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 was. 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. Did you ever think of this ? He came not as an angel, but in the form of man. When I see a poor drunkard, when I see a man otherwise degrading himself, I think with wonder, "Ah, is that the 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, "The 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 me 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, "If the bullet that killed your dear ones 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. -you will 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 been wiped from his face: our sins have been all washed away by our good Samaritan, and we are now raised and seated together with Him in heavenly places. 66 Then this good Samaritan brings the traveller to an inn, and takes care of him. Jesus brings the sinner, shall I say, into His Church, the Church of God in this world, of which Jesus is both Lord and Saviour. "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, I will repay thee." He leaves the innkeeper to say that there is nothing to pay; and so, in the morning, when the man has recovered, and is able to go on his way, he asks, "What is there now to pay ?" the innkeeper tells him there is nothing. Now, mark this, for it is an important truth. Nothing to pay !" "What!" he says, "nothing for the beast on which I came here?" for he has now come to know a little of the state he had been in. "No, nothing." "Nor for the wine ?" 66 Nothing." "Nor for the oil, for I have been healed ?" "Nothing." Nor for this couch, on which I have had rest?" "No; there is nothing to pay." "Well, then, who has paid for me ?" "The good Samaritan !" This, beloved, is a great truth. For are you not purchased? are you not bought? did He not purchase you? did He not bring you back to God? Where did the Good Samaritan find you? was it not in your sins? And has He not paid all for you? has He not died? Suppose a slaveowner, who says, "I have a slave, and he can be manumitted for a certain price;" suppose there is one who loves that slave, and who brings that price; he comes to the gates of the plantation, to the very home and person of the planter, and puts the sum of money in his hand. Why, the slaveowner, honouring his word, says, "The slave is free; he is manumitted !" Think you that God is less honourable than a slaveowner! Christ Jesus, who loved us, even with a dying love, wanted you and me to sit down with Him on His throne-to be higher than the angels-to have crowns on our foreheads, and harps in our hands-to be happy in His love: but the price to be paid for all this-what is it? It is death "The soul that sinneth, it must die." Would the death of an angel do? No: the sin is infinite, and the merit of Him who dies must be infinite. And so the Son of God came and died; He, Jesus, shed His blood for us. Nothing is so great a proof of His love; and He puts that blood-where ? Why, down in His Father's presence; and in right of that blood before God He can now say, "Him that cometh, I will in nowise cast out." It is in virtue of that blood you can claim your freedom. "Him that cometh, I will in nowise cast out." You can have no peace until you understand this. understand this. We are purchased with His own blood; we are bought with a price: well might the innkeeper say, "There is nothing to pay!" But when this saved wayfarer thinks of this, he says, "What did I do to the Good Samaritan, that he has done so much for me ?" and he remembers with shame that he did nothing but hate him; he had no dealings with him, for the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans. Mark, then, what a change takes place in him. Oh, I often wonder at people who say, Can God save a sinner just as he is ?" Now, you see this man did not love the Good Samaritan; formerly he hated him; but when he heard of what he had done-how that he had thought of him when he was unable to think for himself, and that he had paid all for him-then he says, "How wonderful! How I wish I could see him!" And why? For what does he want to see him? It is that he may thank him and love him-that he may tell him how much he is obligated And so the sinner, who, knowing the blood and promise of the Lord, has said— "Just as I am-without one plea, But that thy blood was shed for me, Such can now say, "I love Him, because He first loved me." Beloved, I have no right to life or liberty, but in virtue of the blood. It is the price of my redemption. If I were dying this moment, I have nothing to trust in but that precious blood. What had the slave to depend on but the money, the price of his redemption? When he first looked into the matter, he found his owner had said that such a price would gain him his liberty; and now that that price has been provided, he knows, on the owner's word, that he is free. So with me: Christ's word is enough; and I say 66 "Just as I am-without one plea, But that thou bid'st me come to thee, O Lamb of God! I come." How wonderful is it that we do not leap to our feet, and claim the liberty which He has purchased for us! What a joy it is to me to tell this to some poor heart to-day! Perhaps the devil is suggesting you cannot be saved. He says, "Is it you? Why, you have no feeling about your sins, and so, of course, you cannot be saved;" or " You! you have been too great a sinner ever to think of such a thing;" or— You, who at one time said that you loved Christ, and have gone back to your old ways, why, how could you expect to be saved? You can have no hope of it." But, dear friends, the good Samaritan found this man when he had been left for dead, helpless, and hopeless; and can you be worse than that? Oh, when you know that He has died for you, it will give you peace and joy; it is eternal life to "know the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom He hath sent; " as we sing F |