Six days before the passover, Lazarus appears again upon the page of Scripture history, at supper with Jesus at Bethany; but our attention is less directed to him than to his sisters and their divine Guest. Martha, as usual, was busied with domestic preparations; and Mary, with her characteristic zeal and affection, "took a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment."

The disciples were displeased at what they deemed this waste of the rich balsam, and murmured against her. One of them especially, Judas Iscariot, exclaimed, "Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor?" [39] But this objection, so far from being dictated by any kindness for the needy, arose entirely from his eagerness to increase the store with which he was intrusted, and which he was intending to appropriate to himself. Aware of this design, and disapproving the uncharitable disposition manifested by his disciples, Jesus reproved them; and expressed his satisfaction with Mary's conduct as indicative of a regard for which she should hereafter be celebrated throughout the world. He intimated that he should soon leave them, and that this might be considered as an expression of fondness towards a friend who might be almost viewed as already dead, and to whom she would have few other opportunities of testifying her affection.

And shall not we be ready to consecrate our most valued possessions to the service of such a Master? Shall we hesitate to devote to him whatever he claims, or whatever we can bestow? Shall we feel a moment's reluctance to aid his cause by the application of some considerable part of our pecuniary resources to his church and people? He has bequeathed his poor to our care, and it is a solemn charge; neglecting which we shall miss the honor of his final benediction; but fulfilling it, we may indulge the delightful hope that he will recompense even the most trifling attention, and inscribe upon each future crown, in characters visible to the whole intelligent universe, he or "she HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD."



The Poor Widow.

Chapter VIII.



Account of Christ's sitting over against the Treasury—He particularly notices the Conduct of an obscure Individual—She casts in two Mites—it is to be viewed as a religious Offering—the Ground on which it is eulogized by Christ—the Example honorable to the female Sex—People charitable from different Motives—two Reasons which might have been pleaded as an Apology for withholding this Donation, she was poor and a Widow—Her pious Liberality notwithstanding—all have Something to give—the most trifling Sum of Importance—the Habit of bestowing in pious Charity beneficial—Motives to Gratitude deduced from the Wretchedness of others, the Promises of God, and the Cross of Jesus.

Uncharitableness does not seem to have been characteristic of the Jews at any period of their history, who erred rather on the side of ostentation than of parsimony. During the three great annual festivals, the offerings to the temple were very considerable, and of various kinds; although, in the time of Christ, the country was in a state of comparative depression, as tributary to the Roman empire. Many individuals, however, were no less distinguished for their liberality than their opulence. But it is common to be deceived by appearances; and an action which we may estimate as good, may be of little value in the sight of that Being who "searcheth the reins and hearts," and who will "give to every one according to their works."

In the history before us our Saviour is represented as sitting "over against the treasury;" for though on every proper, and almost on every possible occasion, he addicted himself to solitude, both for the purpose of exemplifying the propriety of frequent retirement, and of obtaining spiritual refreshment; yet, at other times, he mixed with society to notice and to correct the follies of mankind. His observant eye could not overlook the minutest diversities of human character; and he never permitted a favorable opportunity of deducing from these appearances salutary lessons for his disciples, to pass unimproved. Happy, thrice happy men, to have such an Instructer at hand—to live so near the "Light of the world"—to have constant and intimate access to him, "in whom dwelt all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge!" And happy, thrice happy we, notwithstanding our comparative disadvantages of time and circumstance, who possess the recorded instructions of "the faithful and true Witness," in the page of inspiration, while "darkness covers" so vast a proportion of "the earth, and gross darkness the people!"

In the situation which Jesus had chosen, he distinctly saw the people casting money into the treasury, and particularly noticed the large sums which many rich persons contributed to this sacred fund. Little did they suspect what an eye was upon them, watching their movements, and estimating their motives! It is probable that the majority of those who came to present their gifts on this occasion, had no personal knowledge of the Saviour, who assumed no extraordinary appearance, excepting that of extreme poverty of condition and deep humiliation of spirit; and that of those who might recognize him, some had been so discomfited by his superior wisdom in the field of argument, as to feel no inclination either to dare another contest, or to submit to his decisions; others were too indolent to make inquiries after heavenly truth, too ignorant to penetrate beyond his humble exterior, or too fearful to incur the censure of ecclesiastical authority, for seeming by a respectful approach to become his disciples; while few, if any, who passed by, were aware that "he knew what was in man."

If there were many among the wealthy contributors to the treasury who gave from motives of vanity and ostentation, it is reasonable to believe that others were characterized by genuine benevolence, and as such approved by their unknown observer. They were not influenced either by a spirit of rivalry or pride, but devoutly wished to be serviceable to religion and acceptable to God. If some came in the temper of the boasting Pharisee, who is represented as professing to pray in these words, "God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican: I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess"—others, no doubt, as they cast in the liberal offering, felt if they did not exclaim with the publican, "God, be merciful to me a sinner."

Although the Son of God has reassumed his glory, being exalted "far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that which is to come;" he minutely investigates the characters and actions of men, and will hereafter "appear in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory," for the purpose of "rendering to every man according to his deeds." The proceedings of that day will be marked by the utmost impartiality and justice, founded upon a perpetual and complete inspection of all human actions, and a most perfect knowledge of their motives.

"Can we think, O Saviour, that thy glory hath diminished aught of thy gracious respects to our beneficence? or that thine acceptance of our charity was confined to the earth? Even now that thou sittest at the right hand of thy Father's glory, thou seest every hand that is stretched out to the relief of thy poor saints here below. And if vanity have power to stir up our liberality, out of a conceit to be seen of men; how shall faith encourage our bounty in knowing that we are seen of thee, and accepted by thee? Alas! what, are we the better for the notice of those perishing and impotent eyes, which can only view the outside of our actions; or for that waste wind of applause, which vanisheth in the lips of the speaker? Thine eye, O Lord, is piercing and retributive. As to see thee is perfect happiness, so to be seen of thee is true contentment and glory.

"And dost thou, O God, see what we give thee, and not see what we take away from thee? Are our offerings more noted than our sacrileges? Surely, thy mercy is not more quicksighted than thy justice. In both kinds our actions are viewed, our account is kept; and we are as sure to receive rewards for what we have given, as vengeance for what we have defaulted. With thine eye of knowledge, thou seest all we do; but we do well, thou seest with an eye of approbation!" [40]

After stating the general notice which Jesus Christ took of the variety of opulent contributors to the treasury, the sacred narrative informs us of his particularly remarking the offering of a certain individual, whom he exhibited to his disciples as a pattern of unrivalled generosity. The comparative value and magnitude of this gift are recorded; and though the name of this honorable character is concealed, the benevolent deed can never be forgotten.

We are not informed of the sums given respectively by wealthy persons upon this occasion, but only in general that they were very considerable: "many that were rich cast in much." It is astonishing what large contributions have been sometimes advanced for charitable and other religious purposes: and from knowing that Jesus Christ selected for remark, and distinguished by an extraordinary eulogium, the offering of a certain woman to the treasury, we are eager to inquire who was the donor, and what the gift so celebrated.

But we must suspend our prejudices. Let us remember, that "God seeth not as man seeth"—that our calculations of value and of magnitude are often false, because we do not use the balances of the sanctuary, but are governed by the erroneous opinions of mankind—and then we shall be prepared to learn, that on that memorable day, when Jesus sat over against the treasury beholding the numerous and splendid donations of the rich, a female, a widow, "cast in more than they all"—more than any one individually, and more than all collectively!

