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THE PARABLES OF OUR LORD.




_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR._


I.

NEW EDITION, COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME,

LAWS FROM HEAVEN FOR LIFE ON EARTH: Illustrations of the Book of
Proverbs. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 7s. 6d.


II.

ROOTS AND FRUITS OF THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. Crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d.


III.

THE RACE FOR RICHES, AND SOME OF THE PITS INTO WHICH THE RUNNERS FALL.
Foolscap 8vo. Price 1s. 6d.



T. NELSON AND SONS. LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK




                                THE

                              PARABLES

                                 OF

                              OUR LORD.


                              _By the_

                        _REV. WILLIAM ARNOT._


                               LONDON:
                 T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
                       EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

                                1874.




CONTENTS.


                                                    Page
          _INTRODUCTION,_                             11

       I. _The Sower,_                                43

      II. _The Tares,_                                75

     III. _The Mustard Seed,_                        101

      IV. _The Leaven,_                              111

       V. _The Hidden Treasure,_                     128

      VI. _The Pearl,_                               144

     VII. _The Draw-Net,_                            160

    VIII. _The Unmerciful Servant,_                  185

      IX. _The Vineyard Labourers,_                  204

       X. _The Two Sons,_                            223

      XI. _The Wicked Husbandmen,_                   237

     XII. _The Royal Marriage Feast,_                254

    XIII. _The Ten Virgins,_                         282

     XIV. _The Entrusted Talents,_                   299

      XV. _The Seed Growing Secretly,_               312

     XVI. _The Two Debtors,_                         326

    XVII. _The Good Samaritan,_                      341

   XVIII. _The Friend at Midnight,_                  357

     XIX. _The Rich Fool,_                           369

      XX. _The Barren Fig-Tree,_                     378

     XXI. _The Excuses,_                             387

    XXII. _The Lost Sheep,_                          402

   XXIII. _The Lost Coin,_                           422

    XXIV. _The Prodigal Son,_                        427

     XXV. _The Prudent Steward,_                     451

    XXVI. _The Rich Man and Lazarus,_                465

   XXVII. _Unprofitable Servants,_                   483

  XXVIII. _The Importunate Widow,_                   497

    XXIX. _The Pharisee and the Publican,_           509

     XXX. _The Servants and the Pounds,_             520




INTRODUCTION.


We have been accustomed to regard with affectionate veneration the
life-work of the Reformers, and the theology of the Reformation. Of a
later date, and in our own vernacular, we have inherited from the
Puritans an indigenous theology, great in quantity and precious in
kind,--a legacy that has enriched our age more, perhaps, than the age is
altogether willing to acknowledge. At various periods from the time of
the Puritans to the present, our stock of sacred literature has received
additions of incalculable value. So vast and varied have our stores
become at length, that an investigator of the present day can scarcely
expect to find a neglected spot where he may enjoy the luxury of
cultivating virgin soil: so ably, moreover, have our predecessors
fulfilled their tasks, that a modern inquirer, obliged to deal with
familiar themes, cannot console himself with the expectation of dealing
with them to better purpose. It does not follow, however, that a
contribution to the literature of theology is useless, because it
neither touches a new theme, nor treats an old more ably.

The literature of one century, whether sacred or common, will not, when
served up in the lump, satisfy the craving and sustain the life of
another. The nineteenth century must produce its own literature, as it
raises its own corn, and fabricates its own garments. The intellectual
and spiritual treasures of the past should indeed be reverently
preserved and used; but they should be used as seed. Instead of
indolently living on the stores which our fathers left, we should cast
them into the ground, and get the product fresh every season--old, and
yet ever new. The intellectual and spiritual life of an age will wither,
if it has nothing wherewith to sustain itself, but the food which grew
in an earlier era; it must live on the fruits that grow in its own time,
and under its own eye.

Nor will a servile imitation of the ancient masters suffice. A mere
reproduction, for example, of the Puritan theology would not be suitable
in our day; while the truth, which constitutes its essence, remains the
same, it must be cast in the moulds of modern thought, and tinged with
the hues of modern experience.

Engineers surveying for a railway lay down the line level, or as nearly
level as the configuration of the surface will permit; but an engineer's
level is not a straight line; it is the segment of a circle,--that
circle being the circumference of the globe. The line which practically
constitutes a level bends downwards continually as it goes forward,
following the form of the earth, and at every point being at right
angles to the radius. If it were produced in an absolutely straight
line, it would, in the course of a few miles, be high and dry above the
surface of the earth, and entirely useless for the practical purposes of
life. Such would sacred literature become if in blind admiration of the
fathers, the children should simply use the old, and not produce the
new. As we advance along the course of time, we are, as it were, tracing
a circle; and he who would be of use in his generation, must bend his
speculations to the time, and let them touch society on the level at
every point in the progress of the race. To throw a new contribution
into the goodly store does not, therefore, imply a judgment on the part
of the writer that the modern theology is better than the ancient. We
must make our own: it concerns us and our children that what we make be
in substance drawn from the word of God; and in form, suited to the
circumstances of the age.

Still further, the accumulations of the past should be used by those who
inherit them, as a basis on which to build. It is the business of each
generation to lay another course on the wall, and so leave the structure
loftier than they found it. The Bible, like the world, is inexhaustible;
in either department hosts of successive investigators have plied their
tasks from the beginning, and yet there is room.

Some observations are here submitted, more or less strictly introductory
to a treatise on a specific branch of Scriptural exegesis--the Parables
of Our Lord.


I.--ANALOGY.

As the husbandman's first care is neither the fruit nor the tree which
bears it, but the soil in which the tree must grow: so an expositor,
whose ultimate aim is to explain and enforce the parables of Jesus,
should mark well at the outset the fundamental analogies which pervade
the works of God, and constitute the basis of all figurative language,
whether in human teaching or divine.

The Maker and Ruler of the universe pursues an object, and works on a
plan. His purpose is one, and he sees the end from the beginning: the
variations, infinite in number, and vast in individual extent, which
emerge in the details of his administration, are specific accommodations
of means to ends.

The material and moral departments of the divine government are, like
body and soul of a human being, widely diverse from each other; but one
Master administers both with a view to a common end. The two departments
are different in kind, and therefore the laws which regulate the one
cannot be the same as the laws which regulate the other; but in both one
designer operates towards one design, and therefore the laws which
regulate the one must be like the laws which regulate the other. From
the duality of creation, there cannot be identity between the physical
and moral laws; but from the unity of the Creator there must be
similarity.

Nor is it only between the two great departments of the divine
government generically distinguished, that analogies may spring: within
either department, analogies innumerable may be found between one
species and another, and even between individuals of the same species.
Between two parts of the material world, or two portions of human
history, or two processes of mental effort, analogies may be traced, as
well as between the evolutions of matter and the laws of mind.

It is not strictly correct to speak of the similitudes which we have
been accustomed to admire in literature, as "creations of genius;" the
utmost that is competent to genius is to observe and exhibit the
similitudes as they lie in nature. An observing eye, a suggestive mind,
and a loving heart constitute all the necessary apparatus; with these
faculties in exercise, let any one stalk abroad upon the earth among his
fellows, and analogies will spring spontaneously around him, as
manifold and as beautiful as the flowers that by daylight look up from
the earth, or the stars that in the evening reciprocate from heaven the
gentle salutation.

Analogy occupies the whole interval between absolute identity on the one
hand, and complete dissimilarity on the other. You would not say there
is an analogy between two coins of the same metal, struck successively
from the same die; for all practical purposes they are identical.
Although the two objects are thoroughly distinct, as all their sensible
qualities are the same, we are accustomed to speak of them not as
similar but the same. In order that a comparison may be effective either
for ornament or for use, there must be, between the two acts or objects,
a similarity in some points, and a dissimilarity in others. The
comparison for moral or æsthetic purposes is like an algebraic equation
in mathematical science; if the two sides are in all their features the
same, or in all their features different, you may manipulate the signs
till the sun go down, but you will obtain no useful result: it is only
when they are in some of their terms the same and in some different,
that you can bring fruit from their union.

We stand here on the brink of a great deep. For wise ends the system of
nature has been constructed upon a line intermediate between the
extremes of sameness and diversity. If the measure of difference between
classes and individuals had been much greater or much smaller than it
is, the accumulation of knowledge would have been extremely difficult,
or altogether impossible. It is by the combination of similarity and
dissimilarity among sensible objects that science from its lowest to its
highest measures becomes possible. If all animals, or all plants had
been in their sensible qualities precisely the same, there would have
been of animals or vegetables only one class: we could have had no
knowledge regarding them, except as individuals: our knowledge would at
this day have been less than that of savages. Again, if all animals or
all plants had been in their sensible qualities wholly dissimilar--all
from each, and each from all, it would have been impossible to frame
classes; our knowledge, as on the opposite supposition, would have been
limited to our observation of individuals. In either case Zoology or
Botany would have been impossible. Man, endowed with intelligence, could
not, in such a world, have found exercise for his faculties. It would
have been like a seeing eye without a shining light. The power would
have lain dormant for want of a suitable object. Ask the Botanist, the
Naturalist, the Chemist--ask the votary of any science, what makes
accumulated knowledge possible; he will tell you, it is the similarity
which enables him to classify, accompanied by the diversity which
enables him to distinguish. Wanting these two qualities in balanced
union there could be no analogy; and wanting analogy, man could not be
capable of occupying the place which has been assigned to him in
creation.[1]

  [1] But in order to employ analogy with effect more is needful than
  to make sure that the two objects or acts compared are similar
  without being identical: the design for which a comparison is made
  enters as an essential element, and decisively determines its value.
  Between two given objects an analogy may exist, good for one purpose
  but worthless for another. Given two balls, spherical in form and
  equal in size, the one of wood and the other of iron; and let the
  question be, Do these two objects bear any analogy to each other,
  real in itself and capable of being usefully employed? The question
  cannot yet be answered: we must first ascertain for what purpose the
  comparison is instituted. The two balls are like each other in form,
  but unlike in material; whether is it in respect of their form or
  their material that you propose to compare them? If one of them
  rolls along a gently inclined plane, you may safely infer that the
  other, when placed in the same position, will follow the same
  course; for although different in other features they are similar in
  form. But you cannot infer that because one floats when thrown into
  the water the other will float too, for in respect to specific
  gravity there is no similarity between them. Again, let two pieces
  of wood, cut from the same tree, be brought together, the one a
  cube, the other a sphere; you may safely conclude, if one swim in
  water that the other will swim too, because though of diverse forms
  they are of the same specific gravity; but you cannot conclude, if
  the one roll on an inclined plane, that the other will roll also,
  because though of the same specific gravity they are diverse forms.
  Two objects may be compared for the purpose of inferential analogy,
  although in nine of their qualities they are wholly dissimilar, if
  they resemble each other in one, and that the quality with respect
  to which the comparison is instituted. Again, although two objects
  be similar in nine of their properties, and dissimilar only in one,
  no useful analogy can be instituted between them if the object for
  which the comparison is made save with respect to the one point in
  which they are dissimilar. An acquaintance with such simple
  rudiments would go far to correct blunders both in the construction
  and the exposition of analogies.

In suggesting probabilities and throwing out lines of inquiry, analogy
is of unspeakable value in every branch of science; in sacred
apologetics its specific use is to destroy the force of objections which
may be plausibly urged against facts or doctrines otherwise established;
but it is as an instrument for explaining, illustrating, fixing, and
impressing moral and spiritual truth that we are mainly concerned with
it here.

God's word is as full of analogies as his works. The histories,
offerings, and prophecies of the Old Testament are figures of better
things which have been brought to light by the gospel. The lessons of
the Lord and his apostles teem with types. Almost every doctrine is
given in duplicate: the spirit is provided with a body; a body clothes
the spirit. Every fruitful vine has a strong elm to which it clings;
every strong elm supports a fruitful vine.

One important use of analogy in moral teaching is to fix the lesson on
the imagination and the memory, as you might moor a boat to a tree on
the river's brink to prevent it from gliding down during the night with
the stream. A just analogy suggested at the moment serves to prevent the
more ethereal spiritual conception from sliding out of its place.

In practical morals analogy is employed to surprise and so overcome an
adverse will, rather than merely to help a feeble understanding. In this
department most of the Lord's parables lie. When a man is hardened by
indulgence in his own sin, so that he cannot perceive the truth which
condemns it, the lesson which would have been kept out, if it had
approached in a straight line before his face, may be brought home
effectually by a circuitous route in the form of a parable. When the
conscience stands on its guard against conviction you may sometimes turn
the flank of its defences unperceived, and make the culprit a captive
ere he is aware. The Pharisees were frequently outwitted in this manner.
With complacent self-righteousness they would stand on the outside of
the crowd, and, from motives of curiosity, listen to the prophet of
Nazareth as he told his stories to the people, until at a sudden turn
they perceived that the graphic parable which pleased them so well, was
the drawing of the bow that plunged the arrow deep in their own hearts.

A man may be so situated that though his life is in imminent danger, he
cannot perceive the danger, and consequently makes no effort to escape.
Further, his mind may be so prejudiced that he still counts the beam on
which he stands secure, although a neighbour has faithfully given
warning that it is about to fall; it may be that because he stands on it
he cannot see its frailty. Let some friend who knows his danger, but
wishes him well, approach the spot and hold a mirror in such a position
that the infatuated man shall see reflected in it the under and ailing
side of the beam that lies between him and the abyss. The work is done:
the object is gained: the confident fool, made wise at length, leaps for
life upon the solid ground.

Although the faculty of perceiving and understanding analogies is
inherent in humanity, and consequently co-extensive with the race, it is
developed in a higher degree in some persons and in some communities
than in others. The common opinion, that the inhabitants of mountainous
countries possess this faculty in a higher measure than the inhabitants
of the plains, seems to be sustained by facts. Within the borders of our
own island it is quite certain that the Scotch and the Welsh employ
figures more readily and relish them more intensely than the English.
How far the difference may be directly due to the physical configuration
of the country cannot perhaps be accurately ascertained; but doubtless
the mountains contribute indirectly to the result, by rendering access
more difficult, and so producing a greater measure of isolation and
simplicity.

It is an acknowledged and well-known fact, moreover, that the
inhabitants of eastern countries are more prone to employ figurative
language than the peoples of western Europe; but it is difficult to
determine how far this characteristic is due to the meteorological and
geographical features of the continent, and how far to hereditary
peculiarities of race.

Looking merely to the physical features of their country, you might
expect that the inhabitants of Palestine would possess in a high degree
the faculty of suggesting and appreciating analogical conceptions; the
peculiar history and jurisprudence of the people must have tended
powerfully in the same direction. Accordingly, as might have been
expected from the circumstances of the nation, it appears in point of
fact on the whole face of the Scriptures, that as the institutes of the
commonwealth were symbolical, the language of the people was figurative.
They were at home in metaphor. It was their vernacular. The sudden and
bold adoption of physical forms in order to convey spiritual
conceptions, did not surprise--did not puzzle them. "Ye are the salt of
the earth," "Wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be
gathered together," fell upon their ears, not as a foreign dialect, but
as the accents of their native tongue.

It might easily be shown that no other characteristic connected with the
form of the Scriptures could have done so much to facilitate their
diffusion in all climes, and in all ages, as the analogical mould in
which a large proportion of their conceptions is cast; but this is
scarcely denied by any, and is easily comprehended by all. In another
point of view, less obvious, and not so frequently noticed, the
prevalence in the Scriptures of analogical forms, attaching spiritual
doctrines to natural objects and historic facts, has served a good
purpose in the evidences and exposition of revealed religion. The more
abstract terms of a language are not so distinctly apprehended as the
more concrete, and in the course of ages are more liable to change. The
habit, universal among the writers of the Scriptures from the most
ancient to the latest, of making abstract moral conceptions fast to
pillars of natural objects and current facts, has contributed much to
fix the doctrines like fossils for all time, and so to diminish the area
of controversy. All the more steadily and safely has revealed truth come
down from the earliest time to the present day, that it has in every
part of its course run on two distinct but parallel tracks.


II.--PARABLES.

The parable is one of the many forms in which the innate analogy between
the material and the moral may be, and has been practically applied.[2]
The difficulty of constructing a definition which should include every
similitude that belongs to this class, and exclude all others, has been
well appreciated by expositors and frankly confessed. The parables of
the New Testament, after critics have done their utmost to generalize
and classify, must in the end be accounted _sui generis_, and treated
apart from all others. The etymology of the name affords us no help, for
it is applied without discrimination to widely diverse forms of
comparison; it indicates the juxtaposition of two thoughts or things,
with the view of exhibiting and employing the analogy which may be found
to subsist between them; but several other terms convey precisely the
same meaning, and therefore it cannot supply us with the distinguishing
characteristic of a class. As far as I have been able to observe, hardly
anything has been gained at this point by the application of logical
processes. The distinctions which have been successfully made are
precisely those which are sufficiently obvious without a critical
apparatus; and in regard to those comparisons which bear the closest
affinity to the parable, and in which, on account of the rainbow-like
blending of the boundaries, logical definitions are most needed, logical
definitions have most signally failed. Scholars have, for example,
successfully distinguished parables from myths and fables; but this is
laboriously to erect a fence between two flocks that in their nature
manifest no tendency to intermingle; whereas, from some other forms of
analogy, such as the allegory, the parable cannot be separated by a
definition expressed in general terms, which shall be at once
universally applicable and universally understood.

  [2] Christ made it his business to speak in parables; and, indeed,
  one may say, the whole visible world is only a parable of the
  invisible world. The parable is not only something intermediate
  between history and doctrine; it is both history and doctrine--at
  once historical doctrine and doctrinal history. Hence its
  enchaining, ever fresher, and younger charm. Yes, parable is
  nature's own language in the human heart; hence its universal
  intelligibility, its, so to speak, permanent sweet scent, its
  healing balsam, its mighty power to win one to come again and again
  to hear. In short, the parable is the voice of the people, and hence
  also the voice of God.--_Die Gleichniss-reden Jesu Christi, von
  Fred. Arndt_, vol. i. 2.

Into all parables human motives and actions go as constituents, and in
most of them the processes of nature are also interwoven. The element of
human action is generally introduced in a historic form, as "a certain
man had two sons;" but some of the similitudes of Scripture, which by
general consent are reckoned parables, lack this feature, as for
example, the Lost Sheep.[3] "What man of you, having an hundred sheep?"
For my own part, while there are some that, on the one hand, I can with
confidence include, and some that, on the other, I must with equal
confidence keep out, I see not a few lying ambiguous on the border. My
judgment inclines to what seems a medium between two extremes,--between
the decision of some German philosophical expositors who are too
critical, and the decision of some English practical preachers who are
not critical enough. I would fain eschew, on the one hand, the laborious
trifling by which it is proved that the parable of the Sower is not a
parable; and, on the other hand, the unfortunate facility which admits
into the number almost all similitudes indiscriminately. I shall adopt
the list of Dr. Trench,[4] thirty in number, as being on the whole a
fair and convenient medium; although I could not undertake to
demonstrate that these only, and these all possess the qualities which
in his judgment go to constitute a parable. Some that are included can
scarcely be distinguished by logical definitions from some that are
excluded; but so far am I from considering this a defect, that I deem it
a necessary result of the impalpable infinitesimal graduation by which
the fully-formed parable glides down into the brief detached
metaphorical aphorism, in the words of the Lord Jesus during the period
of his ministry.

  [3] It is not, however, by the universal consent of critics that
  even this is admitted as a genuine parable. Schultze boldly excludes
  it; but he excludes also all the group in Matt. xiii. except the
  Tares. By one arbitrary rule after another, he cuts down the whole
  number of our Lord's parables to eleven.--_A. H. A. Schultze, de
  parabolarum J. C. indole poetica com._ Men have good cause to
  suspect the accuracy of their artificial rules, when the application
  of them works such havoc. Better that we should have no critical
  rules, than adopt such as separate on superficial literal grounds,
  things that the judgment of the Church and the common sense of men
  have in all ages joined together as substantially of the same class.

  [4] Notes on the Parables.

Certain figurative lessons, differing from the parable on the one hand,
and the allegory on the other, may be found scattered up and down both
in the Scriptures and in secular literature, whose distinguishing
characteristic is, that they are not spoken but enacted, and which I am
disposed to regard as more nearly allied than any other to the parables
of our Lord.

They seem to constitute a species of simple primitive germinal drama.
Some examples occur in the history of the Hebrew monarchy before the
period of the captivity. At Elisha's request, Joash, King of Israel,
shot arrows from a bow, in token of the victory which he should obtain
over the Syrians. Left without instructions as to the frequency with
which the operation should be repeated, the king shot three arrows
successively into the ground, and paused. Thereupon the prophet,
interpreting the symbol, declared that the subjugation of the Syrians
would not be complete (2 Kings xiii.) Another specimen may be observed,
shining through the history in the reign of Jehoshaphat, when a prophet
named Chenaanah made a pair of iron horns, and flattered the King of
Israel by the symbol that he would push the Syrians till he should
consume them (2 Chron. xvii. 10). About the time of the captivity, and
in the hands of Ezekiel, this species of parable appears with great
distinctness of outline, and considerable fulness of detail. When a
frivolous people would not take warning of their danger, the prophet,
godly and grave, took a broad flat tile, and sketched on it the outline
of a besieged city, and lay on his left side, silently contemplating the
symbol of his country's fate (chap. iv.) The strange act of the revered
man attracted many eyes, and stirred new questionings in many hearts.
Equally graphic is the representation of Israel's captivity, in the
dramatic parable recorded in chap. xii., where the prophet personally
enacts the melancholy process of packing his goods, and escaping as an
exile.

From the subsequent history, we learn that this significant act arrested
attention; the people gazed in wonder on the sign, and anxiously
inquired into its meaning.

It is eminently worthy of notice that the lavish and bold imagery of
Ezekiel effectually served the immediate purpose for which it was
employed; it attracted the people's regard, explained the prophecy to
their understandings, and fixed the lessons in their memories. It is
true, indeed, that they did not repent; but this only shows that
parables, even when dictated by the Spirit, have not inherent power to
convert; even God's word may, through the hearer's sin, remain a dead
letter in his hand. It emerges incidentally in the history that the
preaching of Ezekiel was eminently popular; crowds came out to hear and
see.

The ultimate spiritual success lies in other hands; but in as far as the
instrument is concerned, it is proved, from the experience of this
ancient prophet, that the mastery of analogies draws the people round
the preacher's feet, and brings his lessons into contact with their
minds and hearts.

In modern times, much argument is employed to prove that the drama may
be pure in itself, and effectual as a moral educator,--argument which,
however excellent it may be in theory, has hitherto proved impotent in
fact. But from the beginning it was not so; Ezekiel was a dramatist; he
acted his prophecies and his preachings on a stage. The warnings were in
this form clearly articulated, and forcefully driven home; if they
failed to produce the ultimate result of repentance, the obstacle lay
not in the feebleness of the instrument, but in the wilful hardness of
the subject whereon the instrument was plied. Dramatic representation in
the simplicity of its infancy was a golden vessel of the sanctuary,
employed in the service of God; long ago it was carried away into
Babylon, and profanely used as a wine cup in the orgies of idols.
Whether it shall ever be wrenched from the enemy, purified, and restored
to the service of the temple, I know not.

In the general history of the world, the most interesting parable of
this class that occurs to my memory is one attributed to a North
American Indian in conversation with a Christian missionary. The red
man had previously been well instructed in the Scriptures, understood
the way of salvation, and enjoyed peace with God. Desiring to explain to
his teacher the turning point of his spiritual experience, he had
recourse, in accordance, perhaps, with the instincts and habits of his
tribe, to the language of dramatic symbols rather than to the language
of articulate words. Having gathered a quantity of dry withered tree
leaves, he spread them in a thin layer, and in a circular form on the
level ground. He then gently laid a living worm in the centre, and set
fire to the circumference on every side. The missionary and the Indian
then stood still and silent, watching the motions of the imprisoned
reptile. It crawled hastily and in alarm towards one side, till it met
the advancing girdle of fire, and then crawled back as hastily to the
other. After making several ineffectual efforts to escape, the creature
retired to the centre, and coiled itself up to await its fate. At this
crisis, and just before the flames reached their helpless victim, the
Indian stept gravely forward, lifted the worm from its fiery prison, and
deposited it in a place of safety. "Thus," this simple preacher of the
cross indicated to the missionary,--"Thus helpless and hopeless I lay,
while the wrath due to my sin advanced on every side to devour me; and
thus sovereignly, mightily, lovingly did Christ deliver my soul from
death."


III.--THE PARABLES OF THE LORD.

Metaphorical language, as we have seen, is deeply rooted in the
fundamental analogy which subsists between the several departments of
our Creator's work; and the parable is a species of figure which, for
all practical purposes, is sufficiently distinguished from others,
although it is scarcely possible to isolate it by a complete logical
definition. Nor is it enough to say that those specimens which are found
in the record of Christ's ministry belong to the species; they may be
said to constitute a species by themselves. The parables which are known
to literature beyond the pale of the evangelic histories are either very
diverse in kind, or very few in number. The practical result is, that
while we treat the parable as a distinct species of analogical
instruction, we must treat the parables spoken by the Lord as a unique
and separate class. As the Lord's people in ancient times dwelt alone,
and were not reckoned among the nations, the Lord's parabolic teaching
stands apart by itself, and cannot with propriety be associated with
other specimens of metaphorical teaching. Logically as well as
spiritually it is true, that "never man spake like this man."

But, when setting aside all other forms of comparison, we confine our
regard to the parable, and, setting aside other specimens, we confine
our regard to the parables spoken by the Lord, other questions arise
concerning the internal and reciprocal relations of these peculiar
compositions; should they be read and considered as so many independent
units miscellaneously scattered over the evangelic record, or should
they be classified according to the place which belongs to them in a
system of dogmatics? or can any method of treatment be suggested
different from both of these extremes, and better than either?

It is doubtless competent to any inquirer to frame the doctrines which
the parables illustrate into a logical scheme, and in his exposition to
transpose the historical order, so that the sequence of the subjects
shall coincide with his arrangement. This method is lawful in regard to
the parables particularly, as it is in regard to the contents of
Scripture generally; but, as a method of prosecuting the inquiry, I
think it loses more on the side of topical and historical interest than
it gains on the side of logical precision. As the Bible generally is in
its own natural order, both more engaging and more instructive than a
catechism compiled from it, although the compiler may have been both
skilful and true; the parables of the Lord, in particular, taken up as
they lie in his ministry, are both more interesting and more profitable
than a logical digest of the theology which they contain, however
faithfully the digest may have been made.

Any one may observe, as he reads our Lord's parables, that some of them
are chiefly occupied with the teaching of doctrine, and others with the
reproof of prevailing sins; but when on the basis of these and other
subordinate distinctions, you proceed to arrange them into separate
classes, you are met and repelled by insurmountable difficulties. When
Bauer, for example, has arranged them in three divisions, dogmatic,
moral, and historic, he is compelled immediately to add another class
called the mixed, as dogmatic-moral and dogmatic-historic, thereby
proving that his logical classification has failed.[5]

  [5] In reference to Bauer's classification, Limbourg Brower (_de
  parabol. Jesu._) observes that the distinction between parables that
  are dogmatic and parables that are moral cannot successfully be
  maintained, because of the intimate union maintained in the
  discourses of Jesus between the revelation of truth and the
  inculcation of duty. This remark, in connection with its ground, is
  decisive not only against the particular division to which it is
  applied, but to all divisions, in as far as they pretend to be
  logically distinct and complete.

By abandoning, for the purposes of exposition, the order in which the
parables have been recorded, and adopting a classification on the basis
of contents or form, some incidental advantages are obtained; especially
some otherwise necessary repetitions are avoided, and some subordinate
relations are by the juxtaposition more easily observed; but the loss
is, I apprehend, much greater than the gain. The temptation to bend the
freely-growing branches of the parable, that they may take their places
in the scheme, is by this method greatly increased; while historical
sequences and logical relations, lying more or less concealed in the
record, are in a great measure thrown away. Accordingly, I prefer the
method of maintaining in the exposition the order which the evangelists
have adopted in the narrative. Besides the advantage of preserving in
all cases the historical circumstances whence the parable sprung, we
discover, as we follow this track, several groups associated together by
the Lord in his ministry, for the sake of their reciprocal relations,
and reverently preserved in their places by the evangelical historians.
The seven in Matt. xiii., and the three in Luke xv., constitute the
chief of those dogmatic groupings formed to our hand in the ministry of
the Lord. I refer to them here as examples, but defer the exposition of
their sequences and relations, until it can be presented with greater
advantage in connection with the examination of their contents.

A question, on some of its sides difficult, meets us here, regarding the
reason why the Lord employed parables in the prosecution of his
ministry. On the one hand, it is certainly true, as may be proved from
all history, that comparisons between material and moral facts or laws,
spring up naturally in human converse; and further, that the truth
expressed in parables, if not in all cases immediately palpable, is
better fitted both to arrest attention at first, and to imprint the
lesson permanently on the learner's memory. But the use and usefulness
of the parable in this respect are obvious and undisputed; it makes
spiritual truth more attractive and more memorable. The difficulty does
not lie on this side; it adheres to a second function of the parable, in
some respects the opposite of the first,--the function of concealing the
doctrine in judgment from closed eyes and hardened hearts. In some
instances and to some extent, the parables, while they conveyed the
doctrine to one portion of the audience, concealed it from another. In
those cases "they are like the husk which preserves the kernel _from_
the indolent, and _for_ the earnest."[6] It is the method, not unknown
in other departments of the divine government, of making the same fact
or law at once profitable to the humble, and punitive to the proud. Not
only the Lord's word, but also the Lord himself, partakes of this
twofold character, and produces these diverse effects; the same rock on
which a meek disciple surely builds his hope, is also the stone over
which scoffers stumble in their final fall.

  [6] _Gerlach in Lange._

The judicial or penal function of the parable was indicated by the Lord
in express terms when he explained the meaning of the sower in private
to his own disciples (Matt. xiii. 11-17; Mark iv. 10-13). In these
cases, however, the wilful blindness of men's hearts appears as the sin
which brought down the punishment, and the obstacle which kept out the
blessing. Every word of God is good; but some persons maintain such an
averted attitude of mind, that it glides off like sunbeams from polar
snows, without ever obtaining an entrance to melt or fructify. To one of
two persons who stand in the same room gazing on the same picture in the
sunlight, the beauty of the landscape may be fully revealed, while to
the other, on account of a certain indirectness of position and view, it
appears only as an unpleasant dazzling glare. So, of two Jews who both
eagerly listened to Jesus, as he taught from the fishing-boat on the
Lake of Galilee, one found in the story the word of the kingdom,
refreshing as cold waters to a thirsty soul, while the other, hearing
the same words, perceived nothing in them but incoherent and tantalizing
enigmas. For the right comprehension of the parables in particular, as
of revealed truth in general, a receptive heart is a qualification even
more peremptorily and essentially necessary than a penetrating
understanding. "If any man is willing to do his will, he shall know of
the doctrine, whether it be of God" (John vii. 17).

Each of the parables contained some characteristic, or presented some
aspect of Christ's kingdom. His kingdom was not of this world, and
therefore it was intensely distasteful to the carnal Jews of that day.
The idea did not readily enter their mind; and when it did in some
measure penetrate, it kindled in their corrupt hearts a flame of
persecuting rage. It was necessary that the Lord should, during the
period of his personal ministry, fully develop and deposit the seed of
the kingdom; but it was necessary also that he should remain on earth
until the set time when his ministry as prophet should terminate in his
offering as priest. Now, if he had at any period displayed all the
characteristics of his kingdom in terms which the mob and their rulers
were able to comprehend, the persecution that ultimately crucified him,
would have burst prematurely forth, and so deranged the plan of the
Omniscient. It was necessary, for example, in order to provide
consolation for his own disciples in subsequent temptations, that the
Lord should predict his own death and resurrection; but this
prediction, when uttered in public, was veiled from hostile eyes under
the symbol, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up"
(John ii. 19). More generally, it was necessary that such features of
the kingdom as its spiritual character and its expansive power should be
made known to true disciples for their instruction and encouragement,
but hidden for a time from persecutors in order to restrain their
enmity. Parables served the twofold purpose. Tender, teachable spirits
caught the meaning at once; or, if they failed, they asked and obtained
an explanation from the Master in private; while those who had not the
single eye, were for the time left in darkness. It was their own
hardness that kept out the light; their own hardness was employed as the
instrument whereby judgment was inflicted upon themselves.[7]

  [7] In Matthew (xiii. 13) he speaks in parables, "because (ὅτι),
  they seeing, see not:" and in Mark (iv. 12), and Luke (viii. 10),
  "that (ἵνα) seeing they might not see." Two different objects were
  effected at the same time, and by the same act, corresponding to
  those two terms; it is true that the Lord employed parables, as one
  employs pictures to teach a child, _because_ his auditors were
  children in understanding; and it is also true that he veiled his
  doctrines under metaphor _in order that_ those who were children in
  understanding but in malice men, might not perceive his drift, and
  so might not violently interfere to suppress his ministry. Thus
  according to the explanation which he gave at the moment, "Whosoever
  hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance; but
  whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath"
  (Matt. xiii. 12).


IV.--THE INTERPRETATION OF THE PARABLES.

Of the parables in particular, as of the Scriptures generally, it is
true that faith is necessary to the full appreciation of their meaning.
That you must understand the Scriptures in order to have faith, and have
faith in order to understand the Scriptures, is indeed, a circle; but
it is not a vicious circle. As you approach from without, you may
perceive that the Bible is the word of God, and that the Christ whom it
reveals is the Saviour of sinners; standing now on your new position,
and recognising your Instructor as also your Redeemer, you will discover
in his word a length, and breadth, and height, and depth, which were
formerly concealed. In our day, as well as when the parables were first
spoken, it is to his own disciples that their true meaning is made
known.

Another cognate requisite to the true spiritual comprehension of these
divine sayings, is sympathy with the view which Jesus took and gave of
human nature in its fallen state. He spoke and acted not only as the
Teacher of the ignorant, but also as the Saviour of the lost: if we do
not occupy the same stand-point, and look upon humanity in the same
light, we shall stumble at every step in our effort to comprehend what
the Speaker meant.

These two qualifications are supreme; and they apply alike to divine
revelation as a whole, and to each of its parts; there are others which
are important though subordinate, and which bear more specially on the
particular department of Scripture exegesis with which we are here
engaged, the Parables of the Lord.[8]

  [8] The Parables of the Kingdom are, as it were, a picture gallery,
  and we walk up and down it, examining each picture by itself. We
  must not forget, however, that these are heavenly pictures that hang
  around us,--that heavenly things are here exposed to view. A
  heavenly interpreter walks by our side: we must have a heavenly
  sense if we would grasp the meaning of what we hear and see. If our
  study quicken this sense within us, so that it shall grow clearer
  and sharper before every picture, a rich treat awaits us, for the
  heavenly Gallery is great.--_Dräseke, vom Reich Gottes_, i., 270.

1. The faculty of perceiving and appreciating analogies. It is certainly
not necessary that an interpreter of Scripture should be a poet; but to
possess in some measure that eye for parallels which constitutes the
basis of the poetic faculty, is a most desirable qualification for one
who proposes to help his neighbours in the study of the parables. It is,
indeed, true that a man who possesses only a very small measure of this
or of other mental gifts, may read these lessons of the Lord with
spiritual profit to himself; but the pictorial theology of the New
Testament is not safe in the hands of a teacher who is signally
defective in the faculty to which it specially appeals. Learning, and
zeal, and faith combined may, in this department, expend much labour to
little purpose, for lack of power to perceive the point of the analogy.
But, on the other hand,

2. A stern logic is as necessary as a lively imagination. Deficient in
the analogical faculty, you cannot in this department go quickly
forward; but deficient in the logical faculty, you will go forward too
fast and too far. We need a well-spread, well-filled sail; but we need
also a helm to direct the ship in the path of safety. Restraining,
discriminating judgment, is as necessary as impulsive power. Every one
who possesses even a moderate acquaintance with the literature of this
department will, I am persuaded, acknowledge the justice of this
observation. Some expositors of the parables, especially in more ancient
times, remind one of the _Great Eastern_ in the Atlantic when her rudder
was disabled. There is plenty of impelling force, but this force, for
want of a director, only makes the ship go round and round in a
weltering sea. From the pages of those commentators, whose imaginations
have broken loose, you may cull fancies as manifold, as beautiful, and
as useless as the gyrations of a helmless ship in a stormy sea.

3. Some competent acquaintance, not only with the Scriptures, but also
with the doctrines which the Scriptures contain, arranged in a dogmatic
system, is necessary as a safeguard in the interpretation of the
parables. A scientific acquaintance with natural history is necessary
not only in order to an intelligent appreciation of the contents of a
museum, but also in order that you may turn to good account your
miscellaneous observation of nature; in like manner, although a correct
exegesis of Scripture supplies us with our only true dogmatics, the
knowledge of dogmatics, scientifically arranged, contributes in turn to
a correct exegesis. This remark has been drawn from me by my own
experience in the study of this department of theological literature. If
we would avoid the mistakes into which his own contemporaries fell, we
must read the Lord's parables in connection with the fuller exposition
of divine truth which he commissioned and inspired the apostles to give.
Except in some cases where an explanation is subjoined, or the
circumstances exclude all uncertainty, it is not safe for us to lean on
a parable as an independent evidence of a dogma. The pictorial
illustrations and the more direct doctrinal statements of Scripture
should go together for reciprocal elucidation and support. More
especially it is extremely dangerous for a theologian, when he has a
purpose to be served and an adversary to be refuted, to grasp a parable
in the sense which suits his view, and wield it as a weapon of offence;
in such a case he will probably do more execution upon himself than upon
his antagonist. The importance of this point will be more fully seen
when we consider the parables in detail.

4. Some knowledge of relative history, topography, and customs should be
at hand for use; but, at the same time, these things should be
resolutely kept in their own place. They may be good servants, but they
are bad masters. Through a signal defect in the knowledge of oriental
antiquity, an interpreter may permit some beautiful allusions to slip
through his hands unperceived; but, on the other hand, it ought to be
frankly conceded, and, if necessary, firmly maintained, that the
profitable use of our Lord's parables does not depend on rare and
difficult erudition. If a deficiency in this department infers the risk
of baldness in the exposition, a redundance supplies a temptation to
pedantic display. It is one thing to place some ancient eastern custom
in such a position that a ray of light from its surface shall pleasantly
illumine a feature of the parable that was lying in the shade, and all
another thing to make the parable a convenience for the exhibition of a
scholar's lore.

With more immediate reference to the exposition herewith submitted, it
is enough to intimate that it is neither a compend of criticism, nor
merely a series of sermons. I have endeavoured to combine the substance
of a critical investigation with the direct exhortation which becomes a
minister of the gospel, when fellow-sinners constitute his audience, and
the Bible supplies his theme. On the one hand, no important difficulty
has been consciously slurred over without an effort to satisfy the
judgment of a studious reader; and, on the other hand, no opportunity
has been omitted of pressing the gospel of Christ on the consciences of
men.




THE

PARABLES OF OUR LORD.




THE GROUP IN MATT. XIII.


"The same day went Jesus out of the house, and sat by the sea side. And
    great multitudes were gathered together unto him, so that he went
    into a ship, and sat; and the whole multitude stood on the shore.
    And he spake many things unto them in parables."--MATT. xiii. 1-3.

In Matthew's narrative, the first specimen of that peculiar pictorial
method which characterized the teaching of our Lord, is not an isolated
parable occurring in the midst of a miscellaneous discourse, but a group
of seven presented in one continuous and connected report. Nor is the
grouping due to the logical scheme of the Evangelist; we have here, not
the historian's digest of many disjointed utterances, but a simple
chronological record of facts. In this order have these seven parables
been recorded by the servant, because in this order they were spoken by
the Lord. It does not in the least detract from the soundness of this
judgment to concede that some of them were spoken also in other
circumstances and other combinations. There is no ground whatever for
assuming that one of our Lord's signal sayings could not have been
spoken in one place, because it can be proved that it was spoken at
another. From the nature of the subjects, and the form which Christ's
ministry assumed, it might be confidently anticipated that the parables
and other sharply relieved similitudes would recur, in whole or in part,
in different discourses and before different assemblies: with this
supposition accordingly the facts agree, as they may be gathered from a
synopsis of the several narratives.

Among the later German critics, it is distinctly conceded by Lange that
these seven parables were spoken by the Lord in the order of Matthew's
record, although some of them appear to have been spoken also at other
times. If it could have been proved that none of the parables had ever
been spoken a second time, the circumstance would have constituted a
non-natural and inexplicable phenomenon.

A measure of logical order and reciprocal relation has always been
observed in this cluster of parables. While some of the relations, and
these the most important, are so obvious that they have been observed
alike by all inquirers, in regard to others a considerable diversity of
opinion has prevailed. Some, in the sequences of the group, look only
for various phases of the kingdom, presented in logical divisions and
sub-divisions: others find here, in addition, a prophetic history of the
Church, like that which the Apocalypse contains. For my own part I am
disposed to confine my view to that which I consider sure and
obvious,--the representation of the kingdom of God in different aspects,
according to a logical arrangement, not pronouncing judgment regarding
the soundness of the prophetic view, but simply passing it by, as being
from its nature difficult and dim.

The first six readily fall into three successive well-defined pairs,
and the seventh stands clearly designated by its subject as an
appropriate conclusion. The _first_ pair exhibit the RELATIONS of the
kingdom to the several classes of intelligent creatures with which, as
adversaries or subjects, it comes into contact: the _second_ pair
exhibit the PROGRESS of the kingdom from small beginnings to a glorious
issue: the _third_ pair exhibit the PRECIOUSNESS of the kingdom, in
comparison with all other objects of desire: and the remaining _one_
teaches that the good and evil which intermingle on earth will be
completely and finally separated in the great day. Thus--

                          { 1. _The Sower_; the relation of the
                          {       kingdom to different _classes of
    I. RELATIONS..........{       men_.
                          { 2. _The Tares_; the relation of the
                          {       kingdom to _the wicked one_.

                          { 1. _The Mustard-seed_; the progress
                          {       of the kingdom under the idea
                          {       of _a living growth_.
   II. PROGRESS...........{ 2. _The Leaven_; the progress of the
                          {       kingdom under the idea of _a
                          {       contagious outspread_.

                          { 1. _The Hid Treasure_; the preciousness
                          {       of the kingdom under the
                          {       idea of _discovering what was hid_.
  III. PRECIOUSNESS.......{ 2. _The Goodly Pearl_; the preciousness
                          {       of the kingdom under the
                          {       idea of closing _with what is
                          {       offered_.

                          { _The Draw-net_; the separation between
   IV. SEPARATION.........{       good and evil in the
                          {       great day.

It is not a valid objection to this division that in several cases, if
not in all, the subjects reciprocally overlap each other; it is, in the
circumstances, natural and necessary that they should. Thus, in regard
to the first pair, the work of the adversary appears in the sower, and
the contact of believers with unbelievers appears in the tares; but I
think these are in either case incidental and subordinate, while the
leading idea of the first is the reception given to the gospel by
different classes of men, and the leading idea of the second is the wile
of the devil in his effort to destroy the work of Christ.

We must, however, beware of giving too much and too minute attention to
the sequences and mutual relations of the parables. Most of them, in
point of fact, are found in the narrative as isolated lessons, each
complete in itself and independent of others. Even in this group,
although the connections are interesting and obvious, they are not
essential. The meaning of each specimen may be substantially discerned
without reference to its place in the series. By studying each apart you
may learn the lesson well; but by studying all together you may learn
the lesson better.

On the face of the narrative it appears that the first four were
addressed to a multitude congregated on the margin of the lake, and the
last three more privately to a smaller circle of disciples in a
neighbouring house; but there seems no ground for supposing that the two
portions were separated from each other by any considerable interval of
time or space.

I freely concede that there is some ground for the distinction between
the more outward and obvious aspects of the kingdom presented in the
first four, and the more inward and experimental matters which, in the
last three, were subsequently communicated to a more private circle; but
the distinction, though real and perceptible, does not appear to me so
fundamental and so deeply marked as to justify those who make it the
turning-point of their exposition.

There is a parallel which the thoughtful reader of the Scriptures will
not fail to observe, although a prudent expositor will beware of
attempting to trace it too minutely, between the seven parables of this
chapter and the epistles to the Seven Churches of Asia, in the beginning
of the Apocalypse. The two groups agree in this, that both represent by
a series of examples various features of the kingdom, and various
obstacles with which it must contend: they differ in that, while the
examples given in the Gospels are pictures drawn by the imagination, the
examples given in the Apocalypse are facts taken from history. But as
all the characteristics and vicissitudes of his Church were present to
the Head from the beginning, it was as easy for him to exhibit an image
of its condition through the ministry of Matthew, as to record examples
after they emerged in fact, through the ministry of John. In both
cases--alike in the pictures presented to the Galilean crowd and the
registered events sent to the Asiatic Churches--the Master's design is
to exhibit the kingdom on all its sides, that the observer's view,
whether of beauties or of blemishes, may be correct and full.

I subjoin for the reader's information the view of those who see in this
series of parables the subsequent historical development of the Church,
as it is briefly and clearly expressed by Lange: "We ... trace in the
parable of the sower a picture of the apostolic age; in the parable of
the tares, the ancient Catholic Church springing up in the midst of
heresies; in the parable of the mustard-bush resorted to by birds of
the air as if it had been a tree, and loaded with their nests, a
representation of the outward Church as established under Constantine
the Great; in the leaven that is mixed among the three measures of meal,
the pervading and transforming influence of Christianity in the mediæval
Church among the barbarous races of Europe; in the parable of the
treasure in the field, the period of the Reformation; in the parable of
the pearl, the contrast between Christianity and the acquisitions of
modern culture and secularism; and in the last parable a picture of the
closing judgment."

The parallel which the same critic institutes between the seven parables
of this group and the seven beatitudes of the Sermon on the Mount, is an
attractive study, and some of the coincidences are obvious and
beautiful; but this line of observation should be jealously kept
subordinate to the primary substantial lesson which each parable
contains. On the one hand, I desire that these secondary and incidental
views should not by their beauty draw to themselves a disproportionate
share of our attention; and on the other hand, I am disposed to respect
every earnest, sober, and reverential suggestion which any believing
inquirer may throw out, regarding the lateral references and
under-current secondary meanings of the Lord's discourses; for they
possess a length and breadth, and height and depth, which will exercise
the minds of devout disciples as long as the dispensation lasts, and
pass all understanding when it is done.




I.

THE SOWER.


"The same day went Jesus out of the house, and sat by the sea side. And
    great multitudes were gathered together unto him, so that he went
    into a ship, and sat; and the whole multitude stood on the shore.
    And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a
    sower went forth to sow; and when he sowed, some seeds fell by the
    way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up: some fell upon
    stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they
    sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: and when the sun
    was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they
    withered away. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up,
    and choked them: but other fell into good ground, and brought forth
    fruit, some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold. Who
    hath ears to hear, let him hear.... Hear ye therefore the parable of
    the sower. When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and
    understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away
    that which was sown in his heart. This is he which received seed by
    the way side. But he that received the seed into stony places, the
    same is he that heareth the word, and anon with joy receiveth it;
    yet hath he not root in himself, but dureth for a while: for when
    tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, by and by he
    is offended. He also that received seed among the thorns is he that
    heareth the word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness
    of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful. But he that
    received seed into the good ground is he that heareth the word, and
    understandeth it; which also beareth fruit, and bringeth forth, some
    an hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty."--MATT. xiii. 1-9, 18-23.

The parable is, in our language at least, so uniformly associated with
this name, that it would not readily be recognised under any other
designation; but "The four kinds of ground" (viererlei Acker), the title
which seems to be in ordinary use among the Germans, is logically more
correct, inasmuch as it points directly to the central idea, and
expresses the distinctive characteristic.

At this period a great and eager multitude followed the steps of Jesus
and hung upon his lips. A certain divine authority, strangely combined
with the tenderest human sympathy, marked his discourses sharply off, as
entirely different in kind from all that they had been accustomed to
hear in the synagogue. Finding that instincts and capacities hitherto
dormant in their being were awakened by his word, "the common people
heard him gladly." At an earlier hour of the same day on which this
parable was spoken, the circle of listeners that encompassed the Teacher
had become so broad and dense, that his mother and brothers, who had
come from home to speak with him, were obliged to halt on the outskirts
of the crowd, and pass their message in from mouth to mouth. In these
circumstances, the Preacher's work must have been heavy, and doubtless
the worker was weary. Having paused till the press slackened, he
privately retired to the margin of the lake, desiring probably to "rest
a while;" but no sooner had he taken his seat beside the cool still
water, than he was again surrounded by the anxious crowd. At once to
escape the pressure and to command the audience better when he should
again begin to speak, he stepped into one of the fishing-boats that
floated at ease close by the beach, on the margin of that tideless
inland sea. From the water's edge, stretching away upward on the natural
gallery formed by the sloping bank, the great congregation, with every
face fixed in an attitude of eager expectancy, presented to the
Preacher's eye the appearance of a ploughed field ready to receive the
seed. As he opened his lips, and cast the word of life freely abroad
among them, he saw, he felt, the parallel between the sowing of Nature
and the sowing of Grace. Into that mould, accordingly, he threw the
lesson of saving truth. Grasping the facts and laws of his own material
world, and wielding them with steady aim as instruments in the
establishment of his spiritual kingdom, in simple yet majestic terms he
said, "Behold, a sower went forth to sow."

Whether a sower was actually in sight at that moment in a neighbouring
field or not, every man in that rural assemblage must have been familiar
with the act, and would instantly recognise the truth of the picture.
The sower, with a bag of seed dependent from his shoulder, stalks slowly
forth into the prepared field. With measured, equal steps, he marches in
a straight line along the furrow. His hand, accustomed to keep time with
his advancing footsteps, and to jerk the seed forward with considerable
force, in order to secure uniformity of distribution, cannot suddenly
stop when he approaches the hard trodden margin of the field. By habit
the right hand continues to execute its wonted movement in unison with
the sower's steps as he is turning round; and thus a portion of the seed
is thrown on the unploughed border of the field and the public path that
skirts it. Birds, scared for a moment by the presence of the man, hover
in the air till his back is turned on another tack, and then, each eager
to be first, come swooping down, and swallow up all the grain that found
no soft place where it fell for hiding in. Even if it should happen in
any case that no birds were near, the seed that fell on the way side was
as surely destroyed in another way: the alternative suggested in Luke's
narrative is, that "it is trodden under foot of men."

But while the portion of the seed that fell on the way side was thus
certainly destroyed, it does not follow that the rest came to
perfection: "Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth:
and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth:
and when the sun was up they were scorched; and because they had no
root, they withered away." The stony places are not portions of the
field where many separate stones may be seen lying on the surface, but
portions which consist of continuous rock underneath, with a thin
sprinkling of soft soil over it. Here the young plants burst through the
ground sooner than in spots where the seed found a deeper bed: but when
the rains of spring have ceased, and the sun of summer has waxed hot,
the moisture is quickly exhaled from the shallow stratum of soil, and
forthwith the fair promise dies.

But yet another slip there may be "between the cup and the lip:" even
from the seed that falls on deep, soft ground, you cannot count with
certainty on a rich return in harvest. Although the plants should
without obstruction strike their roots deeply into the soft, moist
earth, and rear their stalks aloft into the balmy air, they may be
rendered barren at last by the simultaneous growth of rivals more
imperious and more powerful than themselves. Unless the grain not only
grow in deeply broken ground, but grow alone there, it cannot be
fruitful: "Some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up and choked
it." Besides those plants that are more correctly denominated thorns, we
may include under the term here all rank weeds, varying with countries
and climates, which infest the soil and hurt the harvest. The green
stalks that grow among thorns are neither withered in spring, nor
stunted in their summer's growth; they may be found in harvest taller
than their fruitful neighbours; but the ear is never filled, never
ripened, and the reaper gets nothing in his arms but long slender straw
adorned at the top with graceful clusters of empty chaff. The roots of
the thorns drank up the sap of the ground, while their branches veiled
off the sunlight, and thus the good seed, starved beneath and
overshadowed above, although it started fair in spring, produced nothing
in the autumn.

As Truth is one and Error manifold, so in regard to the seed sown, the
story of failure is long and varied, the story of success is short and
simple: "Other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit, some an
hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold." The design of the picture
is to reveal the various causes which at different times and places
render the husbandman's labour abortive and leave his garner empty. This
done, there is no need of more. The seed, when none of these things
impeded it, prospered as a matter of course, under the ordinary care of
man and the ordinary gifts of God.

Three distinct obstructions to the growth and ripening of the seed are
enumerated in the parable. The statement is exact, and the order
transparent. The natural sequences are strictly and beautifully
maintained. The three causes of abortion--the way side, the stony
ground, and the thorns--follow each other as the spring, the summer, and
the autumn. In the first case the seed does not spring at all; in the
second it springs, but dies before it grows up; in the third, it grows
up, but does not ripen. If it escape the way side, the danger of the
stony ground lies before it; if it escape the stony ground, the thorns
at a later stage threaten its safety; and it is only when it has
successively escaped all three that it becomes fruitful at length.

In this case, the Lord himself gave both the parable and its
explanation; he became his own interpreter. The Master takes us, like
little children, by the hand and leads us through all the turnings of
his first symbolic lesson, lest in our inexperience we should miss our
way. The Son of God not only gave himself as a sacrifice for sin; he
also laboured as a patient painstaking teacher of the ignorant: he is
the Apostle as well as the High Priest of our profession. His
instructions have been recorded by the Spirit in the Scriptures for our
use; we may still sit at his feet and listen to his voice. He has taken
his seat on the deck of a fishing-boat while the waters of the lake are
still, and is discoursing to a congregation of Galileans from the
neighbourhood who stand clustering on the shore. Let us join the
outskirts of the crowd and hear that heavenly Teacher too.

He speaks in parables: he fixes saving truth in the forms of familiar
things, that it may be carried away and kept. We look with lively
interest on the scene which these words conjure up before our eyes; but
we should look on it reverently: it has not been given to us as a
plaything. Gaze gravely, brother, into this parable, for "thou art the
man" of whom it speaks: it reveals the way of life and the way of death
to thee. If a traveller who possesses an accurate map of his route turn
aside from it and perish in a pit, it will not avail him in his
extremity to reflect that he carries the correct track in his hand.
Alas! a literary admiration of the parable-stories which Jesus told in
Galilee will not avail us, if we do not accept himself as our Saviour
from sin.

From the Lord's own exposition here and elsewhere recorded, we learn
that the seed is the word of God; that the sower is the man who makes it
known to his neighbours; and that the ground on which the seed falls is
the hearer's heart. The main drift of the parable concerns the ground,
and to it accordingly our attention must be chiefly directed. The
lesson, however, is drawn, not from the inherent, essential properties
of the soil, but from the accidental obstructions to the growth of grain
which it may in certain circumstances contain: some notice, therefore,
of the seed and the sower in their spiritual signification is not only
profitable at this stage, but peremptorily necessary to the full
apprehension of the instruction which the parable conveys.

SEED has been created by God and given to man. If it were lost, it would
be impossible through human power and skill to procure a new supply: the
race would, in that case, perish, unless the Omnipotent should interfere
again with his creating power. For spiritual life and food the fallen
are equally helpless, and equally dependent on the gift of God. The seed
is the word, and the word is contained in the Scriptures. When we drop a
verse of the Bible into listening ears, we are sowing the seed of the
kingdom.

The seed is the word, but the Word is Christ: "In the beginning was the
Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God ... and the Word
was made flesh and dwelt among us," (John i.) Christ is the living seed,
and the Bible is the husk that holds it. The husk that holds the seed is
the most precious thing in the world, next after the seed that it holds.
The Lord himself precisely defines from this point of view the place
and value of the Scriptures,--"They are they which testify of me"
(John v. 39). The seed of the kingdom is himself the King. Nor is there
any inconsistency in representing Christ as the seed while he was in the
first instance also the sower. Most certainly he preached the Saviour,
and also was the Saviour whom he preached. The incident in the synagogue
at Nazareth (Luke iv. 16-22) is a remarkably distinct example of Christ
being at once the Sower and the Seed. When he had read the lesson of
the day, a glorious prophetic gospel from Isaiah, "he closed the book,
and gave it again to the minister, and sat down. And the eyes of all
them that were in the synagogue were fastened on him. And he began to
say unto them, This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears." As
soon as he had taken from the Scriptures the proclamation concerning
himself, he laid them aside, and presented himself to the people. The
Saviour preached the Saviour, himself the Sower and himself the Seed.

In the beginning of the Gospel, when the chosen band of sowers first
went to work upon the ample field of the world, taught of the Spirit,
they knew well what seed they ought to carry, and were ever ready to
cast it in where they saw an opening. One of them, and he the greatest,
formed and expressed a determination to know nothing among the people
save Jesus Christ, and him crucified. Twice in one chapter (Acts viii.),
we learn incidentally, but with great precision, what kind of seed
Philip the Evangelist carried always in his vessel, and cast into every
furrow as he passed along. When a large congregation assembled in the
city of Samaria to hear him, "he preached Christ unto them;" and when,
on a subsequent occasion, he was called to deal with an anxious inquirer
alone in the desert, "he opened his mouth and began at the same
scripture"--He was led as a lamb to the slaughter--"and preached unto
him Jesus." This is the seed sent down from heaven to be the life of the
world.

The SOWERS, although they have become a great company in these latter
days, are still, like the reapers, "few" in relation to the vastness of
the field. The Lord's message to Ananias of Damascus concerning Saul,
immediately after his conversion, graphically defines the office of a
minister as a sower of the seed: "He is a chosen vessel unto me, to bear
my name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel"
(Acts ix. 15). A vessel for holding Christ and dropping that precious
seed into human hearts wherever an opening should appear--this is the
true idea of a minister of the Gospel. Nor is the work confined to those
who, being trained to it, and freed from other cares, may thereby be
capable of conducting it on a larger scale. As every leaf of the forest
and every ripple on the lake, which itself receives a sunbeam on its
breast, may throw the sunbeam off again, and so spread the light around;
in like manner, every one, old or young, who receives Christ into his
heart may and will publish with his life and lips that blessed name. In
the spirit of the Lord's own precept regarding the harvest, we may all
be encouraged to adopt and press the prayer that our Father, the
husbandman, would send forth sowers into his field.

We turn now to the GROUND, and the various _obstacles_ which there
successively meet the seed and mar its fruitfulness.


I. THE WAY SIDE.--"When any one heareth the word of the kingdom, and
understandeth it not, then cometh the wicked one, and catcheth away that
which was sown in his heart. This is he which received seed by the way
side." A path beaten smooth by the feet of travellers skirts the edge,
or, perhaps, runs by way of short cut through the middle of the field.
The seed that falls there, left exposed on the surface, is picked up and
devoured by birds. Behold in one picture God's gracious offer, man's
self-destroying neglect, and the tempter's coveted opportunity!

The analogy being true to nature is instantly recognised and easily
appreciated. There is a condition of heart which corresponds to the
smoothness, hardness, and wholeness of a frequented footpath, that
skirts or crosses a ploughed field. The spiritual hardness is like the
natural in its cause as well as in its character. The place is a
thoroughfare; a mixed multitude of this world's affairs tread over it
from day to day, and from year to year. It is not fenced like a garden,
but exposed like an uncultivated common. That secret of the Lord, "Enter
into thy closet," and "shut the door," is unknown; or if known,
neglected. The soil, trodden by all comers, is never broken up and
softened by a thorough self-searching. A human heart may thus become
marvellously callous both to good and evil. The terrors of the Lord and
the tender invitations of the Gospel are alike ineffectual. Falling only
upon the external senses, they are swept off by the next current; as the
solid grain thrown from the sower's hand rattles on the smooth hard road
side, and lies on the surface till the fowls carry it away. The parallel
between the material and the moral here is more close and visible in the
original than it appears in the English version. But our language is
capable in this instance, like the Greek, of expressing by one phrase
equally the moral and the material failure: "Every one that hears the
word of the kingdom and does not take it in" (μὴ συνιέντος). The cause
of the failure in both departments is, that the soil, owing to its
hardness, does not take the seed into its bosom.

The seed is good: "The word of God is quick and powerful;"--that is, it
"is living, and puts forth energy."[9] Like buried moistened seed it
swells and bursts, and forces its way through opposing obstacles. A
heart of clay, smoothed and hardened on the surface, may hold it out for
a lifetime; but a heart of stone could not keep it down, if it were once
admitted, for a single day.

  [9] Ζ͂ῶν γὰρ ὁ λόγος τοῦ Θεοῦ, καὶ ἐνεργὴς.--HEB. iv. 12.

"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world;" "If
any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink;" "Believe on the Lord
Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved;"--these and many such great solid
seed-grains rain from heaven upon us in this land: shall we close all
the avenues to our hearts and so leave that seed lying on the surface
till the enemy carry it away? or shall the groanings which cannot be
uttered, the convictions of sin in the conscience, rend at length the
seared crust, that the seed may enter and occupy the life for God?

If privileged and professing hearers of the Gospel come short of the
kingdom, the fault lies not in the seed--the fault lies not often or to
a great extent even in the sower, although his work may have been feebly
and unskilfully done. If the seed is good, and the ground well prepared,
a very poor and awkward kind of sowing will suffice. Seed flung in any
fashion into the soft ground will grow; whereas, if it fall on the way
side, it will bear no fruit, however artfully it may have been spread.
My father was a practical and skilful agriculturist. I was wont, when
very young, to follow his footsteps into the field, further and oftener
than was convenient for him or comfortable for myself. Knowing well how
much a child is gratified by being permitted to imitate a man's work, he
sometimes hung the seed-bag, with a few handfuls in it, upon my
shoulder, and sent me into the field to sow. I contrived in some way to
throw the grain away, and it fell among the clods. But the seed that
fell from an infant's hands, when it fell in the right place, grew as
well and ripened as fully as that which had been scattered by a strong
and skilful man. In like manner, in the spiritual department, the skill
of the sower, although important in its own place, is, in view of the
final result, a subordinate thing. The cardinal points are the seed and
the soil. In point of fact, throughout the history of the Church, while
the Lord has abundantly honoured his own ordinance of a standing
ministry, he has never ceased to show, by granting signal success to
feeble instruments, that results in his work are not necessarily
proportionate to the number of talents employed.

Nor does the cause of failure, in the last resort, lie in the soil. The
man who receives the Gospel only on the hard surface of a careless life,
is of the same flesh and blood, endued with the same understanding mind
and immortal spirit, with his neighbour who has already become a new
creature in Christ. Believers and unbelievers are possessed of the same
nature and faculties. As the ground which has been trodden into a
footpath is in all its essential qualities the same as that which has
been broken small by the plough and harrow, so the human constitution
and faculties of one who lives without God in the world are
substantially the same as those which belong to the redeemed of the
Lord. It was the breaking of the ground which caused the difference
between the fruitful field and the barren way side. So those minds and
hearts that now bear the fruits of faith were barren till they were
broken; and those on which the good seed has often been thrown, only to
be thrown away, may yet yield an increase of a hundredfold to their
owner, when conviction and repentance shall have rent them open to
admit the word of life.

Felix the Roman governor was a specimen of the trodden way side. His
heart, worn by the cares of business and the pleasures of sin passing in
great volume alternately over it, presented no opening for the entrance
of the Gospel. Paul accordingly, when called to preach before him, did
not, in the first instance, pour out the simple positive message of
mercy: he reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come;
thus plying the seared conscience with the terrors of the Lord, in the
hope of breaking thereby the covering crust and preparing a seed bed for
the word of life. But the earth, in that case, was as iron, and refused
to yield even to an apostle's blow. From the heart of Felix the message
of mercy was effectually shut out. The jailer of Philippi was doubtless
equally hard in a more vulgar sphere, but his defences were shattered:
in that night of visitation his heart was rent as well as his prison,
and over the openings, while they were fresh, the skilful sower promptly
dropped the vital seed, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
shalt be saved." The word entered, and its entrance gave life.

At this point the parable addresses its lesson specifically to those who
have lived without God in the world, and who have lived in the main
comparatively at ease. They have not a real heart-possessing,
life-controlling religion, and they have never been very sorry for the
want of it. They have no part in Christ, and no cheering hope for
eternity. They are not ready to die; and yet they cannot keep death at
bay. They know that they ought to care for their souls, but in point of
fact they do not care; they know there is cause to be alarmed, and yet
they are not alarmed. They neither grieve for sin nor love the Saviour;
yet perhaps a dark cloud-like thought sometimes sweeps across their
brightest sky--We have not yet gone in by the open door of mercy, and
while we are delaying it may be suddenly shut.

The case might be understood well enough by those whom it concerns, if
the same amount of attention were bestowed upon it that is ordinarily
devoted to other branches of business. See the hard dry road that runs
along the edge of a corn field: you are not surprised to find it barren
in a harvest day; you know that grain, although sown there, would not
grow, and you know the reason. The reason why the Gospel does you no
good may be as clearly, as surely seen. Cares, vanities, passions, tread
in constant succession over your heart, and harden it, so that the word
of Christ, though it sound on the surface, never goes in, and never gets
hold. Think not that the saints are by nature of another kind: they were
once what you are, and you may yet become what they are, and more.
"Break up your fallow ground." Look into your own heart's sin until you
begin to grieve over it; look unto Jesus bearing sin until you begin to
love him for his love. Tell God frankly in prayer that your heart is
hard, and plead for the Holy Spirit to make it tender. The saints
already in rest, and disciples in the body still, were once a trodden
way side like yourself, as hard and as barren. Place your heart, as they
did, without reserve in the Redeemer's hands; bid him take the hardness
out and make it new. Invite the Word himself to take up his abode within
you; throw the doors widely open that the King of Glory may come in.
When Christ shall dwell in your heart by faith, a godly sorrow
underneath will soften every faculty of your nature, and over all the
surface fruits of righteousness will grow.


II. THE STONY GROUND.--A human heart, the soil on which the sower casts
his seed, is in itself and from the first hard both above and below; but
by a little easy culture, such as most people in this land may enjoy,
some measure of softness is produced on the surface. Among the
affections, when they are warm and newly stirred, the seed speedily
springs. Many young hearts, subjected to the religious appliances which
abound in our time, take hold of Christ and let him go again. This, on
the one hand, as we learn by the result, was never a true conversion;
but neither was it, on the other hand, a case of conscious, intentional
deceit. It was real, but it was not thorough. Something was given to
Christ, but because all was not given the issue was the same as if all
had been withheld. In the rich young man the seed sprang hopefully, but
it withered soon: he did not lightly part with Christ, but he parted: he
was very sorrowful, but he went away.

A Christian parent or pastor, diligent in his main business and fervent
in prayer for success, observes at length in some young members of his
charge a new tenderness of conscience, an earnest attention to the word,
a subdued, reverential spirit, with frequency and fervency in prayer.
With mingled hope and fear these symptoms are watched and cherished: the
symptoms continue and increase: the converts are added to the Church,
and perhaps their experience is narrated as an example. This is not a
deception on the part of either teacher or scholar: it is a true
outgrowth from the contact of human hearts with the word of life. Man,
who looks only on the outward appearance, cannot with certainty
determine in whom this promise of spring will be blasted by the summer
heat, and in whom it will yield a manifold return to the reaper. When
you cast your eye over the corn field soon after the seed has sprung,
you may not be able to detect any difference between one portion and
another; all may be alike fresh and green. But, if some parts of the
field be deep soft soil, and other parts only a thin sprinkling of earth
over unbroken rock, there is a decisive difference in secret even now,
and the difference will ere long become visible to all. Come back and
look upon the same field after it has lain a few days without rain under
a scorching sun: you will find that while in some portions the young
plants have increased in bulk without losing any of their freshness, in
others the green covering has disappeared and left the ground as brown
and bare as it was when the sower went forth to sow upon it. Where the
earth is soft underneath, and so permits the roots to penetrate its
depths, the towering stalks defy the summer's drought; but where the
roots are shut out from the heart, the leaves wither on the surface.

If the law of God has never rent the "stony heart" and made it
"contrite," that is, bruised it small, you may, by receiving the Gospel
on some temporary, superficial softness of nature, obtain your religion
more easily and quickly than others who have been more deeply exercised;
but you may perhaps not be able to hold it so fast or retain it so long.
Testing trials are the method of the divine government, discipline the
order of Christ's house. He that endureth to the end shall be saved, but
he that falls away in the middle shall not. The fair profession that
grows over an unhumbled heart "dureth for a while," but does not endure
to the end. When tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word,
the religion which reached no further than the surface cannot maintain
its place there; it withers root and branch. The inward affection, such
as it was, and the outward profession together disappear. From him that
hath not shall be taken even that which he seemeth to have.

In the earlier centuries of the Christian era the profession of faith,
when lightly assumed, was frequently and suddenly scorched off the
so-called Christian's lips by the pitiless persecution of heathen
governments: in subsequent ages, and down even to our own day, Papal
fires have burned fiercely in many lands, and before them every faith
has faded except that which is of God's own planting, and grows in the
secret depths of believing souls. Nationally for several generations we
have enjoyed freedom; but let us beware. The divine law, "All that will
live godly in Christ Jesus must suffer persecution" (2 Tim. iii. 12),
has not been repealed. Nor is this merely a caveat thrown in to keep our
theology correct; it is a present and pressing truth. In every season
and in every climate the sun of persecution is hot enough to kill the
religion which grows in accidentally softened, natural affections, over
a whole and unhumbled heart. Experience incontestably establishes the
fact, although it may be difficult for philosophy to explain the reason
of it, that slight persecutions have often been as effectual as the
heaviest in blasting the deceptive appearance of religion, which, under
favouring circumstances, grew for a time in the life of an unrenewed
man. In point of fact, a sneer from some leading spirit in a literary
society, or a laugh raised by a gay circle of pleasure-seekers in a
fashionable drawing-room, or the rude jest of scoffing artisans in a
work-shop, may do as much as the fagot and the stake to make a fair but
false disciple deny his Lord.

Young disciples, whose faith and hope are bursting through the ground,
should be, not indeed distrustful of the Lord, but jealous of
themselves. "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."
Deeper sense of sin, clearer views of the Gospel, warmer love to
Christ,--these are the safeguards against backsliding. Strive and pray
for these. Do not keep Christ on the surface; let him possess the
centre, and thence direct all the circumference of your life. "Whosoever
will save his life," by keeping its central mass all and whole for
himself, "shall lose it; and whosoever will lose his life for my sake,"
opening and abandoning it to Christ from its circumference to its core,
"shall find it." It is then only his own, when he has without reserve
absolutely given it away.

It seems to have been after the manner of the seed on stony ground that
king Saul's faith grew and withered. It came away quickly at first, and
presented a goodly appearance for a while; but the ground, broken and
softened on the surface by Samuel's ministry and the call to the
kingdom, was rocky underneath, and the rock was never rent. When he was
seated on the throne, with the thousands of Israel coming and going at
his word, he began to feel the restraints of piety irksome, and to count
the rebukes of the aged prophet rude. The sun of prosperity scorched the
green growth of religious profession that had suddenly overspread his
outward life. Michal, his daughter, better acquainted, probably, with
the kingly airs of his later than with the pious confession of his
earlier days, seems to have partaken of his inward hardness while she
had no share of his superficial piety. Like him, she was ungodly in the
depths of her soul; but unlike him, she disdained to wear the outward
garb of godliness. When she exerted all the force of her irony in order
to make her husband David ashamed of his own zeal in dancing before the
Lord, she truly reflected the inner spirit though not the external
profession of her father's court. That taunt from the supercilious,
curling lip of the royal princess, who had honoured him by consenting to
become his wife, was a burning ray of persecution streaming on David's
defenceless head. If his religion had been confined to the surface,
while the pomp and circumstance of royalty occupied his heart, it would
have died out then and there, as the tender sprouting corn, whose roots
rest on a rock, dies out under the scorching sun of Galilee. But David's
faith was deep, and it ripened rather than withered under the scornful
glance of the worldly-minded princess, as corn, growing in good ground,
fills better and ripens sooner where the sky is cloudless and the sun is
fierce.

That deep-seated stony hardness of heart which defies all the efforts of
human cultivators is often broken small by the hand of God. It appears
that Lydia, through natural temperament or association with Christians,
or both together, had attained some measure of spiritual susceptibility,
for she confessed the truth and attended the prayer-meeting by the river
side; but the seed of the word which had sprung on the surface of her
life had not yet struck its root so deep as to withstand persecution if
it should arise. She is described as a woman who sold purple and
worshipped God: she had an honest business and a true religion, and were
not these enough? No; the next fact of her history was the cardinal
point of her life,--"whose heart the Lord opened that she attended to
the things that were spoken of Paul." The seed from that skilful sower's
hand went in and took possession, but it entered at an opening made by
the power of God. Whether the rock was rent by the dew of the Spirit
dropping silently, or by some stroke of Providence falling on her person
or her material interests, we know not. If ordinary providential
methods were employed, we know not, of the many instruments that lie
close to the Ruler's hand, which he was pleased to use in that
particular case. Perhaps the child of this honest and religious woman
died, and her bosom, bereft of its treasure, rent with aching. Perhaps,
on the day that Paul was there, she came to the meeting for the first
time in widow's weeds, and the stroke that tore her other self away had
left a wide avenue open into her heart. Perhaps,--for small instruments
do great execution when they are wielded by an almighty arm,--an adverse
turn of trade had left the hitherto affluent matron dependent on a
neighbour's bounty for daily bread. Were other dealers, less
scrupulously honourable than herself, underselling her in the market?
Was her foreman unsteady? for, being a woman, she must needs depend much
on hired helpers. Or did a living husband grieve her more than a dead
one could? By some such instrument, or by another diverse from them all,
or without any visible agent, the Lord opened Lydia's heart, and the
word of life entered in power. Henceforth she was not her own; Christ
dwelt in her heart by faith, and her life was devoted to the Lord her
Redeemer. Deep in that broken heart the seed is rooted, and now no
temptation, however intense and long-continued, shall be able to blanch
its green blade or blast its filling ear. Lord, increase our faith. When
trouble comes, whether under the ordinary procedure of God's government
or more directly from his hand, whether in the form of bodily suffering
or spiritual convictions, possess your soul in patience and wait for the
end of the Lord. "No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous,
but grievous; nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of
righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby" (Heb. xii. 11).


III. THE THORNS.--In the application of the lesson this term must be
understood not specifically, but generically. In the natural object it
indicates any species of useless weed that occupies the ground and
injures the growing crop: in the spiritual application it points to the
worldly cares, whether they spring from poverty or wealth, which usurp
in a human heart the place due to Christ and his saving truth.

The earthly affections in the heart which render religion unfruitful in
the life are enumerated under two heads,--"The care of this world," and
"the deceitfulness of riches;" the term riches includes also, as we may
gather from Luke's narrative, the pleasures which riches procure.

Both from our own experience in the world and the specific terms
employed by the Lord in the interpretation of the parable, we learn that
all classes and all ranks are on this side exposed to danger. This is
not a rich man's business, or a poor man's; it is every man's business.
The words point to the two extremes of worldly condition, and include
all that lies between them. "The care of the world" becomes the snare of
those who have little, and "the deceitfulness of riches," the snare of
those who have much. Thus the world wars against the soul, alike when it
smiles and when it frowns. Rich and poor have in this matter no room and
no right to cast stones at each other. Pinching want and luxurious
profusion are, indeed, two widely diverse species of thorns; but when
favoured by circumstances they are equally rank in their growth and
equally effective in destroying the precious seed.

In two distinct aspects thorns, growing in a field of wheat, reflect as
a mirror the kind of spiritual injury which the cares and pleasures of
the world inflict when they are admitted into the heart: they exhaust
the soil by their roots, and overshadow the corn with their branches.

1. Thorns and thistles occupying the field suck in the sap which should
go to nourish the good seed, and leave it a living skeleton. The
capability of the ground is limited. The agriculturist scatters as much
seed in the field as it is capable of sustaining and bringing to
maturity. When weeds of rank growth spring up, their roots greedily and
masterfully drain the soil of its fatness for their own supply; and as
there is not enough both for them and the grain stalks, the weakest goes
to the wall. The lawful, useful, but feeble grain is deprived of its
sustenance by the more robust intruder. Under the ground as well as on
its surface, might crushes right. Robbers fatten on the spoil of loyal
citizens, and loyal citizens are left to starve. Moreover, the weeds are
indigenous in the soil: this is proved by the simple fact of their
presence, for certainly they were not sown there by the husbandman's
hand. The grain, on the other hand, is not native; it must be brought to
the spot and sown; it must be cherished and protected as a stranger. The
two occupants of the ground, consequently, are not on equal terms; it is
not a fair fight. The thorns are at home; the wheat is an exotic. The
thorns are robust and can hold their own; the wheat is delicate and
needs a protector. The weeds accordingly grow with luxuriance, while the
wheat stalks in the neighbourhood, cheated of their sustenance under
ground, become tall, empty, barren straws.

2. Thorns and thistles, favoured as indigenous plants by the
suitableness of soil and climate, outgrow the grain both in breadth and
height. The outspread leaves and branches of the weeds constitute a
thick screen between the ears of corn and the sunshine. Under that
blighting shadow, although the stalks may grow tall and the husks
develop themselves in their own exquisite natural forms, no solid seed
is formed or ripened. On the spot which the thorns usurped, the reaper
gathers only straw and chaff.

How vivid on both its sides is the picture, and how truthfully it
represents the case! The faculties of the human heart and mind are
limited, like the productive powers of the ground. Neither the
understanding nor the affections are endowed with an indefinite capacity
of reception. The soil, even where it is rich and deep, may be soon
exhausted, especially where the more gross and greedy weeds have taken
up their abode. You are convinced of sin and begin to cry for pardon;
you plead the Redeemer's sacrifice and righteousness; you grieve over
your own backsliding, and come anew to the blood of sprinkling; the twin
emotions, confession and prayer, struggle together in your breast,
"Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief." Thus far, it is well. The
field has been broken; the seed has been covered in the ground; the
covered seed has sprung; the sprung seed has grown apace and now seems
near maturity. The evil spirit that seeks to spoil this fair promise
seldom comes in the form of speculative unbelief. When you begin to fall
away, you do not begin by abjuring your religion, or denying the Lord.
You do not pull the grown but unripe corn up by the roots and cast it
over the hedge: the harvest is marred in a more secret and silent way.
The kingdom of the wicked one, cunningly in this matter imitating the
kingdom of God, "cometh not with observation." Weeds spring up among the
wheat. At first they are small and scarcely perceptible; the
inexperienced, apprehending no danger, are put off their guard. The
first leaves which these bitter roots put forth are generally smooth,
tender, and apparently harmless, giving to the inexperienced eye no
indication of their rough and ravenous nature. But these thorns, if they
are not watched, curbed, and killed, may yet cause the loss of the soul.

If you are poor, anxieties about work and wages, clothes and food, wife
and children, become the thorn plants, harmless in appearance at first,
which in the end may choke the seed of grace in your heart. If you are
rich, the pleasure which wealth may purchase, or love of the wealth
itself, may become the bitter root, which in its maturity may overpower
all spiritual life within you, and leave only chaff, to be driven away
in the great day of the Lord. Watch and pray: these cares and pleasures
present themselves at first in humble and submissive guise; it is by
their gradual growth that they are enabled to inflict a deadly injury.
Their roots, if not checked, silently drain all the sap of your soul,
and the kingdom of God within you, although never formally abjured, is
permitted to sink into decay. Your time, your memory, your imagination,
your affections, your thoughts, late and early,--all that constitutes
your life, instead of being devoted first to the kingdom of God and his
righteousness, are usurped and absorbed by the things that perish in the
using. When you betake yourself to the word, to prayer, to communion,
your heart, already searched, drained, scourged by the greedy roots of
rank earthly lusts, is a sapless, impoverished, shrivelled thing, where
faith in God and loving obedience to his law can no longer grow. Thus
perish many bright promises; and high above the ruin, living and abiding
for ever stands the word of Christ a witness against all who have been
undone by neglecting it, "No man can serve two masters."

Worldly cares nursed by indulgence into a dangerous strength are further
like thorns growing in a corn field, in that they interpose a veil
between the face of Jesus and the opening, trustful look of a longing
soul. It is the want of free, habitual exposure to the Sun of
righteousness that prevents the ripening of grace in Christians. Unless
we turn our eye often upward, and expose the struggling, springing seed
of faith to the beams of the Redeemer's love, there will be no steady
growth of grace, and no ultimate fruit of righteousness. It is thus that
insinuating, overspreading, domineering cares quench both hope and
holiness: they hinder the simple, tender, confiding look unto Jesus
which is necessary to the increase or maintenance of spiritual life. The
love of Christ freely streaming down from heaven through the Scriptures
and by the ministry of the Spirit, when freely admitted into an open,
willing heart, by degrees turns fear into hope, doubt into faith, and
the feeble struggle of a child into the strong man's glorious victory;
as unimpeded sunlight converts the minute mustard seed into a towering
tree, and the tender sprouts of spring into the golden treasures of
harvest. A thickly woven web of cares and pleasures interposed between
the soul and the Saviour is a chief cause of failure in "God's
husbandry."

Nor is the harvest safe although the thorny shade that overhangs it be
not completely impervious and constant. Fitful glances of sunshine now
and then will not bring the fruit to maturity. Stand beneath the
branches of a forest tree on a day that is at once bright and breezy:
you may observe on the ground at your feet a curious network of
flickering light trembling and dancing about in perpetual motion. The
sunbeams that penetrate at intervals through openings among the agitated
branches are barren though beautiful. The grass that gets no other
light grows slim and pithless, bearing no seed-knot on its slender top.
Sunlight admitted now and then through apertures in the leafy awning is
not sufficient for the processes of nature; the grain field must get its
bosom opened without impediment permanently to the sun. It is thus that
snatches of spiritual exercise do not avail to promote the growth, or
even to preserve the life of grace in a heart that in the main is
habitually overshadowed by a crowd of overgrown imperious worldly cares.
Evening and morning you may open the Bible and bend the knee, but the
tender plant of righteousness in your heart is not effectually revived
by these brief and fitful glances. Before the drooping leaves have had
time to feel the genial warmth, another cloud has closed the orifice and
left them again in the chill damp shade. Even the Lord's day, as a gap
left open between earth and heaven, is not by any means so wide as it
seems; for the memory of the past week's business and pleasure stretches
over on the one side, until it meet, or almost meet, the anticipation of
the next week's business and pleasure, so that even on the Sabbath the
world still overshadows the soul of its votary. Shut out, except at
short and uncertain intervals, from the Light of Life, he passes through
the summer of his probation with a well-proportioned but empty form of
godliness; and the Lord, when he comes at the close to gather the wheat
into his garner, finds on that portion of the field only the rustling
chaff of a hollow profession, instead of the fruit unto holiness that
grows on living souls.

Some lessons suggest themselves in connection with this portion of the
parable, and claim a brief notice at our hand.

1. As the thorns are indigenous and spring of their own accord, while
the good seed must be sown and cherished; so, vain thoughts, lodged in
our hearts from the dawn of our being, have the advantage of first
possession, and get the start of their competitors in the race for
supremacy. Lurking unobserved between the folds of nature's faculties,
before the understanding is developed, they come away early and grow
rapidly, and obtain a firm footing before the saving truth, the seed of
the kingdom, has burst the kernel and broken through the ground. Crucify
the flesh with its affections and lusts; begin that work early, and
persevere in that work to the end.

2. As long as the weeds live they grow. Every moment, until they are
cast out of the field, they spread themselves more widely over its
surface and drain away more of its nutritive juice. Delay is dangerous.
If it be painful to pull out the root of bitterness from your heart
to-day, it will be more painful to-morrow. Take for example the love of
money: we know well that though money is a useful servant it is a hard
master; be assured if it get and keep the mastery of a soul, its little
finger in the end will be thicker than its loins were at the beginning.
Avarice chastises its slave in middle life with whips; but if he abide
its slave, it will chastise him when he is old with scorpions.

3. The thorn is a prickly thing; it tears the husbandman's flesh, as
well as destroys the fruit of his field. In like manner the care of the
world and the deceitfulness of riches lacerate the man who permits them
to grow rank in his heart. The vain man is continually meeting with
slights, or suspecting that his neighbours are about to offer them. The
miser is always losing money, or trembling lest he should lose it in
the next transaction. The world itself knows, and in its proverbs
confesses, that around the most coveted pleasures are set sharp thorns,
which wound the hand that tries to pluck the rose.

4. It was where the seed and the thorns grew together that the mischief
was done. If the grain is permitted to occupy alone the heart of the
field, the thorns that grow outside and around it may constitute a hedge
of defence, not only harmless but useful. There is a place for cares,
and for riches too,--a place in which they help and do not hinder the
kingdom of God. Kept in its own sphere, the lawful business of life
becomes a protecting fence round the tender plant of grace in a
Christian's heart. Permit not the thorns to occupy the position which is
due to the good seed. Not as rivals within the field, but as guards
around it, earthly affairs are innocent and safe. "Seek first the
kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be
added unto you."

5. When the husbandman perceives a huge prickly weed in the midst of his
field robbing and overshadowing the corn, he sends his servant to cast
out the intruder. In such a case, a bare spot is left where the thistle
grew; but at this stage experiences diverge and travel on different
lines towards opposite results. In some cases the blank is soon made up
again, and the corn waves level like a lake over all the field, so that
none could tell where the thistle stood: in others, the blank caused by
the removal of a rank weed remains a blank throughout the summer,
presenting to the reapers in harvest only a spot of bare ground. Why do
opposite effects proceed from similar operations? Time was the turning
point. In the one case the weed was torn out at an early period of the
summer; in the other case it was torn out too late.

