Reduced to the state of feebleness and incapacity, which the sacred penman so beautifully describes, man becomes an object of compassion; and it is affecting to see him struggling amidst the ruins of his former self. The sight becomes increasingly painful from the consideration that this is one day to be our own condition; that we too are destined to grow old, to quit the busy scene and the social circle for the solitude of age, and in our turn to be pitied—perhaps forsaken! But there is one thing capable not only of preserving the old from contempt, but of raising them to grandeur and diffusing lustre over their years of decrepitude. In contemplating Anna we do not think of her infirmities when we observe her piety: the meanness of the woman—tottering, crippled, dying—is lost amidst the majesty of the saint, incessantly serving God in his temple, and advancing to the grave "in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season." The dawning of a heavenly day seems to arise upon her "hoary head:" which, "being found in the way of righteousness," is a "crown of glory."

Anna's history further suggests, that religion is the most effectual guard against the VICES of advanced age. One of these is a spirit of querulousness. It is the common practice of those who believe themselves entitled to veneration on account of their years, to complain of the arrogant disregard of their counsels, which they impute to the rising generation. Cherishing the highest opinion of their own sentiments, to which they attribute a kind of infallibility, as being founded upon experience, they naturally expect implicit submission to their dictates and an exact conformity to their views: they require not only to be heard, but obeyed, and are impatient at the folly of those who rebel against their wisdom. Hence originate the often repeated tales of the degeneracy of the present times, and the growing insolence of the young. It may, indeed, be admitted, that, other things being equal, the aged have a just claim upon the attention of the young, whom they are sometimes qualified to instruct; but surely they are not always entitled to the same reverence, and age does not necessarily confer wisdom. Genuine humility, however, tends to correct the spirit of dictation, while it combines with an affectionate concern for the interests of those who are newly come into life; and genuine humility is the product of religion, which supplies motives to give advice with kindness, and to endure the rejection of it without anger.

Another fault of age, is the indulgence of useless regrets for the past. In reviewing life, it is easy to discover instances of our own incaution or negligence, which have possibly influenced our affairs and been connected with many subsequent disappointments. We have not availed ourselves of fortunate conjunctures, or we have rejected profitable offers; one scheme has failed by our precipitancy, another by our procrastination—some persons, perhaps, have been foolishly trusted, and others as foolishly suspected—we have occasionally listened to advice which should not have been taken, or rejected what would have proved advantageous; and the consequence has been some diminution of fortune, some disappointment of our expectations, some failure in the crop of earthly enjoyment which we had anticipated. If it were possible to recall the years which have for ever rolled away, or if the felicity of a rational and immortal being consisted in the possession of temporal abundance, worldly honour, or corporeal gratification, these regrets would have some show of propriety, and might at least secure a patient hearing; hut it is certain, they only betray a weak or a wicked mind; it is perhaps equally certain, they will generally continue to occupy the thoughts of the aged. There is, in fact, but one remedy, "pure and undefiled religion." It is this alone which can fix in the mind a full persuasion of the nothingness of terrestrial pleasures and possessions. This only can console us after our ineffectual efforts to "gain the whole world," or amidst the loss of riches which have "taken to themselves wings," and long since "fled away," by the assurance, that nothing we ever possessed was adequate to render us happy, without other and better enjoyments—that upon a fair estimate, it is questionable whether the perplexities it occasioned did not counterbalance the advantages it either bestowed or promised—and that could we now call our own whatever we have most valued or desired of worldly good, it would prove incapable of making us substantially happy. He need not wish to renew life, who has the hope of a better existence—nor regret the loss of temporal advantages, if he have immortal good. He who "lays up for himself treasures in heaven," may defy the storms of time, and adopt the triumphant language of the apostle, amidst the wreck of earthly good, "having nothing, yet possessing all things."

Similar views and principles alone can correct a third error of age, namely, the aim to prolong juvenility to an unnatural period. "To secure to the old that influence which they are willing to claim, and which might so much contribute to the improvement of the arts of life, it is absolutely necessary that they give themselves up to the duties of declining years; and contentedly resign to youth its levity, its pleasures, its frolics, and its fopperies. It is a hopeless endeavour to unite the contrarieties of spring and winter; it is unjust to claim the privileges of age, and retain the playthings of childhood. The young always form magnificent ideas of the wisdom and gravity of men whom they consider as placed at a distance from them in the ranks of existence, and naturally look on those whom they find trifling with long beards, with contempt and indignation, like that which women feel at the effeminacy of men. If dotards will contend with boys in those performances in which boys must always excel them, if they will dress crippled limbs in embroidery, endeavour at gayety with faltering voices, and darken assemblies of pleasure with the ghastliness of disease, they may well expect those who find their diversions obstructed will hoot them away; and that if they descend to competition with youth, they must bear the insolence of successful rivals." [26]

Religion also must be regarded as the best preparation for that END of life, with which old age is so closely connected. However proper it may be to realize this eventful time, at every period from our earliest to our latest day, it cannot but be regarded as more certainly and evident near at an advanced age. Anna, after the lapse of a century, had greater reason, surely, to apprehend her dissolution, than in the bloom of youth, or at the commencement of her widowhood; and how appaling the prospect!