What then were her resources? Was she some Eastern potentate, who, like the queen of Sheba, "came to Jerusalem with a very great train, with camels that bare spices, and very much gold and precious stones"—a queen who was able to present Solomon with "a hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices very great store, and precious stones?" No, she was a poor widow! Our astonishment increases. But some poor persons have great future prospects, or great present connections. Had she then sold an hereditary reversion, or borrowed extensively of some wealthy friends, and impelled by a zeal for God, given it to the treasury? No—she gave only out of her poverty—"she threw in two mites, which make a FARTHING," or about two pence, according to the proportionate value of English money. [41] This was the donation that led Jesus to call his disciples, and address them thus, "Verily, I say unto you, that this poor widow hath cast more in than all they which have cast into the treasury: for all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living."

It is proper to remark, that this gift was rather religious than charitable, the offering of piety as distinguished from that of almsgiving. This will be obvious, upon considering that the contributions to the treasury were not for the support of the poor, but for the supply of sacrifices and other necessary services. Dr. Lightfoot states that there were thirteen treasure-chests, called Shopheroth, and collectively Corban or Corbonah, which were placed in that part of the temple denominated the Court of the Women. Two of these chests were for the half shekel, which every Israelite was to pay according to the law; and eleven others were appropriated to the uses specified in their respective inscriptions. 1. For the price of the two turtle-doves, or two young pigeons. 2. For the burnt-offering of birds. 3. For the money offered to buy wood for the altar. 4. For those who gave money to buy frankincense. 5. For those who offered gold for the mercy-seat. 6. For the residue of the money for the sin-offering. 7. For the residue of the money for a trespass-offering. 8. For the residue of an offering of birds. 9. For the surplus of a Nazarite's offering. 10. For the residue of a leper's trespass-offering. 11. For whosoever would offer an offering of the herds.

Our Saviour eulogized the gift of this good woman less, probably, on account of its comparative superiority to the more splendid donations of opulent contributors to the treasury, whose circumstances were so widely different from hers, than because her motives were more pure and pious. The intention to purchase renown or self-approbation, diminishes the excellence of the most costly offering; while the simple desire to honour God and promote his cause, superadds substantial worth to the meanest donation. Jesus Christ perceived the workings of genuine faith and love in this woman's heart, and estimated them at a price above the choicest jewels or the purest gold.

He saw and he approved the holy zeal of her mind, and well knew that the operations of her benevolence were restricted solely by the limitation of her means. These alone presented an impassable barrier to a liberality of spirit which impelled her far beyond the allowance of a timid policy, or a calculating prudence; and we may reasonably conclude, that she knew no regret at the scantiness of her pecuniary resources, and the inferiority, of her condition, save what originated in perceiving her small capacity of usefulness. She who could cast into the treasury the only two mites that she possessed, would have adorned a higher station. Had Providence placed her amongst the princesses of the earth, while she retained such a disposition, what an extensive blessing to society would she have proved! Such, however, in two many instances, is the corrupting influence of large possessions, that it is always questionable, whether in the very great majority of cases an increase of riches would not deteriorate the principle of benevolence; and whether, if placed amidst the splendid scenes of elevated rank, our eyes would not be soon so dazzled, as to incapacitate us either for seeing the wants of the poor, or the necessities of the church of Christ.

How exquisite and how enviable must have been the feelings of this pious woman, when she cast her last two mites into the treasury! What a noble generosity! what disinterested zeal! She could not delay a moment to inquire respecting the means of her future subsistence, or the comfort of the present day; the impulse was too powerful to be resisted, and was amply recompensed by an instantaneous enhancement of her happiness.

This example is highly honorable to the female sex. It is not the language of flattery, but of truth, to say that they are distinguished by acute sensibility, quick sympathy, and persevering patience in doing good. They are naturally compassionate, and have the best opportunities of gratifying a charitable disposition. From constitution they are more susceptible, from habit more considerate, and from character more prompt than the other sex in promoting benevolent purposes. They generally require less urging to useful measures, and the flame of charity often burns with more brightness and perpetuity in their bosoms.

In the church of Christ, women have ever been pre-eminent in numbers and in character; they have been the first to profess Christ, and the last to dishonour him; they have joined the train of his followers, borne the reproach of his accusers, sustained the cross of self-denial, and aspired to the crown of martyrdom; they are recorded with marked distinction by an apostolic pen, "Women received their dead raised to life again, and others were tortured, not accepting deliverance, that they might obtain a better resurrection;"—in a word, whenever they have been required to suffer for Christ, they have willingly surrendered life with all its joys; and whenever called to maintain his cause by pecuniary supplies, they have been found ready, like the poor widow, to give even to their last two mites.

Some persons will not be liberal, unless they can be praised. They are anxious to see their names exciting public attention, and their benefactions proclaimed upon some public list. If you will allow them to be "seen of men," they will reconcile themselves to make some sacrifice for the good of others; and overcome their heartfelt reluctance to give, when they are assured of being repaid in a proportionate measure of fame. And thus, in fact, their charity is nothing but a sordid traffic; they barter for renown, and aim to insure the recompense before they hazard the gift. But we may be assured, that this is of all speculations the meanest, the most detestable, and ultimately the most ruinous. The poor widow had no suspicion of the kind of observance to which she was exposed, and no wish to attract attention. She silently dropped her money into the chest, and departed. The whole world was, in her estimation, ignorant of the deed; and the whole world could not have bestowed upon her so rich a gratification.

Persons of the class alluded to will sometimes admit of concealment. They adopt many measures to hide their virtue from the eyes of others; they will by no means court public attention, or allow a formal publication of their deeds: but if perchance they are whispered abroad, if any indiscretion betrays them, if though not written, they are stated; they are the last persons on earth to feel any offence, and congratulate themselves on having effectually secured the applauses of mankind.

"Good actions," as the admirable Achbishop Leighton remarks, "cannot well be hid; and it may sometimes be necessary for example and exciting others, that they know of it; but take heed that vanity creep not in under this. And further than either unavoidable necessity, or some evident further good of thy neighbour carries it, desire to be unknown and unseen in this. When it must be public, let thy intention be secret; take no delight in the eyes of men on thee; yea, rather count it a pain; and still eye God alone, for he eyes thee. And remember it even in public acts of charity, and other such like, he sees in secret; though the action be no secret, the spring, the source of it, is; and he sees by what weights the wheels go, and he still looks upon that, views thy heart, the bidden bent and intention of it, which man cannot see. So then, though in some cases thou must be seen to do, yet in no case do to be seen: that differs much; and where that is, even the other will be as little as it may be."

There are other persons who, though they cannot in all cases be censured for penuriousness, have imbibed a very pernicious error. They plead that they have scarcely sufficient for themselves, that they cannot therefore afford to contribute even to a good cause; and that if they were to do any thing, it must necessarily be so little as to be useless. What, say they, could our insignificant donations avail in aid of a fund which requires the most liberal and constant supplies? Could our drop of charity materially increase the tide, or swell the ocean? Would it become us to take from our few necessities, what could not much augment the comforter minister to the wants of others? Or does God require that his cause should be sustained by the poor, and the poorest of the poor, when he can command the purses of the opulent, or turn the stones of the desert into gold.

To this reasoning the instructive history we are considering is a direct reply. There were two circumstances in her lot, which not only merited compassion, but would have furnished as strong arguments against her contributing to the treasury as it is perhaps possible to adduce.

She was in the first place POOR—poor in the extreme; for when she cast in "two mites" it was "all her living" Poverty is helpless. It does not possess the means of alleviating its own distresses, much less of assisting others to any considerable extent. "Wealth," says Solomon, "maketh many friends, but the poor is separated from his neighbour"—separated by his neighbour's selfishness, who is too much occupied with his own concerns to cast his eyes beyond the narrow limits of personal interest—separated by his neighbour's insensibility, whose heart is often cold and motionless to pity as the stone which paves his doorway—separated by his neighbor's avarice, who idolizes gold, and grasps it with unyielding tenacity—separated by his neighbour's pride, who looks with contempt upon his unoffending inferior—separated by his neighbour's servility, who flatters greatness even by acquiescing in its unfounded dislike of the poor—ah! "the poor is separated from his neighbour!"

