Chapter V.

Jesus and John contrasted--the former goes to dine at the House of a Pharisee--a notorious Woman introduces herself, and weeps at his Feet--Remarks on true Repentance and Faith, as exemplified in her Conduct--Surmises of Simon the Pharisee--the Answer of Jesus--the Woman assured of Forgiveness--Instructions deducible from the Parable.

There was a remarkable dissimilarity between Christ and his celebrated precursor. The latter was unbending in his manners, austere in his mode of living, and abrupt in his public discourses: in fact, John was distinguished by all those qualities of a great reformer, which fitted him for the service assigned him by Providence; zealous, eloquent, intrepid, inconsiderate of himself, and resolutely exposing the vices of those around him, to whom he pointed out "a more excellent way." The wildness of the wilderness seemed to accord with the singularity of his character; and the rocky standing from which he might probably often address his auditors, was well adapted to the design of his preaching, and the mode of his appearance. His Divine Master gave ample testimony to his excellence--"What went ye out for to see? a prophet? Yea, I say unto you, and more than a prophet. For this is he of whom it is written, Behold, I send my messenger before thy face, which shall prepare thy way before thee. Verily I say unto you, Among them that are born of women, there has not arisen a greater than John the Baptist."

But the character of the "Son of man" differed in many respects from that of his forerunner. He was familiar, affable, and ready to associate with others; he assumed no austerity of manners, and no reserve of behaviour. The cast of his public preaching, too, was of a milder and more winning strain, suited to his character as the image of the God who is love, and adapted to the merciful nature of that dispensation which he came to introduce.

It was this diversity which excited the malignant revilings of the Jews, who said of John, "he hath a devil;" and of Christ, "Behold a man gluttonous, and a wine-bibber, a friend of publicans and sinners:" but the success of the means has fully justified the use of them, as the prescriptions of the physician are justified by the restoration of health to the diseased, and the mode adopted by the agriculturist in cultivating his soil is effectually vindicated by its fertility. God bestows upon his church a diversity of gifts, and upon men a variety of qualities, that different stations may be occupied to the best advantage, and his cause promoted in the most effectual manner. The formation of suitable instruments to accomplish his purposes, is one of those arrangements of Providence which we can never sufficiently admire. Whatever peculiarities exist, they are all made to concur to the same end, and are all regulated by the same influence: the "gifts" and the "operations" are diverse, but "it is the same God which worketh all in all."

Happily for mankind, there was a sense in which a part of the accusation preferred against Jesus Christ held true. He was indeed "a friend of publicans and sinners"--if he had not been, what would have been the situation of a Matthew, whom he called from the receipt of custom to "follow him;" or of a Zaccheus, whom he addressed in the sycamore tree, and to whose house he "that day" conveyed "salvation;" or of a Bartimeus, "blind and sitting by the highway-side, begging," whose eyes he opened, and to whose mind he imparted faith? If he had not been a "friend of publicans and sinners" the songs of descending spirits would never have charmed the shepherds of Bethlehem--a church would never have been formed on earth and ultimately taken to heaven--the mansions of eternity would never have been peopled by the children of transgression--the hymns of human gratitude would never have mingled with the hallelujahs of the blessed--nor would the sacred writings have contained such a history as that before us of the penitent sinner.

It is introduced by an account of one of the Pharisees having solicited the company of Jesus to dinner, and of his having accepted his invitation. The Pharisees were amongst his bitterest enemies, and yet here is one who courteously introduces him into his house. He might have been affected by his discourses or miracles; and it is pleasing to recollect, that divine grace is not limited in its operations to one community, class, or age, but peoples the heavenly world by the redemption of sinners of every rank in life, every period of time, every degree of moral corruption, and every nation of the globe.

Our Saviour's visit to the Pharisee is related for the sake of the incident and discourse with which it was connected, and which are given in the following words: Behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee which had bidden him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if he were a prophet, would have known who and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering, said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. There was a certain creditor which had two debtors; the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of them will love him most? Simon answered and said, I suppose that he to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, seest thou this woman? I entered into thine house, thou gavest me no water for my feet; but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss; but this woman, since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint; but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. And they that sat at meat with him began to say within themselves, Who is this that forgiveth sins also? And he said to the woman, "Thy faith hath saved thee: go in peace."

