Part 10

Judas felt so bad over the betrayal of his Master that he went out and hanged himself; but he did not confess--that is, he did not confess to God. He came back and confessed to the priests, saying: “I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood.” It was of no use to confess to them; they could not forgive him. What he should have done was to confess to God; but instead of that, he rushed out and hanged himself.

How different is the case with the penitent thief! He confesses his sins to Christ, and Christ has mercy on him at once.

Just here is one of the great difficulties with many people. They do not like to come up face to face with their sins. They do not like to own that they are sinners. They excuse themselves in every way. They think they are not very bad sinners; that there are a great many worse than they are; and so they try to cover up the great fact that this penitent thief confesses openly. My friends, you never will be saved, so long as you try to cover up your sins.

We have heard a great deal about the faith of Abraham and the faith of Moses; but this man seems to me to have had more faith than any of them. He stands at the head of his class.

God was twenty-five years toning up the faith of Abraham; Moses was forty years getting ready for his work; but this thief, right here in the midst of men who rejected Him--nailed to the cross and racked with pain in every nerve, overwhelmed with horror, and his soul in a perfect tempest--still manages to lay hold upon Christ, and trust in Him for a swift salvation. His heart goes out to the Savior. How glad he would be to fall on his knees at the foot of that cross, and pour out his prayer to Him who was hanging on it! But this he can not do. His hands and feet are nailed fast to the wood; but they can not nail his eyes, nor his heart. He can, at least, turn his head, and look upon the Son of God; and his breaking heart can go out in love to the One who is dying beside him--dying for him, and dying for you and me.

And what did Jesus say in answer to his prayer?

That prayer was a confession of Christ. He calls Jesus “Lord,” and begs to be remembered in His kingdom. That must be a kingdom in Heaven--for, surely, there was no chance of a kingdom on Earth, as matters looked at that time.

Christ fulfilled His promise to the thief:

“Whoso confesseth Me before men, him will I confess before my Father and the holy angels.”

He looks kindly upon him, and says:

“Today thou shalt be with Me in Paradise.”

And now the darkness falls upon the Earth; the Sun hides itself; but, worse than all, the Father hides His face from the Son. What else is the meaning of that bitter cry?

“My God! My God! Why hast Thou forsaken Me?”

Ah! It had been written:

“Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.”

Jesus is made a curse for us. God can not look upon sin; and now His own Son is bearing, in His own body, the sins of the world; and so He can not look upon Him.

I think that was what was heaviest upon the Savior’s heart, away there in the Garden, when He prayed: “If it be possible, let this cup pass away from Me.”

He could bear the unfaithfulness of His friends, the spite of His enemies, the pain of His crucifixion and the shadow of death. He could bear all these. But when it came to the hiding of His Father’s face, that seemed almost too much for even the Son of God to bear. But even this He endured for our sins; and now the face of God is turned back to us, whose sins had turned it away, and looking upon Jesus, the sinless One, He sees our souls in Him.

In the midst of all His agony, how sweet it must have been to Christ to hear that poor thief confessing Him! He likes to have men confessing Him.

Do you remember His asking Peter: “Who do men say that I am?”

Peter answered: “Some people say You are Moses; some people say You are Elias, and some people say You are one of the old prophets.”

He asked again: “But, Peter, who do you say that I am?”

And when Peter said “Thou art the Son of God,” Jesus blessed him for that confession.

And now this thief confesses Him--confesses Him in the darkness. Perhaps it is so dark he can not see Him any longer; but he feels that He is there beside him.

This poor thief did as much for Christ in that one act as if he had lived and worked for Him fifty years. That is what Christ wants of us--to confess Him; in the dark as well as in the light, and when it is hard as well as when it is easy. For He was not ashamed of us, and carried our sins even unto death.

Just look for a minute at the prayer of this penitent thief.

He calls Jesus “Lord.” That sounds like a young convert. “Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom.” Not a very long prayer, you see, but a prevailing prayer.

Some people think they must have a form of prayer--a prayer book, perhaps--if they are going to address the Throne of Grace properly. But what would that poor fellow do with a prayer book up there--hanging on the cross, his hands nailed fast to the wood? Suppose it were necessary that some minister or priest should pray for him, what is he going to do? There is nobody there to pray for him, and he is going to die within a few hours. He is out of reach of help from men, but God has laid help upon One who is mighty, and that One is close at hand.

Then look at the answer to his prayer. The supplicant received more than he asked. He only asked to be remembered when Christ came into His kingdom. But Christ said to him: “I will take you right up with Me into My kingdom today.”

The Savior wants us all to remember Him in His old kingdom--to remember Him in the breaking of bread and in the drinking of wine--and then He will remember us in the new kingdom.

Just think of this, my friends. The last the world ever saw of Christ He was on the cross. The last business of His life was the saving of a poor penitent thief. That was a part of His triumph; that was one of the glories attending His death.

