "in the grace that is in Christ Jesus," to contend
with, and conquer them.
In the woman whose brief but instructive history is to be reviewed, we see
indications of a "repentance that needeth not to be repented of." It is to
be traced, in the first place, in the _posture_ she assumed, and the
_tears_ she shed. When she found that Jesus was dining in the house of
Simon, she went and "stood at his feet behind him weeping." She who had
known no shame, but whose unblushing impudence and obtrusive familiarities
had so often scandalized the city, now avoids a look, shrinks even from
respectful notice, and is overwhelmed with a consciousness of guilt.
This conduct bespeaks the most pungent and unaffected sorrow. Her sins
present themselves in array before her mind, and she "abhors herself, and
repents in dust and ashes." Though all around was festivity, her heart was
sad--she wept as in secret; and those eloquent tears bespoke the Saviour's
pity, in a manner more powerful than the most studied language could have
done! Those tears were precious in his sight--that silence expressed the
depth and sincerity of her grief--and he approved it!
With what pleasure must holy angels have contemplated from their radiant
spheres this impressive scene; for "there is joy in the presence of the
angels of God over one sinner that repenteth!" The gayeties of life, and
the appearances of worldly grandeur, excite no satisfaction in them; they
are not attracted by those tinsel shows and glittering nonentities which
fill the circle of human vanity, and fire the ardent wishes of mankind;
the most splendid titles, the most opulent condition, the most celebrated
heroes, pass before them like shadows that haste away, unregretted and in
quick succession; but they bend from their thrones of light to witness the
sorrows of the meanest penitent, and listen to his secret moanings.
It is to be apprehended that many substitute an external reformation of
manners for solid repentance towards God. They lay aside the filthy
garments of gross immorality, and invest themselves in the decent attire
of correct conduct; but the principle of genuine penitence consists in a
just estimate of the perfections of that Being whom we have offended, and
of the nature of sin, as violating those obligations which devolve on us
as creatures. It is an humbling consideration, that God must perceive the
guilt of sin with infinitely greater distinctness than is possible to the
most self-examining penitent; and that their number and variety must be
perfectly discerned by the eyes of his purity. We are apt to throw them
together, as in a confused heap; and instead of realizing them in detail,
to contemplate them only in the aggregate and mass, by which their
individual atrocity is overlooked.
The true penitent views sin in connexion with his personal obligations,
and the requirements of the divine law. The Being against whom he rebels,
has, he knows, conferred upon him all the blessings of existence; and has,
consequently, the most indisputable claim upon his entire obedience--an
obedience, however, which, in his presumption and folly, he has refused
to render.
It may be remarked, also of repentance, that it possesses a character of
universality. Its regrets extend to every sin, without exception or
excuse: it has no apologies to offer, and cannot hold the balance to
measure with cold and calculating nicety, the respective demerits of the
offences which have been committed, with a view to conciliate the mercy of
heaven, or institute a plea in mitigation of punishment. It is, besides, a
deep and permanent impression, which is perpetually renewed by reflection,
and by witnessing the transgressions of a degenerate world. What are "the
sacrifices of God," but a "broken spirit?" verily, "a broken and a
contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise."
We observe, in the next place, if not the _words_, certainly the very
_spirit_ of confession in this once profligate but now penitent woman. It
is impossible to imagine a finer or more complete specimen of
self-debasement than that which she exhibited upon this occasion. How
easily could she have avoided such an exposure of herself, and spared
those lamentations! She was under no necessity to introduce herself into
the presence of that holy man, whose looks would condemn her immoralities,
and whose words, should he condescend to address her, might be expected to
convey severe reproof. Surely she might have remained at home:--no--it
could not be--she _was_ unable to avoid this exposure, and to spare those
lamentations; she was under a most imperious necessity to go to the house
of Simon--she _could not_ have remained at home: the irresistible
influence of "godly sorrow" urged her in to these circumstances, and her
bursting heart was forced to seek relief at the feet of Jesus, Her own
vileness tormented her recollections; her views of sin were of the most
tragic and affecting kind; in the depths of humiliation, the waves and
billows rolled over her; and her tears were confessions of guilt, which he
who was perfectly acquainted with the emotions of her spirit, know how to
interpret.
