The spiritual blessings promised and provided in the gospel comprise all that man can need. They are described in the chapter before us as “water,” refreshing and cleansing-the “water of life,” whereof if a man drink he shall never thirst again. They are next described as “wine,” the wine of joy, exhilarating, comforting, “making glad the heart of man;” a wine in which is no woe, but fulness of holy delight. These blessings are thirdly represented as “milk,” for milk is almost the only article of diet which contains everything that is necessary for the support of man, and therefore it is a type of the satisfying qualities of the gospel. He who receives the gospel of Jesus Christ has all that his soul can possibly need for time and for eternity, so that water, and wine, and milk set forth a full supply of life, and joy, and satisfaction for our spirits.

According to the text, this provision for our souls is presented to us gratis. We are to buy it, that is to say, we are to have it with as good a right, and as full an assurance, as if we had purchased it; but the purchase is to be made “without money,” and lest we should make mistakes and suppose that although money literally might not be brought, some other recompense must be offered to God, it is added, “without price.” The double expression is most sweeping, clearing away once for all from the mercies of God all idea of their being purchasable by any method whatsoever. The gospel is not to be bought with gold. Vain are your treasures if you should lavish them at the feet of Christ. What cares he for gold and silver? Neither are they to be procured by knowledge and wisdom, which are the mind’s wealth, the money of the soul. A man may know much, but his knowledge may only puff him up, or increase his condemnation. Neither are the gifts of God’s grace to be obtained by human merit. Merit, indeed, connected with man is out of the question; call it demerit and you are right. If we had done all that we ought to have done, still we ought to have done it, and even in that case we should still be unprofitable servants. Away with the notion of merit as possible to fallen man. The day which saw Adam driven out of Paradise blotted the word “human merit” out of the dictionary of truth. Every sort of gift to God with the view of procuring his favour is excluded by the term, “without price.” Some have dreamed that they might make a barter if they could not purchase; they, therefore, bring to God instead of inward holiness the beauty of outward ceremonies; and instead of a perfect righteousness they offer a baptismal regeneration and a sacramental sanctity. If they have not kept the law, yet at any rate they have observed the rubric; if they have not loved their God with all their heart, they have at least bowed the knee during the performance of a priest. Thus would they barter with the Lord, and give him rites and ceremonies in payment for his grace. They conceive that a kind of witchcraft rests in the use of certain words and postures, and that God is thereby moved to blot out their sins. Others, who are not quite so insane, have fallen into the same error under another form; they fancy that a certain amount of feeling will procure for them the gifts of grace; they must be distressed up to a certain point, and made to tremble in a certain measure, and become despairing, or ever they can hope for mercy: thus they make unbelief, which is a sin, into a preparation for grace, and despair, which is an insult to a merciful God, they magnify into a fitness for the reception of his bounty. Others, again, have dreamed that partial reformation, the saying of prayers, the leaving of legacies, attendance upon orthodox teaching, or the performance of benevolent actions, will surely procure for them the gifts of grace. To one and all of them comes this gospel declaration, the gifts of God’s love are “without money and without price.” I wish I knew how to put this truth into such words that everybody could understand me, and that nobody could misunderstand me. Whenever a man is saved he is saved because God freely saves him, not because there was anything in him to deserve salvation, or any particular fitness in him why God should deliver him and not another. The gifts of God’s grace are absolutely free in the most unrestricted sense of that term. Nothing good whatsoever is brought by man, or is expected from man, by way of recommendation to mercy; but everything is given gratis, and is received by us “without money and without price.” Upon that one thought I shall dwell, hoping that the Spirit of God will make it plain to your minds.

And, first, I shall notice the surprising nature of this fact, for it is very surprising to mankind to hear that salvation is “without money and without price.” It is so surprising to them that the plainest terms cannot make them understand it; and, though you tell them a thousand times a day, yet they persist in thinking that you mean something else. They cannot be brought to accept it as literally true that they are to have everything for nothing, salvation gratis, and eternal life as the pure gift of heaven’s charity. Why, there are those sitting in this house this morning who know the way of salvation, and are saved, and they will tell you that for many years they heard the gospel very plainly put, but that until God the Holy Ghost enlightened them they did not really understand what was meant by simple faith in Jesus, and could not bring themselves to the idea that then and there, just as they were, they had but to accept the salvation of God and it would be their own. They were unable to believe that so simple a matter could be the gospel; they looked for mystery, difficulty, and a complex preparation; they understood the words, but missed the central sense; the grace and the freeness of the gospel surpassed their thoughts. It is not an unusual thing to find children of godly parents who have heard the gospel from their earliest youth still ignorant of the way of salvation, having failed to learn this simple truth, that salvation is the free gift of God, and can only be received as such. Now, why is it that man does not see this? Why is it that when he does see it he is surprised at it? I think it is, first, because of man’s relation to God, and his wrong judgment of him. Man thinks that God is a hard master. That expression of the man who hid his talent in a napkin, “I knew that thou wast an austere man, gathering where thou hast not strawed,” is precisely the idea which the mass of mankind have of the Lord; they judge him to be exacting, hard, severe, and that his law claims more of man than it should; they judge that he might have dealt more leniently with a poor, erring, fallible mortal like man. When the Holy Spirit convinces men of sin they still retain hard thoughts of God, and fear that he cannot be so gracious as to blot out their sins. Judging the Lord by their own standard, they cannot think that he will freely forgive, and though they are reminded of the great atonement which enables God to be just and yet the justifier of the ungodly, they still think that because they could not readily forgive offences against themselves, God must be as slow to pardon as they are, and that he must be urgently pleaded with, recompensed with penances, conciliated with promises, or moved by tears, before he will be brought into a loving state of mind so as to be willing to bestow his grace. Little do they know that mighty heart of love which throbs in Jehovah’s bosom: little do they understand that his bowels yearn to clasp his Ephraims to his breast, and that he has declared, “As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live.” Learn ye, then, ye sons of men, that “as high as the heavens are above the earth, so high are his ways above your ways, and his thoughts above your thoughts.” He waits to be gracious, and is willing abundantly to pardon the ungodly if they do but turn unto him.

No doubt, also, the condition of man under the fall makes it more difficult for him to comprehend that the gifts of God are “without money and without price,” for he finds that he is doomed to toil for almost everything he needs. “In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat broad” is the sentence upon our race. If man wants bread the earth demands that he dig for it, or use some other form of labour. Under the artificial conditions of civilisation scarcely anything comes to us of itself, but must be bought with money. Man finds that he is in a place where, if he buys, it certainly is not “without money and without price;” money and price must be in his hands in every market and store, or else he must go away empty-handed, and therefore he is apt to reckon that as it is so in this sin-blighted world it must be the same in the kingdom of Christ; and when he finds that he is not by works to purchase divine favour, he counts it strange, and is long in believing that it can be true. He reads the words “without money and without price,” and thinks that there must be something written between the lines to modify the sense, for surely there must be something to do or to feel before a sinner can receive the gifts of grace.