No doubt Satan said to himself: “I will have the soul of that thief, pretty soon, down here in the caverns of the lost. He belongs to me; he has belonged to me all these years.”

But Christ snapped the fetters of his soul, and set him at liberty; Satan lost his prey. “The Lion of the tribe of Judah” conquered the lion of hell.

You know that in the British colonies, before the day of Wilberforce, there used to be a great many slaves; but that good man began to agitate the question of setting them free; and all the slaves in the colonies, when they heard of it, were very anxious to hear how he was getting along. They knew the bill was before Parliament, and with them it was a question next to that of life itself.

But in those days there were no telegraphs and no steamships. The mails went by the slow sailing vessels. They would be from six to eight months in making the voyage to some of the more distant of the colonies. The slaves used to watch for the white sails of British ships, hoping to hear good reports, and also fearing they might hear bad ones.

There was a ship that had sailed immediately after the Emancipation Act had been passed and signed by the king; and when she came within hailing distance of the boats that had put off from the shore at the port of her destination, the captain could not wait to deliver the message officially, and have it duly promulgated by the government; but, seeing the anxious men standing up in their boats, eager for the news, he placed his trumpet to his mouth, and shouted with all his might:

“Free! Free!”

Just so the angels shouted when this poor bondman of Satan’s, almost in the jaws of the pit, was taken in hand by the Savior Himself; delivered from the bondage of darkness into the liberty of His dear Son! Free--free from sin--free from the curse of the law--free, too, in a short time, from the bonds of the flesh.

What a contrast! In the morning he is led out a condemned criminal; in the evening he is saved from his sins. In the morning he is cursing; in the evening he is singing hallelujahs with a choir of angels. In the morning he is condemned by men as not fit to live on Earth; in the evening he is reckoned good enough for Heaven.

Christ was not ashamed to walk arm-in-arm with him along the golden pavements of the Eternal City.

He had heard the Savior’s cry: “It is finished.” He had seen the spear thrust into His side. Jesus had died before his very eyes, and hastened before him to get a place ready for this first soul brought from the world after He had died.

You have heard of the child that did not like to die and go to Heaven, because he did not know anybody there. But the thief had one acquaintance--even the Master of the place. He calls to Gabriel, and says:

“Prepare a chariot; make haste! There is a friend of Mine hanging upon that cross. They are breaking his legs; he soon will be ready to come. Make haste and bring him to Me.”

And the angel in the chariot sweeps down the sky, takes up the soul of the poor penitent thief, and hastens back again to glory; while the gates of the city swing wide open, and the angels shout their welcome to this poor sinner--“washed in the blood of the Lamb.”

And that, my friends, is just what Christ wants to do for every sinner. He wants to save you. That is the business on which He came down from Heaven. That is why He died; and if He gives such great and swift salvation to this poor thief on the cross, surely He will give you the same deliverance, if, like the penitent thief, you will repent, confess and trust in the Savior.

Somebody says that this man “was saved at the eleventh hour.” I do not know about that. Perhaps it was the first hour. It might have been the first hour with him, I think. Perhaps he never knew Christ until he was led out to die beside Him. This may have been the very first time he had ever learned the way of faith in the Son of God.

But how many of you gave your hearts to Christ the very first time He asked them of you? Are you not farther along in the day than even that poor thief?

A little while ago, in one of the mining districts of England, a young man attended one of our meetings, and refused to go from the place till he had found peace in the Savior. The next day he went down into the pit, and the coal fell in upon him; and when they took him out he was broken and mangled, and had only about two or three minutes of life left in him. His friends gathered about him, saw his lips moving, and, bending down their ears to catch his words, this was what they heard him say: “It was a good thing I settled it last night.”

* * * * *

Begin now to confess your sins, and to pray the Lord to remember you when He cometh into His kingdom.

THE PHARISEE AND THE PUBLICAN.

In this first parable we are told that men ought to pray always and everywhere; that prayer should not be left to a few in the churches, but all men ought to pray.

Jesus gives us a picture, so that we may understand in what spirit we ought to pray.

Two men went up to the Temple--one to pray to himself and the other to pray to God.

I think it will be safe to divide the audience into two bodies, and put them under these two heads. However, whether we divide the audience or not, we come under these two heads--those who have the spirit of the publican and those who have the spirit of the Pharisee.

You can find that the entire community may be correctly divided into these two classes. The spirit of the prodigal and the spirit of an elder brother are still in the world; the spirits of Cain and Abel are still in the world, and these two are representative men.

One of them trusted in his own righteousness and the other did not have any trust in it, and I say I think all men will come under these two heads. They have either given up all their self-righteousness--renounced it all and turned their backs upon it--or else they are clinging to their own righteousness; and you will find that these self-righteous men that are ever clinging to their own righteousness are continually measuring themselves by their neighbors.