How common is it for persons suffering pain of conscience, to plunge into
new excesses, in order to disengage themselves from wretchedness of
remorse, and, as they hope, to divert their sorrows! This infatuation is
attended with mischievous effects: it diminishes sensibility to sin, and
confirms the habit. The thorns which at first grew in the path of
indulgence, are trampled down by frequent passage; and a return to God
becomes every day less and less probable. Familiarity with the various
modes of vice weakens the impression of disgust which is originally felt;
as we lose by degrees the horror with which an unsightly countenance was
beheld at the first interview, till at length we can more than tolerate
distortion, and even court deformity. Never was a more important maxim
delivered by the Saviour for the guidance of his disciples, than that
which respected their avoidance of the first step in transgression. "Watch
ye and pray," said he, "lest ye _enter_ into temptation." The fence which
is placed around the forbidden fruit-tree, by the interdictions of Heaven,
being once violated, the most alarming consequences ensue; and, unless
grace prevent, the transgressor must inevitably perish. Avoid then,
studiously avoid, whatever leads to the way of death. Escape for thy life,
O sinner, from the brink of transgression, if thou hast unhappily ventured
so far; and tremble at the yawning gulf below. If thou hast _fallen_,
while thou hast not yet passed the boundaries of life, thou art not
irrecoverably lost; but, O let a sense of thy danger induce thee to lift
up thine eyes to view the weeping penitent standing in the presence of
Jesus Christ, of whom she is accepted, and open thine ears to hear the
voice of kind invitation: "Return, thou backsliding Israel, saith the
Lord; and I will not cause mine anger to fall upon you: for I am merciful,
saith the Lord, and I will not keep anger forever. Only acknowledge thine
iniquity, that thou hast transgressed against the Lord thy God, and hast
scattered thy ways to the strangers under every green tree, and ye have
not obeyed my voice, saith the Lord.... Return, ye backsliding children,
and I will heal your backslidings.... He that covereth his sins shall not
prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them, shall have mercy."
Further, this woman, who went into Simon's house at Nain, upon the
occasion already mentioned, is celebrated by Jesus himself for her faith,
which "worked by love." Addressing her in the presence of the astonished
company, he said, "Thy _faith_ hath saved thee, go in peace."
The Pharisees treated others with scornful contempt, especially those whom
they deemed to be of notorious character. Theirs was not like
Christianity, the religion of compassion--the religion, that, deriving its
characteristic peculiarities from its Author, pities the deluded,
sympathises with the miserable, seeks to reclaim the criminal, and marks
the tears of the penitent; but "trusting in themselves that they were
righteous, they despised others." Disregardful, however, of the sneers or
reproaches which she might have to encounter, this penitent woman presses
to the house of the Pharisee, because Jesus was a guest. Her object was
not concealment, but forgiveness; she was willing to be rebuked, so that
she might be saved; and while by obtruding in this manner into the house
of Simon, she exposed herself to the insults which her dissolute habits
would be likely to incur, she courageously adopted a course of proceeding
which brought her under the most solemn obligations to future chastity and
holiness of life. She was willing that the whole assembly or city should
witness her change, and that the reality of her penitence, and the
strength of her attachment to Christ, should be as notorious as her former
irregularities. Her courage, then, demands notice, and deserves imitation.
What might be the opinion of the motley assemblage who were the spectators
of her conduct, seemed to have had no influence upon her mind; but obeying
the impulse of sorrow for sin, and hope in Jesus, she dismissed every
thought of personal exposure, and with tears of undissembled grief,
hastened to him who was "full of grace and truth."
