Simon, during all this time, was an attentive observer of what passed; but rashly concluded within himself that Jesus could not be a prophet, as he seemed ignorant of the character of the woman whom he admitted to such familiarity. He mistook both the character of the woman, and that of his divine guest. She was not, in his sense of the term, a sinner, but a penitent and a believer; nor was Jesus capable of contamination by her touch. He knew perfectly, "who and what manner of woman it was," though the Pharisee was too proud to see or acknowledge it. The important change which had been produced upon her, essentially altered the case. She was no longer what she had been, and what Simon supposed her. Grace had constituted her a chosen vessel, and purified her heart by the impartation of heavenly principles. The impurities of her life were rectified by the "renewal of a right spirit" within her. She had been snatched from the jaws of destruction; she had resorted to the "fountain opened for sin and uncleanness," and proved that she was one of those "lost sheep" which Jesus came into the wilderness to "seek and to save."

Simon had not expressed his ideas, but the Saviour knew them with perfect certainty, and answered them with unerring wisdom. Having first claimed the attention of his host, which was respectfully conceded, Jesus delivered a parable respecting a creditor having two debtors, who owed, the one five hundred, and the other fifty pence, but were both forgiven in consideration of their poverty; and he put it to the Pharisee, which of them would love him most? he properly answered, "he to whom he forgave most." Then turning to the woman—and, O what sensations of joy must have thrilled through her agitated bosom!—he continued to direct his discourse to Simon; "Seest thou this woman?" q.d. "Art thou aware of the extent and value of those sacrifices she has made to me? Hast thou observed the tears she has shed, and the love she has manifested? Has it struck thy mind, that the conduct of this woman, whom thou art despising in thy heart, is far more deserving of my approbation than thine?" Mark, with what punctuality and detail he proceeds to enumerate every act of kindness! He mentions her tears, her caresses, the kisses, and the ointment which she had lavished upon his feet—nothing is forgotten or omitted—everything is distinctly told—her love is extolled, and her sins are pardoned: Simon, "her sins, which are many, are forgiven"—Woman, "thy sins are forgiven." There is a beauty and a propriety in this repetition, which was well calculated to stimulate the inquiries, and to correct the errors of the Pharisee, while it ministered consolation to the weeping penitent. Ah! our secret desires, our silent tears, our meanest services, are noticed by our Master and Lord! He will "reward us openly" having given the grace of penitence, he will bestow the joys of faith; our many sins shall be overlooked and forgiven; our few services remembered and recorded for his sake!

This parable is illustrative of our moral obligations, and of our total incapacity to discharge them. We are all debtors—to God; we are so, it is true, in different proportions—some owe five hundred and some fifty pence. A difference exists in the nature and atrocity of our respective crimes—we have run to greater or less extravagances of iniquity—our sins are more or less notorious, more or less limited or extensive in their influence on others; more or less aggravated by knowledge, by vows, and by repetition—indulged in for a longer or a shorter period, as there was a great diversity of moral character between the Pharisee and the woman; but "all have sinned, and, come short of the glory of God"—all have incurred debt—and it is important to remark, that all are equally incapable of discharging it—of atoning for their guilt, or rescuing themselves from the pains and penalties they have incurred.

However plain this statement, and however frequently repeated, it is but little believed and felt. If it were—if mankind were actually convinced of the utter inefficiency of every attempt to recommend themselves to God, and regain his forfeited favour; whence is it that they are perpetually "going about to establish their own righteousness?" Why do they endeavour to persuade themselves that sin is a trifling concern, or that at least their sins are trivial and excusable? It is obvious, that they form very low and inadequate ideas of the greatness of their debt, and the utter worthlessness of their own merit—they do not realize their ruined and bankrupt condition, nor are they sufficiently persuaded that they have "nothing to pay" not an atom of righteousness, not a grain of inherent goodness, not a particle of real virtue!

Sinner, come to the test. Hear the indictment, and see if thou hast any defence, if thou hast any plea, or if thou canst put in any just demurrer to stay the proceedings of eternal justice and equity. But how shall human language express the debt? Thou hast violated every divine precept, pursued a course diametrically opposite to the commandments of God, trampled on his authority, and lived to thyself. Every action, word, and thought, has augmented the already incalculable debt. God has called, but thou hast refused; his providence has warned thee, but thou hast despised it, and made a covenant with hell. While thy personal transgressions have abounded like the drops of the ocean, or the sands upon the shore, thy example has perniciously influenced others. Thou owest thy whole existence and all thy faculties, thy entire obedience and constant affection, to God. He is thy Father—thy Creator—thy Benefactor, and what hast thou to pay? what are thy resources? Future obedience, supposing it perfect, could not expiate past offences. Pains, prostrations, pilgrimages, penances, and mortifications, can be of no avail. Hecatombs of animals would not suffice, or ten thousand rivers of oil; but, if they would, the treasures are not thine: "for every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills. I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine. If I were hungry, I would not tell thee: for the world is mine, and the fulness thereof. Will I eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats?" What then hast thou to pay?—Nothing! absolutely nothing!

But the parable in question represents the free pardon, which it is the privilege of the vilest transgressors to participate upon their return to God, And we should mark the sovereignty, blended with the mercy of this procedure. It is not supposed that the recipients of divine bounty and blessing have any claim upon such favors; nor, indeed, that they can plead any extenuating circumstance to conciliate offended justice. The debtors had "nothing to pay," and their impoverished condition was a sufficient excitement to their creditor to remit his dues. He "remembered them in their low estate;" and, with a liberality characteristic of him to whom we are so deeply indebted in a moral sense, he discharged them from every obligation. There is not the slightest intimation of any urgency or solicitation on their part; but he "frankly forgave them." If sinners had any just conception of their state, they would indeed seek mercy with the utmost importunity, and relinquish their present courses with the most fixed resolution of mind; but the grace of God operates in calling men to repentance, as well as in constraining their attention and acquiescence. They are "made willing" in "the day of his power;" and, like a gale that rises upon a vessel drifting to a rocky shore, and bears it from destruction, this influence effectually propels them to "the hope set before them" in the Gospel.

The exercise of mercy is distinguished also for its extensive and diversified application. Simon the Pharisee, and the woman who was a sinner, differed in the nature and proportion of their guilt. He was as much condemned for self-righteousness, as she for impurity—he transgressed by pride, and she by rebellion: but "he frankly forgave them both." "Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy! He will turn again, he will have compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities; and thou wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea."

If, reader, thou art impressed with a sense of guilt, and ready to exclaim, "What must I do to be saved?" it is with unspeakable satisfaction and confidence we point to "the Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the world." That heart which was melted by the tears of this woman, is not closed against thee! That Saviour who was all pity and benevolence in the days of his humiliation, still waits to be gracious now he is exalted to his throne!

Hast thou experienced the efficacy of his grace, and the joys of his salvation? Be stimulated to love him much. What sins, what rebellions, what broken vows, what ingratitude has he forgiven thee! All are obliterated from the book of his remembrance; all are lost and buried in the ocean of his grace; and he has fixed thy name amongst a thousand promises, and in a page which his eye never peruses but with ineffable complacency!

The plan upon which forgiveness is dispensed to a sinful world, and which is now more fully developed, demands our admiration, as it glorifies God, exalts the sinner, and harmonizes the universe.

It glorifies God. The work of redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ is the central point, where all the perfections of Deity assemble and meet. Every attribute of God pointing to Calvary, seems to devout believers to say, as Jesus did to his disciples, with reference to their last interview on a mountain in Galilee, "There shall ye see me." His perfections had hitherto appeared in the world in their distinct forms.—Justice in its inflexible decisions, Truth in its firm decrees, Holiness in its terrible inflictions, operated powerfully, but often separately—as in the destruction of Pharaoh, and the deliverance of Israel—in the earthquake that devoured the rebels who presented strange fire—in the deluge that overwhelmed the world—in the burning tempest that descended upon Sodom, and the sword that scattered the nations of Canaan; but round the brink of that "fountain which was opened" on Calvary for "sin and uncleanness," they seem to unite and say, "Glory to God in the highest." This is the common and sacred ground, on which "mercy and truth can meet together." Inflexible justice does not remit her claims, but "the Lamb that was slain" satisfies them—she still demands blood—and blood is shed—she demands the life of the guilty, and the guilty are furnished with a victim who can endure the curse and suffer the chastisement—she requires a recompense for the violated law; and "he hath magnified the law and made it honorable," by becoming "obedient unto death, even the death of the cross!"

