If you had never heard that passage before, you would be almost certain to know where to look for it. It must be in the Gospel according to Luke, for Luke was the beloved physician; and, therefore, while taking notes of our Saviour’s discourses, he would be sure to record anything that would be likely to strike upon a physician’s ear, and to be stamped upon his memory. Matthew and Mark also record this saying of our Lord, but Luke would have special reasons for mentioning it.

What a noble answer this was to the insinuations of Christ’s enemies! He was sitting down with publicans and sinners; they had been invited to a feast by Levi, that is, Matthew. The scribes and Pharisees shrugged their shoulders, and said they could very readily guess what kind of character Jesus of Nazareth was, for a man is known by the company he keeps. What an overwhelming reply Christ gave them! “Where should I be,” the Physician of souls seems to say, “but with those who need my services most? I need not come into your company, for you consider yourselves to be whole; but these publicans and sinners are, according to your way of speaking, to be regarded as sick; where should I be but with those who need to be healed?” Christ, in associating with sinners, did not at all condone their sin. When he proved himself to be the Friend of publicans and sinners, it was not that he would lessen the infinite distance between divine perfection and human guilt; but only that, coming down to man’s fallen estate, he might lift him up; touching his leprosy, he might heal him; and coming into the hospital of sick souls, he might work there his great miracles of mercy.

But, turning from the immediate occasion when these words were uttered, and coming to the words themselves, it appears, from our text, that Jesus Christ is the great Physician; and, just as we see our doctors hurrying through the streets, going from one house to another on their errands of mercy, so let us go with Christ, in the chariot of his love, and let us visit some of the sick souls he has come to heal.

This will be our first business,-to visit the sick man, and ask him a few questions.

First, we will ask the man who is sick, but whom Christ comes to heal, what kind of disease it is from which he is suffering. If he be rightly instructed, if he understands the truth, he will tell us that it is the worst disease there is. Other diseases may possibly be cured by men, but this one can never be cured except by divine interposition. Some diseases, like fire, expire when they have burned out their fuel; but this one is of such a character that, unless it be cured by sovereign grace, it will destroy both body and soul in hell. This is the worst of diseases because it does not merely affect us in one point, but it affects the entire system, from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot. It is so foul a disease that even the all-merciful God is so disgusted with it that he found it imperatively necessary that hell should be made that he might shut sin up there, as in a lazar-house, when it came to the worst state. We might better bear to have the plague and the black pest let loose upon us than unbridled sin. It is the foulest disease in the sight of God, and it is the most dreadful in its consequences to man.

Our patient, if he is further asked as to the nature of his disease, will tell you that it is internal, but that it works itself out externally.

“The leprosy lies deep within.”

The sin, which Christ came to heal, is not something on the skin, or a mere matter of custom, or habit. Nay, my brethren, the venom of sin is in the very fountain of our being; it has poisoned our heart; it is in the very marrow of our bones, and is as natural to us as anything that belongs to us. You might even tear the man in pieces, but you could not tear his sin from him. The Mohammedan legend tells us that Mohammed was so pure because an angel had taken out his heart, and wrung two black drops of evil out of it. Those who believe that lie little understand the great truth that what is needed is to get out of a man every drop of evil, yea, that he must be made a new man before it is possible to destroy the disease that is in him. Two drops of evil, my brethren! It is far worse than that, for it is the whole man who is evil,-all his heart, all his nature; the venom is everywhere; there is not, in unrenewed human nature, a place where you could put the point of a pin where it is not defiled with sin. It is in our entire system; we have been lying in it until we are steeped through and through with it. Sin, in human nature, is like those colours that are ingrained; the more you wash the material, the more clearly are they discovered; but wash them out you never can. So, only the precious blood of Jesus can wash out man’s sin.

We bend down over our patient, and ask him another question,-“How did you get this disease?” He answers, “I got it as diseases are generally gained. I had it in three ways; first, by inheritance.” Doubtless, many persons inherit certain diseases from, their birth; and we have all inherited sin from our birth. David says expressly, and he certainly was no worse than others, “Behold, I was shapen in iniquity.” That old-fashioned doctrine, that sin is bred in us,-against which some people kick so ferociously, is true for all their kicking;-and what is bred in the bone will come out in the flesh sooner or later. We were born of a traitor, and traitors were we born.

Nor have we merely received sin by inheritance. Sin is contagious, and we have caught it from our fellow-men. Many sins, which, perhaps, we might not otherwise have fallen into, we have acquired through our association with other sinners. Hence the value of early Christian training; hence the blessedness of being found in the company of the godly. Surely thou knowest, O man, that this world’s very air is full of miasma, and laden with the germs of the plague, so thou hast acquired innumerable diseases of soul beside that which thou hast inherited from thy fathers!

In addition to that, as some diseases result from intemperance and other forms of evil-living, doubtless the disease which was naturally in each one of us has been fed by our transgression. We have grown worse than we originally were through that upon which our sin has fed. We have gone from bad to worse, from one iniquity to another, till folly has ripened into sin, and sin has culminated in crime. Such is the state of unrenewed man,-diseased even from his birth, catching more soul maladies from others, or acquiring them by his own ill-doing, our patient is indeed sick, sick unto death.

Perhaps someone asks, “Where is this disease of which you speak?” I have already answered that question, but I will answer it again more fully. The disease of sin in you, my hearer,-for you are the patient of whom I speak,-is to be found everywhere. The eyes of your understanding are darkened, so that you cannot see the things of God as God would have you see them. Your affections are perverted, so that you love that which you should hate, and hate that which you should love. Your conscience, which should be the candle of the Lord shining within you, burns very dimly. Conscience is no more perfect than is any other power in man. I know that some people speak of conscience as though it were the vice-gerent of God, but it is no such thing; it is defiled and depraved like all the rest of our powers. As for the will, my Lord Will-be-will as Bunyan calls it, the Mayor of Mansoul, it is a slave which boasts of freedom, but is never more in bondage than when it boasts of being free. Sinner, your very memory is prone to retain evil rather than good. It will keep the chaff, but let the wheat run through. The mere refuse, which floateth down the stream, finds a place of resting with you; but if goodly cedars come down from Lebanon, you lay not hold of them. The devil’s falsehoods, lascivious songs, foul words, thoughtless jeers,-all these stick like burrs; but God’s gracious Word, an earnest gospel discourse, a solemn hymn,-these, alas! glide from you like oil adown a block of marble, and you go your way, and forget all about them. There is no power that you possess that has not the slime of the serpent upon it. O Satan, thou hast dashed down the palace of manhood! Stately are its columns, even while they lie amidst the rubbish where the grass grows and the owl hoots; but thou hast cast down every pillar, thou hast broken the shafts, and laid the capitals in the mire. Ah! thou foul fiend, thou hast made that to be a den of darkness which was once a place of light, where holy angels, and even God himself, could walk. How art thou fallen, O man, once a son of the morning, but now a child of darkness until God shall give thee light! The disease of sin is everywhere in the realm of manhood, and it is all the more certainly proved to be everywhere because so many people can see it nowhere. This is why you cannot see sin in yourselves; it has made all the various faculties of your soul to mortify so that you cannot feel the pains which this mortal disease would otherwise have caused you. Thus, your heart has lost any tenderness that it may have had naturally, and your conscience is seared as with a hot iron, so that it cannot warn you of the mischief within, but prophesieth smooth things, while all is in a state of ruin, destruction, and dismay, and will be so for ever unless God, by his grace, shall work a miraculous change.