You plead poverty as an excuse for disregarding every claim upon you; but are you as destitute as this obscure yet excellent woman, who had but a farthing, and gave it even without solicitation? Be encouraged by recollecting who observes and who can repay you. Indeed the poor of every class were the particular objects of the Saviour's attention during his residence on earth; and he has rendered the tattered garment of poverty respectable by having worn it himself.

There is one consideration, above all others, which seems to appeal most forcibly to the inferior classes of society in behalf especially of the cause of Christ, and to urge some, even the smallest donations, to the treasurer, of the Christian temple, however incapacitated they may be for other benevolent exertions, namely, that poverty appears to be the peculiar object of divine complacency and provision. It is the common condition of the people of God, who "hath chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them that love him." The vale of poverty seems to be the favourite walk of celestial mercy. Here she distributes her charities—here she spreads her table—here she sends her ministers of grace. It was here the Saviour "went about doing good." The discourses he delivered were adapted to the poor—he consulted their capacities, instructed their minds, felt for their circumstances, and relieved their necessities. Whom others despised he honored—whom others forsook he sought—whom others suffered without a sigh to perish, he supplied, and comforted, and saved!

The Gospel itself was expressly addressed to the poor, and is peculiarly suited to their condition; and the messengers of heaven are directed to go out into the highways and hedges to compel men to come in. The promises of Scripture are peculiarly appropriated to the necessities of the poor. They have no money; hence the blessings of the everlasting covenant are described as "wine and milk," and are to be procured "without money and without price." The poor are subject to fatigue through excess of labor; hence it is "the weary and heavy-laden," whom Christ invites to "come to him," promising them "rest." The poor, being deprived of those means of mental cultivation which the rich enjoy, are usually ignorant; hence the source of the Redeemer's grateful appeal to the Father, "Thou has hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes." The poor are the servants of others; hence we read of "the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free," and "if the Son make you free ye shall be free indeed." The felicities of the invisible state are represented in terms which form a complete contrast to the present condition of the poor. Are they now the tenants of the lowly cottage? "In my Father's house are many mansions"—"we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Must they now look on all the fields around them, and sigh to think that they belong to another?' Through the grace of the Gospel they anticipate "an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away." Are they now clothed in wretched attire?—they may expect to be adorned with "white robes" and "a crown of glory." Are they now in a state of obscurity—their names unknown—their condition mean and despised?—hereafter they shall have a "name better than of sons and daughters;" they shall "shine as the brightness of the firmament," and "as the stars, for ever and ever." Is their condition on earth eminently "the house of mourning?" Do a scanty meal, a starving family, a pining partner, a wasting disease for which poverty forbids their procuring the most skilful means, frequently excite the bitter, the burning, the unavailing tear? In heaven "the days of our mourning shall be ended," and "God himself shall wipe away all tears from our eyes."

Had this poor woman been disposed rather to have evaded the gift to the treasury than to have volunteered so large a donation as that of "all her living," the circumstance of her being A WIDOW would seem to have been a sufficient apology. No condition of life can be conceived more wretched. A widow is deprived; "of the object of tenderest regard, the soother of her cares, the defence of her weakness, and the staff of her life." She is left to bewail in solitude—to suffer alone; or, if her children surround her, by tracing in their features the resemblance of her departed husband, she perpetually opens afresh the wound that time was kindly healing, and blends her fond caresses with tears of unavailing regret. She must now support herself—and perhaps struggle to supply them, whose childhood both disqualifies them from affording any assistance, and renders the incessant vigilance of maternal care essential to their very preservation. If, in addition to this, her poverty incapacitates her for resisting the arm of oppression, or vindicating herself against the unmerited reproaches of the censorious and the impious, her situation is inconceivably deplorable. Some part of this description certainly applies, and perhaps all, to the character under consideration. She was a poor widow: and yet the miseries of her own state did not prevent her casting in a liberal supply, even "all her living," into the treasury of God. She trusted for to-morrow to that Providence which had supplied her to-day; a confidence which we cannot doubt experienced its appropriate reward.

In addition to these considerations, and as a reply to the sophisms already adverted to, by which so many in far superior circumstances to this good woman endeavour to fence themselves against the charge of illiberality, we remark—

1. It is by no means evident that you have absolutely nothing that can be applied to the purposes of a pious charity. In order to prove this, it would be requisite to show that all your labour is scarcely sufficient to procure your subsistence—a subsistence that does not require or admit the smallest redundancy or the least indulgence. You must prove that you never pamper one appetite or gratify one lust; and that, in compliance with the exhortation of Christ, you "take no thought for the morrow." This is a case of so extreme a nature that its occurrence seems a bare possibility, and will not surely exonerate those who, if they are but scantily supplied in comparison with the ample abundance which enriches the condition of others, have nevertheless the means of a sufficient and perhaps a comfortable support. From those who possess much, much is required; and of those who have little something—to prove that the spirit of benevolence is not extinct, nor the claims of humanity and religion disregarded. You may be unable to pour in gold and silver, but surely you can contribute two miles'. It is an excellent piece of advice, "If thou have but a little, be not afraid to give according to that little; for thou layest up a good treasure for thyself against the day of necessity."

2. Whatever may be our estimate of the merit or utility of a small donation, the most trifling addition is of some importance. The seed which is sown in the field of benevolence will bear some fruit and help to swell the harvest. The immeasurable extent of sand upon the sea-shore is made up of grains, and the loftiest mountains are composed of diminutive particles of dust. If the millions who are able to contribute their mites could be induced to do so, the treasury would soon be full; but if they withhold them, the uncertain, capricious, and ostentatious, though large contributions of the opulent, may fail to replenish it.

3. The habit of giving, however small the sum, is inconceivably beneficial to the contributor himself. It is an important means of cherishing in the breast that divine principle, which without exercise and use would be likely to languish: for whatever sentiments we feel, whatever theories we adopt, and in whatever eloquence of language and warmth of spirit we expatiate upon the excellences of liberality, unless we give to the necessitous ourselves, the heart will become hardened and cold; and a theoretical religion can never preserve us from a real impiety.

"The peculiar nature of our religion," observes Dr. Barrow, [42] "specially requires it, and the honour thereof exacts it from us; nothing better suits Christianity, nothing more graces it, than liberality; nothing is more inconsistent therewith, or more disparageth it, than being miserable and sordid. A Christian niggard is the veriest nonsense that can be; for what is a Christian? What but a man who adores God alone, who loves God above all things, who reposes all his trust and confidence in God? What is he, but one who undertaketh to imitate the most good and bountiful God; to follow, as the best pattern of his practice, the most benign and charitable JESUS, the Son of God; to obey the laws of God and his Christ, the sum and substance of which is charity; half whose religion doth consist in loving his neighbour as himself! What is he further, but one who hath renounced this world, with all the vain pomps and pleasures of it; who professes himself in disposition and affection of mind to forsake all things for Christ's sake; who pretends little to value, affect, or care for any thing under heaven, having all his main concernments and treasures—his heart, his hopes, and his happiness, in another world? Such is a Christian: and what is a niggard? All things quite contrary. One whose practice manifestly shows him another thing besides and before God; to love mammon above God, and more to confide in it than in him; one who bears small goodwill, kindness, or pity towards his brother; who is little affected or concerned with things future or celestial; whose mind and heart are rivetted to this world; whose hopes and happiness are settled here below; whose soul is deeply immersed and buried in earth; one who, according to constant habit, notoriously breaketh the two great heads of Christian duty, 'loving God with all his heart, and his neighbour as himself. It is, therefore, by comparing those things very plain, that we pretend to reconcile gross contradictions and inconsistences, if we profess ourselves to be Christians and are illiberal. It is indeed the special grace and glory of our religion, that it consisteth not in barren speculations, or empty formalities, or forward professions; not in fancying curiously, or speaking zealously, or looking demurely; but in really producing sensible fruits of goodness, in doing (as St. Paul signifies) things good and profitable, unto men."