This plan of mercy exalts the sinner. If the requisitions of justice were strictly personal, and the economy of Heaven such as to admit of no substitute, the sinner's salvation would have been impossible; because his individual sufferings, though the just consequence of his guilt, could never become the meritorious means of its removal. Suffering, extreme in its nature, and perpetual in its duration, was the desert of transgression; but it could neither repair the injury which sin had done, nor constitute a claim upon divine forgiveness; or, if it could—by the very supposition there would be no possibility of any period arriving when that mercy could be enjoyed, because the suffering must be eternal. Such, however, was the infinite merit of the Saviour, that in the plan of forgiving mercy, his death was accepted as an equivalent for the sufferings of creatures. By exercising faith in his name, we transfer the burden of our debt, and he liquidates it: we confess we have nothing to pay, and wholly confide in his ability to discharge on our behalf every obligation; in consequence of which the transgressor is treated as innocent; he is released—the door is opened, his chains are broken off, and he is exalted to the favour and friendship of God; and "Who," he inquires, "shall lay any thing to the charge of God's elect? It is God that justifieth. Who is he that condemneth? It is Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again, who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh intercession for us"

This plan of mercy harmonizes the universe. Sin has separated chief friends—it has divided man from God, man from angels, and man from his neighbour. It has introduced a general war, and generated universal anarchy and strife. But redemption is the great work that restores order and promotes concord. It is on Calvary the terms are made, and the great treaty ratified—divided interests are reunited, and peace on earth proclaimed. It is there "God is in Christ reconciling the world to himself;" and there, realizing the efficacy of atoning blood, and weeping over the follies and criminality of past rebellion, the penitent exclaims, "Abba, Father!" Thus God and man are united. It is there holy angels, instead of being executioners of vengeance, become "ministering spirits to the heirs of salvation;" while every Lazarus begins to anticipate the period of "absence from the body," when "he shall be carried by angels to Abraham's bosom," and be "ever present with the Lord." Thus men and angels become one. It is there also before the cross, having "tasted that the Lord is gracious," "the brother of low degree rejoices in that he is exalted, and the rich in that he is made low." There the murderer Saul meets his victim Stephen, with "all who in every place call on the name of the Lord;" and (O happy change!) embraces as a brother him whom he believed a foe! There the turbulence of passion is allayed—the violence of animosity ceases—the battle of conflicting interests and petty selfishness rages no more. Those who were enemies in the world, become friends at the cross. The barbarian, Scythian, bond, and free, drink together the cup of blessing, partake the "common salvation," and imbibe the fraternal spirit. Thus man and man unite, while "Christ is all and in all."

"Religion, in all its parts, requires the exercise of forgiveness. It is required by its precepts, its spirit, and its prospects. Its precepts—we are not to render evil for evil, but contrariwise blessing: we are to love our enemies, to forgive our brother as often as he returns acknowledging his misconduct, and saying, 'I repent.' Its spirit; the Gospel, or the religion of Jesus, is emphatically styled 'the ministry of reconciliation.' Its prospects; we are members of the same family, heirs of the same kingdom, and going to the same heaven. Heaven is a state of perfect and universal harmony and love. Nothing must enter there, either to defile or disturb. There must be no little disputes, no rising resentment, no shadow of reserve. All must be of one heart and of one soul. Yes, if we both be Christians indeed, there we must meet our brother, with whom wo have been angry, and towards whom we have even indulged our anger; an anger upon which not only the 'sun went down,' but over which life itself passed. Yes, happy necessity! there we must meet him! There will be no passing' by on the other side, no refusing to go into his company. Countenance must sparkle to countenance, thought must meet thought, bosom must expand to bosom, and heart bound to heart forever,"



The Syrophenician; or Canaanitish Woman.

Chapter VI.

Introductory Observations—Christ could not be concealed—the Syrophenician Woman goes to him on Account of her Daughter—her Humility—Earnestness—Faith—the Silence of Christ upon her Application to him—the Disciples repulsed—the Woman's renewed Importunity—the apparent Scorn with which it is treated—her Admission of the contemptuous Insinuation—her persevering Ardour—her ultimate Success—the Necessity of being Importunate in Prayer—Remarks on the Woman's national Character—Present State of the Jews—the Hope of their final Restoration.

The facts and incidents of the New Testament furnish the best exposition of its doctrines. Owing to the imperfection of human language, as a medium of communicating truth, and, the very limited capacities of the human mind, as well as the numerous prejudices that darken our understandings in the present state, some obscurities will always attend even the clearest revelations of Heaven. "Touched with a feeling of our infirmities," our blessed Saviour often adopted a parabolic method of instruction, which was calculated to awaken attention and to stimulate inquiry, as well as to simplify the great principles he was perpetually inculcating; and he has caused those frequent conversations into which he entered with different individuals during his personal ministry, to be transmitted to succeeding times for their instruction. We have by this means an opportunity of witnessing the diversified modes in which truth operates on men; we see the various workings of the passions, the progress of conviction, the development of character, and the designs of Infinite Mercy. The sublimest doctrines and the finest precepts are taught by example; and we are shown what they are, by seeing what they accomplish. The sacred history introduces us to persons of like passions with ourselves, and, by its interesting details, gives us a participation of their hopes and fears, their joys and sorrows, their difficulties and their successes. We are not introduced into the school of Socrates, the academy of Plato, or the Lyceum of Aristotle, where some wise maxims were undoubtedly dictated to the respective admirers of these eminent men; but we are conducted from the region of abstractions to real life. Christianity is taught, by showing us, Christians—humility by holding up to view the humble—repentance by exhibiting the penitent—charity by pointing out the benevolent—faith by displaying, as in the narrative before us, the true believer.

The case was this. Jesus went into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, where, having entered into a house, he intimated his wish for privacy and concealment, "but he could not be hid;" upon which an ingenious writer [32] observes: "I think I see three principal reasons for the conduct of our Saviour; 'He would have no man know it.' Why? because he would fulfil the prophecy—explain his own character—and leave us an example of virtue. Once, 'when great multitudes followed him and he healed them all, he charged them that they should not make him known; that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by Esaias the prophet, saying, Behold, my servant shall not cause his voice to be heard in the streets;' that is, he shall not affect popularity, nor stoop to use any artifice to make proselytes. Most likely this was one reason of our Lord's desiring to be concealed on this occasion. Probably, he intended also to explain his own character to the family where he was. Jesus was a person of singular modesty, and a high degree of every virtue that can adorn a man, was a character of the promised Messiah. It was necessary to give frequent proofs by his actions of the frame and temper of his heart, and he discovered the tenderness of a friend to the family where he was, and to his disciples, who were along with him, just as he had done before, when there were so many coming and going, that they had no leisure so much as to eat.' Then 'he said unto his apostles, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest awhile. And they departed into a desert place by ship privately.' Further, in the case before us we have a fine example of the conduct proper for men exalted above their fellows. They ought not to make a public show of themselves, nor to display their abilities in vain ostentation. All their abilities should scent of piety and the fear of God. The apostle Paul reproved the Corinthians for abusing extraordinary gifts to make the people think them prophets and spiritual persons, while they ought to have applied them to the 'edifying of the church.' 'God,' adds this apostle, 'is not the author of confusion, but of peace.' For such reasons we suppose our blessed Saviour desired concealment in this house; and so much right had he to rest after a journey, to refresh himself with food and sleep, to retire from the malice of his enemies, and to enjoy all the uninterrupted sweets of privacy, that had not his presence been indispensably necessary to the relief and happiness of mankind, one would have wished to have hushed every breath, and to have banished every foot, lest he should have been disturbed; but he could not be hid."

Having heard of the miracles which Christ performed, for long since his fame had gone throughout all Syria, a woman of Canaan, a Syrophenician by birth, and a Greek by religion, [33] repaired to the house with haste, under the pressure of a severe domestic calamity. Her young daughter had an unclean spirit, or, as she expressed it, was "grievously vexed with a devil." There was something peculiarly awful and mysterious in the nature of this affliction, which was very prevalent in the days of Christ, and is frequently mentioned by the historians of the New Testament. It does not appear any longer to afflict mankind, and if the reason be inquired, perhaps it is that the victorious power of Messiah might he displayed in the expulsion of evil spirits, by his presence upon the earth.

This Syrophenician woman then was induced to hasten to Jesus, in consequence of the distressing situation of her poor possessed daughter. [34] How often has affliction proved the successful messenger of Providence, when every other failed! It has gone out into the "highways and hedges," and "compelled them to come in," when no entreaty or remonstrance could overcome the obduracy of sinners, and thus has replenished the table of mercy with thankful guests. It cannot be doubted, that a part of the felicity of glorified spirits in eternity will consist in tracing the mysterious goodness of God in conducting them through a variety of painful dispensations in the present world; and it is by no means improbable, that the very events of life, which once occasioned the greatest perplexity, and filled the mind with the most overwhelming anxieties, will hereafter prove the noblest sources of gratitude, and the strongest incentives to praise. A personal or a relative affliction, which agonizes the soul by the suddenness of its occurrence, or by its dreadful nature, which embitters life, distracts the mind, confuses every scheme, and confounds every hope, has often proved the real, though perhaps unknown or unacknowledged means of turning the feet of the transgressor into the way of peace. It has led the wayward mind to reflection, and the wandering heart to its rest. It has proved the first effectual means of exciting attention to religion; it has subdued and softened the mind, and subjected it to divine teachings; and the once untractable rebel has become tamed into submission, penitence, and obedience. In this manner affliction is often essentially connected with salvation, and the apostolic statement pleasingly realized; "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."

When this poor woman came to Jesus, she fell at his feet, explained her situation, and earnestly entreated his kind interposal. Disregarding every spectator, waiting for no formal introduction, and convinced of his mighty power, she rushed into his presence, and with all the vehemence of maternal agony, urged her suit.