Perhaps someone asks, “If the man is so diseased, what are the effects of his sickness?” The usual effect of all sickness is that the man’s strength declines, and he begins to waste away. You do not ask a sick man to run a race; and we must not ask an unrenewed sinner to run the race of godliness. We do not expect the man, who has long tossed upon the bed of pain, to march in the soldiers’ ranks, and to fight battles; nor can an unsaved sinner be valiant for God and his truth. What a dreadful inability sin brings with it! That simple command of the gospel, “Believe,” the sinner cannot obey of himself. He can no more repent and believe, without the Holy Spirit’s aid, than he could create a world; and, unless divine grace gives him the power to obey the command which bids him to believe, he never will be able to believe. Thou hast lost all strength, sinner. Thou hast brought thyself down to be as one dead, and as them that sleep in the grave. Thine inability is awful, and this is the effect of thy sin.

Moreover, this sickness not only brings weakness, but it also impairs the beauty of the frame. We see many persons walking along our streets, poor, pale, emaciated creatures, and others who bear upon their features the marks which they must carry to the grave, of some dire disease which once made them its victims. Ah, sinner! if you could but see yourself as God sees you, you would see that you have transformed that which was the image of God for loveliness into the image of Satan for horror. O soul, if God should ever hold up his looking-glass to thee, and let thee see thine own self as thou art by nature and by practice, too, thou wouldst be greatly alarmed, for there is no more dreadful sight out of perdition than that of a naked, unregenetrate human heart! So, then, sin brings a marring of all beauty. And, besides this, it brings destruction of all comfort. Sick men cannot get peace and ease; they toss from side to side, but find no rest in any position.

Many of you must confess that sin gives you no comfort. I know you fill your glasses, and sing and shout that the ungodly are jolly good fellows, but they have nothing substantial to sustain their joys. I know that, when ye wake up at midnight, ye are not at ease. I know that, when you are on a lonely road, the falling of a leaf makes you start; and the more you brag, the more cowardly does it prove you to be. The very man who blasphemes God the most is generally the one who is most afraid of God. Men do but use great swelling words of vanity and boasting that they may hide the fears that lurk within them, but which they are ashamed to own. I believe there are no such superstitious people anywhere as those who pretend that they do not believe in a God. You may toil to find pleasure in sin, but you shall never discover it. The dregs of sin are always bitter; the cup may sparkle on the brim; but when you have drained it, there shall come satiety, and woe, and redness of the eyes. Rake all the dunghills of earth, but you will never find the jewel of peace with God; go and work in all the world’s mines, till you have utterly spent yourselves, but you shall find that you have wasted your strength for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which satisfieth not. Yes, sin is a sickness that robs us of comfort.

And, worst of all, it is a sickness that will end in death, but a death that is something more than death; it is the second death, the death that never dies. What a contrast there is between life and death! Yet there is not half such a contrast between life and death as between the mere act of dying and the second death, the casting into the lake of fire. Oh, the wrath to come! the wrath to come! the wrath to come! ’Twere enough to make you start from your seats if you did but know what those four words mean. To die unrenewed, unpardoned, to face a righteously angry God, to be made the target for all his arrows, to be rent in pieces in his hot displeasure,-sinner, canst thou bear even to think of this? Yet this is what thy sickness will lead to unless the great Physician, of whom I am presently to speak, shall come and heal thee.

Having been to see the patient, and having said so much concerning his disease, I wonder whether you are saying in your hearts, “If this be true, there is great need of a Physician;” for, if so, you have learned what is the very essence of the text. The only right a man has to Christ is his need of him. If you have been brought into the condition I have been trying to describe, your need is extreme; and, since you need the great Physician, I am glad to tell you that he is there, ready to heal you. Lay hold of him; look to him now. Christ Jesus is set before you in the gospel; look to him, and live.

II Now we are going to stop at the door of one who refuses to be called a patient, or to come into the list of sick folk at all.

The sick have need of a physician, but those who are whole manifestly have no such need. Are there any “whole” people? Oh, no! All have need of the great Physician; and, therefore, we preach Christ to all. All are spiritually sick; and, therefore, we entreat all to come unto him who alone can heal them. But we have to deal with men as they look upon themselves; and there are some people, who think that they are not sinners, and who, therefore, do not want a Saviour. Let me give you a description of some of them.

There is a good woman,-probably she is here,-who says, “I have brought up a large family; I am sure I was always kind to my children; my husband always said I was the best of wives; as for my neighbours, I have got up in the middle of the night to nurse them; if any of them ever had the fever, they always said, ‘Send for Mrs. So-and-so, she’ll come to us.’ I always managed my household affairs so that I owed no man anything; everybody respects me, and I do not like being told by you, sir, that I am as bad as you say; in fact, I do not believe that I am; many people say that I am about the best-hearted person in the parish, and I think I am.” Well now, dear friend, I see that you are evidently one of these whole people, or one of those who think themselves whole. You do not need a Saviour, so you shall not have one. But, as you will have no Saviour to take you to heaven, where will you go? Why, you and all your good works will go down to hell unless you repent of this proud way of talking, for you are rebelling against God all the while that you are speaking thus. You have been very good to your children; well, that is right, and let your children repay you; God does not owe you anything for that. You have also been very kind to your neighbours; that is good, would that more were like you in that respect! But let your neighbours thank you; God owes you nothing for that. What did you ever do for God? Why, you have never done anything for him since he made you! You preferred your children to him, and you thought it better to live to serve your neighbours than to live to serve your God! Oh, dear! what does all your fine righteousness prove to be as soon as we examine it? It is filthy rags, so throw it away; for, as long as you cling to it, you practically say that you have no need of a Saviour; and having no need of a Saviour, Christ does not come to you.