The story of the poor widow is eminently calculated to inspire gratitude in the hearts of those who are mercifully exempted from the wretchedness of such extreme poverty, which exposes to the temptation of repining at the dispensations of Heaven, and of pursuing improper measures for obtaining relief. Nor is its least evil that of cherishing an envious spirit towards those who are in superior circumstances. From the abodes of penury and want it is indeed a pleasing fact that Divine Grace has chosen its objects, and from lowly vales and humble cottages elevated them to thrones of immortality. We hear apostles saying, "Silver and gold have we none;" and Bartimeus, brought into the train of disciples from "the highway-side," where he was "blind" and "begging." And though it is a delightful consideration, that religion Can alleviate the rigours of want, and infuse sweetness into the bitterest waters of sorrow; yet poverty, with its concomitant evils, is an affliction from which, in its extreme form, we may pray to be relieved. Though in the strictest sense, the Christian, like the apostle, while "having nothing," may yet be said to "possess all things;" yet that degree of necessity which arises from extreme poverty is far from being desirable either for the body or the soul.

In the most destitute circumstances, however, the promises of our Father in heaven, and the examples which we find upon sacred record, are encouraging. "I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread"—"He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth; and wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart." Of Zion it is asserted, "I will abundantly bless her provision; I will satisfy her poor with bread:" and "He that walketh righteously, and speaketh uprightly; he that despiseth the gain of oppressions, that shaketh his hands from holding of bribery, that stoppeth his ears from hearing of blood, and shutteth his eyes from seeing evil; he shall dwell on high: his place of defence shall be the munitions of rocks: bread shall be given him; his waters shall be sure."

Remember the interpositions of God to supply the necessities of the destitute. Go to Egypt and Canaan, and trace the wonderful appointments of that providence which supplied the famished household of Jacob! Go into the wilderness of Sin, and behold an extraordinary kind of dew covering the camp of Israel and sparkling in the morning sun, in fulfilment of the prediction, "I will rain bread from heaven for you!" Observe the famished prophet at "the brook Cherith, that is before Jordan," and see the ravens of heaven descending with bread and flesh to supply Elijah! Follow Jesus into a desert place, where five thousand weary, wayworn strangers, besides women and children, are fed by his liberal hand and his miraculous power! "Behold the fowls of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? and why take, ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or What shall we drink? or Wherewithal shall we he clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things."

O, how sweetly does that spirit rest which reclines upon the lap of providence, and feeds contentedly on "daily bread!" The storms may rise and the winds may blow—the clamours of human competition may fill the air; but nothing can disturb his repose. "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee." When Solomon was about to ascend his throne, how earnestly did he implore superior wisdom, and how readily leave the disposal of earthly good to his God and Father! And what was the consequence? "God said unto him, Because thou hast asked this thing, and hast not asked for thyself long life; neither hast asked riches for thyself, nor hast asked the life of thine enemies; but hast asked for thyself understanding to discern judgment; behold, I have done according to thy Words: lo, I have given thee a wise and an understanding heart; so that there was none like thee before, neither after thee shall any arise like unto thee. And I have also given thee that which thou hast not asked, both riches and honour: so that there shall not be any among the kings like unto thee all thy days."

Finally, let us deduce motives for consolation under the pressure of sorrow, and for the limitation of our wishes to the necessary subsistence of life, from "a greater than Solomon." Who was it that stooped to a manger and a cross? Who fasted forty days and forty nights in the desert, refusing to employ his power in furnishing a miraculous table? Who had not "where to lay his head?" Who lived on the scanty fare of a small purse in common with the family of his disciples? Who withdrew from the entertainments of Jerusalem to the humble cottage of Mary and Martha, cheerfully subsisting on the most homely and casual provision?—HE, who has taught us to limit our desires of temporal good within the narrow circle of one short request—"GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD."



Sapphira.

Chapter IX.



Mixed Constitution of the Church of Christ—benevolent Spirit of the primitive Believers at Jerusalem—Anxiety of Ananias and Sapphira to appear as zealous and liberal as others—Ananias repairs to the Apostles to deposit the price of his Possessions—is detected in Deception and dies—similar Deceit and Death of Sapphira—Nature and Progress of Apostasy—peculiar Guilt of Sapphira—Agency of Satan distinctly marked—diabolical influence ascertained—consolatory Sentiments suggested to Christians.

"The kingdom of heaven is likened unto a man which sowed good seed in his field: but while men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat, and went his way. But when the blade was sprung up, and brought forth fruit, then appeared the tares also. So the servants of the householder came and said unto him, Sir, didst thou not sow good seed in thy field? from whence then hath it tares? He said unto them, An enemy hath done this.... The field is the world; the good seed are the children of the kingdom; but the tares are the children of the wicked one; the enemy that sowed them is the devil."

This parable, so descriptive of the mixed constitution of the church of Christ, from the primitive times down to the present age, is strikingly exemplified in the history of Ananias and Sapphira. These were some of the first tares that appeared in the apostolic field of labour; and we should feel grateful that their names and characters are transmitted to us upon whom the ends of the world are come, for the purpose of salutary warning. Their singular atrocity was but a more full development of the very same evil principles that exist in embryo in the hearts of mankind in general; and their signal and immediate punishment, which was some deviation from the more ordinary methods of Providence, which permits the tares and the wheat to grow together till the harvest or "end of the world," was, under all the circumstances, a necessary expression of divine displeasure.

During the first age of Christianity, when it was propagated by apostles and their holy coadjutors, and when Jesus Christ, having so recently departed from the world, had left an unusual glow of ardor and affection in their minds, it seems natural to anticipate not only extensive success in the establishment of Christian churches, but a peculiar purity in the sentiments and conduct of their members. And where shall we find such union, such fervour, such simplicity, such energy, as prevailed in that golden age? Persecution separated them indeed, but could not dissolve their attachment either to the cause or to each other; it could not extinguish their ever-burning zeal. But in vain should we hope for perfection even in the purest societies on earth. If a Judas insinuated himself amongst the apostles during the personal residence of Christ on earth, and under his immediate eye, it is not surprising that an Ananias and a Sapphira intruded into the earliest and best of his churches; nor should it prove unduly discouraging to his ministers or people at any period, when they witness similar instances of deceit and impiety. The more valuable the coin, the greater is the reason to apprehend its being counterfeited; and the more excellent religion appears, and the more highly it is esteemed, the greater will be the probable number of hypocritical professors.

The history of these two offenders is intimately blended. Their sin and punishment were similar; but there, were some circumstances connected with the transaction which exhibit the guilt of Sapphira in characters of more conspicuous enormity. While reviewing the inspired narrative, let us not cherish the feeling of Hazael, who indignantly demanded of the prophet, "Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this!" but, deeply aware of our inward propensities and our moral dangers, let us unite fervent prayer with sleepless circumspection, "lest we enter into temptation."

The church at Jerusalem possessed one peculiarity, resulting from the remarkable exercise of a pure, exalted, disinterested benevolence. Rising superior to every selfish interest, and, in the spirit of unbounded love and liberality, concurring in every measure that was devised to promote the general good; "as many as were possessors of lands or houses, sold them, and brought the prices of the things that were sold, and laid them down at the apostles' feet; and distribution was made to every man according as he had need." The great proportion of converts were probably indigent, for in no age have "the mighty and the noble" been attracted by the unostentatious simplicity of the religion of Jesus; but some were persons of property. They had lands and houses, with which, however, they willingly parted to supply the necessities of their poorer fellow-Christians. This was a generosity which could not fail of exciting the admiration of the whole society, and of acquiring for them considerable influence. While the apostles approved their disinterestedness, the widows, the orphans, and the indigent of every class, would pour their best benedictions upon their heads, and look up lo them as the ministering angels of Providence. Too often, indeed, the supplies of benevolence are received with a coldness which is truly repulsive, and which bespeaks a secret conviction in the minds of the wretched, that they have a right to expect, and that the opulent are bound to bestow them; but these were Christian poor, and were influenced, we should hope, by a gratitude which such benefactions were calculated to inspire. At the same time, even the unthankfulness of the recipient ought not to shut up our "bowels of compassion."