Timorousness, arising from an undue regard to the world, is too often a
hinderance to religious profession. Persons who have been awakened to some
sense of the evil of sin, and have perceived the importance, while they
have felt in some degree the claims of piety, frequently, alas! have been
deterred from that avowal of their sentiments, which is essential to
verify their convictions, and to honour God in the eyes of men. They would
be servants of Christ, if they were not slaves to human opinion: they
would go to Jesus, if it were not in the observers who stand around: they
would renounce the world, if they could avoid reproach: they would, in a
word, be decided, but they dare not be singular!
We are required to "_confess_ Christ _before men_," and it is only by such
a confession we can evince the sincerity of our attachment. Jesus Christ
was not ashamed to call us _brethren_, to assume our nature, to fill our
humble station, to suffer our sorrows, and to die an ignominious
death:--he is not ashamed to own his connexion with us, now he is ascended
into the highest heavens, or to be engaged in preparing a place for us
amidst the mansions of glory. Shall we be ashamed of him, or his cause?
Shall we be afraid to avow our regard, if we feel it?
It is the design of Christ to establish an interest in the world which
shall be universally prevalent, and this cause is rendered visible by the
public profession of its adherents. In the apostolic age, therefore, to
embrace Christianity, and to profess it, were considered as inseparably
connected; and why should they now be separated? "Then they that gladly
received the word were baptized."
Do any circumstances now exist to render it proper to act contrary to
apostolical example and precept? Is not the world the same? is not the
command of Jesus the same? is not his religion the same as in primitive
ages? This cause is to be now maintained as then; not by fear, but by
firmness--not by compliance with the world, but by resisting it--not by
sloth, inactivity, and shrinking into a corner, but by "putting on the
whole armour of God," and pressing to the field of battle. Not to be for
Christ, is to be against him; _inactivity_ is _enmity_; a dread of
standing in the ranks, or a refusal to enlist under the banners of
Immanuel, are indications of disloyalty, rebellion, and treason. The
territories of his grace are invaded by the troops of hell--the great
power that "ruleth in the children of disobedience" is opposing the
kingdom of the Redeemer, and extending his influence over the hearts of
men. Not to resist his encroachments, therefore, not to withstand in our
own person his dominion, and declare our cause, is, in fact, to favour his
designs, and betray him whom we profess to love. It is stated, that at the
second appearance of Christ "he will be glorified _in_ his saints, and
admired _in_ all them that believe;" and it is _in_ them he expects _now_
to be glorified before men; and the most effectual way to honour him is
to "confess him," to avow before the world our determination to be "on the
Lord's side.
"Perfect love," remarks an apostle, "casteth out fear;" of which we have a
striking exemplification in this woman of Nain. The expressions of her
attachment to Jesus were such as could not be mistaken, for she not only
caressed him, but made considerable sacrifices to show her love. The gifts
of nature had been the instruments of dissipation. With what care had she
been accustomed to adjust her smiles, to throw fascination into her
countenance, to beautify her person, to arrange her dress and her hair,
and to cultivate every exterior charm! What sums of money had she lavished
upon herself, with a view to attract admiration! Behold her now at the
feet of Jesus, careless of her personal attractions, and absorbed in the
contemplation of her Saviour: she washes his feet with her tears, wipes
them with the hairs of her head, kisses his feet, [31] and even expends an
alabaster box of ointment, very precious and costly, in anointing them.
Whatever has been the occasion or the means of transgression, becomes an
object of dislike; and in the true spirit of penitence, she not only
deserts what is obviously criminal, but detests and relinquishes whatever
may tend to renew the remembrance of indulgence, or rekindle the expiring
flame of desire. She renounces every superfluity, submits cheerfully to
every privation, and slays at once with unreluctant severity, the dearest
lusts that twine about her heart. It is thus that a sincere Christian will
abandon both the practice and principle of sin, and aware of his peculiar
propensities, he will watch with a scrupulousness proportioned to his
sense of danger, over those sins to which he knows himself to have been
most inclined in the days of his unregeneracy. "If thy right eye offend
thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee
that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should
be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast
it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should
perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell."