It would diminish the impression we have of the terror of death, if his dominion were limited to a part of the world, or to any ascertainable extent of years; but, while his authority continues unimpaired and his stroke irresistible, the power he is permitted to exercise over humankind is universal. In visiting the repositories of the dead, it is calculated to awaken our liveliest sensibilities to trace the reign of the "king of terrors" upon the sepulchral stone, or the marble monument. In characters which time has almost erased, we read the records of the past, and by a more than probable analogy penetrate some of the mysteries of the future. Here and there occur the names of those who were venerable for age, remarkable for their exploits, conspicuous by their station, rank, or talent—GREAT by the consent of their cotemporaries—who once figured upon a stage which is now decayed, or where illustrious in an empire which is now passed away. Some have been smitten by death's withering hand at an earlier, some at a later period of life. Adjoining the grave of age is the tomb of youth. There you see the stone half buried in accumulating heaps of earth, and the inscriptions of love and tenderness obscured by collecting moss; while the hand that wrote them has long since become motionless, and the heart that dictated them ceased to beat.

It is affecting to visit places of public resort, under the full influence of the consideration, that this busy and anxious crowd will soon disappear—their race will be run, and the immortal prize gained—or—lost! These possessors of the soil will, in a little time, be disinherited—these tenants of a day exchanged—the funeral pall will cover the most ambitious and the most active of them all, and the motley multitude be succeeded by others equally busy, equally anxious, equally thoughtless of another state of being—and equally mortal!

But these sentiments, however calculated to fill irreligious persons with dread and melancholy, can produce no despondency in those who, like Anna, are accustomed to the truths of religion, and derive the chief pleasure both of their youthful and decrepit age from the services of religion. With regard to death itself they are taught that his power is limited to the body, and that it is restricted even to a short period over this inferior part of our nature; and as to its consequences, they cannot incessantly frequent the temple, and be occupied in devotion, without learning the value, as well as the reality, of those considerations which are drawn from eternity. They know that "this corruptible shall put on incorruption, this mortal put on immortality," and that then "there shall be no more death." And what do these expressions imply, but, the entire renovation of our nature?—Man is mortal, because he is sinful; and, consequently, the removal of sin will prove the extinction of death. It is only by the introduction of moral evil that the earth has been converted into a vast cemetery, and life become a short and rugged passage to the sepulchre; but when it shall no longer prevail, our sanctified nature will inherit the abodes of purity and undecaying existence. It is this consideration which endears celestial felicity. Exemption from death implies deliverance from sin, and the Christian wishes to possess a character which God shall approve, and to be cleansed from those stains of guilt which infect his present being, and render him offensive to his Father in heaven. Were he destined always to be unholy, he would scarcely contemplate immortality as a blessing; but because he has reason to anticipate "a waking" from the sleep of the grave, in the divine "likeness," he realizes a period in the bright annals of his future being, when he shall no longer have occasion to exclaim, "O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?" The pains of separation, too, which afflict this mortal state, cannot exist in that "better country." Society will unquestionably prove one considerable source of the happiness of heaven, where immortal beings will be so circumstanced and capacitated, as both to receive and impart enjoyment. The very nature of man is constituted social; and though our circumstances in this life often render temporary separations unavoidable, in a perfect state of society they must be needless; consequently they will not be suffered to impair the joys of paradise.

The most afflictive of all separations, is that which is occasioned by death. In all other cases, a lingering hope may exist of a reunion at some period however distant; at least the possibility of it is cheering: but, even if there be no reasonable expectation of this, the very consciousness that our friend is still alive, still on earth, still capable of receiving and performing acts of kindness, still able to communicate with us by letter or by message, to participate our pleasures, to sympathize with our sorrows, and to pray for our welfare, is consoling in every vicissitude;—but when death sets his awful seal upon our companion, relative or friend, we cherish a deeper feeling of grief, and cannot look to any earthly means of consolation—but we can look to a heavenly one! Whatever resource fails, the religion of the Bible supplies inexhaustible springs of comfort. God is on high—Jesus "ever lives"—Christians know they shall soon pass into a world where the happy circle will never be broken, the communion of kindred spirits never cease, the day of blessedness never decline, the sabbath of immortality never terminate.

It is in the temple also, that those who like Anna receive just impressions from its services, and live in a state of holy intercourse with God, learn to appreciate the capacities of a spiritual mind for progression in wisdom and felicity, and by consequence to cherish the noblest anticipations of their own future possible elevation of character. How many unfinished schemes are frustrated by death! Our plans of futurity, our purposes of gain, or our resolves of usefulness, may be ended in one short hour. Here the labours of the industrious, the studies of the learned, the investigations of the philosopher, and the career of the pious, close. The grave silences the voice of the preacher, and paralyzes the hand of the charitable. Here the arguments of a Paul end—here the silver tongue of an Apollos is speechless—here the hands of a Dorcas cease to manufacture for the poor, whose unavailing tears cannot recall departed piety.