Ananias and Sapphira were anxious, amidst such fine specimens of disinterested goodness, not to appear backward. They might be conscious that the respectability of their situation, and the zeal of their profession, excited expectations amongst the other disciples; and though they were certainly under no obligation to practise this profuse charity, they seemed unwilling to lose the opportunity of enhancing their fame: We may justly suspect, that a long struggle was maintained between the love of money and the love of applause. They consulted together;—they were anxious to devise an expedient by which they might gratify their vanity, and yet retain at least the principal part of their property. Ambition and avarice were to be alike gratified, but they were to contrive the concealment of their hypocrisy. With this view, they agreed upon a course of meanness and dissimulation, which involved the most tragical consequences. Ananias seems to have proposed, and Sapphira to have abetted, the transaction. With her consent, which he chose to obtain, and which might have been legally necessary, their estate was sold; and part only of the purchase-money was laid at the apostles' feet, as if it were the whole, and as if Christian charity had dictated this liberal distribution of it.

Hypocrites, we perceive, are frequently very much influenced by example and popular applause. How many ostentatious charities may be traced to this polluted source! It is not to do good, to assist the needy, to promote the cause of Jesus Christ; but to escape censure, or to purchase renown, that men often unite in pious contributions. They will slot be outshone by others, or submit to the dishonor of being reputed niggardly and ungenerous. But however such persons abound in visible acts of benevolence, their charity does not resemble the subterraneous rivulet, that revives the drooping flower, and refreshes the languishing herb, wherever it directs its secret and silent course.

What a fine opportunity was afforded on this occasion to Sapphira, for fulfilling the high but difficult duties of her situation! How would she have immortalized her name, had she suggested proper advice to her husband, and acted with an upright firmness herself! If, instead of coinciding with his impious plan, she had objected to the proposal, and warned him of the probable consequences of his dissimulation, a strong remonstrance from so dear a relative might have produced the happiest effect upon his mind; and had he still persisted, would at least have vindicated her refusal. Wives are indeed required to "submit to their husbands," but there are cases in which resistance is a virtue of the noblest class. If, transgressing the proper bounds of civil dominion, he attempts to lord it over her conscience, and urges, however authoritatively, her concurrence in iniquity, she must steadfastly oppose temptation. However painful the contest, it is honourable. It will be owned in heaven as a war of duty and necessity.

In some cases, the woman proves the first instigator to evil, or the prime coadjutor in mischief; but, in others, her sentiments may be sought with advantage. A wise man will seldom engage in an affair of considerable importance without soliciting advice, for "in the multitude of counsellors there 5s safety;" but who so naturally expects, or who so much deserves to be consulted, as the wife of the bosom? Her opinion is likely to be the most disinterested and the most affectionate of any that can be obtained; and if we could obtain a faithful history of domestic life, it would appear that a consultation so natural and proper, has often proved the means of guiding in perplexity and rescuing from error.

In the full confidence that their scheme had been concerted with the utmost privacy, Ananias, after the sale of his possessions, hastened to deposit a part of the price in the hands of the apostles. He, no doubt, expected to be welcomed in the warmest terms of commendation. With what astonishment and horror, therefore, must be have heard the terrible appeal of Peter, "Why bath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land? Whiles it remained, was it not thine own? and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power? Why hast thou conceived this thing in thine heart? Thou hast not lied unto men, but unto God!" Instantaneous as the lightning of heaven, Almighty vengeance descended upon the unhappy criminal, and withered him in a moment. "Ananias hearing these words, fell down and gave up the ghost; and great fear came on all them that heard these things." He was immediately buried, and about three hours afterward, his wife, totally unacquainted with the melancholy fate of her infatuated husband, and glowing with expectation of sharing the praises which the assembled disciples, as she supposed, were bestowing upon their generosity, presented herself to the apostles. Peter immediately demanded an explicit answer to the question, whether the sum which Ananias had subscribed were the real purchase-money of their estate? To this she deliberately replied in the affirmative. "How is it," said Peter, excited to holy indignation, "how is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord? Behold, the feet of them which have buried thy husband are at the door, and shall carry thee out." Immediately, to the universal astonishment and terror of all the spectators, "she fell down at his feet and yielded up the ghost; and the young men came in and found her dead, and carrying her forth, buried her by her husband."

The apostle, by representing the atrocious sin of these offenders as "lying unto God," and "tempting the Spirit of the Lord," intended to intimate that as the ambassadors of heaven, and endowed with miraculous powers and discernment, they who attempted to deceive them, virtually offered an insult to that Holy Spirit that resided in them. They were his representatives and agents, acting by his authority and under his influence. God was present with the apostles in a manner totally different from the mode of his manifestation to any other persons; and in attempting to deceive them, they virtually denied the agency of the Omniscient Spirit, in communicating to them a capacity to discern the inmost motives of the mind.

It is not with a view to extenuate the guilt of Ananias or Sapphira, but merely to detect character and illustrate the progress of sin, that we suggest the probability that when they first determined upon the sale of their estate, it might be under the impulse of a momentary benevolence, and that the device of retaining a part of the price was a subsequent consideration. Hypocrites are not profoundly acquainted with their own hearts, or with all the secret operations of a spirit of self-delusion. A sinner does not always, nor perhaps often, imagine the extreme lengths of impiety to which one erroneous step may ultimately conduct him. If he could be brought to see at the period of first indulgence the odious outline, not to say the finished picture, of his future self, he would start with instinctive horror, and blush with unutterable confusion. Secret wickedness is frequently long concealed from all but the eyes of God, by a religious deportment. It remains buried deep in the recesses of the soul till occasion exhibits it, as the needle continues at rest till the magnetic influence approaches. Hence the church of Christ is sometimes astonished and alarmed by the misconduct of a character in whom, perhaps, it had reposed the utmost confidence, or placed the warmest affection; and which, though immediately produced by some sudden temptation, was really the result, the natural, easy, and almost necessary result of a previous course of secret iniquity. The train had been long preparing, but it required some kindling touch to produce the explosion.

The progress to apostacy is, indeed, usually gradual, though rapid, resembling the irresistible haste of persons travelling down a precipitous path, or the descent of a heavy body towards the earth, whose velocity is accelerated in proportion as it approaches its destination. The first compliance with temptation is accompanied with misgivings—trembling— restlessness—the very thought of sin is admitted with difficulty, and the determination to practise it, is formed amidst a thousand relentings and prickings of conscience. Still the mind lingers with the object—still the fancy plays about the forbidden fruit, till the hand is stretched forth to gather it—an increased appetite is superinduced, accompanied with a diminished resolution. How many youthful persons, deterred for a time by a religious education and sedate habits, have paused—and paused—and paused on the brink of danger; like Cæsar ere he crossed the Rubicon; their passions and their conscience have held a warm debate—till induced in some fatal hour of illusion to comply, they have progressively advanced to a state of confirmation in guilt, and have made a covenant with hell!