Reader! examine into the state of thy mind, the propensities that reign
within, and the principles that predominate in thy heart! Hast thou
professed an attachment to Jesus Christ? "Dost thou _believe_ in the Son
of God?" What sacrifices hast thou made, tending to evince the sincerity
of thy declarations, and the ardour of thy love? Hast thou braved
reproach--stood firm amidst opposition--abandoned criminal practices and
guilty associates--assisted the cause of thy Lord--encouraged and supplied
his disciples--and for his sake been willing even to renounce indulgences,
which, if they were innocent, might have proved offensive to others, or
ensnaring to thyself. Decision of character is important, both as a proof
of our own sincerity, and as a means of confirming others in religion; for
neutrality, which Christ himself has so pointedly condemned, is even more
prejudicial than hostility.
But it is not sufficient to inquire into the _extent_ of those sacrifices
which may have been offered to the service of religion, the _nature_ of
those sacrifices must be investigated; otherwise there may be "a fair
show in the flesh," while the individual is destitute of the essential
principles of Christianity. The love of the world, and indulgence in
secret sin, may be compatible with an ostentatious religion. What is
difficult to some, may prove comparatively easy to others, whose
constitutional tendencies or mental prepossessions are of another
description. The sacrifice, for example, of a spendthrift to religion must
be of a different kind from that of a miser; otherwise the one may obtain
undue credit for splendid charities, and the other for pious scrupulosity.
In estimating, therefore, the characters of men, or apportioning their
duties, the respective casts of mind, habits, and inclinations, are to be
investigated, in order to judge of the one, or prescribe the other. To
gain advantage from a course of self-inspection, it is requisite to study
the peculiarities of our own mind, and to ascertain what is really a
_sacrifice_ to ourselves, and how far we have made it, or are prepared to
offer it, to Christ. What gratifications have we relinquished? what sins
have we resisted? what lusts have we overcome? Where are we in point of
moral progress? Has our professed penitence led us to Christ? What degree
of assimilation to him have we attained? Have we, in fact, devoted to life
service our ENTIRE BEING--and do we feel that
"Our lives and thousand lives of ours"
can neither discharge our obligations, nor repay his love?
The state of the mind is often indicated by trifles, better than by what
appears to be of greater magnitude and importance. There are, certain
actions not intended for the public, and, therefore, not dressed up for
inspection, which mark the feelings of the heart, and the meaning of which
no vigilant observer can mistake. There is a truth and a certainty about
them sufficiently obvious; they as infallibly show the state of the man,
as the index points to the hour of the day. In the history of the penitent
sinner, the negligence of her dress and hair, which had doubtless before
been decorated, according to the habit of the age, with jewels, was such
an indication. Some professed penitents would have given, perhaps, the
costly presentation of the alabaster box of ointment, but would have found
it infinitely more difficult to renounce their vanity: but here the
sacrifice was complete; her best affections were engrossed with the new
object of her delight, and she virtually said, "Perish, thou love of the
world; perish, thou fond and criminal passion for show; perish, all ye
ministers of iniquity, at the feet of Jesus! I willingly exchange masters;
and henceforth I shall be regardless of personal attractions, solicitous
only of participating the blessings of salvation!"
Simon, during all this time, was an attentive observer of what passed; but
rashly concluded within himself that Jesus could not be a prophet, as he
seemed ignorant of the character of the woman whom he admitted to such
familiarity. He mistook both the character of the woman, and that of his
divine guest. She was not, in _his_ sense of the term, a _sinner_, but a
_penitent_ and a _believer_; nor was Jesus capable of contamination by her
touch. He knew perfectly, "who and what manner of woman it was," though
the Pharisee was too proud to see or acknowledge it. The important change
which had been produced upon her, essentially altered the case. She was no
longer what she had been, and what Simon supposed her. Grace had
constituted her a chosen vessel, and purified her heart by the impartation
of heavenly principles. The impurities of her life were rectified by the
"renewal of a right spirit" within her. She had been snatched from the
jaws of destruction; she had resorted to the "fountain opened for sin and
uncleanness," and proved that she was one of those "lost sheep" which
Jesus came into the wilderness to "seek and to save."