But who will define the limits of possible attainment in knowledge and excellence in a state of deathless existence? Society is always improving, even in the present world, amidst all its imperfections. The researches of past ages have transmitted a vast stock of wisdom to their successors, both in reference to natural science and religious truth. Who can tell what discoveries a Newton might have made, had he possessed a terrestrial immortality? or who can conceive what heights and depths of divine knowledge might have been disclosed, had the apostles of Christ been permitted to live to the present period, and had it been the will of God that they should have received a constant succession of revelations?

In both these cases, not only has death terminated this series of bright discovery, but this earth is not the destined place, nor time the destined period, for those manifestations of eternal wisdom, which we have reason to believe will take place in another world. Those impediments to knowledge, and those reasons for concealment, which at present exist, will be removed, and truth open all her treasures to immortalized and sanctified spirits. The consequence of the progressive disclosure of spiritual things, of the works and ways of God, will be progressive improvement: and, as in consequence of the clearer development of truth in the Gospel, "he who is least in the kingdom of heaven, is greater than John the Baptist;" so when all the shadows and clouds that bedim our present existence shall have disappeared, and a ray of heaven pours its glorious illumination upon the mysteries of time, the least in the paradise of God will be greater than the most distinguished in his church on earth. And as we never shall cease to improve in knowledge—for there will be no termination to our spiritual researches—there will probably arrive a period in eternity, when he who at the resurrection will be least in the heavenly world in capacity and glory, will become greater in consequence of ever new discoveries, than at that moment will be the greatest of the redeemed universe. And the meanest Christian on earth may indulge the hope that, at a future age, even he may become superior in knowledge, in love, in capacity, and in glory, to what the brightest seraph or the tallest archangel, is at present in the heaven of heavens; for who can tell what God may do for beatified souls? who dare limit the operations of his mercy, or who can imagine to what an elevation of wisdom and felicity an emparadised believer may attain?

Progression is the law of a thinking being. And why should it not operate upon holy intelligences in the future state, as well as in the present? and why not when "there shall be no more death," to an incalculably greater extent? Why should not every new idea acquired in that world become a seed of truth in the mind, that shall spring up and bear fruit, multiply and expand, without restriction and without end?—

There is not in religion a nobler or a more animating sentiment, than this perpetual advancement of the soul towards perfection. Life has its maturity and decline, nature its boundaries of beauty, human affairs their zenith of glory; but, in "the new heavens and new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness," every thing will be eternally upon the advance—there will be no end to the path of knowledge—present acquisitions will be the basis of subsequent acquirements—we shall be continually outshining ourselves, by making nearer approaches to infinite goodness—and the whole moral creation will be forever beautifying in the eyes of God.



The Woman of Samaria.

Chapter IV.

Account of Christ's Journey through Samaria—he arrives at Jacob's Well—enters into conversation with a Woman of the Country—her Misapprehensions—the Discovery of his Character to her as a Prophet—her Convictions—her Admission of his Claim as the true Messiah, which she reports in the City—the great and good Effect—Reflections.

Every incident in the life of Christ is illustrative of the evangelical testimony, "he went about doing good." His efforts were not partial, nor confined to particular occasions; but, availing himself of all the opportunities which occurred, either in public or in private, to promote the welfare of mankind, time never measured out an idle hour—the sun never sat upon a useless day!

It may be truly said, with regard to those who imbibe the spirit of their Master, "no man liveth to himself." Nothing can be more remote from genuine Christianity, than that selfishness which is characteristic of a worldly disposition, and which with an uniform and undeviating assiduity, seeks its own interests and purposes: while nothing can so fully comport with its nature, and evince its prevalence, as that charity which is limited only by the period of human life, the extent of means, and the boundaries of creation.

"When the Lord knew that the Pharisees had heard that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than John ... he left Judea and departed again into Galilee."

The jealousy of his enemies induced them to become narrow observers of all the proceedings of Christ; and, knowing their spirit, he removed to some distance: not, however, through fear—nor (as some expositors have stated) lest they should put him to death; for his hour was not yet come—and it would have been impossible to counteract the purposes of Heaven. He could easily have eluded their utmost vigilance and malignity, as on a certain occasion, when "passing through the midst of them, he went his way." But our Lord did not think proper to disclose himself at once, and in a very public manner. It was not his intention to astonish, but gradually to excite the attention of the Jewish nation, to furnish evidences of his mission to humble and contrite minds, and to lay the foundation of a future work, rather than to operate on a very extended scale himself. In this manner was accomplished the prophecy of Isaiah, "He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth."

His route lay through Samaria; any other way to Galilee would have been very circuitous: and this is mentioned, because of the directions to his disciples, "Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not; but go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel." The hour for that enlarged operation of mercy amongst the Gentiles, which had been so long predicted, was not yet arrived, though it was now approaching with desirable rapidity. The dispensations of God are inscrutable to mortals, to whom it seems profoundly mysterious, that the purposes of love to man should first be delayed for so many ages, and then manifested by the work of Christ to so limited an extent. Here we must "walk by faith, not by sight;" while, upon every leaf in the great volume of providence, it is legibly written, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways, higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts."

It has been piously remarked, that the evangelist refers, by the expression, "he must needs go through Samaria," to our Saviour's purposes of mercy to that vicinity; and undoubtedly it is true, that he was powerfully impelled and irresistibly guided, wherever he went. Nothing could obstruct his designs of mercy, or his labours of love. No force could prevent his benevolent progress: as well might human or diabolical agency attempt to arrest the sun in his course, or stop the march of time.—"My Father worketh hitherto, and I work." "I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day; the night cometh, when no man can work."