Her conduct evinced great humility. She not only assumed the attitude, but felt the spirit of a suppliant. It does not appear that the external appearance of Jesus was in any respect remarkable, for on some occasions where he was unknown, he was equally unnoticed. When he sat over against the treasury observing the poor widow, he attracted no particular attention—when he visited the sick and dying at the pool of Bethesda, he was not at first recognized as any extraordinary personage, and the prophet intimates that he possessed "no form nor comeliness: but his visage was marred more than any man, and his form more than the sons of men." It was before the majesty of his character this Syrophenician woman bowed with holy reverence and humble admiration. Conscious of having no claim upon his notice, but such as her affliction conferred—and this indeed was to him, who "went about doing good," no insignificant recommendation—and overawed by a deep sense both of her own unworthiness, and his greatness and goodness, she "fell at his feet." O, that with genuine prostration of spirit, we always presented ourselves before the Lord! This is essential to success in all our applications to the "throne of grace." Divested of this quality, our best services will prove but religious mockery and useless parade; for "God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble."

The language of this woman is highly impassioned, and indicative of extreme earnestness. She besought "him that he would cast forth the devil out of her daughter;" she "cried out," like one overwhelmed with grief, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou Son of David!" The case is completely her own. The precious life for which she pleads is dear as her own existence. But who can realize, or what language can express her feelings? The affectionate mother alone, who has watched over the sick or dying bed of a languishing daughter, or the agonized parent who has seen some mighty and incurable disorder befall his child—some member withered—some essential faculty enfeebled or destroyed—perhaps reason distracted; can imagine the emotions of that moment when the woman exclaimed, "Have mercy on me!!" What reason have we to be grateful for domestic health, while many are afflicted by the severest trials!

We have here a remarkable specimen of faith. When, the father of the young man who had a dumb spirit brought him to Jesus, "If," said he, after describing his case, "if thou canst do any thing, have compassion on us, and help us." This was an implication deregatory to the glory, and disparaging to the power of the Son of God. It implied at least a doubt of his capacity to afford the requisite assistance, and consequently occasioned the remonstrance; "If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth." q.d. "The question is not whether I possess power, but whether you can exercise faith. Nothing obstructs my benevolent exertion but human infidelity. This, and this only, is the great barrier, the insurmountable impediment to the more universal display of my character, and the multiplication of my wonderful works" This woman, however, expressed no suspicion, intimated no doubt; but, with unhesitating confidence, addressed him as the "Lord, the Son of David."

"O blessed Syrophenician, who taught thee this abstract of divinity? What can we Christians confess more than the Deity, the humanity, and the Messiahship of our glorious Saviour? His Deity as Lord, his humanity as a son, his Messiahship as the son of David. Of all the famous progenitors of Christ, two are singled out by way of eminence, David and Abraham, a king and a patriarch; and though the patriarch was first in time, yet the king is first in place; not so much for the dignity of his person, as the excellence of the promise, which, as it was both later and fresher in memory, so more honorable. To Abraham was promised multitude and blessing of seed, to David perpetuity of dominion. So as, when God promiseth not to destroy his people, it is for Abraham's sake; when not to extinguish the kingdom, it is for David's sake. Had she said, 'the Son of Abraham,' she had not come home to this acknowledgment. Abraham is the father of the faithful, David of the kings of Judea and Israel; there are many faithful, there is but one king; so as in this title she doth proclaim him the perpetual king of his church, the rod or flower which should come from the root of Jesse, the true and only Saviour of the world. Whoso shall come unto Christ to purpose, must come in the right style; apprehending a true God, a true man, a true God and man: any of these severed from other, makes Christ an idol, and our prayers sin." [35]

The disadvantageous circumstances of this woman illustrate the superiority of her faith. There is no evidence of her having seen the Saviour before, much less of her having been a witness of his miraculous works. She had only heard the report of them in her distant residence, and yet, under the guidance of that Spirit who wrought conviction in her mind, hastened to cast herself at his feet. Hers was the blessedness of those who have "not seen, and yet have believed." What a fine contrast do her faith and zeal exhibit to the conduct of the Scribes and Pharisees of the Jewish nation, who in defiance of evidence, of signs and wonders daily performed before their eyes, persisted not only in rejecting Christ as the Messiah, but in plotting against his life. She beheld the rising brightness of the Sun of Righteousness, and was attracted by his glory, though at a distance; whilst they who were near shut their eyes against his heavenly light. She was, therefore, not only distinguished from her fellow-countrywomen, but from the mass of the Jewish people, who voluntarily forfeited their noblest privileges; and, under the influence of the basest prejudice, eventually completed the long train of their iniquities in rejecting and stoning the prophets, by crucifying the Son of God.

Happy would it be for the best interests of mankind, did the annals of succeeding ages present no other specimens of the same infatuation! But, alas! similar follies are reacted every day. Amidst the most favourable circumstances for spiritual improvement, what awful degeneracy of character exists! Multitudes who have enjoyed the best means, who have been religiously educated, repeatedly admonished, and carefully superintended; who have been taught the holy Scriptures from their youth—who have been led to the house of God, and had "line upon line, and precept upon precept"—on whose behalf a thousand supplications have been presented to heaven, and over whom ten thousand thousand tears have been shed—have continued to manifest an aversion against the claims of truth, and the disobedience of spirit to the commands of Christ. Like the barren fig-tree, they have remained unproductive of any good fruits, notwithstanding unusual cultivation; and have been unsightly as well as useless "cumberers of the ground;"—on the other hand, some whose early habits and irreligious connections were singularly unfavorable to piety, have nevertheless been "brought out of darkness into marvellous light" Our privileges enhance our responsibility: let us, therefore, anxiously avoid the misconduct of the Jews, and beware lest those who have fewer means of improvement, advance, through a better use of them, to higher degrees of spiritual attainment and excellence.

The humility, the earnestness, and the faith we have been contemplating, it is natural to expect, met with a welcome reception. It is true that mankind often repay confidence with coldness, and shut the hand and the heart against the most importunate entreaties. It is true there are wolves in sheep's clothing, monsters in human form, who aggravate by unkindness the wounds which Providence has inflicted, and who tear and devour as their prey those whom they should supply as their pensioners; but Jesus was "the Lamb of God"—he was "touched with the feeling of our infirmities"—he "went about doing good"—he pronounced blessings on "the merciful"—he was no stranger to personal suffering—it was his nature to sympathize—his element to relieve—the grand predicted feature of his gentle character, that he should "come down like rain upon the mown grass," and should "spare the poor and needy." Who can express the tenderness of that spirit which cherished "pity for us in our low estate" while surrounded by the glories of his Father's throne, and charmed with the harps of heaven, voluntarily descending into this vale of affliction to dry up the tears that flow so copiously from the mourner's eye! We are prepared then, to witness the overflowings of tenderness in his reception of this afflicted mother! But, lo! "he answered her not a word." Mysterious silence! And what were thy feelings, O thou agonized stranger, in these moments of sad suspense? And what explanation can be offered for this extraordinary conduct? Had she escaped his notice amidst the crowd? Had she fallen unobserved at his feet? Did he not then hear that piercing cry—that powerful appeal—that humble entreaty—those words of agony and of faith?—Yes—but he "answered her not A WORD!"

This is not, indeed, a solitary instance. When the adulterous transgressor was brought into his presence by the Scribes and Pharisees, Jesus "stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground as though he heard them not;" but this was to disappoint their malice, whose sole purpose was to obtain some materials for his accusation. When he was attacked by reiterated calumnies in the presence of Pilate, "he answered nothing;" because he would manifest a holy indignation against their unreasonable and exasperating conduct. The railing of the impenitent malefactor, who was his fellow-sufferer on the cross, could provoke no reply; although this dignified reserve was instantly changed into language of gracious promise, when the other entreated his mercy. He could not remain a moment inattentive to the penitent's petition, and far exceeded his desires; for he requested only a place in his memory, but he gave him a place in his kingdom. Delightful pledge, that "he will do for us exceeding abundantly above all we ask or think."

If we were unable to discover any satisfactory reason for his silence, when in the most supplicating attitude and with the profoundest humility the Syrophenician woman besought him to restore her daughter, it would he the height of imprudence to impeach his benevolence. His general conduct, the kindness of all his other actions, the gentleness of his words, the universal benignity of his deportment, would forbid our imputing this apparent deviation from his general goodness to any other than some latent cause, which it might not have been necessary or proper to disclose, or the statement of which the brevity of the inspired narrative precluded. But too frequently we misjudge, and even murmur against the divine proceedings, because our limited capacities cannot trace their ultimate design, or even their present connections and combinations. With a characteristic presumption we act as if we expected that the plans of Heaven ought to be submitted to our inspection, or stopped in their progress to await our approval; whereas it is neither proper nor possible to disclose to us more than "parts of his ways!"