The character of Sapphira seems marked with even a deeper stain of guilt than that of her husband. She had more time for reflection, and received a salutary premonition by the question of Peter. Not to advert to the period in which she might probably be left alone during the various transactions of the sale of the estate, three hours elapsed between the infliction of judgment upon Ananias, and her coming to the apostolic assembly. If her concurrence in this base action had resulted in any degree from mistake, from momentary illusion, or from mere persuasion, she had time to correct her error by immediate repentance: or if she had hitherto sinned with deliberation, it was a time in which conscience might hive been heard, and the wretched backslider have yet been reclaimed. This was the golden moment, the period of long-suffering and mercy, the "accepted time!" Repentance was not yet too late—return to reason and duty was not even now impossible—she might still have retracted her steps, though her worthless husband had suffered for his iniquity, and had passed the boundaries of time, the sacred enclosure, the hallowed ground where celestial mercy dispenses her pardons. Every thing was favourable to penitence. She was alone, and solitude has sometimes shaken the purpose of the sinner, and opened his eyes to an awful perception of the atrociousness of guilt. But Sapphira was "hardened through the deceitfulness of sin." Long since she had dismissed every compunctious feeling, and was hurried on to perdition by the fiends of avarice and vanity, to whom she had resigned the dominion of her soul. The inquiry of Peter, pointed and abrupt—"Tell me whether ye sold the land for so much?" Would have startled an ordinary transgressor, and produced those sensations of shame and confusion which a consciousness of detection is calculated to excite—O, if she had even then trembled, confessed her iniquity, and sought forgiveness through the blood which cleanseth from all sin, who will affirm that she could not have obtained mercy, and perhaps escaped both temporal and eternal punishment! But she was obdurate. The falsehood which Ananias had acted, she deliberately affirmed, and justice instantly dismissed her to the society of her kindred transgressor in a state of condemnation. Here, then, we read in characters too legible to be mistaken, that "it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."

If we pursue this subject, it will conduct us far beyond the sight of mere temporal punishment. Sin not only incurs present misery, but has opened the gates of despair, and kindled inextinguishable flames. That wrath which must have inevitably consumed the whole of Adam's posterity, but for the Redeemer's interposition, will rage forever against the impenitent and the apostate. "Thine hand shall find out all thine enemies; thy right hand shall find out those that hate thee. Thou shall make them as a fiery oven in the time of thine anger; the Lord shall swallow them up in his wrath, and the fire shall devour them." "Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and a horrible tempest; this shall be the portion of their cup."

It is surely wonderful to holy angels, that by persevering acts of impiety and rebellion, men should voluntarily reduce themselves to a state in which it "had been good for them if they had never been born." Can there be a more important gift than life, or a more valuable quality attached to it than immortality? Yet apostates, by their degeneracy, convert this greatest of blessings into a curse—this noblest good into an infinite evil. "As righteousness tendeth to life, so he that pursueth evil, pursueth it to his own death." Who can paint the horror of that moment, when the final, the irrevocable sentence will be passed upon a guilty race—when INFINITE LOVE will denounce INFINITE WO—when every word proceeding from the mouth of eternal justice will prove a poisoned arrow, struck into the destiny of transgressors—when that face which has always illuminated the regions of glory with smiles of ineffable grace, will gather blackness and look despair! O what a crush!—what a ruin!—what a wreck!—How many human temples, defiled by intolerable abominations, will in a moment fall into the gulf of perdition to supply its everlasting fires!—What lightnings will accompany the "thunder of his power!"—What fervid heat will melt these elements—what terror shake the lowest abyss of hell! O, could we descend to the regions of despair, whence "the smoke of their torment ascendeth up forever and ever;" or, transported on a seraph's wing, rise to listen only for a single moment, to those rapturous sounds which warble from immortal harps, and bespeak infinite felicity—with what feelings should we return to this probationary state! How should we be alarmed and allured—terrified and enraptured—deterred by "sights of wo," excited by scenes of glory! but, "if we hear not Moses and the prophets," Christ and the apostles: if "God who at sundry times, and in divers manners spake in times past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son," to no purpose: "neither should we be persuaded though one rose from the dead."

This dreadful history ought not to excite despondency in trembling saints. Ministerial anxieties are principally excited by a presumptuous state of mind. It is not the timid, the diffident, the cautious, that awaken apprehensions, but the forward, the fearless, the bold. That solicitude which agitates the pious mind, is an effectual antidote against the evil it dreads, while that confidence which possesses the hypocrite, prevents the good it anticipates. The one obtains through fear, the other loses through presumption. The one is victorious, by maintaining a constant petty warfare with all his corruptions; the other is over-thrown through rushing fearlessly forward, and falling into the ambuscade which Satan has prepared for him. Hypocrisy is contriving, full of artifice, and arrogant—sincerity is quite the reverse, aiming to be right—fearing mistake—avoiding even trifling deviations and slight compliances— "sitting at the feet of Jesus"—"clothed with humility,"—and in a "right mind!"

Let us adore the grace which has hitherto prevented our falling, and humbly depend upon it for future preservation. Conscious of our infantine weakness, let us lean upon the arm of Omnipotence. Under the conduct of him who directed the march of ancient Israel by the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night, wo may hope to be upheld, protected, and guided in our journey to Canaan. Hail, happy hour, which shall put us in possession of our rest! Hail, celestial morning, whose bright beams shall disperse the shadows of death, and diffuse the splendours of immortal day upon our inheritance!

In the account of the crime by which Ananias and Sapphira have acquired such an awful celebrity, the agency of SATAN is distinctly marked—"Why," said Peter, hath Satan filled thine heart?—This a subject so seldom treated, and yet of such great importance, that it seems proper to avail ourselves of this statement, in order to examine it with some attention, and to suggest some consolatory reflections to the timid Christian.

The earliest mention we have of Satanic influence is at the fall. Assuming the body of a serpent, this evil spirit attacked the first woman and seduced her into a transgression which "brought death into the world, and all our wo." If Satan were permitted to practise his detestable machinations in the earthly paradise, who will presume to say that it is improbable he may yet be able to tempt man in the wilderness? He knew the position of human affairs, he manifested extraordinary skill in the adaptation of the means which he employed to promote his purposes, and in the incidental conversation, which he contrived with our first parent; and although Christians have run into great extremes in their estimate of his powers, he unquestionably possesses superior knowledge and capacity. His talents like those of other wicked beings, are probably not impaired by his fall, but even sharpened and invigorated by malignant practice. In the aspect of this creation, and in the character of a degenerate world, we may perceive the infernal fiend. We may see his dark hand in the strifes of society, supplying the burning fuel to intemperate passions and discordant societies. We may mark his detestable footsteps in the field of death, staining provinces with blood, where human brothers are polluted with the guilty spirit of assassination, and sacrifice to the glory of war, the hopes of nations, the comforts of life, and the earthly existence of infuriated millions, unprepared to enter an eternal state. In these mighty tempests and desolating whirlwinds, we may hear the hissing breath of his malice, and the yell of his infernal joy. If he seduced our parent in innocency, is it incredible he should seduce her race in their apostasy? if he were the chief agent in the first of sins, is it improbable that he should instigate other crimes peculiarly connected with human misery and degradation?

Scripture, which we take as the "lamp to our feet, and light to our path," represents delusion as the appropriate work of the arch-fiend. It is not for us to inquire by what means he operates upon the mind, because we know so little of the economy of the spiritual world, of the manner in which spirit can operate on spirit, and consequently of the nature of that influence which superior beings are capable of exercising upon others in this world, that we could at best only make a vague conjecture. It is sufficient for all moral purposes to ascertain the fact, that such an influence is possible to evil spirits, and permitted by Providence, that it forms a part of the trial of good men in this state of existence, and often tends to accelerate the too rapid progress of human impiety.

Satan then is possessed of great subtlety, and addicted to wiles, snares, and devices, for the purpose of deluding mankind. He is thus described by Christ: "He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own; for he is a liar, and the father of it." Peter, in addressing Ananias said, "Why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the Holy Ghost?" "We are not ignorant," says the same apostle, "of Satan's devices." "If our Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost: in whom the god of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not, lest the light of the glorious Gospel of Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them."