We have often seen a soul placed in imminent danger by the overgrowth of
cares or pleasures that threatened by their rankness to choke the seed
of the word; and we have afterwards seen that soul delivered from the
danger, by a stroke of God's providence that plucked out the weeds in
time. Many of the saved both in earth and in heaven now praise the Lord,
because he tore the idols from their hearts and spared not for their
crying. The love of Christ that had been planted in their youth, and
had, though hard pressed, still kept hold, soon spread again and
occupied all the empty space, whence the fortune, or fame, or living
treasures dearer still, had been plucked. When he came to himself, that
disciple, afflicted sore but comforted again, clearly saw and gladly
sang the mercy and judgment joined together that had cleared the room
for Christ in his heart. But examples of an opposite experience, here
and there one, stand on the edge of life's crowded highway, ghastly as
the pillar of salt on the plain of Sodom, burning into the soul of the
passenger the warning word, "Be in time." An old man has, by the hand of
the Lord in providence, been stripped of all his treasures. These
treasures, whether they were in themselves the noblest or the
meanest,--for when a man made in the likeness of God abandons himself to
the worship of an idol, it matters little whether the idol be made of
fine gold or of dull clay,--these treasures possessed and filled his
heart. Round them his understanding and affections had closely clasped,
so that his whole nature had taken the mould of the object which it
grasped. In this attitude the man grew old: the faculties of his mind
became hard and rigid like the members of his body. The bosom, no
longer pliable to open by gentle pressure, was rudely rent, and its
portion in one lump wrenched away. A deep, broad, dark chasm, like the
valley of the shadow of death, was left: and the chasm remained dark and
empty to the end; for neither the affections of the old man's soul nor
the joints of the old man's frame would fold round another portion now.
Ah! the cares and pleasures that drove Christ from the heart may be cast
out too late for letting Christ come in again to occupy the empty room.
"Now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation." "To-day, if ye
will hear his voice, harden not your hearts."


IV. THE GOOD GROUND.--Guided by the Great Teacher's own interpretation,
we have travelled through the series of successive obstacles which
hinder the growth and mar the fruitfulness of God's word in the hearts
of men,--travelled through, weeping as we went. At the close of this sad
but instructive journey, a beauteous sight bursts into view: it is a
field of ripe grain on a sunny harvest day. The ground was ploughed, and
the seed sank beneath it from the sower's hand in spring; the earth was
soft and sapful to a sufficient depth, and the roots of the springing
corn found ample room to range in; the soil was clean, and its fatness,
not shared by usurping weeds, went all to the nourishment of the sown
seed: therefore in the balmy air and under the beaming sun it is ripe
to-day, and ready to fill the reaper's bosom. It is a refreshing,
satisfying sight; but, fair though it be, we shall not now linger long
to gaze upon it. By the parable the Master meant mainly to teach us what
things are adverse to his kingdom. Having learned this lesson from his
lips, we go away grateful for his pungent, deeply-traced, and memorable
warnings, without pausing to examine minutely the glad prospect to which
our thorny path has led. The traveller who has come safely through many
dangers by flood and field, narrates at large, with burning lips and
throbbing heart, the varied toils of the journey; but his home,--he does
not describe, he enjoys it.[10]

  [10] It is not intimated by the parable that our Father the
  Husbandman finds any of the good ground in us: the ground, like the
  tree in another analogical lesson of the Lord, is not good until it
  is _made_ good. It is beyond the scope of this parable to explain
  how the ground is rendered soft and kept free from thorns. The
  Teacher was content in this lesson to tell us what the good ground
  produces; we must discover elsewhere in the Scriptures whence its
  goodness is derived. "...The similitude from nature is no longer
  applicable to the mystery of the kingdom of heaven; as a parable, it
  has already reached its limits, when the truth goes beyond the
  similitude. There is a _miraculous_ seed superior indeed to all
  natural seed, so powerful that by its growth it can and will choke
  all thorns. Nay more, it can also break through the rock in striking
  its root down into the earth, and can make that to be again a field
  of God which was a way for the feet of the prince of this
  world."--_Stier in loc_.

  Among the many incidental and collateral applications of which this
  parable is susceptible, one of the most interesting and instructive
  is--That every man has within himself the elements of all the four
  kinds of ground. The conception is thus presented by Fred. Arndt:
  "At the outset, the word of God finds all in the first unreceptive
  condition; we go away without experiencing its power, and remain in
  a state of nature, unconverted. Next, the word begins to take effect
  upon us, and we are awakened. Oh now the word of the Lord burns with
  a holy glow in our hearts! We give ourselves over with our whole
  souls in those first days of love. We have found heaven; we have
  seen it opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on
  the Son of man. But this condition does not endure. The fightings
  begin from within and from without, and the flame is quenched. The
  heart becomes cold and empty. The life of faith becomes silent and
  slow in its course. We become languid in watching and prayer; the
  love of the world and its sinful pleasures awakes again; and before
  we are aware, we are trying to serve both God and the world. Then
  the war bursts out: this moment God is above us, the next beneath
  us, and we get no rest until we have renounced the world, and
  surrendered our heart and life to God wholly, and to God alone. Thus
  we pass, in the faith-school of the Holy Spirit, through all the
  four classes, deceiving ourselves and being deceived, until at last,
  after many a bitter experience, we strike upon the narrow way, and
  through the strait gate."--_Die Gleichniss-reden. Jes. Chr._

While all the ground that was broken, deep, and clean in spring and
summer, bears fruit in harvest, some portions produce a larger return
than others. The picture in this feature is true to nature; and the fact
in the spiritual sphere also corresponds. There are diversities in the
Spirit's operation; diversities in natural gifts bestowed on men at
first; diversities in the amount of energy exerted by believers as
fellow-workers with God in their own sanctification; and diversities,
accordingly, in the fruitfulness which results in the life of
Christians. While all believers are safe in Christ, each should covet
the best gifts. No true disciple will be contented with a thirtyfold
increase of faith, and patience, and humility, and love, and usefulness
in his heart and life for the Lord, if through prayer and watching--if
by denying ungodliness and worldly lusts--if by sternly crucifying the
flesh and trustfully walking with God, he may rise from thirty to sixty,
and from sixty to an hundredfold in that holy obedience which grows on
living faith.




II.

THE TARES.


"Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven
    is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: but while
    men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went
    his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit,
    then appeared the tares also. So the servants of the householder
    came and said unto him, Sir, didst not thou sow good seed in thy
    field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy
    hath done this. The servants said unto him, Wilt thou then that we
    go and gather them up? But he said, Nay; lest while ye gather up the
    tares, ye root up also the wheat with them. Let both grow together
    until the harvest: and in the time of harvest I will say to the
    reapers, Gather ye together first the tares, and bind them in
    bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my barn.... Then
    Jesus sent the multitude away, and went into the house: and his
    disciples came unto him, saying, Declare unto us the parable of the
    tares of the field. He answered and said unto them, He that soweth
    the good seed is the Son of man; the field is the world; the good
    seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children
    of the wicked one; the enemy that sowed them is the devil; the
    harvest is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels. As
    therefore the tares are gathered and burned in the fire; so shall it
    be in the end of this world. The Son of man shall send forth his
    angels, and they shall gather out of his kingdom all things that
    offend, and them which do iniquity; and shall cast them into a
    furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Then
    shall the righteous shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their
    Father. Who hath ears to hear, let him hear."--MATT. xiii. 24-30,
    36-43.

As the main design of the first parable is to exhibit the kingdom in its
relation to unbelieving men, who, in various forms and with various
measures of aggravation, ultimately reject it; the main design of the
second is to exhibit the kingdom in its relation to the wicked one, who
endeavours, by cunning stratagem, to destroy it. In either case there is
a conflict: in the first, the conflict is waged chiefly between the
word, which is the seed of the kingdom, and the various evil
dispositions which impede its growth in the hearts of men; in the
second, the conflict is waged chiefly, as in the mysterious temptation
in the wilderness, between Christ, man's Redeemer, and the devil, the
adversary of man. In the first parable the obstacles to the progress of
the kingdom lay in the heedlessness, the hardness, and the worldliness
of men; in the second, the old serpent is the opposer, and wicked men
are wielded as instruments in his hands.

The picture is sketched from nature; the lines are very few, but each
contributes a feature, and all, together, make the likeness complete.

A Galilean countryman, after having fenced and ploughed and cleaned his
field, has watched the condition of the soil and the appearance of the
sky, until he has found a day on which both were suitable for the grand
decisive operation of the season, the sowing of the seed. With anxiety,
but in hope, this critical and cardinal act is performed; the seed is
committed to the ground.

It was "good seed" that the careful husbandman cast among the clods. If
the last season's crop was of inferior quality, he and his children have
cheerfully lived upon the worst, that the best might be reserved for
sowing; if the last crop was scanty, the family were content with a less
plentiful meal; and if none of the previous year's produce was well
ripened, better grain has been bought in a distant market, that at all
hazards a sufficient quantity of good seed may be secured for the coming
season. Those only who have lived among them, and shared their lot, know
how much the poor but intelligent and industrious cultivators of the
soil will do and bear in order to preserve or obtain plenty of "good
seed."

The great crisis of the season is now past; and the husbandman, wiping
his brow as he glances backward upon his completed work, goes home at
sunset with limbs somewhat weary, but a heart full of hope. The next
portion of the picture is of a dark and dismal hue. When the farmer and
his family, innocent and unsuspicious, are fast asleep, a neighbour, too
full of envy for enjoying rest, stalks forth into the same field under
cover of night, and with much labour scatters something broadcast over
its surface. He is secretly sowing tares, with the malicious design of
damaging or destroying the wheat. As soon as the deed of darkness is
done, he creeps stealthily back to his own bed, and in the morning, when
he meets his fellow-villagers, does his best to put on the air of an
innocent man.

Weeks pass; showers fall; the seed springs and covers all the ground
with beautiful green. The owner visited his field from time to time in
spring, and thought it promised well. But at that period of the summer,
still a good while before harvest, when the ears of the grain begin to
appear, some of the farmer's servants, looking narrowly into the quality
of the crop, discovered that a large proportion of it was darnel.
Forthwith they reported the sad intelligence to their master, and
requested permission to pluck out the intruders. It was agreed among
them that good seed had been sown, and the darnel or false wheat was by
common consent and without hesitation set down as the work of an enemy.
As to the treatment of the disaster now that it had occurred, the
master's judgment was clear, and his order explicit: to pull out the
darnel at this stage, as the servants proposed, would hurt the wheat
more than help it; both must be permitted to grow together till the
harvest; they may be safely and effectually separated then.

Some interesting questions connected with the natural objects claim our
regard in the first instance, before we proceed to investigate the
spiritual significance of the parable.

What are the tares? The original term does not elsewhere occur in
Scripture, and in the total absence of examples for comparison, it is
somewhat difficult to ascertain its precise signification. The word and
the thing which it signifies have exercised the learning and ingenuity
of expositors both in ancient and in modern times. On such a subject as
this it is on the line of natural history rather than philology that the
investigation should mainly proceed; there, from the nature of the case,
surer results may be obtained. Through the increased facility of making
local inquiries which has of late years been enjoyed, it is now known,
and apparently with one consent acknowledged by intelligent inquirers,
that the seed which the malicious neighbour sowed in order to injure the
produce of the field was _Lolium temulentum_, or darnel, a kind of false
wheat to which the Arabs of Palestine at this day apply a name (zowan)
which bears some resemblance to (ζιζανια) the original word in the
Greek text.[11] It has long narrow leaves and an upright stalk, and
is indeed in all respects so like the wheat, that even an experienced
eye cannot distinguish the two plants until they are in ear: the
distinction then is manifest, and any one may observe it. The grains of
the darnel are not so heavy as the wheat, and not so compactly set upon
the stalk. They are poisonous, their specific effect both in man and in
beast being nausea and giddiness. The remark of Schubert in his "Natural
History," quoted by Stier, that "this is the only poisonous grass," is
deeply significant in relation to the spiritual meaning of the parable;
it suggests the reason why the Healer selected this plant as the symbol
of sin.

  [11] "The Land and the Book," by Dr. Thomson. T. Nelson & Sons.

But another question meets us here, more obscure and difficult than
either the appearance or the characteristic effects of the darnel,--the
question whether it is originally a specifically different plant, or
only wheat degenerated. Some maintain that it is wheat which, by some
mysterious causes in the processes of nature, has fallen, as it were,
into a lower type. This view imparts additional fulness to the parable
in its spiritual application. So interpreted, the picture exhibits not
only the low estate of the sinful, but also the fact that they have
fallen from a higher. In such cases, however, there is some danger lest
the beauty and appropriateness of the conception should entice us to
receive it on insufficient evidence. The fact that some plants in
certain adverse circumstances tend to degenerate, and in certain
favourable circumstances to attain a higher type, is well known in
natural history; but it seems questionable whether these changes ever
take place to such an extent, and in such a uniform method, as must be
assumed if we take darnel for degenerated wheat. Agriculturists in
Palestine believe and declare, that, when the season is wet, the wheat
which they sow in certain fields in spring grows as zowan in harvest. It
is difficult for one who is accustomed to observe the uniformity of
nature in the reproduction of each species from its own seed, to believe
that transformations so great are accomplished at a single step. An
American writer, one of the latest authorities, and, in respect to his
abundant opportunities of observation, one of the best, bears witness
that he has often seen the wheat and barley fields overrun with darnel,
and that the native owners stoutly declare that the good wheat which
they sowed has been changed into the false in the process of growth
during a single season; but he intimates at the same time that he
believes the men are mistaken, and that the presence of the darnel must
be attributed to some other cause, and accounted for in some other
way.[12] The suggestion that the same peculiarities of season which
destroy the sown wheat may favour the springing of the darnel, that had
lain in the ground dormant before, may possibly account for the present
experience of the Syrian cultivators; or the effects may be in whole or
in part due to other causes of which we are not cognizant; but the
solution of this question is by no means essential to the right
interpretation of the parable, and therefore we shall not prosecute the
investigation further in this direction.

  [12] "The Land and the Book." Note by Principal Fairbairn in
  translation of "Lisco on the Parables."

Dr. Thomson gives unequivocal testimony, at the same time, that at the
present day no instance is known of the growth of darnel among the wheat
being caused by the malicious act of an enemy. This, however, as he
distinctly owns, does not prove that the transaction depicted in the
parable had no foundation in fact. It must have happened substantially
in history, otherwise it would not have been introduced as a supposition
into these lessons of the Lord. Some travellers have stated that this
species of crime is known in India; but I do not set much value on the
discovery of precisely identical facts in modern times. The existence of
the representation in this parable is, simply as a matter of rational
evidence, a tenfold stronger proof that the facts in their essential
features actually happened, than any quantity of analogous cases drawn
from other countries in later times. It is of greater importance to note
that the malice which endured the toil of sowing tares in a neighbour's
field grows yet, and grows rankly in human breasts. In different ages
and regions, that spiritual wickedness may clothe itself in bodies of
diverse mould and hue, but it is in all times and places the same foul
and malignant spirit, acting according to its kind. The same spirit that
sowed darnel among wheat at night in a corn field of Galilee, two
thousand years ago, will set fire to a stackyard, or hamstring the
horses, or shoot the overseer from behind a hedge in our own day, and,
alas! in some parts of our own land. As in the highest good, so in the
deepest evil, there are diversities of operation by the same spirit.
When we take into account the changes of fashion which occur both in
clothing and in crime, we have no reason to be sceptical as to the
ancient fact, and no difficulty in obtaining a modern specimen.

From the results already gained, it appears obvious that the translation
"tares" in our English version is unfortunate: it not only fails to
represent clearly the state of the fact, but leads the reader's mind
away in a wrong direction. To an English reader the term suggests a
species of legume, which bears no resemblance to wheat at any stage of
its progress. By the use of this word the characteristic feature of the
picture is greatly obscured. Had the plant which sprung from the envious
neighbour's seed been a legume, its presence would have been detected at
the first, and it could have been separated at any stage. The darnel, on
the contrary, cannot be distinguished from wheat until both are nearly
ripe, and the process of separation, whether in the field or on the
threshing-floor, is much more difficult.

       *       *       *       *       *

Again the Lord becomes his own interpreter: at the request of the
disciples he explained to them in private the meaning of his allegory.
The points are great, few, and clearly defined. In this journey the
Master has kindly gone before us; reverently, trustfully, we shall
follow his steps. "He that soweth the good seed is the Son of man; the
field is the world." It is in connection with the "field" that the
greatest difficulty has occurred, the greatest mistakes have been made,
and the deepest injury has been done. Few words of Scripture are more
plain; and yet few have been more grievously misunderstood and wrested.
At the entrance of the inspired explanation, the expositor, bent on the
defence of his own foregone conclusion, takes his stand, like a
pointsman on a railway, and by one jerk turns the whole train into the
wrong line. "The field is the world," said the Lord: "The field is the
Church," say the interpreters. It is wearisome to read the reasonings by
which they endeavour to fortify their assumption. Having determined that
the field is the Church, they are compelled immediately to address
themselves to the great practical question of discipline. If they were
prepared to admit that there should be absolutely no discipline--that no
man should be shut out from communion, however heretical his opinions or
vicious his practice might be, their task under the general principle of
interpretation which they have adopted would be very easy. The command
is clear, cast none out of the "field," however fully developed their
wickedness may be, until the angels make the separation between good and
evil at the consummation of all things. If the field means the Church,
the exclusion of the unworthy by a human ministry is absolutely
forbidden. But the expositors are not willing altogether to abandon
discipline. They maintain, on the one hand, that this parable deals with
and settles the question of the right to eject unworthy members from
the communion of the Church; and on the other hand, that while it
condemns excessive and puritanical strictness, it permits and justifies
the ejection of those who are manifestly unworthy. Most of the
commentaries that have come under my notice betray on this point
weakness and inconsistency. If by this feature of the parable the Lord
gives a decision on Church discipline, he forbids it out and out, in all
its forms, and in all its degrees. The separation suggested, he permits
not to be attempted at all, until he shall charge his angels to
accomplish it at the end of the world. In my judgment, to contend for
the right of excluding some of the ranker tares, after admitting that
this parable bears upon the subject of ecclesiastical discipline, tends
not only to perplex the student, but to throw a reflection on the
authority of the Word. I see only two doors open: either cease to hold
that the field is the Church, or cease to claim the right of excluding
any from communion.

Good old Benjamin Keach, in a portly volume on the parables, addressed
"to the impartial reader," and sent "from my house in Horsley Down,
Southwark, August 20. 1701," indicates with clearness and simplicity his
own judgment; but, overawed by authority, seems afraid at the sound of
his own words: "The field is the world; though it may, as some think,
also refer to the Church. Marlorate saith by a synecdoche, a part for
the whole, it signifies the Church; though this seems doubtful to me,
and I rather believe it means the world." The second of two reasons
which he submits as the grounds of his opinion is,--"Because tares, when
discovered to be such, must not grow among the wheat in the Church, but
ought to be cast out, though they ought to live together in the world."
Here Keach reasons most naturally, and indeed irrefragably, against the
interpretation that the world is the Church, from the monstrous
consequence to which it necessarily leads. I am beyond measure amazed to
find the general stream of interpretation, as far as I have had an
opportunity of examining it, ancient and modern, German and Anglican,
flowing in this channel. When I find the great and venerated name of
Calvin contributing to swell this tide, I am compelled to pause and
examine the subject anew; but my judgment remains the same. We must call
no man master on earth; one is our master in heaven. It is not
necessarily presumption in one of us to oppose the judgment of the great
and good of a former age, especially on such a subject as this. In
regard to all the relations between the Church and the civil power, we
are in a better position for judging than either the early Reformers or
the Continental and Anglican theologians of the present day. The general
progress made since the time of Calvin in the historical development of
the Christian Church, and the particular experience through which
Christians in Scotland have in later times been led, greatly contribute
to elevate our stand-point in relation to the discipline of the Church,
and its right to freedom from civil control. As a child on the house-top
can scan a wider landscape than a man on the ground, although the child
may have been indebted to that man for his elevation; so we may own the
Reformers as in a right sense our teachers, and yet on some subjects
form a sounder judgment than they. Although no new revelation has been
made since the Lord's apostles were removed from the earth, the Church
does under the government of her Head, advance from age to age; and the
principle embodied in the declaration, "The least in the kingdom of
heaven is greater than he" (Matt. xi. 11), emerges still in manifold
subordinate fulfilments. As to the greatest modern scholars of Germany
and England, the accepted and even lauded Erastianism in which they are
steeped is a beam in their eye, which dims and distorts their sight when
they look in the direction of the Church with its constitution and
discipline. While on other subjects their insight is such that we may be
content to sit at their feet, the view on this side is from their
stand-point cut off short, as if by a mountain in the foreground, and
they can afford us no help.

"The field is the world:" in the prevailing confusion we hold to this,
as the ship to her anchor in a storm. Men should remember when they
explain away the meaning of the term "world," and teach that it
signifies the Church, that they are dealing not with a parable, but with
the explanation of a parable given by the Lord. The parable is
professedly a metaphor; but when the Lord undertook to tell his
disciples what the metaphor meant, he did not give them another metaphor
more difficult than the first. I venture to affirm that the expositors
would have found it easier to show that the "field" is the Church than
to show that the "world" is the Church. According to their view, it
results that the Lord proposed to interpret his own allegory, but only
gave on this point another allegory somewhat more obscure. The
outrageousness of the conclusion proves the premises false. In
affectionate tenderness to the twelve, the Lord Jesus undertook to
translate a figurative expression which puzzled them into a literal
expression which the feeblest might be able to comprehend. The "field"
is the metaphor, and that metaphor interpreted is the "world;" it does
not need to be interpreted over again. This Teacher means what he says.
He points to this globe, man's habitation, and mankind its inhabitants
in all places and all times.

Into this world Christ, the Son of man, the Son of God, cast good seed.
The children of the kingdom are the good seed: in the beginning men were
made in God's likeness, and placed in his world. Thereafter and
thereupon an enemy stealthily and maliciously sowed tares in the same
field. The enemy is the devil; and the tares which he by his sowing
caused to spring in the field are the children of the wicked one. In the
first instance, the Day in which the sower spread good seed in his field
was the day in which God made man upright: the Night in which the enemy
sowed tares was the period of the temptation and the fall. Both these
antagonistic processes are carried on still. The Son of man sows the
good seed day by day in the world, and night by night the enemy sows his
tares. Especially and signally in the fulness of time the good seed,
more completely developed, was again committed to the ground in the
ministry and sacrifice of Christ; and again the wicked one renewed and
increased his efforts to counteract and destroy it. These two, opposite
in origin and in nature, are commingled and interwoven in all the
ordinary relations of life. The children of the wicked one and the
children of the kingdom live together in the world, eat of the same
bread, and breathe the same air, and look upon the same light.

In the Galilean field, which the Lord employed as a type with which to
print his lesson, portions might be seen where, owing perhaps to
peculiar wetness and sourness in the soil, the wheat had wholly
disappeared, and the darnel grew alone; in other parts, probably where
the soil was warm and dry, the good seed had gained the mastery, and the
false scarcely showed its head; and in a third quarter the good and bad
might appear in equal numbers and equal strength. Such precisely is the
aspect of the world. Large portions of it have been heathen from a
higher date than that to which history ascends; large portions, which
were Christian long after the apostolic age, have been overrun and laid
waste by the blind but strong system of Mahomet; while in other parts a
vigorous Christian life appears, although even there the good seed must
maintain a struggle against bitter roots below and poisonous fruit
rearing its head on high.

I accept, therefore, in all simplicity, the Master's own definition: I
see in the field of the injured husbandman a picture, not of the Church
in the world, but of the world in which the Church must for the present
live and labour. The ingenious effort made by a recent Swiss
expositor[13] to find a middle path only serves to show how heavily the
difficulties of the common interpretation press on those who maintain
it. Having confessed, according to the terms of the text, that the field
or ground is not the Church, but the world, he proceeds, with a very
strong animus against what he calls puritanism or separatism,[14] to
argue in the usual way against every attempt to purify the visible
Church except by the exclusion of persons who are notoriously heretical
or vicious. The grounds on which he pleads against separation from the
impure, in as far as this parable is concerned, are--(1.) That there
was no need of a revelation to make known the universally acknowledged
maxim that bad people should be tolerated in the world; (2.) That,
according to the terms of the parable, the farmer sowed wheat in his
ground, but did not sow the whole of his ground--so that the ground may
be the world, and the portion sown, or the wheat field, may still
represent the Church; (3.) That the parable of the fishing-net confirms
this interpretation; and (4.) That in the world there was no wheat until
the preaching of the gospel reached it, and consequently the mixture
is in the church, and not in the world.

  [13] Die Parabeln des Herrn, für Kirche, Schule, und Haus, erklärt
  von Dr. De Valenti. Basel, 1841.

  [14] It is quite possible that the separatists whom De Valenti
  scolds, with more warmth than elegance, may deserve his censure; for
  severe restrictive measures adopted by governments to suppress
  religious dissent have frequently the effect of deteriorating its
  character, on the principle that oppression makes a wise man mad.

The first of these grounds seems most unfortunate; for corrupt
ecclesiastics, from an early age to the present day, have ever shown
themselves ready to cast those whom they call heretics, not out of the
Church only, but out of the world:[15] the second is a refinement too
narrow for building any conclusion upon: the third applies a mistaken
view of one parable to support a mistaken view of another: and the
fourth is the second in another form. After having in effect explained
away his own admission, that the field is the world, and not the Church,
he freely concedes in the close that the openly heretical and vicious
should not be tolerated within the Church. But I ask what right has he
to exclude those whom, according to his exegesis, the Lord commanded
his ministers to tolerate in the Church?

  [15] Lange (_in loc._), having quoted Gerlach to the effect that
  this prohibition refers to extremes of ecclesiastical discipline,
  for the purpose of excluding all unbelievers and hypocrites, and
  constituting a perfectly pure Church, timidly replies: "We can
  scarcely agree with him that it contains no allusion to the
  punishment of death for heresy.... It is well known that
  Novatianism, on the one hand, and the Papal hierarchy, on the other,
  have addressed themselves to this work of uprooting despite the
  prohibition of the Lord, and that the Romish Church has at last
  ended by condemning to the flames only the best wheat.... The _auto
  da fés_ of the middle ages were only a humble caricature and
  anticipation of that fiery judgment."

In the intimation that it was while men slept that the mischief was
done, I cannot find any covert reproof of an indolent ministry in the
Church. It was night: all the community had retired to rest. The species
of criminal which the parable depicts was not numerous,--the crime was
not of daily occurrence. It was neither the practice nor the duty of the
people, after they had toiled all day in their fields, to watch their
work by night, to protect it from possible injury. The expression,
"while men slept," is intended merely to indicate that the evil-doer
took advantage of the darkness to cover his deed: accordingly, in the
interpretation no specific meaning is attached to this feature of the
parable.

In regard to the servants, and their proposal instantly to pull up the
tares, the interpretation is attended with difficulty. With some eminent
ancient expositors I am convinced that, if not exclusively, yet
primarily and chiefly, the servants who offered to make the separation
are the angels. The parable stretches far into both time and space: it
comprehends the world, and the successive dispensations of God there.
Morning stars sang together when they saw beautiful worlds starting into
being at their Maker's word: the same high intelligences must have been
surprised and grieved when they saw God's fairest work marred by sin. It
is like the impulse of beings perfect in holiness, but limited in
knowledge, to offer themselves on the instant as willing instruments to
cast the defilers out. Pleased, doubtless, with their instinctive zeal
for holiness, but comprehending his own purposes better than they, the
Lord declined the proffered ministry. At the same time he intimated that
the separation which the servants suggested was not refused, but only
postponed. His plan required that good and evil, now that evil had
begun, should mingle in the world till the end. At the close of the
dispensation, when the Son of man shall come in his glory, he will give
the commission for a final separation to the angels who shall constitute
his train.

It seems to be generally assumed by modern expositors, that while the
reapers who shall separate the tares from the wheat in harvest are
angels, the servants who offered to weed out the tares while they were
yet green are the human ministers of the visible Church. Archbishop
Trench, for example, says: "These servants are not, as Theophylact
suggests, the angels (they are the reapers, ver. 30); but men, zealous,
indeed, for the Lord's honour, but zealous with the same zeal as
animated those two disciples who would fain have commanded fire to come
down from heaven on the inhospitable Samaritan village" (Luke ix. 54). I
think the learned author is mistaken here, and that the preponderance of
evidence lies on the other side. The subject is interesting, and will
repay the labour of investigation.

Here two questions, distinct, yet closely connected, constitute the
case: on the answer which may be given to them the decision will turn.
One relates to the persons, and the other to their acts: Are the
"servants" who propose to pull up the tares in summer, and the "reapers"
who are commanded to make the separation in harvest, the same, or
different persons? and is the separation proposed by the servants
substantially the same in kind with that which is ultimately effected by
the reapers, or is it different?

I think the servants and the reapers are substantially identical. The
troop of servants who haunt a rich man's house, and the band of
labourers who reap his patrimonial fields, stand far apart in our land
and our day. Not so, however, in the establishment of a Galilean
householder eighteen hundred years ago. When you take into view the
habits of society at the date and on the scene of the parable, it will
appear certain and obvious that the servants who proposed to weed the
fields in summer were, in part at least, the same persons who would be
sent to reap the fields in autumn. The reapers might be a more numerous
band than the servants who were employed throughout the year, but to a
large extent the constituents must have been the same. In another
parable (Luke xvii. 7-10), a servant, who has been ploughing or feeding
cattle, is obliged, after he returns from the field, to gird himself and
wait on his master at table. This shows conclusively that the division
of labour which obtains among us was unknown then in Galilee. The master
does not, indeed, say to the servants who made the proposal, I will
employ you in harvest to accomplish the separation: the form of
expression is, "I will say to the reapers;" but reapers and servants
were of the self-same class, and in all probability to some extent the
same individuals.

The second question can be more easily answered. The separation which
the reapers ultimately effected is essentially the same with that which
the servants at an earlier period proposed. It is an actual, material,
final separation of the tares from the wheat.

It results that there is no solid ground in the parable for the
assumption that those who proposed to make the separation at an earlier
date represent men, while those who were employed to accomplish it
afterwards represent angels; and that the separation which the Lord
prohibited was spiritual, while that which he permitted was physical.
In regard to the separation which he sanctioned, the Lord interprets
what the operation is, and who are the operators; whereas, in regard to
the separation at an earlier date proposed, he gives no interpretation.
Instead of beginning by giving my own assumption as to the meaning of
the uninterpreted part, I go first to the part that is interpreted to my
hand, and from the point which is illuminated I get light thrown back on
the point which was left in the shade. The reapers, I know, are the
angels; and the servants were the same, or at least the same class of
ministers, proposing to accomplish the work at an earlier date. The
separation which was actually effected in the harvest represents, we
know, the personal and local as well as moral and spiritual separation
of the good and the evil; thence I conclude that the separation which
the same ministers, or the same class of ministers, had previously
offered to make was personal and local as well as moral and spiritual.
The proposed and the accepted separations were precisely the same in
kind and degree; they differed only in their dates: while, therefore,
one of the two is interpreted to my hand, I have no right to attach to
the other an interpretation totally different. The assumption that the
separation which the Lord prohibited was only a spiritual sentence,
while the separation which he permitted was actual, local, complete, and
final, derives countenance neither from the parable nor its
interpretation.

It appears to me, then, that the Lord's direct and immediate design in
this parable is, not to prescribe the conduct of his disciples in regard
to the conflict between good and evil in the world, but to explain his
own. Knowing that their Master possessed all power in heaven and in
earth, it was natural that Christians of the first age should expect an
immediate paradise. Nothing was more necessary, for the support of
their faith in subsequent trials, than distinct warnings from the Lord,
that even to his own people the world would remain a wilderness.
Accordingly, both in plain terms and by symbols, he faithfully,
frequently intimated that in the world they should have tribulation, but
that all should be set right at last. On both sides they needed, and on
both sides he gave, the instruction, that in this life they must lay
their account with a mixture, but that after this life they would
escape. Left to their own imagination, they would readily have expected
that their omnipotent Head would so rule over the world, and so instruct
his ministers, whether stormy winds or flaming fires, that evil, as soon
as it showed its head, would be weeded out of his people's way: but with
this parable and other cognate lessons in their hands, they would not be
surprised at any amount of success which the enemy might be permitted to
obtain; they would possess their souls in patience, and wait for the end
of the Lord.

The parable condemns persecution, but it seems not to bear upon
discipline at all. In its secondary sense, or by implication, it
protects the wicked from any attempt on the part of the Church to cast
them out of the world by violence; but it does not, in any form or
measure, vindicate a place for the impure within the communion of the
Church of Christ. Arguments against the exclusion of unworthy members,
founded on this parable, are nothing else than perversions of Scripture.
Elsewhere Christians may clearly read their duty in regard to any
brother who walks disorderly; elsewhere they may learn how to counsel,
exhort, and rebuke the erring, and, if he remain impenitent, how to cast
him out of communion by a spiritual sentence; but in this parable
regarding these matters no judgment is given.

While the "Notes" of Dr. Trench on the parables are generally judicious
and valuable, his exposition of this and one or two others that are
cognate is injured by a secret bias towards the forms in which he has
been educated,--a bias that is natural and human, but not on that
account less hurtful. The body of the vast and venerable institution of
which he is at once a chief and an ornament, stands so near, and bulks
so largely, that where it is concerned his usual acuteness fails him.
The general announcement at the commencement of the parable, that it
concerns the kingdom of heaven, he seems to think is sufficient proof
that the "field" must mean the kingdom of heaven or the Church. It does,
indeed, concern the kingdom of heaven, for it shows that when that
kingdom has, by the Son of man, been introduced into the world, many
things spring up and mingle with it there to mar its fruitfulness; but
it betrays an unaccountable confusion to argue formally that because the
parable concerns the kingdom of heaven, therefore, of all the features
which the parable contains, "the field" must specifically represent that
kingdom, in the face of the express testimony of Scripture that the
field represents a totally different thing. The parable of the
mustard-seed concerns the kingdom too, but does the "field" in that
parable therefore mean the Church? No. The mustard-seed that grew in the
field means the Church, and the field means the world in which the
Church is planted. So in this parable the only thing that represents the
Church, or aggregate of individual believers, is the mass of the wheat
stalks that sprang from the good seed: the good seed are the children of
the kingdom, and the field is the world in which these children live and
labour. Looking minutely to the phraseology employed, we find that the
kingdom of heaven is not said to be likened unto a field, but unto a man
that sowed seed; pointing to the Lord himself as the head, and the good
seed as his members, and the wide world as their place of sojourn, till
he take them to himself.

Dr. Trench remarks further on this point, that the use of the term
"world" need not perplex us in the least; and perhaps he was led to make
that assertion because the use of the term did perplex him much. His
solution of the difficulty is this: "It _was_ the world, and therefore
was rightly called so, till this seed was sown in it; but thenceforth
was the world no longer." If it has any meaning at all, this sentence
must mean that what was the world yesterday becomes the Church to-day,
when some seed is sown, when some children of the kingdom are in it.
Does the whole world become the Church when one country is
christianized? or is it only the portion christianized that becomes the
Church? If so, how many Christians must be in a given portion of the
world, to constitute that portion the Church? If there were three of the
true seed in Sodom, was Sodom the Church? or did not the three
constitute the Church in Lot's house, while the world raged around it
like the troubled sea?

Some of Stier's remarks are good: "The parable moves in quite a
different sphere from that of the question concerning Church
discipline." "The householder forbids and will not allow what the
servants wish. These would have all the tares removed entirely from
their place among the wheat, from the kingdom of Christ (ver. 41). But
because the field is the world, that were equivalent to removing the bad
out of the world (slaying the heretics)," &c.

The conclusion of the whole matter is, that whatever separation the
parable forbids, it forbids entirely: if it speaks of discipline, it
says there shall be none; so that they are wholly out of their reckoning
who lean on it for the condemnation of what they consider excessive
strictness while they would retain the power of excluding the worst from
communion. But, in truth, the parable has nothing to say on the subject.

When we have made our way through the discussions that have accumulated
round it, we return to the text in its simplicity, and grasp its plain
positive truth, "The field is the world." It was all empty; nothing good
grew there, until the seed was brought from heaven and sown. The nation,
the family, the soul that has not Christ, is poor, and wretched, and
miserable, and blind, and naked.

"The good seed are the children of the kingdom." They are bought with a
price and born of the Spirit; they are new creatures in Christ and heirs
of eternal life. Expressly it is written in reference to Christ's
disciples, "All things are for your sakes" (2 Cor. iv. 15). For their
sakes the world is preserved now, and for their sakes it will be
destroyed when the set time has come. The darnel is permitted to grow in
summer, and in harvest is cast into the fire,--both for the sake of the
wheat. Because Christ loves his own he permits the wicked to run their
course in time; but because Christ loves his own he will separate the
wicked from the good at last.

The tares are the children of the wicked, and "the enemy that sowed them
is the devil." Some people doubt, and some positively deny, the
existence of the devil; but one thing is clear, the Lord Jesus Christ,
the eternal Son of the Father, has no doubt on that point. He believes
in that doctrine and teaches it: he teaches it to the multitude on the
margin of the lake, and to the select circle of his followers in a
private dwelling.

Lively and energetic are the remarks of Fred. Arndt on this subject:
"Yes, Jesus says, in dry, clear words, 'The enemy that soweth them is
the devil.' But surely there is not any devil? Who says that? The Son of
God, the mouth of eternal truth, who knows the realm of spirits even as
he knows this visible world,--who is the highest reason and the deepest
wisdom, yea, even Omniscience itself,--he believes it. He holds it
reasonable to believe in it. He teaches what he believes. Dost thou know
it better than he, thou short-sighted being, thou dust of yesterday,
thou child of error and ignorance? He says it, and therefore it is
eternal truth. 'But is it not intended to be taken figuratively?' Well,
suppose it were meant figuratively, we can only comprehend the figures
of actually existing things, and the figurative representation of the
devil would imply his real being: but here in the text the speech is not
figurative; the expression stands not among pictures and parables, but
in the interpretation of a picture and a parable."[16] Whence hath it
tares? inquired the servants. Already in those days they had begun to
probe the question around which the conflict of ages has been waged--the
origin of evil. One thing in the answer of the Lord is fitted to pour a
flood of comfort into our hearts when they are agitated by the
difficulties of this tremendous problem,--"an enemy hath done this."
Evil does not belong originally to the constitution of man, nor has God,
his maker, introduced it. Our case is sad, indeed; for we learn that an
enemy whom we cannot overcome is ever lying in wait seeking how he may
devour us. But what would our case have been, if evil, instead of being
injected by an enemy from without, had been of the essence of the
creature, or the act of the Creator? Our condition would have been one
of absolute and irremediable despair. What a strong one, who is our
enemy, has brought in, a stronger, who is our friend, can cast out--will
cast out. Be of good cheer; believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
shalt be saved.

  [16] _Die Gleichniss-reden Jesu Christi_, von Fried. Arndt.

How grand is the view which this picture discloses, when in the
interpretation of it we closely follow the Master's steps! It is,
indeed, a parable concerning the kingdom of heaven. The whole world
belongs to the King; he has placed his children in it, and commanded
them to multiply till they people all its borders. The enemy has
introduced among them evil persons, and within them evil thoughts. It is
not a part of the omniscient Ruler's plan to remove, by the ministry of
either angels or men, all the wicked at once from his world. For his own
purposes, which are only in part discernible by us, he permits the good
and the evil to mingle and contend with each other until the fulness of
time, as he left the Canaanites in the land to chastise and exercise his
chosen people. When the tares prosper, the wheat languishes: when the
wheat prospers, the tares languish. Evil men have lived in God's world
ever since sin began: evil thoughts and deeds will be found in God's
children as long as they remain in the body. The angels are not sent
to-day to make such a separation as would leave the children of the
kingdom nothing to do, or to bear.

If you desire the heavenly to prosper within you and around you, fight
with the proper weapons against the devilish: if you desire the devilish
within and around you to languish and decay, cherish the heavenly. As
David's house waxes stronger, Saul's house will wax weaker. When Christ
gets more of the world and of our hearts, the devil will get less.




THE MUSTARD-SEED, AND THE LEAVEN.


In the first two parables the kingdom of heaven is represented in
conflict with its enemies; in the next two it stands alone, putting
forth its inherent life and power. There we learn the strength of its
adversaries, and here we learn its own. There we saw the efforts made to
check the progress of the kingdom; and here we see the progress which,
in spite of these efforts, the kingdom makes. There the combat is
exhibited, and here the victory. Devils and men, conscious conspirators
or unconscious tools, did their utmost, as explained in the first pair
of parables, to strangle the kingdom in its infancy, or to overpower it
at a later stage; but the kingdom, as we learn from the second pair,
shakes its assailants off, emerges unhurt from the strife, and goes
forward from strength to strength, until it has subdued and absorbed all
the world. I have seen clouds gathering at dawn on the eastern horizon,
with dark visage and a multitudinous threatening array, as if they had
bound themselves by a great oath either to prevent the sun from rising
or afterwards to quench his light; but through them, beyond them, above
them, slowly, steadily, majestically rose the sun, nor quivered from his
path, nor halted in his progress, until by the power of his mid-day
light he had utterly driven those clouds away, so that not a shred of
their tumultuous assemblage could any more be seen on the clear blue
sky. Such and so impotent in Christ's hands are the adversaries of
Christ's kingdom, although they seem formidable to men of little faith:
such and so glorious will be the final victory of the King, although
even his true subjects may fret and fear over his incomprehensible
delay. The coming of the kingdom is like the morning, as slow, but as
sure. As smoke is driven before the wind, so shall the Redeemer in the
day of his power drive away all those adversaries, whether within his
people or without, that now impiously say, "We will not have this man to
reign over us." Christ's disciples are on the winning side, whatever may
be the present aspect of the world. "He that believeth shall not make
haste."

The two parables which now claim our attention, although closely allied,
are not in meaning and application precisely identical. Both show the
progress of the kingdom from a small beginning to a glorious
consummation; and both indicate that this growth, as to cause, is due to
its own inherent unquenchable life, and as to manner, is silent, secret,
unobserved. Thus far these two are in the main coincident; but besides
teaching the same lesson in different forms, they teach also different
lessons. The parable of the mustard-seed exhibits the kingdom in its own
independent existence, inherent life, and irresistible power; the
parable of the leaven exhibits the kingdom in contact with the world,
gradually overcoming and assimilating and absorbing that world into
itself. Both alike show that the kingdom increases from small to great;
the first points to the essential, and the second to the instrumental
cause of that increase: in the mustard-seed we see it growing great
because of its own omnipotent vitality; in the leaven we see it growing
great because it uses up all its adversaries as the material of its own
enlargement.




III.

THE MUSTARD-SEED.


"Another parable put he forth unto them, saying, The kingdom of heaven
    is like to a grain of mustard-seed, which a man took, and sowed in
    his field: which indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is
    grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that
    the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof."--MATT.
    xiii. 31, 32.

We are familiar with the mustard-plant both in a wild and in a
cultivated state in our own country. Although not the smallest, it is by
no means the largest of our herbs. On this point it is necessary to
recall and keep in mind the fact that when a given plant is indigenous
in a southern climate, the corresponding species or variety that may be
found in more northerly latitudes is generally of a comparatively
diminutive size. I have seen a mahogany-plant cultivated in a
flower-pot, the best representative that could be obtained here of those
forest patriarchs in tropical America which constitute the mahogany of
commerce. The diminutive proportions of our mustard-plant prove nothing
regarding the magnitude of the herb which bears the corresponding name
in Syria. We know, in point of fact, that it grows there to a great size
at the present day. "I have seen it," says Dr. Thomson, "on the rich
plain of Akkar as tall as the horse and his rider."[17] Irby and Mangles
found a tree growing in great abundance near the Dead Sea possessing
many of the properties of mustard, which they suppose must be the
mustard of the parable; but this suggestion seems incompatible with the
main scope of the representation, for its turning-point lies in this,
that a culinary herb became great like a tree. That a forest tree should
be large enough to afford shelter to the birds, is nothing wonderful;
the parable is hinged on the fact that the garden herb (λαχανον) became
a tree (δενδρον).

  [17] _The Land and the Book_, p. 64.

But in this case an investigation exact and minute into the natural
history of the plant is by no means necessary to the appreciation and
explanation of the parable. It is not needful to determine what amount
of credit is due to the witness who declared that he had seen a man
climbing into the branches of a mustard-plant, or how far the fact, if
real, was uncommon and exceptional. This plant obviously was chosen by
the Lord, not on account of its absolute magnitude, but because it was,
and was recognised to be, a striking instance of increase from very
small to very great. It seems to have been in Palestine, at that time,
the smallest seed from which so large a plant was known to grow. There
were, perhaps, smaller seeds, but the plants which sprung from them were
not so great; and there were greater plants, but the seeds from which
they sprung were not so small.

But the circumstance that most clearly exhibits and indicates the
appropriateness of the choice, is the fact that the magnitude of the
mustard-plant, in connection with the minuteness of its seed, was
employed at that day among the Jews as a proverbial similitude, to
indicate that great results may spring from causes that are apparently
diminutive, but secretly powerful. The expression, "If ye had faith as a
grain of mustard-seed," employed by the Lord on another occasion, is
sufficient to show that both the conception and its use were familiar to
his audience.

The spiritual lesson of the parable diverges into two lines, distinct
but harmonious. By the kingdom of heaven, as it is represented in the
growth of the mustard-plant, we may understand either saving truth
living and growing great in the world, or saving truth living and
growing great in an individual human heart. In both, its progress from
small beginnings to great issues is like the growth of a gigantic herb
from the imperceptible germ that was dropped among the clods in spring.


I. The kingdom of heaven _in the world_ is like a mustard-seed sown in
the ground, both in the smallness of its beginning and the greatness of
its increase. The first promise, given at the gate of Eden, contained
the Gospel as a seed contains the tree. It fell among Adam's descendants
as a mustard-seed falls between the furrows, and lay long unnoticed
there. With the Lord, in the development of his kingdom, a thousand
years are as one day in the growth of vegetation. A man who in his
childhood observed the seed cast into the ground, may live long and die
old before the plants have reached maturity; but the seed of the kingdom
has not lost its life, the God of the covenant has not forgotten his
own. At the appointed time he will visit his husbandry, and fill his
bosom with its fruits.

Never to human eye did the seed seem smaller than at the coming of
Christ. The infant in the manger at Bethlehem is like a mustard-seed--an
atom scarcely perceptible in the hand, and lost to view when it falls
into the earth. Yet there lay the seed of eternal life--thence sprang
the stem on which all the saved of mankind shall grow as branches.
Israel was feeble among the nations--a little child writhing in the
grasp of imperial Rome; Judea and Galilee, with the heathenish Samaria
between, constituted his beat throughout the brief period of his public
ministry. The range was short in its utmost length, narrow in its utmost
breadth. In a map of the world of ordinary size, the spot that indicates
Palestine can scarcely be seen; yet from that spot radiated a power
which is at this day actually paramount. The Christ who seemed so small
both in private life at Nazareth and in the public judgment-hall of
Pilate at Jerusalem, is greatest now both in heaven and in earth.
Christendom and Christianity are both supreme, each in its own place and
according to its own kind. This world already belongs to Christian
nations, and the next to Christian men. So great has the religion of
Jesus grown, that its body overshadows the earth, and its spirit reaches
heaven.

As the leaves and branches of a tree tend to assume the form and
proportions of the tree itself, so subordinate parts in the development
of God's kingdom follow more or less closely the law of the whole
kingdom--a progress secret, slow, and sure, from a diminutive beginning
to an unexpected and amazing greatness. Take, for example, the history
of Moses, which is a vigorous branch shooting out from the mustard-tree
under the ancient dispensation. The branch, a part of the tree, is, like
the tree itself, small at first and great at last. A poor Hebrew
slave-mother, counting her own "a goodly child," as every true mother
will to the end of time, strove, by a strange mixture of ingenuity and
desperation, to preserve him from the cruel executioners of Pharaoh.
When she could no longer hide him in the house, she laid him in a wicker
basket, and set it afloat in an eddy of the Nile. How small the seed
seemed that day! A slave's man-child, one of many thousands destined by
their jealous owners to destruction, cast by his own mother into the
river, that he might not fall into the more dreaded hands of man--how
small that germ was, and yet how great it grew! From heaven the word had
gone forth, "Destroy it not, for a blessing is in it." On the mighty
stream, and the cruel men who frequented it, the Maker of them both had
laid the command, Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophet no harm.
From that small seed, accordingly, sprang the greatest tree that grew in
those old days upon the earth. Moses, the terror of Pharaoh, the scourge
of Egypt, the leader of the Exodus, the lawgiver of Israel--Moses in his
manhood was to the foundling infant what the towering tree is to the
imperceptible seed from which it springs.

The operation of the same law may be observed in later ages. In the
Popish convent at Erfurt a studious young monk sits alone in his cell,
earnestly examining an ancient record. The student is Luther, and the
book the Bible. He has read many books before, but his reading had never
made him wretched till now. In other books he saw other people; but in
this book for the first time he saw himself. His own sin, when
conscience was quickened and enlightened to discern it, became a burden
heavier than he could bear. For a time he was in a horror of great
darkness; but when at last he found "the righteousness which is of God
by faith," he grew hopeful, happy, and strong. Here is a living seed,
but it is very small an awakened, exercised, conscientious, believing
monk, is an imperceptible atom which superstitious multitudes, and
despotic princes, and a persecuting priesthood will overlay and smother,
as the heavy furrow covers the microscopic mustard-seed. But the living
seed burst, and sprang, and pierced through all these coverings. How
great it grew and how far it spread history tells to-day. We have cause
to thank God for the greatness of the Reformation, and to rebuke
ourselves for its smallness. Through the grace of God it made rapid
progress at the first, and by the passions of men it was arrested before
its work was done;--not arrested, but impeded; it is growing still, and
growing more vigorously in our own day than it has done in any
generation since its youth.

But the present time supplies examples of the kingdom's growth from
small to great, as distinct and characteristic as any period since the
apostles' days. The revivals of these times are vigorous off-shoots from
the great stem of Christ's kingdom in the world, and the part observes
the same law of increase that operates in the whole. Trace any one of
the local awakenings back to its source, and you will discover that the
interest in spiritual, personal religion, which now overtops and
overshadows all other interests in the neighbourhood--which has led many
wanderers back to Christ's fold--which has caused friends to sing aloud
for joy, and enemies to stand mute in astonishment--which has emptied
jails and filled prayer-meetings--which has changed the wilderness into
a garden, and drawn wondering witnesses from distant lands--sprang from
some upper or lower room in which two or three unnoticed and unknown
believers were wont to meet at stated times for prayer. Many of those
small but living seeds have burst through the ground and made themselves
known by their magnitude; and many similar seeds are lying hid to-day
under the capacious folds of our vast and earnest industry. May great
trees spring from these small seeds in the Lord's good time!

Robert Haldane in Geneva, with his Bible in his hand and a group of
students around him, is a modern example of the same law in the growth
of the kingdom.


II. The kingdom of heaven _in a human heart_ is like a mustard-seed,
both in the smallness of its beginning and the greatness of its
increase. In the grand design of God, moral qualities hold the first
place; physical magnitude is subordinate and instrumental. We may safely
accommodate and apply to space the principle which the Scripture
expressly applies to time: One man--as a sphere on which his purposes
may be accomplished and his glory displayed--one man is with the Lord as
a thousand worlds, and a thousand worlds as one man. There is room,
brother, for the whole kingdom of God "within you." In one sense, it is
most true, we ought to abase, but in another we ought to exalt
ourselves. We should reverence ourselves as the most wonderful work of
God within the sphere of our observation. The King, as well as the
kingdom, finds room in a regenerated man. Here the Lord of glory best
loves to dwell.

In this inner and smaller, as well as in the outer and larger sphere,
the kingdom of heaven, following the law of the mustard-plant, grows
from the least to the greatest. All life, indeed, is, in its origin,
invisible; and the new life of faith is not an exception to the rule.
The Lord himself, in the lesson which he taught to Nicodemus, compared
it in this respect to the wind. In its origin it is imperceptible; in
its results it is manifest and great. To wash seven times in Jordan
seemed a small thing to the Syrian soldier, and such it really was; but
when his leprosy was cleansed, and his flesh restored like that of a
little child, he perceived that a great effect had sprung from simple
means. The little-child look unto Jesus which the Gospel prescribes for
the saving of the soul seems to the wisdom of this world as inadequate
to heal a leprosy as the waters of the Jordan seemed to Naaman; yet from
that small seed springs the tree of life, with all its beautiful
blossoms of hope, and all its precious fruits of righteousness.

The first true, deep check in the conscience because of sin; the first
real question, "What must I do to be saved?" the first tender grief for
having crucified Christ and grieved the Spirit; the first request for
pardon and reconciliation made to God, as a child asks bread from his
parents when he is hungry;--the kingdom, coming in any of these forms is
small and scarcely perceptible; but it lives, and in due time will grow
great. Be of good cheer, ye who have felt the word swelling and bursting
like a seed in your hearts. That plant may not yet have attained
maturity in your life, but greater is He who shields it than all who
assail it: the enemy cannot in the end prevail. He who hath begun a good
work in you, will perfect it until the day of Christ. You could not make
a living seed; but God has given it. Thus far all is well, but you are
as helpless at the second stage as you were at the first; you have no
more power to make the seed grow than you had to make the seed. The
Author and Finisher of this work keeps it from first to last in his own
hands. It is He who gives rain from heaven and fruitful seasons. The
small seed of the kingdom has fallen on your hearts, and been hidden in
their folds; it has taken root, and sent up into your lives some tender
shoots of faith, and hope, and love. It is well; thank God for the past,
and take courage for the coming time. The plant is small now; it will be
great hereafter. It is small on earth; it will be great in heaven. Weed
it and water it, sun it and shelter it. Be diligent on your own side of
this great business, and God will not withhold his power. Cultivate the
kingdom in your own hearts, and count on the blessing from on high to
make it prosper. From the tender, diminutive life of grace, the life of
glory will in due time grow.

When painters have drawn their figures in light, they throw in dark
shadows beside them, that the positive forms may thereby be more
prominently displayed. So, beside the kingdom of heaven, under the
aspect of its growth from small beginnings, let us throw in the outline
of the kingdom of darkness, that thereby the glory of light may be
better seen.

Although one kingdom differs from another in character and aim, all
kingdoms are like each other in the method of their operation. The
kingdom of darkness, like the kingdom of light, grows gradually from
very small to very great. The kingdom of Satan hangs on and follows
Christ's kingdom like a dark shadow, and the shadow depends upon the
light. The first sin against God was a very small seed, but the tree
which sprang from it was the fall of man. "Thou shalt not eat," is a
small point--its smallness has sometimes supplied unbelievers with wit,
if not with argument--but on that point a door was hung, which, turned
this way, opened heaven and shut hell; turned that way, opened hell and
shut heaven. In its beginning the kingdom of evil was small; but from
that small seed a mighty tree has grown.[18]

  [18] "Good is like the mustard-seed; from small it becomes great:
  evil resembles it not less. Here, too, the great springs from the
  small. An evil thought, when once it has made its way into a poor
  soul, may become mighty enough to cast it into hell."--_Dräseke vom
  Reich Gottes_, ii. 238.

As there is no sin so great that the blood of Christ cannot blot it out,
so there is no sin so small that it cannot destroy a soul. A little sin
is like a little fire: stand in awe of the spark, and rest not till it
is quenched. As Christ our Lord is tenderly careful of spiritual life
when it is feeble, and cherishes it into strength, we should sternly
stamp out evil while it is yet young in our own hearts, lest it spread
like a fire. He will not quench the smoking flax of beginning grace, and
we should quench with all our might the smoking flax of sin. He
commanded the Church in Sardis to "be watchful, and strengthen the
things which remain, that are ready to die" (Rev. iii. 2). The
counterpart and complement of that command is binding, too, upon his
disciples: Be watchful, and weaken--if possible, kill outright--the
germs of evil that are springing from unseen seeds within your own heart
and around you in the world. "The God of peace will bruise Satan under
your feet shortly:" He will bruise Satan, but Satan must be bruised
under your feet.




IV.

THE LEAVEN.


"Another parable spake he unto them; The kingdom of heaven is like unto
    leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three measures of meal, till
    the whole was leavened."--MATT. xiii. 33.

In the mustard-seed we saw the kingdom growing great by its inherent
vitality; in the leaven we see it growing great by a contagious
influence. There, the increase was attained by development from within;
here, by acquisitions from without. It is not that there are two
distinct ways in which the Gospel may gain complete possession of a man,
or Christianity gain complete possession of the world; but that the one
way in which the work advances is characterized by both these features,
and consequently two pictures are required to exhibit both sides of the
same thing.

The thought which is peculiar to this parable, the specific lesson which
it teaches, is, the power of the Gospel, acting like contagion, to
penetrate, assimilate, and absorb the world in which it lies. The
kingdom grows great by permeating in secret through the masses, changing
them gradually into its own nature, and appropriating them to itself.

The material frame-work which contains the spiritual lesson here is, in
its main features, easily understood. Immediately below the surface,
indeed, lie some hard questions; but all that is necessary is easy, and
the discussion of difficulties, although it may well repay the labour,
is by no means essential.

The chief use of leaven in the preparation of bread is, as I understand,
to produce a mechanical effect. A certain chemical change is caused in
the first instance by fermentation in the nature of the fermented
substance, and for the sake of that change the process is in certain
other manufactures introduced; but along with the chemical change which
takes place in the nature of the substance, a mechanical change is also
effected in its form, and for the sake of this latter and secondary
result fermentation is resorted to in the baking of bread. The moist,
soft, yet dense mass of dough, is by fermentation thrown into the form
of a sponge. Owing to the consistence of the material, the openings made
by the ferment remain open, and consequently the lump, which would
otherwise have been solid, is penetrated in every direction by an
innumerable multitude of small cavities. Through these the heat in the
oven obtains equal access to every portion of the dough; and thus,
though the loaf is of considerable thickness, it is not left raw in the
heart. Other methods, essentially different from fermentation, are in
modern practice adopted in the preparation of bread; but by whatever
means channels may be opened for the admission of heat to every particle
of the dough, the result is practically the same as that which is
obtained by leavening. The operator converts the mass of solid dough
into swollen, light, porous, spongy leaven, by introducing into it a
small quantity of matter already in a state of fermentation. It is the
nature of that substance or principle to infect the portion that lies
next it; and thus, if the contiguous matter be a susceptible conductor
like moistened flour, it spreads until it has converted the whole mass.
The knowledge of this process is not so universal amongst us as it was
then in Galilee, or is still in many countries, because baking by
fermentation, especially in the northern division of the island, is not
much practised in private families. In countries where bread is prepared
by that method, and every family prepares its own, the process is, of
course, universally familiar.

The three measures of meal, which together make an ephah, were the
understood quantity of an ordinary batch in the economics of a family,
and as such are several times incidentally mentioned in the Scriptures
of the Old Testament. See, for example, the preparation of bread by
Sarah, as it is narrated in Gen. xviii. The various suggestions which
inquirers have made regarding the specific significance of the _three_
measures of meal, are interesting and instructive. As they do not
directly traverse the lines of the analogy, they are entitled to a
respectful hearing; but the subject is subordinate, and the meaning must
ever be comparatively obscure. Whether the three measures are understood
to point to the three continents of the world then known, or to the
three sons of Noah by whom the world was peopled, or to spirit, soul,
and body, the constituent elements of human nature, an interesting and
useful conception is obtained. Each of these suggestions contains a
truth, and that, too, a truth which is germane to the main lesson of the
parable.

The same historic incidents which show that three measures were the
ordinary quantity, show also that the women of the house were the
ordinary operators. Baking the bread of the household was accounted
women's work; as men ploughed and sowed in the field, women kneaded and
baked at the oven. An inversion of this order would have been noticed
as incongruous, and presented a difficulty. Exceptions may be found,
both in ancient and modern times, but the representation in the text
proceeds obviously upon the ordinary habits of society. On this account,
although I willingly listen to interesting and ingenious speculations
regarding the significance of the woman who hid the leaven among the
meal, I cannot accept them as the foundation of any positive doctrine. I
am jealous, not without cause, of ecclesiastical tendencies and
prepossessions in the interpretation of the parables. It is quite true
that both in the discourses of the Lord and in the epistles of his
followers, reference is made sometimes to the community or communities
of believers constituted as a Church; but the Church in the Scriptures
is a much simpler affair than it is in ecclesiastical history. Moreover,
in these lessons which were taught by the Lord in the beginning of the
Gospel, we find much about the individual man, and about the aggregate
of mankind, but little about the Church in its visible organization.
Accordingly, while I endeavour to keep my mind open for everything that
the Scriptures bring to the Church, I am disposed to shut the door hard
against anything that I suspect the Church is bringing to the
Scriptures. When the woman who kneaded the dough, and the woman who lost
and found the silver coin, come forward, backed by much learned
authority, saying, We are the Church, I stand on my guard against
deception, and carefully examine their credentials. A man took the
mustard-seed and sowed it in his field; a woman took the leaven and hid
it in three measures of meal. The two parables are in this respect
strictly parallel; in both alike an ordinary act in rural economy is
performed, and in either it is performed by a person of the appropriate
sex. The converse would have been startling and inexplicable. Whatever
the operator may represent in the sowing of the seed, the operator in
the hiding of the leaven represents the same. To neglect the strict
parallelism between the two cases, and attribute some meaning to the
selection of a woman as the operator in the one, which the selection of
a man in the other does not convey, is, as I apprehend the matter, to
forsake the main track of the analogy, and follow by-paths which lead to
no useful result. The same divine hand that dropped the word of eternal
life as a mustard-seed into the ground, also hid the word of eternal
life as leaven in the ephah of flour. Looking to the spiritual
significance of the two parables, we have in both cases the same act,
and in both cases, therefore, the same actor.[19]

  [19] To the question what the woman specially represents in the
  parable, Dräseke answers, "The grace of God."--ii. 263.

A question of deep interest and considerable difficulty arises from the
fact that here, and here only, the greatest good--the kingdom of God in
the world--is unequivocally compared to leaven, whereas this similitude,
in all other places of Scripture where it occurs, either stands
indefinitely for progress of any kind, or expressly represents the
energy of evil. I assume without argument that in this parable the
diffusion of leaven through the mass represents the diffusion of good in
the world, although here and there, both in ancient and modern times, an
inquirer appears who understands the leaven in this place to predict the
prevalence of false doctrines and practices in the Church. This
interpretation no man would voluntarily adopt in the first instance, for
it is obviously incongruous with the signification of the kingdom in
every other parable of the group; but some have permitted themselves to
be driven into it by a difficulty that threatens on the opposite side.
Because in other portions of Scripture they find leaven employed as an
emblem of evil, they think themselves obliged to take it as a
representative of evil here. But the difficulty which is presented by
the use of a type to denote good, which is elsewhere employed to denote
evil, must be fairly met and explained: to escape an imaginary
difficulty we must not plunge into a real mistake. I am convinced that
here, as in many similar cases, that which at first sight and on the
surface wears the appearance of harshness, will be found, on fuller
consideration, to contain a new beauty, and impart additional power.

It is obvious, in the first place, from the references made to it both
by the Lord and his apostles, and especially from the iteration of the
same maxim by Paul in two distinct epistles, that the similitude was
current and familiar among the people as a proverb. It is conceded, that
apart from this parable, wherever its application is expressly
indicated, it is employed to designate the progress of evil; but it
ought to be borne in mind that Paul has twice, in the same words,
enunciated the universal proposition, "A little leaven leaveneth the
whole lump" (1 Cor. v. 6; Gal. v. 9). By expressly mentioning the leaven
of malice and wickedness in connection with this proposition, he leaves
room for the supposition that there may be also a leaven of truth and
holiness. In like manner, the Lord in another place warns his followers
to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy; but he
nowhere says that leaven is hypocrisy. Leaven does, indeed, illustrate
the method in which falsehood spreads; but it may, for aught that is
said in the Scriptures, illustrate also the manner in which truth
advances, when it has gotten a footing in the world or in a man. If
truth and error, though opposite in their nature, are like each other in
their tendency to advance, as if by contagion; and if error is in this
respect like leaven, then truth must be in this respect like leaven too.
When two things are in a certain aspect like each other, and one of them
is in the same aspect like a third thing, the other must also be like
that third thing, provided the point of view remain unchanged. Leaven
represents evil not in its nature, but only in the manner of its
progress; and in this respect the symbol is equally applicable to the
opposite good.

This argument, indeed, may be carried one step further. It is not enough
to show that no loss of meaning is sustained by the application of this
analogy to a new and opposite class of facts; a positive gain thereby
accrues. The circumstance that in all other places of Scripture in which
the symbolical meaning of leaven is specifically applied, it is, in
point of fact, employed to designate the progress of evil, instead of
obscuring, rather reflects additional light on the comparison as it is
used in this parable. The Teacher who speaks here is sovereign. By him
the worlds were made, and by him redemption wrought. In both departments
he executes his own will: when he speaks, he speaks with authority.
Observing that the principle which ordinarily enters and pervades human
hearts is evil, a leaven of hypocrisy, he does not submit to that state
of things as necessary and permanent: this is, indeed, the condition of
the world; but he has come to change it. Such is the direction of the
current, and the proverb which compares moral evil to a leaven correctly
describes its insinuating and persevering course; but here is one who
has power to turn the river of water so that it shall flow backward to
its source. Corruption has, indeed, spread through the world as leaven
spreads through the dough, but here is Truth incarnate, another leaven,
introduced into the mass, having power to saturate all with good, and
thereby ultimately to cast forth evil from the world. The kingdom of
darkness, for example, comes secretly,--the wiles of the devil
constitute his policy and secure his success; the kingdom of God,
although opposite in essence, is similar in the method of its advance,
for it "cometh not with observation." The wheat and the darnel were
opposite in character and consequences as light and darkness, but they
were precisely alike in the manner of their growth. The loyal army
adopts the same tactics which the rebels employ, while it strives to
defend the throne which they are leagued to overthrow.

Thus, it is not enough to say that although the diffusion of evil in
God's intelligent creatures is like the diffusion of leaven in the
dough, Jesus may notwithstanding employ the same analogy to indicate how
grace grows: we may proceed further and affirm, as Stier has ingeniously
suggested, that because evil has often been compared to leaven in the
manner of its advance, Jesus adopts that similitude to illustrate the
aggressive, pervasive power of the truth.

Boldly, as a sovereign may, this Teacher seizes a proverb which was
current as an exponent of the adversaries' successful stratagems, and
stamps the metal with the image and superscription of the rightful King.
The evil spreads like leaven; you tremble before its stealthy advance
and relentless grasp: but be of good cheer, disciples of Jesus, greater
is He that is for you than all that are against you; the word of life
which has been hidden in the world, hidden in believing hearts, is a
leaven too. The unction of the Holy One is more subtle and penetrating
and subduing than sin and Satan. Where sin abounded grace shall much
more abound.

The appropriation by Christ and to his kingdom of a similitude which had
previously been applied in an opposite sense may be illustrated by many
parallel examples in the Scriptures.[20] Of these, as far as I know, the
different and opposite figurative significations of the serpent are the
most striking and appropriate. The conception of secret motion, followed
in due time by a surely planted effectual stroke, which is associated
with the faculties and habits of a serpent, Christ found appropriated as
a type to express the power of evil: but he did not permit it to remain
so appropriated; he spoiled the Egyptian of this jewel, and in as far as
it possessed value, enriched with it his own Israel. The serpent, as a
metaphor, was in practice as completely thirled to the indication of
evil as leaven had been, but Jesus counselled his disciples to "be wise
as serpents." A similar example occurs in the parable of the unjust
steward: it teaches that the skill of the wicked in doing evil should be
imitated by Christians in doing good. Christ acts as king and conqueror.
He strips the slain enemy of his sharpest weapons, and therewith girds
his own faithful followers. Whatever wisdom and power may have been
employed against them, wisdom and power inconceivably greater are
wielded on their side.

  [20] "Thus in different passages the lion is used as a figure of
  Satan, but also of Christ; the serpent as a figure of the enemy, but
  also of the wisdom needful to the apostles; birds as a figure of
  believing trustfulness, but also of the devil catching away the
  word."--_Lange_ in loc.

We shall be better prepared to appreciate for practical purposes the
peculiar meaning which the symbol bears in this parable if we advert, in
the first place, to its ordinary meaning in other parts of Scripture.
Both in the typical worship of the Old Testament and in the doctrinal
teaching of the New, leaven is ordinarily employed to denote the
insinuating, contagious advance of sin. When the Hebrews were instructed
to cast all leaven out of their houses during the solemnities of the
Passover, their lawgiver meant to teach them by type that in worshipping
God through his ordinances they should cast all malice and wickedness
out of their hearts. In like manner, when the great Teacher warned his
followers to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and of the Sadducees,
he meant that they should eschew on the one hand the lie of
self-righteous superstition, and on the other the lie of libertine
unbelief. The Apostle Paul, too, while he does not forbid another use,
employs the conception, in point of fact, to illustrate the presence and
power of sin.

Evil is a mysterious, self-propagating principle, like leaven. In the
fact of the fall a piece of this leaven was hidden in the mass, and all
mankind have consequently become corrupted. The leaven of sin that
touched humanity at the first has infected the whole. The fact of a
universal corruption appears in all history, and its origin is explained
in the beginning of Genesis. The whole lump has been leavened: break off
a bit at any place, at any time, and you will find it tainted. "The
innocence of childhood" is a fond, false phrase, employed to conceal the
terrible reality: there is no innocence, no purity, except that which
comes through the gift of God, the sacrifice of Christ, and the ministry
of the Spirit.

Idolatry, for example, is a leaven that must have been small in its
beginning, but at a very early date it had grown great. The world was
idolatrous when Abraham was called out to become the nucleus of a
religious nation; and even his descendants, though constituted as a
commonwealth expressly for the purpose of maintaining the worship of
the true God while all the world beside had sunk into idolatry, were,
through contact with the contaminating leaven, frequently overrun by the
same sin. It became necessary that they should be poured from vessel to
vessel, and tried as by fire, in order to keep them separate.

Small and apparently harmless Popery began: with the power and
perseverance of a principle in nature it spread and defiled the Church.
How completely that leaven penetrated the lump may be seen everywhere
throughout Europe, in the architecture, sculpture, paintings,--in the
laws, habits, and language that have come down from the middle ages to
our own day. The evil spirit of the Papacy has intruded into every
place; into the councils of kings, into the laws of nations, into the
births, marriages, and deaths of the people. Between ruler and subject,
between husband and wife, between parent and child, comes the priest,
gliding in like water through seamy walls, sapping their foundations.
Into the inmost heart of maid, wife, mother, creeps the confessional,
tainting, souring, defiling society in its springs,--a leaven of malice
and wickedness, a leaven at once of Pharisee and Sadducee, a
superstition that believes everything in alliance with a scepticism that
believes nothing, and all combined to conceal the salvation of God and
enslave the spirits of men. Beware of the leaven of the Papacy.

Other things of grosser and more material mould follow the law of leaven
in their progress from small to great, until they obtain the mastery of
a community or a man. Such, for example, are the use of ardent spirits
in Scotland and the use of opium in China. A hundred years ago how small
was either bit! but being a bit of leaven, when it is once introduced
it creeps stealthily forward, the appetite growing by what it feeds on,
until it dominates, and in some cases utterly destroys. These creeping
leavens stain the beauty and waste the strength of nations. Some tribes
of Indians in North America have been annihilated mainly by this
process; and at this day the Canadian Parliament, through a benevolent
law, sanctioned by the Sovereign, entirely prohibit the sale of spirits
to the Indians, and thus save from extinction the remnants of the tribes
that live under our protection. Those subtile and powerful material
agents which create abnormal appetites and influence the moral habits of
a whole people, afford ample room for gravest thought both to Christians
and patriots.

The fact acknowledged in Scripture, and manifest in all experience, that
evil has transfused itself through humanity like leaven, serves to bring
out in deeper relief the comforting converse truth which Christ has
embodied in this parable. The universal diffusion of corruption in the
world becomes a dark ground whereon the Lord may more vividly portray
the progress and final triumph of holiness. Good introduced among the
good is not much noticed; but when good assails, overcomes, and
transforms evil, its power and beauty are conspicuously displayed.
Employing the sad facts already stated as shadows filled in to make the
lines of light more visible, I shall proceed now to express and enforce
positively some of the practical lessons which the parable contains.

1. Christ, the Son of God, became man and dwelt among us. Behold the
piece of leaven that has been plunged into the dead mass of the world!
"In him was life, and the life was the light of men" (John i. 4). The
whole is not leavened yet, but the germ has been introduced. The
meaning of Immanuel is, "God with us:" the incarnation is the link that
binds the fallen to the throne of God. One without sin and with
omnipotence has become our brother,--has taken hold of our nature, and
will keep hold of it to the end. He will not fail nor be discouraged. To
him every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess: the prophecy has
been written, and the history will follow. In the meantime, while we
wait for the accomplishment of the promise, we may obtain from this
parable some glimpses of the method by which the change will be effected
at last.

Leaven consists in, or at least causes, fermentation. The name suggests
the mechanical process of boiling. The most sublime and awful scenes
which nature has ever presented have been produced in this way. When
great masses are affected, a boiling becomes unspeakably grand and
terrible. This earth, now so solid beneath, and so green on the surface,
seems to have been once a boiling mass. Those mountains that cleave the
clouds are the bubbles that rose to the surface and were congealed ere
they had time to subside again: there they stand to-day, monuments of
the fact. The moral government of God is like the natural. The Maker's
method, when he would bring down the high things and exalt the low, is
to throw in an ingredient which will produce fermentation. He can make
the world of spirit fervid as well as this material globe. The earth is
shaken by moral causes. The Gospel sends a sword before it brings peace.
Wars and rumours of wars rend the nations, and make men's hearts melt
within their breasts. In some cases it is obviously Christian truth
plunged into the mass that agitates the nations; and if we were able to
discern the links of cause and effect a few degrees further into the
fringes of the cloud that encircles God's throne, we would perhaps see
the same central fact setting in motion more distant forces. Our life is
so short, and our range of vision so contracted, that we cannot observe
the progress which the kingdom makes. Sometimes, and in some places, it
seems to recede; but when the end comes it will be seen that every step
of apparent retreat was the couching in preparation for another spring.
The kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of our Lord and of
his Christ. The captive's chains shall be broken, whether they bind more
directly the body or the soul, although the ancient political
organizations of Europe, and the more recent fabrics of America, should
be torn asunder and tossed away in the process, as foam is tossed from
the crest of a wave upon the shore. "Thou shalt break them with a rod of
iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel. Be wise now
therefore, O ye kings; be instructed, ye judges of the earth. Serve the
Lord with fear, and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the Son, lest he be
angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a
little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him" (Ps. ii. 9-12).

2. Converted men, women, and children are let into openings of corrupt
humanity, and hidden in its heart. There they cannot lie still: they
stir, and effervesce, and inoculate the portions with which they are in
closest contact. In this respect the lesson is the same with that which
is taught in those other short parables of Jesus,--"Ye are the light of
the world. Ye are the salt of the earth."

Nor is the conception essentially different from that of Christ or his
word dropped into the lump of humanity; for Christians have no life and
no expansive power, except in as far as Christ dwells in their hearts
by faith. They are vessels which contain the truth, and when these
vessels are hidden under the folds of families and larger communities,
the word of life, which is within them, touches and tells upon their
neighbours.

The most recent experience of the Church exhibits the kingdom spreading
like leaven, as vividly, perhaps, as any experience since apostolic
times. By contact with one soul, already fervid with new life, other
souls, hitherto dead, become fervid too. One sinner saved, his heart
burning within his breast, as he consciously communes with his Saviour,
touches a meeting and sets it all aglow; the prayer-meeting thus moved
touches the congregation and throws its settled lees into an unwonted
and violent commotion; this assembly, all throbbing with the cry, What
must we do to be saved? infects a city; and the city so infected
communicates its fervour to the land; and a nation thus on fire kindles
another by its far-reaching sympathy beyond intervening seas. Thus some
portions of the world have been thrown into such a state of
effervescence, by the leaven of the Gospel hidden in their heart, that
for a time the sound of praise for sin forgiven has risen in the
highways and market-places, louder than that other old, strong cry, What
shall we eat, and what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be
clothed?

The leaven, like gravitation, follows the same law on smaller spheres
that it follows on the larger. Brother infects sister, and sister
brother; parent child, and child parent; shopman shopmate. We often
lament the contagious influence of evil, and it is right that we should;
but it is an unthankful, unhopeful spirit, that thinks and speaks of the
dark side only. Oh, thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?
The new life which Christ has brought into the world is a leaven too.
Working on the same method, but backed by a mightier power, good will
yet overcome evil,--life will destroy death. Life from the Lord and in
the Lord, though small at first as to the number of persons whom it
animates, will increase until it fill the world. It will absorb
surrounding death, and in absorbing quicken it. He that sat upon the
throne said, "Behold, I make all things new" (Rev. xxi. 5).

3. There is yet another branch of the practical lesson which ought not
to be overlooked: The life of faith, when it is hidden in the heart,
spreads like leaven through the man, occupying and assimilating all the
faculties of his nature and all the course of his life. The whole lump
of the individual must be leavened, as well as the whole lump of the
world. Christ will not be satisfied until he get every man in the world
for his own, and every part of each. Whatever amount of ground there may
be for the judgment of some expositors that the three measures of meal
in the parable represent spirit, soul, and body, the constituents of
human nature, certain it is that if the leaven of the kingdom is
deposited in the heart, it will not cease until it has interpenetrated
the human trinity and conformed all to the likeness of Christ. In the
new creature, as in the new world, "dwelleth righteousness." That which
is now laid on the conscience of Christians as a law will yet emerge
from their life as a fact,--"Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or
whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."

       *       *       *       *       *

From a circumstance not expressly mentioned in the parable, but
obviously contained in the nature of the case, springs a thought of
tender and solemn import. The piece of leaven was hid in the meal, and
the whole quantity, in consequence, was converted into leaven; but the
leaven will not spread through meal that is dry; the meal is not
susceptible, receptive, until it is saturated with water.

Within some persons, some families, some congregations, some
communities, the leaven of truth has been deposited for a long time, and
yet they are not moved, they are not changed. The leaven remains as it
came, a stranger; all around, notwithstanding its presence, is still, is
dead. It is when the Spirit is poured out as floods that the leaven of
the kingdom spreads with quickening, assimilating power. I will pour out
my Spirit upon you, saith the Lord: the promise is sent to generate the
prayer, as a sound calls forth an echo. Behold, I come quickly, says
Christ: Even so, come, Lord Jesus, respond Christians. Catch the promise
as it falls, and send it back like an echo to heaven. I will pour out my
Spirit upon you: Pour out thy Spirit, Lord, on us, as floods on the dry
ground; so shall the word already lying in our Bibles and our memories
run and be glorified in our life and through our land.




V.

THE HIDDEN TREASURE.


"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field; the
    which when a man hath found, he hideth, and for joy thereof goeth
    and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field."--MATT. xiii. 44.

These two parables, the hidden treasure and the costly pearl, are even
more closely allied to each other than the two which precede them.

Generically they teach the same truth; but they teach it with distinct
specific differences. It will be most convenient to notice in connection
with the first, the lessons that are common to both; and in connection
with the second, the points of distinction between them.

These twin parables, then, exhibit on the one hand the intrinsic
preciousness of the Gospel, and on the other the high esteem in which
that precious thing is held by a spiritually quickened man. They set
forth first how valuable the kingdom of God is, and next how much it is
valued by those who know its worth.

These two, along with the concluding representation of the general
judgment, were spoken, not to the multitude on the shore of the lake,
but more privately to a smaller audience in a neighbouring dwelling.
Many expositors believe that they can discern a difference in the nature
and treatment of the subjects between the first four and the last three,
corresponding to the different circumstances in which the two portions
of the group were severally delivered. It is thought that those which
were addressed to the multitude in public represent the kingdom in its
more general and external aspects, as was suitable in a miscellaneous
audience; while those which were addressed privately to the circle of
disciples represent the kingdom more especially in its intrinsic nature
and individual, personal application. I would not presume to affirm that
there is no ground for this distinction; but I think it is a mistake to
make it the hinge on which our view of the whole group must turn. I
suspect there are things in the parable of the sower which require, for
their appreciation, the faith and experience of true disciples, as much
as anything that the parable of the hidden treasure contains; and, on
the other hand, that the lessons suggested by the treasure were as
necessary and appropriate to the mixed multitude as those which are
taught by the sowing of the seed on different kinds of ground. The
necessity of personal appreciation and acceptance of the Gospel, which
is the main lesson of this parable spoken privately in the house, is
pre-eminently a word in season to those that are without. That lesson,
accordingly, the Lord and his apostles were wont to teach in promiscuous
assemblies. While, therefore, I notice the fact that the three later
similitudes of this group were given to a smaller circle after the crowd
had dispersed, I am not able to say that the reason of the change is
evident in the nature of the subjects. Had these three also been spoken
from the fishing-boat to the promiscuous assemblage on shore, I would
not have been able to affirm that the themes seemed less appropriate to
the audience, or less in accordance with the Teacher's method at other
times. I look with interest into the distinctions which some have drawn
between the four _exoteric_ parables addressed to a miscellaneous
assembly, and the three _esoteric_ parables spoken to a more select and
more sympathizing few; but to me they do not appear to be of substantial
importance in the interpretation.

The treasure may have been gold or silver or precious stones, or a
combination of all three: it may have been anything of great value that
lies in small bulk, and is not liable to decay,--such a treasure as may
lie buried under the earth for a long period without any diminution of
its worth. In oriental countries and in ancient times treasures were hid
in the ground more frequently than in our land and our day; but it is
probable that even there and then the subterranean wealth was tenfold
greater in the popular belief than it was in reality.

Two distinct causes, or classes of causes, lead to the concealment of
treasure under ground: the feeble bury their wealth when they are
oppressed, and the guilty when they are scared. As a general rule, we
may assume that the treasure which is found buried in the earth has been
placed there either by honest men when the law was feeble, or by
dishonest men when the law was strong. The two classes of persons who
bury gold are the robbed and the robbers.

In both cases, the treasure which is intentionally and intelligently
buried is liable to be lost through the removal or death of those who
were in the secret. Such secreted and lost wealth is afterwards from
time to time found by those who build houses or cultivate the soil. In
all lands and ages some such hoards have been actually discovered, and
many such have been imagined and expected by the credulous. The
conditions of the treasure that may be buried under ground exist in
substances widely different from gold and silver and precious stones.
On the west coast of Scotland, a few years ago, some men, while engaged
in digging fuel from a moss, found at a great depth large quantities of
tallow carefully sewed up in raw ox-hides, and in good preservation. In
troubled, lawless times, a clan had ravaged their neighbour's territory:
not having had time to drive away the cattle, they had buried the only
portion of the spoil that could be preserved, intending to return when
the danger was past and carry it away. The opportunity of realizing the
booty had never occurred, and the clansmen had carried the secret with
themselves to the grave.

In modern times, treasures a thousand-fold more valuable than any that
have ever been hidden by human hands are frequently discovered under the
earth, and wealth correspondingly great obtained by purchasing the field
in which they lie. The much disputed and now celebrated mineral at
Torbanehill, near Bathgate, in the county of Linlithgow, affords a good
example. A person discovered that a coal or other mineral substance of
great value lay in the ground. Without revealing, perhaps not knowing to
the full extent the value of his discovery, he forthwith concluded, not
precisely a purchase, but a long lease of the ground for mining
purposes. When his bargain was securely made, he began to bring up the
precious substance. As a raw material for the manufacture of gas and
oil, it was found precious beyond all precedent. The original proprietor
then raised an action for the dissolution of the lease. The action has
been several times renewed in various forms, and its fame has resounded
through all Europe. Meantime the prudent discoverer of the treasure and
purchaser of the field is reaping a rich harvest from his transaction.

In North America, both in the States and in Canada, similar facts have
often of late years emerged, especially in connection with oil springs
and copper mines. Some men have obtained enormous wealth by purchasing
for a small price a piece of ground in which a seam of copper lay, and
selling it again when the fact was verified.

A question has been raised and discussed at greater length, I think,
than its importance warrants, regarding the conduct of the man who found
the treasure and hid it again till he had secured the field--whether the
act was fair or unfair. The parables of the Lord are allowed to flow
like a mountain stream in its natural channel. In those at least that
are metaphorical, the narrative does not undertake to prescribe what
should be, but to represent what is probable in human history. The fact
as narrated may or may not be an example worthy of imitation.[21] The
moral lesson is found, not by looking directly at the story, but by
looking at the shadow which the material case projects on the spiritual
sphere. The conduct of the person in the picture may be good, bad, or
indifferent; the spiritual lesson is not affected by the moral character
of the act which is employed as a leaden type to make it visible. As the
lesson on a printed page is not affected by the baseness or the pureness
of the metal which constituted the type, provided always that the form
of the type were appropriate; so the doctrine left for us after the
parabolic picture has passed is not dependent for its purity on the
material of which the type was formed. The shifty dishonest factor, and
the indolent unrighteous judge of subsequent parables, occur as
conspicuous examples.

  [21] It is otherwise, of course, in those that are directly moral,
  as the Good Samaritan; they are not metaphors to be translated, but
  examples to be imitated.

The picture is obviously true to nature. When a man became aware that a
great treasure lay under ground at a certain spot, he concealed his
knowledge of the fact, and took measures to obtain possession of the
field. Believing that this hidden wealth was greater far than all that
he possessed in the world, or could ever hope to acquire by the ordinary
produce of his property, he sold all that he had without a grudge, in
order to make sure of the prize. The love of his own possessions,
whether hereditary or acquired, whether lands or money, was overbalanced
and so destroyed by the estimate which he had formed of the hidden
treasure. The new and stronger affection neutralized and blotted out all
previous predilections for what was his own. He sold all that he had,
and bought the field. The turning-point is here; and here, accordingly,
the story is abruptly broken off. There is not a word regarding the
subsequent steps of the important and critical transaction. How much he
gained by his bargain; whether the validity of the purchase was disputed
in a court of justice by the former proprietor, on the ground of a
concealment of facts by the buyer;--these and all similar points are
designedly veiled off. If they had been introduced, they would have
served only to lead the investigator into a wrong track, and the meaning
of the Master would thereby have been lost. The story advances in broad
and manifest accordance with nature, both in its main line and in its
subordinate accessories, until it has reached and passed the point which
marked its goal: then the curtain suddenly drops, resolutely concealing
all the rest, and so compelling the reader to fix his regard on the
great essential lesson, instead of dissipating his energies on a
multitude of interesting but unnecessary speculations.