In his journey, Jesus came to a city of Samaria called Sychar, which appears to have been the same with the Sichem or Shechem of the Old Testament; [27] where was a well, to which tradition had assigned the name of Jacob, as having been originally dug by that patriarch. It was now about the sixth hour, or noon, and the climate being exceedingly sultry, Jesus, under the pressure of fatigue, sat down by the well.

Let us for a moment turn aside, like Moses, to "see this great sight." Jesus "sat thus on the well," as the weary traveller seeks a renewal of his strength by temporary repose. What majesty and mystery surround the spot, when we recall the ancient oracles to mind, which represent him as "the Wonderful, Counsellor, the mighty God, the everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace;" and compare descriptions of this nature with the evangelical record of his own words, "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests: but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head."

What a scene for ministering spirits, who had been accustomed to behold and adore him, but who now witnessed his abasement! What a contrast between "the Lamb in the midst of the throne," and Jesus sitting on a well, and afterward suspended on a cross—between the "King of glory:" and the weary traveller—the "Lord of lords," and the "man of sorrows!"

Let us derive instruction, as well as consolation, from this scene. "We have not a high-priest, who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities: but was in all points tempted, like as we are, yet without sin." If the Saviour had appeared upon earth in external splendour, and in a manner which to human apprehension would have comported better with the majesty of his nature and the pre-eminence of his celestial glory, our insignificance would have created a sense of unapproachable distance: we should have been more astonished than attracted—more confounded than, conciliated. But he disrobed himself of ineffable brightness to bring us nigh, and to produce a just and holy familiarity, saying to his disciples, "I have called you friends."

Let us be reconciled to the infirmities, pains, and poverty we may suffer; for it is "sufficient for the servant to be as his master." More elevated stations in life would be attended with more danger to our spiritual character, and expose us to more afflictions; as mountains in proportion to their height attract clouds and tempests. The present is a state of trial for the righteous; but however distressing or obscure our way, Jesus has trod it before us—sanctifying the path of sorrow by his presence, and plucking up many of its thorns. Place his example before your eyes—observe his humble life—his assumed poverty—his unaffected condescension! To the poor he preached—with the poor he lived—their dress he wore—and their lowly sphere he chose and honoured!

How many of the most important events of our lives may be traced to trifling circumstances! A single step may have a remote, but very obvious connexion with the greatest results. A single turn in the journey of life may influence the happiness, and direct the course of years! "There cometh a woman of Samaria, to draw water." Nothing could be more apparently incidental; and yet he who thinks rightly will perceive it to be a link in the great chain of Providence, which was absolutely essential to the completion of the whole. It was in the purpose of God, that many of the Samaritans of that city should believe—that this conviction should be wrought by that woman, who herself should be forcibly impressed by the proofs with which she was furnished in the relation of her most private domestic concerns. Had she come earlier or later, Jesus had not been there!

We must trace the links of this chain further. The malignity of the Pharisees induced Jesus to leave Judea; and both convenience, and perhaps a moral necessity, impelled him here. His arrival at that hour—his stay—the opportunity occasioned by the absence of his disciples—were all appointed by superintending wisdom. Who knows what a day or an hour may bring forth! Little did this Samaritan woman expect such a meeting, such a traveller, or such a conversation; so wisely and so wonderfully are the plans of Providence arranged!

How often has the promise been accomplished, "I was found of them that sought me not!" To some unforeseen occurrence—some accidental meeting—some trifling coincidence, Christians may often trace their first conversion, and their best impressions. A stranger—a word, a casualty, has proved the means of spiritual illumination; and while the recollection of these circumstances often solace them in the vale of tears, we doubt not but they will furnish a subject of pleasing contemplation and adorning gratitude, when they shall have attained the perfection of their being on the heights of immortality.

"Jesus saith unto her, Give me to drink:" a very natural request from a weary stranger, and one with which, from the common hospitality of the times, he might expect a ready compliance. The evil effect of luxury is, that it has multiplied our artificial necessities, and diminished our benevolent feelings; in a simpler state of society, the wants of mankind are fewer and more easily supplied.

The woman paused and inquired, "How is it that thou, being a Jew, asketh drink of me, which am a woman of Samaria? for the Jews have no dealings with the Samaritans." Alas! where rancorous animosity exists, how frequently the laws of hospitality, and the principles even of humanity, are sacrificed! The Sanhedrim interdicted any friendly intercourse with the Samaritans, and the Jews cursed them by the secret name of God; and as this mutual animosity existed, the woman received our Saviour's request with a reproachful sneer.