"I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ." In speaking of the deceptive practices of false apostles, he thus alludes to infernal power—"No marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light." And in writing to the Ephesians, Paul exhorts—" Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil." Antichrist is described by a similar allusion: "Even him, whose coming is after the working of Satan, with all power, and signs, and lying wonders, and with all deceivableness of unrighteousness." "And I saw an angel come down from heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit, and a great chain in his hand. And he laid hold on the dragon, that old serpent, which is the devil, and Satan, and bound him a thousand years, and cast him into the bottomless pit, and shut him up, and set a seal upon him, that he should deceive the nations no more, till the thousand years should be fulfilled; and after that he must be loosed a little season."

Satan doubtless attacks mankind by diversified modes of operation, and deceives them on various occasions and by different means. In the parabolical representations of our Lord, he is described as "sowing tares in the field," and as "coming immediately" where the word is sown, "to take away the word that was sown in their hearts." This is indeed a figurative statement, but nevertheless descriptive of a fact. The essence of the representation is real, though decked out in the attractive garb of imagery, to win attention and to excite inquiry. To suppose otherwise in this or in other cases, would be to reduce Scripture to the standard of Tales for Children, or Arabian Nights' Entertainments. What, then, is the truth intended to be conveyed here? It is that Satan possesses some mode of access to the human mind, that he is peculiarly attentive to the impression which the ministry of the word is producing, and that he uses his utmost skill to neutralize its effect: probably, by tempting the hearer to doubt its truth, to dispute its importance, or to defer immediate regard to its holy requisitions. And in the human heart there is such an ample supply of materials upon which to work—such a tendency to evil—such depravity of spirit—such corruption of nature—such love of the world—such enmity against God, that he soon succeeds in erecting an edifice of delusory hope, in which the deluded soul takes shelter from the sharp-pointed arrows of ministerial fidelity and scriptural appeal.

"Your adversary the devil," is represented as walking "about, seeking whom he may devour;" which intimates the settled enmity of this spirit. He is your adversary—at once the most malignant, most subtle, most invisible, and often least suspected of all others. This passage describes his powerful superiority; he is a roaring lion—remarkable for fury, strength, and zeal. It represents his incessant activity, secrecy, and watchfulness; "he walketh about." It proclaims his destructive purpose—"to devour." He is not, it seems, confined to place, but fixed in torment, and destined in all ages to suffer a perpetual aggravation of his misery, in consequence of the increase of his guilt, and the frequent discomfiture of his devices.

The severest contests of the Christian are with this adversary, who, being possessed of insinuating subtlety, powerful resources, constant vigilance, distinguished sagacity, and invisible means of operation, combined with infernal malignity, must be acknowledged to be a most formidable foe. It is both needless and unscriptural to assign ubiquity to Satan, but by himself and his emissaries he undoubtedly possesses a very extensive range in this lower world, and his favourite employment is to cherish the rebellious principle, to perpetuate the backsliding character, and thus to form the finished apostate. He observes with a vigilant inspection every tree planted in the garden of the Lord, and provided there be no real fruits of righteousness, he is not displeased at the leaves of profession. He knows this will never prevent the decree, "Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground?"

Pregnant with horrors as this subject appears to be, the Scriptures supply two most desirable sources of consolation, with the mention of which I shall hasten to conclude it.

1. While considering the terrific facts of the existence and works of the devil, recollect the limitation of his agency. If no kind of restraint were imposed upon his efforts, if his untractable malice were allowed to act with all its diabolical force, and were absolutely under no restrictions, the idea of his being and of his malignity would be unutterably appalling: but the giant foe is held in the mighty grasp of Omnipotence. His power is only permitted to operate to a certain extent, and under the regulations of certain laws ordained by the eternal mind. He who says to the raging ocean, "Here shall thy proud waves be stayed," assigns the sphere of infernal influence, and places impassable barriers of a moral nature to his further encroachment. Evil of every description, and evil beings of every order, are under divine superintendence and control. The lion is chained—the dragon cannot add one cubit to his stature—a point to his tongue—or a drop to his venom. The serpent may hiss, but he cannot devour.

The influence of Satan resembles every other test that Divine Wisdom sees fit to apply to human character. It is probationary. The people of God are put to the proof, and their principles subjected to fiery trials. But gold will endure the furnace, and real piety will "resist the devil, and he will flee." He could tempt the Son of God, and he can torment his followers; but he possesses no compulsory power. His attacks can never be successful, unless we give them efficacy by our criminal negligence and compliance.

Nor is it just to suppose, as many good people do to their inexpressible but useless alarm, that every individual is under his constant power, or every moment exposed to his incessant attacks. This would be to assign him a degree of omnipresence wholly incompatible with his nature and the economy of providence. Like other evil beings he walketh about. His movements may be more rapid as a spirit, and his capacities more extended and certainly his malignity more violent, than those of other wicked beings; still he is hut a creature—he has his appointed sphere of exertion—his capacities are finite—and he is observed by the unsleeping eye of God. He may prowl around the sheepfold of Christ, but the guard is too strong for him; and if he seize, or attempt the feeblest of the flock, Omnipotence will ultimately rescue the prey from the hand of the terrible.

2. Let us realize with holy satisfaction the destruction of Satanic power. "For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil." The apostle John, in his Revelation, describes "the devil" as "cast into the lake of fire and brimstone, where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night forever and ever."

In conceiving of the destruction of this hateful dominion, we may realize it as certain. Although the issue of the war between good and evil, Christ and Belial, heaven and hell, be deferred to a distant age, it is not doubtful or precarious. It is ever present in the eye of God, and forms a part of that irresistible destiny which infernal power cannot avert. There is no escape from the chains of darkness which Omnipotence will finally rivet on; and this irreversible doom of fallen spirits is essential to the final arrangements of that wonderful period, which will develope "the consummation of all things."

It is the glory of the religion of Christ, that none of its promises or plans are precarious. The hopes of Christians cannot be lost in the crush of nature or the wreck of the world; and the condemnation of impenitent sinners and of Satan cannot be averted by any mistake of evidence, by any confusion, of multitude, or by any unevenness of balance in the scales of justice in the day of judgment.

The destruction of Satan and his power may be considered as gradual in the mode of its accomplishment. The whole system of revealed truth, from the period of the first prediction, points to this predestined end; and the whole scheme of Providence, including the rise and fall of empires, the work of Christ, and all the events of time through successive generations, respects this mighty and this marvellous result—a result connected so essentially with the glory of God, the honour of Christ, and the felicity of a redeemed universe.

"For this purpose the Son of God was manifested that he might destroy the works of the devil." But it was not deemed fit to do it at once, and at a single blow; if it had, he who commanded the boisterous winds and the raging seas, and they were still—he who expelled demons at a word, and cured diseases by a touch—he whose creative energy restored lost limbs to the victims of misery—who reanimated the dead and the putrifying, and remanded their spirits from an invisible state—could have withered at a touch the power of hell, crushed in a moment the throne of diabolical authority, and bound the dragon himself in his eternal chain. But the wisdom of God, which at first permitted evil to stain his moral creation, designs to admit the reign or influence of Satan for an appointed period, and to overturn his dominion by a gradual establishment of truth and righteousness in the earth. The great adversary was smitten by his hand when the first promise of salvation was given to our race; the stroke was repeated, in successive predictions to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob; and the death-blow inflicted when the expiring Redeemer exclaimed on the cross, "It is finished!" Still, like a dying monster, who raves amidst his agonies, and terrifies spectators by his terrific aspect and more terrific efforts, and destroys or mangles all who venture within the reach of his arm, Satan still rages and raves—sometimes languishing into comparative inaction, at other times breathing out threatening and slaughter against the church of God—still conscious that his power is declining, and that the whole system of providence is preparing for his final overthrow.

This overthrow will be complete. He will never more ascend from his confinement, to fill the earth with plagues or the church of Christ with terror. The "new heaven and earth wherein dwelleth righteousness," will never be exposed to his awful revisitings—the contest will have for ever ended—the struggle eternally ceased; and the harps of angels, with the holy hymnings of ten thousand times ten thousand before the throne—

"Blest voices, uttering praise!"

will proclaim the full, the final, the everlasting victory. And in the heavenly city "there shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: and they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever." (See APPENDIX.)