Such is the material framework which sustains the spiritual truth,--such
the trellis which bears up the fruitful vine: having first gone round it
to survey its construction and its form, we now approach it to gather
for our own use the ripe fruit that hangs within reach on every side.

1. There is a treasure, placed within our reach in this, world, rich
beyond all comparison or conception,--a treasure incorruptible and
undefiled and unfading. "God is love,"--behold the fountain-head, where
an exhaustless supply is stored: in the Gospel of Christ a channel has
been opened through which streams from that fountain flow down to this
distant world. In the Son of God incarnate divine mercy reaches our
nature, and supplies our wants. Through the ministry of the Spirit, in
the earliest promise and in subsequent prophecy the refreshing water was
brought into contact with parched lips. A heavenly treasure lies on this
poverty-stricken, bankrupt, accursed world, sufficient to enrich every
one of its poor and miserable and wretched and blind and naked
inhabitants.

2. The treasure is hidden. In early ages it was concealed under certain
veils, constructed of design in such a manner that through their
half-transparent folds a halo of the unseen glory should excite the
hopes and attract the steps of every generation. The promise given at
the gate of Paradise contained the treasure, but contained it wrapped up
in allegoric prophecy which nothing but subsequent fulfilment could
completely unfold. Down through the patriarchal and prophetic ages it
continued a hidden treasure, although the new life of the faithful was
secretly sustained by it all the while. Even when Christ through these
parables taught his disciples in Galilee, his kingdom was still hidden.
A few fishermen, and here and there a ruler, had discovered the precious
deposit, and had drawn from it enough to enrich themselves for ever; but
to the multitude it was still unknown. Under the form of a man--under
the privacy and poverty of a Nazarene, was the fulness of the Godhead
hid that day from the wise and prudent of the world. The light was near
them, and yet they did not see; the riches of divine grace were brought
to their door, and yet they continued poor and miserable.

But even after the Lord had fully declared his mission, and finished his
work,--after he had died for our sin, and risen again for our
justification,--after his disciples through the ministry of the Spirit
had published the glad tidings in many lands,--the treasure still lay
hidden. It was near, and yet out of sight. Those who find it, find out
at the same time that they have been almost treading on it for years,
and yet ignorant of its existence and its worth. Saul of Tarsus had been
often near it, before he found it for himself. When Gamaliel lectured on
the Mosaic sacrifices, the attentive, clear-headed and ardent pupil, was
on the very point of discovering where the treasure lay; but though
often near it, he never fell on it until that day when he fell to the
ground near Damascus. Felix was near it when, shut in between his own
sin and God's righteousness, he trembled at the sight of the
judgment-seat, like an angel with a drawn sword right before him on the
narrow path. Agrippa was near it when, caught and carried away ere he
was well aware by the close, clear reasoning of a true preacher, he was
almost persuaded to be a Christian. Still men may be walking near the
treasure of eternal life,--walking over it, and yet miss it: the
treasure that they trod upon remains hidden, and they remain poor.

3. The hidden treasure is at last found. It is noticed by all students
of the parables, that on this point there is a marked distinction
between the experience of the man who found the hidden treasure, and
that of the merchant who found the pearl of great price. It is probable
that this man was not aware that there was any treasure in that field:
he seems to have been neither looking for it nor expecting to find it.
He was probably employed in some other work, and prosecuting some other
object. He may have been a labourer toiling there for his daily bread;
or he may have been engaged in making a road or digging for the
foundation of a house, when the treasure, concealed in a troubled time,
was exposed to view. He found what he was not seeking: he was seeking a
bit of bread, and stumbled upon a fortune. The merchant, on the
contrary, who fell in with the precious pearl was travelling with the
express purpose of discovering goodly pearls and buying them. He
obtained what he was seeking; but obtained a pearl of greater value than
he had previously seen, or expected ever to see.

Outwardly at least, and on the surface, a similar distinction seems to
obtain between one man's experience and another's, in regard to the
manner of finding the treasures of divine grace. Some seem to find the
Saviour when they are not seeking him; and some, after deliberately and
consciously seeking him long, are rewarded at length. It is the former
of the two classes with whom we are more directly concerned in the
exposition of this parable. Looking abroad upon the past history or the
present experience of the Church, we observe that some suddenly
stumble, as it were, upon salvation, when they neither expected nor
desired to find it. Not a few have come to laugh, and remained to pray.
Many authentic cases are recorded of persons who entered the house of
God bent on making sport of the preacher, and who went away believing in
the Saviour whom he preached. A youth has left his home in the country
and plunged into a great capital to push his fortune, and has found
there, what he did not seek, pardon of sin and peace with God through
the Saviour. Another has gone to India as a soldier, dreaming of war and
victory, and honour and wealth; but has returned a meek disciple of
Jesus, glory to God and peace with men radiating like sunlight from all
his spirit and all his life. A young female, chafed and fretting under
the enforced dulness of a sober home, has received and accepted an
invitation which promises to set her free from restraint for a time, and
permit her to flutter at will in the midst of a fashionable throng. At
the threshold of the prepared festivities a message meets her,--a
message charged with a mighty sorrow, which drives the crowd of joyful
anticipations forth from her heart, as a swollen stream bears down the
dry leaves of autumn. She is thrown aside in solitude, in emptiness, in
agony. In the silent night, and in the aching emptiness of her soul, the
knocking of Christ from without is for the first time heard. The weary
heart opens at last, and lets the Stranger in. She has found a treasure
which, though often near her before, had hitherto escaped her notice.
From the peace of God in which she now dwells she looks out from time to
time on the pleasures of sin which she formerly chased, and borrows from
the experience of ancient Israel a phrase best fitted to express her
mind,--"The Portion of Jacob is not like them."

The history of the Church is studded with such examples: the hearts of
believers, when they are ready to faint, are cheered from time to time
by such good news from countries far and near. It is a reproof to us,
but a glory to the Lord, that he is often found of those who sought not
after him. Perhaps the man in the parable was digging for stones when he
fell upon the treasure: they who find the true riches meet often with a
similar surprise.

4. The next feature that claims attention is the instant ardent effort
of the discoverer to make the treasure his own, now that he knows what
it is and where it lies.

In the parable, the man conceals his discovery, because he knows that if
the secret leak out, the owner will not part with his field at any
price. One can easily imagine the scene and the act that enlivened it. A
labouring man, digging for some purpose in a field alone, in the
progress of his hard and humble work lays open one side of a glittering
golden store. As soon as the first tumult of emotion has subsided, he
gathers his wits and goes into action. First of all he throws some earth
over the exposed portion of the treasure; then he looks cautiously round
to ascertain whether any witness was near enough to observe his motions.
He proceeds next, probably, to ply his ordinary task on another spot
with an indifferent air, that he may not attract attention. The place
where the treasure lies, the place that he loves best, he carefully
avoids: he comes not once near it again until he has paid the price, and
secured the titles of the property.

Too much has been made of the subordinate circumstances here. A person
in the position of this man could not do otherwise than he did, without
abandoning all hope of obtaining the prize. To blab it out, would have
been to throw it away. If he had talked about it, the fact would have
proved that he did not care for it. The concealment is not an essential
feature, but a subordinate circumstance of the parable. It was resorted
to, not for its own sake, but as an obvious means of obtaining a desired
end. The hiding of the treasure is introduced into the picture simply to
mark the man's estimate of its worth and his determination at all
hazards to obtain it.

In the spiritual department a similar end is pursued, but the adoption
of similar means there would not tend to insure success. In the nature
of the case it is not necessary to conceal the spiritual treasure from
others in order to secure it for yourself. Although the world should
discover it, by an intimation from you, and enrich themselves out of it,
you would not therefore obtain less. It is thus a vain labour to search,
as many do, for something in the spiritual sphere corresponding to the
concealment by the discoverer in the story. The best way of interpreting
that feature is to represent by it a soul's high appreciation of divine
mercy and earnest desire to obtain it, and then allow the feature to
drop out of sight, like the husk after the ripened grain has fallen from
it and been secured. It has been said that one of the rarest kinds of
knowledge is to know when to hold your peace. Many know well how to
speak; few know when to be silent. A similar experience emerges here:
many have an excellent faculty for opening up the parables, and tracing
every feature up to all its springs, and down to all its consequences.
The power of attributing a distinct spiritual import to every light and
shadow of the picture is common; but the faculty of permitting a
subordinate accessory to drop when it has fulfilled its office, and
following stanchly on the main track, is comparatively rare.

You may, indeed, find instances in which a man, awakened and persuaded
of the preciousness of Christ, has kept all silent within his own breast
until he has made his own calling and election sure; but in these cases
the secrecy is by no means prompted by a fear that to publish the secret
were to lose the treasure; and in many other examples the discoverer,
during the continuance of his efforts to obtain possession, publishes
the secret to the world, and enters at last into his heritage in
presence of many witnesses. The discoverer of Christ's preciousness is
like the discoverer of hid treasure, in his ultimate aim, but not in his
mediate methods. Concealment would not help him to possession, and
therefore he does not uniformly or necessarily take pains to conceal.

5. He parts with all in order that he may acquire the treasure. This is
the turning-point of the parable, and the turning-point too of that
which the parable represents,--the conversion of sinners,--the saving of
the lost. The picture, being framed of earthly materials, fails on one
point to represent the idea of the Lord. When the man had converted all
his property into money, and offered the net proceeds for the field, his
offer was accepted as adequate, and the property was conveyed to him in
return for value received. The transaction which takes place in
redemption between a sinful man and God his Saviour is essentially
different. Although it is true on the one side that in accepting pardon
we must and do surrender all to Christ, pardon is, notwithstanding,
bestowed as a free gift. Our self-surrender does not in any sense or
measure give to God an equivalent for that which in the covenant he
bestows on his own. The same two things occur, indeed, in the natural
and in the spiritual spheres, but they occur in the reverse order. The
price which the buyer offers induces the possessor to give him the
property; on the contrary, on the spiritual side it is the free gift of
the treasure by the Proprietor that induces the receiver to part with
all that he has to the Giver. In one aspect the acquisition of the
treasure which enriches a soul is a purchase which a needy man makes by
the surrender of all that he has, and in another aspect it is a free
gift bestowed by God for Christ's sake upon him who had nothing to give
in return. In as far forth as it is a purchase which a sinner makes,
this parable represents its nature; but in as far forth as it is a gift
given on the one side and accepted on the other, this parable is silent.
It contains no feature capable of presenting salvation in that point of
view.

6. Mark, now in the close yet another specific feature of the material
fact which has its counterpart in full on the spiritual side. It is
intimated that when the man had discovered the treasure, "for joy
thereof" he went and sold all, in order to buy the field that contained
it. This "joy" is an essential element in the case. If it is wanting the
business will at some stage certainly miscarry, the transaction will
never be completed. One love in a human heart cannot be overcome and
destroyed except by another. Love, among the affections of our nature,
is one of those high born nobles who refuse to be tried or superseded
except by their peers. Love of the world will not yield to fear, even
though the fear be a fear of God's anger. You cannot overcome and cast
it out until you bring against it another and greater love.

A man has joy in his possession, and lives without God in the world: he
is a god unto himself. He cannot and will not surrender his joy, such as
it is, to any summons except to that which a greater joy sends in. When
the preciousness of peace with God through the blood of Christ is
revealed to him, the "joy thereof" becomes so great that all his gold
becomes dross, and all his fine gold dim in his own esteem. This new joy
is so weighty that it tosses up the scale in which all his former
delights lay, as if they were only the small dust of the balance.

A young rich man came running once to Jesus, as the owner of the field
that contained the treasure of eternal life, and entered gravely into
terms for the purchase. He would give so much for it, but the owner held
it high: "All that thou hast," this is the price, and there is no
abatement. The young man did not close with that offer, and did not
complete the transaction. He went away; but what was the state of his
mind as he departed? "He went away sorrowful." Ah! the secret is out.
Although he desired, in some sense, to obtain what he called eternal
life, the "joy thereof" had not been kindled in his cold, calculating
heart. His love of earthly riches was too strong to yield to the
suggestions of prudence, or the fear of a future judgment. The love of
the old portion will yield to nothing but love of the new; and love of
the new he had never felt.

The case of Paul supplies an exact contrast. A learned Pharisee,
conscious of a power that would one day place the highest dignities at
his disposal, he was a man of great and manifold possessions. A curious
and interesting inventory of his goods has been preserved like a fossil
in the Scriptures (Phil. iii. 5, 6). These things he highly valued and
fondly loved; but another and opposing love came against them, and the
strong man succumbed to the stronger. "What things were gain to me,
these I counted loss for Christ:" he parted with all and purchased the
newly discovered treasure; but it was "for joy thereof." He went into
the transaction not driven by dread, but drawn by the expectation of a
greater joy.

It is thus that men buy an incorruptible treasure; it is thus that men
win Christ. They deceive themselves who try how cheaply they may get to
heaven,--how much of their idol they may retain and yet be safe in the
judgment. The man who was "sorrowful" when the two portions were set
before him for his choice, "went away." As long as peace with God in his
Son, labelled with its price, "All that you have," makes us sorry that
the boon is held so dear, we will never obtain the boon: when the sight
of it, price and all, sends a flash of more than earthly joy into the
soul, then we shall bound forward, leaving all behind, and win Christ.




VI.

THE PEARL.


"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking
    goodly pearls: who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went
    and sold all that he had, and bought it."--MATT. xiii. 45, 46.

So closely allied are these two parables, that if we had regarded
repetition as a formidable blemish in our lessons, we would not have
proposed to expound them separately and successively. The two lines are
coincident throughout their whole length, except at one point; but there
the diversity is broadly marked, amounting in one aspect to a specific
contrast. In view of this difference on the one hand, and of the example
of the Lord on the other, I think it right to open and apply the parable
of the pearl as fully as if the parable of the hidden treasure had not
gone before it. We need and get not only different pictures of the same
objects, but also the same pictures repeated in different colours and on
different grounds. One eye may be more touched and taken by this colour,
and another by that, although the outline of the objects be in both
cases essentially the same. Thus, the conception of a treasure found may
convey the meaning more impressively to one mind, and the conception of
a pearl purchased may convey it more impressively to another; and so,
although the lesson of the second parable had been more nearly identical
with that of the first than it is, it would not have been expedient to
dismiss it with a cursory notice. By a full examination of the principle
under the picture of a precious pearl, we shall obtain the advantage
which in moral questions, as in material operations, is often
unspeakably great, of a second stroke on the same spot. The usefulness,
and even the necessity of this method is acknowledged by all teachers,
in whatever department they may be called to exercise their office. The
same reasons, moreover, which induced the Master to reduplicate his
lesson demands that we should also reduplicate ours: it is our part both
in matter and in method to follow his steps.

Pearls seem to have borne a higher value in ancient times than they bear
now, both absolutely and in comparison with other kinds of jewels.
Romantic ideas prevailed regarding their origin and their nature; but it
is well worthy of remark that the parable passes in silence all that was
false or fanciful in the ideas of the ancients regarding the production
and the medicinal virtue of pearls. There is not a word about their
origin in a drop of dew, or the colour imparted to them by the
brightness or darkness of the heavens at the moment of their conception:
the only circumstance regarding the pearl which the Lord employs in his
instructions is its high price. He seizes the obvious and universally
known fact, taking no notice of the fanciful theories with which it was
connected.

This fact possesses a value in relation to Apologetics which intelligent
students will readily appreciate. It is instructive and suggestive to
compare the Scriptures on such subjects with other books both ancient
and modern. Take, for example, a passage from the comment of Benjamin
Keach, which gives both the conceit of the ancients and the endorsement
of it at a comparatively recent era. "Pearls," naturalists tell us,
"have a strange birth and original. Pliny saith, Shell fish is the
wonderful geniture of a pearl congealed into a diaphanous stone, and the
shell is called the mother of pearl. Now at a certain time of the year
this shell fish opens itself, and takes in a certain moist dew, after
which they grow big until they bring forth the pearl. By which it seems
they have their birth from heaven in a marvellous manner." Planting his
foot upon this story, the worthy expositor gravely and devoutly
prosecutes the parallel; but already, although it is only a century and
a half old, his speculation serves only to provoke a smile. The comment,
written in England a hundred and sixty years ago, is antiquated and set
aside by the light of the present day; but the parable, spoken in
Galilee eighteen hundred years ago, stands in the middle of the
nineteenth century, enduring in safety the scrutiny of adversaries, and
ministering to the delight of friends, as fair and fresh as on the day
of its birth. "Whence hath this man this wisdom?"[22]

  [22] For the sake of its bearing on the divine authority of the
  Scriptures, and the questions that are agitated at the present time,
  I subjoin a similar example, extracted from a lecture which I
  contributed to the Exeter Hall series of 1860-61:--

  "A very remarkable expression occurs in the Apocalypse (xvi. 18)
  bearing on the work of preparing the earth for man, before man was
  made: 'And there was a great earthquake, such as was not since men
  were upon the earth, so mighty an earthquake and so great.' There
  the advent of man, as an inhabitant of the earth, is formally given
  as an epoch after which great earthquakes did not occur. It is well
  known now that earthquakes must have rent this globe before the
  birth of man, which make all that have occurred since sink into
  insignificance; but how was John, the fisherman of Galilee, led to
  employ, eighteen hundred years ago, a phraseology which the
  researches of our own day have now for the first time shown to be
  philosophically exact? Speaking of this verse, and quoting it
  freely, John Bunyan ("Reign of Antichrist,") says, 'For the
  earthquake, it is said to be _such as never was_, so mighty an
  earthquake and so great.' He thought the phrase, 'since men were
  upon the earth,' was equivalent to 'never:' so he wrote and fell
  into the blunder. Who led John the Apostle safely past the mistake
  into which John Bunyan fell?"

Pearls are the product of certain species of shell-fish, both marine and
fluvial. The cause and manner of their formation have not even yet been
completely ascertained. They do not constitute any part or organ of the
creature that contains them. They are not found in every shell, nor of
the same size and shape in any two. They are eccentric and accidental,
probably also morbid excrescences, thrown out by some individuals of the
species in irregular forms and at uncertain times. They probably owe
their origin to the presence of some minute foreign substance within the
shell, which is distasteful to its occupant. Not being able to cast out
the intruder, the feeble but diligent inhabitant covers it with a sort
of saliva, which hardens over it into a substance similar in consistency
and sheen to the interior surface of its own shell. The act of covering
a base substance of any shape with gold or silver by the process of
electrotype is in human art an analogous operation. When the material,
distilled in imperceptibly minute portions from the living mollusc, has
chemically agglomerated round the original kernel, the pearl is made.
The creature having covered the irritant atom with a coating at once
hard and smooth, can now endure with equanimity its presence within the
shell. Thus unconsciously it manufactures those indestructible and much
coveted jewels, for the sake of which its own life is sought and taken
by man.

In modern times pearl fishing has become a business, and is prosecuted
on a great scale in several far separated regions. Perhaps the increase
of production, through superior methods and instruments, may, here as
elsewhere, have contributed to depreciate the value of the article.[23]

  [23] I have been informed by a British merchant who, under license
  from the government of India, conducts the pearl fishing in the Bay
  of Kuratchee, that the method pursued is to bring the shells to
  shore as they are brought up from the bottom of the sea until a
  considerable quantity has been accumulated, disposed in a series of
  small contiguous heaps, and that then the men stand round the heaps,
  open the shells, and search for the pearls. So much loss accrues
  from the dishonesty of the men and the facility of secreting a
  treasure that lies in such a small bulk, that the proprietor of the
  fishing has had under consideration a suggestion to sell the heaps
  of shells by auction to the natives, and permit them then to make
  the best of their bargain. Whether this method of preventing
  peculation has been actually adopted, I have not learned.

  Our own Scottish rivers are frequented by a large bivalve mollusc,
  which produces true pearls, although their size and number have
  never been sufficient to attract capitalists or sustain a steady
  trade. I do not know how others operate in other localities, but
  here is a method which I either invented for myself or borrowed from
  a neighbour, and practised with considerable success on the river
  Earn in Perthshire when I was a boy:--Provide a long straight rod,
  thin and broad and rounded at the point after the manner of a
  paper-cutter. Jump into a light fishing-boat, and bring it right
  over the oyster bed when the sun shines brightly and no ripple
  disturbs the surface of the water. Bring the boat into such a
  position with respect to the sun that your own body, bending over
  the gunwale, will throw a shadow on the immediately subjacent
  surface. Through that shaded spot you see the bottom with great
  distinctness, and can distinguish there the objects of your search
  lying invitingly still, and open, and unconscious. The depth may be
  from six to twelve feet. The molluscs lie bedded in the mud, with
  one edge above the ground, and that edge slightly open. Push your
  rod now gently down in a perpendicular direction,--for if you permit
  an angle the different degrees of refraction in the air and water
  will make your straight rod crooked, and you will egregiously miss
  your object at every stroke,--until its point is within an inch or
  two of the opening between the shells of the mollusc, and then
  quickly plunge it in. Hold it still there for a few seconds until
  the creature has time to close and bite the rod, you may then pull
  it up at your leisure. Throw your capture into the bottom of the
  boat, and proceed in the same manner with the next. When you have
  collected a sufficient store, sit down and open them one by one with
  a knife, feeling carefully with your thumbs for the little hard
  round knots among the velvet folds. These knots, when extricated
  from the fleshy lobes that cover them, turn out to be pearls, in
  form more or less globular, and in sheen more or less bright. You
  rejoice more or less, accordingly, in your capture. The day on which
  a good pearl was found became a day to be remembered in the family
  group. The price of the finest never rose above a shilling or two;
  but as riches are relative, and must be estimated by comparison,
  these were treasures to us, and the sight of a large bright pearl
  suddenly shining out of the shell was enough to set a boy's heart
  a-beating in those early days.

  During a drought in the summer of 1863 the small river Doon, in Ayr
  shire, fell so low that some pearl-beds in pools, that had not been
  noticed in other seasons, were exposed to view, and placed within
  reach: the consequence was that the people in the neighbourhood, old
  and young, betook themselves to pearl fishing, and that with
  considerable success. Among other facts circumstantially related in
  the local papers at the time, it was stated that one poor woman,
  during the sickness of her husband, gained as much by the sale of
  her pearls as made good the loss of her husband's wages for a whole
  month. In the course of this summer (1864), and since the preceding
  notes were written, a considerable amount of pearl fishing has been
  carried on in certain rivers in the northern districts of Scotland,
  and efforts have been made to organize a regular trade.

I suppose diamonds occupy now the place that was held by pearls in
ancient times. While a vast number of goodly diamonds are in
circulation, affording occupation to many dealers, here and there one is
found which alone constitutes a fortune of almost fabulous amount for
its owner. One that was brought from India a few years ago, and is now
in the possession of the Queen, has a history extending upward several
generations. It passed, like provinces, from potentate to potentate by
natural inheritance or the fortunes of war. If it had fallen into the
hands of any private person, it would have made him an object of wonder
on account of his wealth, even in presence of modern accumulations. The
history and fame of the Kooh-i-noor supply the best illustration of this
parable that I know.

Conceive a merchant with a moderate capital setting out on a journey
with the view of collecting diamonds for sale in the home market. In the
course of his travels, in the interior of India it may be, he discovers
a diamond such as the Kooh-i-noor in the hands of a countryman. The
possessor may know generally the value of diamonds, and know that this
one in particular is of greater value than any that had ever come into
his hands; yet, because it is unique, and he has nothing in his
experience wherewith to compare it, he may dispose of it for a tenth of
its value. If the best diamond that the seller had ever seen were worth
twenty thousand pounds, he might value this one at forty thousand; and
that price the buyer might cheerfully pay down, although it constituted
all his property, knowing that at home the prize will command four
hundred thousand. Thus, without supposing ignorance on the one side or
dishonesty on the other, you have a transaction which will enrich the
merchant at once and enable him to retire in affluence. This is the sort
of transaction that is supposed in the parable. It was a natural and
probable supposition at a time when information did not spread so
quickly as in our time, and when pearls held as to value the place which
diamonds occupy in modern merchandise.

It is true that the merchant went abroad expressly for the purpose of
seeking goodly pearls; yet this pearl was to him an unexpected and
surprising discovery. He had provided funds sufficient to purchase many
pearls; but when he met with this one, its value was such that he could
not make an offer for it until he had returned to his home and converted
all his property, including the pearls that he had previously purchased,
into money. In this parable as well as in that of the hidden treasure,
an object is discovered of a value hitherto unknown and unsuspected. But
the lesson here is in one important respect different from that of the
preceding parable, and the point of distinction is, that there a man
stumbled upon a treasure when he was in search of meaner things, while
here the merchant finds in kind the very object which he sought, but
finds it in measure far surpassing all his expectation or desire.

Well might the merchant return and convert all his estate into money
that he might purchase this jewel; for if it were once in his
possession, as there could be no rival, he might command his own price.
None but monarchs could aspire to the possession of such a treasure, and
these would compete with each other at his desk for a gem that could not
elsewhere be obtained.[24]

  [24] Although their place is not the highest now, yet pearls even in
  our own day are sometimes found of a value so great that the history
  of an individual is recorded and its praises published through the
  world. The following, for example, are the terms of a paragraph
  taken from a British journal of last year:--"One of the finest
  pearls in the world has been found in the bay of Panama. It is of a
  perfect pear shape, and of the finest water."

       *       *       *       *       *

The application of the parable is, intellectually at least, a short and
easy process. It is not precisely the case of a man who finds the
kingdom of God when he is seeking something else: neither is it the case
of a man who first thoroughly knows the worth of that kingdom and then
sets out in search of it. There is no such example: no man knows its
worth before he obtains it. The merchant knew the value of pearls and
set out in search of them, but such a pearl as that which he found he
had never seen before, and never expected to see. So, although a man has
some spiritual perceptions and spiritual desires; although by a
deliberate judgment he determines to seek the life-eternal in preference
to all the business and pleasures of the world, he does not at the
outset understand how exceeding rich the forgiving grace of God is. Nay,
he thinks, when he first begins his search for salvation, that it may
be accomplished by the union of many attainments, such as men may
possess. Precious pearls and a number of them indeed; but still such
pearls as he has often seen in the possession of other merchants, and
such as he has in former times had in his own store. He goes out with
cash in hand to buy pearls, but he leaves his house and land still his
own. He expects to acquire many excellent pearls and retain all his
property besides. He did not conceive of one that should be worth all he
had, until he saw it. It is thus that people under convictions set out
in search of something that will make them right before God. They want
to get righteousness and temperance, and a good case for the judgment to
come. In their search they come to the Gospel; they get a glimpse
beneath the surface; they see protruding from beneath the folds
something that surprises them. Can that be a pearl? No; that is larger
than any pearl ever was or can be, and brighter; surely that cannot be a
true pearl. What? Pardon of sin to sinners without stipulating for a
price in their own repentance and righteousness,--peace with God and
sonship given free to the chief of sinners before he has done anything
to deserve it,--all sin forgiven, and that now and that free, and no
condemnation thenceforth, but the place and the favour of God's sons!
and these not only to some who stand out from their fellows as great and
good, but these to me,--from God to me to-day as surely as if there
never had been a human being on the earth but myself, and the errand of
Christ had been only and all for me! These glimpses stagger the man at
first; he thinks they are too good to be true. It is as if some one
should tell a skilful pearl merchant that under yon covering lay a pearl
a thousand times more precious than any he had ever seen before: of
course the merchant is incredulous, and demands a sight of it. Then a
portion of the covering is removed, and a glittering disc is partially
revealed, so vast and so lustrous, that instantly and instinctively the
merchant feels, If that be a pearl it is more precious a thousand-fold
than any that I have ever seen: but at the same time he secretly fears
it is not a pearl, and that, not for want of the true pearly lustre,
which his eye has been well educated to detect, but because of its very
greatness and goodness. The process in his mind is not that it does not
seem a genuine pearl, but that if it were a pearl it would be so
inconceivably great and precious that he must conclude there is some
deception. But when it is more fully revealed and more thoroughly
inspected, he finds that it is indeed a true pearl. Instantly he
determines to part with all he has that he may obtain it: he parts with
all that he has, and makes it his own. He has not only made a successful
bargain, as other merchants may do, or as himself may have done at other
times: he has in one moment enriched himself beyond all conception that
he formerly entertained. His merchandise has been brought to an end.
There is no need now for more buying and selling in order to acquire
wealth; his fortune is made.

This is really very like the process that goes on in a human spirit when
an anxious inquiry about salvation terminates in finding and closing
with Christ the Saviour. The expectations with which the inquirer set
out were very low. If he could get his sense of guilt somewhat lightened
that he might begin anew and endeavour to please God; if he could get
the fear of wrath diminished, and some assurance that the Judge would
not visit him to the full extent for all his sins;--he does not venture
to expect more. Expressly he had no conception of all in one: he
thought of a multitude of good religious attainments, which, when added
together, would make him, if not rich enough, yet as good as any of his
neighbours. Some low and little thing he went out to seek, and, lo! he
came upon all the fulness of the Godhead bodily treasured up in Christ,
and all that fulness offered in return for simple surrender of himself.

Surprised by the greatness of the treasure, he suspects at first that
there must be some mistake; but when he becomes convinced of its
reality, his resolution is instantly taken, and the transaction
irrevocably closed. Like the merchant rejoicing in his fortune is a
believer who has found peace with God: henceforth he is rich. He does
not need now to huckster in small bargains between his conscience and
the divine law every day, and struggle to diminish the ever-increasing
amount of guilt by getting small entries of merit marked on the other
side of the page. All this is past. He is in Christ Jesus, and to him,
therefore, there is now no condemnation.

The treasurer of the Ethiopian Queen was precisely such a merchant.
Before he left home he evidently counted himself poor, and longed to
possess the true riches: before he left home he was aware that a man is
not profited although he gain the whole world, if he lose his own soul.
It was an oppressive sense of poverty that compelled him to travel. He
occupied the highest office in a kingdom; he stood on the steps of the
throne, and had charge of the royal treasury; but he counted himself
poor notwithstanding. He must go in search of more precious pearls than
these. Peace of conscience, righteousness, hope for eternity,--these are
goodlier pearls than any that can be found in Ethiopia; and the man
undertakes a journey to Jerusalem to try if he can find them there.
Disappointed there, he was on his way home, seeking still for the
pearls, and seeking near the very spot in the Scriptures where the one
priceless pearl lay, when Philip met him. By the Evangelist's skilful
help he found it then and there; but when he found it at last, it was
much more precious than he had ventured to expect. "He was led as a lamb
to the slaughter." "Of whom speaketh the prophet this?" inquired the
Ethiopian, "of himself, or of some other man?" Some subordinate benefit
he was contemplating,--the suffering of some good man, perhaps, as an
example to his brethren. Even that, as being something that might
contribute to the peace of his soul, he was glad to hear of, and would
gladly buy, that he might add it to his stock of goodly pearls. But when
Philip, beginning from that scripture, "preached to him Jesus," he found
that the lamb led to the slaughter is the "Lamb of God, who taketh away
the sin of the world." The worth of the pearl turned out to be
immeasurably greater than the merchant had previously been able to
conceive. He exchanged all for it on the spot, and went on his way
rejoicing. He did not require to go from country to country any more in
search of goodly pearls. He was rich,--rich toward God.[25]

  [25]  Das ist Philippus element,
          Er übt sein Predigtamt,
        Lebendig wird das Pergament,
        Des Mohrenfürsten Herze brennt,
          Sein dunkles Auge flammt.

        Denn was er im Juwelenschrein
          Kandaces nimmer sah,
        Die eine Perle, himmlischrein
        Die köstlicher als Edelstein,
          Er fand am Weg sie da.

                      _Kari Gerok._

I think all speculations about the whiteness and purity and lustre of
the pearl as an ornament should be set aside, as being an attempt to
bring a meaning out of the parable which its Author did not put into it.
Obviously the merchant did not buy it in order to wear it. If after
giving all that he had for the pearl, he had hung it on his neck, where
could the poor man have found food and clothing? No; the pearl is
presented here in one aspect only,--as being "of great price." It was
worth much--it was a fortune to a merchant; but when you speak of it as
an ornament on the wearer's brow, you turn aside from the line of the
parable, and miss its meaning.

The true lessons of the parable, as I understand them, are briefly
these:--

1. It represents the experience, not of a careless or a profane man, who
stumbles suddenly upon the Gospel when he was in search of other things,
but of one who is awakened, and has begun to seek the true religion,
endeavouring to add attainment to attainment sincerely, according to his
light. His conscience is uneasy. He has tried the old specific, "All
these have I kept from my youth up;" but it no longer avails to soothe
his spirit. "What lack I yet?" burst from his breast in broken sighs.
There is truth in the man, though not wisdom. He is honestly seeking the
way, and the Lord leads him. He is seeking; he shall find.

2. It represents the unparalleled, inconceivable richness of God's mercy
in Christ, taking away all a sinner's sin, and bestowing on him freely
the place and privileges of a dear child.

3. It represents that these riches lie, not in an accumulation of goodly
attainments, such as men are wont to traffic in, but in one undivided,
indivisible, hitherto unknown and unimagined treasure.

4. It represents that the inquirer, the instant he discovers that this
one incomparable, all-comprehending treasure exists and is offered to
him, cheerfully, eagerly, unhesitatingly gives away all that he
possesses, in order to acquire it. That is, he gives all for Christ, and
then enjoys all in Christ.

Let me suppose myself a merchant, travelling in a foreign country in
quest of pearls. I have found and secured several lots that I count
good. I have still capital remaining sufficient to purchase many more; I
therefore continue my search. One day I meet a man who shows me a pearl
more precious than any that I had ever seen before. At a glance I
perceive that it is worth all I possess twenty times told. I say to the
owner, and say it with a beating heart, fearing that he will despise my
offer, "I shall give you all I possess for this pearl." He accepts my
offer; he gives me the pearl into my own hands, and I consign over to
him all that I have in the world: first, all the pearls that I have
bought in my journey; next, all my remaining capital; then houses,
lands, books,--all. I sign the deed with a throbbing heart, not from
fear, but from abounding joy. My act does not intimate that I value
lightly my possessions and rights: it intimates that my new portion is,
in my esteem, so greatly good, that it will repay all my outlay, and
give me a fortune beside.

So when I abandon my repentance, and my prayers, and my services and
gifts--when I sign away all my expectations on account of all religious
attainments, and accept Christ alone as my soul's portion--my act does
not intimate that I count little on the various graces of the Spirit in
a disciple's life: it means that in Christ and with him I have all good
things in measure infinite, in duration eternal.

If our suggestion regarding the cause and manner of the pearl's growth
is correct, the kingdom of God in the Gospel of his Son was generated in
the same way: the pearl and the pearl of great price have the same
natural history.

Some foreign, hurtful thing falls on the creature's life. Forthwith the
irritation which that invader produces causes the creature to throw out
and over the disturber that which forms a covering round it--hiding,
smothering, annihilating the originating evil, and constituting over it
and in place of it a gem of the tenderest, gentlest beauty--impenetrable,
imperishable, glorious.

So sin, a corroding drop, a dark, deadly, vexing, torturing thing, fell
upon God's fair creation, threatening to inoculate it with a poison that
should leaven the whole lump, and change its beauty into corruption. But
around the dark sin-spot, and because the sin-spot was there, divine
love showered down, like the impalpable silver gathering on its object
in the electrotype, embracing, surrounding, covering, killing the evil
and bitter thing that threatened to destroy the works of God. Death was
swallowed up in victory. The Son of God came into the world because sin
was on it. He, the Holy One, took sin into his bosom, that he might
quench it in his own embrace. It was sin that summoned the Saviour to
the world, and gave shape to the Gospel of God. To the devil's wile in
Eden, as the occasion, though not the cause, unfallen angels and
ransomed men will for ever be indebted for that specific work of their
Creator which will most attract their eyes and inspire their songs. On
one side they behold mercy, in spotless, unmingled white; and on the
other side they behold judgment, darker, indeed, yet equally
resplendent. But here in the midst, in the person of God incarnate, they
see mercy and judgment meeting--the pearl of great price--where two
different and apparently opposite glories mysteriously and beauteously
mingle and play. Death swallowed up in victory; sin embraced and so
destroyed in the person of Immanuel; sin lost in the holiness and love
that agglomerated round it;--this pearl will shine in heaven with a
glory that excelleth, when the sun and stars shall have fallen like
unripe figs from the sky.




VII.

THE DRAW-NET.


"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the
    sea, and gathered of every kind: which, when it was full, they drew
    to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast
    the bad away. So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels
    shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, and
    shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and
    gnashing of teeth."--MATT. xiii. 47-50.

Great variety obtains in the size and structure of fishing-nets; and
great variety, too, in the manner of using them. Some are stationary,
fixed to poles in the sea or the estuaries of rivers; some are dropped
in a straight line into the water, and allowed to remain there suspended
until a shoal of fish, endeavouring to pass, become entangled one by one
in the meshes; others are shot in a semicircular form into the sea, and
immediately drawn back by both extremities simultaneously to the shore.

It is this last mentioned species of net that is employed in the
parable. Its depth is comparatively small, but its length is great. One
side is kept close to the bottom by weights, and the other side drawn
towards the surface by corks or bladders. Thus when spread it stands
erect like a wall in the water, enclosing a large space. As soon as it
has been spread, the fishermen begin to draw it at both ends slowly and
steadily towards the land. As the enclosed semicircle gradually
diminishes, the captured fishes, having still room for motion, retire
before the advancing prison wall, until they are at length confined
within a very narrow space, and drawn into shallow water. There is then
a violent flutter for a few moments, and the whole are laid helpless on
the sand.

Then begins that operation on which the Master has here mainly fixed his
eye, and to which exclusively he directs attention in his own
exposition. When the fishermen have at last drawn the net wholly out of
the water and secured its contents on dry land, they sit down to examine
leisurely the worth of their capture, and to separate the precious from
the vile. The good they gather into vessels for preservation; the bad
they simply throw away. The net surrounded and brought to land every
living creature that fell within its sweep, and was not small enough to
escape through its meshes. Some of these are in their own nature and at
all times unfit for food; others are useless at particular seasons.
Every one who has watched the operations of fishermen on the shore is
familiar with the appearance of star-fish and other low forms of marine
life, which are drawn out by the nets, and cast away upon the sand.
Large predatory fishes of a low type are also sometimes caught, when
they venture too near in search of prey. In some instances, moreover,
fishes that are dead and partially decayed are brought up in company
with the living, and these are of course cast out as vile.

The central figure of the parable, round which the other features
congregate only as fore or back ground accessories--the central figure
is, A group of fishermen, panting from recent exertion, sitting on a
knoll close by the sea-side, with the newly-drawn net lying in a soaking
heap at their feet, picking up one by one the fishes that are fit for
food, and putting them on one side into baskets, and casting the rest
away. The men are skilful, experienced, and cool; they have no interest
in forming an erroneous judgment, and they are not liable to fall into
mistakes. The separation between good and bad is made without partiality
and without hypocrisy; it is deliberate, accurate, inevitable. At the
close, not one good fish has been cast away, and not a bad one has been
admitted into the vessels.

It is of great importance to note that when the Lord undertakes to
explain this parable, he determines for us the spiritual meaning of the
last act only of the fishermen's labours, and passes in silence all the
rest. I do not conclude from this fact that the earlier features of the
scene possessed no spiritual significance, or that their meaning cannot
be ascertained. But it is undeniable that when Christ himself gives the
meaning of his own parable, the part that he leaves unexplained cannot
be as surely and clearly understood as the part which he has explained:
and further, the portion of a parable on which he maintained silence
while he explained another part, is not for us in the same position as
another parable of which he has not given an exposition at all. Some of
them are so transparent that he did not count it needful to give the
interpretation; in other cases, such as the sower, he gave the
signification of the whole; in a third class of cases, to which this
parable belongs, he explains one feature of the picture, and maintains
silence regarding the rest. Now it is precisely the portions left
without explanation in parables partially explained, that must in the
nature of the case be to us most uncertain. It may be assumed regarding
them that their spiritual meaning is either self-evident, and therefore
required not a comment, or of subordinate importance, and therefore did
not obtain one. In this case it is certain, from the diversity of
opinion that prevails regarding them, that these portions are not easily
understood: there remains only the other alternative, that they are not
essential.

Our view of the grand lesson which the Master taught from the closing
act of the fishermen, is very little affected by the opinion which we
may form regarding the preparatory portions. Those who differ widely
regarding the significance of trees and animals that occupy the
background of a picture, may notwithstanding agree entirely regarding
the meaning of the picture itself. Although we entertain various views
in respect to the spreading and drawing of the net, we come all, under
the Master's guidance, to substantially the same view of the separation
between good and evil which was accomplished when the net was brought to
shore. Upon this point the Lord fixed his eye and expressed his mind. He
has made it so plain that there is not room among Christians for serious
diversity concerning it.

A river in Africa is known and navigated in its lower reaches near the
sea. Ships from many nations frequent the estuary, and obtain cargoes of
oil, and wax, and fruit from the inhabitants on its shores. But a
question, meantime, arises among geographers regarding the source of
this river in the interior of the continent, and the direction of its
current before it reaches the navigable portion near the ocean. One
believes the river rises in the north, and flows mainly southward;
another contends that it springs in a mountainous ridge far to the
eastward, and flows in a westerly course to the Atlantic. In defect of
an actual exploration, there is room for differences of opinion; and
differences have accordingly sprung up. The right is better than the
wrong even here; but the importance of the point is, in a commercial
point of view, secondary. Waiting till time shall afford the materials
for decision, the disputants meanwhile frequent the deep estuary in
company, and grow rich by the merchandise which it supplies. Thus we all
understand, from the Lord's own transparent, decisive exposition, the
last, the deepest, the most profitable portion of the parable. While we
endeavour reverently to investigate the portions that are still
uncertain, we should rejoice with thankfulness that where agreement was
most necessary, the Great Teacher has made it impossible to differ.

After this explanation, I need not hesitate to admit that the view of
the parable, in its earlier and unexplained portions, which on the whole
most commends itself to my judgment, differs essentially from the
expositions that are generally given. With modest, grave, watchful
spirit should one student of the Scripture suggest and another receive,
an interpretation of any portion different from that which has been
given by the earnest, accomplished, and devout scholars, who in various
countries and times have sought to discover the mind of the Spirit. On
the other hand, to suppress a judgment, in deference to human authority,
would be disloyal to the Lord and contrary to the principles of
Protestants.

The view commonly entertained is, that the net is the Church, or, as
some express it, the Bible and the ordinances of religion; while the
fishermen who spread and draw it are the apostles in the first instance,
and afterwards the ordinary ministers of the word. If the net is the
Church, and its drawers the Church's ministers, the whole question of
discipline is immediately raised. This parable, accordingly, like that
of the tares, has been impressed into their own service by the
opponents of discipline both in ancient and modern times. We
emphatically repeat here, what we formerly stated in connection with the
cognate parable, that no consistent argument can be maintained in regard
to discipline from this scripture, except an absolute and entire
repudiation of all effort, by a human ministry and in this present
world, to keep any person or class of persons without the pale of the
visible Church on account of their opinions or their conduct. Very few,
however, venture to take this ground. The ordinary method is to contend
for some measure of Church order--for the right and duty of excluding
some of the worst--and then to lean on this parable for an argument in
favour of a lax and against a stringent administration. We submit that
to take your stand on this parable, and thence contend for the exclusion
to some extent of the evil from the pale of the Church, is to trample
all logical and critical laws under foot. This scripture manifestly
either forbids all effort to discriminate in this world, or says nothing
at all on the subject.

I shall now state, as distinctly and fairly as I can, some of the
difficulties and inconsistencies which adhere to the common
interpretation of the net and its drawers, and convince me that it is
not the true interpretation.

1. It makes those who draw the net through the water, and those who
separate between good and evil on the shore, not the same, but different
persons, and persons of different classes,--the one representing men
ministering to the Church in time, the other angels executing judgment
in eternity; whereas, both from the terms of the narrative and the
ordinary practice of fishermen, we know that the same persons who draw
the net to shore afterwards divide between the worthless and vile of
its contents. The net "was cast into the sea, and gathered of every
kind: which, when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and
gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away." There is no
ambiguity here; the drawers are also the dividers. I suppose none will
take advantage of the impersonal form in which the casting of the net is
expressed, and assume that while one class, representing a human
ministry, cast the net into the water, another class, representing
ministering angels, drew it to land and divided its contents; for it
would be, contrary to all analogy and propriety, to assume that the Lord
introduced into his picture a feature that is never found in fact. There
is no such thing in reality as one set of men throwing the net into the
water, and then retiring from the scene, while another set of men draw
it out.

The ordinary interpretation assumes, contrary both to the letter of
Scripture and the custom of men, that when ministers of flesh and blood
have spread the net, and drawn it toward the shore, enclosing a
multitude good and bad of their brethren, they disappear and take no
part further in the transaction. Another party, representing the angels,
now fasten on the net, and pick out the good from the bad. A late German
expositor, learned, suggestive, and devout, Olshausen, yielding to the
inexorable logic of the case, concedes that the drawers of the net and
the dividers of the fish are not diverse, but the same. He turns,
however, to the other side for a solution of the difficulty. Instead of
simply proceeding to determine the unknown by the known;--instead of
owning that as angels separate the good from the evil on the shore, they
must have also thrown and drawn the net, he explains away the specific
signification of angels, and supposes that those who minister the Gospel
in time are employed, under the general designation of angels, to
separate between good and evil in the world to come. This solution will
not readily commend itself to British students of the Scripture. The
fact therefore remains, that the ordinary exposition of the parable, in
this part of its progress, is palpably at variance with the structure of
the parable itself, and the facts on which it is founded.

2. In the visible Church, the profession, at the very least, is to
enclose the good within the communion of saints, or to rescue the evil
by making them new in the act of entrance; whereas the net is let down
at a certain spot to sweep indiscriminately all within its circle to the
shore. It makes absolutely no distinction between good and bad; it can
discriminate only between great and small. The net is laid down in the
sea along a certain line: twelve inches beyond that line fishes good and
bad are swimming, which it does not touch; while an inch within that
line are fishes good and bad which it draws indiscriminately to the
shore. I can perceive no likeness between this and the kingdom of
heaven, if you understand thereby the visible Church and the efforts of
the ministry.

3. One of the chief practical lessons which expositors ancient and
modern have drawn from the parable, under this view of its meaning, is
extremely incongruous, and even grotesque. Churchmen cling to it as a
sheet anchor in controversy with Nonconformists. If this notion were
adopted only by mediæval monks and modern Romanists, I would reckon it
unworthy of notice; but it is received and uttered again as genuine at
this day by grave and learned Protestant theologians of Germany, and
notwithstanding the solidity and good sense which characterize his
"Notes" generally, is formally reproduced in its boldest form by Dr.
Trench.[26]

  [26] "They [this and the parable of the tares] convey, too, the same
  further lesson, that this fact [the actual intermixture of evil in
  the visible Church] does not justify self-willed departure from the
  fellowship of the Church, and impatient leaping over or breaking
  through the nets, as here it has often been called; but the Lord's
  separation is patiently to be waited for, which shall surely arrive
  at the end of the present age."--_Dr. Trench, Notes on the
  Parables_, p. 133. This is a style far too loose for a critical
  exposition of Scripture. If the actual presence of tolerated
  impurity within the Church does not justify a "self-willed"
  departure from her communion, does it justify a departure that is
  not self-willed, but a solemn separation in order to carry out the
  will of the Lord? The assumption that the separation of the English
  Nonconformists was "self-willed," of course begs the whole question.

The practical lesson, then, which these expositors draw from the parable
is, that disciples of Christ are not justified in leaving an organized
Church with which they were connected, and forming a Christian community
beyond its pale, on the ground that unworthy members are tolerated
within its communion. This is, indeed, not the true state of the
question as between the Established Episcopal Church in England and the
early Nonconformists; the Puritans did not spontaneously retire, they
were ejected by the hand of power because they refused to comply with
new ordinances imposed upon the Church of Christ by human authority. But
although the state of the question were conceded, the argument
completely fails. If this lesson against separation is justly deduced
from the parable, there must be in the natural object some parallel more
or less distinct which suggests and supports it. What is that parallel,
and where does it lie? Translate the spiritual lesson, which men profess
to find, back into the material facts, and observe the straits into
which your mistake has brought you. The parallel obviously must be,--The
good fishes that are enclosed within the net, or those that count
themselves good, should not leap out because star-fish and molluscs are
enclosed along with them. Either this is the parallel on which the
lesson leans, or it has no foundation at all; but there is no such thing
in nature, and no such representation in the parable. The fishes when
they are once enclosed within the net cannot break out; and even if they
could, they would break out not because they were confined in low
company, but because they were confined. The good would fain be free;
and the bad too. From first to last the net is to all its inmates and to
all alike a dreaded prison. I do not descry a solitary feature of
resemblance between the parable at this stage and the doctrine regarding
Church discipline which the expositors deduce from it.[27]

  [27] While Stier and Trench seem to start with the same principle of
  interpretation on this subject, they are led ultimately to opposite
  practical results. Trench, as we have seen, gathers from the parable
  that the pure, or those who consider themselves pure, are not
  justified in leaping out of the net at their own pleasure; that is,
  the Nonconformists should not go and constitute conventicles beyond
  the pale of the Establishment. Stier, on the contrary, represents
  the evil as endeavouring to break out of the net, but unable to
  accomplish their purpose: "Many a leviathan is caught, and although
  he would fain get out, yet cannot break the net."--_Stier_ in loc.

4. The sea, according to the interpreters, being the world, and the net
being the Church, I want to know what is meant by drawing the net to
land. To be drawn from the sea to the land must mean to be led, willing
or unwilling, from this life into eternity; for both good and bad are
brought to the shore; then and there the separation takes place which
all acknowledge to be final. But are the members of the visible Church
alone drawn out of this life into the other world? Do the ministers of
the Gospel occupy themselves in dragging their brethren away from the
world? Here, too, the interpretation is inconsistent with the facts of
the case and the representations of the parable.

These difficulties in which the common interpretation is involved, go
far to prove that it must be erroneous; a true principle of exposition
would surely not lead its adherents into such straits. The real key, if
it were found, might be expected to open the lock without wrenching its
parts asunder.

Although for my own part I would be content to take the plain and
undoubted doctrine which the closing scene of the parable contains, and
leave the earlier stages of it as the Lord left them, without attaching
to them any definite and distinct significance, I am prepared at the
same time to suggest a totally different interpretation of the net
drawing the fishes to land, for the consideration of those who love to
search the Scriptures. I shall state the principle of interpretation
which commends itself to my judgment, and leave everyone to judge for
himself whether it will consistently and profitably explain all the
facts.

The net is not the visible Church in the world, and the fishes good and
bad within it do not represent the true and false members of the Church.
The sea is the world. The net, almost or altogether invisible at first
to those whom it surrounds, is that unseen bond which, by an invisible
ministry, is stretched over the living, drawing them gradually,
secretly, surely, towards the boundary of this life, and over it into
another. As each portion, or generation of the human race, are drawn
from their element in this world, ministering spirits, on the lip of
eternity that lies nearest time, receive them and separate the good from
the evil.

I shall enumerate here some of the reasons which commend this
interpretation, and notice some of the objections which may be urged
against it.

Among the reasons which commend it,--

1. It assumes, according to the facts of the case and the express terms
of the scripture, that the same persons who draw the net also separate
the worthy from the worthless of its contents on shore.

2. In owning this along with Olshausen, it owns also that the angels who
separate the good from the evil at the end of the world are angels, and
does not with him explain them away into the human ministry of the
Gospel.

3. It is perfectly congruous with the habits of fishermen and the
character of the instruments which they employ. As fishers drop the net
over a certain space, and, without making any pretence of discriminating
between good and bad, drag all within that space to shore; so the
invisible agents whom God employs in his universal administration,
whether laws or angelic spirits or both combined, make no distinction
between good and bad, when by successive castings of the net, as it
were, they enclose section after section, generation after generation of
human kind, and draw them slowly, silently, but inevitably to the edge
of this life, and over it into the unseen world. I scarcely know in the
whole range of nature an analogy more true and touching than this. When
you allow that the angels cast and draw the net as well as divide its
contents, the incongruities disappear, and the picture starts into life,
true to the original. The fishes, enclosed within the net when it is
first thrown out, but still swimming in the sea, not aware that the net
is round them, are intensely like a human generation, with the sentence
of death hanging over them, yet living and moving freely, and looking
for many days. As the circle of the net grows narrower the fishes
gently give way before it, and so enjoy for a little longer the
sensation of floating at liberty in the water; and it is not until they
touch the ground that they become thoroughly alarmed. The struggle then
is sudden, earnest, short, unavailing. Thus are mankind, without respect
to their vice or their virtue, indiscriminately drawn to the margin of
this world's life, and, willing or unwilling, thrown into an unknown
state beyond.

4. If any struggles are made against the encircling net during the slow,
solemn process of drawing--any efforts on the part of the captives to
leap out into freedom, they are made, not by one kind in displeasure at
being shut up with another, but by every kind indifferently in
displeasure at being shut up at all. Like the indefinite terror of mute
fishes when they feel the net coming closer in, is the instinctive alarm
of human beings when the hand of death is felt gradually contracting the
space in which the pulses of life are permitted to play.

I shall now notice and endeavour to estimate the principal objections,
as far as I am able to anticipate them, which may be urged against the
interpretation that I have suggested.

1. The Lord at another time, in calling some of his apostles, said,
"Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men" (Matt. iv. 19). He did;
and I think it is by a mistake in instituting an analogy between that
fact and this parable that interpreters have been led into a wrong
track.

Some expositors have made a similar mistake in regard to the parable of
the leaven, and the one error will throw light upon the origin and
nature of the other. Observing that the Lord in another place represents
the doctrines of the Pharisees and the Sadducees as a leaven, some have
concluded that the leaven in the parable also must point to the spread
of error, and have expounded it accordingly. All judicious critics,
however, clearly see and distinctly explain in that case, that the
leaven which was in other instances employed to represent the diffusion
of evil, was in the parable employed to represent the prevalence of
good. Although leaven in one of the Lord's discourses pointed to
hypocrisy and unbelief, they teach, and teach correctly, that leaven in
another of his discourses points to the progress of saving truth.

The same discrimination should be exercised here. It is quite true that
the Lord at one time, and in one discourse, compared the ministry of
apostles in winning souls to the labour of fishers in the ordinary
exercise of their craft; but that does not prevent him from employing at
another time the universal sweep of the draw-net to represent the
silent, slow, and sure encompassing of human kind, which draws them,
good and bad alike, by instruments and agencies which they do not see
and cannot resist, from this troubled sea of time toward the shore of
the unknown eternity. Because the conception of capturing fishes in the
Sea is at one time in the Lord's discourses employed to indicate the
benevolent labour of the Gospel ministry, it does not follow that you
are compelled to construe that conception in the same way wherever it
occurs, although the circumstances manifestly render the application
incongruous and contradictory.

Let it be observed, moreover, that when the apostles in respect of their
work are called fishers of men, not one feature in the process of
fishing is specified in detail. Nothing is introduced but the general
conception of a fisherman catching fishes in the sea. This conception in
the abstract contains nothing incongruous with the labour of the
apostles. As long as you abide by the bare general term "fisher," the
analogy, as applied to "apostle," is obvious and the meaning easily
recognised; but the moment you descend into the details of a net, and
the mixture of good and evil, you plunge into inextricable confusion, if
you persist in maintaining an analogy between the detailed process of
fishing and the labour of apostles for the kingdom of Christ.

The general conception of fishing, as it appeared to the mind of speaker
and hearers on the margin of the Lake of Galilee, diverged into two
dissimilar branches as soon as it descended into practical detail. The
fishermen prosecuted their avocation sometimes with line and baited
hooks, sometimes with boat and nets. Fishing with line and hook, a
process of watching, selecting, discriminating, whereby the fishes are
one by one enticed and taken, readily spontaneously leaps up before the
imagination as a line parallel with the work of an evangelist, bent on
winning souls; but fishing by the draw-net absolutely refuses to be
fashioned into an analogue of the evangelistic work. The Lord in his
teaching said that fishers were like apostles; but he never said that
the process of fishing by the draw-net resembles the efforts of his
ministers for the conversion of the world. Of the two methods of fishing
which were familiar to the parties, one is in some of its main features
analogous to the new employment into which Jesus called the twelve, and
the other is totally dissimilar. When I read, therefore, that an apostle
is a fisher of men, I shall think of the selecting, discriminating
method of casting a hook into the water; and when I learn from this
parable that the separation between the good and bad of the net's
contents upon the shore represents the separation between good and bad
men by the ministry of angels in the unseen world, I am not compelled--I
am not permitted to believe, contrary to all analogy, that the Church
encloses all, like the net, without an effort, a hope, a desire to
discriminate, and that the ministers of the Church, like the fishermen,
drag their brothers unwilling out of the world to the judgment-seat.

2. But has not the Lord said in this parable, as in all the rest of the
group, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net that was cast into the
sea? He has; yet the fact does not prove that he meant to represent the
Church by the net, and the labour of apostles by the spreading and
drawing of the net. The formula, "The kingdom of heaven is like,"
relates to the parable as a whole, and not specifically to that feature
of the parable which lies next to it in the record. For the evidence of
this proposition it is not necessary to go further than the two
immediately preceding parables. In one, "the kingdom of heaven is like
unto treasure;" in the other, it "is like unto a merchant-man." If,
instead of looking to the picture as a whole, you insist on finding the
analogue of the kingdom or the Church specifically in the net, you must,
in like manner, in the parable of the pearl, find that the Church is
specifically compared to a man, whereas in the preceding example it was
compared to a treasure. In these examples it is demonstrated that the
analogy instituted refers to the picture as a whole, and not to the
single feature that first occurs in the narrative.[28]

  [28] The argument on this point is well stated by Limburg Brouwer.
  His conclusion is: "Accedit quod προμυθιον illud, (ὡμοιωθη ἡ
  Βασιλεια, κ.τ.λ.) saepe ita comparatum est, ut proprie non
  conferendum sit cum solo illo subjecto, quocum ab auctore
  connectatur, sed potius cum universa re narrata."--_De Parabolis
  Jesu Christi_, 153.

The Lord intimates in the introductory formula that he intends by this
parable to give yet another lesson regarding the kingdom of heaven; and
it must be determined otherwise than by the mere juxtaposition of the
clauses, on what aspect or period of the kingdom he will by this
similitude throw light. Six consecutive lessons on the subject have
already been given. He has taught already what hinders the kingdom in
the deceitfulness of human hearts, and the machinations of the wicked
one; what its inherent power is, and what its contagious all-pervading
influence; what is its value in the estimate of those who know it, and
how much they willingly part with in order to obtain the treasure. What
new and additional characteristic of the kingdom does the Master teach
his disciples in the seventh and last parable of the group--the parable
of the draw-net? The closing lesson about the kingdom relates to the
closing scene of the kingdom--the separation of the wicked from the good
on the great day. From the order of the subjects in the series you might
expect this; from the picture actually presented you are logically led
to infer this; but, especially, you know this from the spontaneous
explanation then and there given by the Lord. Although, according to his
usual method, he completed the parabolic picture, filling up the fore
and back grounds with the objects that naturally lay there, yet when he
comes to the interpretation, he passes in silence all these preparatory
features, and tells the meaning of the last only--the separation of the
wicked from the just through the ministry of angels at the end of the
world. Yes, as the Lord said, this parable sheds light on the kingdom,
but the portion of the kingdom on which the light falls is the close. It
brings out in strong relief the final separation between those who
remain distant and those who are brought nigh.

In view of the decisive fact that the Lord gives an interpretation, and
does not interpret the casting and drawing of the net to mean the
visible Church and its operations--does not interpret the casting and
drawing of the net at all, I cannot assent to the demand that the
general formula of introduction common to all the seven parables should
be held to determine what specific portion of the extended picture, or
whether any, represents the Church in relation to the character of its
members and the duty of its ministers.

When God in his work of creation determined to give this globe a "lesser
light," to mitigate the necessary darkness of its night in the absence
of the sun, he provided an orb which serves that purpose, and more.
Although only one of its sides is turned towards the earth, the moon has
another side formed in full. For light to the earth the Creator needed
only a disc; but in order to provide it he made a sphere. In a similar
manner the Lord has acted in the parable, when he desired to give his
disciples a lesson upon the separation which takes place at the close of
the dispensation; He made the orb full, although he illumined only one
side of it by his own interpretation.

If any one is disposed to hold me to the letter of this similitude, and
say that the uninterpreted portion of the parable is left, like the
further hemisphere of the moon, deep in the shade, and beyond our view,
I frankly consent to be so held. I agree that those portions of the
parable should be considered to us of uncertain significance. We may
lawfully and profitably examine them, and test every proposed
explanation, and profit by every good lesson that may be obtained; but
we ought absolutely to abandon all attempts to find there an authority
for any doctrine or any duty. I think when the Lord has explained a
part of one of his own parables, the portion of it which he has left
unexplained is in a different position from a parable which he has not
explained at all. When he gives any interpretation, his silence has a
meaning as well as his words. If he had meant to determine by a
particular feature of this parable any important doctrine or duty, we
may rest assured, when he did undertake to give an explanation, he would
not have left that part altogether unexplained. On the whole, I think
the earlier portion of the parable is debatable ground; it is left in
the shade; there is room for difference of opinion in regard to it. In
some aspects it may suggest useful reflections as a picture of the good
and evil mingled in the Church; in other aspects it may suggest solemn
thoughts as a picture of successive generations being gradually drawn
from life's moving sea to eternity's stable unknown shore. I believe
that profitable lessons may be obtained from it in both of these, and
perhaps in other aspects; I believe that the disciples do not sin, and
the Master is not displeased, when to one inquirer it suggests this
lesson, and to another it suggests that, as long as all is done in
charity, and according to the analogy of the faith. I have suggested a
line of thought, which I believe to be relevant and profitable; but I
would not dare to plant my foot on this exposition as the ground of any
doctrine or any duty. It is because others, both in ancient and modern
times, have pretended to find on the unillumined side of this parable a
light to guide Christians authoritatively in points that vitally affect
the kingdom of Christ, that I have entered at so great length into the
inquiry.

I confess frankly that I count it a good and necessary work to wrench
this scripture from the hands of those who, whether in ignorance or
conscious partiality, use it as an instrument practically to blot out
the line which the Lord has elsewhere drawn between the Church and the
world.

It is not necessary now to refute formally the fond, feeble notion, that
this parable proves the sinfulness of dissenting from the Church of
England, established by the State and prelatic in its government. Even
although we should concede that the visible Church and the character of
its constituents are the subjects with which the parable deals, it would
be childish trifling on the part of a Churchman to quote it as of
authority against Nonconformists. In the same Bible stands the precept,
"Come out from among them and be ye separate;" and the Nonconformist has
as good a right, that is, no right at all, to quote it as of authority
by itself against a Churchman. The matter cannot be settled, on either
side, by general announcements like these, although they are selected
from the Scriptures. Every case must be judged upon its own merits. The
question whether a dissenter has separated from a corrupt community in
order to obey his Lord, or has rent the Church to gratify his own pride,
must be determined in each case by an appeal to the facts: no solution
satisfactory to intelligent Christians, or to grown men, can be reached
by superciliously throwing a text in your neighbour's face. This remark
is made upon the supposition that the parable bears upon the point,
which I think is more than doubtful. Those who gravely counsel the
fishes to abide peacefully within the net, and not to leap out
pharisaically and schismatically because foul fish abound within the
same enclosure, certainly show themselves incapable of appreciating the
analogies of nature, whatever may be their familiarity with
ecclesiastical affairs.

We subjoin two practical lessons; the first, though in itself
self-evidently true, depending for its suggestion here on the special
view of the net which we have submitted; the second founded directly on
the word and enforced by the authority of the Lord.

1. We of this generation, a miscellaneous multitude of old and young,
good and evil, move about at liberty in the wide expanse of life, as
fishes move about in the deep broad sea; but certain mysterious,
invisible lines, have been let down into the water, and are silently,
slowly creeping near, and winding round us. The net at first has a vast
compass: a fish within its circle has as much room as it needs, and
cares not for distant danger. Even when the cords begin to come near, he
moves out of their way, and for his own comfort embraces warmly the
opinion that these cords do not constitute a net. They are some loose
things,--certain species of sea-weed, such as he has often seen before.
He has gone round them or through them often and easily: he will do so
again. But these approach persistently, and still from the same side:
they lie between him and the open sea: to avoid them he must move
in-shore. Getting now a nearer view, he descries some new features of
the danger. These lines are crossed and knitted in a manner all unlike
the sea-weed threads that streamed so long and straight and loose in the
tide-way. A secret foreboding of some unknown doom arises: the alarmed
captive, having now no further room to retire, darts wildly sea-ward,
and is caught in the inevitable meshes of the encircling net. After a
moment of violent but feeble struggle, he is laid still and dumb on the
shore.

It is a picture touchingly, terribly exact of our own state. The net has
been spread around us: the sharp knitted lines gradually approach and
touch us. Shrinking from the clammy contact as we would from living
snakes, we retire before them, and still find room. But the lines appear
again, always on the same side. Our space grows narrower as we recede,
from year to year, from week to week, from day to day, until at length
we graze the ground and strike upon the eternal world.

That net cannot be removed or evaded; but it may be changed, so that you
would not fear its approach. When we become new creatures in Christ,
death approaching us becomes a new creature too, as the image in a
mirror changes with the object that stands before it. This dreaded net
becomes like a warm, soft, encircling arm, pressing a frightened infant
closer to a mother's breast.

2. Good and bad alike are drawn in company toward the shore, but the
good and bad are separated when they reach it.

No lesson can be addressed to men more touching, more piercing than
this. Nor is its penetrating power diminished by any deficiency of
authority in the word that presses it home. It is the word of the Lord;
not spoken in parables, but expressly given as the meaning of the
parable that had been spoken. Its force is not weakened by any quiver of
doubt in the Christian brotherhood as to the Master's mind. All
Christians hear this word and understand it alike: the whole assembly,
when they hear it, bow the head and worship. On the authority of our
Redeemer, and in terms so transparent that they afford no room for
doubt, we learn that on the shore to which we are silently, surely
moving, a separation infallibly exact and irrevocably final will be made
between the evil and the good. As to the positive punishment into which
the impenitent will be cast, while I simply receive all the words of the
Lord, I shall take care not to obtrude many of my own. He spoke of
matters beyond the cognizance of sense, and beyond even the range of
imagination, and therefore in the nature of the case we cannot fully
understand his words. But He who utters this solemn warning knows what
we understand by "a furnace of fire," and by "wailing and gnashing of
teeth:" he intends to convey to us, regarding sufferings that are not
only unknown, but in our present condition to us unknowable, as clear
and deep and awe-inspiring an impression as our minds are capable of
receiving. He leads our minds in that direction as far as they can
follow; and, for the rest, darkness will cover it until "that day." In
the direction downward unto death, as well as upward unto life, the word
holds good, "What thou knowest not now, thou shalt know hereafter."
Either line, when it crosses the border of this life, "passeth all
understanding." I suppose it is as completely impossible for a human
heart to conceive what God hath prepared for them that hate him, as to
conceive what he hath prepared for them that love him.

It is eminently noteworthy here, that the clearest, most articulate, and
most emphatic announcements regarding the positive punishment of the
wicked in a future world which the Scriptures contain, were spoken, and
spoken repeatedly, by the lips of the Lord Jesus. Wherefore? Did the
love of the Redeemer sometimes wax cold? Did even he, through the
provocations that he met in his ministry, sometimes forget to be
gracious? No; never at any time did his heart melt more with tenderness
for men than when he proclaimed that the wicked shall be cast into outer
darkness. He not only intimated, as in this parable, that such sentence
would be pronounced, but declared that himself would pronounce it: "When
the Son of man shall come in his glory ... then shall he say unto them
on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire,
prepared for the devil and his angels" (Matt. xxv. 31-41). He who
uttered these words pitied and loved sinners; he loved them while he
spoke these words; he loved them although he spoke these
words;--_because_ he loved them, he spoke these words. The thing which
these words declare is true: Christ did not change the eternal law of
God that evil shall not dwell in his presence: since this law remains
beyond the line of the present world to meet every man as he enters
eternity, it was kind to give us warning. It would have been unkind, and
therefore unlike the Lord, to conceal the dreadful fact, and leave
unwarned sinners to learn it first by feeling it. It was love,
overflowing love in the heart of our Brother, that drew these warnings
repeatedly from his lips. The reason why he tells us that the wicked
shall be cast away, is that we may never be cast away. The good Shepherd
would compel the sheep to flee to the fold by sending out his terrors,
when they refused to be more gently led.

There is a machine in the Bank of England which receives sovereigns, as
a mill receives grain, for the purpose of determining wholesale whether
all are of full weight. As they pass through, the machinery, by unerring
laws, throws all that are light to one side, and all that are of full
weight to another. That process is a silent but solemn parable for me.
Founded as it is upon the laws of nature, it affords the most vivid
similitude of the certainty which characterizes the judgment of the
great day. There are no mistakes or partialities to which the light may
trust: the only hope lies in being of standard weight before they go in.

I gratefully recognise tender, overflowing love, in the faithful
testimony of Christ regarding the punishment of the wicked: it is meant
to compel sinners now to take refuge in his righteousness.[29]

  [29] Arndt closes his exposition of this parable with a hymn, which
  I subjoin, not only for the sake of the doctrinal statement
  regarding the ground of a sinner's hope contained in the first
  verse, but also, and still more, for the union of simplicity and
  solemnity in the conception of future punishment contained in the
  second:--

      Christi Blut und Gerechtigkeit,
      Das ist mein Schmuck und Ehrenkleid;
      Damit will ich vor Gott besteh'n
      Und zu der Himmelsfreud' eingeh'n.

      Hilf, Gott, dass yeder kommen mag,
      Wo tausend Yahr' ist wie ein Tag:
      Vor dem Ort uns, O Gott, bewahr',
      Wo ein Tag ist wie tausend Yahr'!

      Christ's blood and righteousness
      Shall be the marriage-dress,
          In which I'll stand
          At God's right hand
              Forgiven,
          And enter rest
          Among the blest
              In heaven.

      Help, Lord, that we may come
      To thy saints' happy home,
          Where a thousand years
          As one day appears,
              Nor go,
          Where one day appears
          As a thousand years
              For woe.




VIII.

THE UNMERCIFUL SERVANT.


"Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king, which
    would take account of his servants. And when he had begun to reckon,
    one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents. But
    forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold,
    and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment to be
    made. The servant therefore fell down, and worshipped him, saying,
    Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. Then the lord
    of that servant was moved with compassion, and loosed him, and
    forgave him the debt. But the same servant went out, and found one
    of his fellow-servants, which owed him an hundred pence: and he laid
    hands on him, and took him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou
    owest. And his fellow-servant fell down at his feet, and besought
    him, saying, Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all. And he
    would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay the
    debt. So when his fellow-servants saw what was done, they were very
    sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done. Then his
    lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, O thou wicked
    servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me:
    shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow-servant,
    even as I had pity on thee? And his lord was wroth, and delivered
    him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him.
    So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from
    your hearts forgive not every one his brother their
    trespasses."--MATT. xviii. 23-35.

This parable, and that of the Good Samaritan, as has been justly
suggested by Fred. Arndt, although historically separate, are logically
related, like two branches that spring from one stem: together they
express a Christian's duty to his brother in respect of injuries. When a
brother inflicts an injury on you, forgive him; when a brother suffers
an injury from another, help him. Forgiving love is taught in this
parable; helpful love in the parable of the Good Samaritan.

The immediate occasion of this parable is obviously Peter's question,
"How oft shall my brother sin against me and I forgive him?" but how
Peter's question springs from the preceding context does not so readily
appear. The Natural History of the process in that apostle's mind was
probably something of this sort: The Master had instructed his disciples
how they should act in the event of a brother doing them an injury:
three distinct steps are indicated, rising one above another like courts
of appeal; first, a private remonstrance; if that prove unavailing, then
a remonstrance in the presence of one or two witnesses; and lastly, an
appeal to the Church. These rules are very specific, and together
constitute a complete code on the branch of the subject to which they
refer. In the matter of dealing with an offending brother with the view
of bringing him to a better mind, you can no further go: if all these
efforts fail, you must separate yourself from the offender, lest by
continued intimacy you should seem indifferent to his sin. After this
the Lord proceeds to give instruction on other subjects, and especially
on united prayer. Peter, I suppose, had allowed his mind to be so
completely occupied with the question of forgiving injuries, that he
failed to follow his Teacher when the lesson glided into another theme.
I could suppose him to have been so busy with the thought of injuries
received, and the difficulty of forgiving them, all the time that the
Lord was discoursing on united prayer, that he scarcely observed his
Master's words. All the more readily might this happen, if the impetuous
fisherman had a quarrel with some of his neighbours on hand at the very
time, and was exercised in conscience about the duty of bringing it to a
close. At the first pause, the current which had been for a time flowing
under ground, burst out on the surface. Taking up and again abruptly
introducing the subject which had been for some time dismissed, he
asked, as if unconscious that the theme had been changed during his
reverie, "Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive
him? Till seven times?" He wanted to have a number specified, beyond
which he should not be bound to forgive repeated offences. In suggesting
seven he seems to have had in his mind some Pharisaical formula:
probably he thought the allowance was liberal, and expected to be
approved for his magnanimity.

The formula, seventy times seven, while it serves to intimate that there
is in the law no limit to the exercise of a forgiving spirit, seizes
upon Peter's narrow proposal and makes a show of it openly. It is
possible that he may have fallen into a mistake here through the
misapprehension of a lesson on the same subject given by the Lord. He
may have heard the Master teach, as at Luke xvii. 4,--"If he trespass
against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn again
to thee, saying, I repent, thou shalt forgive him." But evidently the
number seven in that discourse has substantially the same meaning with
seventy times seven here: seven times a day, even when literally
understood, includes as much as the absolute seventy times seven. The
doctrine in both cases is that it is not lawful to set any limit to the
principle and the practice of forgiving injuries.

To repeat, expand, and enforce this lesson, the parable is introduced.
The kingdom of heaven is like a man king--ανθρωπῳ βασιλει. Expressly the
divine is in this respect analogous to the human. This ruler proposed to
take account of his servants. It was not the final reckoning, but a
periodical balance. A king is in this respect like a merchant: he takes
account from time to time of his own affairs, and the intromissions of
his servants. "Short counts make long friends."

These servants were not slaves, the property of their master; for
afterwards it is assumed that he may sell them, not as an ordinary
right, but as the special penalty incurred by an insolvent debtor. A
king, in ancient times and oriental regions, entered into pecuniary
transactions with his servants on a great scale. One man, who owes all
to the personal favour of the sovereign, is the governor of a wealthy
province. Bound by no written law, and living at a distance from the
seat of government, that servant possesses always the power, and too
frequently seizes the opportunity of oppressing the people on the one
hand, and defrauding the royal treasury on the other. In many cases
fortunate or powerful dependants farmed the taxes of a district, paying,
or at least promising to pay, a certain sum yearly to the supreme
government, and obtaining authority in return to levy contributions on
the inhabitants for their own behoof, sometimes almost according to
their own pleasure. Vast sums passed through the hands of these great
officers, and vast sums also remained in their hands that should have
passed through them.

The amount specified in the parable--ten thousand talents--is very
great, of whatever species you may suppose the talent to be. The inquiry
which has been prosecuted with a view to determine precisely the value
of the talent in this case is difficult, and does not lead to any
certain or important result. The question is interesting to Biblical
scholars and antiquarians, but the solution of it is by no means
necessary to the perception or the application of our Lord's meaning in
the parable. The sense is completely obtained by taking the ten
thousand talents as a vast but indefinite sum. A hundred talents of
silver constituted the hire of a great army, 2 Chron. xxv. 6; and
notwithstanding the lavish use of gold in the construction of the
Tent-Temple in the wilderness, only twenty-nine talents were employed in
all (Ex. xxxviii. 24). Besides the distinction between gold and silver,
other variations occur in the value of a talent, depending upon time,
place, and other circumstances. In any view of its worth, however, the
disparity between the sum which this servant owed to the master, and the
trifling amount which a fellow-servant owed to him, is as great as the
imagination can effectually grasp; larger numbers would not sensibly
intensify the impression.

"One was brought to him:" this servant would not have come to the king
of his own accord; but he could not escape the interview and the
reckoning. Aware of his enormous debt, he would fain have kept out of
his master's way, but could not. God looks on the heart, and grasps the
conscience, whether the man will or be unwilling.

The punishment is very severe, but in accordance with law and custom. No
complaint is made against the sentence as if it were unjust in
principle, or excessive in degree: the culprit appeals only to the mercy
of the judge, and thus the righteousness of the verdict is tacitly
acknowledged.

His promise to pay means nothing more than his desire to escape. He made
the promise, not in the expectation of being able to perform it, but as
the most likely means of escaping from punishment. His worship was
prompted by selfish fear, not by filial love. He did not know his
master's heart: he thought he would gain his object most readily by
leading the king to expect payment in full.

The king did not grant his servant's request: he did more; he forgave
that servant all. The absolved debtor, as soon as he obtained his
liberty, went out, and met a fellow-servant, who owed him an hundred
pence. I suppose, if that fellow-servant had come to him while yet he
was in his master's presence, he would not have dared to act the tyrant;
but "out of sight, out of mind." He forgot his own prayer, and his
lord's compassion. He grasped the fellow-servant by the throat and threw
him into prison, until he should pay.[30] The amount is comparatively
small, as is fit between servant and servant: the smallness of the debt
brings the cruelty of the creditor out in high relief. His neighbour's
pleading is expressed in the same terms as his own: the sound should
have reminded him of his duty.

  [30] Die am meisten geschont sind erweisen sich als die
  Schonungslosesten. Unter den Flügeln der Zärtlichkeit wird die
  Grausamkeit ausgebrütet. (Those who get most mercy give least; and
  cruelty is hatched under the wings of tenderness).--_Dräseke vom
  Reich Gottes_, ii. 141.

Fellow-servants observing the outrage were at once indignant and
compassionate. They informed their master. The master displeased,
pronounced his condemnation in full. He who showed no mercy to his
brother, received judgment without mercy for himself.

Before proceeding to the exposition of the parable in its spiritual
meaning and application, I shall submit a remark of a general character,
bearing on the parables at large, as well as on this in particular,
which can be made more conveniently now than at the close.

The more I examine the structure and use of the parable in the teaching
of the Lord, the more I am convinced that men make a great mistake when
they betake themselves to a single feature of the natural scene as a
defence of some specific and controverted dogma. The rule may be made
absolute, or if there are exceptions they are few, that the parables are
intended to expand, illustrate, and enforce what is elsewhere clearly
taught in the Scriptures, and not themselves to constitute the grounds
or evidences of the doctrines. But to whatever extent such a general
rule may be applicable, it is most certain that those who run to a
corner of a parable and take their stand on it, as impregnable evidence
of some doctrine which they hold, are in all cases egregiously mistaken.
The controversies, for example, on the question of Church discipline,
which were made to turn on the tares among the wheat, and the net that
caught all kinds of fishes, are a mere waste of words. Those parables do
not afford material for the decision of the question; they do not speak
to the point.

In like manner, when theologians gravely refer to this parable in order
to prove that after a man's sins have been all freely forgiven by God,
he may yet fall from grace, and the guilt of all his sins be laid upon
him at the last, they waste their own time, and trifle with the
scripture. True, in this picture you see one whose great debt was all
freely forgiven by the master brought back into judgment, and made
answerable for the whole amount; but this incidental feature of a human
procedure will not bear the weight which men would fain lay on it. This
king, whose conduct is represented in the parable, is expressly called a
_man_ king. No doubt his procedure in that case is employed to
illustrate some laws of the kingdom of heaven; but this is done by
analogy. Analogy is not identity; the very essence of it lies in
coincidence in some points, with diversity in others; if the two were
identical, there were no longer an analogy. Take two pictures of a
person printed from the same negative photograph; you do not say they
are like each other, they are the same. It is most dangerous to fasten
on any point of the depicted human procedure, and found on it the
affirmation that the divine must be precisely the same.

But besides this general consideration demanding caution, there is
enough in the parable itself absolutely to refute the notion, that God
may forgive a man all his sins, and thereafter lay these very sins all
to his charge. It is indeed said in the earlier portion of the parable
that the lord of that servant forgave him the debt; but it is as clearly
indicated in the close that the debt was not forgiven. The man was cast
into prison until he should pay it all; he was held bound for all the
original debt, and was punished accordingly. If he was forgiven all that
debt, not one penny of it can afterwards be placed to his account; and
if it is afterwards placed to his account, the fact proves that it had
not been forgiven.

The meaning of the phraseology must be determined by the necessary
conditions of the fact. That word of the king, "I forgive thee," was not
a discharge; if it had been, mere justice demanded that the debt
discharged should not be charged again. The fact that it was all charged
again, proves irrefragably that it was not discharged. The meaning in
the light of the facts must be that these terms were offered by the
king. His terms are free forgiveness, bestowed in sovereign love by the
giver, and accepted in grateful love by the receiver. The servant, as is
shown by his conduct, did not accept these terms, and so there was no
transaction.

       *       *       *       *       *

The key-notes of the parable are found at the beginning and the end. It
was spoken in order to show that a man should set no limit to the
forgiveness of injuries; and in order to show this, the parable goes
into the deep things of God. It shows that the motive power which can
produce in man an unlimited forgiveness of his brother, is God's mercy
forgiving himself. At the close it lays down the law, that the act or
habit of extending forgiveness to a brother, is a necessary effect of
receiving forgiveness from God. If you get pardon from God, you will
give it to your brother; if you withhold it from your brother, you
thereby make it manifest that you have not gotten it from God.

As the king determined to take account of his servants during the
currency of their work, and before the final winding up of their
engagement, so the King Eternal in various ways and at various periods
takes account of men, especially of those who know his word, and belong
externally to his Church. One by one the servants are brought into their
Lord's presence. The messenger that brings them may be a commercial
crisis, a personal affliction, or a revival in the neighbourhood. The
King has many messengers at his command, and he employs now one and now
another to bring a professing Christian forward to his presence. When
one who has contrived to keep out of the way, both of his own conscience
and of God, is at length compelled to open his heart to the Omniscient,
and fairly look into it himself, he discovers that his debt is
unspeakably, inconceivably great. The sum of ten thousand talents in the
picture is not an exaggeration; it does not indicate all the guilt which
God detects in the conscience, and which the awakened conscience detects
in itself. It is a dreadful moment when a sinner is brought face to face
with God, and charged with his guilt; it is then that the law performs
its terrible yet merciful work of conviction.

The first purpose that springs in the heart of the alarmed transgressor
is to satisfy the demand: Give me time, and I will pay all. Whether he
deliberately expects to be able to pay it may be doubted; but one thing
is clear, he thinks that nothing else will appease the Master, and he
makes the promise accordingly. This is, in point of fact, the first
proposal of an alarmed conscience, "I will pay thee all." The natural
history of the process is here.

God does not hold the convicted transgressor to his own rash promise.
Treating the criminal, not according to his desert, but according to his
need, the Judge announces the terms of his own covenant--a pardon
immediate, complete, and free.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The same servant went out:" the moment of close dealing between God and
the soul has passed: the man who has trembled at the sight of his sin,
and the prospect of judgment, has heard the Gospel, and gotten a
respite. He goes out from that solemn and searching communion: he is
released for the moment from the presence of the Judge, and from the
sense of his sin. He glides again into the world. He has not been
converted; he has only been frightened. He has not been forgiven; he has
only been respited. He has not accepted God's grace, and therefore is
not under law to God. The fright is past, and faith has not taken its
place. The heart, after terror had driven the evil spirits out, does not
open to the Lord, and therefore the evil spirits come back, and possess
the empty room in sevenfold power. As soon as he comes in the way of
temptation, the unsubdued carnality of his soul asserts its life and
power. A fellow-servant who has in small matters offended him, begs for
pardon, as he had done from God, and begs in vain. He shows no mercy;
the fact proves that he has not himself accepted the mercy that was
offered by God. If the channel of his heart had really been inserted
into the fountain-head of mercy for receiving, mercy would infallibly
have flowed in the way of giving, wherever the need of a brother made an
opening; if the vessel had been charged, it would certainly have
discharged. No compassion flowed from that heart to refresh a
fellow-creature in distress, because that heart had never truly opened
to accept mercy from God; the reservoir was empty, and therefore the
outbranching channels remained dry.[31]

  [31] Dräseke expresses the same conception in his own peculiarly
  terse and antithetic way:--So gewiss kein Gottesreich ohne die
  Schulderlassung die wir empfangen; so gewiss kein Gottesreich ohne
  die Schulderlassung die wir leisten. (As certainly as there is no
  kingdom of God without the forgiveness which we receive, so
  certainly there is no kingdom of God without the forgiveness which
  we bestow.)--ii. 147.

Beyond all question, the design of the Lord in this parable is to
enforce the duty of forgiving one another. In teaching this lesson, he
touches matters greater than itself; but these occupy here only a
secondary place. The drift of the parable is to take off the artificial
limit laid by Peter, and by the Pharisees before him, on the disposition
to forgive an offending brother, and to leave it limitless,--infinite,
as far as the faculties and the time of men can reach.