“I thank God that I am not as other men are.”

This was the spirit of that Pharisee, and this is the spirit today of one class in this community, and the other class comes under the head of this other man.

Let us look at the man Christ pictured first.

It is evident that he was full of egotism--full of conceit--full of pride; and I believe, as I have said before on this platform, that is one of the greatest enemies the Son of God has today, and I believe it keeps more men from the kingdom of God than any thing else.

Pride can grow on any soil, in any climate. No place is too hot for it, and no place is too cold for its growth. How much misery it has caused in this world! How many men here are kept from salvation by pride!

Why, it sprung up into Heaven, and for it Lucifer was cast out; by pride Nebuchadnezzar lost his throne. As he walked through Babylon he cried: “Is not this a great Babylon which I have built?” And he was hurled from his throne.

How many men that have become drunkards, who are all broken up--will gone, health gone--and yet are just as full of pride as the sun is of light! It will not let them come to Christ and be saved.

A great many live like this Pharisee--only in the form of religion; they do not want the wheat--only the husk; they do not want the kernel--only the shell.

How many men are today just living on empty form! They say their prayers, but they do not mean any thing.

Why, this Pharisee said plenty of prayers, but how did he pray? He prayed to himself. He might as well have prayed to a post. He did not pray to God, who knew his heart a thousand times better than he himself did. He thought he knew himself; he forgot that he was a sepulcher, full of dead men’s bones; forgot that his heart was rotten, corrupt and vile; and he comes and spreads out his hands and looks up to Heaven.

Why, the very angels in Heaven veil their faces before God as they cry: “Holy, holy, holy!”

But this Pharisee comes into the Temple and spreads out his hands, and says:

“Lord, I thank Thee that I am not as other men are. I fast twice a week.”

He set before God what he had done in comparison with other men, and was striking a balance and making out God to be his debtor, as thousands are doing today; and then he says: “I give one-tenth of all I possess.”

I suppose if he was living in Chicago now, and we had gone to him and asked him for a donation to help put up this Tabernacle, he would have said:

“Well, I think it will do good; yes, I think it will. It may reach the vagabonds and outcasts--I do not need it, of course--but if it will reach that class it will do good. I will give $50, especially if you can get it in the morning papers--if you can have it announced: ‘John Jones gave $50 to build the Tabernacle.’”

That is the way some of the people give donations to God’s cause; they give in a patronizing way. But in this manner God will not accept it. If your heart does not go with your gift, God will not accept it.

This Pharisee says: “I give one-tenth of all that I have; I keep up the services in the Temple; I fast twice a week.”

He fasted twice a week, although once was only called for, and he thought because of this he was far above other men. A great many people nowadays think because they do not eat meat on Fridays, but only fish, they deserve great credit, although they go on sinning all the week.

Look at this prayer! There is no confession there. He had got so bad, and the devil had so covered up his sins, that he was above confession.

The first thing we have to do when we come to God is to confess. If there is any sin clustering around the heart, bear in mind we can have no communion with God. It is because we have sin about our hearts that our prayers do not go any higher than our head. We can not get God’s favor if we have any iniquity in our hearts.

People, like the Pharisee, have only been educated to pray. If they did not pray every night their consciences would trouble them, and they would get out of bed and say their prayers; but the moment they get off their knees, perhaps, you may hear them swearing.

A man may just as well get a string of beads and pray to them. It would do him as much good.

This Pharisee’s prayer showed no spirit of contrition; there was no petition; he did not ask any thing from God. This is a queer kind of prayer:

“Lord, I thank Thee that I am not as other men are--extortionate, unjust, adulterous--or even as the poor publican.”

Not a petition in his prayer. It was a prayerless prayer--it was downright mockery. But how many men have just got into that cradle and been rocked to sleep by the devil!

A short time ago I put this question to a man:

“Are you a Christian?”

“Of course I am; I say my prayers every night.”

“But do you ever pray?”

“Didn’t I tell you I prayed?”

“But do you ever pray?”

“Why, of course I do; haven’t I said so?”

I found that he prayed, but he only went through the form, and, after a little, I found that he had been in the habit of swearing.

“How is this?” I asked. “Swearing and praying! Do your prayers ever go any higher than your head?”

“Well, I have sometimes thought that they did not.”

My friends, if you are not in communion with God your prayers are but forms; you are living in formalism, and your prayers will go no higher than your head.

How many people just go through the form! They can not rest unless they say their prayers. How many are there with whom it is only a matter of education?

But this Pharisee trusted in his own righteousness; he ignored the mercy of God and the love of Jesus. He was measuring himself by his own rule. Now, if you want to measure yourself, do it by God’s law--by God’s requirements.

A great many people have a rule of their own, by which they measure themselves, and by that rule they are perfectly ready and willing to forgive themselves.