I also know a good many people of the other sex, every one of whom says, “I never will believe that my nature is so bad as you say it is. I do not doubt that with some convicts, or other thoroughly bad-hearted fellows, it is as you say; but I do not believe that what you have said is true of all of us. Just look at me, sir; I have large premises in the City; I like to conduct my business in an honourable manner; nobody can say that I am overreaching. I have an old clerk, sir, who has worked for me for thirty years; ask him whether I am not as kind a master as can be; my people at home like me very much; I subscribe to the Bible Society; I give a couple of guineas a year to a Ragged School; I have been in the habit of going to church or chapel ever since I was a lad; I do not know that anybody can say much against me. I may have had a little too much wine after dinner once or twice; but, there, that is nothing remarkable, everybody does that sometimes; so, sir, I can say that your representation of me is not true.” Very well, friend, I will take you at your own valuation. It seems, then, that you have no need of a physician; so Christ’s coming into the world could not have had any relation to you. Suppose you could get to heaven on your theory; do you know what they would have to do for you? Why, they would have to build a new heaven on purpose for you, because all the people who have ever entered there say, “We have washed our robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” But there is no need to wash what is clean already, and your robes are, it seems, so uncommonly clean that they need no washing. If you could get into heaven as you are, you would be able to sing to your own praise and glory for ever! But, to tell you the truth, you will never get there as you are, for the only footing on which a man can go to heaven is that of a humble acceptance of God’s grace. Now, you are not humble. What you have just said proves to me that you are as proud as Lucifer; and, certainly, you have not a right estimate of sin, or you would not have said, just now, “I have only done what everybody else does.” Does it make a thing less sinful because everybody does it? It appears to me, dear friend, that you do not know much about yourself, and that, if you would spend half as much time in the stock-taking of your own character as you do in the stock-taking up at those large premises in the City of which you are so proud, you would soon discover that you are spiritually bankrupt, that you cannot pay a single penny in the pound, much less twenty shillings; that you have forgotten God up to this very day; that you have trampled on the blood of Christ by insisting upon it that you do not need it; that you have insulted divine wisdom by saying that it has provided what you do not require; that you have insulted divine justice and truth, for both of these denounce you and condemn you, and yet you say you do not deserve condemnation. O man, the poorest soul that is trembling at the feet of Christ is in a more hopeful state than you are, with all your morality, and all your boasted righteousness! Your only right to Christ lies in your need of Christ; but, according to your description of yourself, you evidently do not feel that you need him. Very well, then, you have no right to him.; and if you remain as you are, you will certainly perish in your sin.

Possibly someone else says, “Ah, sir, I do not trust in my good works, for I have something better to trust to. When I was quite a little one, I was taken to church, and the parson put some water on my face,-I do not know whether there is anything about that in the Bible, by the way,-and that made me ‘a member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven,’-at least, so the catechism says; and, a long while after that, I went to the church again, and a bishop put his hands on my head,-I do not know what it all meant, and I had never felt anything very particular; and then they told me to come to the communion, and I did, and nobody ever refused me. I have heard that there is a great deal of meaning in coming to the sacrament; and I intend, when I get ill, to look into these matters a little more; but, for the present, I am quite satisfied with what our clergyman tells me. They do say that he is a bit of a Puseyite; but we need not bother our heads about that; if we attend to the ordinances of the church, I daresay it will be all right with us.” Well, friend, let me tell you plainly, in the name of the Most High, that your refuge is a refuge of lies, and your confidence is a deception. If I speak to others of you, and you tell me that you were immersed, according to the apostolic fashion, and that you come and commune at the Lord’s table, and that you are trusting in this for salvation, I would say the same to you, that your hope is equally a lie.

“Not all the outward forms on earth,

Nor rites that God has given,

Nor will of man, nor blood, nor birth,

Can raise a soul to heaven.”

If you rest on these things, and think that you are whole as the result of having done so, then you practically say that you have no need of a physician; and, consequently, you have no claim upon him for his aid. O brethren, our plea with Christ must be our wounds! That is his plea with his Father, his wounds; and that must be our plea with him,-our sins, our needs, our unrighteousnesses,-not our goodness, nor our resolves to be better,-this is what we must bring before the Lord.

But I am quite conscious, though I try to describe their cases as clearly as I can, that some, who think themselves whole, will still escape. One will say, “The preacher could not mean me.” Perhaps your character has been accurately sketched, yet you say, “The preacher could not mean me; I am such an honest and upright man; do you mean to tell me, sir, that I am to be saved in the same way as a chimney-sweep or a poor fallen woman?” Yes, that is just exactly what I do mean, and there is no other way to heaven for you than there is for such people as you have mentioned. You must come just as the vilest of the vile come; just as empty-handed as they come, you also must come to Christ; and if you do so, he will receive you.

Our time has flown so rapidly that I can only speak briefly of the Physician.

If anyone asks, “What is his diploma?” it is here: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted.” God the Father sent him to heal sin-sick souls. Where did he study? He studied in the great hospital of human disease. For thirty-three years, “he went about doing good.”

What practice has he had? He has had the most extensive practice that a physician could have. Millions of happy souls above have been cured by him, and millions here on earth have also been healed by him; and all of them will gladly speak his praises.

If you want to know what his medicine is, I may tell you that he has two medicines. This is one: “He sent his word, and healed them,”-his word of promise, his word of invitation, his word of command. But he has also another medicine; that is, his own blood. Unlike other physicians, who give bitter potions to their patients, the great Physician drank all the medicine himself.

But you will ask, “What is his fee?” He gives healing “without money and without price.” You may ask, “Where is his dispensary?” To every creature under heaven who trusts him, Christ presents a free and complete cure. And you will ask, “What are his hours?” Any hour, and every hour, by night or by day. But you will say, “Where can I find him?” Just wherever you are sitting or standing now, you can find him if you will but breathe this prayer, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” If you trust him with your soul, then the honour of this great Physician is engaged to make a sure and certain cure of you. Blessed Physician, would that we had time and ability to speak of thee and of the wonders thou hast wrought! Thou canst heal the vilest, the most diseased, the most helpless and hopeless of sinners.

I want to conclude by earnestly inviting you to come to this great Physician at once. I know that many of you will say that you are unworthy. That is true, but no one was ever saved because he was worthy. Even though you are unworthy, have you not a need of a Saviour? And being conscious of such a need is all the fitness and worthiness he requires. If you need Christ, you are fit to come to Christ. If you need to have sin forgiven, you are a fit subject for Christ to deal with; you need not talk about your unworthiness, for Christ bids you come unto him. Possibly, you say that your case is such a very complicated one that you do not understand it yourself; but he understands it. You cannot tie a knot of sin which Christ cannot untie. Christ can cure your disease whatever it is, even if it has become chronic with you. Christ can cure habitual sinners. He can cure the sin that was born with you, and he can do it this very hour. He can make the drunkard sober in a moment; he can turn the very chief of transgressors from the error of his ways, and set his feet in the right path, and that in a moment. The sin of twice ten thousand years-if it could be possible for anyone to have sinned so long,-he can take away in a moment when we believe on him. “Well, but,” says one, “I am such an old sinner.” I have read that a young lad, of the age of fifteen, heard Mr. Flavel preach; and, soon after, he removed to America, and settled in a quiet village there. He lived eighty-five years after that, an unconverted man; and, one day, sitting in the field, thinking, he recollected Mr. Flavel’s sermon, and the earnest way in which he spoke. Old men often remember the things of their youth better than those of yesterday. What Mr. Flavel had preached, eighty-five years before, was blessed to that sinner over a hundred years old; and he sought and found mercy, and he lived some years after that to tell what divine love and faithfulness could do. You are not a hundred yet; but if you had wasted a whole century in sin, God’s grace could enable you to begin another century walking in the paths of righteousness to your life’s end.

Exposition by C. H. Spurgeon

LUKE 5:1-32

Verses 1, 2. And it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret, and saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.

Before folding them up, as if they intended to do no more with them just then, as they had been working all night in vain.

3. And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land.

It is very difficult to speak effectively when the people come too close to the speaker; and, sometimes, a little inconvenience like that may interfere with the flow of the speaker’s thoughts and words. Even the Saviour seems to have felt that he needed a little breathing space between himself and his audience.

3. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.

That was what some people would have called an unconsecrated place, but Christ’s presence consecrated it, as it does every place where he condescends to meet with us.

“Where’er we seek him, he is found,

And every place is hallow’d ground.”

4. Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.

Whenever he borrows a pulpit, or anything else, he pays good interest for the loan. Christ will not be in even a boatman’s debt. For every cup of cold water given to his disciples in his name the Master will take care to pay.

5. And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.

Out of personal respect and obedience to Christ, having perhaps but a slender hope of any good coming of it, yet, nevertheless, he will let down the net.

6. 7. And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake. And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them.

For they had launched out so far into the sea as scarcely to be within hearing, so they beckoned to their partners in the other ship, and they rowed out to them.

7. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.

We can have too much of a good thing, aye, too much even of the best things, for our poor frail vessel cannot hold all that God would be willing to put into it.

8. When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.

Not knowing what he said, though he knew what he meant; feeling as if he, so sinful, had come too close to the Lord who was so gracious, so he must not dare to keep near to him. Have you never felt the same as that? If not, methinks you have neither known your Lord, not yet yourselves; for the knowledge of Christ, combined with the knowledge of ourselves, is sure to produce this holy shrinking, in which we have no need for anyone to say to us, “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet,” for we are almost ready to put off our very body, for we can scarcely bear the glory of the presence of the Lord.

9, 10. For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken: and so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men.

He seemed to imply that he should catch them after the same rate, too; and so he did, for the first throw of the net brought in three thousand, and very soon the number caught was increased to five thousand. That was good fishing by those first Gospel fishermen; oh, that we could throw the net as they did!

11, 12. And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him. And it came to pass, when he was in a certain city, behold a man full of leprosy:

That is a characteristic touch of Luke, who, as a physician, with a glance of his eye, took in the condition of the man, not as merely a leper, but as one “full of leprosy.”

12, 13. Who seeing Jesus fell on his face, and besought him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And he put forth his hand, and touched him,-

The perfectly pure One touched the leprous man without himself becoming contaminated. In any other case, the man who touched a leper would have been defiled; but, when Christ comes into contact with impurity, he is not defiled, but he removes it. This is what the gospel is meant to do to the world. We are to go and seek the good of the most fallen and abandoned of men; and those who do so, ought to have so much of the spirit of Jesus Christ in them, and so much vitality in their piety, that they will not be tempted by the sin upon which they look, but, on the contrary, will overcome that sin, and impart spiritual health instead of receiving infection. May we be in such a state of health as Jesus was! Then shall we be able to touch the leper, and not be defiled. Jesus touched him,-

13. Saying, I will: be thou clean. And immediately the leprosy departed from him.

Ask him to touch thee also, poor leprous soul; thou who art full of sin, thou who art deeply conscious that the deadly disease of sin is upon thee incurably. Ask him but to touch thee, for the touch of his finger shall make thee clean in a moment. Christ’s cures are often instantaneous. He, who could speak a world into being with a word, can also speak a man into perfect spiritual sanity with a word.

14, 15. And he charged him to tell no man: but go, and shew thyself to the priest, and offer for thy cleansing, according as Moses commanded, for a testimony unto them. But so much the more went there a fame abroad of him:

Some fires burn the more fiercely for being damped, and such was the fame of Christ; it was not to be kept under. The more he bade men be quiet, “so much the more went there a fame abroad of him.”

15. And great multitudes came together to hear, and to be healed by him of their infirmities.

Two words that I long to see linked together in this house: “to hear, and to be healed by him.” You come to hear; can you not also come “to be healed by him of your infirmities”?

16. And he withdrew himself into the wilderness, and prayed.

The tense of the verb implies that he often did this; it was his habit to withdraw himself for private prayer even in his busiest times, and when he could occupy every minute with great advantage to the people. Thus he gathered new strength from above for each day’s work; and when there was most to be done, then he took most time to pray. It is an evil economy that tries to take time for other things that should be spent in prayer, for the shortening of prayer will be the weakening of our power.

17. And it came to pass on a certain day, as he was teaching, that there were Pharisees and doctors of the law sitting by, which were come out of every town of Galilee, and Judæa, and Jerusalem: and the power of the Lord was present to heal them.

Not the Pharisees and doctors of the law; they do not often get healed by Christ, but “the power of the Lord was present to heal” the multitude. The only people for whom there seems to be no power to heal are these Pharisees and doctors, as will appear by the following narrative.

18. And, behold, men brought in a bed a man which was taken with a palsy:

He had had a stroke of paralysis.

18, 19. And they sought means to bring him in, and to lay him before him. And when they could not find by what way they might bring him in because of the multitude, they went upon the housetop,-

By the external staircase,-

19. And let him down through the tiling with his couch into the midst before Jesus.

Probably into the courtyard of the house where Jesus was preaching.

20. And when he saw their faith, he said unto him, Man, thy sins are forgiven thee.

Laying the axe at the root;-not healing the paralysis at first, but forgiving the sin which depressed the man’s spirit, and so was, in a measure, the cause of the paralysis. By removing the sin, he raised the man’s spirits; and with his renewed spirits, there came back strength,

Note that it was when he saw their faith that he said unto the man, “Thy sins are forgiven thee.”

21. And the scribes and the Pharisees

Here they are, these cavilling gentlemen, these Pharisees and doctors of the law,-

21-23. Began to reason, saying, Who is this which speaketh blasphemies? Who can forgive sins, but God alone? But when Jesus perceived their thoughts, he answering said unto them, What reason ye in your hearts? Whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Rise up and walk?

He that could do the one could do the other. He who bids the paralyzed man walk is divine; he, therefore, can forgive sin.

24-26. But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power upon earth to forgive sins, (he said unto the sick of the palsy,) I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy couch, and go into thine house. And immediately he rose up before them, and took up that whereon he lay, and departed to his own house, glorifying God. And they were all amazed, and they glorified God, and were filled with fear, saying, We have seen strange things to-day.

May we often see such “strange things” spiritually!

27-32. And after these things he went forth, and saw a publican, named Levi, sitting at the receipt of custom: and he said unto him, Follow me. And he left all, rose up, and followed him. And Levi made him a great feast in his own house: and there was a great company of publicans and of others that sat down with them. But their scribes and Pharisees murmured against his disciples, saying, Why do ye eat and drink with publicans and sinners? And Jesus answering said unto them, They that are whole need not a physician; but they that are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.

The murmuring of those Pharisees and doctors of the law had one good result, for it led the Saviour to declare the purpose of his mission to the earth: “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”

PRAYERFUL IMPORTUNITY

A Sermon

Intended for Reading on Lord’s-day, June 21st, 1903,

delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the 100th anniversary of amersham baptist chapel,

In November, 1857.

“And shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long with them?”-Luke 18:7.