Again, man recollects the general rule of men towards each other, for in this world what is to be had for nothing except that which is worth nothing? Nothing for nothing is the general system. Nobody in trade thinks of trading except for profit, and if a man were urged to sell without a price he would open wide his eyes, and declare that he would soon find himself a bankrupt. Dealing with our fellow-men we must naturally expect, even according to the golden rule, that we should give them an equivalent for what we receive. Of course the Christian religion lifts true believers into a condition in which they are willing to give, hoping for nothing again, but the general rule all round is you must pay for what you have. Can you clothe yourself? can you warm your hands in the winter? can you find a shelter for your children? can you obtain a bed upon which to lay your weary bones without money? And so “without money and without price” is quite a novelty, and man is astonished at it, and cannot believe it to be true.

Another matter helps man into this difficulty, namely, his natural pride. He does not like to be a pauper before God. The mass of mankind have generally some excellency or other which, in their own esteem, exalts them above others. You shall find a large proportion of the upper classes perfectly convinced that they are far superior to the poor, that the working classes are indeed an inferior order of beings compared with themselves. You shall find an equal pride amongst the working classes, which leads them to think themselves the real backbone of the country, a sturdy independence it is sometimes called, but when it intrudes into religion it is nothing better than evil boasting. Pride is woven into man’s nature. The prodigal became a prodigal through his love of independence, he desired his own portion of goods to do as he liked with. After he became a prodigal his time was occupied with spending-he spent his money riotously; he loved to play the fine gentleman and spend. Even when the prodigal came to himself the old idea of paying was still in him, and he desired to be a hired servant, so that if he could not pay in money he would pay in labour. We do not like to be saved by charity, and so to have no corner in which to sit and boast. We long to make provision for a little self-congratulation. You insult a moral man if you tell him that he must be saved in the same way as a thief or a murderer, yet this is no more than the truth. For a woman of purity to be told that the same grace which saved a Magdalene is necessary for her salvation is so humbling, that her indignation is roused; and yet it is the fact, for in every case salvation is “without money and without price.”

Once more, all religions that ever have been in the world of man’s making teach that the gifts of God are to be purchased or merited. Draw a line, and you shall find the gospel on the one side teaches free grace, but the whole ruck of false religions, from Heathenism down through Mahomedanism to Popery, all demand a price for the promise of salvation. The Pharisee reckons that none can have it unless he shall wear a broad phylactery, and fast twice in the week. The heathen will swing with a hook in his back, or roll over and over for hundreds of miles, or torture his body, or make great sacrifices at the altar of his idol. The Mahomedan has his pilgrimages and a host of meritorious prayers. As for the Papist, his religion is merit and payment from beginning to end, not only for the soul while it is yet in the body, but when it is departed; for by means of masses for the dead a tax is still exacted. Man would fain bargain with God, and make God’s temple of mercy into an auction-mart, where each man bids as high as he can, and procures salvation if he can reach a certain figure: but here stands the open-handed gospel with all the treasures of infinite grace unlocked, and all the granaries of heaven with the doors taken off their hinges, and it cries, “Whosoever will, let him come and take the water of life freely”; it asks neither money nor price, nor anything of man, but magnifies the infinite grace of the all-bounteous Father, in that he hath mercy on whom he will have mercy, and reveals his grace to the undeserving.

Thus I have spoken upon the surprising nature of this fact, but I want to add that, though I have thus shown grounds for our surprise, yet if men would think a little they might not be quite so unbelievingly amazed as they are; for, after all, the best blessings we have come to us freely. What price have you paid for your lives? and yet they are very precious. Skin for skin, yea, all that you have would you give for them. What price do you pay for the air you breathe? What price does a man pay for the blessed sunlight? I wonder they have not a game law to preserve the sunbeams, so that the lords of the land alone might enjoy the genial rays, while the poor should be liable to punishment for poaching in pursuit of sunshine. No, they cannot pen in the sun’s light, God has given it freely, and to the pauper it is as free as to the prince. Life and air and light come to us “without money and without price.” And our faculties, too-who pays for eyesight? The eye which glances across the landscape and drinks in beauty, what toll does it pay? The ear which hears the song of the birds at dawn, what price is given for it? The senses are freely bestowed on us by God, and so is the sleep which rests them. To-night when we lay down our heads upon our pillows the poor man’s sleep shall be as sweet as the sleep of him who reclines on down. Sleep is the unbought boon of heaven, you could not purchase it, all the mines of Potosi could not buy a wink thereof, yet God gives it to the sea-boy on the giddy mast. It is clear then that some of the best blessings we possess come to us by the way of free gift, ay, and come to the undeserving, too, for the dew shall sparkle to-morrow upon the grass in the miser’s field, and the rain shall fall in due season upon the rising corn of the wretch who blasphemes his God. The influences which nurture wheat and barley, and other fruits of the earth, are given to the farm of the atheist as well as to the fields of the godly: they fall alike for the evil and for the good, for “the Lord is good to all, and his tender mercies are over all his works.” We ought not, therefore, to be so surprised, after all, that the gifts of his grace are free.

In the second place, dear friends, I want to show you the necessity of the fact mentioned in our text. There was a necessity that the gifts of the gospel should be “without money and without price.” A threefold necessity.

First, from the character of the donor. It is God that gives. Oh, sirs, would you have him sell his pardons? The King of Kings, would you have him vend forgiveness to the sons of men at so much per head? Would you have him sell his Holy Spirit, and would you come like Simon Magus and offer money unto him for it? Would you have him give to you as the reward of merit adoption into his family, that you might become his sons, and brag even in the halls of heaven that you climbed to this dignity by your own good works? Talk not so exceeding proudly. The great King has made a great supper-would you have him demand a price for entrance, and sit as a receiver at the gates of mercy, and stop each one who comes to see if he has brought a price to pay for entrance there? Nay, nay, it is not like our God. He dealeth not thus. When the prodigal came back, imagine the father keeping his son in quarantine to see if he had a clean bill of health! Imagine him saying, “My son, have you brought a gift wherewith to reconcile me?” The parable would be spoiled by the hint of such a thing. Its glory lies in the freeness of the father’s love, which asked no questions, but pressed the repenting child to his bosom just as he was. God, the great Father, must not be so dishonoured in your thoughts as to be conceived of as requiring a price of you. You displease him when you think that you are to do something and feel something and bring something in your hand as a recommendation to him. Could you picture Jesus going about Palestine selling his cures; saying to the blind beggar, “How much have you left of the alms of the charitable to give to me for your eyesight?” or saying to Martha and Mary, “Bring me hither all you have, and I will raise your brother Lazarus.” Oh, I loathe to speak of it, it makes me sick to imagine such a thing. How weary must the Lord be with your self-righteousness, with your attempts to traffic and to bargain with him! Oh, sirs, you are not dealing with your fellow men, you are dealing with the King of Kings, whose large heart scorns your bribes. Salvation must be given without price, since it is God that gives.

Again, it must be for nothing, because of the value of the boon. As one has well said, “it is without price because it is priceless.” You could not conceive of a fit price for the blessing, therefore it must be left without price. I will suppose this morning that I am sent here by high authority to sell the Koh-i-noor, or a diamond worth ten thousand times as much, a jewel worth a thousand millions of pounds. I am bound to sell it to you now, but I am sure you cannot purchase it at any price worthy of it: all you could offer would be so small a portion of its value that I would sooner give it away than lower the repute of the jewel by taking such a trifle for it. The gospel is so precious a thing that if it is to be bought the whole world could not pay for it, and therefore if bought at all it must needs be without money and without price. It cost the Lord Jesus his blood, what have you to offer? What? Do you imagine that you can buy it with a few paltry works? God himself must become a man, and bleed, and die, to bring pardon and eternal life to sinners; and do you think that your tears, and bendings of your knee, and gifts of your money, and emotions of your heart, are to purchase this unpurchasable boon? Oh, believe, because it is so rich, it must be given away if it is to belong to us.