The enmity subsisting between the Jews and Samaritans was very ancient in its origin, and exceedingly inveterate in its character. It had also been aggravated by different incidents. When the ten tribes revolted in the time of Jeroboam, the calves were set up in Dan and Bethel, with a view to seduce the people from worshipping at Jerusalem, which was of course highly offensive to Judah and Benjamin; and when Shalmaneser, the king of Assyria, carried away the ten tribes into captivity, he colonized the cities of Samaria with the Babylonians and others, who carried their false religion with them; in consequence of which they became odious to the Jews. At first, the providence of God punished these idolatrous settlers, by permitting lions to infest the country, whose ravages induced Shalmaneser to send one of the priests "to teach them the manner of the God of the land;" when they united the worship of the Jehovah with that of their own idols. These people very much discouraged the Jews in the erection of the second temple, after their return from captivity.

After this, when Alexander had conquered Syria and Palestine, Sanballat, who governed the province of Samaria for Darius, submitted to the conqueror; and having married his daughter to Manasseh, the brother of Jaddua the high-priest, he obtained permission from Alexander to build a temple on mount Gerizzim, in imitation of that which was built at Jerusalem. [28] Manasseh was constituted the high-priest, a multitude of Jews mixed with the Samaritans, and a distinct service, after the Jewish mode of worship, was conducted. This occasioned great contentions, and suspended all intercourse between the rival nations. The Samaritans are generally said to have admitted little more of the Old Testament than the Pentateuch; but Justin Martyr, who was a native of Sichem, affirms that they received all the prophetic writings. [29]

Drop a pitying tear over human weakness, folly, and crime. What divisions separate the human race, and exasperate men against each other! But of all others, they are the most inveterate, which are produced on account of religion. The Samaritan appoints Gerizzim as the place of worship, in opposition to Jerusalem—the fires of persecution are instantly kindled, and the victims of intolerance suffer martyrdom!

To the reproachful insinuation of the woman, Christ returned no answer, for it kindled no resentment. When he was reviled, he reviled not again: but with his characteristic condescension and eagerness to instruct the ignorant, he said, "If thou knewest the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, Give me to drink; thou wouldest have asked of him, and he would have given thee living water." This language was expressive of his readiness and ability to supply the necessities of the destitute, to console the afflicted, and to save the lost. By the "gift of God," he intended divine bounty in general; by "living water," the blessings of salvation, especially the gifts and graces of "his holy Spirit." [30]

The conciliating and affectionate manner of Christ's appeal to the woman, appears to have softened her turbulent spirit, and won her respect. She uses an epithet of respect previously omitted, "Sir,"—perceiving that, though apparently a Jew, he possessed none of that rancorous enmity which characterizes others, and cherished national antipathies. "A soft answer turneth away wrath; but grievous words stir up anger." Offences are likely to arise in the present world; but let us rather aim to disarm malignity by conciliation, than strengthen and envenom it by resistance. Soft words may in time operate on hardened hearts, as water continually dropping on the rock wears it away. Such a mode of proceeding costs us little, but tends much to dignify and exalt us. "Who is a wise man and endued with knowledge among you? let him show out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom. But if ye have bitter envying and strife in your hearts, glory not, and lie not against the truth. This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish. For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work. But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy. And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace."

Our Saviour's discourse was further distinguished by "exceeding great and precious promises;" and the woman seems to have partaken of similar surprise with those who are said to have "wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth." As a "fountain of living waters," he was always pouring forth refreshing streams; as the depository of wisdom and knowledge, he incessantly communicated his treasures of sacred instruction; and as the "Sun of righteousness," he constantly imparted his heavenly light and heating beams. Who could approach him without feeling the benign influence, and being benefitted by the rich supply?

As the term which Christ had employed in a spiritual sense, simply denoted excellent spring water in common language, the woman at present conceived no other idea of his meaning; and seeing he was a stranger, with no bucket, she expressed her astonishment at his promise. With some mysterious impression, probably, of his extraordinary character, blended with incredulity, she proceeded to inquire, "Art thou greater than our father Jacob, which gave us the well, and drank thereof himself, and his children, and his cattle?"

This may furnish an exemplification of the fact, that the "natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." The terras of Christianity are mysterious, because its doctrines are misunderstood, and cannot be discerned by him, the "eyes of whose understanding" are beclouded, and whose heart is sensual. How deplorable the effects of sin, which has drawn a veil over the moral perceptions of man; in consequence of which, he cannot see the glories of truth, the charms of Jesus, the value of his soul, and the importance of its redemption! Nothing but the glare of earthly grandeur can affect him, while eternity with all its vast concerns disappears.

Though the woman at first manifested considerable animosity, and afterward betrayed great ignorance, Jesus was neither provoked by her prejudices, nor irritated by her misconceptions. We must not unnecessarily wound the unenlightened, nor even the perverse, by reproaches; but aim to win them by kindness and forbearance. O for more resemblance to the "Lamb of God," and more of the temper which the apostle inculcates! "And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient, in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves; if God peradventure will give them repentance to the acknowledging of the truth; and that they may recover themselves out of the snare of the devil, who are taken captive by him at his will."

It would exceedingly conduce to the promotion of this spirit, were we frequently to recollect our own former ignorance and slowness to apprehend the "truth as it is in Jesus;" and the patience we have ourselves experienced, especially from "our Master in heaven." We should also consider, that the best and most permanent impressions are often the most gradual; and he who advances to perfection, goes on from strength to strength. Let us not be unduly discouraged, because of our present ignorance and darkness of mind: but pursuing our inquiries with a humble and teachable disposition, we may hope by copious supplies from the Source of wisdom, to increase our knowledge, and enlarge our capacities.