I think the substance of the lesson may be expressed in these two words,
the _practice_ and the _principle_ of forgiving injuries. These two are
in effect the _ultimate act_ and the _secret power_ that produced it.
They are at once distinguished and united in that new commandment which
Jesus gave to his disciples,--"That ye love one another, as I have loved
you" (John xiii. 34). The first part of that commandment tells what
they ought to do, and the second part tells what will make them do it.
It is when they place themselves under the power of Christ's forgiving
love to themselves, that they are impelled in turn to forgive each his
brother. The duty corresponds to the moving machinery, and the motive to
the stream of living water which makes the machinery go.

1. The PRACTICE of forgiving injuries. The terms employed indicate
clearly enough that the injuries which man suffers from his fellow are
trifling in amount, especially in comparison of each man's guilt in the
sight of God. There is a meaning in the vast and startling difference
between ten thousand talents and a hundred pence. Even when the injury
is the greatest that human beings are capable of inflicting on the one
side, and enduring on the other; even when an enemy has killed the body
and ceased then, because he has no more that he can do, it is still a
measurable thing. Love in a finite being's heart may swell high over it,
and exult in bestowing forgiveness on the murderer with the victim's
dying breath. In the beginning of the Gospel a vivid example of that
very thing stands recorded: "Lord," said Stephen with fainting heart and
failing breath, "Lord, lay not this sin to their charge." Great as the
injury was, according to earthly measurements, the imperfect love that
lived in a man's heart was more than a match for it, and the martyr with
his dying breath forgave his murderers. But how rare are those injuries
that rise to this extreme height! Most of the injuries with which we are
called to deal are small, even in relation to human capacity: they are
very often precisely of the size that our own temper makes them. Some
people possess the art of esteeming great injuries small, and some the
art of esteeming small injuries great. The first is like a traveller
who throws a great many stones out of the burden which he carries, and
so walks with ease along the road; the other is like a traveller who
gathers a great many stones on the way-side, and adds them to his
burden, and is therefore soon crushed by the load.

But more than this: the foolish man who made his burden heavier, retains
the redoubled weight upon his back; while the wise man who made his
burden lighter, contrives to throw off even the smaller weight that
remained. The same spirit that induced the suffering Christian to
diminish his estimate of the injury, induces him to forgive even that
which remains, and thus he gets quit of it altogether; for to forgive
it, is equivalent to throwing it away, in as far as it had power to
burden or irritate you. On the other hand, the same spirit which in an
irritable man magnified and multiplied the actual injury which he
received, prevents him from forgiving the great and exaggerated mass;
thus in effect he is crushed under the accumulated weight of all the
real injury he has sustained, and all the imaginary injury he has added.
The compassionate, loving man, who counted the great injury small, was
relieved even of that small remnant by forgiving it: the selfish,
unloving man, who counted a small injury great, could not forgive his
neighbour, and so was compelled to bear the heavy burden on his heart.
In this case that sublime rule of the Scripture takes effect: "To him
that hath shall be given, and he shall have abundance; but from him that
hath not shall be taken even that which he hath." [32]

  [32] Fred. Arndt puts the lesson warmly and well; his appeal is in
  substance this:--"A man without compassion has all against him, God
  and the world; and meets as many adversaries in judgment as he had
  associates in life. Woe to him who is arraigned in secret by the
  tears of the feeble and oppressed! The sighs which he has pressed
  out, the plaints which he has generated, cry up to heaven against
  him, and their echo clangs horrid from heaven down again upon the
  life of the loveless and revengeful.... And can we sleep in peace
  another hour, as long as there are men upon the earth with whom we
  live in unpeace and enmity? Cannot be written the happiness, the
  inward bliss of the peaceful and peace-making. Revenge, indeed,
  seems often sweet to men; but, oh, it is only sugared poison, only
  sweetened gall, and its after taste is bitter as hell. Forgiving,
  enduring love alone is sweet and blissful; it enjoys peace and the
  consciousness of God's favour. By forgiving, it gives away and
  annihilates the injury. It treats the injurer as if he had not
  injured, and therefore feels no more the smart and sting that he had
  inflicted. Forgiveness is a shield from which all the fiery darts of
  the wicked one harmless rebound. Forgiveness brings heaven to earth,
  and heaven's peace into the sinful heart. Forgiveness is the image
  of God, the forgiving Father, and an advancement of Christ's kingdom
  in the world. Your unalterable duty is clear: as surely as we are
  Christians, men who have experienced great compassion, who see in
  every man a brother in Christ, and are going forward to God's
  righteous judgment, so surely we must forgive. Of no commandment
  will the fulfilment be demanded of us with such stringency, no
  divine rule so strictly enforced as this, without the slightest
  exception to leave a loop-hole of hope to the transgressor. If we
  forgive not those who injure us, neither will our heavenly Father
  forgive us; and this would be the greatest calamity that could
  befall us in time and in eternity."--_Die vergebende Liebe; oder
  Gleichniss vom Schalksknecht_.

But we must carefully discriminate here, and ascertain what the Lord
means by forgiving a brother. There should not be a little, narrow,
grudging forgiveness; it should be large, loving, and free. But parallel
with forgiveness there must be faithfulness. Faithfulness to the
evil-doer himself, and to the community, comes in here to modify, not
the nature, but the outward form of forgiving.

For example, there is no virtue in simply permitting a man to wrong you
as often as he chooses,--forgiving him and doing nothing more. In the
immediately preceding context the Lord has taught that the injured
should tell the injurer his fault. Tell him faithfully in secret his
sin: if he repent, thou hast gained thy brother: if he do not listen,
tell it in the presence of two or three witnesses: if he is still
obdurate, tell it to the Church: and if he refuse to hear the Church
withdraw from his company; let him and all the world know that you do
not make light of his sin.

Again, in some kinds of injury, it becomes your duty for the sake of the
community to aid in bringing the criminal to justice. To bring the
discipline of the righteous law upon the criminal, is not revenge: to
shield him from its stroke is not love. So far from being necessarily
inconsistent with forgiveness, such faithfulness in action may be
associated with a Christ-like love to the sinner, and a thorough
forgiveness of his sin, as an injury inflicted upon you.

Here is a side on which there is much room for advancement: let us
forget the things that lie behind us on this path, and reach forward to
higher attainments. In as far as Christians unite faithfulness and
tenderness in their treatment of evil-doers, they become "imitators of
God, as dear children."

2. The PRINCIPLE of forgiving injuries. Suppose that the methods for
practice are accurately laid down, where shall we find a sufficient
motive? Suppose that an unexceptionable machinery has been constructed,
whence shall we obtain an adequate force to set it in motion? From an
upper spring in heaven the motive power must flow; it can be supplied
only by God's forgiving love, on us bestowed and by us accepted. When,
like little closed vessels, we are charged by union with the
fountain-head, forgiving love to erring brothers will burst
spontaneously from our hearts at every opportunity that opens in the
intercourse of life.

The express command of Him who redeemed us is, "Love one another, as I
have loved you." In teaching his disciples how to pray, he linked their
promise to forgive with their plea for forgiveness, so that no prayer
of theirs should rise to heaven for receiving pardon unless it were
accompanied by an engagement expressed or implied to bestow pardon:
"Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors."

But there is much more in the connection between receiving and bestowing
forgiveness than can be expressed by the conception of yielding to the
pressure of a motive. It is not only obedience to a command enjoined; it
is the exercise of an instinct that has been generated in the new
nature. The method in which this and other graces operate is expressed
by an apostle thus: "It is no more I that live, but Christ that liveth
in me." When Christ is in you, he is in you not only the hope of glory,
but also the forgiving of an erring brother.

A traveller in Burmah, after fording a certain river, found his body
covered all over by a swarm of small leeches, busily sucking his blood.
His first impulse was to tear the tormentors from his flesh: but his
servant warned him that to pull them off by mechanical violence would
expose his life to danger. They must not be torn off, lest portions
remain in the wounds and become a poison; they must drop off
spontaneously, and so they will be harmless. The native forthwith
prepared a bath for his master, by the decoction of some herbs, and
directed him to lie down in it. As soon as he had bathed in the balsam
the leeches dropped off.

Each unforgiven injury rankling in the heart is like a leech sucking the
life-blood. Mere human determination to have done with it, will not cast
the evil thing away. You must bathe your whole being in God's pardoning
mercy; and these venomous creatures will instantly let go their hold.
You will stand up free.

Two wheels protrude from a factory, and are seen in motion on the outer
wall by every passenger. They move into each other. The upper wheel is
large, the under small. From without and at a distance, you cannot tell
whether the upper is impelling the under, or the under moving the upper.
This question, however, might be settled by an inspection of the
interior. By such an inspection it would be found that the larger and
higher wheel communicates motion to the lower and smaller. If the upper
wheel, which communicates the motion, should stand still, so also would
the lower: but more than this,--if the lower wheel, which receives the
motion, should by some impediment be stopped, the upper wheel also would
stand still.

It is in some such way that God's goodness in forgiving freely for
Christ's sake our sins, impels us to forgive from the heart those that
have trespassed against us. The power is all from above; yet, though we
by our goodness do not set the beneficent machinery in motion, we may by
our badness cause it all to stand still. It is not our forgiveness
accorded to an evil-doer that procures forgiveness to ourselves from
God; the opposite is the truth: yet our refusal of forgiveness to a
brother prevents the flow of pardon down from God to our guilty hearts.
Such is the structure of the covenant. It is only a small part of that
covenant that we can comprehend; but, as far as we are able to perceive
its provisions, behold, they are very good!

While a few acres of cold barren moorland constitute all your heritage,
if a neighbour encroaches on it by a hair's-breadth, you assert your
right and repel the aggression: possibly you may, in your zeal, accuse
him of an intention to trespass, if you see him digging his own ground
near your border. While your property is very small, you are afraid of
losing any of it; and perhaps you cry out before you are hurt. But if
you become heir to a broad estate in a fertile valley, you will no
longer be disposed to watch the motions of your neighbour, and go to law
with him for a spadeful of moss that he may have taken from a disputed
spot.

Thus, while a human soul has no other portion than an uncertain shred of
this uncertain world, he is kept in terror lest an atom of his property
should be lost; he will do battle with all his might against any one who
is, or seems to be, encroaching on his honour, or business, or property:
but when he becomes a child of God, and an heir of an incorruptible
inheritance--when he is a prince on the steps of a throne, he can afford
to overlook small deductions from a possession that is insignificant in
itself, and liable to be taken away at any time without an hour's
warning.

In this aspect it is eminently worthy of notice that the disciples, when
their Master on another occasion (Luke xvii. 3-5), taught them a similar
doctrine on the forgiveness of injuries, immediately exclaimed,
"Increase our faith." They seem to have been surprised by the extent of
the demand, and conscious of their inability to meet it. As soon as the
duty of forgiving injuries was laid before them in its true magnitude,
they were brought to a stand; but they had sense to know wherein their
weakness lay, and simplicity to seek in the proper quarter for renewed
strength. It was a true instinct that led them, then and there, to plead
for an increase of faith. A wider, freer channel for the inflow of God's
compassion into their own hearts,--this is what they need in the
emergency, and this is what they get from the Lord.

The miller, finding that some of the lumps are large and hard, and that
the mill-stones are consequently almost standing still, goes quietly out
and lets more water on. Go you, and do likewise. When injuries that seem
large and hard are accumulated on your head, and the process of
forgiving them begins to choke and go slow under the pressure, as if it
would soon stop altogether; when the demand for forgiveness grows great,
and the forgiving power in the heart is unable to meet it;--then, enter
into your closet and shut your door, and pray to your Father
specifically for more experience of his forgiving love; so shall your
forgiving love grow stronger, and overcome every obstacle that stands in
its way. Your heart, under the fresh impulse of pardon to you through
the blood of the covenant, will toss off with ease the load of
impediments that obstructed for a time its movements, and you will
forgive even as you have been forgiven.




IX.

THE VINEYARD LABOURERS.


"For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is an householder,
    which went out early in the morning to hire labourers into his
    vineyard. And when he had agreed with the labourers for a penny a
    day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out about the third
    hour, and saw others standing idle in the market-place, and said
    unto them; Go ye also into the vineyard, and whatsoever is right I
    will give you. And they went their way. Again he went out about the
    sixth and ninth hour, and did likewise. And about the eleventh hour
    he went out, and found others standing idle, and saith unto them,
    Why stand ye here all the day idle? They say unto him, Because no
    man hath hired us. He saith unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard;
    and whatsoever is right, that shall ye receive. So when even was
    come, the lord of the vineyard saith unto his steward, Call the
    labourers, and give them their hire, beginning from the last unto
    the first. And when they came that were hired about the eleventh
    hour, they received every man a penny. But when the first came, they
    supposed that they should have received more; and they likewise
    received every man a penny. And when they had received it, they
    murmured against the goodman of the house, saying, These last have
    wrought but one hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, which
    have borne the burden and heat of the day. But he answered one of
    them, and said, Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree
    with me for a penny? Take that thine is, and go thy way: I will give
    unto this last, even as unto thee. Is it not lawful for me to do
    what I will with mine own? Is thine eye evil, because I am good? So
    the last shall be first, and the first last; for many be called, but
    few chosen."--MATT. xx. 1-16.

Again the heavenly kingdom is compared to the proceedings of a human
householder. While in fertile plains, like Esdraelon, the grain-field
was the Hebrew husbandman's chief care, on the mountain sides, the
vineyards were the most valuable property, and required the greatest
amount of labour. The steepness of the slopes on which the vine grows
best, greatly increases the owner's toil. In many cases the terraces
must be supported by strong stone walls; and not only must the manure
be carried on men's shoulders up the steep, but in some cases even the
soil itself is carried up in the same way, and laid upon the bare rocks.

Different kinds of work are required in vineyards at different seasons.
In spring they prepare the soil; in summer they prune and tie up the
vine branches; and in autumn all the joyous labour of the vintage comes
suddenly on. Looking to the circumstance in the parable, that the
labourers who began early counted much on having borne the heat of the
day, we might be inclined to suppose that the scene is laid in the
middle of summer; but the fact that the householder required so many
labourers and hired all that he could find, points rather to the vintage
in the end of autumn.

The master went out early in the morning to hire labourers. There was
some spot, doubtless, recognised both by masters and men, as the common
meeting-place for those who needed work, and those who needed
workmen,--the Cross or the Buchts[33] of that place and day. This
husbandman at once engaged all the men that he found, and sent them into
his vineyard to begin work at six in the morning,--the first hour of the
Jewish day. The terms were arranged beforehand,--a penny a day. The
Roman denarius is reckoned equal to sevenpence half-penny of our money;
but obviously it was considered the ordinary rate of a labourer's wages
at the time.

  [33] The name of a great trysting place for selling cattle and
  hiring men and women on the eastern outskirts of the city of
  Glasgow, where the two operations resemble each other too closely
  for the credit of our institutions or the safety of society.

Again at nine o'clock the husbandman went to the market-place, and
finding some unemployed men, sent them also to work in his vineyard.
Again at mid-day, and yet once more at five o'clock in the afternoon he
went out, and finding men on each occasion loitering about the
market-place, he sent them also into the vineyard. In these cases,
however, as was meet when the day was broken, the master did not promise
any specific rate of wages; and the men, thankful for an opportunity of
turning to some profitable account a day which would otherwise have been
wholly lost, were content to accept whatever he might be pleased to
give.

About six o'clock in the evening,--earlier or later according to the
season of the year and the consequent duration of daylight at the
time,--work in the vineyard ceased for the day, and each labourer,
called forward in turn by the steward, received his wages in the
master's presence.[34] The steward, acting doubtless under special
instructions, called first the men who had entered the vineyard at five,
and quitted it at six, and gave each a penny for his hour's work.
Surprised by the munificence of their employer, these men retire towards
their homes with silent gratitude. Afterwards those who had laboured
one-half, and those who had laboured three-fourths of the day, were
called in succession, and each received also a penny. Last of all came
the men who had laboured from morning till night. They had been standing
near, and had observed that all their fellow-labourers, not excepting
even those who had been employed only an hour, received the same uniform
reward, each man a penny. As this process was going on, they cherished
in silence the expectation that when their turn should come, they would
receive more of the master's money, because they had done more of his
work. But the steward, evidently acting on precise orders, gave each of
these men also a penny, and no more. No longer able to conceal their
disappointment, although they were well aware that they had no legal
claim for more than they had received, they broke out into murmurs
against their employer. Of course, he closed their mouths in a moment:
he had completely fulfilled his agreement with them, and they had no
right to interfere with his spontaneous generosity, whenever and towards
whomsoever he might choose to exercise it.

  [34] By law, wages for the work of the day must be paid the same
  evening (Deut. xxiv. 15).

Here, again, the key-notes of the parable are found at the beginning and
at the end. The direct and immediate occasion of the discourse lies in
Peter's question at the 27th verse of the nineteenth chapter, "We have
forsaken all and followed thee: what shall we have therefore?" But as
the parable sprang from Peter's question, so Peter's question sprang
from an antecedent fact. To that fact, accordingly, we must look as the
true ultimate root on which the parable grows.

As Jesus was going about in the Father's business, attended by the
twelve, a young man came running forward to him, bending the knee in
token of reverence (Mark x. 17), and asking, "Good master, what good
thing shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?" Accommodating his
lesson to the condition of the learner's heart, the Lord saw meet, at
the close of his discourse, to lay a specific cross on this promising
disciple, in order at once to reach and eradicate the specific disease
that threatened the life of his soul,--"Sell all that thou hast, and
come, follow me." The young man loved the world more than Christ:
compelled to make his choice, he cleaved to the portion that he loved
best. When by the sovereign act of the Lord he was placed in such a
position that he could not enjoy both portions, he parted with the
Saviour and clung to his wealth. Peter and the rest of the apostles
listened and looked on, during this decisive interview: they gazed after
the youth, perhaps with tears, as he slowly and sorrowfully withdrew.
But their Lord did not leave the impressive fact to sink into their
minds in silence: He interposed at the moment, to print the lesson
permanently on their hearts, "How hardly shall they that have riches
enter into the kingdom of heaven!" "Then answered Peter;"--as usual this
impetuous man burst suddenly into a speech upon the point in hand,
before he had well considered what he was about to say. For one thing,
there is no deceit in Peter's question; he thinks aloud, and his thought
is one of intense and undisguised self-conceit. The spirit of the
Pharisee was there, "Lord, I thank thee that I am not as other men." His
heart at this moment was undisguisedly mercenary; his eye was on the
main chance. We have done and suffered so much for God; what return may
we expect for our services? That young rich man would not part with his
portion in this world, in order to follow Christ: Peter, thereupon, made
a most comfortable comparison between himself and the undecided youth,
and expressed a hope that his own great devotion would not be overlooked
in the day of reward.

I sometimes think the Papists acted wisely in making Peter the first
Pope. He serves better as a type for them than any one of the twelve,
unless they had gone all the way and chosen Judas. None of the true men
were so forward as Peter in giving their judgment, or so frequently
wrong.

The reply of our Lord to Peter's self-righteous demand is twofold.
First, he owns and reiterates the truth that all labourers in his
kingdom will be rewarded; and next corrects the abuse of that principle
into which a self-pleasing human heart is apt to fall. In the discourse
recorded at the close of the nineteenth chapter, he teaches the cheering
truth that the Lord will richly reward the services of his people, and
in the subsequent parable gives to them and us a solemn admonition
against the error into which Peter had been for the moment betrayed.

The positive doctrine regarding compensation for all sacrifices and
wages for all work needs only to be read in the memorable words of
Jesus, as the evangelist has recorded them here. Notwithstanding the
incrustations of ignorant self-righteousness that now and then covered
and disfigured their faith, these Galileans have in very deed left all
for Christ, and shall all in very deed receive from Christ a
hundred-fold. Even Peter's own decisive life-act,--his consecration to
Jesus, was a higher and purer thing than his own foolish words at this
time would represent it to have been. It was not with a mercenary eye to
a subsequent equivalent that he left his nets and followed Jesus. That
self-devotion in the simplicity of faith will be gloriously recompensed,
notwithstanding the subsequent slips that dishonour the disciple and
grieve the Master; but Peter, and through him all men, must be clearly
taught that work done for the sake of the reward is not owned in the
kingdom of heaven.[35]

  [35] These two are thus united and distinguished by
  Dräseke,--"Although the kingdom of God is God's gift in the souls of
  men, yet without a worthiness in men it can neither begin nor
  continue, neither reveal nor develop itself. And again, although our
  worthiness is necessary, we nevertheless obtain the kingdom, not
  through the merit of works, but from the fulness of grace, yea, from
  that alone. In short, the kingdom demands workers; hirelings it
  disdains (das Reich verlangt Arbeiter; Söldlinge verschmäht es)....
  Thus it stands shut against the hireling, open to the worker. Not as
  though the kingdom needed thy labour. He who makes the winds his
  messengers and the flames his servants, can do without thy
  hand-work, O little man. Thy labour avails not; but that thou
  shouldest be a labourer, that thou shouldest have a mind for God,
  and through that mind shouldest elevate thy life into a free and
  joyful service of him--that avails."--_Vom Reich Gottes_, ii. 40,
  42.

  Remarkable is the construction of the chain by which this writer
  connects the poor unemployed men who were standing idle in the
  market-place with the ever-during, ever-increasing satisfaction of
  their souls in eternity. So verlangt das Reich Arbeiter, nicht
  Söldlinge. Es beruft die Arbeitlosen. Es stellt die Bernfenen an. Es
  beschäftigt die Angestelleten. Es übt die Beschäftigten. Es belohnt
  die Geübten. Es genügt den Belohnten. Und Gnüge währt ewig; wächst
  ewig.--ii. 51.

Every one that hath forsaken earthly possessions for Christ's sake shall
receive an hundred-fold, and shall inherit everlasting life,--"_But_
many that are first shall be last, and the last first."

This short antithetic sentence is the very gate by which we enter into
the meaning of the parable; if we rightly comprehend it, we rightly
comprehend all. It is necessary to determine here the connection between
this sentence and the doctrine, which is taught in the immediately
preceding verses. While the Lord undertakes that service and sacrifice
in his cause will be rewarded, he warns his disciples in the next breath
that those who labour longest, or produce the greatest quantity of work,
do not in every case, and necessarily, receive the highest reward. In
his kingdom the reward is not measured only and always by the length of
the service or the quantity of work; many who are first as to the amount
of work done will be last as to the amount of recompense received.

A lesson drawn from this scriptural principle may be legitimately
addressed to those who are not within the kingdom, but I think the
Master in this parable primarily intends to draw distinctions, not
between those who are within and those who are without, but between two
classes of genuine disciples,--between those who simply trust in the
Lord and serve him in love, and those who, although also in the main
believers, allow the leaven of self-righteousness to creep in and mar
the simplicity of their faith.[36]

  [36] On the other hand the text, Luke xiii. 30, although precisely
  similar to this in form, distinguishes, as may be seen from the
  context, between those who are within and those who are without.

It is not said that those who are first in the quantity of work shall
all or uniformly be last in the measure of reward, but "many" that are
first shall be last. Some who are foremost in the amount of service may
also be most free from the self-righteous spirit, and some who have
laboured least may also receive least if they do their little under the
influence of a hireling's selfishness. The meaning is, that although you
be first as to length of time and quantity of labour, if the leaven of
self-righteousness mingle in your offering, you will be lowest in the
Master's esteem, and least in the day of reward; whereas, although you
be last in point of time, and least in point of service, if you receive
all from Christ's mercy, and render all in love to Christ, you will be
higher in the end than some who seemed more energetic and successful
workers.

"For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that is a householder,"
&c. This picture will illustrate the truth which has been declared; the
householder represents Christ, the vineyard his kingdom, and the
labourers his servants. The main lesson of the parable concerns, not the
way of redemption, but the service which the redeemed render to their
Lord. The wages of the labourer represent the rewards which Christ
confers upon his servants, but this must be taken with certain
explanations and limitations, especially these two,--(1.) That the
reward is partly a thing now begun, and partly something that is
completed in heaven; (2.) That the value of the reward depends
essentially on the disposition of heart with which the workman receives
it.

It is not necessary to determine whether the labourers who were first
hired, and who laboured all the day, represent the Jews under the first
dispensation, or those in the Christian Church who individually are
converted in early youth, and continue in Christ's service throughout a
long life, or those who, from special talent, or zeal, or opportunity,
do and suffer most for the Lord and his cause. The all-day labourers may
represent all these classes, each in turn, and especially the last. We
must not understand exclusively by "the first" those who began first in
point of time. The term indicates rather those who are first in the
sense of being chief or greatest; it points especially to those who were
first in rank as having endured the greatest amount of loss, and done
the greatest amount of work in Christ's cause. In the parable it is true
those who were first sent into the vineyard, in point of time, were
chief among the labourers as to the quantity of labour contributed, but
the time is only an accident. The matter truly brought into view is not
the time, but the quantity of work. Time is here employed simply as a
measure of quantity, for it is obviously assumed throughout that all the
men performed equal amounts of labour in equal times. It conduces
greatly to a clear conception of the whole lesson when you think of the
first and last as indicating those who did and suffered most in Christ's
cause and those who did and suffered least.

Those who toiled only one hour or other larger fraction of a working
day had no contract as to amount of wages; they entered the vineyard and
laboured without a bargain. They did not know what wages they would be
paid with, but they knew what master they were working for; they were
prepared to accept whatever he might be pleased to bestow. In this
respect they correctly represent the truest of Christ's disciples--those
little-child Christians whom he sets up as a pattern for others. Those,
on the other hand, who were first in point of time, and therefore first
in point of quantity, made their bargain before they began. This is like
disciples who slide back in some measure from the simplicity of faith
and allow a mercenary motive to mingle in their devotions. Especially is
it like Peter when, contrasting his own large sacrifices with the
refusal of the young man to sacrifice anything, and counting himself
first, while he looked down on others as last, he cunningly
inquired,--Lord, what shall we get for leaving all and following thee?
In answer to his egotistical inquiry, he is informed in plain terms that
he is one of those first who shall be last. This, however, according to
all the analogy of Scripture, is not, in regard to Peter or any
individual disciple, an absolute prediction of what shall be, but a
warning of what may be if the same spirit remain.

Our Scottish forefathers at the period of the Reformation suffered much
for Christ; some pined long in prison, some died at the stake. These
were first, and we who contribute a few pounds to a missionary society,
or teach a Sabbath school, or visit some poor families, are last in
respect to the quantity of our doing and suffering in the Saviour's
cause. But if any of those first were proud of their sufferings, they
will be last in the reward; and whosoever of these last give their mite
in simple love to the Lord that bought them, will be first when he
comes to bring home his own.

Such is the structure of the parable that it must express the difference
by giving one labourer not an absolutely but a comparatively greater
amount of wages than another. The last are recompensed at a higher rate
than the first, yet all go home with the same sum of money. But although
the labourers are all equal in the absolute amount of wages received,
the last are made higher than the first by a distinct addition to the
pecuniary recompence--that is, a contented, loving, thankful mind.

See the two groups of labourers as they severally wend their way home
that evening. As to amount of money in their pockets, they are all
equal: but as to amount of content in their spirits there is a great
difference. The last go home each with a penny in his pocket, and
astonished glad gratitude in his heart: their reward accordingly is a
penny, and _more_. The first, on the contrary, go home, each with a
penny in his pocket, and corroding discontent in his soul: their reward
accordingly is _less_ than a penny. Those who know how great a gain is
godliness with contentment, and how small a gain is even godliness, when
discontent is eating into it like rust, will allow that, while the
labourers first and last alike had each his penny, yet the last were
first and the first last in the real value of their reward.

Considering that Peter is evidently designated as one of the first who
shall be last, I cannot understand the parable otherwise than as showing
differences among the disciples of Christ,--differences in simplicity of
spirit while the labour lasts, and consequently in the value of the
reward when the labour is done. As all the labourers get the wages of a
day, so all who are represented by them, inherit the kingdom: but as
one star differeth from another star in glory, so shall it be when
Christ comes to gather all his own. They will wear the brightest crowns
who thought most of their Redeemer's goodness, and least of their own
sacrifice and work.

The latter clause of the 16th verse, "for many be called, but few
chosen," being evidently attached to the parable as its application by
the Lord, demands our earnest attention.[37] If we should understand by
it, that many hear the call of the Gospel, but few are chosen by God and
admitted through regeneration into his family, it would not be possible,
as far as I can perceive, to assign to it any proper connection with the
lesson of the parable. But by the terms in which this sentence is
introduced, it is clearly intimated that it is the very conclusion and
kernel, so to speak, of the doctrine which the parable was intended to
convey. Whether we shall be able to understand it or not, it certainly
must be something precisely in the line of the preceding instructions.
In that direction we must seek for its meaning; for it is manifestly
introduced as a gathering up in short and condensed form of all that the
parable contained.

  [37] While in some cases the application of the parable which the
  Lord himself makes at the moment is full and perspicuous, it is in
  other cases like the parables themselves, and doubtless for good
  reasons, short, sententious, and partially veiled. In some cases the
  subjoined doctrine must be read in the light of the parable itself
  ere it can be understood. "Majus vero et certius auxilium interpreti
  paratur in illis locis, in quibus ipse Jesus sensum parabolarum
  explicat, quod quidem modo luculentius, ut in orationibus Mat. XIII.
  modo paucis tantum verbis fit. Saepe enim praemittitur vel
  subjungitur ab eo doctrina per parabolam prolata, quae tamen ipsa
  interdum paulo obscurius exprimitur, ita ut nisi per parabolam ipsam
  intelligi non possit."--_Schultze de par._ 86.

The exposition suggested by Bengel is simple, consistent, and clear; and
it is, I think, correct. Taking the term "called" as signifying not all
to whom the call of the Gospel is addressed, but those only who are
effectually called,--not those who only hear, but those who also obey
the call,--taking the term in this sense, which is a sober and
scriptural view, he finds that this is not a distinction between saved
and lost, but between two classes of the saved. The called and the
chosen are both true disciples of Christ, and heirs of eternal life, and
yet there is some distinction between them. Chosen must here therefore
mean, what it did sometimes mean in ancient times, and does often mean
still, the best of their kind. We constantly speak of choice or select
articles, meaning the most excellent. The phrase, whether used
proverbially before Christ's time or not, is in nature and structure
proverbial. He either found it a proverb and used it, or he made it a
proverb there and then, for such it essentially is. It seems to have
been employed by the Lord on more than one occasion, and differently
applied at different times. As we might say among a great number of
manufactured articles, all true and genuine, "few are first-rate;" so,
among a great number of real disciples, few stand out unselfish,
unworldly, and Christ-like, honouring their Lord, and making the world
wonder. Most, even of those who are disciples indeed, and shall inherit
eternal life, are so marred by self-righteous admixtures, and
unsanctified temper, and conformity to the world, that their light is
dim and their witness inarticulate. Peter, for example, was one of the
called, in that he heard and obeyed Christ, and was saved; but he was
not a chosen or choice disciple, when he demanded of his Saviour what he
should get for what he had done; or when in the hour and power of
darkness, he denied all connection with Jesus of Nazareth. Alas! though
there are many Christians, how few there are who forget the things
behind, and press forward till they reach the high calling of God in
Christ Jesus.[38]

  [38] In the transaction with the young man from which this parable
  remotely springs, an analogous expression is employed to indicate a
  chosen or choice disciple; "Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be
  perfect, go and sell that thou hast," &c. (xix. 21.) The term
  "perfect" in that text seems to be entirely parallel with "chosen."
  The meaning of both is determined by the main drift of the parable;
  and the meaning thus given accords with the analogy of faith.

  Another remarkable confirmation of this exposition is found in the
  use of the same term, εκλεκτοι, in Rev. xvii. 14. The word in that
  passage must have the same meaning that we have attributed to it in
  the parable. Two reasons, a supreme and subordinate, are given to
  account for the victory of the Lamb,--his own omnipotence, and the
  trustworthy character of the instruments whom he employs. "The Lamb
  shall overcome them: for he is Lord of lords and King of kings: and
  they that are with him are called, and chosen, and faithful;" κλητοὶ
  καὶ ἐκλεκτοὶ καὶ πιστοὶ. If you understand here by ἐκλεκτοὶ, chosen
  by God in the eternal covenant, the logical arrangement becomes
  obscure. It would be strange if, in enumerating the qualifications
  of soldiers, one should represent first that they were summoned to
  the warfare, next that they were chosen for that purpose before, and
  last that they were stanch in the battlefield. If this had been the
  meaning of ἐκλεκτοὶ it must have stood first in order. The fact that
  it stands second suggests another explanation. Take it, in the sense
  which it readily assumes and frequently bears, and the order of the
  series becomes at once transparent. The soldiers were "called, and
  choice, and faithful." They were enlisted in the cause, excellent in
  character, and found unflinching when the fight began.

Some obvious practical lessons may be appended to the exposition.

1. Judge not. Let a man examine himself rather than his neighbour. When
Peter saw the young man refusing to make a sacrifice for Christ, he
complacently remembered his own sacrifices, and thought he had done
remarkably well. Ah, Peter, Satan desires to have thee that he may sift
thee as wheat; but what by the Master's rebukes addressed to him, and
what by prayers poured out for him, he will be saved; yet so as by fire.
You left all, you say, to follow Jesus; and how much was that? a share
in a boat and some nets, both probably the worse for wear. Ah, Peter, if
you had been as rich as this young man, I am not sure whether you would
not have done as he did,--gone away, sorrowful indeed, but away from
Jesus!

Disciples of Christ that are poor, should beware of judging the
disciples who are rich. You were enabled to break the tie that bound you
to the earth; and you see a neighbour struggling with the yoke still on
his neck. Be not high-minded but fear. The line that bound you was a
slender cord; the line that binds that brother is a cart rope. He, if he
is set free at a later day, may be first in the day of reward, and you
last.

2. All whom the Lord meets and calls are sent to work, and all go. From
the moment they meet the Master till the evening of life's labour-day,
they work for him. They not only labour for the Lord, they labour "in
the Lord." Thus it is not a pain but a pleasure; it is their meat and
their drink.

God needs not our work, but we, for our own sakes, need work in his
kingdom. He can find other servants; but if we refuse his call we shall
never find a "good Master."

3. The true spirit of a worker is love to the Master, and to the work
for the Master's sake. The moment that a thought of merit glides into
the servant's heart, it brings him down, not indeed from the number of
true disciples, but from the highest to the lowest class there.

Among the motives that, in these matters, sway a human heart, there are
two forces equal and opposite: one is a humble, broken-hearted
consciousness that you deserve nothing, and receive all free; the other
is a self-righteous conceit that your valuable services deserve a great
reward. If this latter spirit is the main spring of your activity, it
determines your position to be altogether outside of the circle of true
believers; if it intrudes more or less as a temptation, and tinges with
self-righteous blemishes a substantial faith in Christ, it reduces you
from the highest to the lowest rank of disciples, and from the first to
the last in the final award of those who serve the Lord.

In one of its aspects the lesson of this parable is parallel with that
which is taught by the experience of the penitent thief. Both greatly
magnify the patience and long-suffering of God: they record and
proclaim, each in its own way, that there is hope at the eleventh hour.
But in such a case, a perverse carnal mind frequently turns the grace of
God into lasciviousness. Because the mercy of our Redeemer is stretched
to the furthest verge of safety to leave room for the outcast to enter,
when on the darkening evening of the day of grace he flees at last from
the wrath to come; souls cleaving to the dust, take the liberty of
stretching their expectations a little further than Christ stretched his
offer, and find the door shut, when they come too late. Ah, when the
tender Saviour of sinners, by his parable, and the experience of the
thief, gives you encouragement to come, although you are late; beware
lest you take from his words wrested an encouragement to be late in
coming.




GROUP--THE TWO SONS, THE WICKED HUSBANDMEN, AND THE MARRIAGE OF THE
KING'S SON.

MATT. xxi. 28; xxii. 14


The natural history of a parable is like the (probable) natural history
of a pearl. Something alien and irritating has alighted upon life, and
forthwith a covering of pure and precious matter is thrown over it.
After this manner, indeed, as we have already noted, a greater than the
parable came. In this way redemption began, and grew. Sin entered Eden
and fastened upon that image of God which had appeared on earth in the
person of primeval man; forthwith holy promises from heaven began to
cluster round the sin-spot. As age succeeded age these promises
distilled like dew and crystallized around the original nucleus, until
redemption was completed in the sacrifice of Christ and the ministry of
the Spirit: that glorious gospel on which we now fondly look, gathered
round the fall. The sin of man, though not the cause of God's salvation,
became its occasion and determined its form.

The particular lessons which Jesus taught in the course of his ministry,
followed in this respect the analogy of his redeeming work as a whole;
in most cases his instructions were called forth and fashioned by hard,
bold outstanding sins. Some of the brightest jewels which shine in the
life of Christ are the pure pearly coverings which he threw around
Pharisaic pride, or Sadducean unbelief, or the self-righteous stumbles
of his own disciples. Thus he made the wrath, and the malice, and the
deceit of men to show forth his own praise; thus rust-spots were
converted into shining pearls; thus human errors, as they sprung up,
were seized and choked and buried under a mantle of glorious grace.

Here in Matthew's Gospel, we encounter a group of three parables, the
two sons, the wicked husbandmen, and the marriage of the king's son,
connected with each other historically in a consecutive report, and
logically as successive steps in the development of one argument. The
portion, chapters xxi. xxii. xxiii., is the compact record of a single
scene. Approaching by the Mount of Olives, Jesus entered Jerusalem in a
simple but significant triumphal procession, heralded by the hosannahs
of the multitude, which, if for the most part neither intelligent nor
permanent, were sincere and spontaneous. Arrived in the city he at once
made his way to the Temple, and there assumed an unwonted and severe
authority. The mercenary profaners of the temple he cast out; the blind
and lame he healed. On the way to and from Bethany, where he lodged for
the night, the fruitless fig tree withered under his word. Next morning
as he was teaching in the temple, the heads of the Jewish external
theocracy, stung to rage by his words and deeds on the preceding day,
formally demanded the exhibition of his authority, as a preliminary step
to the violent suppression of his work. Jesus knew the hearts of these
men; he knew that while, in virtue of their office, they affected to
expound and apply the divine law, and to rule the people in accordance
with it, they were at once ignorant of God's word and tamely subservient
to the passions of the people. To tear off, or rather to compel them
with their own hands to tear off their cloak of hypocrisy, he addressed
to them that question of wonderful simplicity but wonderful power, The
baptism of John, whence was it? from heaven or of men? Knowing that if
they should confess the divine origin of John's mission they would
thereby establish the Messiahship of Jesus to whom John had borne
witness, and that if they should deny it they would forfeit the favour
of the people, they answered, We cannot tell, meaning, It is
inconvenient to express an opinion. As they could not venture to
pronounce whether a ministry which had left its impress deep on the
whole land, was a human usurpation or a divine mission, they had
obviously no right to sit in judgment on the credentials of Jesus. When
on this point they were condemned out of their own lips the Lord, rising
now more into the stern dignity of judge when his ministry was drawing
to a close, advances against the discomfited and stunned hierarchs, with
another, another, and yet another stroke, unveiling the hypocrisy of
their religious profession, predicting the consummation of the crime,
the murder of the Father's well beloved, which they were already
cherishing in their hearts, and denouncing finally the doom which in the
righteous government of God should fall upon themselves and their
city.[39] Such are the occasion, the places, the object, and the nature
of the three parables which Jesus spoke that day in the Temple, and the
Evangelist Matthew has recorded in this portion of the word. The first
is the parable of--

  [39] "He now constrains them, in the first parable, to declare their
  own guilt; and, in the second, to declare their own punishment; and
  as they had now decided to put Him to death, He describes to them,
  in the third parable, the consequences of their great violation of
  the covenant and ingratitude,--the destruction of their ancient
  priesthood, and the triumphant establishment of his new kingdom of
  heaven among the Gentiles."--_Lange in loc._




X.

THE TWO SONS.


"But what think ye? A certain man had two sons; and he came to the
    first, and said, Son, go work to-day in my vineyard. He answered and
    said, I will not: but afterward he repented, and went. And he came
    to the second, and said likewise. And he answered and said, I go,
    sir: and went not. Whether of them twain did the will of his father?
    They say unto him, The first. Jesus saith unto them, Verily I say
    unto you, That the publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of
    God before you. For John came unto you in the way of righteousness,
    and ye believed him not: but the publicans and the harlots believed
    him: and ye, when ye had seen it, repented not afterward, that ye
    might believe him."--MATT. xxi. 28-32.

From this parable, in connection with that of the labourers in the
vineyard, we incidentally learn that among the cultivators of Palestine
in those days there was the same admixture of large and small farms
which prevails in our own land. In order to provide for the structure of
the preceding parable, an agriculturist is introduced who cultivates on
a large scale. Group after group of labourers are hired wholesale, and
sent successively into the vineyard; in the evening a steward pays each
labourer under the general instructions of his chief. There in a few
strokes you have the picture of an ancient Israelitish magnate, owning a
broad estate and affording employment to a multitude of dependants. In
the parable which is now under review, we have a picture equally
distinct, but representing another class of countrymen. This is neither
on the one hand a great proprietor, nor on the other a landless
labourer. Here is a man who has a stake in the country, a portion of
ground of size sufficient to provide for the wants of his family; but
his farm cannot afford employment and remuneration to a gang of
labourers; the work must be all done by the owner himself and his
children. This is a desirable condition of life, and the class who
occupy it are valuable to society. There, in the middle, they are
sheltered from many dangers to which their countrymen on either extreme
of social condition are exposed. Woe to the country in which there are
only two classes,--the greatest and the smallest,--the large proprietors
and the floating sea of labourers. The strong fixed few and the feeble
surging many are to each other reciprocally dangerous. Give me a country
dotted all over with homesteads, where father and mother, sons and
daughters, till their own ground and eat the fruit of their own labour.

"To the first he said, Son, go work to-day in my vineyard." The first
was none other than the one whom the father first met that morning. To
have intimated whether he was the elder or the younger, would have
introduced a disturbing element, and obscured the meaning of the lesson.
There is no question here between elder and younger, or between Jews and
Gentiles. At all events, if those who maintained a place within the
theocracy are distinguished from those who stood without its pale, we
must conceive of the Father approaching on this occasion from without
towards the centre, coming in contact first with those who were excluded
as aliens, and afterwards reaching the inner circle, who counted
themselves the seed of Abraham.

This son, rebellious in heart, and not trained to cover his disobedience
under a smooth profession, meets his father's command with a rude, blunt
refusal. I think the humble husbandman had received a similar answer
from the same quarter more than once before. This is not the first
unseemly word which the young man had spoken to his father: neither
himself nor his wickedness has grown to maturity in a day. The habit of
dishonouring his parents had sprung from a seed of evil in his infancy,
and grown with his growth until he and it had reached full stature
together. The father seems not to have spoken a word in reply. Probably
he knew by experience that an altercation on the spot would only have
made matters worse: perhaps he sighed, perhaps he wept as he turned
gently round and went away. I do not know how often and how long he had
meditated on the grand practical question for a father, when he should
be severe, and when he should show indulgence. May God guide and help
parents who have disobedient sons; they need much patience for bearing,
and much wisdom for acting aright.

"But afterward he repented and went." There is much in these few simple
words. He repented; perhaps his father's silent grief went to his heart
at length and melted it. He saw himself in his true colours, and loathed
himself for his sin. The son, who probably obtained a glimpse of his
father's tears, wept himself in turn, and, as the best amends he could
make, went silently into the vineyard, and did a good day's work there.
Thus, when Jesus, suffering, bearing reproach before Pilate's
judgment-seat, looked on Peter sinning, Peter went out and wept. When he
was called to suffer for Christ, he had rudely answered, "I will not;"
but afterwards he repented and went--to work, to witness, to suffer, to
die for the Lord whom he loved.

Perhaps the father, from beneath the cottage eaves, saw the son on the
brow of the hill toiling in the noon-day heat,--saw and was glad. The
value of a day's labour was something; but it was as the small dust of
the balance in comparison with the price he set on the repentance and
obedience of his child. I suppose there was a happy meeting at night
when the son came home. I suppose the father was a happy man as he saw
the robust youth wiping the sweat from his brow, and sitting down to his
evening meal.

"He came to the second, and said likewise." The second son had an answer
ready, sound in substance and smooth in form. It was a model answer from
a son to his parent: "I go, sir," said the youth, without hesitation or
complaint. I am not sure that the father was overjoyed at the promptness
and politeness of this reply: probably he had received as fair promises
from the same quarter before, and seen them broken. At all events, this
young man's fair word was a whited sepulchre; he did not obey his
father. Whether he fell in with trivial companions on his way to the
vineyard, and was induced to go with them in another direction, or
thought the day too hot and postponed the labour till the morrow, I know
not; but he said, and did not. It was profession without practice. The
tender vine-shoots might trail on the ground for him till their
fruit-buds were blackened; he would not put himself to the trouble of
tying them up to the stakes, although the food of the family should be
imperilled by his neglect.

Now comes the sharp question, "Whether of them twain did the will of his
father?" The answer is all too easy. The light is stronger than is
comfortable for those owl-eyed Pharisees, who were prowling about like
night-birds on the scent of their prey. The sudden glance of this
sunbeam dazzles and confounds them. In utter helplessness, they confess
the truth that condemns themselves; they say unto him "The first."[40]

  [40] At an earlier stage of the same interview, when a question
  regarding the ministry of the Baptist was addressed to them, fearing
  the consequences which an answer might involve, they had sought
  shelter under the plea of ignorance. As they gained nothing by their
  duplicity on that occasion, they may have been unwilling to try the
  same policy again; and, accordingly, they give frankly the obvious
  answers to the questions that resulted both from this and the
  succeeding parable.

In the first example the Lord represents chief sinners repenting; and in
the second, the form of godliness without its power. The publicans and
harlots, who had forsaken their sins and followed the Saviour, sat for
the first picture; the chief priests and elders, who concealed their
thirst for innocent blood under a mantle of long prayers and broad
phylacteries, sat for the second.

Let us look first to the two distinct and opposite answers, and next to
the two distinct and opposite acts.

_The answers._--That of the first son, "I will not," was evil, and only
evil. It is of first-rate practical importance to make this plain and
prominent. Looking to the son in the story, we see clearly that the
answer was outrageously wicked: it was an evil word flowing from its
native spring in an evil heart. Looking next to the class of persons
whom that son represents, we find they are the openly and daringly
ungodly of every rank in every age. This son, when he rudely refused to
obey his father, meant what he said; he was not willing to obey, and he
plainly said so. This represents those who have neither the profession
nor the practice of true religion; they neither fear God nor pretend to
fear him.

At this point, among certain classes, a subtle temptation insinuates
itself. In certain circumstances, ungodly men take credit for the
distinct avowal of their ungodliness, and count on it as a merit. They
are not, indeed, submissive in heart and life to the will of God; but
they do not tell a lie about the matter; they make no pretension. The
frank confession, that they are not good, seems to serve some men as a
substitute for goodness. By comparing themselves complacently with
fellow-sinners of a different class, they contrive to rivet the fatal
error more firmly on their own hearts. Observing among their neighbours
here and there a rank hypocrite, they compare his sanctimonious
profession with his indifferent sense of honesty, and congratulate
themselves that they are not hypocrites.

Well, brother, suppose it were conceded that you are not a hypocrite;
what then? If you have lived unrepenting, unforgiven, unchanged; if with
your whole heart and habits you have departed from the living God, and
not returned to him through the Mediator,--will all be atoned for and
made up by the single fact that to all your other sins you did not add
the cant of a hypocrite? It is true, a hypocrite is a loathsome
creature; but his badness will not make a profane man good. When he is
cast away for his hypocrisy, it will be no comfort to you as you keep
him company that it is for open ungodliness, and not for lying
pretensions to piety, that you are condemned. Hypocrites are, indeed,
excluded from the kingdom of God; but it is a fatal mistake to assume
that, provided you are not a hypocrite, you will be welcomed into heaven
with all your vices on your back.

I scarcely know a more subtle or more successful wile of the devil than
this. Many strong men are cast down by it. You don't pretend to be good;
well, and will that save you? What comfort will it afford to the lost to
reflect that they went openly to perdition, in broad daylight, before
all men, and did not skulk through by-ways under pretence that they were
going to heaven?

The answer of the other son was evil too, if you look not to its body,
but to its spirit. There is no reason to suppose that it was, even at
the moment, an act of true obedience to his father. "He said, I go, sir;
and went not:" he said one thing, and did another, an opposite; but
there is no ground for believing that he meant to go when he promised,
and afterwards changed his mind. His smooth language was a lie; and his
subsequent conduct showed, not that he had changed his mind when his
father was out of sight, but that he concealed it while his father was
present. It is worthy of notice, that although the first son changed his
mind after he had given his answer, there is no intimation of any change
having passed on the second son, between his answer and his act. By its
silence on this point, the narrative leads us to infer that the purpose
of the disobedient son was the same while he was promising well as when
he acted ill. The course of the life flowing full in the direction of
disobedience, proves that the expression of the lips which ran in the
opposite direction, was a lie; it was like a glittering ripple caused by
a fitful breeze, running upward on the surface of the river, while the
whole volume of its water rolls, notwithstanding, the other way.

Thus is even the worship of hypocrites worthless: Not every one that
_saith_ unto me, Lord, Lord; but he that _doeth_ the will of my Father
which is in heaven. The want of the subsequent obedience shows that the
promise was not true.

Thus at first both these sons were in a false and unsafe position. Their
characters were not the same,--were not similar: they differed in
thought and word; but the difference, in as far as their answers were
concerned, indicated only varieties of sin. Legion is the name of the
spirits that possess and pollute the fallen; but all the legion do not
dwell in every man. Different temptations tinge different persons with
different hues of guilt. At the time when the father uttered his
command, the character of the first son was bold, unblushing rebellion;
the character of the second was cowardly, false pretence. The one son
neither promised nor meant to obey; the other son promised obedience,
but intended not to keep his word.

In the first instance, therefore, there is no ground for preferring the
one to the other. While they stood severally in their father's presence,
and before either had repented of his sin, they were both, and both
alike evil. The blasphemer has no right to boast over the hypocrite, and
the hypocrite has no right to boast over the blasphemer. In either case
it is a body of sin, but there is a shade of difference in the colour of
the garments. The one pretends to a goodness which he does not possess;
and the other confesses, or rather boasts, that he is destitute of
goodness. They measure themselves by themselves; and therein they are
not wise. The one thinks his smooth tongue will save him; and the other
counts himself safe because he has not a smooth tongue.

We come now to the ultimate _act_ of either son. The first, after
flinging a blunt refusal in his father's face, repented of his sin. The
turning-point is here. A change came over the spirit of the man, and a
consequent change emerged in his conduct: his heart was first turned,
and then his history. The honesty of his declaration--the absence of
duplicity in giving his answer, would not have justified him before
either God or man. He repented; he turned round. He grieved over his
sin; he was sorry that he had disobeyed his father. Repentance
immediately brought forth fruit after its kind. He went into the
vineyard, and laboured there with a will all day at the kind of work
which he knew would please his father. These two things go always in
company, and together make up the new man--they are the new heart and
the new life.

The grieved father would weep for joy, as he looked up the precipitous
hill-side on which the terraced vineyard hung, and saw there the head
and hands of his son glancing quickly from place to place among the vine
plants. Thus there is joy in heaven--deep in the heart of heaven's
Lord--over one sinner that repenteth. Among the vines that day work was
worship: the resulting act of obedience--fruit of repentance in the
soul, was an offering of a sweet-smelling savour unto God.

The other son promptly promised, but failed to perform. The first was
changed from bad to good, but the second was not changed from good to
bad. No change took place in this case, and none is recorded. It is not
written, that having promised, he afterwards repented and did not go.
His promise was not true; at the moment when it was made, the youth did
not intend to work, and therefore it required no change of mind to
induce him afterwards to spend the day in idleness.

This son represents, in the first instance, those Pharisees who were
then and there compassing the death of Jesus. They ostentatiously
professed that they were doing God service; yet they were spreading a
net for the feet of the innocent, and preparing to shed his blood.
Wearing broad phylacteries, making long prayers, and offering many
sacrifices, they were, notwithstanding, living in malice and envy,
hateful, and hating one another. With their lips they honoured God; but
in works they denied him. These, in as far as they are here represented,
were evil first and last. In the second son we have an example, not of a
man who meant to do good changing his mind and ultimately doing evil,
but of a man who, notwithstanding his fair profession, meant evil at the
beginning and perpetrated it in the end.

Nor are these lessons of the Lord limited to one private interpretation:
the lesson of this parable was not exhausted when the Pharisees died
out. As surely as the thorns, and the tares, and the lilies to which
Jesus on various occasions alluded in his lectures, grow on the ground
at this day, and have grown there through all the intervening
generations--so surely the various classes of human character which he
rebuked, warned, or encouraged in his ministry, have their
representatives going out and in amongst us in the present day. It is
meant that in this glass all the self-righteous to the end of the world
should see themselves; their profession is fair, but their life is for
self, and not for God.

In the stratified rocks many species and genera of plants and animals
are found in a fossil state which are not found in the flora or fauna of
our present earth; but the human characters that were fixed and stamped
as by photograph in the Scriptures are not so far removed from the men
and women who now live on the earth. No species has become extinct; and
even the minuter characteristics of distinct varieties remain legible
still.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here spring two distinct warnings to two distinct classes, with
corresponding encouragements attached, as shadows follow solid bodies
in the sunlight;--to the Publicans and Harlots first, and next to the
Pharisees of the day.

1. There is a class amongst us answering to those publicans and sinners
to whom Jesus was wont to address the message of his mercy. Alas, they
may be counted by thousands and tens of thousands in the land! They are
the drunkards, the licentious, the profane, the false, the cruel,--those
who abandon themselves to a vicious life, and do not take the trouble of
attempting to hide their sin under a cloak of sanctity. They gratify
every lust, and crucify none. They live without God in the world. The
key-note of their being is, Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.

To all this class the parable proclaims a warning. A rank, soporific
superstition has crept over these free and easy spirits,--a superstition
as dark and deceitful as any of the inventions of Rome. Men seem
actually to persuade themselves that their very wickedness will supply
them with a passport into heaven. They seem to expect that they will be
made pets in the great day, because they made no pretension to
saintship; and that they will be fondled by the Judge as they have been
by their boon companions, because hypocrisy cannot be reckoned among
their sins. It is a false hope. Free thinking, free living brother, if I
saw you about to put to sea in a ship which I knew to be affected with
dry-rot in the timbers of the bottom, I would warn you with all my
energy, that I might save your life: when I see you preparing to launch
into eternity leaning on a lie, I cry vehemently, Beware, lest you be
lost for ever! Without holiness no man shall see God. The absence of a
hypocritical pretension to holiness will not be accepted instead of
holiness. All who go away to the judgment-seat without holiness will be
shut out of heaven--alike those who thought they had it, and those who
confessed that they had it not. It was all right at last with the
profane son in the parable; but mark, he repented and obeyed. God's
invitation to the wicked is, Turn and live; but the promise contains in
its bosom the counterpart threatening, If you turn not you shall die. It
was not the bold, frank declaration of disobedience that made the first
son all right: it made him all wrong. It was his change,--his passing
out of that state, as if he had passed from death unto life, that saved
him.

But to this class the parable speaks encouragement as well as warning.
So great is God's mercy in Christ that even you are welcome when you
come; the gate stands open; the Redeemer from within is calling chief
sinners in, He has pledged himself to cast no comer out because of his
worthlessness. Nor does the freeness of his grace prove that the
prodigal's sins are small; it proves only that the forgiving love of
Christ is great.

2. There is still a class corresponding to the Pharisees, and to these
the Lord in this parable conveys both warning and encouragement.

The essence of the Pharisaic character, under every variety of form,
consists of these two things,--an exact and laborious observance of
external religious duties, and a heart satisfied with itself while it is
devoted to the world. The species is described for all times and places
in the Apocalyptic Epistle to the Church in Sardis: "Thou hast a name
that thou livest, and art dead" (Rev. iii. 1). There is a profession of
godliness wanting its power; Christ's name comes readily to the lip, but
the god of this world possesses the heart and controls the life.

There is encouragement to the Pharisee as well as to the publican to
turn and live. There is no respect of persons with God; the Pharisee was
as welcome to Christ as the publican, if he would come. A Pharisee and a
publican went up to the temple at the same hour to pray; the publican
returned to his own house pardoned and at peace with God, while the
Pharisee went home still unreconciled and under condemnation: but
wherefore? Not that God was more willing to forgive the publican than to
forgive the Pharisee; but because the Pharisee did not ask forgiveness.
He would have obtained it if he had asked it: his self-righteousness was
his ruin.

Thus in the end of this parable, the Lord intimates to the Pharisees
that the outcasts whom they despised are entering the kingdom of heaven
before them. This does not mean that the way is made more easy, the gate
more wide, to the licentious and profane than to the hypocrite,--it
intimates merely that in point of fact the profane were then and there
hastening in through the gate which stood open alike for all, while the
self-righteous were standing aloof. The intimation, moreover, is made,
not in order to keep these Pharisees back, but to urge them forward. The
Lord desires to provoke them to jealousy by them that were no people.
These despised outcasts are going in before you; arise and press in now,
lest the door be shut. It was not because they were publicans and
harlots that they were saved, but because they believed and repented
under the preaching of John; and it was not because the others were
Pharisees that they were still unsaved, but because even with the
example of fellow-sinners repenting and believing before their eyes,
they, thinking themselves righteous, would not repent and believe.

God delights as much to receive a Pharisee as to receive a publican.
When a self-righteous man discovers himself at last to be a whited
sepulchre, and counting his own righteousness filthy rags, flees to
Christ as his righteousness, he is instantly accepted in the beloved.

If I could be admitted, in the body or out of the body, to a vision of
the saints in rest, I would like to creep near the spot where two saved
sinners chance to meet,--the man who wrote this narrative of Christ's
ministry, and the man who preached Christ to the Gentiles. I would fain
listen for an hour to the conversation of Matthew the publican and Saul
the Pharisee when they meet in the mansions of the Father's house. Their
loving argument, I could imagine, would sometimes run high. Matthew will
contend that the grace of their common Lord has been most conspicuously
glorified in his own redemption, "for," he pleads, "I was all evil and
had nothing good, I had neither inside purity nor outside whitening. I
had neither the seemly profession without nor the holy heart within. I
was altogether vile; and in me therefore is the grace of God glorified
most." Paul, on the other side, will contend, with his keen intellect
perfect at last, that he was the chief sinner, and that consequently in
his redemption a more decisive testimony is given to the abundance of
the Saviour's grace. After describing his own hardness and blindness and
unbelief, he will add, as the crowning sin of man, the crowning glory of
God,--While I was thus the chief of sinners, I gave myself out as one of
the greatest of saints.

It may be hard to tell whether of the two mountains is the more
elevated; but one thing is clear,--both are covered by the flood. The
blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanseth us,--the profane and the
self-righteous alike,--cleanseth us from all sin.




XI.

THE WICKED HUSBANDMEN.


"Hear another parable: There was a certain householder, which planted a
    vineyard, and hedged it round about, and digged a winepress in it,
    and built a tower, and let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far
    country: and when the time of the fruit drew near, he sent his
    servants to the husbandmen, that they might receive the fruits of
    it. And the husbandmen took his servants, and beat one, and killed
    another, and stoned another. Again, he sent other servants more than
    the first: and they did unto them likewise. But last of all he sent
    unto them his son, saying, They will reverence my son. But when the
    husbandmen saw the son, they said among themselves, This is the
    heir: come, let us kill him, and let us seize on his inheritance.
    And they caught him, and cast him out of the vineyard, and slew him.
    When the lord therefore of the vineyard cometh, what will he do unto
    those husbandmen? They say unto him, He will miserably destroy those
    wicked men, and will let out his vineyard unto other husbandmen,
    which shall render him the fruits in their seasons. Jesus saith unto
    them, Did ye never read in the scriptures, The stone which the
    builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner: this
    is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes? Therefore say
    I unto you, The kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to
    a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof. And whosoever shall fall
    on this stone shall be broken: but on whomsoever it shall fall, it
    will grind him to powder. And when the chief priests and Pharisees
    had heard his parables, they perceived that he spake of them. But
    when they sought to lay hands on him, they feared the multitude,
    because they took him for a prophet."--MATT. xxi. 33-46.

When a proprietor has determined to appropriate as a vineyard a portion
of ground which had previously lain waste, or been employed for some
other purpose, his first care is to plant the vines. As some time must
necessarily elapse before the young plants begin to bear fruit, he may
prosecute the other departments of his undertaking at leisure. In due
time, accordingly, he constructs a fence around the field to keep out
depredators, whether men or beasts; digs a vat for receiving the juice,
and prepares an apparatus above it for squeezing the clusters quickly
in the hurry of the vintage; builds a tower as at once a shelter for the
keeper and an elevated stand-point for the watcher by night or day.

In the case which this parable represents, the owner did not continue to
reside on the spot and cultivate his own vineyard; "he let it out to
husbandmen, and went into a far country." This lease, granted by a
non-resident proprietor, throws an interesting light on the habits of
the place and the time. In regard both to the tenants and the terms, the
information, though very brief, is very definite. The vineyard was let
not to one capitalist, who might employ labourers to do the necessary
work, but to a kind of joint-stock company of labourers who proposed to
cultivate the property with their own hands for the common benefit. It
was stipulated, moreover, that the rent should be paid not in money but
in kind. It is the system known in India at this day as ryot-rent; the
cultivator undertakes to give the owner a certain fixed quantity yearly
from the produce of the farm, and all that is over belongs to himself.

The structure of the parable in its later stages presupposes a country
in which the central government is paralyzed, and the will of the
strongest has usurped the place of law. With us it requires an exercise
of imagination to conjure up a scene in which these events could
possibly occur; but in those regions such anarchy was not uncommon
then,--is not uncommon now. It is probable that the annals of our own
empire in India could supply some parallel conflicts between the
privileged superiors and the actual cultivators of the soil.

The proprietor, being personally absent from the country, employed
agents to demand his stipulated share of the produce at the proper
season from the tenants in possession. The tenants, presuming on the
distance of the superior, and the difficulty which he must necessarily
encounter in any attempt to enforce his rights, not only refused to
fulfil the conditions of their lease, but also assaulted the messengers
who made the demand; they beat one, and killed another, and stoned a
third. Obviously, they determined from the first to retain the whole
produce of the vineyard for themselves. They do not seem to have laid
their plans with much care: there is more of passion than of policy in
their conduct. It is the ordinary practice of those who break the laws
of God or of man, to grasp madly a present pleasure, and refuse to think
of coming vengeance. Having heard of the treatment which his agents had
received, the proprietor despatched another party more numerous, with
the view probably of overawing the refractory peasants by a display of
strength; but the second mission was as cruelly and contemptuously
rejected as the first. The proprietor, still unwilling to bring matters
to an extremity, adopted next an expedient which he hoped would subdue
the rebellion, without imposing on him the necessity of punishing the
rebels. Keeping out of sight for the moment his rights and his power, he
appealed confidingly to their hereditary reverence for the family of
their chief; he sent his son, and sent him unarmed, unattended.

The conduct of the husbandmen at this point is unintelligible, if you
suppose that the country enjoyed a regular government, and that the men
had deliberately adopted a plan. In order to account for the
circumstances, you must suppose that the central government was
paralyzed, and that these men were as stupid as they were wicked. Great
criminals are often blind to their own interests: their blunders
generally lead to their conviction.

The murder of the heir by these greedy tenants, in the vague hope of
obtaining the property, is a probable event. To show that the scheme was
not skilfully devised, does not by any means prove that the crime was
not actually perpetrated. The owner was absent; no display of
irresistible power was made to their senses; they were not in the habit
of nicely considering the remote consequences of an act, and an
overmastering passion completely paralyzed at that moment a judgment
which was feeble at the best.

From this point the close of the tragedy is self-evident; the Lord
accordingly does not further prosecute the narrative. Here the Pharisees
are invited to pronounce judgment upon themselves; nor do they hesitate
to accept the challenge. Whether in simplicity, as unconscious of the
Teacher's drift, or in exasperation as knowing that by this time his
drift appeared to the whole company all too plain, may not be certain;
but in point of fact they gave the answer without abatement and without
ambiguity: "He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out
his vineyard to other husbandmen which will render him the fruits in
their season."

No serious difficulty occurs in the interpretation of this parable, and,
consequently, no considerable differences of opinion have arisen among
interpreters regarding it. The main lines of the lesson cannot be
mistaken; but there is need of careful discrimination in some of the
details.

Frequently in the Scriptures the seed of Abraham, called by God and
endowed with many peculiar privileges, are compared to a vine, or to the
aggregate of vines in a vineyard. I shall here point to three examples
of this usage, in order to show that, notwithstanding an obvious general
resemblance, they differ from each other and from this parable in the
specific purposes to which they severally adapt and apply the analogy:--

1. Isa. v. 1-7: "Now will I sing to my well-beloved a song of my beloved
touching his vineyard. My well-beloved hath a vineyard in a very
fruitful hill. And he fenced it, and gathered out the stones thereof,
and planted it with the choicest vine, and built a tower in the midst of
it, and also made a winepress therein: and he looked that it should
bring forth grapes, and it brought forth wild grapes. And now, O
inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt
me and my vineyard. What could have been done more to my vineyard, that
I have not done in it? wherefore, when I looked that it should bring
forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes? And now go to; I will tell
you what I will do to my vineyard: I will take away the hedge thereof
and it shall be eaten up; and break down the wall thereof, and it shall
be trodden down. And I will lay it waste: it shall not be pruned nor
digged; but there shall come up briers and thorns: I will also command
the clouds that they rain no rain upon it. For the vineyard of the Lord
of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah his pleasant
plant: and he looked for judgment, but behold oppression; for
righteousness, but behold a cry."

The vineyard, with its slope to the southward, and rich soil, and
careful cultivation, and secure defences, and convenient apparatus,
represents the people whom God chose and cherished. The drift of
Isaiah's parable is to show the exaggerated wickedness of that favoured
nation. The vineyard brought forth wild grapes,--those sour grapes which
set on edge the teeth of him who tastes them (Ezek. xviii. 2). Israel
lived like the heathen, and thus the care bestowed upon them was thrown
away. As a punishment for its ungrateful return, the vineyard was laid
waste; the kingdom and polity of Israel were destroyed by the decree of
God, and through the instrumentality of the king of Babylon.

2. Ezek. xv. 2-5: "Son of man, What is the vine tree more than any tree,
or than a branch which is among the trees of the forest? Shall wood be
taken thereof to do any work? or will men take a pin of it to hang any
vessel thereon? Behold, it is cast into the fire for fuel; the fire
devoureth both the ends of it, and the midst of it is burnt. Is it meet
for any work? Behold, when it was whole, it was meet for no work: how
much less shall it be meet yet for any work, when the fire hath devoured
it, and it is burned?"

Here Israel is compared, not to a vineyard, but to a single vine; and
the special characteristic selected for purposes of instruction is the
uselessness of the vine tree as timber. Cultivated only for the sake of
its fruit, if it prove barren, it is not only no better than the trees
of the forest, but much worse. Forest trees are useful in their own
place, and for certain purposes; but a vine, if it do not bear fruit, is
of no use at all. No man can make a piece of furniture from its small,
supple, gnarled stem and branches. The wood of the vine is fit for
nothing but to be cast into the fire, and, therefore, a fruitless vine
takes rank far beneath a forest-tree; thus an apostate and corrupt
Church is a viler thing than the ordinary secular governments of the
world. Such obviously and notoriously is ecclesiastical Rome to-day.

3. Ps. lxxx. 8-15: "Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou hast
cast out the heathen, and planted it. Thou preparedst room before it,
and didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills
were covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were like the
goodly cedars. She sent out her boughs unto the sea, and her branches
unto the river. Why hast thou then broken down her hedges, so that all
they which pass by the way do pluck her? The boar out of the wood doth
waste it, and the wild beast of the field doth devour it. Return, we
beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and behold, and
visit this vine; and the vineyard which thy right hand hath planted, and
the branch that thou madest strong for thyself."

Again Israel is represented as a vine; but in this case the features
brought into prominence are its former flourishing condition and great
extent compared with its present desolation. By the removal of the
protecting fence, the wild beasts of the forest were permitted to
trample at will on its feeble and lowly boughs. The picture sets forth
the ruin of Jerusalem through the withdrawal of God's protecting hand,
and the consequent irruption of hostile nations.

In all these cases the vine, or aggregate of vines, represents the
privileged persons who constituted the kingdom of Israel or Church of
God, as it then existed in the world. In the first example, the
_wickedness_ of Israel is represented by the bitterness of the fruit
which the vineyard produced; in the second, the _unprofitableness_ of
Israel is represented by the want of fruit on the vine; and in the
third, the _sufferings_ of Israel are represented by the inroads of the
wild beasts upon the wide spread, tender, unprotected vine.

Our parable differs from all three as to the point where its lesson
lies. It is not a case in which a favoured vineyard produces bad fruit;
it is not a case in which a vine bears no fruit; it is not a case in
which a vine that might otherwise have been fruitful is trampled down by
wild beasts for want of a fence. It is a case in which, after the
vineyard has brought forth its fruit, the cultivators who have charge
refuse to render to the owner the portion of the produce which is his
due. The difference is important: it determines clearly the main line in
which the interpretation of the parable should proceed.

By the vineyard with all its privileges, I understand the ordinances of
Israel as appointed by God, and the people of Israel in as far as they
were necessarily passive in the hands of their priests and rulers. The
husbandmen manifestly represent the leaders, who at various periods had
usurped a lordship over God's heritage. Extraordinary ambassadors were
sent from time to time in the owner's name, to demand the stipulated
tribute,--prophets such as Elijah, Elisha, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and
Ezekiel, men not of the number, or in the confidence of the ordinary
rulers, but specially commissioned by the Supreme, to approach them with
reproof and instruction. The established authorities of the nation,
exercising their office for their own pleasure or profit, rejected the
counsel and assaulted the persons of the messengers. Some were
imprisoned, some driven into exile, and some put to death. Successive
embassies, sent in successive ages, met with similar treatment, until,
in the fulness of time, Christ the Son became the messenger of the
covenant. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. Already
those Jewish rulers who listened to this parable, were laying their
plans to cast this greatest prophet out of the city, and to crucify
him.

The owner of the vineyard said, "They will reverence my son." The
expression is natural and appropriate in the lips of a human proprietor;
but obviously when it represents the purpose of God, it means only that
such reverence was claimed, and such reverence was due. The omniscient
knew beforehand that the Jewish rulers would not yield even to this last
and tenderest appeal. The expectation of the husbandmen that when they
should have murdered the heir, the property should become their own,
does not point to any definite, well considered plan by which the wicked
expect to gain a permanent portion by rejecting the Gospel; it indicates
merely the blunt determination of the carnal mind to grasp and enjoy
God's bounties while it despises and rejects his grace. To crucify
Christ by the hands of the Romans, or to crucify him afresh through
unbelief, was and is a short-sighted policy.

When the Lord of the vineyard cometh he will destroy those wicked men,
and will let out the vineyard unto others. The interpretation of this
turning-point is given to the Jewish rulers in full, and without
concealment. "The kingdom of God shall be taken from you and given to a
nation bringing forth the fruits thereof" (ver. 43). The polity of the
Jews was crushed by the Romans, and the charge of the Church fell into
other hands. The "nation" that has succeeded to the kingdom is
constituted on a different principle, and held together by different
bonds. It is not after the flesh, but after the spirit that citizenship
is obtained in the Christian commonwealth; henceforth, the partakers of
Abraham's faith are the seed of Abraham to whom the covenant of promise
pertains. The worship and ordinances of God's house were transferred to
the apostles and their followers, neither as Jews nor as Gentiles, but
as the disciples of Christ. A new nation (εθνος) is constituted of those
who are born again; of those the kingdom consists, and under their
charge its affairs will be carried on until the Lord come again.

The personal and permanent application of the lesson is obvious.

A rich vineyard, planted and fenced to our hand, has been let out to us
by the Maker and Owner of the world. Civil and religious liberty, the
Bible and the Sabbath, the Church and its ministry, have been provided
and preserved for us by our Father's care. We are permitted to enjoy all
for our own benefit, under deduction of a tribute to the Giver. Our
offerings cannot directly reach him, but he has made them payable to the
poor.

When Christ the messenger of the covenant stands at the door and knocks,
a worldly heart within refuses to admit him. The carnal mind is enmity
against God, and therefore resists the claim which the Mediator bears:
its language is, "We will not have this man to reign over us."

The lesson bears also upon the gradual corruption of the Christian
Church in the first centuries, and the absolute apostasy of the lordly
hierarchy at Rome. At the Reformation the kingdom was in part taken from
that faithless priesthood; but they retain vast multitudes in bondage
still. The Lord reigneth; and the time will come when every yoke shall
be broken, and the Church set free to serve the Lord alone. The vineyard
will one day be delivered from the tyranny of usurping tenants, and its
fruit fully rendered to its rightful Lord.

Ah, my country, I dread the punishment of thy unfaithfulness! The same
righteous God, who cast out the Jews and admitted the Gentiles, reigneth
still. On the same principle he has taken the kingdom from Asia Minor
and Greece, and given it to this island of the sea. Alas, if we render
not to him the fruits of his vineyard, he may take our privileges in
judgment away, and give them to another nation, perhaps to
Italy--emancipated, regenerated Italy (Rom. xi. 19).

       *       *       *       *       *

This parable is remarkable for the codicil taken from the Old Testament
and attached to it by the Lord on the spot and at the moment. The
picture of the tenant vine-dressers usurping possession--driving off the
owner's servants and slaying his son, although transparent in its
meaning and pungent in its reproof, does not contain all that the Lord
then desired to address to the Pharisees. It pleased him to employ that
similitude as far as it reached; but when its line had all run out, he
seized another line that lay ready in the Scriptures to his hand, and
attached it to the first, that by the union of the two he might make the
reproof complete. The first type taken from human affairs is not broad
enough to represent the kingdom of God at a crisis of its conflict. The
son whom the proprietor sends on an embassy to the vine-dressers, points
to Christ sent by the Father to his own Israel. The terrestrial fact
serves to show that the son was put to death by the rebels in
possession, but there its power is exhausted; it has no means of
exhibiting the other side of the scene,--that this son rose from the
dead, and now reigns over all. The parable, when it came to its natural
conclusion, left the lesson which it had begun to teach abruptly broken
off in the midst,--left a glory of the Lord unrevealed, and a terror to
wicked men unspoken. That he might proclaim the whole truth, and leave
his unrepenting hearers without excuse, the Lord proceeded then and
there to demand of them, "Did ye never read in the Scriptures, The
stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the
corner?"

The parable of the husbandmen has already shown that the Son was
rejected by the favoured people to whom he was sent; and this grand text
from the Old Testament Scriptures, which the Scribes well knew, shows
further that he whom the official but false builders rejected and cast
down, was accepted and raised up by God. Whom they refused, dishonoured,
and slew, him God raised up and made King upon his holy hill of
Zion.[41] It is a dreadful discovery for those husbandmen to make, that
the Son whom they murdered lives, and has become their Lord. Nothing is
more appalling to criminals than to be confronted with their
victim,--living and reigning. Hence the agony of Joseph's faithless
brothers when they discovered that Joseph was their judge. Herod
beheaded the Baptist in the intemperate excitement of a licentious
feast, that he might keep before his nobles the word which he had rashly
pledged to a fair, false woman: but Herod was not done with John when
John's body, tenderly buried by his disciples, lay silent in the grave.
Many times by night and day the king saw that gory head again lying on
the charger--it would not go out of his sight. The creaking of a door,
or the sighing of the wind among the trees, seemed the footfall of the
Baptist stalking forth to reprove him. When an attendant reported to
Herod the miracles of Christ, reporting at the same time that some took
Jesus of Nazareth for Elias, and some for another prophet, he had his
own opinion on the point; he knew better, and in a whisper, with pale
face, and starting eye-balls, and trembling limbs, he said to his
informant,--"It is John the Baptist whom I beheaded" (Mark vi. 14).

  [41] What wise one of this world,--what human reason would have
  conceived, under the cross, that this man suspended between two
  malefactors, and despised by all, would one day receive the worship
  of the whole world? This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous
  in our eyes.--_Heubner in Lange_.

It is a fearful thing for his murderers to fall into the hands of this
_living God_. It is a fearful thing to see him whom you have crucified
afresh coming in the clouds to judge the world in righteousness.

Further expanding this conception regarding the chief corner stone, the
Lord transfers from another scripture (Isa. viii. 14, 15), the prophecy
spoken of old on this very point,--"And whosoever shall fall on this
stone shall be broken; but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will grind
him to powder." We seem to mark here a change in the character of Jesus.
Sterner and more stern he becomes, as in his prophetic office he
approaches the subject of his own kingly judgment. His eyes pierce these
hypocrites, and they quail before him. As his witnessing approaches its
close, he draws the two-edged sword from its sheath and holds it before
the time over the naked heads of his enemies, if so be they may even yet
fear and sin not. For his own holy purposes he lays aside for a moment
his gentleness, and appears as the Lion of the tribe of Judah. The last
days of the Mediator's ministry on earth are now running: it must now be
decided whether his own will receive or reject him. The leaders of
Israel stood before him, with all their crooked purposes revealed to his
eye; the plot was ripening to take his life away. Laying aside the style
of a meek Beseecher, he assumes the aspect of a just Avenger; already we
seem to see the wrath of the Lamb gathering on his brow. Kiss the Son,
lest he be angry; as yet, his wrath is kindled but a little; in that
day, it will burn like fire. Why has it been kindled a little before the
time? Mercy has lighted this premonitory fire. This terror of the Lord,
like all the others that he sends in the day of salvation, is employed
as the means of persuading men. He not only receives all who come at his
invitation, but sends out foreshadowings of judgment to drive from their
unbelief those who refuse to yield to gentler means. Many of the
forgiven, on earth and in heaven, are ready to tell that after they had
long resisted his tender invitations, they were overcome at last by
gracious terrors launched against them by a loving Saviour.

The Jews were familiar with these ideas connected with the corner stone.
The prophecy in the aspect of a promise they readily understood, but
here the other and opposite side of it also is displayed.

The picture--for it is by itself a short parable--represents a great
stone at rest. In Alpine valleys, close by the root of rent, rugged,
precipitous mountains, you may often see a rock of vast dimensions lying
on the plain. In magnitude, it is itself a little hill; and yet it is
only a stone that has fallen from the neighbouring mountain. Suppose a
band of living men should rush with all their might against that stone,
they would be broken and it would not be moved. If they retire and
repeat the onset, the rock lies still in majestic repose, while their
feeble limbs are mangled on its sides, and their life-blood sinks into
the soil at its base.

The next part of the conception, which the imagination can easily form
at will, is precisely the reverse of the first. The rock rises now into
mid-heaven, hovers over the assailants for a while, and then falls upon
their heads. Here, as in the other case, the human adversaries of this
rock are destroyed, but their destruction is wholly different in degree
and kind. In the first case, they were broken; in the second, they are
grinded to powder.[42] The words in the original are very specific, and
the translation is remarkably accurate. The term employed to indicate
the injury which men inflict upon themselves when they resist the
Redeemer in the day of grace, conveys the idea of the crushing which
takes place when a man strikes swiftly with all his force against a
great immoveable rock; the term which indicates the overwhelming of
Christ's enemies by his own power put forth in the day of judgment,
conveys the idea of the crushing which takes place when a great rock
falls from a height upon a living man. The one calamity is great in
proportion to the weight and impetus of a man; the other calamity is
great in proportion to the weight and impetus of a falling rock. Both
the rejection of Christ by the unbelieving in the time of grace, and the
rejection of the unbelieving by Christ when he comes for judgment, are
bruisings; but the second is to the first, as the power of a great rock
is to the power of a man. The first bruising, caused by a man's
unbelieving opposition to Christ under the Gospel, may be cured; but the
grinding accomplished by the wrath of the Judge when the day of grace is
done can never be healed. There remaineth no more sacrifice for sin.

  [42] The expression is chosen with reference to the mysterious stone
  in Daniel ii. 34, 35, which grinds to powder the image of the
  monarchies; that is, to Christ who unfolds his life in the kingdom
  of God and grinds the kingdom of this world to powder.--_Lange_.

There are only two ways. This stone lies across our path from edge to
edge. It is not possible to be neutral, so as to be neither for Christ
nor against him: we must either accept or reject the Son of God. In the
prophecy to which the text refers (Isa. viii. 14, 15,) it is intimated
that "He shall be for a sanctuary, but for a stone of stumbling." The
mighty one stands on our life path, and we cannot pass without coming
into contact with him. If we flee to him for refuge, he is the sanctuary
in which we shall be safe; if we fall on him, in a vain effort to
escape, we shall stumble, and fall, and perish.

As a general rule, it is in the present life that he bears the weight of
sinners striking against him; and in the life to come that those who
rejected him here, must bear the weight of his judgment.

But some do not relish this doctrine; those who heard it directly from
the lips of the Lord resented it keenly, and many resent it still when
it is taught from the Scriptures. In our day men do not often expressly
find fault with the teaching of Jesus as it is recorded by the
Evangelists: they prefer to blame the ministers who take up and echo
their Master's words. People fondly grasp one side of God's revealed
character and use it as a veil to hide the other from themselves. The
tenderness of God our Father is employed to blot out from view the wrath
of God our righteous Judge. Since the fathers fell asleep, all things
continue as they were; where, therefore, is the promise of his coming?

A great rock is lying on the plain: the cultivators have ploughed and
the cattle have grazed round it since the flood. Standing beside it, and
reverting to its possible history, you give scope to your imagination
and ask, What if it had fallen, or should yet fall on me? The bare
conception makes you shudder: you are fain to shake off the reverie and
compose yourself by the reflection that the rock, fixed to the spot by
the laws of nature, cannot move to harm you.

But the Judge of the quick and the dead, though likened to a stone as to
crushing power, is not like a stone in its silent still inertia. He
liveth and abideth for ever. He bears now,--has borne long. The Almighty
God does not move himself to hurt those who are his enemies, any more
than the rock which has slept half buried in the valley many thousand
years. But he will not thus bear for ever: he will come to judge the
world. He will come as the lightning comes: then blessed will all be who
shall have put their trust in him, while he waited, through the Gospel,
to be gracious. "When the Son of man cometh" the second time, "shall he
find faith on the earth?" He will then _find_ only the faith which his
first coming generated; for his second coming _creates_ no new faith.
Then, it is not "believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be
saved;" but "a fearful looking for of judgment."




XII.

THE ROYAL MARRIAGE FEAST.


PART I.--THE WEDDING GUESTS.

"And Jesus answered, and spake unto them again by parables, and said,
    The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king, which made a
    marriage for his son, and sent forth his servants to call them that
    were bidden to the wedding: and they would not come. Again, he sent
    forth other servants, saying, Tell them which are bidden, Behold, I
    have prepared my dinner: my oxen and my fatlings are killed, and all
    things are ready: come unto the marriage. But they made light of it,
    and went their ways, out to his farm, another to his merchandise:
    and the remnant took his servants, and entreated them spitefully,
    and slew them. But when the king heard thereof, he was wroth: and he
    sent forth his armies, and destroyed those murderers, and burned up
    their city. Then saith he to his servants, The wedding is ready, but
    they which were bidden were not worthy. Go ye therefore into the
    highways, and as many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage. So
    those servants went out into the highways, and gathered together
    all, as many as they found, both bad and good: and the wedding was
    furnished with guests. And when the king came in to see the guests,
    he saw there a man which had not on a wedding-garment: And he saith
    unto him, Friend, how camest thou in hither not having a
    wedding-garment? And he was speechless. Then said the king to the
    servants, Bind him hand and foot, and take him away, and cast him
    into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
    For many are called, but few are chosen."--MATT. xxii. 1-14.

This parable stands connected both historically and logically with the
two which immediately precede it: especially between the guests here
invited to the feast and the husbandmen to whom the vineyard was
entrusted, there is a close resemblance in privileges enjoyed, in
perversity manifested, and in judgment incurred. Yet the lessons, though
in some respects parallel, are to a great extent distinct; and though
both traverse partially the same ground, the latter carries the
argument some steps further forward than the former parable.

A question has arisen and been largely canvassed, on the relation
between the parable and one[43] recorded in Luke xiv. 16-24 regarding a
certain man who made a great supper and bade many. Around this subject
much useless and some mischievous debate has accumulated. The criticism
which assumes that only one discourse on the subject was spoken by
Jesus, and that consequently two reports of it differing from each
other, cannot be both correct, is impertinent and trifling. It is a
pedantic literalism contrary to experience and to common sense. It rests
upon the assumption that a public Teacher who taught the common people
daily, on the margin of the lake and in private dwellings, in the Temple
at Jerusalem and in the sequestered villages around, never repeated with
variations in one place the substance of a lesson which he had given in
another. Even in the immense profusion of nature every plant is not in
all its features different from all others; two individuals or species
are found in some respects the same and in some respects different. The
two walk together as far as they are going the same way, and separate
when each approaches his own peculiar and specific terminus. This
combination of identity and difference pervades creation; and you may
observe the same characteristics in the scheme of Providence. Two men
during a portion of their life-course suffer the same troubles and taste
the same joys; but at a certain point in their progress their paths
diverge, and they never meet again in a common experience. Look even to
the history of any citizen whose life is public, and you will find that
by speech, or writing, or act, he prosecutes his objects by a mixture
of sameness and diversity. His address in the high court of the nation,
and his address to his rustic constituents in a distant province, will
be found in some features similar and in some different: yet the address
in either case will be found an independent and consistent whole,
corresponding to the character of the speaker and the circumstances of
his audience.

  [43] No. XXI. of this series.

This "Teacher sent from God" was wont in later lessons to walk sometimes
over his own former footsteps, as far as that track best suited his
purpose, and to diverge into a new path at the point where a diversity
in the circumstances demanded a variety in the treatment. This is the
method followed both in nature and revelation,--the method both of God
and of men.