And there is another reason arising from the extremity of human destitution. The blessings of grace must be given “without money and without price,” for we have no money or price to bring. I was the other night speaking to inquirers, and I put this matter in a very homely way, as I will again. I said, I will suppose there is a terrible famine among you, as there is in India, and that all your money is gone, and that all of you together have not so much as a farthing between you. Now, I am sent with bread, and I want to sell it to you, and I begin by saying,” Well, of course, now that there is a famine we must make a little profit out of you, you must expect the price to be raised; but we will be very moderate, we will let you have it for a shilling a quartern loaf.” You say,” We do not find fault with the price, but we have not a farthing to pay you with. Oh, sir, we cannot buy of you.” Well, well, we will reduce the price; you shall have it at the ordinary price of household bread! Come, you cannot ask for anything more reasonable than this; will you have it? “It is not unreasonable,” you say, “the price is a very proper one, but still it is useless to us. We would gladly purchase, but we have not a penny between us; what can we do?” Come, then, we will reduce the price a great deal; we will let you have the best bread at twopence a quartern. Did you ever hear of bread at that rate? Surely you may fill your children’s mouths every day at this price. “Alas,” you cry, “it is of no use; we cannot find even twopence.” Well, now, we will bring the price down to one farthing a loaf, and who has ever heard of bread at that rate before? Still, with tears in your eyes, you cry to me, “Oh, we can no more get it at a farthing than we could buy it at a shilling, for we have not a single farthing left.” Come, then, I must come down to you altogether, you shall have it for nothing. Take it, I say, for nothing, and I will give you a piece into the bargain; I will give you something over and above weight. I see you wonder what I mean by that. Listen to these words: “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house;” there is the piece over and above what you asked or even thought. Is not that good reasoning that God must give eternal life for nothing, because you have nothing which you could offer as a price? If you are to have eternal life, no terms but those of grace will meet your case. Think, dear friends, when the dying thief was hanging at the side of Christ-suppose the Lord Jesus Christ had made a rule that a man should live a holy life for a week, and then should have the blessing. Why, the thief must have died unblest! Suppose that he had said to all men, it is absolutely essential that you join a church and be baptised, for else I cannot save you, then poor bedridden sinners must perish hopelessly. A gospel all for nothing suited the dying thief. “I admit it,” says somebody. Ah, my friend, then surely you cannot be in a worse condition. Some years ago I had a very high compliment paid me by a gentleman who intended an insult. He ridiculed my preaching, and remarked that it would be eminently suited to the lowest class of negroes. This I accepted as an honourable admission, for he who could reach and bless the black man will not preach in vain to white people. I have heard of a preacher of whom his detractors said that he might do very well to preach to old women. Ah, then, he will do for anybody. I suppose he would suit old women because they are on the borders of the grave, and that it is where we all are, for we are all much nearer to the grave than we imagine. Free salvation suits the vilest of the vile, and it is equally suitable for the most moral. If it is all for nothing none can be so poor as to be excluded from hope; if it is to be had “without money and without price “no soul need be without it. Surely the price is brought low enough. The difficulty is that the price is too low for human pride, sinners will not come down to it. Whereas every other salesman finds that he cannot get his customers up to his price, my difficulty is that I cannot get my customers down to mine; they will still higgle and haggle to do something, be something, or promise something, whereas here are the terms, and the only terms upon which gospel grace is to be had, “without money and without price.” Ye shall have it freely, but God will have none of your bargaining. Take mercy, take it just as you are, you are welcome to it; but if you tarry till you are better your very betterness will make you worse; if you wait until you are fit your fancied fitness will be your unfitness. Your hunger is your fitness for food, your nakedness is your fitness for clothing, your poverty is your fitness for the riches of mercy, your sin, your loathsomeness, your hardness of heart and obduracy do but make you fit objects for the wondrous grace, and for the amazing transformation which divine power can work in men.

It is absolutely needful that the blessings of grace should be “without money and without price,” and, glory be to God, so they are.

My third point is this, the salutary influence of this fact. If it be “without money and without price,” what then? Well, first, that enables us to preach the gospel to every creature. Jesus Christ said, “Go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature. He that believeth and is baptised shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned.” If we had to look for some price in the hand of the creature, or some fitness in the mind of the creature, or some excellence in the life of the creature, we could not preach mercy to every creature, we should have to preach it to prepared creatures, and then that preparation would be the money and the price. I am sorry that some of my brethren entertain the idea that the gospel is to be preached only to certain characters. They dare not preach the gospel to everybody, they try to preach it to the elect; surely, if the Lord meant them to make the selection he would have set a mark upon his chosen. As I do not know the elect, and have no command to confine my preaching to them, but am bidden to preach the gospel to every creature, I am thankful that the gospel is put in such a way that no creature can be too poor, too wicked, or too vile to receive it, for it is “without money and without price.” That is going to the very bottom. Surely, that takes in the most degraded, debased, and despised of our race, whoever they may be. If before I preach the gospel I have to look for a measure of fitness in a man, then I cannot preach the gospel to any but those whom I believe to have the fitness; but if the gospel is to be preached freely, with no conditions or demands for preparations or prerequisites, if this be the gospel that “whosoever believeth in Jesus is not condemned,” then may I go to the most degraded Bushmen, or savage Ashantees, or untamable Modocs, and tell them the good news; we may speak of mercy to harlots and thieves, and we may carry the gladsome message into the Guilt Garden, and Hangman’s Alley. We may penetrate the jungles of crime, and still with the same entreaty from heaven-“Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him turn unto the Lord, for he will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.” The fact that the mercy of God is “without money and without price” enables us to preach it to every man, woman, and child of woman born.

Now, note secondly, that this fact has the salutary effect of excluding all pride. If it be “without money and without price,” you rich people have not a halfpennyworth of advantage above the poorest of the poor in this matter. Your station may be very respectable, but God is no respecter of persons. You may be numbered amongst the rank and fashion of society, but in God’s esteem one rank is as evil as another, and the fashion of all men passes away. Divine grace comes to the Queen upon her throne and to the beggar in the street with this same message, “without money and without price.” So that the pride of wealth is utterly abolished by the gospel; and so is the pride of merit. You have been so good and so charitable, and you are so excellent, and so religious, and so everything that you ought to be, and you fancy that there must be some private entrance, some reserved door, for persons of your quality: but, sirs, the gate is so strait that you must rub shoulders with thieves, and drunkards, and murderers, if you are to enter eternal life; there is but one way and that is the way of grace. “Where is boasting then? It is excluded. By the law of works? Nay, but by the law of grace.” Those who are saved never sing well done to themselves, but when they get to heaven they glorify grace alone.

“Grace all the work shall crown

Through everlasting days,

It lays in heaven the topmost stone;

And well deserves the praise.”