You remember this is the conclusion of the parable of the importunate widow. Her husband was dead; he had left her perhaps a little property, and some adversary, very probably a lawyer, seized hold of it, and took from her all that she had. What was she to do? She went straightway to the judge, the appointed minister of justice, in the city. The first time she went, she met with a cold repulse. She went a second time; her poverty drove her, her necessity compelled her, to face the man again. Now the judge “neither feared God, nor regarded man,” but at last seeing the vehemence of the woman, feeling that he should be exceedingly troubled by her constant importunity, he granted her request, and he did avenge her of her adversary. Jesus used this to show the power of importunity,-“Hear what the unjust judge saith,”-“And if the unjust judge did this, shall not God avenge his own elect, who cry day and night unto him?”

Now, in trying to discuss this text this evening, I shall first show what I believe to be the primary application of it; and, secondly, I shall try to enlarge upon the general principle involved in it,-that importunity is very prevalent with God.

To begin then,-what was the absolute and clearest meaning that our Saviour would convey to his disciples by the parable?

Well, now, I think the whole sense of the parable, as far as we can make any special application of it, hinges upon the meaning of that word “avenge.” What is it that Christ’s Church is always praying for? The answer is, they are praying spiritually, for that which the poor widow prayed for actually,-they are praying to be avenged of their adversary. Now what did this mean in the poor woman’s case? For, in some degree, it means just the same in the Church’s case. I do not believe that that poor widow-woman, when she went to the judge, went for mere vengeance sake. I cannot conceive that our Saviour would have exhibited the perseverance of malice as an example to his people. I do not think that when she applied day after day to the court of the judge to be avenged, she applied to have her adversary punished, for the mere sake of his being punished. It strikes me there was no revenge whatever in the poor woman’s spirit, and that what she went for was simply this: her husband was dead, he had left her a little property, it was all she had to bring his babes up upon and support herself; someone had seized this property, and what she wanted was, that the property might be restored unto her, that that which had been unlawfully taken from the weak by the mighty, might at once be taken from the clutches of the strong, and restored unto the rightful owner. I think any intelligent person reading the passage would at once conceive that that was what she was seeking for. Now the Church of Christ is seeking just the very same thing. Those that can cry day and night in heaven before the throne of God, do not cry out of a spirit of revenge. The saints, when they pray to God on earth, and girdle the globe with supplication, do not pray against the wicked out of a spirit of hatred. God forbid that any of us should ever fall on our knees and ask God to avenge us of our adversary in the common acceptation of that phrase! I am sure there is no Christian who is actuated by the Spirit of Christ, who would ever ask for vengeance, even on the head of the bloodiest persecutor, for if he should do so, methinks the lips of Jesus might rebuke him, for we know what Jesus said when he was dying, he did not wish to be avenged, for he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Christ’s Church is seeking after just what the poor widow-woman was seeking after, and we are to understand our text, “Shall not God avenge his own elect?” in that modified sense which the parable would convey to us. The fact is, Christ’s Church is a widow; it is true her husband is alive; but she is in a widowed state, because he has departed from her. Our Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Bridegroom, was once with his people, and the Church could not mourn or fast when the Bridegroom was with her. But he said, “The day shall come when the Bridegroom shall be taken away, and then she shall fast.” These are the days; “Our Jesus has gone up on high,” he is not with us in person now, he has left his Church in the wilderness, it is true he has left the Comforter with her, but his own absolute, personal presence is not vouchsafed to her, he is not yet come a second time without a sin-offering unto salvation. Well, then, taking advantage of the absence of Christ, the Church’s Husband, the kings, the princes, the rulers, spiritual wickednesses in high places, have sought to rob the Church of her rights and her privileges, and what the Church is always crying for is, that God would restore her her rights, that he would give to her the portion which her Husband left her in his last legacy, and which, in due time, when God shall have answered her prayers, he shall restore unto her. And what is that legacy?

My brethren, there are many things that Christ has left to his Church of which the world has robbed us. The Church was once a united Church. When Christ was in this world, his prayer was, that they all might be one, even as he and his Father were one. Alas! the world has robbed us of our unity; and now, behold, the Church crieth day and night, “Restore, O Lord, the scattered of Israel, and bring us into one fold, and let us have one Shepherd!” The spirit of the world has crept into our midst, and split us into many denominations. God’s children are not now called Christians; but they are called Baptists and Independents, Churchmen, Dissenters, and such-like names of distinction. Their oneness, although it really exists in the heart, yet is lost, at least in the outward appearance of it; and, to some degree, it is entirely lost. But the Church is crying for it every day; the true hearts in the midst of God’s Zion and the glorified spirits above are crying, day without night, “O Lord, make thy Church one!”

Again, the Church was sent into this world to bring the world to a knowledge of the truth; and, one day, the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ. We may say that all the world is Christ’s, though heathenism has a part of it, Mohammed has another, and the Pope another. The world is divided into different sections, under different false systems of religion, but all the world belongs by right to Christ. We can cast our eye round the world, from the river even to the ends of the earth, and we can say, “The kings of the isles shall bring tribute; the princes of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts; kings shall yet be the nursing fathers of the Church, and queens the nursing mothers.” But the world has robbed us of this; the different false religions have spoiled the Church’s inheritance; the wild boar of the wood doth waste her, and doth devour her borders. Zion’s banner should wave everywhere in every kingdom, but instead thereof the priests, the kings, the idol gods have taken the kingdoms unto themselves. Now this is the great thing, I believe, that the Church is praying for. You know the Church is one day to wear a crown. Christ’s Church is Christ’s royal bride, and she is to have a crown; but she can never have it until her prayer has been heard, until her Lord comes to revenge her wrongs. For, lo! the Church of God is trampled on and despised; the precious sons of Zion, comparable unto fine gold, how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers, the workings of the potter! God’s chosen people are counted as the off-scouring of all things, instead of being, as indeed they are, considered as the blood royal of the universe,-the princes among men. Now, because of these lost rights, Christ’s Church crieth day and night unto God, crying out, “O Lord, avenge us of our adversary, and restore unto thy widowed Church her rights!”

Put the Jew wherever you may, and he will always declare that the promised land belongs to his nation. There is a pride about the Jew, wherever he may be; he believes himself still to belong to that chosen family, whose were the covenants and the oracles. That is true of the Christian: he may be never so poor, never so despised, but knowing himself to belong to the chosen body, he claims that all things are his own. You may clothe him in fustian, and you may feed him on bread and water, but he will still say, “All things are mine.” You may thrust him into a dungeon, and let no light come to him except through two iron bars, but he will still declare, “Mine are the valleys and the hills; mine by sacred right; my Father made them all.” There is a royalty in a Christian which persecution cannot burn out, which shame cannot crush, which poverty cannot root up; there it is, and there it must be for ever; and conscious of his high rights and distinctive privileges, the Christian, the believer, will never cease to cry unto Christ, that he may yet have his rights, and possess what his God did give unto him. Now, dear friends, very often we are low-spirited and down-hearted; sometimes the Christian minister goes back from his pulpit, and says, “Ah! the gospel seems making very little progress, I do not see how the kingdoms of this earth are to belong to Christ.” The Sunday-school teacher goes home from his class, and says, “This is weary work; if things go on as they do now, we shall always have to say, ‘Who hath believed our report?’ and how can the Church prosper if things be so?” And there are times with each of us when a kind of sickness seizes our spirits, we look at everything with a sad eye, and we say, “Ah! the millennium is many years off.” Indeed, unbelief says it is quite impossible. “How shall the heathen bow before him? How shall they that dwell in the wilderness lick the dust?” Now, you, who have thought thus, and you who are thinking so now, hear the Saviour’s argument for your consolation, the argument couched in the text,-The Church of God is crying unto him day and night. There where the burning lamps of heaven perpetually light the skies; high in the seventh heavens, above the stars, where angels cast their crowns before the Most High, the saints for ever cry to God, “O Lord, avenge thine own elect!” for prayer is made in heaven. The saints under the altar cry aloud, “O Lord, how long?” There is never a moment when the saints cease to pray; they have-

“Vials full of odour sweet,

And harps of sweeter sound.”