Many reasons, however, might be assigned for this remarkable silence. The principal one was probably the purpose of proving her character, and encouraging a perseverance, which from the strength of her faith he knew would be the result, and which would eventually illustrate both her character and his own. How many, had they even advanced to this point of submission, would have withdrawn in disgust, and misrepresented the conduct they could not comprehend! But she is not offended at this seeming neglect. She does not exclaim, with the sarcastic vehemence of disappointed hope, "Is this Son of David—the wonder-worker of Israel—the meek, the compassionate, the condescending person of whom we have heard such extraordinary reports?—Am I to be neglected while others are relieved?"—but patiently waits the result, still persevering in her suit. "O woman, great is thy faith!" Of this we may be fully assured on every occasion of supplicating the throne of mercy, that if the "cry of the humble" he deferred, it is not "forgotten," and that the trials to which we are exposed always bear a well-adjusted proportion both to the necessity of the case and to our capacity of endurance.

In this interval the disciples interceded for her dismission with the answer she requested. They pleaded her vehement importunity; and, as Christ had expressed a wish for concealment, they probably supposed her cries would excite an unwelcome degree of popular observation. To this he answered, "I am not sent, but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel." As this was said in the hearing of this distressed woman, it was not only calculated to silence the disciples, but to discourage the suppliant. A mere inattention to her urgent plea might have been imputed to some deep abstraction of mind, which we know sometimes renders a person in the full exercise of his faculties as indifferent and insensible to external objects or sounds as if he were in a profound sleep; or he might have been supposed to be occupied in meditating upon the woman's distress, and devising means to afford her an effectual and speedy assistance: but his language is an argument to justify his disregard, rather than to solicit time for consideration. His commission was to Israel; he was a "minister of the circumcision;" and that period was not yet arrived when "the Gentiles were to be brought to his light, and kings to the brightness of his rising." That favoured people, who were for so many ages distinguished by celestial visitations, were destined notwithstanding their ingratitude, to receive the first communications of the Son of God. Amongst them he came to labour, to preach, and to die!

The solicitude of the disciples on this occasion was highly laudable. It becomes the fellow-members of the great mystical body to sympathize with each other. By this we fulfil the law of nature, but especially "the law of Christ:" and in nothing can this sentiment be better expressed than in fervent available prayers. "As the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body; so also is Christ. For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.... And whether one member suffer, all the members suffer with it, or one member be honoured, all the members rejoice with it. Now ye are the body of Christ and members in particular."

Driven perhaps to the very borders of despondency, and yet unwilling to relinquish every hope, this agonizing mother again rushed forward, prostrated herself at the Saviour's feet, and with impetuous zeal earnestly cried out, "Lord, help me!" She seemed reduced to the last extremity; and yet, like Esther, who resolved to go in to the king, whether she perished or not, and like Jonah, tossing about amongst the waves of the ocean, determining "to look again towards the holy temple of Jehovah," she ventured to renew her application, and in language implying her conviction of his ability, and a glimmering hope of his willingness, she does not merely say, "Lord, deign some answer—even if it be a refusal," but "Lord, help me!" She was vigorous in faith. She "laid hold of the horns of the altar"—she "cleaved to the Lord with full purpose of heart." Reader, what shall we say?—"Go thou and do likewise."

Her entreaties obtain an answer, Jesus turns to address the suppliant. He is no longer deaf to her petitions or blind to her tears. Her throbbing heart beats with unutterable emotion, and at that glad moment she is all ear to the long-sought reply. "Who now can expect other than a fair and yielding answer to so humble, so faithful, so patient a suppliant? What can speed well, if a prayer of faith from the knees of humility succeeds not? And yet behold, the further she goes the worse she fares: her discouragement is doubled with her suit. 'It is not meet to take the children's bread and to cast it to dogs.' First, his silence implied a contempt, then his answer defended his silence; now his speech expresses and defends his contempt. Lo, he hath turned her from a woman to a dog, and, as it were, spurns her from his feet with a harsh repulse. What shall we say?—Is the Lamb of God turned lion? Doth that clear fountain of mercy run blood? O Saviour, did ever so hard a word fall from those mild lips? Thou calledst Herod fox—most worthily, he was crafty and wicked; the Scribes and Pharisees a generation of vipers, they were venomous and cruel; Judas a devil, he was both covetous and treacherous. But here was a woman in distress, and distress challenges mercy; a good woman, a faithful suppliant, a Canaanitish disciple, a Christian Canaanite, yet rated and whipped out for a dog by thee who wert all goodness and mercy! How different are thy ways from ours! Even thy severity argues favour. The trial had not been so sharp if thou hadst not found the faith so strong, if thou hadst not meant the issue so happy. Thou hadst not driven her away as a dog, if thou hadst not intended to admit her for a saint; and to advance her so much for a pattern of faith, as thou depressedst her for a spectacle of contempt." [36]

In nothing is the preposterous arrogance of mankind more apparent than in the violence of their national antipathies. Did not the history of all ages and countries furnish an ample catalogue of opprobrious epithets, which they have not scrupled to bestow upon each other, we might wonder that the Jews should have accustomed themselves to speak so contemptuously of others as to call them dogs. Owing to the natural propensity of human nature to villify and degrade, the vocabularies of all languages have been swelled with such odious terms; and till the principles of the Gospel have been universally disseminated, we cannot indulge the hope of seeing the animosities of mankind removed. Then only will they love their neighbours as themselves. It is to be most deeply lamented, that even where Christianity has taken root in the mind, this unholy leaven does not seem to be entirely purged away; and mutual jealousies, bickerings, and recriminations exist, where love should be the ruling principle and bond of union. O, when will the reign of perfect charity, that "thinketh no evil," commence! When will "the whole earth be filled with the glory of the Lord!" When will men of every rank and class associate as Christians, and Christians of every order unite as brethren!

The term dog in the mouth of our Saviour, and as applied to this distressed supplicant, must not, however, be considered as used in conformity to the vulgar prejudices of his countrymen, but for the double purpose of a sarcastic allusion to the unreasonableness of their degrading views of others, who were Gentiles by birth, and to try still further a faith which he knew would endure the test, and display this persevering woman to the greatest advantage. Jesus Christ must necessarily, in point of personal feeling, have been infinitely superior to all those unworthy littlenesses which were conspicuous in the multitude around him; and as he was acting for the moment, to answer an important purpose, in an assumed character, we cannot be surprised that he should personate a Jew elated with self-conscious superiority, by saying, "it is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs." We are reminded of Joseph, an eminent antitype of Christ, who, though he knew his brethren, and was overflowing with fraternal tenderness, "made himself strange unto them, and spake roughly unto them;" and we are led to reflect also on the impenetrable darkness which, to the human eye, sometimes envelopes the dispensations of Heaven; when, as a pious poet represents it,

Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.

The woman at once acknowledges the charge, but instantly extracts an argument from her very discouragements. "Truth, Lord—the dogs ought not to be fed with the supply designed for the children. I own the general fact, and humbly submit to the painful but obvious application. It is not from any conviction of meriting thy interposing mercy, that I have ventured to solicit it, and to reiterate my plea. I am indeed a sinner—a Gentile—a dog. 'And yet,'if I may pursue the allusion, 'the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table.' One act of kindness I entreat amidst thy boundless liberalities—one word of consolation from thy lips, which drop as the honey and the honeycomb—one, only one supply from thine inexhaustible plenitude of grace and power—one fragment from the table!"

It is done!—Joseph unveils himself! Jesus reassumes his proper character! The stern air and attitude of repulsion is dismissed—he smiles with ineffable affection—commends her faith, and with commanding authority bestows the wished-for blessing; and though at so great distance, expels the demon from the afflicted daughter. "Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith; he it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour."

Such was the result of persevering importunity, which must ever characterize successful prayer, and will necessarily spring from a genuine and deep-rooted faith. We have been contemplating one of the finest specimens of it that ever occurred in the world; and we are solemnly exhorted to the practice of it in the introductory passage to one of our Lord's parables—"Men ought always to pray, and not to faint."

Sometimes people are under the influence of very needless discouragements. They "grow weary and faint in their minds," because they do not meet with immediate success; though this consideration constitutes no essential part of the divine promises, would in many cases be injurious to our best interests, and is by no means characteristic of some of the most remarkable examples of successful prayer. At other times impatience arises from observing that "the Father of lights," to whose wisdom it becomes us to refer every petition, does not answer our requests in the manner which we had anticipated, and, perhaps, dared presumptuously to prescribe. But while in this, or in any other way, we approach God in the spirit of dictation, rather than of faith and submission, we virtually renounce the blessing even whilst we solicit it. From the history of the Syrophenician woman we may learn, that our applications for mercy must be sincere, fervent, and incessant. Whatever delays may occur, it is our happiness to be assured that the ear of Infinite Goodness is always open; "the throne of grace," to which we may approach "boldly," is always accessible. The petitions of faith cannot escape the notice, or be obliterated from the memory, of him to whom they are presented, but will prove ultimately effectual; and, as prayer is the appointed means of divine communication, it is necessary to obtain the blessings of Heaven. "Whosoever asketh, receiveth."