The woman is denominated a _sinner_, because incontinency was her trade and the means of her subsistence. Her character is branded with merited infamy, but her name is mercifully veiled. She was notorious in the city; and one would have imagined that as it could be no defamation to name her, the sacred historian need not have manifested any scrupulousness upon the point; nevertheless, as justice did not require it, and as it was the writer's purpose rather to record her penitence than to expose her crimes, she is mentioned only in general terms, as _a sinner, a woman in the city._

What compassionate mind can help deploring the immoralities of populous towns and crowded cities! What an illustration of human depravity does it afford, that wherever mankind resort in great multitudes, vice is proportionably varied in its nature, atrocious in its character, and barefaced in its practice--as if it were thought that the numbers who perpetrated wickedness, tended to conceal from the view of Omniscience individual delinquency! It is common to acquire boldness by association; and society, which ought rather to purify the mind, is often the means of its pollution. The facilities for secrecy in sin which exist in considerable places, the incalculable variety of forms in which temptation appears, the force of example operating upon an extensive scale, and enhanced by a thousand tributary streams that pour into the tide of transgression flowing down the streets, concur to involve the inhabitants of populous vicinities in circumstances of great moral danger. Apart from all persuasion or direct influence, the very sight of immoralities is liable to injure that delicate sensibility to wrong which it is of the utmost importance to preserve in a pure and uncontaminated state. The nicely polished mind is susceptible of the breath of impurity; and when it once becomes dim and obscure in its perceptions, it is difficult to restore it. Many have on this account withdrawn into retirement, supposing that they should be able to secure that leisure for devotional exercises which they have believed conducive to religious eminence. But they have forgotten that the human heart is sown with unholy principles, which will spring up in solitude as well as in society; that in avoiding dissipation, they are liable to be narrowed into selfishness; and that the honourable and heroic part which Christianity requires, is not to fly from difficulties, but, "in the grace that is in Christ Jesus," to contend with, and conquer them.

In the woman whose brief but instructive history is to be reviewed, we see indications of a "repentance that needeth not to be repented of." It is to be traced, in the first place, in the _posture_ she assumed, and the _tears_ she shed. When she found that Jesus was dining in the house of Simon, she went and "stood at his feet behind him weeping." She who had known no shame, but whose unblushing impudence and obtrusive familiarities had so often scandalized the city, now avoids a look, shrinks even from respectful notice, and is overwhelmed with a consciousness of guilt.

This conduct bespeaks the most pungent and unaffected sorrow. Her sins present themselves in array before her mind, and she "abhors herself, and repents in dust and ashes." Though all around was festivity, her heart was sad--she wept as in secret; and those eloquent tears bespoke the Saviour's pity, in a manner more powerful than the most studied language could have done! Those tears were precious in his sight--that silence expressed the depth and sincerity of her grief--and he approved it!

With what pleasure must holy angels have contemplated from their radiant spheres this impressive scene; for "there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth!" The gayeties of life, and the appearances of worldly grandeur, excite no satisfaction in them; they are not attracted by those tinsel shows and glittering nonentities which fill the circle of human vanity, and fire the ardent wishes of mankind; the most splendid titles, the most opulent condition, the most celebrated heroes, pass before them like shadows that haste away, unregretted and in quick succession; but they bend from their thrones of light to witness the sorrows of the meanest penitent, and listen to his secret moanings.

It is to be apprehended that many substitute an external reformation of manners for solid repentance towards God. They lay aside the filthy garments of gross immorality, and invest themselves in the decent attire of correct conduct; but the principle of genuine penitence consists in a just estimate of the perfections of that Being whom we have offended, and of the nature of sin, as violating those obligations which devolve on us as creatures. It is an humbling consideration, that God must perceive the guilt of sin with infinitely greater distinctness than is possible to the most self-examining penitent; and that their number and variety must be perfectly discerned by the eyes of his purity. We are apt to throw them together, as in a confused heap; and instead of realizing them in detail, to contemplate them only in the aggregate and mass, by which their individual atrocity is overlooked.