And we remember that the saints on earth are always in prayer. You meet together in the evening for prayer; you scatter to your houses, and then your family fires begin to burn, and when your family fires are put out, and your private devotions have ceased, the sun is just rising in the other land across the western sea, and there they are beginning to pray again; and when the sun hath set, then it rises somewhere round the world in the far east, there by the Ganges river, there by the Himalaya steeps, the saints of God begin again, and when the sun windeth on its course, and again shineth somewhere else, then the saints of the Lord offer incense and a pure offering; so that there is never an hour when this world ceases to offer its incense, not one moment, even in the darkest shades of midnight, when prayer does not ascend from this lower world. And it would be ill for the world if there were a moment when prayer should be suspended; for remember what a poet says, “Perhaps the day when this world shall be consumed will be a day unbrightened by a prayer.” Perhaps it may be so, but certainly such a day as that has hot yet rolled over the world, for day without night the world is girdled with prayer, and one sacred belt of supplication winds the whole globe round. Now, said Christ, if God’s elect in heaven and on earth are day without night, without ceasing, crying to God to give the Church her empire, her reign, her splendours, her victories, rest assured the Church shall have what it asks for. Shall not God avenge his own elect that cry day and night unto him? Yes, beloved brethren, we may not live to see it, though sometimes I think there be some alive in this world that will live to see that bright day; and yet, if we live not to see it, the day shall come when Christ, who is the truth, shall have all power given unto him under heaven; as he hath even now really, he shall then have it given to him in the form and symbol and fashion of it also. The day is coming when Christ shall come in the clouds of heaven to reign upon this earth in the midst of his people. Then, when he shall come, the kingdoms of this world shall be converted unto him; all people shall flock to his colours; every knee shall bow before him, and every tongue confess that the Lord is God. I have sometimes thought that I may yet live to see that day, and some of you mayhap. We cannot tell when Christ shall come. We are very apt to forget that he comes as a thief in the night, in such an hour as we think not. It is a pleasing thought sometimes to recollect that there may be some standing here that will not die, for we know the Scripture says, “Behold, I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye at the last trump.” When Christ shall come, we shall be alive and remain, perhaps, some of us; for he may come to-morrow, he may come to-night; before the word I am speaking reaches your ear, the trump of the resurrection and jubilee may startle us all, and we may behold Christ come in the clouds of heaven. But whether he cometh or not in our lifetime, there will be some alive when he shall come, and they, if they be his people, shall not die, they shall be changed, “the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.” “Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”

O work on, minister; toil on, teacher; weep on, mourner; pray on, intercessor; hope on, believer; the hallowed day is coming! Some of the streaks of the grey light already mark the horizon; some of the sweet tidings of the Master’s coming have already been announced to God’s favourite people; some that have dwelt high on the mountain top of communion have declared that the time is approaching near. The chariot wheels of Christ are drawing nigh. But be it near, or be it far off, it must come; it shall come; the Church shall triumph; the world shall be subdued beneath her feet. God shall avenge his own elect, who cry day and night unto him. Now, I take that as the absolute meaning of the passage, the nearest and most appropriate way of explaining it.

And now I am going to try to work out the principle of the text. It is this,-Importunity will prevail. Now you must not smile while I give you two pictures, the pictures that Christ gave his disciples, worked out a little, so as to be more plain to you. Jesus Christ says, if you want anything of God, if you do not get it the first time, try again; and if you do not get it then, continue in prayer; for long continuing in prayer, you will prevail with God; and he gives you two pictures that we have had this evening.

The first is, the good man who had no bread in his house when his friend came. You may picture the scene. He says, “I am very glad to see you, but I have not a morsel of food in the house. If I had the richest dainties in the world, you should have them all, but I have not any.” “Well, but,” says his friend, “I have come a good many miles this day; I cannot go to rest without something to eat. I shall faint.” “Well, but,” he says, “I have nothing for you.” “My dear friend,” says the other, “cannot you obtain a morsel? I am famished by the way: I expected to have got to my resting-place at noontide, and now it is midnight; I have been travelling these twelve hours, and have had nothing at all to eat.” “Well,” says his friend, “I have something for your horse to eat, but I cannot give you anything;” but at length he says, “There is a friend of mine who lives down the street; I will go and get something from him. You shall not starve. I will not come away till I get something.” Away he goes, and finds his friend asleep; he gives a great knock, the man is upstairs in bed, and he says, “My wife and my children are with me in bed.” He does not want to hear that knock, and so he just sleeps on. Then there comes another tremendous knock. Says the man, “I cannot think who that can be.” The question is asked by those who are upstairs, but he does not feel at all inclined to get out and look. It is a cold night, and what should he get up for? Then there comes another rap. “Well,” he says, “there is somebody at the door.” He still turns in his bed, and will not get up. He doesn’t see why he should rise at such an untimely hour as that. Besides, after all, it may be only some drunken fellow going home late. Then there comes another tremendous knock. He goes to the window, puts his head out, and asks what is the matter. “Oh!” says the man, “I want some loaves of bread; a friend of mine has come to see me, and I have nothing for him.” “What do you come to me for at such an hour as this? I cannot come down; my wife and my children are with me in bed; I cannot give you bread at this hour of the night.” “But,” says the other, “I must have it, and I hope you will give it to me. What a friend you have been to me in times past!” “Friend or no friend,” he says, “I shall not give you anything at this time of night.” “He will not rise and give to him because he is his friend.” Then what does the poor man do? He says, “I will not go back.” He thinks he sees that poor hungry man; and he cannot bear the thought of going back and saying that he has nothing for him. That was the only house where he could get bread; and so he knocks again. “Oh, dear me!” says the man, “I thought I had got rid of that fellow. I told him I couldn’t get up at this hour, and I won’t!” But then there comes another rap,-a tremendous one, and the child says, “Father, we can’t go to sleep; hadn’t you better go and give that man his bread?” but the father says, “No, I shall not; why does he trouble me in this way?” Then there comes another rap, and he goes to the window in great anger, and asks him, “Whatever do you want coming knocking here in this way? I tell you once for all I shall not give you anything!” “Well,” says the man, “you must give me bread; I cannot go till you do: if you do not give me any, I mean to stop here and knock all night.” “Well,” says Jesus, “I tell you, though he will not arise and give it to him, because he is his friend, yet because of his importunity he will arise and give him as many as he needeth.” So he comes downstairs, gets the loaves, opens the door, and says to the man, “Here, take as many as you want, and be off with you, and never come to disturb me any more at nights.” So off he goes, and importunity gets what even friendship could not obtain.