Simon had not _expressed_ his ideas, but the Saviour _knew_ them with
perfect certainty, and answered them with unerring wisdom. Having first
claimed the attention of his host, which was respectfully conceded, Jesus
delivered a parable respecting a creditor having two debtors, who owed,
the one five hundred, and the other fifty pence, but were both forgiven in
consideration of their poverty; and he put it to the Pharisee, which of
them would love him most? he properly answered, "he to whom he forgave
most." Then turning to the woman--and, O what sensations of joy must have
thrilled through her agitated bosom!--he continued to direct his discourse
to Simon; "Seest thou this woman?" _q.d._ "Art thou aware of the extent
and value of those sacrifices she has made to me? Hast thou observed the
tears she has shed, and the love she has manifested? Has it struck thy
mind, that the conduct of this woman, whom thou art despising in thy
heart, is far more deserving of my approbation than thine?" Mark, with
what punctuality and detail he proceeds to enumerate every act of
kindness! He mentions her tears, her caresses, the kisses, and the
ointment which she had lavished upon his feet--nothing is forgotten or
omitted--everything is distinctly told--her love is extolled, and her sins
are pardoned: Simon, "her sins, which are many, are forgiven"--Woman,
"thy sins are forgiven." There is a beauty and a propriety in this
repetition, which was well calculated to stimulate the inquiries, and to
correct the errors of the Pharisee, while it ministered consolation to the
weeping penitent. Ah! our secret desires, our silent tears, our meanest
services, are noticed by our Master and Lord! He will "reward us _openly_"
having given the grace of penitence, he will bestow the joys of faith; our
_many_ sins shall be overlooked and forgiven; our _few_ services
remembered and recorded for his sake!
This parable is illustrative of our moral obligations, and of our total
incapacity to discharge them. We are all _debtors_--to God; we are so, it
is true, in different proportions--some owe five hundred and some fifty
pence. A difference exists in the nature and atrocity of our respective
crimes--we have run to greater or less extravagances of iniquity--our sins
are more or less notorious, more or less limited or extensive in their
influence on others; more or less aggravated by knowledge, by vows, and by
repetition--indulged in for a longer or a shorter period, as there was a
great diversity of moral character between the Pharisee and the woman; but
"_all have sinned_, and, come short of the glory of God"--all have
incurred debt--and it is important to remark, that all are equally
incapable of discharging it--of atoning for their guilt, or rescuing
themselves from the pains and penalties they have incurred.
However plain this statement, and however frequently repeated, it is but
little believed and felt. If it were--if mankind were actually convinced
of the utter inefficiency of every attempt to recommend themselves to God,
and regain his forfeited favour; whence is it that they are perpetually
"going about to establish their own righteousness?" Why do they endeavour
to persuade themselves that sin is a trifling concern, or that at least
_their_ sins are trivial and excusable? It is obvious, that they form very
low and inadequate ideas of the greatness of their debt, and the utter
worthlessness of their own merit--they do not realize their ruined and
bankrupt condition, nor are they sufficiently persuaded that they have
"_nothing to pay_" not an atom of righteousness, not a grain of inherent
goodness, not a particle of real virtue!
Sinner, come to the test. Hear the indictment, and see if thou hast any
defence, if thou hast any plea, or if thou canst put in any just demurrer
to stay the proceedings of eternal justice and equity. But how shall human
language express the debt? Thou hast violated every divine precept,
pursued a course diametrically opposite to the commandments of God,
trampled on his authority, and lived to thyself. Every action, word, and
thought, has augmented the already incalculable debt. God has called, but
thou hast refused; his providence has warned thee, but thou hast despised
it, and made a covenant with hell. While thy personal transgressions have
abounded like the drops of the ocean, or the sands upon the shore, thy
example has perniciously influenced others. Thou owest thy whole existence
and all thy faculties, thy entire obedience and constant affection, to
God. He is thy _Father_--thy _Creator_--thy _Benefactor_, and what hast
thou to pay? what are thy resources? _Future_ obedience, supposing it
_perfect_, could not expiate _past_ offences. Pains, prostrations,
pilgrimages, penances, and mortifications, can be of no avail. Hecatombs
of animals would not suffice, or ten thousand rivers of oil; but, if they
would, the treasures are not _thine_: "for every beast of the forest is
_mine_, and the cattle upon a thousand hills. I know all the fowls of the
mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine. If I were hungry, I
would not tell thee: for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof. Will
I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?" What then hast
thou to pay?--_Nothing_! absolutely _nothing_!