What a slap in the face this is for human glorying, and how much it needs it, for it is impudent to the last degree. “Surely, surely you make some distinction, sir, between the excellent and the moral, and those who are openly criminal.” Yes, I do make a great distinction when treating of our relations to one another, but we are now speaking of grace, and from the nature of things these distinctions are not available where mercy and not merit is the rule. To all men there is but one rule-“He that believeth on him is not condemned, but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed on the Son of God.”

Again, another influence of the fact mentioned in our text is that it forbids despair. Despair, where art thou? I have a ten-thonged whip with which to flog thee away! “Without money and without price;” then who can despair? You are feeling in your pocket, and you find nothing there: you do not need anything, salvation is “without money.” You have been feeling in your heart, and you find nothing there! You do not need anything before coming to Jesus, for his grace is “without price.” You have been looking back on your past history, it is all blank and black. That is true, but Jesus Christ is come into the world to seek and to save that which was lost. But you cannot find a redeeming trait in your character. Ah, but God has found a Redeemer, mighty to save, and if you rest in him he will save you from your sins. Whoever you may be, if eternal life is to be had for nothing, you are not too poor to have it. It is impossible that you can have fallen too low for the gospel, for Jesus Christ is able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God by him.”

I was for a long while pestered with this idea that I must have some extraordinary vision, or remarkable revelation, or singular experience, and have somewhat to tell, such as I had heard good people tell of; but when the glad tidings were made plain to me by the Holy Spirit, I was as if I had received a new revelation. “Look unto me and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth,” sounded like a new song in my ears. My heart leaped for joy at the news. Christ was nailed to the cross, and I was to look at him and be saved. Just as the serpent of brass was lifted on the pole and whosoever looked was healed of the serpent bites, so was there for me eternal life and blessedness in looking to Jesus on the tree. Why did I not understand that before? Ah, why! Why do not some of you understand it? I pray God the Holy Spirit make you see it this morning, for that is the great truth which will save your soul. Everything for nothing, and Christ himself to be had for the asking. Surely this truth should comfort the most desponding.

Next it inspires with gratitude, and that gratitude becomes the basis of holiness. Look ye here. This man is saved for nothing, his sin pardoned according to the free mercies of God! What do you think he says? “Oh, my God, my God, how have I belied thee! how have I slandered thee! As for thee, thou hast been ever merciful to me. Thou hast blotted out my sins, thou hast made me thy child, thou hast given thy Son to be my Redeemer. My God, I love thee! What can I do to show that my heart is wholly thine?”

“Make me to run in thy commands,

’Tis a delightful road;

Nor let my head, nor heart, nor hands

Offend against my God.”

They say that a free gospel will make men think lightly of sin. It is the death of sin, it is the life of virtue, it is the motive power of holiness, and whenever it comes into the soul it begets zeal for the Lord.

“Speak of morality! thou bleeding Lamb,

The best morality is love to thee.”

The best morality springs out of gratitude for pardon, and grace, and lively hope, received as the gifts of heaven.

Then note again that the receipt of salvation without money and without price engenders in the soul the generous virtues. What do I mean by that? Why the man who is saved for nothing feels first with regard to his fellow-men that he must deal lovingly with them. Has God forgiven me? then I can freely forgive those who have trespassed against me. It is the first impulse of a soul which receives pardon from God to put away all enmity against his fellow-men. I freely forgive the few pence that my fellow sinner owes me when I remember the thousand talents which were forgiven me by the infinite mercy of my God. The man who does not forgive has never been forgiven, but the man who has been freely forgiven at once forgives others. Nay, he goes beyond it: he says, “Now, my God has been so good to me, I will be good to others, and as God is good to the unthankful and the evil, even so will I be.” When he finds that he has given his alms to an undeserving person, he does not therefore shrivel up within himself and say, “I will give no more.” “Why!” saith he, “does not God give life and light to men who are always cursing him? then I will bless the sons of men even if they curse me in return.” This breeds in him a spirit of benevolence. He longs to see others saved, and therefore he lays himself out to bring them to Jesus Christ. If he had bought his salvation I dare say he might be proud of it, and wish to keep it to himself; like a little aristocrat, he would not want every one of the democracy to intrude into his privileges, but since the gospel came to him freely he hears the Master say: “Freely ye have received, freely give,” and he goes forth to distribute the bread of life which Jesus Christ has so liberally put into his hand.

Then as to our God, the free gifts of grace, working by the power and energy of the Holy Spirit, create in us the generous virtues towards God. Now we can say,

“Loved of my God, for him again

With love intense I burn.”

When we know that Jesus has saved us we feel we could lay down our lives for him. Self-denial springs of this; yea, the death of self comes out of a rich experience of free and sovereign grace. Did the Lord love me when there was nothing to love in me? Did he love me with spontaneous love before the world began? Did he give his son to die for me a guilty sinner, lost and ruined in the fall? Then I will give all that I have to God, and feel that if-

“If I might make some reserve,

And duty did not call,

I love my God with zeal so great

That I would give him all.”

This is the natural outgrowth of the grand doctrine of “without money and without price.”

And, lastly, beloved, I cannot think of anything that will make more devout worshippers in heaven than this. The method of God in seeking his glory by the way of redemption was evidently this. There were spirits in heaven who could worship him, angels who could adore him and remain faithful to him; but he wished to create beings who should be nearer to him than angels, though also in a certain sense still further off. An angel is pure spirit, man is partly materialism. God resolved that a creature that should be both spirit and matter should be lifted up above angels, should come nearer to himself than pure spirits have ever come, should in fact be related to himself through his Son. Thus his Son became a man, that God being all in all, next to God should stand man, made to have dominion over all the works of his hands, with all things put under his feet. Now, observe, that unless there had been some exercise of omnipotence which would have taken away the high attribute of free agency from man, we do not know of any other way in which God could secure the eternal obedience, the reverent love, and the perpetual humility of such creatures as we have spoken of, except by a remarkable experience of redemption, so that they should for ever know that everything they had was the undeserved gift of sovereign grace. When they look upon the crown and wave the palm, they remember that they were once snatched from the horrible pit and the miry clay. When they gaze upon their robes of splendour, and stand before the throne of God peers of the universe, princes of the blood royal of heaven, no pride will ever flit across their perfect souls, because the memory of redeeming grace, and dying love, and blessings given without money and without price, will keep them humble before the Lord. Oh, if they had given something, if they had done something, if they had merited something, this would have marred the whole, and left a gap whereby might enter the temptation to self-glory. Every child of God will know eternally that he is saved by grace, grace, grace, from first to last, from beginning to end; and so without constraint, except that which is found within their own bosoms, all the redeemed will for ever magnify the Lord in such notes as these, “Worthy art thou, O Lamb of God! For thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us unto God by thy blood, and hast made us kings and priests unto God.”

May the Lord lead you all to receive his divine salvation “without money and without price “

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-Isaiah 55.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-199, 492, 552.

SAVING FAITH

A Sermon

Delivered on Lord’s-Day Morning, March 15th, 1874, by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“Thy faith hath saved thee.”-Luke 7:50; and Luke 18:42.