Well, then the Saviour gives another picture. Importunity can get what even justice ought to get, but cannot. There is the poor widow; she is robbed of all she has: she had a little plot of ground, and a little cottage with just enough to keep her children through the winter, and there was a little field, or two, that she could let out for rent sufficient to keep her all the year; and now it is all pounced upon. She does not know what she is to do. Somebody will come in to claim it who has no right to it. She is turned out of house and home, and she and her poor children are on the streets. She goes off to the judge’s house to see him,-rather a wild errand that; for, when she gets there, there stand the porters at the door, and the men with halberds; and they say, “Woman, what do you want?” “I want to see the judge.” “You cannot see the judge; he has got plenty to do without seeing you.” “But I must see him; here is a man that has been taking”-“I do not want to know anything at all about it; you cannot see him.” “But I must see him,” says the woman; and somehow or other, though the porters repulse her all day long, she manages to get into court, and just when some witness steps down, up comes the woman, and begins, “My lord.” “What case is that, sergeant?” says the judge. “Oh, it has nothing to do with the court business to-day, my lord!” “Get down with you,” says the judge to the woman. “O my lord!” she replies, “there is a man that has come and taken away”-“Now, you have no right here, I tell you you must go,” and she goes down, sad at heart. But the next morning she comes again. As soon as ever the court house is open, there is the woman at the door. Before anybody can be found to enter, there she is. She had established herself there as soon as the people came to get the place ready. Well, before they can begin the business of the day, the woman begins crying out, “O my lord, my husband is dead”-“Did you not come here yesterday?” says the judge. “Yes, my lord.” “Well, I thought I told you this was not the proper time and place to apply. I cannot attend to you.” “O my lord, if you would but just hear my case a little”-“Bring the next case up,” says the judge; and there is a case brought up, and the judge proceeds. There happens, however, to be an interlude in the business, such as the poor widow has been looking for a long time, and his honour is just going out of court for a little refreshment, and as he is going, the woman steps up, and says, “My lord”-“Now take that woman away; she is always coming here, and disturbing me.” The poor woman is taken away, but she returns, and all day long the poor soul is there. She comes the next day, and when the judge arrives, there is the apparition of this poor woman to startle him again. What is to be done all day long? He knows that at every possible opportunity she can get she will be down upon him to ask him to avenge her of her adversary. At length he says, “Well, what is your case?” and as soon as it is stated, he thinks to himself, “I know that man very well, that has taken away her property; he is a friend of mine. I shall not interfere in the case. I neither fear God, nor regard man, but as a friend of mine has got her property, I shall not interfere;” and then, addressing the woman, “I absolutely forbid you ever to come to this place again.” But she comes again, and again, and again, until one day she steps into the witness box, and says, “My lord, I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit”-“Now I do not want any more of that; you are always giving me your long sermons in court.” “My lord,” continues the woman, “I will have a hearing to-day. I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit; I have been here many times before, and you have sent me away, when I ought to have had justice at your hands; and now this day, unless I am dragged out of court by main force, I will stop until I get justice.” Well, the judge thinks to himself a moment or two, and says, “If I were just to decide this woman’s case, I should get rid of her. Well, come, my good woman, let us hear about it” So she tells the whole history of the case; the judge sends the officer of the court to enquire into it; and at last he says, “Though I fear not God, nor regard man, yet because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her of her adversary.” He accordingly sets all her accounts square, and she goes home to her cottage with a joyous heart, and her children are fed, and all is happy; for the judge has set her free from all her dilemmas. Now, friends, there you have a case of importunity even going before the claims of justice, as in the other case it went before the claims of friendship.

Now what are these two pictures to teach the sinner? They are to teach the sinner that if the importunate woman could prevail with an unjust judge, you will prevail with a loving Saviour; to teach you, that if by constant knocking the friend who at first would not rise, at last did rise and give bread, by your repeated prayers you shall at last find the salvation that you need. I am certain that somewhere within the compass of my voice, there is one who has been for weeks and months seeking the Saviour; but he or she has never yet found the Saviour; Satan has whispered perhaps, “God will never have mercy upon you; you may as well give up prayer; prayer is a useless employment if it hath no answer; never attend the house of God again; there is no mercy for you; never again come to the throne of grace, for God’s ears are deaf to you, he will not hear your supplication.” Now, poor heart, listen not to the temptation of the devil, but listen to this that I have to say unto thee,-go again seven times, and if that suffice not, seventy times seven; God hath not promised to answer thee the first time; he will answer thee, however, at the end; so continue thy prayers. When, with deep anxiety of spirit I sought the Saviour, many months I prayed before I could get an answer; and I heard my mother say, one day, that there never was a man in the world, she believed, so wicked as to say that he had sought God truly and earnestly in prayer, and God had not answered him. “Many black oaths,” said she, “have been sworn, but I never heard of any man who was allowed to utter a sentence so derogatory to the love and mercy of God as that,-‘I have sought God, and he would not save me.’ ” At once the thought struck me, “I will say that, for I know I have sought God, and I feel he has not heard me.” I resolved that I would say it, and that she should hear me, for I felt my spirit vexed within me. I had sought God, and, I thought, with all my heart, and he had never vouchsafed to hear me. But then it occurred to me, “Would it not be better to try again before saying it?” That time I sought as I had not sought before, and that time I found and rejoiced in hope of the glory of God, because my supplication had been answered in my own heart, to my own soul’s comfort. Now, if you are in the same position, and are labouring under the same temptation, try again. If thy knees have been bent seventy times in vain, remember thou hast seventy times the fewer to pray in vain; so try again; thou art so much nearer the appointed number which thou must reach before God will hear thee; give not up thine efforts. In fact, I know thou neither wilt nor canst give up, if God the Holy Spirit hath taught thee praying, for that is one of the things that Satan cannot do,-he cannot effectually stop a praying tongue,-he cannot for ever quench the desire of the soul; though he may for a time do it by despondency and despair, yet he cannot do it in the end. I want, before I have done, to take the hand of that young man, or that young woman, who is to-night seeking the Saviour, but, as yet, without having found him to his heart’s joy, and I want to say a kind word to him. Dear brother, God will hear you; be of good courage; but in the meantime to keep your spirits up I will tell you a few things.

Consider what a great being God is, and what a little creature you are, and then you need not wonder that you have to wait. Why, poor people, when they go to see a rich man, will stop in his hall for hours, and if they are going to see a great lord, they will not mind waiting in the antechamber where there is no fire, till their feet are cramped with cold, so long as they have a hope that they shall get an audience at last. The pertinacity of the beggar in the streets is sometimes astonishing; you cannot get rid of him; you walk a little faster, and he walks a little faster too; he keeps talking to you about his wife, who is sick, and tells you that he is a poor man, that you will never miss what you give him, that God will bless you, and all that. Well, if a beggar will wait upon his fellow worm, if we would be content to wait upon the great of the earth for so long a season, oh! we need not murmur against God if he bids us wait in his halls, for we are poor miserable sinners who are good for nothing, and he is the eternal God. There is such a distance between him and us, that we need not murmur if he keeps us waiting.