But the parable in question represents the free pardon, which it is the
privilege of the vilest transgressors to participate upon their return to
God, And we should mark the _sovereignty_, blended with the mercy of this
procedure. It is not supposed that the recipients of divine bounty and
blessing have any claim upon such favors; nor, indeed, that they can plead
any extenuating circumstance to conciliate offended justice. The debtors
had "nothing to pay," and their impoverished condition was a sufficient
excitement to their creditor to remit his dues. He "remembered them in
their low estate;" and, with a liberality characteristic of him to whom we
are so deeply indebted in a moral sense, he discharged them from every
obligation. There is not the slightest intimation of any urgency or
solicitation on their part; but he "_frankly_ forgave them." If sinners
had any just conception of their state, they would indeed seek mercy with
the utmost importunity, and relinquish their present courses with the most
fixed resolution of mind; but the grace of God operates in _calling_ men
to repentance, as well as in _constraining_ their attention and
acquiescence. They are "made willing" in "the day of his power;" and, like
a gale that rises upon a vessel drifting to a rocky shore, and bears it
from destruction, this influence effectually propels them to "the hope set
before them" in the Gospel.
The exercise of mercy is distinguished also for its _extensive and
diversified application_. Simon the Pharisee, and the woman who was a
sinner, differed in the nature and proportion of their guilt. He was as
much condemned for self-righteousness, as she for impurity--he
transgressed by pride, and she by rebellion: but "he frankly forgave them
_both_." "Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and
passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth
not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy! He will turn
again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and
thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea."
If, reader, thou art impressed with a sense of guilt, and ready to
exclaim, "What must I do to be saved?" it is with unspeakable satisfaction
and confidence we point to "the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of
the world." That heart which was melted by the tears of this woman, is not
closed against _thee_! That Saviour who was all pity and benevolence in
the days of his humiliation, still waits to be gracious now he is exalted
to his throne!
Hast thou experienced the efficacy of his grace, and the joys of his
salvation? Be stimulated to _love him much_. What sins, what rebellions,
what broken vows, what ingratitude has he forgiven thee! All are
obliterated from the book of his remembrance; all are lost and buried in
the ocean of his grace; and he has fixed thy name amongst a thousand
promises, and in a page which his eye never peruses but with ineffable
complacency!
The _plan_ upon which forgiveness is dispensed to a sinful world, and
which is now more fully developed, demands our admiration, as it glorifies
God, exalts the sinner, and harmonizes the universe.
It _glorifies_ God. The work of redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ is the
central point, where all the perfections of Deity assemble and meet. Every
attribute of God pointing to Calvary, seems to devout believers to say, as
Jesus did to his disciples, with reference to their last interview on a
mountain in Galilee, "There shall ye see me." His perfections had hitherto
appeared in the world in their distinct forms.--Justice in its inflexible
decisions, Truth in its firm decrees, Holiness in its terrible
inflictions, operated powerfully, but often separately--as in the
destruction of Pharaoh, and the deliverance of Israel--in the earthquake
that devoured the rebels who presented strange fire--in the deluge that
overwhelmed the world--in the burning tempest that descended upon Sodom,
and the sword that scattered the nations of Canaan; but round the brink of
that "fountain which was opened" on Calvary for "sin and uncleanness,"
they seem to unite and say, "Glory to God in the highest." This is the
common and sacred ground, on which "mercy and truth can meet together."
Inflexible justice does not remit her claims, but "the Lamb that was
slain" satisfies them--she still demands _blood_--and blood is shed--she
demands the _life_ of the guilty, and the guilty are furnished with a
victim who can endure the curse and suffer the chastisement--she requires
a recompense for the violated law; and "he hath magnified the law and made
it honorable," by becoming "obedient unto death, even the death of
the cross!"