It appears rather surprising, that instead of questioning the pretentions of Christ, this woman did not at once solicit a fulfilment of his promise, and "draw water from the wells of salvation;" but her method of proceeding is illustrative of a very common case. Religious inquirers are full of doubts and prejudices; for though Jesus invites them to participate the blessings he so liberally dispenses, they imagine, falsely imagine, that some previous qualification is requisite to justify their approach. "Can such a sinner be saved? Am I indeed invited—after all my sins and broken vows? I know not whether I shall be accepted, for what claim have I upon his mercy?"

Yet the Saviour still invites—still promises—still encourages—still instructs—and will not let the weakest inquirer go, but guides his feet into the way of peace.

"Whosoever," said he to the woman, "whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again; but whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst: but the water that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life." The allusion is unquestionably to that principle in the heart which is of divine implantation, and which however various its names, and diversified its operations, is uniform in its nature and origin. Sometimes it is represented by the cause, and sometimes the effect. It is the "Spirit given to them that ask him," with regard to agency; it is grace, in point of character; and it is holiness or practical religion, in reference to its outward influence. Jesus Christ beautifully describes this principle in his metaphorical addresses to the woman of Samaria, by an allusion to the thirst which the water of life assuages, the inexhaustible consolation it imparts, as a "well of water;" and the perpetual and perfect blessedness with which it is connected, as "springing up into everlasting life."

Thirst is one of the most powerful propensities of human nature, and is therefore adapted to represent the intensity of that desire with which mankind seek the wealth, the honours, and the pleasures of the world: and though "he that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase;" the appetite is still insatiable, and the pursuit continued. When under the influence of violent thirst, it is not unusual for persons to avail themselves of the first supply, however unwholesome, and eagerly to drink even of a filthy stream; with similar impatience and satisfaction, the "carnal mind" indulges in its sensualities, seizing forbidden, and contented with polluting joys. But the grace of God in the heart is distinguished for its purifying influence: it cleanses the spirit from guilt—sanctifies it by the "washing of regeneration," and imparts a new desire, a heavenly thirst, a holy ardour for spiritual communications; so that "as the hart pants after the water-brooks, so panteth the soul after God."

This woman had a considerable distance to go in order to procure the water with which it was needful to supply the necessities of her household; and when arrived at the spot, it was a laborious service to draw from the well, and return laden into the city. Our Saviour intimates, on the contrary, the ease with which his divine blessings were attainable, as well as their unfailing abundance. There is imparted to every applicant a fund of peace, in consequence of which "a good man is satisfied from himself." Religion furnishes consolations of a nature precisely adapted to our necessities as fallen and miserable creatures; and it affords them in circumstances, when it is obvious that no other resource remains. The supplies of this world resemble the casual streamlets of winter, cold, and soon exhausted, or lost in evaporation beneath the returning beam of spring: but amidst the vicissitudes of life, and in the hour of dissolution, religion has consolations which never fail. The river of a Christian's consolation runs throughout the wilderness of time, nor stays in its course till it expands into the boundless and fathomless ocean of eternal blessedness.

At length, the woman in question is induced to make the request which we wonder she did not at first present; though still she misapprehends the meaning of her divine Teacher, however plain his sentiment may now appear to us; in consequence of which, he condescended to adopt another mode of conveying instruction to her mind. He had excited her attention, he now proceeds to address her conscience.

We must not overlook the circumstance that Christ was "wearied with his journey;" but he was not wearied with his work—well doing. If he had now remained silent, it would not have been wonderful; or if, intending to disclose his character to this woman, and by her means to the Samaritans, he had smitten her conscience, removed her prejudices, enlightened her mind, and won her affections, as we know he could have done, in a moment—as when he said to Matthew, "Follow me," and immediately "he left all"—or as when he spake from the clouds with irresistible effect to Saul;—we should not have been astonished that he spared his words, while we must have admired the mighty operation of his grace. But lo! he entered into a long conversation, though in a weary hour, and took the utmost pains to teach her. We have here an example for our imitation. Ought not we to be patient and laborious? Ought not we to recollect the value of the soul, and strive "in season and out of season" to win it, knowing "he that converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins?" "The servant of the Lord must not strive," nor despond; lest consulting his own advantage, he prejudice the divine service; but he must forget his infirmities, and pursue his work.