Besides, let us recollect what a great blessing it is we are asking for. The beggar will stop at your door half an hour with the hope of getting perhaps a crust of bread; and men will go and wait in the halls of princes just to get a word. But ah! my friends, that which we are seeking is more than that; we are seeking for the salvation of our souls; we are seeking for the blood of Christ, for the pardon of sin, for a seat in paradise, for deliverance from the flames of hell; and for such a gift as this it were worth while waiting a thousand years if we might be sure of getting it at last.

But again, poor soul, be willing to wait, because, let me tell thee this, thou art sure to get what thou seekest. “Oh!” cries one, “I would not mind what I did if I thought I could be saved at last.” Well, you will. There was never a soul that perished praying, never one who sought the Saviour who was at last cast away. Oh, if the Lord should keep you waiting till your head is silvered o’er with grey, his mercy would not come too late; he would be sure at last to give an ear to your supplication, and bestow upon you the blessing. Therefore be patient; though the promise tarry, wait for it, for it will be sure to come. But whilst you are waiting, do not do as some people have done. I had a hearer once who used to tell me that he was waiting, and I never could get him out of that idea say what I would, until at last I had to use a good illustration in order to prove to him that he was not waiting. “Now,” said I, “suppose I came to your house one day to tea, and you said to me, ‘My dear sir, how late you are! we have been waiting for you.’ And suppose there was no fire in the grate, no kettle singing on the hob, and no tea made, I should say, ‘I do not believe you.’ ” Waiting implies being ready; if a man is waiting for another, he is ready for him. If you are waiting for the coach, why, you have your hat on and great coat and your gloves, and your bag is packed up, and you are ready to start; you are waiting for the train, you are standing on the platform, and looking out for its arrival. And when a man is waiting for Christ, he is ready for Christ. But when they say they are waiting, and they fold their arms in unconcern, it is a gross falsehood; they are waiting for God to destroy them, and nothing else. When men do really wait for the Lord, this is the way they wait,-they go where they hope to meet him. If they hear that Jesus is in the house of God, they go there; if they hear that he is to be found in the reading of the Word, they read it day and night; if they hear that some minister has been specially blest in the salvation of souls, they will go many miles to hear him, in order that they may see Jesus; they will go where Jesus goes, and when they get near Jesus, they will cry after him. They will do as the blind man did when he heard that Jesus of Nazareth passed by. Let us describe that scene for a moment. A poor man sat by the wayside one day; he could see nothing, but he heard a great noise and a lot of people coming his way, so he said to some of the crowd, “What is that?” and they replied, “It is Jesus of Nazareth that passes by.” That he thinks is a fine opportunity, and he cries out as loud as ever he can, “Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.” Jesus Christ is preaching to the crowd as he walks along, working miracles, and he takes no notice of the cry. Then there is another shout, “Thou Son of David, have mercy on me!” The disciples come and tell him to be still; that he is disturbing Christ in his preaching, and that he must not make that noise,-but so much the more, a great deal, he cries, “Thou Son of David, have mercy on me!” And that shout prevailed over the voice of Christ, and the tramping of the feet of the multitude; then Christ stood still, and looked at the blind man, opened his eyes, and gave him sight. Now you must do the same; you must cry to Christ, you must agonize in prayer, and wrestle on your knees before him when you think that you are near to him. Above all, study his promises, and read his Word. And if this sufficeth not, hear then the last advice and the best, go to thy chamber to-night, thou that hast sought the Saviour long, as thou thinkest, sought him in vain,-go to thy upper chamber, shut to thy doors, fall on thy knees, open his holy Word, turn to that passage which describes the death of Jesus, and when thou hast meekly and reverently read through the story of the crucifixion, shut up the Book, sit down and picture to your mind’s eye the hill of Calvary,-see the cross in the midst of those two other crosses of the thieves. Picture to yourselves the Lord Jesus with the thorn crown on his head, with his hands all dropping blood, with his side distilling a purple torrent. Don’t think of anything else. The first thing that will happen, God the Holy Spirit helping you, will be that you will begin to weep; tears will run down your cheeks at the sight of the dear bleeding Man; and after a while, faith will begin to kindle, and the thought will arise, “Many souls have been saved by trusting in him that died upon the cross, and why not I?” And it may be that you shall come down from that chamber of yours with a light heart and gladsome countenance, singing as you come down the stairs,-

“Oh, how sweet to view the flowing

Of his sin-atoning blood!

With divine assurance knowing

He hath made my peace with God!”

There is no way of getting peace like that. O thou that hast sought often, adopt this last resource! Thou canst but perish coming to Jesus; thou wilt perish if thou dost not come; but at his feet ne’er sinner died, and never sinner shall. “Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Ye sin-bitten, conscience-stricken sons of men, hear the gospel: “This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” This is the glorious gospel of the blessed God, that Christ died for sinners. Believe the gospel, and your souls shall live, you shall be saved, and rejoice in glory everlasting. Christ died for real sinners. You ask a man, “Do you take God’s name in vain?” “No.” “Do you honour other gods before the Lord Jehovah?” “No.” “Do you ever break the Sabbath?” “No.” “Do you always honour your father and mother?” “Yes, all these things have I kept from my youth up.” Well then, Jesus Christ did not die for you at all; you are too good by half to go to heaven; you are not the sort of person the gospel is preached to. Jesus Christ says, “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” He came to save him whose aching heart and bleeding spirit and tearful eye betray the man who feels himself a sinner. Now, may I write the word SINNER in great capital letters, and say, “Who is the man that this word depicts?” Suppose I were to do it, are there not some of you who would get up, and say from your hearts, “O sir, that is just my name; you may put that on me, I the chief of sinners am”? Well then, Jesus died for you. “But,” says one, “if I had a few good works, I should think he did die for me.” Then you would have no reason to think so. Your reason for believing that Christ died for you, must be grounded on your sins. “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,”-that must be your only groundwork. “It is hard,” says one, “to draw white from black.” Ay, but though it is hard, that is what faith must do. You must infer the good from the seeming evil. You know Martin Luther’s logic. He says, in his book on Galatians, that Satan once came to him and said, “Martin, you are a great sinner; you will be damned.” “No,” said he, “Satan: the first is true,-I am a great sinner; the second is not true,-for, because I am a great sinner, (and I thank thee for telling me of it,) and because I feel it, I shall be saved; for Christ came to save sinners, and so I cut thine head off with thine own sword.” The greatest saints on earth often have come to this. “Oh!” saith the heir of heaven, “I am afraid I am no child of God;” and the short cut to comfort is this, “Well, if I am not a child of God, I am a sinner, and-

“ ‘A sinner is a sacred thing,

The Holy Ghost hath made him so.’ ”

And straightway he comes to Christ, and cries,-

“Nothing in my hands I bring,

Simply to thy cross I cling.”

Poor sinners, that is believing on Christ, believing that he died for you when there is no evidence that he did except your own sense of sin. Then, casting your black soul into the fountain, then bringing your naked soul to the heavenly wardrobe, then do you prove the power of faith, and then are you thus manifested to be the children of God in verity and truth.

May the Lord add his blessing! If there are any careless souls here, may he awaken them, for Jesus Christ’s sake! Amen.