The true penitent views sin in connexion with his personal obligations, and the requirements of the divine law. The Being against whom he rebels, has, he knows, conferred upon him all the blessings of existence; and has, consequently, the most indisputable claim upon his entire obedience--an obedience, however, which, in his presumption and folly, he has refused to render.

It may be remarked, also of repentance, that it possesses a character of universality. Its regrets extend to every sin, without exception or excuse: it has no apologies to offer, and cannot hold the balance to measure with cold and calculating nicety, the respective demerits of the offences which have been committed, with a view to conciliate the mercy of heaven, or institute a plea in mitigation of punishment. It is, besides, a deep and permanent impression, which is perpetually renewed by reflection, and by witnessing the transgressions of a degenerate world. What are "the sacrifices of God," but a "broken spirit?" verily, "a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise."

We observe, in the next place, if not the _words_, certainly the very _spirit_ of confession in this once profligate but now penitent woman. It is impossible to imagine a finer or more complete specimen of self-debasement than that which she exhibited upon this occasion. How easily could she have avoided such an exposure of herself, and spared those lamentations! She was under no necessity to introduce herself into the presence of that holy man, whose looks would condemn her immoralities, and whose words, should he condescend to address her, might be expected to convey severe reproof. Surely she might have remained at home:--no--it could not be--she _was_ unable to avoid this exposure, and to spare those lamentations; she was under a most imperious necessity to go to the house of Simon--she _could not_ have remained at home: the irresistible influence of "godly sorrow" urged her in to these circumstances, and her bursting heart was forced to seek relief at the feet of Jesus, Her own vileness tormented her recollections; her views of sin were of the most tragic and affecting kind; in the depths of humiliation, the waves and billows rolled over her; and her tears were confessions of guilt, which he who was perfectly acquainted with the emotions of her spirit, know how to interpret.

How common is it for persons suffering pain of conscience, to plunge into new excesses, in order to disengage themselves from wretchedness of remorse, and, as they hope, to divert their sorrows! This infatuation is attended with mischievous effects: it diminishes sensibility to sin, and confirms the habit. The thorns which at first grew in the path of indulgence, are trampled down by frequent passage; and a return to God becomes every day less and less probable. Familiarity with the various modes of vice weakens the impression of disgust which is originally felt; as we lose by degrees the horror with which an unsightly countenance was beheld at the first interview, till at length we can more than tolerate distortion, and even court deformity. Never was a more important maxim delivered by the Saviour for the guidance of his disciples, than that which respected their avoidance of the first step in transgression. "Watch ye and pray," said he, "lest ye _enter_ into temptation." The fence which is placed around the forbidden fruit-tree, by the interdictions of Heaven, being once violated, the most alarming consequences ensue; and, unless grace prevent, the transgressor must inevitably perish. Avoid then, studiously avoid, whatever leads to the way of death. Escape for thy life, O sinner, from the brink of transgression, if thou hast unhappily ventured so far; and tremble at the yawning gulf below. If thou hast _fallen_, while thou hast not yet passed the boundaries of life, thou art not irrecoverably lost; but, O let a sense of thy danger induce thee to lift up thine eyes to view the weeping penitent standing in the presence of Jesus Christ, of whom she is accepted, and open thine ears to hear the voice of kind invitation: "Return, thou backsliding Israel, saith the Lord; and I will not cause mine anger to fall upon you: for I am merciful, saith the Lord, and I will not keep anger forever. Only acknowledge thine iniquity, that thou hast transgressed against the Lord thy God, and hast scattered thy ways to the strangers under every green tree, and ye have not obeyed my voice, saith the Lord.... Return, ye backsliding children, and I will heal your backslidings.... He that covereth his sins shall not prosper: but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them, shall have mercy."

Further, this woman, who went into Simon's house at Nain, upon the occasion already mentioned, is celebrated by Jesus himself for her faith, which "worked by love." Addressing her in the presence of the astonished company, he said, "Thy _faith_ hath saved thee, go in peace."