This plan of mercy _exalts the sinner_. If the requisitions of justice
were strictly personal, and the economy of Heaven such as to admit of no
substitute, the sinner's salvation would have been impossible; because his
individual sufferings, though the just consequence of his guilt, could
never become the meritorious means of its removal. Suffering, extreme in
its nature, and perpetual in its duration, was the desert of
transgression; but it could neither repair the injury which sin had done,
nor constitute a claim upon divine forgiveness; or, if it _could_--by the
very supposition there would be no possibility of any period arriving when
that mercy could be enjoyed, because the suffering must be _eternal_.
Such, however, was the infinite merit of the Saviour, that in the plan of
forgiving mercy, his death was accepted as an equivalent for the
sufferings of creatures. By exercising faith in his name, we transfer the
burden of our debt, and he liquidates it: we confess we have nothing to
pay, and wholly confide in his ability to discharge on our behalf every
obligation; in consequence of which the transgressor is treated as
innocent; he is released--the door is opened, his chains are broken off,
and he is exalted to the favour and friendship of God; and "Who," he
inquires, "shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God
that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea
rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who
also maketh intercession for us"
This plan of mercy _harmonizes the universe_. Sin has separated chief
friends--it has divided man from God, man from angels, and man from his
neighbour. It has introduced a general war, and generated universal
anarchy and strife. But redemption is the great work that restores order
and promotes concord. It is on Calvary the terms are made, and the great
treaty ratified--divided interests are reunited, and peace on earth
proclaimed. It is there "God is in Christ reconciling the world to
himself;" and there, realizing the efficacy of atoning blood, and weeping
over the follies and criminality of past rebellion, the penitent exclaims,
"Abba, Father!" Thus God and man are united. It is there holy angels,
instead of being executioners of vengeance, become "ministering spirits to
the heirs of salvation;" while every Lazarus begins to anticipate the
period of "absence from the body," when "he shall be carried by _angels_
to Abraham's bosom," and be "ever present with the Lord." Thus men and
angels become one. It is there also before the cross, having "tasted that
the Lord is gracious," "the brother of low degree rejoices in that he is
exalted, and the rich in that he is made low." There the murderer Saul
meets his victim Stephen, with "all who in every place call on the name of
the Lord;" and (O happy change!) embraces as a brother him whom he
believed a foe! There the turbulence of passion is allayed--the violence
of animosity ceases--the battle of conflicting interests and petty
selfishness rages no more. Those who were enemies in the world, become
friends at the cross. The barbarian, Scythian, bond, and free, drink
together the cup of blessing, partake the "common salvation," and imbibe
the fraternal spirit. Thus man and man unite, while "Christ is all and
in all."
"Religion, in all its parts, requires the exercise of forgiveness. It is
required by its precepts, its spirit, and its prospects. Its
_precepts_--we are not to render evil for evil, but contrariwise blessing:
we are to love our enemies, to forgive our brother as often as he returns
acknowledging his misconduct, and saying, 'I repent.' Its _spirit_; the
Gospel, or the religion of Jesus, is emphatically styled 'the ministry of
_reconciliation_.' Its _prospects_; we are members of the same family,
heirs of the same kingdom, and going to the same heaven. Heaven is a state
of perfect and universal harmony and love. Nothing must enter there,
either to defile or disturb. There must be no little disputes, no rising
resentment, no shadow of reserve. All must be of one heart and of one
soul. Yes, if we both be Christians indeed, there we must meet our
brother, with whom wo have been angry, and towards whom we have even
indulged our anger; an anger upon which not only the 'sun went down,' but
over which life itself passed. Yes, happy necessity! there we _must_ meet
him! There will be no passing' by on the other side, no refusing to go
into his company. Countenance must sparkle to countenance, thought must
meet thought, bosom must expand to bosom, and heart bound to
heart forever,"
The Syrophenician; or Canaanitish Woman.