"A certain king made a marriage for his son," the two important features
here are the royal state of the father, and the specific designation of
the supper as the nuptial feast of his son. It may be quite true, as
some critics say, that because the greatest feasts were usually
connected with marriages, the epithet "marriage" was sometimes applied
to any sumptuous banquet; if in the Scriptures or elsewhere we should
find a banquet denominated a marriage feast, while from the
circumstances it appeared that no marriage had taken place, we should
experience no difficulty in explaining the apparent incongruity. But in
this case there is no reason for adopting the exceptional, and the
strongest reason for retaining what is confessedly the ordinary and
natural signification of the term. The conception of the Redeemer as the
bridegroom, and his redeemed people as the bride, lies too deep in
Scripture and protrudes too frequently from its surface to leave any
doubt concerning the allusion in the parable. The feast, introduced into
the story for the sake of its spiritual significance, is the marriage
supper of the king's son.

The king sent forth his servants, not on this occasion to give the first
invitation, but to warn those who had been previously invited that the
time had come, and the preparations been completed. It is obviously
assumed, and analogies are not wanting to justify the assumption, that
those whom the king desired to honour were informed of that desire
before the day of the feast, and that another message was sent to each,
after everything was ready, requesting his immediate attendance in the
palace of the king. This feature of the transaction is not explained or
defended in the narrative; it is silently taken for granted as at least
sufficiently common to be well understood.[44]

  [44] I have witnessed a process closely analogous, in a small
  detached island of the Shetland group in which the message sent was
  an invitation, not figurative but literal, to come and hear the word
  of the kingdom. It had been previously intimated to the islanders
  that a minister of the Gospel from the south would preach to them on
  the occasion of his visit to the neighbouring mainland, as the
  largest island of the group is styled. When the minister and his
  friends succeeded at length in crossing the Channel, several
  children were dispatched as messengers in different directions to
  inform the people that public worship would immediately begin. In a
  very short time a congregation was assembled consisting of the whole
  population of the island.

This peculiarity of the invitation is important in connection with the
severity of the punishment which was subsequently inflicted on the
recusants. They did not repudiate the invitation when it was first
addressed to them. By retaining it, and enjoying the advantage of being
accounted the king's guests during the interval, they pledged themselves
to attend the marriage festival, and honour their sovereign by their
presence. Their abrupt refusal at the eleventh hour, after all was ready
to receive them, partook of the nature both of breach of engagement and
disloyalty. "They would not come."

A second message was sent, more specific and more urgent: but the men
met the importunate kindness of the king with contemptuous mockery:
"they made light of it, and went their ways, one to his farm, another to
his merchandise." A portion of them carried their opposition beyond
supercilious neglect into blood-thirsty enmity; "the remnant took his
servants and entreated them spitefully and slew them."

"But when the king heard thereof, he was wroth: and he sent forth his
armies, and destroyed those murderers, and burned up their city." As far
as appears from the narrative, those who affronted the king by neglect,
and those who put his messengers to death, received the same punishment.
Although the cruelty perpetrated by some of the conspirators was an
aggravation of their guilt, the crime for which they suffered was one of
which all alike were guilty,--the crime of despising the king's
invitation, and pouring contempt upon his authority.

The transaction may have had great political significance. It was a
combination among the aristocracy to thwart the king and dictate to him
a line of policy. They meant by their absence in mass to leave him
without support, that he might be compelled to court them on their own
terms. In such a case only two alternatives are open to the supreme
magistrate: he must either submit to the aristocracy and buy them back
at their own price, or supersede them by a bold appeal to the common
people. Suppose that in this country the Lords should by compact refuse
to attend Parliament, for the express purpose of extorting concessions
in favour of themselves by bringing the process of legislation to a
stand: the sovereign, in that case, must either submit to the terms of
the refractory nobles, or by prerogative create a new peerage from the
plebean ranks. Such, on a minute scale and in a simple form, was the
course adopted by the king in this ancient oriental drama.

He destroyed their city: it was the king's own city, but he loathed it
because of the rebellion of its inhabitants. He took no pleasure in its
streets and palaces when their moral glory had departed. The loss of so
much property was a small loss; the gain for the discipline of unborn
generations was unspeakably great. The overthrow of the city in which
the rebels dwelt would make children's children shudder at the thought
of apostasy. The sacrifice of a material interest in order to afford
sanction to moral laws is the highest wisdom of government, both human
and divine. This principle was adopted on the largest scale after the
first rebellion, when the earth was cursed for man's sake.

The king took his servants into his counsel. They had suffered in his
cause, and he will not conceal from them what he is about to do. "Go ye
therefore into the highways,"--the public places of resort, as well the
city's streets as the roads that traverse the country,--"and as many as
ye shall find, bid to the marriage." In the first instance the
invitation was limited to the class who had a prescriptive right to
appear at court; when these by their perversity had excluded themselves,
the king in his sovereignty extended the invitation generally to the
common people,--to persons who previously possessed no right of
admission, but who obtained the right then and there by the free act of
the sovereign.

The servants did as they were instructed. They understood and executed
their commission according to its letter: they brought in "bad and
good." As they were not instructed to institute an inquiry into the
character or social position of the persons whom they should invite,
they made no distinction; they swept the streets to fill the royal
halls.

At this point the parable becomes logically complete, and its lesson may
be exhibited apart from the addition regarding the wedding garment which
immediately follows. It will be more convenient, accordingly, to
prosecute the exposition of the earlier portion by itself, and leave the
latter portion to be treated afterwards as substantially a separate
lesson.

The parable, as far as we have hitherto read it, repeats and extends the
warnings previously given regarding the spiritual privileges which the
Jews enjoyed and abused, the judgments which had been and still would be
poured out upon the nation, and the successful proclamation of the
Gospel to the Gentiles, when the natural seed of Abraham should have in
rebellious unbelief rejected the offers of their Lord.

The marriage festival made by the king in honour of his son, points
manifestly to redemption completed in the incarnation, ministry, death,
and resurrection of Christ. Banquets had before this period been
provided by the king, and enjoyed by the favoured circle of his guests;
much advantage was possessed by the Jews over the Gentiles in every way,
but especially in that to them were committed the oracles of God. But
the feast depicted in this parable was the last and best; it was the way
of salvation in its completed state. As the king made known his
intention before it was carried into effect, and intimated to the guests
that they would be summoned as soon as the preparations were complete;
so a period of preparation, and promise, and expectation intervened
between the incarnation and the sacrifice of Christ. To the Jewish
commonwealth the promise was made in the birth of the babe at Bethlehem,
and they were invited to be upon the watch for the moment when the
kingdom should come in its power.

When the fulness of time had come, the Lord himself undertaking the work
as well as assuming the form of a servant, carried to the chosen people
the message, "Come, for all things are now ready." His immediate
followers and their successors repeated and pressed the invitation. It
is worthy of notice that the servants, when they went out with the
commission of the king, did not announce the feast as a new thing, then
for the first time made known; they spoke of it as that which was
promised before, and actually offered them; they summoned those who had
previously been fully informed that the feast was provided for their
use. These favoured but unthankful people were not taken at their word;
after the first refusal, another and more urgent invitation is sent. The
successive reiterated mission of the servants to the class who were
originally invited, may be understood to point to the ministry of the
Lord and the seventy until the time of the crucifixion, and the second
mission of the apostles after the Pentecost, and under the ministration
of the spirit. Both invitations were neglected and rejected by the
people to whom they were sent; Christ came unto his own, and his own
received him not.

Significant are the differences in the treatment which the message and
the messengers received from different classes within the privileged
circle of the first invited. We learn here the solemn lesson that though
there is much diversity in the degrees of aggravation with which men
accompany their rejection of the Saviour, all who do not receive him
perish in the same condemnation. At first no distinction is made
between class and class of unbelievers; of all, and of all alike it is
recorded, "they would not come." But when the offer became more pressing
and more searching, a difference began to appear, not as yet the
difference between the believing and the unbelieving, but a difference
in the manner of refusing, and in the degrees of courage or of cowardice
that accompanied the act. The greater number treated the message
lightly, and preferred their own business to the life eternal which was
offered to them in Christ; while a portion, not content with spurning
away the offer, persecuted to the death the ambassadors who bore it. The
fault of those who are first mentioned takes the form of indolent,
frivolous neglect, rather than of active opposition. They were occupied
with many other things, and therefore could not attend to this one; they
were bent on prosecuting their own gains, and therefore set no value on
God's favour.[45]

  [45] A melancholy interest adheres to the contrast between man's
  heedlessness of God as expressed in this parable, ἀμελήσαντες, made
  light of it, did not care for it; and God's regard for men as
  expressed in 1 Peter v. 7, αὐτῷ μέλεὶ περι ὑμων, he careth for you.

These two, ungodliness and worldliness, are always found in company; but
it is sometimes difficult to determine which of the two goes first, and
draws the other after it. You seldom meet a man who neglects this great
salvation, and neglects also the gains and the pleasures of life. Those
who forget God follow hard after another lord, although they may be
unable to detect or unwilling to confess their own idolatry. No man can
serve two masters; but every man practically serves one. It may not,
however, be easy in any given case to discover whether a man pursues
some particular pleasure because he is determined to abide far from
Christ, or is kept far from Christ because his heart is pre-engaged to
some worldly lust. In the case which the parable exhibits, this point
has not been expressly determined. When the second and more urgent
message arrived, demanding their immediate attendance on the king at the
marriage of his son, those men departed in an opposite direction, each
to his own business; but it remains an open question whether their
hearts were first so glued to the farm and the merchandise, that they
could not be persuaded to take from these engrossing pursuits as much
time as would suffice to attend upon their sovereign; or whether there
was first a determination to resist the sovereign's call, and that they
then introduced the business as an excuse, and fled to it as a welcome
occupation.

It may have been either or both; but in the circumstances I think it was
primarily the latter of the two. In the hearts of those men lay a deep
design against the authority of the king; but it would have involved
serious risk to have flatly refused his reiterated invitation. They had
actually incurred a grave responsibility, and they were disposed to
lighten it somewhat by interposing a plausible excuse. Troubled,
moreover, by the gravity of their step they were fain to seek refuge
from reflection by plunging into the ordinary avocations of life. I
think it was not an excessive zeal for agriculture and trade that really
prevented them from attending on the king that day; but a consciousness
of having conclusively offended the king that drove them for relief into
agriculture and trade. On the spiritual side of the parable, in like
manner, the excessive devotion to business which occupies some men, and
leaves not a shred either of their hearts or lives for Christ, may be in
many cases not a primary affection, but the secondary result of another
and deeper passion. When Christ has often knocked at the door, and the
inhabitant soul within has as often refused to open, there is no longer
peace in the dwelling that has been barred against its Lord. He who has
rejected the merciful offers of a merciful God, does not afterwards sit
at ease; every sound that in moments of solitude falls upon his ear,
seems the footstep of an angry God, returning to inflict deserved
punishment. When one has distinctly heard the Saviour's call, and
deliberately refused to comply with it, he thenceforth experiences a
craving for company and employment. He cannot endure silence or
solitude. When he stands still, he seems to hear the throbbings of his
own conscience terrible as the ticking of the clock in the chamber of
death. To be alone is unendurable, because it is to be with God. To
escape from this fiery furnace, he hastens to plough in his field or
sell in his shop. In such a case, the worldliness, even when it runs to
the greatest excess, is not the primary passion, but a secondary
refuge,--the trees of the garden among which the fallen would fain hide
from the Lord God.

But in some cases the disease may first approach by the other side: love
of the world may be the earlier matured and more imperious passion. The
farm and the merchandise may become the soul's first and fondest love;
and that love possessing all the soul's faculties, may cast or keep out
Christ and his redemption. If you suppose those invited guests to have
been previously wedded to the idolatry of covetousness, worshipping gain
in secret as their god, you can easily comprehend how they should grudge
a day taken from traffic in order to honour their king; so in the
interpretation of the parable, when riches or pleasures increase, and
the possessor sets his heart upon them, he has already obtained his
portion, and will not cast it away for Christ; he will mock the
messengers who bring the distasteful proposal.

Among the invited guests, however, there is another class who treat the
king's servants in another way. The first class made light of the
message; the second murdered the messengers. It is intimated that while
the bulk of those to whom the Gospel was preached, neglected the offer
and busied themselves with earthly gains, some rose against the
preachers and persecuted them unto the death. These last, however, seem
to have been in point of numbers an inconsiderable minority,--"the
remnant entreated them spitefully and slew them."

There were persecutors in the earliest days of the Gospel, and there
have been persecutors in every generation since. The Pharisees plotted
that they might put Jesus to death: Saul of Tarsus at a later date was
their willing tool in a desperate effort to quench the life of the
infant Church in the blood of its members. After he was turned, and the
mighty stream of his life compelled to flow like a river of water in the
opposite direction, a constant succession of cruel men has been kept up
in this restless, sin-stained world, whose life-work is to crucify
Christ in his members. The unchanged, unrepenting hierarchy of Rome,
successor not of Peter the apostle, but of Saul the persecutor, does yet
all that it can and dare to treat spitefully and slay those servants of
the king who invite them and the world to the marriage-supper of the
King's Son.

But the crucifiers of Christ are not all shedders of human blood. Deadly
enmity to the truth and its publishers may be manifested where stakes
and fagots are out of fashion and inconvenient. The soul of the
persecution which the parable represents lies in entreating spitefully
the king's messengers, because they loathed the invitation, and were
irritated by the urgency wherewith the servants, remembering their
sovereign's command, felt themselves constrained to press it on every
man they met. In our own day, it does not require extraordinary sagacity
to perceive the same spirit in the relish and readiness with which
certain classes catch up a cry against any one who, not ashamed of the
Gospel of Christ, has discharged his commission in full.

But when you add together both classes of open antagonists--those who
shed the blood of Christians, and those who merely calumniate them, you
have only a very small company before you. On the one side I see a
little flock,--those who meekly receive Christ; on the other and
opposite side I see also a little flock,--those who loudly proclaim by
word and deed, "We will not have this man to reign over us:" but there
is a multitude, whom no man can number, in the midst, who neither accept
the king's message nor persecute the servants of the king. The character
of the company on either extreme is distinctly marked, and easily seen.
Those have manifestly closed with Christ's offer, and are accepted
through faith; these, on the other hand, have considered the offer, and
proved their rejection of it by killing its bearers. But the multitude
in the middle have not taken a decisive part; they have remained
apparently in a state of equilibrium. As yet they have not indeed
actually and personally closed with the Redeemer as their own; but
neither on the other hand have they determined and proclaimed that they
will not accept him. They have not moved to either side to take a
decisive part for or against the Lord.[46] This feature of their
condition and their history helps to deceive and so to destroy them. If
the condition of the world and the law of God were such that all would
be safe in the great day who did not blaspheme Christ's name, and mock
his Gospel, and put to death his ministers, this multitude in the middle
might remain where they are at ease. But this is not the state of the
case; life and death for us depend on our knowing and not mistaking the
state of the case here.

  [46] These three different methods of treating the message were all
  exhibited simultaneously at Athens when Paul preached there: "Some
  mocked, others said, We will hear thee again of this matter....
  Howbeit, certain men clave unto him and believed" (Acts
  xvii. 32-34).

To all the multitude in the middle the word of a merciful and faithful
God proclaims, In order to be saved, it is necessary that you should
arise, and turn to the right hand, and join the company there who have
gladly welcomed the Son of God as their Saviour; but, correspondingly,
in order to be lost, it is not necessary that you should arise from your
state of indifference, and join the scoffer's ranks. To be saved you
must flee to the refuge; but to be lost, it is enough that you remain
where you are.

In the Theocracy, the Hebrew nation were the hereditary nobles. It is
said of them in the Scriptures that they are a people near unto God
(Ps. cxlviii. 14). They enjoyed a right of entry into the king's presence.
Having, in virtue of their birth-right, a perennial invitation to the
royal festivals, they needed only a message as a matter of course,
demanding their presence when the feast was prepared. The Gospel of
grace complete in Christ is obviously the feast to which the house of
Israel were in the fulness of time specially summoned. When they refused
to come to the banquet, the Provider was displeased, but not put about:
the Omniscient knows his way. He never permits his purposes to be
thwarted: He makes the wrath of man to praise himself, and the remainder
of that wrath he restrains.

In the beginning of human life and of God's moral government on earth,
the enemy seemed to triumph. Creation was thrown out of joint; the being
made in God's image was defiled by sin. But although the garden of Eden
was emptied, God was not left without a witness in the world: sin
abounded, but grace did much more abound. In like manner, at a later
stage of the divine administration when the favoured vine became barren,
another was brought out of Egypt and planted in its stead. When Israel
rejected Christ, God rejected Israel, and called another people to be
his own. "We have Abraham to our father," said the Jewish leaders to the
Baptist when his lessons began to gall them, "We have Abraham to our
father," meaning thereby to intimate that they alone were the chosen
people, and that failing them God would have no children on the earth.
How did John answer this boast? "Think not to say within yourselves, We
have Abraham to our father; for I say unto you that God is able of these
stones to raise up children unto Abraham" (Matt. iii. 9, 10).

Although those privileged Hebrews rejected him, Christ did not remain a
king without subjects, a shepherd without a flock. In the exercise of
the same sovereignty through which he chose Abraham at first, he passed
over Abraham's degenerate posterity and called another family. This
family was Abraham's seed, not by natural generation, but in the
regeneration through faith. Of these stones he raised up children to
Abraham, when the natural children of the family had through unbelief
shut themselves out. "Go to the highways:" Christ commanded his
apostles to begin at Jerusalem indeed, but he did not enjoin,--did not
permit them to continue holding out their hands to a disobedient and
gainsaying people; the alternative was embodied in their commission, If
the Jews do not receive you, go to the Gentiles.

It becomes us to stand in awe before these deep things of God: their
fall became our rising. In the channel through which a running stream is
directed upon a mill wheel the same turning of a valve that shuts the
water out of one course throws it into another, that had previously been
dry; thus the Jews by rejecting the counsel of God shut themselves out,
and at the same moment opened a way whereby mercy might flow to us who
were afar off.

The servants went out and did as they were bidden. Peter went to the
house of Cornelius, and in that lane of the world's great city found a
whole household willing to follow him to the feast his royal master had
prepared. Soon thereafter Paul and Barnabas, Silas, Titus, Timothy, and
others traversed the continents of Europe and Asia, bringing multitudes
of neglected outcasts into the presence and the favour of the king.

"They brought in good and bad." This is a cardinal point in the method
of divine mercy, and therefore it is articulately inserted in the
picture. The scene is taken from life in the world; the conceptions
accordingly, and the phraseology correspond with the circumstances. In
society at large, and in every section of society such as the rich or
the poor, two classes are found distinguished by their moral character,
and in ordinary language designated the good and the bad. The thought
and the style of ordinary life are adopted in the parable, and every
reader understands easily what is meant. Every great community has its
virtuous poor and its vicious poor. The invitations of the Gospel come
to fallen human kind, and to all without respect either of persons or of
characters. Apart from Christ and prior to regeneration the distinction
between bad and good is only an earthly thing: in God's sight and in
prospect of the judgment, there is none good, no not one. There are not
two roads from earth to heaven: there is only one gate open, and by it
all the saved enter. It is not the man's goodness that recommends him to
God's favour: the worst is welcome through the blood of Christ, and the
best is rejected if he approach by any other way. Nor does it follow
thence that the Judge is indifferent to righteousness; that which the
unreconciled offer to him as righteousness is in his sight sin; and the
fact of offering it as a ground of justification aggravates the
offerer's guilt.


PART II.--THE WEDDING GARMENT.

We have here two parables in one. In their union and relations they
resemble the two seed-stones which are sometimes found within one fruit,
attached to each other, and wrapped in the same envelope, but possessing
each its own separate organization, and its own independent germ of
life. The parable of the prepared, offered, and rejected feast, and the
parable of the wedding garment, although actually united in the Lord's
ministry and the evangelic record, are in their own nature distinct,
whether you consider the secular scenes delineated or the spiritual
lessons which they convey.

When the wedding was furnished with guests the king came in to see them.
The representation is in strict accordance with the relations of the
parties and the customs of society both in ancient and modern times.
When a citizen entertains his equals he must himself be first in the
festal hall to welcome the guests as they successively arrive; but when
a sovereign invites subjects to his palace he appears among them only
when the company have all assembled.

The instant that he entered the festive hall the king saw there a man
who had not on a wedding-garment. Although this is the turning point of
the parable, it is represented with extreme brevity. The great central
facts are recorded with the utmost distinctness, but all the surrounding
circumstances are in silence assumed: no explanation is given, and the
reason doubtless is that no explanation is needed. Some customs and
allusions connected with the scene remain obscure to us, after all that
modern research has done to illustrate them, but the lesson which our
Lord intended to teach stands relieved in clearest light and sharpest
outline, like distant mountain tops when the sun has newly set behind
them. Some points regarding which we might desire information are left
in the shade, but in as far as the story is necessary to unfold and
perpetuate the spiritual lesson, it is accompanied with no doubt and
with very little difficulty.

1. The wedding garment was something conspicuous and distinctive. As
soon as the king entered the room he detected the single man who wanted
it in a great company of guests.

2. It was not a necessary part of a man's clothing, but rather a
significant badge of his loyalty. The primary use of the symbol was
neither to keep the wearer warm nor to make him elegant, but to manifest
his faithfulness.

3. The want of it was, and was understood to be, a decisive mark of
disloyalty. The man who came to the feast without a wedding-garment
endorsed substantially the act of those who had proudly refused to
comply with the king's invitation. It was the same heart-disobedience
accompanied by a hypocrisy that would fain commit the sin and yet escape
the consequences.

4. The question whether a wedding-garment was proffered to every guest
as he entered, out of the royal store, is attended with some difficulty.
The preponderance of probability seems to lie with those who think that
these decorations were freely distributed in the vestibule to every
entrant, in some such way as certain badges are sometimes given to every
one of a wedding party amongst ourselves in the present day. But the
point is not of primary importance. From what is tacitly assumed in the
narrative it may be held as demonstrated alternatively that either the
king gave every guest the necessary garment, or it was such that every
guest, even the poorest, could on the shortest warning easily obtain it
for himself. Two silences become the two witnesses out of whose mouths
this conclusion is established,--the silence of the king as to the
grounds of his sentence, and the silence of the culprit when judgment
was pronounced. The judge does not give any reason why sentence should
be executed, and the criminal does not give any reason why it should
not. On both sides it is confessed and silently assumed that the guest
had not, but might have had, the wedding-garment on. If there had been
any hardship in the case the king would have vindicated his own
procedure, and the condemned guest would not have remained speechless
when he heard his doom.[47]

  [47] "It should be assumed that the guests were not instantly
  hurried into the festal hall, but that an opportunity was afforded
  to them of changing their dress. This, however, is not expressly
  asserted in the narrative, but may be gathered from the term εφιμωθη
  (he was speechless) in ver. 12; and must be understood on this
  account also, that, otherwise the sentence in ver. 13 would stand
  exposed to the charge of injustice."--_Storr, de parabolis Christi_,
  p. 113.

From the circumstances in which that motley company was collected and
introduced into the palace, we may safely conclude that no kind of
clothing, however torn and mean, would have been counted a
disqualification. Over the whole surface of the scene is spread the
proof that nothing in the character or condition of the attire which a
street porter or a field labourer might happen to wear, when he was
intercepted on the highway by the king's messengers, and hurried away to
the palace without an opportunity of visiting his own home, could
possibly have been a ground of exclusion. When such persons in such
circumstances were invited to the banquet, assuredly the king was
prepared to welcome them, as far as dress was concerned, precisely as
his servants had found them. No man forfeited his place at that table on
account of any defect in the quality or condition of the clothing which
he wore when he unexpectedly met the messengers and was suddenly hurried
away to the feast. Thus far, treading on firm ground, we tread surely.

Alike from the facts of the case, from the analogy of others, and from
the corresponding spiritual lesson as elsewhere declared in Scripture,
we conclude with confidence that the wedding garment was a well
understood distinctive badge, expressive generally of loyalty, and
specifically constituting and declaring the wearer's fitness for sitting
as a guest at the marriage supper of the king's son. In appearance it
must have been conspicuous; but its value may not have been great. It
was not the inherent worth of the material but the meaning of the symbol
that bulked in the estimation of both the entertainer and his guests. It
may from analogous cases be shown to be probable that a loyal heart
could have easily extemporized the appropriate symbol out of any
material that lay next at hand. Where there is a will there is a way.
Italian patriots at the crisis of their conflict with multiform
oppression, and while the strong yoke of the despot was still upon their
necks, contrived to display their darling tricolor by a seemingly
accidental arrangement of red, white, and green among the vegetables
which they exhibited in the market or carried to their homes. Nay more,
the loyalty of a loyal man may in certain circumstances be more
emphatically expressed by a rude, extemporaneous symbol, hastily
constructed of intractable materials, than by the most elaborate
and leisurely products of the needle or the loom. In such cases, the
will of the man is everything; the wealth of the man nothing. The
meanest rag suddenly thrown across the shoulders, arranged so as
unequivocally to express the wearer's faith may be a better evidence of
loyalty than the richest silks of the East.[48]

  [48] A custom connected with funerals, which prevails in some
  districts of England, if not in all, approaches closely in some of
  its essential features to that which occupies the most conspicuous
  place in this parable. A scarf of black silk, large, conspicuous,
  and expensive, yet constituting no part of the proper garments of
  the wearer, is given by the person who invites, and worn by every
  one who accepts the invitation. A single person without the badge in
  the procession would be instantly detected, and the omission would,
  in the circumstances, be taken as proof of disrespect.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let us now endeavour to appreciate and express the spiritual lesson.
True to nature on the earthly sphere the parable represents the
invitation, the assembling of the guests, and the entrance of the king,
as three several and successive acts; but in the processes of the
spiritual kingdom these three operations advance simultaneously. Some
are in the act of hearing the invitation,--some are accepting it and
going to the feast,--some are sitting at the table under the inspection
of the king,--all at the same moment. The process is like the habit of
some species of fruit trees, on which flowers, green berries, and ripe
fruit may be seen at the same time; the flowers of this season become
the green berries of the next, and the green berries of this season
become the ripened fruit of the next; and thus a constant succession is
maintained. In like manner, as the generations pass, all the processes
of Christ's kingdom are simultaneously carried forward.

The guests who have come at the call of the servants, and taken their
places at the table of the king, are those who hear the Gospel and fall
in with its terms,--who adopt Christ's name and enrol themselves among
his people,--who hope in his mercy and commemorate his death. Herein
they are broadly distinguished from those who made light of the message,
and those who persecuted the messengers; but it is not yet certain
whether they are forgiven and renewed. The profession which they have
made distinguishes them from those Jews who refused the invitation, and
those Gentiles who have not yet heard it; but among those who thus far
comply with the call, another distinction must still be made. That
goodly heap must be tossed up and winnowed yet again, that the chaff may
be driven before the wind, and only the wheat gathered into the
husbandman's garner.

As in the parable, we are not informed what were the shape, size,
colour, or material of the wedding garment, but only that it was
necessary that every guest should wear it; so we do not find here any
specific doctrinal instruction as to the method of redemption and the
decisive characteristics of believers. We learn from the parable that
every sinner must simply comply with God's terms in order that he may be
saved; and elsewhere in Scripture we are fully taught what these terms
are. An abundant answer to the question, "What must I do to be saved?"
is recorded by the Spirit: the only point regarding it which this
parable teaches, is that a sinner must abandon his own method, and fall
in with Christ's. The meaning of the man who sat at the feast without a
wedding garment seems to have been, "I am my own master, and I shall
work my own way to heaven:" the meaning of the men who meekly wore it
was, "We are not our own; we are bought with a price; our
righteousnesses are as filthy rags, but the Lord is our righteousness."

Thus the lesson of the parable concentrates itself at last upon a point;
but that point is the turning-point of life or death to men. Is any one
disposed to complain that it stakes all upon an opinion? It does, and
why not? One man's opinion is that his own righteousness, especially
when he has gotten time to improve it, may be safely presented in the
judgment, and ought to satisfy the judge. Another man counts all his
efforts vile, as lacking the vital element of love, and at God's command
places his trust wholly in Christ his substitute: the first does deepest
dishonour, the second gives highest glory to God. A man's opinion on a
trifling subject, may be of trifling import; but a man's opinion--his
mind on how he may be just with God, is the greatest and most pregnant
fact in creation. Opinion here is nothing less and nothing else than the
attitude of a fallen creature towards his Maker and Judge: one opinion
is the alienated heart of a rebel, another is the glad trustfulness of a
dear child.

If the head of a Hebrew family, on the dread night of the Exodus, had
said within himself, What shall I gain by sprinkling a lamb's blood upon
my door-posts? Or, if a conspicuous mark be necessary, may not the blood
of this animal suffice, that was killed for the use of my family in the
ordinary way? If moved by some self-confident speculations regarding the
constancy of nature, he had entered through the portals of the twilight
into that awful night, he would have perished while his neighbours were
preserved: not that a lamb's blood had power to save, but because this
man refused to take God's way of being saved, and trusted in his
own.[49]

  [49] I do not attach much value to the question which has been much
  canvassed here, whether the wedding garment specifically signifies
  Faith or Charity,--whether it points to what the saved get from God,
  or what they do in his service. To wear the garment at the feast
  means that the wearer takes God's way of salvation and not his own;
  to want it, means that the wanter takes his own way of salvation and
  not God's. This is the conclusion of the whole matter. If you
  suppose that the garment means evangelical obedience, you must
  assume that faith in Christ is the root on which obedience grows;
  if, on the other hand, you suppose that the garment means faith in
  Christ, you must assume that it is a living not a dead faith,--a
  faith that will work by love and overcome the world.

The rest may be expressed in few words. He saw there a man which had not
on a wedding garment. Here, first of all, it is not intimated that
ordinarily there is only one hypocrite in a large company of professors:
it is no part of the Lord's design in this parable to tell us whether
the false members of the visible Church are many or few. The single
point on which the Master has fixed his eye is the certainty that the
false will be detected: the parable does not reveal their numbers, but
it assures us that none of them shall escape in the crowd. If the
representation had been that a large proportion, say a half or
three-fourths of the guests, had been detected at the table without the
appropriate symbol of loving loyalty to the king, the omniscience of the
visitor, and the certainty of the criminal's doom would not have been so
clearly and strongly expressed. That the king's eye instantly detects
the undecorated guest, although he is only one in a multitude, is the
most emphatic warning that could possibly be conveyed to the
unbelieving. None who live without Christ in the world shall be
permitted to glide into heaven with the crowd in the great day. The
constancy of nature is sometimes wielded as a weapon of assault against
revealed religion: it will one day strike a heavy blow on the other
side. When a mixture of wheat and chaff is thrown up in the wind, the
solid grains drop down on the spot, and the light chaff is driven away.
You never expect, in such a case, that to please some fancy of yours,
the solid grain will fly away on the wings of the blast, and the chaff
drop down at your feet. The constancy of nature prevents. Well; by a law
as constant and changeless--a law of the same God, reigning over the
world of spirit, "the wicked is driven away in his wickedness, but the
righteous hath hope in his death" (Prov. xiv. 32).

He was speechless. The judgment will be so conducted that the condemned
will be compelled to own the justice of their sentence. Conscience,
brought again into contact with God, will be awakened and restored to
the exercise of its functions; like a mirror it will receive and repeat
the decree of the Judge. Persecutors were wont to gag their victims
while they burnt them; it was found necessary to put iron on the tongues
of the witnesses, to make them silent while they suffered. No such
clumsy device is needed in the assize which the righteous God will hold
upon the world. Conscience swelling within will stifle the complaint of
the guilty. The courage of the despiser will fail: the last poor comfort
of the blasphemer, to hurl against the judgment seat the last
despairing, defiant word, will be taken away. The history of the fact
written by divine prescience before the time, makes no mention of what
the condemned will say. The record simply runs, "These shall go away
into everlasting punishment."

"Outer darkness:" tell us in detail what the condition the outcast will
be, and what will be the constituents of their suffering? We cannot.
Rome has impiously traded upon this weakness of humanity. She has
parcelled out her purgatory, as we delineate this upper world on a map.
This is the machinery whereby she is enabled to traffic in the souls of
men. No; that condition lies in outer darkness; I cannot see through the
veil, and tell the specific sufferings that lie beneath it. My Lord has
told me that it is in outer darkness; but he has covered it from my
sight. He hath done all things well. He often warns us that the wicked
shall be cast away; but he never tells us the particulars of their
torments. For teaching about this terror let me listen to his word; for
safety from it, let me hide in his bosom.




THE TEN VIRGINS AND THE ENTRUSTED TALENTS.

MATT. xxv. 1-30


Both historically and logically the two parables, of the ten virgins and
of the talents, are connected and constitute a group: in place they are
contiguous, and in nature they are reciprocally complements of each
other, making together a complete whole. De Valenti has by a happy
generalization placed their relations in an interesting and instructive
light. He points out that there are two kinds of almost-Christians, the
bustling labourers, and the mystic-dreamers. One class tries to live on
works without faith, and the other on faith without works. From opposite
causes both efforts fail. The parable of the ten virgins addresses its
warning to the Almost-Christianity which is all body with no spirit; and
the parable of the talents addresses its warning to the
Almost-Christianity which is all spirit with no body.

These constitute a pair; or rather they are the right and left sides of
one living lesson. Both represent the character and condition of the
Church and its members, while they wait for the coming of the Lord; both
apply decisive tests to a seemly profession, and thereby separate
between the true and the false: but they differ in that the first
searches the heart, and the second examines the life. The first test
detects the want of secret faith; the second the want of active
obedience. The parable of the ten virgins prepares and throws into the
mass of Christian profession a solvent which serves to determine whether
and where there is life _in_ the Lord; the parable of the entrusted
talents prepares and throws into the mass of Christian profession a
solvent which serves to determine whether and where there is life _for_
the Lord.

These two,--the inward grace of faith and the outward life of obedience,
constitute the two sides,--the right and left of the new man. To that
new man as a whole both parables alike refer; but the one touches him
for testing on the right side, and the other on the left. The first
tests his works by his faith, and the second tests his faith by his
works. The first goes directly to the root and inquires whether the tree
is good or bad; thus determining what the character of the fruit must
be; the second goes first to the fruit, and by its sweetness or
bitterness ascertains the character of the tree. The parable of the ten
virgins speaketh on this wise,--If there be true faith in the heart,
there will be active obedience in the life: the parable of the talents
speaketh on this wise,--If there be active obedience in the life, there
must be a root of faith unseen whereon that good fruit grows.




XIII.

THE TEN VIRGINS.


"Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which
    took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. And five of
    them were wise, and five were foolish. They that were foolish took
    their lamps, and took no oil with them: but the wise took oil in
    their vessels with their lamps. While the bridegroom tarried, they
    all slumbered and slept. And at midnight there was a cry made,
    Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him. Then all those
    virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. And the foolish said unto
    the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out. But the
    wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and
    you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves. And
    while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were
    ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.
    Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to
    us. But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you
    not."--MATT. xxv. 1-12.

Here is one of the larger and grander pictures in this gallery of
various glory. It is sublime in its ample outline, and exquisitely
tender in its details. It is charged with many precious lessons, which
flow freely at the gentlest touch; and it is cruel to put it to the
torture to compel it to give meanings which it never received from its
author.

The painful search for precisely identical customs in eastern countries
and ancient times is here, for the most part, unnecessary and
unprofitable. The usages incidentally photographed in such a parable as
this are indeed true sections of the place and the time, but others,
agreeing in general character though differing in detail, might have
been substituted in perfect consistency with the circumstances. There is
some elasticity even in Oriental manners. It is not probable that all
marriages were conducted on precisely the same plan. There might, for
aught I know, be a difference between a wedding among the rich and a
wedding among the poor, and another difference between the method of
celebrating a marriage in the city and the country,--in Galilee and
Judea. In examining analogous cases, I would look for similarity of
style rather than identity of individual features. Looking on the
parable of the ten virgins as a grand original, I don't trouble myself
with the work of hunting for corroboration of its truth or explanations
of its meaning in the form of identical observances recorded in other
books.

The more important portion of the nuptial ceremonies were performed at
night. They consisted in a great measure of processions along the road
and festivals within the dwelling. The out-door part of the pageant is
of course conducted by torch-light. A small cup, filled with rags and
resin, is affixed to a rod, that it may be held aloft. At the proper
time the rags are lighted, and the flame is fed from time to time by
pouring oil into the cup. Each processionist carries such a lamp, and
the many separate lights dancing and crossing each other, and changing
places as the bearers advance on the undulating and tortuous path,
impart great liveliness to the joyful nocturnal scene.

From the nature of the case there must be two successive processions,
one in which the bridegroom with his friends goes for the bride to her
father's house, and another in which bride and bridegroom, together with
the friends of both families, march to the future home of the married
pair. There was more or less of ceremonial and feasting in either
mansion. It is not certainly known, and the knowledge would not be
important although it were obtained, whether the principal feast was
held in the home of the bride's father or in that of the bridegroom. It
is probable that the practice in this matter varied according to the
wealth of the parties and the capacities of the several mansions. In one
case the father of the bride, and in another the bridegroom, might
possess the more commodious dwelling, and be more able, in virtue of
ampler resources, to entertain the company. I am not aware that there is
any ascertained law or habit of the places and times demanding that the
principal feast should be always given by the father or by the
bridegroom.

In this case there is nothing in the narrative that determines with
certainty whether the bridegroom, when the ten virgins waited for him,
was on his way for the bride to her father's house or with her to his
own. On the whole, the balance of probability inclines to the side of
those who think that this is the procession coming for the bride rather
than the procession returning with her. The particular expression, "The
bridegroom cometh," among other circumstances, points in this direction.
Lange's conception commends itself as probable that the virgins are in
some sense representatives of the bride, that they go forth to meet the
bridegroom, that he has come from afar, and that some unexpected delays
have occurred on the journey.

The house whose door was shut ere the foolish five came up was obviously
the house in which the grand marriage festival was held: to be shut out
of that house was to be shut out from the marriage.

When the curtain rises and the scene is first displayed, we behold ten
young women, adorned according to the fashion of the time, lingering in
a group by the wayside at night in the warm climate of Palestine.

They may have been the young companions of the bride, a selected ten,
specially invited to meet the bridegroom on the way, and enter with him
into the festal hall,--a group in character and constituents closely
corresponding to the bridesmaids at our marriage feasts,--or they may
have been the daughters of neighbouring families, sent by their parents,
or going of their own accord, in compliance with the custom of the
place, to offer a tribute of respect and affection to the bride and
bridegroom on their marriage-day.

This feature of the scene, although in itself subordinate and
incidental, derives great importance from the subsequent development of
the parable: it becomes the hinge on which the lesson turns. From the
circumstance that a portion of the company neither came with the
bridegroom nor waited in the house for his arrival, but went out to meet
him, all the tender and solemn teaching of this parable has sprung.[50]

  [50] The closest analogue that I know of the fact which plays so
  great a part in the structure of this scriptural lesson may be found
  in a custom which prevails at funerals in the rural districts of
  Scotland. When the distance between the house of the deceased and
  the cemetery is considerable, a common, perhaps I should say a
  uniform, practice is, that those friends of the mourning family who
  reside in the neighbourhood of the burying place assemble in a group
  at a convenient turning of the road, and wait till the funeral
  procession reaches the spot; they then silently fall into their
  places and follow the corpse to the grave. I like the analogy none
  the less that it is taken, not from a time of mirth, but from a time
  of weeping. The two cases coincide in all their features except one.
  In either example we have an occasion of absorbing interest to one
  family, and the sympathy of neighbours expressed by means of large
  assemblies and public processions. In a minor but characteristic
  feature there is an exact coincidence,--a portion of the
  sympathizing neighbours wait for the main body at a point on the
  path and fall into the line of march from that spot to the terminus.
  That the one is a joyful and the other a mournful group enhances
  rather than diminishes the value of the comparison.

Waiting long without employment, the group of maidens would stand, and
sit, and recline by turns. Each holds a tiny torch in her hand, or has
laid it on the ground by her side. As the night wears on, the
conversation that had at first been animated, gradually dies away, and
one by one the wearied damsels drop over into snatches of slumber.
Before midnight they have all sunk into a continuous sleep. At midnight
a cry arose, apparently from some more wakeful watcher in the
neighbourhood, "Behold the Bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him." At
this alarm the whole band awake simultaneously and spring to their feet.
Each maiden hastily snatches up her torch; not one of them burns
brightly now; some are flickering low, and some are altogether
extinguished. In a moment, all those nimble young hands begin to ply the
work of trimming the expired or expiring lamps. All alike are able to
touch them skilfully, but the main want with every lamp is a new supply
of oil. Some can supply that want at the moment on the spot, while
others cannot. Those who had brought from home a supply of oil in
separate vessels, found it easy to make the flame of their torches burn
up as brightly as ever; but those who had neglected to provide such a
supply could not with all their efforts revive the dead or dying light.
"Give us," said the five improvident maidens, "give us of your oil, for
our lamps are gone out." The more thoughtful, and therefore more
fortunate watchers, while they pitied their sisters, were afraid to part
with any portion of their own stores, lest they should be left in the
same hapless condition ere the procession should close: "Go to them that
sell, and buy for yourselves." Alas, this was now the only alternative!
Away went those foolish virgins at the dead of night on the hopeless
errand of buying oil for immediate use in the shops of the neighbouring
town. The folly, however, lay not in this latest act; this was now their
only resource. The foolish deed was done in the day time, and before the
cry arose, Behold the bridegroom cometh.

As soon as the foolish five had gone, the procession came up, and they
that were ready fell into their places. The new accession, each bearing
a flaming torch aloft, increased the grandeur of the scene. When the
company reached the house, they all entered with the bridegroom, and the
door was shut. Some time afterwards the five who had gone away in search
of oil, returned and pleaded for admission; but they pleaded in vain.
Within the house the glad festival went forward; but those who came too
late were not admitted.

       *       *       *       *       *

The story at its close is indebted for its deep pathos, not to anything
inherent in itself, but to the sublime lesson which it conveys. The
Lord's great parable, like the Lord's great apostle, is "weak and
contemptible" in its bodily presence; but the letters in which it writes
its meaning are like his, "weighty and powerful." A few country girls
arriving too late for a marriage, and being therefore excluded from the
festival, is not in itself a great event: but I know not any words in
human language that teach a more piercing lesson than the conclusion of
this similitude. The frame is constructed of common materials; the
sublimity lies in the spiritual truth which that frame sustains. This
conception, like that of the hen gathering her chickens under her wing,
seems so common and so common-place, that we would not have ventured in
dignified discourse to employ it; in the hands of Jesus the similitude
becomes at once tender and terrible in the highest degree. At his word
the world sprang from nothing; we need not be surprised to find that
under his touch small things become great.

I think no symbolic character should be attributed to the virgins, as
such, in the interpretation of the parable; it is when they take their
lamps and go forth to meet the bridegroom that they first acquire a
spiritual significance. The whole group represent that portion of any
community who hear the Gospel, accept its terms, and profess to be the
disciples of Christ. The sincerity and depth of their profession will be
tested afterwards; but in the meantime, both in their own opinion and
that of their neighbours, they are all alike Christians. The structure
of the parable required virgins in this place, in order that the picture
might be true to nature; in the customs apparently of all times and all
countries, this position at a marriage feast is assigned to young
unmarried women. The ancient practice of the East is, in its essential
features, reproduced among ourselves from day to day in the troop of
virgins, dressed in white, who attend the bride on her bridal day. I
cannot acquiesce in the view of those who see in the special condition
of these watchers a symbol of the purity which becomes the followers of
Christ, for I find, as I read onward in the parable, that while the ten
were in respect to condition all equal, in as far as they represent
spiritual relations, five are symbols of sincerity, and five are symbols
of deceit. The condition of virgins which was common to all, cannot,
without complete confusion of ideas, be made, within the compass of the
same allegory, to signify both the true and the false. From the
procession of virgins, therefore, I obtain no more than I would have
obtained from a procession of men or matrons, if the habits of society
had permitted such a representation to have been made.[51]

  [51] Lange's view on this point seems sound and consistent; while
  both Olshausen and Stier endeavour with much pain but little fruit,
  to prove that the foolish represent true but defective disciples.
  "One part of the Church is living, while the other lives only _in_
  appearance, because it lives only _to_ appearance."--_Lange_.

They took their lamps and went forth to meet the bridegroom; this
represents an open, intelligent, and seemly profession of faith in
Christ. As all the lamps burned at first with equal brightness, and no
suspicion of a defect occurred either to the wise or the unwise, we
learn that the profession which never had life may appear so well
favoured for a time, that neither the false professor nor his converted
neighbour may be aware of its shallowness.

"To meet the bridegroom;" the parable and the discourse which precedes
it, bear upon Christ's second coming, and the attitude, which becomes
his disciples in prospect of that decisive event. They who have been
washed in his blood love his appearing.

No difference between class and class was as yet manifest; but already
the causes which subsequently wrought the separation had begun to
operate in secret, and here accordingly they are recorded by the Lord;
"five of them were wise, and five of them were foolish." I stand in awe
of this dividing word. While the whole band take part in the loyal
exodus, and all seem equal in zeal and love, the Searcher of hearts
already perceives and pronounces that some of them are wise unto
salvation, and some are so foolish that they are throwing away their
souls. That same Lord looks on the ten thousand times ten thousand who
in our times go out to meet the bridegroom. There is not a more grand or
a more beautiful spectacle on earth than a great assembly reverently
worshipping God together. No line visible to human eye divides into two
parts the goodly company; yet the goodly company is divided into two
parts. The Lord reads our character, and marks our place. The Lord
knoweth them that are his, and them also that are not his, in every
assembly of worshippers.

The distinguishing feature is now specifically set down,--the wise
carried each a separate vessel containing a supply of oil, that they
might keep the flame of their lamps alive, however long the bridegroom
might tarry: the foolish, satisfied that their lamps were burning at the
moment, laid in no supply for future need. This is the turning-point of
the parable, and in the light of subsequent events its spiritual import
may be determined with precision and certainty. The oil in the lamp, and
the flame which it sustained, indicate a seemly Christian profession;
this the virgins all possessed, and all alike. The quality that tested
and divided them, lay not in the burning lamps but in the supply
vessels. The oil, whether employed to anoint a person or to feed a
flame, represents, in Old Testament typology, the Holy Spirit. That
which the wise virgins carried in their vessels, as distinguished from
that which burned in their lamps, points to the Spirit as a spirit of
grace and supplication dwelling in a believer's heart. All experienced
convictions, and made profession, as is indicated by the lamps lighted
and borne aloft; but some had nothing more than convictions and
professions, while others had passed from death unto life and had gotten
their life, through the Spirit's ministry, "hid with Christ in God."
This will more fully appear as we proceed stage by stage with the
interpretation.

"The bridegroom tarried." For a special purpose, the Lord represents
that the bridegroom lingered till a much later hour than that at which
the virgins expected him. The disciples, during their Master's ministry
and long afterwards, cherished a belief that the coming of the Lord and
the end of the world would take place in their own generation. This
expectation was, in its literal sense, incorrect; but it could not be
corrected by an explicit announcement that for more than a thousand
years all things should continue as they were; for such an intimation
would have destroyed the expectant watchfulness which in the
circumstances was salutary and even necessary. By that watchfulness the
Christians of the immediately succeeding generation escaped the
disasters which befell the Jews at the destruction of Jerusalem, and by
it believers in subsequent times were kept more loose to the world and
more close to Christ. In this parable, however, and elsewhere in the
Scriptures, prophecies are recorded, which events subsequently
explained,--prophecies which showed the Christians of a later age that
while their Lord desires to keep them in an expectant attitude through
all generations, his intention from the beginning was to permit a long
period to intervene between his ascension and his return. The
preparation which Christ desires and true Christians attain, pertains
more to the inner spirit than to the anticipation of the external
advent.

While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept. At this
point many interpreters endeavour to grasp a lesson regarding the
tendency of even true disciples to slumber sinfully at their post, like
their worldly neighbours. The lesson is in itself good, and comes
readily to hand, but it is not taught in this text. Calvin has correctly
conceived and clearly expressed the meaning of the sleep that oppressed
the waiting virgins; it intimates the necessity that lies on all of
going down into the ordinary affairs of this life. Disciples in the
body cannot be occupied always and only with the expectation of their
Lord's appearing. Sleep and food, family and business, make demands on
them as well as on others,--demands which they cannot and should not
resist. If the coming of the bridegroom be delayed till midnight, the
virgins must slumber; this is not a special weakness of individuals, it
is the common necessity of nature. So, when life is lengthened in the
body, we must attend to the affairs of this world.

The coming of the Son of man may surprise one at his farm and another at
his merchandise, but it does not follow, on that account, that it will
surprise them unprepared. Now and then in the history of the Church a
Christian has been found dead in his closet and on his knees. A few
years ago, in a rural district of Scotland, an elder who was leading the
devotions of a district prayer-meeting suddenly ceased to speak,--ceased
in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a prayer. The worshippers
opened their eyes, and observed that his head and breast leant heavily
on the desk; they approached and found him dead. At the moment when the
bridegroom came this watcher was wide awake, standing on tiptoe, and
straining forward to catch the first glimpse of the glory that should
herald his approach. When the bridegroom came this watcher went out to
meet him, and went in with him to the feast: safe and happy he, but not
he only.

On the other side we hear sometimes of a merchant who died in his
counting-house, his ledger, not the Bible, the last book he had read; of
a miner killed in an instant by an explosion while he was picking coals
in the bowels of the earth; of a soldier falling on a battle-field,
while his right hand raised the sword to strike a foe; these were all
slumbering and off guard when the bridegroom came. What of them? were
they all shut out? Nay, verily. Some of them were shut out, and some
were let in, according as they were carnal or spiritual when the
decisive moment came. The new creature in Christ, who is surprised amid
the toils of his daily calling, goes as safely into rest as his brother
of the same family who is summoned over in the very act of prayer. The
five wise virgins were stretched on the ground asleep, with their lamp
fires dead or dying, when the cry arose, Behold the bridegroom cometh,
and yet there was no surprise, and no damage. Although they were only
awakened by his coming, they were ready to meet him when he came, and to
enter with him into his rest.

When the cry was heard all those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps.
When life is closing behind, and eternity opening before us, we are all
aroused. Every one who has a lamp hastens then to examine its condition
and stimulate its flame: all who have borne Christ's name search
themselves to see whether they are ready for his presence. There is no
visible distinction at this stage between those who have only a name
that they live, and those who have attained also the new nature: all
bestir themselves to examine the ground of their hope, and the state of
their preparation.

At this point the decisive difference which existed in secret long
before emerges into view. The foolish virgins, having no oil in separate
vessels, could not keep the flame of their lamps any longer alive. Both
classes had a profession; the formalists had a profession and nothing
more. Finding in the hour of their extremity that they had neglected
their souls while the day of grace was running, they make a piteous
appeal to believing neighbours for help, "Give us of your oil, for our
lamps are gone out." How true to nature is this picture! He who draws it
knows "what is in man." How fondly the empty, in such a crisis, lean on
the full. Alas, even the full is but a little vessel filled by Christ.
That vessel is not a spring; this saved sinner is not a saviour of
sinners. He has gotten from his Lord all that himself needs; but he
cannot supply a neighbour's want. Brother, if the call come to you while
you are not in Christ reconciled and renewed, though all the saints in
heaven and earth stood weeping at your bedside they could not save you.
If you neglect the Son of God while he stands at the door and knocks, in
vain will you apply to a godly neighbour, after the day of grace is
done.

Taking into view generally the intimate relations which subsisted among
that group of maidens, and in particular the unselfish tenderness which
must have characterized the wiser five, we should expect to learn that
they had generously resolved, at all hazards, to share their oil to the
last drop with their unfortunate companions. But this, though consonant
with nature in the external body of the parable, would have been
incongruous with the spiritual truth which the parable has been framed
to convey. In the structure of the parable provision is made for
defining sharply the spiritual lesson, even at the expense of some
measure of harshness left on one feature of the story. True Christians
cannot impart a share of the grace that dwells in their own hearts to
deluded formalists in their departing hour. On the spiritual side such a
distinction cannot be made, and therefore the Master represents the wise
virgins as distinctly and peremptorily refusing to share their store of
oil with their improvident companions.[52]

  [52] They turn themselves to the wise, whom, perhaps, they had
  lately laughed at, with the prayer: "Give us of your oil, for our
  lamps are gone out." They betake themselves, if they are Catholics,
  to the dead saints, if they are Protestants, to the living, whom
  they have been accustomed to revere as their guides on account of
  their wisdom and grace, and plead, Help us, comfort us, pray for us,
  that we may be brought into a state of grace. In vain. They answer:
  Not so, lest there be not enough for us and you. What you desire is
  impossible. None of us has any surplus merit out of which he could
  give a portion to another.--_Arndt_, ii. 177.

"Go to them that sell, and buy for yourselves." The advice was the best
that in the circumstances could be given. The mention of "them that
sell" calls up all the scene of the preceding day. Oil was plentiful in
the town; the five wise virgins having gone by daylight to the stores
with their vessels, had experienced no difficulty in obtaining a supply.
The same method was open to the rest: they failed to secure a store in
the daytime, and then they tried in vain to make good the deficiency at
midnight, after the merchants had retired to rest. This feature of the
parable intimates that those who are found destitute at the coming of
the Lord, enjoyed their day and their opportunity, but neglected them:
they allowed the day of mercy to run out, and cried frantically for
mercy after the merciful Saviour had wearied waiting and gone away.

While the foolish virgins are absent on this errand, the bridegroom
comes up. They that are ready go in with him to the wedding, and the
door is shut. Christ calls away his own at some midnight hour when they
are off their guard; but though surprised, they are not hurt. The five
wise virgins were asleep when the approach of the bridegroom was
announced, and yet they were ready to meet him. Their safety resulted
not from their fluttering activity at that moment in the trimming of the
lamps, but from their wise foresight on the preceding day. The
salvation of a soul depends not on frightened earnestness in the moment
of departure, but on faith's calm closing with Christ, before the moment
of departure comes. In the vessels of the wise there was store of oil,
and it was easy for them at any time or place to refresh the fading fire
of the torches which they bore. Deep in the hearts of those disciples
dwelt the spirit of Christ, and the light of their profession which had
shone brightly in a time of ease, burst into greater brightness in the
hour of their extremity. An abundant entrance was administered to
them,--an entrance into the joy of their Lord. The door was shut!
Suffering, sorrowing believers, do you hear the clang of that closing
gate! Be of good cheer, disciples; when your Lord and you go in, the
door is shut behind you, and nothing shall enter that defileth. Heaven
is for the holy, and for them alone; if it were open for all it would
not be heaven.

The foolish virgins went away after midnight to seek a supply of oil;
but we are not informed whether or not they obtained it. The omission is
significant; this word of Jesus gives no encouragement to delay in the
matter of the soul's salvation; not a ray of hope is permitted to burst
through the gloom that shrouds these hapless wanderers. The sole lesson
of the parable is a simple, sublime warning that sinners should close
with Christ now, lest they should be left to invoke his name in vain at
the hour of their departure. This parable is a voice from an open heaven
promising all grace now, but refusing to promise any then.

They came afterwards to the door and cried bitterly for admission, but
the Lord answered from within, I know you not. As the omniscient he knew
them; he was acquainted with all their ways. He knew them, for they had
crucified him afresh by their neglect. But he did not know them, as he
knew the poor bashful woman who crept near in the crowd and by her touch
drew saving grace from his overflowing heart; he did not know them by
feeling their weight, like John's, leaning on his breast.[53]

  [53] The concluding application is well expressed by
  Arndt:--"Perhaps the breaking heart grasps at the Bible; it has only
  spikes and nails, but no balm of consolation. Perhaps the dying man
  calls in those who have the care of souls; the words of comfort
  slide over the ears, while the Holy Spirit seals none of them upon
  the heart. Perhaps he partakes of the Holy Supper: ah, the feast is
  to him not a feast of blessings, but an eating of judgment. Perhaps
  he prays to the Lord himself: the Lord answers, I know you not.

  "Oh, it is sad to be so near heaven, and yet to be lost--to be
  almost saved, and yet altogether lost. Were it not the Lord who
  speaks here, Jesus Christ, the Life Eternal, the Judge of the living
  and the dead, our feeling would be mightily to resist the terrible
  conclusion of this parable, which cuts all and every hope clean
  away, and leaves not an If or a But behind, nor any other possible
  interpretation. But he speaks; and before his words every mouth is
  silent in fear and adoration. He writes into our breast, with a
  glowing iron pen, the warning word--therefore watch, &c.

  "Short is life; fleeting is time; quick is death; long is eternity.
  Therefore what thou desirest to do, do it quickly."--_Gleichnisse_.

After the parable is finished the marrow of its meaning is given in one
short sentence by the Lord: "Watch therefore, for ye know neither the
day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh." Let us take heed here,
lest after all the pains we have bestowed on this scripture, we should
miss the portion for ourselves with which it is charged. This parable
was not spoken for the purpose of kindling an agony of repentance in the
hour of death. It describes a sudden call, and an eager upstarting, and
a fruitless effort, and a right prayer uttered too late, and final
rejection, and a fearful doom,--but it reveals this dreadful close of a
life, in order to show us what we should be and do before the close of
life comes on. The end of the foolish five is unveiled in order that we
may be wise unto salvation in the beginning of our days. The lighthouse
reared on a sunken reef flings its lurid glare far through a stormy air
and over a stormy sea, not to teach the mariner how to act with vigour
when he is among the breakers, but to warn him back, so that he may
never fall among the breakers at all. Even so, the end of the lost is
revealed in the word of God, not to urge us to utter a very loud cry
when the door is shut, but to compel us to enter now while the door is
open.

"Behold I stand at the door and knock." His word to-day runs, Soul,
soul, open for me: if that tender plea is echoed back from your closed
heart in a beseeching Saviour's face to-day, your cry, "Lord, Lord, open
to me" will come back to you in empty echoes from a closed heaven.

The foolish five came to the door only a little too late, but it was not
a little damage that they suffered thereby. In the matter of fleeing to
take refuge in Christ, to be late by a little is the loss of all.




XIV.

THE ENTRUSTED TALENTS.


"For the kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country,
    who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And
    unto one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one;
    to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took
    his journey. Then he that had received the five talents went and
    traded with the same, and made them other five talents. And likewise
    he that had received two, he also gained other two. But he that had
    received one went and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money.
    After a long time the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth
    with them. And so he that had received five talents came and brought
    other five talents, saying, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five
    talents: behold, I have gained beside them five talents more. His
    lord said unto him, Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou
    hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over
    many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord. He also that had
    received two talents came and said, Lord, thou deliveredst unto me
    two talents: behold, I have gained two other talents beside them.
    His lord said unto him, Well done, good and faithful servant; thou
    hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over
    many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord. Then he which had
    received the one talent came and said, Lord, I knew thee that thou
    art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, and gathering
    where thou hast not strawed: and I was afraid, and went and hid thy
    talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine. His lord
    answered and said unto him, Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou
    knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have not
    strawed: thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the
    exchangers, and then at my coming I should have received mine own
    with usury. Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him
    which hath ten talents. For unto every one that hath shall be given,
    and he shall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be
    taken away even that which he hath. And cast ye the unprofitable
    servant into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of
    teeth."--MATT. xxv. 14-30.

The owner of a large property has occasion to leave the country for a
time and reside in a foreign land. His possessions, consisting of "his
own servants" and "his goods," must necessarily be left in the country,
and naturally he considers how he may so dispose of them during the
interval that they may yield to him the largest profit at his return.
Two distinct principles were open to his choice corresponding to the
methods of day's-wages and piece-work in modern social economics; he
might either confide to his servants generally the management of his
estate, and give them wages according to time, or give each a certain
amount of capital, to be exclusively at his own disposal, promising to
reward him according to his diligence and success. The latter method is
obviously the one which contains a spring within itself constantly
urging to diligence. With a set of slaves who are ignorant, degraded,
and suspicious, this plan would not be practicable, but if the men
possess a certain amount of moral principle, self-reliance, and
intelligence, it is safest and best.

The master accordingly, counting on the good-will and honesty of his
dependants, frankly entrusts each with a certain amount of capital,
graduated according to their capacity for business. Nothing is said in
the record regarding the terms of the compact, but it is implied that
these were clearly understood between the parties. The money was given
in order that it might be laid out to the best advantage, primarily for
the owner's interest, and secondarily for the due remuneration of the
faithful servant. This practice was carried to a great extent among the
Romans; the owner of a skilful slave could make a greater profit by
giving scope to the man's energies than by confining him forcibly to
menial occupation.

It is by no means necessary to determine the precise character of the
bond which united the servant to his master in this case. The
circumstances of the parable will suit equally the supposition of
absolute right on the part of the master and a voluntary contract
between him and his servant for a limited time. Whatever may have been
the amount of service due to the master at the time of his
departure,--whether the whole life and energy of a slave, or a limited
quantity of work from a servant,--that service was his property, and he
desired to turn it to the best account.

Two of the servants traded with the capital entrusted to their charge
and doubled it ere the master returned; one from a morbid dread of his
master's severity, coupled with indolence in his personal habits, hid
the money in the ground, thereby deliberately sacrificing his master's
profit in order that himself might incur no risk. The two who had
successfully traded were commended and rewarded; the one who allowed his
talent to lie idle was condemned and punished for his unfruitfulness,
although no positive dishonesty was laid to his charge.[54]

  [54] For the relation between the talents and the pounds, see the
  exposition of the latter parable,--the last of the series.

       *       *       *       *       *

We are now ready to proceed with the exposition. The proprietor who went
abroad represents Christ at the close of his ministry on earth leaving
his disciples and ascending to heaven. His continued presence
spiritually with his people is not inconsistent with this
representation, for our parable deals with the bodily and the visible.
His own servants, whom he called, like the ten virgins who went out to
meet the bridegroom, represent the whole number of those who are called
by his name and seem to be his disciples. The delivery of the master's
goods to these servants intimates that the Lord gives to every member of
the visible Church all his faculties and opportunities.

In this distribution different amounts are consigned to different
persons. Here the representation obviously accords with the fact: of
time, of intellect, of health, of learning, of wealth, scarcely any two
persons possess a precisely equal portion. There is a clause here
generally overlooked by expositors, but which must be intended to
express some feature of importance,--"to every one according to his
several ability." We can easily understand it as it occurs in the story:
the master, at the moment of his departure, graduated his gifts
according to the abilities and acquirements of the servants that he
might not throw a great responsibility on a weak man, or leave a man of
vigour only half employed. What doctrine does this feature represent?
Probably that, while all the gifts that a man possesses are bestowed by
God, some, such as bodily constitution and mental capacity are conferred
by God as governor of the world; while others are subsequently conferred
by the Lord Jesus as the king and head of the Church. I am inclined to
understand these latter gifts by the goods which the master bestowed on
the eve of his departure; these gifts are in some way proportioned to
the faculties of the receiver, so that one may not be oppressed and
another left with inadequate occupation.

The one who received most and the one who received a medium amount of
gifts and opportunities proved both faithful, and both faithful alike.
Although the first did absolutely more for Christ and the world than the
second, both were equally diligent and faithful according to their
means. Examples both of the likeness and the difference occur by
hundreds day by day before our eyes. A disciple with greater and a
disciple with smaller endowments labour in the Lord's work with equal
love, but the amount of fruit is greater where greater gifts and graces
have been received and employed. We shall learn soon how the two cases
are treated at the master's return, but in the meantime we have observed
what the two cases are.

The servant who had received one talent went and digged in the earth,
and hid his lord's money. The meaning of his conduct and its result we
shall discover more fully when we reach the record of the reckoning; at
present, and in general, we may understand that this man made no effort
to serve his lord, but devoted himself exclusively to one aim,--that he
might be able to stand at last on the plea that he had at least done his
lord no harm.

These three examples are obviously given in order to cover all cases:
they represent an indefinite and all but infinite variety in the measure
of the gifts.

Two are represented to have been diligent and only one indolent, but no
information is thereby given regarding the proportions of mankind in
general or within the Church who shall be found faithful in the great
day. Two cases were required in order to show that, where the diligence
of the workers is equal, the result may, in quantity, be unequal; and a
third case was required to show that, besides some who lack the power to
do much, there are some who lack the will to do anything at all; the
numbers have no other meaning.

Another very important question is suggested here,--What is meant by the
representation that the person who possessed only one talent became
unfaithful, rather than the person who possessed two, or the person who
possessed five? It is precisely analogous to the representation
contained in another parable that one man, and not ten or twenty, came
to the marriage-feast without a marriage garment. Most certainly it does
not mean that those who have few talents are more liable to be
unfaithful than those who have many; and yet something is gained by
making the servant who had received one talent rather than the servant
who had received five, the example of unfaithfulness. It does not mean,
If you have only one talent you will be unfaithful; but it does mean,
Although you have only one talent, you will be condemned for
unfaithfulness if you do not employ it. The lesson is much more
emphatically given than if the servant who received five talents had
proved unfaithful. Much of the master's property was entrusted to him:
if he had permitted it to lie waste, and been punished accordingly, it
might have been supposed that the essence of the guilt lay in the
largeness of the loss. As it is faithfulness, without regard to the
amount of capital at stake, that determines the sentence of approval; so
it is unfaithfulness, without regard to the amount involved, that
determines the sentence of condemnation. He who has least is bound to
serve the Lord with what he has; and if he serve the Lord faithfully
with little, he will be honoured and rewarded, while those who had
greater gifts, but less diligence, will be cast out.

Every one possesses some talents. He who has bestowed them expects that
we shall diligently improve them. He has departed, but he desires that
we should act as in his presence. In this respect he is never
absent--"Lo, I am with you alway." Now is the time for laying out our
gifts in the Lord's service; for it will be too late to begin, in
terror, when he comes to judgment.

"After a long time the Lord of those servants cometh and reckoneth with
them" (ver. 19). The time is not long in the account of the Lord
himself: his latest warning to the Church is, "Behold I come quickly;"
and with him a thousand years are as one day. Nor is the time long to
ungodly men; for in such an hour as they think not, the Son of man
cometh. At whatever time he comes, he comes too soon for them who would
give all the world, if it were theirs, that he should not come at all.
But to the true disciples of Christ, especially in times of persecution,
the period of his absence has often appeared long: they have often
borrowed the unbeliever's cry, "Where is the promise of his coming?" and
used it with a new significance. But to saints and sinners, whether they
long for his presence or loathe it, he certainly will come at length.

The two who had received from their Lord unequal gifts, and had laid
them out with equal faithfulness, give in their account with joy. They
are equally approved; and either is rewarded with the fruit of his own
diligence.

The case of the unfaithful one, in accordance with the obvious design of
the parable, is given with much greater fulness of detail than those of
the faithful two. Permitting our comment on this point to mould itself
after the proportions of the text, we shall look more narrowly into this
man's character and conduct. All the more willingly shall we devote the
most of our attention to the darker side of the picture, that the
evangelical obedience of the faithful servants may be most distinctly
seen in the dark mirror of the opposite unfruitfulness.

In the case of the unprofitable servant, as it emerges in the latter
portion of the parable, three points demand our attention separately and
successively,--the Reason, the Nature, and the Reward of his
unfaithfulness.

1. The reason of his unfaithfulness, as explained by himself, is, "I
knew thee that thou art an hard man," &c. The naive confession of this
man is a very interesting feature of the story, and a very precious
lesson to us regarding the deep things of God. Through this opening
light is thrown at once upon the spring of continued disobedience in
human hearts, and upon the nature of the remedy which the ailment needs.

Some persons take much pains to extol a good life at the expense of the
mysteries of grace. They know not that they are endeavouring to break
the upper links of a chain, while themselves are suspended on the lower.
All the value of service rendered by intellectual and moral beings
depends on the thoughts of God which they entertain; and the thoughts
which they entertain of God depend on the attitude in which he presents
himself to them--that is, upon the revelation of the Father in the
person and work of the Son.

Obviously the conception which this man had formed of his master's
character, was the direct efficient cause of his unprofitable idleness.
The picture, at this point, represents a human heart secretly conscious
of guilt, not reconciled through the Gospel, and dreading the wrath of
the righteous Judge. When one is at peace with God in the Redeemer,
perfect love casteth out fear; but here, in the absence of this
reconciliation, perfect fear casteth out love. Love is the fulfilling of
the law; and without love there can, in God's sight, be no obedience.
Thus, by a few links which can neither be obscured nor broken, active
obedience is bound to faith in Christ. Where faith in the Mediator is
wanting, God, as shown in a guilty conscience, is dreaded as an enemy;
and such fear produces no obedience. You might as well sow stones in
your field, and expect them to produce bread.

It is not necessary to examine in detail the continuation of the
unfaithful servant's answer. When he had taken his ground on a sullen
plea of not guilty which threw the blame upon his Lord, it was natural
that he should endeavour to justify himself and fortify his position by
specific averments of hard treatment; but the essence of his answer lies
all in his first words, "I knew thee hard." The meaning cannot be
mistaken here. These words do not make known to us what the master's
character really was: the only thing which they determine is the
servant's conception of the master's character. The servant's conduct
is, in point of fact, regulated not by what the master absolutely is,
but by what he is in the belief and regard of the servant.

The parable represents at once, with rich pictorial effect and strict
logical exactness, the legal relation of sinful men to a righteous God,
apart from the peace that comes through the Gospel. While you think of
the Judge, recording now your thoughts, words, and actions, in order to
render unto you what you deserve in the great day, you cannot love him,
and you do not like to retain the knowledge of him in your mind. The
Bible calls him good, and perhaps your lips have pronounced him good in
your prayers and hymns; but what you really know of him in your heart is
his hardness. This hard measure expected, haunts you like a spectre, and
casts a dark shadow over your path. Whatever your ears may hear or your
lips may speak, you know God only as the disturber of your joy in life,
and the inexorable exactor of impossible penalties at last.

The natural and necessary, as well as actual result of this knowledge or
conception of the master, is the utter idleness of the servant. Tell a
criminal in chains that by his own hands he must remove yonder mountain
into the sea in the space of one year, on pain of death when the year
is done, and the certain result will be that the wretched man will
permit the appointed time to expire without removing a single atom of
its mass; but on the other hand, let it be gently intimated to some
emancipated slaves that their service in removing earth from that
mountain to the sea will please their deliverer, and forthwith they will
carry with all their might, their burden meanwhile being their delight,
because they have thereby an opportunity of serving the Lord that bought
them. Thus the idleness of one servant is explained, and the activity of
others.

2. As to its nature, the disobedience was not active but passive; he did
not positively injure his master's property; he simply failed to turn it
to profitable account. The terror of this servant was too lively to
admit of his enjoying a debauch purchased by the treasure which had been
placed under his charge. Fear is a powerful motive in certain directions
and for certain effects; it makes itself felt in the heart, and leaves
its mark on the life of a man. Like frost it has power to arrest the
stream of energy, and fix it cold, stiff, motionless; only love can,
like the sun of summer, break the chains and set the prisoner free to
run his race rejoicing.

The passive character of the servant's fault greatly extends the sphere
of the lesson, and increases the weight of its rebuke. If only positive
activity in evil had been condemned, a multitude of the unfaithful would
have escaped, or at least would have thought themselves exempted from
the indictment. The bearers of poisonous fruit constitute a
comparatively small class in the vegetable creation; the plants that
bear no good fruit are much more numerous. Unfruitfulness includes both
those that bear bad fruit and those that bear no fruit. The idleness of
the servant who knew his master only as a hard man, reproves all except
those who obey the Lord whom they love, and love the Lord whom they
obey.

3. The reward of unfaithfulness is, "Take the talent from him and cast
him out." In both parts the sentence of condemnation corresponds to
its opposite in the reception of those who had been faithful to their
trust. These retain their employed gifts; from him the unused talent is
taken away. These are received into their master's favour; he is cast
out of his master's sight.

It is worthy of remark that the execution of the sentence begins in
time, and in its first stages lies within the reach of our observation.
The portion of the sentence, moreover, which is inflicted in our sight,
comes through the regular operation of law. The disuse of any personal
faculty, surely, though gradually, takes the faculty away. Those who
explain away the positive doctrines and facts of the Gospel, delight in
representing that God does everything by the instrumentality of law. It
is superstition, they say, to suppose that he will put forth his hand to
arrest the mighty machinery of nature, with a view either to punish your
guilt or reward your obedience. Here at least we can meet them on their
own ground, and accept their rule. Let any member of the body, or any
faculty of the mind lie dormant for a time, and by the very fact, its
power is diminished or destroyed. It is a law of life that a talent
becomes feeble in proportion as it has been left in idleness. It is not
only true in point of fact that when we do not diligently lay out our
gifts, the Giver recalls them; it is further true, that he recalls them
in our sight by the silent operation of an inexorable law.

To waste life in the hope of getting all made right by an energetic
repentance at the close, is a very foolish and mischievous species of
superstition; it is the exercise of a very strong faith, without any
promise from God on which it may lean. You seem to expect that God will
arrest the operation of his own laws in order to afford you every
facility for living in sin. In the Scriptures we read of an interference
with the natural laws--the sun standing still--in order that the enemies
of the Lord and his people might be destroyed; but you expect a greater
miracle;--you expect the Omnipotent to arrest the operation of his own
laws, in order that his enemies may prosper now and escape at last. You
expect that Jesus will work a miracle not to cast out the unclean
spirit, but to maintain him in possession of a human heart. The disuse
of the talent takes the talent away; this is the law of the kingdom; and
it will not be changed in order to encourage the sinner in his sin.

"For unto every one that hath shall be given," &c. Obviously from the
whole circumstances of the case, "to have" in this connection, means to
possess and use aright. He who received only one talent was
distinguished from him who received five, not by not having, but by not
using. The law announced here is that they who employ well what they
have, shall retain it all and receive more in addition; whereas they who
do not rightly employ what they have, will be deprived of that which
they possess but do not use.

Fearing lest I should darken counsel by words without knowledge, I leave
the positive penal infliction, which takes effect beyond the precincts
of this life, without one word of comment, in the short and solemn words
of the Scripture, "Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness:
there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth."

The sentence "Take it from him," goes before the sentence, "Cast him
out." A sinner is given over to himself, before he is given up to
judgment. The first prepares the way for the second death; the process
is now going on by which the destiny is decided. Now is the accepted
time; now either salvation or condemnation is wrought out.

See the process and the path of death; the steps are few and well
marked. I knew thee hard, and I hid thy talent; take it from him, and
cast him out. The corresponding steps on the other side are, I tasted
thy tender mercy, and lovingly laid thy talent out; give the faithful
servant more, and lead him into the joy of his Lord.

The stumbling-block at the outset that turned the unfaithful servant
aside was his conception of the Lord as a hard master: it is the
experience of the master's love that impels the servant forward in the
path of duty. When we know God in Christ, we know him reconciled to
ourselves. Christ, therefore, is the way; by him we go _in_ to the
Father for acceptance, and by him we go _out_ for needful work upon the
world. Without me ye can get nothing from God; "Without me ye can do
nothing" for God.




XV.

THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY.


"And he said, So is the kingdom of God, as if a man should cast seed
    into the ground; and should sleep, and rise night and day, and the
    seed should spring and grow up, he knoweth not how. For the earth
    bringeth forth fruit of herself; first the blade, then the ear,
    after that the full corn in the ear. But when the fruit is brought
    forth, immediately he putteth in the sickle, because the harvest is
    come."--MARK iv. 26-29.

This is the only parable that is peculiar to Mark. The subjects
contained in the fourth chapter of Mark are obviously the same, in the
main, as those which occupy the thirteenth chapter of Matthew. The
parable of the sower occurs in both at the beginning; and at several
other parts they coincide. The parable of the seed growing secretly
holds in Mark the place that the parable of the leaven holds in Matthew.
We might, therefore, expect a close analogy between these two parables:
and accordingly we find in point of fact that they exhibit the same
characteristics of the kingdom, and convey the same lessons to its
subjects.

When a man has cast the seed into prepared ground at the proper season,
he thenceforth leaves it to itself. He sleeps by night, and attends to
other affairs by day, often looking to it indeed, and oftener thinking
of it, but never touching it till harvest. By its own vitality it grows
secretly, gradually until it arrives at maturity. Man interferes only at
the beginning and at the end; in spring he sows, and in autumn he reaps,
but throughout the interval between these extremes he lets it alone.
The point on which the parable concentrates our regard is, that the
growth of the plant, from the time of sowing to the time of reaping,
proceeds according to its own laws, and in virtue of its own inherent
power, neither visible to the owner's eye nor dependent on his hand.

In the interpretation of the parable certain great leading points must
first be determined, and then all the rest will be safe and easy.

There are two such points, one at the beginning and one at the end,
which are in themselves uncertain; and one in the middle which, being
itself determined by circumstances, serves to determine the other two.
The question at the beginning is, Who is the sower? And the question at
the end, What is the reaping? The point in the centre already fixed, on
which the two extremities depend, is the growth of the seed without the
aid, and even beyond the cognisance, of the sower.

Look first to the question which meets an inquirer at the outset, Who is
the sower? Obviously it has two sides and two only; the sower represents
either the Lord himself, or the human ministry that he employs from age
to age. Both representations are in themselves true and scriptural; it
is by means of other features less ambiguous that we shall be able to
determine whether of the two is adopted in this parable. Try first the
supposition that the sower is the Lord himself; of him, in that case, it
is immediately said that he sleeps, and rises night and day, and that
the seed meanwhile springs up, he knows not how. This representation is
palpably incongruous with the attributes and character of the Lord. The
things that are hidden from us, both in the natural and spiritual
growth, are open in his sight. Expressly it is said of Jesus, "he knew
what was in man;" and we learn, from many circumstances in the evangelic
history, that he knew the thoughts alike of plotting enemies and of
fainting friends. The suggestion made by some that this part of the
parable may be understood to represent the Lord's ascension into heaven,
after having sown the word in his own ministry, does not satisfy the
demands of the case. We cannot, without doing extreme violence to the
analogy, find a sense in which the divine Redeemer does not help and
does not know the growth of his own grace in believing hearts. The
germination and increase of vegetation without the intervention of the
sower and beyond his ken, represent a helplessness and an ignorance so
definite and complete, that we cannot, on any rule of sober
interpretation, apply it to the omniscient and omnipotent Redeemer.

The impossibility of accepting the first suggestion throws us
necessarily back on the only other supposition that remains;--the sower
in the parable must represent the earthen vessel to which the ministry
of the Gospel has been entrusted,--the human agent employed in the work
of the Lord. This will, of course, accord perfectly with the
representation in the heart of the parable that he who sows the seed
neither helps the growth nor understands its secrets; but does it accord
also with the representation, in the end of the parable, that he who in
spring sowed the seed, thrusts in his sickle and reaps the ripened
harvest? Some, assuming that the reaping means the closing of all
accounts in the great day,[55] conclude that to represent the sowing as
the ministry of men is incongruous with the reaping, which must, as
they suppose, be the work of the Lord at his second coming. In this way
they become involved between two impossibilities. If the Lord himself is
represented as the sower the representation is inconsistent with the
middle of the parable, in which it is declared that he neither aids nor
understands the growth of the grain; if, on the other hand, men are
represented as the sowers, the representation is inconsistent with the
end of the parable, in which it is declared that they thrust in the
sickle at the close of the dispensation and reap the harvest of the
world.

  [55] Dr. Trench takes for granted, without a word of proof, or any
  evidence that he has even considered the question, that the reaping
  is the consummation of all things, the exclusive prerogative of the
  Lord.

Now in order to escape from this double difficulty it is not necessary
to put to the rack either the words or the thoughts of the parable. The
path out of the difficulty is broad and straight; it is the path into it
that is crooked and narrow.

The question which demands solution here, and which, when solved, will
solve all the rest, is, What is meant by thrusting in the sickle and
reaping the ripened grain when the harvest has come? Apart from this
parable two distinct significations may be attributed to the analogy,
both alike true in fact, and both alike adopted in the Scriptures. In
some cases the harvest and the reaping point to the end of the world and
the awards of the judgment; expressly in the Lord's own interpretation
of the parable of the tares, it is said, "The harvest is the end of the
world, and the reapers are the angels" (Matt. xiii. 39). But in other
cases the reaping of the ripened grain is employed to represent that
success in the winning of souls which human ministers of the word may
obtain and enjoy. Such is its meaning in Ps. cxxvi. 6, "He that goeth
forth and reapeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again
with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." In the same sense it is
employed by the Lord (John iv. 35, 36), "Say not ye, There are yet four
months, and then cometh harvest? behold I say unto you, Lift up your
eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already unto harvest.
And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life
eternal: that both he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice
together." The same idea is expressed in terms, if possible, still more
articulate, in Matt. ix. 37, 38. "The harvest truly is plenteous, but
the labourers are few; pray ye therefore the Lord of the harvest, that
he will send forth labourers unto his harvest."[56]

  [56] Bengel's suggestion is ingenious and interesting, but
  contributes nothing towards the solution. "Sermo concisus. Mittet
  falce preditos, nam αποστελλεσθαι est viventis cujuspiam." He would
  understand the phrase "he putteth in the sickle" as a curt form of
  expression, intended to intimate that he sends out reapers with
  sickles to reap the grain; fortifying his opinion by the remark that
  the term "putteth in," (αποστελλει, "sends out,") refers to a living
  person, and not an inanimate instrument. Countenance for this view
  might be found in Matt. ix. 37 where εκβαλειν equivalent to
  αποστελλεσθαι is employed to indicate the sending forth of reapers.
  On the other hand, however, the passage, Rev. xiv. 15, 16, goes
  decidedly against it; for there both πεμμτειν and βαλλειν, "thrust
  in" (the sickle) are certainly applied to the instrument itself, and
  not to the men who wield it.

But while the symbol taken from the reaping of ripened grain represents
alternately in Scripture, these two distinct though analogous
conceptions, it is the latter and not the former which this parable
adopts and employs. The reapers are the human ministers of the word, and
the reaping is their successful ingathering in conversion here, not the
admission of the redeemed into glory at the end of the world.

No other conclusion is compatible, either with the scope of the lesson
or the facts of the case. The sower in this story neither helps the seed
to grow nor understands how the growth proceeds. The parable is spoken
in order to show that, while men are employed at first to preach the
word and at last to gather the fruits in the conversion of their
brethren, they can neither perform the converting work nor trace the
footsteps of the quickening Spirit in the secrets of a human heart. By
this similitude the Lord represents the extent and the limits of human
agency in the progress of his kingdom.

Having made our way through the difficulties of the parable, and found
the key-note of its interpretation, we turn again to its terms for the
sake of observing and applying the practical lessons which it contains.

The sower sows the seed; the seed is the word; the hearts of those who
hear it are the field. Parents make known the Gospel in their families,
ministers in the congregations, teachers in the schools. These sowers
lose sight of the seed from the moment that it drops into the ground. It
sinks and disappears; they must go away and leave it. They sleep by
night,[57] and attend to other matters by day; they cannot see how it
fares with the Gospel in a neighbour's soul. They cannot put their hand
to the work at this stage to help it: the seed must be left to itself in
the soil.

  [57] Here, as in the case of the tares, the sleep of the husbandman
  implies no culpable negligence either in the natural or spiritual
  sphere. "Sind wir am Tage recht wach; dann, mögen wir Nachts ruhig
  schlafen."--_Dräseke, vom Reich G._

At this point the likeness between the natural and the spiritual is
exact and obvious. When you have made the Gospel of Christ known to some
in whom you are interested, you are precisely in the position of the
agriculturist who has committed his seed to the ground. If you think of
the matter when you lie down, or when you awake, you discover, perhaps
with pain, that you do not know whether the seed is swelling and
springing or not: and that though you knew its condition you could not
reach it, to stimulate the process. It is out of your hands, and out of
your sight. It is not, however, out of mind, when it is out of sight;
and your own helplessness may draw forth a more eager prayer to the
Almighty Helper. In this way it is when we are weak that we become
strong; it is when we are made most keenly sensible of our own weakness
that we cast our care most fully on the Lord. The law that shuts the
sown seed out from us, shuts it in with God. One door closes; but the
closing that hides the seed in its seed-bed from our eyes and separates
it from our hands, leaves it open to His sight, and pliant to his power.
The moment that the seed is sown, he takes it out of our sight, but then
and thereby he brings it into his own. It is away from us, and with
God.[58]

  [58] Like the seed, is the Word himself. He became flesh and dwelt
  among us; but he has ascended out of our sight. At the beginning he
  came into the world; and at the close he will return;--a spring and
  a harvest, but all the space between, he is out of sight.

The parable shows, with great perspicuity and certainty, both the extent
and the limits of this withdrawal from human cognizance and help. In the
main concern the exclusion is complete; but in some subordinate and
incidental matters, it is only partial. As to the power of germination,
and the knowledge of it, the sower is entirely shut out from the seed,
both in the natural and spiritual departments. But as he may continue
his care in nature, with much profit to the seed; so he may, in a
subordinate capacity and in an indirect manner, do much to promote the
growth of grace in the heart, after the Word has been addressed to the
understanding. The exclusion of a minister, a teacher, a parent, from
knowing and helping the growth of grace after the Gospel has been
published, is like the exclusion of the farmer from his seed after it
has been committed to the ground. He can help it, and does help it much
by his care. He keeps the fences up, that the field may not be trampled
by stray cattle: he keeps the drains open and the furrows clear, that
water may not stand on the field, but run off as soon as it falls: he
gathers off the stones, that they may not crush the seed, and pulls out
the weeds that they may not choke it.

In a similar way and with similar profit, ministers and teachers of the
word may remove obstructions which would prevent its growth. Not only
have we permission to do this: we are bound positively to do it. The
parable excludes us indeed from further knowledge or power, after the
word is made known, but it excludes as the farmer is excluded from his
sown seed. We know the nature and extent of that exclusion. While the
lesson relieves us from the responsibility of that which is beyond our
power, it lays upon us the responsibility of that which is within our
power.