I do not remember that this expression is found anywhere else in the Word of God. It is found in these two places in the Gospel by Luke, but not in any other Gospel. Luke also gives us in two other places a kindred, and almost identical expression, “Thy faith hath made thee whole.” This you will find used in reference to the woman whose issue of blood had been staunched (Luke 8:48), and in connection with that one of the ten lepers who returned to praise the Saviour for the cure he had received (Luke 17:19). You will find the expression, “Thy faith hath made thee whole” once in Matthew and twice in Mark, but you find it twice in Luke, and together therewith the twice repeated words of our text, “Thy faith hath saved thee.” Are we wrong in supposing that the long intercourse of Luke with the apostle Paul led him not only to receive the great doctrine of justification by faith which Paul so plainly taught, and to attach to faith that high importance which Paul always did, but also to have a peculiar memory for those expressions which were used by the Saviour, in which faith was manifestly honoured to a very high degree. Albeit Luke would not have written anything which was not true for the sake of maintaining the grand doctrine so clearly taught by the apostle, yet I think his full conviction of it would help to recall to his memory more vividly those words of the Lord Jesus from which it could be more clearly learned or illustrated. Be that as it may, we know that Luke was inspired, and that he has written neither more nor less than what the Saviour actually said, and hence we may be quite sure that the expression, “Thy faith hath saved thee,” fell from the Redeemer’s lips, and we are bound to accept it as pure unquestionable truth, and we may repeat it ourselves without fear of misleading others, or trenching upon any other truth. I mention this because the other day I heard an earnest friend say that faith did not save us, at which announcement I was rather surprised. The brother, it is true, qualified the expression, and showed that he meant to make it clear that Jesus saved us, and not our own act of faith. I agreed with what he meant, but not with what he said, for he had no right to use an expression which was in flat contradiction to the distinct declaration of the Saviour, “Thy faith hath saved thee.” We are not to strain any expression to make it mean more than the speaker intended, and it is well to guard words from being misunderstood; but on the other hand, we may not quite go so far as absolutely to negative a declaration of the Lord himself, however we may mean to qualify it. It is to be qualified if you like, but it is not to be contradicted, for there it stands, “Thy faith hath saved thee.” Now we shall this morning, by God’s help, inquire what was it that saved the two persons whose history will come before us? It was their faith. Our second inquiry will be what kind of faith was it which saved them? and then thirdly, what does this teach us in reference to faith?

What was it that saved the two persons whose history we are about to consider?

In the penitent woman’s case, her great sins were forgiven her and she became a woman of extraordinary love: she loved much, for she had much forgiven. I feel, in thinking of her, something like an eminent father of the church who said, “This narrative is not one which I can well preach upon; I had far rather weep over it in secret.” That woman’s tears, that woman’s unbraided tresses wiping the Saviour’s feet, her coming so near to her Lord in such company, facing such proud cavillers, with such fond and resolute intent of doing honour to Jesus; verily, among those that have loved the Saviour, there hath not lived a greater than this woman who was a sinner. Yet for all that Jesus did not say to her, “Thy love hath saved thee.” Love is a golden apple of the tree of which faith is the root, and the Saviour took care not to ascribe to the fruit that which belongs only to the root. This loving woman was also right notable for her repentance. Mark ye well those tears. Those were no tears of sentimental emotion, but a rain of holy heart-sorrow for sin. She had been a sinner and she knew it; she remembered well her multitude of iniquities, and she felt each sin deserved a tear, and there she stood weeping herself away, because she had offended her dear Lord. Yet it is not said, “Thy repentance hath saved thee.” Her being saved caused her repentance, but repentance did not save her. Sorrow for sin is an early token of grace within the heart, yet it is nowhere said, “Thy sorrow for sin hath saved thee.” She was a woman of great humility. She came behind the Lord and washed his feet, as though she felt herself only able to be a menial servant to perform works of drudgery, and to find a pleasure in so serving her Lord. Her reverence for him had reached a very high point; she regarded him as a king, and she did what has sometimes been done for monarchs by zealous subjects-she kissed the feet of her heart’s Lord, who well deserved the homage. Her loyal reverence led her to kiss the feet of her Lord, the Sovereign of her soul, but I do not find that Jesus said, “Thy humility hath saved thee;” or that he said, “Thy reverence hath saved thee;” but he put the crown upon the head of her faith, and said expressly, “Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace.”

In the case of the blind man to whom my second text refers-this man was notable for his earnestness; he cried, and cried aloud, “Son of David, have mercy on me.” He was notable for his importunity, for they who would have silenced him rebuked him in vain; he cried so much the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me.” But I do not discover that Christ attributed his salvation to his prayers, earnest and importunate though they were. It is not written, “Thy prayers have saved thee”; it is written, “Thy faith hath saved thee.” He was a man of considerable and clear knowledge, and he had a distinct apprehension of the true character of Christ: he scorned to call him Jesus of Nazareth, as the crowd did, but he proclaimed him “Son of David,” and in the presence of that throng he dared avow his full conviction that the humble man, dressed in a peasant’s garb, who was threading his way through the throng, was none other than the royal heir of the royal line of Judah, and was indeed the fulfiller of the type of David, the expected Messiah, the King of the Jews, the Son of David. Yet I do not find that Jesus attributed his salvation to his knowledge, to his clear apprehension, or to his distinct avowal of his Messiahship; but he said to him, “Thy faith hath saved thee,” laying the entire stress of his salvation upon his faith.

This being so in both cases, we are led to ask, what is the reason for it? What is the reason why in every case, in every man that is saved, faith is the great instrument of salvation? Is it not first because God has a right to choose what way of salvation he pleases, and he has chosen that men should be saved, not by their works, but by their faith in his dear Son? God has a right to give his mercy to whom he pleases; he has a right to give it when he pleases; he has a right to give it in what mode he pleases; and know ye this, O sons of men, that the decree of heaven is immutable, and standeth fast for ever-“He that believeth and is baptised shall be saved; he that believeth not shall be damned.” To this there shall be no exception; Jehovah has made the rule and it shall stand. If thou wouldst have salvation, “believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved”; but if not, salvation is utterly impossible to thee. This is the appointed way; follow it, and it leads to heaven; refuse it, and thou must perish. This is God’s sovereign determination, “He that believeth on him is not condemned, but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed on the Son of God.” Jehovah’s will be done. If this be his method of grace, let us not kick against it. If he determines that faith shall save, so let it be; only, Good Master, create and increase our faith.

But while I attribute this to the sovereign choice of God, I do see, for Scripture plainly indicates it, a reason in the nature of things why faith should thus have been selected. The apostle tells us it is of faith that it might be of grace. If the condition of salvation had been either feeling or working, then, such is the depravity of our nature, that we should inevitably have attributed the merit of salvation to the working or the feeling. We should have claimed something whereof to glory. It matters not how low the condition may have been, man would have still considered that there was something required of him, that something came from him, and that, therefore, he might take some credit to himself. But no man, unless he be demented, ever claims credit for believing the truth. If he hears that which convinces him, he is convinced; and if he be persuaded, he is persuaded; but he feels that it could not well be otherwise. He attributes the effect to the truth and the influence used. He does not go about and boast because he believes what is so clear to him that he cannot doubt it. If he did so boast of spiritual faith, all thinking men would say at once, “Wherefore dost thou boast in the fact of having believed, and especially when this believing would never have been thine if it had not been for the force of the truth which convinced thee, and the working of the Spirit of God which constrained thee to believe?” Faith is chosen by Christ to wear the crown of salvation because-let me contradict myself-it refuses to wear the crown. It was Christ that saved the penitent woman, it was Christ that saved that blind beggar, but he takes the crown from off his own head, so dear is faith to him, and he puts the diadem upon the head of faith and says, “Thy faith hath saved thee,” because he is absolutely certain that faith will never take the glory to herself, but will again lay the crown at the pierced feet, and say, “Not unto myself be glory, for thou hast done it; thou art the Saviour, and thou alone.” In order, then, to illustrate and to protect the interests of sovereign grace, and to shut out all vain glorying, God has been pleased to make the way of salvation to be by faith, and by no other means.

