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who were present, and not to the French only, but to the Arab, the Hanoverian, and others; for there was the Arab in his Arab costume, the German, and men of other countries; and it seemed as if the Good Samaritan had gone into their hearts, and had revealed Himself; and themselves, having shown some of them their true condition. Now, if you were to ask a man of the world, Are
you happy? the probability is, he would say no; or, Would you, in dying, like to meet with God? he probably would answer no, showing that there is something wrong; for if He knew God in His trne character if He knew Him as his Father-how delightful it would be to meet Him! But his answers show how man has been robbed of what he had. Is this the case with you? Are you happy? If this room were now to be the scene of your death, could you meet God in peace ? Are you ready to die? How unnatural it is not to love God! What robbery has been committed on your precious nature! Adam in his innocence delighted in the thought of God; he had fellowship with Him in Eden; he walked with Him as a man walks with his friend. But now man is afraid to meet God; he is afraid to die. The devil has robbed him of his primal innocency, and fellowship, and love, and now man hates God.
And you may die soon. Two gentlemen met not long ago; they had been companions together. One said
“ Since we last met, I have undergone a great change. I have found Jesus; have you found Jesus ? “No," said he, “I have not found Jesus, and, what ,” ,
, is more, I do not want to find Him.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth when he dropped dead at his friend's feet. Alas! so dead are we, in our natural state, that we neither have God, nor want to have Him! How has the devil plundered our nature !
The question is, What are we to do with a man who has been robbed and left for dead? for he cannot help himself. If you saw a man lying, as this man was, hopeless and helpless, you would at once know that he could not help himself. He had no money, no strength—the night approaching, the darkness come! What is to be done? See! the Lord shows you some one coming along the road. It is a priest; and surely he will lend his help No, indeed; he merely takes a rapid glance, and passes by on the other side; and, as as I have often said, it was just as well he did; for the priest was as the Law—as Moses—and law can do nothing with one who is guilty but condemn him; the Law must condemn if you are condemnation-worthy. If the judgment day were now to throw its wing over you, all it could do is to condemn, and it will condemn the finally impenitent sinner. If a man steal a sheep, or enter a house for the purpose of robbing, the Law, laying hold of him, must condemn him. The Law can reveal to a man the misery to which he has come, but it can never save him: so it was just as well the priest did pass by:
Next came a Levite; but he, too, like the priest, only looked and passed on. And it was as well he did; for he represented ordinances--and what could ordinances do for a man left for dead? What could Baptism or the Lord's Supper do for him? What would the Lord's Supper avail if you had stolen? Keeping the Sabbath (though it is a divine thing, the rest of the Sabbath) would never pay a debt; going to the Lord's Supper would not pay it.
What, then, are we to do with this man who has been plundered and robbed—who has no peace, no rest—who has nothing—who is left for dead ?
is left for dead? Why, as the Lord depicts the story, He shows you a third person coming. Looming in the distance you see the Good Samaritan; and when He came, did He merely take a glance ?
did He only look, and then pass by? Oh! that Blessed Samaritan! He always saw when misery was in the way. He saw the blind man, poor Bartimeus, as he sat by the wayside begging. He saw Zaccheus when he was up in the sycamore tree, half hidden by the foliage. He never passed by, but He always saw want and misery. And if you say, I am like that man; I have no peace, I have no hope; if I die to-night, I have no hope that I shall go to heaven-oh ! if the Lord ever so little touch thy heart, He is looking on thee, lifting thee ир,
and it is worth a million worlds to thee to have Him thus, though it seem but a little.
Mark the Good Samaritan. He lifted the veller up; He looked into his face, and saw that it was covered with blood and dust, and with His gentle hand softly wiped it all away. Nothing shows more whether there is life in a man than lifting him up. If you saw a man lying apparently dead on a couch, and lifted him up, you would soon see whether he had life or not. Now, I have oftentimes seen a sinner like that. He was dead; he was a corpse; he had no desire after God; he was going the downward road to hell—satisfied with outward things, with mere religiousnesswithout knowing Christ-having a name to live, while he was dead. But Christ lifted him, awakened him, and he had life.
When the poor man was lifted a little he had wants. He wanted oil to heal his wounds, and wine to give him strength, and the Good Samaritan gave him both. Ah! dear friends, this is the condition of the awakened sinner! Do you not know this? Think a little this morning. Have you not felt there was something you wanted ? Bright and merry and joyous as you are outwardly--gay in the ball-room and in the concertroom, a smile on your sunny face--deep down in your young heart, have you never felt that you wanted something?
When young, I had everything I could wish for; but there was a wooded, shaded spot hard by the house where I was born; and beneath the summer boughs of that “silent shade," my knees often bent, craving for something I wanted, albeit I did not well know what it
Now, some people seem to think that religion, or Christ, is a wild element in the soul; that it is mere excitement. But no! When the soul is among the damned, it will then see that there is nothing more important than an hour such as this, abstracted from the amusements, frivolities, and occupations of everyday life. Better to have been lost in infancy-if that were possible, which I believe it is not—than to live content without Christ. May God give you to think of it calmly and peacefully. God can lift you up: When the poor wayfarer was lifted up, he was in want, which proved that he was not dead. If you know your want of Jesus, you are not dead. If
you can satisfy it to your conscience, I want Jesus—I have had the world, I have had fashion, I have had beauty, I have beauty, I have youth, I have everything this world can give; but I need Thee, Jesus—I want Jesus, I want heaven, I want holiness, I want happiness, I want God, I want what will infinitely and eternally satisfy. Beloved, if you are wanting God, believe me, God is wanting you—it is the Good Samaritan lifting you up. Oh! is it so, that you are wanting God ? you who were dead, and cared not for Christ, do you now want Him ? Blessed want!
You remember the Good Samaritan was coming along riding when He saw the poor man lying in his blood, and that He alighted and put the man upon His own beast. They changed places. That is the very thing Jesus has done. He was in heaven, but He came down upon earth. He was Son with the Father, but He took the sinner's place and the sinner's sins, and having put the sins away, He ascended with our nature
and put it upon the throne.
the throne. Did you ever think of this ?
He came not as an angel, but in the form
When I see a poor drunkard, when I see a man otherwise degrading himself, I think with wonder, “ Ah, is that nature the Son of God humbled Himself to take.” He passed by angels, and was here in the lowest form of man; and all for sinners who were ready to perish. He took upon Him our nature and our sins. Ah! this is what will lead you to die in peace. I could not have peace if I did not know this. What would be the good of His taking my nature if He did not take my sins ? What, you say, sins? Yes; sins past, present, and future. Says the prophet, Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.” All my sins were future to Him. Eighteen hundred years ago He was here bearing away the sins of the world. There are some of you trying to take away your own sins; but as well may the poor Ethiopian try to change his skin; you cannot do it. The Lord took our sins away.
He died for them; and, believe me, instead of making ine sit easy to sin, or make light of it, I the rather say, no—miserable sin ! horrible sin ! hateful sin ! If
you were to meet the Lawrences and the Havelocks, as I have met them, and were to say to them, 6. If the bullet that killed
your in India were brought to you, would you hug that bullet ? would you prize that bullet? would you
adorn it with gilding of gold? would you kiss it-hang it on your neck ?" Oh, no! they would say, “Horrible bullet! odious bullet !” And so, instead of caressing sin- this sin which cost Christ so much say,
“ Horrible sin! wicked sin ! How can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God ?” When Jesus came down and died, He bore our iniquities, and took away our sins, and He is in heaven now without our sins. That is your position and my position. We are like this man on his way to Jericho, when the dust had