Dorcas.

Chapter X.



Joppa illustrious on many accounts, particularly as the residence of Dorcas—she was a Disciple of Christ—Faith described as the Principle of Discipleship—the inspired Testimony to the Character of Dorcas—she was probably a Widow or an aged Maiden—Remarks on the Reproaches commonly cast upon the latter Class of Women—Dorcas exhibited as a Pattern of liberality, being prompt in the Relief she afforded—her Charities abundant—and personally bestowed—Observations on the Propriety of visiting the Poor—the Charities of Dorcas often free and unsolicited—wise and conducted upon a Plan—the Pretences of the uncharitable stated and confuted—Riches only valuable as they are used in bountiful Distribution.

Seven of the most celebrated cities of antiquity (Smyrna, Rhodes, Colophon, Salamis, Chios, Argos, and Athens) are said to have disputed the glory of having given birth to Homer; and it must be admitted that places and families acquire an importance from their connection with names which appear conspicuous on the page of history, and have been praised by the united voices of successive generations. We cannot hear, without an instinctive glow, of the cities of Rome, Athens, Sparta, Syracuse, and others which respectively produced a Cæsar, a Demosthenes, a Lycurgus, and an Archimedes; of the islands of Samos and Ægina, whence emanated the resplendent genius of a Pythagoras and a Plato; of the villages of Alopece and Andes, immortalized as having produced a Socrates and a Virgil.

But let not the enchanting annals of Roman literature or Grecian wisdom detach our minds from the nobler records of inspiration, or diminish the conviction which religion must ever inspire, that the birth place of benevolence and piety is more illustrious than the birthplace of genius and philosophy. On this principle we look with admiration upon the town of Joppa, which, if it cannot boast a prodigy of valour, talent, or learning, is nevertheless conspicuous as the residence of one "of whom the world was not worthy." She was not, indeed, rich in wealth, but in good works. She was not a conqueror of nations or a distributor of crowns, but a giver of alms. She had no name on earth beyond the limits of a small Christian church, but her record was on high, and her memorial has not perished with her.

Joppa was the nearest seaport to Jerusalem on the Mediterranean. It was situated in the tribe of Dan in a fine plain, and has acquired the modern name of Jaffa. This place is frequently mentioned in Scripture. The materials for the construction of Solomon's temple were sent thither in floats, by Hiram, the king of Tyre, whence they were easily conveyed by land to Jerusalem. Jonah, in his flight from the presence of the Lord, embarked at this port, and gave occasion to the mythological fable of Andromeda. Here the apostle Peter enjoyed that remarkable vision, in which he saw heaven opened, and a great sheet descending to the earth, which seemed to contain every variety of beasts, and creeping things, and fowls of the air; intimating to him the abolition of the Mosaic law, and the removal of those distinctions which had so long separated the Jews and the Gentiles. It is probable Philip preached the Gospel here in his progress through various cities to Cesarea; but the history of Dorcas, or, as she was originally called in the Syriac dialect, Tabitha, has given it peculiar prominence in the sacred page.

The memorial of this excellent woman is short, but replete with instruction. Her character is sketched at a stroke, and by the introduction of an incident as full of significance and interest as can well be imagined. Dropping those minute details and accidental circumstances which are not necessary to character, and which the New Testament so seldom mentions, the most instructive part of her story is preserved and set in the most brilliant point of light.

She is simply announced, in the first place, as "a certain disciple," or one that embraced the faith of Christ, and professed it by baptism and a public union with his church. Whatever might be her situation in other respects was of little consequence; this was her best, her most substantial distinction. It invested her with a real glory, which however overlooked by those who are chiefly attracted by exterior splendour, surpassed every vain and glittering honour of the world. It raised her to the dignity of a name in the volume of inspiration, and the unfading distinction of a place in the annals of eternity.

How poor and how perishable is human fame; and yet with what eagerness is it universally sought! What is it but like a bubble, excited by some accidental cause, to sparkle for a moment on the stream of passing ages, and then to disappear for ever! And yet the love of fame has been called, and perhaps with propriety, the ruling passion; for so much does it blend itself with human motives, that there are comparatively few of our actions, at least such as are visible to the public eye, which may not be traced to this feeling, or which do not receive a tone from its influence.

But how shall we describe that faith which is often mentioned in the New Testament, which so marked the character of Dorcas, and which, perhaps, may not be inaptly called the principle of discipleship?

This term is of various import, and of very extensive application in Scripture. It signifies belief, and refers to testimony either human or divine; but is restricted in its evangelical use to the latter. Revelation in general is the object of faith: and those invisible realities which it discloses to the mental eye are seen with equal distinctness, and believed with equal conviction, as if they were capable, from possessing some material quality, of impressing the corporeal senses. Faith glorifies its great Object and Author by paying an implicit deference to his authority. It asks no other bond than his promise, no other evidence or attestation than his veracity. It not only ranges through worlds which mortal eye could never explore, but which human reason could never discover: and as by transgression man has fallen under the dominion of his senses, it delivers its happy possessor from this state of degradation and wretchedness.

But though this be a general signification of the word, its more precise and appropriate use in the Gospel is expressed by the phrase, "believing that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God." Here the general and the particular use are necessarily blended. Faith is belief—but belief in "the truth as it is in Jesus." To believe, in the ordinary sense, is to admit a fact, to assent to the statement of an accredited or respectable witness; to believe in Jesus as the Son of God, is to acknowledge his real character, to perceive his true dignity, to view and to love him, not only as distinguished by perfect excellence; but as specifically the Saviour of lost sinners; for "whosoever believeth that Jesus is the Christ, is born of God." Faith comprehends what he is, contemplates him in all his glorious offices, and from the manger of meanness traces him to the throne of power, relying upon what he has suffered and said as the infallible pledge of what he will accomplish. It is not only well informed, but humble. It resided in his heart who exclaimed, "Lord, save me!" It dictated his language who cried out, "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." It gave efficacy to the prayer of that humble petitioner who said, "Speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed." It is pleasing to God, essential to salvation, and his own gift: for "Enoch had this testimony, that he pleased God"—"a man is justified by faith"—and "by grace ye are saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God."

Faith is not dormant, but active and operative. It resembles good seed sown in the cultivated soil, which expands, and grows, and produces fruit. This holy vegetation exists in very different degrees of vigour, according to the diversities of Christian character, but it is apparent in all—the mark of true religion, the pleasing verdant hue that covers the whole surface of the spiritual creation. We cannot point to every pious person as a Dorcas, who presents a singular fertility of some of the noblest graces; but of all it may be said, "the root of the matter is found in them," and "their root shall not be rottenness, nor their blossom go up as dust."

It is the nature of genuine faith to stimulate to the most laborious duties, to sustain amidst the most poignant sufferings, to produce the greatest purity of character, to communicate the noblest kind of happiness of which a creature in the present state can be susceptible, to nerve the feeblest arm with strength, to give the dullest eye perception, above all, to "work by love." For these reasons, and because of its transforming influence, we denominated it the principle of discipleship. It operates by love to its object and to all its subjects, as well as to the divine commandments in general; and influences its possessor to practise universal philanthropy. To the latter our particular attention is now directed by the example of Dorcas; but it must not be forgotten, that though the particular specimen of her excellence be taken from the common offices of kindness and the act of almsgiving, the existence and proportionate vigour of the great principle from which her minor charities resulted must be presupposed, as by observing the fertility of a branch, or the verdure of a twig, or even the greenness of a leaf, we infer the growth of the tree, its root, its stem, and all its various ramifications. While we contemplate this flourishing plant of grace, we know that it was deeply "rooted and grounded" in faith.