Nor is this all. It is clear to every one who chooses to think that in order to the renewal of the heart, which is the chief part of salvation, it is well to begin with the faith; because faith once rightly exercised becomes the mainspring of the entire nature. The man believes that he is forgiven. What then? He feels gratitude to him who has pardoned him. Feeling gratitude, it is but natural that he should hate that which displeases his Saviour, and should love intensely that which is pleasing to him who saved him, so that faith operates upon the entire nature, and becomes the instrument in the hand of the regenerating Spirit by which all the faculties of the soul are put into the right condition. As a man thinketh in his heart so is he, but his thinkings come out of his believings; if he be put right in his believings, then his understanding will operate upon his affections, and all the other powers of his manhood, and old things will pass away, all things will become new through the wonderful effect of the faith, which is of the operation of God. Faith works by love, and through love it purifies the soul, and the man becomes a new creature. See ye then the wisdom of God? He may choose what way he will, but he chooses a way which at once guards his grace from our felonious boastings, and on the other hand produces in us a holiness which otherwise never would have been there.

Faith in salvation, however, is not the meritorious cause; nor is it in any sense the salvation itself. Faith saves us just as the mouth saves from hunger. If we be hungry, bread is the real cure for hunger, but still it would be right to say that eating removes hunger, seeing that the bread itself could not benefit us, unless the mouth should eat it. Faith is the soul’s mouth, whereby the hunger of the heart is removed. Christ also is the brazen serpent lifted up; all the healing virtue is in him; yet no healing virtue comes out of the brazen serpent to any who will not look; so that the looking is rightly considered to be the act which saves. True, in the deepest sense it is Christ uplifted who saves, to him be all the glory; but without looking to him ye cannot be saved, so that

“There is life in a look,”

as well as life in the Saviour to whom you look. Nothing is yours until you appropriate it. If you be enriched, the thing appropriated enriches you; yet it is not incorrect but strictly right to say it is the appropriation of the blessing which makes you rich. Faith is the hand of the soul. Stretched out, it lays hold of the salvation of Christ, and so by faith we are saved. “Thy faith hath saved thee.” I need not dwell longer on that point. It is self-evident from the text that faith is the great means of salvation.

What kind of faith was it that saved these people? I will mention, first, the essential agreements; and then, secondly, the differentia, or the points in which this faith differed in its external manifestations in the two cases.

In the instances of the penitent woman and the blind beggar, their faith was fixed alone in Jesus. You cannot discover anything floating in their faith in Jesus which adulterated it; it was unmixed faith in him. The woman pressed forward to him, her tears fell on him; her ointment was for him; her unloosed tresses were a towel for his feet; she cared for no one else, not even for the disciples whom she respected for his sake; her whole spirit and soul were absorbed in him. He could save her; he could blot out her sins. She believed him; she did it unto him. The same was the case with that blind man. He had no thought of any ceremonies to be performed by priests; he had no idea of any medicine which might be given him by physicians. His cry was, “Son of David, Son of David.” The only notice he took of others was to disregard them, and still to cry, “Son of David, Son of David.” “What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee?” was the Lord’s question, and it answered to the desire of his soul, for he knew that if anything were done it must be done by the Son of David. It is essential that our faith must rest alone on Jesus. Mix anything with Christ, and you are undone. If your faith shall stand with one foot upon the rock of his merits, and the other foot upon the sand of your own duties, it will fall, and great will be the fall thereof. Build wholly on the rock, for if so much as a corner of the edifice shall rest on anything beside, it will ensure the ruin of the whole:-

“None but Jesus, none but Jesus

Can do helpless sinners good.”

All true faith is alike in this respect.

The faith of these two was alike in its confession of unworthiness. What meant her standing behind? What meant her tears, her everflowing tears, but that she felt unworthy to draw near to Jesus? And what meant the beggar’s cry, “Have mercy on me”? Note the stress he lays upon it. “Have mercy on me.” He does not claim the cure by merit, nor ask it as a reward. To mercy he appealed. Now I care not whose faith it is, whether it be that of David in his bitter cries of the fifty-first Psalm, or whether it be that of Paul in his highest exaltation upon being without condemnation through Christ, there is always in connection with true faith a thorough and deep sense that it is mercy, mercy alone, which saves us from the wrath to come. Dear hearer, do not deceive yourself. Faith and boasting are as opposite to one another as the two poles. If you come before Christ with your righteousness in your hand, you come without faith; but if you come with faith you must also come with confession of sin, for true faith always walks hand in hand with a deep sense of guiltiness before the Most High. This is so in every case.

Their faith was alike, moreover, in defying and conquering opposition. Little do we know the inward struggles of the penitent as she crossed the threshold of Simon’s house. “He will repel thee,” the stern, cold Pharisee will say, “Get thee gone, thou strumpet; how darest thou defile the doors of honest men.” But whatever may happen she passes through the door, she comes to where the feet of the Saviour are stretched out towards the entrance as he is reclining at the table, and there she stands. Simon glanced at her: he thought the glance would wither her, but her love to Christ was too well rooted to be withered by him. No doubt he made many signs of his displeasure, and showed that he was horrified at such a creature being anywhere near him, but she took no notice of him. Her Lord was there, and she felt safe. Timid as a dove, she trembled not while he was near; but she returned no defiant glances for Simon’s haughty looks; her eyes were occupied with weeping. She did not turn aside to demand an explanation of his unkind motions, for her lips were all engrossed with kissing those dear feet. Her Lord, her Lord, was all to her. She overcame through faith in him, and held her ground, and did not leave the house till he dismissed her with “Go in peace.”

It was the same with the blind man. He said, “Son of David, have mercy on me.” They cried, “Hush! Why these clamours, blind beggar? His eloquence is music; do not interrupt him. Never man spake as he is speaking. Every tone rings like the harps of the angels. Hush! How darest thou spoil his discourse?” But over and above them all went up the importunate prayer, “Son of David, have mercy upon me,” and he prevailed. All true faith is opposed. If thy faith be never tried it is not born of the race of the church militant. “This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith,” but it is indicated in that very declaration that there must be something to overcome, and that faith must wage war for its existence.

Once more, the faith of these two persons was alike in being openly avowed. I will not say that the avowal took the same form in both, for it did not; but still it was equally open. There is the Saviour, and there comes the weeping penitent. She loves him. Is she ashamed to say so? It may bring her reproach; it will certainly rake up the old reproaches against her, for she has been a sinner. Never mind what she has been, nor who may be present to see her. She loves her Lord, and she will show it. She will bring the ointment and she will anoint his feet, even in the presence of Pharisees, Pharisees who would say, “Is this one of the disciples of Christ? A pretty convert to boast of! A fine conquest this, for his kingdom! A harlot becomes a disciple! What next and what next?” She must have known and felt all that, but still there was no concealment. She loved her Lord, and she would avow it, and so in the very house of the Pharisee, there being no other opportunity so convenient, she comes forward, and without words, but with actions far more eloquent than words, she says,” I love him. These tears shall show it; this ointment shall diffuse the knowledge of it, as its sweet perfume fills the room; and every lock of my hair shall be a witness that I am my Lord’s and he is mine.” She avowed her faith.