You may have seen a sown field in spring immediately after a great
rain-fall; and you may have observed that a large portion of it, on its
lower side, was smooth, and run together and caked, bearing all the
marks of having been for some days under water. On the higher portions
the wheat was springing, but on this portion, sown at the same time, the
ground was bare. You examine the matter more minutely and discover that
the drains that had been made for carrying off the surplus moisture, had
been choked in the operations of the seed-time, and not cleared out
again; and that consequently when rain fell heavily, it accumulated on
the lower ground; and having soaked and soured it for several days, had
killed the germinating seed beneath the ground. You go to the farmer and
ask why he had allowed a large portion of his crop to be lost. Suppose
he should say, My work was done, as soon as the seed fell from my hand
into the soil; I can neither make it grow, nor understand how it grows;
it was not in my province that the failure took place, and therefore the
failure could not be my fault. No such specimen of hypocrisy is found in
the kingdom of nature: no man could hold up his face before his fellow
and cover his indolence by such an impudent plea.

We must see to it, that we be not guilty of the same inconsistency in
matters of greater moment. A parent or minister or teacher has committed
the good seed of the word to the hearts of his young people, with all
due solemnity and care; and thereafter permits them to be steeped in a
flood of folly, which he could easily have drained away. The good seed
is drowned in that deluge; but it is the sower's fault. It is true he
cannot make it grow by his care; but he can make it not grow by his
carelessness. We cannot do the saving; but we can do the destroying.
Many pains and many prayers are competent to the sower, although he
cannot directly control the growth of the seed. When it grows, it grows
independently of him; but when it fails, the failure may in part be due
to his unfaithfulness.

Further, when it is said that the earth bringeth forth fruit of herself,
the influences of heaven are not excluded, any more than the collateral
care of the husbandman. We know how and in what sense the earth brings
forth spontaneously, after it has received the seed into its bosom: if
the sun were kept from shining, or the rain from falling on it, the
earth would produce nothing. It is thus also with grace in the heart:
the Spirit ministering the things of Christ is as necessary in the
kingdom of grace, as rain and sunshine are in the kingdom of nature.

Surrounding circumstances, moreover, tend powerfully to help
or to hinder the growth of the new life. The seed grows indeed by its
own vitality: the most favourable circumstances that are possible on
earth could not produce a harvest of grace without the seed of the Word;
but these circumstances go far instrumentally to help or to hinder the
growth and ripening of the seed. The family of which you are a member,
either as child or servant,--the Church with which you worship,--the
companions with whom you associate,--the tone of the society in which
your social life moves on,--the business that occupies your day,--and
the amusements that refresh you when you are wearied;--these and many
others affect for good or evil the growth of grace in Christians, as wet
or dry, cold or warm seasons, affect the growth of the seed after it has
been committed to the ground. Watch and pray; one of these small points
may be the turning-point of your destiny.

The seed grows gradually from stage to stage. Three stages are
specified; first the blade, then the ear, then the full corn in the ear.
This does not determine the time occupied in the spiritual process. In
this respect there is not uniformity: the spiritual growth from spring
to maturity sometimes requires more than one natural season, and
sometimes is accomplished in less.

In the first stage of growth, it is not easy to distinguish with
certainty between the wheat and common grass; it is when the ear is
formed and filled, that you know at a glance, which is the fruitful and
which the fruitless plant There is a similar ambiguity, in as far as
appearance is concerned, in the earliest outgrowth of convictions from
the hearing of the word. Not that there is any uncertainty in the nature
of the things: the wheat is wheat, and the grass is grass from the
first: but an observer cannot so surely at first determine which is
wheat, and which is merely grass.

Thus, many hopeful impressions that appear for a while in the young, die
away, and bring forth no fruit; but at later stages, a judgment may be
formed with greater confidence. The plant assumes by degrees a more
definite form, and a more substantial fulness: the fruits of the Spirit,
green at first, but growing gradually more and more mellow, crown the
profession of a Christian.

Let us not deceive ourselves, in connection with the acknowledged
secrecy of the Spirit's work. The growing is an unseen thing; but
the grown ripened grain is visible. It is the inner power that is hid;
the fruit may be seen by all. There is indeed an invisible Christ, who
is already within his people the resurrection and the life; but there is
no invisible Christianity. How grace in the heart grows is an
inscrutable mystery; when it is grown, it is known and read of all men.
Your life, as to its source and supply, is hid with Christ in God: but
your life, as to its practical effects, is a city set on a hill. There
is a great difference between the light that you get and the light that
you give. The Lord in heaven is the light of Christians; but Christians
are the light of the world.

The source of the mighty Ganges is secret; and that secret the
superstition of the Hindus has converted into a religious mystery. But
the Ganges is not a secret unseen thing, as it flows through the plains
of India, fertilizing a continent.

"The harvest is come." It is not the end of the world; it is not even
the close of a Christian life in the world. There is a ripening and a
fruit-bearing while life in the body lasts: there is also a reaping and
an enjoying of the harvest by those who sow the seed, or their
successors. The announcement, "one soweth and another reapeth," clearly
implies that the same one who sows may also to some extent reap. There
is part of both: a sower gathers some of the fruit of his labour in his
own lifetime; and some of it is gathered by others after he has
departed.

Here is a lesson for ministers and teachers. The Lord, who sends them
out to sow, expects that they will look and long for fruit, and be
disappointed if it does not appear. When the case occurs, as occur it
may, in which the sower is not permitted to reap, the delay, although
not a ground of despair, should be a source of disappointment: the
stroke will be felt painful, if there is life where the stroke falls.
The giver of the seed expects that the sower, if he lives to see it
ripening, will reap it joyfully. It is like the joy of harvest to see
the Lord's work prospering under our own hand. The Master seems to chide
the inertness of his servants when he says, "the fields are white
already to harvest." If it were their meat, as it was his, to do the
Father's will, they would bound more quickly into the field, whenever
they saw it whitening.

Some lessons, partly encouraging, partly reproving, which lie in the
parable, but have hitherto been either omitted or only incidentally
touched in the course of exposition, may be now conveniently enumerated
in the close.

1. The work of sowing and the joy of reaping advance simultaneously on
the spiritual field. The labour of the husbandman in the natural sphere
is all and only sowing at one season, all and only reaping at another:
the seed of the word affords a different experience; in the kingdom of
God there is no period of the year when you must not sow, or may not
reap. These two processes are in experience very closely linked
together. They become alternately and reciprocally cause and effect: if
we were not permitted at an early period to reap a little, the work of
sowing would proceed languidly or altogether cease; on the other hand if
we cease to sow, we shall not long continue to reap. When the workmen
are introduced into this circle, it carries them continuously round.

2. In any given spot of the field there may be sowing in spring, and yet
no reaping in harvest. If there is no sowing, there will be no reaping;
but the converse does not hold good; you cannot say, wherever there has
been sowing, it will be followed by a reaping. The seed may be carried
away by wild birds, or wither on stony ground, or be choked by thorns.
"Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation."

3. The growth of the sown seed is secret; secret also is its failure. It
is quite true, there may be grace in the heart of a neighbour unseen,
unsuspected by me; but the heart of my neighbour may be graceless while
I am in its earlier stages ignorant of the fact. The gnawing of a worm
at the root of one plant is for a time as secret as the healthful growth
of another. "Lord, is it I?" I must not too lightly assume either in the
natural or the spiritual husbandry, that everything is prospering that
is out of sight.

4. Though the sower is helpless after he has cast the seed into the
ground, he should not be hopeless; we know that the seed is a living
thing, and will grow except where it is impeded by extraneous
obstacles. "The word of God is quick (living) and powerful."

5. In every case the harvest, in one sense, will come; on every spot of
all the field there will be a reaping. If one set of ministers do not
reap there, another will. Where there is not conversion, there will be
condemnation. The regeneration is one harvest; the judgment is another.
The angels are not sowers, but they are reapers. Where the men who sowed
the seed find nothing to reap during the day of grace, those ministering
spirits to whom no seed has been intrusted will be sent with a sickle to
cut down and cast away. The first harvest is like the first
resurrection; blessed are they who have part in it. In the ministry of
the Baptist, the appointed preparer of his way, Christ comes from heaven
to earth on the blessed errand of gathering his wheat into the garner:
rejoice therefore, Christians; he has prepared for you a place, and he
will bring you safely to it; but take heed and beware of hypocrisy; for
see, while he comes to bring home the wheat, he carries a "fan in his
hand" (Matt. iii. 12).




XVI.

THE TWO DEBTORS.


"And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he
    went into the Pharisee's house, and sat down to meat. And, 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."--LUKE vii. 36-50.

An interesting and difficult question regarding the harmony of the
Gospels generally attaches itself to the exposition of this parable.
Each of the four Evangelists narrates that a woman anointed Jesus while
he sat at table; and it becomes difficult to determine with certainty
whether they refer all to the same event, or some to one event, and some
to another. In the narratives features of similarity occur; leading to
the one conclusion, and features of dissimilarity leading to the other.
The prevailing opinion now is that Matthew, Mark, and John, speak all of
the same fact, and that Luke speaks of another. I have thought it right
to mention, that this question has been often discussed in connection
with our parable; but I shall do no more. The decision of it here and
now is by no means necessary: the interpretation of the parable does not
in any measure depend upon it. It is an inquiry belonging to a different
branch of Scripture exposition, and to discuss it here would tend to
distract attention from the subject in hand.

Assuming then without argument that Luke here records an event which is
not mentioned by any of the other Evangelists, I shall proceed at once
to examine its substance as the ground from which the parable directly
springs. The husbandman at one time operates directly on the tree, and
at another time directly on the ground in the neighbourhood; in both
cases however, and in both alike, his aim is to increase the
fruitfulness of the tree; it is thus that an expositor must in some
instances turn his attention in the first place to the surrounding
context which suggests and sustains the parable, as the best means of
ascertaining the import of the parable itself.

A Pharisee invited Jesus to a feast: he accepted the invitation and
joined the company at the appointed place and time. A woman who had been
of bad character in the town, as soon as she learned that he was there,
entered the apartment where the guests reclined at meat, and stood at
his feet behind him weeping. Her tears rained down on his feet; she
wiped them off with her hair, and then anointed them with precious
ointment.

Let us endeavour to determine precisely the character of the several
actors and the meaning of their acts.

The Pharisee, having formed, on the whole, a favourable opinion of Jesus
as a prophet in Israel, and being, as he supposed, in a position to act
the patron, with benevolent intent, but with a high estimate of his own
character and position, invited to his house and table the remarkable
Nazarene, whose miracles and doctrines were in every one's mouth.
Doubtless he expected, also, that by closer contact, and by means of his
own shrewd observation, he should be able definitely to make up his mind
on the character of the new prophet, and so to favour or frown on him
according to the result.

While her actions only are recorded in the narrative, we may, by the
light of the Lord's subsequent declarations, also read without danger of
mistake the emotions that were working in this woman's heart. She had
fallen into a course of vice, and consequently lost caste in the
community. Knowing that she had lost the respect of her neighbours, she
had lost respect for herself. From a sinful act she had glided into
sinful habits. Perhaps remorse from time to time made her inwardly
sorrowful; but she put on a bold countenance, and tried to laugh down
rebuke.

This woman, while in this state, crept one day to the outer edge of a
crowd in the neighbourhood of the city, to satisfy her curiosity as to
the cause of the concourse. In the centre stood Jesus of Nazareth
preaching; and all the people in solemn silence hung upon his lips. She
listened too, and heard some wonderful words; God loved the world; God
pardons sin--pardons freely, pardons it all; pardons chief sinners;
loves to pardon; has given his Son to seek and save; this is the Son,
revealing the Father, and inviting the prodigal to return to the
Father's bosom. Hark; he says, "Come unto me all that labour and are
heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Peeping through openings in the
crowd, she might see the love that beamed in the preacher's countenance,
as well as hear the gracious words that came from his mouth.

The woman's heart is touched and taken; the woman is won. By that still
small voice the devil's chains are broken, the rocky heart is rent. When
the congregation dissolves, she steals away to her house alone. There
her eye falls on some gaudy ornaments, the instruments of her sin, and
the badges of her shame. Whence this sudden strong loathing? Perhaps she
grasps them convulsively and flings them on the fire, shutting her eyes
that she may not see her tormentors. She sits down, and searches her own
heart,--her own life. She discovers that it is altogether vile. Her own
heart is the darkest, deepest pit out of hell; she is the chief of
sinners. She never knew this before. She had often experienced twitches
of conscience for particular acts of evil; but now her whole life and
her whole being seem one dark, deep, crimson sin. What has done this? It
was that word of Jesus; it was the pardon that he offered; it was the
divine compassion that beamed on his countenance and glowed on his lips.
She was melted. The old stony heart flowed down like water, and went
away; and a new, tender, trustful, loving heart came up in its place.
She is not the same woman that she was yesterday. She is a new creature
in Christ Jesus; but she could not yet tell the name and describe the
nature of the change that had taken place in her being, as a new-born
child could not announce the fact and explain the nature of its birth.
The infant will manifest its birth and life, by seeking sustenance from
its mother's breast; and when the child has grown, the grown man will
reflect on his birth, and perhaps understand in some measure its nature
and importance. Such was the passing from death into life in the
experience of that woman. Conversion in our own day often takes place as
secretly, and as soon. The word of the Lord that proved itself quick and
powerful then, liveth and abideth the same for ever; and this is the
word which by the Gospel is preached unto us still.

The natural history of conversion does not change with the lapse of
centuries, any more than natural history in other departments; there
were doubtless examples of secret regeneration in the time of our Lord
and his apostles, as well as in our own time. He knew this woman's case
as well as he knew the case of the woman who pressed through the crowd
to touch the hem of his garment. That woman, when she was healed, would
have kept her case secret at the time if she could; she was put about
and ashamed when she was called in public, and her experience proclaimed
in the crowd. It suited the purpose of the Lord to make known her
experience on the spot; that method he saw would do most for his
kingdom. But in the case of this woman who was a sinner, he did not act
in the same way. There are diversities in his operation. He foresaw an
occasion when her repentance and faith could be turned to greater
account; accordingly he postponed the public announcement of her
forgiveness till then. True to the new instinct that had been planted in
her heart, this saved sinner, as soon as she heard that Jesus sat at
meat in the Pharisee's house, grasped the richest offering she possessed
and hastened to the spot. Her plans, I think, were not fully laid. The
impulses of a bursting heart drew her to the place where her Redeemer
was; but she had not foreseen all the difficulties, and consequently had
not prepared the means of overcoming them.

Arrived at the house, she entered the open door; and passing through the
attendants, penetrated into the apartment where the company reclined at
meat. The table stood in the middle of the hall, and sofas in a
continuous line were placed near it on either side. On these sofas were
the guests, not sitting as we do with their feet on the floor beneath
the table, but reclining with their feet projecting a little behind, the
sandals having previously been drawn off by servants, for coolness and
comfort. Thus it was easy for one who entered the room, to walk up to
any individual of the company and converse with him during the meal;
and, so far from being out of the way and unnatural, it was the easiest
and most natural of all things, that the woman, when she came to Jesus,
should touch his feet. This was precisely the part of his body which she
could most easily reach, and which she might bathe and anoint, while the
meal proceeded, without difficulty to herself or inconvenience to him.

We shall fall into a mistake if we think either that the act as here
narrated was altogether accordant with the habits of the time and place,
or altogether contrary to them; it was partly the one and partly the
other.

In the first place it was an act radically diverse from the intrusion of
a stranger to anoint the feet of a guest sitting at dinner with his
friend in our country and our day. Such an act among us would be so
unprecedented, so difficult, so awkward, that it would shock every
observer, if it were attempted, and bring the whole business to a stand.
There and then, in as far as the entrance of a person unbidden is
concerned, there was nothing to attract attention. There is abundant
evidence that even at this day, it is common in the East for persons not
of the party to enter the feast chamber during the progress of the meal,
and sitting on seats by the wall, converse on business or politics with
the guests that recline beside the table; and, further, from the
position of the guests, it was not difficult, but easy to reach his
feet. Thus far, all was accordant with use and wont. But as to the
person who entered on that occasion, and the act which she performed,
there was something strange and out of the way. It was fitted to attract
attention, and to excite suspicion; and so indeed it did. A woman,
coming in while the company sat at meat, and such a woman, habit and
repute disreputable; and besides all this, the ardency of her emotions,
and the familiarity of her acts, surprised the onlookers.

I think it important to notice these two sides of the case; so much of
it was according to use and wont, that the entrance of the woman by
itself did not surprise and shock the company; and yet so much of it was
strange, that the curiosity of the company was aroused, and their
attention arrested. The circumstances of the incident on both sides,
were thus calculated to promote the design of Jesus, to instruct and
reprove. There was as much of the ordinary in the act as prevented it
from shocking the feelings; and as much of the extraordinary as awakened
the interest of the spectators.

When she reached the feet of the Redeemer with the intention of
anointing them in token of her adoring gratitude, her plan seems to have
been deranged for the moment, by a sudden and uncontrollable flood of
tears, as if the fountains of the great deep within her being had been
opened, and grief and gladness, both at their height, had met and
caused an overflow. From the position she had assumed those tears wet
the feet of Jesus; and having no other towel, she, with a woman's sudden
instinct, dried them again with her long flowing hair.[59]

  [59] "She was forgiven much; therefore she loved much. As soon as
  she had learned that Jesus was at table in Simon the Pharisee's
  house, her heart drew her thither to him, that she might offer him
  the expression of her gratitude and love,--of her adoration and her
  joy. She took with her a phial of ointment, the costliest that she
  possessed, found an entrance into the Pharisee's house, and walked
  behind backs to the feet of Jesus, as he reclined at table on an
  elevated cushion. Arrived there, she is incapable of accomplishing
  her purpose. The thought of the greatness of her sin, and the
  greatness of the compassion of Jesus, broke her heart. She wept, and
  so unwittingly wet the feet of Jesus with her tears. Oh, salt,
  salutary tears! They are tears at once of repentance and gratitude.
  Now, she must first dry the Lord's feet again. But for this she had
  not prepared herself; for this she had nothing but her hair. So she
  wiped them with her hair; and kissed the feet of Jesus, and then
  anointed them with ointment. All this was the manifestation of her
  inward burning love to the Lord."--_Arndt_, ii, 85, 86.

"Now, when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within
himself, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what
manner of woman this is that toucheth him." It was an acknowledged sign
of a true prophet to be a discerner of hearts. Simon had this test
before his mind, and was secretly applying it to determine the claims of
Jesus. But another principle lay deep in the heart of the Pharisee,
which he considered applicable to the case in hand: he counted, as a
matter of course, that a prophet, while he might sit at table on terms
of equality with himself, a good man, would not accept any mark of
homage from a bad one. He believed that, by his knowledge of the town,
he had gained advantage over the prophet of Nazareth, who was a
stranger, and had found a ground on which he might reject his claims.
Simon knew the character of this woman. Believing that Jesus, as a
righteous man, would have spurned her away if he had known what she
was, he thought he saw in the fact of his bearing with her an evidence
that he was ignorant of her character.

The reasoning was this. Either he knows what sort of a woman this is, or
he does not. If he does not know, he is not a prophet, because he cannot
discern spirits; if he knows, he is not a prophet, for he does not cast
the disreputable person away. On either alternative, therefore, he is
not a prophet.[60]

  [60] The dilemma is well put by Dr. Trench.

       *       *       *       *       *

I proceed now, under the direction of the Lord's own words, to consider
the spiritual meaning and the practical use of the narrative. The
creditor is God, in whom we live, and move, and have our being--from
whom we derive all, and to whom we must account for all; the debtors
sinful men; and the debts the sins which they have severally done.

Of the two, while both are in debt, one owes ten times as much as the
other. A comparison of this proportion, with that which appears in the
parable of the unmerciful servant, is interesting. Between the debt
which the servant owed to his master, and the debt which a
fellow-servant owed to him, there is no assignable proportion: so vast
is the difference that we cannot form a definite conception of the
relation. This is precisely what we should expect in order to show the
disproportion, or want of all proportion, between sins against God and
sins against a neighbour. In this parable, on the other hand, the debt
in both cases is due to the master, and not in either due by one servant
to another. We accordingly do not expect, and do not find a
disproportion so vast; and yet, there is a great difference between the
two sums. In the one case the debt is five hundred pence, and in the
other fifty: the less is only one-tenth of the larger sum. Although
there are aggravations in one case, and alleviations in another, I think
the disproportion would not have been so great as in the parable it
actually is, if it had been the design of the Lord here to teach us how
much the guilt of one man may exceed that of another in the sight of
God. From the circumstances of this case we may safely gather that these
sums represent not the absolute quantity of sin-debt that stood against
these men severally in the book of divine justice, but the estimate
which they severally made of their own shortcomings. The fifty and the
five hundred pence indicate the amounts which the debtors severally
acknowledged, rather than those which the creditor might have claimed.

The plan of providence in the present life permits every man to keep his
own accounts of debt to God: no neighbour is empowered to record the
items, and sum them up, and keep a record of their amount against you.
The Romish priesthood attempt to usurp this prerogative, but in its
purpose it is boldly unjust, and in its results miserably ineffectual.
They ought not, in point of principle, to make the attempt; and they are
not able, in point of fact, to accomplish their object. Every man keeps
his own account book; and no other man dare or can look into it, except
in as far as the owner opens it of his own accord for the inspection of
his neighbour.

Some teachers adopt this principle, with good effect, in the discipline
of children at school. Each child has a book in which he marks, from day
to day and from hour to hour, his own successes and his own failures;
and according to this record the prizes are awarded or withheld. When
the child is put upon his honour, it is expected that he will be
honourable. Probably a large balance of advantage results from this
contrivance where it is judiciously managed; but it is capable of
telling two ways, and does tell in opposite ways with different persons.
If the child deal fairly, the principle of truth within him will be
strengthened by habit; but if he cheat, all of the sense of honesty that
remained within him will soon be worn away. "To him that hath shall be
given, and he shall have abundance; but from him that hath not shall be
taken, even that which he hath."

But while each man is permitted to keep the account of his own sins
against God, and no human being can rightfully possess a duplicate,
there is a duplicate: another record is kept in the Book of God. That
record is true; and woe to the self-deceiver who made false entries in
his own favour all his life, when it is found that the two accounts will
not tally in the great day.

Simon the entertainer kept account of his own debt to God--his sins of
omission and commission--and balanced them from time to time against a
column of merits which he possessed. The balance, he confesses, was
against himself, and the difference he set down as the amount due: it is
expressed by fifty. The woman, on the other hand, had during a course of
wickedness lost all reckoning, both of her own sins and of God's
mercies. Lately she had obtained a copy of the missing documents. A
reflection of the charge had been suddenly thrown down from the archives
of the Judge, upon the tablet of her own conscience. Without attempting
to tax the account in her own favour, she accepted it in full, and
expressed it by five hundred--ten times as much as the Pharisee had laid
to his own charge. He, taking his own reckoning for authority, counted
his liability light: she, taking her data from God's law, counted her
liability heavy.

In the story, as it is constructed by the Lord for the instruction and
reproof of Simon, the love of both servants to their master is caused,
and consequently measured by, the forgiveness which they had received:
one having obtained the remission of a small debt, loved the forgiver a
little; the other, having obtained the remission of a great debt, loved
the forgiver much. In any such case, however, love springs up strong in
proportion, not to the absolute amount of the debt remitted, but to the
estimate of its amount which the debtor himself has formed. This
principle must be kept in view when we apply the lesson of the parable
to Simon. The Scripture does not concede that the amount of forgiveness
that he needed and obtained was in respect to that of the poor woman as
fifty to five hundred: the Scripture does not even determine that Simon
was, in point of fact, forgiven at all. In its application to the case
in hand, the Lord's instruction is equivalent to the conditional
formula, If you have been forgiven fifty pence, and she five hundred,
whether will she or you experience the more fervent gratitude to your
common benefactor? This, I think, is the only true and consistent method
of applying the parable to the experience of the woman and the Pharisee.
The point on which all the weight should lean is not the absolute amount
of guilt incurred by the sinner and forgiven by God, but the estimate
made by the sinner of his own sin, and his consequent appreciation of
the boon he receives when it is unconditionally blotted out. This view,
besides being in itself right, possesses this practical advantage, that
it steers entirely clear of the entangling question, If the greatest
sinner, when forgiven, loves his Forgiver most, will not he be happiest
at last who is the guiltiest now? There is no place here or elsewhere in
the Scriptures for such a speculation: it is not admissible in any
form. The conception which the parable produces when legitimately
applied is at once beautiful and beneficent: love to the Saviour rises
in the heart of a saved man in proportion to the sense which he
entertains of his own sinfulness on the one hand, and the mercy of God
on the other. Thus the height of a saint's love to the Lord is as the
depth of his own humility: as this root strikes down unseen in the
ground, that blossoming branch rises higher in the sky.

The woman did not speak of her own acts, either within herself or to her
neighbours; but her acts are, notwithstanding, proclaimed and recorded.
They are minutely catalogued (ver. 44-46), by the Lord himself. Nothing
is lost on him; his ear is open, and his eye. As in providence not a
sparrow falls to the ground without our Father's permission and regard,
so in the new covenant not a tear falls for sin indulged, not a sigh
rises for deliverance from its pollution, without attracting the notice
and obtaining the approval of the Sinner's Friend. Love, burning as a
night lamp silently in a penitent's breast, or bursting forth in
impetuous praise, or calmly supplying the motive power of a useful
life--love in the heart of the forgiven sinner, serves and pleases the
forgiving Redeemer.

One point still remains unnoticed, needing indeed some notes of
explanation, but capable of being easily and fully explained; it lies in
these words of Jesus: "Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins which are
many are forgiven; for she loved much." A question has been raised here,
Did the woman's love to the Lord cause him to forgive her, or did his
pardon freely bestowed cause the forgiven woman to love him? To state
the question is in effect to answer it. This announcement which Jesus
makes in the close of his exposition is obviously meant to run in the
line of the parable; but if you understand it to represent the woman's
love as the procuring cause of pardon from the Lord, it runs right in
the face of the parable from first to last. The love of the servants,
the lesser as well as the larger love, is not the cause but the effect
of the Master's kindness; and it would not only be out of harmony with
the parable, but in sheer opposition to it in letter and in spirit, to
understand it as countenancing the doctrine that the sinner's
spontaneous love to God merits and obtains forgiveness.

Although, in sentences of this form, it is more common to express the
effect in the first clause, and the cause, introduced by a For in the
latter; yet the converse method is frequently employed and perfectly
correct. You may say, Tan-waste is strewn on the street opposite this
mansion, for a member of the family lies within it sick; or, A member of
the family lies sick within this mansion, for tan-waste is strewn on the
contiguous street. In the first instance you place the cause last, and
in the second instance the effect, using precisely the same formula in
both. Nor is it difficult to perceive why Jesus places the effect of
forgiveness in the prominent position here, for it is the only thing
that is visible to the Pharisee whom he desires to instruct. The pardon
which this woman had obtained Simon did not and could not see; but her
love being embodied in action was palpable to his senses. The energetic
act of adoration was evidence of the heart-love from which it sprang. To
this love accordingly Jesus points, and thence infers the existence of
the great forgiveness which prompted it. In the end, He confirms and
seals, by his own lips, the pardon which the repenting sinner had
already secretly received. The Redeemer's forgiving love to sinners is
the only cause of all their love to him. "We love him because he first
loved us." Have you seen a broad, straight path of silver brightness
lying by night upon a smooth sea, and stretching from your feet away
until it was lost in the distance--a path that seemed to have been
trodden by the feet of all the saints who have ever passed through a
shifting world to their eternal home. Oh that silver path by night
across the sea,--it glittered much: but it was not its brightness that
lighted up the moon in the sky. Neither was it the love to Jesus
trembling in a believer's heart, that kindled forgiving love in him. We
love him because he first loved us; the love that makes bright a
forgiven sinner's path across the world was kindled by the light of life
in the face of Jesus; from him and to him are all things.

There is a peculiarly wise and tender adaptation to our need in that
feature of our Lord's character, which consists in his desiring and
appreciating our love. He is not a distant, cold, omnipotence. He
lavishes love on the world, but he is disappointed when the world does
not throw back a reflection of his own love, as the rippling sea throws
up to heaven again, the light it got from heaven. When the ten lepers
were cleansed, and one returned to lavish love on his healer, that
healer, while he enjoyed the single penitent's devotion, permitted a
sigh to escape his lips, articulated in the sad pensive question, "Where
are the nine?" I love the Lord for uttering that complaint. It proves to
me that he counts it no intrusion when we burst in upon him with our
glad thanksgiving. In the bold in-bursting of this woman; in her
premeditated anointing, and unpremeditated tears, the Lord Jesus
sees--tastes of the travail of his soul and is satisfied.




XVII.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.


"And Jesus answering said, A certain man went down from Jerusalem to
    Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment,
    and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. And by chance
    there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he
    passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at
    the place, came and looked on him, and passed by on the other side.
    But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and
    when he saw him, he had compassion on him, and went to him, and
    bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own
    beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the
    morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the
    host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou
    spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee. Which now of
    these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among
    the thieves? And he said, He that showed mercy on him. Then said
    Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise."--LUKE x. 30-37.

Logically this parable may be conveniently associated with that of the
unmerciful servant. They constitute a pair; that teaches us to forgive
the injurer; and this to help the injured.

On the almost pictured page of the evangelic history you may often
observe two persons, sometimes in presence of a multitude, and sometimes
far apart, engaged in close and earnest conversation. In most cases you
discover, when you approach, that one of them is the Lord Jesus, and the
other one of the lost whom he came to save. At one time it is a rich
Jewish ruler, and at another a poor woman of Samaria; now, it is
Nicodemus in a private house, and then Pilate in the judgment hall; here
the Saviour, suffering, converses with the thief on the cross, and there
the Saviour, reigning, calls to Saul as he is entering Damascus. Many
of the precious words of Jesus which now constitute the heritage of the
Church, were at first spoken in answer to friends or foes, during the
period of his ministry on earth, or after he ascended into heaven.

Thus the Lord's word frequently took its form from the the character and
conduct of those with whom he conversed. On their ignorance, or
simplicity, or malice, his wisdom and goodness were cast for keeping
till the end of time. The temper, and conceptions, and tricks of those
Jews, like sand in a foundry, constituted the mould in which the pure
gold of our Redeemer's instructions was poured; and like the sand, when
they had served that purpose, they were allowed to fall asunder, as
being of no further use.

Here is a case in which the question of a self-righteous Jew elicits and
gives shape to the subsequent discourse of the Lord; here, accordingly,
the meaning of the discourse depends, in a great measure, on the history
in which it grows. At some pause in the Lord's discourse, while the
multitude still remained on the spot expecting further instruction, a
certain lawyer who was watching his opportunity, interposed with the
demand, "Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?"[61] The
question was not put in simplicity, with a view to obtain information,
it was employed knowingly as an experiment and a test.

  [61] "How eagerly would the critics seize on this passage, and
  pronounce the question of a certain lawyer to be identical with the
  narrative contained in Matt. xix. 16, only differently reported--if
  St. Luke had not himself subsequently narrated that second incident
  (xviii. 18)! This once more shows that many things could naturally,
  and would necessarily, occur more than once in the life of
  Jesus."--_Stier_.

Very many such questions were addressed to the Lord Jesus during the
period of his public ministry by different persons, and with different
motives. We may safely gather from the whole spirit of the narrative
that this example, as to the character and motive of the questioner, was
neither one of the best nor one of the worst. This scribe was not, on
the one hand, like Nicodemus, a meek receptive disciple, prepared to
drink the sincere milk of the word that he might grow thereby, nor was
he like some, both of the Pharisaic and Sadducean parties, who came with
cunning questions to ensnare and destroy. This man seems to have been
from his own view point sincere and fair: his tempting aimed not to
catch and betray, but simply to put the skill of the new Nazarene
prophet to the test. The man was full, not of conscious malice against
Jesus, but of ignorant confidence in himself.

The scribe's question is cast in the mould of the most unmitigated
self-righteousness: "What shall _I do_ that _I may inherit_?" &c. No
glimpse had he ever gotten of his own sinfulness, no conception did he
ever entertain of the publican's prayer, "God be merciful to me a
sinner."

Taking the man on his own terms, and meeting him on his own path, the
Lord replies by the question, "What is written? and refers him to the
law." The lawyer, a professed theologian, answers well. He gave a
correct epitome of all moral duty, showing that love is the fulfilling
of the law,--"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and
thy neighbour as thyself."

The Lord approved the answer, seemed to require as to profession, not
another word, and closed for the time the colloquy with the simple
announcement, "This do and thou shalt live." A very great question
crosses our path here, but we must not discuss it fully lest we should
be diverted too far from our immediate object. This answer of the Lord
we accept in all simplicity as the great universal cardinal truth in the
case. Life was offered at first, and life is offered still as the reward
of obedience. It is not safe, it is not needful to apologize for this
statement or to explain it away; it is not in any sense contrary to
evangelical doctrine. It is really true that the fulfilling of God's law
will secure his favour. Nor is this a thing merely to be admitted in its
own place when it comes up; it is the truth that lies at the foundation,
and on which all other truth leans. The basis of all is,--Obedience
deserves life, and disobedience deserves death. Mankind have disobeyed;
we have all sinned, and are therefore all under condemnation. Nothing
but a perfect obedience can gain God's favour. Hence the covenant, and
hence the incarnation and sacrifice of Christ; hence the substitution of
the just for the unjust. The Gospel is not an exception to the Law,
"This do and thou shalt live;" the Gospel is founded on that Law. This
Law Christ came not to destroy but to fulfil.

"This _do_ and thou shalt live:" whether by an emphasis on the word, or
by an expressive glance at the moment in the speaker's eye, or by the
simple majesty of the truth declared, the scribe's conscience was
aroused and arrested. The questioner was not altogether comforted by the
result of the conversation; he could not allow the matter to drop there.
The reason why he continued the dialogue is expressly given; he was
"willing to justify himself." Justify himself! But who accused him? Not
the Lord: he had only said, "This do and thou shalt live." The man's own
conscience was awakened and at work: well he knew at that moment that he
had not done what his lips confessed he should do; he had not loved God
with all his heart, and his neighbour as himself.

It is interesting to notice the principle on which he proceeds to defend
himself: conscious that love to neighbours is in his heart a very narrow
thing, he conducts his argument so as to justify its narrowness. If he
can show that his neighbours are limited to a small circle of relatives,
with the addition perhaps of some chosen individuals beyond the line of
blood, he may yet be able to live on good terms with himself as a keeper
of the law; accordingly, in order to form a basis for his own defence,
he inquires, "Who is my neighbour?"

The parable constitutes the answer. But before we proceed to examine its
contents, it is of great importance to observe that it is not a direct
answer to the scribe's question. It is the answer which the Lord saw
meet to give, but it is not a decision on the case which had been
submitted for adjudication. In his question the scribe contemplated
other people, and speculated upon who had the right to receive kindness:
the answer of Jesus, on the contrary, contemplates the scribe himself,
and inquires whether he is prepared to bestow kindness. As to those who
should receive our love there is no limit: the real subject of inquiry
concerns the man who bestows it. The question is not, Who is my
neighbour? but, Am I neighbourly? This is the line in which the parable
proceeds. It does not supply the scribe with an answer to the question
which he had put; but it supplies him with another question which he
desired to evade. He is not permitted to ride off upon a speculative
inquiry about the abstract rights of other men; he is pinned down to a
personal practical duty. "A certain man went down from Jerusalem," &c.
It is a narrow, dreary mountain pass. By nature it is fitted to be a
haunt of robbers; if there are any robbers in the country, they will
certainly gravitate to this spot. In point of fact it was notoriously
unsafe for travellers in that day, and it is equally dangerous still. A
particular portion of the road acquired the name of the _path of blood_,
and under the feeble government of the Turks, as well as in more ancient
times, it has well deserved its appellation. The scene of the event
therefore is laid in a place which is eminently suitable to its
character: the audience who heard the story first would at once and
fully recognise its appropriateness.

Robbers assailed the solitary traveller, and after plundering him of his
money, left him so severely wounded that he could do nothing to help
himself, and must soon have died if he had not obtained help. Although
it is not expressly stated, it appears from the whole complexion of the
narrative that this man was a Jew. Indeed this is so obvious and so
necessary that the point of the parable would be lost if it were
otherwise: I think the nationality of the unfortunate sufferer is not
stated, precisely because it could not be mistaken.

"And by chance there came down a certain priest that way," &c. By chance
is an unfortunate translation here. It was not by chance that the priest
came down by that road at that time, but by a specific arrangement, and
in exact fulfilment of a plan; not the plan of the priest, not the plan
of the wounded traveller, but the plan of God. By "coincidence" (κατα
συγκυριαν) the priest came down: that is, by the conjunction of two
things, in fact, which were previously constituted a pair in the
providence of God. In the result they fell together according to the
omniscient designer's plan. This is the true theory of the divine
government, and this is the account of the matter which the parable
contains.[62]

  [62] The analogy between the meetings exhibited in this parable and
  the meeting of Philip with the Ethiopian (Acts viii.) is interesting
  and instructive. In both cases the place is a desert, in both a man
  in great need and a man who has the means of supplying that need
  meet each other there. Here the want and its supply are material and
  temporal, there they are moral and spiritual. The man who fell among
  thieves on the way to Jericho suffered from bodily wounds, and the
  Samaritan who came to his relief appropriately applied material
  remedies: the Ethiopian treasurer, in that way towards Gaza which is
  desert, suffered in his soul, and the name of Christ was the
  ointment which Philip the evangelist poured into his wound. These
  two cases are indeed diverse, but as we learn from the Scriptures
  throughout, they proceed, both as to disease and cure, upon
  analogous principles, so that the knowledge of the one throws light
  upon the meaning of the other. The meeting in the desert near Gaza
  did not happen by chance, it was a tryst duly made and exactly kept,
  for "the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, Arise and go
  toward the south," &c. (Acts viii. 26). The appointment for the
  meetings in the valley between Jerusalem and Jericho was as
  certainly made, although it has not been as expressly recorded.

By previous appointment and actual exact coincidence that meeting took
place between the hale comfortable priest and the wounded half-dead
traveller in the bloody path between Jerusalem and Jericho. It is thus
that all meetings take place between man and man. "The poor ye have
always with you," said Jesus to his disciples. It is not only that once
for all the poor and the rich are placed in the same world: but day by
day, as life's current flows, by divine unerring purpose those who need
are placed in the way of those who have plenty, and the strong are led
to the spot where the feeble lie. We are accustomed to admire the wisdom
and foresight that spread layers of iron ore and layers of coal near
each other in the crust of the earth that the one might give the melting
heat which the other needed; but the divine government is a much more
minute and pervading thing. The same omniscient provider has appointed
each meeting between those who are in want and those who have
abundance; and for the same reason, that the one may give what the other
needs, and that both may be blessed in the deed. But he who lays the
plan watches its progress, and is displeased when men do not take the
opportunity that has been given. When he has brought the strong to the
spot where the weak are lying he is displeased to see them pass by on
the other side. "Lo, I am with you alway even unto the end of the
world." Is that a pleasant promise? No; if after the Lord has led you to
the spot where the needy are perishing, you pass by on the other side;
it is a dreadful thing to have him beside us, looking on in such a case
as this.

We are led to suppose that the wounded man was not only unable to walk,
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.

In this parable, as in that of the unjust judge, a human motive that is
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 αναιδειαν, 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" (του διδοντος
Θεου 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
(αναιδεια) 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:
διελογιζετο εν ἑαυτῳ--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.

The terms run literally, "Unwise, this night they demand from thee thy
soul." Those ministering angels and providential laws, represented by
the drawers of the net in another parable, to whom the Supreme Governor
has committed the task of gathering gradually the generations of men
from this sea of time, and casting them for judgment on the borders of
eternity--those ministering spirits, and principles pervading nature,
arrive in their course this night at your door, and send the message
into the midst of the merry festival, The master of this house is wanted
immediately; he must arise and go, in obedience to the summons; he can
neither resist nor delay. He may weep, tremble, rage; but he must go,
and go on the instant. It is not the whole man, but only his soul that
is wanted: his body will be left behind. But the body, though left
behind, cannot claim, cannot use the goods. When the soul is summoned
over into eternity, it cannot carry the hoarded treasures with itself,
and the body left behind has no further use for them. A grave to rest in
while it returns to dust is all that the body needs or gets; and the
deserted wealth must advertise for an owner--whose shall it be?

Our Lord Jesus has spoken these piercing words, not for the sake of the
pain which they are fitted to inflict. He is the Healer[68] of diseased
humanity, and when he makes an incision he means to cure. This sharp
instrument, at whose glance we wince and shrink precisely in proportion
to the measure of our malady, he wields for the purpose of piercing
the deadly tumour, and so saving the threatened life. "A man's life
consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth"
(ver. 15); and the man who places his life therein, loses his life. That
is not his life; and if he take that for his life, he is cheated: when a
merchant has given all for what seemed a goodly pearl, he has not
another fortune in reserve wherewith to begin anew, if that for which he
paid all his possessions turns out to be a worthless toy of glass. Our
time, our life--this is our fortune, on which we trade for the better
world: if these be spent,--be thrown away for what is not life, then
life is lost.

  [68] Der Heiland--the Healer--is the ordinary epithet applied to the
  Lord Jesus in the religious phraseology of the Germans. The term is
  suggestive and comforting.

Riches are truly enjoyed when they are wisely employed in doing good;
but hoarded as the portion of their possessor, they burden him while
they remain his, and rend him at the parting.

By way of contrast, the Lord mentions another kind of treasure, which
satisfies now, and lasts for ever. Those who are "rich toward God," are
rich indeed, and all besides are poor: and this wealth is, in Christ,
offered free,--offered to all.

Seeing that an evil spirit possessed this man, the Lord in mercy applied
his word to cast the evil spirit out, and make room for his own
indwelling. When the spirit of the world refuses to go out at his word,
he sometimes interferes as Ruler in providence, and tears out the
intruder by his mighty hand: the kingdom of heaven that is "within you"
also suffereth violence; and He who is most mighty comes sometimes with
merciful strokes to take it by force. "Even so: come, Lord Jesus."




XX.

THE BARREN FIG-TREE.


"There were present at that season some that told him of the Galileans,
    whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And Jesus
    answering said unto them, Suppose ye that these Galileans were
    sinners above all the Galileans, because they suffered such things?
    I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise
    perish. Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell, and
    slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt
    in Jerusalem? I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all
    likewise perish. He spake also this parable; A certain man had a
    fig-tree planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit
    thereon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his
    vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this
    fig-tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground?
    And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also,
    till I shall dig about it, and dung it: and if it bear fruit, well:
    and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down."--LUKE xiii. 1-9.

It is obvious that the massacre of the Galileans by Pilate was mentioned
on this occasion, not for its own sake, but for the purpose of
supporting a doctrine which the narrators held and desired to establish.
Their meaning is echoed distinctly in the answer of the Lord. These
Pharisees seem to have found grist for their own mill in all events and
all persons; everything was turned to the account of their own
self-righteousness. Peculiar sufferings seemed to prove peculiar guilt.
The logical consequence they did not express, and perhaps did not
distinctly frame even in thought; but they solaced themselves with it,
notwithstanding: they were not visited by such calamities, and therefore
it might be presumed they were not chargeable with such sins.

The Lord expressly denied the truth of their silent, hidden inference,
and fortified his teaching by reference to another analogous case,--the
sudden death of some men through the fall of a tower. Leaving untouched
the general doctrine that mankind suffer for sin, he clearly and
emphatically teaches, that particular calamities do not measure or prove
the particular guilt of those who suffer in them. Otherwise, it is
obvious that God's government begins and ends in this life; there is
neither the necessity nor the evidence of a judgment to come. He
indicated to the Jews that the sudden and unexpected destruction of
those sacrificing Galileans, was but an emblem of the sudden and
unexpected destruction that would overtake themselves if they were not
converted in time, and shielded in mercy from the judgment that sin
entailed. To repeat, expand, and enforce this lesson the parable is
spoken: "He spake _also_ this parable,"--the similitude is given in
addition to the more direct instruction which had gone before, and for
the same purpose.

"A certain man had a fig-tree planted in his vineyard." This was not a
seedling that had sprung accidentally within the fences of the vineyard,
and through carelessness been permitted to grow: the language is
precise, and indicates that the fig tree had been planted within the
vineyard by a deliberate act of the owner. The husbandman planted the
fig-tree that he might enjoy its fruit; and in order more effectually to
secure his object, he selected for the tree the most favourable
position. It is obvious both from the structure and design of the
parable that the position of the fig-tree was the best that it could
possibly have obtained.

In countries where the vine is cultivated, not by a few wealthy
proprietors with a view to an export trade, but by each family on a
small scale with a view to the food of the household, to plant some
fruit trees of other kinds within the same enclosure is the rule rather
than the exception. The vineyard is not the luxury of the few, but a
common necessity of life with the many. It becomes the most cherished
possession of the permanent rural population. Its aspect is sunward, its
soil is good, its fences are in order. Within this favoured spot the
owner is willing to make room for one or more fig-trees, for the sake of
the fruit which in such favourable circumstances he expects them to
bear.[69]

  [69] In the valley of the Rhine where the vine is cultivated as the
  material of a great manufacture, and the staple of a foreign trade,
  fruit trees of other species are not admitted within the vineyard;
  but at Botzen in the Tyrol, where the habits of society are more
  simple and primitive, I have repeatedly seen fig-trees growing
  within the lofty wall of the carefully cultured vineyard, rewarding
  the possessor for his care with abundant fruit.

When the tree had reached maturity the owner expected that it should
bear fruit; but that year, the next, and a third it continued barren.
Having waited a reasonable time, he gave orders that it should be
destroyed; since it produced nothing, he desired to utilize in another
way the portion of ground which it occupied.

The dresser of the vineyard is a person who has the entire charge,
subject to the general instructions of the proprietor. He has long
occupied this position, and is acquainted with the fig-tree from its
infancy; he knows it, as a shepherd in a similarly primitive state of
society knows his sheep. He has formed for it a species of attachment;
and a sentiment akin to compassion springs up in his heart, when he
hears its sentence pronounced. "Woodman, spare that tree," is a species
of intercession thoroughly natural and human.

The intercession of the dresser, however, is not sentiment merely; it
is sentiment completely directed and controlled by just reason. He does
not plead for the indefinite prolongation of a useless existence. He
asks only another year of trial: he intends and promises to take in the
interval the most energetic measures for stimulating the barren tree
into fruitfulness. If under these appliances it bear fruit, he knows the
owner will gladly permit it to retain its place; if not, he will abandon
it to the fate which it deserves and invites.

No peculiar difficulty attends the exposition of this parable: the main
features of its meaning are so distinctly marked, that it is hardly
possible to miss them. The lesson is easily read; and when read, it is
unspeakably solemn and tender.

God is the owner of the vineyard and the fig-tree within its walls.
Abraham's seed, natural and mystical, are the fig-tree; and the Mediator
between God and man is the Dresser of the vineyard, the intercessor for
the barren tree. These points are all so obvious that there can hardly
be any difference of opinion regarding them. One point remains,
demanding some explanation indeed, but presenting very little
difficulty,--the vineyard. The fig-tree was planted within the vineyard,
and what is the doctrine indicated by this circumstance in the material
frame of the parable? The suggestion that the vineyard means the world,
in the midst of which Israel were planted, although supported by some
honoured names, does not merit much consideration. In no sense is there
any likeness between the vineyard and the world. The essential
circumstances involved in the fact that the fig-tree grew within the
vineyard are, that in soil, south exposure, care and defence, it was
placed in the best possible position for bearing fruit. The one fact
that it was planted in the vineyard indicates, and was obviously
intended to indicate, that the owner had done the best for his fig-tree.
The meaning is precisely the same as that which is more fully expressed
in the analogous parable: "Now will I sing to my well-beloved a song of
my beloved touching his vineyard," &c. (Isa. v. 1-7). In the prophet's
allegory, while in general the vineyard represents the house of Israel,
the vine trees more specifically represent the people, and south
exposure, soil, care, and defence, represent the peculiar providence and
grace of God displayed in their history and institutions. "The
vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of
Judah his pleasant plant" (ver. 7); the plants represent the men, and
all that the proprietor did in their behalf represents the goodness of
God to Israel in redeeming them from bondage and giving them his
covenant. On the same principle in our parable the fig-tree represents
the people who were favoured, and the advantages of the vineyard
represent the privileges which the people enjoyed. The intimation that
this barren fig-tree grew within a vineyard, is a short method of
informing us that it enjoyed a position on a very fruitful hill, and was
there fenced, watched, and watered with the most patient care. Now,
obviously, none of these things, in their spiritual signification, were
enjoyed by Israel simply in virtue of their existence in this world. The
Egyptians, the Babylonians, and the Persians were placed in the world
too, and yet they enjoyed no peculiar privileges,--could not be compared
to a vineyard on a very fruitful hill. This feature of the parable, so
far from merely intimating that Israel were placed in the world, teaches
us that they were separated from it; they were protected by special
providences in their history, and cherished by the ordinances of grace.
The place of the fig-tree within the vineyard indicates that the people
to whom God looked in vain for the fruits of righteousness, were
distinguished from the nations by the peculiar religious privileges
which they enjoyed: the favourable circumstances of the tree aggravated
the guilt of its barrenness.

Three successive years the owner came seeking fruit on this fig-tree,
and found none. In regard to the specified period of three years, I do
not think we gain much by a particular reference to the well-known
natural process by which the fig develops simultaneously the fruit of
this season and the germs of the next; for we do not know in this case
whether the germs were never formed, or fell off before they reached
maturity. I am not able to perceive that the number three has any
necessary reference to the peculiarities of the fig; I think the same
number would have been employed for the purposes of the spiritual
lesson, although a fruit tree of another species had been taken as an
example. Three years was a reasonable period for the owner to wait, that
he might neither on the one hand rashly cut down a tree that might soon
have become profitable, nor on the other permit a hopelessly barren tree
indefinitely to occupy a position which might otherwise be turned to
good account.

While the lesson of the parable bears upon the Church at large, both in
ancient and modern times, it is to individuals that it can be most
safely and most profitably applied. Most certainly we enjoy at this day
the advantages set forth under the figure of the favoured fig-tree.
Besides the life and faculties which we possess in common with others,
we have spiritual privileges which are peculiar to ourselves. Civil and
religious liberty, the Scriptures, the Sabbath, the Church, place us in
the position of the fig-tree within the vineyard, while other nations
are more or less like a tree rooted in the sand, or exposed on the
wayside. The God in whom we live has conferred these advantages upon us,
that we might bear fruit unto holiness; and if we remain barren,
notwithstanding all his kindness, he will give forth the decree to cut
us down. In some he finds bad fruit, and in some no fruit, and even in
the best, little fruit. He has not cast out the unfruitful, but has
tenderly spared them.

As the fig-tree greedily drank in the riches of earth and air, and
wasted all in leaves, so the unconverted in a land of Christian light
enjoy God's goodness and employ it in ministering only to their own
pleasures. The line of justice, stretched to the utmost,--to the utmost
and more, snaps asunder at last: the sentence goes forth, Cut the barren
tree down, and cast it out. This is the doom which guilt deserves and
justice proclaims: if the sinful were under a government of mere
righteousness, it would be inexorably executed upon all.

Here is the turning point: here an intercessor appears,--an Intercessor
who cares for man and prevails with God. The first part of his plea is,
Spare: he appeals for a respite of definite and limited duration,--one
year: less would not afford an opportunity for amendment, and more would
in the circumstances confer a bounty on idleness. All who have under the
Gospel reached the age of understanding, and are still living without
God in the world, enjoy the present respite in virtue of Christ's
compassionate intercession. If that Mediator had never taken up the
case, or should now abandon it, the sentence already pronounced would
descend like the laws of nature and inexorably execute itself. It is
Christ's intercession alone, that stands between the unpardoned on
earth, and the punishment which is their due.[70]

  [70] I cannot see any force in the argument by which Stier
  endeavours to show that the interceding vine-dresser represents
  primarily the human ministry in the Church.

But the Intercessor does more than secure for the sinful a space for
repentance: He who obtains the respite takes means to render it
effectual. The two chief applications employed in husbandry to stimulate
growth and fruitfulness are digging and manuring: these accordingly the
dresser of the vineyard undertakes to apply in the interval to the
barren fig-tree. I think something may be gained here by descending into
the particulars. One of these agricultural operations imparts to the
tree the elements of fruitfulness, and the other enables the tree to
make these elements its own. Digging gives nothing to the tree; but it
makes openings whereby gifts from another quarter may become practically
available. The manure contains the food which the plant must receive,
and assimilate, and convert into fruit; but if the hardened earth were
not made loose by digging, the needed aliment would never reach its
destination.

Similar processes are applied in the spiritual culture: certain diggings
take place around and among the roots of barren souls, as well as of
barren fig-trees. Bereavements and trials of various kinds strike and
rend; but these cannot by themselves renew and sanctify. They may give
pain, but cannot impart fertility: the spirit much distressed may be as
unfruitful as the spirits that are at ease in Zion. These rendings,
however, are most precious as the means of opening a way whereby the
elements of spiritual life conveyed by the word and the Spirit may reach
their destination. The Lord who pours in the food for the sustenance of
a soul, stirs that soul by his providence, so that grace may reach the
root and be taken in. As the constituents of fruit, held in solution by
air and water, cannot freely reach the plant whose roots lie under a
long unbroken and indurated soil, so the grace of God contained in the
preached Gospel is kept at bay by a carnal mind and a seared conscience.
It is when afflictions rend the heart, as a ploughshare tears up the
ground, that the elements of life long offered are at length received.
It is thus that providence and grace conspire to achieve the purpose of
God in the salvation of men. In this work mercy and judgment meet; and
saved sinners, on earth and in heaven, put both together in their song
of praise (Ps. ci. 1.)

But a feature appears in the close, well fitted to arouse those who have
hitherto presumed upon impunity and neglected Christ. Even this kind
Intercessor does not propose that the unfruitful tree should be allowed
indefinitely to maintain its place without changing its character: He
spontaneously concedes that if this trial prove ineffectual, justice
must take its course; "After that thou shalt cut it down." When Jesus
lets a sinner go, who shall take him up? But there is love even in this
last stern word. Love intercedes for a time of trial,--an opportunity of
turning; and love, too, after securing sufficient opportunity, lets go
its hold and leaves all hopeless beyond. It is the terrible concession,
"thou shalt cut it down," issuing from the Intercessor's lips, that
gives power to the invitation, "Now is the accepted time." To warn me
now that if I let the day of grace run waste, even Jesus on the morrow
of the judgment will not plead for me any more, is surely the most
effectual means of urging me to close with his offer to-day.




XXI.

THE EXCUSES.


"Then said he unto him, A certain man made a great supper, and bade
    many: and sent his servant at supper time to say to them that were
    bidden, Come; for all things are now ready. And they all with one
    consent began to make excuse. The first said unto him, I have bought
    a piece of ground, and I must needs go and see it: I pray thee have
    me excused. And another said, I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I
    go to prove them: I pray thee have me excused. And another said, I
    have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come. So that servant
    came, and showed his lord these things. Then the master of the house
    being angry said to his servant, Go out quickly into the streets and
    lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor, and the maimed, and
    the halt, and the blind. And the servant said, Lord, it is done as
    thou hast commanded, and yet there is room. And the lord said unto
    the servant, Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to
    come in, that my house may be filled. For I say unto you, That none
    of those men which were bidden shall taste of my supper."--LUKE xiv.
    16-24.

A chain of connected lessons, consisting of several links, immediately
precedes the parable in the evangelic history; but we may appreciate all
the meaning of the parable without reference to the circumstances in
which it sprung. In some cases the connection with the context is such
that light from the history preceding is necessary to elucidate the
meaning of the lesson that follows; but it is not so here. Although one
thing suggests another in the conversation which the Evangelist records,
the lesson ultimately given is independent of the things that suggested
it.

Touched by the solemn teaching of the Lord Jesus, one of the company,
well-meaning, but dim and confused in his conceptions, made the remark,
"Blessed is he that shall eat bread in the kingdom of God." Observing
that this man and the Pharisees around him were clinging to the notion
that to be invited to enter the kingdom is the same thing as to be in
it, he spoke the parable to point out the difference, and to show that
the invitation will only aggravate the doom of those who refuse to
comply with it. He intends to teach the Jews, and through them to teach
us, that those who are near the kingdom may in the end come short of
it--that those who stand high in spiritual privileges may be
excluded--may exclude themselves from the kingdom of God.

Both in the natural objects employed, and the spiritual lessons which
they convey, there is, at some points, a marked resemblance between this
parable and that of the royal marriage; but the two, though similar, are
manifestly distinct.

"A certain man made a great supper and bade many." In this case it is
not a king but a person in a private station who provides the feast; and
the occasion of the rejoicing is not the marriage of the entertainer's
son. It is an ordinary example of hospitality exercised by an affluent
citizen.

Both here and in the analogous parable of the royal marriage it is
assumed, as at least not altogether incongruous with custom, that
invitations should be issued some days before, and that the invited
guests should a second time be warned by a messenger to repair to the
banqueting house when the time drew near. This summons to attend
immediately was sent out at supper time. We know that the term
δειπνον was in ancient times employed generally to signify the
principal meal, without reference to a particular period of the day;
and, from the circumstances of this case, it plainly appears that the
feast was a dinner at an early hour, and not a supper in our sense of
the word. At the moment when the warning reached him, the man who had
bought a field intended to go and see it, and the man who had bought
five yoke of oxen intended on that same afternoon to try whether they
would go well in harness; these excuses, although not sincere, must in
the nature of the case have appeared plausible, and consequently the
feast must have been ready at an early hour of the day.

It is implied that these men had tacitly, or in some other
well-understood way, accepted the first invitation. They gave no
intimation that they intended to decline--they gave the provider of the
feast reason to expect their presence. Probably they were well pleased
to be invited; if they met any of their poorer neighbours in the
interval, it is probable they would take occasion to show their own
importance. These common people in the town, and these labourers in the
country, are not admitted as we are into good society. When the moment
arrived they were unwilling; or rather they were so intently occupied
with their own affairs, that the attractions of the feast were not
powerful enough to tear them away.

"With one consent" they all made excuses. The servant saw them
separately and received their answers. There is no reason to believe
that they met together and framed a plan to insult their entertainer.
They acted all on the same method, although they did not act in concert.
The creatures were of one kind, and though they answered separately they
answered similarly. Off one carnal instinct--απο μιας (γνωμης)--the
excuses were taken, and accordingly, although spoken by different
persons, and moulded by different circumstances, they were all of the
same type.

The first had bought a field and must go to examine his bargain; the
second had bought live stock for his farm and must see them tried
immediately; the third had married a wife, and held himself absolved for
the time from the ordinary rules of society. They are fair samples of
the things that occupy and engross men's hearts and lives.

The servant, having no authority to act, simply reported the facts to
his master. The master was angry, and immediately invited all the poor
of the neighbourhood to the feast. When many of the most destitute had
assembled, the householder, not satisfied as long as there was room at
the table, and a poor man within reach to occupy it, sent out another
message still more pressing, to sweep into the feast all the homeless
wanderers that could be found, the very dregs and outcasts of society.
Satisfied when his house at length was filled, the owner announced that
none of those who had made light of his invitation should now be
permitted to partake of the feast.

We are now ready to examine more directly the spiritual meaning of the
parable, and as the lesson is in the main coincident with that of the
royal marriage in its earlier portion, a brief exposition will suffice.

In the Gospel, God has provided a great feast. Israel, or his Church at
any period, are a privileged class, and enjoy, through his sovereign
goodness, a perpetual invitation,--a standing right. The charge which
the parable brings against this privileged people is, that they were
satisfied with the honour of being invited, and refused actually to
comply with the invitation. They were content with their name and their
outward privileges, and would not in their own hearts and lives obey the
Gospel; clinging to the form of godliness, they peremptorily denied its
power. Not they who are invited, but they who partake of the feast, are
blessed. To get the first invitation will be not a blessing but an
aggravation of guilt, if you despise the Giver and refuse his gifts. The
last invited shall be first in ultimate position if they accept the
invitation, and the first invited will be last and lowest if they refuse
to comply: the condition of men, ultimately, turns not on pardon to them
offered, but on pardon by them received.

The servant obviously represents the ministry of the Gospel in every
form and in all times. The message is addressed in the first instance to
them "that were bidden." The Gospel was not first proclaimed to the
heathen: begin at Jerusalem was the Master's command, and that command
was fulfilled in spirit and letter by his servants. To the lost sheep of
the House of Israel the Lord came in person, and to them the apostles
addressed their Lord's words at the beginning of their ministry. The
history of the event in the Acts of the Apostles corresponds exactly
with the prophetic delineation in this parable: it was when the Jews
rejected the Gospel, that the messengers turned to the Gentiles.

The invitation addressed to the favoured circle first is, "Come, for all
things are now ready;" all preceding dispensations were a preparation
for Christ. When the fulness of time had come, those who had been all
along brought up within the lines of the privileged people, were invited
to behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world. This is
repeated in the experience of every generation, and every individual,
that grows up within the circle of Christian ordinances, as soon as the
mind comprehends the message of mercy. As each attains maturity, he is
informed that all things are now ready; he is invited and pressed to
believe in the Lord Jesus Christ that he may be saved.

To "make excuse," does not here mean to invent an excuse, and falsely
state, as a reason, that which is, in point of fact, not the motive
of the act. To make excuse, both in the original Greek (παραιτεισθαι)
and in the English translation, signifies simply to plead to be excused.
The grounds on which the plea is urged, may in any case be true or
false; but in this case, it is highly probable that the grounds stated
were in themselves facts, and that they were, in part at least, the true
grounds of refusal. Whether the first would have gone to the feast, if
he had not at that time bought a property, we do not certainly know. A
man who is intensely unwilling to go, when one reason fails, will find
or make another; but in this case, the probability is, that anxiety to
see his purchase was the real, or at least, a real obstacle. The same
observation is applicable to the other two examples.

But although we concede that the obstacles are real, we do not thereby
help the case of those who neglect the Gospel; we must go one step
deeper into the strata of deceit that are piled over each other in a
human heart. A secret unwillingness to partake of the feast may induce
the invited to time his purchases, so that he may have a good excuse at
hand, or at least to abstain from effort to regulate the incidence of
other cares, so as to leave a time of leisure for the great concern.
Here in the highest matters, as elsewhere in lower, "Where there's a
will there's a way." If the desire were pure and true,--the desire to
attend the Giver, and receive his unspeakable gift, the field may be
inspected and the oxen proved early in the morning, or postponed till
the following day. Without supposing a conscious falsehood representing
that transactions which had no existence stood in the way, you have the
evil in all its bulk and all its virulence, when the deceitful heart
tries to persuade neighbours, and to persuade itself, that the emerging
necessities of earthly business interfered with the waiting on Christ
for the salvation of the soul.

We might be put on our guard against this species of deceit in the
highest matters, by observing how readily we glide into it, in things of
smaller moment. Deceits of every shade, from the lie direct to the most
attenuated equivocation, spring in the complicated intercourse of modern
society, like weeds in a moist summer on a fallow field. Assuredly,
unless our hand be diligent in digging out these bitter roots, we shall
not grow rich in the graces of the Spirit. You are invited to a
neighbour's house: you don't like to go, and you determine that you will
not go. Forthwith your wits go to work to discover an excuse, and you
soon find that which you seek for: you must travel on business that day;
or some other excuse equally convenient and plausible occurs. You are
invited to the house of another neighbour; difficulties unforeseen
spring up; but being bent on accepting this invitation, you brush them
all aside, and contrive to reserve the evening for the company that you
love. There is much danger of staining the conscience in affairs like
these. The Lord requires truth in the inward parts: watch and pray. But
the difficulty of the path should not make any disciple sad: the effort
to walk circumspectly, when honestly, prayerfully, lovingly made, is
pleasant and healthful exercise to the spirit.

Neither on the natural nor on the spiritual side does the expression,
"with one consent," intimate that the parties met and consulted together
regarding the terms of their answers. As birds of the same species build
their nests of the same material and the same form, without deliberation
or concert; so the carnal mind, being in its own nature enmity against
God, produces, wherever it operates, substantially the same fruits. In
an alienated heart there is an intense unwillingness to be or to abide
near to God; and there is, consequently, great fecundity in the
conception and production of partition walls to shield the conscience
from the glances of his holiness.

The three species[71] of thorns that grew up and choked the word in this
instance, are fair specimens of their class--fair samples from the heap.
These and such as these slay their thousands still in the Christian
Church. At this point, however, it is of very great importance to
observe that all the transactions which are represented in the parable
as having come between a sinner and the Saviour, are in themselves
lawful; to overlook this would be to miss half the value of the lesson.
In point of fact acts and habits of positive vice keep many back from
the Gospel; but it is not with these cases that the parable deals--it is
not to these persons that the Lord is here addressing his reproof.
Everything in its own place and time; the lesson here is not, "A
drunkard shall not inherit the kingdom," but "How shall we escape if we
neglect so great salvation?" When the material of the temptation is
lawful and honourable the temptation is less suspected, and the tempted
is more easily thrown off his guard. The field and the oxen must be
bought and used; the affections of the family must be cherished; but woe
to us if we permit these seemly plants to grow so rank that the soul's
life shall be overlaid beneath their weight!

  [71] I do not set much value on the elaborate and minute discussions
  which some expositors have raised regarding the distinct and
  specific significance of the several excuses. It is enough for me
  that they point to the possessions and the pleasures of life,--the
  possessions being distinguished into two kinds, the field and oxen,
  corresponding to the farm and the merchandise of the cognate
  parable.

The mission of the servants successively to the streets and lanes of the
city, and to the highways and hedges, with the urgent invitation to poor
labourers and homeless beggars, the maimed, the halt, and the blind, is
a vivid picture, given in prophecy, of what the Gospel of Christ does
and will do in the world till the end of time. When many, and these the
most wretched, are brought in redeemed and sanctified, the Lord is not
satisfied; yet there is room, and the servants must go forth again to
new, and if possible, more needy objects, with new, and if possible,
more urgent appeals. "Whosoever will, let him come." It is thus that the
numbers are filled up in the kingdom of God; but let it be well observed
that to be in a spiritually wretched state does not confer a favour or
imply safety. These men were saved, not because they were spiritually
very low, but although they were spiritually very low: they were saved,
although the chief of sinners, because Christ invited them, and they
came at his call. The more moral, and more privileged, who were first
invited, would have been as welcome and as safe if they had come.




THE LOST SHEEP, THE LOST COIN, AND THE PRODIGAL SON.

LUKE xv.


The three parables of this chapter, like the seven in Matt. xiii.,
constitute a connected series. As soon as we begin to look into their
contents and relations, it becomes obvious that they have been arranged
according to a logical scheme, and that the group so framed is not
fragmentary but complete. We cannot indeed fully comprehend the
reciprocal relations of all until we shall have examined in detail the
actual contents of each; and yet, on the other hand, a preliminary
survey of the scheme as a whole may facilitate the subsequent
examination of its parts. A glance towards the group from a point
sufficiently distant to command the whole in one view may aid us
afterwards in making a minuter inspection of details; and, reciprocally,
the nearer inspection of individual features may throw back light on
what shall have been left obscure in the general outline.

The three parables, then, the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the
prodigal son, refer all to the same subject and describe the same fact;
they contemplate that fact, however, from opposite sides, and produce,
accordingly, different pictures. It is important to notice at this stage
that the three parables of this group do not constitute a consecutive
series of three members. In the logical scheme the stem parts into two
branches, and the first of these is afterwards subdivided also into two:
the lost sheep and the lost coin contemplate the subject from the same
side, and in the main present the same representation.[72]

  [72] While the evidence that the main division is twofold, not
  threefold, lies chiefly in the nature of the several
  representations, the minute formulae by which the transitions of the
  narrative are effected, point in the same direction. The parable of
  the lost sheep is introduced by the phrase, "And he spake this
  parable," (ειπε δε την παραβολην), and that of the prodigal by the
  corresponding, "And he said," (ειπε δε). These two are thus balanced
  over against each other; but the only link between the lost sheep
  and the lost silver is, Either (η), indicating that the second does
  not introduce a new subject, but gives another illustration of that
  which was already expressed in the first.

The repetition is profitable, for besides the intensity which
reiteration imparts, the two parables, although generically the same,
are specifically different. Together they represent one side of the fall
and the redemption of man, while the other and opposite side is
represented by the parable of the prodigal. But while the first two
represent the same aspect of the great event, they represent it with
specific varieties of feature. This will be more distinctly understood
when we shall have examined the parables in detail.

In further indicating the relations which subsist between the two
portions of the group, I shall, for the sake of shortness, speak only of
the lost sheep and the prodigal, including under the first term also its
twin parable of the lost money.

The sin and the salvation of man,--the fall and the rising again,
considered as one whole, is here contemplated successively from two
different, and in some respects opposite points of view. As the result,
we obtain two very dissimilar pictures; yet the pictures are both true,
and both represent the same object.

In as far as the departure is concerned, the two representations are
coincident: it is only in regard to the return that they are essentially
diverse. The sheep and the prodigal alike depart of their own accord,
the one in ignorance and the other in wilful wickedness. Man destroys
himself; but the hand of God must intervene for his salvation.[73]

  [73] Bengel, in his usual pointed way, expresses the specific
  varieties which characterize the three successive views of men's
  sin, as stupidity, want of self-consciousness, and the positive
  choice of evil by an intelligent but depraved being. "Ovis, drachma,
  filius perditus: peccator stupidus, sui plane nescius, sciens et
  voluntarius."

The conversion of a sinner is, on the contrary, represented by two
different pictures. You cannot convey a correct conception of a solid
body by one picture on a flat surface. The globe itself, for example,
cannot be exhibited on a map except as two distinct hemispheres. To the
right you have a representation of one side, and to the left a
representation of the other; the two pictures are different, and yet
each, as far as it goes, is a true picture of the same globe. In like
manner, the way of a sinner's return to God is too great and deep for
being fully set forth in one similitude. In particular its aspect
towards God and its aspect towards men are so diverse that both cannot
be represented by one figure. On one side the Redeemer goes
spontaneously forth to seek and bear back again the lost; on the other
side the wanderer repents, arises, and returns. Here, accordingly, you
see the shepherd following the strayed sheep, and bringing it back on
his shoulders to the fold; and there you see the weary prodigal first
coming to himself, and then coming to his Father. The first picture
shows the sovereign self-moving love of God our Saviour; and the second
shows the beginning, the progress, and the result of repentance in a
sinner's heart.

These two similitudes represent one transaction: first, you are
permitted to look upon it from above, and you behold the working of
divine compassion; next, you are permitted to look upon it from below,
and you behold the struggle of conviction in a sinner's conscience,--the
spontaneous return of a repenting man. Here is revealed the sovereign
outgoing of divine power; and there in consequence appears a willing
people (Ps. cx. 3). It is not that one sinner is brought back by Christ,
and another returns of his own accord: both features are present in
every example. Of every one who, from this fallen world, shall have
entered the eternal rest, it may be said, and will be said in the songs
of heaven, both that the Lord his Redeemer, of His own mere mercy, saved
him, and that he spontaneously came back to his Father's bosom and his
Father's house.[74]

  [74] It is interesting to notice that the same twin doctrines which
  the Master here exhibited in parables were afterwards taught in the
  same relation by his servants. Take two examples, one a brief bold
  allegory, and the other an autobiographic fragment, both from the
  fervent heart and through the fruitful pen of the apostle Paul. (1.)
  "Nevertheless the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal,
  The Lord knoweth them that are his; and, Let every one that nameth
  the name of Christ depart from iniquity" (2 Tim. ii. 19). The
  engraving on the upper side of this seal represents God's part in a
  sinner's salvation, and corresponds to the shepherd's generous act;
  the engraving on its under side represents man's part, and
  corresponds to the repenting and returning of the prodigal. (2.)
  "Not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect;
  but I follow after, if that I may apprehend that for which also I am
  apprehended of Christ Jesus" (Phil. iii. 12). The obscurity which
  adheres to the sentence as it stands in the English Bible is removed
  when, instead of "that for which," you substitute the more direct
  and literal rendering, "for that," meaning "because" or "inasmuch
  as." The sentence should be read, "I follow after, if that I may (if
  so be that I may) apprehend, inasmuch as I also have been
  apprehended by, Christ Jesus," (διωκω δε ει και καταλαβω, εφ ᾧ και
  κατεληφθην ὑπο του Χρίστοι Ιησου). The apostle intends to state two
  connected facts; and to intimate that the one is the cause of the
  other. He is striving to grasp the Saviour; and what impels or
  encourages him to make the effort? His own experience that his
  Saviour has already in sovereign love laid hold of him. Christ has
  already come to this sinful man, in loving saving power, as the good
  shepherd came to the lost sheep; therefore the sinful man will arise
  and go to the Father like the repenting prodigal. The consciousness
  that like the lost sheep he has been grasped in the Redeemer's arms
  does not induce him to abstain from effort as unnecessary; on the
  contrary, by inspiring hope, it nerves his arm and spurs him on.
  Because he feels that the Shepherd is bearing him, therefore he will
  arise and go.

It is proper to notice here also the immediate occasion in our Lord's
history whence these instructions sprung, as it belongs not particularly
to the first parable, but generally to the whole group. This spark of
heavenly light, like many others of similar beauty, has been struck off
for us by a rude blow which the Jewish leaders aimed against the
character and authority of Jesus. The publicans and sinners of the
place,--the home-heathen of the day,--the people whether rich or poor,
who had neither the power of religion in their hearts nor the profession
of it on their lips,--came out in great numbers to hear this new
prophet, Jesus of Nazareth. The word was new: "never man spake like this
man" to these poor outcasts before. If at any time they sauntered into
the synagogue, and hovered for a few moments on the outskirts of the
congregation, the stray words that reached their ears from the desk of
the presiding scribe, were harsh supercilious denunciations of
themselves and their class. Hitherto their hearts had been like clay,
and the Pharisaic teaching, as far as it had reached them, had been like
fire: the clay in this furnace grew aye the harder. But now a new sound
from the lips of a public teacher saluted their ears. They could not
throw these words back in the speaker's face, if they would; and they
would not if they could. They permitted themselves to be taken, and
led. To them Jesus speaks "with authority, and not as the scribes." This
word had power; and its power lay in its tenderness: it went sheer
through their stony hearts, and made them flow down like water.

Nor did he gain favour among unholy men by making their sins seem
lighter than the scribes represented them to be: he made them heavier.
He did not convey to the profane and worldly the conception that their
sins were easily forgiven; but he fixed in their hearts the impression
that God is a great forgiver. Touched and won by this unwonted
tenderness, they came in clouds to sit at Jesus' feet.

The Pharisees counted their presence a blemish in the reputation of the
teacher. As for them, they had always so spoken as to keep people of
that sort effectually at a distance: the doctrine, they think, that
brings them round the preacher cannot be sound. "This man," they said,
"receiveth sinners and eateth with them;" and they said no more, for
they imagined that Jesus was convicted and condemned by the fact.

The occasion of the parables becomes in a great measure the key to their
meaning. These men, the publicans and sinners, are Abraham's seed, and
consequently, even according to the showing of the Pharisees themselves,
lost sheep,--prodigal sons; and the Redeemer's errand from heaven to
earth is to seek and find and bring back such as these to the Father's
fold. If they had not strayed, it would not have been necessary that the
shepherd should follow them in their wandering, and bear them home: if
they had not in a far country spent their substance in riotous living,
it would not have been necessary that they should return repenting to
their Father.




XXII.

THE LOST SHEEP.


"Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him.
    And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth
    sinners, and eateth with them. And he spake this parable unto them,
    saying, What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of
    them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go
    after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found
    it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh
    home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto
    them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost. I
    say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner
    that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which
    need no repentance."--LUKE xv. 1-7.

Although by another saying of the Lord, it is rendered certain that
hired, and even in a sinister sense "hireling," shepherds were known at
the time in the country, the presumption that the flock which this
shepherd tended was his own property is favoured both by the specific
phraseology employed in the narrative, and the special circumstances of
this particular case. The size of this flock, consisting of only a
hundred sheep, points rather to the entire wealth of a comparatively
poor man, than to the stock of a territorial magnate. The conduct of the
shepherd, moreover, is precisely the reverse of that which is elsewhere
ascribed to the "hireling whose own the sheep are not." The salient
feature of the man's character, as it is represented in the parable,
constitutes a specific proof of his ownership,--"he careth for the
sheep," and that too with a peculiar and self-sacrificing
tenderness.[75]

  [75] In the nature of the case a great and incurable defect adheres
  to the method of employing a hired servant to keep a flock of sheep,
  without giving him a material interest in the prosperity of his
  charge. Such is the nature of the occupation, and such its sphere,
  that the servant is necessarily far and long removed from the
  master's inspection, and if suspicion should arise, proof of
  unfaithfulness could hardly be brought home to the accused. It is
  the interest of the owner to contrive some method of linking the
  profit of the shepherd to the prosperity of the flock. It was by
  attempting to accomplish this object by a defective plan, that Laban
  afforded to Jacob the opportunity of prosecuting his subtle policy.
  While conversing lately with some shepherds on the Scottish
  Cheviots, I learned that masters and servants in that district
  arrange the matter easily to their mutual profit and satisfaction.
  The wages of the shepherd are not paid in money; a certain number of
  the sheep, between forty and fifty according to circumstances, are
  his own property, and their produce constitutes his hire. Thus his
  own interest is an ever present motive pressing the man to do his
  best for the flock, and so to do his best for the master.

We assume, therefore, according to the terms of the narrative in their
literal acceptation, that this is a man "having an hundred sheep,"--that
the sheep are his own. He is feeding them on pasture land far from
cultivated fields and human dwellings. Hills impervious to the plough,
and patches of vegetation interspersed through rugged stony tracts, have
in all countries and ages constituted the appropriate pasture for flocks
of sheep. These are indicated here by one word, "the wilderness." The
term is obviously used not in a strict but in a free popular sense; it
means simply the region of pasturage, consisting generally of hills and
moors, not suitable for being ploughed and sown.

A flock of a hundred sheep, although small, is yet sufficiently
considerable to render it impossible for the shepherd to detect the
absence of one by merely looking to them in the lump and from a
distance; he must have minutely inspected them ere he discovered that
one was amissing. Knowing them all individually, he knows the one that
has strayed; he loves them all as his children, and grieves when one
goes out of sight.

It was no mark of carelessness in the shepherd, as some have erroneously
imagined, to leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness while he went
to seek the one that was lost. The main body of the flock was left in
its own proper place, where it is often left from morning till night by
the most careful shepherd, even when he is not employed on the urgent
duty of recovering wanderers.

The shepherd knows the nature of the country in which the sheep is
straying; and also the nature of the sheep that is straying there. He
knows the roughness of the mountain passes, and the silliness of the
solitary truant sheep; he divines accordingly what track it will take.
He conjectures beforehand, with a considerable measure of accuracy, the
pit in which it will be found lying, or the thicket in which it will be
seen struggling. He follows and finds the fugitive. Wearied by its
journey, and perhaps wounded by its falls, the sheep, when discovered,
cannot return to the fold even under the shepherd's guidance; he takes
it on his shoulders and bears the burden home. He does not upbraid it
for its straying; he does not complain of its weight. He is glad that he
has gotten his own again, after it was "ready to perish." Happy while he
bears it homeward, and happy when he has gotten it home, he invites all
his neighbours to share in his joy.

Such is the simple and transparent outline of this ancient eastern
pastoral scene; let us now endeavour to see in the symbol those lessons
which it at once veils and reveals.

The parable is spoken expressly for the purpose of determining and
manifesting the character and work of the Son in the salvation of sinful
men; it declares the design, the method, and the terms of the incarnate
Redeemer in his intercourse with the creatures whom he came to save. But
in the fact of accomplishing this its immediate object, it strikes also
a chord which runs through the centre--constitutes, as it were, the
medulla of the divine government in all places and all times. The
parable spoken in order to afford a glance into the heart of Jesus,
incidentally at the same time sketches the outline of God's universal
rule; as in drawing the figure of a branch you necessarily exhibit, in
its main features and proportions, an image of the tree. This wider
subject, certainly and accurately outlined, although incidentally
introduced, demands some notice at our hand.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ever since scientific observation discovered the true system of the
material universe, and so, as it were, changed those twinkling sparks of
light into central suns, the rulers of tributary worlds, philosophy
apart from faith has been, more or less articulately, scattering the
question, at once a fruit and a seed of unbelief, How could the Creator
of so vast a universe bestow so much of his care on one small spot? Some
have been disposed to say, and perhaps more have been disposed to think,
with fear or joy according to their predilection, that modern discovery
is gradually putting the Bible out of date. A feeling, if not a
judgment, has in some quarters arisen, that in view of the vastness of
creation, the Scriptures ascribe to this globe and its concerns a share
of its Maker's interest disproportionately great.

This phase of unbelief is refuted both by the necessary attributes of
God and by the written revelation of his will. What relation, capable
of being appreciated or calculated, subsists between material bulk and
moral character? The question between great and small is totally
distinct from the question between good and evil. Number and extension
cannot exercise or illustrate the moral character either of God or of
man. We should ourselves despise the mischievous caprice which should
give to the biggest man in the city the honours that are due to the
best. Right and wrong are matters that move on other lines and at higher
levels than great and small, before both human tribunals and divine.

There is, perhaps, as much reason for saying that this earth is too
large, as for saying that it is too small, for being the scene of God's
greatest work. The telescope has opened a long receding vista of
wonders, where the observer is lost in the abyss of distance and
magnitude; the microscope has opened another long receding vista of
wonders, where the observer is lost in the abyss of nearness and
minuteness equally beyond his reach. Between the great and the small,
who shall determine and prescribe the centre-point equidistant from both
extremes, which the Infinite ought to have chosen as a theatre for the
display of His greatest glory?

In the divine government generally, as well as in revealed religion
particularly, the aim is not to choose the widest stage, but on any
stage that may be chosen to execute the Creator's purpose, and achieve
the creature's good. A battle is fought, an enemy crushed, and a kingdom
won on some remote and barren moor: no man suggests, by way of
challenging the authenticity of the record, that a conflict waged
between hosts so powerful, and involving interests so momentous, could
not have taken place on an insignificant spot, while the continent
contained many larger and more fertile plains: neither can the loss
incurred by the sin of men, and the gain gotten through the redemption
of Christ, be measured by the size of the world in which the events
emerged. It is enough that here the first Adam fell and the second Adam
triumphed;--that here evil overcame good, and good in turn overcame
evil. There was room on this earth for Eden and for Calvary; this globe
supplies the fulcrum whereon all God's government leans. The Redeemer
came not to the largest world, but to the lost world: "even so, Father."

"He took not on him the nature of angels." In aggregate numbers they
may, for aught we know, be the ninety and nine, while we represent the
one that strayed; but though all these shining stars were peopled
worlds, and all their inhabitants angels who kept their first estate, he
will leave them in their places in the blue heaven afar, like sheep in
the wide moorland, and go forth in search of this one shooting star, to
arrest and bring it back. It is his joy to restore it to law and light
again. Rejoice with great joy, O inhabitants of the earth! the Saviour
Almighty has passed other worlds and other beings, some of whom do not
need, and some of whom do not get, salvation,--has passed them and come
to us. He has taken hold of the seed of Abraham, that we who partake of
Abraham's sinful flesh may partake also of Abraham's saving faith. There
is much in this mystery which we do not know, and in our present state
could not comprehend; but we know the one thing needful regarding
it,--that "Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners."[76]

  [76] "Should not that great and glorious Shepherd, whose millions of
  bright sheep fill the universe, leave these millions in order to
  seek the slightest, poorest, most infirm of those who need his care,
  and without that care would utterly perish; does not his boundless
  love require him to go after it?" Stier, after quoting this sentence
  in reference to the parable from Kurz, _Bibel und Astronomie_,
  remarks, "This is a thought quite permissible in itself, but as an
  exposition of what Eternal Wisdom has spoken, it is not valid."
  Here, however, the learned critic has incorrectly apprehended the
  state of the question. A secondary relation is as real in its own
  place as a primary. It is quite true that the parable, under the
  picture of the one sheep that strayed and the ninety-nine that
  remained on the pasture, points directly and immediately to two
  distinct classes of human kind; but it brings up as legitimately,
  although more remotely, the distinction, governed by the same
  principle, which has in God's universal sovereignty been made
  between the human race on the one hand, and angelic spirits on the
  other. One expositor may legitimately confine his view to the more
  immediate and narrower sphere; but another may as legitimately take
  a wider range, provided he make and mark the necessary distinctions
  as he proceeds; as one inquirer in physics may limit his speculation
  to the solid body of this globe, while another, under the same
  general designation, may, with perfect logical exactness, include
  also the atmosphere that surrounds it.

Having noticed cursorily that grand characteristic feature of God's
universal government to which the principle of the parable is
applicable, we proceed now to examine more particularly the recovery of
lost men by the Lord our Redeemer, to which the lesson of the parable
is, in point of fact, specifically applied.

1. The shepherd misses one when it has strayed from the flock. The
Redeemer's knowledge is infinite; He looks not only over the multitude
generally, but into each individual. When I stand on a hillock at the
edge of a broad meadow, and look across the sward, it may be said in a
general way that I look on all the grass of that field; but the sun in
the sky looks on it after another fashion,--shines on every down-spike
that protrudes from every blade. It is thus that the Good Shepherd knows
the flock. Knowing all, he misses any one that wanders. He missed a
world when it fell, although his worlds lie scattered like grains of
golden dust on the blue field of heaven,--the open infinite. When the
light of moral life went out in one of his worlds, he missed its wonted
shining in the aggregate of glory that surrounds his throne. With equal
perfectness of knowledge he misses one human being who has been formed
by his hand, but fails to hang by faith upon his love. The Bible speaks
of falling "_into_ the hands of the living God," and calls it "a fearful
thing" (Heb. x. 31); but an equally fearful thing happened before
it,--we fell _out of_ the bosom of the living God. He felt, so to speak,
the want of our weight when we fell, and said, "Save from going down to
the pit." But the omniscience of the Saviour does not stop when it
passes through the multitude, and reaches the individual man; it
penetrates the veils that effectually screen us from each other, and so
knows the thoughts which congregate like clouds within a human heart,
that he misses every one that is not subject to his will. When the
mighty volume is coursing along its channel towards the ocean, he marks
every drop that leaps aside in spray. It is a solemn thought, and to the
reconciled a gladsome one, that, as the shepherd observed when one sheep
left the fold, the Shepherd of Israel, who slumbers not nor sleeps,
detects every wandering soul, and in that soul every wandering thought.
The Physician's thorough knowledge of the ailment lies at the very
foundation of the patient's hope.