The Pharisees treated others with scornful contempt, especially those whom they deemed to be of notorious character. Theirs was not like Christianity, the religion of compassion--the religion, that, deriving its characteristic peculiarities from its Author, pities the deluded, sympathises with the miserable, seeks to reclaim the criminal, and marks the tears of the penitent; but "trusting in themselves that they were righteous, they despised others." Disregardful, however, of the sneers or reproaches which she might have to encounter, this penitent woman presses to the house of the Pharisee, because Jesus was a guest. Her object was not concealment, but forgiveness; she was willing to be rebuked, so that she might be saved; and while by obtruding in this manner into the house of Simon, she exposed herself to the insults which her dissolute habits would be likely to incur, she courageously adopted a course of proceeding which brought her under the most solemn obligations to future chastity and holiness of life. She was willing that the whole assembly or city should witness her change, and that the reality of her penitence, and the strength of her attachment to Christ, should be as notorious as her former irregularities. Her courage, then, demands notice, and deserves imitation. What might be the opinion of the motley assemblage who were the spectators of her conduct, seemed to have had no influence upon her mind; but obeying the impulse of sorrow for sin, and hope in Jesus, she dismissed every thought of personal exposure, and with tears of undissembled grief, hastened to him who was "full of grace and truth."

Timorousness, arising from an undue regard to the world, is too often a hinderance to religious profession. Persons who have been awakened to some sense of the evil of sin, and have perceived the importance, while they have felt in some degree the claims of piety, frequently, alas! have been deterred from that avowal of their sentiments, which is essential to verify their convictions, and to honour God in the eyes of men. They would be servants of Christ, if they were not slaves to human opinion: they would go to Jesus, if it were not in the observers who stand around: they would renounce the world, if they could avoid reproach: they would, in a word, be decided, but they dare not be singular!

We are required to "_confess_ Christ _before men_," and it is only by such a confession we can evince the sincerity of our attachment. Jesus Christ was not ashamed to call us _brethren_, to assume our nature, to fill our humble station, to suffer our sorrows, and to die an ignominious death:--he is not ashamed to own his connexion with us, now he is ascended into the highest heavens, or to be engaged in preparing a place for us amidst the mansions of glory. Shall we be ashamed of him, or his cause? Shall we be afraid to avow our regard, if we feel it?

It is the design of Christ to establish an interest in the world which shall be universally prevalent, and this cause is rendered visible by the public profession of its adherents. In the apostolic age, therefore, to embrace Christianity, and to profess it, were considered as inseparably connected; and why should they now be separated? "Then they that gladly received the word were baptized."

Do any circumstances now exist to render it proper to act contrary to apostolical example and precept? Is not the world the same? is not the command of Jesus the same? is not his religion the same as in primitive ages? This cause is to be now maintained as then; not by fear, but by firmness--not by compliance with the world, but by resisting it--not by sloth, inactivity, and shrinking into a corner, but by "putting on the whole armour of God," and pressing to the field of battle. Not to be for Christ, is to be against him; _inactivity_ is _enmity_; a dread of standing in the ranks, or a refusal to enlist under the banners of Immanuel, are indications of disloyalty, rebellion, and treason. The territories of his grace are invaded by the troops of hell--the great power that "ruleth in the children of disobedience" is opposing the kingdom of the Redeemer, and extending his influence over the hearts of men. Not to resist his encroachments, therefore, not to withstand in our own person his dominion, and declare our cause, is, in fact, to favour his designs, and betray him whom we profess to love. It is stated, that at the second appearance of Christ "he will be glorified _in_ his saints, and admired _in_ all them that believe;" and it is _in_ them he expects _now_ to be glorified before men; and the most effectual way to honour him is to "confess him," to avow before the world our determination to be "on the Lord's side.