To the request, "Sir, give me this water," Jesus does not appear to have returned any direct answer, but said, "Go, call thy husband, and come hither." The reply was, in one view, direct, and he began instantly to communicate the "living water;" for the discourse upon which he entered, though at a superficial glance it may appear foreign to the immediate purpose of her request, and might seem to point her to a different subject, was really intended to produce deep and salutary convictions of sin, and such as were requisite in order to her reception of the living water of spiritual consolation. Nothing in reality could display both the wisdom and goodness of the great Teacher in a more striking manner, than this proceeding. In effect, he takes her by the hand, conducts her through the narrow path of conviction and penetential acknowledgment, to that fountain which has supplied millions, and is still inexhaustible; and by whatever mysterious methods he brings his people to himself and to their final rest, it will ultimately be found the right way to the city of habitation. As the woman did not comprehend his metaphorical language, he determined to disclose his prophetic character. "Jesus saith unto her, Go, call thy husband, and come hither. The woman answered and said, I have no husband. Jesus said unto her, Thou hast well said, I have no husband: for thou hast had five husbands; and he whom thou now hast is not thy husband: in that saidst thou truly." By divine inspiration, an ordinary prophet might be supposed to have been made acquainted with the woman's character and domestic circumstances; but we must contemplate the Saviour on this occasion as supporting his claim to a higher distinction, such as none of them could possess. It is a solemn consideration that we are perpetually inspected by those "eyes which are upon the ways of man," and by him who seeth all his goings, his most retired moments, most secret sins, most private affairs, and most latent thoughts. Even though we should not live in that excess of sensuality which existed in this case, how important is the apostolic entreaty, to "abstain from fleshly lusts;" and how just the assurance, "they war against the soul!"

At length the woman's eyes were opened; she had a glimpse of the glory of her divine Instructer through the influence of that grace which is effectual in its operations, and imparts those perceptions which cannot be otherwise possessed. Happy for us if we have been led to discern the exalted character and excellencies of the Son of God! "Sir," said she, "I perceive that thou art a prophet;" and availing herself of the present favourable opportunity, she proposes a question much and violently agitated between the Jews and Samaritans. When the passions are inflamed by controversial discussion, how apt are we to be mislead by the opinions of men rather than guided by the oppointments of God; and how frequently convenience, instead of conscience, dictates the conduct of religious professors! The Samaritan woman pleads the authority of the fathers for worshipping at mount Gerizzim rather than repairing to Jerusalem. This has frequently proved a source of error; and the history of mankind will furnish ample evidence, that in departing from Scripture, the only "sure word of prophecy," we shall inevitably wander into an endless labyrinth of mistake, and be lost amidst the intricacies of delusion.

Our Lord intimates the improper proceedings of the Samaritans in consequence of being thus misled by prejudice and by the example of others, and shows that Jerusalem was certainly the ancient place of appointed worship, and the Jews the depositaries of celestial wisdom. From that illustrious people issued the word of the Lord which contained the doctrine of salvation, which descended like the dew from heaven, and was calculated to diffuse spiritual fertility through the earth, and impart universal joy. "Woman, believe me, the hour cometh, when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father. Ye worship ye know not what: we know what we worship, for salvation is of the Jews. But the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in Spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God is a spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth." In this passage Jesus points out the superior nature of the worship which was now required, and which he was about to introduce to the world. In the former controversy the Jews were certainly right; but the designs of mercy being now accomplished in the mission of the Son of God, and the "fulness of time being come," it was determined to spread the blessings of the "everlasting Gospel" to the widest possible extent, and to render, in honour of the mediation of Christ, the whole earth an universal temple, in which the sacrifice of humble and contrite hearts should be always acceptable.

Two great effects were produced by the introduction of the Christian dispensation. The one respected the mode of worship. It was now no longer to be ceremonial, but spiritual; it was no longer to be conducted in types and shadows, but in truth. In compassion to human infirmity, numerous ceremonies were originally appointed, to impress awe, and to fill the mind of man with a sense of the majesty of God. The conceptions of a fallen creature being too grovelling at first to comprehend the invisible realities of religion, a system of service was admitted which tended to produce general impressions by an appeal to the external senses, and thus slowly to insinuate sublimer facts, and prepare for more noble manifestations; but when "the Lord came to his temple," and made "the place of his feet glorious," darkness vanished, truth shone with effulgent brightness, and simplicity rose to the dominion which ceremony and complexity had assumed: at his presence the new creation smiled, and the Lord of the universe again descended to pronounce upon another series of wonderful works, that "all was very good."

Another effect resulting from the introduction of the Christian age concerned the variety and number of worshippers. The limitations which had hitherto prevailed in communicating truth to the world were to be superseded; for, though the commissioned apostles were to deliver their message "to the Jew first," they were expressly directed to convey it "also to the Gentiles." How calculated is this precedure to allay animosities and unite hearts! and what a motive is here presented to us to dismiss every petulant and revengeful disposition from the Christian sanctuary, remembering that whether Jew or Gentile, rich or poor, bond or free, every one is accepted of God only as he is a SPIRITUAL WORSHIPPER!

As "God is a spirit," witnessing our movements and acquainted with our thoughts at all times and in every place, we should often consecrate our moments to his service. In the hour of seclusion and retirement, as well as on public occasions and in religious assemblies, it becomes us to direct our meditations to him by whom we are encircled. Let us contemplate GOD, and feel his awful presence. He is on heaven and on earth; his eyes behold us amidst the shades of midnight as well as in the brightest noon of day; he pervades all space, is in all time, above all creatures, before all being, and through all eternity. "Canst thou by searching find out God? canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection?"