And so did the blind man. He did not sit there and say, “I know he is the Son of David, but I must not say it.” They said, some of them contemptuously, and others indifferently, “It is Jesus of Nazareth.” But he will not have it so. “Thou Son of David,” saith he; and loud above their noise I hear him cry, like a herald proclaiming the King, “Son of David.” Why, sirs, it seems to me he was exalted to a high office: he became the herald of the King, and proclaimed him, and this belongs to a high officer of State in our country. The blind beggar showed great decision and courage. He cried in effect, “Son of David thou art; Son of David I proclaim thee; Son of David thou shalt be proclaimed, whoever may gainsay it; only turn thine eyes and have mercy upon me.” Are there any of you here who have a faith in Christ which you are ashamed of? I also am ashamed of you, and so also will Christ be ashamed of you when he cometh in the glory of his Father and all his holy angels with him. Ashamed to claim that you are honest? Then methinks you must live in bad company, where to be a rogue is to be famous; and if you are ashamed to say, “I love my Lord,” methinks you are courting the friendship of Christ’s enemies, and what can you be but an enemy yourself? If you love him, say it. Put on your Master’s regimentals, enlist in his army, and come forward and declare, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Their faith was alike then in these four particulars, it was fixed alone on him, it was accompanied with a sense of unworthiness, it struggled and conquered opposition, and it openly declared itself before all comers.

By your patience I shall now try to show the differences between the same faith as to its manifestations. First, the woman’s faith acted like a woman’s faith. She showed tender love, and the affections are the glory and the strength of women. They were certainly such in her. Her love was intense, womanly love, and she poured it out upon the Saviour. The man’s faith acted like a man’s in its determination and strength. He persisted in crying, “Thou Son of David.” There was as much that was masculine about his faith as there was of the feminine in the penitent’s faith, and everything should be in its order and after its season. It would not have been meet for the woman’s voice to be heard so boldly above the crowd; it would have seemed out of place for a man’s tears to have been falling upon the Saviour’s feet. Either one or the other might have been justifiable, but they would not have been equally suitable. But now they are as suitable as they are excellent. The woman acts as a godly woman should; the man like a godly man. Never let us measure ourselves by other people. Do not, my brother, say, “I could not shed tears.” Who asked thee to do so? A man’s tears are mostly within, and so let them be: it is ours to use other modes of showing our love. And, my sister, do not say, “I could not act as a herald and publicly proclaim the King.” I doubt not thou couldest do so if there were need, but thy tears in secret, and those wordless tokens of love to Jesus which thou art rendering, are not less acceptable because they are not the same as a man would give. Nay, they are the better because they are more suitable to thee. Do not think that all the flowers of God’s garden must bloom in the same colour or shed the same perfume.

Notice next that the woman acted like a woman who had been a sinner. What more meet than tears? What fitter place for her than at the Saviour’s feet? She had been a sinner, she acts like a sinner; but the man who had been a beggar acted like a beggar. What does a beggar do but clamour for alms? Did he not beg gloriously? Never one plied the trade more earnestly than he. “Son of David,” said he, “have mercy on me.” I should not have liked to have seen the beggar sitting there weeping; nor to have heard the penitent woman shouting. Neither would have been natural or seemly. Faith works according to the condition, circumstances, sex, or ability of the person in whom it lives, and it best shows itself in its own form, not in an artificial manner, but in the natural outflow of the heart.

Observe, also, that the woman did not speak. There is something very beautiful in the golden silence of the woman, which was richer than her silver speech would have been. But the man was not silent; he spoke; he spoke out, and his words were excellent. I venture to say that the woman’s silence spoke as powerfully as the man’s voice. Of the two I think I find more eloquence in the tears bedewing, and unbraided hair wiping the Saviour’s feet, than in the cry, “Son of David, have mercy on me.” Yet both forms of expression were equally good, the silence best in the woman with her tears, and the speech best in the man with his confident trust in Christ. Do not think it necessary, dear friend, in order to serve, to do other people’s work. What thine own hand findeth to do, do it with thy might. If you think you can never honour Christ till you enter a pulpit, it may be just possible that you will afterwards honour him best by getting out of it as quickly as you can. There have been persons well qualified to adorn the religion of Christ with a lapstone on their lap who have thought it necessary to mount a pulpit, and in that position have been a hindrance to Christ and his gospel. Sister, there is a sphere for you; keep to it, let none push you out of it; but do not think there is nothing else to do except the work which some other woman does. God has called her, let her follow God’s voice: he calls you in another direction, follow his voice thither. You will be most like that other excellent woman when you are most different from her: I mean, you will be most truly obedient to Christ, as she is, if you pursue quite another path.

There was a difference, again, in this. The woman gave-she brought her ointment. The man did the opposite-he begged. There are various ways of showing love to Christ, which are equally excellent tokens of faith. To give him of her ointment, and give him of her tears, and give him the accommodation of her hair, was well; it showed her faith, which worked by love: to give nothing, for the beggar had nothing to give, but simply to honour Christ by appealing to his bounty and his royal power, was best in the beggar. I can commend neither above the other, for I doubt not that both the penitent and the beggar gave Christ their whole heart, and what more does Jesus ask for from any one?

The thoughts of the woman and the thoughts of the beggar were different too. Her thoughts were mainly about the past, and her sins-hence her tears. To be forgiven, that was her point. His thoughts were mainly about the present, and did not so much concern his sin as his deficiency, infirmity, and inability, and so he came with different thoughts. I do not doubt that he thought of sin, as I dare say she also thought of infirmity; but in her case the thought of sin was uppermost, and hence the tears; in his the infirmity was uppermost, and hence the prayer, “Lord, that I might receive my sight.” Do not, then, compare your experience with that of another. God is a God of wonderful variety. The painter who repeats himself in many pictures has a paucity of conception, but the master artist scarcely ever sketches the same thing a second time. There is a boundless variety in genius, and God who transcends all the genius of men, creates an infinite variety in the works of his grace. Look not, therefore, for likeness everywhere. The woman, it is said, loved much, and she proved her love by her acts; but the man loved much too, and showed his love by actions which were most admirable, for he followed Jesus in the way, glorifying God. Yet they were different actions. I do not find that he brought any box of ointment, or anointed Christ’s feet, neither do I find that she literally followed Christ in the way, though no doubt she followed him in the spirit; neither did she with a loud voice glorify God as the restored blind beggar did. There are differences of operation, but the same Lord; there are differences of capacity and differences of calling, and by this reflection I hope you will be enabled to deliver yourselves from the fault of judging one by another, and that you will look for the same faith, but not for the same development of it.

So interesting is this subject that I want you to follow me while I very rapidly sketch the woman’s case, and then the man’s, not mentioning the differences one by one, but allowing the two pictures to impress themselves separately upon your minds.