So it was with this Pharisee. The idea of coming to God and asking His forgiveness never enters his mind.

While talking to a man--one of those Pharisees--some time ago, about God and the need of Christ, he said to me:

“I can do without Christ; I do not want Him. I am ready to stand before God any time.”

That man was trusting in his own righteousness.

Now, take a good look at this Pharisee. You know, I have an idea that the Bible is like an album. I go into a man’s house, and, while waiting for him, I take up an album from a table and open it.

I look at a picture.

“Why, that looks like a man I know.”

I turn over and look at another.

“Well, I know that man.”

By-and-by, I come upon another.

“Why, that man looks like my brother.”

I am getting pretty near home. I keep turning over the leaves.

“Well, I declare! Here is a man who lives in the same street I do. Why, he is my next-door neighbor.”

Then I come upon another, and I see--myself.

My friends, if you read your Bibles, you will find your own pictures there. It will just describe you.

Now, it may be there is some Pharisee here tonight. If there is, let him turn to the third chapter of John, and see what Christ said to the Pharisee:

“Except a man be born again, he can not enter the kingdom of God.”

Nicodemus, no doubt, was one of the fairest specimens of a man in Jerusalem in those days, yet he had to be born again, else he could not enter into the kingdom of God.

“But,” you may say, “I am not a Pharisee. I am a poor and miserable sinner--too bad to come to Him.” Well, turn to the woman of Samaria, and see what He said to her.

See what a difference there was between that publican and that Pharisee. There was as great a distance between them as between the Sun and the Moon.

One was in the very highest station, and the other occupied the very worst station. One had only himself and his sins to bring to God, and the other was trying to bring in his position and his aristocracy.

I tell you, when a man gets a true sight of himself, all his position and station and excellences drop.

See this prayer:

“I thank God.”

“I am not.”

“I fast.”

“I give.”

“I possess.”

Why, if he had delivered a long prayer, and the copy had been put into the printers’ hands, they would have had to send out for some “I’s.”

“I thank God,” “I,” “I,” “I.”

When a man prays--not with himself, but to God--he does not exalt himself; he does not pass a eulogy on himself. He falls flat down in the dust before God. In that prayer you do not find him thanking God for what He had done for him. It was a heartless and prayerless prayer--merely a form.

I hope the day will come when formal prayer will be a thing of the past. I think the reason why we can not get more people out to the meetings is because we have too many formal prayers in the churches. These formal Christians get up, like this Pharisee, and thank God that they are better than other men; but when a man gets a look at himself he comes in the spirit of the publican.

You see this Pharisee standing and praying with himself, but God could not give him any thing. He was too full of egotism--too full of himself. There was no religion in it. God could not bless him.

Now, for a moment, take a look at that poor publican. Just give his prayer your attention.

There was no capital “I” there--no exalting of himself. “God be merciful to this Pharisee; God be merciful to the other people who have injured me; God be merciful to the church members who have not been true to their belief.”

Was that his prayer?

Thank God, he got to himself. “God be merciful to me, a sinner.” It was very short. He had got his eye upon himself; he saw that his heart was vile; he could not lift his eyes to Heaven. But, thank God, he could lift his heart to Heaven.

There is not a poor publican in the audience tonight but can send up this prayer. No matter what your past life has been--no matter if it has been as black as hell--if you but send up the prayer it will be heard. He did not buy his own righteousness; and God heard his appeal.

Spurgeon, speaking of that publican, said he had the soundest theology of any man in England. He came before God, struck his hand on his heart, and cried: “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”

THE WIDOW’S SON.

Think of that poor widow at Nain.

She is an old woman now; and her only son, who is the staff of her life, is sick.

How she watches him; sits up all night to see that he has his medicine at the right time; sits by his bedside all day, fanning him, keeping away the flies, moistening his parched lips with water!

Every thing he asks for she brings.

The very best doctor in Nain is sent for; and when he comes and feels the pulse of the young man and looks at his tongue, he shakes his head; and then the poor woman knows there is no hope for her boy.

What an awful thought!

“My son--my only son--must die! What will become of me then?”

Sure enough, the doctor is right; and in a little while the fever comes to its crisis, and the poor boy dies, with his head upon his mother’s bosom.

The people come in and try to comfort the bereaved mother; but it is of no use. Her heart is broken; and she wishes she were dead, too.

Some of you know what it is to look your last upon the faces of those you love. Some of you mothers have wept hot tears upon the cold faces of your sons.

Well, they make him ready for burial; and when the time comes, they celebrate the funeral service, and place him on a bier to carry him away to the grave.

What a sad procession!

Just as they come out of the city gates, they see a little company of thirteen dusty-looking travelers, coming up the road.

There is One among them who is tall and far fairer than the sons of men.

Who can He be?