The value of the mercies we are required to seek is such as ought to excite our utmost importunity. If the Syrophenician woman were so eager and so persevering in order to obtain a temporal blessing, surely it becomes us to manifest at least an equal zeal for spiritual good. She entreated the cure of her possessed daughter; we are assured that "ALL things whatsoever we ask in prayer, believing, we shall receive." At the voice of prayer the treasures of grace are unlocked, the windows of heaven opened, the riches of eternity dispensed. The language of petition ascends above the language of praise, and is heard amidst the songs of angels. "O thou that hearest prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come."

The interesting consideration, that this woman was a Canaanite, ought not to be overlooked. This people was particularly denounced by Noah in the person of their guilty progenitor, and in the following terms: "Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be unto his brethren." The descendants of Canaan, that is, primarily of Ham, were remarkably wicked and idolatrous. "Their religion," as bishop Newton observes, "was bad, and their morality, if possible, worse; for corrupt religion and corrupt morals usually generate each other, and go hand in hand together." Some centuries after their predicted subjugation to the yoke of Shem and Japheth, the Israelites, under the command of Joshua, smote thirty of their kings, and Solomon made such as were not before extirpated or enslaved his tributaries. The Greeks and Romans afterward subdued Syria and Palestine, and conquered the Tyrians and Carthaginians. Subsequently to this period, the Saracens, and finally the Turks, fastened upon them the iron yoke of servitude.

Behold, then, from among the accursed Canaanites, a woman outstrips in zeal and faith thousands, and tens of thousands, who were her superiors in birth and privilege; and Jesus withholds not his blessing from this insignificant Gentile! What an encouragement to the meanest, the obscurest, and the most unworthy, to apply with instant haste to this Almighty Saviour! His free and abundant salvation is dispensed to penitents irrespectively of national distinctions or individual demerit; and, instead of its being derogatory to his dignity to condescend to persons of low estate, he chose to publish his Gospel to the poor, and to "save the children of the needy." "His blood cleanseth from all sin." He came "not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." We have here a specimen and pledge of the influence of Christ and his salvation. He is become the centre of universal attraction, the powerful magnet of the world, pervading by his influence the moral creation, and gradually drawing all into himself. The designs of mercy were now enlarging, the scale of its operations extending, and the ancient lines of demarcation between Jew and Gentile were overstepped by the zeal of the Lord of Hosts. In the person of this Canaanite we witness the first "lively stone" brought from the Gentile quarry, and placed on the chief corner-stone of the great spiritual edifice of the Christian church. "They shall come," said our Saviour, "from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south."

The present condition of the Jews forms an awful contrast, to those clays of boasted pre-eminence, How are they, who once regarded all other nations as dogs, become contemptible in consequence of their treatment of the Son of God, while the cordial reception given him by many Gentile nations has elevated them into the dignity of children! For nearly eighteen centuries the once honored people of the Jews have been dispersed in every direction upon the surface of the globe. They furnish an example of one of these dreadful recriminations of Providence which have sometimes been inflicted on atrocious sinners in their collective and national capacities. Never did the universe before witness so astonishing a spectacle, as a nation destroyed as a nation, but preserved as individuals—preserved to suffer, and to be accounted the offscouring of all things. At this moment they are destitute of a temple, a priest, a sacrifice, a country, and a king. The temporal dominion of their rulers and the succession of their priests have ceased since the destruction of Jerusalem. No oblations and sacrifices now exist. The fire burns no longer on the holy altar—the incense ascends no more from the demolished temple—the flood of ages has swept away the sacred edifices, and Desolation sits enthroned upon their ruins. The house of Israel is, in consequence of the rejection of Christ, become a spectacle to angels and to men—a melancholy monument of wo, on which the hand of recriminating justice has inscribed in legible characters a condemnatory sentence, which is read with silent awe by the inhabitants of heaven, and by every king, and people, and nation of the globe.—But the period of Jewish dispersion is hasting to its close. Party names and ancient prejudices shall soon disappear, and mankind of every class and country be eternally united in one blessed fraternity. "And it shall come to pass in that day, that the Lord shall set his hand again the second time to recover the remnant of his people, which shall be left, from Assyria, and from Egypt, and from Pathros, and from Cush, and from Elam, and from Shinah, and from Hamath, and from the islands of the sea. And he shall set up an ensign for the nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather together the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth. The envy also of Ephraim shall depart, and the adversaries of Judah shall be cut off: Ephraim shall not envy Judah, and Judah shall not vex Ephraim."—"Other sheep," said Christ, "I have, which are not of this fold; them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice: and there shall be one fold and one shepherd,"



Martha and Mary.

Chapter VII.

Bethany distinguished as the Residence of a pious Family, which consisted of Lazarus and his two Sisters—their diversity of Character—the Faults of Martha, domestic Vanity and fretfulness of Temper—her counterbalancing Excellences—Mary's Choice and Christ's Commendation—Decease of Lazarus—his Restoration to Life at the Voice of Jesus—Remarks on Death being inflicted upon the People of God as well as others—the Triumph which Christianity affords over this terrible Evil—Account of Mary's anointing the Feet of Jesus, and his Vindication of her Conduct.

Almost every spot in the vicinity of Jerusalem may be regarded as "holy ground." The enraptured imagination cannot traverse this district without recalling the many wonderful transactions that occurred there in different periods of the Jewish history, but especially during the personal residence of the Son of God upon the earth. Within the small circumference of a few miles round the city, what a multitude of great events have taken place! What miracles have been wrought! What mercies have been distributed! What doctrines have been revealed! What characters have appeared! What a development has been made of human nature! What a surprising display of the perfections of the blessed God! What an exhibition of the love of the incarnate Redeemer! Who, then, can think without emotion, of Bethlehem—of Bethpage—of Bethany—of Mount Olivet—of the brook Kedron—of Emmaus—and of Calvary?

Excepting only that mountain where Jesus "suffered, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God," and where "once in the end of the world" he "put away sin by the sacrifice of himself," the village of Bethany may, perhaps, be considered as the most interesting point in this all-attractive scene. It is situated at the foot of the Mount of Olives, on the way to Jericho. To this neighborhood the Son of God frequently retired for meditation and prayer; thence he began to ride in triumph to Jerusalem; thither he repaired after eating the last supper with his disciples, and there they witnessed his ascending glory and heard his last benediction—for "he led them out as far as to Bethany; and he lifted up his hands and blessed them. And it came to pass, while he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven. And they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and were continually in the temple, praising and blessing God."

Bethany, however, claims our present attention chiefly as being the residence of one of the "households of faith," with whom our Saviour was particularly intimate, and with whose history some remarkable circumstances are connected. It was a small but happy family, consisting of only three members, Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. The two sisters, though united by the ties of nature, and the still dearer bond of grace, were distinguished by a considerable dissimilarity of character, which will furnish us with some instruction. While charmed into an effort to imitate remarkable persons by a description of their excellences, it is of great importance to notice their defects, not only for the purpose of avoiding them, but that we may not be overawed into despondency and paralyzed into inaction by their superiority. Biography, to be useful, must be brought to our level, capacities, and circumstances. We must see excellence that is attainable, and view the same infirmities which are incident to our nature, acting in our sphere, and struggling with perplexities, resistance, vicissitude, and trial, similar to what we ourselves experience. The appeal is powerful when we are called upon to be "followers of them who," though circumstanced as we are, "through faith and patience inherit the promises."

"Once they were mourners here below. And wet their couch with tears; They wrestled hard, as we do now, With sins, and doubts, and fears."

A history of angels might, indeed, excite our admiration, but would conduce less to our real improvement than a history of our fellow-creatures. We wish to witness the actions, and to be admitted into the secret feelings, of those who, whatever elevation they may have since obtained, were once in the same probationary state with ourselves, and subjected to the same course of moral discipline. In this view it is desirable to be introduced into the privacies of domestic life. It is in the family and at the fireside we all occupy some station, and have some appropriate duties to discharge; and on this account the narrative before us is pre-eminently attractive. We are led to the native village—the chosen residence—the family—the fireside—the home—of Martha and Mary. We see them in all the undisguised reality of private life, and participate at once their pleasures and their pains. We join the social circle. We hear the Saviour conversing with them. We see them in affliction—the common lot, the patrimony to which are all born—and while we participate their sorrows, learn to sustain and profit by our own.

In vain, to the great purposes of spiritual improvement, do we read the lives of statesmen, heroes princes, philosophers, poets, orators, and the mighty dead that emblazon the historic page. They excite our astonishment, and perhaps our pity, and some moral lessons may be gained from their reverses or the varieties of their characters; but the most useful history is the history of religion—religion in the village, and in the family—religion as exhibited at Bethany, in the house of Martha and Mary.