2. The shepherd cared for the lost sheep; although he possessed ninety
and nine, he was not content to let a unit go. A species of personal
affection and the ordinary interest of property, combine to cause grief
when the sheep is lost, and to contribute the motive for setting off in
search of the wanderer.

In attempting to apply the lesson at this point, we very soon go beyond
our depth. Our own weakness warns us not to attempt too much; but the
condescending kindness of the Lord, in speaking these parables,
encourages us to enter into the mystery of redeeming love on this side
as far as our line can reach. In that inscrutable love which induced the
Owner of man to become his saviour when he fell, there must be something
corresponding to both of the ingredients which constituted the
shepherd's grief. There was something corresponding--with such
correspondence as may exist between the divine and the human--to the
personal affection, and something to the loss of property. When we think
of the Redeemer's plan and work as wholly apart from self-interest, and
undertaken simply for the benefit of the fallen race, we form a
conception of redemption true as far as it goes, but the conception is
not complete. The object which we, from our view-point, strive to
measure, has another and opposite side. For his own sake as well as for
ours, the Redeemer undertook and accomplished his work.[77] "For the joy
that was set before him he endured the cross, despising the shame." When
he wept over Jerusalem, mere pity for the lost was not the sole fountain
of his tears. Those tears, like some great rivers of the globe, were
supplied from two sources lying in opposite directions. As the
possession of the ransomed when they are brought back affords the
Redeemer joy, the want of the lost, while they are distant, must cause
in his heart a corresponding and equivalent grief. It is true, that if
we too strictly apply to the divine procedure the analogy of human
affairs at this point we shall fatally dilute our conception of the
generosity displayed in the Gospel; but on the other hand, if do not
apply this analogy at all, we shall inevitably permit some of our
sweetest consolation to slip from our grasp. To be merely pitied does
not go so kindly or so powerfully about our hearts as to be loved;
Christ's regard for fallen men is not merely the compassion of one who
is loftily independent. When an infant is lost in a forest, and all the
neighbours have, at the mother's call, gone out in search of the
wanderer, it would be a miserably inadequate conception of that mother's
emotion to think of it as pity for the sufferings of the child: her own
suffering for want of her child is greater than the child's for want of
his mother; and by the express testimony of Scripture, we learn that the
Saviour's remembrance of his people is analogous to the mother's
remembrance of her child. If you press the likeness too far, you destroy
the essential character of redemption, by representing it as a
self-pleasing on the part of the Redeemer; but if you take away the
likeness altogether, you leave me sheltered, indeed, under an Almighty
arm, but not permitted to lie on a loving breast. My joy in Christ's
salvation is tenfold increased, when, after being permitted to think
that he is mine, I am also permitted to think that I am his. If it did
not please him to get me back, my pleasure would be small in being
coldly allowed to return. No: the longing of Christ to get the wanderer
into his bosom again, for the satisfaction of his own soul, is the
sweetest ingredient in the cup of a returning penitent's joy.[78]

  [77] You may measure a square surface and find it to contain so many
  feet of superficial area: suppose you discover afterwards that it
  has depth as well as length and breadth; to take in also this new
  measurement does not diminish the old. If we discover that, for his
  own sake, the Redeemer accomplished his saving work, it was not on
  that account less for our sakes.

  [78] "In the centre of all lies the profound thought, that in God
  and Christ love is one with self-interest, and self-interest one
  with love; no such contrariety existing between them as is found in
  the case of man."--_Stier, Words of the Lord_.

3. The shepherd left the ninety and nine for the sake of the one that
had wandered. I find no difficulty in the interpretation of the parable
here. The doctrinal difficulty which some have met at this point, has
been imported into the field by a mistake in regard to the material
scene. The leaving of the ninety and nine in the wilderness, while the
shepherd went out to seek the strayed sheep, implied no dereliction of
the shepherd's duty,--no injury to the body of the flock. In this
transaction neither kindness nor unkindness was manifested towards those
that remained on the pasture;--it had no bearing upon them at all. Nor
is it necessary, at this stage, to determine who are represented by the
ninety and nine. Be they the unfallen spirits, or the righteous in the
abstract, or those who, in ignorance of God's law, count themselves
righteous, the parable is constructed for the purpose of teaching us
that the mission of Christ has for its special object, not the good, but
the evil. As the specific effort of the shepherd, which is recorded in
this story, had respect not to the flock that remained on the pasture,
but to the one sheep that had gone away, the specific effort of the Son
of God, in his incarnation, ministry, death, and resurrection, has
respect, not to the worthy, but the unworthy.

Thus the Pharisees were entirely at fault in regard to the first
principle of the Gospel. They assumed that, because the publicans and
sinners had gone astray, Jesus, if he were the true Messiah, would not
have any dealings with them; without either conceding or expressly
denying their assumption of superior righteousness--that being precisely
the point on which he determined that then and there he would give no
judgment--he intimates that the strayed sheep is the peculiar object of
his care, and that because it is the strayed sheep, and he is the Good
Shepherd;--he intimates, taking the Pharisees at their own word, that
the sinners are the objects whom a Saviour should follow, and seek, and
find, precisely because they are sinners. It concerns us more to know
who are represented by the strayed sheep, than to know who are
represented by the sheep that did not stray, for to the former class,
and not to the latter, we most certainly belong.

4. How does the shepherd act when he overtakes the wanderer? He does not
punish it--he does not even upbraid it for straying; his anxiety and
effort are concentrated on one point--to get it home again. Would that
guilty suspicious hearts could see through this glass the loving heart
of Jesus, as he has himself presented it to their view! He takes no
pleasure in the death of them that die. His ministry in general, and
this lesson in particular, proclaim that Christ's errand into the world
is to win the rebellious back by love. You may suppose the truant sheep
to have dreaded punishment when it was overtaken by the injured
shepherd; but his look and his act when he came must have immediately
dispelled the helpless creature's fears. The Lord has held up this
picture before us that in it we may behold his love, and that the sight
of his love may at length discharge from our hearts their inborn
obdurate suspiciousness.

5. The shepherd lays the sheep upon his shoulders. This feature of the
picture affords no ground for the doctrine which has sometimes been
founded on it, that the Saviour is burdened with the sinners whom he
saves. His suffering lies in another direction, and is not in any form
represented here. He weeps when the sinful remain distant and refuse to
throw their weight on him; he never complains of having too much of
this work in hand. The parable here points to his power and victory, not
to his pain and weariness.

The representation that the shepherd bore the strayed sheep home upon
his shoulder, instead of going before and calling on it to follow, is
significant in respect both to this parable and its counterpart and
complement, the Prodigal Son. In as far as the saving of the lost is
portrayed in this similitude, the work is done by the Saviour alone.
First and last the sinner does nothing but destroy himself: all the
saving work is done for him, none of it by him. This is one side of
salvation, and it is the only side that is represented here. It seems
hard to conceive how any converted man can be troubled by doubt or
difficulty concerning this doctrine. Every one whom Christ has sought
and found, and borne to the fold, feels and confesses that, if the
Shepherd had not come to the sheep, the sheep would not have come to the
Shepherd. If any wanderer still hesitates on the question, Who brought
him home? it is time that he should begin to entertain another question,
Whether he has yet been brought home at all? The acknowledgment of this
fundamental truth, that salvation is begun, carried on, and completed by
the Saviour alone, does not, of course, come into collision with another
fundamental truth, which expatiates on another sphere, and is
represented in another parable, that except the sinful do themselves
repent, and come to the Father, they shall perish in their sins.

6. Far from being oppressed by the burden of his strayed sheep, the
shepherd rejoices when he feels its weight upon his shoulder. His joy
begins not when the work is over, but when the work begins. While the
lost one is on his shoulder, and because it is on his shoulder, the
shepherd is glad. The doctrinal equivalent of this feature is one of the
clearest of revealed truths, and yet it is one of the last that a human
heart is willing to receive. The work of saving, far from being done
with a grudge in order to keep a covenant, is a present delight to the
Saviour. This lesson falls on human minds like a legend written by the
finger on dewy glass, which disappears when the sun grows hot; but when
it is graven on the heart as by the Spirit of the living God, it is
unspeakably precious. When I habitually realize not only that Christ
will keep his word in receiving sinners, but that he has greater delight
in bearing my weight than I can ever have in casting it on him, I shall
trust fully and trust always. There is great power in this truth, and
great weakness in the want of it. Let even an experienced Christian
analyze carefully the working of his own heart, not in the act of
backsliding towards the world, but in its best efforts to follow the
Lord, and he will discover among the lower folds of his experience a
persistent suspicion that the great draft which a sinner makes on the
Saviour's mercy will, though honoured, be honoured with a grudge because
of its greatness. Look on the simple picture of his love which Jesus has
in this parable presented--look on the words, "He layeth it on his
shoulders rejoicing,"--look till you grieve for your own distrust, and
the distrust melt in that grief away.

7. The shepherd on reaching home not only himself rejoiced, but invited
his neighbours to rejoice with him over his success. To this last
intimation of the parable the Lord immediately adds an express
exposition of its meaning,--Ver. 7, "I say unto you that likewise joy
shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over
ninety and nine just persons which need no repentance." In the parallel
explanation appended to the next parable (ver. 10), an additional
feature is expressed, "There is joy in the presence of the angels of God
over one sinner that repenteth;" both obviously refer to the same fact,
and should be taken together as one announcement.

The kingdom of God recognises two successive homecomings in the history
of every citizen. The exile discovered and borne back by the
discriminating mercy of the Redeemer, comes home when through the
regeneration he enters a state of grace; and he comes home under the
leading of the same chief, when in the resurrection he enters a state of
perfect glory. It is instructive and comforting to observe that, while
both homecomings are joyful, it is of the first that the Lord expressly
speaks when he intimates that over it himself and the hosts of heaven
will rejoice. It is over the repentance of a sinner that a jubilee is
held in heaven; they do not wait till the ransomed one shall appear in
bodily presence near the great white throne. There is no need: the
entrance into grace ensures the entrance into glory. The children will
all get home. No slip can come between the cup of the Redeemer's glad
anticipation when a sinner is renewed, and the lip of his complete
satisfaction when he welcomes the ransomed at length into the mansions
of the Father's house.

In this brief but lucid exposition of his own similitude which the Lord
gave at the moment, and the evangelist has preserved for us, something
is taught first regarding the companions, and second regarding the
measure of his joy. Both present points of interest which require and
will repay more particular attention.

(1.) In regard to the participation of the angels, in the Redeemer's joy
over the salvation of the lost, the intimations bear that there is joy
"in heaven," and "in the presence of the angels of God." It seems
unaccountably to those who look carefully into the terms of the record,
to be universally assumed from these expressions that the angels, in the
exercise of their inherent faculties, are in some way cognisant of
conversion as it proceeds in human souls upon the earth, and that they
rejoice accordingly when another heart melts, and another rebel submits
to God. Capital has even been made out of this passage by Romanists in
support of prayers addressed to unseen created spirits. All this
proceeds upon an exegesis, which is, I believe, demonstrably erroneous.
In order to settle all questions that can arise here, nothing more is
necessary than a simple straight-forward examination of the terms. The
rejoicing takes place "in heaven," and "in presence of the angels"
(ενωπιον τῶν ἀγγέλων). This is not the form of expression that would
naturally be employed to intimate that the angels rejoiced. Expressly it
is written, not that they rejoice, but that there is joy in their
presence,--before their faces. The question then comes up, Who rejoices
there? In as far as the terms of the exposition go, the question is not
expressly decided; but its decision can be easily and certainly gathered
from the context. Both in the case of the lost sheep and in that of the
lost money the comparison is introduced by the term "likewise" (ὅυτω.)
In this manner there is joy before the angels; in what manner? Obviously
in the manner of the rejoicing which took place after the strayed sheep
was brought home, and the piece of money found. He who sought and found
the lost, rejoiced over his gain; but, not contented therewith, he told
his neighbours about his happiness and its cause; he manifested his joy
in their presence, and invited them to rejoice in sympathy with himself.
It is after this manner that joy in heaven over a repenting sinner
begins and spreads. We are not obliged,--we are not permitted to guess
who the rejoicers are, or how they came by the news that gladdens them.
The shepherd himself, and himself alone, knows that the strayed sheep is
safe in the fold again, for he has borne it back on his shoulder: his
neighbours did not know the fact until he told them, and invited them to
participate in his joy. It is expressly in this manner, and none other,
that there shall be joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth. The
angels do not become aware of the fact by a species of subordinate
omniscience. He who saved the sinner knows that the sinner is saved;
rejoicing in the fact, he makes it known to his attendants, and invites
them to share in his joy.

The gladness that thrills in the angels is a secondary thing, caught by
sympathy from that which glows in the heart and beams in the countenance
of Jesus. The Son of God the Saviour having won a sinner by the power of
his love, and brought the wanderer back forgiven and renewed, rejoices
on his throne over this fruit of his soul's travail. Ere the ransomed
sinner has risen from his knees or wiped his tears away;--ere he has had
time to sing a hymn or sit down at the communion table on earth, the
Lord in heaven, feeling life flowing from himself into that living soul,
rejoices already in the fact, and calls upon his friends, whether the
spirits of just men or angels unfallen, or both in concert, to
participate in his joy. The Apocalyptic witness saw no sun in the new
heaven; "the Lamb is the light thereof:" from that sun the light streams
down on the sea of upturned faces that surround the throne, and the
sympathetic gladness that sparkles in the members is a reflection from
the gladness that first glows in the Head, as a separate sun glances on
the crest of every wavelet, when the breeze is gentle and the sky is
bright.

(2.) The intimation that there is greater joy in heaven over the return
of a single wanderer than over ninety and nine who never strayed,
presents indeed a difficulty; but here, as in many other similar cases,
the difficulty lies more in the way of the scientific expositor, whose
task is to express the meaning in the form of logical definitions than
in the way of the simple reader of the Bible, who desires to sit at the
feet of Jesus, and learn the one thing needful from his lips. In this,
as in many other portions of Scripture, a hungry labourer may live upon
the bread, while it may baffle a philosopher to analyze its
constituents, and expound its nutritive qualities. A devout reader may
get the meaning of the parable in power upon his heart, while the
logical interpreter expends much profitless labour in the dissection of
a dead letter.

Who are the just persons who need no repentance? The suggestion[79] that
they are the members of the Old Testament Church, who really possessed
the righteousness of the Law, although they had not attained the
righteousness of the Gospel, creates a greater difficulty than that
which it proposes to remove. There is not any such essential difference
between the righteousness of Abraham, who looked unto Jesus coming, and
the righteousness of Paul, who looked unto Jesus come.

  [79] Made or adopted by Dr. Trench.

The true solution I apprehend to be that in the mind of the Lord this
declaration had a double reference. It expressed an absolute and
universal truth, known to himself and to his enlightened disciples; and
also, at the same time, took the Pharisees on their own terms,
condemning them out of their own mouth. The parable was spoken expressly
to the Pharisees, and spoken specifically in answer to their objection,
"This man receiveth sinners." They meant to intimate that it became the
Messiah to shun the evil and associate only with the good. From their
own view-point he exposes their mistake; even granting their assumption
that themselves were the righteous, their sentence was erroneous.
According to the principles of human nature, and the ordinary practice
of men, they might have perceived that the chief care of the shepherd
must be bestowed on the sheep that has gone astray, and his greatest joy
be experienced when it has been discovered and restored. The Saviour's
delight over a publican's return to piety should be more vivid than his
joy over a Pharisee, who, by the supposition, has been pious all his
days.

Had the Lord then and there intimated to the Pharisees that they were
deceiving themselves in regard to justifying righteousness,--that they
needed repentance as much as the publicans, his word would have been
true, but that truth, he perceived, was not suitable in the
circumstances. It pleased him at this time not to fling a sharp reproof
in their faces, but rather to drop a living seed gently into their ears,
that it might find its way in secret to some broken place in their
hearts. A certain portion of the truth he communicated to them; more
they would not have received. The whole truth on this subject, if it had
been bluntly declared, would have driven them away in disgust.

Elsewhere the Master expresses his mind very clearly, "Except your
righteousness exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, ye
shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven;" but it pleased him
on this occasion to teach another lesson, namely, that even although
they were as righteous as they deemed themselves to be, the recovery of
a lost one would afford the Redeemer a greater joy than the retention of
the virtuous. Beyond expression precious is the doctrine unequivocally
taught here that so far from receiving prodigals with a grudge, the
Saviour experiences a peculiar delight when a sinner listens to his
voice and accepts pardon at his hand. This doctrine we learn is divine;
we know it is also human: almost every family can supply an example of
the familiar principle that the mother loves most fondly the child who
has cost her most in suffering and care.




XXIII.

THE LOST COIN.


"Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece,
    doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently
    till she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth her
    friends and her neighbours together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I
    have found the piece which I had lost. Likewise, I say unto you,
    there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner
    that repenteth."--LUKE xv. 8-10.

The three parables of this group, as has been already intimated, do not
constitute a simple consecutive series of first, second, and third: the
group consists of two parts, and the first part contains two parables.
The saving of the lost is represented in the first division as it is
seen from God's side, and in the second as it is seen from man's. In the
first, the Saviour appears seeking, finding, and bearing back the lost;
in the second, the lost appears reflecting, repenting, resolving, and
returning to the Father.

The two parables which constitute the first division are generically
coincident, but specifically distinct. Both represent the side on which
the sinner is passive in the matter of his own salvation, and the
parable of the prodigal alone represents the aspect in which he is
spontaneously active; but while the first two agree in their main
feature, they differ in subordinate details. The second goes partly over
the same ground that has already been traversed by the first, and
partly takes a new and independent track of its own.[80]

  [80] Recognising in the lost coin mainly a repetition of the same
  lesson which the lost sheep contained, but justly anticipating from
  the mere fact of a repetition, that the second will present some
  features which were not contained in the first, Dr. Trench finds the
  expected difference in this,--that "if the shepherd in the last
  parable was Christ, the woman in this may, perhaps, be the Church."
  After suggesting as an alternative that the woman may represent the
  Holy Spirit, he remarks that these two are in effect substantially
  identical, and finally rests in the conclusion that it is "the
  Church because and in so far as it is dwelt in by the Spirit, which
  appears as the woman seeking her lost." This able expositor speaks
  with evident hesitation when he represents the Church as the seeker
  here; and accordingly we find him with a happy inconsistency
  affirming in a subsequent paragraph that "as the woman, having lost
  her drachm, will light a candle and sweep the house, and seek
  diligently till she find it, even so the Lord, through the
  ministrations of his Church, gives diligence to recover the lost
  sinner," &c. I am willing to accept the phraseology of this
  sentence, but it is obviously at variance with the view which he had
  previously presented, and to which he recurs in the close, that in
  this parable it is the Church which seeks the lost, while in the
  preceding parable it is the Saviour. Further, if he maintain that
  the woman seeking the lost coin represents the Lord seeking sinners
  through the ministrations of the Church, he must also maintain that
  the shepherd seeking the lost sheep represents the Lord seeking
  sinners through the ministrations of the Church. If the Lord himself
  is in both cases equally the seeker, there is no reason in the text
  of Scripture, and Dr. Trench suggests none from any other quarter,
  why he should be represented as seeking through the ministrations of
  the Church in one case and not in the other. The letter of the word
  and the nature of the case peremptorily demand that the
  qualification regarding the instrumentality of the Church should be
  attached to both or to neither. In either case it remains that, in
  respect to the person who seeks the lost, these two parables teach
  precisely the same lesson.

  The house in which the coin is lost means, according to Dr. Trench,
  the visible Church: the result is that the Church (invisible)
  searches in the Church (visible) for sinners that have been lost
  there, and restores them when found to the Church, but whether the
  visible or invisible I cannot discover. The Church then calls upon
  the angels to rejoice with her over the recovery of the lost. This
  exposition seems confused and inconsistent; and it is a dim
  mysterious conception of "the Church" that constitutes the
  disturbing element.

From the similarity of structure and the studied identity of expression
in the two cases, I gather surely that the persons who seek and find
the lost in those two parables both represent the same Seeker of lost
men, the Lord Jesus Christ. On any other supposition, I cannot find a
spot on which the foundation of a satisfactory exegesis can be laid. The
introduction of the second parable by the particle either (η) in the
eighth verse, prepares us to expect, not another subject, but another
illustration of the same subject; whereas, when the Prodigal Son is
introduced in the eleventh verse, the connecting link distinctly
indicates a change of theme.[81]

  [81] Nor do I see any force in the minute criticism by which Dr.
  Trench endeavours to make out that while the sheep were the
  shepherd's property, the money did not belong to the woman. He says,
  "I have found my sheep which was lost;" while she says, "I have
  found the piece which I had lost;" but these are nothing more than
  varieties of expression. The absolute identity of the terms in which
  the two cases are introduced, proves that these seemly and slight
  variations of phraseology at the close, do not indicate a
  substantial difference. "What man of you having an hundred sheep, if
  he lose one of them?" and "What woman, having ten pieces of silver,
  if she lose one piece?"--these questions, so carefully and
  completely parallel, conclusively show that, after making allowance
  for the necessary difference in the nature of the subjects, the two
  cases, in relation to possession, loss, and finding, are precisely
  the same.

Assuming from the fact of its repetition that some feature or features
of the lesson must be contained in the second picture which the first
was not fitted to display; and finding in the possessors, with their
misfortune, their success and their joy, no difference, but on the
contrary, a studied balanced parallelism, I look for the distinction in
the nature of the property which, in the two cases respectively, was
lost and found. The sheep is an animated being, with desires, and
appetites, and habits, and locomotive powers; when it is lost, it is
lost in virtue of its own will and activity. The silver coin, on the
other hand, is a piece of inanimate matter; and when it is lost, it is
lost through its own gravity and inertia. When support fails, it falls
to the ground. Here lies an inherent and essential difference between
the two cases. It is through this opening mainly that light comes to me
regarding the specific difference between the lessons which these two
cognate parables respectively convey. The inquiry at present concerns
this difference only, for the doctrine which is taught in common by both
is abundantly obvious. While in both examples alike the property is lost
and found again, the manner of the loss and the finding corresponds in
each case to the nature of the subject. In the case of the living
creature, the loss is sustained through its spontaneous wandering; in
the case of the inanimate silver, the loss is sustained through its
inherent inertia. The one strays in the exercise of its own will, and
the other sinks in obedience to the laws of matter; the method of search
varies accordingly.

Both parables alike represent the sinner lost and the Saviour finding
him; but in the one case the loss appears due to the positive activity
of an evil will, and in the other to the passive law of gravitation. Not
that, in the spiritual sphere, one sinner departs from God by an
exercise of his corrupt will, and another is drawn away by the operation
of an irresistible law; it is one transaction represented successively
on two sides. The representations are different, but both are true. In
the fallen, sin is both active and passive. The sinful select their own
course and go astray in the exercise of a self-determining power; they
also gravitate to evil in virtue of an inborn corruption, which acts
like a law in their members. In connection with these two sides or
features of sin, the two doctrines opposite and yet not contrary, the
sovereignty of God and the responsibility of man, meet and embrace each
other in the work of redemption. To the disease of sin in both its
phases,--as an active choice and an innate tendency,--the divine
physician has prepared an antidote; He brings the wanderer home, and
lifts the fallen up.

Compare once more the lost sheep and the lost coin: in both the sinful
are lost, and in both the Saviour saves; but there we see a spontaneous
error, and here the effect of inherited corruption. These, when kept
together like the right and left sides of a living man, constitute, in
this matter, the whole truth: to tear them asunder is to kill both.

The number of the coins is appropriately fixed at ten, while the number
of sheep was a hundred. Ten sheep would not have required or repaid the
care of a shepherd; and a hundred pieces of silver would not, in
ordinary circumstances, have been at one time in the hands of a working
woman. The difference of numbers is fully accounted for by the natural
circumstances, and no benefit is obtained by squeezing from it a
distinct spiritual signification. The numbers, I think, belong to the
adjuncts of the material pictures, and they constitute only elements of
disturbance when they are brought into the interpretation.

The lessons which some draw from the preciousness of the metal on the
one hand, and the image of the king which it bears on the other,
although attractive and useful in themselves, are not relevant here. It
is better to forego for the time even precious morsels of instruction,
than to obtain them by doing violence to those exquisite
analogies which the parables present.




XXIV.

THE PRODIGAL SON.


"And he said, A certain man had two sons; and the younger of them said
    to his father, Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to
    me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after the
    younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far
    country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And
    when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and
    he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen
    of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And
    he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine
    did eat: and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he
    said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and
    to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my
    father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven
    and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me
    as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father.
    But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had
    compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the
    son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy
    sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father
    said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him;
    and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet; and bring hither
    the fatted calf, and kill it: and let us eat, and be merry: for this
    my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And
    they began to be merry. Now his elder son was in the field: and as
    he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And
    he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant.
    And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath
    killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.
    And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out
    and intreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these
    many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy
    commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make
    merry with my friends: but as soon as this thy son was come, which
    hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the
    fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and
    all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and
    be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was
    lost, and is found."--LUKE xv. 11-32.

Recall the relation that subsists between this parable on the one hand,
and the two that immediately precede it on the other. These two
divisions of the group contain two different and in some respects
opposite representations. Both exhibit the salvation of lost men; but in
the first, that deliverance appears as the effect of the Redeemer's
sovereign love and care; in the second, it appears to spring in the
depths of the sinner's own soul. There the wanderer is sought and found
and borne back; here he spontaneously repents and returns. There the
Saviour's part is revealed; and here the sinner's.

These examples represent not two distinct experiences, but two sides of
the same fact. It is not that some of fallen human kind are saved after
the manner of the strayed sheep, and others after the manner of the
prodigal son; not that the Saviour bears one wanderer home by his power,
and another of his own accord arises and returns to the Father. Both
these processes are accomplished in every conversion. The man comes, yet
Christ brings him; Christ brings him, yet he comes. In the two pictures
which we have last examined, the sovereign love and power of the
Redeemer occupied the front, while the subjective experience of a
repenting man was thrown scarcely visible into the back-ground; in the
picture which is now under inspection the view is reversed--the
subjective experience of the sinning man is brought full size into the
centre of the field, while the compassion of a forgiving God, although
distinctly visible, lies in smaller bulk behind.

Among the parables that of the prodigal is remarkable for the grandeur
of the whole, and the exquisite beauty of the parts. The sower is the
only one that can be compared with it in comprehensive completeness of
outline and articulate distinctness of detail. These two greatest
parables, however, are thoroughly diverse in kind. The two chief
elements which generally go into the composition of a parable are the
processes of nature and the actions of living men--parables, in short,
as to their constituents, are composed of history and natural history.
In the tares, for example, both these elements are combined in nearly
equal proportions. In the malicious sowing of the darnel, the zealous
proposal of the servants, and the cautious decision of the master, you
have threads of human motive and action running through the whole; but
in the growth of the darnel, its likeness to the wheat in spring, and
the decisive difference between them in the harvest, you have the
processes of nature profusely intertwined. A parable is ordinarily woven
of human action and the unconscious development of nature, as warp and
woof. In the two greatest parables those twin ingredients are in a great
measure separated: the sower is almost wholly composed of processes in
nature, the prodigal almost wholly of human motive and act.

This parable reveals one of the brightest glimpses of God's character
and way that men in the body can obtain. There are greater and less
among the parts of God's word as well as among the parts of his
creation. Taking the discourses of the Lord Jesus, as the little child
took the stars, for "gimlet-holes in heaven to let the glory shine
through," we find in the prodigal the largest of them all. It differs
from other stars in the same firmament by its bulk and its brightness.
Never man spake like this man; and nowhere else has even this man spoken
more fully or more winsomely of man's need and God's mercy. Both the
departure and the return--both the fall and the rising again, are
depicted here. The lesson sweeps the whole horizon of time from the
unfallen state at first to the glory that shall at last be revealed. The
way is laid open with marvellous precision from the lowest state of sin
and misery to a heavenly Father's heart and home. Here a gate is opened
by the Mediator's hand, and no man can shut it, until the angel shall
proclaim that time shall be no more. Here resounds a voice clear, human,
memorable--a voice that all the hum of the world cannot drown,
proclaiming to the lowest, furthest outcasts, and to the latest
generations, "Whosoever will, let him come."[82]

  [82] A curious illustration of the bondage to which an indurated
  Erastianism has reduced many of the Protestant Churches of the
  Continent, is incidentally afforded in a remark made by Stier
  regarding the peculiar fulness and preciousness of this
  parable:--"That this parable, which Lange beautifully terms a gospel
  within a gospel, this universal text for preaching about the lost
  and recovered sons of our heavenly Father (and the hopelessly lost
  first-born to the rich possessions of the house), should be wanting
  in the pericopæ of the Sunday Kalendar, is an omission which is
  utterly unjustifiable on any ground whatever, which is not
  compensated by the insertion of the previous similitudes, and which
  of itself is ample reason for that reformation of the Kalendar which
  Palmer desires."--_Words of the Lord Jesus, in loc_. The successors
  of Luther must, it seems, tread the mill from year to year on the
  same limited curriculum of texts which their Kalendar contains; and
  those of them who are weary of the restraint long in vain for an
  opportunity to preach on such a subject as the prodigal, for it is
  not set down in the bond. That Church surely is greatly defective
  both in godliness and manliness, that cannot or will not throw open
  all the Word of God alike, at all times, to its ministers and
  congregations in their Sabbath solemnities.

It is not necessary in this case to submit a sketch of the material
frame-work: there it lies, and the simplest may see it for himself. The
least learned may go round without a guide, and not miss any essential
feature of the scene. In this case the bare reading of the story from
the Bible leaves the image sharply outlined, and permanently impressed
upon the reader's mind. Assuming that the body of the lesson may be
easily seen, let us proceed at once to seek for its soul in the
spiritual meaning, which the picture covers and yet reveals.

"A certain man had two sons:" one of the greatest difficulties meets us
in the first line. It is evident that God, as specially manifested in
the Gospel, is represented by the father; but who are represented by the
two sons,--the elder, who remained at home, and the younger, who went
away? On this point three distinct interpretations have been suggested:
the two brothers of the parable may represent angels and men, Jews and
Gentiles, or Pharisees and publicans. I do not think it is a profitable
method to send these three into the field to fight until two are
destroyed, and one is left in undisputed possession. I am convinced that
we shall more fully and more correctly ascertain the mind of the Lord by
employing them all than by selecting one.

In representing the human figure, an artist may proceed upon either of
two distinct principles, according to the object which, for the time, he
may have in view. He may, on the one hand, delineate the likeness of an
individual, producing a copy of his particular features, with all their
beauties and all their blemishes alike: or he may, on the other hand,
conceive and execute an ideal picture of man, the portrait of no person
in particular, with features selected from many specimens of the race,
and combined in one complete figure. The parable of the prodigal is a
picture of the latter kind. It is not out and out the picture of any
man; but it is, to a certain extent, the picture of every man. This
prophecy of Scripture is not of private construction; and therefore it
is not of private interpretation. As the ideal portrait is in one
feature the likeness of this man, and in another the likeness of that
man, while it is not throughout the likeness of any; so the elder and
younger sons of this parable find at one point their closest counterpart
in angels and men, at another in Jews and Gentiles, at a third in
Pharisees and publicans, and indefinitely in as many pairs of
corresponding characters as have been, or may yet be, found in the
world.

In the first act of the drama,--the departure of the younger son, the
case of angels and men, presents by far the most exact counterpart to
the case of the two brothers. Man is the youngest child of God's
intelligent family. Elder and younger remained together in the house
awhile. You may observe sometimes in human families that the children
who have reached the years of understanding at the birth of the youngest
rejoice over the infant with a fondness second only to that of the
mother. Thus the elder brother angels of our Father's house,--the
morning stars of creation, sang together over the advent of man. But the
younger son did not remain in the house: having become alienated in
heart from the Father, he was uneasy in his presence, and sought relief
by going out of sight.

In the description of the younger son's conduct, we find a picture both
of the first fall and of the actual apostasy of each separate sinner.
"The younger said to his father, Father give me the portion," &c. Only
his words are preserved in the record; but we know that thoughts unseen
in his soul were the seeds whence these words sprang. He desired to
please himself, and therefore grew unhappy under the restraints of home.
Bent on enjoying the pleasures of sin, he determined to avoid the
presence of his father: alienated in heart, he becomes vicious in life.

The same two elements go to constitute the character and condition of
the sinful before he is reconciled to God. There is a lower and a higher
link in the chain that binds the slave. There is a body of this death,
and a soul: there is a spiritual wickedness in high places, and a bodily
wickedness in low places. The one is guilt, the other sin: the heart is
at enmity, and the life is disobedient.

The younger son did not humbly sue for a gift from his father's
bounty: he claimed a share of the property as of right. The terms are
significant; "Give me the portion of goods that _falleth_ (τὸ ἐπιβάλλον
μέρος) to me." The phrase faithfully depicts the atheism of an
unbelieving human heart; the fool hath said in his heart, "No God." He
has become brutish: as swine gather the acorns from the ground, heedless
of the oak from which they fell; alienated men snatch God's gifts for
the gratification of their appetites, and forget the giving God. This
seeing eye, and this hearing ear, and these cunning hands, the
irreverent son counts his own, and determines to employ them in
ministering to his own pleasure.

The father might justly have refused to comply with his son's demand:
although a certain part of the property might by law "fall" to the
younger son at the death of the father, there was no law or custom that
gave the youth a right to any of it during his father's life. In this
case, however, the father saw meet to let the young man have his own
way; he threw the reins loose upon the neck of the prodigal. Although
the father of his flesh could not see the end from the beginning, the
Father of his spirit, in permitting his departure, already planned the
glad return.

"Not many days after:" weary of paternal restraint, he made off as soon
as possible. He gathered all; for he needed all as a price in his hand
to pay for his pleasure. He went into a far country, and there wasted
his substance with riotous living. Even a large substance may in this
manner soon be consumed; money and health waste away quickly when they
are employed as fuel to feed the flame of lust. An interesting parallel
to this portion of the parable occurs in Luke xii. 45. A servant to
whom much had been intrusted thought his master was at a great distance,
and would remain a long time away; then and therefore he began "to beat
the men-servants and maidens, and to eat and drink, and to be drunken."
It is when a man is, or imagines himself to be, far from God that he
dares to indulge freely his vicious propensities: and conversely, those
who are secretly bent upon a life of sin, put God far from their
thoughts, in order that they may not be interrupted in their pleasures.

The crisis came. The "season" of pleasure did not last long; and the man
who had "sowed to the flesh" was compelled to fill his bosom with an
early harvest of misery. The hunger, nakedness, and shame that
accumulated on the head of this wayward youth aptly represent the bitter
fruits which sin, even in this life, bears as an earnest of the full
wages in the second death, which it promises to pay its servants.

His sufferings did not in the first instance turn him from his sin:
human sorrow is not all or always godly sorrow. Although the prodigal
was in want, he did not return to his father. Convictions and terrors in
the conscience seldom bring the wanderer at once to the door of mercy:
he generally tries in succession several other methods in order to
obtain relief. As the prodigal attempted to keep body and soul together
by the most desperate and loathsome expedients, rather than throw
himself on his father's compassion; so an alienated human soul,
conscious of having wantonly offended a good God, and therefore hating
deeply the Holy One, will bear and do the will of the wicked one
to the utmost extremity of misery rather than come home a beggar,
and be indebted for all to a father's love. The picture, although drawn
by the Master's own hand, is necessarily drawn in the colours of
external nature, and therefore it comes far short of the original, which
is a spiritual wickedness. The cherished son of an affluent and
honourable house in Israel has become the swineherd of a stranger in a
famine-stricken land: the transition is as great as could be displayed
on the limited stage of the present world; but when he who was made in
God's image and treated as God's child is bound by the chain of his own
passions, and indentured as a slave in the devil's service, the fall is
greater, as heaven is higher than the earth, and the world of spirit
deeper than the world of flesh. "No man gave unto him:" when a son
deserts the Father of lights, from whom every good gift comes down, his
soul cannot be satisfied from other sources: the world's breasts are
dry, or yield only poison to the eager drawing of the famished child.

There is a blank in the history here. The later stages of the prodigal's
misery are not exhibited in the light: fully exposed, they might have
been shocking rather than impressive. Every height has its opposite and
corresponding depth: as eye has not seen nor ear heard in all its
fulness the blessedness that God hath prepared for them that love him;
so neither can our faculties measure the miseries of sin, in their
foretastes here and their fulness hereafter. How the prodigal fared
under that veil, as his misery day by day increased to its climax, we
know not; but at length he suddenly emerges another man. "He came to
himself:" the wild foul stream that had sunk into the earth and flowed
for a space under ground, bursts to the surface again, agitated still
indeed, but now comparatively pure. We learn for the first time that the
man has been mad, by learning that his reason is restored. It is a
characteristic of the insane that they never know or confess their
insanity until it has passed away: it is when he has come to himself
that he first discovers he has been beside himself. The two beings to
whom a man living in sin is most a stranger are himself and God; when
the right mind returns, he becomes acquainted with both again. The first
act of the prodigal, when light dawned on his darkness, was to converse
with himself, and the second to return to his father.

A man can scarcely find a more profitable companion than himself. These
two should be well acquainted, and deal frankly with each other; in the
case of the prodigal how disastrous was the estrangement, how blessed
the reconciliation between them! The young man, during the period of his
exile, was as much a stranger to himself as to his father. His return to
himself became the crisis of his fate; from the interview sprang the
burning thought, "I will arise and go to my father," and the resolute
deed, "he arose and went."

When he had determined to return, he returned at once, and returned as
he was. Emaciated by prolonged want,--naked, filthy, hungry, he came as
he was. He did not remain at a distance until by efforts of his own he
should make himself in some measure worthy to resume his original place
in the family; he came in want of all things, that out of his father's
fulness all his wants might be supplied. The signification of this
feature on the spiritual side is obvious; it exhibits a cardinal point
in the way of a sinner's return to God.

But while the repenting youth did not pretend to bring anything good to
his father's house, neither did he presume to bring thither anything
evil: his poverty and hunger were brought with him, but the companions
and instruments of his lusts were left behind. This is a distinctive
discriminating feature of true repentance. In the act of fleeing to his
father the prodigal leaves his associates, and his habits, and his
tastes behind: and conversely, as long as he clings to these he will
not--he cannot return to his father.

In the narrative it is made evident that a return to his father was the
son's last resort; he did not adopt it--he did not even entertain it,
until all others had failed. The grief which he must have known his
unnatural exile caused in the bosom of the family at home did not move
him: even want, when it came upon him like an armed man, failed to
overcome his stubborn spirit. He will be the servant of a stranger
rather than his father's son; he would live on swine's food, if it had
power to sustain a human life, rather than sit at his father's table. It
was not till death stared him in the face that he consented to return.
He encountered all extremities of privation rather than come home; no
thanks to him, then, for coming at last. Yet he was received with an
ardent welcome, and without upbraiding. The son's sullen, obdurate,
desperate resistance becomes a measure and a monument of the father's
forbearing, forgiving love. It is thus that sinful men return to God in
Christ to-day; and thus that God in Christ to-day receives sinful men.
Prodigals returning deserve nothing, and yet obtain all. Of even the
last rag of merit that the imagination can conjure up--the merit of
being willing to receive favour--they are utterly destitute. Though we
do not come back to our father until all other resources have
failed--although we come, as it were, only when we cannot help coming,
he receives us with open arms; he takes the sin away, and does not cast
it up.

"When he was yet a great way off his father saw him." He must have been
looking out. Often, doubtless every day, his eye turned and strained
wistfully in the direction of his son's retiring footsteps. While that
son was starving in a foreign land, his father was weeping at the
window, longing for his return; when at last the prodigal appeared, the
watchful father caught sight of his form in the distance, and ran to
meet him. Behold again in this glass another feature of redeeming love!
Jesus, looking down on Jerusalem, wept for sorrow, because its giddy
multitude would not turn and live; if they had with one accord come
forth to accept the pardon which he offered, he would have wept again
for joy. In his tears, as well as in his teaching he showed us the
Father.

The reconciliation is immediate and complete. The parable reveals an
extraordinary outburst of paternal tenderness. The son, melted, and in
some measure confused by the undeserved, unexpected warmth of his
reception, bethought of the speech which, at the turning point of his
repentance, he had resolved to address to his father, and began to
recite it as he had conned the words in exile:--"Father, I have sinned
against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy
son;" but there stopped short, omitting the portion about being content
with the position of a hired servant. Bengel suggests that the father
may have cut the prodigal's speech short by giving aloud an order to the
servants for the kind and honourable reception of his child; but another
thought, also suggested by the same acute and experimental expositor,
brings out, I think, more truly the deep significance of the
omission:--The son lying on the father's bosom, with the father's tears
falling warm on his upturned face, is some degrees further advanced in
the spirit of adoption than when he first planned repentance beside the
swine in his master's field. There and then the legal spirit of fear
because of guilt still lingered in his heart; he ventured to hope for
exemption from deserved punishment, but not for restoration to the place
of a beloved sen. Now the spirit of bondage has been conclusively cast
out by the experience of his father's love; the fragments of stone that
had hitherto remained even in a broken heart are utterly melted at last,
as if by fire from heaven. He could not now complete the speech which he
had prepared; its later words faltered and fell inarticulate. He could
not now ask for the place of a servant, for he was already in the place
of a son.[83]

  [83] The paraphrase of this Scripture, in a selection employed in
  most of the Presbyterian Churches of Scotland, stumbles at this
  point, and misses the meaning of the text. Overlooking the mighty
  step of progress which the prodigal had made between the time when
  his accumulating convictions turned the balance first in favour of
  repentance, and the time when the last fragment of distrust melted
  away in the flood of a full reconciliation, the hymn represents the
  son as still pleading specifically to be sent away into the place of
  a servant, after the embrace, and the kiss, and the tears of his
  father had bestowed and triply sealed his sonship.

     "He ran and fell upon his neck,
        Embraced and kissed his son:
      The grieving prodigal bewailed
        The follies he had done."

     "No more, my father, can I hope
        To find paternal grace;
      My utmost wish is to obtain
        A servant's humble place."

  No; after the meeting the youth did indeed say that he was not
  worthy to be called a son, but he did not say he had abandoned the
  hope or the desire of being reinstated. Yet, notwithstanding this
  and other errors that have crept into the collection, and the
  superior character of many that are excluded from it, no vigorous
  effort has been made to obtain a revision in order to exclude the
  faulty and introduce better in their stead. Conservative inertia--an
  instinct to keep unchanged what has descended to us from our
  fathers--is a great and curious power in human nature, operating
  both on Church and State. Although not creditable to the wisdom and
  courage of men, it is doubtless overruled for good by the providence
  of God.

The father's command regarding the son's reception represents the
complete reconciliation of the Gospel--the total oblivion of the
prodigal's past sins, and his admission into the favour and the family
of God, as a dear child. Even the details at this point have been framed
after the pattern of spiritual privileges as they are elsewhere
represented in the Scriptures; and they admit, consequently, of being
minutely examined and applied. The best Robe points to the Redeemer's
righteousness which the believer puts on, and wherein he is justified;
the Ring is the signet of a king, the seal of the Spirit in the
regeneration; the Shoes suggest that the sinner, forgiven and renewed,
shall walk with God in newness of life; the Feast indicates the joy of a
forgiving God over a forgiven man, and the joy of a forgiven man in a
forgiving God.

These two lessons Christ has tenderly and plainly taught in this
parable,--first, that God receives and forgives a sinner who comes back
repenting; and second, that he delights in the act of so forgiving
repentant sinners: on these points no ambiguity is left, and no room for
controversy. These features of our Father's character, if they were
fully perceived and frankly accepted, would soon change the face of the
world. Guilt makes the guilty suspicious and distrustful. For the chief
ailment of humanity the parable supplies a specific antidote: let the
aspect of God's character, which is here displayed, take possession of a
sinful heart, and it is forthwith won.

A young person is in want of employment; and a great man lives in the
neighbourhood who could give him both work and wages. To this man the
youth is advised in his distress to apply; but this is the man whom the
youth has injured and offended,--the man whose just resentment he
dreads. But it is known and reported that this possessor of great
wealth is kind, generous, forgiving; that he does not retain resentment
for injuries received; that he delights to bestow favour on those who
have offended him. Convinced by these representations, the youth
determines to venture, and accordingly sets out on his journey toward
the great man's house. As he approaches it, however, his limbs grow
feeble, his heart beats high, and he lacks courage to go near and knock.
He halts, and is about to turn back in despair. What would suffice to
encourage the trembler at that moment, and bear him through? If then and
there he could in any way be thoroughly convinced that the man whom he
formerly injured, and therefore now dreads, is not only in general
tender-hearted and open-handed, but is at that moment specifically
thinking of this individual transgressor, grieving over his impenitence,
watching from his window for his coming, yearning to receive his
confession, and enjoy the blessedness in his own heart of forgiving and
satisfying the penitent; this will be effectual; the youth will go
forward to the door now with a firm step.

It is such a conviction regarding the mind of God towards erring men
that is needed, in order to bring them in clouds to his mercy-seat, like
doves to their windows; and it is in order to work this conviction in
our hearts that Jesus, who has authority to declare the Father, has
given us the parable of the Prodigal Son. May the Spirit take this word,
and make it in us quick and powerful.

Here we are not left to deal with curious or doubtful speculation.
Nothing in heaven or earth can be truer, surer, plainer than this. The
view that Jesus gives is the true view of the Father, as he turns his
face to-day toward the children of men.

Here is a youth who has discovered suddenly that a disease has fatally
stricken him, deep in the springs of life. After struggling some days
against conviction, and clinging to false hopes, he has at length
acknowledged that sentence of death has been passed. When the first
tumult subsides, a species of calm succeeds,--the calm of earnest
occupation with one over-riding and absorbing theme. The world, with its
hopes and fears, is conclusively cut off: his business with time is
closed. He has bidden farewell to the crowd that he has left behind, and
has entered the solemn vestibule which at the other end opens on
eternity. With all the energy of his being, he applies himself now to
the question, Am I lost or saved?

He looks alternately backward on his own life, and upward to God's
throne; both prospects trouble him. Backward he sees only sin; forward,
only judgment. Himself seems the stubble, and the Judge a consuming
fire. As these two approach, and their meeting seems near, he fears with
an exceeding great fear, and cries with an exceeding bitter cry. He
greatly wonders, meanwhile, that he never saw things in this light
before. Now, in man's extremity, is God's opportunity to show him the
Father. While the eyes of the body are closed in weariness, the mental
vision remains active; and a picture appears, as if it were hung in
light upon the wall. To the soul's eye Christ appears, and appears in
the act of revealing the Father. The Father whom Christ reveals runs
forth to meet his prodigal son, falls on his neck, weeps, and kisses
him. There is no upbraiding, no bargaining for terms. The returning son
is forgiven, accepted, clothed, honoured, loved. He has all, and
abounds. This is doubtless a true picture, the dying youth reflects, for
it is Christ that displays it; but, alas, it brings no hope to me. I
have stifled convictions, and lived for my own pleasure; and though I
often heard of mercy, I never sought it, until I found that death was on
my track. How can I expect that God should receive me, when I make him a
do-no-better, for I never thought of seeking him until all my chosen
idols had forsaken me, and I was left destitute?

Brother, look; what good thing was in the lost son, that served to
recommend him to his father? He would not remain at home; he could not
enjoy his abundance as long as the father, whose face he loathed, abode
under the same roof. He went away, that he might enjoy the pleasures of
sin. He did not return while he had enough; he did not return when he
began to be in want; he endured the extreme of misery and shame rather
than return; he came back to his father only when all other resources
failed;--and yet his father received him with great gladness. Sinner,
look on this love,--look on it till you live in its light. It is not him
that never departed, or came back while he yet had plenty, or came back
soon, or came back with an improved heart,--it is, "_Him that cometh_ I
will in no wise cast out."

Those who from this parable conclude that God receives sinners into
favour without a propitiation, and those who endeavour to escape from
that conclusion by affirming that the father in the parable represents
Christ, err equally, although on opposite sides.[84]

  [84] Stier's observations on this point are excellent:--"The
  well-meaning efforts which are made to explain the absence of
  reference to the mediating _propitiation_ of the Son of God in this
  instant exhibition of the _Father's mercy_, are altogether needless;
  they rest fundamentally on false dogmatic views of this
  propitiation, as if there were not existing in the Father's being
  the same love which is expressed in the Son,--as if the Father
  needed abstractly to be propitiated in order to entertain this love!
  We are not to seek _Christ himself_ as mediator in the person of
  this father; nor (though Melancthon has strangely ventured to affirm
  it), afterwards in the fatted calf, as sacrificially slain. _His_
  place here is rather to be sought in his thus authoritatively
  testifying of the Father's mercy. As Nitzsch excellently says:--'If
  he seems to conceal himself here, he is all the more manifest there,
  where the Shepherd seeks the lost sheep. For _the_ Son--who is
  neither an elder nor a _younger_, the _eternal_ Son of the Father,
  one with him, his eye and his heart towards the lost--is come into
  this world, although invisible and unnamed in the parable, to reveal
  the Father where he had been ever invisible, and where no man knew
  him: and he is to the children of the law and the curse, not only a
  living herald of the propitiable--we shall rather say of the already
  propitiated--Father, but the (that is _our_) propitiation itself,
  and the way whereby every one of us may come back to God.' The
  mediation of Christ is no more denied by this silence than the
  seduction of Satan was denied in the sinner's apostasy at the
  beginning of the parable. We may also say with Von Gerlach that the
  'coming out of the father to meet his son, here figuratively
  exhibits the sending of the Son.'"--_Stier in loc_.

The notion that a mediator is not needed, because a mediator is not here
specifically represented, proceeds upon the assumption, obviously and
inexcusably erroneous, that all truth must be taught in every parable.
While occasionally visiting the printing works of the publishers as
these sheets are passing through the press, I have observed the process
of printing coloured landscapes by lithograph. One stone by one
impression deposits the outline of the land; another stone, by another
impression, fills in the sea; and a third stone, on a different machine,
subsequently adds the sky to the picture. No observer is so foolish as
to complain, while he sees the process in its earlier stages, that there
is no sea or no sky in the landscape. It is thus with the parables in
general, and with this group in particular. By the two first, certain
portions and aspects of the scene are represented; and by the last one,
when it is impressed on the same field, the remaining features are
completed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hitherto we have been occupied exclusively with the younger of the two
sons; but the notice given in the first sentence of the parable
prepares us for meeting with the elder in some significant capacity ere
it close; and here, accordingly, he comes up to sustain his part.

At the moment of the prodigal's return, his elder brother was in the
field, whether for his father's profit or his own pleasure we are not
informed. When he came home in the evening, and before he had entered
the house, he heard the sound of the festival within. Surprised and
displeased that a feast on so large a scale should have been instituted
without his privity and participation, he assumed and maintained an
attitude of haughty reserve. Instead of going in at once and seeing all
with his own eyes as a son, he went to a servant, and in the spirit of
an alien, inquired the reason of the mirth. Having learned the leading
facts, instead of imitating his father's generosity, he abandoned
himself to selfish jealousy, and went away in a pet. The father, on
every side true to his character, came out and pleaded with him to enter
and share the common joy. Hereupon the true character of the
_soi-disant_ model son is revealed; he peevishly casts it in his
father's face, as a reproach, that he had never provided such a feast
for his immaculate and superlatively dutiful child.

The elder son, in his statement of the case, introduces an elaborately
constructed double contrast between his brother's experience and his
own, which is peculiarly interesting in relation to the mercy of God and
the methods of the Gospel. To the jaundiced eye of this sour-tempered
pharisaic youth, it seemed that his father gave much to him that
deserved least, and little to him that deserved most: to the profligate
son, the fatted calf; to the eminently dutiful child, not even a kid.
Here the hard, self-satisfied formalist, like Pilate and Caiaphas,
preaches the Christ whom he did not know. The envious contrast portrayed
by the elder son is a dark shadow which takes its shape from the Light
of life. It is a law of the Gospel that nothing is given to the man in
reward for the righteousness which he brings forward as his boast; but
all is given to the man who has flung away his own righteousness with
loathing as filthy rags, and come, "wretched, and miserable, and poor,
and blind, and naked," to cast himself on the mercy of God. The greatest
gift is bestowed on the most worthless; for "God commendeth his love
toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us"
(Rom. v. 8).

At this point the line of our parable touches that of the lost sheep,
and thenceforth runs coincident with it to the close: it points to the
same features of human character, and teaches the same principles of
divine truth. In the first place, it repeats the answer already given in
the two preceding parables to the question embodied in the complaint of
the Pharisees,--"This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them." The
father announces with great clearness and fulness, the grounds on which
he rejoiced more that day over the prodigal restored than over the elder
son, who had never left home. It is a rule in human experience,
universally understood and appreciated, that though a son never lost is
as precious as one who has been lost and found, parents experience a
more vivid joy in the act of receiving the exile back than in the
continuous possession of a son who has been always in their sight.[85]

  [85] This law may be illustrated by an analogous fact in the
  material department of creation. Lay a ball, such as a boy's marble,
  on an extended sheet of thin paper, and the paper, though fixed at
  the edges and unsupported in the midst, will bear easily the weight:
  take now another ball of the same shape and weight, and let it drop
  upon the sheet of paper from a height, it will go sheer through. The
  two balls are of the same weight and figure; but the motion gave to
  one a momentum tenfold greater than that of the other at rest. It is
  in a similar way that the return of a lost son goes through a loving
  father's heart, and makes all its affections thrill; while the
  continued possession of another son, equally valuable and equally
  valued, produces no such commotion either in the heart of the father
  or his home.

In the meantime, it is very sweet to learn from the lips of Jesus that
this law, which may be clearly traced on earth, penetrates to heaven,
and there prepares for repenting sinners, not a bare escape from wrath,
but an abundant entrance into the joy of their Lord.

But while the parable thus demonstrates that even though the claim of
the Pharisees were granted their objection falls to the ground, it most
certainly does not grant that claim. So far from conceding that they
needed no repentance, the Lord makes it evident that they kept company
with the publicans in sin, and only differed in this, that they did not
repent and forsake it. The elder brother, towards the close of the
parable, presents a life-likeness of the Pharisees; in him they might
have seen their own shadow on the wall.

The self-righteousness, the pride, the peevishness, the jealousy of the
elder brother in the close of the parable represent, in its most
distinctive features, the character of the Jewish people and their
leaders, in the beginning of the Gospel. One of their leading reasons
for refusing to own Jesus as the Messiah was his manifested willingness
to extend the blessings of redemption to the needy of every condition
and every name. When the Lord reminded them that Elijah was sent past
many suffering widows in Israel to relieve a stranger at Sarepta, and
that Elisha left many lepers uncured among his own countrymen when he
healed the Syrian soldier, they were so exasperated by the suggestion
that God's favour had already flowed out to the Gentiles, and might flow
in the same direction again, that they "rose up and thrust him out of
the city, and led him unto the brow of the hill whereon their city was
built, that they might cast him down headlong" (Luke iv. 29). The same
spirit burst forth when they were touched on the same tender point in
the ministry of the apostles. Paul was permitted from the stairs of the
fortress attached to the temple at Jerusalem to address an excited
multitude on the faith as it is in Jesus. Loving the Hebrew tongue in
which he spoke better than the Greek, which they had expected him to
employ, they listened with interest and in silence to the story of his
conversion through the appearing of the risen Jesus; but when in the
progress of the narrative he found it necessary to inform them that the
Lord his Saviour gave him a commission to preach the Gospel beyond the
boundaries of Israel, saying, "Depart, for I will send thee far hence
unto the Gentiles, they gave him audience unto this word, and then
lifted up their voices and said, Away with such a fellow from the earth,
for it is not fit that he should live" (Acts xxii. 21, 22). In this
inveterate prejudice of the Pharisaic Jews against the admission of
persons or communities other than themselves into the privileges of
Messiah's kingdom, we see the reason why the Lord gave his parable the
turn which it takes in the extraordinary conduct of the elder brother.
Counting that the kingdom belonged exclusively to themselves, the Jewish
hierarchs violently resented every suggestion that pointed to the
reception of strangers. It was to them that this series of parables was
addressed; and to them, in immediate relation to their stupid and
impudent cry, "He receiveth sinners!"

But we have not exhausted this portion of the lesson when we have
pointed out that those whom the elder brother represents fret proudly
and peevishly against the admission of their neighbours into the
kingdom: by that very fact they unconsciously but surely demonstrate
that themselves have not entered yet. The spirit that in regard to self
is satisfied, before God unhumbled, and towards men unloving, has no
part with Christ: this is the proud whom God knoweth afar off, not the
meek whom he delights to honour.

Ah, woe to the man who serves God as that son served his father, with a
mercenary mind and an unbroken heart,--who thinks his obedience
praiseworthy, and would be surprised if it should go without reward. The
elder son was lost as well as the younger; but as far as the parable
reveals his history, he was not like him found again: he, like his
brother, went astray; but unlike him, refused to come back. The father
was grieved as much by the sullen, dry, hard, cold, dead formality of
his elder son, as by the prodigal wastefulness of the younger, without
getting the sorrow balanced by a subsequent joy. Whited sepulchre! what
will thy residence in the house, and thy constant and punctilious
profession avail thee while thou art planting daggers in thy father's
heart, and nursing vile hypocrisy in thy own? It is the empty open
vessel that gets itself filled when it is plunged into a well of living
water; the vessel that is full and shut, although it is overflowed by
rivers of privileges, does not receive and retain a drop. Before God and
under the Gospel, the turning-point of each man's destiny is not the
number or the aggravation of his sins, but the discovery of his own
guilt, and the consequent cry out of the depths for mercy. That which
really in the last resort hinders a man's salvation and secures his
doom is not his sin, but his refusal to know and own that he is a
sinner. All the excesses of the prodigal will not shut him out of
heaven, for he came repenting to the father; but all the virtues of the
elder brother will not let him into heaven, for he cherished pride in
his heart, and taunted his father for overlooking his worth. The ground
on which the Laodiceans were condemned was not the sinfulness of their
state, but their stolid satisfaction with the state they were in.
"Because thou sayest, I am rich and increased with goods, and have need
of nothing; and knowest not that thou art wretched and miserable, and
poor, and blind, and naked" (Rev. iii. 17). What although they were not
rich;--if they had known their poverty, all the treasures of the Godhead
were at their disposal: what although they were wretched;--all the
blessings that are at God's right hand were theirs for the asking. What
although this son was prodigal;--there is a place for him in God's
favour,--a place for him in the mansions of the Father's house for ever
when he comes back repenting, confiding; but what although he never
strayed--never missed a diet of worship or a deed of alms, the elder
brother by holding to his own righteousness, rejects the righteousness
which is of God by faith, and shuts himself out of the kingdom. Him who
thought he was poor and miserable, and wretched, and blind, and naked,
the father runs to meet with kisses of love and tears of joy: but him
who thought himself rich and increased with goods, and in need of
nothing, the father puts away, with the most piercing expressions of
loathing which the whole Scriptures contain, "I will spue thee out of my
mouth."




XXV.

THE PRUDENT STEWARD.


"And he said also unto his disciples, There was a certain rich man,
    which had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he had
    wasted his goods. And he called him, and said unto him, How is it
    that I hear this of thee? give an account of thy stewardship; for
    thou mayest be no longer steward. Then the steward said within
    himself, What shall I do? for my lord taketh away from me the
    stewardship: I cannot dig; to beg I am ashamed. I am resolved what
    to do, that, when I am put out of the stewardship, they may receive
    me into their houses. So he called every one of his lord's debtors
    unto him, and said unto the first, How much owest thou unto my lord?
    And he said, An hundred measures of oil. And he said unto him, Take
    thy bill, and sit down quickly, and write fifty. Then said he to
    another, And how much owest thou? And he said, An hundred measures
    of wheat. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and write fourscore.
    And the lord commended the unjust steward, because he had done
    wisely: for the children of this world are in their generation wiser
    than the children of light. And I say unto you, Make to yourselves
    friends of the mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they
    may receive you into everlasting habitations."--LUKE xvi. 1-9.

On the face of this parable a difficulty presents itself, all the more
formidable in that it lies not in the critical, but in the moral
department. In almost all the other examples, the acts attributed to
human agents are either morally blameless in themselves, or are
manifestly exhibited in order to be condemned: but here, an element of
injustice is inseparably mixed up with the prudence which is commended
in the conduct of the steward. The difficulty lies in this, that the
specimen of worldly prudence presented in order to suggest and stimulate
spiritual prudence in securing the interests of the soul, is dyed
through and through with the loathsome vice of dishonesty. It is not
easy, at least for us, to gather the lesson which this man's prudence
contained, out of the dishonesty in which in was steeped.

When we read the parable we may detect a feeling of surprise creeping
over our minds, that the Lord, who had the whole world and its history
before him whence to select his examples, should have chosen a specimen
of worldly wisdom, damaged by an admixture of downright falsehood, in
order to stimulate thereby the spiritual zeal of his own disciples. The
three following observations will, in my judgment, explain and
completely remove the difficulty:--(1.) The Holy One, precisely because
he is perfectly holy, can come closer to the unholy than we who are
infected with sin and susceptible of injury from contact with impurity.
Jesus talked with the Samaritan at the well, and permitted the sinner to
wash his feet with tears in Simon's house. His own disciples and the
Pharisees wondered by turns why he came so close to the unclean; but if
they had been free from sin as he was, they could have handled it freely
when in their ordinary ministry it crossed their path. Inflammable
matter must be kept far from fire; whereas matter that is incombustible
may, when a necessary cause occurs, safely pass through the midst of the
flame. (2.) A shorter parable in another place presents and explains the
same difficulty: "Be ye wise as serpents, and harmless as doves."
Serpents are proposed to the disciples as examples to be imitated; but
it is the wisdom only and not the hurtfulness of the serpent that their
Master enjoins them to imitate. Foresight and dishonesty are not more
closely or inseparably united in the character of the cunning steward
than wisdom and hurtfulness in the nature of the serpent. In both alike
the Master meant that one quality which is commendable should be
selected for imitation, and the other quality which is vile should be
cast away with loathing. (3.) The key-note of the parable is expressed
in verse 8: "The children of this world are wiser in their generation
than the children of light." The line of interpretation must be drawn
through this point, and all the scattered features of the picture
brought up or brought down to meet it. Thus the tinge of dishonesty that
runs through the prudence of the steward, so far from rendering his case
unsuitable for the purpose of the Lord, imparted to it additional
appropriateness and point. The methods, as well as the ends of the
worldly, were different from those of the spiritual. This example shows
that, from the ungodly man's own view-point, and according to his own
maxims, he prosecutes his object with energy and skill. Let the
Christian, with his clearer, purer light, prosecute his high aim by holy
means with an energy and zeal similar to those which the ungodly exhibit
in the pursuit of their gains or pleasures. It was the design of the
Lord not simply to give his disciples generally an example of wisdom,
but to give them specifically an example of the wisdom of the world--the
wisdom that neither fears God nor regards man. An example of prudence
taken from a good man's history, and exercised under submission to the
law of God, would not have suited the Master's purpose so well as the
one that has been chosen.

It is important to notice at the outset, that in this instance the Lord
addresses his instructions specifically to his own disciples. The three
parables which are recorded in the preceding chapter were spoken to the
Pharisees; immediately after these, and in continuation of the history,
the evangelist intimates that "he said also unto his disciples, There
was a certain rich man," &c. Besides those lessons which he gave to the
multitude, teaching how the distant may come near, he gave this lesson
to those who had already come near, in order to incite them to diligence
in the course which they had chosen: this Teacher rightly divides the
word of truth, giving to each his portion in due season. In this lesson
the diligence of worldly men is employed to rebuke the slothfulness of
Christians. Those who make perishing things their portion are
thoughtful, inventive, energetic, decisive in prosecuting their object;
how thoughtless and slow are the heirs of the kingdom in the work of
their high calling!

"A certain rich man had a steward." We learn here, incidentally, how
evenly balanced are the various conditions of life in a community, and
how little of substantial advantage wealth can confer on its possessor.
As your property increases, your personal control over it diminishes;
the more you possess, the more you must entrust to others. Those who do
their own work are not troubled with disobedient servants; those who
look after their own affairs, are not troubled with unfaithful
overseers.[86]

  [86] A case came up lately in an English court of justice, in which
  a certain duke prosecuted his butler for malversation in his charge.
  It appeared in evidence that the defalcation on the account for wine
  alone amounted to L. 1500. This fact incidentally reveals two
  things:--How great is the wealth of these British princes; and how
  little that wealth is under their own control.

This overseer cheated his master, and concealed the fraud for a time
under the folds of complicated accounts; but, as in all similar cases,
this career of wickedness came suddenly to an end. Some person
discovered the facts and informed the proprietor. When suspicion was
raised inquiry could not be resisted; and, when an inquiry was
instituted, the crime could not be hid. The steward seems to have given
up his case as soon as he was accused; he uttered not a word in his own
defence. There was no proof on one side, and no denial on the other. The
case was clear, and the process summary; sentence of dismissal was
pronounced on the spot. But the proprietor was still in a great measure
at the mercy of this unfaithful servant; the accounts were all in his
hand, and the owner could not instantly resume the power which he had
delegated. The agent accordingly was ordered to prepare and submit a
balance-sheet, on which his successor might proceed to administer the
estate.

There was not much time for deliberation: the decree of dismissal had
already passed, and as soon as the state of accounts could be made up,
this once comfortable and important personage must be cast penniless
upon the world. Now or never, he must do something for himself. With
habits, both mental and physical, cast in another mould, he cannot win
his bread as a labourer; and his pride revolted against the prospect of
becoming a beggar on the spot where he had long been owned as master by
the multitude. His resolution is quickly formed, and as quickly carried
into effect. He will employ his present opportunity, so as to provide a
refuge for himself in his future need: he will so deal with the money
while it is still in his hand, as that he shall not be left destitute
when he is driven from his place.

In prosecution of his purpose, the steward summoned his master's debtors
one by one into his presence. He held their acknowledgments for goods
received, or their signatures for the amount of rent which they had
agreed to pay for their lands. Having in his hands the documents which
bound the debtors, he might have read off from these the amount due by
each; but it suited his purpose better to ask the obligants what sums
they owed, and to proceed wholly upon their voluntary acknowledgments.
The first owed a hundred measures of oil, the second a hundred measures
of wheat. What these quantities may have been in relation to our
standards is a question which possesses only a critical and antiquarian
interest: it has no bearing on the interpretation of the parable, and
therefore we pass it without further notice. The absolute amount of the
debt has no influence on the meaning of the parable; the point which is
really important is the proportion between the amount owned by the
debtors and the amount exacted by the steward. Olive oil and wheat were
two of the staple products of the country, and the obligations in regard
to them may have been incurred either in transactions of a mercantile
character, or in those which intervene between landlord and tenant.[87]

  [87] Probably the rents were paid in kind, and these were the
  arrears which the tenants acknowledged.

The method of the overseer is short and simple: apart from
considerations of morality, conscience, and divine retribution, it
seemed a short road to the accomplishment of his purpose. He surrendered
to the debtors their obligations, and received in return obligations for
smaller amounts, in one case for fifty, and in another for eighty,
instead of a hundred. These two cases are submitted as specimens: others
were treated in a similar way. Of course the steward could not obtain
from these debtors any obligation in his own favour for the portion
remitted, which could be enforced in a court of justice; for the proof
of the claim on the one side would have revealed his guilt on the
other: but it was assumed between the parties that the benefit conferred
should in due time be substantially acknowledged and repaid. The steward
counted that in the day of his distress those men on whom he had
conferred favours would receive him into their houses.[88]

  [88] Of the same nature were the long leases of ecclesiastical
  property in England at low rents, granted by the living incumbents,
  in consideration of a sum of money in name of fine paid to
  themselves.

It was expected, moreover, that the proprietor, or the steward whom he
might afterwards employ, could not exact more than the smaller sums, for
which they possessed the acknowledgments of the parties. We could indeed
conceive a case in which the injured owner could lead a proof of fraud
in the transaction, and enforce from the obligants the original amounts;
but it is not probable that, in an age when records were defective, and
the two parties immediately connected with the fraudulent transaction
deeply interested in concealing it, such a suit could be successfully
carried through.[89]

  [89] A case emerged lately in the courts of this country, in which a
  proprietor, who had lost very large sums by the unfaithfulness of
  his agent, prosecuted the parties for restitution, on the ground of
  the agent's bad faith in the transactions. The case was protracted,
  and I lost sight of it before the solution was reached; but it is
  enough for my present purpose that a plea was actually raised to
  obtain from one debtor the price of a hundred measures of oil
  instead of fifty, which he acknowledged, on the alleged ground that
  the absconded steward had corruptly and for his own interest
  sacrificed the rights of his employer.

The lord, that is the injured proprietor, commended the unjust steward,
because, or in that, he had done wisely. The difficulty here lies on the
surface,--lies, as it were, in the sound; upon a close examination it
vanishes. First of all, the lord who praised the steward is, as the
translators have indicated by printing the word without a capital, not
the Lord Jesus, the speaker of the parable, but the master, whom the
cunning agent had robbed. Further, this praise obviously did not
indicate moral approval. The master praised the servant when all was
over, not for the faithfulness with which he had been served, but for
the cleverness with which he had been cheated. The commendation which
the master bestowed upon the servant was that of sharply looking after
himself. It is the commendation which one whose house has been robbed
during the night might bestow in the morning upon the robber, after
noticing how adroitly he had opened the locks, and carried off the
booty.

This nefarious transaction was, from the perpetrator's view-point,
cleverly planned and promptly executed. It was no sooner said than done;
delay might have ruined the steward's prospects. He must have everything
done before he is summoned actually to transfer his books to his
successor's hands. He provided in his own way for his own future need;
the plan was well-contrived, and successfully carried into effect. This
praise, but expressly and only this, the injured master bestowed upon
the man.

"And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of
unrighteousness; that when ye fail, they may receive you into
everlasting habitations." Such is the lesson which the Lord draws from
the picture. Difficulties, indeed, adhere to the phraseology in its
details; but the interpretation, in its main line, is determined and
made evident by landmarks which can neither be overlooked nor removed.
The mammon of unrighteousness means the world with all its business and
its possessions; mammon is denominated unrighteous, generally on account
of the manner in which it is employed by worldly men, and specially on
account of the case in hand, where a gross injustice was perpetrated
without scruple, and as an ordinary matter of business. Alas, how
prevalent is this form of unrighteousness still! Although justice in a
large measure pervades and so sustains the vast commerce of the country,
many mean tricks insinuate themselves between its mighty strata,
corroding its fabric, and undermining its strength.

In counselling the disciples to acquire for themselves friends from the
mammon of unrighteousness (ποιησατε ἑαντοις φιλους εκ του μαμωνα της
αδικιας), the Lord obviously adopts the terms of his spiritual lesson
from the structure of the parable which conveys it. By remitting part of
their debts the steward made the debtors his friends; he won them to his
side, and made sure of their sympathy when his day of need should come.
His prudence and skill were commendable, but the fraud which was mingled
with them is neither approved by the Lord, nor prescribed as a pattern
for the disciples.[90] Nor is it difficult to lift the pure lesson from
the impure ground on which it lies. The steward could not reach his
unrighteous object except by a crooked path; but the ends which a
Christian strives to attain neither require nor admit the employment of
falsehood. Use the world in such a way that it shall help and not hinder
the interests of your soul and of the world to come.

  [90] The Emperor Julian adduced this parable in order to prove that
  the doctrines of Christ were adverse to good morals. This is
  precisely the place where the apostate, seeking reasons to justify
  his apostasy, will most readily find what he seeks.

The position of the phrase, ἐις τὴν γενεὰν τὴν ἑαυτων, in or for their
own generation, near the end of the sentence, determines that it is
applied equally to both parties. It is implied that both classes, the
children of the world and the children of light, look after their own
affairs; and it is intimated that the one class attends to its business
more earnestly and more skilfully than the other. This man cleaves to
the world as his portion, and that man has chosen the Saviour as his:
but, in point of fact, he who has chosen the inferior object prosecutes
it with the greater zeal. The superior energy of the worldling in the
acquisition of gains is employed to rebuke the Christian for his
slackness in winning the true riches. This is the main lesson of the
parable.

The specific form which the lesson assumes is,--Provide now for future
need, and make the opportunities of time subservient to the interests of
eternity.

The characteristic features of the steward's skill were, that when his
dismissal was near, he occupied the short time that remained, and the
resources still at his disposal, in skilfully providing for the future.
We are stewards in possession still, but under warning; do we employ the
time and the opportunities that remain in making our calling and
election sure?

Many precious possessions have been placed in our hands by the owner of
all; health of body and soundness of mind; home and friends; good name
or great riches, or both conjoined;--these and many others have been by
their owner placed under our charge, that we should lay them out for
him. Soon the stewardship will be taken from us. "When ye fail,"--that
is, when we can no longer retain our hold of time and life; when flesh
and heart are failing; when a mist comes over the eye, so that it can no
longer see the circle of weeping friends that stand round the bed of
death,--have we an everlasting habitation ready to receive the departing
spirit?

More particularly the practical question is, Have we disposed of earthly
possessions and opportunities, so that they helped and did not hinder
the acquisition of an incorruptible inheritance?

There is a place and a use for temporal things in making sure of the
life eternal. How constant has been the tendency of fallen humanity to
run wildly into opposite extremes of error; because the Popish system
gives worldly possessions too high a place in the concerns of the soul,
we may readily fall into the error of giving them no place at all. We
lean hard over against the superstition that expects by alms, and money
paid for masses, to smooth the spirit's path to peace beyond the grave;
but when we have refused to make money directly the price of our
admission into heaven, we have not exhausted our duty in regard to its
bearing on our eternal weal. The property, and money, and occupations of
time may instrumentally affect for good or evil our efforts to lay up
the true riches. According as they are employed, they may become a
stumbling-stone over which their possessor shall fall, or a shield to
cover his head from some fiery darts of the wicked one.[91]

  [91] For example, their competence and the comforts which it brings
  shield women of the higher and middle classes in this country, in a
  great measure, from certain snares of the devil in which multitudes
  of their poorer sisters miserably fall. If those who enjoy this
  protection throw away their advantage by turning that which is a
  protection on one side into a temptation on the other, and so bring
  themselves to an equality over all with the less favoured classes,
  the fault is their own. It is proved by obvious facts that worldly
  possessions may be placed between you and temptation, as cotton
  bales and sand bags may be employed to ward off cannon shot from
  stone walls. They are capable of being turned to some account in
  advancing our eternal interests; for our inheritance in heaven, the
  world is useful, if it is rightly used.

Could it be truly said of any who are lost that the mammon of
unrighteousness brought them to the place of woe? or, conversely could
it be truly said of any who now stand round the throne in white, that
the mammon of unrighteousness became the friend who introduced them to
that everlasting habitation? I reply, this mammon is not and cannot be a
cause either of being saved or being lost; but it, as well as all other
things in time, may become instruments in the saving or destroying of a
soul, according as it is wisely used or foolishly abused. For example,
in the next parable, it was sin and not wealth that ruined the rich man;
many richer men than he have walked with God on earth, and entered rest
when they departed. Wealth was not his destroyer, yet he so used his
wealth as to permit the wicked one to bind his soul with it as with
chains over to the second death. On the other hand, it was neither the
poverty nor the sores of Lazarus, nor both together, that saved him;
many as destitute of money and as full of sores as he are never saved.
Christ was this man's Saviour,--Christ alone; yet, his poverty became in
God's hands, and through his servant's faith, the instrument of
shielding him from temptation and purging his dross away. In the same
subordinate and instrumental sense in which the rich man's wealth was
his ruin, the poverty of the poor man saved him. But these results are
not uniform--are not necessary; they may be--they often are reversed.
The wealth of a rich man may help him heavenward, and the poverty of a
poor man may press him down toward the pit. The cardinal point of the
parable is, employ the mammon of unrighteousness--this world's affairs
all, with forethought, skill, decision, and energy, to further your own
salvation; turn all to account for the gain of godliness.

A ship leaves our shores bound westward to an Atlantic port: the wind,
being from the north, beats on her right side all the way. She makes a
quick voyage and reaches her destination in safety. Another ship at
another time leaves these shores for the same destination: the wind,
blowing from the south, beats on her left side. She wanders from her
course and is shipwrecked. Whence these opposite results? Was the first
ship saved because she met a north wind, and the second lost because she
fell in with a wind from the south? Nay, verily: but because the one so
received the wind, from whatever point of the compass it might blow, as
to be impelled by it onward in her course: and the other, instead of
wisely employing every wind to help her forward, allowed herself to
drift before the wind that happened to blow.

Mammon, the world--ah, is it not adverse to the interests of our souls?
What then? Believer, adversary though it be, you may make it your
friend. A skilful seaman, when once fairly out to sea, can make a wind
from the west carry him westward! he can make the wind that blows right
in his face bear him onward to the very point from which it blows. When
he arrives at home, he is able to say the wind from the west impelled me
westward, and led me into my desired haven.

Thus if we were skilful, and watchful, and earnest, we might make the
unrighteous mammon our friend; we might so turn our side to each of its
tortuous impulses, that willing or unwilling, conscious or unconscious,
it should from day to day drive us nearer home.

The parable is in this peculiar, that in the moral lesson which the
Master enforces at the close, he retains and employs the phraseology of
the story. "Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of
unrighteousness," &c. The meaning is by the context made plain, and the
reader may translate the metaphor as he proceeds. The steward, while he
remained in his place, so handled the property in his power as to secure
for himself a home when he should be removed from his place: in like
manner let men so use material possessions while they live on earth,
that these very possessions shall be found to have helped them toward
their eternal rest. When a man's ways please God, he maketh even his
enemies to be at peace with him. These things that are enemies, and that
overcome many, you may make your friends; you may turn to them such a
side, that every time they strike they shall press you nearer rest, and
at their last stroke impel you through the narrow entrance into the joy
of your Lord.




XXVI.

THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS.


"There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine
    linen, and fared sumptuously every day: and there was a certain
    beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, and
    desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's
    table: moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. And it came to
    pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into
    Abraham's bosom: the rich man also died and was buried; and in hell
    he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off,
    and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham,
    have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his
    finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this
    flame. But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime
    receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but
    now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. And beside all this,
    between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they which
    would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us,
    that would come from thence. Then he said, I pray thee therefore,
    father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house: for I have
    five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come
    into this place of torment. Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses
    and the prophets; let them hear them. And he said, Nay, father
    Abraham; but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent.
    And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets,
    neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the
    dead."--LUKE xvi. 19-31.

The intervening portion of history, contained in verses 14-18, should
not be permitted to conceal from us the intimate relation that subsists
between this and the preceding parable. The application of the first for
the reproof of covetousness, touched a besetting sin of the Pharisees,
and stung them to the quick. Unable to bear in silence a rebuke which
their own consciences recognised as just, they interrupted the preacher
with rude derision. They attempted to shield their own open sores from
painful probing by raising a laugh at the expense of the reprover. I
suspect they reckoned without their host in this matter. This man spake
with authority, and not as the scribes; the common people heard him
gladly. His speech was too divinely grave, and too palpably true, to be
turned aside by the clumsy wit of the men whom it condemned.
Intermitting for a moment the thread of his parabolic preaching, he
turned aside and addressed a few withering words directly to these
uneasy interrupters.[92]

  [92] From the introduction of a new subject abruptly in the 18th
  verse--the much agitated question regarding a man's right to put
  away his wife--I think it probable that the interruption had been
  repeated and continued; that it took the form of a dialogue, the
  Pharisees throwing in what they considered a damaging question, and
  Jesus giving an answer by turns--a scene which is frequently
  repeated in modern missions among the heathen.

When this episode was over, the Lord resumed his theme where it had been
broken off. I think it probable, both from the terms of the narrative,
and the nature of the case, that if these Pharisees had not been
present, or if they had held their peace when the preaching galled them,
the matter of verse 19th would have touched that of verse 13th--the
parable of the rich man and Lazarus would have been connected in place
as well as in purport with that of the prudent steward.

When he had followed up the first parable with a pungent application
regarding the abuse of riches, "the Pharisees, also, who were covetous,
heard all these things, and they derided him." To them, in reply to
their jesting, he spoke the words verses 14-18, and then resumed, in
verse 19th, "There was a certain rich man," &c.[93]

  [93] Dr. Trench's disquisition regarding the latent union between
  covetousness and prodigality, involving a proof that the discourse
  about the rich man was applicable to the Pharisees who were not of
  prodigal habits, although very good in itself, is scarcely relevant;
  inasmuch as it is not the parable of the rich man, but the reproofs
  intervening between it and the unjust steward that are expressly
  addressed to the Pharisees.

At the beginning of the chapter, addressing his own disciples
particularly, although some of the Pharisees were present, he had taught
them from the case of the prudent steward to use the possessions of this
world with a view to their bearing on the next; and now, to complete the
lesson, he will teach them, by a terrible example, the consequences of
neglecting that rule.

But before we proceed to examine the parable in detail, it is important
to determine generally regarding its nature whether it is an allegory in
which spiritual things are represented by sensible objects, or simply an
instructive example, historic or poetic, charged like other examples
with moral warning and reproof. The parable of the sower is an allegory:
the sower represents not a sower, but a preacher; the seed represents
not seed, but the Gospel: whereas in the inner substance, as well as the
outward form of the lesson, the good Samaritan is simply a good
Samaritan, and the wounded traveller is simply a wounded traveller. The
parable of the rich man and Lazarus is not allegory; it belongs to the
class of the Samaritan, and not to that of the sower. It is not like a
type, which a man cannot read until it is turned; but like a manuscript,
which delivers its sense directly and at first hand.[94]

  [94] It is true a figurative meaning has been applied to it, as to
  all the rest, both in ancient and modern times. In this case the
  lesson, when metaphorically rendered, possesses a remarkable measure
  of beauty, truth, and appropriateness. The rich man is the Jewish
  nation, by God's gift rich in position and privilege, but selfishly
  keeping all to itself, despising and neglecting others. Lazarus
  represents the Gentiles, spiritually poor, naked, hungry, homeless,
  within reach of the privileged people, yet by them left destitute.
  Both die: the old dispensation runs out, and Jews and Gentiles are
  together launched into "the last times." By apostolic messengers,
  the poor outcasts are now led unto the blessed privileges of the
  Gospel; these stones become children of Abraham; while the Jews, who
  enjoyed so good a portion in the former dispensation, are cast out.
  In this case, as in that of the Samaritan, it is easy so to turn the
  polished instrument in the light, that it shall throw off bright
  glimpses of great evangelic facts and doctrines. Perhaps the Lord,
  in constructing it, kept this capability in view; but we must take
  the parable as in the first instance and mainly a direct moral
  lesson, accounting its allegorical capabilities secondary, and to us
  uncertain.

The description of the rich man is short, but full. He "was clothed in
purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day." He maintained a
royal state and a prodigal expenditure. This excess of luxury was not
confined to great occasions; it was the habit of every day.

Here, as in other cognate parables, great wisdom is displayed in
bringing the whole force of the rebuke to bear on one point. It is not
intimated that this man made free with other people's money, or that he
had gained his fortune in a dishonest way. All other charges are
removed, that the weight lying all on one point may more effectually
imprint the intended lesson. To have represented him as dishonest or
drunken, would have blunted the weapon's edge. Here is an affluent
citizen, on whose fair fame the breath of scandal can affix no blot. He
had a large portion in this world, and did not seek--did not desire any
other. He spent his wealth in pleasing himself, and did not lay it out
in serving God or helping man. It is not of essential importance whether
such a man miserably hoard his money, or voluptuously spend it in feasts
and fine clothing. Some men take more pleasure in wealth accumulated,
and others more in wealth as the means of obtaining luxuries. These are
two branches from one root; the difference is superficial and
accidental: the essence of the evil is the same in both--a life of
self-pleasing--"without God in the world."

By a transition, purposely made very abrupt, we learn next that a
beggar named Lazarus[95] was laid at this rich man's gate, full of
sores. Whether the position was chosen by the man himself, or by his
friends for him, the motive is obvious--it was expected that where so
much was expended, perhaps also wasted, some crumbs might come the
beggar's way.

  [95] The name of the poor man is given, while the rich man is left
  nameless. Generally, Christ's kingdom is not of this world, and, in
  particular, it does not imitate this world's kingdoms in throwing
  the common people into anonymous heaps, and recording the names of
  only the great. I saw in an extension of the parish churchyard the
  graves of the two hundred men who perished in the pit accident at
  Hartley a few years ago. They were grouped in families of two,
  three, four, or five, and these family groups were arranged in
  extended rows; but all were nameless. Near them slept the dust of
  the hereditary owners of the soil under monumental marble, loaded
  with statuary and inscriptions. Subjects of Christ's kingdom, "it
  shall not be so among you." Nor is the law which obtains in the
  heavenly the direct reverse of that which obtains in the earthly
  kingdom; it is not the poor, but the "poor in spirit," to whom the
  kingdom of heaven belongs. The names that are recorded in the Lamb's
  book of life are neither those who have nor those who lack this
  world's wealth, but those who are poor in spirit and rich in grace.

"The dogs came and licked his sores;" perhaps the dogs, always plentiful
in eastern cities, that had no master; perhaps the dogs that belonged to
the rich man, and had turned aside to lick the beggar's sores when their
master rode past on the other side, and hid from the sight of misery
within the drapery of his stately mansion. The act attributed to the
dogs accords, as is well known, with their instincts and habits. It is
soothing to the sufferer in the sensations of the moment, and healthful
in its effects. When the beggar's fortunate brother took no notice of
his distress, the dumb brutes did what they could to show their
sympathy. The stroke, though it wears all the simplicity of nature, is
in the parable due to consummate art; the kindness of the brute brings
out in deep relief the inhumanity of man.