"Perfect love," remarks an apostle, "casteth out fear;" of which we have a striking exemplification in this woman of Nain. The expressions of her attachment to Jesus were such as could not be mistaken, for she not only caressed him, but made considerable sacrifices to show her love. The gifts of nature had been the instruments of dissipation. With what care had she been accustomed to adjust her smiles, to throw fascination into her countenance, to beautify her person, to arrange her dress and her hair, and to cultivate every exterior charm! What sums of money had she lavished upon herself, with a view to attract admiration! Behold her now at the feet of Jesus, careless of her personal attractions, and absorbed in the contemplation of her Saviour: she washes his feet with her tears, wipes them with the hairs of her head, kisses his feet, [31] and even expends an alabaster box of ointment, very precious and costly, in anointing them. Whatever has been the occasion or the means of transgression, becomes an object of dislike; and in the true spirit of penitence, she not only deserts what is obviously criminal, but detests and relinquishes whatever may tend to renew the remembrance of indulgence, or rekindle the expiring flame of desire. She renounces every superfluity, submits cheerfully to every privation, and slays at once with unreluctant severity, the dearest lusts that twine about her heart. It is thus that a sincere Christian will abandon both the practice and principle of sin, and aware of his peculiar propensities, he will watch with a scrupulousness proportioned to his sense of danger, over those sins to which he knows himself to have been most inclined in the days of his unregeneracy. "If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell."

Reader! examine into the state of thy mind, the propensities that reign within, and the principles that predominate in thy heart! Hast thou professed an attachment to Jesus Christ? "Dost thou _believe_ in the Son of God?" What sacrifices hast thou made, tending to evince the sincerity of thy declarations, and the ardour of thy love? Hast thou braved reproach--stood firm amidst opposition--abandoned criminal practices and guilty associates--assisted the cause of thy Lord--encouraged and supplied his disciples--and for his sake been willing even to renounce indulgences, which, if they were innocent, might have proved offensive to others, or ensnaring to thyself. Decision of character is important, both as a proof of our own sincerity, and as a means of confirming others in religion; for neutrality, which Christ himself has so pointedly condemned, is even more prejudicial than hostility.

But it is not sufficient to inquire into the _extent_ of those sacrifices which may have been offered to the service of religion, the _nature_ of those sacrifices must be investigated; otherwise there may be "a fair show in the flesh," while the individual is destitute of the essential principles of Christianity. The love of the world, and indulgence in secret sin, may be compatible with an ostentatious religion. What is difficult to some, may prove comparatively easy to others, whose constitutional tendencies or mental prepossessions are of another description. The sacrifice, for example, of a spendthrift to religion must be of a different kind from that of a miser; otherwise the one may obtain undue credit for splendid charities, and the other for pious scrupulosity. In estimating, therefore, the characters of men, or apportioning their duties, the respective casts of mind, habits, and inclinations, are to be investigated, in order to judge of the one, or prescribe the other. To gain advantage from a course of self-inspection, it is requisite to study the peculiarities of our own mind, and to ascertain what is really a _sacrifice_ to ourselves, and how far we have made it, or are prepared to offer it, to Christ. What gratifications have we relinquished? what sins have we resisted? what lusts have we overcome? Where are we in point of moral progress? Has our professed penitence led us to Christ? What degree of assimilation to him have we attained? Have we, in fact, devoted to life service our ENTIRE BEING--and do we feel that

"Our lives and thousand lives of ours"

can neither discharge our obligations, nor repay his love?

The state of the mind is often indicated by trifles, better than by what appears to be of greater magnitude and importance. There are, certain actions not intended for the public, and, therefore, not dressed up for inspection, which mark the feelings of the heart, and the meaning of which no vigilant observer can mistake. There is a truth and a certainty about them sufficiently obvious; they as infallibly show the state of the man, as the index points to the hour of the day. In the history of the penitent sinner, the negligence of her dress and hair, which had doubtless before been decorated, according to the habit of the age, with jewels, was such an indication. Some professed penitents would have given, perhaps, the costly presentation of the alabaster box of ointment, but would have found it infinitely more difficult to renounce their vanity: but here the sacrifice was complete; her best affections were engrossed with the new object of her delight, and she virtually said, "Perish, thou love of the world; perish, thou fond and criminal passion for show; perish, all ye ministers of iniquity, at the feet of Jesus! I willingly exchange masters; and henceforth I shall be regardless of personal attractions, solicitous only of participating the blessings of salvation!"