It is a pleasing peculiarity of this household, that they were all the devoted disciples of Jesus Christ. Lazarus appears to have been a solid, established professor of religion, and of the two sisters it is recorded, they "sat at Jesus's feet." We do not hear of another disciple in the whole village, and all Judea could furnish but few, if any, similar instances of three in a single dwelling; three solitary lights amidst surrounding darkness; three flowers expanding to the newly risen Sun of Righteousness, and blooming in a desolate wilderness. The dispensations of providence and of grace are sometimes mysterious to the human eye, and we feel disposed to inquire into the reasons why so few were touched by divine influences, and bidden to follow Christ during his incarnation? Could not that same commanding authority which drew twelve apostles and seventy disciples into his train, and that same power which kindled the lamp of truth in one village or city, and left another in moral darkness, have filled Judea and the world with the glory of the Lord? Could not that energy which pervades the universe, and imparts such inconceivable fleetness to the morning beam when it irradiates the earth, have spread the knowledge of salvation with equal rapidity, and multiplied the disciples like the drops of dew?—Undoubtedly. No limits can be assigned to divine efficiency; but in the present state no explanations are afforded of the secret principles of his eternal government. Curiosity may often be disposed to inquire, with one of the hearers of Christ, "Lord, are there few that shall be saved?" But Scripture checks such investigations, and admonishes us rather to cherish an availing solicitude for our personal salvation: "Strive to enter in at the strait gate."

The state even of the civilized world at this day is truly deplorable. Although whole nations profess the Christian faith, yet every city, every village, and almost every hamlet, contains families in which there is not a single disciple of Jesus. The sun rises and sets upon a prayerless roof. No altar is erected to God—no love exists to the Saviour—nothing to attract his attachment or to furnish a subject for angelic joy—no repentance—no faith—and none of "the peace of God which passeth all understanding." Whatever may be the temporal circumstances of such families, Christian benevolence cannot avoid weeping over their spiritual condition. In many cases, the society admitted into their houses is of a most pernicious class. Uninfluenced by the sentiments of David, who said, "I am a companion of all them that fear thee," the friendships they form are but too plainly indicative of their own principles. You will not see them, like Martha and Mary, choosing the excellent of the earth, and welcoming Christ or his disciples to their tables, to share their comforts, to refine and improve their intercourse; but if they occupy a high station in life, the gay, the dissipated, or the thoughtless—if in an inferior situation, the vulgar, the sordid, the intemperate, and the profane, frequent their dwellings. Religion is in both cases too often treated with ridicule and contempt, vilified as mean-spirited in its principle, and enthusiastic in its pretensions; and the truth of the Gospel treated, as its Author was when upon earth, and would be were he still incarnate, with contemptuous rejection.

Some pleasing exceptions may be found to these observations. In many families exist at least one example of genuine piety—an Abijah in the impious family of a Jeroboam. There is reason to congratulate young persons especially who dare to be singular, to incur reproach, and to dismiss prejudices. The conquest in such instances is proportionably honorable as the propensity in human nature is powerful to follow a multitude to do evil. Such holy daring possesses great attractions, and the most beneficial consequences have been known to result. The child has become instrumental to the conversion of the parent, the parent to that of the child; the brother has proved a blessing to the sister, the wife to her husband: "for what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shall save thy husband? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shall save thy wife?" In other instances the sword of division is sharpened, and the discordances already existing become more settled, more irreconcileable, and more violent. The natural mind betrays its malignant animosity against the spiritual principle, "and he that is born after the flesh persecutes him that is born after the Spirit." But here the whole family was of "one heart and of one soul." Religion was the law of the family, and the bond of delightful union. They were possessed of one spirit; and, as Bishop Hall observes, "jointly agreed to entertain Christ."

Can it be doubted, that the favored dwelling of Martha and Mary contained a very large portion of domestic felicity—a felicity founded on the noblest basis, cemented by the tenderest affection, and stamped with an immortal character? The religion of Jesus is indeed calculated to diffuse real happiness wherever it prevails; although, as we have intimated, it may become the occasion of discord in consequence of the perverseness of human nature. Sin has disordered the mental and moral constitution of man, and thrown the world into a state of anarchy. The unbridled dominion of the passions disturbs the peace of the individual, and the harmony of society. Sin makes a man at variance with himself, with his neighbors, with his nearest connections, and with the whole constitution of the universe. He becomes restless as the ocean, impelled by every contrary wind, and tost about by every sportive billow. The desire of happiness exists, but he is ignorant how to obtain it, and pursues those means which only plunge him into greater misery. To this cause may be attributed all the mental distresses and all the bodily afflictions of individuals—the disturbances which too often prevent domestic enjoyment—the bickerings and jealousies of families with their various alliances—the animosities that annoy social life—the intestine broils, ambitious emulations, and endless contentions, that distract a state, with every other form and mode of evil. Hence the importance of promoting that kingdom which is "righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost;" the basis of which is the truth which Christ came into the world to propagate. It is this, and this only, which renders mankind happy in every connection. It will harmonize and felicitate to whatever extent it is diffused. It will allay the discord of families, pacify the turbulence of nations, and silence the din of war. There will be "great joy" in the heart, in the family, in the city, and in the world. Under this influence "the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf, and the young lion, and the fattling together, and a little child shall lead them.... They shall not hurt nor destroy in all God's holy mountain."

One, however, as Martha and Mary were in principle, they differed in character. When our Saviour first entered the house, it appears that they both welcomed him, and listened for a time to his instructions. He was in no haste for any refreshment, but eagerly improved every moment to benefit his beloved friends. It was his meat and drink to do the Father's will, and no kindness could afford him such satisfaction as a devout attention to his words. It was, in fact, less to receive than to communicate that he turned aside on his journey to visit these happy sisters. But if, at first, they both attended to the "gracious words that proceeded out of his mouth," Martha, anxious to furnish a suitable repast for their guest, withdrew to make what she deemed the necessary preparations. Mary continued riveted to the spot by a conversation which she could on no terms relinquish. She would not lose a word. Every faculty was absorbed in attention. Her eldest sister busied herself for sometime with her preparations, till at length becoming impatient, she hastily demanded of Jesus to send Mary to her assistance. This intrusion incurred the memorable censure, "Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful; and Mary hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her."

The defective points of Martha's character seem to have been two. The first of these was domestic vanity and parade. Upon the arrival of her divine guest she is "cumbered about much serving," anxious not only to show a becoming hospitality, but to provide a great entertainment. In this she betrayed a false estimate of our Saviour's spirit. He who willingly submitted to every deprivation during his earthly career—who suffered hunger, and thirst, and peril, and wretchedness, in every form, although he could have commanded ten legions of angels to guard his life, or to supply his necessities, could not have felt a moment's anxiety respecting the abundance or the quality of the provision. This worthy woman not only knew that he could have turned every stone of the wilderness into bread, had he wished to pamper his appetite by luxurious living, but she had surely sufficient opportunities to perceive his disposition, and the perfect exemption of his mind from any kind of concern about his own accommodation. Her anxiety was therefore mistaken in its object, as well as excessive in its degree. And while remarking upon this subject, O that we could impress upon all the ministers of his word the necessity of imitating the conduct of their Master! It becomes them, as his avowed disciples, and as persons who are perpetually exhorting others to self-denial and courteousness, to manifest no care about their own convenience, to give as little trouble as possible to those who, for the sake of their office and their Master, treat tthemwith kind hospitality, and to receive even a cup of cold water in a spirit corresponding to that in which humble piety bestows it.

While thus betraying a false estimate of Christ, Martha's principal fault becomes glaringly conspicuous. She is full of bustle, full of eagerness. Her servants were, probably, dispatched in every direction to prepare a sumptuous meal. Every thing must be in order; every dish in place. The food, the arrangement, the preparation of every description, she was probably solicitous should do her credit, as well as display the undoubted affection which she cherished for her Lord. Who can tell what she lost by her excessive care! He, "in whom dwelt all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge," was, during all this time, conversing with her sister; and would have freely communicated the same instructions to her, had not she precluded herself by needless anxieties.

But while we wonder at this voluntary sacrifice of spiritual advantages, advantages too, which, generally speaking, she did not undervalue, let us ask ourselves whether we have never merited a similar censure, whether we have not been seduced by our worldly cares into a similar and culpable remissness in religious duties? Happily, perhaps, like Martha, we love the Saviour, we avow our attachment, we welcome him in the persons of his representatives into our families; hut, at the same time, forfeit our privileges, lose our opportunities, and suffer temporal concerns to supersede the habitual impression of spiritual realities. Let pious women, especially, take a lesson from this incident. Martha was by no means an unique. She represents a very numerous class of female professors. Here is a glass into which they may look and see a perfect reflection of themselves; and we trust they will not retire from the salutary exhibition of their own blemishes, forgetting what manner of persons they are. Domestic care, like every other, is liable to degenerate into excess. There are many ladies whose piety excites universal admiration, but who, from some constitutional proneness or some acquired habit, bestow a disproportionate, and therefore, on many accounts, highly pernicious concern upon their household arrangements. We are not the apologists of uncleanliness or disorder; but it is possible to be over nice and over anxious: by the former, we may injure the comfort of others, as well as become burdensome even to ourselves; by the latter, we may soon interfere with the superior claims of religion. The care of a family cannot extenuate the guilt of neglecting private devotion or public duties; it cannot exculpate a neglect of the word or the ordinances of God; and to be "cumbered about much serving," is not only waste of time, but unfits the mind for profitable intercourse, and is likely to produce an unhappy effect upon the disposition.