Observe this woman. What a strange compound she was. She was consciously unworthy, and therefore she wept, yet she drew very near to Jesus. Her acts were those of nearness and communion; she washed his feet with her tears, she wiped them with the hairs of her head, and meanwhile she kissed them again and again. “She hath not ceased,” said Christ, “to kiss my feet.” A sense of unworthiness, and the enjoyment of communion, were mixed together. Oh, divine faith which blends the two! She was shamefaced, yet was she very bold. She dared not look the Master in the face as yet; she approached him from behind; yet she dared face Simon, and remain in his room, whether he frowned or no. I have known some who have blushed in the face of Christ who would not have blushed before a judge, nor at the stake, if they had been dragged there for Christ’s sake. Such a woman was Anne Askew, humble before her Master, but like a lioness before the foes of God.

The penitent woman wept, she was a mourner, yet she had a deep joy; I know she had, for every kiss meant joy. Every time she lifted that blessed foot, and kissed it, her heart leaped with the transport of love. Her heart knew bitterness for sin, but it knew also the sweetness of pardon. What a mixture! Faith made the compound. She was humble, never one more so; yet see how she takes upon herself to deal with the King himself. Brethren, you and I are satisfied, and well we may be, if we may wash the saints’ feet, but she was not. Oh, the courage of this woman! She will pass through the outer court, and get right to the King’s own throne, and there pay her homage, in her own person, to his person, and wash the feet of the Wonderful, the Counsellor, the mighty God. I know not that an angel ever performed such suit and service, and therefore this woman takes preeminence as having done for Jesus what no other being ever did. I have said that she was silent, and yet she spake; I will add, she was despised, but Christ set her high in honour, and made Simon, who despised her, to feel little in her presence. I will also add she was a great sinner, but she was a great saint. Her great sinnership, when pardoned, became the raw stuff out of which great saints are made by the mighty power of God. Finally she was saved by faith, so says the text, but if ever there was a case in which James could not have said, “Shall faith save thee?” and in which he must have said, “Here is one that shows her faith by her works,” it was the case of this woman. There she is before you. Imitate her faith itself, though you cannot actually copy her deeds.

Now look at the man. He was blind, but he could see a great deal more than the Pharisees, who said they could see. Blind, but his inward optics saw the king in his beauty, saw the splendour of his throne, and he confessed it. He was a beggar, but he had a royal soul, and a strong sovereign determination which was not to be put down. He had the kind of mind which dwells in men who are princes among their fellows. He is not to be stopped by disciples, nay, nor by apostles. He has begun to pray, and pray he will till he obtains the boon he seeks. Note well that what he knew he avowed, what he desired he pleaded for, and what he needed he understood. “Lord, that I might receive my sight;” he was clear about his needs, and clear about the only person who could supply them. What he asked for he expected, for when he was bidden to come he evidently expected that his sight would be restored, for we are told by another Evangelist that he cast away his beggar’s cloak. He felt he should never want to beg again. He was sure his eyes were about to be opened. Lastly, what he received he was grateful for, for as soon as he could walk without a guide he took Christ to be his guide, and followed him in the way, glorifying him. Look on both pictures. May you have the shadows and the lights of both, as far as they would tend to make you also another and distinct picture by the selfsame artist, whose hand alone can produce such wonders.

What does this teach us in reference to faith? It teaches us first that faith is all important. Do, I pray you, my hearers, see whether you have the precious faith, the faith of God’s elect. Remember there are not many things in Scripture called precious, but there is the precious blood, and there goes with it the precious faith. If you have not that you are lost; if you have not that you are neither fit to live nor fit to die; if you have not that, your eternal destiny will be infinite despair; but if you have faith, though it be as a grain of mustard seed, you are saved. “Thy faith hath saved thee.”

Learn next that the main matter in faith is the person whom you believe. I do not say in whom you believe. That would be true, but not quite so scriptural an expression. Paul does not say, as I hear most people quote it, “I know in whom I have believed.” Faith believes Christ. Your faith must recognise him as a person, and come to him as a person, and rest not in his teaching merely, or his work only, but in him. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” A personal Saviour for sinners! Are you resting on him alone? Do you believe him? You know the safety of the building depends mainly upon the foundation, and if the foundation be not right, you may build as you will, it will not last. Do you build, then, on Christ alone? Inquire about that as a special point.

Observe next, that we must not expect exactly the same manifestation in each convert. Let not the elders of the church expect it, let not parents require it from their children; let not anxious friends look for it; do not expect it in yourself. Biographies are very useful, but they may become a snare. I must not judge that I am not a child of God because I am not precisely like that good man whose life I have just been reading. Am I resting in Christ? Do I believe him? Then it may be the Lord’s grace is striking out quite a different path for me from that which has been trodden by my brother, that it may illustrate other phases of its power, and show to principalities and powers the exceeding riches of divine love.

And, lastly, the matter which sums up all is this, if we have faith in Jesus we are saved, and ought not to talk or act as if there were any question about it. “Thy faith hath saved thee.” Jesus says it. Granted, you have faith in Christ, and it is certain that faith hath saved you. Do not, therefore, go on talking and acting and feeling as if you were not saved. I know a company of saved people who say every Sabbath, “Lord, have mercy upon us, miserable sinners”; but they are not miserable sinners if they are saved, and for them to use such words is to throw a slight upon the salvation which Christ has given them. If they are saved sinners, they ought to be rejoicing saints. What some say others do not say, but they act as if it were so. They go about asking God to give them the mercy they have already obtained, hoping one day to receive what Christ assures them is already in their possession, talking to others as if it were a matter of question whether they were saved or not, when it cannot be a matter of question. “Thy faith hath saved thee.” Fancy the poor penitent woman turning round and saying to the Saviour, “Lord, I humbly hope that it is true.” There would have been neither humility nor faith in such an expression. Imagine that blind man, when Christ said,” Thy faith hath saved thee,” saying, “I trust that in future years it will be found to be so.” It would be a belying at once of his own earnest character and of Christ’s honesty of speech. If thou hast believed thou art saved. Do not talk as if thou wert not, but now down from the willows take thy harp, and sing unto the Lord a new song. I have noticed in many prayers a tendency to avoid speaking as if facts were facts. I have heard this kind of expression, “The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we desire to be glad.” The text is, “The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad;” and if the Lord has done these great things for us our right is to be glad about them, not to go with an infamous “if” upon our lips before the Lord who cannot lie. If ye are dealing with your fellow creatures, suspect them, for they mostly deserve it; if ye are listening to their promises, doubt them, for their promises go to be broken; but if ye are dealing with your Lord and Master, never suspect him, for he is beyond suspicion; never doubt his promises, for heaven and earth and hell shall pass away, but not one jot or tittle of his word shall fail. I claim for Christ that ye cast away for ever all the talk which is made up of “buts,” and “ifs,” and “peradventures,” and “I hope,” and “I trust.” You are in the presence of One who said, “Verily, verily,” and meant what he said, who is “the Amen, the faithful and true witness.”

You would not spit in his face if he were here, yet your “ifs” and “buts” are so much insult cast upon his truth. You would not scourge him, but what do your doubts do but vex him and put him to shame? If he lies, never believe him; if he speaks the truth, never doubt him. Then shall ye know when ye have cast aside your wicked unbelief, that your faith has saved you, and ye will go in peace.

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-Luke 7:36-50; 18:35-43

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-18 (Ver. I.), 536, 586.