Simon, during all this time, was an attentive observer of what passed; but rashly concluded within himself that Jesus could not be a prophet, as he seemed ignorant of the character of the woman whom he admitted to such familiarity. He mistook both the character of the woman, and that of his divine guest. She was not, in _his_ sense of the term, a _sinner_, but a _penitent_ and a _believer_; nor was Jesus capable of contamination by her touch. He knew perfectly, "who and what manner of woman it was," though the Pharisee was too proud to see or acknowledge it. The important change which had been produced upon her, essentially altered the case. She was no longer what she had been, and what Simon supposed her. Grace had constituted her a chosen vessel, and purified her heart by the impartation of heavenly principles. The impurities of her life were rectified by the "renewal of a right spirit" within her. She had been snatched from the jaws of destruction; she had resorted to the "fountain opened for sin and uncleanness," and proved that she was one of those "lost sheep" which Jesus came into the wilderness to "seek and to save."

Simon had not _expressed_ his ideas, but the Saviour _knew_ them with perfect certainty, and answered them with unerring wisdom. Having first claimed the attention of his host, which was respectfully conceded, Jesus delivered a parable respecting a creditor having two debtors, who owed, the one five hundred, and the other fifty pence, but were both forgiven in consideration of their poverty; and he put it to the Pharisee, which of them would love him most? he properly answered, "he to whom he forgave most." Then turning to the woman--and, O what sensations of joy must have thrilled through her agitated bosom!--he continued to direct his discourse to Simon; "Seest thou this woman?" _q.d._ "Art thou aware of the extent and value of those sacrifices she has made to me? Hast thou observed the tears she has shed, and the love she has manifested? Has it struck thy mind, that the conduct of this woman, whom thou art despising in thy heart, is far more deserving of my approbation than thine?" Mark, with what punctuality and detail he proceeds to enumerate every act of kindness! He mentions her tears, her caresses, the kisses, and the ointment which she had lavished upon his feet--nothing is forgotten or omitted--everything is distinctly told--her love is extolled, and her sins are pardoned: Simon, "her sins, which are many, are forgiven"--Woman, "thy sins are forgiven." There is a beauty and a propriety in this repetition, which was well calculated to stimulate the inquiries, and to correct the errors of the Pharisee, while it ministered consolation to the weeping penitent. Ah! our secret desires, our silent tears, our meanest services, are noticed by our Master and Lord! He will "reward us _openly_" having given the grace of penitence, he will bestow the joys of faith; our _many_ sins shall be overlooked and forgiven; our _few_ services remembered and recorded for his sake!

This parable is illustrative of our moral obligations, and of our total incapacity to discharge them. We are all _debtors_--to God; we are so, it is true, in different proportions--some owe five hundred and some fifty pence. A difference exists in the nature and atrocity of our respective crimes--we have run to greater or less extravagances of iniquity--our sins are more or less notorious, more or less limited or extensive in their influence on others; more or less aggravated by knowledge, by vows, and by repetition--indulged in for a longer or a shorter period, as there was a great diversity of moral character between the Pharisee and the woman; but "_all have sinned_, and, come short of the glory of God"--all have incurred debt--and it is important to remark, that all are equally incapable of discharging it--of atoning for their guilt, or rescuing themselves from the pains and penalties they have incurred.

However plain this statement, and however frequently repeated, it is but little believed and felt. If it were--if mankind were actually convinced of the utter inefficiency of every attempt to recommend themselves to God, and regain his forfeited favour; whence is it that they are perpetually "going about to establish their own righteousness?" Why do they endeavour to persuade themselves that sin is a trifling concern, or that at least _their_ sins are trivial and excusable? It is obvious, that they form very low and inadequate ideas of the greatness of their debt, and the utter worthlessness of their own merit--they do not realize their ruined and bankrupt condition, nor are they sufficiently persuaded that they have "_nothing to pay_" not an atom of righteousness, not a grain of inherent goodness, not a particle of real virtue!