This leads us to notice the second great defect in Martha, which the present occasion tended to illustrate. This was fretfulness of temper. Her language indicates extreme irritation. "Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her, therefore, that she help me." It might be expected, that, overawed by the dignified and holy presence of the Son of God, this woman would have felt ashamed to show her impatience, and have been contented to remain silent. But nothing could restrain her. Something went wrong. There was some mistake, some confusion, or perhaps some dish out of order. She was bustling about to make preparations upon a scale which no necessity existed to justify, and she wanted the assistance of Mary. But Mary was bettor employed. She "sat at Jesus's feet, and heard his word."

Let pious women beware of that anxiety which generates peevishness. It is a greater fault than any which servants can commit by mere negligence, to allow of those intemperate sallies against their misconduct, which, by degrading their mistresses in their eyes, diminish the good effect a genuine piety might otherwise produce. It is a weakness to be excessively rigid about trifles—to be always contending, morose, and dissatisfied. The particular sphere in which a woman is called to act, seems indeed beset with temptations to this evil; but this consideration should serve to awaken care and circumspection. Religion ought to be exemplified in overcoming the difficulties of our situation, whatever they maybe; and the more numerous they are, the more honourable the resistance. Private life is a sphere of useful exertion. Though retired, it is important. If it be not a field of valour, it is one for patience. If women cannot obtain the laurels of heroism, they may win the better trophies of general esteem and domestic attachment.

The animadversions we have thought proper to make upon the faults of Martha, ought not however to obscure the view of her excellences. Jesus Christ did not censure her concern, but the excess of it. It was the unnecessary trouble she took, and as a consequence the extreme impatience of temper she manifested, that produced this solemn remonstrance, and led him to contrast her conduct with the silent piety of her sister. We must still admire her generous hospitality, and her warm affection for Christ, although her natural temperment and mistaken views betrayed her into an improper mode of expressing it. She presents a lively contrast to those who manifest no regard to religion or its ministers, and whose errors originate not in mistake, but in cherished hostility and inveterate prejudice. Her Master knew how to appreciate her character: and if he censured her with a seriousness proportionable to her fault, the rebuke was attempered with a kindness expressive of his friendship. The historian distinctly records his personal affection for each member of this happy family. "Now, Jesus loved Martha and her sister, and Lazarus." Let us remember, then, that the real followers of Christ have their defects, defects which perhaps appear the more conspicuous from their association with such opposite excellences: and let us learn, like our divine Master, to esteem even imperfect goodness, while we take every suitable opportunity of affectionately, yet faithfully, correcting its follies.

Reader! pause for a few moments, to reflect upon the important apophthegm pronounced by Christ upon this occasion, and the benediction upon Mary, with which it was accompanied: "One thing is needful!" This was virtually pronouncing religion, which involves a pre-eminent regard to the eternal interests of the soul, to be supremely important—a principle of holiness, a source of peace, and a pledge of immortal joy. It is, besides, of universal concern, and comprehends whatever is essential to the present and future felicity of a rational creature. "We should judge very ill of the nature of this care, if we imagined that it consisted merely in acts of devotion or religious contemplation; it comprehends all the lovely and harmonious band of social and humane virtues. It requires a care, of society, a care of our bodies and of our temporal concerns; but then all is to be regulated, directed, and animated by proper regards to God, Christ, and immortality. Our food and our rest, our trades and our labors, are to be attended to; and all the offices of humanity performed in obedience to the will of God, for the glory of Christ, and in a view to the improving of the mind in a growing meetness for astate of complete perfection. Name any thing which has no reference at all to this, and you name a worthless trifle, however it may be gilded to allure the eye, however it may be sweetened to gratify the taste. Name a thing, which, instead of thus improving the soul, has a tendency to debase and pollute, to enslave and endanger it, and you name what is most unprofitable and mischievous, be the wages of iniquity ever so great; most foul and deformed, be it in the eyes of men ever so honorable, or in their customs ever so fashionable." [37]

How important is it, that we should make a similar choice with that of Mary! This is obvious from the words of Christ, who represents it as "that good part which shall not be taken away from her." Genuine piety is calculated to prevent innumerable evils and sources of misery, by preventing those indulgences which pollute while they gratify, poisoning the constitution, impairing the reputation, and displeasing God: and by elevating the affections to the purity of heaven. It augments incalculably the pleasure which is derived from the possession of all other good of a subordinate nature. While it possesses the power of extracting the distasteful ingredients that imbitter the cup of adversity, it sweetens the sweetest portion of prosperous life; and such is its prevailing efficacy, that no changes can possibly deprive us of its consolations. It shall "not be taken away." How strange, then, is the infatuation of such as make a different choice, and how unfounded their seasons for such a guilty preference! However their conduct may be artfully varnished over with fair pretences, they betray consummate folly. The very foundation of all their hopes will fail, the specious appearances of the world will prove deceptive, like the rainbow that stretches its radiant curve over half the heavens, but vanishes as you approach it into mist and nothingness, and their condemnation will be no less remarkable than their ultimate disappointment. O that, with Mary, we may sit at the feet of Jesus, and by a prompt obedience to his comments "find rest to our souls."

Scarcely have we read of the privileges of the two sisters at Bethany, when we are introduced to an account of their trials: so closely do pleasures and pains follow each other in the train of human events! The fairest fruit is often beset with thorns, the clearest day liable to be overcast with clouds; and should the morning of life rise in brightness, and the evening set in serenity, who can reasonably hope that no changes shall occur in its intermediate hours? Religion indeed promises consolation amidst afflictions, but not exemption from them: she is the guardian of our spiritual interests, but not the disposer of our terrestrial condition. How happily was the previous intercourse of Martha and Mary with Jesus calculated to prepare them for their more gloomy visiter, DEATH!

Lazarus, the brother of these excellent women, was taken ill, upon which they immediately sent to inform their divine Friend of the distressing circumstance. As soon as he heard it, he remarked to his disciples that this event would prove the occasion of enhancing his own and his Father's glory; but notwithstanding the ardent friendship which he cherished for the family, and which the evangelist particularly notices, [38] he did not hasten, as it seemed natural he should, to Bethany, but remained where he was two days longer. It was his intention, doubtless, to prove the faith of his disciples, to try the spirit of the two sisters, and to furnish an opportunity of working the miracle with which he afterward astonished the Jews. After this mysterious delay, he announced his purpose of proceeding into Judea: upon which his disciples remonstrated with him, representing the persecuting spirit of the people, which of late had been displayed in attempts upon his life. To this he answered there were twelve hours in the day, and consequently it was requisite to use despatch in the performance of the labour assigned to him who would not stumble in the night, or leave his work unfinished; and then intimating the departure of their friend Lazarus, he said, "I go that I may awake him out of sleep." Mistaking his meaning, and imagining that he had been speaking only of "taking rest," in natural sleep, the disciples replied, that if this were the case, it was probable he would soon recover, and therefore it was unnecessary to go to Bethany. Jesus then said plainly, "Lazarus is dead." Seeing the intrepidity of their Master, the disciples, stimulated by Thomas, resolved to accompany him into Judea, and encounter every danger to which their attachment might expose them.

When Jesus had arrived in the vicinity of Bethany, he found that his beloved friend had been interred four days; and as this village was not more than two miles from Jerusalem, many of the inhabitants who were acquainted with the family, were come to condole with them upon their loss. Martha hastened to meet Jesus, as soon as she heard of his approach; but Mary, who perhaps was not yet informed of it, continued sitting upon the ground, in the usual posture of mourners.

Having expressed her surprise at his delay, Martha intimated to Jesus that she well knew that God would now grant every thing he might see fit to request, and if he had been present before, the death of her brother might have been prevented. Compassionating her distress, he replied, "Thy brother shall rise again;" to which she answered, that she had the fullest conviction of this fact, as she believed the doctrine of the final resurrection. Her heart, however, was still overwhelmed with grief at her present calamitous bereavement; and it was not without extreme reluctance, that she admitted the idea of never seeing him more till that distant period. Jesus then gave her the assurance of his being "the resurrection and the life," and of the mighty power which he as the agent in accomplishing this work, would display in elevating all his people to the felicities of another and a better existence; in consequence of which death ought not to be regarded with terror, but merely as the season of repose previous to the morning of eternity, which would soon break with ineffable splendour upon the tomb. Martha declared her full persuasion of this sublime truth, founded upon her knowledge of him who addressed her as the true Messiah, the Son of God, to whom all power in heaven and earth was intrusted.

Upon this, she went by desire of Jesus to call her sister. As she had communicated the information to Mary in a whisper, her friends who were present supposed, when she rose up hastily, that she was going to visit the sepulchre of Lazarus, there to renew her griefs and bewail her bereavement. As soon as she found Jesus, she prostrated herself at his feet, and expressed herself in terms similar to those of Martha, indicative of a conviction that the death of her beloved relative might have been prevented, if he had but hastened to Bethany upon the news of his dangerous illness. This afflicting scene excited the deepest concern in him, who, though he had every passion under the most perfect control, now chose to indulge and to manifest his tenderness for Lazarus. He inquired where they had laid him, and, as they conducted him to the spot, he wept. Remembrance of the dead, sympathy for the living, and pity for the impenitent Jews, drew forth his tears, which, while they sanction the grief of his people at the loss of earthly connections, do not justify its excess.