At the period of this conversation at Jacob's well, a very general expectation of the speedy appearance of the Messiah was prevalent, and the woman was aware of the reference in the words, "The hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father;" although at present "her eyes were holden," that she did not know him through the concealment of his mean attire and unstately solitariness. This, however, was wisely planned; and while it tended to cast contempt on worldly glory, it enabled him to become a fellow-sufferer with his people, and to cherish a holy familiarity with his disciples. Hence we find him not in palaces, but in cottages—on the highways of common resort—healing the sick at the pool of Bethesda, conversing with a poor woman at Jacob's well, and in other similar situations: and never shall we be worthy to bear his name till we imitate his conduct. "The woman saith unto him, I know that Messias cometh, which is called Christ: when he is come, he will tell us all things. Jesus saith unto her, I that speak unto thee am he." This was the point to which all his discourse was directed, this the revelation he intended from the first to disclose; but how wisely was it delayed! Such an assertion at the commencement of the conversation would have kindled animosity or excited ridicule; but that mind which was originally so prejudiced and so resentful, is brought to receive the most glorious and spiritual discovery. If we wonder at her ignorance, and lament her prejudices previously to this declaration, how much more criminal would she have now been had she persisted in unbelief! Yet, alas, how often is Christ proclaimed, all his glories revealed, and all his truth exhibited, by the ministry of the Gospel, and nevertheless rejected!

Upon Christ's explanation of his true character, the Samaritan woman immediately left her water-pot, and went into the city, to announce her discoveries to the neighbourhood, and invite her fellow citizens to the Messiah. Glowing with zeal for others, she said, "Come, see a man which told me all things that ever I did: is not this the Christ?" And the historian records the success of her efforts; for "they went out of the city, and came unto him;" and "many of the Samaritans of that city believed on him." This induced them to solicit his continuance for some time amongst them, "and he abode there two days. And many more believed because of his own word; and said unto the woman, Now we believe, not because of thy saying: for we have heard him ourselves, and know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of the world."

Gratitude becomes us in reflecting upon that diversity of means which divine wisdom uses to promote the circulation of his truth, and "win souls to Christ." The greatest beings are at his control, and are sometimes commissioned to visit the "heirs of salvation"—"Bless the Lord, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his word;" while on other occasions he employs the most unlikely agents, or the feeblest instrumentality, to "do his pleasure." He can from the very stones "raise up children unto Abraham," convert an infuriated persecutor into an "apostle of the Gentiles," or change a Samaritan into a Christian, an infidel Gentile into a child of Abraham by faith, and a woman coming casually to draw water for her household, into an instrument of dispensing the living streams of salvation to a perishing vicinity.

The early part of the narrative before us, is sufficient to show, that however slow persons whom we have an opportunity of instructing in religious truth may seem in understanding, or however reluctant to obey it, we ought never either to despair of success, or be weary of repeating our instruction. "I charge thee," says Paul in addressing Timothy, "before God and the Lord Jesus Christ, who shall judge the quick and the dead at his appearing and his kingdom; preach the word; be instant in season, out of season; reprove, rebuke, exhort with all long-suffering and doctrine." Who can tell the favoured period? Who can calculate the extent of the benefit conferred when one sinner is "converted from the error of his ways?" And who would not rejoice at the thought of having his final hour cheered by the recollection of having been the means of letting in the light of an eternal day even upon an individual of the human race, who was once sitting in the darkness of spiritual delusion, and pining in the dungeon of guilt, and misery, and helplessness?

Many things in religion, which we at present misunderstand, may probably become intelligible in the course of future experience, and a great variety of interesting truths now unknown will certainly be revealed in another world. The woman of Samaria could not for a considerable time comprehend the metaphorical allusions of Christ; but when she had "found the Messiah," she was no longer at a loss to ascertain the signification of the stranger's assurance, that he could have given her, had she requested it, "living water." The disclosure of one fact, illustrated another, and in spiritual knowledge and attainment she went on doubtless with a rapidity proportioned to her extraordinary advantages.

With what deep interest, at every subsequent period of her life, would this woman recollect the conversation at Jacob's well! Never, surely, would she repair again to that spot, without presenting to her imagination the image of Jesus sitting there, like a weary traveller, asking for water to refresh his pilgrimage, incidentally adverting to topics of supreme importance, addressing her conscience, and gradually unveiling his character to her view—first as a prophet, then as the Messiah of the Jews, and the glory of the Gentiles! Never could she forget that wonderful morning—a morning which shone with such glory in the annals of her existence, and was destined to occupy a conspicuous place in the recollections of eternity! And it is our privilege, as well as duty, to remember the place of our spiritual birth, the instructer of our infant piety, the guide of our religious inquiries, and all "the way in which the Lord our God has led us in the wilderness." Experience will rivet our affections to every circumstance; life will derive a charm, in many of its future years, from such welcome reflections; and memory will not discard, amidst the ineffable joys of paradise, the well—the stranger—the converse—the whole scene of those first impressions, which ripened into religion and were the seeds of immortality.

In a sense more important than that in which the subject of this narrative originally employed the words, each reader may feel encouraged to address the Saviour, "Give me this water, that I thirst not." Holy prophets concur with the evangelical publishers of "glad tidings," in urging you to partake of the heavenly supply, which is dispensed with perfect freeness, and in undiminishing abundance. "Ho, everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price."



The Woman Who Was a Sinner.

Chapter V.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Our lives and thousand lives of ours"

can neither discharge our obligations, nor repay his love?

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