Sinner, come to the test. Hear the indictment, and see if thou hast any defence, if thou hast any plea, or if thou canst put in any just demurrer to stay the proceedings of eternal justice and equity. But how shall human language express the debt? Thou hast violated every divine precept, pursued a course diametrically opposite to the commandments of God, trampled on his authority, and lived to thyself. Every action, word, and thought, has augmented the already incalculable debt. God has called, but thou hast refused; his providence has warned thee, but thou hast despised it, and made a covenant with hell. While thy personal transgressions have abounded like the drops of the ocean, or the sands upon the shore, thy example has perniciously influenced others. Thou owest thy whole existence and all thy faculties, thy entire obedience and constant affection, to God. He is thy _Father_--thy _Creator_--thy _Benefactor_, and what hast thou to pay? what are thy resources? _Future_ obedience, supposing it _perfect_, could not expiate _past_ offences. Pains, prostrations, pilgrimages, penances, and mortifications, can be of no avail. Hecatombs of animals would not suffice, or ten thousand rivers of oil; but, if they would, the treasures are not _thine_: "for every beast of the forest is _mine_, and the cattle upon a thousand hills. I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine. If I were hungry, I would not tell thee: for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof. Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?" What then hast thou to pay?--_Nothing_! absolutely _nothing_!

But the parable in question represents the free pardon, which it is the privilege of the vilest transgressors to participate upon their return to God, And we should mark the _sovereignty_, blended with the mercy of this procedure. It is not supposed that the recipients of divine bounty and blessing have any claim upon such favors; nor, indeed, that they can plead any extenuating circumstance to conciliate offended justice. The debtors had "nothing to pay," and their impoverished condition was a sufficient excitement to their creditor to remit his dues. He "remembered them in their low estate;" and, with a liberality characteristic of him to whom we are so deeply indebted in a moral sense, he discharged them from every obligation. There is not the slightest intimation of any urgency or solicitation on their part; but he "_frankly_ forgave them." If sinners had any just conception of their state, they would indeed seek mercy with the utmost importunity, and relinquish their present courses with the most fixed resolution of mind; but the grace of God operates in _calling_ men to repentance, as well as in _constraining_ their attention and acquiescence. They are "made willing" in "the day of his power;" and, like a gale that rises upon a vessel drifting to a rocky shore, and bears it from destruction, this influence effectually propels them to "the hope set before them" in the Gospel.

The exercise of mercy is distinguished also for its _extensive and diversified application_. Simon the Pharisee, and the woman who was a sinner, differed in the nature and proportion of their guilt. He was as much condemned for self-righteousness, as she for impurity--he transgressed by pride, and she by rebellion: but "he frankly forgave them _both_." "Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy! He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea."

If, reader, thou art impressed with a sense of guilt, and ready to exclaim, "What must I do to be saved?" it is with unspeakable satisfaction and confidence we point to "the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world." That heart which was melted by the tears of this woman, is not closed against _thee_! That Saviour who was all pity and benevolence in the days of his humiliation, still waits to be gracious now he is exalted to his throne!

Hast thou experienced the efficacy of his grace, and the joys of his salvation? Be stimulated to _love him much_. What sins, what rebellions, what broken vows, what ingratitude has he forgiven thee! All are obliterated from the book of his remembrance; all are lost and buried in the ocean of his grace; and he has fixed thy name amongst a thousand promises, and in a page which his eye never peruses but with ineffable complacency!

The _plan_ upon which forgiveness is dispensed to a sinful world, and which is now more fully developed, demands our admiration, as it glorifies God, exalts the sinner, and harmonizes the universe.

It _glorifies_ God. The work of redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ is the central point, where all the perfections of Deity assemble and meet. Every attribute of God pointing to Calvary, seems to devout believers to say, as Jesus did to his disciples, with reference to their last interview on a mountain in Galilee, "There shall ye see me." His perfections had hitherto appeared in the world in their distinct forms.--Justice in its inflexible decisions, Truth in its firm decrees, Holiness in its terrible inflictions, operated powerfully, but often separately--as in the destruction of Pharaoh, and the deliverance of Israel--in the earthquake that devoured the rebels who presented strange fire--in the deluge that overwhelmed the world--in the burning tempest that descended upon Sodom, and the sword that scattered the nations of Canaan; but round the brink of that "fountain which was opened" on Calvary for "sin and uncleanness," they seem to unite and say, "Glory to God in the highest." This is the common and sacred ground, on which "mercy and truth can meet together." Inflexible justice does not remit her claims, but "the Lamb that was slain" satisfies them--she still demands _blood_--and blood is shed--she demands the _life_ of the guilty, and the guilty are furnished with a victim who can endure the curse and suffer the chastisement--she requires a recompense for the violated law; and "he hath magnified the law and made it honorable," by becoming "obedient unto death, even the death of the cross!"