The spectators, in general, were affected with this testimony of friendship: but some of them inquired among themselves, whether he who had opened the eyes of the blind, could not have prevented the calamity which he appeared so deeply to deplore. This was a very natural question; and he was about to convince them that he could, by performing a miracle far more splendid and important than such an interposition. The sepulchre of Lazarus was a cave, with a large stone upon its mouth. Jesus commanded them to remove this stone, not choosing to do it miraculously, in order to avoid unnecessary parade. Martha, who seems to have been agitated by a great conflict of feelings, very improperly exclaimed against this proceeding; and alleged, that as he had been interred four days, the corpse must have become offensive. Jesus with his characteristic gentleness, reminded her that he knew well what he had ordered: and that his previous assurance, that if she would only believe she should see the glory of God, ought to have sealed her lips in silence.

The stone being removed according to the request of Jesus, he uttered a short but expressive prayer to Heaven; and then with a loud voice, cried out, "Lazarus, come forth." The realms of death heard his sovereign mandate, and their gloomy monarch yielded up his captive; "and he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot, with grave clothes: and his face was bound about with a napkin. Jesus saith unto them, Loose him, and let him go." The effect of this miracle was considerable; for many of the Jews, who had come to sympathize with the bereaved sister, believed in Christ, though others instantly repaired to the Pharisees, to inflame their malignity by reciting what they had witnessed. With similar diversity of effect, is the Gospel now proclaimed to men; its facts and evidences kindling the resentment of some, or hardening them into increased obduracy; while they convince the minds of others, interesting their best affections, conquering their prejudices, and operating their salvation.

If there were any exception to that universal law which consigns man to the grave, it might be hoped that such as compose the church of God, being redeemed by the blood of his Son, called according to his purpose, and sealed by his Spirit to the day of redemption, would be freed from this calamity; but death extends his dreadful dominion over the families of the righteous, as well as the impious. The people of God might, if he pleased, have been delivered from the present curse: his goodness might have indemnified them from the common evils which afflict human life, and appointed them some favoured region, the Goshen of the universe, where they should have passed their days in a state of rich possession and unmolested tranquillity; but, if he have ordained otherwise, it is for wise reasons; some of which, perhaps, we may succeed in explaining.

Is not such a dispensation, for instance, calculated to impress an awful sense of the malignity of sin? So abominable is it, that the blessed God, who has made an ample provision for the future, felicity of his saints, and who is daily imparting to them on earth the invaluable blessings of his grace, cannot, it seems, consistently with his perfection, exempt them from the stroke of death. It is requisite that his detestation of it should be evinced in a complete and undistinguishing overthrow of the race of mortals, amongst whom even those whose names are written in the book of life, on account of their nature being contaminated with depravity must suffer the punishment of temporal death, and show to admiring immortals, that God is "of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, and cannot look upon sin."

Besides, this demolition of the corporeal frame is an essential means of its purification. The leprosy has infected every part of the building, the members of the body have become instrumental to the working of unrighteousness; and, consequently, "the earthly house of this tabernacle must be dissolved."

The infliction of this calamity upon believers in Christ as well as upon others, is calculated also to maintain their faith in vigorous and perpetual exercise. Were it permitted to them to pass into another world, as Enoch or Elijah did, by a sudden transportation beyond the regions of mortality to those of undecaying existence, without undergoing "the pains, the groans, the dying strife," or without experiencing the frightful alteration that occurs in other human beings, there would no longer exist the same opportunity as at present for the display of one of the noblest principles of a renewed mind. Who can contemplate the debased condition of the body, who can realize the amazing change which "flesh and blood is heir to"—the icy coldness, the stony insensibility, the universal inanimation that pervades the whole frame, the putrefaction to which it is subject, and the general loathsomeness of that which once appeared the fairest structure amongst the works of God, without an instinctive shuddering, and without perceiving that faith alone can give the victory over death? There is nothing surely in the state of the body after this event to indicate a future existence, but rather every thing to perplex such a sentiment, and to confound such an expectation. There is nothing in its aspect which seems to foretel life—nothing to predict resuscitation. In general, however desperate the case, hope is sustained by the most trifling circumstances, the feeblest glimmerings of the yet unextinguished lamp; if there be the gentlest breath, or the slightest motion, the solicitude of wakeful tenderness is still maintained, and the possibility at least of a return to health is admitted as a welcome and not irrational idea; but when the breath entirely fails, when motion is paralyzed, when the lamp is extinct, whence can any thought of a revival be obtained? What succeeds the fatal moment, but progressive decay? And who can discover the least trace of an indication that the departed friend will resume his life? Every hour seems to widen the breach, to increase the distance that separates the dead from the living, and to complete the triumph of our mortal foe. All the powers of nature in combination would prove incompetent to produce life in the smallest particle—the most insignificant atom of dust; and hope naturally expires when animation ceases. When Christians, therefore, are required to part with their companions, or to die themselves, their only confidence must be in God; and whoever cannot receive his word, and rely upon the assurances which he has given with regard to the exercise of divine power in the recovery of man from the grave, has no adequate consolation amidst the desolations that await him.

Christians also must pass through the change of death, because the glory of Jesus Christ in the resurrection could not otherwise be so illustriously displayed. Never did the character of the Son of God appear with more commanding majesty than when he recalled the spirit of Lazarus from the invisible state, and at a word raised his body from the sepulchre. "Lazarus," said he, "come forth:" the summons entered the ear of death, and the "last enemy" felt himself "destroyed."

The scene is infinitely cheering. Though we "fade as a leaf," dropping one by one into the tomb like the foliage of autumn; the eternal spring advances, when "they that are in the grave shall hear his voice, and shall come forth"—renewed in vigour, purified in character, perfected in felicity—to return no more to this sublunary sphere, to descend no more to the dust, to struggle no more with sin and sorrow, to be assaulted no more with the "fiery darts of the devil."

Death is so truly alarming to human nature and to shortsighted reason, so calculated by its external appearances to fill the mind with anxiety, that in order to suppress our fears and cherish our hopes, it seemed requisite to bring another existence into the nearest possible view, to render it in a sense visible, and to embody immortality. In the resurrection of Lazarus, as well as by other miraculous manifestations, this great purpose was effected. We perceive incontestably that death is not annihilation, and that the appearance which it assumes of an extinction of being is not a reality. That power which was exerted in one case, reason says may, and revelation declares shall, be exerted in another; and that, by the voice of Omnipotence, all the saints shall be raised at the last day from the abodes of darkness and silence. It is here Christianity takes her firmest stand—here she discloses her brightest scenes! Glorious expectation of rising to eternal life, and through Jesus, "the first begotten of the dead," becoming superior to our most formidable enemy! What a train of happy beings will then be witnesses of his glory, trophies of his power, and inhabitants of his kingdom! This will be the jubilee of all ages, the anticipation of which is well calculated to suppress our anxieties, and quicken us to every duty.

What mutual congratulations must have circulated through the family of Lazarus, when he was restored to the affectionate embraces of his sisters! What a renewal of love would take place on that happy day! How was their sorrow turned into joy, and their lamentations info praises! What a triumph of mind did they feel over the grave, and what expressions of gratitude to their Deliverer burst from every heart! But who can imagine the transports of that moment, when the same power that raised Lazarus from the tomb, shall be exerted upon every believer in Jesus, who shall "meet the Lord in the air," and be introduced to the eternal society of kindred minds; when the redeemed world shall assemble on the celestial shore, to recount their past labours and mercies, to renew their spiritual fellowship, to hail each other's escape from the conflicts, the temptations, and the diversified evils of mortal life, to behold the glory of Him who has washed them in his blood and saved them by his grace, to take possession of their destined thrones, and to mingle their strains of acknowledgment with the holy by innings of the blest!

How terrible then is death, but how delightful! Death is the end of life; death is the beginning of existence! Death closes our prospects, and death opens them! Death debases our nature—death purifies and exalts it! "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!"

Curiosity, ever disposed to pry into what the wisdom of God has not thought proper to reveal, has frequently inquired into the history of Lazarus after his resurrection. It has been asked, what were his feelings, what the nature of his recollections, and what the topics of his conversation? Did he communicate to his sisters any important intelligence from the invisible state, or was he withheld by any divine interdiction from explaining the secrets of his prison-house? Was it not to be expected that some record of those transactions in which he afterward engaged, or of the manner in which he was at last removed from the world, should have been given in Scripture, or of the impressions of his mind respecting the amazing changes which he had experienced?

The probability is, that Lazarus had no remembrance of the state into which he had passed during the four days of his interment; and that, as it could answer no good purpose to himself or others to perpetuate in this world impressions suited only to the spirit in another condition of existence, the images of those realities were obliterated from his mind, like the visions of a dream that have for ever vanished away. It is sufficient for us, as it was enough for him, to know that the doctrine of the resurrection was exhibited to the Jews, with an evidence which, but for the violence of their prejudices, must have proved to all, as it did to many of them, irresistibly convincing.