"And it came to pass that the beggar died." Towards this point the
narrative hastens. Here on the border is the hinge on which the lesson
turns. The whole parable is constructed and spoken in order to show how
this life bears on eternity; and to make eternity, thus unveiled, bear
reciprocally on the present life. The death of Lazarus happened in the
ordinary course of things: his sufferings came to an end. Not a word of
his dust, whether it was buried, or how. Of design, and with deep
meaning, the body is left unnoticed, and the history of his soul is
continued beyond the boundary of life, as the real and uninterrupted
history of the man: in the same breath and in the same sentence that
intimates his death, we are informed that he was carried by angels into
Abraham's bosom. The dying and the entrance into the rest that remaineth
are expressed in one sentence, the two clauses connected by a copulative
conjunction: the Lord means manifestly to teach us, as he afterwards
taught the repenting malefactor on the cross, that there is no interval
to his people between departing from the body and being with Christ.

Nor did Jesus then reveal the immortality of the soul: the doctrine was
already accepted, and he assumed it in his discourse as a truth known
and acknowledged. Even the resurrection of the body was a commonplace
among the immediate disciples of Jesus during the period of his
ministry: "Thy brother shall rise again," said the Lord to Martha. "I
know that he shall rise again," she replied, "in the resurrection at the
last day:" this was a belief that she previously possessed.

Abraham's bosom, we may assume, was already an expression employed by
the Jews to designate the place of the blessed beyond the grave. It
accords much better with the Lord's purpose and method to suppose that
this phrase and the term paradise, which he afterwards employed to
express the same idea, were adopted by him from the current custom, than
that they were then first introduced.

"The rich man also died and was buried." Here, for once, the rich and
the poor meet together: the beggar died, and the rich man died too. The
same event happened to both, and in both cases the same terms are
employed to record the events; but very remarkable is the difference
introduced immediately after the article of death. What came after death
in the case of Lazarus? He was carried by angels into Abraham's bosom.
What came after death in the case of this rich man? He was buried.
Perhaps as much could not have been said of Lazarus. The rich man was
carried from a sumptuous table to a sumptuous tomb; and the poor man
perhaps had not where to lay his head, when its aching had ceased at
length. It may be that his body did not find a grave. His spirit found
happy rest and holy company; and we can afford therefore to lose sight
of the dissolving dust. First and last the one had excellent earthly
accommodation, and the other had none; but conversely, he who had
neither a house when living nor a tomb when dead, walked with God while
the tabernacle stood, and went to God when it fell; whereas he who made
the earth his portion got nothing for his portion but earth.

It would be a mischievous perversion of the parable to suppose that
because the one was rich he was cast out, and because the other was poor
he was admitted into heaven: the true lesson is in one aspect the
reverse proposition: an ungodly man is in the highest sense poor in
spite of his wealth; and a godly man is in the highest sense rich, in
spite of his poverty.

We enter now, or rather have already entered, the region where the
parable must needs glide, not indeed from the literal into the
metaphorical, but from a foreground where every object is distinctly
seen to a background where the real objects cannot be seen at all, and
where, accordingly, only signals are thrown up to tell what is their
bulk and their bearing. When the line of the instruction goes through
the separating veil and expatiates in the unseen eternity, it must
become dim and indistinct to our vision. The moment that the parable in
its progress goes beyond the sphere of the present life, our effort to
follow it is like the struggle of a living creature out of its element.
Even when the Lord of that unseen world is our instructor, our
conceptions regarding it are necessarily indirect, second hand, and
obscure. In this region the capacity of the scholar is infantile, and,
consequently, the ability of the teacher cannot find scope. While,
therefore, those parts of the parable which lay within our sphere were
direct and literal, the latter portion, lying beyond our sphere, is
necessarily indirect and expressed by signs: consequently, though
sufficiently precise in its larger leading features, it is, in its minor
details, indistinct, inarticulate.

"The beggar died;" this is sufficiently direct and literal: "and was
carried by angels into Abraham's bosom,"--there we are already beyond
our depth. The horizon is dim now, by reason of distance and intervening
clouds. Equally obscure is the other line of information when it has
crossed the boundary of time. The rich man died and was buried; this we
clearly comprehend: but "in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in
torment,"--these are events of the eternal world, shadowed forth in the
language and according to the conceptions of the present. We perceive
the direction in which they lie, and can understand the moral lesson
which they contain, but the things themselves are shrouded from our
intellectual vision in impenetrable darkness. Not perhaps intentionally
in the structure of the parable, but necessarily, on account of the
place where its scene is latterly laid, a veil thicker than that of
allegory is wrapped around it.

In accordance with the use of the word in classic Greek, and of the
corresponding term in the Hebrew Scriptures, we might assume that "hell"
(Hades) only indicates generally the world of spirits, as distinguished
from this life in the body; while the expression "being in torment,"
serves to determine the specific region or condition in that world to
which the rich man was consigned: the term, however, wherever it occurs
in the New Testament, seems to be applied, in point of fact, to the
place of punishment, except in passages that are directly quoted from
the Old Testament. Both were now in the world of spirits; but the beggar
in that world was in Abraham's bosom, and the rich man in torment. Both
spirits near the same time passed from this world by the same narrow
passage; beyond the boundary their paths diverged in opposite
directions. Each went to his own place as certainly and as necessarily
as vapour rises up, and water flows down. The ransomed man entered the
Father's house and joined the company of the holy; the ungodly
gravitated, according to his kind, into the place of woe.

Having lifted up his eyes, "he seeth Abraham afar off and Lazarus in his
bosom, and he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me." Deeper
and deeper into the mystery we are led at every step. While the outline
of the landscape is defined sufficiently for the purpose or affording a
landmark to direct our course, all the lesser objects are entirely
concealed by the distance. We must beware lest, in straining to get a
glimpse of the invisible, we should mistake the flitting shadows that
the unnatural effort sets afloat in the humours of our own eyes for the
veritable objects of the spiritual world.

Here I would fain arrest attention on one guiding and dominating
consideration, which may become a thread to lead us safely through the
labyrinth, saving us the trouble of working out difficult speculations,
and averting from us the danger of injuring ourselves by falls in the
dark. The Lord delivered and the evangelist recorded this parable for
the purpose of teaching, warning, directing, not spirits disembodied in
the other world, but men in the body here. "All things are for your
sakes;" the great Teacher determined all his words and acts by a regard
to the benefit of his people. Even when Lazarus died at Bethany, he said
to his followers, "I am glad for your sakes that I was not there, to the
intent that ye might believe;" his absence led to the resurrection of
Lazarus, and that event, he foresaw, would confirm their faith. So here,
his aim is not to show how much he knows of the separate state, or to
astonish the world by the display of its secrets; it is to give men
while they are in the body those views of the separate state which will
tell most effectually in leading the wicked to repentance, and in
establishing believers in the faith.

Taking the Teacher's aim as the determinating principle in the
interpretation of his discourse, I gather that the dialogue between the
rich man and Abraham does not describe absolutely what is possible and
actually takes place in the world of spirits, as if it were addressed
to an inhabitant of that world, but gives such pictures of it, or signs
regarding it, as are intelligible to an inhabitant of this world, and as
will best bring the realities of the future to bear with beneficial
effect upon the present character of men. By a system of coloured lights
we contrive to warn the conductors of engines on our railways of danger
to be avoided on the one hand, and to intimate the line of safety on the
other. The things regarding which the engineers get instruction are not
within their view. A red or a white light are not like the things in the
distance that are to be dreaded or desired; but a red or a white light
displayed serves the purpose when the things themselves cannot be made
known. There everything is determined with a view to immediate practical
benefit. I think this helps me to grasp the difficult portions of the
parable. The purpose of the Lord was not to display his own knowledge or
gratify our curiosity. He ever acted as the Saviour of the lost; he
never swerved from that aim. It was his meat to do the Father's will,
and to finish his work. In this particular case, accordingly, the object
which he kept in view was not to convey to men in the body the absolute
knowledge of a state, for knowing which their faculties are unfit, but
to convey to them in time such shadows or signals of danger and safety
as the actual state of matters in the unseen world truly suggested, and
in such forms as that living men, from their view-point, and with their
mixed constitution, could comprehend and appreciate.

When this principle is permitted to dominate, the exposition of the
dialogue becomes comparatively both short and easy.

I do not know whether the saved are within view of the lost in a future
state, or whether any communication can pass between them; I only know
that this parabolic picture, constructed as from a view-point within the
present world, is the exhibition best fitted to make the diverse
conditions of the good and the evil beyond the grave effectual to warn
and instruct living men in the body. If any one should curiously inquire
about flame, what is its nature, and how it can hurt a spirit, I can
give no information on the subject, and I can gather none from the
parable. One thing I know, that this representation is a red light hung
out before me, as I am rushing forward on the line of life--hung out to
warn me of danger, and hung out by the hand of him who came to save the
lost. I understand perfectly what the beacon means to me: it is my part
to take the warning which it gives; and, as to the exact state of events
and capabilities in the world to come, I shall learn all when I enter
it. It may be quite true that there is not a flame like that which we
are accustomed to see, and not a body, previous to the resurrection,
that may be burned in it. But he who gave the word is my Friend; and he
is true; I shall trust him. He knows what I understand by a flame; he
knows how I am affected by the thought of the pain which it inflicts.
Knowing all these, he has employed that word in order to apply the
terrors of the Lord for my warning; he has done all things well. The
minute features of the dialogue all serve to give point to the main
conception. The request for a drop of water contributes to bring out the
intensity of the suffering; the answer of Abraham shows that, beyond the
boundary of this life, there is no hope of relief. Jesus Christ came
into the world to save sinners--it was to this world he came; but no
Saviour goes to that other world to win back the lost who have
permitted the day of grace to run out. Christ is the way unto the
Father; but there is no way of passing from death unto life, if the
passage has not been made in this present world.

Interpreting the rich man's intercession for his brothers on the same
principle, I do not know and cannot learn here, whether those who have
passed through death into the next world unsaved, remember the character
of the relatives whom they left behind on earth, or whether, remembering
their condition, they will or can make intercession in their behalf. All
that I gather certainly on the subject from this parable is, that
although a brother may permit his brother to abide in sin without
instruction or reproof, while all are living here and walking by sight;
yet, if the fate that awaits the impenitent were adequately believed and
realized, he who believed and realized it, could not refrain from effort
to arouse the slumberers, and lead them to repentance. Again, as in
previous parts, I am taught here not what I shall wish when I shall be
in the world of spirits, but what I should do now while I am in the body
and under grace. I should get the message sent to every heedless brother
who is wasting his day of grace, while a messenger of flesh and blood
may be found, and there is a way by which I may reach the objects of my
solicitude.

By aid of the same machinery--the dialogue between the rich man and
Abraham--another lesson is brought from the world of spirits to the land
of living men--the lesson that those who refuse to believe and obey
under the means of grace which God has appointed in the Church, would
not be more pliable if prodigies were shown to them by way of overcoming
their unbelief. The conception, although conveyed by the lips of the
rich man after he had gone to his own place, that a miracle of power
would, if it were exhibited, bring alienated hearts submissively back to
God, springs native here in time. It is the deceit with which many sing
themselves to sleep--they would believe if one rose from the dead. There
are two answers to it:--one is, it would not be effectual although it
were granted; and the other is, even though it were fitted to accomplish
the object, it will not be given.

The conclusion of the whole matter is, delays are dangerous; "Now is the
accepted time, now is the day of salvation."

Some lessons still remain, that invite our attention, and will repay it.

1. For mankind, after this life is done, another world remains,
consisting of two opposite spheres or conditions, one of holiness and
happiness, the other of sin and misery. The Jewish people and their
rulers persistently demanded of Jesus that he would show them a sign
from heaven; and this demand he as steadily refused to gratify. Unlike
all false prophets, the Lord Jesus maintained silence in regard to the
particular characteristics of the unseen world; but one thing in
compassionate love he made known with abundant clearness, that there is
an absolute and permanent separation between good and evil in the world
to come, and that there are distinct places of rewards and punishments.

Some people labour hard to shake from their own minds the belief in a
place and state of retribution. To these I would affectionately suggest
that to disbelieve it will not destroy it. Even in Scotland--the narrow
end of an island nowhere very broad--I have met with persons well
advanced in life, of good common education, and good common sense, who
had never seen the sea. Suppose that these persons should have cause
greatly to dread the sea, and should therefore ardently desire that
there were no such thing in existence. Suppose further, that, in the
common way of the world, the wish should become father to the thought,
and that they at last should firmly believe that there is not a sea.
Would their sentiment change the state of the fact? Sinners, to whom the
name and nature of a place of punishment are disagreeable, have no more
power to annihilate the object of their aversion than the shepherds of
the Cheviots to wipe out the sea by a wish. The sea is near those men
though they have never seen it; and, if they were cast into it, they
would perish, notwithstanding their opinion. Ah! the thing which by
God's appointment is, cannot by our arguments be blotted out of being.

2. There is a way from this present life to the place of future misery,
and also a way to the place of future blessedness. The way from this
world to the place of woe was made by man's sin; the way from this world
to the place of rest was made by the incarnation, death, and
resurrection of Christ. By the one way you can glide easily down; by the
other you may climb toilsomely, but surely up. The one goes with the
corrupt affections; the other against them. But let it be remembered
that the way of life, though hard, is not unhappy; the struggle, when
once fairly begun, is a grand, gladsome thing. Forth from this world
there are only two paths; by one or other of these two all men take
their departure; on one or other of these two paths we all are treading
now. We owe it to Christ that a way into safety has been opened for our
sinful world: "I am the way, ... no man cometh unto the Father but by
me."

3. There is no way over from one of these future states to the other.
The great gulf between them is fixed. This is the main fact of the
parable, and hereon its greatest lesson grows. The great gulf is fixed,
and after death none can change his place. This fact we now know without
further revelation, and if we believe it not on the testimony of Jesus,
neither would we believe it although one should rise from the dead to
declare it. This parable, in some of its minute features, is to our
vision necessarily obscure, because the scene is laid in the life to
come, but its main outline is as clearly visible as any temporal object
could be. It teaches with great perspicuity that when immortal spirits,
at the dissolution of the body, are thrown into the eternal world, it is
no longer possible that their place or their condition should be
changed: those who will not learn from this word of Christ that the
condition of the departed is for ever fixed at death will not learn it
in time to profit by the lesson.

4. Our Lord has thus emphatically taught us that there is no possibility
of passing from one state to another beyond the boundary of this life in
order that he may thereby constrain us to make the needful transition
now. The impassable gulf between the saved and the outcast in eternity
is a dreadful sight; it was the compassionate Jesus who drew aside the
curtain and exposed it to view, and it was his great love that moved him
to make this revelation. There is a line that crosses our path a little
way forward from the spot where we stand to-day--a line that divides our
time from our eternity--invisible to our eyes, but known unto God. We
never know as we advance what step of the journey will carry us over
this line. Christ has told us that if we pass it unsaved we cannot
obtain a change of condition beyond it; and he has revealed to us this
truth in order that we might be induced now to make our calling and
election sure. These terrors of the Lord are displayed in order to
persuade men. There is no impassable gulf now between a sinner and the
Saviour; the way is open, and the perennial invitation resounds from the
Gospel, "Come unto me;" but to those who pass from this life without
having obeyed that call, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin, no
more a refuge from judgment.

This word of Christ is not of any private interpretation; it may have
pointed to Herod or to the Pharisees in the first instance, but it was
of the nature of a seed, and its applications multiply a hundred times a
hundred fold down through the history of the world. We may find the rich
man in this land to-day as certainly as in the circle that listened that
day to the preaching of Jesus. We find the counterpart of this picture,
not only in individuals, but in associated churches; and if Christians,
both in their private and corporate capacities, are rich both in
temporal means and spiritual privileges, they need not go far to seek
for the Lazarus who is laid at their gate. Lazarus lies in the streets
and lanes of our opulent cities; and, oh, he is full of sores! For his
sake, for Christ's sake, for our own sake, we must go out and show him
kindness. Dives lost his opportunity,--lost it for ever: we must "haste
to the rescue" lest we lose ours too. If we love the Lord, our love will
stir and burst out and overflow in life. The life that will exercise
itself in Christ-like charity must begin now; and if a new life in the
Lord begin, it will reveal itself in love's labour. If we are bought
with a price and quickened by the Spirit, the beggar at our gate will
soon discover the change. He will not be left longer to the mere
promptings of natural instinct among his neighbours for the soothing of
his sorrows; the warm skilful hand of intelligent and affectionate
brotherhood will raise him up and minister to his wants. Lazarus,
instead of having only a dog to lick his sores, will be compassed about
with human affections, and all his wants supplied. As a diseased,
miserable, neglected lazar world felt the coming of Christ, the poor and
destitute of the world's inhabitants will know when a loving, hopeful
Christian comes within reach. Who touched me? might the huge world have
said, if it had possessed intelligence, when God became man and dwelt
among us. Who touched me? will the outcasts on the earth begin to cry as
they awaken to consciousness, when a revived Church has visited them in
their prison, and brought to them the bread of life.




XXVII.

UNPROFITABLE SERVANTS.


"Then said he unto the disciples, It is impossible but that offences
    will come: but woe unto him, through whom they come! It were better
    for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast
    into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.
    Take heed to yourselves: If thy brother trespass against thee,
    rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive him. And if he trespass
    against thee seven times in a day, and seven times in a day turn
    again to thee, saying, I repent; thou shalt forgive him. And the
    apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith. And the Lord said,
    If ye had faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye might say unto this
    sycamine tree, Be thou plucked up by the root, and be thou planted
    in the sea; and it should obey you. But which of you, having a
    servant plowing or feeding cattle, will say unto him by and by, when
    he is come from the field, Go and sit down to meat? And will not
    rather say unto him, Make ready wherewith I may sup, and gird
    thyself, and serve me, till I have eaten and drunken; and afterward
    thou shalt eat and drink? Doth he thank that servant because he did
    the things that were commanded him? I trow not. So likewise ye, when
    ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, We
    are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to
    do."--LUKE xvii. 1-10.

We are accustomed to observe a connection, more or less intimate,
between the parable and the history that precedes it. Generally, some
recent event, or some question by friend or foe, suggests the
similitude. In almost every case we are able to trace the natural
history, as it were, of the parable,--to determine what feature of the
events or discourses preceding called up the image and gave it shape.
Here the relation between the parable and the antecedent instruction is
closer still: in this case there is not merely a connection, but an
absolute union. The direct and the metaphorical are here successively
employed to enforce one continuous lesson. The lesson is one: the first
portion of it is delivered in simple didactic language, and the second
in parabolic figure. Some instruments are made of two different kinds of
metal, not mixed in the crucible, but each occupying its own separate
place: one part consists of steel, and another of brass, soldered
together, so as to constitute one rod. The nature of the work is such
that steel suits best for one extremity of the tool, and brass for the
other. It is in a similar way that two different forms of speech are
employed here to impart one lesson: the discourse begins with literal
expressions, and ends with a similitude.

The passage 1-10 as a whole, teaches the double truth, That God requires
of men a complete obedience, and that even though a complete obedience
were rendered, the master would not be laid under any obligation--the
servants would have no claim to praise or reward. While the rule towards
the close is made universal, in the beginning the demand is particular
and specific--to bear meekly and forgive generously the injuries which
neighbours may inflict in the multifarious intercourse of life. Besides
the point which constitutes the main scope of the discourse, several
matters of the very highest importance are incidentally involved, and
must be noticed, each in its proper place.

First of all, in order to prepare his disciples for meeting the trials
that lay before them, he warned them that offences will come, and
pronounced a solemn woe on those who should cast them in their
neighbour's way. Looking to his own--alike those who were then in his
sight, and those who should believe on him down to the end of the
world--he calls them, tenderly, little ones, and intimates that it would
go ill with all who should dare to hurt them. This, however, appears to
be laid down as a basis for the lesson which he intended at that time to
teach, rather than the lesson itself. Speaking expressly for the benefit
of his own followers, he was more concerned to teach them how to bear
injuries than to command them to beware of inflicting injuries on
others. The chief part of a Christian's duty consists in bearing well;
and when that part of his duty is successfully performed, it is more
effectual in serving God and convincing men than any kind or degree of
active effort. The disciple is like his Lord in this, that he conquers
by suffering.

Accordingly, the Teacher soon glides from the precept which forbids his
people to inflict injuries, into the precept which teaches how they
should bear injuries inflicted by others. "Take heed to yourselves:"
this is his main design: towards this he was hastening; as a basis for
this word, the previous injunction had been given. But, mark well, it is
not after the manner of men that Jesus warns his disciples to take heed
to themselves. He does not mean that they should be solicitous to
protect themselves from receiving injury: he leaves that to the natural
instincts of self-preservation, and warns them against danger on another
side, where nature supplies no defence. He does not mean, Take heed lest
you suffer by the stroke which an enemy may deal against you; he means,
Take heed lest you sin in spirit and conduct when you suffer unjustly.
You suffer one injury when a neighbour treats you unfairly: and another
when you proudly, impatiently retaliate. The loss that you thus inflict
on yourself is far heavier than the loss which has been inflicted by a
neighbour: the little finger of the one damage is thicker than the loins
of the other.

After the outpouring of the Spirit at the Pentecost, we find these
scholars far advanced in this lesson, which their Master taught them
while he remained at their head. The believers of those days had,
especially in the persons of Peter and John, been cruelly persecuted by
the Jewish authorities, and when they met after their suffering to pray,
their petition ran: "And now, Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant
unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word" (Acts
iv. 29). An injury had been inflicted: they innocently suffered; and
observe what in these circumstances they feared: not more suffering, but
lest by the suffering they should be tempted to be silent or wavering
when called to be witnesses of Christ. Not the pain they endured, but
the right state of their own spirits under the endurance, exercised
their minds, and stimulated their prayers.

We must not suppose, however, that the Lord has commanded his disciples
to bear injuries as a clod bears blows. Mere softness in yielding to the
wicked is not a Christian grace; it is, on the contrary, a mischievous
indolence: it suffers sin upon a brother: it deprives him of the benefit
of reproof, and so encourages him to continue in his sin. "If thy
brother trespass against thee, rebuke him; and if he repent, forgive
him." This Teacher does not obliterate the lines which separate
righteousness from unrighteousness. He enjoins tenderness: but much as
he loves to see that feature in his disciples, he places it second to
faithfulness. The order of precedence as regards these two has been
determined by royal ordinance--"first pure, then peaceable." "Have salt
in yourselves, and have peace one with another," said the Lord at
another time (Mark ix.), plainly giving faithfulness the first place,
and requiring that gentleness should press hard up behind. Rebuke the
brother who does a wrong to you; if under your reproof and the working
of the truth on his conscience, he be led to repentance and confession,
forgive him in your heart, and express your forgiveness, that he may be
encouraged and relieved. The precept "forgive" must, from the nature of
the case, refer to the articulate expression of forgiveness; for in his
heart and before God, a Christian forgives his enemy, although that
enemy continue obdurate.

Next comes the precept, given in similar terms already in another place
(Matt. xviii. 15-22), regarding the repetition of injuries. The duty of
forgiving a repenting injurer is not modified by the frequency of his
sin; the form of the expression "seven times in a day," is manifestly
intended to intimate that there is on that side absolutely no limit. It
is not the part of a Christian to count the number of the injuries he
has received, and to refuse forgiveness after a certain point; it is his
part to be of a forgiving spirit, and to give forth forgiveness to all
like the sunlight. The example of the Lord is the pattern for his
servants; "Love one another as I have loved you."

The conception of unlimited forgiving, which in Matthew's narrative is
expressed by "seventy times seven," is here with equal emphasis
expressed by "seven times in a day." When we understand the terms as a
formula for an indefinite number, we exclude the minute question, How
could we believe a man sincere, who should seven times in a day do us an
injury, and as often come and express sorrow for his fault? The words
should not be literally taken; and besides if any one should trifle with
his neighbour by frequent and manifestly false professions of
repentance, his meaning would and should be read, not by his words, but
by his conduct; the rule would and should be understood in its spirit,
and not in its letter merely.

Ver. 5. "And the apostles said unto the Lord, Increase our faith." An
interesting and instructive view emerges here, of the relation between
faith and practice. When they heard the measure of the demand which
their Master made upon them in the matter of bearing and forgiving
injuries, the apostles felt instantly that the weight was heavier than
they could bear. They had not in their hearts such an amount of patience
and love, as would enable them to fulfil this commandment of the Lord.
Having already learned that faith is the secret fountain whence the
stream of obedience flows, they asked with equal simplicity and
correctness that their faith might be increased. In this short prayer
they assumed, first, that they already believed, asking for an addition
to the faith which they already possessed; and second, that it is more
faith that will produce more obedience; and third, that the faith which
worketh by love is not of themselves, but is the gift of God through his
Son. In all this, having been secretly taught of the Spirit, these
apostles are deeply intelligent, and completely correct. The appetites
are generally sure guides to living creatures for the sustenance of
their life; and here the appetite of the new creature, points surely to
the source of supply: "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after
righteousness, for they shall be filled."

Both in the request of the scholars (ver. 5), and in the answer of the
Master (ver. 6), it is distinctly assumed as a fundamental truth in
religion, that faith lies at the root of obedience. When a requisition
is made upon them for an amount of meek endurance and forgiving love
which their own stores cannot supply, they cry not directly for more
power of enduring and forgiving, but for more faith which will
strengthen them on this side, and on all other sides at the same time.
It is as if you had a cistern meant to supply twelve streams, running in
various directions, from whose lip twelve conduits were accordingly led:
and when water from one of these was suddenly wanted, you opened it but
found that little or none could be obtained. You cry out for a new
supply to the cistern; that supply given will fill this channel which is
for the the moment in requisition, and all the other channels at the
same time. Endurance and forgiving--more than we are able to bear and
bestow--are at this moment required of us; but if we had more faith, we
should exhibit more of these graces, and more of all graces.

The Lord in his answer acknowledges that their inference is correct. By
another form of expression, similar in character to the "seven times in
a day," he intimates that faith possesses an unlimited power of
production in the department of doing. To intensify the result he
employs a double hyperbole, as engineers employ two pairs of wheels to
generate extreme rapidity of motion; the smallest spark of faith will
overcome the greatest obstacles that may lie across a Christian's path.
Again, the same idea which appeared before in Matt. xvii. 20, is
expressed here by a different figure: in both cases the Lord intends to
intimate that what without faith is impossible, may with faith be done.
In Matthew the impossible is represented by the removal of a mountain;
in Luke by the planting of a sycamore in the sea. By these forms our
Teacher conveys his meaning with amazing distinctness. The letters of
his lessons thus sharply, deeply cut, remain indeed dead letters to
those who have not experienced the grace of God; as letters of a book,
the largest and loveliest lie meaningless before the eyes of a savage or
a little child; but in either case, as soon as the scholar becomes
capable of understanding, the meaning shines forth like light. It would
be a great transition from our present position of impotence, if we
should become able to remove a mountain, or plant a sycamore in the sea;
such and so great is the transition when a man passes from death in sin
to life in Christ; such and so great the difference between what he
could bear, and hope, and do while he was at enmity with God, and what
he can bear, and hope, and do when he is reconciled to God through the
death of his Son.

The particular requirement which on this occasion put the faith of the
disciples under a strain greater than it was able to meet, was the
endurance and the forgiving of injuries; but this Scripture must not be
limited to a private interpretation; this is a specimen shown in
illustration of a general rule. There are diversities of operation,
under the providence of God our Father; now the faith of Christians is
tested in one way, and then in another. At one time they are called
actively to do a great work; and at another time passively to bear a
great burden. The work required of one disciple is a mission to the dark
places of the earth; and the work required of another is to bear
patiently many years of pain and weariness, in his own home, it may be
on his own bed. By both alike the kingdom of Christ may be advanced:
from both equally when they are bruised,--the one by great effort, and
the other by a heavy weight,--the odour of a holy temper may be diffused
all around.

We are not masters; we are servants. The Lord appoints to each his
place, and his work.

       *       *       *       *       *

The lesson now passes into the parable. When he had pointed out how
great is God's claim, and how large faith's performance might become in
the life of a disciple, Jesus warns them, on the other side, that the
greatest possible, the greatest conceivable attainment in the direction
of a believing obedience, implies absolutely no independent merit in
man; obedience, although it reached the utmost point of perfection,
would still leave God indebted to man for nothing, and man indebted to
God for all.

"But which of you having a servant ploughing or feeding cattle." The
state of society which supplies the ground-work of this parable is in
many respects different from that which prevails in modern Europe. It is
especially important here to notice the difference in these two
features:--

1. It is a simple pastoral life that constitutes the basis of this
picture. The principle of division of labour exists there in its lowest
stages of development. It is assumed as a common and proper thing to
employ a shepherd or a ploughman in serving his master at table--a
practice entirely unknown among us. 2. The servitude in the instance
supposed was not a voluntary limited engagement, but a species of
slavery: the master's control was much more absolute and complete than
it is among us. The servant's toil might be, and probably in many cases
actually was, on the whole, not heavier than that to which our hired
servants are subjected; but the measure of the labour, both as to its
endurance and its severity, depended there on the master's will rather
than on the servant's freedom. The master, under the species of relation
which then largely prevailed, could demand of his servant on occasion an
amount and continuity of service which now is not demanded on the one
side, and would not be rendered on the other.

It should be noticed, however, that the service which is in the parable
required and rendered, is both in character and quantity extreme. An
ordinary example of a servant's work would not have suited the purpose
of the Lord; he needed a line stretched to its utmost limits. His
purpose is to teach that the utmost conceivable amount of obedience on
man's part is not independently meritorious before God; and, in
searching among temporal things for a suitable analogy, he selected a
case in which the line stretched from one extremity to the other.

When the servant has finished his day's work on the pasture or in the
field, at his return, and before he obtain either rest or food, he is
compelled to wait upon his master at table. Even this extreme measure of
work is required by the master and rendered by the servant as within the
limits of their respective rights: the servant even in that case has
done no more than was due.

"So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all these things which are
commanded you, say, We are unprofitable servants."

God has given all, owns all, has a right to all. We are his by right of
creation, and his by redemption, when we are in Christ. Christians are
not their own; they are bought with a price. Themselves, and their
faculties, and their capabilities belong to God, their Creator and
Redeemer. When they have rendered all their powers, and all the product
of these powers, absolutely up to God's will, they have done no more
than rendered to him his own. "Will a man rob God? yet ye have robbed
me" (Mal. iii. 8). It is an aggravated sin to rob God of what is his;
but it is no merit or ground of praise simply to refrain from robbing
him; and this is all that the creature's obedience would amount to,
although it were complete.

Our Master ordinarily makes our work easy; he is gentle, and easy to be
entreated. "As a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them
that fear him:" but at his pleasure, and doubtless in deep ways for
their good, he sometimes lays extraordinary burdens on his own. He may
permit offences to come, trying your temper; he may permit sickness to
overtake you, trying your patience; he may permit temptations to assail
you, trying your faith even at its foundations; he may require of you
great and varied activity, trying your willingness to run at his call.
These burdens seem heavy, as the master's demand of service in the house
seemed heavy to the servant when he returned weary and hungry from field
labour; but although we should bear them all with complete uncomplaining
alacrity, we should acquire thereby no right to reward.

There is absolutely no such thing as a surplus of merit in man. The
imagination of it has ever been rife in man-made religions, as weeds
spring thick and spontaneous from the ground; but never and nowhere is
there any substantial foundation for this human conceit. It springs in
the deepest ignorance, and it withers when the light of knowledge begins
to shine. It rests on an entire misapprehension of the relations between
God and man. If a man on ship-board, thinking that the ship was about to
sink, on account of being too heavily loaded, should grasp the shrouds,
and hang on them with all his weight, by way of lightening the ship, the
bystanders would count him fatuous; and yet such is the folly of him
who, getting all from God, imagines that he has conferred on God a
favour by a surplus of goodness. I have seen grown people, in possession
of all their faculties, able to read, if not further educated, when, in
crossing a river by a ferry, they apprehended danger, applying both
their hands to the side of the boat in which they stood, and, pushing
with all their might, in order to push it towards a place of safety.
This implies the grossest ignorance, or at least the total forgetfulness
for the time of the most obvious and ordinary of the natural laws; and
yet I have found that these persons had quite enough of wit to manage
all their ordinary affairs, and to get along respectably in society. I
think there is some analogy between this case and the case of those who,
intelligent on other points, yet blindly imagine that they merit praise
for not squandering God's gifts that have been placed under their care.

"When ye have done all, say, We are unprofitable servants"--servants
whom the master did not need, and who contribute nothing to him. The
question whether the Lord conceded that in point of fact any man ever
does perfectly perform all his duty is out of place here; The Lord's
meaning is, even although a man should do all, he would still be
destitute of merit before God; much more are those destitute of merit
who come far short of perfection, and to this class belong all, even the
best of the children of men.

Means and opportunities of bearing evil and doing good are in providence
conceded to every one of us; and the law announced in another parable
holds good here; If we improve aright the talents which we possess, more
will forthwith be entrusted to us.

There is room for advancement; and, when grace is begun, it is sweet to
grow in grace. If we had power to add cubit by cubit to our stature, we
should have far to grow ere our head should strike the heavens; and in
bearing meekly, and acting righteously, and living purely, we have room
enough to expand: it will be long ere we have done all, and so our
progress be stopped by striking the boundary. Forgetting the things that
are behind, and reaching forth to those that are before, we may press on
and ever on; yet there is room.

Nor let any one think that bearing and doing God's will must be less
blessed when we learn that God did not need this at our hand, and that
we do not thereby lay him under obligation to us. When one is truly
taught of the Spirit, it will increase and not diminish the pleasure
which he enjoys in obedience, to learn that all he is, and has, and
does, comes from God. A dependent is happier than an independent
position for human beings, if he on whom they hang is great and good.
The life of a child is happiest during the period when he has no
possession of his own, and desires none,--when he gets all as he needs
from his father; on this side, as well as on others, we must receive the
kingdom as a little child.

Here is a little stream trickling down the mountain side. As it
proceeds, other streams join it in succession from the right and left
until it becomes a river. Ever flowing, and ever increasing as it flows,
it thinks it will make a great contribution to the ocean when it shall
reach the shore at length. No, river, you are an unprofitable servant;
the ocean does not need you; could do as well and be as full without
you; is not in any measure made up by you. True, rejoins the river, the
ocean is so great that all my volume poured into it makes no sensible
difference; but still I contribute so much, and this, as far as it goes,
increases the amount of the ocean's supply. No: this indeed is the
seeming to the ignorant observer on the spot; but whoever obtains deeper
knowledge and a wider range, will discover and confess that the river
is an unprofitable servant to the sea--that it contributes absolutely
nothing to the sea's store. From the ocean came every drop of water that
rolls down in that river's bed, alike those that fell into it in rain
from the sky, and those that flowed into it from tributary rivers, and
those that sprang from hidden veins in the earth. Even although it
should restore all, it gives only what it received. It could not flow,
it could not be, without the free gift of all from the sea. To the sea
it owes its existence and power. The sea owes it nothing; would be as
broad and deep although this river had never been. But all this natural
process goes on, sweetly and beneficently, notwithstanding: the river
gets and gives; the ocean gives and gets. Thus the circle goes round,
beneficent to creation, glorious to God.

Thus, in the spiritual sphere,--in the world that God has created by the
Spirit of his Son, circulations beautiful and beneficent continually
play. From him, and by him, and to him are all things. To the saved man
through whom God's mercy flows, the activity is unspeakably precious: to
him the profit, but to God the praise.




XXVIII.

THE IMPORTUNATE WIDOW.


"And he spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to
    pray, and not to faint: saying, There was in a city a judge, which
    feared not God, neither regarded man: and there was a widow in that
    city; and she came unto him, saying, Avenge me of mine adversary.
    And he would not for a while: but afterwards he said within himself,
    Though I fear not God, nor regard man; yet because this widow
    troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she
    weary me. And the Lord said, Hear what the unjust judge saith. And
    shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto
    him, though he bear long with them? I tell you that he will avenge
    them speedily. Nevertheless when the Son of man cometh; shall he
    find faith on the earth?"--LUKE xviii. 1-8.

Among the parables this one is signalized by the distinctness with which
its object is announced at the commencement, and the principle of its
interpretation at the close. No room is left here for diversity of
opinion regarding the lesson which the Lord intended to teach, or the
manner in which the parable should be expounded. The design is expressed
in verse first; the rule of interpretation in verses sixth and seventh.
Why did the Master tell this story to his disciples? To teach them "that
men ought to pray always, and not to faint." How may this lesson be
derived from it? As the widow by her unremitting cry obtained her desire
from the judge, God's own redeemed children will obtain from their
Father in heaven all that they need, if they ask it eagerly,
persistently, unwearyingly.

When we rightly comprehend the design of the parable, the difficulty
connected with the bad character of the judge at once disappears. It was
necessary to go to a corrupt tribunal in order to find a suitable case;
a pure judgment seat supplies no such example. In certain circumstances
you might gather from a dunghill a medicinal herb which cleaner ground
would never bear. The grain which becomes our bread grows best when its
roots are spread in unseen corruption; and so perfect is the chemistry
of nature, that the yellow ears of harvest retain absolutely no taint of
the putrescence whence they sprung. Thus easily and perfectly the Lord
brings lessons of holiness from examples of sin. He pauses not to
apologize or explain: majestically the instruction advances, like the
processes of nature, until the unrighteousness of man defines and
illustrates the mercy of God.

It is not by accident,--it is by choice that this seed of the word is
sown on filthy ground: it is sown there, because it will grow best
there. The experience of a righteous human tribunal does not supply the
material of this lesson. Where the presiding judge is just, a poor
injured widow will obtain redress at once, and her perseverance will
never be put to the test. The characteristic feature of the case which
the Lord needed, was a persistent, unyielding perseverance in the cry
for redress; for such a case he must go to a court where law does not
regulate the judge, but where the judge for his own ease or interest
makes his own law. The feature of Christ's teaching which most arrested
intelligent listeners in his own day, was its inherent, self-evidencing
majesty. Instead of seeking props, it stood forth alone, obviously
divine. He taught with authority, and not as the scribes. Here is an
example of that simple supremeness that is at once a witness to itself.
He compares explicitly and broadly the method of God's dealing, as the
hearer of prayer, with the practice of a judge who is manifestly vile
and venal. Nor is a word of explanation or apology interposed. He who
thus simply brings sweet food from noisome carrion, has all power in
heaven and in earth; His ways are not as our ways, nor his thoughts as
our thoughts.

As he needed for his purpose an example of judicial corruption, examples
lay ready to his hand in human history; especially in the practice of
oriental empires, ancient and modern, it is easy to find cases in which
the supreme authority, civil and criminal, is vested in a deputy who
habitually sacrifices justice to his own ease or interest.

The thorough badness of this judge, although stated distinctly, is
stated briefly; it is not made prominent in the parable, and should not
be made prominent in the interpretation of the parable. That badness on
both sides, towards God and man, is I apprehend not introduced here for
its own sake, but for the sake of a particular effect that resulted from
it;--the frequent, persevering appeals of the widow for redress. This is
the thing that is needed and used in the Lord's lesson; and although the
injustice of the judge stands distinctly out on the face of the parable,
it is like the forest tree in the vineyards of Italy, used only to hold
up the vine. Earnest, repeated, unyielding appeal by a needy, feeble
suppliant before the throne of power;--this is the fruit which is
precious for the Teacher's purpose, and the hollow heart of the
epicurean judge is employed only as the trunk to bear it. When it has
held up that fruit to be ripened, itself may be thrown away.

At certain points in frequented routes through romantic scenery it is
customary to fire a gun in order to afford the tourists an opportunity
of hearing the echoes answering each other in the neighbouring
mountains. The explosion is in place nearest, in time first, and as to
sound loudest, but this the most articulate and arrestive fact is
employed exclusively for the purpose of producing the subsequent and
more distant echo. The explosion is instantly dismissed from the mind
and attention concentrated on the reverberation which it called forth.
The conduct of the judge in this parable stands precisely in the place
of that explosion. When it has produced the widow's importunity it is of
no further use; it must be thrown aside.

Let us hear now the interpretation,--"And the Lord said, Hear what the
unjust judge saith," &c. God's own chosen and redeemed people correspond
to the suppliant widow in the parable. They are like her in her
suffering and her weakness; they should be like her too in her
unintermittent, persevering cry.

Like other similar lessons, this one bears equally on the Church as a
body, and on an individual Christian. The Church collective, in times of
persecution, and a soul surrounded by temptations, stand equally in the
place of the poor widow; they are in need and in danger. They have no
resources in themselves; help must come from one that is mighty. It is
their interest to plead with him who has all power in heaven and in
earth,--to plead as men plead for life.

The lesson here is very specific; it bears on one point, and in order
that all its force may be concentrated on one point, others are for the
time omitted. This parable is not spoken with the view of teaching that
Christians ought to pray; that duty is assumed here, not enjoined.
Neither does it prescribe what the suppliant should ask, or on whose
merits he should lean. Taking for granted all these things which the
Scriptures elsewhere explicitly teach, the Master in this lesson
confines his attention to one thing,--perseverance in prayer when the
answer does not come at first, perseverance and pertinacity aye and
until the object is attained.

It is expressly intimated in the narrative that there is sometimes a
long, and from our view-point inexplicable delay. This is the meaning of
the expression "though he bear long with them." This phrase is not taken
here in its ordinary signification,--an endurance of injuries; it means
that he holds back long, and resists their pressure for relief.

Here are the two sides over against each other: they cry day and night,
and he, hearing their continuous cry, refrains from bestowing the relief
for which they passionately plead. As God keeps back the answer, they
redouble the cry; as they redouble the cry, God still withholds the
answer. Expressly we are informed he will give answer; he will avenge
his own elect. The eternal Father treasures up all the supplications of
his children, and he will yet give them deliverance. When his time comes
the deliverance will be complete; but in the meantime the interesting
inquiry presents itself, Why does he delay at all? In the light of
Scripture we are able to give a satisfactory answer to this inquiry.

The reason why the widow's claims were left long unsettled in the court
was the self-pleasing indolence of the judge. The love of his own ease
was the motive that induced him both to refuse redress at first and to
grant it afterwards. He refused to avenge her until he perceived that to
do her justice would afford him less trouble than to withhold it. In the
treatment which the petitions of the elect receive at the throne of God
there is nothing in common with the conduct of the unjust judge, except
the delay. The fact that the petitions lie for some time unanswered is
common to both tribunals, but on all other points they are wholly
diverse, and even the single feature of coincidence springs in the two
cases from opposite grounds.

When God withholds the deliverance for which his children plead he acts
with wisdom and love combined. It would be, so to speak, easier for a
father who is at once rich and benevolent to comply immediately and
fully with all the child's demands; it requires and exercises a deeper,
stronger love to leave the child crying and knocking for a time in vain
that the bounty given at the proper time may in the end be a greater
boon. I once knew two men who lived near each other in similar worldly
circumstances, but adopted opposite methods in the treatment of their
children. The boys of this family obtained money from their father when
they asked it, and spent it according to their own pleasure, without his
knowledge or control: the boys of that family often asked, but seldom
received a similar supply. The father who frequently thwarted his
children's desires loved his children more deeply, and as the result
showed, more wisely than the father who could not summon courage
sufficient to say No. The wise parent bore with his own when they
pleaded for some dangerous indulgence, and the bearing wounded his
tender heart; but by reason of his greater love, he bore the pain of
hearing their cry without granting their request. The other parent was
too indolent and self-pleasing to endure such a strain, and he lived to
taste bitter fruit from the evil seed which his own hand had sown.

For the same reason, and in the same manner, our Father in heaven bears
with his own when they cry night and day to him for something on which
their hearts are set. Because he loves us he endures to hear our cry and
see our tears. We do not certainly know what thorn it was that
penetrated Paul's flesh, but we know that it pained him much, that he
eagerly desired to be quit of it, and that he besought the Lord thrice
to take it away. From the fact that the child pleaded three times for
the same boon, we learn that the Father bore with him awhile,--bore, so
to speak, the pain of refusing, because he knew that the refusal was
needful for Paul. The thorn was left in the flesh until its discipline
was done, and then it was plucked out by a strong and gentle hand. "My
grace is sufficient for thee:" there are no thorns in Paul's flesh now.

The case of the Syro-Phoenician woman (Matt. xv. 21-28) runs parallel
with this as well as with the "Friend at midnight." Mark how the Lord
bore with the woman. He delighted in her faith; it was his happiness to
give, and yet he refused; in denying her he denied himself. But by
withholding a while, he kindled her love into a brighter, stronger
flame. By refusing what she asked, he reduplicated her asking; this is
sweet to him and profitable to her. By the long delay on his part and
the consequent eager repetition of the request on her part, a richer
boon was prepared and bestowed. Her appetite was greatly quickened, and
her satisfying was more full. Who shall be filled most abundantly from
the treasures of divine mercy at last? Those who hungered and thirsted
most for these treasures in the house of their pilgrimage.

Think of the plainness of this lesson, and the authority which it
possesses. Its meaning cannot be mistaken; we know what is spoken here,
and we know who speaks. Hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good?
The only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father, he hath
declared him. Show us the Father, said Philip, and it sufficeth us; here
Christ, in answer to his disciples' prayer, is showing the Father.

To reveal the Father's heart he spoke this parable. The helpless, needy
woman came and came again, and cried, and would take no refusal, until
the judge was compelled by her importunity to grant her request: and
this is the picture chosen by the Lord Jesus when he desires to show how
God regards suppliant disciples as they plead at his footstool. It is an
amazing revelation, and the best of it is its truth. He who gave it has
authority to speak. The Son will not misrepresent the Father; the
Father's honour is safe in this Teacher's hands. We learn here, then,
that the Hearer of prayer puts himself in the power of a suppliant. He
permitted Jacob to wrestle, and the firmer he felt the grasp the more he
loved the wrestler. The words, "I will not let thee go except thou bless
me," dropping in broken fragments from his lips at intervals as he
paused and panted, were sweeter than angels' songs in the ears of the
Lord of Hosts. He is the same still, as he is in the New Testament
revealed by Jesus. The spirit in man that will take no denial is his
special delight; the spirit that asks once and ceases he cannot away
with. As the Lord loveth a cheerful giver, he loveth too an eager
persevering asker. The door seems narrow, but its narrowness was not
meant to keep us out; they please him best who press most heavily on its
yielding sides. "The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the
violent take it by force." The King of Glory feels well pleased the
warriors' onset,--gladly welcomes the conqueror in.

It is indeed blessed to give: but the giver's blessedness is greatly
marred by the listlessness of the needy creatures on whom he has
bestowed his bounty. If they who need and get the goodness are
insensible, and cold, and ungrateful, the joy of the benefactor is
proportionally diminished. It is thus with "the giving God." When the
receiver values the bounty, the delight of the bestower is increased.
Thus the Lord Jesus was specially pleased as he healed the daughter of
the Syro-Phoenician mother because she gave evidence by her
importunity how much she valued the boon; and, on the other hand, his
plaintive question, "Where are the nine?" when the lepers took their
cure so lightly, shows that he did not much enjoy the act of healing
because the diseased made light both of their ailment and their cure.

Come near, press hard, open your mouth wide, pray without ceasing; for
this is the kind of asking that the great Giver loves. Unforgiven sin on
the conscience keeps the sinful distant, and Satan calls the silence
modesty. It is not; they most honour God who show by their importunity
in asking that they value his gifts.

While it is true that prayer should be a continuous fulness in the
heart, ever pressing outward and upward, flowing wherever it can find an
opening, it is not specifically that characteristic to which this
parable points. This is not the lesson, "In everything by prayer and
supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto
God:" the lesson here points not to the breadth of a whole spiritual
life, but to the length of one line that runs through it. Whatever it be
that a disciple desires, and is bent upon obtaining, he should ask not
once, or twice, or twenty times, but ask until he obtain it; or until he
die with the request upon his lips: and in that case he will get his
desire, and more. Trust in God: trust in his love. He who has not spared
his own Son, how shall he not with him freely give us all things? Do not
deem that delay is proof of his indifference. Delaying to bestow is not
proof of indifference in God; but ceasing to ask is proof of
indifference in man. Christ assures us he will give: that should induce
us to continue asking.

Give me these links--1. Sense of need; 2. Desire to get; 3. Belief that
God has it in store; 4. Belief that though he withholds awhile, he loves
to be asked; and 5. Belief that asking will obtain;--give me these
links, and the chain will reach from earth to heaven, bringing heaven
all down to me, or bearing me up into heaven.

While it is right to generalize the lesson, as we have already done, it
is our duty also to notice the special form of the widow's prayer and
the Lord's promise: in both cases it is vengeance against an adversary.
The pleading is that the enemy who wronged the widow should be punished
by the hand of power: the promise is that God will avenge his chosen
ones, who cry to him.

The case is clearly one in which the weak are overpowered by an
adversary too strong for them: unable to defend themselves, or strike
down their foe, they betake themselves to God in prayer. The ailment is
specific; such also is the request. Do justice upon this enemy--rid me
of his oppression and his presence.

Ah, when a soul feels sin's power a bondage, and sin's presence a
loathsome defilement;--when a soul so oppressed flees to the Saviour for
deliverance, the Lord will entertain the case, and grant redress. He
will avenge. "The God of peace will bruise Satan under your feet
shortly."

No cry that rises from earth to heaven sounds so sweetly in the ear of
God as the cry for vengeance upon the enemy of souls. When there is
peace between man and his destroyer, the closet is silent, and no groan
of distress from the deep beats against the gate of heaven. This is not
what Jesus loves. He came not to send this peace on earth, or in heaven;
he came to send a sword. His errand was to produce a deadly quarrel
between the captive soul and the wicked one, its captivator. When the
cry rises, broken and stifled, but eager, as uttered by one engaged in
deadly strife--when the cry, "Avenge me," rises from earth, God in
heaven hears it well pleased. He delights when his people, hating the
adversary of their souls, ask him for vengeance; and he will grant it.
Long to the struggling combatant the battle seems to last, but speedily,
according to God's just reckoning, the avenging stroke will fall. If
there is delay it is but for a moment, and because this added moment of
conflict will make the everlasting victory more sweet.

It is worthy of notice, incidentally, that where an indolent judge, in
order to avoid trouble, gives a just sentence to-day, he may, from the
same motive, give an unjust sentence to-morrow. He who taught this
lesson, knowing all that should befall himself, and hastening forward to
his final suffering, knew well that deepest sorrow may spring from the
selfishness of an unjust judge which happened for that time to bring
deliverance to the widow. Pilate was precisely such a magistrate.
Neither fear of God nor regard for man was the ultimate reason that
determined his decision: the love of his own ease and safety was the
hinge on which his judgment turned. He was disposed to do justly rather
than unjustly in the case, when the Jewish rulers dragged Jesus to his
bar. He would have pronounced a righteous judgment if that course had
seemed to promise greater or equal advantage to himself. But the priests
and people were, like this widow, very importunate and persevering.
"Crucify him, crucify him," they cried. "Why, what evil hath he done?"
"Crucify him, crucify him," rose again in a sound like the voice of many
waters from the heaving throng. "Shall I release Jesus?" interposed the
irresolute Pilate; "Away with this man, and give us Barabbas," was the
instant reply. "Shall I crucify your king?" said Pilate, making yet
another effort to escape the toils that were closing round him; but this
fence laid him open to the heaviest blow of all: "If thou let this man
go, thou art not Cæsar's friend." He gave way at last: by their
continual coming they wearied him, and he abandoned the innocent to
their will.

Thus the unjust as well as the just judgment seat has two sides. Jesus
gave the safe side to the poor widow, and accepted the other for
himself. He became poor that we might be rich: he was condemned that we
might be set free.




XXIX.

THE PHARISEE AND THE PUBLICAN.


"And he spake this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that
    they were righteous, and despised others: Two men went up into the
    temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. The
    Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that
    I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even
    as this publican. I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all
    that I possess. And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift
    up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast,
    saying, God be merciful to me a sinner. I tell you, this man went
    down to his house justified rather than the other: for every one
    that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself
    shall be exalted."--LUKE xviii. 9-14.

In this parable two great classes are represented, not by symbols, but
by specimens. Self-righteous men are here represented by a
self-righteous man, and repenting sinners by a repenting sinner. The
instruction is communicated, not obliquely by a figure, but directly by
a fact. The quality of the harvest is shown by samples taken from the
heap.

If allegory were deemed an essential ingredient of a parable, this
lesson of the Lord would necessarily be excluded from the list; but I am
not disposed to adopt such a narrow and artificial definition. Taking a
general view of its substance, rather than making a minute inspection of
its form, I accept the Pharisee and the publican as a parable according
to the common consent of the Church.

It is almost entirely free from critical and exegetical difficulties: he
may run who reads its lesson.

In announcing the class of persons for whose reproof it was spoken, the
evangelist at the outset supplies us with a key that opens all its
meaning:--"Certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous
and despised others," were clustering round the Teacher, and mingling
with his disciples. He spoke this parable for the purpose of crushing
their pride: he will not suffer sin upon them. For their instruction and
reproof, these examples are selected and described.

It is not necessary to suppose that the parable pointed exclusively to
those who were Pharisees, or exclusively to those who were not: it
concerned all who were self-righteous, to whatever sect they externally
belonged. We know that within the circle of Christ's devoted followers
much of this spirit still lingered. Peter enumerated the sacrifices
which he and his comrades had made for their Master, and bluntly
demanded what reward they might expect for their fidelity. It is
expressly to his own disciples that the Lord, on another occasion,
addresses the warning, "Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is
hypocrisy." For our benefit, then, even though we be true
Christians--for our benefit, and not only for some particular sect, is
this instruction given.

"Two men went up into the temple to pray." The temple was the
acknowledged place of prayer; to it the devout Jews went at the hour of
prayer, if they were near; toward it they looked if they were distant.
The appointment was a help to prayer in the preparatory dispensation: it
would be a hindrance if it were maintained still. Not in that one place,
but in all places, the true worshippers pray to the Father.

"The one a Pharisee, and the other a publican." The two characters are
represented in deep relief: there is no confusion, and no ambiguity.
Each is exhibited in his own colour, and the two are sharply
distinguished from each other.

Nor are these two men in all their features diverse: there are points of
likeness as well as of difference. It is as profitable to observe
wherein they are like as wherein they are unlike. The distinction does
not lie in that the one was good while the other was bad: both were
evil, and perhaps it would be safe to say, both alike evil. In the end,
the one was a sinner forgiven, and the other a sinner unforgiven; but at
the beginning both and both equally were sinners. Their sins as to
outward form were diverse; but in essential character the sinfulness was
in both the same. The Pharisee said and did not; the publican neither
said nor did. The Pharisee pretended to a righteousness which he did not
possess; the publican neither professed righteousness nor possessed it.
While one maintained the form of godliness, but denied its power, the
other denied both the form and the power of godliness. At first there is
nothing to determine our choice between the two men as to their state
before God: the one was a hypocrite, and the other a worldling. Both
alike need pardon, and to both alike pardon is offered in the Gospel.
"The blood of Christ cleanseth us from all sin;" but no effort of our
own will cleanse us from any. With the forgiveness that comes through
Christ, the Pharisee would have been accepted; but wanting it, the
publican would have been cast out. The hinge on which the essential
distinction between these two men turned was not the different
quantities of sin which they had severally committed, but the opposite
grounds on which they severally placed their trust.[96]

  [96] There is a strong resemblance between this pair and the two
  sons who were severally asked by their father to work in his
  vineyard.--Parable X.

Both go at the same time to the same place to pray, and both adopt in
the main the same attitude in this exercise; they stood while they
prayed. This was the ordinary attitude; but kneeling and prostration
were also practised. Each of these postures has its own peculiar
appropriateness; either is a seemly and a Scriptural method of bringing
the position of the body into significant harmony with the desire of the
soul. Among those attitudes which are true and right, we are at liberty
to adopt that which is in our circumstances most convenient and seemly.
Alas! there has always been a tendency in man to lay a yoke upon himself
and his fellow. Why should we judge one another where our Master has
left us free? We may safely lay it down as an absolute rule, without
stipulating for even a single exception, that the best position for
praying in is the position in which we can best pray.[97]

  [97] This question has begun of late to attract a considerable
  measure of attention in the Presbyterian Churches of this country.
  It needs a wise treatment, and, alas! we lack wisdom. For
  convenience and order, all the members of a worshipping assembly
  ought evidently to adopt the same method; but this is not a matter
  for arbitrary ecclesiastical enactment. The Pharisee and the
  publican both stood while they prayed; but their prayers seem to
  have been short. To enact that the congregation must stand during
  prayer, and then to keep them praying for twenty minutes or
  half-an-hour, which is sometimes done, seems to be in effect turning
  prayer into penance.

"The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee,"
&c. Those expositors are probably right who think that "with himself" is
connected with "stood," rather than "prayed." It is in perfect accord
with the narrative to intimate that he stood by himself--he was not the
man to mingle with the common herd of worshippers; but it does not seem
congruous to intimate that he prayed with himself. His prayer is
addressed to God; he has no doubt much to do with himself while he
utters it, but so has his neighbour the publican. As much as the proud
man deals with himself to contemplate his own goodness during prayer, so
much does the humble man deal with himself to contemplate his own
badness. It is not then intimated that he prayed by himself, but that he
stood by himself while he was praying. He counted that he belonged to
the aristocracy in the kingdom of God, and must get a position apart
from the multitude.[98]

  [98] Σταθεις προς ἐαυτον, standing by himself, as if it were καθ'
  ἐαυτον. Thus the relation is preserved with the position of the
  publican, μακροθεν ἐστως. Either stood alone, but for opposite
  reasons: the Pharisee stood forward alone, because he thought other
  worshippers were not fit to be in his company; the publican stood
  back alone, because he considered himself unworthy to mingle with
  other worshippers. It may be worth while to mention, for the sake of
  the English reader, the order of the words in the original is, "The
  Pharisee standing with himself, thus prayed." You must be guided
  entirely by the sense in determining whether to read it, Standing
  with himself, thus prayed; or standing, with himself thus prayed.

In yet one other point the two suppliants are like each other; both
alike look into their own hearts and lives; and both permit the judgment
thus formed to determine the form and matter of their prayer. Both
addressed themselves to the work of self-examination, and the prayers
that follow are the fruits of their research.

At this point the two men part company, and move in opposite
directions--the one found in himself only good, the other found in
himself only evil. In both, and in both alike, there was only evil; but
the publican discovered and confessed the truth regarding himself, while
the Pharisee either blindly failed to see his own sin, or falsely
refused to confess it.

The error of the Pharisee does not lie in the form or matter of his
prayer. It is substantially a song of thanksgiving. This is never out of
place; praise is comely. There is not a living man on the earth who has
not ground for giving praise to God every day, and all day. Nor does his
prayer necessarily transgress the strict limits of truth when he says,
"God, I thank thee that I am not as other men." If he had been employed
in numbering the mercies of God--if he had meditated on his privileges,
till he was lost in wonder, that so many benefits had been conferred on
one so worthless, he might with truth have burst into the exclamation,
"I am not as other men." As a true penitent, when employed in
considering his own sin, truly describes himself as the chief of
sinners; so a thankful man, lost in the multitude of God's mercies,
thinks in all simplicity that none in all the world have been so highly
favoured as himself. From his own view-point a true worshipper truly
counts both his sins and his mercies greater than those of other men.
When he confesses his sins he counts and calls them deeper than those of
others; when he recounts the benefits he has received from God, he says
that they are greater than others have enjoyed. Glad praise and weeping
confession correspond to each other in a true heart, as correspond the
height of the sky and the depth of its shadow in still waters. When the
clouds above you become high, the shadow of them beneath you becomes
correspondingly deep. The same man who said, "I am chief of sinners,"
said also, "Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift."

It is not, then, for what he has said that the Pharisee is condemned,
even when he announces that he is not as other men. If conscious of
unworthiness, and amazed at God's long-suffering, he had exclaimed, I am
not like other men--I have been spared and instructed, and invited and
taught and led with a paternal tenderness that others do not enjoy, his
thanksgiving would have been sweet incense as it rose to the throne of
the Most High. He presumes to give thanks not for what he has received,
but for what he is and does. Here lies his condemnation. It is not in
the thanks but in the reason for the thanks that the old serpent lurks;
he is delighted not with what God has graciously bestowed on him, but
with what he has meritoriously given to God.

The sense in the original is more comprehensive than that which the
English conveys; other men here mean all others. On one side he places
himself, and on the other side the rest of human kind: the result of the
comparison in his judgment is that he is better than all.

Three of the more articulate and manifest forms of wickedness he
enumerates, in order by the contrast to set forth his own purity.
"Extortioners" are officials having a right to something, who unjustly
force from an oppressed people more than is due; the "unjust" are those
who deal unfairly in the ordinary intercourse of life; and adulterers
are, in fact, and were then accounted the deepest and most daring
transgressors of the laws both human and divine. Probably the Pharisee
was in point of fact free in his conduct from all these vices; there is
nothing in the parable that forbids us in these matters to take him at
his word.

Instead of extending the list of vices of which he felt himself free, he
cuts the matter short by a general comparison between himself and the
publican. The contempt in which the tax-farmers were held by the
stricter Jews shines out in every page of the Gospel, and is well
understood by the readers of the Scriptures. By way of purging himself
from sin in the lump, he says shortly, "I am not as this publican." In
order to condemn the Pharisee on this point, it is not necessary to
suppose that he made a wrong estimate of his neighbour. Granted that
this publican had up to this hour been stained with all these three
vices, and that the Pharisee, knowing his character, formed a correct
judgment regarding it; still his condemnation remains the same; it is
not the part of one sinner to judge and condemn another.

"I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess,"--all
that I acquire; it is not capital but income. It is a picture of mere
self-righteousness. His judgment was wrong from the root; he knew
neither his own heart nor God's law. Pharisee as he was, he might have
learned from the prophet Isaiah the true state of the case, "We are all
as an unclean thing; and all our righteousnesses are as filthy
rags."[99]

  [99] He obtained this self-confidence by comparing himself not with
  the law of God, but with others who seemed worse than himself. When
  a man compares himself with robbers and adulterers, for whom the
  sword and the prison are prepared, he may easily seem to himself
  like an angel.--_Arndt_.

"The publican standing afar off," &c. The difference does not lie in
that this was a good man while the other was bad. This is a sinner too;
but he has come to know it, and therein lies the distinction between him
and the Pharisee. His judgment of himself accords with his actual state
and character; he knows and owns the truth regarding his own sinfulness.
There is no merit in this discovery, and in itself it cannot save. If
two men should both take poison, and one of them should become aware of
the fact ere the poison had time to operate; the one who knows the truth
is more miserable than the one who is ignorant, but not more safe. If
there be a physician within reach who can cure, the knowledge of his
danger will send one man to the source of help, while the ignorance of
the other will keep him lingering where he is, till it is too late to
flee. But even in that case it was not the man's knowledge of his danger
that saved him. Another saved him; his knowledge of his own need only
led him to a deliverer.

It is so here. There is no merit and no salvation in the publican's
conviction and confession; although he confesses his sin, he is still a
sinner. His own tears are not the fountain in which his guilt can be
washed away. If there were no Saviour, his penitence would do him no
good; if Christ had not come to save the lost, the lost, though alarmed,
would not have been saved.

If we take care to notice that there was neither merit nor safety in the
man's confession, we may profitably listen to the confession, and learn
what it was.

"He stood afar off." Here we begin to observe external marks of an
inward penitence; he judged and condemned himself. He had the same right
with other worshippers to come near; but a consciousness of his
uncleanness before God compelled him to take the lowest place even among
men. Such was the tenderness of his spirit, that he thought everybody
better than himself. Humility is the exact opposite of pride; as the one
man counted himself better than all, the other counted himself worse
than all. When he obtained a sight of his own vileness before God, his
feeling was that even his brother would be polluted by his presence. As
love of God, when we have tasted his grace, carries love to men after
it, like a shadow; so shame before God, because of sin in his sight,
diffuses humility and modesty through the spirit and conduct in the
ordinary intercourse of life.

He was unwilling to lift up his eyes to heaven. He looked down to the
earth; but his heart was rising up to heaven the while. His eyes could
not bear at that moment to look, as it were, on the light of the great
white throne; but his soul ascended, and pressed with violence on the
gate of the kingdom. Against that strait gate his spirit is now
striving; the King of glory from within feels the pressure well pleased,
and opens to let the agonizer in. "Smote upon his breast;" it is like
other signs of grace, precious if it is true, worthless when it is
false. A worshipper will not be heard for his much beating, any more
than for his much speaking: but when it is the true external symptom of
a broken heart within, the knocking on his own breast is reckoned a
knocking at the gate of heaven. To him that knocketh at this lower gate,
the highest will be opened.

His prayer was short and suitable; "God be merciful to me, the sinner"
(τῳ ἁμαρτωλῳ). The contrast continues to the last; as the Pharisee had
compared himself with all mankind, and concluded that he alone was good;
so the Publican in the depth of his shame seems to count himself the
only sinner.

The steps are few and simple by which a sinner finds or misses the way
into eternal life. Not perceiving his own sin, a Pharisee comes to God,
as one who deserves favour; he seeks to enter heaven where the wall of
righteousness frowns in his face, and is cast away. The publican,
conscious of his unworthiness, counting himself altogether evil, flees
from his own sin to God's provided mercy; he tries where the door is
open, and passes in a moment through. I tell you, "This man went down to
his house justified," &c.; he, but not the other.[100] The Pharisee
forgave himself; who is this that forgiveth sin? and who is this whose
sins he forgives? He asked no forgiveness from God, and got none. He
departed from the temple as full and satisfied, or rather as empty and
poor, as he entered it. For aught that we learn to the contrary, he went
on, tithing his mint, anise, and cummin,--went on blindfold till he
stumbled on the judgment-seat.

  [100] He brought with him, what the Pharisee left at home, the book
  of his own guilt, and exhibited all that stood against him
  there.--_Arndt_.

The penitent Publican went down to his house a justified man; he sat in
the circle of his family, retired to rest at night, rose in the morning
to his labour, at peace with God. On the morrow he looked on the
sun-light without being in terror of the mighty One whose word had made
it shine; he walked abroad on the fields, in conscious, loving
companionship with Him who spread them out and covered them with green;
he looked from the mountain-side on the great sea when "it wrought and
was tempestuous," the confiding child of Him who holds its waters in the
hollow of his hand; and when again he laid his head upon the pillow for
rest to his wearied body, he laid his soul on the love of his Saviour,
as an infant leans on a mother's breast. When the hand that led him
through the wilderness leads him at length down the dark sides of the
swelling Jordan, he looks up with languid eye, but bright, burning
spirit, and whispers to his guide, "I will not fear, for Thou art with
me;" when the judgment is set and the books are opened, he stands before
the Judge in white clothing, accepted in the Beloved; the voice of the
Eternal, tenderly human, yet clothed with divine authority, utters the
welcome,--"Come, thou blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom."




XXX.

THE SERVANTS AND THE POUNDS.


"And as they heard these things, he added and spake a parable, because
    he was nigh to Jerusalem, and because they thought that the kingdom
    of God should immediately appear. He said therefore, A certain
    nobleman went into a far country to receive for himself a kingdom,
    and to return. And he called his ten servants, and delivered them
    ten pounds, and said unto them, Occupy till I come. But his citizens
    hated him, and sent a message after him, saying, We will not have
    this man to reign over us. And it came to pass, that when he was
    returned, having received the kingdom, then he commanded these
    servants to be called unto him, to whom he had given the money, that
    he might know how much every man had gained by trading. Then came
    the first, saying, Lord, thy pound hath gained ten pounds. And he
    said unto him, Well, thou good servant: because thou hast been
    faithful in a very little, have thou authority over ten cities. And
    the second came, saying, Lord, thy pound hath gained five pounds.
    And he said likewise to him, Be thou also over five cities. And
    another came, saying, Lord, behold, here is thy pound, which I have
    kept laid up in a napkin: for I feared thee, because thou art an
    austere man: thou takest up that thou layedst not down, and reapest
    that thou didst not sow. And he saith unto him, Out of thine own
    mouth will I judge thee, thou wicked servant. Thou knewest that I
    was an austere man, taking up that I laid not down, and reaping that
    I did not sow: wherefore then gavest not thou my money into the
    bank, that at my coming I might have required mine own with usury?
    And he said unto them that stood by, Take from him the pound, and
    give it to him that hath ten pounds. (And they said unto him, Lord,
    he hath ten pounds.) For I say unto you, That unto every one which
    hath shall be given: and from him that hath not, even that he hath
    shall be taken away from him. But those mine enemies, which would
    not that I should reign over them, bring hither, and slay them
    before me."--LUKE xix. 11-27.

It is necessary at the outset to indicate the relation which subsists
between this parable and that of the talents, (Matt. xxv). Although in
many of their features they are the same, in others there is a decisive
difference. Both show that the Lord bestows privileges on his servants,
and demands faithfulness in return; and both show that the diligent are
rewarded and the unprofitable condemned. But the one supposes a case, in
which all the servants receive equal privileges, and shows that even
those of them who are faithful, may be unequal as to the amount of their
success; the other supposes a case in which unequal privileges are
bestowed upon the servants, and shows that when unequal gifts are
employed with equal diligence, the approval is equal in the day of
account. Both alike exhibit the grand cardinal distinction between the
faithful and the faithless; but in pointing out also the diversities
that obtain among true disciples, they view the subject from opposite
sides, each presenting that aspect of it which the other omits. The
parable of the talents teaches that Christians differ from each other in
the amount of gifts which they receive; and the parable of the pounds
teaches that they differ from each other in the diligence which they
display.[101]

  [101] The man who cannot perceive, or will not own that these are
  two distinct cases, charged with different, though cognate lessons,
  is not fit to be an expositor of any writing, either sacred or
  profane. Enough for the critics who persist in the theory, that
  these two parables are different, and consequently incorrect,
  reports of one discourse spoken only once by the Lord; the conceit
  is not worthy of more minute refutation.

The incident connected with Zaccheus, although it occurred on the spot
and at the moment, did not, I think, supply the occasion of this
parable, and does not contain the key of its meaning. The Lord's
interview with that interesting and earnest tax-farmer in the
neighbourhood of Jericho rather constituted an episodical interruption
to the continuity of his thought and the narrative of his journey. He
had passed through Jericho on his way to Jerusalem for the last time. An
expectation, intense in character though vague in outline, was spreading
through the neighbourhood, that great events would emerge on his
arrival at the capital. It was the crowd already on this account
assembled that gave prominence to the case of Zaccheus. It is not from
that episode that the parable springs; rather, when the interruption
which it caused was over, the current of thought, displaced for a
moment, returns to its former channel, and flows as it had flowed
before. The crowd had assembled before the conversation with Zaccheus
took place, and the cause of the excitement was the expectation that
"the kingdom of God should immediately appear." It was on account of
this expectation that the parable was spoken. The purpose of the Lord
was to correct the popular impression in as far as it was erroneous, and
to turn it to account in as far as it contained a basis of truth. They
expected that Jesus was about to proclaim himself king, and occupy
David's throne at Jerusalem: he teaches them by the parable that his
kingdom is not of this world--that he, the king, will depart from their
sight for a while, and that it behoves his subjects to occupy their
talents and opportunities till he return.

"A certain nobleman went into a far country to receive for himself a
kingdom, and to return." His errand when he went abroad was not to seek
a kingdom in another quarter of the world, but to obtain from a foreign
power nomination to the sovereignty of his native land. In the first
place, it is not probable that, after having become king of another
country, he would return to reside where he was only a subject; but a
much more decisive indication is given by the message which his
fellow-citizens sent after him, "We will not have this man to reign over
us." They do not interfere with his prospects in a foreign country; it
is his sovereignty over themselves that they dread and deprecate. This
outspoken repudiation of his government by his fellow-citizens makes it
both certain and manifest that, though he sought investiture abroad, the
kingdom which he expected to receive was in his own native land, and
over his former fellow-citizens.

In those days both the Jews and other nations subject to the supremacy
of Rome were familiar with the transaction which forms the basis of this
parable. After the nobleman's departure, his countrymen, aware of his
design, endeavoured to thwart it. With this view they sent a message, or
rather an embassy (πρεσβειαν) after him; they commissioned some of their
own number to appear along with him before the power paramount, and
oppose his claim. It is a mistake to suppose that the protest of these
citizens was addressed to the nobleman who sought to become their king;
the deputies are instructed to address themselves not to him, but to the
foreign power from whom he intends to seek investiture. They will appear
at court along with him when his petition is presented, and plead that
it may be rejected. Such debates were in point of fact held before the
republican and imperial tribunals of Rome.[102]

  [102] Herod and his son Archelaus had both in succession repaired
  personally to Rome to obtain their authority. Precisely similar
  scenes are enacted between the British government and the protected
  potentates of India; the agents for rival princes contend for regal
  rights in London, where the government of India is in the last
  resort controlled.

Before setting out on his journey "he called his ten servants," &c.
These men were his servants or slaves. In different countries, and at
different times, the bond of servitude has been indefinitely varied both
in stringency and duration. In all probability these servants were the
bondsmen of the nobleman, although law and practice might not accord to
the owner a power so absolute as that with which we are too familiar in
modern slavery. But the more nearly that the master's rights approached
the point of absolute ownership of property, the more suitable becomes
the picture to represent the relation that subsists between the
redeeming Lord and his ransomed people.[103]

  [103] It is altogether a mistake to conclude from the allusions made
  here and elsewhere in the Scriptures to the actually existing
  servitude of the times and places, that any modern system of slavery
  may claim the sanction of divine approval. It was the custom of
  Jesus to seize existing facts on the right and on the left as they
  lay around, and employ them as vehicles for conveying his meaning.
  Sometimes he so employed a good thing, and sometimes a bad thing,
  but by the mere fact of using a human act or habit as a metaphor, he
  pronounced no judgment regarding its moral character. It was enough
  for him that the thing was well known, and that it served as a
  letter with which he might indicate his mind. Printers make their
  types of any material that may be most suitable for the purpose, and
  most readily obtained; and with these types they multiply the
  Scriptures. They use a cheap mixture of lead and tin; and this base
  alloy serves their purpose better than more precious metals. Their
  only question in determining the choice of material is, Will it
  print our meaning clearly? Thus the Lord Jesus dealt with the habits
  which he found in society, and the events that were passing at the
  time. He selected and employed them with a regard not to their own
  intrinsic moral worth but to their fitness for expressing the idea
  which he meant to convey. No matter whether it be lead or gold; what
  he wanted was material suitable for types. A steward has no
  Scriptural warrant for cheating his master, because the trick of an
  astute agent is employed to print one of the parables; neither have
  men-stealers, men-sellers, and men-buyers any authority from the
  Bible to treat their fellow-men like cattle, because the relation of
  master and slave was employed by the Lord to express a conception in
  the course of his teaching.

This nobleman, desiring that no part of his property or capital should
lie unproductive during his absence, made the best arrangement, of which
the circumstances admitted, before he left the country. His method was
the same as that which appears in the cognate parable, the entrusted
talents, with the exception that in this case the master made all his
servants equal. A mina, in value equal to about £2, 3s. 6d., was
entrusted to each man, with the intimation that, according to his
diligence and faithfulness in the management of this capital, would be
his reward when the owner should return.[104]

  [104] For fuller notice of the methods adopted, see the exposition
  of the corresponding parable No. XIV.

Such is the arrangement which this nobleman made with those who are
described as "his own servants," on the eve of his departure; but with
his neighbours, who were free and independent, he had either neglected
to seek, or failed to obtain, an understanding. Aware of his object,
they sent after him a deputation of their own number, instructed to
appear along with him at the imperial court, and oppose his request.
They were not willing to become his subjects, and therefore endeavoured
to prevent him from obtaining a regal title and despotic power.

Their opposition, however, had no other effect than to betray their
enmity, and so expose them to the King's displeasure. His first act
after he returned with supreme authority was to call his servants into
his presence, and reward them according to their merits; and his second,
to issue an order for the punishment of those who had opposed his
elevation. The remaining portion of the scene is so similar to the
corresponding parts of the cognate parable already expounded, that it is
unnecessary to trace the narrative further; rather let us hasten now to
ascertain and enforce the spiritual lesson from the whole.

While the Master was setting his face towards Jerusalem for the last
time, a dim presentiment of coming change occupied his disciples. In
their minds, the expectation of his kingdom had taken a wrong direction,
and tended to put them off their guard. To correct their error, and bind
them to patient watchfulness, he spoke this parable. Because they
imagined he was about to assume kingly power, and give them places of
temporal dignity on his right hand and on his left, he taught them by
this similitude, that he must go away, and that they must remain behind,
working and watching.

The nobleman represents the Lord himself. While he prosecuted his
ministry on earth, he had not fully attained possession of the kingdom.
The departure of the nobleman represents the exodus which the Lord soon
afterwards accomplished at Jerusalem, comprising his death,
resurrection, and ascension. In the parable, the power paramount who
could withhold or bestow a kingdom is not named: it is intimated only
that this transaction took place out of sight in a far country. When the
Son of God ascended after his mediatorial work on earth was complete,
all power was given to him in heaven and on earth. Beyond his disciples'
sight he received the kingdom from the Father. Now he has right to rule
supreme over that world, on which before he had not where to lay his
head. He will come to this world again as its King, with power and great
glory.

Two classes of persons are mentioned as having remained in the country
while the prince was absent:--these are his servants and his
adversaries. In the material scene, there might be many who neither
served nor opposed him; but these are not mentioned in the parable,
because there are none to correspond with them on the spiritual side.
There only two classes exist,--those who serve Christ as the Lord that
bought them, and those who, being at enmity with God, refuse to obey the
Gospel of his Son.

The parable has not much to do with them that are without. At the
beginning, it shortly indicates their rebellion, and at the close as
shortly predicts their doom; but the circumstances, the character, the
life, and the reward of the Lord's disciples are more expressly and
more fully declared.

The master who owns them places some of his treasures at their disposal,
and with the general injunction, "Occupy," goes out of their sight. The
servants are those who, at least in profession, are the disciples of
Christ, and the pounds are the faculties which they possess, and the
opportunities which they enjoy. The place and age in which our lot has
been cast, our early education, our bodily members and mental powers,
our station in society and the circle of our homes, our money and our
health, and, in addition, the graces of the Spirit, in whatever measure
they may have been conferred,--all that we are and have belongs to God.
He is the owner, and we are tenants at will.

While a general law has been laid down to determine, in the main, the
direction of our course, the details are left to our own discretion. One
man may invest his master's capital in land, and another in merchandise,
and both may be equally faithful, equally successful: so in various
lines of effort, different disciples may, in diverse manners, but with
equal faithfulness, serve the Lord. There is freedom in the choice of
departments, provided always there be loyalty to the King.

In the relation between Christ and Christians, opposites meet without
hostile collision. His ownership is absolute, and yet there is freedom
in full. His lordship does not limit their liberty; their liberty does
not infringe his rights. What a glorious liberty this earth-ball enjoys!
How it careers along through space, threading its way through thronging
worlds, and giving each a safe wide berth in the ocean of the infinite!
Yet the sun holds the earth all the while in absolute and entire
control. Like that glory in the visible heavens is the glory of the
Everlasting Covenant. The largest liberty conceded to the sons of God
consists with sovereignty complete and constant exercised over them by
the Redeemer, who bought them with his blood. He is their owner, and yet
they are free. The union of opposites is possible with God: "He is
wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working."

The sons serve; and yet they are sons. Ransomed men are instruments of a
higher order, than other agencies through which the reign of Providence
is administered. Although the Lord requires of his regenerated people as
complete submission to his law, as he demands and obtains from the
elements of nature and the brutes that perish, he does not require from
them an equally uniform and mechanical routine. The streams that course
over continents, and the tides that swell upon their shores, must render
the same service every day; but these sons of God are not held to labour
by a bridle so short and rigid. They are endowed with reason and will;
they are set at liberty, and permitted to expatiate over a wider field.
Their master goes out of sight, and trusts to a renewed, loving heart
for the diligent outlay and faithful return of all the talents. The
Gospel requires and generates not a legal, but an evangelical obedience.

When the king returns, or the servants are summoned one by one through
death to meet their master, they are tried as to faithfulness and
diligence in laying out their talents. Although ten were mentioned at
the beginning, it is not necessary to report on more than three at the
close. These are sufficient to show that some were diligent, and some
slothful; and that among the diligent there were different measures of
effort, success, and reward.

What hast thou that thou didst not receive? Occupy; occupy all, and
occupy it all the time till the Giver come to claim his own. All that
God gives us is given for use. There is much evil, moral and material,
in the world. He who made it and saw it fall by sin, has its restoration
and renewal much at heart. When he has gotten some of the fallen
restored to favour and renewed in spirit, he endows them with various
riches from his own treasury, that the capital wisely invested may yield
a large return at his coming. Let each according to his means and
opportunity lay himself and his talents out to leave the world better
than he found it;--to diminish the amount of sin and suffering, to feed
hungry mouths, and cover naked backs, to enlighten dark minds and save
perishing souls. It is a high calling to be fellow-workers with God, to
be instruments of righteousness in his hands.

One, by trading with his pound gained ten, before the king returned, and
another five. Both are equally approved, but unequally rewarded; each
receives as his recompense all that he had won. Two principles which
operate in the spiritual kingdom are symbolized here; one, that various
degrees of efficiency and success obtain among the faithful disciples of
Christ; another that reward in his kingdom springs from work and is
proportioned to it.

The parable of the talents recorded by Matthew represented one fact in
the history of the kingdom, that different persons receive differing
gifts from the sovereign God: this parable, recorded by Luke, represents
another fact in the history of the kingdom, that among those who possess
equal gifts varieties occur in the skill and success with which the
gifts are employed. The practical lesson from the former parable is, If
with all your efforts you fall far behind your neighbour in the result
of your labour, you need not on that account be cast down, for equal
diligence will meet equal approval, whether it be applied to a large
capital or a small; the lesson of the latter parable is, If others are
obtaining greater results than you, strive to imitate and equal them,
lest your opportunity not have having been fully occupied, you should
obtain at last only a small reward. The first puts in a spring to keep
the truly faithful from sinking into despondency because their talents
are few; and the second puts in a spring to keep the indolent from
lagging behind. The two together, one on this side and one on that, shut
all up to diligence in the work of the Lord.

A glimpse is given here of the method in which rewards are bestowed upon
faithful servants; each receives what he has won. The work of the saved
in their Master's service measures in some way their recompense at their
Master's side. In all cases the wages given, seeing they depend on the
merits of the Mediator, must be immeasureably greater than the work
done; but it would appear that the differences which shall obtain in
heaven will bear some proportion to the productiveness of the service
here: the whole continent will be elevated as by the immediate power of
God: but certain points will stand out above others in the celestial
landscape on account of great talents greatly used. How much a city is
greater in value than a pound we cannot calculate exactly, but the
difference represents the gain that all the true servants will make at
the coming of the king. All the faithful are made great; but the
greatest worker is the greatest winner when the accounts are closed.
Hold on, disciples; every grace that grows into strength, through
bearing and doing your Redeemer's will here, is a seed that will
multiply your enjoyment manifold when you come to the inheritance.
Nor is this a mercenary motive. A true Christian can never separate his
interests from Christ: he serves his Lord in love to-day, and will
discover at last that in serving his Lord, he has been enriching
himself.

The case of the servant who allowed his pound to lie unused is not
different from the corresponding case in the parable of the talents
except in one thing; in this parable the pound which the indolent
servant had permitted to lie idle is simply taken out of his hands,
while, in the other parable, the unprofitable servant is cast into outer
darkness.

The lesson, in as far as it is the same in both, is, that not only those
who do positive wickedness, but those also who fail to do good, are
counted guilty in God's sight. Inasmuch as in this parable no other
punishment is inflicted on the indolent servant than the deprivation of
his capital, it may possibly be intended to intimate that culpable
unfaithfulness in a true believer may sometimes descend so far as to be
undistinguishable by human eyes from the entire neglect of the
unbelieving. There is, however, in all cases, a dividing line, although
we may not be able to trace it--"the Lord knoweth them that are his."
Nor does this conception really weaken the motive to diligence; for if
any one should slacken in his efforts to serve the Lord on the ground
that a great degree of negligence, although it may diminish his reward,
does not imperil his safety, this very thing would conclusively prove
that he has no part in Christ. It is the nature of the new creature to
be forgetting the things behind, and reaching forth to those that are
before; when the leaning of a man's heart goes in the opposite
direction--that is, when he deliberately endeavours to make matters as
pleasant as possible for himself, by escaping from all service to
Christ, except as much as is necessary to carry him safe to heaven, he
certainly has not yet been born again, and in this state shall not see
the kingdom. He who sails along the sea of Christian profession, loving
the neighbouring land of worldly indulgence, and therefore hugging the
shore as closely as he thinks consistent with safety, will certainly
make shipwreck. Ah! the ship that thus seeks the shore is drawn by the
unseen power of a magnet-mountain--drawn directly to her doom; he who is
truly bound for the better land gives these treacherous headlands a wide
berth.

The last lesson is the judgment pronounced and the punishment inflicted
on the adversaries. They who will not submit to Christ the crucified
will be crushed by Christ the king. Every eye shall see him; they also
who pierced him. Meekly now he stands at the door and knocks; then he
comes as the lightning comes.

One hope remains,--one door stands wide open yet. His enemies must be
slain, either now or then. The enemies of the Lord's reign in the
present world are the evil desires that occupy a man's heart, and close
it against its rightful sovereign; drag them forth and slay them before
him, that he may enter and possess his own. Surrender his enemies into
his hands to-day, and you will henceforth be among his friends; if sins
be sheltered in the day of grace, the sinners will find no shelter in
the day of judgment.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Parables of Our Lord, by William Arnot