This plan of mercy _exalts the sinner_. If the requisitions of justice were strictly personal, and the economy of Heaven such as to admit of no substitute, the sinner's salvation would have been impossible; because his individual sufferings, though the just consequence of his guilt, could never become the meritorious means of its removal. Suffering, extreme in its nature, and perpetual in its duration, was the desert of transgression; but it could neither repair the injury which sin had done, nor constitute a claim upon divine forgiveness; or, if it _could_--by the very supposition there would be no possibility of any period arriving when that mercy could be enjoyed, because the suffering must be _eternal_. Such, however, was the infinite merit of the Saviour, that in the plan of forgiving mercy, his death was accepted as an equivalent for the sufferings of creatures. By exercising faith in his name, we transfer the burden of our debt, and he liquidates it: we confess we have nothing to pay, and wholly confide in his ability to discharge on our behalf every obligation; in consequence of which the transgressor is treated as innocent; he is released--the door is opened, his chains are broken off, and he is exalted to the favour and friendship of God; and "Who," he inquires, "shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us"

This plan of mercy _harmonizes the universe_. Sin has separated chief friends--it has divided man from God, man from angels, and man from his neighbour. It has introduced a general war, and generated universal anarchy and strife. But redemption is the great work that restores order and promotes concord. It is on Calvary the terms are made, and the great treaty ratified--divided interests are reunited, and peace on earth proclaimed. It is there "God is in Christ reconciling the world to himself;" and there, realizing the efficacy of atoning blood, and weeping over the follies and criminality of past rebellion, the penitent exclaims, "Abba, Father!" Thus God and man are united. It is there holy angels, instead of being executioners of vengeance, become "ministering spirits to the heirs of salvation;" while every Lazarus begins to anticipate the period of "absence from the body," when "he shall be carried by _angels_ to Abraham's bosom," and be "ever present with the Lord." Thus men and angels become one. It is there also before the cross, having "tasted that the Lord is gracious," "the brother of low degree rejoices in that he is exalted, and the rich in that he is made low." There the murderer Saul meets his victim Stephen, with "all who in every place call on the name of the Lord;" and (O happy change!) embraces as a brother him whom he believed a foe! There the turbulence of passion is allayed--the violence of animosity ceases--the battle of conflicting interests and petty selfishness rages no more. Those who were enemies in the world, become friends at the cross. The barbarian, Scythian, bond, and free, drink together the cup of blessing, partake the "common salvation," and imbibe the fraternal spirit. Thus man and man unite, while "Christ is all and in all."

"Religion, in all its parts, requires the exercise of forgiveness. It is required by its precepts, its spirit, and its prospects. Its _precepts_--we are not to render evil for evil, but contrariwise blessing: we are to love our enemies, to forgive our brother as often as he returns acknowledging his misconduct, and saying, 'I repent.' Its _spirit_; the Gospel, or the religion of Jesus, is emphatically styled 'the ministry of _reconciliation_.' Its _prospects_; we are members of the same family, heirs of the same kingdom, and going to the same heaven. Heaven is a state of perfect and universal harmony and love. Nothing must enter there, either to defile or disturb. There must be no little disputes, no rising resentment, no shadow of reserve. All must be of one heart and of one soul. Yes, if we both be Christians indeed, there we must meet our brother, with whom wo have been angry, and towards whom we have even indulged our anger; an anger upon which not only the 'sun went down,' but over which life itself passed. Yes, happy necessity! there we _must_ meet him! There will be no passing' by on the other side, no refusing to go into his company. Countenance must sparkle to countenance, thought must meet thought, bosom must expand to bosom, and heart bound to heart forever,"

The Syrophenician; or Canaanitish Woman.